[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[AndrewJTalon]

The door knocks. A CAMPUS COURIER hands COCO ADEL a small, perfectly wrapped box.

COCO(reading label, eyebrow raised)"For Miss Schnee. Courtesy of Madam Adel's personal tailor. –G."(opens it, whistles) Garak doesn't do gifts. He charges extra for air.

Inside: a dove-gray cashmere scarf with subtle silver threading. A card.

WEISS(taking scarf reverently) This is… exquisite.

COCO He's in town for the week. Mom booked him solid, but he always squeezes in "special projects."

BLAKE Who's Garak?

COCO Best tailor on Remnant. Intense. Like he knows exactly where to stick the pins.

WEISS Then why did he send it to me?

CUT TO:

EXT. BEACON COURTYARD – NEXT MORNING

Team JNPR drills. NORA turns footwork into a dance party. PYRRHA diplomatic, REN meditating through chaos. And RWBY is watching their turn.

A shadow falls across the mats.

GARAK (O.S.)(calm, cultured) Excuse me. Might I borrow Mr. Arc for a moment?

GARAK: middle-aged grey lizard Faunus, dark hair, tailored tunic in muted greens and browns. Smile warm, eyes unreadable.

JAUNE(stomach drops) Garak!

GARAK(spreads arms)Jaune, my dear boy! All grown up and swinging a sword like you were born to it. I'm almost proud.

JAUNE Ah, well... Um... Y-Yeah

Teams RWBY and JNPR freeze.

WEISS(marching forward, scarf around neck)You. You're the one who sent the scarf. Why?

GARAK Why not? The Schnee Heiress wearing one of my scarves? Who wouldn't want such an opportunity?

PYRRHA How do you know him?

GARAK Old family friends.

JAUNE And... Well, he did help me get into Beacon...

RUBY Forging your transcripts?

Dead silence.

GARAK(innocent confusion) Forgive me, I believe I'd remember committing a crime of that magnitude.

JAUNE(muttering)You said it was "a simple matter of creative documentation."

GARAK(eyes sparkling) Did I? How shocking. I'm merely a tailor. Plain, simple Garak. I stitch hems and mend seams.

NORA(gasps)You're the mystery man who got Jaune-Jaune into Beacon?!

GARAK Allegedly. And only if one believes transcripts measure a Huntsman. Narrow-minded, don't you think?

WEISS You could have ruined his life.

GARAK Or I recognized potential where others saw paperwork. Reckless, foolish, determined. Reminded me of myself at his age.

PYRRHA Why help him at all?

GARAK(wistful) Many reasons. Perhaps I saw a boy willing to risk everything for a dream. Sentimental old tailor's heart.

(beat, distant)

Or I never forgave Isabel Arc for doubting my artistry. Quite vocal about not trusting "that strange man in the village" with her wedding dress. Ungrateful, after I made her radiant.

JAUNE Mom still thinks you're a spy.

GARAK(laughs richly) A spy? With these hands?(holds up elegant fingers) I assure you, the only secrets I keep are which clients prefer natural fibers.

YANG So which is it? Noble mentor? Petty revenge? Something else?

GARAK(sly) A man is entitled to his mysteries. Perhaps I found the idea of an Arc stumbling into greatness… amusing. Expected him to wash out spectacularly. Imagine my delight when he didn't.

RUBY That's kind of mean.

GARAK Or prophetic. Greatness often begins with a stumble.

BLAKE(quiet) You're not just a tailor.

GARAK Exactly what I say I am. A man who sees potential in unlikely places. Who believes the right person in the wrong place can change everything.

(turns to Jaune, softens)

You've done well, my boy. Better than expected. Your mother must be proud, even if she'll never admit it.

JAUNEY ou never told me why. Really.

GARAK (eyes ancient, weary—just a flash)

Because the darkness is coming. Someone told me an Arc would be needed. Someone has to make sure you're in position.

(mask snaps back, cheerful)

Or perhaps I simply enjoy a good practical joke. Who can say?

He claps hands.

GARAK Now—measurements. Miss Nikos, fascinating shoulder-to-waist ratio. Structured jacket? Miss Schnee, scarf suits you. I could add protective embroidery.

WEISS(involuntary hand to scarf)What kind of protective?

GARAK(winks)The kind that keeps prying eyes away. A lady should have her secrets. And I can do so much more!

REN Why?

GARAK Call it an investment in the future... And besides, up and coming Hunters in training showing off my styles? Who could resist?

COCO appears, dragging enormous garment bag.

COCO Garak! Mom's having a fit—you're late!

GARAK(theatrical sigh) Duty calls. Jaune—keep thriving. In your case, it is far more entertaining than failing.

At the gate, he pauses, looks back.

GARAK Remember, Jaune. Sometimes the plain and simple truth is the most complicated lie of all.

He vanishes into the crowd.

NORA Your family is so cool.

JAUNE(quiet, fond dread) Yeah. Terrifying, isn't it?

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Cross Continental Transmit (CCT) Network of Remnant
Overview

The Cross Continental Transmit System (CCT or CCTNet) is the backbone of global communication across Remnant. Established in the decades following the Great War as part of the peace accords and the broader post-war world order, the CCT is a network of massive transmission towers that enables instantaneous, high-bandwidth voice, video, text, and data transmission between Scrolls, terminals, and broadcast systems anywhere on the planet. It is one of the few truly transnational institutions that all kingdoms agree is essential to civilization's survival, and its protection is considered a sacred rule of engagement.

Core Technology: Quantum-Linked Primary Towers
At the heart of the CCT are the four Primary Relay Towers, one located in the capital of each Great Kingdom:

• Vale City Tower (Vale)
• Atlas City Tower (Atlas)
• Mistral City Tower (Mistral)
• Viracocha Tower (Shade Academy vicinity, Vacuo)

These towers are linked via quantum entanglement Dust arrays—a rare and highly guarded application of exotic Dust crystals that creates instantaneous, unbreakable communication channels regardless of distance or interference. The quantum link allows for virtually unlimited bandwidth and zero latency across continents, making real-time holographic calls, global news broadcasts, and massive data transfers possible. The exact mechanics are classified, known only to a handful of physicists and maintained under joint H.A.R./kingdom oversight.

The quantum link is the reason the CCT is considered "unjammable" by conventional means—any attempt to disrupt it would require physical destruction of the towers themselves or computer infiltration.

Secondary Infrastructure: Repeaters and Radio Backbone
While the Primary Towers handle the quantum core, the network extends globally through a vast array of repeater towers and high-altitude balloon relays.

• Repeater Towers: Thousands of smaller towers scattered across kingdoms, settlements, and even remote outposts. These use conventional radio waves to receive and retransmit signals from the Primary Towers, extending coverage to areas without direct quantum access.
• Balloon Repeaters: Autonomous, high-altitude balloons that float in the upper atmosphere. They serve as mobile relays in regions with poor tower coverage (e.g., Vacuo deserts, open oceans, or Grimm-infested wilds). Balloons can be redeployed quickly and are equipped with emergency radio transceivers.

In emergencies, the repeater and balloon network defaults to standard radio transmission. This allows basic voice and low-bandwidth data communication, ensuring no kingdom is ever fully isolated.

Rules of Engagement and Protection
The CCT towers—primary and secondary—are explicitly non-targetable under international accords formalized after the Great War. Deliberate attacks on CCT infrastructure are considered crimes against humanity, as they would isolate entire regions and cripple coordinated Grimm defense. Even in the rare event of kingdom-level conflict, all parties treat the towers as neutral sanctuaries.

Violations are vanishingly rare but carry severe consequences: universal condemnation, H.A.R. sanctions (license revocation for involved Hunters), and potential joint military retaliation.

Civilian and Cultural Usage
Beyond official communications, CCTNet is deeply woven into daily life:

• Scroll Network: Personal devices connect seamlessly for calls, messaging, social media, and streaming.
• Broadcast Media: Global news (VNN in Vale, Atlas Military Network, etc.), entertainment, and public alerts.
• Ham (Amateur) Radio: A beloved hobby across Remnant. Enthusiasts maintain independent stations, often using repeater networks or balloon relays. Ham radio culture thrives in rural areas and among survivalists—it's a point of pride in Vacuo and a nostalgic pastime in Vale's outer provinces. During CCT outages, ham operators become vital community links.

Military Integration
Each kingdom maintains proprietary encrypted sub-networks layered atop CCTNet for secure command-and-control. These are supported by dedicated military "satellites" (high-altitude balloons or airships) and ground stations.

• Backup Systems: All militaries retain robust radio networks and experimental balloon-based relay chains for redundancy. Vale and Atlas in particular test tethered balloon arrays for battlefield comms in Grimm-heavy zones.
• Mobile Relays: Valean, Atlasian and some Mistralian capital ships also act as floating CCT nodes. Many powers also have heavily fortified relay stations and some sea ship based relay vessels for extra redundancy.

Navigation Functionality
CCTNet doubles as a global positioning and navigation system, using the tower/relay grid as a constellation of beacons.

How It Works:

1. Triangulation via Signal Strength/Timing: Scrolls and vehicles ping multiple nearby towers/relays. By measuring signal return times and strengths, devices calculate precise position (accurate to within meters in dense coverage, ~50m in remote areas).
2. Quantum Synchronization: Primary Towers provide an absolute time reference via quantum link—eliminating drift and enabling hyper-accurate GPS-like functionality even in bad weather or Grimm interference zones.
3. Fallback Beacons: Balloon repeaters and secondary towers broadcast emergency navigation pulses on radio frequencies, guiding airships or ground convoys if CCTnet connection fails.
4. Military Enhancements: Encrypted channels overlay tactical grids; Huntsmen Scrolls can "tag" Grimm signatures for real-time tracking shared across units.

In practice, losing local CCT coverage (e.g., tower destruction) blinds navigation in that region—airships revert to inertial/dead-reckoning, and ground forces rely on compass/maps. This makes tower protection a strategic imperative beyond mere communication.

Future

Proposals for creating additional Primary Relay towers across Remnant to increase coverage are common, but given the security risks and extensive resources and logistics required for a single core tower, this limits candidates that can host a new Primary. Menagerie, Fuujin, Pandu, and the Hellenic Confederation have all made numerous proposals to build new Primary Towers in their territories, but ongoing political and economic issues make these slow going.

Additional proposals for a "Neutral" tower have been made in neutral territory, but few areas across Remnant qualify that would be acceptable to the Four Kingdoms, HAR, or for the needed resources and logistical support.

- - -

Just my own twist on the CCTnet, based on the canon but with my own expansions.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The RWBY dorm common room had been commandeered for "team bonding"—Nora's code for smuggling in a bottle of Hunter-grade Mistralian firewhiskey she'd "borrowed" from a senior's stash. Yang had contributed a flask of something even stronger, grinning like she'd won a bet.

"Time to bond like adults!" She declared.

"I dunno Yang, this might be bad," Jaune tried. Ruby scowled.

"You're not gonna narc on us, are you Jaune?"

"What? No!" Jaune said, "But this stuff is pretty high grade!"

"Of course it is! Uncle Qrow drinks it!" Yang grinned. "What, you never had a little drink before, Farm Boy?"

"I've literally been drinking wine since I was five, thank you," Jaune sniffed. Weiss scoffed.

"Sure you have!"

"What, does that mean you'd outlast us?" Yang grinned in challenge. Jaune coughed.

"Well, I-"

"Put up or shut up, VB!" Yang challenged.

Now, Jaune Arc may have had his pride beaten to pieces and had to build himself back up... But he was still a Gallian at heart. And nobody challenged him to a drinking contest without an answer. He nodded.

"All right."

"Jaune," Pyrrha said worriedly. Jaune shook his head.

"I've got this, Pyr."

"And we all should drink, too!" Nora enthused. "Right Ren?"

"I suppose it can't hurt... Too much," Ren said.

"Pfft, you're all babies," Yang scoffed, "You'll all be passed out the moment you get a whiff of this! I am the Queen of Holding her Liquor! And you'll be bowing down to me!"

"Please!" Weiss sniffed. "I've already had wine at parties! This is nothing to me!"

"Come on, Blake! Join in!" Ruby enthused. Blake sighed and closed her book.

"Fine."

"You're gonna eat your words, VB," Yang grinned devilishly. Jaune shook his head.

"Then let's get this started!"

"HA! You're going down!" Yang laughed.

One round of shots later...

Jaune Arc—liver forged in the fires of family meals and Albion whiskey festivals—had sipped his glass politely and felt… fine. A warm buzz, nothing more.

Everyone else? Not so much.

Weiss Schnee, usually the picture of poise, had dissolved into giggles after her first sip. She swayed on the couch, cheeks flushed pink, belting out an off-key Atlesian opera aria about snowflakes and lost love. "And the iiiiiice… melts for noooo one!" she warbled, arms flung wide like she was on stage.

Ruby Rose had lasted half a shot before collapsing into a giggling heap on the floor. "I'm a centipede!" she declared, crawling around on her belly with wobbly determination, hugging everyone's ankles as she passed. "Hug tax! Pay the hug tax!" She latched onto Jaune's leg like a koala. "You're warm, Jaune-Jaune!"

Blake, perched on the windowsill, ears twitching regally, eyes half-lidded in drunken imperiousness. "Genji," she purred. "My loyal ninja lover. You've been neglecting your princess. Come here and attend to me at once."

Jaune blinked. "Uh… Blake, I'm not—"

"PRINCESS NEKO COMMANDS IT!" She pointed dramatically, nearly toppling off the sill.

Yang, the "Queen of holding her liquor"—had gone through the emotional rainbow in record time. First tears ("You guys are the best friends ever, I love you so much!"), then anger ("Who drank all the good stuff?! I'll punch 'em!"), and now… affection.

She'd latched onto Jaune like a blonde octopus, arms wrapped tight around his waist, face buried in his chest. "You're so comfy, Vomit Boy. Don't ever leave. Ever."

Jaune patted her back awkwardly. "Yang… air?"

Pyrrha, the Invincible Girl, was anything but invincible tonight. After finishing her shot, she'd started frustrated muttering about "improper training regimens" and "lack of discipline". She then escalated to insults. "Nora, your hammer form is sloppy! Ren, your emotional suppression is unhealthy! Jaune, you're—you're stupid!"

Then the tears came. Big, confused tears as she grabbed his sleeve. "You're so stupid and I hate it and why are you so stupid?!"

Ren sat cross-legged in the corner, eyes half-closed, mumbling Pathist sutras under his breath with serene drunken focus. "The self is illusion… the hammer is also illusion… pass the enlightenment, please…"

Nora, meanwhile, had reached peak Nora—louder, wilder, bouncing off walls like a human pinball. "WHO WANTS TO SEE ME BREAK THE SOUND BARRIER WITH MAGNHILD?!"

Jaune dove, catching her arm before she could grab the hammer. "Nora—no smashing! Dorm rules!"

Zwei trotted through the chaos, tail wagging, being aggressively cute—stealing socks, barking at nothing, and occasionally licking someone's face before darting away. Utterly unhelpful.

Jaune—mostly sober, exhausted, and surrounded—tried to herd his drunken teammates like cats.

"Weiss, maybe sit down before you serenade the window again—"

"Never!" Weiss trilled, twirling until she bumped into Blake.

"Genji! Attend your princess!"

"I'm not Genji! But he's mine, you-you hyprocrite!" Weiss sputtered. Blake glared at her.

"Oh yeah?"

"YEAH!"

They started scuffling... Then fell to the floor.

"GENJI IS MINE!"

"NO MINE!"

Yang tightened her grip. "Mine."

Blake scowled up from the floor as Weiss ineffectually yanked on her sleeve.

"You-You two bimbos can't have my himbo!" She yelled at something slightly to the left of Yang. "OR THIS OTHER BIMBO!"

"Du Katzen-Schlampe! Dein Arsch ist scheiße, nicht sexy!" Weiss shouted in Allomenian.

Oh God why is that sexy? Jaune thought. Yang, as though sensing this thought, clung more tightly to him and whispered in his ear:

"Wǒ yào nǐ cāo wǒ, gěi wǒ shēng jǐ gè bǎobǎo, nǐ zhè ge xìnggǎn de kuáng nán~."

Jaune went bright red. "Wh-What?!"

"I can be sexy tooooo!" Yang whined, gnawing on his shoulder. "Gimme!"

Ruby crawled past, hugging Ren's leg. "Centipede hug!"

Ren didn't stop chanting.

Pyrrha sniffled against Jaune's other arm. "Stupid Jaune… I'm... I'm sexy... STUPID!"

Nora tried to climb the bookshelf. "THUNDER THIGHS ACTIVATED!"

Jaune sighed, steering her down with one hand while balancing Yang with the other. Weiss and Blake then hopped onto his back.

"PIGGY BACK RIDE!"

"ARGH!"

It was going to be a long night.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

It was Jaune Arc's sixteenth birthday, a milestone marked with a lively party at the family farm. Cake, streamers, and games filled the air with joy, thanks to the efforts of his sisters, his dad Nick, and friends Katy and Mercer. But the absence of his mother, Isabel, cast a shadow over the celebration. She'd called, citing an emergency at the hospital—typical of her demanding job as a doctor, but on his birthday? The sting was sharp. Disappointed and frustrated, Jaune retreated to the woods near the farm, venting his anger by swinging an old sword and shield he'd found in the armory: Crocea Mors.

"HA! HYAH! HA!" Jaune's arms trembled with each furious strike, the blade embedding into a makeshift training dummy scavenged from the militia's grounds. I know she's busy, she's always been like that… but she used to make time for us. His thoughts churned as he yanked the sword free, swinging with wild, imprecise blows. "Honestly! If she didn't want to come… ! She could've at least said she was busy…! But no, last-minute cancel… ! The hospital shouldn't even be this busy…!"

He took hold of the sword with both hands and began to beat the training dummy in his frustration.

"SO! WHY! DIDN'T! SHE! COME?!" The dummy split in two under his final, enraged strike.

Bad enough she tried to control his life, pushing him toward medical school away from his dreams, and now she skipped his birthday? Jaune's frustration boiled over, as he panted in his fury and sorrow.

"Hello, Jaune," Isabel's voice cut through, calm but startling.

"GAH!"

Jaune fumbled Crocea Mors, nearly dropping it, and shrank back, scratching his neck nervously.

"Mom?! By Aslan's Mane, how long have you been standing there?!"

Isabel's smile was sad. "A while. I'm sorry, Jaune. I didn't mean to miss your birthday party."

Still miffed, Jaune crossed his arms, trying to brush it off. "I-It's fine… it's not like you promised you'd be there or anything."

A flicker of dark anger crossed Isabel's face—her eyes almost seemed to glow red for a moment before softening back to regret. "You're right. I broke my promise." She paused, her tone gentle. "So… what's the best birthday gift I could get you? To try and make up for it?"

Jaune hesitated. He knew this game—"the workaround," as he called it. Arcs always kept their word, but his mother had a knack for twisting hers, leaving loopholes to dodge commitments. He and his sisters had learned to parse her words carefully. Glancing at his reflection in Crocea Mors's blade, he saw the boy he was and the man he could become. Gripping the sword tightly, almost cutting his hand, he turned to her with fierce determination.

"I want to be a Huntsman!"

Isabel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that all?" She smiled. "Okay."

Jaune froze, gaped at his mother. She continued to smile sincerely. He pinched himself, making sure it wasn't a dream. "R-really? …Just like that?"

"Just like that," Isabel confirmed, her smile warm. "We have a year and a few months to get you in shape for Beacon. So…" She stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. In a flash, a wave of light surged through him—his Aura unlocked.

Jaune gasped as the sensation hit, like a flood of strength and lightness, as if he could take on the world. Aura, he'd heard from his dad, his family and the militia, was a Huntsman's power: defense, healing, strength. But no one had explained how it was unlocked or its deeper workings. As the energy settled, he felt something else—an imprint, like a flash-burned silhouette. For a fleeting moment, he saw his mother with white hair. A primal instinct warned him not to ask about it.

"Woah…"

Besides, the feeling of power flowing through him erased any doubts or misgivings he might have had.

Isabel smiled. "That said, this won't be easy. Getting you up to snuff will take a lot of effort. Are you willing to put in the work, Jaune?"

Still woozy, Jaune straightened, sheathing Crocea Mors and saluting like a knight. "Yes, Ma'am! …Er, Mom, hehe…" He scratched his neck awkwardly.

"Good. Let's get home," Isabel said.

They walked to the farmhouse, where Nick waited on the porch, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, Jaune, hey Izzy."

"Hello, Nick," Isabel replied. "I was just giving Jaune his birthday present. Sorry I missed the party."

Jaune's excitement burst out. "MOMSAIDICOULDBEAHUNTSMAN!" His grin was infectious.

Nick blinked, then grinned back. "That's great, son! She did?"

"SHE DID!"

"I did," Isabel confirmed.

"Well… Beacon starts in a year," Nick said. "We'll have to train you extra hard to get in, but I know you can do it, son!"

Jaune's face set with determination. "I'll take whatever you throw at me! Don't hold back—if I'm gonna catch up, I need to train like my life depends on it! Put me through the ringer, like it's hell week and I-I need a lesson in humility!"

Isabel hugged him, kissing his head. "Don't worry, Jaune. We won't go easy on you in the slightest!"

Nick slammed a hand on Jaune's shoulder, nearly toppling him. "We sure won't, kiddo! I'll work up a training regimen ASAP. Now, go inside—your sisters missed you while you were gone." Jaune nodded, bounding into the living room, a ball of energy ready to crash into his unsuspecting sisters.

---

Such a small decision, yet it had brought so much joy to Isabel's… Her son. Salem couldn't help the sincerity of her own smile as she watched him excitedly tell his sisters the good news through the windows. A contentment rose in her chest, a feeling she had not felt in millenia.

Nick turned away from watching their son to her, surprise and concern in his eyes. Isabel arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"…So, what changed your mind? You've always said you didn't want Jaune in this life. I understood, went along with it… but what happened?" Nick asked.

Isabel looked briefly surprised, then shook her head. As much of a goof as Isabel's-Her husband could be, he had surprisingly keen insight. She thought very carefully before she spoke.

"Nick… I missed our son's birthday because my job was more important than my family. Yes, I saved a life, but I sacrificed our happiness for it. I hurt our son… and I realized that, no matter his career, there'll be times he hurts those he loves. And he'll get hurt, too. I was trying to protect him, but I can't shield him from everything. So… we'll train him, support him, send him to Beacon. If he fails, he can try medical school. But I can't treat him like my baby boy anymore." She paused. "Is it wrong to think that way?"

Nick scratched his neck, sighing. "No, I don't suppose it is."

Salem held her breath. Nick then glanced at Jaune twirling with his sisters in the living room, smiling. "Still, I wish you'd had this change of heart sooner. A year and some months to catch up to Beacon's prospective students… It's a tall order."

Salem relaxed a bit.

"I have faith in our son," She said warmly, moving up to take his hand. "Between us? He'll be the most powerful Huntsman alive." Her eyes gleamed and her smile became almost devilish. "…Besides, I have other motives."

Nick raised an eyebrow, oblivious to the dark thoughts swirling within her. Salem's mind turned to Ozpin, her old nemesis. She no longer sought his destruction as her destiny, but her hatred burned eternal. Sending Jaune to Beacon would give her a pawn to undermine him, to make him suffer. Especially if Isabel, now wearing her face, was carrying out the plan.

"Is armor one of them?" Nick guessed. "He'll need a fresh set before he goes. I can get Thomas started on one. And if he's keeping Crocea Mors, it'll need a refurbish—Papa Shiro should have it ready in time."

Salem blinked. "What? No! I was…" She groped for an excuse. Someone in common with Salem, the Arcs, Beacon…

"... Just thinking of Summer Rose. Her eldest daughter should be at Beacon next year. Poor Jaune broke up with Katy recently… it might be nice to give them a push together. We know Taiyang and Qrow are good people…" She grimaced. "Well, Taiyang."

Nick's face lit up. "Oh yeah, that's right!" He slapped his knee. "The two of them'll get along like peas in a pod. Summer and I knew it was bound to happen—that's why we wrote that contract—" He froze, feeling Salem's oppressive aura.

"Contract?" Salem's voice was dangerous. "What contract?"

Nick gulped, and Salem was pleased to see her presence was still powerful. He looked thoughtful for a moment, before he wrapped an arm around her waist, twirled her into a dip, and kissed her lovingly. "Nothing you need to worry about," he said with a fond smile.

Salem giggled. He always knew just how to distract her. Better than Ozma ever had, or could.

"…Well, I'll let you handle it. But! Only if you do one little thing for me, Nick…" Her eyes gleamed with desire.

Nick's eyes softened with love. "Anything."

Salem, suppressed for millennia, craved intimacy, and Nick's rugged charm was too much to resist.

"Let's make another baby," she purred.

Nick blinked in shock. He laughed happily. He scooped her up in a princess carry, heading for their bedroom. "Then let's get started, shall we?" In the background, their kids groaned, texting their siblings to steer clear of the house for a while.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

A Tract Concerning the True Spring of Grace
and the Necessity of Separation from the Corruptions in Aelia Paravel

By Brother Aldric of Albion ,a humble servant of the Table Breaker and His pure Word,
written in the year 1341 AMF,
on the eve of the founding of the Church of Albion.

To all the faithful scattered throughout Vytal, Arminus, Gallia, Vale, and beyond; to every soul who hungers for the unadulterated grace of the Table Breaker and grieves at the profanation of His sacrifice—grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of our Lord who broke the Stone and shattered every chain.

Beloved, the time has come to speak plainly. For many years we have borne in silence the heavy yoke laid upon the Church by the Four Chairs of Aelia Paravel and their Pontifex Leo Alexander II, who styles himself High King after the manner of blessed Peter yet walks not in Peter's humility. The sacred deposit entrusted to the Stewards has been twisted into a market stall, and the Table itself—once broken to set us free—has been rebuilt in men's imaginations as a ledger of debts payable in silver.

They sell indulgences as though the blood shed upon the Stone were insufficient, promising remission of sins for coin that fills their coffers and adorns their palaces. They exalt tradition above the holy writings handed down by the disciples. They bind consciences with decrees that the Table Breaker never spoke, and they silence any priest or monk who dares remind them that salvation is by grace alone, through faith alone, in the Table Breaker alone.

I ask you, brothers and sisters: when the Table cracked and the dawn broke upon the third day, did our Lord rise to establish a new priesthood that would sell pardons? Did He commission the Four Chairs to sit as brokers between the penitent and the Divine Spark? No. He rose to declare the debt paid in full, the curse broken, the way to paradise open to every soul—human and Faunus—who believes on His name. "It is finished," He cried with His returning breath, and no further payment is required.

Yet in Aelia Paravel they have forgotten this. They have turned pilgrimage into profit, relics into revenue, and the sacred fragments of the Table into a spectacle that distracts from the true power of the resurrection. They claim infallibility for their councils while the Grimm prowl ever closer, drawn by the very despair and division their greed engenders. For when the shepherds fleece the flock instead of feeding it, the wolves find easy entry.

We do not separate lightly. We know the peril of schism in a world where the Creatures of Grimm hunger for every outburst of human strife. Yet there comes a time when to remain in a corrupted house is to partake in its corruption. As King Edmund once taught the Quitalans, "Come out from among them and be separate, says the Lord, lest you share in their plagues" (Edmund to the Quitalans). We separate not to create a new church, but to restore the old—to return to the pure fountain of the Table Breaker's teaching before layers of human invention obscured it.

Therefore, in the year 1342 AMF, by the grace of the Divine Spark and leave of King Lucius II, we establish the Church of Albion: a fellowship of believers who hold these truths:

1. The holy writings of the disciples and stewards are the sole infallible rule of faith and practice.
2. Salvation is by grace alone, through faith alone, in the Table Breaker alone—no works, no payments, no intercessions of men can add to His finished sacrifice.
3. Every believer is a priest before the Divine Spark, with direct access to the throne of mercy through the broken Table.
4. The true Church is the company of all who trust in the Table Breaker, not an institution seated in any earthly city.

Let no one accuse us of pride. We are not innovators; we are restorers. We seek the old paths, where the good way is, that we may walk therein and find rest for our souls. We extend the hand of fellowship to every brother and sister still within the old structures who hungers for reform. Come out, and let us reason together beneath the light of the resurrection dawn.

And to those who remain in Aelia Paravel: repent. Cast down the sale of indulgences. Return the Church to its first love. Humble yourselves before the Table Breaker, lest the Grimm that already circle your walls find open gates in the despair of an oppressed people.
May the Divine Spark who broke the Stone grant us all grace to walk in the light of the true Spring that flows from His sacrifice alone.

Brother Aldric of Albion,
In the year of our Lord the Table Breaker, 1341 AMF

 

[AndrewJTalon]

A White Spring Orthodox Meditation on Endurance

From the Liturgical Tradition of the White Spring Church

Composed by Saint Seraphim of Mantle, Bishop and Confessor (In the year 1587 AMF, during the Long Frosts of Solitas)

Troparion, Tone 4

O Table Breaker, Thou who didst endure the Stone's cold embrace
for three days and three nights in the tomb's unyielding winter,grant us,
Thy servants in this frozen land of Solitas,
the grace to bear the biting winds and endless snows.
As Thou didst shatter the Ice Witch's eternal frost
and brought forth the everlasting Spring,
so strengthen our souls amid the white silence,
that we may stand firm against despair and the prowling shadows.
For Thou art the Warmth that melts every chain,
and in Thy resurrection is our hope of thaw.
Glory to Thee, O Lord who breakest every winter.

Kontakion, Tone 6

In the depths of Solitas' cruel cold,
where the breath freezes and the heart grows heavy,
we cry to Thee, O Table Breaker, our Deliverer:
Thou who lay upon the Stone in deathly chill,
yet rose with the dawn to clothe the earth in green,
teach us endurance as Thou didst endure.
When the Grimm circle our cities like wolves in the blizzard,
drawn by our fears and fleeting angers,
kindle in us the Divine Spark that repels the void.
Let us not falter in the long night,
but await Thy Spring with patient faith,
for Thou hast promised paradise beyond all frost.
To Thee we sing: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Prayer of Endurance in the White Cold

O most merciful Table Breaker,
Lion of divine strength and Lamb of sacrifice,
who didst submit to the freezing fist of the Witch
and broke her power with Thy resurrection warmth:
look upon Thy faithful in Solitas,
where the snows bury our fields
and the winds howl like the ancient tempests.
In this land of iron skies and endless white,
teach us to endure as Thou didst endure—
not with complaints against the cold,
but with hearts aflame by Thy Spark.
When trials assail us like the Grimm in the storm,
grant us patience, that quiet fortress of the soul,
as Saint Coriakin learned amid the follies of his charge.
Strengthen the miners in Mantle's depths,
the guards upon our walls, the monks and nuns in our frozen monasteries,
that they may bear hardship as good soldiers of Thy broken Table.
Let us remember High King Peter's steadfastness in battle,
Queen Lucy's gentle healing in sorrow,
and King Edmund's redemption from betrayal's chill.
In our suffering, unite us to Thy three days upon the Stone:
the first day, acceptance of the cold;
the second, trust amid the darkness;
the third, hope for the breaking dawn.
O Thou who turnest winter to everlasting Spring,
preserve us from despair, from wrath that summons shadows,
from the temptations of the old gods' empty promises.
Make our endurance a testimony to the world,
that even in Solitas' white silence,
Thy Church stands unbroken, awaiting Thy final thaw.
For Thine is the kingdom beyond all winters,
the power that shatters every ice,
and the glory of the paradise of growth,
now and ever, and unto the ages of ages.
Amen.

(This meditation is one of many recited daily in White Spring Orthodox monasteries during the Long Frosts, often followed by prostrations before icons of the Table Breaker rising from the shattered Stone Table, depicted amid blooming flowers breaking through snow.)

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Another time period to set an AU in? The 1800s. In the Itano-verse, the timeline is similar in many ways to our world but very different in others. In this time period:

Mantle and Endeavor have long cast off the shackles of their colonial masters. Endeavour is a sub-kingdom that was established in the rougher, more desert-like areas of East Sanus that were too treacherous even for the mighty Quitalan Empire to settle for the longest time (and is essentially the early United States). Solitas, united under the kingdom of Mantle is in open war against the Vytalian Empire, while Gallia and Arminus war with both them and an ailing Hispanian Empire which is on its last ropes. The Valean merchant empire tries to broker peace but is stymied at every turn.

Mistral struggles under the yoke of Sanusian and Solitan domination, as do Pandu, Taejo, Rostram and other sub-kingdoms of Anima. Colonization efforts in West Sanus near Vacuo by these powers brings renewed war and competition.

Fuujin is industrializing rapidly, as it has been opened up to the Sanusian Empires. The whirlpools that isolated the island kingdom are now traversable with early steam and air ships. And it too seeks to build an empire to match the East Sanusians and Solitans.

Menagerie has a puppet Faunus monarch that obeys the human empires while revolution foments.

Nova Quitala and the Hellenic League are under the control of Leander, a Gallian dictator who rose in the midst of Revolution.

And with vast trading fleets in the midst of global war, a golden age of piracy has dawned.

In this age of revolt and revolution, Salem offers power through Grimm cults to stir up more chaos and potentially be in charge when the dust settles via puppet monarchs and rulers. She will twist the desire for freedom and the ambitions for power to her own ends.

Basically it's the Napoleonic Wars/Late Colonial era for Remnant.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

(Gonna add in more of these in the future in this new format).

Sub-Kingdom of Endeavor: Historical Profile

Official Name: Republic of Endeavor (commonly called Endeavor)
Status: Autonomous sub-kingdom within the Federal Republic of Vale
Capital: New Atlantis
Population: ~35 million (2000 AMF census)
Primary Resources: Dust (high-grade Fire and Gravity veins), metals (iron, titanium), oil, coal, timber, silicates, and rare minerals
Climate & Geography: Semi-arid with vast grasslands, rugged mountains, badlands, and desert expanses; fertile river valleys support agriculture in the east.

Overview
Endeavor is Vale's industrial and cultural powerhouse in southeastern Sanus—a sprawling republic of frontiers, booming cities, and untamed wilds. Known for free trade, innovation, popular entertainment, and a deep-seated gun culture, it embodies rugged individualism and manifest destiny. Its people are fiercely independent yet loyal to Vale, contributing massive Dust exports, military volunteers, and cultural exports. High Councilor Rufus Winchester represents Endeavor in Vale City; his son Cardin hails from its academies.

Early History: Terra Bestiarum and the Beast's Waste
For millennia after the Moonshatter, southeastern Sanus—called Terra Bestiarum ("Land of Beasts")—remained largely untouched. Nomadic tribes and bands roamed its grasslands and badlands, evading monstrous Grimm like the elusive Sasquatch (towering ape-like brutes) and territorial Goliaths. The Quitalan Empire established coastal outposts but halted inland at Empirus' Wall—a massive fortified barrier marking the empire's frontier limit.

The region earned the name Beast's Waste for its perceived inhospitability. Advanced firearms and Dust weaponry from rising Eastern Sanusan empires finally enabled exploration and settlement in the centuries before the Great War.

Colonization and the Beast Wars
Albion Empire explorers bypassed Empirus' Wall via sea routes, establishing footholds. The Beast Wars (a series of brutal campaigns against native tribes and Grimm) secured Albion claim to much of the territory. Colonization was slow—natural barriers isolated settlements, fostering self-reliant communities. Legendary frontiersmen tamed the wilds.

Rebellion and Independence: The Endeavor Revolution
Heavy taxation after the War of the Hellenic Succession fueled resentment. Colonies rebelled, declaring the Republic of Endeavor.

With support from other Sanusan kingdoms, Solitas, and Animan powers, the rebels won their freedom. The capital, New Atlantis, rose as a shining city of progress: Named to honor mythic origins and new beginnings.

Modern Era: Industrial Powerhouse and Vale Integration
Endeavor tamed the land to the Great Sanusian Plateau, assimilating or displacing natives. For much of history it largely kept to itself and stayed out of the wars of empire save when forced to. Later, It joined the Great War on Vytal and Vale's side, providing troops and resources that tipped key battles. Post-War, it integrated as a Vale sub-kingdom—retaining republican institutions while contributing to federal strength.

Today, Endeavor drives Vale's economy: Dust/metal exports fuel industry; frontier culture produces iconic media (holovid heroes, gunslinger tales). Its people embody self-reliance—high gun ownership, volunteer militias—but remain loyal federalists.

Notable modern figures include Rufus Winchester, whose family traces to revolutionary officers—blending old frontier grit with High Council influence.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Arc family farmhouse door creaked open on a perfectly ordinary afternoon, and Isabel Arc—still in her apron from baking bread, flour dusting her blonde hair—found herself face-to-face with the literal embodiment of humanity's nightmares.

Salem. The Queen of Grimm. Pale skin, crimson eyes, flowing black robes that seemed to drink the sunlight.

Isabel blinked. "…Hello? Can… I help you?"

Salem's eyes welled with tears. Before Isabel could react, the immortal witch lunged forward and enveloped her in a crushing hug.

"GRANDDAUGHTER!"

Isabel's brain short-circuited. "Eh?!"

Nick wandered in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Oh, hey Izzy— Who's this?"

Salem released Isabel just enough to beam at him, tears streaming dramatically down her porcelain cheeks.

"I am Salem! Your… your matriarch!" She clutched her chest, voice trembling. "Just call me… Granny Salem!"

Nick's face lit up like she'd offered him free swords. "Oh! Okay, Granny Salem! Welcome to our home!"

Isabel flailed in the hug, legs kicking uselessly. "NIIIIICK!"

- - -

After a very long, very confusing explanation involving ancient bloodlines, cursed immortality, and a family tree that looked like a horror novel footnote, the three sat in the living room.

Isabel stared at Salem like she was a bomb with a lit fuse.

"You're telling me that you—the Queen of the Grimm—are my distant ancestor?"

Salem nodded eagerly, hands clasped. "Yes, dear!"

"AND YOU UNLEASHED THE GRIMM THAT MURDERED MY PARENTS?!"

Salem's face crumpled. "I didn't know I had any family left! That is… horrific!" She sobbed into the handkerchief Nick politely offered. "Oh, thank you, Nick."

"You're welcome!" Nick said brightly.

Isabel's eye twitched. "DON'T BE NICE TO HER! SHE'S KILLED BILLIONS!"

Salem dabbed her eyes. "I know, I know! I regret it all!"

Isabel's Aura flared gold. She punched Salem square in the face.

The impact launched the immortal witch through three walls, across the farmland, and into a barn-sized boulder—which exploded on contact.

Isabel stood in the wreckage of her living room, chest heaving. "Haa… haa… haa…!"

Salem strolled back moments later, brushing dust off her robes, smiling like she'd just had a lovely walk.

"That was a wonderful hit, dearie! Unfortunately, I can't die."

Isabel's eye twitched harder. "WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT!"

Salem clasped her hands, practically glowing. "My darling granddaughter is so incredible! A mother, a Huntress, and a doctor! You're amazing!"

Isabel's cheeks flushed despite herself. "Well, thank you—" Then rage returned full force. "FLATTERY WILL NOT SAVE YOU, GRIMM QUEEN!"

Salem's eyes sparkled. "Ooh, such wonderful bloodlust! Show me what you can do!"

"RAHHH—!"

Nick held up a hand. Isabel gaped. "Eh?!"

"Izzy," he said reasonably, "you keep telling me I can't fight in the house. Why do you get to?"

"She's an evil immortal Queen of the Grimm!"

"Yes, but she's also like your grandma! She's family, and she's trying to reconnect!"

"She killed my family!"

"She's also family! So you two sort this outside—because like you said, 'I'm not paying to fix the house!'"

Isabel scowled. "…FINE! We'll have our battle outside!"

Nick nodded. "After lunch! Bad to fight on an empty stomach!"

Lilac appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray of tea and perfect sandwiches. "I've got sandwiches!"

Isabel pinched her nose. "LILAC?! Where were you?!"

"I took cover when you punched Miss Salem," Lilac said cheerfully. "But I managed to make this during the fight. Would you like some, Miss Salem?"

Salem accepted a sandwich with delight. "Certainly, dear! Aw, you're so beautiful and precious! You know, I know a few single men who might make wonderful husbands—"

"Already engaged, but thank you!"

"Awww! Is he handsome?"

"Amazingly handsome!"

Isabel's eye twitched again.

Nick patted her shoulder. "Easy, Izzy, easy…"

Isabel growled. "The immortal Queen of the Grimm is my ancestor. She murdered my parents!"

"Yes, and she's really sorry," Nick said. "You can tell!"

"I shouldn't be sitting here drinking tea with her! I should be destroying her! AND YOU SHOULD TOO!"

Salem smiled sweetly. "You can both try to destroy me after lunch. Is that fair?"

Nick grinned. "Sounds fair to me!"

Isabel threw her hands up. "GRAAAHHHHH!"

- - -

The afternoon passed in a blur of total destruction—fields cratered, trees demolished, the farmhouse miraculously spared by Lilac's refereeing. Isabel and Nick unleashed everything; Salem took it all with delighted laughter and compliments.

Eventually, the four sat in the miraculously intact living room, sipping more tea amid the distant smoke of ruined farmland.

Salem dabbed her lips daintily. "So you see, I can't actually die no matter what you do."

Isabel glared pure hatred. "Grrrr…!"

Nick beamed. "Wow. I used the stuff Izzy told me not to use in city limits and still couldn't kill you! You're incredible, Granny Salem!"

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!"

Salem patted Isabel's hand. "Dear, calm down. It's not good for your blood pressure."

"I CAN CONTROL MY BLOOD PRESSURE!"

Nick rubbed her back. "Easy, Izzy. More violence isn't gonna solve this."

"EH?!"

"We hit her with our best stuff and it didn't even faze her!"

Salem nodded proudly. "It's been centuries since I've faced a sword that big! And you handled it so well, Nick!"

"Aw, thanks, Granny!"

"GRRRRR…!"

Salem turned to Isabel, eyes shining. "And wow! You suplexed me right into the ground!" She clapped. "Incredible!"

"Stop complimenting me on failing to kill you!"

Salem's expression softened. "Listen, Isabel… For thousands of years, I had nothing but revenge—on my husband, on life itself. Now… all of a sudden, I have family. Family I missed. Family I…" Her voice cracked. "Family I killed." Tears welled again. "All this time… I wasn't alone, and I didn't know it. I'm a terrible person. I don't blame you for hating me. I know hate. But hatred… hatred feels so petty now."

Isabel's glare wavered. "Grrrr…!"

Salem reached out hesitantly. "Please. Allow me to try—just try—to make up for it? It won't be easy, but… I want to."

Isabel stared for a long moment.

Then: "…No."

Salem's face fell, but she nodded. "I see. I'll keep trying anyway."

Isabel stood abruptly, stalking to the holoscreen. "Then I'll keep trying to kill you." She dialed with furious jabs. "Ugh… I can't believe I'm calling him…"

Lilac tilted her head. "Who, Mom?"

Isabel ground her teeth. "Ozpin…"

Salem perked up. "Oh? You don't like him?"

"He kept trying to recruit me for some 'special project.' Got really pushy when I said no. Recruited Summer Rose—she died, vanished, whole thing stank. Never trusted him."

Salem chuckled darkly. "Heh. About Summer… she's not dead. And Ozpin? I agree. Shifty bastard."

"Eh?"

The screen connected. Ozpin's face appeared, mug in hand.

"Hello? Isabel? Are you—"

Salem leaned in, smiling sweetly. "Hello, darling! We have family! Isn't it wonderful?" Her eyes narrowed. "Of course you couldn't bother to tell me, you petty little ingrate!"

Ozpin's calm cracked. "Petty?! You're the one who launched a war on all life because you turned us immortal!"

"Oh, here we go—!"

"No, you listen, you two-faced bitch—!"

"Tiny-dicked bastard!"

"That's not what you said in bed!"

Isabel, Nick, and Lilac stared at the screen—Ozpin and Salem descending into a full-blown ex-spouse screaming match that would've made a divorce court blush.

Isabel's jaw hung open. "…Wha…?"

Nick blinked slowly. "Huh. Looks like we all need a lot of family counseling."

Lilac winced, offering a bottle. "Um… wine, Mother?"

Isabel snatched it, popped the cork with her thumb, and chugged the entire thing in three long pulls.

Lilac sighed. "I'll… keep them coming."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The RWBY common room was quiet in the late afternoon, sunlight slanting through the windows to dust the tables in gold. Blake had claimed a corner nook with the most comfortable couch and a stack of picture books—some her own childhood favorites from Menagerie, others borrowed from the children's section of the library. Mia sat cross-legged on the couch next to Blake, ears perked high, stuffed bunny in her lap as Blake showed her colorful illustrations of tropical islands and ancient stone cities.

"Long ago," Blake began, voice soft and steady, "after the Moon broke and scattered across the sky, Faunus built big, beautiful kingdoms. They had palaces and markets and festivals that lasted days." She turned a page to show a vibrant drawing of cat-eared architects raising ziggurats under the sun. "But then human kingdoms grew strong too, and sometimes they fought. Some Faunus worked with humans, some didn't. Some Faunus treated humans badly, and some humans treated Faunus badly. Everyone was trying to figure out how to live together."

Mia traced a finger over a picture of a lion-Faunus queen shaking hands with a human king. "Like Papa and Mama did?"

Blake smiled, small and sad. "Kind of. But after a really big war—the Great War—some human countries started treating Faunus badly. Really badly. They made them work without pay, took away their homes. It happened a lot in Atlas and Mistral."

Mia's ears drooped. "That's mean."

"It was," Blake agreed. "So Faunus started standing up. They resisted. In Vacuo, in Mistral, in Solitas. Vale helped them get rights, and a lot of Faunus decided to go back to Menagerie—their old homeland. It used to be the biggest Faunus kingdom before humans took it over. They wanted a place where they could be safe and free."

Mia tilted her head, brow furrowing. "But… why all away from humans? Papa's human. Granny and Grampa Nick are human. You're my auntie and you're Faunus. We all live together and nobody's mean."

Blake's throat tightened. She set the book aside gently.

"Some Faunus got hurt so much they stopped trusting humans. They thought all humans were mean. I… used to think that way too."

Mia gasped, eyes round. "You did?!"

Blake nodded, ashamed heat rising in her cheeks. "I was around people who only talked about how humans hurt us. They wanted revenge. I believed them for a long time. But I learned it wasn't true. Hurting people back doesn't fix anything. And most humans aren't like that." She paused, then added softly, "Your papa is one of the best humans I've ever met."

From the cracked door behind them came a deliberate cough.

Blake's ears flattened. Jaune stepped in, shoulder leaning against the frame, arms crossed but expression gentle.

Mia squealed and bolted from her cushion. "Papa!"

He scooped her up, hugging her tight enough that her ears twitched against his cheek. "Hey, kitten. Having a good lesson?"

"The best!" Mia chirped. "Menagerie has beaches and old castles and samurai!"

Jaune kissed the top of her head. "Sounds amazing. Why don't you go show Auntie Nora the pictures? She's in our common room terrorizing Ren with pancake demands."

Mia wriggled down and scampered off, book clutched to her chest.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Blake stayed seated, staring at her hands. "I'm sorry. I tried to keep it balanced. I didn't want to scare her or—"

Jaune pulled up a chair, sitting across from her. "You did fine. Better than fine. She needed to hear it, and you told her the truth without making the world feel hopeless. That's… hard."

Blake risked a glance up. "You're not angry?"

"Annoyed you didn't invite me to listen in? A little." He smiled to soften it. "But I get why you wanted it to be just you two. And I heard enough to know you were honest about your own past. That matters."

She exhaled shakily. "I never thought I'd be the one teaching a human-Faunus child Faunus pride. The White Fang version of history was… twisted. Humans were monsters, Faunus were always victims, revenge was justice. It took me a while to unlearn it."

Jaune nodded slowly. "And the lying to your parents?"

Blake winced. "Old habit. Panic response. I'm working on it. Sorry."

"I know." His voice was quiet, steady. "You're trying. That's what I see. Someone who's messed up but fighting to be better. And you are better, Blake. Every day."

Her eyes stung. "Thank you. For seeing that. For… letting me be part of her life." She held up a hand. "Just so you know, I'm not-I'm not trying to replace Katy."

Jaune leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I know. You're not replacing Katy. No one could. What we had was brief, but it was real. And I'm not looking to rush into anything new."

Blake nodded quickly. "I'm nowhere near ready either. Not after… him."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then Jaune added, softer, "But someday… I think I'd like to feel that again. The happiness. The partnership. Katy taught me it's possible, even when life's short."

Blake's ears lifted slightly. "You deserve that."

"So do you," he said firmly.

She managed a small, genuine smile. "Maybe. Someday."

Jaune smiled gently.

"How about you and Sun babysit Mia for a day? What do you think?"

Blake flushed.

"Uh... I mean, he's just a friend-"

"And he's my friend too," Jaune said gently, "And I trust you. How about it?"

Blake frowned.

"Are you trying to set us up?"

"What? No, noooo," Jaune said quickly, "But you know... It might be fun for you two?" He smiled weakly.

Blake shook her head, then sighed.

"... All right," she said, "But I might take this personally. You don't want me pursuing you romantically?"

Jaune coughed.

"I uh... I... Is there a good answer to that?"

Blake smirked lightly.

"I suppose not..."

 

[Sliverhero]

Snow hammered against the glass of Atlas Tower, winds screaming high above the Kingdom. Inside the office, the storm was quieter, but far more venomous. Jacques Schnee stood before the tall mirror mounted between awards and commendations, jaw tight, eyes burning.

The insignia of the Schnee Dust Company gleamed behind him, he did not look at it.
He looked at the man in the glass. "You disgust me," he said flatly. The reflection scowled back, same posture, same face, but the hatred in its eyes was not ancient patience. It was human.
The hated pure and raw. Jacques Schnee's soul, trapped behind his own features, glared with undiluted fury. François Prelati smiled.

"You always were small," Prelati continued, voice smooth but laced with contempt. "Petty ambitions. Market dominance. Council seats. You thought Atlas was power." The reflection's lip curled silently. "Yes," Prelati mocked, studying the anger in those eyes. "You built an empire of Dust and exploitation. You believed yourself ruthless."

His expression darkened. "But you have no comprehension of scale." He began pacing in front of the mirror, forcing Jacques' soul to watch through his own stolen eyes. "The Arc line," he said sharply, the name bitten off like something foul. "Interfering, sanctimonious pests."

His composure cracked into open hatred.
"Every generation. Every cycle. When the rites align and the thinning begins, an Arc appears. Shield raised. Bleeding. Smiling like sacrifice means something." His fist clenched.
"I arranged their erasure more times than you can fathom. During the Great War, one of them dismantled a convergence that would have unmade Mantle entirely. He tore apart decades of preparation."
His jaw flexed.
"he sacrifice his name and being from history itself, to stop me but he only partially succeeded. I paid his family in blood for that annoyance!" A flicker of irritation passed across his face. "And still the bloodline persisted."
He leaned closer to the mirror.

"So I refined the method." The hatred sharpened into something colder. "Kill too many, and they grow vigilant. Martyr them, and the next generation trains harder." His smile was razor-thin. "But cripple them? Break them subtly?"
He tapped the glass once. "That breeds doubt."
The reflection's eyes blazed brighter with fury.

"Yes," Prelati continued, voice lowering. "I ensured tragedies were precise. A Grimm migration here. A caravan 'accident' there. Just enough loss to make the family cautious. Just enough fear to keep the latest male heir from proper instruction." His sneer deepened.

"A boy raised on stories of heroism and graves. Surrounded by sisters who had already seen too much blood. Convinced he was the weak link."
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.
"No Huntsman tutors. No sanctioned training. No preparation." His eyes burned with frustrated rage.

"And yet he sought Beacon anyway." He spat the word like poison. "You see, Jacques? This is what separates you from me. You cared about reputation. I care about inevitability." The reflection's glare intensified, pure loathing radiating through the glass.

"You think you lost your company to political rivals, to friends ," Prelati continued. "You think your downfall was miscalculation."
He smiled faintly. "You were selected."
His hand rose and pressed against the mirror.
Jacques Schnee's trapped soul mirrored the motion instinctively from within, palm meeting palm through the barrier. His eyes were full of hate, directed not at the Arc line, but at the thing wearing his skin.

"I required a body embedded in Atlas infrastructure," Prelati said softly. "A man positioned to shape industry, to reroute Dust shipments, to reopen old bore sites under the guise of 'economic necessity.'" His voice grew colder. "You were convenient."

The office lights flickered faintly. "The witch believes brute force will win her dominion. The wizard believes he can stall eternity with children and relics." A low, humorless chuckle.
"They cannot stop what they do not see."
He straightened, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate precision.

"The SDC grid now hums in harmonic alignment with sites older than Atlas itself. The northern excavations thin the veil precisely where it must be thinned." His eyes gleamed.

"The Arc heir was meant to remain weak. Irrelevant. A symbolic ending to a troublesome bloodline." His jaw tightened. "He is not."
The admission tasted bitter. "But one persistent boy does not undo centuries of preparation."
He looked back at the reflection.

Jacques Schnee's soul glared with undiminished hatred, fury radiating from every line of his face. "You hate me," Prelati observed calmly. The reflection's expression answered plainly: yes. Prelati's smile returned, thin, controlled, but edged with irritation.
"Good."

He stepped back from the mirror.
"Rage all you like. You cannot move a finger. You cannot warn your daughters. You cannot undo what I have set in motion." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The Arc line will fall. This time not by slaughter." His eyes darkened.

"But by inevitability, Then the Gods will rejoice.." Outside, thunder rolled over Atlas. Inside, two souls shared one face. One ancient and seething with calculated hatred for a bloodline that would not die. The other trapped, furious, and utterly powerless to stop what wore his name.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

An Encyclical Letter from the Low King of Justice
Terrence II, Steward of the Second Chair
To the Faithful of the Concordance of Bishops
and all who hold fast to the Broken Table
Issued from the Hall of Judgment in Aelia Paravel
in the year 1598 AMF
on the Vigil of the Feast of the Third Dawn

To the beloved in the Table Breaker, scattered across the continents yet united in the one faith delivered once for all to the saints:
Grace, mercy, and peace from the Divine Spark who raised our Lord from the Stone, and from the Table Breaker Himself, who is both the Sacrifice and the High Priest forever.

It has come to our ears, through the vigilant watch of the Stone Breaker Order and the reports of faithful bishops in Mistral and Vacuo, that a pernicious heresy—long thought extinguished—has again raised its venomous head under the name of the so-called Church of the Ashen Bride. This sect, whose roots lie in the ancient poison sown by the Green Sorceress Viridis Serpens in the second century AMF, now spreads its lies in shadowed conventicles, among the disaffected, and even in certain noble houses that have grown cold toward the true light.

We, Terrence II, by the grace of the Table Breaker Low King of Justice and guardian of the Second Chair, declare and condemn this teaching as damnable heresy, contrary to the sacred deposit of faith, destructive to souls, and a direct echo of the deceptions once employed by the Ice Witch and her fallen allies.

The Ashen Bride doctrine asserts that the Table Breaker was not Himself the Divine Spark incarnate, but a created instrument, a puppet moved by the hand of a higher and hidden God; that His death upon the Stone was the act of a subordinate being, not the self-offering of God in flesh; and that further revelations are yet to come through an "Ashen Bride," a supposed future messiah who will complete or supersede what the Table Breaker began.

This is nothing less than the revival of the Serpent's ancient lie in a new guise. Viridis Serpens, that false nun whose true name and nature were later revealed as the Green Sorceress of Underland, sought to bind Prince Rilian and through him to enslave all Narnia. Her teaching—that the Table Breaker was but an avatar, a temporary vessel—served one purpose: to prepare the way for a counterfeit deliverer, an ashen figure whose coming would be heralded as the true fulfillment. We now discern that this figure is none other than the ancient enemy who has long worked in secret, she whom the records name the Witch of Ashes, whose servants have whispered her praises among the Grimm cults and in the councils of those who hate the light.

Let no one be deceived. The Table Breaker is not an instrument; He is the Divine Spark Himself, begotten not made, of one substance with the Father, true God from true God. As the sacred texts proclaim:
"He is the image of the invisible Divine, the firstborn of all creation… For in Him all the fullness of deity dwells bodily" (Edmund to the Quitalans 1:15, 19).

And again: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with the Divine, and the Word was the Divine… And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us" (Chronicles of the Disciples 1:1, 14).

To deny His full divinity is to deny the efficacy of His sacrifice. If He were but a created being, then His death upon the Stone could not have broken the curse engraved there; it could not have paid the infinite debt of sin; it could not have shattered death itself. A creature cannot redeem creatures from the doom written by an infinite God. Only God, Son of the Emperor Above, in flesh could stand in our place, bear our curse, and rise victorious.

This heresy, like its ancestor in the days of Serpens, opens the door to every darkness. It claims the Table Breaker's work incomplete, awaiting a "true messiah"—a claim that invites the rise of false tablebreakers and deceivers. It sows division among the faithful, tempts the proud with secret knowledge, and lures the despairing with promises of a different salvation. In its most virulent forms it has allied itself with the cults that worship the Grimm as agents of necessary destruction, and with those who secretly honor the Ashen One, another form of the White Witch herself.

We therefore solemnly declare:

1. The doctrine of the Church of the Ashen Bride is heretical and anathema.
2. Those who teach it, or who knowingly adhere to it after due warning, will separate themselves from the communion of the Table Breaker's Church.
3. The faithful are exhorted to avoid all fellowship with such teachers, to refute their errors with charity and firmness, and to report their activities to the bishops or to the Stone Breaker Order.
4. Let all bishops, priests, and monks renew their oath to guard the faith once delivered, confessing with one voice that the Table Breaker is true God and true man, who by His own power broke the Table and opened the way to paradise.

Beloved, be watchful. The enemy prowls as a roaring Grimm, seeking whom he may devour. Yet the Table Breaker who overcame the Witch and rose from the Stone is greater than all who oppose Him. Hold fast the confession: "Thou art the Breaker, the Son of the Emperor Above." In this truth is our strength, our hope, and our victory.

May the Divine Spark who kindled the light in the darkness guard your hearts and minds in the Table Breaker, now and unto the paradise of growth.

Given at Aelia Paravel,Terrence II, Low King of Justice
Steward of the Second Chair
In the name of the Table Breaker, who was, and is, and is to come. Amen.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56670802/chapters/169439965

- - -

The sun climbed high over Beacon's sprawling grounds, beating down like a relentless judge on judgment day. Noon sharp, and the shooting range was already drawing a crowd-students murmuring behind barriers, professors watching from shaded stands, even Goodwitch with her riding crop tapping impatiently against her palm. Word had spread like wildfire through dry grass: Emerald Sustrai had challenged Jaune Arc to a duel of marksmanship. Folks whispered about grudges, about pride, about that hat full of holes.

But mostly, they came to see the cowboy shoot.

Jaune arrived calm as a desert morning, Orleans tied up nearby with a feed bag to keep her occupied. He wore his usual rig: brown stetson (a fresh one, no bullet holes this time), poncho draped loose over his shoulders, revolver low on his right hip, the old Winchester '76 slung across his back like an afterthought. His blue eyes scanned the range, polite nod here, tip of the hat there. Pyrrha stood close by his team, her expression a mix of worry and quiet pride. Ruby bounced on her toes, Crescent Rose folded away for once. Yang was smirking at Emerald like she knew a secret about the Vacuoan's mother. Weiss was haughty and confident, while Blake was silent and stoic as ever. Nora had a bag of popcorn. Ren just watched though his eyebrow was slightly raised.

Team CMEN arrived fashionably late-Cinder leading with that predatory grace, Mercury limping along with a smirk, Neo twirling her parasol like she was at a garden party. Emerald strode ahead, Thief's Respite gleaming at her hips, face set in a mask of cold determination. But her eyes burned.

Goodwitch stepped forward, voice cutting through the chatter like a whipcrack. "This is a sanctioned accuracy duel. No Aura enhancement beyond standard bullet charging. Targets at progressive distances. First to miss three shots loses. Or until one party yields. Begin at fifty paces."

They took their marks side by side, lanes separated by a low barrier. First targets: simple bullseyes at fifty yards. Emerald drew first, smooth and fast, twin revolvers barking in rapid succession. Six shots, six dead-center hits. The holographic targets flickered red, perfect scores glowing on the board. A murmur rippled through the crowd-impressive.

Jaune tipped his hat brim up, drew his Nell Goldstone revolver in a motion that was almost lazy. One-handed, fanning the hammer with his palm. Six shots blended into one rolling thunder. Six perfect centers. The board updated: tie.

Emerald's jaw tightened. Next round: one hundred yards, moving targets swinging on pendulums. She holstered, drew again-dual-wielding now, bullets chasing the swaying disks. Five hits, one graze. Close enough for full points.

Jaune reloaded with that border-shift trick of his, thumb spinning the cylinder across his belt line, loading fresh rounds in a blur. He fired standing, no stance, just as natural as breathing. Six clean hits, the pendulums shattering mid-swing.

The crowd grew louder. Mercury whistled low. "Damn, cowboy's got hands."

Cinder's eyes narrowed, watching Jaune with that calculating hunger. Neo signed something filthy; Mercury snorted.

Two hundred yards now-small silhouette targets popping up randomly. Emerald poured Aura into her shots, bullets screaming faster, hotter. She clipped every one, but two were edge hits. Still winning on points, barely.

Jaune switched to his Winchester '76, lever-action working smooth as oil. Boom-boom-boom. Each shot a thunderclap, each target vaporized center-mass. No edges. Perfect.

Emerald's knuckles went white on her grips. Three hundred yards-tiny plates no bigger than a lien coin, flashing in and out. She was sweating now, breaths sharp. Four hits, two misses. Her score dipped.

Jaune rested the shotgun across his shoulder, drew his revolver again. Calm. Steady. Six shots, six plates gone like they'd never been.

Goodwitch cleared her throat.

"Miss Sustrai, I believe the match is over. Perhaps-"

"No!" Emerald snapped, voice cracking like a green branch. "We're not done. New challenge."

Cinder leaned forward from the spectator bench. "Emerald. There's nothing left to prove. He's clearly-"

"Everything to prove!" Emerald whirled on her, eyes wild. Then back to Jaune, who stood patient, hat shading his face. "Coins. We toss coins in the air. Shoot them before they hit the ground. First to miss loses."

The crowd went dead silent. That was old-school gunslinger stuff-legendary, borderline mythical. Even Goodwitch raised an eyebrow.

"That's highly irregular and dangerous-"

"Please, Professor," Jaune said quietly, tipping his hat. "If the lady insists."

Goodwitch sighed. "Very well. Safety barriers up. One coin each per round. Mister Black-toss for them."

Mercury grinned like a coyote, walking forward with a sack of lien coins. "This oughta be good."

First round: Mercury flipped two coins high, one for each shooter. Emerald drew and fired twice-ping, ping. Both coins spun away marked.

Jaune drew once, fanned three shots. His coin took all three, tumbling like a drunken bee. Clean hits.

Second round, higher toss. Emerald nailed hers twice. Jaune once-dead center.

Third. Fourth. Fifth. Emerald's shots grew frantic, bullets screaming. She hit every time, but sweat beaded her brow, hands trembling just a hair as the strain wore on her.

Jaune remained stone-still, revolver barking steady as a heartbeat. Every coin danced with his mark.

Tenth round. Mercury tossed higher than ever, coins glinting like stars against the blue sky. Emerald's shots-ping-ping-perfect-Almost.

Jaune's single shot rang out. The coin flipped end over end, bullet hole clean through the center.

Emerald stared, chest heaving. Her score: flawless. Jaune's: flawless.

But everyone knew who'd been chasing. Who was struggling.

She holstered her guns with a clatter, face burning crimson.

"Enough!" She stormed off the range, shoving through the dispersing crowd.

Jaune watched her go, then holstered his gun. He murmured thanks to Goodwitch, nodded to his team-Pyrrha's proud smile, Ruby's cheering bounce-and followed at an easy stride.

Emerald ducked into the treeline beyond the range, heart hammering. She triggered her Semblance-hallucinations blooming, herself vanishing into a dozen false images scattering through the woods. Real her pressed against an oak trunk, breathing hard. He'd never find-

Hoofbeats. Soft, deliberate. Orleans nosed through the underbrush. Jaune was riding her, reins loose. The mare snorted, stopped right in front of the real Emerald's tree.

Emerald's blood ran cold. He knows my Semblance. He's come to kill me for it. For threatening Cinder's plans, she thought.

She dropped the illusions, hands hovering near her guns, eyes wide.

Jaune dismounted slow, hands visible and empty. He tied Orleans to a low branch, then leaned against a boulder ten paces away. He tipped his hat back, those blue eyes calm as a still pond.

"I know killin' intent, Miss Sustrai," he said quietly, voice carrying that soft drawl. "Felt it on the drives more times than I care to count. You ain't got it right now. Scared, maybe. Angry, sure. But not murder."

Emerald's throat worked. "You... you saw through my Semblance."

"Orleans did," he admitted, patting the mare's neck. "Good nose on her. But my lips are sealed. Word of honor. Ain't my secret to tell."

She stared, fists clenched.

"Why? I challenged you. Shot your hat. Humiliated myself trying to beat you-!"

"You were jealous," Jaune stated, "Of Miss Fall spendin' time watchin' me."

Emerald sputtered, face flaming.

"I-That's-She's the first person who ever showed me kindness! Real kindness! I owe her everything!"

Jaune nodded slowly, no judgment in his eyes.

"That's a pity. More folks oughta be kind in this world. Seems like you've had a rough trail."

Emerald looked away, arms crossing tight. "Don't pity me, cowboy!"

"Ain't pity. Just a fact." He pushed off the boulder, voice gentle. "You're an incredible shot, Miss Sustrai. Best I've seen with dual irons. No need to feel jealous or lesser. Miss Fall's a mighty pretty woman-sad, powerful, dangerous. But I ain't interested in courtin' her."

Emerald glanced back, suspicion warring with something softer. "You're not?"

"No, ma'am." He offered a small, sad smile. "Got my reasons. But I hope... maybe we could be friends, at least. Beacon's a big place, but it gets lonely."

She barked a bitter laugh. "Friends? I don't have friends."

"That's a shame," Jaune said earnestly. "Way you stand by Miss Fall-loyal as the day is long-I reckon you'd make a fine one. And maybe... a good person, underneath."

Emerald scoffed, but it cracked. "I'm not good. Not at all."

Jaune considered that. He then plucked a wildflower from the grass-simple white petals, tough little thing growing between the roots. He held it out.

"Good ain't in the bein', Miss. It's in the doin'. And anybody can choose to do good, if they set their mind to it."

She glared at the flower like it had insulted her. She snatched it, cheeks burning scarlet.

"Do you have to be so damn infuriating?!" she yelled, storming past him into the trees.

Jaune watched her go, shook his head with a rueful chuckle.

"Women."

Orleans snorted and bit him.

"Ow!"

- - -

Back in the dorm that evening, shadows long across the floor, Emerald slipped in quietly. Cinder sat at her desk, reviewing scrolls-plans, maps, and the Fall Maiden candidate's possible identities. Mercury lounged on his bunk, Neo painting her nails something violent.

Emerald bowed her head. "Cinder, I... I'm sorry. For losing control today. It was inelegant. I-"

Cinder turned, golden eyes warm. "No apologies necessary, Emerald." Her smile was honey over steel. "Jaune Arc keeps company with several powerful young women-Nikos chief among them, the one Ozpin is likely to choose when the time comes. Having him believe we're... friendly? That's useful. Very useful."

Emerald straightened, relief warring with confusion. "Yes. Of course."

Cinder's gaze drifted to the flower Emerald still clutched, half-crushed in her fist. "And where, pray tell, did that come from?"

Emerald flushed dark. "Arc... gave it to me. After."

Cinder's smile stayed perfect, but something cold flashed behind her eyes-sharp as a skinning knife. "Did he now?"

Emerald's heart stuttered.

She's... jealous? Of me?

A strange, wicked warmth bloomed in her chest. For once, the devotion flowed both ways. She tucked the flower behind her ear almost defiantly.

Mercury swung his legs off the bunk. "Well, this is gettin' too much like a Vacuo soap opera for me. I'm headin' out-gonna see if Arc's buyin' beers for the drama. Later, ladies."

He limped out, whistling. Neo signed something obscene after him.

Cinder watched the door close, then turned back to her scrolls. But her fingers tightened on the edge of the desk, just enough to crack the wood.

Emerald sat on her bunk, touching the flower petals lightly. For the first time in a long while, something besides devotion stirred in her chest-something dangerous, something almost like hope.

Outside, the moon rose over Beacon like a silver coin tossed high, waiting to be shot.

 

[CountvonBarnOwl]

Its a different canon its tied to previous post i did explaining about lovecraftican cults on Remnant and Prelati here would be a recurring villian as he would be last true magic user from the the era of gods alongside Salem and Ozma.
Also for this the hiccup that happen to Prelati is that Jacques semblance actived in response to his body being jacked by Pretlati.

If Jacque had the proper training and actived he would have been fine but he never did and his semblance was forcibly and partially activate.
He only did enough to save his soul and mind.
So he is the full power of his semblance.

Semblance: Sovereign Clause
User: Jacques Schnee
Description
Jacques' soul is permanently anchored to his body and cannot be erased, overwritten, or permanently displaced.
If another soul attempts to possess or suppress him, he may be forced into the background, but his core identity remains intact. No invader can fully replace him. Over time, his anchored soul destabilizes the intruder and pushes to reclaim control. Any attacks that attack or effects the mind and soul can be easily resisted or blocked by aura.


Secondary Function: Binding Contracts
Jacques can forge Aura-based "contracts" with others through a mutually acknowledged agreement (verbal deal, signed document, sworn promise).

Once established:
He gains limited influence over the target's actions. He can issue simple compulsions (hesitate, stop, speak, stand down).
He can siphon a small portion of their Aura to reinforce his own. The stronger the target's ambition or greed, the stronger the contract.
The contract only forms if the other person willingly agrees, even if they don't realize Aura is involved.

Limitations
Contracts weaken if loyalty fades.
Strong-willed individuals can resist direct commands. Breaking too many contracts at once strains his Aura.
He cannot control someone who never agreed to him. He has to go through with the end of his deal.

Click to shrink...

Interesting… a Semblance that specifically thwarts Ozpin… at the logical cost of being a zombie after death

"Soul permanently anchored to the body"

There's an idea, Jacques walking around, his flesh puppeteered by his Aura, with a bullet hole in his head or heart, or, more comically, missing a sizable chunk of himself. Perhaps he is just an impotent hopping foot, or maybe a crawling hand?

Now, I have my own ideas about how and why Oz is able to possess others. But that is neither here nor there.

---

By the way, I wrote these two short pieces


#1 Uninsurable:

Yang: "Why the FUCK does it say I owe the school 21,800 Lien for the past two weeks?"

Weiss: "Well you and Blake both have criminal records-"

Yang: "Juvenile only!"

Weiss: "And I assume the school is secretly inflating our prices because they know my family can afford it."

Ruby: Definitely going to complain about this at leadership class.

Blake: "Friendfic idea - Uninsurable, unemployed, floozy has to find rich husband who will let her have his name and add her to his insurance plan."

Yang: "Now... who has a well off family and is at least kind of fuckable... HEY VOMIT BOY!" - Runs out of room

Weiss: "Get back here you slattern, he was into me first." - Chasing her.

Ruby: "Weiss you have a brother my age, right?" - Chasing Weiss

Blake: settling in with her book "Peace at last..." scroogles which kingdoms don't do background check's on the wife's maiden name before selling insurance.

---

#2 The Xiao Long Bloodline - AKA Rubyposting

Ruby - completely unsolicited: "Alright Jaune, I've made up my mind. You want my sister? You can have her. I've left everything you two need in our dorm.

"Jaune: "Wha-?"

Ruby: "Seriously, Jaune?! Yang's not getting any younger and she looked at one of the cats at the pet store on the way back for three seconds too many. You need to secure the Xiao Long bloodline."

Jaune: "Xiao Long bloodline? Wait... What about you?"

Ruby: "What? Ew, no! That's gross. Besides we're sisters, so I couldn't get her pregnant even if I wanted to."

Jaune: "Pregnant?"

Ruby: "Yeah, call me when she is. Crescent Rose wants a cousin."

PS. Yes I have tried making AI art of Ruby punching a boulder. It only makes her punch brick walls.

 

[Sliverhero]

A Simple Twist of Calamity

Cardin Winchester's world was satisfyingly simple. Beacon was a hierarchy, and he was near the top. Then, like a crack in a dam, a delicious piece of gossip had trickled down to him: Jaune Arc, the useless, noodle-armed knight, had faked his transcripts.

It wasn't just a rumor. Cardin had seen the haunted look in Jaune's eyes after a closed-door meeting with Professor Ozpin, the strained silence between him and Pyrrha Nikos. The golden boy was a fraud, and frauds existed to be exploited.

His plan was straightforward. Find Jaune alone, apply pressure, and secure a permanent servant. He tracked his target to a rarely-used courtyard nestled between Beacon's gleaming spires, a place of trimmed hedges and quiet fountains.

Jaune was sitting on a stone bench, back to Cardin, staring at his reflection. He wasn't crying. He just looked… drained.

"Well, well, well," Cardin announced, his voice echoing. "If it isn't Beacon's biggest mistake."

Jaune turned his head slowly. His blue eyes were red-rimmed, hollow with guilt and exhaustion. "Cardin. Please, not today."

"Not today?" Cardin smirked, stepping closer. "I think today's perfect. Heard a little birdy singing about forged documents. Wonder what Goodwitch would do? Or your team?"

A strange stillness settled over the courtyard. The burble of the fountain seemed to grow distant. Cardin shook off a sudden chill.
"Just leave me alone," Jaune mumbled, looking down at his hands. A picture of abject misery.
"Or what?" Cardin laughed. He reached out to shove Jaune's shoulder. "You'll trip over your own..."

Cardin's POV:

His boot caught on a perfectly smooth, level flagstone. He stumbled forward, not into Jaune, but past him. As he windmilled his arms, the ornate brass nozzle of a garden sprinkler, buried in the grass, erupted. A geyser of rusty, icy water shot straight into his open mouth. He gagged, choking on the metallic tang, and spun away, slipping on the suddenly slick grass.

"Ugh! Dammit!" he spat, wiping his face. Pathetic bad luck. He glared at Jaune, who was staring at him with wide, confused eyes. "You happy?" He took a more deliberate step forward. A high-pitched creak sounded above. He looked up.

A gargoyle, a decorative stone grotesque that had clung to the wall for a century, detached from its perch. It wasn't a collapse; it was a clean, almost gentle release. It tumbled down and shattered on the ground directly in front of him. A sharp fragment ricocheted, slicing a clean, shallow line across his cheek.

"Agh!" Cardin yelped, touching the wound. Blood, warm and shocking, welled up. This was… weird. A cold prickle went down his spine. He looked at Jaune. The boy just looked shocked, shrinking back on the bench. It's just coincidence, Cardin told himself. Just really, really bad luck.

He decided to retreat. He could blackmail Jaune later. He turned and ran for the archway. A maintenance drone, a small floating Atlesian model, buzzed silently around the corner on its pre-programmed hedge-trimming route. Its path and speed were perfectly calibrated. A one-in-a-million trajectory.

The whirring blades, meant for leaves, met the back of Cardin's knee.

'Snick.'

A spray of red. White-hot agony. He screamed, a raw, animal sound, collapsing as his leg buckled beneath him. He lay on the ground, writhing, clutching his ruined knee, his Aura flickering wildly as it tried and failed to stem the catastrophic damage to the tendon.

Through a haze of pain, he saw Jaune stand up, his face a mask of horrified concern. "Oh my gods! Cardin! Hold on, I'll get help!" Jaune took a step towards him. "Stay… away…" Cardin rasped, trying to crawl. His searching hand landed on a lost student scroll. As his weight pressed down on it, the Dust battery within, unstable, defective, a flaw in one in ten million, experienced a critical cascade.

It didn't explode. It Imploded With a deep, subsonic THUMP. A momentary, intense gravitational field, smaller than a coin but impossibly dense, yanked everything within a foot towards it.Cardin Winchester's body was violently compressed. There was no dramatic scream, just a wet, crunching pop.
Then, silence.

Where he had been was a vaguely human-shaped lump of condensed matter the size of a suitcase, steaming slightly, coated in the tattered remains of a Beacon uniform. His Aura hadn't shattered. According to every monitor in Beacon, it simply… ceased to exist a millisecond before the implosion. As if it had been switched off.

Other POVs:

Pyrrha Nikos arrived at the second-story balcony, her heart aching for Jaune, hoping to offer comfort. She saw Cardin approach, saw him taunt Jaune. She saw him slip, saw the gargoyle fall. Her body tensed to intervene, but it was over too quickly. She watched, hand over her mouth, as a sequence of impossibly vicious accidents unfolded. When the drone hit, she gasped. When the strange implosion happened, she didn't understand the physics, only the result. Jaune was standing there, hand outstretched, face pale with genuine-looking terror. A tragic, freak accident, her mind insisted, even as her soul trembled at the sheer, horrific improbability of it all.

Glynda Goodwitch felt the anomalous energy spike, a bizarre, localized distortion she couldn't identify. She arrived in time to see the aftermath: the lump, the debris, and Jaune Arc looking shell-shocked. Her first thought was a hidden Semblance, a terrible, uncontrolled one. But Jaune's Aura readings, pulled from the courtyard monitors, showed nothing. No surge, no output. Just Cardin's Aura winking out before a series of mundane, if astronomically unlucky, objects killed him. It defied all her training.

Ruby Rose, skidding to a halt at the archway, saw the scene. Her silver eyes went wide. "Jaune! What happened?!" She saw no malice, no dark energy. She saw a friend in shock and a series of awful, awful coincidences. The horror was in the randomness, the universe's cruel indifference. She rushed to Jaune's side, pulling him back from the gruesome remains. "It's okay! It's not your fault! It was… an accident."

Jaune Arc let Ruby pull him away. He looked down at the compacted mass that had been Cardin, his expression the perfect portrait of dawning, nauseated horror. His body trembled convincingly. "I… I told him to go away," Jaune stammered, his voice shaking. "He just… kept coming… and then all that stuff…" He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs that were technically real, the sobs of a being perfectly performing human distress.

The faculty secured the area. Paramedics (though there was nothing to medic) arrived. The story was already solidifying: 'Tragic Accident Claims Beacon Student. A Freak Chain of Misfortunes.'

Ozpin's POV:

In his lofty office, Ozpin steepled his fingers, rewinding the security feed from the courtyard camera for the twelfth time. He watched Cardin's approach, the stumble, the gargoyle, the drone, the final, physics-defying implosion. He watched Jaune's reactions, the perfect, helpless fear of a bystander.

But his eyes were fixed on the aura monitors synced to the feed. Every student's aura was passively tracked on campus grounds. Cardin's aura level was stable, flaring only briefly with the impact of the drone strike, trying to heal the grievous wound. And then, 0.23 seconds before the scroll imploded, it didn't break. It vanished.


Ozpin leaned back in his chair, the cold unease now a palpable chill in the high tower office. The silence was broken only by the soft whir of the holographic projector and the distant hum of Beacon's systems. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his hot chocolate, but the warmth did nothing to dispel the frost gathering in his veins.

Where had Cardin's Aura gone? It was the question that unraveled everything. Aura was soul, manifestation, life. It didn't vanish. It broke. This… was deletion. He sighed, a weary sound that carried the weight of centuries. Perhaps he was overthinking. The universe was vast and strange; even he did not know all its rules. A tragic, bizarre anomaly. He would monitor Jaune Arc, of course. But for now…

A prickling sensation crawled across the back of his neck. It was a feeling he knew well, the feeling of being watched. Not by camera or Grimm, but by intent. He stilled, his mug halfway to his lips. His eyes, old and sharp, scanned the circular office. The gears turned slowly outside the windows. The amber light of sunset painted the room in long, still shadows. There was no one. No flicker of movement, no shift in the air. The door was closed. The only other presence was the lingering ghost of Cardin Winchester on the paused screen.

" Paranoia. The price of longevity. "He chided himself softly, setting the mug down. The stress of the incident was getting to him. He reached for the control to shut off the feed, his movements slow with a fatigue that was more spiritual than physical.

His hand froze.

On the large central screen, the image was paused on the moment just after the implosion. It showed the courtyard in chaotic stillness: scattered stone, the grotesque lump, Ruby Rose's back as she rushed forward, her silver cape mid-flutter. And there, at the edge of the frame, was Jaune Arc.

Or rather, where Jaune Arc was.
Ozpin leaned forward, his breath catching. The resolution was crystal clear. The boy's face was turned slightly away, toward the remains of Cardin, his expression one of shock. That was what the recording showed. That was what Ozpin had seen a dozen times.

But now, in the perfect, frozen silence of the paused moment, he saw something else.

Jaune's head was tilted at an angle that was almost… curious. The shock on his features had settled into something utterly blank, like the smooth face of a cliff. The sunset light, which in motion had painted him in warm tones, now seemed to lie upon him differently. It didn't reflect. It was absorbed, giving his skin a flat, matte texture, like unpolished stone. His hair, usually a mess of gold, looked stiff and coarse, each strand like a thread of granite.

And the eyes, in motion, they had been wide, blue, and human. Now, frozen, they were not looking at Cardin's body. They were looking directly out of the screen. Directly at him.

They were no longer blue. They were the color of a deep, still tarn, reflecting nothing. Within them was no pupil, no spark of life or emotion. Just a flat, obsidian darkness, like the hollows in a weathered monument. The face around those eyes was serene, ancient, and utterly, chillingly patient. It was the face of something that had witnessed continents rise and fall, not with interest, but with silent, geologic acknowledgement.

It was not the face of a boy who had witnessed a tragedy. It was the face of the tragedy itself, pausing to regard the one who sought to understand it. Ozpin's blood turned to ice. The feeling of being watched wasn't paranoia. It was confirmation. The watcher wasn't in the room. The watcher was in the recording, looking through the lens of a camera, across time and space, to meet his gaze.

He was not looking at Jaune Arc. He was looking at the shape Jaune Arc wore when no one was meant to see. A shape of serene, inhuman stillness. A monument to calamity.
Slowly, carefully, Ozpin reached out and pressed a button. The screen went black, plunging the office into deeper shadow, save for the dying sunset.

The feeling of being watched remained.
He did not turn around. He simply stared into the dark glass of the monitor, where the reflection of his own weary, mortal face was now superimposed over the memory of that other, stony countenance.

For the first time in many, many lives, Ozpin felt a fear that was not for the world, but for himself. He was no longer the hidden guardian in the tower. He was a man who had just realized, with absolute certainty, that he was being studied by the avalanche before it began to move.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/79672876

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14548677/1/Reunion-with-Granny-Salem

- - -

The Arc family farmhouse door creaked open on a perfectly ordinary afternoon, and Isabel Arc—still in her apron from baking bread, flour dusting her blonde hair—found herself face-to-face with the literal embodiment of humanity's nightmares.

Salem. The Queen of Grimm. Pale skin, crimson eyes, flowing black robes that seemed to drink the sunlight.

Isabel blinked. "…Hello? Can… I help you?"

Salem's eyes welled with tears. Before Isabel could react, the immortal witch lunged forward and enveloped her in a crushing hug.

"GRANDDAUGHTER!"

Isabel's brain short-circuited. "Eh?!"

Nick wandered in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Oh, hey Izzy— Who's this?"

Salem released Isabel just enough to beam at him, tears streaming dramatically down her porcelain cheeks.

"I am Salem! Your… your matriarch!" She clutched her chest, voice trembling. "Just call me… Granny Salem!"

Nick's face lit up like she'd offered him free swords. "Oh! Okay, Granny Salem! Welcome to our home!"

Isabel flailed in the hug, legs kicking uselessly. "NIIIIICK!"

- - -

After a very long, very confusing explanation involving ancient bloodlines, cursed immortality, and a family tree that looked like a horror novel footnote, the three sat in the living room.

Isabel stared at Salem like she was a bomb with a lit fuse.

"You're telling me that you—the Queen of the Grimm—are my distant ancestor?"

Salem nodded eagerly, hands clasped. "Yes, dear!"

"AND YOU UNLEASHED THE GRIMM THAT MURDERED MY PARENTS?!"

Salem's face crumpled. "I didn't know I had any family left! That is… horrific!" She sobbed into the handkerchief Nick politely offered. "Oh, thank you, Nick."

"You're welcome!" Nick said brightly.

Isabel's eye twitched. "DON'T BE NICE TO HER! SHE'S KILLED BILLIONS!"

Salem dabbed her eyes. "I know, I know! I regret it all!"

Isabel's Aura flared gold. She punched Salem square in the face.

The impact launched the immortal witch through three walls, across the farmland, and into a barn-sized boulder—which exploded on contact.

Isabel stood in the wreckage of her living room, chest heaving. "Haa… haa… haa…!"

Salem strolled back moments later, brushing dust off her robes, smiling like she'd just had a lovely walk.

"That was a wonderful hit, dearie! Unfortunately, I can't die."

Isabel's eye twitched harder. "WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT!"

Salem clasped her hands, practically glowing. "My darling granddaughter is so incredible! A mother, a Huntress, and a doctor! You're amazing!"

Isabel's cheeks flushed despite herself. "Well, thank you—" Then rage returned full force. "FLATTERY WILL NOT SAVE YOU, GRIMM QUEEN!"

Salem's eyes sparkled. "Ooh, such wonderful bloodlust! Show me what you can do!"

"RAHHH—!"

Nick held up a hand. Isabel gaped. "Eh?!"

"Izzy," he said reasonably, "you keep telling me I can't fight in the house. Why do you get to?"

"She's an evil immortal Queen of the Grimm!"

"Yes, but she's also like your grandma! She's family, and she's trying to reconnect!"

"She killed my family!"

"She's also family! So you two sort this outside—because like you said, 'I'm not paying to fix the house!'"

Isabel scowled. "…FINE! We'll have our battle outside!"

Nick nodded. "After lunch! Bad to fight on an empty stomach!"

Lilac appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray of tea and perfect sandwiches. "I've got sandwiches!"

Isabel pinched her nose. "LILAC?! Where were you?!"

"I took cover when you punched Miss Salem," Lilac said cheerfully. "But I managed to make this during the fight. Would you like some, Miss Salem?"

Salem accepted a sandwich with delight. "Certainly, dear! Aw, you're so beautiful and precious! You know, I know a few single men who might make wonderful husbands—"

"Already engaged, but thank you!"

"Awww! Is he handsome?"

"Amazingly handsome!"

Isabel's eye twitched again.

Nick patted her shoulder. "Easy, Izzy, easy…"

Isabel growled. "The immortal Queen of the Grimm is my ancestor. She murdered my parents!"

"Yes, and she's really sorry," Nick said. "You can tell!"

"I shouldn't be sitting here drinking tea with her! I should be destroying her! AND YOU SHOULD TOO!"

Salem smiled sweetly. "You can both try to destroy me after lunch. Is that fair?"

Nick grinned. "Sounds fair to me!"

Isabel threw her hands up. "GRAAAHHHHH!"

- - -

The afternoon passed in a blur of total destruction—fields cratered, trees demolished, the farmhouse miraculously spared by Lilac's refereeing. Isabel and Nick unleashed everything; Salem took it all with delighted laughter and compliments.

Eventually, the four sat in the miraculously intact living room, sipping more tea amid the distant smoke of ruined farmland.

Salem dabbed her lips daintily. "So you see, I can't actually die no matter what you do."

Isabel glared pure hatred. "Grrrr…!"

Nick beamed. "Wow. I used the stuff Izzy told me not to use in city limits and still couldn't kill you! You're incredible, Granny Salem!"

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!"

Salem patted Isabel's hand. "Dear, calm down. It's not good for your blood pressure."

"I CAN CONTROL MY BLOOD PRESSURE!"

Nick rubbed her back. "Easy, Izzy. More violence isn't gonna solve this."

"EH?!"

"We hit her with our best stuff and it didn't even faze her!"

Salem nodded proudly. "It's been centuries since I've faced a sword that big! And you handled it so well, Nick!"

"Aw, thanks, Granny!"

"GRRRRR…!"

Salem turned to Isabel, eyes shining. "And wow! You suplexed me right into the ground!" She clapped. "Incredible!"

"Stop complimenting me on failing to kill you!"

Salem's expression softened. "Listen, Isabel… For thousands of years, I had nothing but revenge—on my husband, on life itself. Now… all of a sudden, I have family. Family I missed. Family I…" Her voice cracked. "Family I killed." Tears welled again. "All this time… I wasn't alone, and I didn't know it. I'm a terrible person. I don't blame you for hating me. I know hate. But hatred… hatred feels so petty now."

Isabel's glare wavered. "Grrrr…!"

Salem reached out hesitantly. "Please. Allow me to try—just try—to make up for it? It won't be easy, but… I want to."

Isabel stared for a long moment.

Then: "…No."

Salem's face fell, but she nodded. "I see. I'll keep trying anyway."

Isabel stood abruptly, stalking to the holoscreen. "Then I'll keep trying to kill you." She dialed with furious jabs. "Ugh… I can't believe I'm calling him…"

Lilac tilted her head. "Who, Mom?"

Isabel ground her teeth. "Ozpin…"

Salem perked up. "Oh? You don't like him?"

"He kept trying to recruit me for some 'special project.' Got really pushy when I said no. Recruited Summer Rose—she died, vanished, whole thing stank. Never trusted him."

Salem chuckled darkly. "Heh. About Summer… she's not dead. And Ozpin? I agree. Shifty bastard."

"Eh?"

The screen connected. Ozpin's face appeared, mug in hand.

"Hello? Isabel? Are you—"

Salem leaned in, smiling sweetly. "Hello, darling! We have family! Isn't it wonderful?" Her eyes narrowed. "Of course you couldn't bother to tell me, you petty little ingrate!"

Ozpin's calm cracked. "Petty?! You're the one who launched a war on all life because you turned us immortal!"

"Oh, here we go—!"

"No, you listen, you two-faced bitch—!"

"Tiny-dicked bastard!"

"That's not what you said in bed!"

Isabel, Nick, and Lilac stared at the screen—Ozpin and Salem descending into a full-blown ex-spouse screaming match that would've made a divorce court blush.

Isabel's jaw hung open. "…Wha…?"

Nick blinked slowly. "Huh. Looks like we all need a lot of family counseling."

Lilac winced, offering a bottle. "Um… wine, Mother?"

Isabel snatched it, popped the cork with her thumb, and chugged the entire thing in three long pulls.

Lilac sighed. "I'll… keep them coming."