This chapter is huge, by the way. It was supposed to be two separate chapters but, well, I changed my mind. Consider it a freebie.
Chapter 2
Jaune woke to unfamiliar surroundings.
Instincts born from years of living in danger made awakening an unpleasant experience. His eyes didn't open as they might once have, but instead remained shut as he took in his surroundings. He was on a bed; soft and warm with a blanket thrown over him. There was a pillow under his head, and a brief check revealed that his hands were free and not bound. His nose twitched. There was no discernible scent in the air, but he thought he smelled pine resin and candlewax.
Eventually, once he was certain the situation wasn't a dangerous one, Jaune opened his eyes. He was alone, Crocea Mors was within reach, and his armour rested against the side of a wooden cabinet.
Hadn't he been on a boat? He could recall the ocean and the Grimmlands, him using the motor to drift out into the sea towards Vacuo. There had been a storm, he recalled. The rest was hazy. Too hazy. It didn't take a genius to fill in the empty spaces, especially since his body felt like it had been put through a washing machine.
"I guess that thing wasn't really the right kind of vessel for the open ocean. At least I'm still breathing."
Someone must have found and rescued him; made rather obvious from the care and attention he'd been given. He had to remind himself this wasn't the future where trust was in short supply and everyone considered everyone else a possible threat. The past had been a kinder place where it was humans against the Grimm and little else. Most people would help a person out if they could.
With his paranoia satisfied and the means to fight located he allowed himself a better look around the rather small room he was laid within. It was wooden in nature and unusually narrow, with a curved roof that sloped upwards and several shelves, drawers, and hidden cabinets built into the walls. Everything seemed designed in such a way as to fit as much as possible into a small space, and rolls of brightly-colour carpets stacked at the end of the bed concealed several beautiful pieces of pottery, each tied with thin cordage and stacked carefully in place.
Voices from outside alerted him to the fact he wasn't alone, if the fact he was cared for and rested hadn't already. He took a deep breath and let his panic go. Had this been a dangerous situation he'd have woken up in a far worse situation. Even so, he couldn't quite trust his generous benefactors just yet. It was past time for an introduction.
He rose from the bed and looked himself over. His ripped and torn hoodie had been replaced by a tan tunic that was several sizes too large and made from very thin and airy material. His trousers were the same, and his old ones nowhere to be seen. He picked up his sword but left the armour behind, moved to a small door at the end of the narrow room, and stepped through it.
It was dark outside and unbearably cold. The room he'd been in was several feet higher than expected, and some wooden steps leading down to the sand below revealed it to be a caravan or wagon-home. His appeared to be one of many, each brightly painted and arranged in a vague circle around a campfire that burned in the centre. There were tents as well, around six in number, and men and women covered in shawls, hoods and armed with spears moved about between them.
It looked like he'd found some kind of tribe or caravan, and judging from the dress – and the sand beneath him – he was in Vacuo. The weapons the people carried didn't immediately frighten him since this was Grimm territory and only an idiot travelled without a weapon. That was likely why they'd left him with his. One of the tribesmen noticed him, stood on the steps before the sand, and whispered some words to another. The second bowed, and Jaune watched warily as the first man approached. Though he didn't show it he was prepared to fight, and so too was this man, his eyes friendly but his fingers tight about the haft of his spear.
"By the moon and stars, you have awoken, stranger," the man said. He held his spear wide, making it clear he had no intention of attacking. There was little of the man's face that could be seen beneath the cloth wrapped about his head and over his mouth. His brown eyes were set in a dark-skinned face, however, and his outfit – and his mannerisms – made it clear he was used to living in the desert.
"I take it I'm in Vacuo?" Jaune asked.
"You are in the Grand Desert." The man gestured with his spear to the vast dunes that spread in every direction. "The wetlanders might call this desert their own but who can hope to claim dominion over such a place? I might as well call it mine for all the truth it would bring."
A riddle of an answer but an answer nonetheless, and the man at least sounded friendly. Jaune nodded his head in greeting. "Who are you? My name is Jaune. Jaune Arc."
"Kyrie!" The man spat it like a curse, and Jaune had the feeling it wasn't a name. "I have shamed myself for not giving you a name, forgive me. I am Asol, son of Amon, and leader of the Del'Ashari, the tribe you see before you." He linked his hands before himself, the spear held vertically, and bowed from the waist. "I welcome you to our caravan, stranger. May your thirst be quenched and your burdens lessened."
"I-" Jaune mimicked the bow as best he could. "Thank you? I'm sorry, I'm not really sure what the proper response is."
"Your gratitude is enough. Come…" Asol gestured for him to follow and Jaune hopped down, staying close to the man as they walked towards the bonfire in the centre where some small children played in the sand and threw sticks at a target. It almost looked like a game designed to train or test accuracy. Some of the women, and more than a few men, were busy preparing and cooking food, while others busied about their own tasks, stepping into and out of their caravans, or even repairing broken wheels and axles. The chatter was loud and natural, relaxing him somewhat, and as Asol led him through he found his hand straying away from the hilt of his weapon.
Some of the men, warriors for the most part, nodded in respect to Asol, and to him surprisingly. It might have been the fact he wore a weapon too, or that he had the body of a huntsman. Eventually Asol led him to a tent with the front pulled open and back. Several cushions had been arranged and Asol sat down on one, motioning for Jaune to take another. He did so, shifting his weight awkwardly and laying his sword down beside him, still within reach should he need it.
"You have the moon's own luck for surviving this far, Jaune of Arc. My own wife found you broken and half-drowned, washed up on the shore at least a hundred miles from any village." Asol paused to pour some sweet-smelling water into two goblets. He handed one to Jaune and sipped at his own. "My sweet brought you here and mended your body as best she could. It will make her heart sing to hear you have survived the day."
So, he'd washed up on the shore after all. There was his luck helping him out again, he supposed. Even more so that some passing people would pick him up. He'd definitely reached Vacuo, as if the desert didn't give that away. He'd never visited it himself, but he'd heard a few things from Sun, especially how many of the people who lived here still followed the old ways.
"Thank you, Asol. And your wife has my thanks as well. Is there any way I can repay you?"
"Good deeds in one life are rewarded with joy in the next," the man said, shaking his head. "My Inessa would be deeply offended if you tried to repay her. It is enough that you live."
"You're very generous people."
"It is the way of the desert, my friend. Those who do not band together do not survive long. Our warriors will guard the weak and the infirm through the night, and those who cannot fight will help produce goods to trade. In the light of the morning I shall pick up the spear with more and guard the caravans through the day."
"This is a trading tribe?"
"The Del'Ashari have been many things, but we are warriors first and foremost. We do not attack the weak, however. We guard villages and kill Grimm and are rewarded with trinkets that we trade in Vacuo and the Academy of Shade." He smirked and thumped a fist against his chest. "It is a good life for good people. We also pick up strangers like you and others who succumb to the desert and do our best to nurture them to life."
"Will you be going to Vacuo any time soon?" he asked. "I need to get there so I can reach the CCT Tower and contact some friends of mine. They'll be wondering where I am."
"I am afraid our path will not cross Vacuo for several weeks, and your journey sounds an urgent one."
"It is. I need to get back to Vale."
"I see in you the spirit of a warrior. Is this so?"
"I'm a huntsman." Though that was debatable. He'd spent more time fighting humans recently; they could be just as cruel as any monster.
"Hm." Asol nodded once and looked him up and down. "A huntsman is one who hunts for something. Tell me then, Jaune of Arc. What is it you hunt for?"
The question seemed innocent but felt like it was more. He paused to think on it, and the answer didn't take long to come. Images of his friends flashed before his eyes; Ruby, Ren, Nora, but also Pyrrha. "I'm looking for a better future. That's what I'm hunting."
"Good. Good!" Asol slapped a hand against his knee and laughed. "I like your answer, my friend. All too often I ask this of your kind and they say the Grimm. I point my spear out into the desert and say `well there they are` and the huntsman goes silent." He gestured with his spear as such. "This life is too short to hunt an early death, and there is no honour to be had in wasting a life against the Grimm. Dying in defence of family, loved ones, or those who cannot defend themselves – this is a good death! Do not rush to yours hunting that which hunts you. Live, instead." He laid a solid punch on Jaune's arm and smiled. "But you, my friend. You understand this. My heart sings."
The man's laughter was infectious and Jaune joined in with it, relaxing and drinking of the sweet and scented water, which had a faint hint of peach and orange to it. Port might have had something to say about Asol's wisdom, but he personally saw no wrong in it. He wasn't trying to eradicate all the Grimm on Remnant, though he would if he had the chance. It was better to focus on what was truly important, saving his friends, and to kill any Grimm who stood in his path.
"I have my path, Asol, and although it features the Grimm fairly heavily, I can promise you now that it's not my goal. I have friends in Vale, in Beacon, and they need my help." Of course, he had no idea how far back he'd been sent. It was possible he was only a few weeks, but also possible that he'd gone back a year or more. "Asol, do you have any news from Vale? Does Beacon still stand?"
"Does it stand? My friend, I do not know the answer, but I have not heard of it falling and such would send reverberations about the world. Alas, for we have been away from Vacuo for some time. It is possible my news is outdated."
That made sense, but it didn't ease his fears. "And what of Vacuo?" It had fallen in his time and been fallen for quite some time. "You said you went there a while back. How long ago was that? Is it still in one piece?"
"Vacuo?" Asol laughed. "My friend, the City of the Sands has stood for hundreds of years and will no doubt stand for many more. I walked its streets not a month back, and I know full well it remains still for I passed a tribe not two nights ago and they had come from the city."
Jaune's relief was palpable. His smile split his face. That was great news, no, it was wonderful news. If he'd gone back to when Vacuo still stood then that meant he was at least six months prior to their fateful mission. Heck, it meant he was back before they'd even secured the fourth relic. Far enough that he could still save Pyrrha, however? He didn't dare hope. Not yet. "That's good to hear, Asol. I still need to reach Beacon, though."
"The CCT stands proud in Vacuo. With that you would be able to reach your friends in Vale, and I am sure news travels quicker to the city. You will find the answers you seek there, or the means to find them."
"I understand. I'll need to make my way to Vacuo and find out. Would you be able to give me a map?"
"I will have one drawn for you. It will be done by the morrow. You will rest with us this night." The tribe leader made it an order, and when Jaune opened his mouth to complain, Asol cut him off. "I will hear no argument, my friend. Though your body has recovered you have not eaten. Do not belittle my Inessa so by taking the gift of life she has given you and dashing it into the sand."
The truth of the man's words became apparent when his stomach rumbled, reminding him that not only had he not eaten the day before, but that his last meal was ironically sometime in the future – weeks or months away, possibly. Either way, he wasn't in a state to be moving around, much less trekking to Vacuo. I don't need to rush things so much, he thought. I came back to change things, not to get myself killed being reckless.That kind of thinking was what had gotten all his friends killed the first time through.
"You're right, Asol. I'd be honoured to stay the night."
The man's face lightened. He barked out some orders to those around the tent. Food was provided for them soon after, and for the rest of the tribe, many of whom sat on colourful carpets and chatted loudly between themselves as they ate. Despite being stuck in the middle of the desert the people of the Del'Ashari were vocal and optimistic, waving hands and punctuating laughter by slapping their palms against skin, sand, or pottery. The warmth from the fire was a welcome relief for all, as the desert had turned deathly cold in the dead of the night, and the thin fabrics he'd been afforded did little to ward it off.
The meat dish did more, thankfully. It was heavily spiced – almost too much so – but that only helped him feel fuller and he soon realised that was the point, for while the food was expertly cooked it was not generous in portion. It was amazing to think that even then they would share it with him, a complete stranger. There were many better off in Vale who would have turned their noses up at someone like him, especially with how ragged he looked.
It was as he finished his food and put the plate down that he noticed the blood that seeped from under Asol's sleeve and down his wrist. "You're wounded."
Asol followed his eyes and sighed. "Kyrie, your eyes are as sharp as an eagle's, my friend. To my shame it is so. One of our warriors, a new blood by the name of Hansus, joined the elder warriors last night. He was excited but inattentive, and I took a blow that would have slain him. The Beowolf's claws struck true." He peeled back his sleeve and revealed a bandage wrapped around what appeared to be a nasty gash. He pulled the bandage off and reached for more.
"Is it serious?" Jaune asked.
"The wound will heal. Worry not. I do not wish Hansus to know of it, however. Mistakes are common, especially among the newly blooded, and he celebrates his rite of honour tonight. To taint that with the knowledge of but a single lapse in judgment is not fair. I shall take him aside tomorrow and drill him hard, and through that he shall learn." Asol's laughter made it clear he held no grudge. "In time he will save my life and we shall call it even."
That was all well and good, but it wouldn't serve Asol now, and he had to man the guard tomorrow. If there was even a small way he could repay the tribesmen who had saved his life he had to take it. He reached out and took the man's hand. "May I look at it?"
"If it will comfort you, my friend."
"It won't me, but it might you." Jaune brought the arm close to his body and placed his fingers on either side of the wound to pinch it shut. His aura flickered, and he took hold of it, drawing it forth as he'd learned to and pushing it into the man sat before him.
He'd discovered his Semblance later in life than most, and only after Weiss nearly died before him. It had always pained him to wonder if Pyrrha couldn't have been saved as well, but Ruby had eventually cornered and convinced him otherwise. Pyrrha had fallen all but instantly, shot through the chest and then killed before her eyes – with no room for someone like him to heal her. Even had he been able to, Cinder would have just killed them both.
Here, however, when he was freshly rested, and it was but a simple cut? His aura flowed into the man before him, augmenting his own – what little of it the tribesman had. The man's eyes widened and did so even further as the wound began to seal.
"By the stars," Asol said, astounded as he held up his arm before his face and marvelled at the unblemished skin. "This is… you…"
"My Semblance," Jaune said.
"The stars have blessed you with such a gift, Jaune of Arc. No, Jaune of Arc and of the Del'Ashari. I name you brother here and now, and you shall ever have a place in our tribe." Asol gripped his hand before he could say otherwise and hoisted it high. He yelled out at the top of his lungs. "I name this man my brother, and Del'Ashari in all but blood. Let the stars and moon witness this."
Those around the fire stared for a moment, before they began to whoop happily. To his embarrassment some even began to sing strange songs he'd never heard of, and the atmosphere became more akin to a party. He'd never done well as the centre of attention and that was with his team as back up. Here, he could only sit there as his face went red and Asol continued to laugh.
"I-It's really nothing special," he said.
"My brother, your gift is one of the stars. You have given me back my strength and that may save a life on the morrow. You have also protected Hansus' dignity, whether he knows it or not." The humour faded from Asol's face, replaced with a contemplative frown. "How far does your gift go? Can it heal those who are mortally wounded?"
"I… well, it has in the past," he said. He was wary to say yes in case something went wrong, and there was no bigger fear in him than that he'd fail to heal someone and crush Asol's hope. His Semblance wasn't even healing, at least not really. It was just one of the benefits it provided. "I can't promise anything but if someone is wounded then I can give it a go."
Asol nodded and rose from his cushions, motioning for Jaune to follow. They left the tent, and the security of the fire and celebrating tribespeople. They made their ways instead around the back of the caravans, to one which was slightly larger than the others and was painted a pristine white.
"It is not someone of my tribe but a stranger such as yourself," Asol explained. "We found her several days ago in the ruins and her wounds were dire. They are still dire. My Inessa has done her best to ease the pain but that is all we can do. Though my light does not share it with me I feel her sorrow every night and know that this stranger has little time remaining." Asol's brown eyes bore a pain not his own. "I know you can make no promises and I would demand none of you, but if you can even help a little…"
Jaune nodded. "I'll do my best." He owed them that much, even if they'd feel offended to know it. Even if they hadn't he would have tried, but after all they'd done he owed them more than just an attempt.
Asol ascended the steps first and knocked three times on the wooden door before pushing in, and Jaune followed closely behind him. The interior was far more spartan than the other caravans, with four soft beds covered in white silk and one long surface, meticulously cleaned. A woman stood in the middle of the beds dressed in robes of purest white. Her hair was brown but had streaks of grey in it, and though she was old enough to have wrinkles, she was undeniably attractive. Before her, beneath a white sheet, a pale-faced woman fitfully slept.
"Inessa," Asol said, bowing to his wife. "It is not my intent to interfere, but your other patient has awakened at last."
"Yours is no interference, my shade." Inessa moved forward to cup her husband's cheeks. She kissed the air before him but did no more, and soon turned to face Jaune. "You are well, stranger. It does my heart good to see this with my own eyes."
"You have my thanks, madam," Jaune said, bowing as he'd seen the other tribespeople do. "I'll not forget your kindness."
"He is stranger no longer, my light. He is Jaune of Arc and the Del'Ashari. I have named him brother."
"Oh my," Inessa sighed. "Do not tell me you have become a young boy again and blooded yourself of Grimm in the desert? Is that why you are here, to seek healing for your own folly? My love or not I have half a mind to bid you suffer for your idiocy."
"You cut me, my light," Asol said, chuckling quietly. "But no, we are not here to burden you more but perhaps to lessen it." He brought forth his wrist and held it up before her. "My brother was gifted with the power to heal. He has proven this to me, and kindly offered to see if there is ought he can do for the wounded warrior-woman."
Inessa gasped. "Is this true?"
"It is," Jaune said, stepping forward. "I can't promise anything, but my Semblance does allow me to heal." Among other things. "I can try to help her."
She couldn't have gotten out of his way any quicker, and all but threw Asol aside as she pushed him closer to the woman. "Please, yes, any aid that you can offer, brother of my love and life."
The injured woman on the bed didn't react to any of the noise and it was obvious she'd been unconscious since they found her. The skin about her face was pallid and sunken, the veins visible in places. She might have been beautiful, but it was impossible to tell for how sickly she looked. Her hair was dark, perhaps black, or a very dark brown judging by the colour on the tips. It was short enough to reach her shoulders. Beside her bed was an odd weapon, some kind of sword but obviously mecha-shift. She was a huntress.
"Where did you find her?" he asked.
"Asol was the one to find her. She was collapsed and abandoned in a ruin in the desert." Inessa drew back the blanket, revealing a similar tan outfit to what Jaune wore. The woman's body was bandaged in numerous places. "She had been attacked, and the injuries spoke of Grimm – but also those inflicted by humans. What kind of man or woman would strike down a sister as she fights the Grimm I do not know."
"One with no shame," Asol grunted. "Would that we could find these monsters and avenge her. My spear would like to speak with such people."
"Her infection I have healed," Inessa said, ignoring her husband. "Her ails I have tended and illness I have kept from her, but the wounds she bears are deep. It is not any one ailment which drags her to the ocean's depths, but a lack of strength."
Simply put, she was weak from blood loss, or just didn't have enough aura to survive. Jaune nodded and moved forward. His hands hesitated above the woman's body, and he whispered a silent apology as he touched her without her permission. One hand he placed on her stomach, where a large wound was, the other above her breasts, as close to her heart as he could. He closed his eyes and concentrated.
One couldn't really sense aura, at least not in the traditional sense. That was why people needed their aura hooked up their scrolls, so that they could see when they were running low. It was the same with him when he was pushing his aura into other people; he couldn't tell how much or how little they had, but he'd learned how to gauge it, mostly from how it interacted with his. A healthy body filled with aura pushed back – not viciously – but more in the sense that the body was full of its own aura and didn't have the capacity for more. It was like trying to compress water.
There was none of that here. What little aura the woman had was fitful and weak, needy as it latched onto his and drew him in, desperately trying to use what was offered with no regard for where it came from. There was a giant void inside of her. It made sense, since her aura must have been drained in whatever fight she'd witnessed, and what little had recovered would have desperately tried to heal her wounds. It would never have been enough, however. Not with the damage she'd taken.
Luckily, I have aura to spare, he thought and he pushed more into her. How long ago had it been since Pyrrha told him he had an unusually large aura? It felt like a lifetime. In this world, it might only have been a week or two. Or maybe it wasn't going to happen for another week. Salem might have sent him back before he joined Beacon, in which case he'd have to do it all again. His attention wavered, and he bit his lip, dispelling such thoughts and focusing on the task at hand.
The woman's eyes snapped open with a gasp. They were wild and black, the pupils dilated so much they practically swallowed all else. She lurched up – or tried to – but was too weak and fell back. Her hands grasped at his wrists, but they were weak, so weak. Her nails tickled his skin and she couldn't keep it up. Her hands fell of their own accord, but he caught one and cradled it firmly. It was clear she still believed herself in danger. The last thing she had seen was someone trying to kill her and she thought he was going to finish the job.
She wanted to live. Good. That desire to keep on fighting meant more than anything else. Even so, he couldn't have her fighting against him so he held her hands in his. "It's okay," he said, and her eyes searched frantically for him. It looked like she couldn't see, but he doubted she was blind. Just exhausted and winded after however many days unconscious. "Can you hear me?" he asked.
"Y-Yes…?" Her voice was timid, or just so brittle it sounded that way. "W-Where…" she faltered, unable to finish the rest.
"You're safe," he said. "I've got you."
"I can… I can feel your aura… it's… warm…" Her eyes became lidded, heavy, and she fell back with a contented sigh. He nodded and smiled gently down at her, hoping that if she could see him she'd understand his intentions.
"I'm using my Semblance to heal you," he explained, hoping the knowledge would calm her. "You're safe now. You can rest. I'll handle everything else."
"H-Heal…?"
"Yes. You're going to live. Sleep. You need your strength."
Sleep was the last thing she wanted, he could tell, but her body needed it and she couldn't fight against it no matter how hard she tried. Her eyelids became heavy and despite trying to blink them. "You promise?" she slurred, and it took him a second to realise what she meant.
"I promise you'll wake up again. You're past the worst of it now."
The woman nodded and slipped off less than five seconds later. This time, however, her chest rose and fell evenly, and her skin had regained some colour, even if it was still pale. He felt her aura push back against his and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
She would live. He was sure of it. A rush of fatigue struck him, but it was nothing compared to the elation. She was going to live because of him. It was a wonderful feeling, a heady feeling, and Qrow had warned him about it once, saying that although his Semblance could save lives he should never become addicted to the feeling lest he take pleasure in others being hurt. He'd taken that to heart and remembered it, but there was still a certain satisfaction at a job well done. Some people had Semblances that let them kill Grimm better. His had no such application but he loved it nonetheless.
"She should be fine now," he said, dusting his hands. "She'll need rest – maybe for a day or two – and she'll be hungry when she wakes up. I don't know all that much about healing, but her body will repair itself now. All you need to do is care for her when she wakes up." There was no answer from the two tribesmen. "Asol? Inessa?"
The two were staring at him.
"Incredible," Inessa whispered. "You are touched by the sun and moon."
"Did I not tell you, my love? He is the man I have named brother."
"It's nothing really," Jaune said, a little embarrassed with the sudden attention.
"Saving this woman's life is nothing, dear brother?" Inessa asked, now referring to him with the same title. "Do you feel so little for her survival? She has dreams, I am sure. Dreams she will now be allowed to pursue because of something you consider so little."
"N-No, it's not that. It's just… it doesn't feel like I deserve so much praise. You did more for her, not just helping her but in healing her, too. You're the one who looked after her and the one who actually knows how to heal. Me… this is just a Semblance. It's…"
"Cheating?" Asol guessed.
Jaune nodded glumly.
Inessa was less sympathetic. "Ah, young men and their egos, may the desert take them all! Why should it matter that your knowledge does not match my own? All that matters here is that this woman will survive. Do not question good fortune, for I am sure she will not."
"I… well…"
"Yours is a gift. I wish I could have it, yes, and perhaps you feel you do not deserve it, but it is a gift that has been given and you would do the world good by using it. Do not cower behind what is deserved or not, young man. Such is for children!"
He felt a little heat creep up into his cheeks. It had been a while since he'd felt chastened so, and that was probably a sign of how long it was since he'd been around anyone even remotely similar to an authority figure. Ozpin hardly counted, not in Oscar's body, and Qrow was a drunk and a joker at best, a mean taskmaster and harsh mentor at worst.
She was right, though. Whether he deserved such a Semblance or not he had it and dwelling on that just made him seem egotistical. Semblances didn't have to make sense; they simply were. If Qrow had been around to hear those thoughts the man would have slapped him around the back of the head.
"Stop dwelling on shit you can't change, kid. Just suck it up and move on."
"You're right, Inessa," he said, bowing. "Thank you for your wisdom. Asol, is there anyone else who needs healing in the tribe? I know you said I don't need to pay you back but if I'm a part of your family then the whole tribe is mine as well, right?"
Asol's smile was like the sun rising. "There are some, my brother. Come, let us see how many others will claim you as their own this night."
It was quite a few, as it turned out. Few were as hurt as the woman from earlier and most of the injuries were small, inconsequential things. They might have slowed a warrior down in the night, however, and healing those might have saved lives in the future. The people of the Del'Ashari certainly thought so, for they lavished him with praise and thanks, and as Asol had suggested he ended up with many more brothers and sisters before the night was over.
"You are a man with a large family now, brother," Asol laughed. The bastard hadn't tried to stop anyone, and his laughter had only grown louder as the list grew. "I wish you could stay."
"That would be nice, but you know I can't."
"I do. I see in your eyes the look of a man yearning for more. I recognise it, but not as the wanderlust some of our young experience. It is the look of a man with people to protect." Asol smiled. "These people are precious to you, no?"
"They are. They mean the world to me."
"Then I will not grieve when you leave us. Come, eat, drink, and rest with Inessa and I. We shall tell tales, and perhaps you will tell me of these people who you cherish so. That way on long nights I shall think of you and know that you have found them. Perhaps one day you shall bring them here, and then I shall celebrate all the harder."
Pyrrha, Ren and Nora would have loved that, albeit for different reasons. Nora would have loved the tribe's energy and kindness, Ren their culture – and Pyrrha might simply have appreciated their honesty and the fact that none would judge her for ought but her actions. Team RWBY would come, too, he was sure.
"Maybe I will, Asol. Maybe I will."
Even though they'd said there would be no sorrow in the morning there inevitably was. Asol and he traded firm hugs, and Jaune was a little surprised himself at how easily he'd come to like the man. He wasn't normally so trusting. It was a combination of the warm atmosphere and his own hope, he felt. Back in the past and with the potential of saving everyone ahead of him, it was hard to feel down. Inessa gave him a hug too, and a kiss on both cheeks.
"You will take these maps," Asol said, pushing them into Jaune's hands. The tribe had already outfitted him as one of their own, in light and airy cloth that hung loose on his body. He had a turban wrapped about the top of his head as well, with a thin cloth that could be pulled up to cover the lower half of his face. For sandstorms, he'd been told.
All in all, he looked like a real desert-dweller now. He'd need it to reach Vacuo, especially considering the harsh extreme between burning day and freezing night. They'd also outfitted him with dried and cured food, along with two canteens of water, the most they could spare. Out of kindness they had even traded for his battered breastplate; the metal being too heavy to carry through the desert. He knew they'd given him a good deal on that, trading him spices that he could sell in any city. It was lighter than armour, anyway.
"Remember to follow the stars," Asol told him. "They will guide you to the city of sand and stone. We will travel on to Shade Academy, and if the stars wish it we will cross again one day. I will pray every night that it is so."
"Myself as well, Asol. I'm lucky to have met you and Inessa both."
"We as well. Go now, go and find those whose light shines in your eyes. I am sure you will find them, and if I have seen anything of the strength of your spirit, I know you will protect them."
It was as good a cue as any. With the tribespeople waving him on he turned to leave, sparing one last nod for Asol and Inessa as he did. The desert before him was vast and unforgiving; an ocean of sand whose waves crested up toward the horizon as far as the eye could see. With the pale blue sky above and the sun beating down on him it should have been a terrifying prospect.
Instead, he bathed in it – a truly honest smile slipping across his face. This was a world in which his friends still lived. It was a world where things hadn't gone to shit. Not yet. With all of that in mind, how could he do anything but smile? Jaune's first step took him from the camp and into the desert.
"Next step, Vacuo."
/-/
The sun that beat down on Vacuo seared into both his eyes and mouth, leaving his throat parched and painfully dry. Pulling down the cloth drawn over his face he stared at the city before him and wondered if it were yet another heat-induced mirage. His breath caught as he fumbled for the water canteen and brought it up, drinking a little and splashing some across his face. The image held. It was real.
Jaune Arc let out a long sigh and pushed forwards with renewed vigour, "Finally."
Never let it be said that he wasn't a determined person. Pyrrha had recognised that first, bless her, and everyone else had come to realise it in time. When he put his mind to something, like getting into a school he had no right to be in, he'd find a way no matter what, and stick with it through thick and thin. Sometimes those methods weren't entirely honourable, such as when he forged his transcripts, but Qrow had once told him that just showed a different kind of thinking, a flexible kind.
It was the same here with his decision to contact Beacon. He had no idea how far back he'd been sent, after all. A few months before the fateful mission, or maybe even as far back as the start of the school year – there was simply no way to tell. Beacon was the first point of call, but he couldn't afford to rush into it unprepared.
Asol had said the CCT in Vacuo still stood. If the one in Vale didn't then the school would surely have been destroyed already, and that would be proof enough of the date. He could make his way to Mistral and catch his friends there. If the CCT did stand, then it meant he was back before Pyrrha had fallen, in which case all bets were off. He was getting to Vale and he was stopping that tragedy.
But getting from the Del'Ashari to Vacuo?
Not easy, it turned out.
The Vacuan desert was a sight to behold; one best appreciated from the outskirts, preferably under an umbrella in a resort with a cool drink in the hand and a moment to say "Ah, I'm glad I don't have to walk across that!" Sadly, he'd gotten a first-hand experience. In the week's travel he'd undertaken it was all just a big mass of sand. There was sand beneath you, sand above, sand whipped into your face and sand in every possible crevice and crease in skin and clothing. For that he was thankful Asol had saw fit to better equip him for it all. He'd have almost certainly died if he wore his hoodie and armour.
But here he was, after a week or more on the road (or the sand). He'd finally reached Vacuo. He ran a finger over the light stubble that had grown across his chin, the bristles stiff and firm but still an annoying shade of pale yellow. Rough it might have been but rugged it was not and Ruby often laughed about how cute it looked, while Nora would rub her hands on it and coo at the prickly feeling against her palm. It wasn't exactly as much a winner with the ladies as Qrow's.
What they'd think of him now, not only with the beard but also clear signs of wear, tear and exhaustion, he didn't know. Maybe he'd ask them. He looked older than his twenty years. Salem had said he'd retain his self and such when he came back, which meant he'd be older than everyone else – an awkward but not uncomfortable situation. At least I'm not thirty or more. I can still pass for seventeen if I clean up. It's not like anyone can tell the difference in three years.
Or was he twenty-one now? It was hard to remember sometimes. Birthdays had come and gone on their journey, with only a few celebrated by drinks and simple gifts when they had the chance. They rarely did. Kind words and hugs had become their own currency. He'd loved them nonetheless.
"I'll figure out how old I am when I reach Beacon," he mumbled, nodding to himself.
Such plans had kept his spirits up as he made the arduous journey, and against all odds they'd been enough. More than enough, even. He felt more alive than he had for months and even when sand Grimm had attacked, he'd smiled as he fought them back and claimed his prize at a chance to refill his canteen at an oasis. He was in the middle of the desert a thousand miles or more away from home and he couldn't stop smiling.
How could he when everyone was still alive?
"I've got to hold it together," he mumbled. His own voice had been his only company for a week now. "No good breaking down when I'm right here."
Two men stood on either side of a small gate beside the larger one, which was firmly shut. Pedestrians trailed in and out of the other entrance, however, and he joined the queue, waiting for someone to question him. No one did, and he was waved inside with the rest, asked for not so much as a single piece of identification.
I'd always heard Vacuo was lax, but this is a bit much, he thought. Still, it works to my advantage. He'd never been to Vacuo, but Sun had told him a few things about it on their trips together and that was enough to get a vague, if biased, idea. It looked like the faunus hadn't pulled any punches. Vacuo was a hot place with a lot of sand and little else, he'd said.
The gate led into a large courtyard with a fountain in the centre that lazily spat water into a pool that several young children crowded around, dashing it across their faces. People in loose robes and light clothing moved to and fro, some with parasols to cover themselves not from the rain but from the burning sun. Down one street he could see numerous stalls set up with richly coloured cloth overhanging their wares, and the crowds there were thick. Even from such a distance he could hear the hum of conversation, haggling, and arguing. It was a busy day with not a shred of horror or fear to be seen. That was another point in favour of Beacon still being in one piece and Jaune felt his excitement mount.
But before he could really find out, let alone book a flight there, he had to deal with the issue of lien. His resources were pretty meagre, and while Asol had been generous in spirit and food there hadn't been much lien, especially not to give to a stranger. He had his sword and shield-sheathe, but other than that only his scroll and a small amount of lien he'd had on him before his trip to the past.
He didn't have enough to book transport back to Vale, which meant he'd either have to walk, work for his money, or sneak his way on board.
The first two were out of the question, of course. He didn't have time to waste. Sneaking on might be difficult as well. "I guess I'll see if I can't sell something." He looked down to Crocea Mors and dismissed that idea. He did have the gifts from Asol, however, some of which were for the express purpose of trading, like the spices in his pouch. On top of that, he had his scroll.
Come to think of it this is a Beacon scroll, he thought, looking down at the thing. If I show up with this, it'll tell Ozpin I was in Vacuo. Hell, it might even show I was in the Grimmlands. That was a conversation he didn't need. In fact, since it had been sent back with him there was a chance it might contain messages that couldn't possibly have been sent, or ones dated from the future.
Plus, if he'd gone back to before Beacon started, he'd only look suspicious for owning one. It would be better to wipe the whole thing and sell it. If anyone asked, he could just say it had broken or something. It paid to have a reputation, deserved or not, as a bit of a clutz.
"But first," he said, looking up to the distinctive tower that poked its way over the city. It was covered in aerials and antennae, many of which were rusted, but a bright green light flickered on and off atop it, signalling its use.
He'd best tell the others he was okay.
/-/
"You have reached Beacon Academy, Vale. We regret to inform you that no one is available to take your call. The Academy will re-open and resume its regular hours on the eighth of-"
The automated message was cut off as he ended the call. The screen he was using flickered back onto its ready mode, inviting him to type in a new number and also providing a list of other options like popular tourist locations and a taxi service. Two partitions on either side of his booth prevented others from seeing what he was doing, but the CCT was mostly empty and those people that were already there were deep in their own international calls. Cameras watched it all and a few guards loitered near the door, but no one was particularly on guard; not in the middle of the day.
Still, the call had revealed more than it might have seemed. Beacon was closed – but not destroyed, otherwise that was a little pedantic of Miss Goodwitch to leave such a recording. That meant he'd been sent back before the year started, probably before he'd even been accepted into Beacon.
He wasn't sure if that should have upset him or not, but it didn't. Sure, it meant a lot of the things they'd all been through together wouldn't have happened, but it also gave him more time to make a difference. He could always make new memories with his friends.
And best of all it meant Pyrrha was still alive.
The thought made his fingers tingle and his eyes itch. Should I try and call them? His finger hovered over the dial. He could call Nora, Ren or Pyrrha – but they wouldn't know him. It might just confuse them, not to mention it might make Pyrrha think he was some kind of stalker. But it would let him see her face again, if only for a second. Every instinct in his body told him it was a bad idea, every single one. But he couldn't stop himself. He neededto see her. He needed to make sure for himself that she was okay.
Hungrily, before he could think better of it, he dialled her number. His pace became quicker and more frantic as he did. He'd just make a call, see her, and then claim it was a wrong number. She'd never know the truth. She never had to. It was just so he knew; so that he could finally put it to rest and focus on the future.
"The number you have called is not in operation."
His throat caught. His heart skipped a beat.
"Wait, she's not at Beacon yet…"
An explosive sigh escaped him, followed by a relieved and slightly strained laugh. Gods, he'd been close to having a full-blown panic attack, and when the answer to the problem was so damn obvious. Pyrrha's number, the one he'd called, didn't exist yet. Pyrrha had thrown away her old scroll when she'd reached Beacon, as they all had. Since she didn't have her new scroll he didn't know her number and this one wouldn't work until the school year began. I'm such an idiot, he thought, shaking his head.
He couldn't help it. He was too excited, too eager. He'd need to be careful about that since his getting on a team with Pyrrha depended on him not coming across like he knew her. It would be hard, ridiculously hard, but he needed to find her, ignore her, and flirt with Weiss. After that he could open up and make her the friend she'd always been, but not before. He couldn't afford to mess up and lose her as a partner. Not over something so stupid.
That would be some serious irony, he thought. Wanting to be on Pyrrha's team but messing it up because I ended up looking like the exact thing she wants to avoid. The irony would only be thicker if it was Weiss who he got partnered with. He laughed at it, even as he made a mental note not to let it happen.
"I guess I'll just have to head to Vale and carry on from there," he said, pushing the metallic stool back. The earlier frustration he'd felt had vanished, replaced with joy at the knowledge that all his friends – all of them – were not only alive, but that he could go back through Beacon and spend time with each of them. "Maybe I won't need to trick my way in this time. That might make things easier. I'm not sure if Cardin blackmailing me is something I really want to repeat." It had helped him grow a pair and open up to Pyrrha but that was kind of a non-issue now. "Heh, maybe I can even return Pyrrha's feelings a little earlier this time."
There were so many opportunities open to him. Fixing the future was just one of those. Spending more time with all his friends was another.
The terminal reminded him he had credit left from the lien he'd entered but there was no one to call. His family lived in Ansel, far away from a CCT, so he let it be. Someone else could enjoy the windfall. His best bet was to sell his scroll, find an airship to Vale, then hunker down and apply to join Beacon when the term started. From there he could let things run on as normal but influence events away from the future that awaited them. Maybe Cinder could be stopped. Pyrrha would definitely be saved, at the very least, but if Beacon didn't fall then they'd have longer to prepare for Salem.
I'll figure out the specifics later, he thought. One step at a time and the first step was to reach Vale and get accepted into Beacon. The rest could be worked out from there.
/-/
"This model is so unique…" the man behind the counter stared at the device in something akin to awe. He was an overweight man dressed in bright colours, stripes of yellow and crimson. "I have never seen anything of the like before. Where did you say you bought this?"
"Vale," Jaune said, frowning just a little. The man's reaction was a little out of place, especially his awe. While he was used to people like this trying to trick you into a bad deal they normally did it by acting like the thing you were trying to sell wasn't worth much.
"It must be a prototype model," the man replied, practically salivating. "Some of these features, and the design, ah, it is so lightweight! Vale, you say? Who gave you this?"
He couldn't say Ozpin or Beacon. "Someone I know."
"Your friend must have connections with all the right people. This is incredible. I'd expect something like this, well, not even the major manufacturers have released something so advanced."
"Well, he did have a lot of connections." More than any one man ought to have had, but then there'd always been something other-worldly about Ozpin, even before he took over the body of a child and revealed himself as some kind of ancient spirit-parasite.
He'd always acted like a man who knew too much; someone who could figure out your every secret just by looking at you. It wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest if Ozpin had given them advanced scrolls. Maybe this was just a sign and the scrolls wouldn't officially be released for a few months, when Beacon started.
"Is it worth anything, then?" Jaune asked.
"Is it-? Young sir, this is worth good money indeed. I may be able to reverse engineer this and steal the technology, bringing it to market before the original company can ever hope to!" The man cackled, and Jaune had a moment to wonder if this might be one of those time paradoxes the old movies had mention. If so it would only change the profit lines of a few companies, though.
"How much are you willing to offer for it?"
"How much do you want?"
Oh Gods, not this game. He knew it well enough from being asked to buy supplies for Ruby, Qrow, and the others on their journey. The shopkeeper would leave the bargaining in your hands, and you'd pretty much always mess up and state a figure too low. A year or two ago he might have started to sweat and given in but frugal funds and Qrow's incessant badgering had beaten that out of him.
"Well, I could always go and see the guy down the road…" he began.
"No, no, no! Do not be hasty!" The man caved instantly, waving one hand. The other clutched the scroll, as if prepared to give his life for it. "I am not a man who would see you cheated, I promise. I am a man of honour and integrity."
So said every merchant ever. "I'm not hearing a value…"
"Fifteen thousand lien!"
Jaune almost fainted then and there. Fifteen thousand? One of those scrolls cost – or would cost – maybe nine hundred in the shops, though even then most people bought it on some kind of package where they normally paid a little bit each month and a larger deposit. Fifteen thousand for one was ridiculous. It was farmore than what he needed.
But he hadn't been crash-course trained by Qrow Branwen for nothing. "Twenty-thousand."
"Seventeen, and that is all the lien I have in Vacuo. I promise you this now."
"Deal." Jaune held out a hand.
To his shock, the man actually shook it.
"You will not regret this, and I shall not forget it," he said, lifting up a tray and began to stack out lien upon the table, all of it in hard cash. "One day you shall hear the name `Rashem` and remember that you helped him to greatness. Come to me then and I shall give you our greatest scroll!"
"Y-Yeah sure." He took the money, counted it out, and was again surprised to find it was right on the money. He doubted Rashem, if that was his name, would have any hope of manufacturing this before the original company in Vale did, but that wasn't really his business.
Hopefully the man wouldn't be in too much financial difficulty over this. Sorry, Rashem, but the fate of all of Remnant is kind of running on me getting to Vale.
It took a few minutes for the lien to be collected. Jaune stashed it safely under his robes, then collected a little separate and put it on a pouch on the outside, aware of the vast amount of lien that had just exchanged hands and the all-too-interested expressions of those nearby. Some of the burlier men shifted a little, revealing the hilts of weapons.
Jaune met their stares head on, blue eyes hard as ice. They backed down. They'd find easier prey to hassle, or they might not, in which case they'd learn the errors of their ways. He wasn't the strongest huntsman around, not even close, but he could hold his own. More than anything he'd developed a strong tolerance for pain, almost inevitable when everyone you knew could – and regularly did – kick your ass in training. Some thugs used to dealing with harmless civilians wouldn't find him so easy.
The deal made, and the lien transferred Jaune stepped back into the crowds, mindful of those around him and all too aware of the one that followed behind. It was not Rashem and he honestly doubted the man had sent anyone after him. He didn't look like a crooked merchant. Honestly, he looked too excited about his purchase to care for the cost.
This felt too clumsy to be a proper shakedown. A good mugger could usually read and identify a mark and he surely wasn't one in his desert warrior robes and with a sword at his side. Anyone good enough not to care about those things wouldn't be sensed so easily.
That meant he was dealing with an amateur, or someone so confident as to not care for stealth. Even if it was an amateur, that wasn't necessarily a better thing. Good thieves would just try and rob you. Amateurish thieves might panic and stick a knife in your side. Pyrrha had warned them about that. Not thieves, specifically, but fighters who relied on random attacks and wild swings and how they could be just as dangerous as a professional opponent if you didn't take them seriously.
Right now, with his friends on the line, he wasn't willing to leave anything to chance. He ducked into an alleyway and followed it down to the next bend, ducking around the corner. The pitter-patter of feet followed, picking up pace so as to not lose him. Jaune waited until it was close, until it crested the corner itself, before he lashed out.
His fist struck nothing, soaring much higher above his aggressor than he'd expected. The person yelped in fright but took advantage of the moment to lunge in for the pouch on the outside of his robes.
It was huntsman speed alone that enabled him to recover and catch the thief by the wrist, dragging the thief back against him so he could catch them by the shoulder and spin them around. His aura protected him from the boot that was driven into his shin. Even if it hadn't, he doubted it would have done much. It was just a child. He'd been followed and mugged by someone who was probably seven or eight at most.
Jaune's paranoia slowly ebbed away, the adrenaline fading. He held the young boy out a little further from him, using his longer arms to prevent the boy's feet from reaching him. He was a faunus of some kind judging from the tail, and the hair was the same shade as his own. He was ragged and thin, wearing clothes that barely fit him. They were probably stolen or scavenged. He was no threat at all and probably wasn't observant enough to realise how dangerous robbing a huntsman was.
I really need to stop reacting to every little thing like it's a world-ending enemy. I'm going to stab someone at this rate. Jaune sighed and shook his head. Instincts like these weren't going to let him settle into Beacon easily. He really needed to calm down.
"Let go!" the thief yelled, kicking his feet. "Let go! I stole it fair and square. It's mine now!"
But first he had to deal with this little thing. Jaune sighed and hoisted the figure up, so that they were eye to eye, if a little far apart – safety so that the little thing didn't plant a foot in his face. "I'm really not sure that's how theft works."
The thief stared at him with bright blue eyes. "Well why not? Just give me the lien and I'll go. That way we're both happy. I don't want to have to rough you up, old man."
"Old man?" Even before the time travel he'd hardly been old enough to be called a young adult, let alone elderly. He couldn't help but feel a little pity for the boy, though. He was thin and wiry in a way that didn't look entirely healthy. So many Grimm around that some kids always end up orphaned. People try to help but what can you do? There's too much cruelty in the world.
He released the boy's wrist and letting him take a step back. He didn't run and in fact eyed Jaune's pouch again. It was obvious he was still looking for a chance to snatch it. Talk about tenacious.
"What would you do with the lien, anyway?"
The boy mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?"
"I'd buy food," the boy repeated, embarrassed. "The orphanage doesn't always have enough and my friends are hungry." His eyes flashed, and he suddenly became defensive. "What's it to you, human? I have to eat too, you know. You don't know what it's like!"
He didn't. Through all the terrible things he'd been through, being homeless had never technically been one of them. Even when he was hungry with Ruby, Ren and Nora, it was a case of them all being hungry and sharing what they had. He might have lost everything, but he was all too aware that someone people never had anything to start with.
The boy was startled when Jaune unhooked the pouch and threw it at him. He was so shocked that it bounced off his little chest and fell to the floor with a clink. "There's a thousand lien in there," he said. "Try to make it last, and don't let anyone know you have it. Someone might try and take it off you."
"I-I don't need you to tell me that," the boy spluttered. He fell to his knees and picked up the pouch. He held it to his chest, obviously afraid the kind stranger might change his mind and demand it back. The pouch was bulging, and in the boy's tiny hands it only made it more obvious how skinny he was. "The big kids won't get it off me, old man. I need this too much. A-And maybe you're not too bad," he admitted. "For a human."
"Yeah, well, maybe you'll consider a different way of getting it in the future. You're not exactly cut out for being a pickpocket."
"What do you mean!?" The kid somehow managed to look offended, puffing his little chest out in a way that might have been intimidating if he was twice as tall and twice as wide. "I'm the best damn thief around!"
It was oddly familiar. Jaune's eyes narrowed but he shook his head against it. "A good thief wouldn't have been caught," he pointed out.
"Erk!"
Jaune smiled and shook his head. A thousand lien wasn't a big deal for him, not at the moment, and if it would help this young boy find a better life, or at least eat for a few months, then it was money well spent.
"What's your name?" Jaune asked.
"Who's asking?"
"Jaune," he said. "You might as well tell me yours. How else am I going to remember the `master thief` of Vacuo?" He went with flattery, knowing all too well the effect it had on him as a kid. True to form this one stood a little taller.
"Damn right, old man. I'm the greatest pickpocket in all of Vacuo." He slapped a fist against his chest and laughed. "You'll remember the day you were robbed by Sun Wukong!"
Jaune's breath caught. "W-What did you say your name was?"
The boy smiled toothily, and that smile was one he would have remembered any day. It was the smile of one of his closest friends. It was now on the face of someone who couldn't have been more than seven years of age.
"The name's Sun. Sun Wukong."
P a treon . com (slash) Coeur