When Jaune opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness. And for a moment, he thought that he had escaped his curse of The Dream. But as his eyes adjusted, he recognized the place he was in.
The depths of the mountain in this cursed hellscape. Jaune stood up, his head pounding with the alcohol. He instantly sat down, deciding that moving was a bad idea.
"God fucking damn it." He said once his head stopped throbbing enough. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to make the mountain go away. The effort was in vain.
At least the alcohol induced headache had dissipated at this point. But his eyes still felt dry and puffy. "God Fucking Damn It." He repeated, a little louder. A little more anguished. His fist slammed into the floor with a half hearted Thump.
"God Fucking Damn it." He cried out loud, even louder. His fist met the stone floor again. Harder this time
"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" Jaune shot up to his feet. He kicked the tombstone in anger. That terrible, consistent tombstone that marked the beginning and end of his journey here.
He felt something in his foot crack upon impact with the unyielding stone. Jaune's face contorted into one of indistinguishable pain or anger. "AAAAAUUURRRRGGH!" He screamed out, the shriek echoing in the darkness. His eyes refocused on the slab of grey granite, blinking away tears. "GOD, FUCK YOU!" He screamed, kicking it again, with reckless abandon. And again, and again and again he tried to topple the stone. He dove at it, grasping the grave marker with his bare hands. With a heave, he pulled at the rock, trying to uproot it from it's fortified position. But alas, the stone did not move. Not with all his might, all his fury and all his grief did the stone move.
Jaune stopped his furious tantrum, leaning over the stone. He was tired. How else could he describe himself right now? He was incredibly tired. He let his head fall onto the headstone, resting for a moment. "Why." He whispered, the tears he thought he had exhausted started to well up again.
"Tell me why." He moaned, his voice laden with grief. "TELL ME!" His head shot up, shouting to heavens he could not see. "COME ON, TELL ME! WHY! Why me?" He took in a shaky breath.
"What did I do to deserve this?" He said, still seeking an answer from a god he did not know. It was raining in the caves.
That is some salty rain. B noted as it fell on his lips. Jaune didn't care. Not really.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice had turned raw from his harsh screaming. "If I did, I'm sorry." His head hung at those words.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." he muttered, over and over again between sobs. His prayers were not answered. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry!" He finally yelled into the sky.
No answer came to deliver him unto salvation.
Jaune wasn't sure how long he sat there praying. It felt religious. He supposed suffering could feel religious. So maybe he was suffering instead.
Are we done here? A asked, at least a little bored with Jaune wallowing. Yes, it was good that Jaune took some time to grieve and cry, but one can't just sit there forever. You had to get up and move sometime. It's not like this place was safe anyway.
Jaune blearily looked up. He swallowed, mustering whatever strength he had. "I suppose I must." Jaune said, forcing himself to his feet. "You're right. Stopping does nothing for me."
And so Jaune conjured a small mote of light to light his march. The dim underdark fled at the summoned starlight. Jaune looked to his left and right, at the canyon that stretched for some indescribable infinity. In front of him a tunnel hewn from the rock, dimly lit by lifeless torch light. Jaune gave a final look around. "Well, light's a good sign." the dreamer said as he strode towards the tunnel. B raised an eyebrow in skepticism.
Is anything a good sign in this place? He asked with a sigh. Jaune thought about that for a moment.
Places with light tend to be less dangerous than those that are dark. Jaune concluded, thinking about the sewers, infested with massive slugs and corroded and festing ghouls. Places in the light were not safe by any means, but they were better than the darkness. Jaune had to stoop to fit in the surprisingly small tunnel, bowing his head so as to not hit it against the ceiling. Whoever made these caves must have been rather short, don't you think? A commented as Jaune ran a hand along the ancient groves, etched in eons ago by long forgotten quarriers and miners. Jaune wondered who they were. What they did.
The light he saw turned out to be a little glass orb, embedded into the wall. Inside it a flame flickered, stuck in an infinite loop of burning a small blot of oil soaked tweed. It was consumed, and the flame dimmed out as it ran out of fuel to consume, only for the timespace within the sphere to be reset to some several seconds earlier.
"What a fascinating piece of work." Jaune muttered, pondering the glass orb with curiosity.
B also gave the sphere his attention, trying to mentally pick it apart. I suppose it can't be that different from some of our own spells, like trace the path and sureshot. He figured, listing off probably their most powerful reality breaking spells. Which was ironic, considering the purpose of those spells. Trace the path was literally the layering of time, pushing the past above the present. It caused an interesting effect of something akin to watching a movie in 3d space, being able to move around and see where your prey went. That particular spell was incredibly draining, as it forced reality to bend in over itself, warping and shifting and breaking to the whims of man. A perfect replay of the past, from any point in time. It worked best when the time was tied to an action. The stomp of a hoof that left a print in the mud, the toppling of a bottle that led to the staining of a sheet of parchment. But one could, according to the scroll Jaune had unabashedly pilfered from some mages library, take a segment of time from any point in history.
Sureshot was the opposite of Trace the path. Instead of looking and layering the past into the present, Sureshot scoured the timelines of possible futures, seeking for a favorable future. It ran countless simulations, fractures in the timeline to create infinite variations. Warped reflections of the timeline leading into complete independent existence, each different, each looked at.
And then it would force one of those thousands of possibilities into existence, the others disappearing into nothingness, never even having a chance to exist. An infinite amount of universes, gone in the blink of an eye.
Jaune had wondered what that meant, in the grand scale of things. Did that mean that Jaune was responsible for the death of universes each time he cast this spell? That Jaune was the slayer of countless multitudes, the unborn and those alive, of all life, each time he used such a deceptively easy magic? When Jaune had discovered how the spell actually worked, he had considered that quite heavily.
Who knew what disasters would come from the constant shattering and destruction of countless timelines? What Doctor Who-like terrors might come crawling from the cracks?
Jaune smiled at that, remembering that Saphron and Joan in particular liked Doctor Who. Jaune had been dragged into many long night binges of the show. Not that Jaune could remember what it was even about, or what had happened during its run. He vaguely remembered that it liked messing around with time.
Jaune stopped worrying about it, deciding that he would burn that bridge when he got to it. He turned away from the flickering orb, seeing that they lined the walls every several meters. He walked forward, following the orb laden path.
As he walked, he noticed that the roughly hewn rock gave way to smoother, more sharply defined stonework.
Smooth, defined stonework with long scratches on it. As though something had crawled this place. Something that was quite unlike anything Jaune had seen yet. Jaune drew one of his knives, cautious of this new and strange threat. A took a long look at the streaks.
Whatever this thing was, it had to be pretty decently sized. He concluded, running his hands along the inch or so wide lines. At least the size of a cow, perhaps even larger.
B raised his non-existent eyebrows at that. Wow. you said this was only decently sized? He asked. A nodded.
About the size of a cow, yeah.
Jaune nodded, not wanting to meet whatever had created such marks. The tunnels continued onwards, eventually coming to a kind of junction. A large tunnel that led closer to the heart of the mountain, clearly more akin to a main passageway than the small tunne Jaune had just scuttled through. The scratches continued down this hall as well. Jaune scowled at that, concerned about what it could mean. Something was wrong here, clearly.
But then again, what isn't wrong with this god forsaken place? Jaune thought.
Jaune took a look around the circular junction, something feeling off about it. He gave the round room a scrutinizing gaze. He expanded his senses, searching the room.
He found it. A small streaking of blood tucked away in the corner. Jaune leaned down to it, running a hand over the dry dusty stone. The blood was dry, and had been for some time. Whatever had bled here had done so long before Jaune had come here. Jaune leaned closer to the stain, noticing that there was a converging collection of scrapes surrounding the old stain.
Do you think they were eaten? B asked
Jaune shrugged. Hopefully not. Jaune very much disliked the idea that someone would have to suffer being eaten during their death. Turned, scanning the room for any more signs of struggle. The scratches did seem to be more varied in this room.
Jaune marched on, stooping through the stone tunnels until he came to the mountain proper.
"Wow." Jaune said, awe in his voice as he looked up. The mountain had been hollowed out, great spires spiraling up into the unseen shadows of the heavens.
Jaune stepped forward, glad that he didn't have to crouch down to traverse this area of the mountain. Jaune strolled through the carved mountain, taking in the straight and angled geometry of the architecture. It made for a strong image that greatly reminded Jaune of the descriptions of Erebor and Moria. Jaune took some time to walk around the empty mountain city.
It was littered with bits of history, much like the eternal city. Patches of the past stored in books, wall tapestries, and abandoned homes. Jaune put down a small clay top. All the ceilings here were too low for him, but he supposed he must have just been tall. There was something special about this room.
A child's room, the pastel yellows and blues had long since faded into the stone. They were still there, but no longer as vibrant as they had been. Jaune thought that it was probably such a happy place, this room. Jaune wondered what it must have been like.
This room was oddly well preserved for the dream. Jaune pondered what made this room special. Perhaps just sheer, random luck.
Jaune's boots make a clinking sound against the hard stone of the walkways. The eternal glass globes, doomed to repeat their lifetime over and over again, shedding dying light for all eternity. Jaune shot warey glances at every direction, knowing that this was ideal territory for him to be attacked. He had been struck at enough in the Eternal City to be on guard. Particularly when someone like Arslan wasn't around. Jaune had forgotten how nice it was to fight with someone else. Jaune did a quick spin, checking behind him. He trusted his ears, but he trusted them in combination with his other senses more. He didn't think anything was there, but Jaune had what B called a "healthy amount of sheer overwhelming paranoia."
Jaune would have liked to disagree, but the statement wasn't wrong. Jaune was at least on edge most of the time. He wouldn't say paranoid, but he was by no means relaxed.
Jaune took another dozen steps before he saw a figure at the edge of his vision.
It was a smaller thing, kneeled over something that looked suspiciously like a corpse of something similar to it. Jaune had gotten used to the sight of the cannibalism of dead things. Even he had chewed one on in a fit of bored insanity. They tasted oddly like chicken and pork.
Jaune stopped, keeping a wary eye on what essentially looked like a rather short drunken ghoul. It didn't seem to notice the dreamer just yet.
Jaune drew out his bow, aiming with practiced ease at the thing. The arrow flew straight, a faint whistling coming from the shaft of the projectile as it flew through the air. It skewered the creature through the neck. It gave a loud gurgling death cry as it stumbled to the ground, writhing and gripping at its neck. Jaune looked away as he waited for the death rattle to stop, recalling rather unpleasant memories of his own deaths.
Jaune approached the creature, getting a good look at it. It was a short creature, just below four foot six or so. It had scraggiled remnants of a beard, wiry almost fur like hairs that had splotchy patches in it. Gray skin, a shade similar to stone, was pulled taught over the frame.
Jaune knelt down, pulling his arrow out of the things neck. "If it is supposed to be what was once a dwarf," Jaune mused. "I suppose I should call it a duragar now."
A looked down at their slaughtered prey. You're a nerd, you know that, right?
Jaune smiled and shook his head. He supposed he must have been, once upon a time. To come up with that? yeah, he had to have been a huge nerd
I think geeky is the word you want. Nerdy has a different connotation, geared more towards academia. B commented from the back of Jaune's brain.
A turned to look at B. You're a nerd.
Jaune heard something scampering. He flicked upwards, seeing another duragar sprinting at him with rapid speed. It was so fast that the unaware dreamer didn't even have quite enough time to draw a weapon.
He's a fast fuck, ain't he? A commented as Jaune threw up his hands in defense. The duragar collided with Jaune, knocking him into the ground. The duragar reached at Jaune, trying to wrap it's lithe and powerful hands around the dreamer's throat. Jaune struggled and rolled with the gray thing, fighting to keep the monster's shorter arms at bay. Jaune pushed the duragar, slapping it away with a frantic force. His palm slammed into the creature's face, turning it with the blow. The duragar did not like that at all, and decided to retaliate. By biting deep into the offending hand.
Jaune very quickly discovered that Duregar had sharp, sharp teeth.
"AAARRRGGG!" Jaune yelled out as he felt the duragar break through his chained gauntlet and into his hand. Jaune glared at the thing. "Son of a Bitch!" He yelled out, slamming his gnawed hand into the creature's head. The blow was clearly powerful, as the duragar was shaken by the fist. Jaune took the concussed moment to his advantage, slamming his arm, and the attached drunk duragar, into the stone ground. Jaune rolled over, straddling the short monster. His free fist slammed into the left side of his foes face. It's head snapped to the side as it pushed away at Jaune with its small dwindly arms. Jaunes right fist repeated the action, delivering a devastating punch to the creature's jaw.
Left, Right, Left, Right, Jaune slammed into the duragar with reckless intent. Those gray spindled arms pushed away, stretching at the dented and broken chestplate. It hoped that it could push the intruder off of it.
It's head snapped to the side particularly harshly as the bloodied metal hand slammed into its temple again. It's vision blurred as its arms numbed.
The intruder's other punch was even more bloodied. The thing's arms fell to its sides, finally limp.
Jaune felt that it had stopped under his fists. He knew that it was dead.
Left. Right. Left. Right. He kept on swinging, letting the momentum of his blows die out. He eventually stopped, looking down at the pulped and broken mass of what was once flesh underneath him.
Jaune wretched at what he had done. This was not him. It couldn't have been him.
Was it he who did this? The same man who had once been a child, full of innocence and joy? Unhurt and unburned by the world? Surely he must have been a child, at one point.
Had he lost all semblance of such purity? Was he lost?
He threw up in the alleyway.
He spent the next ten minutes pulling shattered teeth and bones out of his ripped open and bloody hand.
Jaune found himself in what used to be a pub, his knife scraping away at the coaster sized wood disk in his hand. A familiar face was being pushed out of the wood. Kind eyes and a small button nose. Hair cascading down to her shoulders. There were some lines on her face from the trials of parenthood. Lines that weren't there some years ago. Jaune supposed that made sense. Saphron had gotten married almost six years ago, and had moved away to Argus.
She was still his favorite. Or Jaune thought she was his favorite. She was the one he remembered best. How she had this awful laugh when they watched terrible horror movies together, which Jaune still managed to be scared of. He added the last little curve to her lips, the last small swirls to her hair, and those final imperfect details in her skin.
Jaune blew the dust and shaved debris off the cameo. He smiled at his work. It wasn't perfect, but it was clear who it was. Jaune looked down at Saphrons smiling face, a poor substitution for the real thing.
Jaune closed his eyes, putting it next to the stack of six. Six separate faces, each carefully carved. There was some sort of desperate hope that the action would save them, save what he knew of them and lock away in his mind.
A futile attempt, for sure. But what were his actions, but futile? It seemed like it. What difference did his actions make? He couldn't escape this place. He woke up every day here, and died here every time. He couldn't save Reed, a man taken far too soon due to his own incompetence. He couldn't even save his own mind.
What could he save?
He looked at the small pile of coaster sized chips. Maybe, just maybe, he could save this.
"Please, just for once, let me save myself." he muttered in prayer.
Jaune was wandering the underground city again. He had found what was clearly a throne building, the royal castle, if one would. He stood at the entrance of a large bridge. It stretched easily forty feet, perhaps even more. And beyond it a collapsed gate, walls broken open as though some massive thing was dragged through it. Beyond it a massive carved entrance was cut into the stone. Towers flanked the majestic carved stone doorway that was equally as large. Perhaps a gateway was more appropriate than a door. Jaune strode over across the bridge. He looked up at the gate, which somehow was even more impressive and imposing up close. Jaune gave the doors an experimental push. They did not bear to budge, holding steadfast against the dreamer with their weight. Jaune gave them a more forceful push, pushing with his shoulder against the unyielding stone.
It again, as it had for some tens of thousands of years, remained stubbornly closed. Jaune eventually stopped, looking up with a disgruntled frown on his face. "Alright then, you leave me no choice." he said, reaching into his backpack. He pulled out a long piece of rope. He backed up some to get a better angle on the palisades above the gate. Tying the rope to one of his heavier looking arrows, he knocked the arrow on his bow.
The arrow flew over the fortified balcony, drawing the rope with it. Eventually the line went slack, hanging down the side of the gate.
The Rope was admittedly a little short, forcing Jaune to jump up to grab the rope.
"Now, please don't break on me." Jaune muttered as he began scaling the building. He was fortunate, as the rope held strong. Jaune vaulted the palisade walls, landing on the stone with solid feet. Jaune walked over to the edge of the balcony. Several corridors that led to what appeared to be a kind of general use armory is what led into the actual castle itself. From there two staircases led into the castle proper.
The castle proper was impressive. A massive hall, lined by doors and side halls that made up the several levels of the castle. At the very end, what was clearly once a throne, cloven in two, resided. Jaune took a step forward.
The aged stair under him, a small flaw in the stone, a miniscule crack inside the block, made unreliable and OSHA violating with the ages, finally broke at the sudden and overwhelming pressure of a human step.
The hard edge snapped, sending a large portion of the stair tumbling down. And taking Jaune with it. Jaune flailed, grasping at the stonework to save his fall. He fell on his butt down a couple stairs, but not much further than that. The stone was a different story.
It fell down the entirety of the stairs, the impact sound bouncing off the walls, echoing and compounding until the sound resembled a constant thunderous roar rather than the tumbling of rock. It was deafening as it went on, eventually fading away into the darkness that this place suffered from.
Jaune made a clenched kind of face, one that someone made when they accidently knocked over a cheap vase. A kind of Awe, shucks. That was unfortunate.
"I hope no one heard that." he said after a moment of silence. And as if the dream had heard his arrogance, some great terrible roaring sound came from deep beyond the throne. Jaune's eyes widened as his face fell into a slack facade. God damn it. A said as the sound fully passed them. It was as forceful as a strong wind, like a wall of sound.
"That's not good." Jaune decided.
-----------------------
Another chapter done! and we return to the Dream! finally! It's been like six chapters since we saw the dream last! And I know that I said I would tone down the angst, and don't worry. I will. Soon. ish.
and if you need a strong visual representation of this area, any generic dwarf city fantasy art will do.
Fun things are afoot! bonus points to anyone who can guess the next "boss fight"
I unfortunately don't have a lot of chapter notes for this chapter, as there doesn't seem to be a lot of things that need explaining.
Although, i thought it would be interesting to share some songs that I listen to when writing this story:
Hurt, Johnny Cash. Dos Oruguitas, Encanto. Learning To Drown, Vincent Niel Emmerson. . Vincent, Don Mclean. Gethsemane, Andrey Loyd Webber. Starless, King Crimson. Timebreath reprise, Greensky Bluegrass. most anything Pink Floyd and Blue Oyster cult.
man, kind of a lot really sad songs. But you should really listen to the Time/Breath cover, particularly if you like bluegrass. it's a fantastic take on pink Floyd. Worst thing that this does is exposes you to my music tastes
that's everything, I think for this chapter. I apologize for my long ass tangent. As always, please leave your review containing your review, character arc or development ideas, interesting scenes, cool powers and theories you have.
Also, this story will (hopefully) be cross posted to AO3 sometime in the foreseeablefuture. I will still update here, and most likely update first. But I like the ability to respond to comments so that everyone can see. lets me avoid FAQ kind of things there, or publicly to people. So, fingers crossed.
Chapter 27Chapter Text
Jaune scampered down the stairs, careful to not knock any other steps loose. Whatever beast had made that roaring breath must have been massive indeed. Jaune made it to the bottom of the stairs without causing another major disturbance. The great hall was someone even more impressive from ground level than it was from the top of the stairs. A dual row of pillars stretched from the floor up some several dozen meters, supporting the massive arched roof. Under it lay a wide open and flat floor, scattered and littered with shattered glass and stone. The evidence of a set of chandeliers and statues that were once here. One the sides, some of the largest staircases Jaune had ever seen led up to the second, third, fourth and fifth floors of the palace. Jaune took a moment to appreciate the ornate carving of the handle bar. Like all of the decorative carving under the mountain, it was made of fractionating straight lines and angles, collapsing and crossing over each other in this neverending march. Jaune gently ran a hand over the stonework, taking in the carefully crafted art work. Whoever had been commissioned for such work was hopefully paid very well.
Jaune looked over to the throne cleaved in twain. He wondered what had broken it. It almost looked like it had been crushed rather than broken with the force of a chisel. Jaune ascended the stairs upwards, imagining what this place must have looked like in its prime. Blazing chandeliers illuminating a busy hallway of dancers. Or perhaps a massive feast?
Jaune didn't know, and to be frank he wasn't sure if he cared.
The stone was cold. Jaune wasn't sure why that surprised him. It really shouldn't have, considering that nothing warm had touched them in centuries.
Jaune broke open a locked and barred door on the hall he was in. The stone door didn't budge when he gave it a push, so Jaune broke out his maul, the two handed demolition hammer that it was, and started slamming it into the door.
It was very effective at its job. The door buckled upon the first hit, its hinges not designed or able to take the strain of breaking and entering.
The room was clearly meant for entertainment purposes. A large piano sat in the center of the room, an ornate red colored wood with soft faded flowers painted into its sides. At the edges of the room as a collection of… stools? Short backless chairs? What are the little poof looking things called? Jaune asked.
His two mental tenants shrugged, not having much of a clue when it came to furniture. The limits of their vocab were "Chair", "Couch", "Bed," and "Dresser". Anything beyond that was a little beyond them.
I have no fucking clue, mate. A said. Juane sighed, rolling his eyes in some amount of humor. He moved towards the main attraction of the room, running a hand over the dusty frame. He eventually stood in front of the percussion instrument, looking down at the painted ivory keys. He reached out to the board, his hand just hovering over a key.
He stared at it, not even sure if it would make a sound. Or if it would sound the same. It couldn't have. It must be incredibly out of tune from the ages of confinement.
And yet Jaune pressed the key anyway, giving it a slow and light press. It made a terrible, warped vibrato upon being played, it's aged strings creaking back to life once more. The sounds of disjointed notes wafted throughout the room. Jaune stared at the key, unable to keep the smile from coming onto his face.
He tapped it again, with more vigor this time. The sound was sharper, jolting out into the air like an electric discharge. Jaune's smile widened even further, stretching the muscles in a way that was not they were not quite familiar with. He started to tap the key rapidly, each sound he drew sounding just as bad as the first. Jaune was right. This piano was incredibly out of tune.
Jaune snorted, a sputtering laugh not that much different from the sound a push lawn mower makes when starting up chorteling through his throat. He slid his hand down the keyboard, hitting the lowest key, and reversed his momentum. Each terrible stroke of the keyboard was equally as distorted and out of tune as the first. They cascaded and trampled over each and every other note that was not their own, drowning the room in an abhorrent abomination of sound. It had a haunting semblance to music, but not could, by no sound mind be considered such.
Jaune found it beautiful. In a twisted, broken way for sure, but beautiful nonetheless. Jaune couldn't help but laugh. He bent over with the force of his laughter, giggles and choking snorts spilling out of him. He leaned over, using the twisted keys as a brace for his aching cackling. The force of his weight caused an even more horrid sound to come from the piano. Jaune eventually sat down, his ribs burning from his effort. He started to move his hands across the keys, not even sure what he was doing.
Jaune had come to a conclusion about this place. This palace was fucking massive. One each side of the main great hall, there were about four separate layers of halls and rooms. And it was in these halls that it appeared everyone was.
Jaune was sitting in front of a corpse. His knife was still in the duregar's head, sticking out at an odd angle in its forehead. Jaune was chewing on what was probably part of its ribs.
It was surprisingly salty, like it had been pickled instead of only recently killed. It was also very chewy. It reminded Juane of poorly made jerky in a manner. Off colored, chewy, and didn't quite taste like a meat could in any form.
You know, why are we eating this… thing? B asked, looking at disgust at the murdered corspe. Jaune shrugged, a strip of meat hanging out of his mouth. Come to think of it, why was he eating? He most certainly wasn't hungry.
Why are we eating? B asked, continuing his questioning. It's not like we get hungry in the dream.
Jaune nodded, knowing he was right. They, He, nothing needed to eat here. Not the ghouls, not the dreamer. He didn't need to drink. Hell, he didn't even need to take a piss or a shit. He hadn't had to use the bathroom in the dream since his arrival. Jaune mulled it over, absentmindedly chewing that hanging slab of though jerky into his mouth like a spaghetti noodle.
I suppose it's because I am bored. Jaune admitted as he swallowed. He wiped at his jaw, scrubbing the blood across his face like a marinara sauce. I mean, there are only so many things I can do here. And eating is one that I haven't done yet.
B looked only slightly unimpressed. But do we have to? He asked with the last shreds of dignity the three of them collectively shared. Do we really have to?
Jaune shook his head, cutting off another section of meat. No. he returned, I suppose we don't. And proceeded to take a bite out of the chunk, ripping into it with his canines like some kind of animal.
B closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and asking for strength. At least cook it. Please. He begged.
Jaune sat there, chewing on the tough flesh.
"I wonder what's happening outside of this place right now?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
Arslan watched as Jaune's face broke into the most emotion she had ever seen on the man. His eyes crinkled and moistened as he looked at his scroll. His face soured, his unmoving facade finally crumbling into dust. She had seen it start to crack at the coffee shop. He just stood there, looking at it. He closed his eyes, unable to bear whatever that picture was. Arslan assumed it was probably his background screen, or perhaps his lock screen.
"How could I have forgotten?" he whispered reverently, as though he was looking at his own Khalo, the very aspect of his soul.
He put the scroll down gently, the internal sensor detecting that it was being put face down. It automatically turned on "sleep mode", turning the screen blank. He wiped at his tears, still standing there. After he looked at his hand, wet with the salted saline from his eyes, he swallowed his guilt.
Arslan watched as jaune turned away from his scroll, heading out the door. It closed with a surprising softness, as though even in turmoil Jaune didn't wish to disturb a world he was a stranger to.
"What's got him in a knot?" Bolin asked as he watched the ranger leave. Arslan slowly shook her head.
"I don't know…" Arslan trailed, her gaze being drawn, like a star to a black hole, to the aged and charging scroll. It could be so easy to turn it over. To turn it on. To see solid proof, solid information. A solid key to the puzzle.
But she shouldn't. Such an invasion of privacy was wrong, and was not something Arslan was going to do.
Reese peered over Arslans shoulder at the offending scroll.
"Soo…" She started, looking greedily at the scroll. "You think he would mind if we cracked it open?"
Arslan gave Reese a withering glare. "Don't you dare think about it, Reese." She growled. Reese backed up, holding her hands in surrender. She recognized that tone. It was the same . "Alright, alright." She said, "I won't fiddle with his stuff."
Arslan looked at Reese gratefully.
"But you can't deny that you are at least curious." Reese continued, leaning forward again. Arslan turned to look at the skater. "Does that matter?" She asked. Reese shrugged in response. Arslan shook her head, moving to sit down on the bed.
I hope he's alright. She thought worriedly, before looking back at his scroll. Perhaps? An intrusive thought came to her mind/
No. She would, at the very least, never hear the end of it from Reese. And that was reason enough to not bother with the idea any further.
Jaune was decidedly not alright. That is what he thought, at least. He wasn't not ok, but he most certainly was not alright. Jaune was currently sitting in front of the throne, a small fire burning nothing infront of him. He had explored most of the hall at this point, but had found several halls leading down to what Jaune was calling the Inner Palace. Jaune wasn't sure what was in the inner mountain, but he knew for a fact that whatever had roared laid within the Inner Palace.
Jaune was looking forward to that fight.
Really? A said, excited at the prospect of another worthy challenge. Jaune gave him a flat look.
No, you dumb ass. Jaune responded as he ran a smooth stone over a dual handed ax. The scraping sound grated against both his ears and the stone, echoing infinitely into a myriadic screeching sound.
Jaune glared upwards at the wall, annoyed to no end at the sound. He gave a short, deep shout not at all unsimilar to the war shouts of the Abajari, an ancient tribe from Valco that had the rare opportunity to become a superpower. For their time, of course. They would have faltered, flabbergasted at the power the average huntsman wielded today, much less the power of the Atlas army.
Such was the nature of man. They would kill, break, refine, rework and improve only to restart the process again with death. With killing again. Over and over again. Ceaseless. Remorseless. Unwavering, unhalting. The machine of war ground all into fine, volatile powder.
Jaune was familiar with the cycle.
There were some days that Jaune felt that he was the embodiment of the process. That was all he seemed to do here. He killed. He broke. He picked himself back up, analyzed his shattered parts. He learned, improved, and killed again.
He would have to find more wood to carve. Or perhaps he could move to stonework? There was plenty of the material here, that was for sure.
Jaune looked at his ax. It seemed sharp as it was. Jaune ran a hand over it. It cut at the flesh, as it was meant to do with a concerning efficacy. Jaune stood, the fire exhausting as he cut his connection to the magicked flame.
Jaune shivered at the sudden disappearance of his warmth. The mountain was cold. Not in a biting, obstinate and antagonistic manner, like the wrathful march outside. It was an abandoned cold, ancient and stagnant in the unmoving air. Jaune looked at the throne once more.
He wondered if the man that sat on it was a good ruler. Wise and just and fair.
Perhaps he was what he could have been. Nothing more, nothing less.
And perhaps he was what he could have been.
Jaune ran a hand over the shattered throne, his mind pondering the glory of this places past a little longer, before he stepped past it.
And into the depths of the Inner Keep.
The entrance to the inner keep was a deeply sloped set of stairs from behind the throne. Jaune started his descent into the true depths of the mountain.
The walls here were particularly carved, a tapestry like relief etched into the stone. It started one each side of the halls, segmented into several meter red marble slabs, almost seamlessly stitched together. The story began with a very different castle under siege by what was clearly a massive army. The next scene showed someone who was clearly the ruler begging with the commander of the opposing army, on their knees for salvation.
The next scene was the caravan of survivors, many being carried on the backs of others. They marched through plains, through valleys and through snow. Until they came to an untouched mound of rock. Until they came to the Mountain.
Jaune continued to delve deeper and deeper into the history of this place. The carving of the Keep and the undercity, the first ruler. Jaune was pretty sure it was a king, but one couldn't tell with the stone relief's detail. It was less the lack of detail and more so the ambiguous nature of the ruler's gender.
There was, some several slats later, an attempted coup by a particular faction. The use of misinformation and ostracization of those that spoke out was their iron barbs and swords as they grabbed sweeping power throughout the kingdom. They had succeeded in killing the current ruler, clearly a male this time with a large beard and thick brow, hoping to replace him with their chosen "Messiah".
The next slat showed them being slaughtered in a chaotic looking execution by a man wearing the pelt of a boar. Spearmen had run those responsible for their kings murder through, pinning them to pillars. Not that the people that orchestrated such actions were held responsible, as they looked on with animalistic masks.
Some time later, the ancient record showed a new ruler. There was a marriage of two factions, which they hoped would lead to great wealth. And it did, if the sudden inclusion of gold gilding meant anything.
The stone tapestry showed material wealth beyond Jaune's most extreme dreams. Enough gold that you could drown in it. The next several slabs were scratched out, in not quite a similar fashion to the marks made in the tunnels behind him. It was similar, scratches along the stone. But clearly made by an entirely different creature. While those in the tunnels acted more like claws, these seemed to be made by the scraping of quills, or perhaps very large scales.
The historic hallway came to an end, leading to what could only be described as a lake of glittering gold. Jaune looked on in awe, struck at the sheer volume of wealth that must have been contained in these halls. More than could surely ever exist on Remnant, that was for sure. It was a staggering amount.
Called it. A squeaked in excitement. I said it was a dwarf kingdom! And look! A dwarvish King's treasure hold! He was practically jumping up and down with glee. And it is all for the taking!
B also was ecstatic about the prospector's dream before them. Just imagine what we could find in there. Hell, this is worth more than the SDC in it's entirety alone. Maybe even worth more than all of Atlas!
Jaune took a step forward towards the hoard of wealth, smiling a wide and greedy grin. "All for the taking, eh?" he mused out loud. "Well, I suppose there is no use for it here…"
There was a cascading tinkling sound as something shifted from under the precious metals. Something massive stirred at the disturbance Jaune had created. The dreamer quickly took a step back, muttering a soft prayer to turn him invisible.
The thing in the gold rose from its submergence. It's massive grey and red snout was the first thing to fully breach the lake of metal. It was roughly the size of a sedan, scaled and plated with small bits of gold that had gotten itself fused within the skin.
Jaune gawked at the beast.
That's a motherfucking dragon B said, shell shocked at the monster that stood before them.
Jaune looked up in awe as the storybook beast rose to its full height. It must have been easily the size of a large building.
Jaune made a face that could pretty much be equated to "Fuck no". That thing was massive. Jaune turned to the side, slinking away to the side halls, like a clay beehive.
"I can smell you, thief in the dark." The lizard said, rising up onto its haunches. "I know you are there, hiding." it snarled, swishing its tail aggressively. It searched around the room looking for the thief that dared enter its territory. "I will find you, little thief. Your bones will be my next decoration."
Jaune was already out of the room by the time that dragon had finished its imposing threat. The dreamer looked in front of him. He was going to have to start crouching again, wasn't he?
At least it was better than staying in the room with that dragon. That thing was scary.
Jaune crouched down and started shuffling forward. Perhaps he could find something interesting in these tunnels.
Well, the tunnels were not interesting in the slightest. They led to the more personal section of the palace, with bedrooms and dining areas. It was practically a village within itself, with all what were clearly defined buildings connected by "Roads" (large tunnels) and open courtyards. It was like a gated community.
Jaune was currently standing in front of the entrance to a spiraling tower etched into the stone. It took up anywhere from a semi circle to about a whole three fourths of the circumference exposed to the mountain air. Jaune was not taking in the perfect geometrical architecture of the tower, or the irony of having a tower in a mountain.
No, Jaune was confused. There was some kind of forcefield around the tower, preventing the dreamer from getting close to the thing. Jaune squinted at the blank air in discontent.
He knew, or rather assumed, that some form of magical ward was preventing him from entering the protected space. Jaune sighed, crossing his arms in defiance. He would not be beat by the conjuring of sorcerers that have been dead for longer than he had! He sat down, pulling out his sack.
I should have some notes on this stuff somewhere… Jaune thought, completely unaware as to the shit show he was about to go into.
Jaune looked up from the scroll on his lap, bleary eyed and academically exhausted. He had scratched a massive spider web-like diagram of sigils, stretching a little over a meter and a half across the invisible wall.
Jaune looked down at his papers, scattered around him for ease of access. The multitude of notes, what must have been centuries of development in the art, hastily butchered by a stranger in a strange land. Jaune nodded, comparing his arcane circuited mess with the ancient scrolls and pages. Finding his work satisfactory, he drew the final touch. A connecting circle in the center, linking together all of the various stands of arcane scripture. Take number- I forgot. Let's say 35? B noted, looking at his notebook. He had stopped counting at attempt number twenty or so.
Jaune held his breath as the circle glowed briefly. It then slowly faded to an innate state, dim and lifeless as it was before.
Jaune pressed a hand against the work, finding that what it was meant to remove still stood.
His jaw clenched. His eyes hardened. The dreamer stood up, stoically and steady.
"Damn it!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the wall. "What's wrong with this fucking glyph?! What's wrong with this place!" he continued. "What in the nine fucking hells is wrong with this place! Why does nothing want to make ANY GODDAMN SENSE!" Jaune wheeled on no one, as though the empty courtyard behind him was to blame. "WHY DOES IT NOT MAKE SENSE! TELL ME!" He screamed to the world, demanding answers.
He had grieved at the stone for his suffering. He had asked why him. Why had he been chosen to suffer through the ordeals that was The Dream. He had asked for forgiveness, begged for mercy in the deep underdark of the mountain, on his knees for a shred of good fate.
But now?
The time for his grieving had come to pass. The dreamer was enraged at the injustice of this horrid, confusing and lawless deathworld.
"THE SHEER FUCKING AUDACITY OF THIS BULLSHITE!" Jaune made a face that would have made Jim Carrey proud of it's contortion.
Jaune, I think you should probably calm down- B started. Jaune wheeled on him, giving the figment an enraged stink eye.
"Bitch, I will not be calm!" Jaune said, his body seeming to suddenly take up much more space, like a cornered animal puffing up its feathers to appear to be much more massive than it truely was. "I will not take this shitting down! I mean Sitting down!" Jaune said, his rage mudding his ability to speak properly. Not that Jaune truly cared at the moment.
Frankly, he was far too pissed to care about much beyond his own rage against the Dream machine.
"I'm not going to slow down this time, B!" He screamed. "I will not stop! Not move on! I won't do what the voices in my head told me to do just because they said so! Not this time!" Jaune had a smile on his face. The cracked, exhausted kind of smile one gets after they had just recently wrecked their douche partner's car. Jaune for once, felt like he was the master of his own fate again. It was that oh so familiar rush he got when had left his family for Beacon, for his dream. And then, in a different manner, when he chose to go to Haven to extend his education.
Jaune liked that rebellious feeling. Even if it was minor, inconsequential, it was a sign he was still alive. He was still Jaune. He was there.
"I am Jaune. I am the master of my own fate, no matter what voice, dream, dragon or drunken horror this place throws at me says!"
A and B were silent for a moment.
If you want us to leave, you only have to ask. A said softly, trying to apologize and comfort and understand their creator all at once. We will go if you want us to.
B held his tongue, knowing what A was offering to Jaune. Knowing what they would sacrifice with that question. B wondered if A was pondering the same thing he was.
Pondering what sleep might be.
Jaune looked up at them, horrified and panicked at the idea. "NO!" he yelled, all too hastily. "No." He shook his head, his face stricken at the thought. "I need you here. I-I-" he swallowed, his eyes becoming downcast. "I can't be alone. Not again." His voice shook.
A and B nodded, and did their best to hug him. They couldn't, as they were fractionated figments of Jaune's mind. But they tried anyway.
It's ok. B said. It's ok. We will try to be better. We promise.
Jaune weeped, smiling at those words. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said those words to him. He didn't think they ever had.
"Thank you." he said, basking in the euphoria of his post rage clarity. Now to bravely march forward, to where apparently no man has gone before. He lamented, looking at his abandoned work on the invisible wall
Jaune was currently hitting his head against the aforementioned invisible wall, as though the concussive rhythmic impact would slam a thought into his brain. Several attempts had been put on the wall, and a couple of them had been scribbled and scratched out.
"Who in the world designed such a shitty, shitty system?" jaune lemented. After his several tries, he had discovered something about magic. Or at least this form of it.
It was the unholy combination of music theory, calculus, trigonometry, and poetry that accumulated on the underside of some poor wizard's mildewed hat like a mold. That cancerous growth was then scraped off into a blender, whisked together with no small amount of nonsense, and turned into something reminiscent of computer circuits.
Did we try that backdoor entrance idea B suggested? A asked, mulling over what they could do. Jaune wracked his brain.
"I think so? We can try again." jaune sighed, going over to his notes scratched into the courtyard stones. "I can always try again."
It was probably attempt fourty? Forty five? Somewhere around that number when Jaune finally broke the arcane shield made to keep the unwanted out. It probably was a magnificent work of art that was akin to a masterclass gearcraft locked jewelry box that Jaune had done the equivalent of beating over the head with a small nuclear reactor.
Jaune picked up his papers, stacking and wrapping them away into his sack once more. With a relieved swagger, boosted by his confidence in his success. He pushed the door open, half expecting it to be locked.
It was, but the lock had been ripped from the door by something on the inside, so the door just kind of fell open.
Jaune saw that the room he entered was a large empty circular room with a split staircase heading upwards. In the center of the room, lit only by the ambient light from the flickering infinite globes outside, was a tombstone.
Jaune squinted at the suspiciously empty room. Now that his eyes had adjusted fully to the light, he saw that it was covered in claw scratches, like the tunnels before.
Jaune was immediately suspicious, drawing a small warhammer and a kite shield.
"I smell boss music."
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I think this is, page wise, my longest chapter yet.
Starting with the main reason I actually finished this chapter today (The second half i wrote today) was that there was a comment commenting on that I don't spend what should be an adequate amount of time letting Jaune work through the absolutely shitty hand he is dealing with right now. I did some of this at the tombstone, were Jaune begged for some respite. And here he rages against the machine in some paltry attempt to regain a feeling of control in his life. And as for Jaunes big internal suffering, I don't intend for it to get much worse than it was last chapter. last chapter, short of external events ({REDACTED} dies, The fall of Atlas, Beacon fall, the burning of {REDACTED}, those kinds of things.) But I am not a perfect writer.
Regarding the timeframe in the dream: whenever there is a break in continuity (or a change in scenery/ location without explicit description of the journey there, or any hit that there has been a stagnated action (laying down, carving, weeping, so forth)) Assume a lengthy break in time appropriate to what you think that action would take. From hours to weeks to on the rarer occasion, months. Remember, I do not cover everything that Jaune does in the dream, only the important bits or new places. Jaune train, reads, practices magic and discovers new spells that I don't explicitly state he does in the story.
Another note about last chapter concerning Jaune eating a humanoid: I have realized that there is going to be very little of Jaune being funny. Which is a shame, because jaune has, besides Nora and Yang, the most comedic potential for RWBY fanfiction to me. And I thought that a running joke revolving around Jaune is the 'Stranger in a Strange land' trope, but I am already using that in a different manner to make jaune feel unearthly and close to a ghost. So I had the idea that his running gag is that he... eats things. Think along the lines of things he would kill or find: Grimm, deer, suspicious mushrooms and spiders (Which are surprisingly bland and expectedly crunchy), that kind of thing. The punch line would be someone (Normally Arslan) realizing that Jaune is eating something and telling him to cut it out (kind of like one might do to a dog that is eating something). this was the establishment of that running gag, as there is no one here to judge or criticize him for doing anything, aside from A and B. Now that I've put this into writing, it actually doesn't seem that great of a joke, particularly to use as a kind of running gag. I promise that even if this does make it into the story, jaune will not eat another humanoid again. it was really fucked up in hindsight. My apologies for that. Cannibalism is not something I condone or had thought about when writing that scene.
On an offhand note, I am not sure how I feel about the shifting perspectives in the middle of sections. I feel it is a jarring shift considering how i normally handle shifted scenes.
LOOKING FORWARD: as in the previous paragraph, you know that both Beacon and Atlas will fall. Post Volume 3/ beacon fall, the waking world plot will more closely follow* the plot we see in RWBY, at least up to Volume 8. The premise for volume 9 makes no sense for me to follow considering where I want to take this story.
On a different note: Jaune will get therapy. That is a character arc. I promise this much.
Thank you for reading my story, it brings me great pleasure to see others enjoy my work. As always, please leave a review, comment, Character idea, storyline idea or scene you want to see in the story.
On another note: Origionally, I was going to keep jaune as being stoic and stereotypically this grey edgy feel he has right now. But I considered having Jaune embrace a more chaotic, random and funnier side of him kind of similar from Dawne The Rock Johnson. he would still remain mostly serious and "Grey Edgy" but he would have his moments and adopt a more bright personality with his revelation of being his own master. I frankly like the idea of Jaune the rock Johnson more than the "Grey and dark" But i also fear that it might interfere with the darksouls theme I have going on if Jaune was more optimistic and happy.
Chapter 28Chapter Text
Jaune spent the next hour or so wandering through the room. All the doors on both the first and second floor had been locked with magic, and jaune was not about to spend another four hours unlocking every single door with a metaphorical sledgehammer. There was no sign of danger in this room, although the omnipresent signs of the arcane were unsettling. The walls were lined in glyphs and bands that were coded to do god knows what. Jaune was laying down on a couch, clearly meant to receive possible guests of the sorcerer. It was a nice couch, keeping its comfort throughout the ages. Jaune suspected that it was enchanted, but frankly had decided to not consider it and just relax on the upholstery. He practically sank into the cushioning as he pondered just exactly how he had ended up here.
"I remember being bitten by the snake and collapsing in Moralle." He listed off, tracing sigils of nothing in the air. "And then I woke up here. I thought it was a dream, but that can't be true. I can do some of the things in here that I can do in Remnant, so it clearly can't be just in my head-" He trailed off.
But what if it is? A suggested, bringing to light the opposite possibility for such a situation. What if all this isn't real, and we just happen to have the world's shittiest dreams?
Jaune raised an eyebrow at that. "How can I draw dream born weapons in the Waking world then? Or Jump and cast Blend into Air?" jaune countered. B shrugged.
I dunno… World's strangest semblance? He proposed, as though the idea wasn't so far removed from reality that it literally tapped into a completely other realm.
Jaune shook his head. "I don't think so." He started. "I can't imagine that anyone's semblance has that kind of power, much less mine." Jaune continued. He wasn't an expert on semblances or their limitations, but he had a pretty good grasp of what they could not do. And pulling things through various realities was most certainly one of those limitations.
We should really ask Arslan or another member of team ARBN about it. A suggested. Jaune tilted his head at that. It wasn't a terrible idea, not at all. They most certainly had more training in the subject than him. He had gone to public school, and really hadn't paid that much attention there. He had really only paid attention to his agriculture class and language arts. They offered Computer Science in his last two years of public education, which was a subject that he lapped up like a sponge.
He had garnered a particular set of skills that were particularly useless to the accomplishment of his dreams, ironically enough. He could have made a living doing practically anything else. He could have been a farmer, or a programmer. His father pushed for that career line in particular. But there was something about such a life that, whenever Jaune considered it, just made him wither and feel empty inside.
"I should ask Arslan about it tomorrow." jaune decided, giving a glance to the outcropping of grave stones in the center of the room. He probably should go back soon. Spending less time here in the Dream was probably better for his mental health.
A's head tilted. Then why don't you exit the Dream? He asked. Jaune really didn't know.
I think there are still some things I need to sort out. He decided after a while. You know, recenter myself, figure out what I want to be. Who I want to be.
B nodded at the sentiment. A wise choice, Jaune. He said sagely. Knowing yourself is a good goal to have. A deep understanding of self is something not many people achieve in their lives. Jaune thought about Cardin at that statement, the line of thinking completely unbidden. "I wonder how well he knows himself?" Jaune said aloud, before shaking his head.
Jaune shrugged, not actually caring about the answer to his question. "I wonder what I am going to do with myself." Juane sat there, thinking about that question for some time. He got nowhere with his thinking, but at least he felt a little bit better about it.
Ready to wake up? A asked. Are you ready to face the world from whence you came, oh stranger of mine?
Jaune stood up, raising an eyebrow. "You would cite Hakke to me?" Jaune asked, impressed. He had to read Hakke in the ninth? Tenth grade? Very prominent poet from mid post war era, just on the cusp of the color revolution and the Faunus war.
I'm pretty sure Hakke mixed cocaine and mummy dust with his hard liquor and got absolutely schwasted, mate. B reminded them. The man was tripping balls for most of his life.
Yeah, and it showed. Jaune thought, shaking his head. Remember the Glasshouse? Me and Joanne were so fucking confused when we were given that assignment to read. He giggled, twisting to pop his back.
"Well, up and at'em." Jaune sighed, as he sat down at the gavestone. He closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
He had to wake up, after all.
It was raining when Jaune woke up. The soft pattering against his face made him blink. He rose, shaking the unfamiliar headache that he assumed came with alcohol.
How come I get these in the waking world, but I can chug this shit like water in the Dream. Jaune squinted at the squared bottle. It was empty. Jaune closed his eyes, trying to force his headache away. "Oh, I do not like that." he groaned, letting the rain wash over him.
B squinted, trying to remember something. Wasn't team ARBN leaving in like, seven in the morning? He asked.
Jaune's eyes widened into a universal "Oh shit" face. "Fuck."
Jaune was running through the forest, the sheer movement of his steps shaking his brain in his skull in a painful manner.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" the ranger muttered as he lept over a root. "I really hope I'm not late." He cleared a stump and a rock in one go, making it past the forest and into the grassy area between the town and the forest. He saw in the distance a bullhead approaching. He really started sprinting at that point, his feet slamming the muddying dirt underneath him into a compact print.
A looked at the bullhead against the dark grey sky. Well, good news: We aren't late yet.
It was the yet part that was concerning.
Arslan woke up, half expecting to be assaulted by the unmistakable scent of blood and alcohol like she had last night.
But there was no scent out of the ordinary. Arslan let out a breath, calming herself. Everything was right with the world. The soft patering of the rain whispered softly to her, causing her to look out the window.
"I see it's raining again." She whispered, turning to look at her scroll. The screen was blindingly bright for her dark adjusted eyes. She blinked, turning the device away from her. The monk eventually got used to the light, managing to glean the time from it. 5:18 blinked at her. She put her scroll away, pulling herself out of bed. It was an early start for her, earlier than she had intended anyway. She had planned on being up at six, as they were leaving at seven thirty.
"Oh well." She sighed under her breath. It wasn't like she was going to go back to sleep anytime soon. She started to do her morning routine. Stretches and some light meditation. She began with bending over to her side, taking a triangle pose. She went through the motions of her exercise, stretching her muscles in preparation for the day. Arms, legs, torso. She was in the middle of her Tai Chi when there was a rustling from behind her.
"You're up early, Ars." Bolin said as he slipped out of bed, shrugging on his own mirrored cloth to Arslan.
Arslan gave a humming sound, swaying through the motion of her forms. "The rain woke me."
Bolin tilted his head to listen to the light battering of the rain.
"You always were a light sleeper." he said as he joined her in her meditation. They mimicked each other, swaying with the muscle memory that had been ingrained into them from a young age.
Bolin was the first to break their shared silence. "Something is on your mind. Care to tell me what it is?"
Arslan turned to him. 'Oh?" She asked coyly, not stopping her practiced movements, "what makes you say that?"
Bolin stopped, squaring his shoulders. "Ars." he said, fully commanding her attention. "You're doing the first Kata."
"You only do the first Kata when you're stressed about something." Bolin said. "So what is bothering you?" Bolin asked. Arslan sighed, dropping her form.
She was silent for a moment, trying to bring her existential worries to life with her words.
"I-"She started, before shaking her head. "You remember when we were given this mission, how i was skeptical about it? A long range mission without a teacher, two months in advance of any other practice mission." She started. "It's something that would be given to a second, maybe even a third year team. But it was given to us. A first year team." She explained, mulling over the odd context around the assignment. "And then we find Jaune, a fellow student lost in the middle of nowhere. Who is transferring to Haven. Who is…" She trailed off, trying to find an inoffensive word to describe the particular oddity that was the ranger. Bolin gave her a flattened look. "You can say it. He's strange. Wack. An oddball. Insane. Cracked in the head" he listed off.
Arslan gave him a withering look, but agreed regardless. "Strange." She decided on the least offensive of the bunch.
"You don't think that our mission wasn't to kill an incursive grimm pack, but to pick up a student, do you?" She asked, coming to a possible answer to her questions. Bolin raised an eyebrow at the possibility. He took a breath in.
"I suppose it is possible, but as to why I cannot tell you." The blue monk said. Arslan shook her head, still lost in her own thoughts.
"It just doesn't make sense." Arslan repeated to herself.
She completed her routine with Bolin as the others slowly came to. Nadir went to the bathroom, taking care of whatever it was he did in the mornings.
After everyone was washed and clothed, Arslan called them to her. "So, we should be returning to Haven today." She started.
Reese nodded. "At seven, right?" She asked. Arslan nodded.
"Yes, a half hour from now." She confirmed. "I see that we are mostly packed for the trip back." That was good. The sooner they got back to Haven, with good beds and much better food. Arslan missed the comforts of a well supplied live in dorm and good CCT connection. True, she had lived most of her life as a monk with strict teaching about material wealth, but even at the monastery they had a CCT emitter and decent connection. How they could use such technology was limited. Damn parental restrictions.
Arslan and her team spent the next couple of minutes packing away the last bits of their stuff. The battery pack, toothbrushes, Nadir's bedroll, those kinds of things. Arslan looked at them as they shouldered their packs, ready for the long flight home.
"Good."
Breakfast was a dull affair with eggs, porridge and some grained toast. The rain outside remained at its steady shambling pace. The finished, paid with lien and left. The floor squeaked it's goodbyes as they walked out into the rain. Mr. Derothoga, dressed in an overcoat and a wide brimmed hat to save him from the weather, waited outside the inn.
"Leaving us so soon?" he said with a smile.
Arslan gave him a sad little smile and nodded. "I am sorry to be leaving. You have been a most gracious host." She said with a bow. The Faunus bowed back.
"Thank you for your service." he said, speaking his native tongue.
Arslan smiled, straightening up. "And thank you for yours." it was the customary response for her. It was nice, complementary and more or less meaningless. The meaning of the words shifted a little bit because it was in Feral, not english. The context was different, because Feral has a very historic language with many of it's sayings, and even the definitions of its words, being tied down in traditional folk tales and testament stories.
It was a fascinating subject that many monks dedicated their lives to study. Arslan had an interest in it, but not enough to pursue anything beyond listening to her friends at home ramble on about the language. Arslan could not wait until the next break, as short as it was. She looked forward to visiting the Monastery again, seeing her old masters and friends.
The Vice Magistrate looked at the four of them, as though he was expecting someone that was not there. A surprised kind of confusion flickered within him.
"Where is your ghost?" he asked Arslan. Arslan blinked, taking a moment to piece together just exactly who the elected official was talking about. Because that? That was most certainly a context.
"Oh, jaune?" She squeaked, shaking her head. "No, Jaune is not my shabyth. He simply…is." She sighed. "And as for where he is, I cannot say. He is unto himself."
The magistrate understood the intent behind the words. "I see." He said, turning to look at the approaching bullhead. "Well, I suppose I will see you off."
The five of them watched in silence as the bullhead slowly became larger and larger in their view.
"How long do you think before it lands?" a voice came from right next to her. A voice that had not been there moments prior. The five of them jumped at the sudden surprise intrusion of their waiting.
Jaune was standing there, right next to them, as though he had been there the entire time.
"Holy Fuck!" Reese exclaimed at the sudden appearance of the grey ranger. "Where the hell did you come from?" She said, before shaking her head. "We need to put a bell on you." The skater muttered to herself. Jaune heard her anyway.
Arslan took in a breath, clutching at her spiking heart rate. Once she had recovered from the shock, she looked at Jaune. "How long have you been there?"
"For some time now," he responded. Arslan blinked, amazed that he managed to be right next to her and not be noticed.
"Really?" She asked, astounded at his skill.
"No."
Team ARBN stared at him for a moment, before Reese started giggling at the joke. "Good to know you have a sense of humor, at least." she snorted with a smile.
Jaune gave her the same stone flat look he seems to always be wearing. "I do. His name is A." he said, turning to the approaching airship. "He's a pain in my ass."
HEY! A responded, indignified at the insinuation. B's a sarcastic little shit too!
Jaune smiled at that. Or at least he thought he was smiling. He knew his mouth didn't move, but he really didn't care. That smile wasn't for the outside world.
It was not for them.
Arslan realized that she had something, fishing in her bag for it. "Jaune." She said, gaining the rangers attention.
"Yes, Ms. Altan?"
"I still have your scroll." She said, holding out the dented and beaten scrap of technology in her hands, like an offering to some wild beast.
Jaune gave the lioness a grateful nod, gingerly taking the scroll from her dark hands. "My gratitude. Thank you for returning it to me." The ranger said, his gratitude was sincere.
He turned it on, opening it once more. The last time he had done so, he had been ridden with guilt, fleeing into the forest where he could escape his judgement. But he would be strong this time. Strong enough to face his fear, face his judgement.
He was strong enough. And even if he wasn't, he had to be. For his sake, if for no one else.
Jaune unlocked the phone, gazing fondly at the picture that was his background.
He was pretty sure that this was taken at his grandmother's house during the summer, but was unsure.
The six of them stood there in the light drizzle, waiting for the bullhead to land on the outskirts of town. Jaune did not recognize the faunus man that stood with them, but assumed that he was some form of overseer. Perhaps he was a teacher? Jaune shook the thought out of his head. He didn't seem like a huntsman. He didn't have a weapon on him, nor did he have that keen dangerous feel that most hunters had.
The bullhead mercifully landed after ten minutes, lowering the gang plank for the five students. They marched into the metal machine, jaune in particular was dreading the trip. He hadn't been on one of these massive flying monstrosities in a life age.
The magistrate took a step forward. "Again, thank you all for your efforts and work here." he said to the huntsman team. He then looked at Arslan. "If you ever come this way again, you are welcome here." He continued in Feral.
Arslan gave him another kind nod. "I will be sure to say hello if I do." She responded. Jaune turned to give his own response to the magistrate.
"I doubt our paths will cross again, Son of Krydth." he said, his voice carrying through the rain as though there was no noise but it, no distance between them, and yet all the space of the universe was what the words had to travel. "But if we do, I hope it will be under better skies."
Everyone was looking at him, shocked for the second time that day. The bullhead began it's ascent, forcing the two huntsmen at the door to retreat to their seats.
Arslan turned to her companion. "You speak Feral?" She asked, her statement more of demand for an explanation than a question. The idea that someone had taught anyone the sacred language of the Faunus, much less a human? That was almost unheard of, and most certainly a reason for interest.
Hell, a hundred years ago Jaune would have been stoned to death for such a feat.
Unless he himself is a faunus of some kind. Arslan thought, squinting at the blonde. There were no betraying appendages that he was a Faunus, nor any particular traits that Arslan recognized that could clue her into his species.
Jaune nodded. "I speak many things." he said simply, as though that explained anything whatsoever. Arslan leaned forward to get a closer inspection of Jaune's face, only to get a whiff of his rain soaked odor. Arslan frowned at jaune.
"You reek of alcohol." She pointed out, clearly unimpressed at the fact. Jaune had the decency to give her a sheepish smile, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. He did not deny the fact, instead reaching into his pouch and producing a flask of clear liquid.
He uncorked it, peering down into it suspiciously. He gave it a tentative sniff, and when that did not yield conclusive results, held it up to the light.
He clearly was making a show of it, for his own amusement or for another? Arslan could not tell.
Eventually he decided that it was safe to drink, and started to chug the liquid.
The empty bottle was returned to his quiver pouch thing.
Arslan gave up, seeing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with her attempted dissection. She turned to look out the window opposite her, but she could feel Jaune staring at her. Eventually the gaze became unbearable.
"Yes?" She asked, turning to the grey man. He was looking at her with a puzzled look, as though he had a line of thought that was missing a key component. He reached out to her, his fingers just barely brushing against her lips, as though he was asking permission to touch her. Arslan blinked, so incredibly bewildered that it robbed her of any action she might have.
Jaune seemed like such an unapproachable person, akin to a statue. It was so very strange to see him try and touch someone one.
You know, maybe we should ask her, instead of grabbing her without warning. A pointed out, reminding Jaune that just touching people was really rather strange.
Jaune retracted his hand slightly, clearly apologetic about his mismanagement of the situation.
"My apologies. I wish to confirm something. May i?" he asked, not telling Arslan what exactly he wanted to confirm.
Arslan blinked again. She decided to word her answer carefully, as jaune was as equally likely to be a Karmorayal as much as he was a Shabyth or a man. Permission with such beings was labyrinthine at best. There was a folk lore from the continent of Vaulco and Vale. Fae, she believed they were called.
"You may ask your question." She said finally.
Jaune tilted his head to the side, resting his chin on the hand that had previously invaded Arslan's space with a curiosity. "Can you smile for me?"
The lioness was taken aback by the stunningly innocent request. "Uh…sure?" She said, giving jaune a grin.
Jaune gulped upon seeing the smile. Joy truly suits the face of man. He thought as he stared into the happy face in front of him.
B looked more critically, actually searching for the trait that they were interested in in the first place. Unlike the star struck Jaune. I thought so. He said, causing Jaune to snap back into reality.
Huh. He thought, looking at her sharp, elongated canines. They were truly fangs, much like that of a cat. Or a lion. Would you look at that? Arslan's got fangs.
A was shocked for a moment, before common sense caught up to him. I suppose that really shouldn't surprise me. He said after he thought about it for a while. I mean, she always had a good sense of smell. A concluded his thoughts on the new information.
B nodded. And hearing. Arslan's ears are seconded to none we have met.
Jaune gave a hum, still fixated on the fang like teeth Arslan was showing off.
He reached out to touch one, carefully stroking the lioness's jaw as though it were the maw of some dangerous viper that might bite him at any moment. It was a cautious approach, one that showed both respect and fear for the beast he dared to admire. Arslan's smile faltered as her eyebrow raised curiously. It was a strange feeling, how tender jaune was. It was also not everyday that someone just decided to touch her teeth, her fangs in particular.
"You're a faunus." he said, dropping the bombshell. It frankly
A nodded at the statement. I'll be honest, I was expecting a tail, or some ears.
B was inclined to agree with his counterpart. You are correct. I did not know that teeth could be a prominent trait.
Arslan's face fell from her forced smile into one of shock. "How-how did you-"
"You have fangs, as I suspected." Jaune said, pulling his hand away from the stunned lioness. "It was rather obvious, once I thought about it." jaune started to explain. "The only missing piece was your trait. Although I will admit, I was unaware that teeth could be an animalistic trait."
Arslan looked at jaune, both stunned and impressed. Most people never guessed that she was a faunus, due to her lack of explicitly defining traits like a tail or ears. But to have someone who was almost a complete stranger be able to tell that from just a smile? That was a first indeed.
"Do-" Arslan gulped. "Do you care about that? That I am a faunus?" The subject was always a little tense for her, as it was with any faunus. It was hard to tell just exactly who was going to not be a racist, and there was always a change that someone was. She didn't think that anyone that spoke the Sacred Language could be racist against faunus, but it was best to make sure.
Yes. A started, taking in the new information with an unbound imagination. It just makes you that much hotter-
B proceeded to hit him over the head with a rolled up newspaper.
Jaune gave her a small, timid smile and shook his head. "I would be a most foolish man indeed if it did." he said, turning away to look out the window. "We all are of man, of Krydth, The brother gods, The King In Yellow, whatever you believe in. We all bleed the same, die the same, live the same. I see no difference beyond the word "Human" and "Faunus''."" Jaune said sagely, watching the clouds roll by.
His stomach gurgled at the thought, to which he pushed it down. His face soured as his efforts faltered. Arslan looked at him with concern.
"Are you ok?" She asked, as to which jaune shook his head.
And promptly vomited onto the floor.
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And another chapter is done! and we get the big reveal for Arslan that everyone saw coming six miles away. But more importantly, The first arc of this story is officially over! Moving on to the first haven arc!
I am so glad at my progress with this project, it being the longest and most complete long term personal project I have undertaken. I am happy with how this arc ended, and really look foward to the next couple of chapters.
As always, leave your comments, reviews, ideas, scenes and theories you think would be cool to share with me.
So, apparently AO3 uses HTML text, which is notoriously a pain in the ass and time consuming to do things like bold and italic. So for the sake of my time, I won't be doing that. I recommend that you use the link to the FF site if you need the italic to follow who is thinking
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TO BE CONTINUED