Golden Era: Jaune Arc

It's been five years since I slipped quietly from my childhood home under the veil of early morning silence. Five years since I left behind that note on our dining table, telling my family I loved them and begging their forgiveness for what I was about to do. Five years since I ventured out into a world that I knew would become a crucible to forge me into something stronger—something capable of preventing the tragedies I once witnessed in another life. Now, leaning against a rough-barked tree on the outskirts of a little-known frontier village, I can't help but marvel at just how much I've changed.
Back then, I was still rather lean, a touch gangly, and completely unsure of myself. I'd always had a certain spark—some raw potential—but no real direction beyond "I must become stronger." The Jaune of the past timeline was fueled by desperation and haunted by memories of a future I swore to rewrite. Today, as I flex my arms and feel the solid heft of muscle gained from endless hours of training, as I take a deep breath and feel my aura humming through my veins like a living current of light and resolve, I realize just how far I've come.
I've traveled extensively, crossing the borders of kingdoms under assumed names, and seeking out reclusive Huntsmen and Huntresses who still remember the old ways of fighting. Sometimes I trained under rugged mercenaries who taught me how to handle makeshift weapons and fight dirty. Other times, I found wandering masters in the wilderness who showed me elegant forms of combat, blending aura manipulation with fluid swordsmanship. With every encounter, I added new tools to my arsenal, forging my own style—one built not only on skill and cunning, but also on a unique set of gifts bestowed upon me by Sol's intervention.
Sol. The mysterious entity who turned my fate on its head, sending me back fifteen years and embedding within me a power unlike anything this world has ever known. Thanks to him, my aura reserves have grown a hundredfold what they should be. It's startling to think about how much aura I can channel now, and how effortlessly I can do it. I will admit without bragging that in my past life my aura reserves was easily towering to others... But this, what I have now, is like comparing a bonfire to the sun. I've tested my limits—spending entire days sparring, healing, pushing my body well beyond the breaking point—yet I never run dry. It's as if I have a personal sun blazing within me, ever replenishing.
I discovered, through trial and error, that I can form solid constructs out of my aura. Not just simple barriers—no, I can craft intricate shapes: swords that shimmer like diamond, spears that ignite the air with white-hot edges, even temporary platforms to leap from in mid-air. Early on, I nearly fell flat on my face trying to create a ledge beneath my feet during a skirmish with a small bandit group. Now, I can create ramps up the side of a cliff or carve my way through a Grimm horde with an arsenal of aura-forged blades.
My healing factor, always present as aura tries to keep a Huntsman alive, has skyrocketed. I recall a fierce battle against a juvenile Goliath Grimm where a tusk nicked my ribs—painful, bloody. Yet by the time the fight concluded, the wound had already closed, leaving only a faint ache that vanished a minute later. At first, it startled me to heal this fast, but I've grown accustomed to it. I've even tested my healing on others. One injured traveler, torn open by a Beowolf's claws, had been on the brink of death. By concentrating my aura into my hands and touching his wound, I watched in awe as flesh knitted itself back together before my eyes. He woke from unconsciousness thinking I was some sort of angel. I never corrected him.
Because of Divine Requiem—my new semblance, though calling it a semblance feels almost too small a word—I've discovered I can store objects in a pocket dimension, something I've come to think of as "Divine Space." Within it, time doesn't flow. Meat never rots, water never evaporates, and scroll batteries remain as charged as the moment I stowed them away. It's an invaluable ability for a wanderer. I can travel light, relying on carefully stored provisions. I even keep spare sets of clothes, weapon parts, and medical supplies tucked away in there. As I expand my skill, I've found I can hide entire crates of food and weapon racks. There's a strange sense of comfort knowing I have a personal armory and pantry hidden behind a thin aura veil.
I've pushed my aura to even stranger feats—clinging to vertical surfaces as though my aura were spider-silk latched to stone and wood. I can run along the side of a building, dash across water as if it were solid ground, and make gravity itself yield for a precious second. Several times, I've astonished observers by leaping off a cliff and simply dashing along the cliff face before vaulting onto a higher ledge. They probably think I'm some legendary Huntsman from old stories, but the truth is that I'm still learning new facets of my power every day.
My enhancements don't stop at the physical or defensive. I've learned I can use Divine Requiem to bolster others' aura—mending their defenses, increasing their stamina, even accelerating their healing to absurd degrees. I saved a young Huntress this way—her lungs punctured by a Beringel's spike. By concentrating, I restored her organ as if molding clay back into shape. She never forgot that kindness, and neither will I.
Of course, the last five years haven't just been about honing my abilities. I've seen the world as it truly is—rife with suffering, corruption, and fear. I've encountered Grimm hordes the likes of which I never faced in the old timeline at this early an age. I've fought Beowolves by the dozens, packs of Creeps, swarms of Nevermores blotting out the sun. I've encountered monstrous variants that I swear were never recorded: strange, chimeric Grimm that combined the traits of two or three species into a single abomination. Facing them alone was terrifying at first, but with each battle I gained understanding of their patterns, weaknesses, and how best to exploit them. In defending caravans, remote villages, and lone travelers, I've saved countless lives already. The wide eyes of frightened children, the tearful gratitude of parents reunited with their loved ones, those are the rewards I cherish most. Such moments reassure me that I'm on the right path.
But not all evils wear bone masks and black flesh. I recall vividly one incident—perhaps a year and a half after I left home—when I stumbled upon a Faunus settlement on the outskirts of kingdom territory.
Flashback:
They called it Harvest's Rest—just a small Faunus settlement trying to piece together something like a normal life out on the fringes of civilization. Crooked fences, patched thatch roofs, and dusty paths formed the bones of this place. Simple folks, farmers mostly, tilled the earth with calloused hands and quiet determination. There was something earnest in the air: the smell of fresh bread from clay ovens, the low murmur of old stories shared at sundown, and the soft laughter of children playing tag around hand-painted carts of homegrown vegetables. It was a place where the people valued peace over glory, and community over conquest.
That day, though, peace was shattered like a dropped clay pot. A pack of slavers descended on Harvest's Rest without warning—filth in ragged cloaks, teeth bared behind cruel smiles. They carried shock collars and hooked chains, rusting blades and blunt clubs. They didn't bother with words. They never do. Instead, they barked out orders with venom, forcing terrified families back, seizing whatever moved. I heard a shrill scream ripple through the settlement: a Faunus child snatched by the arm, his eyes wide with uncomprehending fear. A fox-eared grandmother lay sprawled in the dust, kicked down by one of these vermin who reeked of sweat and sadism.
The villagers tried to fight, but they weren't warriors—just men and women who knew the heft of a shovel better than a sword. They flailed with makeshift weapons. Their courage was bright but fragile, and the slavers sneered, well aware that fear could choke the spirit of untrained defenders. I stood at the edge of that unfolding nightmare, my blood heating to a slow boil. I watched one brute dangle a shock collar, taunting a teenage girl who trembled beside a stack of baskets. Another slaver raised a club, about to bring it down on a cowering couple.
I stepped forward, voice cutting through the chaos: "Enough!"
They turned, squinting under the midday sun, eyes finding me—a lone figure against a backdrop of trembling farmers. I saw the instant of disbelief in their stances. Just one man? They snorted, amused. One of them, a spidery fellow with jagged teeth, chuckled, "Big talk. Let's see you back it up, hero."
Hero. The word almost made me smile. I had no intentions of being merciful today. These monsters came to enslave innocents. They would pay for their arrogance.
My aura surged at my command, a flood of relentless power thrumming in my veins. I formed a broadsword from pure aura, its blade shimmering white-gold, like a drawn breath before a storm. Without another word, I launched forward. No warnings, no theatrics—just ruthless efficiency.
The nearest slaver barely had time to jerk his weapon up before I crashed into him. Metal rang against aura-forged steel, and I shoved aside his guard with ease, kicking him off his feet in a single, brutal motion. He hit the ground with a gasp, breath blasted out of his lungs. I didn't linger; I pivoted to the next threat—a hulking brute armed with a spiked club. He swung with a bellow, expecting me to parry or retreat. I did neither. I stepped into the arc of his swing and caught the club near its base, my aura-laced muscles locking it in place. He snarled, eyes widening in shock. A twist of my wrist, a jerk of my arm, and I yanked the club free. Before he could recover, I slammed my knee into his gut, doubling him over. He grunted in agony as he crumpled, grasping at empty air.
"W-What the—?" another slaver stammered, rushing me with a short blade. I swung my aura-broadsword in a tight arc, not even looking at him directly. The clatter of metal on stone rang out as I knocked his weapon from his hand. He flinched, cowering. I rammed my shoulder into him, sending him stumbling back into a cart that toppled and scattered produce everywhere.
Shouts rose on all sides. They swarmed me, trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. I danced through their attacks, my movements swift and decisive. My aura glowed brighter than the sun overhead, each strike landing with brutal finality. I caught a spear thrust meant for my back, twisting it free and planting its blunt end into the slaver's sternum. He reeled, eyes glazing in pain. Another lunged low, aiming to hamstring me—foolish. I kicked him square in the jaw, lifting him off his feet before he smashed into a pile of wooden crates, leaving him dazed and drooling.
Blood, dust, and shock gave the fight a grim haze, but I remained focused, calm, and merciless. One particularly desperate slaver tried to seize a hostage—a young Faunus boy who stood frozen near a bakery stall. I conjured a whip of solid aura, snapping it out with a crack. It coiled around the slaver's wrist, and I yanked him back violently. He cried out, stumbling and rolling through the dirt. Before he could stand, I was there, planting my boot on his shoulder and pressing down, my glare silencing any thought of further resistance.
One by one, they fell. Some tried to escape, sprinting past carts and toppling barrels, but I was too fast. With aura-enhanced speed, I caught them by the collar or tripped them mid-run, leaving them sprawled and disarmed. Their bravado dissolved into whimpers and ragged breathing. The villagers watched in stunned silence, disbelief warring with newfound hope on their faces. Moments ago, these slavers had owned the day, but now they lay scattered like husks, groaning and broken on the dusty streets of Harvest's Rest.
I could feel the villagers' eyes on me as I stood amid the aftermath, my aura-blade still humming with lethal promise. I let it dissolve back into nothingness, the golden light fading. The silence stretched until I met the gaze of a wolf-eared Faunus man who appeared to be their leader. He approached carefully, his steps cautious, as if he feared I might vanish at any moment.
"Thank you," he said, voice shaking with emotion he struggled to contain. "We owe you our lives. Without you, they would have—" He paused, swallowing hard, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "They would have taken our people, broken us."
My own anger cooled, replaced by that familiar ache I'd come to know so well. The world could be a cruel place, but I refused to let cruelty reign here. "This world takes too much already," I said evenly, my voice low. "Not today."
The villagers moved in, securing the unconscious slavers with rope and makeshift cuffs, their trembling hands steadying as they worked. Families emerged from hiding spots, faces dirty but unhurt. Some wept silently with relief, others approached me with quiet gratitude etched in their eyes. In that moment, I saw how fragile peace can be and how desperate good people are for someone to stand between them and the darkness.
I chose to remain in Harvest's Rest for a handful of days, helping them shore up their defenses. With a few firm instructions, I taught them better ways to brace doors, to build simple traps, and to use tools for self-defense. They listened, solemn and determined, their pride and sense of security slowly mending.
On the second night, the settlement gathered around a small bonfire under a sky studded with stars. Sparks crackled and danced overhead, while warm laughter and gentle voices carried through the night air. Children played in circles, their fears temporarily chased away by the flames' comforting glow. Men and women passed bowls of fragrant stew, and a fiddler drew out a soft, wistful tune.
It was then that a young Faunus girl approached me. Her eyes were huge and bright, ears twitching nervously as she held out a small carved figurine—a Huntsman with a sword raised high. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "For luck," she said shyly.
My hardened composure softened at the gesture. I knelt down and took the little figurine, turning it over in my hand. It was crudely made, but crafted with love and care. A small gift of gratitude and faith. I looked into her eyes and gave a nod of thanks I hoped conveyed how deeply I was touched. "I'll keep it safe," I promised quietly.
Around us, the villagers sang softly, their voices a gentle lullaby drifting into the darkness. The world was still harsh and uncertain, but here, for now, they had reclaimed a piece of their pride and safety. And I realized I hadn't just saved them—I had reminded them that they were worth saving, that cruelty could be met and shattered.
Holding the small figurine close, I settled beside the bonfire, feeling the soft glow of its warmth, and let the faint laughter and quiet songs carry me to a moment's peace.
Flashback End
Not long after I left Harvest's Rest, another threat reared its head—a Grimm attack on a remote plateau settlement. These Grimm were different—lean, insect-like creatures the locals called Stalkers. They scurried along walls, attacked in synchronized waves, and seemed to learn from each failed attempt. With my ability to cling to surfaces and leap across chasms effortlessly, I managed to drive them back. I remember launching myself from wall to wall, using aura constructs as stepping stones, raining down strikes on the Stalkers' carapaces. The villagers aided me as best they could—pitching spears, firing old rifles. After I dispatched the last of the swarm, the survivors approached me warily. Once they realized I was on their side, they thanked me, offering me a night's shelter and what humble food they had.
On lonely roads between missions, I reflect often. I think of my family—my father's steady gaze, my mother's gentle hand on my shoulder, my sisters' teasing laughter. I imagine how they must have reacted to the letter I left behind five years ago. It must have hurt them, and that guilt still haunts me. Yet I know I made the right choice. Each life I save, each settlement I protect, each young warrior I encourage to become something more—these actions send ripples through fate's tapestry. I'm forging a new pattern, one that won't end in the catastrophic loss I once lived through.
So here I stand, under a wide blue sky, after five years of relentless training and countless battles. I can feel the gentle hum of Divine Requiem within me, a reminder of Sol's gift and my responsibility. I've grown stronger—far stronger than I'd ever believed possible. My aura no longer just a shield or a healing balm; it's become a versatile tool that grants me near-limitless endurance, superhuman strength, speed, and agility. I can reshape reality in small ways: forging aura constructs, walking up sheer surfaces, storing entire armories in Divine Space.
And I know this is only the beginning. In these five years, I've made enemies and allies, saved strangers, and prevented horrors. I've faced down Grimm hordes, bandits, and monstrosities undocumented by any scholar. I've given hope to settlements on the brink.
The next step is to get in the beacon. Hopefully, in this new timeline, I would be able to rejoin the team I was previously a part of. And reformed those friendships that I had. Deep within, I hold onto that final goal: to ensure that my family, my friends, my beloved Ruby, and all of Remnant never suffer the fate that once befell them. I clench my fist, feeling my aura shimmer around my knuckles. It's time to continue.
I've become more than the boy who ran away. I am a warrior, a guardian, forging a new dawn with each act of courage. And the world is beginning to whisper of a mysterious protector who appears from nowhere, saves lives, then vanishes again. They don't know my name yet, but they will. In time, everyone will know that this world's fate is no longer bound to repeat old tragedies. This time, I will ensure a different ending.
___________
It's been a few weeks since I left the frontier villages behind, continuing my quiet journey back toward the heart of civilization—back toward the destiny I knew was waiting for me at Beacon Academy. After a final night's rest in a modest motel room, I've risen with the sunrise, feeling the hum of my aura coursing beneath my skin, eagerly anticipating the next steps.
Standing before a narrow mirror bolted to the motel's wall, I take stock of my new attire. Gone are the days of piecemeal armor and patched-up hoodies. Instead, I've assembled a more refined look worthy of the man I've become.
The jacket draping over my shoulders is a brilliant blue now—crisp and vibrant like the midday sky. The gentle azure hue sings of calm confidence and hopeful beginnings. It's no mere fashion statement; the fabric is enhanced with finely interwoven materials that grant both durability and flexibility. I can practically feel the potential in its seams, as if the jacket itself encourages swift motions, silent approaches, and powerful strikes. On its back, the Arc family symbol is stitched in delicate gold thread. The emblem catches even the faint motel lighting, glinting like a heraldic crest. I run my fingers over it, remembering the proud lineage I carry and the dreams I've sworn to protect this time around.
Beneath the jacket, my undershirt is pristine white, unmarred by stains or scuffs. Its simplicity is a welcome contrast, a canvas against which the rest of my ensemble stands out. My boots have endured many a harsh trek, but now sport subtle steel-blue tips, polished to a faint mirror-like sheen. They're reliable, surefooted footwear that can take me through city streets or dense forests with equal ease.
As I adjust the collar of my jacket, the reflection ripples slightly in the cheap mirror's surface. My hair, grown longer over these five years, is tied back in a ponytail. The wild blond locks—sun-kissed and a bit rebellious—now have a certain dignity. This small change, a practical choice to keep my vision clear during combat, also symbolizes the man I've grown into. I'm no longer the unsure boy who faked transcripts and stumbled shyly into Beacon's halls. This time, I'm entering through the front door, skill and preparation in hand. If Ren and Nora got in with pure guts and no formal training, I have more than enough ability to bypass the need for any forgeries. Besides, I like to think Beacon will value an applicant who's learned firsthand lessons the world has taught him.
With a final nod to my reflection, I gather my belongings—neatly tucked away in divine space, leaving only a single carry-on bag for appearances' sake—and step into the morning light. The sky is bright and clear, as if welcoming me onward. Within the hour, I've made my way to the station where a bullhead awaits to ferry prospective students and travelers to the grand Beacon Academy in Vale. At the ticket counter, I offer my name and my acceptance letter. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with warm eyes, glances over my documents and nods approvingly. No suspicion this time, no hesitation. My heart warms at the thought that I've earned every letter in that acceptance on my own merits.
Before long, I find myself aboard the bullhead—a sleek transport carrying a handful of other passengers. Some are young, bright-eyed teenagers who share excited whispers and nervous laughter. Others are older, perhaps visiting the kingdom or transferring from other academies. I settle near a window, the hum of the engine a low, pleasant drone beneath my feet.
In the previous timeline, this ride was anything but pleasant. I can still recall how queasy I felt, how I spent most of the trip leaning over a trash bin while the bullhead soared through the skies. This time, it's different. I have perfect equilibrium. My aura, fortified to a degree unimaginable before, seems to have abolished motion sickness entirely. Instead, I feel steady, centered, as though gravity itself is my ally now.
Leaning forward, I let my eyes wander across the interior. There's a girl with a vibrant red hood, turned away at the moment—Ruby, no doubt, as much as I wanted to walk over and interact with her here and now, I decided to wait until the right moment as I observed with a small smile. As I continued to observe, I saw a cluster of others chat idly: a pair of Faunus exchanging stories of home, a couple of human students comparing their weapons and dust cartridges. The excited chatter washes over me, and I permit a small, secret smile. Last time, I was too busy trying not to vomit to notice much. Now I see details: the subtle designs on everyone's attire, the hopeful glimmer in their eyes, the tension in their shoulders that betrays nerves and anticipation.
A voice crackles over the comm system—some pilot's assistant, announcing that we'll be at Beacon's docking platform soon. I recall this moment from before. Back then, I looked out over Vale's cityscape with awe and trepidation. This time, I still feel awe—a quiet admiration for the kingdom and the academy perched high above—but there's also a calm resolve. I know this place. I know some of the faces I'll see, the friendships I'll forge, and the tragedies I'll now strive to prevent.
My fingers absently brush the hilt of my sword at my side. Reinforced, refined, and blessed by countless battles in these past five years, it's more than just a weapon now. It's a symbol of everything I've done to ensure this timeline's survival. No forging fake documents or sneaking in the back door. I belong here. I am exactly where I need to be, as Sol had intended.
Across the aisle, a green-haired boy fusses with his gear, muttering something about how the clasps are too tight. I watch him for a moment, remembering how I once fumbled with my equipment. Not anymore. Over these years, I've honed my technique and adaptability. My aura can channel into my limbs, granting me the dexterity and strength to handle any weapon. If I'm missing a piece of gear, I can conjure aura constructs. If I'm injured, I can mend myself and others with a thought. Divine Requiem thrums at the edge of my senses, a quiet companion to every breath. And if I ever need supplies? Divine Space holds a wealth of resources, all timelessly preserved for my use.
I consider striking up a conversation—perhaps with a nervous girl clutching a book as if it were a shield—but hold off. There will be time enough for introductions. The flight itself is tranquil, and I find comfort in silence, observing the cloud-kissed horizon. Through the small window, I see Beacon's distant spires drawing closer, the way the light glances off their polished stone. My heart stirs with quiet determination. This time, I won't be the weakest link, the unsure boy overshadowed by his peers. I'll be ready to stand with them as equals, or even to guide them if need be.
As the bullhead gently banks and begins its descent, I think back on my old memories. I won't let myself be dictated by the past, but I can't deny how it shapes my present. Every life I saved, every sword swing I perfected, every drop of sweat, blood, and tears I poured into training—these will bear fruit here. Beacon is the stage where I'll weave a new narrative. Where my actions will ensure that Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang will not suffer the heartbreaks or deaths they once did. Where Pyrrha's noble sacrifice will not be needed because I'll be there to ensure it never comes to that. Where Ren and Nora will find not only a teammate, but an ally who knows precisely their worth and how to protect them. Hopefully Oscar wouldn't have to be dragged into this mess either and lose his life as a reluctant fighter. 
The engines hum softly as the bullhead aligns with the docking platform. The other passengers gather their belongings, some craning their necks to get a better view through the windows. I run a hand over my ponytail and straighten my jacket, ensuring the Arc crest is proudly displayed. A small grin tugs at my lips. This is it—the beginning of my new chapter at Beacon. No regrets, no fear. Only the calm confidence and strength I've cultivated, the unwavering resolve I carry in my heart.
I step toward the ramp as it lowers, feeling the sunlight on my face. My aura hums in harmony with the warmth. Five years of struggle and growth have led me here. I've changed my destiny, not through deception, but through determination and heart.
"Let's go," I whisper softly to myself. "This time, it's going to be different."