Chapter 2: The Good(witch) Left Undone (Patreon)

Jaune shrugged on a plain white T-shirt, staring at himself in the mirror, still struck by the oddity of his appearance. He had been given the shirt, along with a pair of blue jeans, underwear, socks, and boots, along with the ability to shower.

The shower had been nice, and the clothes made him feel a bit warmer, so he couldn’t complain.

He strapped his belt around his waist and looked at the mirror for a long moment, considering himself, as he shifted his sword to rest comfortably against his leg.

Finally, he shrugged and walked out of the room he had changed into to be met with Goodwitch’s piercing green eyes. She seemed to be contemplating something Jaune couldn’t even guess at.

“Mr. Arc, now that you have some clothes, I’d like to ask what you’ll do now?” Goodwitch asked.

Jaune shrugged, considering the question thoughtfully, “I don’t know,” he said.

Goodwitch cocked a brow at him. “You don’t?” she asked. “Were you not thinking of continuing your training as a Hunter?”

Jaune hummed thoughtfully. “That’s like a Huntress?” he asked.

Goodwitch nodded slowly, “It’s the male equivalent of one, yes. There aren’t many, I admit, but I thought from your weapon and the fact you killed the Grimm in Shion that you were perhaps training to be one.”

Jaune nodded thoughtfully, considering the question before deciding that he finally needed more information before he responded, “What is a Huntress?”

Goodwitch blinked, then blinked again. “You don’t know what a Huntress is?” she asked, her voice completely neutral.

Jaune felt his gut shift. Was this common knowledge? Well, he needed to find out, and Goodwitch seemed the best way, too. “Uh, no?” he said, unable to stop the questioning lilt at the end of his sentence.

Goodwitch looked at him for a long moment, and Jaune wondered if she was going to actually respond, “A Huntress is responsible for fighting and defending the people of Remnant from Grimm.

Grimm, he knew, were the nightmare creatures, so there were people who fought those creatures for a living.

Something about the idea appealed to him, though if pressed, he wouldn’t be able to say why. Though he was admittedly curious why exactly there weren’t many male Hunters.

“I’d like to become a Hunter then,” Jaune said, nodding to himself firmly.

“I see.” It was strange the way Goodwitch said those words; a complicated mix of emotions flickered through her eyes before she nodded once again.

“I’m a Professor at Beacon Academy,” she looked at his blank expression before she sighed, “A place that trains Huntresses and Hunters,” she further explained, “If you’d like to attend, I could arrange for you to take the placement exam.”

There was something that she wasn’t explaining, Jaune thought, looking her directly in her emerald eyes; there was a reason she was asking him this.

“Why?” he asked simply.

Goodwitch’s lips furrowed. “Why what?” she asked sternly.

“Why are you helping me?” Jaune asked, looking seriously at the woman.

Goodwitch’s lips twisted into a frown. “I’m a Huntress; it’s my duty to help people,” she said simply.

Jaune looked at the woman for a long moment. She was lying, or at least wasn’t telling the whole truth; something about her had fluctuated when she said that, though he couldn’t quantify what. Even though he had basically woken up today, he also had the vague thought that people weren’t just offered the ability to become Hunters.

On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have a whole lot of options; he wasn’t exactly flush with opportunities right now. Wasn’t there something he needed to earn to eat?

He was kind of hungry.

“Okay,” Jaune shrugged, resting his hand on Crocea Mors, feeling the hilt warm underneath his grip.

That was probably a sign he had made the right decision, right?

“All right, if you’ll come with me, we can go arrange for transportation back to Vale,” Goodwitch said.

Jaune nodded. He supposed he could ask what Vale was, but he figured it must be some kind of place near Beacon Academy.

They exited the building Goodwitch had led him to from the platform and out onto smooth paved streets.

Jaune followed behind Goodwitch, doing his best to keep track of the woman while he took in as much of the city as he could. The buildings were neatly arranged next to each other in a style similar to Shion. Yet this place was much bigger than Shion and was far more bustling, with people moving up and down the streets in streams of life.

Though considering how many dead people there had been in Shion, maybe it had looked similar to here before the Grimm came, if somewhat smaller.

He noted idly that there were plenty of men on the streets, shopkeepers, a father with a child on his shoulders, someone unloading crates, but something bothered his brain about it. Women looked at them… strangely.

Not covetous, not lustful, just… consideration.

Idly, he wondered what this place was called. The place he had been was called Shion; surely, a city this grand must have a name.

“Ms. Goodwitch?” Jaune asked.

Goodwitch turned and looked at him cocking an elegant blonde brow at him. “Yes, Mr. Arc?” she asked.

“Where are we?”

Goodwitch’s brow furrowed, and she looked at him for a long moment. Jaune wondered if the question had somehow offended the woman. “We’re in the capital of Mistral, Haven,” Goodwitch said.

Mistral and Haven, huh? Jaune thought to himself. She said those places as if they were expected to be known.

Why didn’t he know? Jaune wondered. His memories were still just as fragmented, but he could put some pieces together. There were basic components of the world he just didn’t know, or at least he didn’t know anymore.

His mind was like a puzzle, but half the pieces were missing, and he could only guess as to what might fill in the space in between.

They arrived at docks for other airships that looked somewhat like the one he had ridden into Haven, and Jaune observed them with awe.

Goodwitch walked up to one of the people in a booth outside the docks and had a discussion with the person operating the booth until she was handed two tickets in exchange for a couple of colored cards.

Goodwitch gestured him forward, and he walked up to her. She held out a ticket. “This is your bullhead ticket; our flight is in a couple of hours.

Jaune nodded, accepting her words.

Goodwitch hesitated, her lips pursing, “Is there a particular way you would like to spend our remaining time in Haven?” she asked.

Jaune hesitated despite himself. Was this something he should know? It seemed like a self-evident question, but it was unclear to him how he would even go about answering it, given his current lack of information.

Jaune made a sweep of the platform, noting a couple of stands off to the side that, judging from the smell, seemed to be serving some type of food.

He hadn’t eaten since he had woken up, and he had no memory of how food was supposed to taste. He knew intrinsically that it must taste like something, but what? He had no idea.

“Can we eat?” Jaune asked, looking at Goodwitch contemplatively.

The woman blinked her emerald eyes before they widened slightly as something seemed to occur to her. “We can,” she said simply, though there was almost a guilty edge to it.

The two of them walked up to a stand, taking a seat next to each other as a bubbly pink-haired waitress bounced up to them, “Heya!” she greeted cheerfully, “What can I get the lovely couple?!”

Jaune noted a small, almost imperceptible flinch from Goodwitch before she responded, “We’re not entangled as such.” Her voice was painfully dry, her emerald eyes boring into the waitress.

“Oooh, tough luck!” the waitress shot Jaune a commiserating look before something thoughtful entered her eyes, “If you need a listening ear, sweetheart, I’m always available!”

Jaune noted that this statement seemed to irritate Goodwitch quite a bit, her eyes narrowing at the waitress. Jaune himself was nonplussed, unsure of what exactly he was being offered.

It didn’t look like Goodwitch was going to rescue him from the conversation, though, so he would have to try to give a version of a response, “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I won’t be in Haven much longer,” Jaune said politely.

The girl sighed, shaking her head. “That’s too bad.” She winked at him. “I’m sure I could show you something special.”

Jaune noted that Goodwitch’s expression had turned positively frigid, and for some reason, the air felt heavy.

“If we could please order?” Goodwitch said politely.

“Sure thing!” The girl grinned brightly.

“The number three, please,” Goodwitch said.

The waitress turned to look at Jaune. “The number three as well, please,” he said, not bothering to look at the menu. He had no idea how anything tasted, so it would be meaningless to try and guess what he should eat. Copying Goodwitch seemed the best path forward.

The girl nodded and turned away to begin preparing their orders, leaving Jaune in a silence that felt strangely uncomfortable with Goodwitch.

He could feel her eyes on him, and he ran his own over their surroundings, looking for anything to focus on. His eyes caught on a group of passengers walking onto the platform, and he noted that they were all faunus. They were dressed in normal clothes, but Jaune noted that their bags seemed oddly bulky.

Was that unusual?

He hadn’t seen many faunus so far; he knew of them, but he just didn’t know anything about them. Another gap in knowledge.

They seemed nervous, he thought. The energy around them fluctuated, and while their faces revealed nothing, something distinctly uncomfortable hung around them.

His hand rested on Crocea Mors, and he felt the heat of the hilt shift across his palm, soothing, yet there was an anticipatory edge to the energy.

“Mr. Arc,” Goodwitch said, drawing his attention back to her, “Are you alright?”

Jaune gave the woman a long look. “Yes,” he finally responded for lack of ability to state why he was uneasy. There was that gruff voice again.

“You can’t trust anyone. Even if it seems innocuous, focus.”

Their food arrived, and Jaune gladly took the distraction and took a bite of what his mind told him was a noodle bowl.

His eyebrows raised, and a small smile wormed its way onto his face as he encountered for the first time an actually pleasant sensation in his relatively short period of consciousness. The noodles had a tangy, slightly spicy, salty flavor, with chunks of some kind of meat that were breaded and fried.

It was nice; he was glad he could eat something like this.

Definitely a good part of existence, Jaune decided; it basically made up for at least the first time he remembered dying.

An airship emerged from around a couple of buildings and began to slowly circle downward to land on the platform.

“That’s our airship,” Goodwitch said, “When you’re finished, we can board.”

Jaune blinked and turned to her and noted that she had somehow finished her own bowl while he hadn’t been paying attention. He nodded and quickly scarfed down the last bites of his meal before setting his own bowl down and hopping off his stool.

“I’m ready,” he said, simply looking to Goodwitch for guidance.

She took the lead to the airship, and Jaune followed behind her, walking up the ramp into the back of the ship alongside several other groups of people.

Idly, Jaune noted that these people seemed to lack the energy around them that he had felt from Goodwitch or what he had felt from the group of faunus earlier.

Why was that?

They emerged onto a lounge area with seats scattered about, and Jaune followed Goodwitch's example, taking a seat next to her.

She pulled out her scroll and began to fiddle with it rapidly, typing away at the screen.

Jaune considered attempting to look at what she was doing, but that struck him as impolite for some reason.

Jaune sat back in his chair, resting against the soft cushions; despite himself, he felt an odd drowsiness seeping through him. It felt somewhat like when he had used up all that energy fighting that Grimm back in Shion.

Less immediate but still a similar sense of tiredness.

He would just shut his eyes for a few moments. Here seemed relatively safe.

-

Glynda’s eyes flicked off her scroll for a moment to glance at the boy as his breathing evened out.

That was the only indication that he was asleep besides his eyes closing that she was able to note. His body still sat straight up in seeming perpetual readiness.

It made her uneasy; well, she supposed not just that.

The more she interacted with Jaune, the more sure she was that she was missing something. On the other hand, she didn’t have another choice but to bring him back to Beacon.

The boy seemed capable of healing mortal wounds.

That was something that Ozma desperately needed right now. Her hands flexed against her will, and she closed her eyes, counting backward in her head.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong. They needed his help, and it wasn’t as if she had kidnapped the boy.

Brothers, she was helping provide him the opportunity if he managed to pass the Beacon placement exam; if he was telling the truth about killing the Grimm in Shion, it was something that he should have no trouble doing.

Despite her internal assurances, that didn’t change the queasy feeling in her gut; uncomfortable, cold guilt settled deep within her.

Asleep, the boy looked so young, lacking the guarded front he seemed to wear so often.

Even if he could help Amber, was this the right way to do things?

In support of Ozma she had done things she wasn’t proud of. Using a teenager with no home and family to speak of? Well, it wasn’t the bottom of the list, but it also wasn’t something she was extremely proud of.

Glynda’s lips turned down in a small frown, but she ignored the unsettled feeling in her stomach. Her discomfort didn’t matter. Her misgivings didn’t matter.

Maybe when she was younger, a fresh Huntress, she would have considered her current thoughts anathema, but now, with a maiden down struggling on life support in the base of Beacon, she couldn’t afford to turn down a potential solution.

Jaune shifted slightly, and his body fell to the side, and his head fell onto her shoulder, and she became intensely aware of how much heat his body generated.

A slight coloring in Glynda’s cheeks was all she allowed herself. Normally, she wouldn’t have allowed such contact, especially with a potential student, not to mention her own issues with physical touch.

Yet she didn’t make a move to shift the boy. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was sympathy; whatever the emotion was, she couldn’t bring herself to disturb Jaune.

-

Jaune woke, startled, as he didn’t remember falling asleep. He sat up straight, not realizing that the pillow he had been on was far softer than his chair should have been.

Goodwitch turned to him. “You’re awake,” she said simply. “Are you ready?” she asked softly.

“For what?” Jaune asked, confused by her words and coming suddenly back into consciousness.

“We’ve landed. We should see about registering you as a new resident of Vale,” Goodwitch said.

“Right,” Jaune nodded, shaking himself slightly, realizing now that the small vibration of the bullhead was gone and that it could have been what had awoken him.

He shook his head again, attempting to startle his brain into full wakefulness. “Let’s do that.”

He looked about to see that the other passengers had already crowded around the exit into the cool, black of the night, lit up by the surrounding city lights

He stood up with Goodwitch, and they walked across the bullhead and eventually exited as well, coming out behind the other travelers.

Jaune spotted the group of faunus he had seen entering the airship going through the air field they had landed in. They had covered a surprising amount of distance from the airship, there still seemed to be something off, though Jaune couldn’t pinpoint what.

No one else made any comment, though; maybe this was a normal thing.

But why the faunus, not the humans?

Jaune bit his lip, frowning. He was staring at the puzzle again, but he didn’t have the image on the box.

He shrugged to himself and then turned to follow Goodwitch.

“Are you hungry?” Goodwitch asked him.

Jaune frowned. “I ate before we got on the airship?” he said.

Goodwitch raised an eyebrow at him. “That was over 12 hours ago; you’re not hungry?” she asked, and Jaune felt there was a certain chiding tone to the statement, as if the answer should be obvious.

It wasn’t obvious, at least not to Jaune. He wouldn’t even say he had been hungry when he had eaten before, more curious than anything.

“I’m fine,” Jaune shook his head, looking Goodwitch calmly in the eye.

Goodwitch gave him a long look before she sighed and shook her head, “If that’s your final word on it, we’re headed to Beacon next; this will be a significantly shorter flight.”

Jaune nodded, not seeing the need to say anything in response, especially as it seemed that his words had frustrated her. He had no other resources in this world; if Goodwitch became frustrated with him, he might end up in a situation with nothing to rely on.

“Okay,” he said softly before turning to look back at the city, a small smile emerging on his face against his will. There was something nice about seeing the life the lights here suggested. This must be Vale. He liked it.

Something in the air maybe, unlike Haven, the blue-black of the night of Vale felt… kinder for lack of a better term. The air sat on him in a warm, humid embrace, and he could see a broken moon in the sky even if the stars were shaded by the light coming off the city.

They boarded a smaller ship that, after about ten minutes, took off. They stood by the windows in silence as Jaune looked out, waiting for his first sight of this ‘Beacon.’

Some tens of minutes later, a white fortress emerged into view, lit by bright white lights that made it even more imposing.

It was certainly impressive, Jaune thought, but beyond that, he didn’t think much of its appearance.

The ship swerved down to a landing and Jaune followed Goodwitch out onto a stone path only lit by lamps that illuminated a path towards the massive structure.

Jaune followed Goodwitch down the path, finding himself relaxing now that there were far fewer people around.

They passed through a courtyard where a statue stood with two men standing side by side. Each was dressed in armor that made their already larger-than-life figures even more impressive.

One of them had a beard with swept-back hair and held a massive great sword over his shoulder; he stared proudly, his face stern and harsh in the light’s illumination. Next to him was a younger man with long hair and a kind smile plastered across his face; his sword was sheathed at his side, and Jaune absently noted a familiar pair of twin arcs engraved on the sheath.

Looking at them, his heart clenched again as it had done when he was rescued, and the names of Aurelius and Hadrian Arc had been mentioned.

“Are you alright?” Goodwitch asked, and Jaune was driven from his reverie as he realized he had stopped in front of the statues.

“Who are they?” Jaune asked softly, staring at the younger man and tracing his features with his eyes.

Goodwitch blinked, then replied, her voice completely neutral, “Hadrian and Aurelius Arc. I mentioned Aurelius when we met, didn’t I?” she asked rhetorically, “That’s him. Him and his son. I’m not aware of their story beyond what everyone knows. They liberated Mountain Glenn after it was overrun. I don’t know the story much beyond that.”

“One of the Huntresses who was with you said they died,” Jaune said.

“They did,” Goodwitch said softly, “As so happens sometimes with even the best Hunters and Huntresses.”

She visibly stopped herself from continuing, but her eyes became slightly more fixed on the statue.

Jaune looked at them for a long moment, wondering about the feeling in his chest.

He turned to Goodwitch, “What are we doing here?”

“We’re here to meet a woman named Ozma,” Goodwitch said, “She’s the Headmistress at Beacon.”

“Is this so I can take the placement exam?” Jaune asked, walking alongside Goodwitch as they entered through a side door on the side of the main building.

“Yes,” Goodwitch said simply.

“Isn’t it kind of late for that?” Jaune asked, looking at Goodwitch, the question genuine.

Goodwitch’s lips thinned. “No time like the present,” she said primly, and Jaune had the impression she was attempting to end the conversation.

Something about her fluctuated again as it had before; he still couldn’t quantify what, either way, it was another mistruth.

Jaune decided to let it happen; at this point, he knew so little that he wouldn’t be able to say otherwise what she was lying about.

They walked through a pair of doors into a dimly lit school corridor and continued their path through the hallways. Jaune looked about, taking in the smooth stone and tile, along with massive bay windows that pointed out into the dark night.

Eventually, they came upon an elevator, which they entered, and Goodwitch pushed a button, engaging the machine. The doors slid shut, and they began to rise into the sky.

For some seconds, they rose, higher and higher, until they slowed, and the doors opened, revealing a warmly lit room whose background was the reverse side of a giant clock. Within rested a desk where a silver-haired woman dressed in a green suit sat tapping away at a scroll while a slurry of papers was set out before her.

She looked up as they entered the room, and one of her delicate silver brows dipped down as she regarded them thoughtfully.

“Glynda,” the voice was soft but had a commanding air to it, “I did not expect to see you here so late.”

Goodwitch inclined her head. “Headmistress Ozma, I encountered a prospective student on my trip to Haven, someone I thought you should meet.”

There was something passed between the two women with this phrase, but Jaune found himself unable to tell what.

Ozma turned to look cocking a brow at Jaune; something flashed through her dark brown eyes. “Who are you, young man?” she asked.

Oh, good, a question he could answer. “Jaune Arc,” Jaune said.

Ozma blinked slowly. “Any relation to Aurelius Arc?” she asked softly.

Jaune’s face remained neutral, but inwardly, he was surprised that, just like Goodwitch, Ozma’s first question was about Aurelius Arc; how strange.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Jaune questioned, “Why does it matter?”

Ozma looked at him for a long moment before she lightly shrugged, a graceful shift of her shoulders that pushed her modest chest together, “I suppose it doesn’t. Forgive my curiosity. What brings you here, Mr. Arc?”

Jaune frowned, wanting to push more, yet he had the feeling he had all the answers he would get for now. “I want to become a Hunter,” he said simply.

Ozma nodded, “Do you? If I may ask, why? A childhood dream, perhaps? A desire to protect others?”

Jaune’s frown deepened, “I-“ he hesitated, “I don’t know, but it’s something I must do.”

There, that was the best answer he had been able to come up with.

Ozma nodded again, seemingly taking the answer in stride, “What is devotion to you, Mr. Arc?”

Jaune blinked, completely nonplussed, “I’m sorry?” he said questioningly.

Ozma continued looking at them with that strangely impassive gaze he did not understand. “Devotion, what is its meaning?” she asked again, her voice soft.

Jaune didn’t know; he looked down, something about the word ‘devotion…’

“It is devotion that inspires bravery,” the words slipped past his lips, and Jaune felt the heat of the energy within him course through him at those words.

Jaune looked up, and for the first time, Ozma’s gaze was no longer impassive; there was now a curiosity within it. “An interesting choice of words, Mr. Arc, chosen from the old way of unlocking Aura, am I correct? The Lux Æterna.”

Lux Æterna? Aura? Jaune had never heard of either. Yet the first words sounded nice to him, a meaning, a purpose. The second felt like it should have meaning too; was that the energy he felt and used?

Ozma seemed to be thinking in her own world now, and she spoke again, “For devotion inspires bravery. Bravery inspires sacrifice. Sacrifice leads to death. In death, the soul is freed. May the light of your soul be everlasting.”

Each word was as if a physical blow to Jaune; they rang in his ears, and he felt off-balanced; the energy within him throbbed at the words, but Jaune tightened his hold on it, locking eyes with Ozma.

Ozma seemed lost in her own thoughts, eyes unfocused before they centered back on him. “Of course, no one unlocks Aura that way anymore.”

Jaune cocked his head at Ozma. “Why?” he asked.

Ozma chuckled, though the sound had no humor. “Oh, it just fell out of fashion; other chants supplanted it, less… dangerous ones.”

“Dangerous?” Jaune questioned, unable to help himself.

Ozma nodded, “Quite, the unlocking of the aura is a sacred thing, and the words spoken at the time are meaningful. However, that is not to discount that all words, as inventions by humans and faunus, are meaningful, especially where aura is concerned. It’s not quite understood why, of course, though I suppose souls are often hard to understand. Those words, as it so happens, have a remarkable effect on burning out the aura of those it’s used on. It pushes them too high too fast, and the recovery from such can be difficult at best. There have even been cases where people have died.”

“I see,” Jaune said, though he didn’t mean the words. The Lux Æterna’s words didn’t sound so dangerous to him. Despite their effect on him, he actually liked them. There was a… certainty to them, a conviction.

Ozma locked eyes with him, and Jaune had the uncomfortable feeling that she could see right through him.

“Regardless,” Ozma finally spoke, “You are here to take the placement exam, correct? Come with me.”

Ozma stood up, and Jaune followed quickly in her wake as she exited the room into the elevator. She pressed a button and turned a key, and the lift shortly engaged and began to descend now with three passengers.

Through the school, they walked, their footsteps echoing through the halls, the click of Goodwitch’s heels, the soft pad of Ozma’s shoes.

Jaune shot a look at Goodwitch, but her face was completely impassive, and he was unable to glean anything from it.

They walked for some time before they arrived at a door and entered a massive chamber. “Go stand there,” Ozma said, gesturing toward the center of the room.

Jaune nodded and walked to the center of the room, positioning himself and balancing on the balls of his feet before looking back at the two adults, who, after a quiet conversation, both walked up a flight of stairs to a booth.

Jaune frowned in thought, wondering what that was about, before Ozma’s voice boomed throughout the room on the speakers, evidently also within the room, “The objective is simple, Mr. Arc; there will be waves of Atlas robots that will come at you. Through whatever means at your disposal, you are to deal with them. Do you have any questions?”

‘Plenty,’ Jaune thought with a wry smile on his face, but he shook his head, “I’m ready.”

The floor shifted and, with a grinding of gears, split apart, revealing a swath of what Jaune realized were robots carrying guns, along with some of them carrying metal blades attached to their arms.

So these were ‘Atlas Robots.’

Their metallic heads turned to him, and a robotic voice emerged from the lead one, “Prospective Hunter Identified, Begin Test Protocols.”

Two robots raced forward, metal blades at the ready, sprinting towards him to cut him through.

Crocea Mors was warm against his palm as he drew forth his energy, which might be aura, which he supposed didn’t matter in the end.

It was his.

Jaune breathed, sucking in air, and on the exhale, he flexed his ‘aura’ to full, and he glimmered golden, the energy running over Crocea Mors, sinking into the metal, causing it to gleam a soft gold.

The first robot came into range, and Jaune drew his blade forth in a single movement, and his blade ripped through the metal of the robot with ease, even if the strike was somewhat unclean, ripping and tearing the metal at points in what should have been a clean slice.

His sheath made its way to his arm, springing into his shield, which he brought to bear against a storm of bullets.

Jaune gritted his teeth and pressed his feet flush against the floor as the force of the bullets attempted to drive him back. The bullets succeeded for several seconds, and he skated backward across the floor from the force of the bullets.

He flexed his aura through his body and sprinted forward, his feet beating metal prints into the floor as he raced at his opponents.

He made contact with the first two of the robots within seconds. Through sheer force, he caved in and shattered the fronts of the first robots that he hit with his shield before he ducked and swept his sword in a circle, cleaving through metal in a keening screech and shower of sparks as the electronics and limbs of the robots were ripped from them.

Jaune blocked two blows but wasn’t able to stop the third hit, which glanced off his aura.

He didn’t flinch, golden light gleaming around him; he had already learned from the Grimm that staggering was merely a chance for your opponent to take advantage.

His blade flickered out, puncturing the torso of two more robots while he raised his shield to ward off another hail of bullets.

He kept moving, following instinct, and the memory of the deep, warm voice resurged again.

“The motion of the sword and shield are not separate. They move together. They are one and the same. The shield protects where the sword cannot be, and the sword eliminates what the shield cannot protect.

Jaune gritted his teeth, blocking blows as he cut outward in narrow, clean swipes. He was entirely surrounded, and in that, it was like fighting the Grimm.

What was different from fighting the Grimm was that the robot's ranged options were far more significant.

Yet at the same time, there were similarities. These robots always pushed. They never gave ground.

They never showed fear.

He targeted the ends of the robots' arms, his sword sheering through the metal with screeches that echoed throughout the room.

He couldn’t afford to give an inch, or he would be overwhelmed by superior numbers. He had to keep pressing forward, breaking up attempted formations as the robots tried to overwhelm him.

He ducked and dodged through the robots, his body accelerating through the air as he flexed his aura higher; the room’s lights were nothing compared to the yellow glow pouring off of him.

It was like a star had ignited/

The smell of oil and electrical smoke filled the air as he pushed forward. Finally, he managed to destabilize the group with a sweeping beheading strike that bled aura through the air.

The robots split apart, and he found his advantage, diving between them and keeping them apart. He kicked a robot away as two of them opened fire, a couple of bullets clipping him in bright sparks of his golden aura before he brought his shield to bear.

Several robots stowed their guns and attempted to bring their blades to bear, making wide sweeping strikes, but Jaune slipped around the majority of them, only taking a couple of strikes on his shield.

He slammed his shield into two of them, launching them away in tumbling masses of metal that screeched across the floor, parts of their metal bodies shattered from his strike.

Every moment, he pushed himself harder, pushed himself faster, his sword picking up speed, becoming a beam of golden light as his aura flushed over him.

Energy coursed through him, and unbeknownst to Jaune, a savage grin had spread across his face as he stabbed another robot clean through its head before he shattered another’s chest with the edge of his shield.

Robot after robot was cut down until there was nothing left of the metal constructs, but that was not it.

Jaune wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The floor groaned apart, splitting in a perfectly horizontal line. A massive robot emerged from the floor, several times the size of Jaune, standing upon two massive legs with two massive arms that ended in gigantic cannons.

-

“Ozma! What are you doing?!” Glynda said harshly, looking at the headmistress whose face was implacable.

“I’m testing him, Glynda,” Ozma said softly.

“Testing!” Glynda said furiously, “No other student has had to face an Atlesian Paladin, even with a droid intelligence driving it!”

“No other student will have to fight as this one does,” Ozma said just as softly as her previous statement, “If he can’t beat a Paladin now, then he’ll have no chance later.”

“What are you talking about!” Glynda said, bewildered.

Ozma shook her head and continued watching.

-

Sweat beaded down Jaune’s forehead, but he glared at the massive robot nonetheless.

“Never let your opponent set the pace of the conflict,” the voice said again, and Jaune could almost feel the gentle pat of a broad hand on his back.

Charging forward, he rolled to the side as a massive arm came swinging down, erupting in an explosion of fire where he had been.

A lot of force, he thought, but…

“You’re slow,” Jaune growled, sprinting across the ground, dodging missiles and bullets that attempted to track him. He hopped and skated across the floor, slipping and ducking around the missiles as he caught the bullets on the front of his shield.

He traced an arc around the outside of the massive robot's reach, finding the range of its limbs and the pace of its bullet rockets. Finally, he saw his opportunity.

He ran towards the center of the robot. Crocea Mors held off to the side of his body, his limbs screaming at him as he pushed them hard, sweat beading his forehead as he sprinted straight through the robot's legs, lashing his sword to the side to cut through one of the legs, gritting his teeth as he forced his strength to its limits to cleave through the metal.

“Got to kill more Grimm,” Jaune murmured to himself; he definitely wasn’t strong enough yet.

He dove forward, slipping away from the mass of metal that made up the robot as it came crashing to the ground.

Still, that was not enough to take out the robot. Even from its prone position, its back popped up, and massive blocks shot free, rockets contained within. Fire erupted as more missiles flew at him, tracing a path of explosions as he sprinted away in a curved line across the ground of the room, just barely staying out of reach of each blast, even as the blasts ripped into the floor.

Another explosion rippled over him, sending him flying and rolling across the metal ground. Jaune found his feet after the fourth roll, and he sprang up, his feet still skidding across the ground. Jaune leaped forward, spinning around a missile and blocking a hail of bullets with his shield. Jaune spun once again, kicking off the floor, charging directly at the robot, dodging an arm that lashed out, skimming the air to his left, and blowing his hair back from his face.

Jaune distantly noticed the wind generated from the blow felt rather good on his overheated skin, but that thought was pushed down as he slipped around a rocket that would have sent him flying.

He leaped with all the force his legs could impart, his body spinning through the air.

In a blur, he spun through the air and, in seconds, he arrived directly in front of the Paladin, close enough to see its bulbous torso light up with red light as it seemingly realized he had made it to its core. His sword sank into its chest, the metal of his blade overcoming the robot's own with ease.

“Crocea Mors!” he roared, and golden energy flashed like a lightning strike as his aura cleaved entirely through the robot in a bright, tightly controlled arc. Jaune had to narrow his eyes from the massive burst of light that almost blinded him from its sheer brightness.

Jaune took deep, panting breaths before he pushed off the robot, backflipping through the air, maintaining his grip on Crocea Mors as he landed on the ground. He backed away from the robot as it fell to the sides, neatly cut in two.

Jaune frowned, still trying to catch his breath; that had been nothing compared to the Grimm as far as difficulty went.

He noted that he hadn’t felt any rush of energy after the battle. It seemed Grimm were the only way to level up.

“Unfortunate,” he mumbled.

He turned to look at the box where Goodwitch and Ozma were, an eyebrow cocked. Was that enough, he wondered.

He honestly didn’t feel up to fighting another group of robots, but if that’s what he had to do….

Jaune frowned in thought. Why did he want this so much? Perhaps he should think about it more.

They emerged some seconds later, Ozma walking towards him down the stairs with a reasonable amount of aplomb, though Goodwitch gave off a distressed feeling to him, her eyes flickering to Ozma every now and then.

“An acceptable performance, Mr. Arc,” Ozma said, “You’ll have the opportunity to attend Beacon.”

Jaune nodded slowly, wiping sweat away from his brow. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Ozma nodded, a small smile drifting across her face before she turned to Goodwitch, “If you will see Mr. Arc to the guest dorms,” she said leadingly.

Goodwitch locked eyes with Ozma, and Jaune could have sworn something passed between them, but nevertheless, Goodwitch nodded, “Of course, Ma’am,” she said shortly.

She looked back to Jaune, and there was something softer in her gaze now, something unsure as well. Jaune thought, “Will you come with me, Jaune?” she asked.

Jaune nodded once and turned away to follow Goodwitch, who led him from the room.

-

Ozma hummed to herself, looking at the decimated area, and despite her self-control, she was unable to stop the small smile that turned her lips.

“That boy,” she murmured musingly to herself. He had fought with such ferocity, like the heroes of eld, like, “He couldn’t be.” She mumbled, her lips twisting down, ‘Crocea Mors’; she hadn’t heard that name in…

Ozma was a rational woman. When presented with a fact that contradicted a previous worldview, she was more than ready to change with that knowledge. If an Arc was willing to attend her school after everything…

A darker thought occurred to her; it was almost too perfect, in fact it was. A scion of a family that had bunkered down in Atlas and now only interacted minimally with the outside world.

For one to appear. Seemingly not knowing who he was.

“Salem,” Ozma murmured, the tone of her voice so conflicted that none, including her, knew how she felt about them.

Yet this was not like Salem. Salem could be brazen; she could be cunning, but Ozma liked to think that she would think twice about sending an infiltrator carrying the Arc name. Such a name was far more likely to catch her attention.

Though perhaps Salem was counting on her own emotions. Her own Guilt.

The death of the head and scion of the Arc family, the liberators of Mountain Glenn, had not weighed easily on her conscience. In fact, those deaths, in particular, weighed heavier on her even now than many of the other sacrifices she had made.

Seeing Jaune was like looking at Hadrian, she thought, except perhaps the fact that the easy-going smile she had known on Hadrian’s face was gone, replaced with something cold.

Something dead.

“I will not lose another Arc,” Ozma said softly into the empty room, her only company the snapping of electrical wires cut apart from the still smoking robots.

It was an adequate response to spouting such a lie.

-

Goodwitch led him through the hallways, only lit by electrical lights that cast a soft yellow glow over their surroundings. Beacon was quite a large place, Jaune noted, and he had to restrain himself from getting distracted by the many branching paths and doors they passed. Jaune noted that she hadn't spoken since they left. They arrived at a door that Goodwitch opened for him. He followed her in and turned to her as she did to him.

She opened her mouth, closed it, frowned, and then opened it again. “What do you plan to do now?” she asked him, and Jaune realized that this was a leading question.

He frowned, looking at the woman thoughtfully, “Probably sleep,” he said honestly.

Goodwitch’s cheeks seemed to pinken lightly, but Jaune could have been mistaken.

“I meant now that you’ve been admitted to the school, you still have a week before the school year begins.”

Jaune nodded at the new information, taking it in thoughtfully. “I see,” he said

“Given your survival of Shion and what I saw just now, I’d think you have some Hunter training,” Goodwitch said, looking at him thoughtfully, but Jaune felt as if there was something off about the statement, as if it was planned as the forefront of a question. “Besides physical combat, how are the other aspects of your education?”

Was there something else to being a Hunter?

Jaune blinked, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Before he decided, to be honest, they probably wouldn’t kick him out now, “Nonexistent,” he said bluntly.

Goodwitch nodded, her face impossible to read. “If possible, then I’d like to give you a bit of preterm instruction, a base so that you won’t be completely caught off guard.”

“Why?” Jaune asked.

Goodwitch’s eyes momentarily flicked away from him, and something told Jaune it was a sign of emotion- guilt; he thought, “If you feel prepared, I won’t press the issue,” she said simply.

Jaune eyed the woman; there was still something she wasn’t being truthful about.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Goodwitch looked up, her eyes widening somewhat in surprise behind her glasses, though Jaune couldn’t imagine why. “Be prepared for tomorrow then,” she said, her voice soft, then turned away and exited the room.

Jaune’s eyes trailed behind her, landing on her gently swinging backside, cloaked in a black skirt that did nothing to prevent him from seeing the swing of her hips or the smooth legs pressed against her fishnets.

Jaune blinked, then tore his eyes away, and his sword heated against his side again.

“That’s going to be a bad habit, isn’t it?” he murmured to himself, sighing.