RWBY: Silver

The prologue of RWBY: Silver is finally complete—clocking in at around 14,000 words. Yeah, it's a hefty start, but don't expect future chapters to be this long. This was one of those ideas that just wouldn't leave my head until I got it all down.

For those familiar with Ragna Crimson, the prologue follows the first chapter of the manga with some key differences. The biggest change? Leonica has been replaced with Jeanne d'Arc from Fate. Why? No deep reason—she was the first character that came to mind, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Jeanne will also be Jaune's love interest, and before anyone jumps to conclusions—no, they're not siblings. They're distantly related, which is something I'll explore in later chapters.

Anyway, enough rambling from me. The prologue's done, and the story is just getting started—enjoy.

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The wind howled through the desolate wasteland, carrying the scent of decay and ruin with it. Once, this land had thrived with life—lush forests, flowing rivers, and skies that sang with the calls of birds. Now, it was a graveyard. The ground, cracked and dry, was littered with the remnants of what had once been vibrant. Shadows stretched long under the dim light of a dying sun, casting jagged scars upon the earth.

A lone figure walked through this lifeless expanse, his presence the only movement in an otherwise frozen world. His long silver hair, unkempt and wild, draped over his face, concealing his features beneath the tattered remains of a once-proud grey cloak. The fabric barely clung to him, ripped and worn from countless battles. His boots crunched against the brittle soil, yet he paid no mind to the sound, lost within his mind.

"It's not enough..." The words escaped his lips, a whisper swallowed by the wind. His voice was hoarse, as though worn from speaking to ghosts that refused to answer.

Then, the growl of a predator cut through the silence.

A Beowolf, its black fur bristling, its crimson eyes gleaming with mindless hunger, lunged from the shadows. Claws stretched wide, jaws gaping with the intent to tear flesh from bone. A monstrous beast born of darkness, it moved with savage grace, a killing machine designed to destroy anything that still drew breath.

But the man did not flinch. He didn't even look at the filthy creature.

With an almost absent motion, he lifted his arm and placed a single hand upon the creature's snout. There was no great display of power, no dramatic incantation. Just a touch. The Beowulf's snarl choked into silence as its body stiffened. Its pitch-black fur dulled, turning pale, then gleamed like polished metal. Cracks formed along its surface, like glass under pressure. A breath later, the once-mighty predator crumbled into nothing more than silver dust, carried away by the cold wind.

The man's face remained unseen beneath his silver locks. He did not so much as blink at the fallen Grimm. Instead, he resumed his march forward, his voice muttering, barely above a breath, "I have to be stronger... So much stronger..."

Behind him, a nightmare of frozen forms stood as silent witnesses to his passage. The entire wasteland was littered with statues of silver—hundreds of Grimm petrified mid-snarl, mid-charge, mid-howl. Beowolves frozen in motion, Ursas caught in their final lunge, Beringels trapped in futile fury. Even the mighty Goliaths, towering behemoths of darkness, stood as silent effigies to a power beyond comprehension.

And then, he roared.

"STRONGER!!!"

The sheer force of his cry rippled through the air, shaking the very ground beneath his feet. The silver statues behind him trembled, fractures forming across their rigid surfaces before they all collapsed at once. A deafening sound, like thousands of mirrors shattering in unison, echoed across the wasteland. Dust and shards of silver filled the air, swirling like a storm of broken light.

And yet, despite the destruction, the man remained unsatisfied.

He stood amidst the ruins of his own making, fists clenched, shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. The weight of his strength bore down upon him, yet it was never enough. He needed more. He had to become something greater, something unstoppable.

Because anything less meant failure.

The wind continued to howl, carrying away the silver dust of monsters long since slain.

As the dust swirled and faded into the air, glimpses of the man's face were revealed through the veil of his silver locks. Beneath the wild strands, his scarred visage came into view—a map of battles fought and pain endured. His eyes, once human, now held an unnatural emptiness, a deep blue abyss flecked with dots of silver, like dying stars in an endless void.

For a brief moment, he stood still, letting the silence settle around him. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he closed his eyes, shutting out the broken world before him.

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Jaune Arc opened his eyes as a sudden shout drew his attention.

"Jaune! It went that way!"

He turned his head just in time to see an Ursa Major lunging at him. His reflexes barely allowed him to lift his shield before the massive Grimm struck, the sheer force sending him crashing into a nearby tree.

"GAH!" he grunted as pain shot through his body. Sliding down the rough bark onto the ground, he barely had time to gather his bearings before he heard the Ursa preparing for a second charge.

Before it could reach him, a young woman with long blonde hair, tied in a loose braid, soared through the air. Her dark blue coat billowed behind her as she descended, her greatsword gleaming in the light. With a swift, practiced motion, she plunged the blade deep into the Ursa Major's back. The Grimm let out a final, pained growl before dissolving into black mist.

Jeanne landed gracefully, her silver-plated boots making barely a sound as she straightened. Her long golden-blonde hair, styled into a thick braid draping over her left shoulder, caught the light as she turned to Jaune with an exasperated yet fond smile. "That was close, Jaune!" she teased. "You have to pay attention during battle!"

Still seated on the ground, Jaune exhaled and removed his helmet, revealing long, blonde hair that cascaded over his forehead, nearly obscuring his sky-blue eyes. He was clad in pristine white armor—his chest protected by a sturdy silver cuirass over a snug black muscle shirt, layered beneath a black hoodie. The hood rested lightly against his back, partially covered by gleaming pauldrons that extended down to connect seamlessly with his vambraces. His greaves reinforced his legs, and his white combat belt carried three pouches and a combat knife secured at his hip. The reinforced black combat pants and durable black boots completed his battle-ready look.

"Thanks, Jeanne," he muttered.

Jeanne huffed, placing a hand on her hip, her amethyst-colored eyes gleaming with playful mischief. She wore a regal dark navy-blue dress with silver accents, its high collar lending her a knightly appearance. Silver armor plates adorned her waist in layered protection, complementing the polished silver breastplate that covered her chest, held together by delicate yet sturdy chains. Her arms were encased in elegant silver gauntlets, and her battle-ready look was completed by the thigh-high slit in her dress, revealing sleek black stockings beneath. A silver headpiece, engraved with intricate patterns and a cross motif, rested on her forehead like a knight's coronet.

"Wrong again, Jaune! What are you supposed to do when you praise me?" she teased.

Jaune sighed as he hauled himself to his feet. He was taller than her by nearly seven inches, standing at 5'9", while Jeanne, at 5'2", barely reached his chest. Knowing there was no escape, he reached out and began patting her head, ruffling her golden braid.

Jeanne's face immediately lit up with joy. "Ehehe! See? We're partners, after all!" she giggled, leaning into his touch, her dress swaying slightly as she adjusted her posture. Her silver longsword, refined yet sturdy, rested at her hip, gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

Jaune sighed again, knowing he had lost this battle before it even began.

After clearing out the small number of Grimm in the area, the two of them gathered their gear and started heading toward the nearby town where they had been staying for the past few weeks.

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The town of Reise—situated southeast of the City of Vale—was a large and bustling port town. It served as a crucial link between the continent of Sanus (Kingdom of Vale) and the continents of Anima (Kingdom of Mistral) and Menagerie (Kuo Kuana) through trade and travel. Despite the ever-present danger of Grimm, Reise thrived, offering plenty of job opportunities and a vibrant, if somewhat perilous, way of life.

Jaune and Jeanne weaved through the busy streets, making their way toward the Hunters Guild—a central hub for trained Huntsmen, Huntresses, and those in training to accept missions and earn rewards. The Guild was always lively, filled with warriors of varying skill levels eager to prove themselves or simply make a living.

While Jaune approached the front desk to speak with the receptionist and collect their reward money, Jeanne found a free table and placed her order with the server girl before allowing her mind to drift.

They were both sixteen, nearly seventeen, and in just a few short months, they would be heading to Beacon to officially become Huntsmen and Huntresses. Their journey had started back on Vytal Island, their home, far to the north of Vale. They had left to gain real-world experience, hone their skills beyond the structured training of their clan, and truly understand the world outside its walls.

Before they left, Jaune's father, Chiron Arc—the Patriarch of the Arc Clan—had tried to dissuade them. Well… not so much dissuade as bluntly state that Jaune sucked at combat compared to her.

Jeanne clenched her jaw slightly at the memory. Chiron had been firm in his words, comparing her—the combat prodigy—to Jaune, who had to work three times as hard just to reach a competent level in a fight. It had made her furious at the time, hearing her 'Uncle' talk about Jaune that way, but she knew he wasn't a man who sugarcoated things. He was blunt, sometimes harsh, but never dishonest. What had stung more was that Jaune had agreed with him.

After all, no one knew better than Jaune himself that he wasn't naturally talented at combat.

But that didn't mean he was weak. Jeanne knew better. Jaune was one of the strongest people she knew, not because of raw skill, but because of his unshakable will. He wasn't the best fighter, but he was a leader. A strategist. And that had saved their lives more times than she was comfortable admitting.

'Why do we always end up in trouble!?' She thought furiously, stabbing at her food when it arrived. 'Did we piss off some god or something?'

Yet, despite their many brushes with death, she wouldn't change a thing about him. Jaune had many talents outside of battle. He was an excellent cook—something that quite literally kept her alive. 'I would have died of food poisoning without him.'

She smirked at the thought, shaking her head fondly. Being raised in a household full of women—his mother, seven sisters, and then her when Chiron had brought her into their family after her own was killed—Jaune had been outnumbered from the start. He and Chiron had been the only males in a house of nine women.

She let out a soft, silent chuckle as she recalled one particular memory—Jaune and his father, both wearing bright pink aprons with 'Kiss the Cook' written in bold letters across the front, completely at the mercy of the women in their household. 'Yeah… outgunned from the start.'

Her amused smirk softened as she turned her gaze toward Jaune, who was still at the front desk. No matter what anyone said about him, she knew the truth.

And one day, the world would see it too.

Jaune returned to the table just as their food arrived. Jeanne wasted no time in gathering the plates and setting them between them, inhaling the warm aroma of the freshly made meal. As she settled into her seat, she let out a pleased hum, already taking a bite before Jaune had even finished organizing their earnings. He glanced at her, amused, before beginning to eat his food at a more measured pace.

She arched an eyebrow. "You look happy, Jaune."

Jaune only gave a small smile and hummed in agreement. "Just happy we both made it back safely."

Jeanne was about to respond when an unfamiliar voice interrupted her.

"Hah! Look at you, Jaune."

They turned to see a man in his early twenties sitting at a nearby table. He had long brown hair tied into a ponytail, and a scar under his left eye, and wore a rugged brown coat. He smirked, leaning back in his chair.

"Enjoying your meal, courtesy of Milady Prodigy's handiwork?"

Jeanne blinked, turning back to Jaune. "Who's that?"

The man's smirk faltered, his expression turning to bafflement. "What!?"

He stood up, dramatically pointing at himself. "It's me! The second-best hunter in this town, right after you! Sykes Charluke!"

Jaune casually sipped his drink and ate his food, ignoring the man's theatrics. Jeanne, without missing a beat, simply said, "Never heard of you before."

Sykes froze before collapsing into his chair, his confidence shattered, his soul seemingly leaving his body as Jeanne's words inflicted irreparable emotional damage. His two companions at the table immediately rushed to console him.

"Bro, stay strong!"

"We'll get through this!"

Sykes held his head in his hands, muttering, "Yeah… you're right…" before dramatically collapsing onto the table, gripping his chest as though Jeanne had just physically struck him. "The emotional damage… it's too much…" he whimpered.

With newfound resolve, he slammed his hand on Jaune and Jeanne's table, leaning toward Jaune. "A guy like you, teaming up with Milady Prodigy despite barely being average… You know you're just dead weight, right? A glorified luggage carrier? Maybe I should call you luggage carrier?"

A few scattered laughs echoed through the guild.

Jaune took a slow sip from his drink, his eyes fixed on the moron who had recovered remarkably fast from the emotional damage Jeanne had inflicted on him. He stared at the self-proclaimed 'Mr. Number Two' with mild amusement. "Well, Mr. Two, you need to come up with better insults. I've heard a lot of them in my short life, but I'll give you bonus points for creativity."

He reached out, patting Sykes on the shoulder as if he were offering genuine encouragement. The act only left Sykes in stunned disbelief, while the surrounding patrons burst into laughter at his expense.

Sykes' face darkened with anger at being humiliated so easily. His pride bruised, he clenched his fists and made a sudden move to swing at Jaune.

Jaune, seeing it coming a mile away, exhaled slowly and prepared himself, bracing for the inevitable confrontation.

But none of that was necessary.

A thunderous crack shattered the moment as Jeanne's longsword came down like an executioner's blade, splitting the table clean in half. The impact sent splinters flying, and Sykes, who had been leaning over Jaune, lost his balance and fell backward onto the floor, scrambling away from the edge of her sword in sheer panic. Sykes stumbled back, barely avoiding the tip of her blade, which had embedded itself dangerously close between his legs. A cold sweat ran down his back as he realized just how easily she could have ended him right then and there.

Sykes, realizing the imminent danger, barely managed to whisper, "Oh, shit..."

He gulped, his bravado vanishing as he looked up—only to freeze at the sight of Jeanne's eyes. Her usual amethyst-colored irises flickered, streaks of predatory yellow weaving through the violet in a haunting display. For the briefest moment, the yellow overtook her gaze completely, glowing with an eerie, almost unnatural gleam. It was fleeting—there one second, gone the next—but in that single instant, Sykes felt as if he were being stared down by something far more dangerous than any Grimm he had ever faced.

The air around her grew heavy, shimmering as she flared her aura. It was suffocating. The sheer presence she exuded made the gathered onlookers pale, their throats tightening as an unspoken fear took root. It was more than just intimidation—this was primal, a predator baring its fangs. The weight of it pressed down on them, like a silent warning written into the very air itself.

Sykes, beads of sweat rolling down his face, blinked rapidly and shook his head, dismissing the terrifying sight as nothing more than a trick of the light. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, the fear remained, clawing at the back of his mind like a whisper he couldn't quite silence.

Sykes, as well as the rest of the guild, stood in silent fear as Jeanne scoffed, twirling her longsword before slamming it into the floor with a dull thud, the sheer force of her aura making the air feel heavy. "Pathetic," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Not worth dirtying my blade over trash like you," she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain. "Cowards."

The only one unaffected was Jaune, who simply continued eating, unfazed by Jeanne's overwhelming presence. He had seen far worse from her.

She turned toward the barman and tossed a hefty stack of lien onto the counter. "For the mess."

The bartender caught the money, eyes widening at the sheer amount—far more than what the damage cost.

Jaune sighed and stood up. "Jeanne, you need to take a bath and brush your teeth before bed."

Jeanne groaned dramatically. "What a pain... Guess we'll just bathe together to save time and sleep early."

The room froze.

Jaune, unaffected, responded simply. "Got it."

Without another word, the two casually walked out of the guild, leaving behind a hall full of stunned hunters. Sykes was still sprawled on the floor, his brain lagging as it struggled to process everything that had just transpired.

Then, like a dam breaking, the realization hit him all at once.

"Those two… take baths together!?"

His screech echoed through the entire guild, but Jaune and Jeanne were already gone.

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After they washed, Jeanne let out a deep sigh, feeling the warmth of the bath still clinging to her skin as she stepped onto the cool tile. A pleasant shiver ran through her, prompting her to quickly wrap a thick towel around herself, relishing in the softness as she ran it over her damp blonde hair. The exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on her, but the soothing heat of the bath had melted away most of the lingering tension.

Jaune had already left the bathroom, giving her space as he moved into their bedroom. He went about his usual routine, pulling back the covers and making sure everything was set for the night. It was a quiet, almost unspoken ritual between them—something simple, yet grounding. Despite the chaos of their lives, these small moments of normalcy made everything feel a little more stable, a little more like home.

Jeanne didn't waste time after drying off, quickly slipping into her sleepwear. The cozy fabric was familiar and comforting, a small pleasure after a long day. The moment she stepped into the bedroom, she spotted Jaune finishing up, his back turned as he adjusted the blankets.

Grinning, she made a beeline for the bed and dove onto the mattress, landing with a soft bounce before burrowing beneath the thick covers. A pleased sigh escaped her lips as she wiggled deeper into the warmth, peeking out just enough to watch Jaune.

"Well?" she prompted, her voice laced with playful mischief. She batted her long blonde eyelashes at him. "Would you like to join me in this incredibly cozy bed, under these delightfully warm blankets?"

Jaune snorted, shaking his head at her antics but unable to suppress the amused smirk tugging at his lips. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you love me for it," she teased, grinning as he slid under the covers beside her. The moment he settled in, his hand shot out and ruffled her freshly brushed hair, turning the neat golden locks into a tousled mess.

Jeanne yelped, immediately sitting up with a glare. "The audacity! My hair was perfect!" she huffed, frantically trying to fix the disaster he had created.

Jaune only stuck his tongue out at her before flopping onto his pillow, already feeling sleep tugging at him. Jeanne, now satisfied with her somewhat restored hair, huffed again before shuffling closer, pressing against his side with familiar ease. Her warmth was something Jaune had long grown accustomed to, and despite all his teasing, he welcomed it just the same.

Jaune glanced down at her, his voice softer now. "Good night, Jeanne."

She peeked up at him, her lips curving into a sleepy, contented smile. "Good night, Jaune."

Within seconds, she was asleep, her steady breathing a quiet lullaby in the peaceful silence of their home.

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Jaune Arc stayed awake, unable to find rest. His eyes lingered on Jeanne, watching how easily she had slipped into sleep, her soft breaths steady and peaceful. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he carefully got up, making sure not to wake her.

Moving quietly, he changed into his training attire—a snug muscle shirt, durable combat pants, and sturdy boots. Grabbing his sword and shield, he stepped out of the house, the cool night air greeting him as he made his way to the riverbank. The gentle sound of flowing water provided a calming backdrop as he began his nightly ritual.

'Sometimes, after Jeanne falls asleep, I come out here to train. Almost every night, I swing my blade like this. I need to get stronger so that I can keep up with her.'

He swung his sword, cutting through the air, imagining his enemies before him. He replayed today's battle in his mind—the Ursa Major charging at him, the weight of its presence shaking the ground. Lowering his body, he ducked under the beast's massive strike, slipping past its claws before countering with a powerful swing that severed its head cleanly from its body.

'I want to stay by Jeanne's side!'

"That won't happen."

A powerful voice cut through the night, halting Jaune mid-swing. His body tensed as he instinctively turned toward the source of the voice.

Standing before him was a man—tall, imposing, his long and unkempt silver hair partially covering his face. His tattered and ripped long grey cloak swayed slightly in the breeze, revealing black combat pants and worn boots beneath it. The weight of his presence was suffocating, his mere existence exuding an ominous energy.

The stranger's voice carried a quiet certainty as he spoke once more.

"You will lose everything."

All of a sudden, Jaune was no longer by the river. The cool night air, the gentle sound of flowing water—it was all gone, replaced by suffocating heat and the crackling roar of flames. The fire consumed everything around him, licking at the charred remains of buildings and reducing them to collapsing husks. The sky above was an eerie, suffocating orange, thick with smoke and the distant screams of those who hadn't yet succumbed to the inferno. The acrid scent of burning flesh invaded his senses, making his stomach churn.

'What is... this?'

He tried to move, but his body felt paralyzed, forced to bear witness to the carnage before him. Bodies burned, twisted in agony, while others were impaled upon dark, wicked spears that jutted from the scorched earth like grotesque monuments to suffering. Each fallen figure was familiar, people he should have known, yet their names escaped him in the madness of it all.

Then something shoved him, snapping him from his horrified trance. He turned sharply, his pulse spiking, only to see Jeanne standing before him. But there was no fire in her usual fierce blue eyes—only resignation, a heartbreaking acceptance of what was about to come.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Before he could react, before he could even reach out to her, her body was impaled from all directions by dark, jagged spears. Dozens of them pierced through her form, lifting her into the air like a broken doll on a marionette's strings. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Blood dripped from her lips, her hands twitching weakly as the life drained from her eyes.

Jaune tried to scream, but his voice failed him, his body refusing to obey as he watched helplessly. A fresh spear shot through her throat, its impact severing her head from her shoulders.

Her head fell.

Straight into his arms.

Jaune gasped, his eyes flying open, his vision blurred by unshed tears. He found himself staring up at the night sky, the stars above indifferent to the turmoil twisting in his chest. His breath came in ragged pants as he slowly realized he was back by the river, the distant rush of water grounding him in reality. His hands trembled violently as he pushed himself upright, his muscles weak from shock.

With a shuddering breath, he looked down at his hands, bracing himself for the worst—but there was no blood, no severed head cradled in his grasp. A deep, unsteady sigh left his lips, relief, and confusion crashing over him in waves.

"A dream...?" he muttered, voice hoarse.

But before he could fully collect himself, that same voice—deep, unyielding, and absolute—spoke again.

"It will happen soon."

Jaune's breath hitched, and in an instant, he whirled around, anger and desperation flaring to life. "What the fuck are you trying to pull?!" he barked, his heart still hammering in his chest.

But there was no one there.

The riverbank was empty.

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Six days had passed since that night.

Currently, Jaune and Jeanne sat in the guild bar, the usual chatter and liveliness of the establishment feeling distant, almost detached. Jeanne, ever the optimist, had done her best to push the memories of her dark twin aside, pretending as though nothing had happened. She leaned against Jaune, idly sipping her strawberry smoothie, her bright demeanor a stark contrast to the grim shadow looming over her partner.

Jaune, on the other hand, looked like death warmed over. Dark bags sat heavily beneath his eyes, his exhaustion radiating in every sluggish movement. His once-alert gaze seemed dull, lost in thoughts he refused to voice. Whether it was due to the sheer weight of his nightmares or the cryptic words of the silver-haired man, no one could tell. But whatever it was, it made the other patrons steer clear of them. Perhaps it was Jeanne's radiant cheerfulness juxtaposed with Jaune's near-corpse-like state that unsettled them, or maybe they simply didn't want to be near someone who looked like he hadn't truly slept in days.

A few tables away, the usual rowdy conversation of hunters and mercenaries shifted into something more serious. Sykes and his team—three other men, all seasoned hunters—huddled around a worn-out map, their voices low but tinged with unease.

Igor, a burly man with a thick beard, frowned as he leaned in, studying the markings on the parchment. "Aren't the Grimm acting strange lately?"

Sykes, his long ponytail flicking over his shoulder as he scanned the map, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it seems like they're moving southeast in a pack. That's not normal."

His finger trailed across the map's surface before stopping over a single name.

"Donapierou?"

At that, Cobalt, a lean man with sharp features, visibly tensed. His voice dropped to a whisper, his concern palpable. "It can't be! That city... I don't know why, but it's never been attacked by Grimm in the last twenty years, right?"

Alex, the youngest of the group, let out a nervous chuckle. "The city without Huntsmen and Huntresses... that's what they call it, right?"

A heavy silence followed one that even Jeanne couldn't ignore.

Jeanne, done with her smoothie, turned her attention to the strawberry cake sitting before her. With a pleased hum, she took a bite, savoring the sweet flavor before turning to Jaune. "Donapierou means that, right? The Silver Chick! Ever heard of it? It's a famous cake shop!" Her tone was light, almost excited, as she took another bite, chewing happily before swallowing.

She nudged Jaune's arm. "If Grimm shows up there, we can visit after the hunt, Jaune!"

But Jaune wasn't listening.

Ever since that night, I've had that dream every night. His mind drifted, his hands tightening into fists on the table. 'What was it? A dream? Is it a dream? It doesn't feel like one...'

And then, there was that man. 'A vision? A ghost? No... I feel like that's not it.'

Jeanne, seeing that Jaune wasn't responding, decided to take a more direct approach. She set her fork down, took a deep breath, and with her usual flair for dramatics, stood up from her seat. With no hesitation, she plopped herself right onto the bar counter directly in front of Jaune, ignoring the curious looks from the other patrons.

The barman barely acknowledged her, choosing instead to pretend she wasn't there. Jeanne smirked at his blatant attempt at avoidance before shifting her focus back to Jaune. He still wasn't paying attention. A small pout formed on her lips, but internally, concern gnawed at her. Something was weighing him down, something heavy enough to drown out even her presence.

'What's the best way to snap him out of this?' she wondered.

Sitting as she was, she had to spread her legs slightly for balance, positioning herself directly in Jaune's line of sight. She tilted her head to the side, bringing her hand up to her chin as she considered her options. A familiar glint of mischief sparked in her eyes before she decided on the perfect course of action.

Without warning, she grabbed Jaune's head and pulled him forward, burying his face into her chest. With one hand, she held him there, smothering him in her softness, while the other hand gleefully ruffled his already messy hair.

"Come on, Jaune! You're supposed to be paying attention to me!" she teased, grinning as she kept him trapped. "What's got you so gloomy? You're missing out on quality Jeanne time!"

Jaune let out a muffled noise of protest, his hands instinctively going to her waist to push himself away. His entire face burned red from the sudden and very public affection. Around them, hushed murmurs and amused snickers echoed from the other patrons, clearly entertained by Jeanne's antics.

"J-Jeanne! What the hell?" Jaune finally managed to pull himself away, gasping for breath as he glared up at her, his face still flushed.

Jeanne merely giggled, crossing her legs playfully on the counter. "Oh, look at that! He's alive!" she declared dramatically. "I was worried you had turned into a ghost or something."

Jaune rubbed his temples, sighing in exasperation. "I swear, one day you're going to be the death of me."

"That day is not today," she chirped, reaching for another bite of her cake. "But seriously, Jaune, what's going on? You've been out of it for days."

Jaune hesitated. He wanted to brush it off, to tell her it was nothing, but deep down, he knew she wouldn't buy it. Not Jeanne. She knew him too well.

Jeanne's eyes suddenly widened with realization. With an exaggerated gasp, she spun around and dramatically pointed toward where Sykes and his team were seated. "Oh? Maybe the number two guy said something nasty again?"

Sykes caught completely off guard, blinked and pointed at himself in shock. "Eh? What!? Me!?"

Some of the patrons chuckled at the exchange while Jeanne continued, completely ignoring Sykes' reaction. She turned back to Jaune, grinning mischievously. "Should I kick his ass? Can I?"

Jaune let out a weak, tired sigh. "No..."

Jeanne's teasing expression softened slightly as she reached out, brushing aside his messy bangs. Her playful nature gave way to quiet concern as she met his gaze. "You have bags under your eyes," she murmured, her fingers lightly grazing the dark circles beneath them.

She then took his hand into hers, gently turning it over to inspect his palm. His skin was rough, covered in fresh bruises and callouses from relentless training. "Your hands are covered in bruises. You're working a lot harder than usual lately..." she noted, her voice dropping slightly.

The surrounding patrons, drawn in by Jeanne's sudden shift in tone, instinctively leaned closer, eager to listen in. However, the moment Jeanne lifted her gaze from Jaune and cast her attention outward, her once playful violet eyes flickered into a piercing, predatory yellow. The shift was subtle, yet utterly chilling.

A heavy tension settled over the bar as her gaze slowly scanned the room, locking onto each onlooker one by one. The playful mischief that had previously danced in her features was gone, replaced by an unspoken warning that made everyone shudder.

A few patrons swallowed hard, their previous amusement vanishing like smoke in the wind. Others, feeling the hair on their arms rise from the sheer pressure of her presence, abruptly decided they had urgent matters to tend to elsewhere. The scrape of chairs and hurried footsteps filled the space as one by one, they vacated the bar, offering no excuses and no backward glances.

In less than a minute, the once-crowded establishment had emptied, leaving only Jeanne and Jaune in the eerie silence.

Jeanne's eyes flickered back to their usual blue as the last patron scurried out the door. With the nuisances gone, she let out a small sigh, before turning her full attention to Jaune. Her expression softened, worry creeping into her voice as she leaned closer. "What happened? Why don't you want to talk? Tell me, please."

She hated seeing him like this—drained, distant, carrying the weight of something she couldn't quite grasp. She wanted to help, to do anything to pull him out of whatever darkness he was sinking into.

Jaune inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against the wooden table. "I… I've just had a terrible nightmare for the last few days." He hesitated, leaving out the old man with silver hair. He wasn't ready to open that can of worms just yet.

Jeanne raised an eyebrow, skepticism laced in her voice. "Oh? Is the nightmare so terrible that you can't even sleep? What's it about?"

Jaune flinched. It was small—barely noticeable—but Jeanne caught it immediately. Her stomach twisted, realizing she had struck a nerve.

"You don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable," she quickly amended, her tone gentler. "We can stop."

Jaune shook his head. He wanted to talk. He needed to.

Taking a deep breath, he finally began. "The nightmare… it's always the same. Raise on fire, dead bodies everywhere… sharp, dark, wicked spears impaling everything in sight." His voice wavered slightly, his breath growing unsteady. "And then… after everything… a spear comes and—"

He swallowed hard, his fingers gripping his lap. "It tears your head off… only for it to land in my hands. And then I wake up."

By the time he finished, Jaune was trembling. His breathing was ragged, his body tense, and before he even realized it, his face was buried against Jeanne's chest, his shoulders shaking. He didn't even care about the closeness—he just needed to anchor himself to something real, something warm.

Jeanne held him without hesitation. One hand pressed against his back, grounding him, while the other instinctively reached up to her neck. She absently rubbed the smooth skin there….

She took a slow, steadying breath, grateful that Jaune's face was buried in her chest. 

Jeanne let herself and Jaune calm down first, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion before pulling back slightly to look at him. She studied his face, still lined with exhaustion, and frowned softly. "The nightmare isn't the only reason you're like this, is it?"

Jaune hesitated, his tired blue eyes flickering up to meet hers before glancing away. "I… I've been training every night. Trying to get stronger," he admitted. "So that I can be strong enough to be with you."

Jeanne's heart ached at his words. She reached forward, cupping his face between her hands, her thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "Jaune, you're already strong."

Jaune gave a weak scoff, shaking his head. "Impossible. I don't have talent like you..."

Jeanne sighed but nodded. "Yeah, that's right. You don't have a talent for combat." Jaune's eyes widened slightly at her blunt agreement, but she continued before he could spiral. "But that doesn't mean you're weak. You're a good fighter, Jaune. More than that, you're a leader. A damn good one. Not a lot of people have the talent to lead others, Jaune."

She smiled at him, warmth filling her voice. "You're a natural at leading. It's only thanks to you and those crazy strategies of yours that we're alive."

Jaune blinked at her, stunned by her words. Jeanne chuckled at his expression, a soft, genuine sound that made his cheeks redden slightly.

In a more playful tone, she nudged him. "Do you remember those two juvenile Death Stalkers? We would have been dead if not for your plan."

She watched as realization dawned on his face. His lips parted slightly, recalling how his quick thinking had led them to use the terrain to trap the Grimm instead of engaging them in a losing fight.

Jeanne leaned back slightly, grinning. "Not to mention, you're the best cook I know. I'd probably have poisoned myself years ago if you didn't cook for us."

Jaune huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "That's not much of an accomplishment."

"It is when you cook for me," Jeanne smirked. "I suck at cooking, you know that. You taught me everything I know." She then gestured to her longsword at her hip. "And our weapons? Jaune, you're the one who made them. I was helpless at forging mine, but you made sure I had something reliable."

Jaune swallowed hard, his fingers twitching slightly. Hearing her lay out everything so clearly—everything he had done, everything he had contributed—it was overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected. He had spent so long thinking he wasn't good enough, but here Jeanne was, listing all the reasons why he mattered.

Jeanne leaned in closer, bringing their foreheads together so that their eyes met, locking him in place with the intensity of her gaze. Her warmth, her presence, surrounded him, and for a moment, he could focus on nothing but her.

"Jaune, one day… I don't know when or what will trigger it. No idea. I can't predict it," she murmured, her voice low yet filled with certainty.

Unbeknownst to her, her usual amethyst-colored eyes had begun to change. The deep violet was overtaken by a rich golden hue, a molten fusion swirling within, catching the dim light of the bar and making her seem almost ethereal. The sight of it stole Jaune's breath away.

But Jeanne remained unbothered by the change, completely unaware of the shift happening to her. Instead, she spoke with such conviction, with such raw belief in him, that Jaune found himself holding his breath, waiting for her next words.

And then, with a brilliant, dazzling smile, she finally said,

"You will be the strongest!"

For the briefest of moments, it almost sounded like two voices spoke at once, layered over each other—one unmistakably Jeanne's, the other deeper, almost distorted. But Jaune, mesmerized by the warmth of her expression, ignored the anomaly.

All he could focus on was the woman in front of him, the one who had always believed in him, even when he couldn't believe in himself.

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

A sharp, splintering noise like shattered glass jolted Jeanne awake. Her eyes snapped open as she instinctively sat up in bed, her heartbeat quickening. She blinked away the remnants of sleep and scanned the dimly lit room, listening for any further disturbances. 

Beside her, Jaune remained undisturbed, his breathing slow and steady. A small smile tugged at her lips—after everything, at least he was sleeping peacefully. The weight of exhaustion had been pressing down on him for days, but after their heartfelt conversation earlier at the bar, it seemed he had finally found some much-needed rest. She wasn't about to wake him over a mere sound. 

Carefully, she slid out from under the covers, ensuring her movements were quiet enough not to disturb him. Her bare feet made no sound against the cool wooden floor as she tiptoed toward the hallway. 

Pretty sure the noise came from the bathroom. 

A flicker of unease coiled in her gut as she moved down the hallway, the soft glow of moonlight casting long shadows along the walls. She cursed herself for not grabbing her sword, but she had already reached the bathroom door. There was no turning back now. 

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she reached for the handle and pushed it open. 

The bathroom was empty. 

Frowning, she stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the space. The faint scent of soap and warm steam from their earlier bath still lingered in the air. Nothing was out of place—the towels were folded neatly, the sink was dry, and the window was latched shut. 

Her eyes flickered to the mirror above the sink. Her reflection stared back at her, slightly disheveled from sleep, but otherwise, everything seemed normal. 

Nothing. Did I imagine it? 

Just as she was about to turn away, a sharp crack splintered through the silence. 

Jeanne whirled back around to face the mirror, her pulse hammering in her ears. 

The glass was fractured. 

A network of cracks had spread across its surface, like a web spun from some unseen force. But that wasn't what made her blood run cold. 

Her reflection was wrong. 

Standing within the fractured glass was a version of herself—but twisted, distorted, fundamentally wrong. The doppelgänger smirked at her, mirroring her movements with eerie precision. 

But it wasn't her. 

Her mirror self's hair was no longer golden blonde, but a flowing mass of silver, gleaming like liquid metal. Jeanne's usual amethyst eyes had been replaced with a sickly, glowing yellow, slit pupils gleaming like those of a predator. Her skin was an unnatural, ghastly shade—pale as Grimm bones, devoid of warmth or life. And then there was the scar. 

A jagged, vivid red slash marred the doppelgänger's throat, standing out starkly against her pallid complexion. The wound looked fresh, raw as if it had only just been carved into her flesh. It was grotesque, uneven, a cruel reminder of something Jeanne didn't understand. 

Jeanne's mouth opened and closed, her voice failing her as she tried to form words. But just as she managed to take a breath, her reflection tilted its head unnaturally far to the side before reaching up with both hands.

With a twisted grin, the doppelgänger dug her fingers into her scalp—and pulled.

A wet, sickening tear echoed through the bathroom as the pale Jeanne ripped her head clean off her shoulders.

Jeanne froze, her blood turning ice-cold. "W-What?!"

Her voice barely left her throat, but her horror only deepened when she saw what came next. Instead of blood, a thick, black, tar-like substance oozed from the jagged wound at the base of the severed neck, dripping down the reflection's torso in sluggish, unnatural rivulets.

Then, the cracks in the mirror itself began to leak the same black tar, the viscous fluid seeping from the fractures and running down the glass like ink.

The doppelgänger—head still in her hands—smiled wider. Too wide.

Jeanne's body refused to move, her feet rooted to the cold tile as the air around her grew thick, suffocating. Her lungs burned, but she couldn't breathe.

'This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real—'

The reflection took a step forward.

And the mirror shattered.

A wave of black tar-like substance erupted from the broken glass, engulfing Jeanne before she had the chance to react. The viscous liquid clung to her skin and clothes, its inky tendrils snaking around her arms and legs like living shadows. A cold, unnatural chill seeped through her, the substance heavier than water yet moving with a sinister will of its own.

She gasped, stumbling backward, but the tar moved faster, pulling her down to her knees as it crawled up her throat, threatening to choke her. Panic clawed at her chest, her heart pounding erratically. The putrid scent of decay filled her nostrils, and for a moment, she thought she heard whispers—low, guttural voices slithering through the air, hissing words she couldn't understand.

Her mind screamed for her to fight, to move, to do something—but all she could do was let out a strangled cry as the overwhelming weight of the tar forced her down.

"JAUNE!!!"

Her desperate scream tore through the silence, echoing through the walls of their small flat, shattering the fragile illusion of peace the night once held.

Jeanne jolted upright in bed, gasping for breath as if she had just surfaced from drowning. Her body trembled violently, drenched in cold sweat, the thin fabric of her nightwear clinging uncomfortably to her damp skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath ragged, struggling to steady the pounding of her heart.

Her hands gripped the bedsheets tightly, the lingering sensation of the tar still vivid against her skin—too real, too wrong. She swallowed, her throat dry and aching, as her mind desperately tried to separate nightmare from reality.

Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden, blurring her vision as she reached up to touch her neck, half-expecting to feel the jagged scar she had seen in the mirror. But there was nothing. Only her smooth, unbroken skin.

Her breath hitched as she looked around frantically, her amethyst eyes scanning the dimly lit room. The familiar warmth of their shared flat grounded her slightly—the bedside lamp, Jaune's belongings neatly stacked, the soft sound of his slow, steady breathing beside her.

"Jaune."

She turned to him, her heart clenching at the sight of him still sound asleep, completely undisturbed by her terror. The weight of reality finally settled on her shoulders, the nightmare's grip slowly loosening, but the fear still coiled tightly in her chest, refusing to dissipate.

With a shaky hand, she wiped at the dampness on her forehead, exhaling in a mix of relief and exhaustion. It was just a dream. A nightmare. Nothing more.

But even as she told herself that, she couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—had been watching her.

Jeanne didn't want to get out of bed, especially after glancing at the clock and seeing the time: 03:25 AM. Too early. Too dark. The thought of leaving the room made her stomach twist uncomfortably, so she did the next best thing.

Shifting closer, she curled herself against Jaune's side, pressing her forehead gently against his chest. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart was a grounding presence, a warmth she desperately needed after the nightmare. His body, firm with hardened muscle, was reassuring—real, solid. Not some twisted illusion in a fractured mirror.

Her fingers absently brushed over her throat again, ensuring her skin was smooth and unscarred. 'Just a dream,' she repeated internally, willing herself to believe it. 'It wasn't real.'

A deep exhale left her lips, though her body remained tense. 'Maybe Jaune's nightmare got to me more than I thought.' The possibility settled in her mind, but she shook it away. No need to dwell on a nightmare. It wasn't real. It didn't matter.

Jaune's warmth, his heartbeat, slowly lulled her frayed nerves back into some semblance of calm. As she focused on him, her eyes grew heavier, the exhaustion finally settling in. The last thought on her mind before sleep claimed her was a simple one—

'Tomorrow should be an easy day… I hope.'

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

Jeanne cursed herself for speaking too soon. She had hoped for an easy day, but now she and Jaune stood at the Guild, watching absolute chaos unfold before them. Guild employees scrambled to maintain order while huntsmen and huntresses rushed to the front, bombarding the staff with frantic questions.

"How many Grimm? Are we talking about a small horde or a full-scale attack?"

"Do we have more details? Was there any warning before the attack, or did it happen all at once?"

The reason for the commotion became clear when a familiar voice spoke behind them.

"Donapierou was destroyed."

It was Igor, one of Sykes' teammates. 

Jeanne turned sharply toward the older team of huntsmen, Jaune close behind her.

"But why? That was 'The City Without Hunters,' wasn't it?" Jeanne demanded, her amethyst eyes narrowing. She turned her attention to Sykes and smirked. "Mr. Number 2, tell us what's going on!"

Sykes already looked irritated, no doubt from trying to keep up with the growing disorder around them. Jeanne's remark only deepened his scowl. With an annoyed huff, he jabbed a finger in her direction.

"My name is Sykes! And I don't know either!" he snapped. "They say a horde of Grimm attacked as soon as the sun set, and we lost all contact after that!"

Alex, another member of Sykes' team, stepped in. "The kingdom has issued an emergency quest: Exterminate the horde that razed Donapierou."

Sykes barely spared Jeanne and Jaune another glance before turning away, gathering his team—Igor, Alex, and Cobalt—before barking out a parting remark.

"Prodigy! Don't you dare come! You'll just steal all the glory!"

Jeanne crossed her arms, watching them leave with an amused smirk. "In the end, he told us all the important details…" she mused aloud, rubbing her chin. Nodding to herself, she added, "He's a good Number 2, I guess."

She glanced at Jaune, only to find him trembling beside her. A flicker of unease passed through her as she instinctively reached up to rub her neck—she still couldn't shake the nightmare from last night. But right now, Jaune was more important.

"Jaune?" she asked, her voice softer. "You look pale. What's wrong?"

Jaune turned to her, his expression, unlike anything she had ever seen before—haunted, fearful. And when he spoke, his words shook her to her core.

"We should run away..."

Jeanne blinked, momentarily stunned. A part of her couldn't deny that she wanted to leave too, but Jaune's urgency unsettled her.

"Why?" she pressed. 

Jaune took a shaky breath, his hands clenching at his sides. "Death—"

He never got to finish. A deafening explosion rocked the city, shaking the very walls of the Guild. 

Without hesitation, Jeanne sprinted toward the guild's second-floor balcony, reaching the railing first. "What was that!?" she shouted, her eyes scanning the outskirts of the city. 

Jaune arrived at her side, along with several other hunters, their faces all sharing the same look of dread. 

Outside, the night sky burned with fire and destruction.

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

A gaping hole had been blown into the northeastern section of the city's protective wall. Flames licked at the edges of the ruined structure, casting jagged shadows across the stone streets. The scent of burning wood and something far worse filled the air. 

Two older huntsmen were the first to arrive, weapons drawn as they ushered fleeing civilians deeper into the city. Their expressions were grim, their muscles tense.

"What the hell is going on!?" the older of the two demanded, his sharp eyes darting over the destruction. 

His younger partner didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the smoldering gap in the wall. His grip on his weapon tightened as he tried to ignore the panicked screams of the civilians rushing past. Something about the air felt wrong—thick, cloying, like a storm about to break. 

Then they saw him. 

A figure emerged from the smoke and fire, walking with an unhurried, unnatural grace. He was impossibly tall—easily seven feet—his body rippling with muscle. His long, black hair was slicked back, though strands fell loosely over his face. He was completely naked, his pale, bone-white skin in stark contrast to the inky black tar that clung to his form like a living parasite. But it wasn't his physique that froze the huntsmen in place. 

It was the tar. 

His body was covered in an inky black substance that clung to his skin like a second layer, shifting and undulating as if it were alive. It glistened under the fire's glow, pulsing with an eerie, unnatural energy. 

The younger huntsman swallowed hard and took a cautious step forward. "Hey, you! Are you okay? What's with that tar on you?"

The man's gaze finally lifted, his expression eerily calm. His voice was a whisper, yet it carried through the air like a death knell.

"Blood is my blade."

Before either huntsman could react, the tar coating his body convulsed, morphing into jagged black spears that shot forward with terrifying speed. 

The first huntsman barely had time to register what was happening before the spears pierced through his aura like wet paper. His body split apart in an instant—flesh, bone, and armor severed as if he were no more than a brittle twig. 

The younger hunter managed half a scream before the same fate befell him, his lifeless form collapsing in pieces across the bloodstained ground.

"Blood is flame."

Once he uttered those words, a massive pillar of fire erupted from his body, consuming the nearby buildings and incinerating anyone unfortunate enough to be within reach. From the inferno, he emerged once more—transformed.

No longer naked, he now stood clad in refined yet sinister attire. A crisp white dress shirt hugged his frame, tucked neatly beneath a black vest and secured with a perfectly knotted black tie. Polished obsidian-colored dress pants led down to sleek, pristine leather shoes that reflected the surrounding flames. His shoulders bore heavy, engraved metal pauldrons, further enhancing his regal yet menacing presence.

A white bone mask, sculpted with elongated fangs, obscured most of his face, yet his true fangs remained visible beneath it—sharp, glinting, predatory. His eyes, now fully revealed, burned like molten rubies with slit pupils, their unnatural glow standing out against the endless darkness of his sclera.

With a slow, deliberate step, he moved forward, surveying the crumbling city with a smile that exuded nothing but malice.

"Good day, dear Humans and Faunus."

His smile stretched wider, becoming a wicked, gleeful sneer.

"Now perish."

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

The city militia had managed to set up barricades, forming a last line of defense against the relentless tide of Grimm. Positioned behind their makeshift fortifications, they fired their heavy-impact rifles, dust rounds ripping through the advancing creatures. Each shot easily blew the head off Beowulf, but the black curtain of monsters showed no signs of stopping. For every Grimm that fell, more surged forward, trampling over the corpses of their kind. 

Some of the beasts managed to leap over the barricades, tearing through the ranks of the militia with savage efficiency. Screams echoed through the streets, but the arrival of huntsmen and huntresses turned the tide, their weapons cutting down the invaders before they could push deeper into the city. The militia provided covering fire, doing their best to support the professionals in the desperate struggle to thin the horde. 

Meanwhile, in an alley on a street close to the river, Sykes and his team crouched in the shadows, watching the chaos unfold. Sykes gripped his spear tightly, his sharp eyes locked on the blood-soaked battlefield ahead. 

'This is bad.'

He had fought many Grimm in his years as a hunter, and he knew their patterns well. Normal Grimm was mindless, driven by an insatiable hunger for destruction. The older ones—the alphas—were different. They learned. They adapted. They became smarter and more cunning. 

But the abomination he saw before him defied all expectations. 

His fingers tightened around his weapon as he watched the creature approaching. It looked human and moved like a human, but every instinct screamed that it was not human. 

It was a Grimm. 

A Grimm that could talk.

Sykes swallowed hard, his grip on his spear unwavering. He let out a dry chuckle, a poor attempt at easing the tension that had settled over him and his team. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his spear tighter, his instincts screaming at him that whatever was coming their way was unlike anything they'd faced before. 'Something tells me it's not in the mood for conversation.'

Brandished his spear, and his team followed suit, bracing themselves for what could be the hardest fight of their lives. Their muscles tensed, their breath steady, every instinct telling them to be ready for the worst. And then—

Their eyes widened in shock as a figure leaped through the wall of flames behind the humanoid Grimm, his armored form illuminated against the roaring inferno. 

Sykes' grip on his spear faltered for just a moment. "That's..." he whispered, his voice trailing off in disbelief. 

Jaune Arc. 

Clad in his full battle gear, Jaune soared through the air, his sword raised high, his shield strapped firmly to his arm. His mind was singularly focused, his breath controlled, his eyes locked onto his target. 'This is it. The leader of the horde. If only I could...'

The wind howled around him as he descended, muscles coiled with the force of his strike. 'Take it out!'

He brought his sword down with all his might, aiming for the creature's neck. The steel met flesh—or so he thought. 

A loud clang echoed through the air, followed by a sickening snap. 

Jaune's eyes widened in horror as his blade shattered into two upon impact, the force of his strike barely leaving a scratch on the creature's flesh. 

He had just enough time to process what had happened before the Grimm turned its head ever so slightly, crimson eyes locking onto him with a glint of amusement. 

Then, it spoke.

"Blood is Flame."

A pillar of fire erupted from its body, engulfing Jaune in an instant. The explosion tore through the nearby buildings, reducing them to charred rubble. The sheer force sent Jaune hurtling through the air like a ragdoll, his armor scorching under the searing heat. 

His vision blurred, his ears ringing as he felt himself spiraling uncontrollably—before he finally crashed into the river with a thunderous splash, disappearing beneath the surface as the flames roared above.

"That idiot!" Sykes exclaimed, his frustration boiling over. "Why the hell did he—"

He was abruptly cut off by a desperate voice from above.

"Sykes! Please save Jaune!"

Jeanne's voice rang out from the tower, her amethyst eyes burning with urgency as she pointed her longsword toward the river. "His aura protected him! He fell into the river! You take care of him!"

Sykes barely had time to process her words before a massive shadow loomed over her position. Jeanne spun around, her muscles tensing as a King Taijitu coiled itself around the tower she stood on, its massive form constricting the stone structure, sending cracks splintering down its sides. Its twin heads peered down at her like a predator sizing up its prey, their crimson eyes gleaming with eerie malice.

The massive serpent-like Grimm sported two heads, each one bearing a gaping maw filled with rows of jagged fangs. The black head was cloaked in darkness, its gleaming blood-red eyes staring with an almost sadistic hunger. Its skeletal white mask bore crimson markings, a stark contrast against its obsidian scales. The white head, an inverse of the other, had its own red-marked plating and eerie checkerboard-patterned scales that twisted along its lengthy, coiled body.

The two heads hissed in eerie unison, their forked tongues flicking in the air as they reared back, prepared to strike.

Jeanne narrowed her eyes, gripping her weapon tightly. "Tch. Guess I've got company."

The King Taijitu lunged.

"Fuck off, you overgrown garden snake!" Jeanne snarled, channeling her aura into her longsword. The blade pulsed with golden energy, crackling under the sheer force of her aura. With a powerful swing, she unleashed a crescent wave of condensed energy that cut through the air with a whistling roar. The arc of shimmering force sliced effortlessly through both heads of the King Taijitu, the massive serpent letting out a final, piercing shriek before its severed halves collapsed into black mist, dissipating into the air.

Jeanne landed with a thunderous impact, her boots striking the stone of the tower with enough force to send deep fractures racing across its surface. Dust and rubble cascaded down the sides as the structure groaned beneath the pressure. She straightened, rolling her shoulders as the golden glow of her aura flickered around her. Her amethyst eyes, ablaze with fury, locked onto the humanoid Grimm. The creature barely spared a glance at the dissolving remains of the King Taijitu before shifting its blood-red gaze onto her, as if dismissing the fallen serpent as inconsequential.

Jeanne's expression twisted into a furious sneer, her grip on her sword tightening until her knuckles turned white. Her chest heaved, the adrenaline surging through her veins like liquid fire. She took a step forward, her presence crackling with intensity. "How dare you..." Her voice, laced with venom and unrestrained rage, was barely more than a whisper before it escalated into a thunderous roar. "How dare you lay hands on... my Jaune!!!"

A surge of power erupted around her as her aura flared to life, golden light enveloping her in a blinding halo. The ground beneath her trembled under the pressure of her raw strength. With a defiant roar, she kicked off, launching herself forward like a golden meteor. The sheer force of her leap shattered the stone beneath her, sending chunks of debris flying outward as she closed the distance in a blink.

The Grimm remained unfazed, lifting a hand as tendrils of black tar morphed into jagged, nightmarish spears.

The battle had truly begun.

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

Jaune was surrounded by darkness.

I'm sinking.

Deeper and deeper...

Like that dream where Jeanne dies...

I start my mindless revenge...

Hunt down every last Grimm...

I fight...

Grow stronger...

Train to my utmost limits...

But it's not enough.

I find new comrades through my fights, but I lose them too...

A life filled with loss...

But I keep fighting.

Overcome my limits, face new walls, to the ends of my possibilities!

To the strengths beyond every limit!

Jaune opened his eyes, the abyss fading as a blinding white space replaced it. His body felt weightless, his mind sluggish as he struggled to make sense of where he was. And then—he saw him.

The silver-haired man from the river stood before him, his expression unreadable, his presence exuding something immense.

The man's voice broke the silence.

"Looking back at it now... maybe I just wanted to die."

Jaune swallowed, the weight of those words sinking into him like a stone. The man's piercing gaze met his.

"But I didn't," the man continued. "I always survived."

Jaune felt his breath catch in his throat. "That... that can't be..."

The silver-haired man stared at him, his tone cold, detached. "It's your future. And my past."

Jaune choked on air, tears stinging his eyes. "You are... my future self?"

The man didn't hesitate. "I cannot forgive my past self. For looking up to a little girl as a hero. I was deluded."

His voice carried no anger, no regret—just a weighty finality.

"If she was really important... I would have become stronger than anyone else to protect her."

Jaune trembled, his mind racing, his emotions unraveling as he faced the truth of what stood before him. The man who had endured everything fought beyond reason and surpassed all limits—

And yet, it had never been enough.

"I am strong now! Stronger than anyone else!"

"I can even match the Kings! Even the Emperess avoids me!" 

"I could protect everything I've lost now!"

"But what purpose does it serve!? If there is nothing left for me to protect!"

"Why!? Why am I so strong!?"

"What's the point of all this strength!!?"

Jaune pushed himself up, his breathing ragged, his body trembling—not from fear, but from resolve. "Then..." he muttered, his hands shooting forward as he grabbed onto his older self's tattered cloak, yanking him forward with all the strength he could muster. His fingers dug into the worn fabric, his eyes burning with desperation as he locked gazes with his future self.

"Give it to me!" he roared, his voice raw with conviction. "If you don't need it, then give it to me!" His grip tightened. "I NEED STRENGTH! RIGHT NOW!"

The older Jaune's clouded eyes flickered, the fog of his weariness momentarily lifting. For the first time, something akin to recognition passed through his exhausted gaze. His expression, once carved in stone, softened ever so slightly, revealing the deep, unspeakable sorrow buried within his soul.

"...Yes. That's why I'm here."

Without hesitation, he drove a silver blade straight into Jaune's chest.

Jaune's breath hitched, his body going rigid as a sharp, searing pain bloomed across his torso. He barely had time to react before a strangled gasp escaped his lips. "Eh...?"

His trembling gaze dropped to the weapon impaling him—a sword entirely forged from gleaming silver, identical to Crocea Mors, yet devoid of any trace of gold. It pulsed, humming with an otherworldly energy, as though alive in his flesh. His older self gave him no time to question, no chance to resist, pressing the blade deeper, forcing him to feel every inch of it tearing into him.

"Can you feel it?"

Jaune could do nothing but gasp, his fingers twitching as overwhelming power coursed through his veins.

That day...

How much I resented...

How much I hated...

This strength...

Jaune's blurred vision settled on his future self's face—scarred, worn, etched with the weight of countless battles and endless suffering. He looked like a man who had seen the world crumble and had carried its weight alone for far too long.

At this very moment.

Past and Future become one.

I will bestow upon you all of my strength!

'IT' told me there would be a price to pay for this... and I replied that I would gladly pay it. If you are me, you will think the same way.

I leave her to you!

Go save her!

Jaune let out a primal scream, his body convulsing as pain surged through every nerve, but he refused to succumb. His trembling hand reached forward, fingers outstretched, clawing toward the radiant Silver Star suspended before him.

His entire being burned, muscles screaming in agony, but he grits his teeth and pushes forward. His fingertips brushed against the star's incandescent surface, and a searing jolt shot through his arm. He clenched his jaw, forcing his hand to close around it.

A surge of incomprehensible power flooded his veins.

This future...

You must overcome it!

The Silver Star pulsed within his grip, a violent storm of energy coiling around his form. The pain intensified, his body shaking under the sheer magnitude of it—but he held firm. And then—

His entire body erupted in a blinding explosion of silver aura, illuminating the void around him like a second sun.

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

Sykes wrenched his spear free from the corpse of an Alpha Beowolf, its body collapsing into mist. His pulse pounded in his ears as he surveyed the battlefield.

After Alex had pulled Jaune from the river, they had laid him on the ground, forming a protective perimeter around him. Alex, Igor, and Cobalt stood with their weapons drawn, their auras flaring brightly as they tried to draw the Grimm toward themselves. Their priority was to protect Jaune while the remaining militia and hunters provided covering fire from the few intact buildings left standing in the district.

Even amid the carnage, Sykes could hear the unmistakable sounds of Jeanne's battle against the humanoid Grimm. The fierce clash of steel rang through the chaos, each impact reverberating like a drumbeat of war.

Then it happened.

A scream—raw and agonized—pierced through the night, stopping Sykes cold.

His heart leaped into his throat as he spun around. Jaune's body was convulsing violently, his back arching, mouth open in a silent, tortured wail before sound finally erupted—a horrifying, guttural cry that clawed at the very marrow of his bones.

"What the hell!?"

The sheer anguish in the scream made Sykes' skin crawl. It wasn't just pain—it was something deeper, something far more visceral. It grated against his senses, almost unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard.

"What the hell's wrong with him!?"

Before he could make sense of it, Jaune's body was swallowed in an explosion of silver light.

Sykes and the others instinctively shielded their eyes as the brilliance threatened to blind them. The energy pulsed like a living force, radiating waves of power that sent cracks splintering across the ground.

When the light finally receded, Jaune was gone.

Panic seized Sykes' chest as he whipped around, searching desperately. His breath came in short gasps as he looked at Igor, who stood frozen, his entire body trembling. With a shaking hand, Igor slowly lifted a finger and pointed behind them.

Sykes turned.

And the air left his lungs.

His body locked up, his mind refusing to comprehend what he was seeing. His throat dried, and his grip on his spear tightened until his knuckles turned white.

His voice barely came out as a whisper—

"What the fuck...!?"

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

Jeanne was breathing hard, her golden-blonde hair clinging to her forehead, damp with sweat. Her chest rose and fell in heavy, controlled breaths as she tightened her grip on her longsword, the weight of the battle pressing down on her shoulders. She stood amidst the ruined remains of the district, rubble, and flames painting a backdrop of devastation. Across from her, her adversary loomed, unmoving—watching.

Despite all their exchanges, all the blows she had deflected and countered, the monster hadn't taken a single step forward since the fight had begun. It was as if it did not need to. The realization made her grit her teeth, frustration boiling beneath her exhaustion. Damn bastard... hasn't even moved once.

Her amethyst eyes flickered at the inky black substance it wielded so effortlessly, twisting and shifting at will. It behaved like tar—viscous, malleable—but there was something far more sinister about it. The Grimm had called it something else.

Blood.

Jeanne clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. That thing isn't just controlling some tar-like substance—it's using its own blood to fight.

It could solidify into serrated blades in an instant or liquefy into deadly whips sharp enough to slice through steel. She had narrowly avoided one such strike earlier, and even though she had managed to keep the creature's attacks at bay, she wasn't unscathed.

Her aura reserves were dwindling.

Less than half left... maybe 40%? she estimated grimly, shifting her stance. I need something to happen soon.

A bead of sweat rolled down her temple as her opponent raised an arm, another black tendril twisting and writhing like a predator waiting to strike. Jeanne swallowed hard, her breath catching for just a second as her mind flickered back to the mirror—to her.

That thing keeps aiming for my throat.

Her grip on her sword tightened further.

Those edges... they could leave a scar just like hers...

The monster clicked its tongue in irritation. "How persistent."

Jeanne smirked, a flicker of satisfaction gleaming in her amethyst eyes. Finally got a reaction out of him.

"Well, I am the best, after all!" she declared, her tone haughty as she twirled her sword with mock elegance. "You're really strong too."

Her mind, however, was racing. Shit. I can't find any openings.

She needed time. Time for reinforcements, time for something—anything—to shift the battle in her favor.

Jeanne's smirk widened, her expression mischievous as she shot him a probing question. "Could you be the King of Grimm or something?"

The moment she said it, his piercing red eyes snapped toward her, and she felt a wave of pressure descend upon the battlefield. Her breath hitched.

"What did you say?" his voice was dangerously low, his form stiffening as if insulted.

Jeanne, startled by his intense reaction, took a cautious step back.

The Grimm's aura pulsed as flames erupted around him. "A lowly peon like me, the ruler of our kind?" His voice carried the weight of disdain, his anger manifesting into something near tangible.

Then, without warning, the flames erupted into a storm of hellfire. "DO NOT PUT US AT THE SAME LEVEL! YOU INFERIOR SPECIES!"

Jeanne's instincts screamed at her. She dove behind a pile of rubble as a searing beam of fire shot toward her, obliterating everything in its path. The heat alone was enough to scorch her skin, even without direct contact. She grits her teeth, clutching her sword tighter as she peeks out from her cover, her chest heaving.

The Grimm-man took a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate. It was the first time he had moved of his own accord.

"My name is Grumwelt," he declared, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Eleventh of Her Majesty the Empress's Knights."

Another step. Jeanne braced herself.

"Among them, I am but the lowest rung of the ladder," he admitted with a smirk, as though daring her to fathom just how insignificant he was in the hierarchy of his kind.

Jeanne swallowed hard. Lowest rung...?

Grumwelt's expression turned smug as he continued, "Allow me to enlighten you, foolish one. Do you know the reason why this city and the surrounding settlements are doomed?"

Jeanne remained silent, her grip on her sword tightening.

Grumwelt chuckled, his tone taking on a theatrical air. "The Great Empress whom our kind serve is said to have a rather... unique fondness for certain human delicacies. Among them, the ones crafted at 'Silver Chick' hold special favor."

Jeanne's eyes widened slightly. That name—

That was the cake shop. The one she had planned to visit with Jaune.

Grumwelt continued, seemingly unaware of—or perhaps indifferent to—her reaction. "The shop that was in Donapierou... was a favorite of our Empress. However, mere days ago, thieves defiled it. Despite the favor we had granted the city, those humans dared to steal."

His crimson eyes flared with raw anger before he took a slow, steady breath, regaining his composure. "Our Empress was deeply saddened and thus decreed..."

His voice darkened, filled with absolute authority.

'Enough. Lay waste to the whole eastern part of Sanus.'

Jeanne's jaw slackened slightly, the weight of the words sinking in. All this... because of a cake shop?

Grumwelt grinned, baring his fangs. "And that, dear huntress, is the reason. The fall of a human settlement. No, the destruction of an entire nation can come at the mere whim of our Great Empress. Did you truly believe yourselves equal to us? Did you think your kind's warriors mattered in the slightest?"

His grin stretched wider, his sharpened teeth glinting menacingly. "Huntsmen and huntresses?" he scoffed. "They mean nothing to our kind."

A low chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest before he tilted his head, looking down at her as though she were a mere insect. "Have you finally understood the pitifulness of your existence?"

Then, with a voice filled with sick amusement, he declared—

"You may die now."

As soon as he uttered those words and prepared to strike, a sharp sensation—like dozens of invisible blades impaling him—seized his body. His crimson eyes widened in shock, his movements faltering as an unfamiliar sensation prickled down his spine. Whirling around in a panic, sweat beaded along his forehead, an instinctual dread settling deep into his being.

Jeanne, still catching her breath from dodging his attack, blinked in surprise. The arrogance that had dripped from his every word was suddenly gone. For the first time since their battle began, the so-called knight of the Empress looked... afraid.

Grumwelt's fingers twitched, claws flexing as he fought against the suffocating sensation gripping him. 'A vision? No...' It felt too real. Too immediate.

'Something was coming!?'

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

Jaune woke up feeling an immense power coursing through his body, raw and untamed. As he rose, his surroundings slowed—every movement, every flicker of fire, every breath in the battlefield was laid bare before him. The chaos of battle felt distant, yet he was hyper-aware of it all.

His eyes locked onto an Ursa Major mid-lunge, its massive claws descending toward Cobalt. Without hesitation, Jaune moved. In an instant, he was in front of the creature, his fist crashing into its chest. The impact reverberated through the beast, and in a flash of silver energy, the Grimm solidified, its once-fearsome form now nothing more than a fragile statue. A moment later, cracks splintered through the frozen monster before it shattered into glimmering shards, scattering across the battlefield like stardust.

A heavy exhale escaped his lips. His armor felt restricting, confining. With a single motion, he gripped it and tore it from his body, letting the pieces clatter to the ground in a heap of metal. The noise drew the attention of Sykes and his team, their expressions shifting from determination to shock. But Jaune paid them no mind.

He shrugged off his white jacket, leaving only his black muscle shirt clinging to his body. Without a second thought, he tied the jacket around his waist in a tight double-knot. His eyes burned silver as he stepped forward, the battlefield around him fading into insignificance.

Three Beowolves lunged at him from the fire.

Jaune didn't stop. He didn't flinch. He merely extended a hand.

The first Beowolf barely had time to snarl before his fingertips brushed its snout. In an instant, the Grimm turned into silver, frozen mid-motion. As Jaune walked past, he brushed his shoulder against its rigid form, shattering it into countless fragments that rained to the ground.

Another came at him, fangs bared. He met it with a punch to the face, his silver aura flaring as the beast's head caved in, its body disintegrating before it even had the chance to whimper.

A third leaped from his blind spot. Jaune twisted, driving his hand through its chest, his fingers piercing through like a blade. He tore his arm free as the Grimm fell apart into a pile of glistening dust.

I decided to slay all Grimms... and I began hunting them blindly.

He exhaled sharply, the intensity in his eyes unwavering.

I was on the brink of death time and time again.

He took another step forward, his presence an unstoppable force on the battlefield.

But I survived each time.

His body moved on instinct. His power surged.

And I challenged them again.

I LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, LOST, WON, LOST, LOST, LOST LOST, I LOST, LOST, LOST, WON, I WON, LOST, LOST, I WON, WON, LOST, WON, WON, I LOST, LOST, LOST, I WON WON

 I WON

 WON

 WON

 WON

 WON

 I WON

 I WON

  I HUNTED

After ten years of fighting, Crocea Mors became part of my body.

I began to feel I was Crocea Mors. One day that became a reality.

My arm and the sword became one and the same.

It was an unsettling phenomenon... but perfect for hunting Grimm.

My body was screaming in pain but I ignored it and kept fighting.

After five years, Crocea Mors was completely fused.

My body itself became a weapon capable of emitting a silver aura.

Three years later I managed to completely combine my own aura and the silver aura turning into one.

For four years, I learned a technique to freely control the silver aura.

I surpassed mankind's limits and continue to rise higher. And ten years later I finally mastered the Ultimate War Technique.

The apex of Grimm Destruction

 "Silverine Battle Arts"

The moment Jaune uttered those words, an overwhelming surge of silver energy erupted from his body, washing over the battlefield like a divine storm. Every Grimm caught in its wake froze mid-motion, their bodies hardening into immaculate silver statues. Their once-feral movements ceased entirely, trapped in eerie stillness as if time itself had forsaken them. The battlefield stood silent, the frozen Grimm locked in their final moments, their menacing forms rendered harmless by the overwhelming force that had bound them in silver.

Jaune locked onto Jeanne's battle with Grumwelt. With a single step, he crossed the distance, appearing before the so-called Knight like a ghostly specter.

Grumwelt's body tensed, an unfamiliar sensation crawling under his skin—a sharp, biting cold that rooted him in place. His crimson eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. This feeling... I know it. It was something buried deep in his instincts. The same pressure exuded by the leaders of our kind...

Those who bear the title of "King" from our Empress...

The fear and awe... of a being of absolute power!

His mind screamed at him to move, to act, to do anything—

And then he snapped.

"It can't be!" Grumwelt roared, his composure fracturing like brittle glass.

"It's impossible!!!"

Fire erupted from his body in a raging inferno, his humanoid form melting away as his true nature emerged. His flesh twisted, expanding, reshaping itself into something monstrous. His arms stretched, thickening into massive limbs adorned with jagged black scales. His fingers elongated into razor-sharp talons, the tips dripping with burning tar-like blood. His face contorted, his skull elongating into a draconic snout lined with jagged fangs.

His towering form cast a long shadow over the ruined battlefield. Standing over twenty feet tall, his body was cloaked in darkness, his scales gleaming like polished obsidian, interrupted only by jagged streaks of bone-white armor running down his limbs and spine.

The flames around him dissipated, revealing his true self—a black Grimm dragon with piercing crimson eyes and a presence that could make the weak-willed kneel in submission.

A twisted grin spread across his monstrous face. "This is my true form! The full might of the bloodline granted to me! The peak of my existence!"

His maw widened, embers forming deep in his throat as he prepared his ultimate attack.

"And now, you shall witness my most powerful—Breath of—"

He never got to finish.

Jaune simply raised a hand, palm facing the dragon.

His silver eyes burned.

 "Freeze."

 And the world obeyed.

 "Shatter."

 With a flick of his finger

 It shattered.

A shockwave burst from its destruction, rippling outward like a tidal wave, washing over the entire town. Every Grimm caught in its wake met the same fate—fracturing into countless crystalline shards. The sky filled with glistening fragments, cascading down like snowfall, painting the ruined city in an eerie, frozen beauty.

Jaune's silver aura flickered, then faded, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. "Hah... hah..."

Then—

"JAUNE!"

His head snapped toward the voice just in time to see Jeanne sprinting toward him. She was alive. This time, she was alive.

That day... if only I had this strength.

How much... suffering...

Jaune took a slow, hesitant step toward her. One more time, just one more time.

I could...

Then, in the next heartbeat, he was already in front of her, his arms wrapping tightly around her. Jeanne barely had time to react, her body stiffening in shock before she registered the warmth pressing into her. "Eh?"

Embrace you... cry with all my heart.

Jaune buried his face into her shoulder, his body trembling as tears fell freely. His breaths hitched, choked with emotions too heavy to contain. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her coat as if she might vanish if he let go.

Jeanne stilled for a moment before she smiled softly, wrapping her arms around him. One hand cradled the back of his head, fingers threading through his golden hair.

"Everything's okay."

Her voice was gentle, soothing, and grounding.

"I'm alive."

Jaune sobbed harder. I couldn't stop crying.

Jeanne continued to hold him, her touch firm yet comforting. "You worked really hard, right?"

She stroked his hair, her voice laced with quiet understanding. "Thank you, Jaune."

Many years of memories of someone from a distant future... flowed endlessly.

+x+x++x+x+x+x+x+x+

In the endless white void where past and future Jaune had met, a new presence emerged. Shadows slithered like living tendrils, swirling in the vast emptiness before solidifying into something tangible. Out of the darkness, it stepped forward.

A figure, short in stature, no taller than 5'4, cloaked in flowing pitch-black robes. A spiked crown of obsidian rested atop its head of crimson hair, stark against the surrounding void. One of its eyes—an emerald green, vibrant and piercing—looked human. But the other…

The other was something else entirely. A bestial slit, burning crimson with an eerie glow, its sclera swallowed by abyssal blackness. A gaze both knowing and ancient.

The being tilted its head slightly, observing the lifeless form of the older Jaune. His battered body remained upright, frozen in his final moments, even in death.

The figure clicked its tongue in mock amusement.

"You died standing up?"

It took slow steps forward, studying Jaune's face, the absence of pain, of regret. There was no anger, no sorrow—only quiet satisfaction.

The being exhaled sharply through its nose, its expression unreadable. "I told you, didn't I? There was always a price to pay."

Silence stretched between them before the figure's lips curled into something resembling a smirk. "Despite that... what's with that satisfied look?"

It crossed its arms, peering at the still form of Jaune as if expecting an answer. "We've spent quite a long time together, but this is the first time I've seen you without a frown on."

A pause. Then a sigh, not of exasperation, but of finality. "So be it."

The void rippled, shifting as though it too was awaiting what came next. The being turned its gaze to the unseen horizon, its voice growing softer, but no less commanding.

 "Now it's all up to the past."

A flicker of something unreadable flashed in its beast-like eye, its voice carrying a weight beyond time itself.

 "May the day when all Grimm are slain soon come."

The darkness that had birthed it stirred, shadows curling at its feet like an extension of its very essence. It took one last glance at the fallen warrior before turning away, stepping back into the abyss from whence it came.

And with one final utterance, it vanished into the void—

 "I'm expecting great things from the past You and I."