The warm energy of reunion had vanished, replaced by a cold current running through Shade Academy's halls. Jaune stood at the center, silent and tense, his helmet in his hands and his gaze on the floor.
Nora stared at him, face crumpling as the reality settled in. The Knave of Hearts, the monster in human from fairy tail… was her friend and fearless leader all along. Her heart twisted painfully, searching Jaune's face for any sign of the goofball who'd always tried to make her smile. All she saw was exhaustion, shame, and a haunted edge she'd never known. Jaune eyes were dull, aged just like he was. Yet behind his tired visage was…something…something very dark inside of them.
'He came back', she thought, fiercely, 'but at what cost?'
Guilt gnawed at her—she'd spent so long hoping for Jaune's return, but now that he was here, she didn't know how to reach him. She wanted to run to him, shake him, hug him, anything to drive away the pain in his eyes. But she was afraid, afraid that the Knave had swallowed her friend for good.
Ren's eyes lingered on Jaune, quiet but full of turmoil. The steadiness that usually anchored him felt brittle, as if a strong wind could break him. He'd learned to read emotions as clearly as words, and what he saw in Jaune chilled him: a storm of guilt and sorrow, as if every scar on Jaune's soul was fighting to be seen.
'This is what loneliness dose's, Ren thought, a memory of his own darkest days flickering in his mind. 'And all the while, we were safe behind these walls…'
He felt the sting of helplessness, how many times had he told Nora that Jaune was out there, surviving? How often had he promised they'd see him again, never imagining the price Jaune would pay for that survival? He squeezed Nora's shoulder gently, grounding himself in her presence. The pain in her eyes was the same pain in his own.
They had each other all the time. While Jaune had no one but his own demons to fight with.
Winter spoke first, her tone as sharp as the desert wind. "How much of what we heard was true? The stories—the massacres, the villages?" Her gaze was cool, but there was an edge of wariness was there. She ask question she didn't want answered.
Jaune's mouth tightened. He looked straight into her eyes holding her gaze without flinching.
"More than you can imagine," Came a reply that threw a veil of silence on the gathered.
Qrow broke the silence after a few seconds with a rough exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn, kid… You really went through hell, didn't you?" His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "Five years in place, that was only an imaginary land up until now…"
Taiyang stepped forward, hands in his pockets, eyes sad. "You came back, Jaune. I don't know what it cost, but you made it home." He glanced at Ruby and Yang, then back to Jaune. "That means something, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."
Oscar lingered at the edge of the group. When he spoke, it was with Ozpin's steadier voice, grave and kind. "Trauma changes people. It can make strangers of those we once loved." He stepped closer, looking Jaune in the eye. "But it can also forge something new. Shade Academy will help as much as it can, but recovery is not a solitary road."
Jaune said nothing, shoulders hunched, knuckles white around his helmet.
Nora let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her cheeks. She wanted to sound brave, but her voice wobbled.
"You're still Jaune to me, even if you're all… Knight-y and haunted now." She moved closer and gave him a tight hug…one that he did not return which did not went unnoticed.
Inside, she was pleading with herself: Don't let go. He needs you. He needs all of us.
Ren finally spoke, his voice soft but clear. "We all carry things we regret. What matters is what we do next."
Even as he said it, a pang of fear lanced through him. He wanted to believe his own words, to trust that Jaune could find his way back, but the truth was, he wasn't sure. He resolved then to keep watch—not just over Jaune, but over Nora, Ruby, all of them.
'If any of us start to fall again', he thought, 'we pull each other up. That's what teams do.'
Qrow took a swig from his flask, then tucked it away, his eyes never leaving Jaune. "We watch each other's backs. That's all we can do."
For a long moment, there was only silence—the uncertain kind, full of scars and tentative hope. But for the first time since they'd learned the truth, Jaune let himself breathe. Nodding, he put his helmet back on his head, much to the dismay of the gathered, and moved back to the wall, standing like a statue,a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the gathered.
"I think that you all need some rest now," Ozpin suggested. " Please use Shade's hospitality and rest for tonight. Tomorrow you can give us full report of your adventure in Ever After."
Everyone nodded and went on their way. Jaune giving Neo one last warning glance before marching out of the hall…
Schnee Family
Later that evening, after the tension of the Knave's reveal had settled into silence, Weiss wandered through one of Shade Academy's upper halls. The sun had dipped below the dunes, casting long amber shadows across the stone floor. Her boots echoed softly, the rhythmic sound oddly calming as she approached a room that had been set aside for the Schnee family.
She paused at the doorway, steeling herself. Despite all that had changed, the Schnees were still a family marked by silence, distance, and pain. But as she pushed the door open, what she found inside was not coldness, but quiet warmth.
Winter stood near the window, her back straight but her expression softer than Weiss had seen in years. Willow sat on a modest couch, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and beside her—surprisingly upright and alert—was Whitley, dressed plainly but neatly. He had grown in her absence. He still looked like their father in the worst ways, but the lines in his face were no longer quite so sharp. His eyes were also not so cold and dead but filled with quiet joy at seeing his sister alive and well.
Willow was the first to notice her. "Weiss," she said softly, rising from the couch. Her voice still carried that trembling hesitation, but there was something steadier in her posture. "You're… home."
Weiss felt her throat tighten as she crossed the room. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm home."
Willow reached for her—awkwardly, hesitantly—and Weiss stepped into the embrace without flinching. Her mother's arms felt thin, brittle even, but they held her close. And for the first time, Weiss didn't feel the weight of disappointment between them. Just a quiet longing neither had dared speak aloud.
Whitley stood and cleared his throat. "You look… well. Or as well as one can look, having come back from a fairy tale warzone."
Weiss blinked, then smiled faintly at the attempt at humor. "I could say the same. You're still annoyingly composed, I see."
"You would've hated the alternative," he said with a shrug. But there was no venom in his voice. Only a trace of wry affection.
Winter turned from the window, her icy gaze warming as she stepped closer. "It's strange," she said, "how different this feels now. Like we're finally in the same room—for real."
Weiss looked between them—her mother, her older sister, her younger brother—and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel alone when she stood among them.
"We don't have to be perfect," she said quietly, sitting beside Willow. "But… maybe we can just be."
Willow reached over and took her hand, surprising Weiss again. "I'd like that."
Whitley nodded. "Me too."
Winter moved to sit across from them, her usually rigid posture relaxed. "We can't change the past," she said. "But maybe we can build something better."
A silence settled between them—gentler this time. One of reflection.
It was Whitley who broke it, his voice subdued. "I… heard about Father. Officially. The council confirmed his death just after the fall of Atlas."
Willow gave a small, shaky nod. "So did I." She didn't look away from Weiss, her expression unreadable. "I suppose it was inevitable. He never learned when to let go."
Winter's gaze shifted to the floor, her gloved hands folded tightly in her lap. "He was many things—cruel, controlling… calculating. But he was also the man who built the SDC into what it became. That legacy… it meant more to him than we ever did."
"No," Weiss said softly, her eyes distant. "It was all he had. All he ever wanted. Not a family. Not a future. Just… control. A name."
Willow's fingers tensed slightly around Weiss's hand. "I stayed too long under his shadow. Let him define too much. I thought that was strength… until it nearly destroyed us all."
Whitley, surprisingly, didn't look angry. "Even now," he said, "part of me keeps waiting for him to walk in with that smug little smile, criticizing the drapes or insulting someone's posture." He glanced around the room. "It's quieter without him. But not… empty."
Weiss took a breath. "I hated him for so long. What he did to us, to Atlas, to the company. But… when I heard he was gone, I didn't feel the victory I thought I would. Just… something hollow."
Winter nodded. "He didn't deserve grief. But maybe… he deserved pity."
"I wouldn't say I miss him," Willow said carefully. "But he was still your father. My husband. It's hard not to feel… something."
There was a long pause, each of them retreating into memory for a moment.
"Whatever he was," Whitley said quietly, "he's not here anymore. And maybe that means we finally get to decide who the Schnee family is. Without him."
Weiss looked at each of them in turn—Winter, somber and grounded; Willow, still trembling but standing; and Whitley, composed in a way she never expected. A shard of peace nestled in her chest.
"We'll build something better," she said again, firmer this time. "Together."
This time, no one disagreed.
The rest of Team RWBY found their way to a quieter wing of the academy—one where a pair of familiar voices echoed faintly from an open lounge.
Taiyang and Qrow stood near a long table, poring over maps and supply manifests half-heartedly. Or at least Taiyang was. Qrow, predictably, had a half-empty flask in one hand and a cocked eyebrow aimed at the logistics sheet in the other.
Yang stepped in first. "Still pretending to be useful, huh?"
Qrow turned. The grin that tugged at his lips was sharp, but it faltered as his red eyes landed on his niece—his niece alive and whole, standing there with sand in her hair and a bruised heart in her chest. "Damn," he said, his voice catching slightly. "You girls just can't stay dead, huh?"
Before he could quip again, Yang crossed the room in three long strides and pulled him into a tight hug.
"Missed you too, old man," she whispered.
Qrow didn't hug often, not tightly, not with both arms. But this time he did.
"You and your sister scared the hell out of us," he muttered, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You always gotta do everything the dramatic way."
"Learned from the best."
When they finally pulled apart, Ruby was already in Taiyang's arms. Her smaller frame was wrapped tightly in his embrace, and his hand trembled where it clutched the back of her cloak.
"I thought I lost you," Taiyang said softly, his voice raw. "Again."
"You didn't," Ruby whispered, clinging to him like she had as a child after a nightmare. "We're back. We came back."
Taiyang leaned back, just enough to look at her face. "You've changed."
"So have you," she teased, giving a watery laugh as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "You have even more gray hair now."
"Battle scars," he muttered, smiling even as his eyes stayed glassy. "Everyone of them earned worrying about you."
Qrow shifted as Blake stepped up beside him. He raised an eyebrow. "You too, huh, Cat Ears?"
"I'm not hugging you," she said.
"Oh thank the gods," Qrow said with an exaggerated sigh, patting her on the shoulder. "But… I'm glad you're back, Blake. Really."
Blake nodded, her smile small but genuine. "Thanks, Qrow. It's good to be back."
Taiyang glanced over his daughters, his eyes lingering on the subtle scars, the tired weight in their expressions. "You've been through hell, haven't you?"
Yang nodded. "The kind you don't walk away from the same."
"But we walked away," Ruby said. "And that counts for something."
Qrow looked at them both, his nieces, grown in ways that hurt to see. "You're stronger than you've ever been," he said, his voice soft. "And I don't just mean with a scythe or fists. You held onto each other. That's what matters."
Taiyang pulled Yang into a side-hug as Ruby leaned against him again. "You girls are home now," he said quietly. "That's all I care about."
The room settled into a comfortable quiet, the flickering lights casting long shadows against the walls. For the first time in a long while, it felt like a family again fractured, perhaps, but still whole….
Then, without warning, the air behind them shimmered—an unnatural ripple, like heat haze warping the very fabric of the room. A sudden pulse of pressure made Blake's ears twitch. Instinctively, hands reached for weapons, hearts surged.
A portal tore open near the far wall red and black, edged with the biting sharpness of Raven's aura.
And she stepped through.
Raven Branwen, warband leader of the tribe, former Spring Maiden, and the walking storm of Yang's childhood, emerged from the void with her sword on her back and her piercing eyes scanning the room. Her gaze landed on Yang first and for a moment, just a moment, there was something in her expression. Not guilt. Not grief. But… a flicker of what might have been pride.
"You survived," she said, her voice low, unreadable but edged with a strange warmth. "I knew you would."
The room froze. Ruby's grip tightened around the handle of Crescent Rose. Blake took a cautious step forward, her body angled protectively. Qrow's face darkened, his jaw tightening, and Taiyang rose halfway from his seat, his entire body tensing with a father's instinct.
But Yang didn't move. Her eyes never left her mother.
"Oh, so that's it?" she said, voice flat. "You just show up out of a portal and drop a backhanded compliment like you earned the right?"
Raven's brows drew together. "I'm not here to fight, Yang."
"Good," Yang said, rising to her feet, her voice sharp now. "Because you're not getting a round of applause. You're not part of this."
Raven's expression remained stoic, though her gaze softened as she looked at her daughter. "I came because I felt your return. Because I..." she paused, searching for the right words. "You lived. That means you're strong. You proved me right."
Yang took a step forward, the fire behind her eyes rising with each breath. "You always make it about you. Your lessons, your worldview. What we 'proved.'" Her voice cracked slightly, but her fists were clenched. "You can't even say 'I'm glad you're alive' like a person."
Raven flinched, barely.
"If you can't be human for even this can't just feel something like a mother is supposed to…" Yang shook her head. "Then scram."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Qrow stood still, lips pressed in a tight line, not interfering. Taiyang's fists were clenched at his sides.
Raven didn't speak. Not a word. She looked at Yang really looked at her and whatever flicker of emotion had been there before, it vanished beneath the mask she always wore.
Without a sound, she turned. The portal reopened, swirling violently behind her.
And she stepped through.
Gone as suddenly as she came.
Yang stood there, her chest rising and falling with the weight of everything unspoken. Blake quietly stepped beside her, offering silent solidarity, while Ruby moved behind her sister and laid a hand on her back.
"She's not who we needed," Yang muttered. "She's exactly who she's always been."
No one disagreed.
Taiyang moved to his daughters again and wrapped an arm around each. "You're here," he said gently. "And that's what matters."
Qrow let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Well," he said dryly, "that didn't ruin the night at all."
Yang laughed once sharp and bitter but it was a laugh nonetheless.
A single lamp cast a warm glow over the walls, and the desert breeze outside fluttered the corner of the curtain. In the quiet calm of their room, Ren sat cross-legged on his bed, back straight, arms folded loosely in his lap. Across from him, Nora sprawled on her own bed, her hair damp from a shower, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
"It still feels like a dream," Nora finally murmured. "Like I'm gonna wake up tomorrow, and Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang will still be gone."
Ren glanced at her, his expression soft. "But they're not."
"I know," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's stupid, but… it feels like the world stopped being on fire for a second. Like something good actually happened."
He gave a slight nod. "We're allowed to feel joy. Even now."
She rolled onto her side to look at him. "I'm so happy they're back, Ren. Really. I mean… we all grieved them. We thought they were gone. And now?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Ruby looks like she's been through hell, but she smiled. Yang actually hugged me. Weiss talked without snarking."
He smiled faintly, but the curve didn't reach his eyes.
Nora's expression dimmed. "But then there's Jaune."
Silence.
Ren closed his eyes for a moment. "He's alive. But he's… changed."
"That's the understatement of the year." Nora sat up, hugging her knees. "He didn't even say hello. He just stood there. I barely recognized his voice."
"He's carrying things we can't see," Ren said quietly. "He always carried more than he let on. This time… he stopped hiding it."
Nora looked away, biting her lower lip. "When I hugged him, he didn't hug back. Not really. Like he was afraid of breaking. Or maybe afraid he would break something."
Ren's voice was measured, but troubled. "He's not the Jaune we remember. Not fully."
He swallowed. Even remembering it made something twist inside him.
"There was… something there. A wall. Cold yet burning hot as the same. Like steel that's been broken and refrozen a hundred times. And under it..." Ren paused, his brow tightening. "It wasn't just pain. Or guilt. It was something darker. Something hollow. Like a part of him had been carved out, and something else moved in to fill the space…something ferocious"
Nora's breath caught in her throat.
"I've never felt anything like it," Ren whispered. "Even during the worst of the war. Even from her." He didn't say the Salem's name, but Nora knew.
She slowly nodded, her voice thin. "He scared me, Ren. Do you think he ever will be himself again?" she asked softly. "Or is this just… who he is now?"
Ren didn't answer right away. He stared at the wall, brow furrowed, jaw set. Finally, he said, "I don't know."
Nora exhaled slowly, folding her arms. "He's not the kind of person who'd hurt us. Not before. But now…" She trailed off, voice trembling. "He looked at Neo like like he was ready to end her without a blink. I've never seen that look in his eyes before. And the worst part is…"
Ren looked at her.
"…I think he hated that he didn't do it."
Ren said nothing.
Nora ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "I want to trust him. He's our best friend. He's Jaune. But what if he's not anymore? What if we lost him, and we're just clinging to what's left?"
"We don't abandon each other," Ren said gently. "We never did. Not during Beacon. Not when we lost Pyrrha. Not when we lost you. And not now."
"But what if the person we're holding on to doesn't want to be saved?" Nora whispered. "What if… what if…he's more Knave than Jaune now?"
Ren's eyes flickered with pain. "Then we hold on anyway. And drag Jaune back…screaming if needed."
They sat in silence for a while after that. The lamp's light flickered slightly as the wind outside picked up. Somewhere down the hall, laughter echoed faintly, Team RWBY reunited at last.
Nora curled into her blanket, her voice small. "I want to be happy. I really do."
"You are," Ren replied softly. "But you're scared, too."
She nodded against her pillow.
And Ren, quiet as always, reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "So am I."
Jaune's quarters
The guest quarters at Shade Academy were small, but clean and surprisingly well-appointed. High desert windows let in the moonlight, casting cool silver across the tiled floor. A modest bed sat to one side, the mattress plump and inviting. A clay vase with desert flowers sat untouched on the nightstand, details clearly meant to make weary guests feel human again. He stood just inside the door, staring at nothing in particular. The room felt hollow. His armor, still caked in dust and dried blood, creaked faintly as he moved. The silence stretched until even the rustling of his breath felt too loud.
So unlike the dull halls of the Palace of Hearts
Finally, he stepped forward and reached for the clasps at his shoulders. The first one hissed softly as it came loose, revealing the dark padding beneath. He rolled his neck, muscles protesting after so long encased in steel. One by one, the pieces of his armor thudded softly to the floor—pauldrons, chestplate, gauntlets. It was like peeling off a second skin, but one that had become part of him through sheer force of time and habit.
Underneath, his clothes were stiff, stained, and clung uncomfortably to his skin. He tugged at the fabric and winced as it peeled away in places. His hands, scarred and raw in spots, moved without urgency, deliberate and tired.
When he finally caught sight of himself in the mirror above the basin, he almost looked away.
His face was hollowed—thinner, older, jawline sharper than he remembered. A rough beard had taken root, uneven and scruffy, matching the mess of sweat-matted hair. His undershirt was stained with grime, sweat, blood and the remnants of old battles. Sand clung to the crooks of his arms, neck, and ribs. The smell hit him, faint but undeniable.
He blinked, leaned forward, and sniffed his shoulder.
"Oh gods," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing in realization. "That bad, huh?"
His brow furrowed as he tugged off his shirt, tossing it into the corner where it landed with a damp thud. He stared at it for a beat, then rubbed his temple. "Three weeks in this thing… No wonder everyone kept standing a little too far to the left."
A grim chuckle escaped him—dry, humorless, but real. He hadn't taken off his armor since the last push against the rebel factions beneath the Queen's forces. That had been… what? Nineteen days? Twenty?
Have they all just been pretending not to notice?
The idea made him wince and smirk at the same time. Maybe Ruby had noticed and just been too polite to say anything. Yang probably smelled him and thought he was some kind of tragic hero cliché. Weiss definitely noticed—probably cataloged it mentally like she did everything else. Unspoken embarrassment… And Blake… well, with those Faunus senses, she'd probably smelled him coming a mile away. Also ,Nora…he could already feel the mockery tomorrow…
And Neo? If she noticed, she probably enjoyed watching him rot from the inside out. Oh how much he hated her…
He made a mental note to get some new clothes and have his armor cleaned and fixed.
He sighed, pressing a hand against the edge of the bathtub, feeling the cool ceramic beneath his calloused palm, and dropped his last bit of clothing. He stepped into the water slowly, flinching slightly as the heat met the wear of his joints, his scars, the dull ache in his shoulders.
Then he sank deeper.
The water wrapped around him, welcoming and heavy, like it was trying to hold all the pieces of him together. The grime began to dissolve, peeling away the surface of the man the world had come to know as the Knave.
But the man beneath? That would take more time.
He leaned back, letting his head rest against the warm stone rim. The ceiling above was carved with crescent shapes that caught the candlelight like stars. It was quiet. Peaceful.
And for the first time in weeks, perhaps years Jaune closed his eyes without gripping a sword…
The bath cradled him like a memory, warm, quiet, still. For a few fleeting minutes, Jaune allowed himself to drift, the tension slowly unwinding from his muscles. The grime of war bled into the water, fading into murky spirals that disappeared down the drain.
His eyes fluttered closed. For a breath, there was silence, there was peace...
Then...
"Awwwww, you think it's over just like that?"
The voice slithered into the room like smoke soft, sickly sweet, and laced with condescension.
Jaune's eyes snapped open.
The candlelight flickered. The water grew suddenly colder.
And then she appeared.
Perched casually on the stone ledge across the room, lounging like a cat in her throne, was the Queen of Hearts not flesh, not illusion, but a perfect memory given shape and voice by guilt. She was beautiful in the way broken porcelain was beautiful: fractured, wrong, and razor-sharp.
Her long black hair fell in tangled waves down her back, streaked with veins of bleeding crimson. Her dress was still the frilly, doll-like ensemble from Ever After once bright, now stained with wine-colored rot, shredded at the sleeves and stained at the hem. Her eyes gleamed like jewels set in cracked glass, ruby red and too wide, like a predator mimicking joy. Her grin was far too large.
But it was her limbs that betrayed her mostninhuman now. Her fingers were slightly too long, bent at strange angles, the nails sharp like claws. Her legs were coiled beneath her, tense and animalistic, not unlike the twisted form of a Jabberwock wrong joints, hunched posture, the echo of something feral fused with a girl who once lived.
Jaune sat frozen, the water now lukewarm around him, the air thick with dread. He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"Oh, Jauney," she cooed, her voice laced with mockery. "You actually thought you could wash me off, didn't you? Scrub a little blood out from under your fingernails and voilà! Back to being the golden boy?"
He gritted his teeth. "You're not real."
She gasped in mock offense. "Not real? That's a little rude. I lived in your head long enough, didn't I? Shaped every lovely little scar on that conscience of yours."
He turned away, refusing to meet her eyes. But the shadows in the room deepened, and her reflection danced across the surface of the water, smirking up at him.
"I wonder," she mused, standing now, pacing around the tub like a vulture. "Did little Ruby smell the death on you yet? Did Nora flinch when she hugged you? Has anyone done the math on how many people you butchered with that oversized toothpick of yours? Have Weiss bit her lip in her adorable way when she's overwhelmed?"
He said nothing, his jaw clenched tight.
The Queen crouched beside him, her tone dipping to a whisper. "Do they know how many screamed? How many begged? Didn't you just love the warm blood on your skin?"
His fingers trembled under the water….no blood, he was now sitting in a bathtub full of blood. The thick metallic scented blood filled the bathtub, with reflections of countless lives he took…screaming, begging, crying…
"You were magnificent," she breathed almost in ecstasy. "A real knight in shining armor well, bloodstained armor, but details, details. You didn't just serve me, Jaune. You became what I wanted. You exceeded what I dreamed about. And a part of you loved it!"
"Shut up," he rasped.
"You didn't hesitate when they begged," she continued, grinning. "You cut down fathers and brothers mothers and daughters alike. Because I said so. And you Jaune Arc said 'Yes, Your Majesty' like a good little pet."
"Shut. Up."
The blood rippled violently as he stood, sloshing over the edges of the tub. His breath came fast now, ragged and shallow.
"You think scrubbing yourself raw in a fancy Vacuo tub is going to make them forget? Make you forget?" Her smile vanished, replaced by a hollow-eyed snarl. "They don't trust you. They pity you. And the minute they don't need you, they'll throw you out like the dog you are."
He stared at her this vision, this voice made of regret and sin and something inside him cracked.
"I know," he whispered.
That stopped her. For a moment, the Queen tilted her head, curiosity replacing cruelty.
"I know what I've done," Jaune said, his voice shaking. "And I'll never be clean. Not in their eyes. Not in mine."
He took a step forward, water trailing down his arms, his scars visible under the flickering candlelight. His large form towering over the person who was once a human…
"But you don't get to win. Not anymore. Not never…Alyx" he spat. "I made sure of that."
The Queen smirked again, but there was something thinner about it now. "Oh, I've already won, Jaune. I'm not just in your head. I am your head. I'm the voice that whispers when your hands stop shaking. The one who wonders if killing Neo would've made you feel better."
She turned, fading back into the shadows, her voice echoing off the walls as her form dissolved. Her glowing red eyes last vestige of her corrupted form.
"I'll be seeing you, my sweet sweet Knave…"
Silence returned. But the warmth of the bath was gone.
Jaune stood there, chest heaving, steam rising off his skin. The water yes, water, not bloo,d at his feet was cloudy, murky with dirt…just like him.
He gritted his teeth as he grabbed his hair, falling to his knees.
And wept.
For the first time in forever, Jaune Arc wept as the weight of a legion of dead souls came crashing down on him.
All alone…or not, if the sweet oh so sweet whispers in his mind were anything to go by…