Fanfic #231 The Eternal Crown by Coeur Al'Aran(RWBY)

This fanfic is an au where Salem won a long time ago. I really like this fic because it has amazing world building with a really original plot and it has an interesting character analysis.

Synopsis: Salem won. Defeated and captured, Ozma was driven into insanity, never to rise against her again. For a thousand years Remnant has lived under the rule of the Eternal Queen, shaped to her whims. Jaune Arc is but a young man suffering from nightmares that aren't his own; driven to fulfil a destiny that isn't his, before the fractured mind of a broken man consumes him entirely.

Rated: T

words: 42k

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14004904/1/The-Eternal-Crown

Here's the first chapter:

Blood dripped from his nose down onto the floor. His eyes stared ahead blankly, senses muted and dull. Aching. Distantly, he was aware of the bindings that held his arms in place stretched out to either side of him, but if the chains that cut into his arms once brought pain, he didn't know it. The blood had dried and caked around them. His sallow chest spluttered and trembled, each breath a tortured heave as his legs slumped to the floor, knees bent and crooked.

A faint stream of light cut through a small hole in the stone wall, shining down ahead of him and on a wooden door. Never within reach and never to touch him, its warm caress was a distant memory. Or he thought so. Memories were hard to grasp nowadays. All that existed was his body, the cell and her.

The bolt on the other side of the door rasped and clacked open. The hinges creaked as the wood swung back. Her blackened robes swayed beneath her as she moved, gliding across the stone floor toward him. His attempts to look up at her were met with failure, but she took his chin and raised his head herself, staring down on him with a deep frown.

"You're still here." Her voice was soft and calm. Nevertheless, in the silence he endured for days at a time, they were so loud his ears rang. "Still you. Is it duty that has you cling stubbornly to this, or some other fallacy?"

His head fell as she released him.

"No matter. You shall falter as you always have."

He mumbled something. A protest or confusion. Her words had trembled for a moment, blurring away in a high-pitched screech he couldn't decipher. His eyes watered at the attempt, and he moaned fitfully, sagging low once more.

"The Brothers tasked you with stopping me." The woman hauled on a nearby rope, which dragged a pully system around and caused his chains to rise, dragging him up until he was suspended with his feet off the floor. His arms burned and a shoulder blade gave way, long broken and hanging loose, making him lopsided. "How many times has it been now? Five? Ten? Fifteen? I've lost count. No matter how many times I deal with you, you keep coming back. A different face, a different life, but still you. As inevitable as the setting of the sun."

The crank came to a halt. He hung, swaying precariously. From such a position, his skin pressed into exposed ribs and made drawing breath difficult. There was hope in that. Hope he might suffocate and be allowed the sweet release of death. She would not allow him it, however. Her crimson eyes watched him as a hawk, her footsteps echoing as she moved to the nearest table and considered her implements. Considered which sharp spikes, barbed whips or crushing devices would bring him the most agony today.

Any other man might have surrendered already and told this woman what she desired. He might have, if such was a possibility. There was no grand secret she desired, no information and no recourse for a blighted soul.

"I think we shall focus on your skin today," she said, laying down the mallet and instead picking up a coiled length of leather with small hooks set into it. "You're looking a little too gaunt for me to break a rib. How long has it been since you ate?"

His lips parted. A horse, ragged and dry sound like the rattling of reeds came forth.

"What's that? You're not hungry?" Chuckling, she moved out of sight. "Well. If you insist. Remember, if you want to blame anyone for this then blame the brothers. They did this to you. To us."

The whip cracked.

The first strike tore into skin as dry as parchment and tore it asunder. He felt the impact and saw the spray of red that splashed over his shoulders, but the pain was muted. For a moment. It came on the second crack, slicing deep into muscle and jerking him forward in the chains. He screamed, the noise dry and rattling and oh so quiet.

"I cannot deal with you the traditional way," the woman said, striking him another time and drawing forth a second scream. "You always come back. No more. If your body cannot be broken, then we shall see if your mind is as protected. Does it matter then how inevitable you are if I reduce you to a gibbering wreck incapable of thought? Time and time again a vegetable. You'll be no threat to me once I'm done."

Another crack. Another cry, this one quieter. The first two had drawn too much from him and he hung limp in the chains, shivering as a puddle of red pooled beneath him. "Let death come," he begged. Of her, of the world, of the brothers. "Kill me. Please…"

"I cannot. You know this."

The whip struck.

He sobbed brokenly.

"I will have my world. A world without pain. Without the brothers and their poisonous influence. And if needs be, without you."

His vision was already beginning to dim, his body giving way and the mind following. It was a welcome relief, but one that never lasted. Hours. Days. The time between her visits varied, the better to drive him mad.

"Goodbye, Ozma. I will remember you, even if you no longer do." The whip slapped down once more, splashing against his back and the blood that ran down it in waves. "An end. An end to them, to you – and to everything they have created."

He cried.

"An end to Remnant."

The bloody whip sailed in once more.

/-/

Jaune lurched out of bed and grasped at the air. His chest rose and fell, sweat dripping down him onto white linen. Hand shaking in the air before him, he stared at his fingers, opening and closing them in search of blood.

"Nothing. Those dreams again…"

Falling back, he collapsed onto the sheep's wool pillow and dragged a hand down over his face. Sweat had mixed with tears, all of it pushed away by shaky fingers. It'd been a dream. Nothing more. Almost afraid of falling asleep again, he pivoted on his hips and brought his feet down to the bare wooden floor. It creaked under his weight, thin beams of light shining up from the floor below.

The dreams had been the same as before. Always him being tortured, be it through whips or spikes or his personal terror, the mallet and chisel that would break bones out of place. Disgusting night terrors that never let him be. His body ached in memory as he dragged on a thin tunic and tightened the threads. His breeches were freshly washed and dried overnight, the black-dyed material reinforced with leather patches on the knees and upper thigh. Stamping down, he fished out his leather boots and climbed into them, then made his way to the door and out onto the landing.

The upper floor of their home covered half the house and had a balcony looking down over the kitchen, where he could see and smell his mother cooking breakfast. The girls were already out if the lack of noise was much to go by. Turning his back to her, he climbed down the ladder and jumped the final three rungs, landing with a crack on the cobbled floor.

"Jaune? Is that you?" Juniper asked without looking.

"Yes, ma. It's me." He ran a hand through his lank locks, a dirty shade of blond, and scraped out one of the stools at the family table. It was a big table, larger than most. "Where are the girls? What time is it? I feel like I should have been up earlier."

"A late morning for you, my boy. Your father said you'd need it after last night." Walking over, she placed a bowl of warm and meaty stew in front of him. Her face was split with a proud smile, the faint few wrinkles on either side of her eyes crinkling. "My boy finally learning to become a hunter in his own right. I hear the kill was yours."

"Technically," he mumbled, embarrassed at the praise. "Dad wounded it. My first shot went high."

"You still brought it low, skinned and carted it back." Chuckling, she rubbed a hand through his hair. "We'll make a hunter of you yet. Once we've cut what we need, Coral is going to take the rest into the village and trade it for spice. We need to celebrate your coming of age."

"Mom. It's fine. I said you don't have to."

"Nonsense. We did it for each of your sisters and we'll be doing it for you." Frowning, she cupped his face and looked closely at him. "Your eyes are bloodshot. Are they itching? You know better than to say nothing if you're feeling unwell."

"It's not that. I just had a nightmare."

Juniper gasped, and he realised his mistake an instant later. She backed away, hands shaking and eyes darting to the door. It was painful to see that kind of reaction from his own mother. "You said they'd gone. I-I'll fetch the healer. We can try-"

"Mom!" He had his hands around her wrists before she could bolt. He pulled her close. "Not one of those nightmares," he said. The lies came all too easily now. "A normal one. I was talking to a girl and embarrassed myself. Everyone was laughing. Stupid, I know, but I couldn't sleep well after."

"Oh, you." Laughing nervously, she wrapped her arms around him. Her grip was strong, desperate, and he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for the deceit. "You had me worried there."

"I didn't mean to."

Calm at last, she took one of the free seats at the table and poured herself a small amount of stew. Judging from the pot, everyone else had eaten and were going about their various jobs. Saphron and Sable would be training with father. The others might be running exercises. Amber, the youngest, was probably stuck tending the vegetable patch and all the surlier for it. Those had been his jobs once, in between training and shadowing his father.

Their family was large and maintaining that took effort. They all had to chip in, be it hunting or raising crops, but even that wouldn't have been enough to earn the coin necessary for eight children. Their father's work filled that in. The Arc household was considered fortunate in the village for how hard-working their children were. When they weren't pitied for the cursed son.

"I still remember when you had those dreams…"

"Don't." Jaune said, more harshly than he meant to. "It only bothers you."

"You cried so much as a baby. All children cry, but you did it more than any and always at night. You would wake the whole house up and no amount of cuddling would help you. We thought it a phase. Teething or something else." Juniper smiled wanly. "It only got harder when you could speak and tell us what you saw. Every night. The same dreams without fail. It was so frightening. How can a child understand or know of those things?"

"I don't remember them," he lied again. Things were easier that way. "I was probably just seeking attention."

"Maybe." Shaking her head, she looked up. "So, who was this girl in your dreams? Someone from the village? It must be unless you're dreaming of foreign princesses. Come now. Tell your mother who has caught your eye. I won't tell your sisters."

"Lily," he said, throwing out the first name to come to mind.

"The farrier's girl?" She waited for him to nod before smiling. "She's a pretty one. Do you want me to speak with her father?"

"Mom, no. If I want to walk with a girl, I'll invite her to dance."

Not that she would agree. The annual harvest dance was a staple of the village, and with his seven sisters taking a lot of the village boys' attention he should have had a good shot of convincing a girl to dance or walk with him. He never had. Not once. If it wasn't the girls themselves watching him warily, it was their parents warning them away from him. Juniper knew that just as well as he, and she looked for a moment like she might argue. Then, grudgingly, she let it go.

"Alright. But be sure you don't do more than walk and hold hands before you're married. You don't want to gain a reputation."

"Yeah, I'd hate to be seen as a madman…"

"Jaune." She slapped his arm gently but fixed him with a stern look. "I've told you not to let what they say get to you. People talk, especially about things they don't understand. It doesn't help that you are who you are, but people your age won't even remember what used to afflict you. You're not mad and you're not sick in the head. You just…" She reached for anything. "You had a more active imagination. That's a good thing. Nightmares are normal. Everyone has them."

They both knew it was empty comfort. His best bet for starting a family would be to leave Ansel, go somewhere where he wasn't recognised and started over. No one said it, but they all knew that was why his father was training him so hard. His parents wanted to be sure he'd be capable of looking after himself when the time came. Until then, they were all pretending it was nothing to worry about. Jaune supposed he wasn't the only one lying today.

"Yeah." He smiled. "You're right." Pushing the bowl away, he stood and cracked his neck. "I'm not hungry. I think I'll go for a walk and clear my head before finding dad. He's out by the wall?"

"You know him. He said he expects you by noon. Have the morn to yourself, but do me a favour, will you? I promised Katrina down by the tavern a cut of meat for repairing your father's leather jerkin. You know, the one he hunts in." Juniper pushed a tightly bound hunk of soft meat into his hands. It was tied with chord and wrapped in linen cloth.

"I'll see it delivered. Do you need anything bringing back?"

"No. It's just to pay her for the favour. Don't work yourself too hard today."

/-/

The village of Ansel was small – little more than twelve or so homesteads cramped together in a faint ring around a central square like travellers huddled around a campfire for warmth and safety. Numerous families lived within each, sharing space in trying times and working together as most in the village had to. Wisps of smoke rose from the charcoal burners outside the walls, while children and adults hurried to and fro, carrying out their tasks for the day.

The fields outside the walls, visible rising up the hills, were dotted with farmers. The summer had been hot, almost too hot, but the crops had pulled through and the harvest was expected to be plentiful.

It was a weight off all their shoulders and the farmers who had been nervous up until a few days ago now laughed away at the inn, drinking their days away until the harvest would come and demand all their energy and more. Most helped with the harvest when the time came. He had never been invited, mostly out of fear that he might infect the crops.

As he stepped into the main room of the tavern, a young farmhand on his way out flinched and backed away, skirting a wide circle around him and slipping out the door as Jaune passed. A few more looked on as he stepped in, one making a sign of good luck to ward off any ill energies.

Katrina did not. She was younger than his mother, though still much older than him, with fiery red hair and dark skin. Her husband was a surly and cantankerous man ill fit to run a tavern, which was why she worked as the face, and he shifted barrels and brewed drinks in the basement. On seeing him, she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Even if she didn't judge him, his presence was bad for business. At least it was nothing personal this time.

"Jaune. A fair morning to you. What brings you?"

Please make it quick, he translated. There were two types of people in Ansel – those that thought him a child driven to madness, and those that felt the madness had been caused by an illness. Plague, fever or terrible malady that he had through luck or strength survived, but which might still linger within him. They didn't hate him. Juniper often reminded him of that. It was fear that drove them.

"Ma sent me with a delivery." He put the package down and stepped back, letting her come take it. "Deer meat hunted last night and fresh from the carcass." He watched her open it and smile. Food might have been scarce during winter, but right after a harvest the storehouses were full. It was near the end of summer, before harvest, where it really began to run low. Times like that, a hunter could earn his keep and more. Meat was always appreciated, especially meat you couldn't raise on a farm. "She said it's for help repairing my dad's armour."

"I told her it wasn't needed." Katrina complained good-naturedly. Even so, she didn't hand it back. "You be sure to give your ma my thanks. Tell her Katrina asks for the Goddesses' blessing for her and hers. You'll be off to your father, I take it? It's about that time."

"I have training, yes." Jaune took the hint for what it was.

"May the Goddess bless you, Jaune."

A sound like nails on glass ripped through his head. The walls closed in. The crack of a whip echoed in his ears, followed by a scream of agony. It was sudden and visceral, and a visible shudder ripped through Jaune's body, shaking him to his core. Too late, he realised Katrina had backed away from him with her hands held up to ward him away. Jaune tried to mask the episode it in a cough, but the sharp sound making her flinch back and cover her mouth. It didn't help when he drew his hand away and found blood on his fingers. His nose was bleeding. His head pounding.

The patrons looked terrified. Chairs scraped back.

Damn it. There went the better part of a year trying to appear normal. Jaune clenched his eyes shut and tried not to let it bother him. He really did try.

"The Goddess bless you too, Katrina." he said quickly, rounding on the spot and marching away. It wasn't until he was outside the door that the conversation started back up inside. That he could hear it now made it more jarring.

He'd have called them superstitious, but a child who cried of nightmarish visions beyond his years was frightening. It wasn't just the villagers who were afraid, but his own family as well. These episodes, these attacks, only made it worse.

I'm not sick, he thought, pushing on and ignoring those who moved out the way. I've never felt healthier, and I can run as fast and fight as hard as anyone else my age. Not all maladies were of the body, their silence seemed to whisper. There were those sick in mind who lost grasp of reality. I'm not one of them. I'm fine. Growling under his breath, he pushed on toward the walls.

Dreams were just that. Dreams. It was reality that mattered.

"An end to Remnant."

"Shut up!" Jaune spat. "You're not real! You're just some stupid dream!"

Flinching, he looked around. The voice that had whispered into his ear didn't exist, nor did any of the things he'd seen. People passing by sent him strange looks and took wider routes. Someone whispered and others pointed. Swallowing and forcing his fist to slowly unclench, Jaune pushed himself toward the wall.

Get out of my head. Leave me alone.

The pressure increased. He thought he heard a scream, but it might just have been a memory of his nightmares.

"I will remember you, even if you no longer do."

"I remember just fine," he hissed to the open air. "I'm me. Jaune Arc. I… No." Shaking his head, he swept the sweat from his brow. Insane people talked to themselves. He wasn't that. "Dad will have my hide if I miss a day's training. Enough of this."

He wasn't insane.

He wasn't…

/-/

"Well, look who finally showed up. Late as usual!"

"Cut him some slack, Jade. Jaune became a man last night." Hazel wiggled her eyebrows. "By hunting a deer anyway. I guess we'll have to wait for him to hunt a woman before he becomes a real man."

The sisters laughed, Hazel leaning on a training spear stabbed into the ground, covered with sweat and mud that ran down her bare arms in sticky trails. There was blood too, though only from the thinnest of grazes on her elbow. Hazel and Jade were twins and all the more alike from it, only a few years older than him and all too eager to remind him of it whenever they could. They were lithe and muscled, strong with defined jawlines and short, rough hair that fell to their necks and no further. Juniper's attempts to style that into something feminine had been thwarted today by rough training that had it sticking up in every direction.

His sisters didn't make light of the dreams, or his condition. Their mockery made him feel normal because they were like that with everyone. For that, he smiled through the harsh teasing and picked up a training sword off the rack, coming to stand by them and watch as their father took Lavender through her training.

"Dad already knock you two around?"

"At the same time," Jade said. "Course, we might have had him if Hazel didn't trip up and ram into me. Clumsy oaf."

"Oh, fuck off," Hazel said with a light laugh. "I tripped because he swept my feet out from under me. I'd like to see you stay standing in that case. Looks like Lavender will be joining us soon enough. You better go easy on her, Jaune."

Jaune looked back in time to see Lavender disarmed of her training spear and brought low. The final blow wasn't struck but a wooden longsword came to rest on her neck, and she fell to her knees from sheer exhaustion.

Nicholas Arc held the other end, hilt in hand and blade resting atop his arm for balance. His eyes were hard flints of blue ice, cold as they always were when he fought. Thankfully, they soon softened, crinkling at the edges as a jovial smile overtook him.

"Good," he said, taking his sword away and offering a hand. He hauled Lavender up. "You're getting better. Focus on your stamina and you'll be able to last longer. All I did there was wear you down. Your technique is coming along great."

"M-More running…?" Lavender asked, dreading the answer.

"More running," he confirmed. "Your stamina will build. Give it time."

Nicholas was a bear of a man. Over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a thick, muscled chest that could hardly be contained by his sweaty tunic and tight leather pants. He was built like the letter V, with broad shoulders sweeping down into a thin waist and long legs. His powerful arms bulged with every movement, muscles glinting with sweat after what was likely four or five consecutive bouts against his children. His blond hair was wet and lank, swept back and tied behind him by a cord of animal intestine. A single scar ran down over the left side of his lip, splitting it, but rather than make him appear ugly, it only accentuated his dangerous reputation.

A hunter by trade, he also worked as head of Ansel's small militia, training and preparing the men and women of the village to defend themselves should they need it. Banditry was thankfully rare, but it hadn't always been, and everyone knew that having an active militia was what scared them off. Nicholas was well respected in the village, an admired figure that Ansel would do anything to keep. Even if that meant putting up with his clearly cursed son.

"Jaune." Nicholas stabbed his sword down and leaned atop it, hands crossed. No judgment, no disgust. His father refused to let the nightmarish visions phase him. The last person to suggest his family drive Jaune out had to have his jaw stitched back together. "You're up. Sleep well?"

"Well enough," he lied. Mom might tell him later, but she might not. No one liked to speak of it. Right now, he relished the chance to be tossed around like a bird in a storm. It would take his mind off things. "You still got some fight left in you, old man?"

"Old man? Ha." Nicholas wrenched his sword out the ground. "I think I've found my second wind. Get in here so I can remind you just who the master is."

Leaping over the small wooden fence, Jaune trekked into the muddy ring, passing Lavender on the way out. Nicholas stretched his arms and cracked his neck before taking a ready stance. Jaune fell into his own, prepared for a beating and the resultant sore muscles that would at least distract him from the nightmares.

One good hit. That was all he asked. If he could hit his pa, he'd call it a victory.

Not for the first time, his hand moved, trying to bring the sword down into a different position, tipped down toward the ground like a cane or walking stick. Jaune swallowed and brought it back up, resting it back on his shoulder as his father had taught him. His body complained, wanting it the other way even if he never understood why. The sword was much too heavy to be wielded with one hand. It was designed to be wielded with two hands and kept upwards so that gravity didn't drag it down.

It was too heavy. He was used to a lighter weapon.

No, I'm not. He winced. I've never used a sword other than a training one in my life. Why do I keep thinking like this?

Shaking such petty distractions away, he roared and charged in, swinging the practice blade down. Nicholas swept his up and deflected it down. Following through, Jaune stepped in and tried to stamp down on his father's, swinging his own up and over. Nicholas stepped to the side to avoid it, then darted back as Jaune swung in a wide arc.

"Always attack." Nicholas barked when Jaune paused for breath. "Always move forward. Defending means accepting your defeat."

"Why aren't you?"

"Because you wouldn't learn anything if I ran you down every time we sparred. I'm going easy on you. The Grimm won't."

Hefting the wooden sword, Jaune charged in again. They traded blows, each rattling his arms. Gripping the sword two-handed, he still felt as though it was too much, even if he had no reason to know better. Pushing in with one foot, he tried to push his father off balance, only to have his own foot kicked harshly away. The wooden blade came in and he ducked, rolling on the floor and away, then scrambling back up in time to catch Nicholas' approach.

He got his sword up in time, but the sheer force staggered him. Nicholas took that chance to sweep the tip of his sword down to the hilt of Jaune's and wrench it up, rotating and flicking the hilt out his fingers. It splatted down into the mud nearby.

"What did you do wrong?" Nicholas demanded.

"I surrendered momentum," Jaune answered dutifully. "I panicked and stopped attacking."

"Exactly. Fighting will be like chess if you let it, with each person taking their turn. Don't." He kicked the sword up and caught it by the blade, then tossed it back to Jaune. "If you're on the defensive, that means you're losing the fight. Mess up an attack and the worst that happens is your opponent escapes or blocks it. Falter a parry and you're dead. Better to be the aggressor, son. It's safer that way. An opponent on the defence can't kill you." Nicholas brought his sword up. "Try again. You're not done yet."

Taking a deep breath, Jaune nodded and fell into a guard, attacking when his father gave the signal. He swept high and down, feinted left and pushed in when the opening presented itself. His slice across the abdominal muscles was thwarted by the blade twisted and stabbed down, gripped with both hands. It still gave him an opening to reverse and cut for the hamstring.

"Better," Nicholas said, parrying that and forcing him away. "Now, counter!"

His father lunged forward in a two-handed thrust.

Dodge left, let him pass and swing. Dodge left, let him pass and swing. His mind repeated the instructions that were driven into him over and over. His legs tensed, muscles prepping for the leap that would carry him to safety.

His knee dipped instead.

Jaune had no idea why. It wasn't what he'd been trained to do, it wasn't even a move that made sense, but in the heat of the moment with adrenaline roaring through him it felt so right. Perfect. He fell into a low posture that felt so natural and yet not at all at the same time. His left hand came up, knuckles rapping against the flat of the training sword and pushing it aside but an inch. It whistled over his ear, and he was already lunging, throwing his right foot forward and thrusting his sword with one hand, tip homing in on Nicholas' heart.

His father twisted at the last possible second and let it sail by.

They collided. Nicholas, being bigger and stronger, bowled him over and rolled over him, diving over his body and rolling away so as not to crush his son. Jaune lay flat in the mud, shoulder aching where his father's knee had struck. A shadow was cast over him as Nicholas came back, arms on his hips.

"I didn't teach you that."

Jaune swallowed. "I… I don't…"

"It wasn't a bad move." Nicholas allowed. He held out a hand and hauled Jaune up. "Had you been quicker, you might have scored a blow. It's not right for what you're wielding though." He tapped the training sword. "Too heavy for a one-handed thrust. Your arm wobbled, the sword with it, and that gave me time to dodge. Even if you hit, I doubt it'd have the power to penetrate a thick hide, especially not a Grimm. Move like that is better suited for something shorter. And blocking my sword with your hand. Risky. It worked, but if this were naked steel, you might be in trouble. Technique like that is suited to different weapons. Something like-"

"A sword and shield?"

Jaune paused, surprised himself at the words that had tumbled out, especially since they didn't make sense. He knew why, but Nicholas said it for him all the same.

"A shield is useless against the Grimm. When five hundred pounds of muscle comes crashing down on you, your bones would buckle no matter what you block it with. And a shorter sword lacks penetration against their hides." He hefted his own, his real one. It was a long sword with a hefty blade, designed for a two-handed grip. "You need something that can pierce or cut through thick flesh and bone. You'd have to get in close and personal to find a weak spot with a sword and shield, and that's not a good idea with Grimm."

He knew that. He'd known it for years. Heavy weapons for Grimm and lighter ones for animals, self-defence or people. No one trained with a sword and shield because you didn't get hit by Grimm. If you did, you died. Simple as.

Where did that move come from? It felt as natural as breathing…

"Still, that wasn't a bad display." Nicholas clapped his shoulder and moved him toward the fences and his clapping sisters. "Keep it up and you'll find yourself doing well. Now, I want you all to freshen up in the river and meet back here."

"We're not sparring against each other?" Sapphire asked.

"Not today. Whole village is being called out. We've got visitors. Important visitors from the city."

Excited whispering spread among them. The city was the capitol of Vale, simply called that – Vale. It was a place of incredible wealth and wonder, or so the stories went. A place said to be completely safe from the Grimm and where people could be protected from harm. Few were allowed within its towering walls and many who made the perilous journey were turned away. It was rare for travellers to leave its walls, let alone come to somewhere out in the middle of nowhere like Ansel.

"Why?" he asked. "Why come here?"

"They wouldn't say, but I have my suspicions." Nicholas scowled and eyed the walls. "I want you all on your best behaviour. They're representatives of the Eternity Queen. Of Goddess-Queen Salem herself."

Red eyes. White face. Fear and terror that had him clasping his chest. Jaune sagged, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Why? Why did it hurt so much? Biting his tongue, he forced himself to stand tall, to pretend his chest didn't feel like it was about to explode, or that his back didn't feel slick with sweat that he could easily imagine was his own blood.

"Jaune." Nicholas held his shoulder. His voice was low and tense. "When they come, I want you to stay out of the way. Stay quiet, don't draw attention and whatever happens – no matter what – do not mention your nightmares."

"I don't have them anymore," he said.

"You and I both know that isn't true. Your room is next to ours. I can hear you."

Jaune stared at the floor. His fists shook and his body trembled. "I'm not insane…"

"I'm not saying you are, but you need to do this for me. These people. They pay particular attention to those that stand out. Those that are… troubled. No one knows why, but they do. I don't want them knowing you exist, let alone talking to you. Am I understood?"

"An end to Remnant."

"Jaune." Nicholas rocked his shoulder. "Am I understood?"

"Yes." He panted for breath, trying his best to ignore the incoherent and babbling pleas that played over and over in his head. The frightened whimpers of a man driven mad. After years of doing so, it was second nature now. "I hear you. I'll stay out of sight…"