Chapter 8
The desert wind whispered through the sandstone arches of Shade Academy. The city below glowed faintly, pockets of light scattered between long stretches of shadow. Night had settled heavy, too still, too quiet for comfort.
Nora sat on the edge of a low wall overlooking the dunes, elbows on her knees, staring at the dark horizon. Her hammer leaned beside her, half-forgotten. The wind tugged at her hair as she spoke, her voice small against the open sky.
"I shouldn't have said what I did," she whispered. "Not like that. Not to him."
Ren stood nearby, his back against a pillar, eyes closed, listening. He had been silent since they left the council chamber, not judging, not comforting, just there.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. "You said what you felt, Nora. That doesn't make it wrong."
"It does when it hurts someone who's already broken," she muttered, fingers digging into the stone edge beneath her. "Jaune didn't deserve that. Not after everything. He looked like he'd already blamed himself for every horrible thing that's happened."
Ren opened his eyes and looked toward her. "And you think you made it worse."
"I know I did." Nora's laugh was short and sharp, like a crack in glass. "I wanted to shake him. Make him wake up. But all I did was tear into him when he was already bleeding inside. I said I understood, but I didn't. I was just…" She exhaled, trembling slightly. "I was scared. I still am."
Ren walked over and sat beside her, the stone cold beneath them. For a while, neither spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was heavy, like shared guilt settling between them.
"He's not the same," Nora said finally, her voice barely audible. "But then again, neither are we. I keep thinking if I say the right thing, do the right thing, maybe we can bring him back. But the more I look at him, the more I see…" She trailed off, swallowing the word that almost escaped.
"A stranger," Ren finished quietly.
Nora nodded, her eyes glistening in the lamplight. "And that scares me more than anything."
Ren's gaze was distant, thoughtful. "He's walking a thin line. But so are we. None of us came back clean from the war, even if we didn't go where he went."
She looked up at him then, really looked. "Do you think he can come back from it?"
Ren hesitated. "I think he needs people who still believe he can."
Nora's lip trembled. "Even after what I said?"
"Especially after what you said."
She let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I just wish I could take it back."
"You can't," Ren said softly. "But you can make sure it isn't the last thing he hears from you…I will go talk to him."
"Ren are you sure?" Nora asked.
"Yes, he many need somebody…ah less emotional." He finished with a ghost of smile making Nora pout a little.
..........
The Vacuan prison was an ugly thing. Built on the bones of an old mining complex, its walls sweated heat and salt. The air was thick, heavy with humidity and the stink of unwashed bodies.
Rows of cells stacked on top of one another, metal bars eaten with rust, stone floors slick with condensation. There was no real order here. Inmates shouted over each other in half a dozen languages, guards ignored them, and the single ceiling fan in the corridor spun with a useless whine.
In the middle of that noise sat Jax Asturias.
He was easy to spot, even stripped of his suit and title. His posture still carried the arrogance of old Atlas, shoulders straight, chin lifted just enough to suggest he still believed himself above all this. Sweat glistened at his temples, and the cheap prison shirt clung to his back. Just recently he recovered from his ordeal with team CFVY. Apparently memory wiping semblance was not as potent as one would think.
Across from him, perched on the edge of a cot, was Gillian Asturias.
If Jax was the brain, Gillian was the tongue, all charm and venom. Her once perfect hair was frizzed and unkempt, her sharp blue eyes dimmed but not dulled. The way she watched the guards move through the corridor made it clear she was not seeing prison walls. She was seeing opportunities.
Together they had led The Crown, using Jax's control and Gillian's Aura mastery to build a shadow empire. That ambition had not left either of them. They were only waiting.
Gillian tilted her head toward the hallway.
"Listen. The prison is louder tonight."
Jax smiled slowly. "The city smells panic. Panic breeds opportunity."
Despite his words, there was something restless in his tone, the sound of a man who missed power like oxygen.
"You know," Gillian said, leaning forward, "if I close my eyes, I can almost pretend this is one of our old safehouses. All the charm of mildew, none of the class."
Jax gave a low chuckle. "The irony, dear sister, is that we tried to rise above the filth, and now we are knee deep in it." He gestured around them. "Vacuo, the cradle of liberty. What a joke."
"Mm. And yet," Gillian's lips curved in a small, knowing smile, "every time someone calls Vacuo ungovernable, I smell potential."
Her tone carried that familiar gleam from their Crown days, when they manipulated Atlas's underbelly through blackmail, charm, and whispered secrets. Before the Fall, they had thrived in the shadows, pulling strings in the political theatre. After the Dawn, they had survived by selling those strings to whoever could still pay.
Now, they were prisoners. But neither looked defeated.
Jax turned to her, eyes sharp with amusement. "You have noticed it too then. The cracks. The unrest. This city is ripe, Gillian. They will need structure. They will need leadership."
"And who better to provide it," she said, smirking, "than two people who understand how to hold a leash?"
The laughter that followed was low and cold, the kind that did not belong in a place already drowning in heat.
Outside their cell, a guard walked by without looking at them. He kept his head down. Everyone knew better than to engage with the Asturias siblings for too long. People who talked to them had a way of ending up different.
As the night deepened, Jax leaned his head back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. "Sooner or later, the Council will tear itself apart. And when it does, Vacuo will need something to fill the vacuum."
Gillian's voice purred from the shadows. "And here we are, darling. Right where we always belong. Waiting."
A faint, eerie smile passed between them.
Somewhere deeper in the prison, a door clanged shut, echoing through the halls like a heartbeat which muffled the sound of a body hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Gillian lifted her head first.
"You feel that?" she murmured.
Jax frowned. "What now. A riot? A blackout?"
"Something more interesting."
A faint clicking echoed from the far end of the hallway. Metal on stone. Light steps that carried no urgency but a strange rhythm, almost playful.
Two figures emerged from the darkness beyond the guards' station.
The first walked with a relaxed, confident stride. Mercury Black. Hands in his pockets. A bored smile on his lips. Silver eyes scanning each cell as if browsing a market stall.
The second moved like a shadow having fun with itself. Tyrian Callows. His grin split impossibly wide, teeth gleaming in the dim light. His cybernetic tail swayed behind him with lazy, serpentine curiosity, the tip flicking at the bars with soft metallic taps.
A guard turned toward them, confusion crossing his face.
"Hey, you cannot be down"
Tyrian's tail lashed out.
The sting was so fast the guard never made a sound. He collapsed to the floor, twitching once before going completely still. Mercury stepped over the body as if stepping over a puddle.
"Honestly," Mercury sighed, "you would think Vacuo would hire guards who actually guard things."
Tyrian giggled, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, but then we could not play, dear Mercury. And what fun that would ruin."
The siblings watched in silence, their expressions controlled. Only their eyes betrayed interest.
Mercury stopped in front of their cell, leaning casually on one of the rusted bars.
"You two have been very hard to find. Vacuo keeps terrible records."
Gillian's smile was slow and sharp. "We prefer to stay off lists. Names attract attention."
Tyrian crouched suddenly, peering between the bars, nose inches from Jax's face.
"And yet here you are. Names in a registry. Faces behind bars. Birds in a little hot cage. How tragic."
Jax did not flinch. "Get to the point."
Mercury chuckled. "You really do sound like someone Vacuo would have promoted."
"We promoted ourselves," Gillian said.
Tyrian clapped with delight. "Self made monsters. How precious. You will fit right in."
Jax's eyes narrowed. "I assume you did not break in for small talk."
Mercury brushed imaginary dust from his glove. "Salem is making her move. Vacuo is next. We are gathering assets."
"Assets," Jax repeated, his tone icy.
"Useful people," Mercury clarified. "People who know how to break stability. People who understand leverage. People who can run a city from the shadows."
Gillian leaned forward, blue eyes glittering. "You want the Crown."
Tyrian tilted his head, the tip of his tail lifting like a poised scorpion. "Want? No. Need. Salem remembers the chaos you brought to Vacuo. She knows talent when she sees it. And she would prefer such talent not be rotting in a humid box."
Jax exchanged a slow glance with Gillian.
Mercury smirked. "We open these bars. You walk out. You get protection while the city tears itself apart. In return, you help prepare Vacuo from the inside. You know the drill."
"Sabotage," Jax said.
"Influence," Gillian added.
Tyrian swayed. "And when the end comes, you stand on the winning side."
Silence settled for a long moment.
Jax finally spoke. "You are offering us a place in Salem's new order?"
Mercury shrugged. "We are offering you freedom. What you do with it is your problem."
Gillian stood, smoothing her ruined clothes as if preparing for a gala. "Then the answer is yes."
Her smile sharpened. "It was always yes."
Tyrian's grin grew impossibly wide. The cybernetic tail curled around the lock. A quick spark. A sharp snap. The door swung open with a metallic groan.
The Asturias siblings stepped out together, calm and assured as if leaving a dining hall rather than a prison cell.
Mercury stretched. "Good. We are short on competent villains these days."
Tyrian giggled again. "Let the fun begin."
The tail lifted behind him, gleaming in the low light, its stinger glowing faintly with venom that could kill in seconds.
For a moment, its shadow stretched across the corridor wall, long and jagged, like a scorpion poised over a dying world.
The air turned colder.
The night grew darker.
And Vacuo, without knowing it, welcomed four more monsters into its bones.
...........
There was no sky.
Only darkness above her, heavy and alive, like velvet soaked in ink.
Neo stood in a forest that did not belong in Remnant. Trees rose tall and warped, their trunks spiraling and bending as if trying to twist away from the shadows that clung to them. The bark shimmered with faint colors that shifted when she blinked. Not natural colors. Sickly colors. Ever After colors.
The ground beneath her boots pulsed softly, like a heartbeat buried under soil.
Somewhere ahead, footsteps echoed.
Light footsteps. Familiar ones. Neo's breath caught. Her throat tightened. She moved forward.
Leaves crunched under her feet as she pushed through the crooked trees. Mist curled around her waist and broke against her legs. The air smelled of candy left in the sun, sweet and rotten.
A fedora flashed between the branches.
Roman.
Neo broke into a run. Her aura flared in panic and desperation. She shoved branches aside, almost stumbling as the forest seemed to shift around her, paths bending and folding like a maze rearranging itself to keep him just ahead.
Roman kept walking, his posture relaxed, one hand in his never looked back.
Neo tried to call out. No sound came. As usual…
She pushed harder, blinking forward in bursts of color as she teleported short distances. Each time she reappeared, the forest changed. The trees were closer. The mist thicker. The colors wronger.
She saw Roman again through the blur of moving trunks.
The coat.
The hat.
The smug tilt of his shoulders.
She reached out. Her fingers brushed empty air as he turned a corner and vanished again.
Neo stumbled to a halt, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. A faint ringing filled her ears. She spun in place, searching for him.
Something giggled behind her. Neo whipped around.
A shadow stood between the trees. Too tall. Wrong shape. Its limbs stretched too far, bending like wet paper. Its head tilted at an angle no neck should allow.
Neo stepped back. The shadow stepped forward. The forest creaked, as if the trees themselves leaned in to listen.
The figure's body rippled. Colors swam across its surface, a broken reflection of her own semblance. For a heartbeat she thought she saw Roman's face in its surface. Then Penny's. Then Ruby's. Then her own, twisted and blurred. The shadow leaned closer. Its voice sounded like glass scraping over stone.
"He left you."
Neo's throat tightened. She shook her head fiercely. The shape flickered, shifting into Roman's outline again.
"He left. Everyone always leaves."
Neo rushed forward and swung her umbrella through the figure. It shattered into fragments of color that scattered across the forest floor like broken sugar crystals.
For a moment, everything stilled. Then Roman's voice drifted through the trees. Calm. Smug. Almost bored.
"You are too slow, kid."
Neo's legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, hands sinking into the pulsing ground. The trees closed in. The paths twisted again. The world tilted sideways.
Roman walked past her in the corner of her vision. Not looking at her. Not stopping. Just walking away again. Neo slammed her fist into the earth. The world around her flickered like a dying illusion. From the darkness between the trees came the whisper.
Soft.
Sweet.
Cruel.
"You should have died with me."
Neo looked up. A second figure stepped into view. Not Roman. Not human. No wait human but more inhumane than anything Ever After could produce…
A tall dark silhouette with a faceless helmet with white glowing eyes, and armour covered in rust and blood. Its presence felt like a personification of fear itself.
Neo's breath froze. Mouth opened in silent scream.
Kanve extended his hand to her wrapping his armoured fingers tightly around her throat.
SNAP!
Her neck gave up like a dry twig…. Neo jolted upright in the cot, breath catching in her throat.
The room was too dark. Too still.
She blinked rapidly, hands clenching the thin blanket wrapped around her legs. Her eyes darted across the walls, searching for familiar shapes—something real, something grounded—but the shadows looked wrong. Too long. Too sharp. Too much like—
Her head whipped to the corner.
Empty.
But in the dream, he'd been there. Standing perfectly still. Watching.
She drew her knees to her chest, breath coming faster. Was it still the dream?
The silence pressed in, thick and smothering. Her ears rang with echoes that weren't there—footsteps too heavy, a sword unsheathed in the dark, the hiss of fire licking old metal. Her fingers twitched toward her umbrella, only to find empty air. It wasn't where she'd left it. Or had she left it at all?
This was the dream. Or the dream was this. It always took a minute to know.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus. The bed was real. The stale air was real. The flicker of a malfunctioning streetlight outside the slitted window? Real.
But the silence still felt like him.
Knave.
Not Jaune. Not really. Jaune had been awkward. Stumbling. Predictable in all the best ways.
Knave was stillness sharpened into something predatory. Something deliberate. Cold. He didn't hesitate. He didn't blink. He didn't forgive.
And he saw her. Saw past the illusions, the fakes, the copies. Always.
Neo swung her legs off the cot, her bare feet brushing the cold floor as she stood unsteadily. Her hands trembled without permission. She crossed the room and pressed her palm to the window's reinforced glass, peering out over Vacuo's sparse lights.
No movement.
That should've comforted her. But it didn't.
Because she knew that he didn't need to be seen to be a threat. He didn't knock. He didn't announce. He simply appeared and if you were lucky, you had a second to react.
Just one.
She backed away from the window and sank to the floor against the far wall, hugging her knees. She didn't cry. Couldn't. That part of her was long gone.
But inside, the dread crawled. Because she was alone. Not just in this room. Not just in the dark.
In everything.
The others might've tolerated her. Fought beside her. Even defended her.
But they didn't trust her. And she didn't blame them.
Because trust required belief in redemption, and Neo had no illusions about what she was. About what she had done. About who she had been loyal to for so long.
Even Jaune no, the Knave, especially him, had called her what she was.
A threat.
He hadn't been wrong.
And now he was here. Always watching. Always calculating. Every second they occupied the same space was borrowed time. One day, she'd be too slow. One day, his sword wouldn't stop.
And when that day came, no one would stand between them.
Ruby? Too loyal to see the trap until it closed.
Yang? Distrustful already.
Blake? Quietly waiting for proof.
Weiss? Too focused on saving what's left of Jaune to see what he already became…
There was no one left who would stand with her.
She was the enemy who hadn't been killed yet. Just tolerated. For now. Neo's eyes fell to the corner again.
Still empty.
But the dread remained. Sitting heavy on her chest, colder than the desert night.
She was certain he believed killing her was the right thing to do.
That made him unstoppable. Neo shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She wouldn't sleep again tonight.
'I should've died with you Roman…'
..........
The war table was silent except for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the low, static flicker of the Vacuan city map projected in the center. Points of heat camps, power grids, and water lines glowed like open wounds. The prison marker had gone dark.
Theodore didn't sit. He stood at the table's edge, gloved hands pressed flat against the steel. The report file lay open in front of him, its pages fluttering in the fan's weak breeze. Blood on the floor, four guards confirmed dead, two more unaccounted for, no alarm, no footage. That wasn't a breakout. It was a surgical removal. A statement.
''They were locked down", he said after a long moment, voice as dry and hard as the dunes outside. "I signed the damn orders myself. Separate wings, secondary restraints, extra shifts on rotation. Still vanished like ghosts."
Winter stood to his left, hands clasped tightly behind her back, her uniform immaculate, her posture rigid. Her face was carved from ice, but her jaw was clenched subtly, but unmistakably. She didn't speak at first. There was nothing to say that wouldn't be obvious or useless.
Across the table, Qrow leaned back in his chair with a frown that hadn't left since the news broke. He hadn't reached for his flask, which said more than words ever could. When he finally did speak, it was low and certain.
"They didn't vanish, he said. They walked out. "
Winter's eyes flicked to him. ''
If that's true, we'll find the perpetrator soon enough. Interrogations are already underway. Autopsy reports from guards' bodies are on their way."
But even as she said it, she didn't sound convinced.
Ozpin had remained near the far wall until now, watching the horizon through the window's reinforced glass, hands folded behind his back. He turned, his voice soft but unmistakably steady.
"Finding who did this is not the problem," he said. "The problem is time. We may already be too late."
Theodore straightened.
"How bad?"
"Bad," Ozpin answered. "The Crown was never just a gang or a crime family. It was a pressure valve. Jax controlled the information flow, Gillian controlled loyalty. Now they're out. And this city's fragile. "
He let the word hang, just long enough for it to sink in.
"Vacuo was never meant to take in this many people," Winter added, her voice sharp now." The camps outside the city are overflowing. Shade is stretched thin. We've got Atlas refugees on one side fighting for space and work, and native Vacuans on the other side blaming them for every dry tap and stolen ration crate."
Theodore exhaled through his nose, jaw tense. "There've already been fights. Three deaths in the West district two days ago. No one reported it until the morgue cart came."
"And now the twins are loose," Qrow muttered, thumbing the edge of the report. "They'll vanish into that chaos like smoke. Play one side against the other. Whisper the right lies in the right ears. Stir up just enough anger to make themselves useful."
"They won't start the war," Ozpin said, turning back toward the window. "They'll just make sure someone else does. We all know who is behind this…"
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Winter finally moved, stepping closer to the map and eyeing the blinking points marking Shade's outer barriers.
"Then we have to get ahead of them. Control the narrative. Send aid to the camps now before the twins offer it first. Lock down the rail lines. Cut off whatever favors they're about to cash in."
"It won't be enough," Theodore said quietly. You know that. "These people are angry. Starving. No amount of PR from the council is going to fix a stomach that hasn't had a proper meal in three days."
"We could bring in supplies from Vale, "Qrow suggested, voice heavy with reluctance. "Airdrops. Silent. No press."
"You think there's anything left in Vale to give?" Theodore's tone was bitter. Half of their own border towns are living on charity from Mistral as it is.
Ozpin's voice cut through the tension again.
"There is one person in this city who understands exactly how the Asturias think. Who's been under someone deluded of royalty grandeur…"
Winter stiffened.
"You mean Jaune."
"He was her blade," Ozpin said. "And he's already seen what a ruler with absolute control can do to the minds of the desperate. He knows what Gillian and Jax will try before they even do it."
"I wouldn't trust him with a loaded weapon in a powder room," Qrow muttered. "But I'll admit, if anyone knows how to play this game with blood still on their hands, it's him."
Winter didn't reply right away. Her gaze lingered on the map, on the red-marked camps that blinked like warnings. When she finally spoke, her voice was tight with restraint.
"If we put him near the refugees…we know more than enough that he's more than willing to spill blood…"
"Then we do it quietly, "Ozpin replied. "No uniform. No title. He goes as nothing and no one. And he doesn't command. He listens."
"We cannot send him alone thou," Qrow chimed in. "He needs someone to watch his moves and to aid him if necessary and at the same time have a knowledge about the underworld…"
"I have a feeling that you already have someone in mind…"Theodore began.
"I do, little miss Neopolitan."He began and rose his hand before Winter and Theodore protested. "Ruby filled me in, they do have a bone to pick with each other but…that can also work in our favour as they will be wary of each other. Neo still have to prove herself to us…if she fails…" He let that part hanging.
"We deal with another problem then." While Winter did not agree on this type of handling of criminals, truth to be told they were stretched too thin to deal with Neo with conventional methods." And what if he doesn't listen?" Winter asked.
"Then we'll deal with it. But if we do nothing, the Asturias will not stop. They don't need armies. They only need attention. A story. A symbol…so we put a story and a symbol that happens to be on our side." Ozpin told her." And right now, this city's ready to believe anything that sounds like control."
Theodore stepped away from the table, pacing once before stopping again.
"Start moving supplies to the outer camps. Quietly. Prep a cover identity for Jaune. No formal orders, just enough clearance to move freely."
Qrow nodded, eyes tired. "What about the public?"
"We tell them what they need to hear," Winter said, "her tone colder than before. Those two fugitives escaped. That Shade is in control. And that the situation is being handled."
"Even if it isn't," Qrow muttered.
"Especially if it isn't," Ozpin answered.
The lights above the map dimmed as the display cycled through another update: civilian unrest rising in the east sectors, black-market shipments disappearing en route to the camps, security reports noting graffiti: painted crowns in red and gold.
A symbol was already forming.
And if they didn't act fast, it would be too late to stop it.
.........
The war room had emptied hours ago. The lights were dimmed now, the map long gone from the table, replaced by silence and cold stone. Winter stood alone at the far end of the chamber, gazing at the city through a narrow viewport. The faint glow of Vacuo stretched into the distance—fractured, flickering, fragile.
She didn't speak when Qrow entered. Didn't turn. Just stood there, arms folded, spine straight as steel, her uniform perfectly aligned as always.
But her reflection in the glass said otherwise.
Hair tousled. Circles under her eyes. Tension knotted in her jaw. The kind that never quite faded. The kind that came from being too many things to too many people for too long.
Qrow didn't announce himself. Just walked in, loose and casual like he owned the room, then leaned against the table, arms crossed.
"You ever stop standing like you're about to give a briefing to ghosts?"
Winter's voice was quiet, dry. "You're the last person I need commentary from tonight."
He smirked. "Yeah, but I'm the one you get anyway."
She sighed. Her reflection didn't move. Neither did she.
"Do you ever stop being difficult?"
"You'd miss me if I did."
They let the silence stretch.
Eventually, Winter exhaled slowly, and her arms dropped to her sides.
"I am tired, Qrow."
He nodded once, serious now. "Yeah. I figured."
She turned then, slowly, just enough to look at him over her shoulder.
"Atlas is gone. What's left of it lives in me. Every displaced family, every soldier still wearing our crest. They look to me like I have answers. Like I'm still the General. Like I'm still…like I didn't lose everything when the sky fell."
Her voice cracked, not loud. Not messy. Just enough to show the fracture beneath the frost.
"And I can't afford to fall apart. Not when the last thing Atlas has is my name. My decisions. My strength."
Qrow didn't smile this time. Just stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets, eyes softer than usual.
"You don't have to carry it all alone."
"Who else will?"
He shrugged.
"You don't trust easily. I get that. But you're not the only one hurting. And you're not the only one who lost people."
His voice dropped, gentler now.
"I thought Ruby was gone. You thought Weiss was. We both know what that kind of grief does to a person."
He paused, eyes finding hers.
"And we both kept standing anyway."
Winter looked away, but not before he caught the flicker of pain. Not sharp. Not raw. Just tired. The kind that never really left.
"You were unbearable in Atlas," she murmured.
"Yeah, and you were insufferable. Guess we're match made in heaven."
Her lips twitched, just slightly. Almost a smile.
He moved beside her, standing shoulder to shoulder, both of them staring out over the desert-lit horizon like it held answers.
"You're not as cold as you pretend," Qrow said after a long pause.
"And you're not as reckless."
She shook her head.
"No. I just learned how to bury things deeper."
There was a silence again. Quieter. Not empty,just tired.
He leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the viewport ledge, gaze fixed on the glowing city below.
"You know, for what it's worth, if you snap under the pressure… I'll be there to pick up the pieces. And complain about it the entire time."
Winter finally let out a breath that wasn't a sigh or a command. Just air. Release.
"I'd hate that."
"I know. That's what makes it fun."
She looked at him fully now, something fragile flickering behind her eyes. Not weakness. Not even vulnerability. Just truth.
"Thank you."
He didn't answer with words. Just nodded. Stayed beside her.
In that moment, it wasn't Atlas and Vacuo. It wasn't Maiden and Huntsman. It was just Winter and Qrow, two tired survivors trying to hold a crumbling world together, finding a kind of balance in each other.
"You stopped drinking…" Winter spoke again. "Mostly…"
"Yeah tried to find some answers at the bottom of the bottle…" He shrugged." Sadly, there weren't any."
"You shouldn't have told me that…"Winter sighed." I felt like I needed a drink."
"Hey, sometimes just pulling the plug off have it benefits." He rumbled. "Sometimes…" He looked into Winter's eyes and saw…no he refused to accept what he was seeing there. She shouldn't-
"Do you wish to join me?...in pulling off the plug?"
'Goddamn it, Winter!' Qrow thought in desperation. He could not understand what the hell was wrong with Schnee women?! Why did they always go for the most defective men? Willow was in a loveless marriage with Jaques. Weiss was obviously harbouring feelings for Jaune and now Winter was asking him for a drink with a look in her eyes that forced all his willpower not to run to her and give her a hug and tell her everything will be ok…
"Yeah…sure, why not?" Qrow managed to sound like a man who was not panicking. "I meant, what's the harm in this?"
Ah yes, famous last words….
.........
The knock came softly. Not urgent. Just… there.
Jaune sat on the edge of his bunk, still in partial Armor. Gauntlets off, chest plate loosened but not removed. His sword was propped against the wall within reach. His helmet on the window pane staring at him…The window slits let in a slice of moonlight across the dusty floor. He didn't answer at first.
Another knock. Then Ren's voice, gentle, patient.
"I brought something."
Silence.
"It's not peace talks or orders. Just a bottle. And two mugs."
More silence.
Then, finally, a slow creak as Jaune stood, footsteps heavy against the floor. He reached the door, hesitated, then opened it just wide enough to see Ren's face.
No judgment. No pity. Just the quiet resolve that had always been there.
Jaune stepped back.
"You can come in."
Ren nodded once and entered, holding a dusty brown bottle under one arm and two old mugs in his other hand. He glanced around the sparse room, noting the folded cloak, the cleaned blade, the complete lack of comfort. It felt more like a holding cell than quarters. Still, he made no comment.
He moved to the small table near the window and set everything down.
"It's local," he said casually. "Smells like burnt cactus. Tastes worse."
Jaune didn't respond. He stood by the door, arms crossed, watching.
Ren popped the cork, poured two uneven shots into the metal mugs, then slid one across the table with a soft clink.
"No strings. Just sit."
A few seconds passed. Then Jaune walked over and sat opposite him. His hand closed around the mug, but he didn't drink.
Ren sipped his and made a face.
"Yep. Still awful."
Jaune gave the faintest huff of breath. Almost a scoff. Maybe.
Ren leaned back, letting the silence settle before breaking it again.
"You know, there's a baker in the outer markets. Sells dust-bread in the mornings. I passed him earlier today. He's using cactus syrup now because fruit rations are too low."
Still no reaction.
Ren kept going.
"I saw a girl kick a sandbag so hard it tore open. Her brother laughed, then stole the stuffing and ran with it like it was gold. They were both smiling."
Jaune's eyes shifted slightly. Just enough to show he was listening.
"Everything's burning," Ren said after a while. "And people are still laughing. Still stealing sugar, still bartering for music crystals like they matter."
He finished his mug, set it down quietly.
"It's strange. What people cling to."
Jaune stared into his drink, jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
"You didn't come here to talk about cactus syrup."
"No," Ren admitted. "But I wasn't sure you'd listen if I started with what mattered."
He poured himself another shot.
"Didn't come to fight. Or fix you. I just…" He exhaled. "Didn't want you being alone…after all of today."
Ren poured another shot for himself, then nudged the bottle slightly closer to Jaune's side of the table. He didn't press the issue. Just let it sit there like an offer. A quiet one.
"The camps are boiling. No one's saying it, but we're not far from a tipping point. People are hungry. Scared. Looking for someone to blame."
He tilted the mug in his hand, watching the liquid catch the moonlight.
"And then there's you."
That earned a glance from Jaune, flat, unreadable.
"Some see a threat. Some see a symbol. Most don't know what to make of you at all."
Ren paused.
"But I do."
Jaune looked away again, jaw set.
Ren didn't push. Just kept talking, his voice steady. Grounded.
"I remember the boy who couldn't swing a sword without falling over. Who couldn't lie to save his life. Who stood in front of a Deathstalker with a stolen shield and sword with shaking knees."
He looked directly at him.
"You were terrified. But you still stood there."
Jaune didn't answer. But his fingers flexed around the mug, knuckles pale.
"You were never the strongest. Or the fastest. But you always stood your ground. That's never changed."
Still no response, but Jaune's grip on the mug shifted.
That hit something. Barely visible, but there was a flicker in Jaune's expression. Pain, maybe. Or memory.
"And still," Ren said softly, "you came back. Not for yourself. For them."
He didn't say Nora. He didn't say Ruby or Weiss. He didn't need to.
"You've carried so much alone, Jaune. For too long. Everyone's treating you like a weapon or a warning. But I remember when you were just a friend. Just a boy trying to be good."
Ren leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table now.
"You've made mistakes. We all have. But being broken isn't the same as being lost."
Silence stretched between them. Heavy, but not hostile.
Ren's voice dropped lower, quieter than before.
"I didn't come here to fix anything. Or to argue. I just..." He looked down at his mug, then back at Jaune. "Wished to spend my time with my brother in everything but blood…that I thought I lost for ever…"
Jaune took a breath, raised the mug, and drank.
The burn hit fast bitter, sharp, and punishing. He coughed once, quietly, and set the mug down with a dull trunk.
"You're right," he muttered. "This stuff tastes like shit."
Ren didn't laugh. He just gave the faintest nod, a sliver of a smile that didn't last. Then he settled back, watching Jaune carefully.
The table between them was scarred and uneven. The room bare. Functional. Cold.
"I've had worse," Ren said.
"Can't imagine why you'd keep drinking it then."
"Because the good stuff's long gone. Like most things," Ren replied. He didn't mean the liquor. "More?"
Jaune didn't answer just pushed his mug towards him.
Ren let the quiet hang. He wasn't in a hurry, he had whole night. Plus as a secret there were two more bottles standing in front of Jaune's room…for reasons.
Then, subtly almost automatically he let his semblance slip into place. Not fully. Just enough to feel what Jaune didn't say. The surface emotions were easy to recognize. Restraint. Guarded focus. Control layered on top of more control.
But under that?
Underneath was weight. Exhaustion like gravity. Grief with no direction. Guilt without an exit. It clung to Jaune like armor he didn't know how to take off.
And the strangest part was he wasn't overwhelmed. He was used to it.
That realization hurt more than anything Ren could read.
Jaune took another sip. Slower this time. He didn't flinch as hard.
"You didn't have to come," he said, not looking at him.
"I know."
"So why?"
Ren didn't move, didn't blink.
"Because I wanted to be here. With you."
That landed soft. Not as something to argue with. Just something to consider.
Jaune glanced at him, then away.
"Everyone's…almost everyone… been giving me space," he said. "They talk about me like I'm not in the room. Like I'm on the edge of something sharp and they're afraid to lean too close."
"No one knows what to say," Ren replied honestly. "They don't want to make it worse….Nora did not really knew what she was saying too…she was just afraid…"
Jaune stared down at the rim of the mug.
" I think I should've stayed gone."
"You didn't," Ren said simply.
Jaune's fingers tapped lightly against the table just once. Almost like a nervous tic. Ren noticed.
"You came back," he continued. "Even when you didn't have to. That means something."
Jaune didn't respond to that. Not directly.
After a while, he spoke again, voice quieter.
"I know people talk. I see the way they look at me. Like I'm some… dangerous beast…which isn't wrong…"
Ren didn't deny it.
"They don't know what you've been through," he said.
"Neither do you."
"I know that too."
For a moment, it felt like Jaune might shut down again. But instead, he poured another drink and leaned back in his chair.
"Some days, I don't feel anything. Other days, it all hits at once and I can't move. I don't sleep unless I'm too tired to fight it. I look in the mirror and don't know if I'm the same person anymore."
He let that settle.
Ren watched, eyes steady, his semblance reading every tightly controlled beat of emotion running underneath. Shame. Fear. A dull, lingering anger that Jaune didn't know how to point.
But also something else.
Stillness.
Not peace. Not healing. But the kind of endurance that came from sheer force of will. The will to keep waking up. Keep walking forward. Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
"You don't have to explain it," Ren said after a while. "I didn't come here to dig."
Jaune's lips twitched. A ghost of a bitter smile.
"No. You came to sit across from the mess and remind me I'm still human."
Ren didn't blink.
"I came to sit with my brother," he said. "You are not alone Jaune."
That landed harder than anything else. And Jaune couldn't dodge it. He didn't try.
He looked up slowly, eyes dull but clear.
"That version of me you remember," he said, "he's gone."
Ren's response was calm. Firm.
"Maybe. But I'm not here for who you used to be."
That silenced Jaune for a long time.
Then, finally, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, mug in both hands.
"I don't know how to come back from this, Ren…"
"You're not supposed to come back," Ren told him honestly. "You just keep going."
They sat in stillness after that. Two mugs. One bottle. No plans. No agenda. Just presence. They looked outside the window at Vacuo lighted by night lights.
Jaune sat still, fingers loose around the mug, the weight in his shoulders no lighter but no longer crushing.
Across from him, Ren didn't speak again. He just stayed. Not asking anything. Not expecting anything. Just… there.
Then, after several long minutes, Jaune broke the silence not with confession, not with pain, but something else.
"Remember that time I tried to cook for everyone at Beacon? Burned half the mess hall."
Ren's expression shifted subtly but real.
"You mistook baking soda for dust powder."
Jaune actually winced. "Right. Weiss nearly killed me. Thought I'd tried to assassinate her with a casserole."
"To be fair, you nearly did."
Jaune huffed a laugh. Quiet. Unexpected. But real.
They sat with that memory for a second frayed at the edges, but still theirs. Still intact. Proof that before all this, before Ever After and broken thrones and impossible choices, they were just kids trying to find their way.
And maybe, somewhere inside all the ruin, a part of that still existed.
Ren reached for the bottle again, but Jaune gently placed a hand over it.
"One's enough for now."
Ren nodded, pulling his hand back.
No protest. No judgment.
"Tomorrow's going to be worse," Jaune said quietly.
"Probably."
"And after that?"
"We keep going."
Jaune looked down at the mug one last time. Then stood.
"Thanks for coming."
Ren stood with him.
"Anytime."
No hug. No dramatic farewell. Just a shared nod between two men who had fought, broken, and bled for something greater and were still here.
As Ren stepped out into the hallway, Jaune didn't follow. He closed the door gently behind him, leaving the room just as empty as before.
But this time, it didn't feel so hollow….