Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wooden walls creaked and groaned like a ship underway, salt and sea seeping through the cracks and fading away without any residue. There were bookshelves at the walls, parchment untouched by the dank and mouldy atmosphere. The ancient paper crinkled restlessly as though under a breeze despite the stagnant air.

In the high rafters there were wet croaks, the cries of ravens through broken necks emerging from the throats of creatures unseen and scrambling. The weight of eternity rested on the room, the pressure of the unknown pushing down on all sides. The floorboards, slick with the pale shine of long-curdled Moon’s Blood, lay uneven and strewn with the remains of those who went too far.

There was a double door set into one wall, tall ornate things of heavy wood and gnarled black iron. The shapes upon it warned of stars and knives and celestial maws. Facing the door were two chairs, one sat against the far wall, large and wooden, back carved with an eye-surmounted equal length cross, festooned with zig-zag lines. Screaming wolves howled from the armrests and snakes appeared to hiss from the feet.

Before the large chair, as if guarding it, was a smaller chair. Black jagged iron clawed at its surroundings, as if to grasp and possess its occupant. For this chair was occupied. A man slumped in the chair as though asleep, claws from the chair curling over his shoulders. He was dangerously gaunt, clean-shaven face sallow and sunken. His clothes clung tight to his emaciated frame, dirty, once-white straightjacket under a thin coat of leather and feathers. His boots had pronounced spurs and climbed up to his thighs. A black leather stetson perched atop the bald head. In several places he bore brooches of gold; his collar, his belt, his hat. Brooches in the shape of crow’s feet. Bandoliers across his chest held at least five firearms, ornate and beautiful.

One sleeve was empty, his left hanging loose. His right was not normal either, a smooth jointed hand like a mannequin carved of bone protruded from his cuff. Inhuman fingers clenched around a hilt to a weapon laid across his lap, dual blades cruelly glinting in the pale light from above.

Above. Where there sat a wonder. Above the chairs, in the air, as though presiding over the room, was a silver tear in space. A curved smear of moonlight, shining iridescent.

-----

Aurum was a little annoyed with his son. He would have hoped that after a life-and-death situation like he'd been in, Jaune would want to call home. If not for comfort himself, then merely to alleviate some of his family's worries. Needless to say, it hadn’t been long before the news that the mysterious trainee huntsman who was the talk of Atlas was actually Jaune had managed to escape the Arc compound. Aurum was pretty sure Xantha had overheard her mother and himself discussing it and blabbed to her friends. It would have got out anyway, but Aurum had hoped it would take longer.

At the very least, at least the news of Jaune had benefited Gran Arbour. The residents had launched into a series of parties, the residents of the town loved their leader and his family, and this had banished enough negativity that Grimm attacks had abated.

Still, he hoped his son would call soon, he... He needed to make sure he was ok. With his own ears at least, even if he couldn't see him.

-----

The airship was small, evidently the flight from Atlas to Mausoleum wasn’t very popular. The fallout from Jaune’s recent... Escapades, were actually haunting him now. The hospital and the non-typical district he'd spent the past few weeks in had been rather on the down low with gossip, but since he left...

‘Unknown Teen Saves Schnee Family!’
‘Mysterious Huntsman Trainee, Fact or Fabrication?’
‘The Schnee Stage, A Giant Publicity Stunt?’
‘Slavery Hotel, Atlesian Elite Arrested!”
‘Huntsman Aspirant of The Decade!’

... Well, he couldn't get away from it.

Understandably, it didn't take long for Jaune and Phos to leave Atlas. The media might not know he was their miracle child, but Jaune wanted to keep it that way, and the longer they stayed the more likely someone would figure it out. Besides, apparently the aura issue couldn't wait. The idea that the entire weight of his unleashed soul was pressing on a hastily erected barrier was... Unsettling to say the least. Jaune trusted Phos though, and had no doubt that his ritual would hold.

Winter and Whitley had given him quite the goodbye when they found out he had to leave. Winter had understood he had to leave because he was an association member, but she had made him promise to come visit. And to call. Whitley had been... Quiet, but he had been ever since New Eisgarten. Unsurprising. Being the centrepiece of some barely remembered occult ritual would cause anyone to shut themselves off.

Rather more pressing, to Jaune at least, those unsettling creatures Jaune had been seeing ever since New Eisgarten were still there. There was one matching the airship at each wingtip. Strange creatures of radial symmetry, rosy flowers of toothed tentacles blooming in place of a mouth. Wings pumping as they pulsated wetly. The problem was no one else seemed to see them and Jaune had no intention of being locked up for insanity. Well, Phos might see them, but he hadn’t confirmed it yet. Either way, apart from riding the airship’s wake, they seemed to be content with ignoring the fact it had people aboard. Nonetheless, their deep grumbling vocalisations could be heard through the metal hull.

“Jaune? Are you awake?”

Jaune turned to his master.

“Yeah?”

“Ah, good. Our departure was rather rushed, so I didn't have the opportunity to tell you what the plan is.”

“Didn't you say we were going to the order’s headquarters?”

Phos took off his glasses.

“Yeah, that's the main goal, but we've got something to deal with first. You've qualified to advance to rank F in the association, but, if you remember, there's always an exam to rank up. That's our first step. I called ahead and booked one for you. Now, we’re headed to Mausoleum, what do you know of the city?”

Jaune thought for a moment, his studies at Sable Down had addressed Valean geography.

“Mausoleum is the regional capital of the Vale province of Silent Hills, also known as the Graveyard of Vale. It's built into the end of a valley into the Vale mountains. Mausoleum hasn't ever seen combat from humans, but has suffered several attacks from Grimm.”

Phos nodded.

“Yes. Silent Hills has been the graveyard of the kingdom since the province's foundation. Grimm are attracted to negativity. Graveyards always receive negative emotions, by dint of their association with the fallen. It's generally a bad plan to have graveyards within settlements. Vale quickly grew large enough that it needed a massive graveyard. More than eight hundred years worth of dead from the kingdom of Vale have been buried in Silent Hills. Even now, some people ship their dead off to the province, even from places as far afield as Outland and Vytal. The roads of the province are made from flat gravestones that, historically, marked the location where unidentified soldiers were buried. There are hills that from a distance look heavy with vegetation, when they are really barren bar row upon row of headstones.

Silent Hills is a beacon for Grimm, it drags Grimm out of the other provinces within the Vale mountains, where Huntsmen constantly cull them. Even so, Mausoleum has been besieged multiple times by Grimm hordes that prove too much for the Huntsmen. Mausoleum itself is so named, because it holds the crypt where every ruler of Vale, and several from the long-gone nation of Dale that have been unearthed and reinterred, lie in rest. From the first king of Vale, Illnarian the First, to Brandon the Bear-King, Alexios the Reformer, up to Ozymandias Prasinos, the last king of Vale. Even some of your ancient ancestors, Gerzee, Hellion and Crocea Cadience, ancient kings of Dale from before the splitting of the line of Cadience, are buried there. Rumour has it, that even Adael Cadience, the first king of Dale and the first man to unlock a semblance, is buried in the darkest depths of the Mausoleum.”

Jaune cocked his head.

“Sooooo... What's that got to do with an association test?”

Phos scratched his cheek awkwardly.

“Well... Not much. Honestly you could have had your test in Atlas if the branches there weren't so snooty and if there wasn't the risk of your fame getting out. It's more that the fate of the order has been tied to the fate of Vale for centuries, even long after we left the service of the crown, and that the headquarters is really near Mausoleum.”

“You just wanted to lecture didn't you?”

Phos looked away.

“Maybe... But it's still important to understand that there's a high risk of Grimm there and that most Huntsmen who ever associate with Vale will spend at least some time in Silent Hills so the rumour mill is overactive. Also, you've got a lot of your family's personal history woven into the region. Generations of the Arcadia family were buried there, it was only when Argentum Arcadia the Third, Lord of The Palisade, sent his son Aurum to govern Gran Arbour, just before the Great War, that your family, the Arcs, split from the now extinct Arcadias.”

-----

Mausoleum was indeed impressive from the sky. A tiered fortress built against a mountainside, grim and imposing stonework gave the city a dour appearance. Just the impression of heavy grey rock squatting at the end of a valley, like a brooding creature in its hole, would have discouraged Jaune from ever attacking the city. Outside the walls there were innumerable smaller buildings, the crypts of countless noble families and knightly orders. More dead lay in the valley than walked it alive, and a miasma of that knowledge hung over the area.

Up until this point, Jaune’s impression of the city would be shared by any who saw it, but there were things most wouldn't see. If Jaune squinted or unfocused he could see horrors in the city. Many armed giants, confused and contorted of limb, hung off stone edifices. Birds were joined in the sky by small versions of the things at the airship’s wingtip, strange squidlike bodies undulating through the sky with wet bellowing calls. It was... Unsettling to him. Especially as they faded from view and hearing when he focused on them.

He shuddered and clutched the hilt of his blades, an action that didn't go unseen by Phos. The creatures seemed to be interested in people, there had been few in the miles they had covered between the coast and their current position, but now there were many.

-----

There was an unsettling silence as the airships landed, the oppressive quiet seeming to muffle out the sound of the engines. A pallor seemed to lie over the town, sucking out colour. Jaune almost thought it was sucking out happiness, but no, it was all emotion... Maybe the weight of the dead forced apathy for fear of becoming a Grimm beacon. People moved deliberately and cautiously, not stopping to observe or playing in the streets. This was a city of the dead, even the living had something corpselike about them.

The association building was indistinguishable from a church to the Divine Parents, in fact it had once been one before the great twin cathedrals were built at the city's apex. Sweeping buttresses clutched the ground like spider legs, and immense spires seemed to point at the sky accusingly. The inside was no different, despite its change in function, the heavy weight of religious reverence settled on Jaune as he entered. The hush that always pervaded places of worship. Even now, one hundred years since the last service, the rites to the Bright Father and the Dark Mother hung in the air. People spoke with a softness that belied their trade, and even Phos doffed his hat as though urged to by a higher power.

The receptionist wore simple clothes in black and brown, and accepted Phos’ explanation with little conversation. It was minutes before Jaune was filling in a paper test that he probably could have aced in his sleep. It was only the conflict with the huntsman that stood in his way.

The huntress he had to face, in contrast with the town, was bright and emotive. She stood barely taller than him and greeted him with a bright smile and was thin as a rake.

“Hello! I’m Angela Mason! D-rank rogue huntress!”

Phos began to move to the side of the ring.

“Miss Mason? If it's alright to ask, how old are you?”

“Sixteen sir!”

She saluted with her weapon, an oddly curved sword, in her hand.

“Ok, when the proctor’s ready, we can start the match.”

Jaune readied himself, and at the proctor's whistle, sprung into action. Angela was momentarily surprised by Jaune’s speed, but that curved sword seemed to flex in impossible angles to interrupt his blade no matter how he attacked. Her own attacks bit like a snake, he felt stings from small cuts already. Jaune decided to mix it up, he dropped, falling around her to all fours like a spider, his blades skimming across her aura as he fell, the siderite blades sparking off the solidified soul, and seeming almost to hungrily consume it. Before she could turn, he leapt for her back, getting in a good few hits before the woman's blade curled impossibly over her shoulder, stopping before his chest.

“That satisfies me. You pass.”

Jaune put the blades away.

“Your sword... How did it do that?”

“Ah, Silver Fang here interacts with my semblance really well. I can bend metal that I'm touching. Can't change the overall shape at all, length and stuff like that, but I can bend it. Learning to use your semblance is really important in this line of work.

Jaune said farewell to Angela, but not before she forced her number into his scroll (Phos said any huntsman contact is useful), and then received his F-rank license. Having done so they needed to today, Jaune and Phos walked out into the evening to find a hotel. The one they find was small and as lacking in comfort as the rest of Mausoleum, but that was fine, Jaune still slept on the floor.

-----

When Jaune slept that night, he dreamt of worms. Maybe he was affected by knowledge of the dead around him, but he awoke above a sea of writhing red-black creatures, below a sunless black sky, with no end in sight. The creatures could be called worms, or they could be called slugs, but either way they squirmed and tangled together in an undulating bed.
The sea was below him, but he could smell it. Decay and rot, and the muck of countless ages. It was as though these were the creatures that consumed the past as it was lived, eating every age of man and every living thing an infinite number of times in the infinitesimal fractions of seconds that they existed. Perhaps they weren't alive in the truest sense, they had a presence more akin to a clouded sky than a predator, a fundamental, not an inhabitant.

Something stirred in the sea, boneless ripples, spreading, before a hand broke the surface. If it could be called a hand. The immense limb slowly reached out of the worms that cascaded around it, reaching higher than buildings. The worms clung to the skin of the creature, biting and burrowing into its rotten flesh, disappearing into the body leaving visible trails wiggling in the skin. You would expect the creature to be devoured in seconds, but the worms seemed not to influence its size at all. A second arm joined the first, one of the two had a gaping hole in the palm that led to a void that extended forever, the other had a bloodshot eye, the only part not attacked by the worms being the four-lobed iris, the creatures attacking the whites of the eye with equal fervour.

Following the arms came a torso the size of a mountain, its rising created a wave of worms that swept out across the sea in one long ring. The creature had no head, and it was hard to tell the shape of its body, for the worms blurred its outline.

It did not speak, it merely reached for a paralyzed Jaune with the eyeless hand. Jaune couldn't move, though he wanted to, held in place by something he couldn't understand. The infinite maw in the palm drifted closer, Jaune saw stars and planets alike be birthed and die, a cosmos in seconds that seemed endless, it was a universe unlike yet kin, but Jaune knew he would not live if he were to pass that threshold.

As the mouth reached the boy, there was silver and scales. A light bathed the scene with a hissing of snakes, causing the creature to recoil and the sea to roil. In the flailing, a worm fell on jaune's arm, teeth like razors working the imprint of its jaw into his skin. He pulled it off as his consciousness faded.

When his eyes opened, he was back in the hotel, but there was a wet feeling. His arm bled, it bled from a wound in the shape of an eye, two rings and a dot. The bite of the worm.

The bite had followed him from the dream.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Worms

The Worms of Ages Past, The Time-Eaters, The Worm In The Walls. All names for the creatures that lurk at the very border of all perception. In truth, it's likely that the Worm In The Walls is imperfect, a Great One that failed in ascension. It writhes in pain, consuming itself and everything, barely holding form, in agonizing, constant, rebirth.

I hates, it hates everything, pain long driven it mad. It likely has origins in The City of Lee- The City of Leech- T̸̯̓͊͂͝h̸̡̯̼̅̓e̵͖̼͋͝ ̵͍̝̄̈́̎C̷̨͖̟̓ȋ̵̡͈͚͚́ṭ̸̡̼̪̅y̴̘̯̓̚ ̵͓͙̥͛͑ò̷̡̨̻͈̽͐f̶̘̖̽̚ ̵̪͙̊L̷̗̄̋̔͝ḙ̴̢̈ẻ̵̲c̴̻͐͋͝h̷͙̎͝g̶͖͑͂e̸͓̯̅͐a̸̛̬͋r̸̢̡̙̰̂̅s̸̱̑̊͗̾

And LO, the Trees of Bronze grew from the GlAsSbOrN SeAs. The ^Servant of _Ash prayed to the STEEL SUN for delivery of the GREY. CoGwHeElS span and shook as T̸̯̓͊͂͝h̸̡̯̼̅̓e̵͖̼͋͝ ̵͍̝̄̈́̎C̷̨͖̟̓ȋ̵̡͈͚͚́ṭ̸̡̼̪̅y̴̘̯̓̚ ̵͓͙̥͛͑ò̷̡̨̻͈̽͐f̶̘̖̽̚ ̵̪͙̊L̷̗̄̋̔͝ḙ̴̢̈ẻ̵̲c̴̻͐͋͝h̷͙̎͝g̶͖͑͂e̸͓̯̅͐a̸̛̬͋r̸̢̡̙̰̂̅s̸̱̑̊͗̾ rose from the SLAGMIRE. GleaMing mEN marched across the filing DESERTS to the Temple of the Spark. The SERVANT decried the GLEAMING, for the UnWoRkEd may not step foot within the LEECH.

Due to its resemblance to the Oilworms. Either way, it is despised by the other Great Ones, and lashes out in anger at them. So wretched is it, that even its True Nightmare lacks concrete form, for it fears nothing, more than it fears itself.

Chapter Text

Phos knew Jaune was standing on the brink. Heck, he'd probably already leapt bodily off it. He'd have to be missing both eyes not to notice Jaune's ability to see the lesser critters, and after the events of New Eisgarten... Jaune was barrelling headfirst down the rapids. That was the only reason behind the quick move. To be honest he had planned to postpone Jaune’s rank exam until after the situation was dealt with until he saw there was an open slot in Mausoleum. Now though... There was one, solitary goal, get Jaune into full membership or... Well, or their apprenticeship would have to end in a far less pleasant and far more final way than he would like.

As a result, Phos went to stir Jaune before the sun rose high enough for its light to penetrate the valley. Immediately he noticed the wound his charge had gained and grabbed the arm... He was low on time, wordlessly he extracted a vial of white paste and smeared it over the wound. Jaune released a sharp hiss of pain. The paste began to darken around the cuts, the surface writhed. Phos ripped the paste off the arm, the solidified poultice came unwillingly and with pain that almost had Jaune biting his tongue, black-red strands connecting it to Jaune's arm. As soon as it was off Phos applied another coat and, using his semblance, set fire to the removed medicine. Before he was able to burn it however, Jaune got a good look. The threads were tiny, writhing worms, the worms from the dream.

It took six more applications before the paste stopped turning black and the worms stopped coming. Phos poured alcohol over the wound, packed it with a paste of pulped leaves, and bound it with a bandage.

“We’re out of time. Follow me.”

The city was still in the low light, the dusty stone sending echoes around the streets. Phos didn't speak, despite Jaune’s questions, other than to tell him to wait, they couldn't talk here. They walked through the imposing front gate, under the watchful eyes of guardsmen as they passed the giant portcullis. They stepped onto the Great Dead Road, more than two hundred and fifty thousand gravestones forming the main thoroughfare through the province. Jaune's gut roiled at the prospect of treading over so many corpses. It almost looked like they were still in the city with the number of crypts they passed. The air was damp and languid, a thick mist laying on the valley floor. After twenty minutes of walking in silence, Phos diverted them off the road in between sarcophagi and dour mausoleums. Eventually they came to the valley's edge, and a crypt set into a cliff face. It was ancient, large sections crumbling or so weathered that their former carvings were mere bumps. The stone was dark and silky, your fingers would slide on it more than grasp. There was no obvious door, just a solid wall.

‘Interred in Honour, They Fight The Beastly Scourge From Beyond the Veil of Sleep.’

This inscription lay below the eaves of the building, carved deep into the stone as though by claws. Phos removed a heavy iron key from within his coat. Ornate and dark, it entered a hole in the stone with a deep ‘thunk’. When Phos turned it there was a series of loud sounds, sounding as though giant metal bars were turning within the stone, before the stone opened. Within was a long corridor that descended into darkness, hundreds of recesses in the walls held stone coffins.

“This is the ancient crypt of our order, established when we were still beholden to the crown. Many of our members are interred here.”

Phos strode into the tunnel, beckoning Jaune to follow. He lit a torch that he took from the walls just as the doors slammed shut behind them. The tunnel was long, how long Jaune couldn't tell as it all looked the same, it twisted left and right until Jaune couldn't tell which direction they walked in anymore. He was fairly sure that the tunnel had double-backed onto itself several times, but it never collided with itself, despite Jaune being sure that it should’ve. The air was still, there was no life or sound within and the dry and cold seeped into the bones. They walked past coffin upon coffin, most stone, some metal, but none wood. The floor was rough flagstones, and the walls were crudely carved rock. They continued deeper into the mountain until eventually the tunnel ended. Embossed into the final wall was a symbol, the same Jaune had seen on Phos’ pocketwatch, a cross like a plus symbol with pointed ends, zigzag lines running up and down the spokes, and an eye in the middle. This time however, the eye was replaced by a depression.

Phos slowly took out his pocketwatch and placed it in the depression with an unusual degree of reference. The watch opened on its own, and for the first time Jaune saw what lay within its inner surface.

An eye. An eye that seared his own, his brain burned and writhed and recoiled... And then it was over, he no longer stood in the tunnel. The room was large and panelled in rich brown wood, a grand wooden staircase ahead split in two and curved around both walls to a floor above them. There were bookcases on the walls and red rugs on the floor. The room was lit by warm orange torches scattered around the walls. Altogether the room, though grand, seemed rather homely, and it was quite the whiplash from the dank darkness of the crypt.

Phos quickly pulled Jaune through a door to a smaller room with a warm fireplace and two armchairs, before practically throwing Jaune into one and collapsing into the other.

“For the love of Kos...”

Phos put his head in his hands. After a few moments he sighed and looked up.

“What the fuck were you doing that you managed to get that bite?!”

The dreams were still blurry but... But Jaune could remember parts.

“...”

Even remembering parts, Jaune didn't really want to try and explain that he may be mad. Then again, teleportation in an ancient crypt.

“There was a sea of worms and... And a mountain that moved, with arms that reached for me.”

Phos groaned and slumped back in his seat.

“So, The Worms is interested in you... Fuck.”

He turned hard eyes on Jaune.

“I know you've been seeing things boy, it always happens. But to explain what's going on, I need to tell you a story, an old, old story, lost to time. Older than the Grimm, older than the Brother Gods, from a time when the world was still a cold, dark and gentle place. Normally I'd ease you into this gradually over the next four years, but my hand has been forced.

In eons past a city grew, the first city, and it was called Pthumeria, but the people of Pthumeria were not the only beings. They owed their success to creatures beyond themselves, created even further back in the mists of time. Old tales mention whispers of the city of Lardryn, the Tomb of Irith and many others, but they are not important to us right now. These creatures were beyond human, but were curious and sympathetic to the plight of creatures akin to what they had once been. They bestowed boons onto the people of Pthumeria, boons of knowledge and, more importantly, blood. These beings were known as Old Ones, for their defining characteristic was their age.

Much like they have throughout time, the Old Ones desired children, so they granted a boon to one woman a generation, an Old One would grant the woman their blood, in the hopes that she could birth them a child. It worked, a few times, but never fully. Old Ones will always lose their children, whether through death or separation.

The love of the Pthumerians for the Old Ones who had helped them, and thus the women, was extreme, so they began to raise the women to the status of Queen. Eventually, the blood of the Queen was found to have abilities of healing and insight, so the Queen would gift it to her followers, but here lies the downfall of Pthumeria.”

Phos paused briefly to lean back in his chair.

“The men of Pthumeria grew desirous of the blood over multiple generations, until their desire couldn't be controlled. The men of the nation were already somewhere beyond human due to constant consumption, but now their reason was eroding. Blood-drunk they fell on each other, bathing in the blood of their companions for the scant power of the Old Ones contained in other imbibers of the Queen. Eventually their madness grew to the point they fell upon their Queen and broke her open to gorge on the sweet old blood from the source.

The current Queen, Yharnam the Twelfth, was pregnant with the child of an Old One by the name of Oedon, and when her subjects fell upon her, that child was slain. Oedon reacted with anger, cursing Pthumeria, such that those who lost themselves to the lust for blood would lose their humanity and become beasts.

This was the downfall of Pthumeria, the only survivors hiding in the labyrinths below the city. It took centuries for man to return to the land, where they found a single stone, the wrath of Oedon having swept the city away. On that stone was a single word, Yharnam.

This led to the founding of the city of Yharnam and, inevitably, they uncovered the labyrinths of Pthumeria, and with it, the old blood of the Pthumerians. They researched the blood and what they found in the labyrinths, eventually coming to use the blood to heal the sick as the Pthumerians once had, unleashing the beastly scourge once more. In the end, they created hunters to kill the beasts, men taken with the old blood themselves, but keeping sanity through strength of will alone.

The city would have fallen like that before it, but then a man appeared from a far-off land. He dove into the night, and fought his way through the scourge, eventually confronting Mergo, the child of Oedon and Yharnam, dead in childbirth and only existing through strength of will, and he stripped it from the world. This freed Yharnam from its nightmare, but not the scourge. However, this was not the end, the man, the Good Hunter, had been backed by an Old One too, a being who had imprisoned an old Hunter as its surrogate child. The Good Hunter freed this child from the dream that tortured him, and confronted the Old One; Flora the Moon Presence.

The Hunter slew Flora, and himself ascended. He became a Great One too, dedicated to hunting the scourge. He became The Moon Reborn.

It has been many years since then. More Great Ones have ascended in the interim, more scourges have appeared, there was an entire epoch when The Moon Reborn was imprisoned in the moon while two Great Ones rampaged as gods across the land, but through it all, we existed. The following of the Moon Reborn, dedicated to snuffing out the Beastly Scourge. You may not have noticed, but I have never called myself a Huntsman, but always a Hunter, because I am a slayer of beasts before I am a slayer of Grimm.”

Jaune put up a hand.

“Wait! So, putting aside how you know all this ancient history that no one else knows, are you saying that us two are supposed to fend off multiple entities that are, basically, gods?”

Phos leant back.

“Put simply? Yes. The circumstances have changed a lot since then though. You may have noticed I used two terms, 'Old Ones’ and 'Great Ones’. There are also two other terms, 'Deep Ones’ and 'Kin’, though use of these terms is kind of fluid and have changed over time. Put simply, Great Ones are all those beings that have transcended to be present on multiple planes of existence. You can think of our world as a pond, and humans as tadpoles. Great Ones are people outside the pond. If they stick their hand into the water the tadpoles will think the hand is the creature, when really they exist in two worlds, in the pond and outside it. This is why we often meet them in dreams, some dreams occur in such other realities, realities that a Great One either crafted or appropriated.

Old Ones is merely the term for the older and, generally, more powerful Great Ones. Some consider only those who first interacted with Pthumeria as these, but many consider all those before the ---... The ---...”

Phos seemed to be struggling to try and say something, but his voice refused to form the words.

“Ok, you aren't prepared to hear that yet. Before an 'event’ happened, to be Old Ones. Deep Ones are even more vague, they're Great Ones particularly associated with the Deep, which is itself a fairly nebulous concept related to the ocean but different and dark enough to be considered separate. There aren't many Deep Ones. Finally, Kin, these are beings between humans and Great Ones, they have transcended humanity, but are still bound to only one plane at once. When they move between, they move in their entirety. They are like tadpoles that have become frogs. In many ways, Hunters are Kin, though we lack their Paleblood.

In the modern day the Great Ones are not particularly active. There's the occasional cult or Beast that's left the shores of Oscuras, but nothing on the level of Yharnam or the era of the brothers. Because of this... The fact that you seem to have made enemies of at least two Great Ones within the last three years is not good. Put simply, you need the protection of our patron before they get to you, you need the Moon’s Blood.”

“I thought the blood was a bad idea.”

Phos nodded in acquiescence.

“Often yes, the blood is not without risks. Hunters have only three possible ends.”

Phos raised three fingers and slowly brought them down as he explained.

“They can fall in battle, they can feel the madness encroaching and have their apprentice give them their last rights, or, they can delve into the bowels of the Labyrinth. Hundreds of Hunters have decided to journey deeper into this refuge. The further you go, the less it makes sense, rooms change, they lead to other places, you could go through a door, turn around and leave by the door you entered and end up somewhere completely new, it's infinite yet finite and is crawling with long-mad Hunters. Course they never get up here to where we are.

But more pressing than the ultimate fate of Hunters, is the choice you must make. You only have two options, take the blood from me and join our order fully, or die, by the Great Ones' hands or my own. You see too much to risk you falling to madness now. Normally you'd have the opportunity to leave before you saw too much, memories doctored to prevent you falling, but even if I do that, you're still going to have Great Ones interested in you.”

Jaune collapsed back in his chair.

“That's not much of a choice you know.”

“I know. It's not one you should have had to make for several more years.”

“Well, I don't want to die soooo...”

“Be sure of your decision. There is no going back. I told you when you first became my apprentice that at times, you’d hate me and want to kill me, this is one of those times.”

Phos stood and made to leave.

“It'll take some time to prepare the transfusion. Feel free to explore any of the rooms that come off that central hallway, but go no further, or you may be lost.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Moon Reborn

Watcher, Usurper, Lawmaker... The Moon Reborn has many titles, but its name is lost to time. An ancient being from end of the second age of man, more than ten thousand years, and several near-extinction events, ago. We sit now in the sixth age, though most men fail to remember even the fifth.

The Moon Reborn has stood in opposition to other Great Ones since even before its ascension, its success in slaying utterly three Great Ones while still barely kin something never matched since. It has always been a Hunter, and always will be.

The Third Age was an age of peace under the Moon's watch, but the crisis at its climax sealed the Usurper away within the moon for the full Fourth Age. During this time, the Great Ones were rampant, and the era ended with humanity almost eradicated.

Great Ones can be malicious, but are more often sympathetic to humanity, unfortunately their arcane nature leaves enough of a disconnect that they can no longer comprehend humans, and more often bring suffering by accident.

The Hunters under the Lawmaker’s dominion have been present at most major incursions, and have thus far fended off all they were present for successfully. Their skill enhanced by their possession of the blood of the Watcher.

Unfortunately, the Usurper is as disconnected from its people as any Great One. Much like Oedon the Oldest, it has been slowly reducing its influence, and now its Hunters are but pale shades of what they once were.

Chapter Text

Jaune wasn't entirely sure what to make of this. He obviously wanted to live, but memories of dreams slowly growing clearer in this impossible place gave him all the proof his brain needed of the risks of blood. Those monsters may not all have been created by blood, but still, they couldn't be disregarded. Then again, what was it Chail-shesh had said?

“The Blackness to the east appeared and then everything went crazy. Those bitten by the ticks began becoming monsters, people and creatures grabbed by the blackness warped and twisted... I’ve heard ramblings about the Worm in the Walls, but I'm not a theologian.”

Marian too:

“The Chail’lepatan consumed the flesh of Marduk’s children, and the Wechlepat made contact with The Worm in the Walls... For those who worship such beings, they understand them poorly.”

Both made mention of the Worm in the Walls, and what had Phos called the being from last night? The Worms. It may just be a coincidence, but Jaune didn't like those very much. If The Worms and The Worm in the Walls were the same being, it stood to some reason that it was interested in Jaune due to his escapades in Chalchiuit... Either there was some secret it didn't want uncovered, or it was just filled with rage at Marduk and went after them out of association. Either way, it was tied to what happened in that ancient city, and Jaune wanted to know.

That's right... Risk of future madness aside, Jaune still had many questions he wanted answering, and grudges he couldn't let rest. What happened in Chalchiuit? Why did Marduk and Father have a grudge? When and how can he hurt Father for what happened to Whitley? Just how deep did this rabbit hole go?

Jaune couldn't just bail. No. He should have known from his first trip to Chalchiuit that this was forever, though of course, he hadn’t been able to remember it fully until he arrived here. Besides, he couldn't just die, if he was able to help, he should, and he gave Phos his word. After all...

“An Arc never goes back on his word.”

-----

Phos was numb as he puttered around the medical room. A far cry from the sterile whiteness of Rozenkrantz Hospital, these implements were tarnished brass and dirty glass, diseases not a problem when paired with the purifying abilities of the blood. This was not the plan, and his gut recoiled at forcing a child to undergo this procedure... It was far from a simple transfusion, you were opened up to the full raw fury of a Great One, burning like starlight. Phos still remembered the terror and pain of his transformation, the mental anguish as his walls were beaten to splinters and the physical anguish as his body was remade.

The glass container strung above the medical trolley swung like the rope of a gallows. Jaune as he was would die at its hands, and the thing that would rise would be something else. Maybe a Hunter, or maybe a beast, the procedure was far from a hundred percent successful.

Phos attached the tube to the container, he did not know what it was made of, nor did he want to. It wasn't rubber, and the organic tinge raised disturbing implications. With a groan he stabbed the needle into the artery in his forearm. The blood began to pump up the tube into the container, pulsing with the beat of his heart. The gouts of red that entered the jar glowed with a pale sheen, invisible to those without the knowledge to see. The tell-tale signs of the Moon’s Blood.

It took a good fifteen minutes to fill the container, and Jaune would need at least four more... There was a reason this procedure took so long to prepare, without proper replenishment Phos would be drained dry.

-----

The Labyrinth had bookshelves placed seemingly wherever there was space. They huddled beneath staircases, hung from ceilings, lurked behind wall panels and in cupboards. They formed ladders and stairs, twined writhingly up walls and divided rooms into narrow corridors. The smell of must from ancient paper hung in the air. Most of the books and scrolls and ancient tablets were handwritten, graceful cursive to frenzied chicken scratch, block letters to spiralling ramblings. They were journals, some hundreds, even thousands, of years old. In languages new, dead, and deliberately buried. Books older than recorded history, knowledge long lost to time, much of it forbidden for good reasons. Historians would eat their left leg to view even one volume from most of the library.

Jaune felt wrong even touching these books.
They were like museum exhibits, frozen in stasis without true decay, but ancient and yellowing.

“A King Moste Foul, The Lembavar, Recordings of Hymsarius Caul, Account of the Fall of Herperine Volume six, Beastes Unknown, Of Shadow and Sutures, Kingdom of the Fallen, The Killer of the Dead, Exsanguinate...”

There was no order to the maddening arrangement. Jaune plucked one from the shelves at random.

“Eyes: An Account of Symbology in the Empire of Animus.”

The words within were legible, though scratchy, and written in an old script that Jaune could barely make out. Not surprising given it was written in ancient Araneic, which, though related, had many differences from the modern Mistrali language that Jaune was only somewhat fluent in.

“Eyes have been _____ to humans for ages, their circular _____ gazing out from temples old and new. In the Empire of Animus, eyes have long represented inner peace and understanding. This runs _______ with the order's long held position on eyes...”

A bit dry for his taste. Besides, he probably shouldn't be reading any of these out loud.

“Ravenscar Hollow, Doctors of Farmaven... The Bloodarts of the Cibbelline... Kingdom Come. Dead of the Akaimizu, Oscuras Unobscured, the Files of Gerian Shalidar... Lectures by Professor Angell of the Gipfel School... Cainhurst Legacy.”

Jaune was treading through the dust of ages, this was the legacy he would have to shoulder, all these achievements and breakthroughs resting like great stones upon his shoulders.

There were critters in the Labyrinth too, only one kind however. The small pale creatures with deformed faces, arms reaching out as if in supplication. They crooned quietly in his direction from wood where they sprouted like malformed eldritch fungus. They seemed kindly in a way, reaching for his coat with a gentle reverence. He'd be lying to say they didn't draw a smile from him.

-----

Jaune went to sleep that night in an armchair, thoughts locked on Chalchiuit, and he was unsurprised when he awoke.

He lay on the altar he had stumbled to after his altercation with the giant tick. The room was lit with warm candlelight, the stone walls glowing with warmth. The room was heady with the smell of cinnamon, emanating from large golden urns that hung from the ceiling.

“Ah, a Hunter is it? I've been expecting your kind.”

Jaune's eyes focused to the being in the corner. It wore the robe he associated with Marduk, the green, course material hung loose from a vaguely female frame. Her face was pale, her hair long and red, and out the hem of her robe came, not legs, but the large red tail of a snake.

Jaune was quick to his feet, reaching for his weapons, but the woman raised her hands between them.

“Wait! Hunter! I mean you no harm!”

Jaune stopped but didn't relax.

“Who are you? Why should I trust you?”

The woman lowered her arms, they were thin and emaciated, trembling even from the exertion of raising them.

“My name is Almadonna, Almadonna daughter of Sharia. I'm not from this land. I was born far across the mountains in a village on the coast, but by Otembaer raiding party and sale across the waves I ended up a tribute in this godforsaken pyramid. I was to be eaten by Grimm in the bowels of the temple, were it not for discovering this hideaway. As you can see...I have since wasted away, and even this... Debatable gift has done little to help me escape.”

She gestured at her tail as she spoke.

“Why would you expect a Hunter?”

She cocked her head as though confused.

“You slay monsters do you not? Chalchiuit is these days awash with them. Myself and the vermin from the way you passed by not least of them. Yes, this forsaken land needs Hunters, its rotten flame needs extinguishing so light can burn anew.”

Jaune was not truly relaxed, but he eased slightly.

“Where am I?”

“The bowels of Kokashayan Lewain, the pyramid-temple of Those Who Will Take Blood. Where the Lepatan made praise to the Kokashayan, those horrific ticks, the harbinger of one of their gods. Frightful creatures even before the fall turned them into those monstrosities.”

Jaune could see three paths out of here, one led where he had come from, the second was an ornate door at the far side, and the third was a rough opening in the wall.

“Where do those lead?”

“The doors lead to somewhere in the Lepatodan Woshchey, the court to the east that houses the Lepatan – the priests. It's locked tight, they sealed it when the monsters first appeared. The hole leads to Tarkon Lewain, the pyramid-temple of the Night-Bones, ancient warriors and defenders of the faith. I tried to flee that way once, but there were too many obstacles in the path, living and inanimate.”

Jaune moved to look down the tunnel, it quickly faded into darkness.

“Where can I find out about what happened here?”

Almadonna looked surprised.

“You want to learn? Well, I have no answers. Only the highest ranks of the Lepatan, maybe only the Wechlepat himself, would know everything. I doubt the nobility even payed attention, bound in pleasure as they are, but the Oz, the emperor, may know. The Oz never leaves his home, Chuitwechtaih Lewain, the giant pyramid-temple off in the jungle.

Jaune nodded, and entered the tunnel, taking a torch from the walls of the room to light his way. The tunnel was dark and uneven, but dry, and he made good progress.

It wasn't until the tunnel emerged into more deliberate building that he encountered resistance. A man garbed in a black robe and strings of bone. A spine up his back and ribs round his chest, a skull atop his face. Jaune was sure these bones were once mere garb, but the man's flesh had bubbled and oozed such that they clung to his skin like chitin on a beetle. The screech he provided gave Jaune ample opportunity to observe the strange mouth layered teeth, lips, teeth. Night-bones indeed.

The man was armed with steel and bone, knives of stygian black in the torchlight. Were it not for muscle memory Jaune would have fallen, as is the man was undoubtedly the most skilled fighter he had fought since Winter and, more disturbingly, a strike to the bicep revealed a problem. Aura. Mangled and deformed the man may be, but a soul is a soul. No matter how twisted.

Jaune weaved around strikes and lay slashes to the gut. The siderite drank deep of the soul, sparking and rippling until the barrier gave way. Jaune meet thrust with block and deflected strike to stone, and eventually his foe took the blades to the abdomen, the unearthly sharpness leading Jaune to fillet the man from navel to throat, even the bones providing little protection.

Jaune looked around in the peace from the fight, only to discover six more Tarkon had arrived. Six more opponents on level with his last fight. But they did not swarm him. Instead, five stepped back, leaving one to move forward. A code of honour. A disturbing thing to see among the monstrous. A soul and the powers of reason, these were the most human foes Jaune had met in Chalchiuit. He felt the old feelings of revulsion and dread rise from the dark well in his mind where he had flung his memories of Aspenbairn on the Wend, but he crushed them mercilessly. Fathoms’ cult had been more human, and he had cut them down with little thought – there he fought to save others, here he fought for his own survival.

The Night-bones fought hard, and Jaune didn't leave the fight without injuries. His arm bled profusely, and it hurt even to stand. There was a knife in his shoulder he dared not remove for fear of blood loss. One of the Tarkon were still alive, barely. Rattling breath creaking through the boney maw.

“What happened to the city? Where did the monsters come from?”

Jaune’s answer was scarce more than a creaking groan at first, but some weak words leaked through.

“The feast... We ate our own salvation, and became our own retribution...”

The man quickly passed.

There were more Tarkon in the building. Jaune avoided most as best he could, but by the time he reached the summit of the pyramid-temple he was apparently climbing up, his left leg was hanging and he couldn't see out his left eye. Whether it was gone or just flooded with blood he couldn't tell, but it was non-functional.

This pyramid opened into an arena at the top, Jaune little more than a gladiator within. Judging by the man who presided over the arena, this was his last obstacle. The man was immense and armoured like those below. The ribs on his body were warped and spiked, and the skull in his head had a third eye in the forehead. Purple and wild, darting in the unusual socket.

He picked up a large weapon, a thin but heavy club of bone, black glass embedded in the sides.

Jaune barely stood a chance. The weapon batted aside the blades held by his weakened arms as though they were twigs in a gale. He dodged as best he could for a minute or two as the man seemed to toy with him, before he felt his ribs laid open. The man almost bisected him as he fell to the ground.

The heat of Chalchiuit grew cold, and he felt the draw of sleep come for him, but he was held back for a brief moment, by the appearance of Marduk, who seemed to gaze into the setting sun.

“Chalchiuit is just the beginning boy. Or perhaps more accurately, the middle. These events are too large to comprehend in one night.”

The being, Jaune supposed he should call Marduk a Great One now, seemed to divert its attention from the boy on the ground. The words coming slow and considered, almost pained, as though digging harsh fingers into old wounds.

“The flowers will bloom again, eventually. Like ants we dug deep, like ants we built high, and, at the moment of our crowning glory, like ants we were crushed, by the sea and the sky... The cycle must be broken, so that we may ascend...”

-----

Jaune woke to the armchair, and Phos in the doorway.

“I've made my choice”

Phos sighed.

“I know.”

The room he was led to was dark and foreboding. Needles and knives and forceps of all size hung amid old tubing and vials on unknowable things.

“On the table.”

Phos gestured to an ancient gurney, where Jaune lay himself down.

The thick leather straps were uncomfortably tight, restraining Jaune from moving even a muscle. His limbs, head and torso strapped as though a patient in an ancient asylum.

“The blood will bring confusion and pain at first. You will be remade, body and mind, and subject to the Moon Reborn’s full gaze. Some are barely affected, some lose themselves and become ravening beasts, but most have some journey of their own to overcome in the depths of consciousness.”

Phos slumped where he stood at the side.

“Tell me you want this, please.”

His voice was weak and frail, pleading as though praying for personal forgiveness.

Jaune nodded.

“I... I need to hear you say it.”

Jaune looked at Phos with what bravery he could muster, not a lot given the circumstances.

“I want this.”

The twin needle pricks were a brief flash of pain, before cold, as his blood pumped out into one container, and Phos’ blood pumped in.

The cold didn't last long before the burning began.
And Jaune passed once again beyond the veil of sleep.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Akopatlakahn Priesthood

Given the relatively lost nature of the Teywahkul language, a grasp on the mundanities of their religion can be hard to develop. The religion was shepherded by the Lepatan, the praise-men, a single individual of whom was called a Lepat. These true priests had a large number of acolytes known as the Chail-Lepatan, the small or lesser praise men. These two groups operated out of many Lewainan, Praise-pyramids, or pyramid-temples. -an defining plurality.

These Lewainan were dedicated to different things. Individual Lewain could be used for the worship of a single entity (for there were no true deities in the Akopatlakahn faith), a herald animal, or a more general grouping of entities.

At the head of the religion stood the Wechlepat, the greater praise man. He, and the higher ranking Lepatan, resided in, and delegated from, the Lepatodan Woshchey. The Glory-place of the praise-men.

The religion was, by the fall of both the Ateraid Empire and the Empire of Sunne, far more influential than the monarchy. In the empire of Sunne, the emperor and the Wechlepat lived in Chalchiuit, a city far from the capital, leaving the church to run the main city. The emperor even lived in Chuitwechtaih Lewain, a pyramid-temple of the faith, guarded by the Tarkon, the Night-Bones, a religious warrior order.

Chapter Text

Jaune woke to the sound of waves. An ocean roiling gently. He felt his body rock, and the mist coil in dampness upon his skin. He pushed himself gradually to sit up on the damp deck he found himself. His boat was small, wood worn and damp with rot and seawater. Single mast rising to the dark grey sky, moon and stars obscured by thick clouds. A lamp on the prow cast light on the craft, four metres long at most. The sea was ink, drowning the light in sable velvet.

His tattered sail held little wind, but enough indeed to push the vessel at a crawl. There were shapes in the darkness, the tall pillars of ancient masts looming from vessels lost beneath the waves.

He didn't know how long it took, but eventually a greater vessel drifted into view, a hulk of rotten wood that seemed swollen to the size of a city. It extended in either direction, leaving naught but a wall of slimy boards. It was still and immobile, unable to move. Stuck far below on the corpses of other vessels. Imprisoned by its own dead.

Jaune's boat seemed to sit unnaturally still beside the hulk, not moving with the waves. A row of holes provided a crude ladder to the deck. Ancient fear discouraged Jaune from entering the water, so he had only one way to go. He used an old fraying rope to lash his boat to a prominent nail on the larger vessel, attached his lantern to his belt, and set off up the side of the ship.

Barnacles and weak handholds made the climb treacherous; the ocean below was far enough that a fall would be unsurviveable. Time seemed to melt in this place. When he finally breached the surface, he was surprised to find, not an open wooden deck, but a shanty town of streets and listing buildings. The boat was immense, seeming almost the scale of Atlas.

There was a heady smell. Salt and fish and thick fleshy oil. With no way to go, he delved into the shanty.
It was less populated than he expected. Given the size there should have been people every ten yards, but instead it was several minutes before he found his first person. Their skin was a pallid white and coated half in barnacles, their arms hanging to their knees. They hunched and muttered to themselves, neck twitching.

Once they saw Jaune there was little hope of communication. It let out a garbled screech which preceded a running charge. Needless to say, an unarmed, unthinking brute barely stronger than your normal man lasted little more than a few seconds below Jaune’s knife, but it set Jaune up for what he could expect while aboard this vessel. Hostility.

-----

Jaune didn't know how long it had been. The slum seemed to go on forever, and in this place of constant night, there was no way to count the hours. There had been fight after fight and corpse after corpse, but no sound bar the cry of battle, the roll of the sea and the low keening of whalesong. Not even birds flew near. But now, finally, he had somewhere to go. He had reached a door, and a staircase into the vessel. The Herold des Morgens, as a brass plaque nearby said.

There were cabins below, no less tangled and confusing than above deck. The stench of oil was stronger here, for good reason. Rooms like abattoirs held flesh on hooks, thick oily blubber slung in fly-ridden piles revealing the nature of the whale meat.

“Will the voyage ever end?”

A voice, the first voice for... He didn't know how long. A voice strained with pain and sorrow. A voice from a man warped and twisted, dark coral on his shoulder and crab legs growing from his arm. His eyes were black as tar, staring from lidless eyes as he slumped by his cabin.

“Ah, the sea... The tide is angry, moon’s hatred upon us all for our weakness. Our reliance on succour of the flesh...”

The creature that had once been a man seemed to understand Jaune’s presence.

“Ah, a creature. Come then, weak minded fool. I am too weak to deny another of you. Feeble addlepate.”

It laughed.

“We have no way out. The light is extinguished, the oil is burning and the songs are playing. We flayed and we flensed and we ate and we burned. We inhaled and we gazed deep. We imbibed of the truth without knowing what it would do, what it was, what it required... Oh Brothers, we are beyond all help.”

Jaune stepped forward bearing the knife. Aware or not, sentient or not, this was no life anymore.

“Oh creature, if you have a shred of awareness. Delve deep below. The captain has a hold on the bones of the ship, she's running, running from the moon in the only way she can. Clinging to the shadow. Free us... Take her the light. If we can even be free at all. What is freedom? If it is this, I want no part of it. Let me be deaf, dumb, blind and bound, if only to not know this.”

Jaune stopped before the once-man.

“What happened?”

The creature tensed before relaxing, even that action feeble as though unable to find the strength.

“Ah, you have some sense to you. We ran aground, humbled by nature's wrath, upon the ruin of our achievements. We conquered, we ruled, we built wonders to our glory, but here our brightest and best lie dashed. Marooned atop the panopticon, whispers seeping through the cracks. We were the heralds of the morning, but now we see only night.”

The voice only grew feebler, a whistled groan more than diction.

“There is no salvation for the likes of us.”

Jaune checked, there was no breath. He continued into the ship. This was not like Chalchiuit, where he was living through an event from history, for all he knew this had never occurred in 'reality’, but then again, what made the events here any less real than those in his normal world?

-----

The wooden walls remained damp and barnacled, mouldy and decrepit. There were galleys, storerooms, bunkhouses and kitchens. Strange men with fishy protuberances and armour of shell accosted him as he went, none with intelligence like the man he had passed. There were meat hooks and knives, claws and teeth arrayed against him, but he suffered no significant loss. These were not beings strong enough to overwhelm him or intelligent enough to outsmart him.

The deeper he went, the more the sounds reverberated. The whalesong rang through the boat like a mighty drum. He once more lost track of time, sleeping in decrepit cabins and drawing sustenance from... Somewhere. He would not eat the old whaleflesh, nor the corpses of the creatures he killed. Despite this, he did not grow cripplingly hungry.

There was a constant rumble of seawater. The lowest levels of the ship were damper still, the creatures less human. Quadrupedal and many-jointed. Head more a mass of pulsating eyes than a face... Their maws were rough and filled with teeth of broken bone like glass. Befinned and bedecked in prismatic scales and writhing tendrils of reddened flesh.

These creatures were more vicious, as the bite on his arm could attest. Jaws like meat grinders had clamped his forearm to the bone, and yet the pain was already dimming. In a testament to the hours spent aboard this horrific vessel, older wounds were long sealed over. He would sleep and awake healed but half stuck to the boards he lay on, as though by the passing of time his clothes had begun to rot alongside the wood. A true fear began to grow that he would fall asleep and never wake, part of the ship forevermore.

A beast was at his throat, claws rending like knives, but his blade continued to sing. Slicing through the abominable flesh that hung between vertebrate and invertebrate, releasing sweet oil onto the floor. It fell, like so many others. His clothes were tattered and worn, stinking of blood and oil and viscera. Mold grew in the seams. The leather was swollen and rotting, colours faded day by day, or awareness by awareness as would be more accurate, given there was no day down here. Time was his enemy more than his opponents were.

In the bowels of the vessel, he entered a room on the scale of a cathedral, he stood on the keel, the spine of the ship, in a chamber with no true floor as the walls swung in to meet at the bottom of the craft. Beams hung like rafters in the gloom.

There was life upon the beams, the ribcage of the ship was plastered in flesh of red and sickly yellow. Tendrils of rotting meat writhed around him, and from the gloom came a creature as wrecked and wretched as the ship it once commanded. The captain was bound to its vessel, she was long fallen. The head that emerged had a mouth ear to ear, it had clawed out its eyes with what may have been its arms, strips of flesh with teeth like hooks. The mass of meat that was its body had grown and bloated into the skeleton of the boat, swollen like a drowned pig to fit the space. The head was larger than Jaune, but did not roar, rather whimpering and lashing out in fear.

A tendril struck for his legs, but he leapt it. There was no point attacking the stands that spiderwebbed along and between the beams, only damage to the main mass would do any significant harm, and that was defended by writhing toothed limbs. Jaune severed three tentacles and ran in. The beast swung one of its arms at him, before following with a snapping bite. The arm clipped him slightly, wet warmth oozing from his side and causing him to stumble to his right. The bite was hard to dodge, so instead Jaune leapt. The flesh was soft and weeping, writhing around his hand as though trying to draw him in. He had grasped the head by the forehead, hanging over a ruined socket.

The creature’s limbs went mad, smashing at the boat and itself to try and dislodge their attacker. With no other options Jaune lunged for the only shelter he had, the ruined and empty eye socket. Jaune packed himself into the oozing meat, blades clawing at the back wall even as his knees were forced almost to his face. Wicked hooked barbs clawed mere inches from his face, as Jaune’s cruel sting burrowed into the warped skull. Jaune cracked the bone to reveal the brain, only to be met by a deluge of disconnected eyes, the tide of organs from within the cranium washing Jaune out of his perch, and forming a wet squishy layer on the floor.

The beast recoiled with anguish, and flailed its tentacles wildly. Jaune could barely evade the captain's attacks, and was eventually swept to the side and into the wall, left arm cracking on impact. As the attacks subsided Jaune checked his injuries. He could move the arm, but only with considerable pain, and smaller tentacles had raked their teeth across his right side and part of his face. The regions burned, and he could tell that cloth and leather and skin had been ripped away like old wallpaper.

The creature gurgled and whimpered through a throat like wet sandpaper. Even now, flailing in pain and spewing eyes from its head, it did not roar. As though some injury kept it from vocalising as a creature its size should. Jaune could spare little time to marvel on the anatomy of the being at the heart of the ship, not when it was doing its blind utmost to tear him to shreds. Then again, even if he'd had the time, he'd probably have thought more on the copious number of eyes within its skull rather than the wreck of its vocal cords. It or she? It once was a she, but all that once made it so, body and mind, were long gone. Despite this, there was a disturbing humanity to it's ruined face.

It was difficult to see a path through the horrid tentacles, but Jaune did see one way through. Dashing through the tiny gap, trying to avoid sliding on the layer of slippery spheres, he found himself below the neck, at a wall of flesh. The grotesque body slumped on and around the keel. Closer inspection revealed the wall as an immense and slumping torso, as though the captain were laid along the boat, swollen to such a size that it filled the lowest level of the ship. Tendrils and webs of thin meat strung up to the ceiling as though by drapes. It was almost as though the ship, massive in size, had been drastically swollen by the growth of its Captain. It seems that the things Jaune had once thought arms, were merely larger tendrils, the true arms trapped against the side of the boat by its growth.

One additional advantage to the Blades of Mercy, is precisely that, their plurality. The fact that they are 'blades’, that there are two of them. This, indeed, makes them extremely versatile and multi-purpose, not least as climbing instruments. Jaune leapt for the wall of flesh, and dug his knives in to begin his climb, arm screaming in pain. Of course, the captain wasn’t much amenable to someone clawing their way up its body. The lashing flesh-whips tried their best to get at him, rending at the monster’s own flesh around him. Luckily, it seemed the largest couldn't reach him here, but he felt his back laid open by several smaller tentacles as he climbed, stab over fist, up the creature.

The attacks only abated as he reached the neck. Whether it be because they couldn't reach him, or hesitated to risk any more damage, the tentacles hung back. This left Jaune ample opportunity to savage the creature’s windpipe as best he could. A beast it may be, but it likely still needed to breathe.

As it turned out, Jaune was heavily mistaken. He may have levied more slices into the cartilaginous substance of the monster’s massive trachea than are usually inflicted on a Sunday roast, but it had no real effect on the creature other than to bring it rage.
Jaune was grabbed by a tendril and bodily thrown along the room. He felt the skin of his abdomen tear under the tentacle’s teeth, and he let out a breathless gasp as his back impacted the rotting wood. He slumped to the ground in agony.

His mind was slipping. Pain and tiredness wearing at his consciousness. He could have fallen into sweet oblivion, but instead his thoughts lingered on that man from earlier.

“Oh creature, if you have a shred of awareness. Delve deep below. The captain has a hold on the bones of the ship, she’s running, running from the moon in the only way she can. Clinging to the shadow. Free us... Take her the light. If we can even be free at all. What is freedom? If it is this, I want no part of it. Let me be deaf, dumb, blind and bound, if only to not know this.”

Take her the light. Take her the moonlight. How? How can the moon shine upon this wretched being, incensed and bound to the depths of her vessel, far below layers of decks and the surface of the sea?

If he couldn't take her the light, take the light her. Rising himself to his feet and staggering, he ascended back up the ladder that had brought him here, banging his knives together.

On the way out, the way seemed much more direct than the way in. Long corridors made themselves known where before there had been a tangled Labyrinth of cabins. With a roar of anger, the captain thrashed to reach the being that had so injured it. Jaune's path was like a marathon as he stumbled and slid, barely cognisant of where he was going. He had to run through the ship before the captain – with a great snapping of timbers – reached its destination.

The beast strained and pulled, flesh tearing from wood where it had long held tight, back arching like a hissing cat, causing the floor of the upper levels to tear and split. Horrific smells from ruptured meat and torn wood filled the air as the creature rose once more. How long it took Jaune couldn't say, but eventually he burst back out into the slum, and soon after the deck began to bow.

Horrific creaks and groans burst from tortured wood, denizens of the slum crying and running around in fear, until there was a moment of stillness where even the wind and tide seemed to hold their breath, before the deck burst like a horrific man-made egg, to birth a horror. The torso was skinless and streaming blood and oil from where it had been ripped from the wood, immense arms reached for the sky as a head, remarkably small on the gargantuan body, screeched a breathless, voiceless call to the sky. However, even as horrific and fearsome as the beast seemed, all feelings quickly turned to pity.

The creature recoiled from the moonlight that shone through the now cloudless sky. The cries were no longer of triumph and anger, but fear and panic. It tried to descend back into the ship, but the rotten vessel, already listing, could no longer contain the monster. Its two remaining masts twisted and snapped as the creature huddled, flesh seeming almost to bubble.

The light grew brighter, with the creature seeming to emit moonshine too. Eventually it grew blinding, and with a last pulsing scream the beast erupted into a spray of light that threw Jaune from his feet.

-----

When he returned to sentience Jaune was in a white void. It was totally white, no air, no floor, no up or down without reference to Jaune himself. It was calm, almost... Peaceful, after the chaos of the Herold des Morgans. Yet again, the complete absence of anything over a long period of time was not conducive to a healthy mind.

Luckily, Jaune was not kept to this silence for long. A quiet hooting began in the background, growing in intensity, before a gust of wind billowed behind him. When Jaune turned her saw an owl, or at least, it was closest in appearance to an owl. Basic body plan screamed owl, but Jaune doubted even the Glaux, an owl shaped Grimm, ever reached this scale. It truly towered over him, much as the captain had done before. It had four wings that matched the silvery plumage of the body that made it almost distort in the white void.

While normal owls had two legs, this had somewhere closer to eight. They were long and tipped with customary taloned feet. Some hung unoccupied, but four clutched an ornate silver disc. In truth, it was merely silver embellished. Its core was a slice from a tree trunk of impossible size, rings visible through the adornment. A silver rim surrounded the edge, crafted with spikes and eyes. The face held many, many silver discs, each engraved with a mark, scratched into the metal as though by the bird. At the very centre, lay a ring, the ring seemed to hover before the board slightly and emitted a faint hum. The most disconcerting part of the creature however, were its eyes. Where a normal owl would have two, this one had five, arranged in a semicircle across a disc shaped forehead. The two normal eyes were a piercing amber, glaring at Jaune, the next two were an ethereal purple, pupil white and staring, conventionally blind. The final eye, in the middle of the forehead on its side was a blank white without pupil and seemed to gaze through Jaune, seeing into his heart.

After a few moments the ring began to move, it roamed across the disc, seemingly at random. Settling briefly over the smaller discs before moving on. Eventually, it settled over one disc. The mark upon it was a downward line and a diamond without the lower corner, appearing like a headless man hung from the feet.

Jaune felt himself get lifted from the nothing he stood upon, before the owl’s silver eye flared. Jaune burned, his brain boiling within his skull. It drew a wordless cry from his lips, before the feeling abated. He felt a hole within his mind, an absence where there was nothing before. It seemed though, that the owl was not done. The purple eyes settled on him with a piercing gaze that pinned him still like a butterfly on a specimen board. He burned as the eyesight seemed to scorch the symbol into that space in his brain. His mind overwhelmed. Then, the owl let go.

He fell, impacting something in the white that felt like entering deep water, before his consciousness faded into blackness.

When he awoke, he was again in his little boat. Both he and his clothes were healed, but he was once again alone in the ocean bar the masts of dead ships. Again, a fel wind was blowing, carrying him to the unknown.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Lost Fleet

Over a thousand years ago, the island of Vytal waged an independence war against the Empire of Fluchtling. The circumstances of the war were complex and long-brewing, but inconsequential to this entry. In the course of the war, Fluchtling created the largest fleet assembled to that point, or that would be assembled until the colonization wars. Unfortunately for Fluchtling, the fleet was destroyed by an immense storm that sunk nine in every ten ships. The remaining vessels were flung north by the wind and eventually landed on Solitas, resulting in the eventual formation of Mantle.

Most consider the storm to have been mere happenstance, but those who know anything of Great Ones and the nature of the rulers of Vytal, the Silver Kings, know that there was likely more going on. It is highly likely that the rulers of Vytal petitioned The Moon Reborn for aid, and given the Moon’s control of the sea via the tide, it stands to reason it brought the storm. It is unknown whether the Moon did anything else to the sailors. Given the Moon Reborn’s general attitude it is unlikely, but there is a definite possibility some still hide from their death in dreams, even as mere shadows. Another possibility is that the reflection of this event is imprinted upon the Moon’s psyche somewhere, and even though the real sailors merely died, their memory lives on in some twisted realm.

Chapter Text

For a moment Jaune feared he was once more on course for the Herold des Morgans, destined to repeat his earlier actions, but no... He could tell that was not the case. The air sat different, there were... Small, almost imperceptible, changes to the sea and the sky that discouraged him of that notion.

While drifting in his boat, Jaune probed the change to his mind with mental fingers. The area that the owl had carved out and scratched into sat just out of the way in his psyche. Reachable, but unintrusive. The symbol seemed to glow with a silvery light to his mental eye. It sent visions through him, visions of beasts being slaughtered, men tracking through city streets, wolves howling at the sky, at the moon. He felt invigorated by it, energy to track, energy to kill, energy to hunt, like a feverish wish... He didn't know at this point whether it was good, or bad, for his future survival, but this was supposed to be a realm ruled by the Moon Reborn. He had to hope that it was being helpful and, perhaps more pressingly, that it’s help would not hurt him. After all, Great Ones struggled to truly understand humanity, and often harmed them in their misguided attempts to give aid.

The mist around the boat coiled like something alive, inquisitively stroking the planks. Jaune was unsure exactly how long the voyage took, but the wind was barely enough to move the boat, the water still and glassy. Any larger boat would not be able to catch enough wind to move and would remain permanently marooned on the silent sea. Eventually however, a light seemed to loom through the cloud before him. Harsh and golden it wasn't moonlight, but rather the bright flicker of flame.

Jaune moved to stand, only to find he had evidently been sat for too long, his coat sticking to the plank he'd lain upon to a degree that it required quite a yank to separate.

The ship that came into view floated freely but barely in the silent Ocean. It was smaller than the Herold des Morgans, but still larger than most any ship Jaune had seen. The light came from above deck where, even close to the side of the ship where most vessels would have their topsides concealed by the sheer planks, he could see a large tower constructed around a mast. Pointing at the sky in defiance and its tip glowing with a golden radiance.

This time when Jaune came to the side of a ship it was in much better condition, the wood was not rotten, and instead of crude holes in the side there was a rope ladder Jaune could use. Why there was a rope ladder down the side of the ship Jaune didn't want to question. This was a dream after all, and it could be yanked away from him at any moment. He tied his boat to the ladder and began his climb.

The deck he emerged into was much better kept than the previous. There was no shanty town, but rows of equipment created much the same effect. Then over it all presided the tower. It was constructed of wood, likely salvaged from the surrounding ship corpses, and was obviously trying to look impressive and grand, despite being made from bolted together scraps. The architecture mimicked Gothic features in a poor imitation. The light from above bathed the deck. If Jaune was a betting man-child, he'd say that what he was looking for was probably atop that tower.

As he prowled through the fishing tackle, ropes and salvaging equipment he came upon the first sign of life. Unlike the previous ship, this one had much more connection with humanity. It was a woman, right arm slightly longer than her left and coral on her shoulder true, but her body was still human. Her hair was a wispy, bedraggled ruin however, and she seemed to have clawed out her eyes. In that distended hand she dragged a small anchor.

Jaune tried his best to sneak around her, as she couldn't see, but it was not to be. The deck creaked as he moved, and she swung the anchor towards him. As she did so she opened her mouth and spoke.

“Away! Away! Keep the light away!”

Jaune was momentarily stunned, speech?

Either way he had little option. The blades drawn, he darted past the flailing anchor and buried his knives in her chest. If all the other residents of this boat were similarly blind, then this creature’s shout would have put them on guard.

The paths through the various sailing equipment and building supplies, evidently there from construction of the tower, were much easier to navigate than the shanty town. All the residents, it seemed, had blinded themselves. Why, Jaune didn't know. But even these people, who would have been dangerous opponents with their vestiges of intelligence and crude but vicious weapons, were drastically hampered by their lack of vision. Compared to the Herold des Morgans, it took Jaune a very short time to reach his goal, the tower, but his progress was stopped in its tracks. The tower was locked and barred securely. A rather obvious keyhole indicating what needed to be done.

Jaune moved astern, the prominent quarterdeck promising a door into the ship, where, on ships like these, the captain’s cabin was most often placed. As he feared however, that was barred too. Several hours more of slogging through the deck, he came to the forecastle at the bow of the ship, where he finally reached a door that was not barred. Twice now, at the fore and aft of the boat, he had seen its name on a brass plaque like that of the previous ship. This was the Sonnenhoch.

The inside of the forecastle was dark, ignited only by the lamp on his waist. The change from the bright light of the tower was intense. Once more he found himself in a maze of cabins and corridors until he descended down into the main hold. There were people all through this boat. All had clawed out their eyes. There were some with hammers, some with anchors, flensing knives, oars, some with just bare fists, but their blindness remained a disadvantage. Where on the previous ship, Jaune’s long hunt for the captain had caused his clothes to fade over time, here the constant battle, almost slaughter, of overly aggressive blind just-beasts had stained them a deep red. Though Jaune strained to ignore the sensation, he couldn't deny he felt a sick sense of pleasure from his easily he cleaved through men much larger than he. He may have been big for an eleven-year-old, but he was still only eleven.

It was a slog to get through the hold. It was much less confusing than the Herold des Morgans had been, but he was still navigating around stacks of barrels and empty sacks, plus those ever-present stinking piles of whale flesh, in what basically amounted to a maze. Filled with hostiles. He was frankly relieved when he came to the entry to the inside of the quarter deck. With vindictive pleasure he unbarred and kicked open the door that had held him back, before turning to enter the captain's cabin.

The cabin was remarkably orderly and luxurious when compared to the rest of the ship. Smooth wood in flowing shapes made a bed and a desk, there were books on the wall. Jaune moved over to the desk and began to rummage through the drawers. In the lowest right drawer, he found a leather-bound book and a hefty iron key. Sitting in the heavy desk chair, Jaune decided to look through the book, the captain's log.

“Log of Lord Mittags Rasierer. Captain of the Sonnenhoch.”

Jaune was momentarily surprised that he could read the journal, but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Day 10 of Voyage: Emperor Leuchtturm is foolhardy. We may have destroyed Vytal’s navy the days ago with our grand fleet, but the island is a natural fortress. The tall cliffs around the coast only allow invasion from the east, forcing us into the Varander Sea. We are not prepared for the Grimm out here, or the weather. Only yesterday the Rabe was downed by some Razorbacks. A fleet of six hundred is no use if five or more fall each day. The Vytali are fierce and have prevented three landings. Our only resort is to blockade the port and prevent them fishing. Their crops will die with the winter and without fish they will eventually starve, but this will take months – the fleet won't last months. I fear this war is lost for us before it's even started... The empire of Fluchtling is pushing itself too far.”

“Day 37 of Voyage: We lost thirty ships and Lord Trauer yesterday. The Vytali sent out a fireship under guise of parlay. Worse – Moonwhales have been surfacing in the harbour and practically driving themselves onto the beach, supplying the island with ample food and oil. They've been living like kings while we subsist on navy rations. I've given orders to kill all Moonwhales approaching the island, if our enemy are to get food throwing itself upon them, we will take it from their mouths."

“Day 116 of Voyage: Another charge failed... It's been months since we started. We've set fire to the city twice, but they continue unperturbed. At least the whales have been useful. Food, oil for lamps, plentiful ambergris... Even the bones have helped us. The Trauervolles Dämmerlicht has been converted to a whaling vessel and the crew has draped it in whale bones. It stinks to high heaven, but it is a necessary hardship.”

“Day 173 of Voyage: We are lost. The storm came out of nowhere, I know not how many survived, but I saw countless ships fall below the waves. Then the fog rolled in... We don't know where we are. The Herold des Morgans and the Trauervolles Dämmerlicht managed to survive as well, we’re all damaged and lost beyond knowledge far from shore in the Varander Sea. The clouds obscure the stars and the sun... We can't navigate. We may starve out here.”

“Day 185 of Voyage: Our food is gone, and there is talk of mutiny. We have spent all day chasing a Moonwhale that emerged out of the gloom. I pray we catch it.”

“Day 192 of Voyage: We are saved! We finally hooked the whale and dragged it aboard the Trauervolles Dämmerlicht. The flensers have set about their work and we can finally eat. Only... I feel a cold across my skin now, the night seems harsher.”

“Day 217 of Voyage: What have we done? The night... It never ends! The moon stares down judgingly. I have to guess the days for this journal now. At least we do not grow hungry.”

“Day 3... What does it matter? The sun hasn’t risen for... I don't know how long. And yet there is always flesh on the whale... I think we brought this upon ourselves. And through it all, that moon... That damn moon. It shines in judgment upon us.”

Already shakey, the writing from here on was far less ordered and scrawled as though with great force with little regard for readability.

“I despise that moon. Its light... I hate it.”

“Blinding, sickening... Writhing in my eyes...”

“Please... Mercy...”

Then in words angrily scrawled across two pages. Letters large and angular and dark:

“No more! I am Mittag of the Sonnenhoch, let the sun shine down! I declare war on the moon, I shall blot out its light, I will build my own sun!”

From here on, the writing became... Incomprehensible.

Jaune sat back in the chair as he closed the journal. He let out a long, shallow sigh. His studies had only briefly outlined the Vytal war of independence, because honestly in the modern day its only real impact was leading to the settlement of Solitas. However, obviously in this realm, whether true to reality or not, the journey to the northern continent had gone drastically wrong for some of the ships. The Herold Des Morgans, the Sonnenhoch, the Trauervolles Dämmerlicht... These three ships had managed to anger the Moon Reborn, and Jaune would bet his left foot that it had something to do with that Moonwhale. Not a term Jaune had ever heard, but names change over time, and some species go extinct. Then again, maybe there was a greater reason why there were no Moonwhales anymore.

Pocketing both key and journal, Jaune left the room, returning to the base of the tower. With the key, he could easily claim access, and begin the long and arduous climb.

The tower was not narrow. In fact, it was large enough to have one or two rooms per floor, and the number of floors were seemingly endless. There were many people in the tower, armed with axes, chisels, nails, hammers, saws... But all of them were blind, and thus only dangerous in large numbers. Of course, Jaune had these thoughts only shortly before they started to appear in large numbers. Even blind, twelve flailing men in a single room can overwhelm.

Jaune bled a little. In actuality the wounds were inconsequential when one factored in how quickly Jaune healed, but his blood flowed with that of his enemies down the stairs. The men never seemed to run dry, the red ichor from our corpses pooling at the bottom of the tower and seeping through the cracks.

The blood radiated from the tower in irregular patterns, but more was constantly flowing. The source should have given everything fairly soon, not provide seemingly infinite liquid.

While on the Herold des Morgans, his opponents only got more monstrous as he descended, here on the Sonnenhoch there was little change. An improvement in the garb, though difficult to spot due to the age and condition of said clothes, and a possible increase in fighting skill, were the extent of the differences. As Jaune climbed, the golden light seemed to diffuse more through the air. There were few windows, but the few there were and the myriad of cracks in the walls let shafts of oppressive yellow in.

As Jaune neared the top, the blood flowing from the tower became a tide. With only cracks to go through, the blood had built up in the tower by several floors, but now it had found release. It streamed over the deck and into the sea, staining the waves. Yet, the tower continued to fill slowly. Every body that Jaune had killed seeping its limitless blood downward.

The highest chamber that Jaune reached was larger than it should have been. Above him was a metal ceiling and around him were wooden carved walls. On the wall across from him a whale skull hung, its lower jaws spreadeagle, with a harpoon at each side. Before the whale skull was an old leather armchair, within which sat a man in old looking armour. His torso was covered with tiny metal plates sewn to a padded cloth jerkin, his arms too bore metal plates and armoured gloves. A leather skirt with more metal plates covered legs that bore armoured boots. Across his knees was a sword with an elegant guard and an early flintlock pistol. The man's face was covered by a very wide brimmed hat, a large plume of feathers emerging from one side.

As Jaune stepped forward the man looked up, his eyes were covered with a crude cloth blindfold, but unlike the others on the ship, he still seemed to have his eyes.

“So, the moon has finally sent someone? Well... I will not give up my sun. I am the master of my own fate, boy, I am Lord Mittags Rasierer and I will not be dictated to!”

In one motion the man stood and lunged towards Jaune, arming sword raised high. Unlike his other fights thus far in this realm, which had mostly consisted of facing off against inhuman monsters or blind, untrained lunatics, here he was fighting a highly trained lunatic, whose blindfold did not seem to disrupt his combat.

The arming sword, though one handed, was swung with a strength Jaune couldn't match. He had to use both of his blades just to deflect it. The clashing of weapons continued until Jaune managed to lance forward one of his knives, however it unfortunately merely skittered across Mittags’ chest armour.

This marked a change in the battle for, even uninjured, the lord gave a fierce bellow and unloaded his pistol towards Jaune. The shot hit him in the shoulder and sent him stumbling back with a short, choked cry. Mittags didn't give him time to recuperate and immediately pressed forward with his sword. When Jaune tried to raise his left arm to assist in his defence, his shoulder screamed at him, and he was forced to dodge wildly to the left to avoid the swing.

His injury turned this fight into a deadly game of cat and mouse, Jaune dodging the increasingly powerful swings of the older man to the best of his ability. After one particularly swift dodge, Jaune succeeded in slicing the man across back of the unarmoured portion of his leg above the knee. This, as well as drawing a pained shout from the man which Jaune took a degree of sick pleasure from, managed to slow down how quickly he could turn, freeing him up to many small and, honestly, rather inconsequential injuries.

Jaune, frankly, thought that if he were not a child, they this fight would be even more difficult. His height and small profile made it harder for Mittags to target him, and allowed him to slip out of range. Finally, Jaune got a break as he ducked under a swing. He leapt at the lord's back and clung to him; knife poised to enter the lord's neck above the collarbone. With a short cry Jaune succeeded in plunging his knife deep into the lord's flesh.

The air seemed to still for a second, before Mittags let loose a massive yell. The walls of the chamber splintered and cracked, and the roof crumbled as planks splintered into shards. Revealed behind the ceiling was a glowing orange light contained in an iron cage, suspended in the sky by thick iron chains. The light suffused the area with a glow almost like a sienna fog, and it hurt to look at. Growling with anger, Mittags grabbed Jaune and threw him over his shoulder. Jaune slammed into the ground with the sound of cracking wood and rolled across the floor into the weak wall where he impacted with a thud, the wall visibly caving. Jaune hacked up a mixture of blood and bile, before staggering to his feet to face Mittags again.

One of the blades was still lodged in Mittags’ flesh, but said flesh was no longer the same. The blindfold had fallen from his face to reveal bloodshot, dilated eyes, twitching madly. His hand seemed to have melded around the hilt of his sword, fleshy tentacles holding it tight, while his other arm was a distended hairy thing, black claws grasping at the air as though to choke it. He staggered forward as his legs grew longer, digitigrade limbs replacing the human ones he had before. He let out a rasping breath, tongue lolling past sharp teeth in an otherwise human mouth, before the unholy amalgamation of a howl, roar and scream burst from his lungs.

Mittags charged Jaune like a blooded bull, but Jaune dived out the way. The lord rammed into the wall with a bang and quickly turned. It seemed that, though the man was stronger, his intelligence and agility seemed to have left him. For Jaune however, this was honestly a benefit. Jaune levied many glancing blows on Mittags as he almost danced out of the way of his clumsy swings and charges. All the while, Mittags continued to do damage to his own tower, the building creaking ominously.

Jaune ducked a wild swing and leapt for the hilt of his dagger that was still in the lord's shoulder, with a short cry he tore it out, a stream of red following in its wake. Mittags roared and began to stamp and tantrum wildly. Jaune only realised the danger when there was a loud crack. He froze as the sound continued, a rending, splintering noise that foretold a very unfortunate conclusion. With a final crack, the floor collapsed, and with it whatever remained of the walls.

Jaune, Mittags, and the artificial sun above, fell.

Mittags was the first to impact the next floor down, and the weak wood gave way immediately. The impact knocked Jaune’s breath from him and sent a shuddering pain through him, but his fall was not stopped either. Floor after floor they crashed through, honestly probably only saved by the number of floors they went through, given how far they fell. Every time, the iron cage of the fake sun would obliterate the floor as they passed. Over and over, floor after floor, for what seemed like hours. Jaune's body screamed at him, there was so much pain! It was all he could do to protect his head. His limbs felt worse than he had ever felt them, his back like an anvil. Eventually weak grunts replaced his cries of agony, for he feared what would burst from his mouth were he to loosen his jaw.

After an indeterminable time, rather than harsh wood, he instead impacted hot, sticky red. The blood of all those he had slain, pooled in the base of a tower like a sick lake. The liquid didn't react like water, it clung to you to never let go. It seeped into his clothes and every fold, it infiltrated his hair to his scalp and stained his hair crimson, it invaded his ears and nose and mouth, speaking that thick coppery iron stench and taste like sweet wine. It was thick and viscous and resisted his attempts to keep his head up. Mittags was in a similar position... Until the sun fell.

With a massive splash the iron cage fell right atop Mittags, forcing him under the blood. The sun lot up the liquid with a golden orange glow that seemed to shine with a hunger. Mittags did not rise, his own ambition and his own followers drowning him under light and blood.

The moon seemed to shine brighter on the ruined vessel, and Jaune felt himself lifted up, even as his vision began to fade. In his last moments of consciousness Jaune saw the Sonnenhoch below him. The golden glow in the red pool at its centre, then red stands radiating out in all directions, across the ship and the sea.

-----

Jaune awoke in the white void again, still aching but to a lesser extent. He was unsurprised this time when after a short while the great owl returned, its five eyes blinking at him.

The ring on the bird’s disk began to move. Whereas before it had taken a few minutes to make its decision, here it was relatively quick, only pausing to consider a few other symbols. The ring stilled over a symbol that looked like the Sonnenhoch from above. Lines spreading from a yellow circle like an eye.

Though Jaune was prepared for it, the discomforting pain of the silver eye still drew a hiss from him, the etching of the purple eyes was much more intense, especially around the yellow circle in the centre. It was as if they were trying to bore it deep into his mind, so deep that something could shine through from the other side. Eventually they stopped, and he was once again dropped through the void, only to wake up in his boat, in a sea empty but for the masts of dead ships and a weak breeze.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Nightmares

Nightmares are, at their core, very similar to Dreams. Indeed, to the Great Ones it is likely there is little to no difference. The divide between Dream and Nightmare is a man made one, and revolves entirely around their relation to man. Plain and simple, a Nightmare is a Dream where man is heavily disadvantaged. Often, they are realms designed to punish individuals, but they may just be overly hostile. Nevertheless, a Nightmare may, if measured from the perspective of a different creature, say...a Winter Lantern (though woe betide any who thinks such creatures worthy of respect and mercy), be rather more inclined to be labelled a Dream. In a similar vein, a Dream may, to another being, be considered a Nightmare. No example shows this to such a degree as the old Hunters' Dream, a nightmare to many a beast, if they could comprehend it.

Truth be told, the only realm truly different enough to require different terminology is a True Nightmare, and that is a dangerous topic to research.

Chapter Text

Again, Jaune could tell he was somewhere new. This time however it was not due to mild differences in the feel of the environment, but rather two distinct things. A heavy stink that lay over the waves, thick enough to almost touch, the smell of blood and fat, drifting through the air, and a low keening bellow on the edge of his hearing. Long and sustained. Unlike last time there was no initial feeling when he probed the new symbol engraved on his mind, but doubtless it would do something. The breeze was thick and fetid, pooling in his sail with a weight greater than would be expected from its slow speed.

Like always, it took an age for his boat to near anything, passing over the mirror-like sea with barely a ripple. Eventually it got to the point where he could barely smell the sweet rot and blood, or hear the cry, even as both grew more intense. The boat he eventually brushed up against was a sight to behold. The craft was draped in bones, picked clean by an army of birds that swooped overhead. He was still acclimatised to the scent, but the mournful vocalisations were harder to ignore.

Jaune sighed gently and began to climb the side of the ship, bones forming useful handholds. On both other ships, Jaune had been able to easily climb up to the deck. Not so here. As he reached the upper portions of the ship’s side, the circling birds began to dive and mob him. Hands and feet occupied with climbing, he couldn't mount a substantial defence and was forced to retreat from their sharp beaks and talons.

By the time Jaune found an alternate entrance his arms were aching awfully. By entrance he meant a hole that had rotted or been blown in the side which scraped at his shoulders and hips as he wriggled through. Though, honestly, just the attempt to position himself so to fit through the hole almost risked him plunging into the horrors that lived in the waters below.

The room he landed in was dark. He'd lost his lantern at some point on the Sonnenhoch, so he found himself without light. The moonlight from the hole shone on a small area and, even then, only weakly. The smell discouraged Jaune from reaching out for the walls in fear of what he'd end up touching.

His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, better than he thought they would. A dull silver shine lay over the room. Bright enough to navigate, but Jaune would not want to try fighting in these conditions. He was right to not go reaching, the room was an abattoir. Thick slabs of flesh hung suspended from wall hooks, the sweet smell of rot indicating their condition.

The door to exit the room led into a long dark corridor, he could hear things in the gloom, though not see them. The keening very from up above muted some by the layers of wood. The creature that eventually stepped out into his vision was most recognisably human from how inhuman it was. The creature’s feet and lower legs seemed to have begun to merge into a grotesque tail and fluke, raw red flesh seeping into the planks. Red tendrils tearing and flailing, trying to merge the legs together, through filthy stinking shreds of what had once been trousers. It pulled itself along on its knees, constantly ripping apart the tail that was trying to form. Its arms were basically skeletal, and bore strange armoured plates, almost reminiscent of Grimm bone, if Grimm bone looked to be made of coral. Each hand clutched a flensing knife, long and unwieldy. However, the most dreadful things about it were its torso and face. A giant maw stretched from navel to the right shoulder, practically splitting the creature in two. Fleshy, torn lips peeled and writhed, revealing teeth half way morphed between molars and fangs. A red tongue occasionally lolled outwards and slobbered over whatever it could reach.

The face was not a face. It was as though the eyes, ears and nose had been removed and the resulting holes had been shifted around the face or replaced with jagged lesions. Red gaps in the visage wept from cheek and forehead, flesh visibly twisted and in cases even looking to be sewn up. Despite this, an eye could be seen deep within one of these gaps, looking almost panicked.

Jaune couldn't help but recoil. Fortunately, the shuffling gait meant the creature was far from manoeuvrable, so Jaune was not punished for his lapse. Either way, when the creature began flailing with its knives Jaune was hard pressed to fend it off, and that tongue seemed eager to draw him into the maw. It was only with difficulty that he managed to tear one of the knives from its grasp and jam his blade into its neck. It seemed even this foul creature’s biology was not so far gone yet that a severed artery and ruptured trachea didn't put it down.

This was by far the most deformed creature Jaune had seen. Well, with the exception of maybe the captain. Everything else was either completely inhuman or had features borrowed from some creature that had been meshed with humans. This was a human that was just warped beyond belief. Jaune prayed that this was a one-off, a singular freak of eldritch evolution, but he knew it was not to be. Every entity he encountered in the bowels of what he assumed was the Trauervolles Dämmerlicht was similarly warped. Similarly in style, not form. None of them were identical, though all had faces warped into horrifyingly twisted visages. It hurt to look at them, the contortions and tears sent empathetic ripples across his own face. In addition to those with flensing knives, there were some with harpoons, and some who were unarmed. Many he found gorging themselves on sickly-sweet smelling whaleflesh, though horrifically distended mouths where none should be.

As he approached what he thought was the stern, he began to hear a voice, it was difficult to hear over the sounds of the sea and the singing from above, but there was definite speech. No matter how hard he strained his ears he couldn't understand what was being said. Eventually, he came to a door, it was large and made of iron, held shut with a ridiculous number of deadbolts. The rusted things took considerable force to slide, and by the time he wrenched the door open, he had probably spent several hours on it.

Within the room was a man nailed spreadeagle to the wall, with large shipwright’s nails through the hand, forearm, upper arm, lower leg, thigh and at least three points on the torso. Blood slowly trickled from these wounds down to a grate on the floor. The man was alive, wild grey hair and matted beard sticking to him his flesh seemed, in many places, to be slowly being overgrown in bark, as though the ship was consuming him. Indeed, it seemed to be visibly spreading.

“A-a-a-a Hunter, eh? A H-h-hunter of what? Flesh? Bah. Blood? Probably. T-t-t-truth? Ha! A folly. Some lies should remain lies. L-l-l-lies tender and exquisite, a patina over the h-h-h-horrific truth. Oh, I preach to the blind. H-h-hunters always seek the truth, then burn when they p-p-peel back the veil only slightly. L-l-l-let mankind’s demons fade into myth. U-u-unless? You could seek their crowns? Dash them upon the rocks of the City of Leechgears... W-w-w-where the authority of the young was forged. No, never l-l-l-let it be so. We are but puppets, m-m-m-moving on the stage of life under unknowable hands. Let the worms w-w-w-writhe in the past unmolested, like the flesh within our bellies. Ah, the flesh, the unknowable essence of the other side... Our s-s-salvation was sent in pity, broken we were, and l-l-l-lost. The moon is protective but not merciless, yet we consumed our o-o-only chance. Glorious catch indeed, what a farce. Our revels stretched into the night, only t-t-t-to find the night would never end. We saw ourselves truly, in the moonlight, and we couldn't bear the sight. Yes, a-a-a-a lie should remain a lie, a placatory falsehood, to conceal the glorious but terrible truth. Oh w-w-w-who am I trying to fool. A Hunter must Hunt... Strip the water from this vile dream if you please, the bulwark of our sleep. Tear down this hindrance as your kind always do, and seek what you believe is yours. After all, even a p-p-puppet aware of the puppeteer can only follow the w-w-whims of its strings. Hahahaaahahaaaahhggggrhaha! Strings! Strings! My strings are broken, the veil is wide open! There are no strings! There are no strings on me! Hahahaaaaaaaagggghhhhrrrraaaaa!!!!!!”

The monologue descended into cackling, sobbing and incoherent screaming, before the bark and wood finally overcame him totally and he stiffened with the creak of timber. Where the madman had once been nailed, there was now a masterfully carved wooden statue, but knowledge of its origin made any appreciation of its detail moot and vaguely chilling.

Jaune backed out of the room slowly, cataloguing the insane diatribe for later analysis, in a place where his life wasn’t under threat. A ladder took him to a higher level, he was still below deck, but the creatures here seemed more cognizant, even if they were just as wretched in form as those below. The flesh from the storerooms seemed to have overflowed, it lay in a stinking mass at the junction of every wall and floor, it writhed and shifted as things Jaune did not want to know of wriggled through. As he fought one individual, arm like a crab’s claw and a mouth splitting the top of its cranium, he was startled by speech. It was barely ordered and was more like sleeptalking than an attempt to initiate conversation.

“Catch, it feeds... Feeds, hungry, always hungry. Eat the glorious...”

Eating, it seemed to sit at the core here. This creature, the nailed man, Lord Rasierer’s journal. It all revolved around the capture and consumption of that Moonwhale. If Jaune was willing to bet, he'd say the 'moon’ in that name was more significant than the 'whale’.

The Trauervolles Dämmerlicht creaked and groaned around him. It wasn't as bad as the Herold des Morgans, but it wasn't as well maintained as the Sonnenhoch. In truth, every room Jaune had yet seen seemed to be devoted to the butchery and storage of the whaleflesh that had plagued all three ships.
Truthfully, Jaune wasn’t expecting to find much of use among the butcher's knives and barrels of rancid oil, but scattered in the pools and streams of rancid blood, there had been several clusters of strange stones. They were white-red crystals that seemed to have formed in lattices. Jaune had collected them almost without thinking, something telling him that they would be of use even without actually causing him to consider it. A resonation in his chest.

At the prow of the ship, or at least what Jaune thought was the prow, he came upon a large room. Ahead there was a figure before a giant table, though initially the table must have been grand, knowing this ship had been part of an invading fleet, Jaune wouldn't be surprised if it had once been a strategy table, now it was just an unusually ornate butcher’s counter. Atop the table was a large slab of blubber and skin, stripped from a beast by a flenser’s knife, and that slab was slowly being carved, skilful blades separating skin from fat and depositing blubber in barrels to be rendered down to oil.

These blades were held by a bulbous creature in a butcher's apron, multiple tendrils spouting where arms should be. It didn't take long for it to notice Jaune. As the creature turned to face him, Jaune could see that its facial deformities didn't quite match the other creatures he’d seen. Its face bulged with misplaced, drooping growths of fat, protruding and overhanging around beady eyes that glinted cruelly in the shadow. Its mouth was sewn shut, wire or string digging deep into thick lips that leaked a yellow liquid from the irritation. The liquid had dried into yellow crusts in the folds of the creature’s face and neck. It still has a functional mouth however, one that split across the butcher's bulging gut. It had cracked and broken teeth and was chewing on a sheet of skin that the creature had stripped from the subject of its butchery.

With a grinding of rough teeth, the butcher swallowed the last of the skin.

“Ah, another comes to take the glory for himself. I will not give it up, it is my catch! Mine! I hauled it from the deep, not that snivelling captain scared of her own shadow, or the Lord wrapped up in his games of chivalry. Me. It was my glorious catch! I am the saviour, not them, and not you.”

Hearing a voice come from that maw as it rippled nauseatingly in the butcher's gut caused bile to creep up jaune's gullet.

“Where should I place your mouth? I'm sure you've seen the others. Hungry thieves should hunger eternally, the bastards. My knives will give you a mouth that will never be satiated, then I'll throw you back to the depths.”

Despite the butcher's threatening words, and the evidence of its actions that Jaune had run across on the lower deck, its corpulent size gave it a significant disadvantage. Though, unfortunately, that was rather offset by the six-to-eight tentacles bearing sharp knives that it bore. Jaune would duck one silver blade only to be forced to slam his own weapons into two more. It was only when he realised that the flesh was weak that he managed to make any headway at all, amputating the ends of three tentacles in quick succession, affording him the chance to get in close.

In truth, severing the limbs did little to hurt the creature, but it did send the knives across the room to embed in the walls or skitter across the floor. The creature did have many more knives in reserve, rammed into the table, which it grabbed in short order.

Now at short range, Jaune was able to use his foe’s poor mobility to his advantage, quickly circling behind the creature and scoring long cuts on its flank. It seemed however that these wounds did nothing to disadvantage the creature, they didn't even bleed. The immense layer of fat acted like a coat of thick padded armour, preventing jaune's attack from causing any serious harm.

This unfortunate pattern continued for about twenty minutes. The bloated monster’s whirling tendrils would attack him until he found an opening, then his attacks would do little harm of consequence. Jaune was beginning to consider that he would need to flense his opponent itself before he could do any damage, separating blubber from meat, but he was granted a stroke of luck. His attack nicked one of the colossal lips of the abdominal mouth, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

The scent of that red liquid was suddenly all Jaune could smell. Gone was the rancid stink of old meat, the oily fat, the sweet rot and the salt. Gone even was the stale miasma of the old whale blood. This was a cloying sweet aroma that coiled at his nostrils. Jaune needed more. Now.

Jaune didn't slash, instead he punched the beast in its bulbous nose. The wet crack sent the creature reeling back. With a strong intake through his mouth Jaune threw his arm back, dropping his knife, then swung his hand forward deep into the ribcage of the butcher. His hand drove through fat and bone, deep into hot, wet, flesh. Jaune’s fingers clutched at something in that cavity, and with a roar, he pulled back, a beautiful red arc following his hand as it retreated, dragging a pulsing red lump of flesh with it.

The butcher slumped to the ground unceremoniously as Jaune stared into the meat in his hand. So red and sweet... He was sure if he just tasted... No, stop. Evidently it seemed that his second rune had an effect. He could feel it pulsing, that was... Intoxicating.

The flesh in his hand slowly withered away, but he found it had left something. An almost snowflake like gemstone which, even stained with blood and found in this place, had him thinking of Winter.

He wasn't sure what guided him to the table, no, he was pretty sure. Given that this was a realm of the Moon Reborn, and his brain felt immensely exposed, he was pretty sure an eldritch hand was at play here. But something encouraged him to bring forth the crystals he had found and the blades of mercy. The dull sheen of the siderite looked... Hungry. With sure hands he placed the crystals on the blade. They seemed to sink into the metal like it was water, sending rippling waves across the surface. Initially there seemed to be little difference, but they sung a different tune through the air when Jaune swung them. A more vicious song, sharp and ravenous... They were keener, their edge cutting in a way that went past physical. There was also a faint imprint on the blade, an imprint that reminded him of that snowflake crystal. It clung to the blade as he pressed them together, sinking into its surface far deeper than the socket, metal giving way like sand, until it was embedded there.

Jaune was, by this point, used to this place having strange effects on both the physical realm and his own mind. So, while unease clawed at him, he pushed it aside. Evidently the was something more to do on this vessel, and he doubted it was far off. Using a key he found upon the butcher's corpse he opened a trapdoor in the roof, and climbed onto the deck.

The air was devoid of the swirling clouds of seabirds that had greeted Jaune on arrival. Clear and resplendent, the moon shining down from a sea of stars, staining the wood of the deck silver. The sea was a perfect mirror, unblemished and still. The Trauervolles Dämmerlicht was marooned in the cosmos, surrounded on all sides by void and the thick aroma of salt, stars and blood. In front of Jaune was the wretched carcass of the Moonwhale, flensed of vast tracts of skin, it had been artificially slimmed. Strips of white hide still hung from places where the knives had faltered. Four great towers of whalebone held thick cables tipped with hooks that clawed deep into the sides of the slumped body, half lifting it from the deck. The once mighty creature’s tail hung limp on the deck, and its large toothy maw lolled open, weakly lowing that song that had plagued Jaune’s hearing since he arrived.

Despite its decrepit and ruined condition, the whale’s eyes still shone with cold intelligence and anger. It comprehended its sorry state and it was not pleased.
The whale raised its tail and head, straining on its hooks, and roared a mouthful howl. Above the creature a hole appeared in the sky. Within, stars flickered into existence and died, the mournful cry reaching beyond the concept of time and space to unload another realm at Jaune.

Stars fell from the tear in space, ghostly glowing spheres that chased Jaune down. Quick movements led the stars into the deck instead where they left smoky scorchmarks. Honestly, despite the intense power of the whale, it could not move, so long as Jaune could dodge the eldritch meteors, he was in no danger.

It was a sad fight, and Jaune took no pleasure in it. Rather than a real fight, it was the slow and painful mercy culling of a once proud and majestic creature. His knife cut the whale’s flesh with ease, but was too small to kill the creature swiftly or painlessly. It was many hours of pain and effort, and merely due to length, Jaune was not unscathed. Even a few hits from a creature the size of the whale left him bruised and battered, but at least he had avoided the comets.
The whale groaned as its life left it, but it did not go quietly. Only an uneasy feeling and intuition gave Jaune enough warning to dive away before the whale erupted.

Its cranium split wide, like a gory gateway opening. Jaws spread asunder and skull cracked open down the middle. Down the centre of the whale’s corpse, from the mouth towards the tail, was a tunnel of flesh and offal, far longer than it should be and tall enough for Jaune to walk unbowed. The tunnel was lined with eyes and, even dead, they shone with knowledge.
Emerging from his shelter Jaune stood before that repulsive gate and, without really knowing why, stepped forward into the tunnel. He seemed to walk for hours, ocular fluid leaking from below his feet as eyes were gently crushed. The eyes turned to look as he passed, they weren't judgemental, just observant.

Before Jaune was aware of it, the tunnel had begun to shift. The eyes twinkled like stars as the light from outside finally ran dry. It got darker and darker, until Jaune walked through a sea of stars in a black void, not even feeling the ground below his feet.

With a shocking transition that left Jaune blind and reeling, the world changed from deep darkness to blinding white. He was back in the void and, this time, the owl was waiting.

The ring began sliding around the disk immediately, shifting back and forth with a clicking sound before settling on a symbol like a many tined fork with a tiny dot above each tine. The owl's eye shone silver, and the familiar pain burned his brain. It was expected, though not desired, when the pain of the symbol being carved into his mind returned.

What was not expected was that when the owl dropped him from its telekinetic grip, he didn’t fall out of the void into his boat. Instead, he fell to a surface within the void. The owl looked at him balefully with all five eyes, before taking off and disappearing from view. Instead, revealed from behind the owl, was a massive impression on the fabric of the void. Far off in the distance Jaune’s newest symbol was emblazoned on the sky. There was a hum in the air, that spoke of finality. Jaune knew, this was the end of his trial, whatever he'd find at that symbol would be his final challenge.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Great Ones’ Sympathy

Often it is stated, that the Great Ones are sympathetic in nature. With a few notable exceptions this is a universal rule. The Great Ones are fond of humankind, but their affection is not necessarily attention humanity wants. Great Ones understand us only slightly better than we them, so disconnected are they that they cannot conceive many of our... Inadequacies by comparison.

Some people or peoples become beloved of a Great One, most often these are worshippers of the entity, or have received its blessing in some way, generally its blood, but not always. Great Ones are protective of their beloveds, and can levy great punishments on those who would defile them, though the concept of defilement can vary greatly. Such interventions have historically been recorded as rare natural disasters, the human mind is quick to reject and justify that which it cannot understand.

However, even those punished by a Great One are often shown sympathy by it. In many cases punishments are short... At least by the reckoning of the Great One, and in fewer cases the perpetrators may even be saved by the Great One that punished them if the Great One feels enough sympathy for them to draw their punishment short. Unfortunately, the disconnect between the understandings of Great One and human, coupled with the heightened emotions of panic and paranoia that often accompany a Great One’s punishment, often lead the punished to reject their salvation out of misunderstanding or fear, and cement the Great One’s anger on their head.

Chapter Text

The white void was strangely peaceful. Not strangely in that it was a surprise for it to be peaceful, but strangely in how that peace manifested. It almost felt like time was muddled, his hair moved like it was underwater, unaffected by gravity or other forces on its own unless it was dragged by his scalp. There was a mutedness to the sound, the rustle of his clothes sounded far away. All facets of time and space seemed stretched out. The symbol in the distance was Jaune's only landmark, and without any terrain to mark his passage by, he seemed to just be walking in place. His destination never getting any closer.

In this peace and forced solitude, Jaune’s mind couldn't help but drift to his experiences. His understanding of what happened to that desolate fleet may be almost entirely conjecture, but it was somewhat vexing that he knew more about the story of these three ships than he did about Chalchiuit. Then again, he'd only technically had three trips to Chalchiuit, his first, the ticks, then the Tarkon. Given how long the Herold des Morgans seemed to take, he may have been treading that forsaken ocean for much longer.

Many years ago, over twelve centuries if he remembered correctly, the Empire of Fluchtling, the largest nation in the Valean region, became embroiled in an independence war as the newly integrated nation of Vytal attempted to leave. Fluchtling prepared the greatest navy ever seen by mass deforestation of the Tourmaline Woods. What exactly happened isn't recorded in history other than the fact the fleet was mostly destroyed by a storm, and the remnants tossed out into the Varander Sea to eventually land on Solitas and lead to the foundation of Mantle.

It seems however, that for some reason, the Moon Reborn had some sort of connection with the people of Vytal. What that connection was, Jaune was unsure, but whatever it was, it led the Moon Reborn to intervene in the siege. The Great One’s intervention was recorded as a storm, and as punishment it cast the invaders out onto a fog where they couldn't navigate. However, the Moon Reborn then decided for some reason to offer these three ships a way out. It likely did the same for all the other surviving ships, or Mantle wouldn't exist, but these three made the wrong choice. Rather than following the whale that the Moon Reborn sent, they, in their hunger and desperation, hauled the whale aboard to consume it. For their rejection, due to anger or some other incomprehensible emotion, the Moon Reborn punished them to this endless voyage which, he supposed, had now ended.

Then again, there was always the possibility that these people didn't exist. This was a dream after all, it wouldn't surprise Jaune if these people had really died or made it to Solitas in his reality. This world only containing pale shades of their true selves, but what's to stop a pale shade from being just as real? Honestly, this would be a horrendously cruel punishment were it committed by a being on par with a human. To the Great Ones however, humans were strange oddities, almost ants. As human concepts of mercy are weakened when dealing with insects, so are the Great Ones for humanity. We can show empathy and sympathy for lowly bugs, but we exterminate wasps for an ultimately inconsequential sting, and spiders for little more than dislike.

Suddenly Jaune was not alone, heavy clanking footsteps came from his left. There was a man in a heavy outfit of rubber, a bell-shaped brass helmet atop his head. The clanking sound came from heavy brass boots. A tangled harness of leather cradled the bulky body, and a rubber tube extended far into the void above. It was a diver. Not a common profession in the Grimm-filled seas of Remnant, but the high price of pearls had driven many to take risks over the years. Before Jaune realised, the ground began to feel like sand and a murkiness fell over the void. As Jaune turned his head he realised he was underwater, far underwater, yet his breathing was not obstructed.

“It is rare I have... a companion. Here, far... below the tide... of the Great... Deep... Sea.”

The voice was obscured by clouds of rumbling bubbles that emerged from the helmet. It spoke in stutters and stops, as though short on breath, heaving gasps for air punctuating sentences.

“Who are you?”

“I am... a voice. A shimmering... shade. Cast by the churning... sky.”

“That doesn't help me much.”

The diver chuckled, streams of bubbles ascending through the water.

“On... the contrary, it... helps you... very much. The Usurper doesn't... speak anymore, only we... can speak for it.”

Jaune turned to it.

“Are any of your answers going to be clear?”

“Clear... muddied... depends on where... you’re looking... The veil twists perception... to what is necessary... and if you aren't... prepared to peer... beyond, it's better... your knowledge... be... murky.”

Jaune continued walking.

“Okay, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Why have I been getting attention from so many things that I can only guess are Great Ones?”

The diver almost fell as it laughed, head concealed by silver air.

“Ah, sweet... sweet child... The Faceless pulled you... into the sphere, you... lit up like a beacon... and the... barrier of dreams... shuddered... behind history. Some stars... align and shimmer... some flicker and... die. The Great are... inquisitive and... starved for entertainment, the pie... sits there inviting... and all want... a piece. You encroach upon... too many points... of emotion... for them to... ignore you... like a lumenflower... sparking back to life. Blame them... not... blame yourself... your actions completed... and yet to come.”

Jaune sighed.

“You know, this is what I meant by answers not being clear.”

“Answers... and questions... are like water, shallow... they are glass... deep... they are dark. Oh, sweet tadpole... you are barely a frog... and the grasping... hands are coming. Seek the depths... if you have... no fear. The crow... sits below... guarding answers... at the base... of the labyrinth. If you care... so little... for your safety. But beware... weak insect... no tadpole will survive the hunts... deep below... You are far... from prepared.”

The sand had begun to climb under Jaune’s feet.

“Wait, I need to go into the Labyrinth? Isn't it a maze?”

“You need... not worry... providence... will guide your path... you will either... reach the depths... or fall. In the... grand scheme... of things... it matters but... little.”

“Not very encouraging.”

“I am... not here... to give... encouragement. I am... here... to answer. Nothing but... the truth.”

Above his head Jaune could see that the surface of the ocean was approaching. The diver turned and began to walk back towards the depths.

“Trust... in yourself... but not... your senses... for they... lie. Your eyes... have yet... to open.”

When Jaune breached the waves, he found himself emerging onto a craggy stone shore. Ahead was the symbol, sharp grey rock that protruded from a cliff. Something drove Jaune to its base, it was calling him to the top. So, with a wince as the sharp rock dug into his fingers, he began to climb.

The cliff was not sheer, rather it was stepped such that the symbol appeared only from the place he emerged, being broken apart from any other. His blood stained the stone, as he took opportunities to rest on each step. The moon stared down from a sea of stars, the higher he climbed, the closer the cosmos came.

When he stood atop the spire at the head of the cliff, he found a large silver disk. As he stepped forward, he heard the beat of almost silent wings as the owl returned. The great bird alighted on the silver disk; its four wings flared. Two of its legs held it on the surface, while the six others spread flared, their normal cargo gone. It turned its eyes on him, then shut all but its amber ones. The silver and purple eyes that carved into his brain sealed behind heavy eyelids. The creature inclined its head at him in an almost respectful bow, before advancing.

Jaune had feared that this was going to happen since he first encountered the owl, so he prepared himself and advanced too.

As it turns out, fighting a creature many times your size with six limbs was more a question of wildly dodging and hoping to get a hit in. He spun past a feathered appendage only to be clipped in the shoulder by another. Smashed to the ground, he rolled to the side to avoid a grab, before leaping up and slashing at a toe, separating it and its talon from the foot. The leg retreated quickly. Jaune ran as fast as he could towards the supporting legs, but there was an issue doing that when the opponent could fly. The owl merely took to the air and flew away from his attack.

Honestly, Jaune was learning to predict the creature. His shoulder hurt, and he wouldn't say he hadn’t been hit, but for fighting a creature the size of a semitruck with eight legs and the ability to fly with what basically amounted to a toothpick, he was surprised he hadn’t died already. That being said, while the blades were undeniably a nice weapon, he desperately needed a bigger blade for creatures this size.

In a spate of inspiration, Jaune clasped the feathers on one of the legs as he narrowly sidestepped it, and hung on. The creature began to try and claw at the child on its leg, but Jaune was fast and nimble, it was easy...ish, to avoid the attacks and climb the leg. He said 'ish' because... Well, five attacking limbs are hard to avoid, as the slashes on his back showed.

The feathers were easy to climb, but as he got halfway up the monster’s back, it ceased its attempts to claw him, and merely took to the sky.

Needless to say, Jaune didn't really want to fall from two or three hundred metres up. Nevertheless, as he approached the neck, he drove the blades in as deep as he could. The owl let out an eerie splitting screech as blood stained its white feathers, before beginning to weaken and sag in the air. As Jaune began to worry about landing, the creature opened its purple eyes, and screeching static filled jaune's vision.

When Jaune awoke, he found himself in a hexagonal room, the gothic stonework curled around windows set high up the walls. The floor resembled the disc the owl had once held, many silver circles engraved with strange symbols, and a silver ring in the centre. Jaune lay across a disc with the first symbol the owl had given him. Across from him, against the wall, was a silver metal statue. It was sat cross-legged, but still towered over him, six silver arms arranged in a meditative pose, with one raised to the sky. The head was cowled in a metal hood that hung over its eyes.

The statues eyes proceeded to glow with a deep purple shine, as the ring moved, settling on a circle. It may have been extremely different in form, but Jaune could tell – this was the owl.

The statue jerked, and it began to move, arms rotating around metal joints. Its movements were simultaneously jerky and unnaturally smooth. They lacked that tinge of organicness, they moved at the same speed, shuddering into motion then moving without acceleration to their destination.

They impacted the ground with a shuddering clang where Jaune had once been. The attack bore similarities to those of the owl, except that the body didn't move. It would be easier, except Jaune doubted his blades would hurt the metal creature.

Just as he was adjusting, the symbol below the ring began to glow, and holes appeared in the sky. It was much like the attack of the whale, and added a whole new dimension to avoidance.

After the cosmic comets had burned themselves out, the disc began to move, and Jaune saw the old symbol was burned away. In that instant, he realised what was going to happen... He was going to have to survive all... 14 other runes.

Jaune ached. He could only dodge, and he had no idea how long he'd been moving. Though his body never seemed to tire since that first symbol had been engraved on his brain, his mind still tried to slip into torpor. There had been spectral tentacles, howls that ripped through the air with an intensity that flung him across the room, bolts of cosmic light and feelings that threatened to rip him from his sanity... Some of the worst had been the most subtle and insidious. One had slowed his perception, making it harder to react to the swings of the statue, one had parched his throat and instilled him with a thirst that almost had him slitting his own wrists, and several had tried to lure him deep into sleep.

The ring eventually drifted to the final rune. The one that Jaune had woken up on. The world shook. The ceiling folded away and the walls began to fall into the floor. With a hissing clunk the chest of the statue began to open, and out stepped a woman.

Her hair was a very pale blond but was mostly hidden behind a black cowl. Her black coat was arrayed with multiple cords of polished stones, each engraved with a symbol. As she stepped down from the statue, she brandished a long, curved blade of vaguely Mistrali design and opened her eyes. Her eyes were silver, like pools of molten steel, without pupil, without sclera, just silver metal, swirling behind the lids.

“You have done well, young Hunter. But your trial is not yet over. You now face a Runesmith, I am Caryll, first scribe of the Great Ones, and selector of the Moon's chosen.”

Jaune’s stare was withering.

“Greeeaaat.”

Caryll smiled briefly.

“Tired? Good. This is a challenge after all, but I suppose I could allow you a brief rest. Do you have any questions to ask of me while we wait?”

Jaune slumped to the ground to recuperate his strength.

“Who are you? Not your name, but I thought the order only contained Phos and I.”

“True, I'm not technically part of your order. Though not a Great One, I'm actually older than the Moon Reborn. I've been plying realms beyond the veil of sleep since long before the moon entered its nursery. I just assist it, for it inherited the purpose I used to serve. As for what I am... I am a Runesmith, I transcribe the utterings of Great Ones into symbols that hold their meaning. They don't just represent them, but truly are them, they have a power of their own.”

“You're older than a Great One?”

“You should have been told the story of your order, I was born in the elder days of Yharnam, and left what you know as reality long before the advent of the Good Hunter. For all I know, I'm a withered old woman, dreaming all of this, and Yharnam still stands. Perspectives and ego are powerful yet malleable things. Then again, I could just be a construct created by the moon for this one encounter. Appearances can be deceiving, in any realm.”

Jaune slumped some more.

“Yeah, that seems to be the message I'm getting nowadays.”

Feeling a bit less exhausted Jaune pushed himself to his feet.

“Well, may as well get it over with.”

“As you wish.”

Jaune readied the blades of mercy and charged at Caryll. The lady slowly drew her blade from it's sheath, running it through her hand and spilling blood from her fingers. As soon as it left the scabbard it flashed like crimson lightning. Solid red liquid extended the blade by a good foot and, as the strands of hair drifting from Jaune's head could attest, it was just as sharp as the steel. Normally, the length of such a blade would make combat at very close quarters, like Jaune’s blades preferred, difficult to perform, but she seemed to have no trouble. The silver and crimson turned away his dull black with ease.

Honestly, Caryll seemed more focused on deflecting his strikes than landing her own. There were many opportunities she could have taken to lay into him, but didn’t. Though Jaune knew that a millennia old warrior like Caryll was far beyond his abilities even without her apparent ability to become a giant owl, he still felt disappointed that any victory wouldn't truly be a victory.

Out of anger, he forewent defence to bury one of the blades in Caryll’s side, taking her sword in a score across his ribs. It ached and burned, but to him it was worth it. He batted aside the sword with a harsh strike and grabbed the front of her robe.

“Don't insult me! I'm eleven! There's no way you can't beat me easily!”

Caryll grabbed Jaune’s wrist and threw him off.

“Indeed. Were I fighting normally you would be mere chunks of meat by now, all but the greatest of Hunters pale beside a noble of Cainhurst, but we stand in your dream now. Built by outside forces and led by unseen hands, but still a dream that your curiosity and actions brought about. There was never a challenge in this realm that you couldn't overcome, it all relied on whether you would! There is nothing unbeatable here, no chance, everything comes down to you. You could fail, you could die, you could give up and rot while your body changed outside, but there was always a way through. You found it with the Captain, you found it with the Lord, you found it with the Butcher and you found it with the Whale, now you just need to find it with me.

I was to be an ally, an insurmountable obstacle and as equal of a fight as could be given all in one, but now... I see there is a better way. You have pride, Young Hunter and a thirst to prove yourself, too much of a thirst. You're like a starving beast howling for blood... Too much loss in your past? Too much reliance on the outside? Yes... You hadn’t won a single fight with the Eldritch on your own till you came to this realm, had you? That knife... The Blade of the Faceless One, it carried you past the Tick and the Father, yet you failed against the Snake-Priest and the Lord of the Night-Bones without it... You would have been marooned in that cell to die, and so would she. That is why. You feel weak and helpless, that is why you have pushed yourself beyond your limits, why the idea of winning only due to the opponent holding back disgusts you.

As a result, I can think of no better test than this. Overcome yourself, Young Hunter.”

Caryll seemed to shimmer before him, like a mirage on a hot day. When the shimmering finished, the figure of his opponent had changed considerably. They were bedraggled and bloodsoaked. Wounded and worn. A shorter figure wearing a tricorn hat, and wielding two large, wicked knives.

It was him. Torn half to shreds by his journey. His clothes were more rags by this point, and his skin was caked in dirt and blood. A rank stink of salt, rot, blood and unknowable filth filled the air, bellowing in almost visible waves.

Silently, his doppelganger readied up and charged. It seemed more than just appearance was the same. They were both exhausted and injured, staggering more than running and matching each other attack for attack. They knew each other, they knew how to block the others attacks and how they would act and, in all honestly, it soon grew pretty boring. Exhausting, but boring. In truth, it was an accident, rather than a deliberate decision, that gave him a chance.

Jaune stumbled as his leg practically gave way. As he fell, other Jaune's knife skimmed his shoulder, reacting instinctively he slammed his knife forward. It buried up to the hilt in his copy’s thigh.

His copy let out a silent scream, which let Jaune escape retribution. Now heavily wounded, his copy was not an equal opponent, but in a chilling moment that cut through the bone-deep tiredness he realised: That was an accident. They were the same. That could just have easily happened the other way around.

As he plunged his knife info the chest of his copy, he felt a coldness. He was essentially, killing himself. But he was done.

“Good”

He heard a voice from behind him. It was Caryll.

When he turned he saw her standing unharmed and with eyes shut. He was momentarily ready to fight but was brought to a stop. He still stood on the metal disc from within the room he had fought the statue, but with the walls gone he could now see that it stood atop the cliff he had once climbed. Caryll stood at the edge of that cliff and to her right a white orb loomed large. The moon. The moon as it appeared when its rotation made it appear whole. Shining white, seemingly brighter and purer than in reality. More shocking however, was who stood to her left. A frayed green robe filled with shadow, a book on a cord off his hip. Marduk.

“Marduk?”

“I did tell you, boy.”

Caryll stepped forward.

“You have succeeded, and now, like all Hunters, you must take the Moon's mark. However, your circumstances are rather more complicated. You should have four, and yet you will have five. Two beings have their grasp on you.”

“What do you-“

Before Jaune could finish, Caryll’s eyes snapped open. They were purple.

Jaune's head exploded in pain. There were two spaces boring their way into his brain, fighting for equal space. Rubbing on each other and those with symbols. Mentally, not physically, disagreeing and interacting. Then, like before, it stopped, and there were two gaps in his head.

Caryll shut her eyes, before slamming them open. They were back to silver, and the pain began again, searing symbols into his brain, but this time Caryll recited as they were carved.

“True Metamorphosis.”

A plus symbol.

“Moon.”

An eye in a circle at the centre.

“Heir.”

Multiple strings of zigzags up and down the spokes.
It was the symbol, the one on Phos' watch, the one on the Archive Labyrinth’s door. It was the Moon Reborn's symbol.

“Shadow Cast.”

A diamond with the large corners rounded off.

“Drive.”

Many lines expanding out.

It was that symbol he had only seen once before, at his first death in Chalchiuit... The one that had reminded him of Marduk.

The faceless robe glided forward.

“You bear both our marks. Unusual. We’ll probably both regret it.”

Marduk turned to face the sea, as the moon disappeared mid-blink.

“Don't worry about the moon. It doesn’t speak anymore. You'll have to seek it out if you want any answers.”

“Why-“

“It's a curious sight isn't it. I watched from here over twelve centuries ago, when the survivors of that fleet landed on this very shore. It's a funny thing, I can't remember whether those particular ships were among those that survived. The Herold des Morgans, the Sonnenhoch, the Trauervolles Dämmerlicht... I could look back and watch, I have most of history on repeat somewhere, and yet, I feel no need to. In essence, it doesn’t matter. Real, fake. Dream, Reality... Nevermind. Those settlers saw that symbol too, the one you climbed. They took it as an omen from their gods, an omen from a 'god' it was, but not of love, but warning.”

Marduk turned to face Jaune again.

“And so I shall give you a warning too. You have stepped on a path eons in the making. It is long, difficult and I am not sure if I want it walked. It is not a perfect path, it has gaps and breaks, it is made from rotten wood and paved in lies. Then again, that is not unique. Everyone has a path that has been made over the whole of history... Either way, prepare. Ready yourself. For eventually even I may become your enemy depending on your actions.
"

Before Jaune could ask questions, his vision quickly faded to black.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Caryll, the Runesmith

Caryll, ancient master, the only person to truly grasp the language of the Great Ones without becoming one herself. Ancient transcriber of utterances beyond human comprehension. Understandably, after her passing, she was thought to be to valuable to let truly fade. How she entered the service of the Moon Reborn is unknown, but she has served as arbiter and transcriber of Hunters for generation upon generation upon generation. She has matched every Hunter since time immemorial to the most appropriate runes for them, and bound them to the Heir’s service.

Once a Hunter herself, in the days of the Precursor Moon, Caryll draws heritage from the nobles of Cainhurst, and has been known to reminisce on her two unnamed sisters. Since her partial ascendance from humanity, she has taken new forms and abilities that are not well understood. Long had she taken the owl as her sigil, but now that representation is rather more literal. In truth, there is likely more to her abilities that is not known than is. What is known are her eyes of purple and silver. Caryll’s natural eyes were amber, but she can now use her eyes to create space and etch runes into her subject’s brain with naught but her gaze.

In truth, avoid Caryll. An ally she may be, but just like any inhabitant of dreams, understood she is not.

Chapter Text

Jaune felt heavy, his entire body compressed by invisible strain, he couldn't even open his eyelids. He could feel numbness across his body where tight and heavy leather straps bound him securely to the medical table. He tried to open his eyes again, but it felt like there was a Goliath bound to his lids.

Torn and misused vocal cords cracked their way around a tortured whine and he heard the movement of clothes in response.

“Jaune?! Are you awake?!”

He felt fingers gently touch his eyelid and open one of his eyes. His vision was blurry and unfocused, but he could still recognise Phos’ silhouette.

“Good, good, that's good. You’re not dead. Okay... Jaune, you’ve been unconscious for about two months. Your muscles have deteriorated a bit, but that's easily recovered. You're going to be stiff and achy for a while because not everything has settled in position. The blood isn’t pleasant for the first few months, it will feel wrong under your skin. We’ll talk more later; I'll unstrap you and move you to a bed. Recover for a bit.”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Jaune's limbs felt stiff as boards, he was eventually able to creak his eyelids open to look around. When he opened them, they shot deep aches of pain straight to his brain, he was not looking forward to moving anything else. Even moving his eyes to look around was uncomfortable.

When he turned his attention to his brain, he realised those symbols, those runes, that Caryll had carved, were still there. His mind felt larger, like the walls at its borders had been knocked down to reveal an endless void of darkness that he shied away from.

For all the focus on the blood, it wasn't like he could feel anything strange in that regard. It wasn't like his circulatory system was pulsing strongly enough for him to notice. It wasn't like his blood was burning or shocking him.

His limbs still wouldn't move though.

Eventually his blurry perception faded back into sleep.

When he woke, he could move again. After a fashion.
He tried to lift his arm and the muscles screamed at him, it felt like glass shards were digging into his flesh at the briefest motion.

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop! Take it slow!”

Phos jumped up from a nearby chair to Jaune's bedside.

“You’re going to need quite a bit of recovery before you’re up to speed again. Also... I'm afraid that it'll probably be worse for you than most, for... A couple of reasons.”

Jaune grunted at him to continue.

“First, your age. You didn't have as much time to build up strength and energy stores, your body deteriorated much more by comparison as a result. Second, you spent a very long time unconscious a month is normal, two is less so, which again increased your deterioration. Finally... shortly after you awoke, the ritual I placed on your aura broke.

This means that not only do you have to deal with recovering and mastering the blood, but your aura at the same time. The stress of your aura will probably make your pain worse, and the increased strength from both your aura and blood will make it very difficult to control your movements.”

“Gr- Greeeaaat.”

Phos huffed.

“Well, at least you're healthy enough for sass.”

It was two days of being spoonfed by Phos before Jaune could sit up on his own. He still hurt like hell, but both he and Phos were impatient.

“So how was it?”

Phos seemed almost eager.

“Not fun.”

Phos laughed.

“Yeah, it's not. I still remember my transfusion, there's a reason I knew so much about Marbel when we passed through. I assume you got your runes?”

“Yeah. Five of them.”

Phos stilled.

“Five?!”

“Oh yeah, they said that was odd...”

“Odd? Jaune it’s... Unheard of! I didn't know that was possible! Why!?”

Jaune went to scratch his head but hissed and stopped moving his arm as it ached at him.

“Yeah, ah... Long story short? I may have had another Great One interested in me for... A while now. They had a bit of an argument with the Moon and agreed to 'share’ me.”

Phos’ face was slack.

“Oh Kos...”

“On the plus side, Marduk at least seems to have my well-being in mind. Or, at least, overall well-being. It seems to have no qualms letting me explore deadly ancient dying cities since I just wake up when I die, but at least it hasn't infected my bloodstream with eldritch worms like another entity I could mention.”

“Aaaaaarrrrrggghhhhh... We’ll be addressing this later. But first, anything else to shake my perception with?”

“Um... I may have yelled at an ancient creature older than the moon for going easy on me?”

Phos just let out a long sigh.

“In future? Keep the sass to mortals.”

Phos wasn’t kidding about not knowing his strength, the first time he'd tried to feed himself since waking up, he accidentally snapped the spoon in two. The worst part was learning to walk again, his legs simultaneously couldn't hold him upright, and would launch him into walls when he tried to take a step. The muscles were strong and ready, but the rest of him wasn’t prepared for them.

The muscles weren't the only part of him that had changed, ever since waking from his trial, his faded blond hair had changed to the hue of sun-bleached bone. Apparently, that wasn't rare, the stress of the blood and the initiation itself messed with the body enough that most Hunters ended up with white hair, including Phos.

Jaune spent a lot of time reading. There were books uncountable in the Labyrinth, from bestiary to political treatise, from ancient legend to technique manuals. It was these manuals that had his attention at the moment. Phos had mentioned that once he had the blood he'd be able to do things that he couldn't before. Honestly, he wanted to call his family and Winter, but it turned out there was no scroll reception in the Labyrinth, and leaving in his condition was inadvisable. At least he had his ridiculous recovery rate on-side.

When he could finally move without giving himself more injuries, Phos let him test his strength. While still weak compared to Phos, he was stronger, faster and more aware than he once was. He hadn’t noticed while in bed, but everything seemed to move more slowly to him.

He immediately realised that Phos had been going easy on him this entire time.

The two of them squared up in a training ring, Phos’ face was stony, completely serious. Jaune ran in, his blade spiking towards the man's shoulder. Except it never got close. Phos’ knife crashed into his in an instant, the hooked edge clutched a protrusion on Jaune’s blade and yanked it from his grasp. Before Jaune could even react to losing half his armament, a heavy boot slammed into his ribcage, sending him across the room and into a crater on the wall. Jaune fell to the floor, trying and failing to suck air into his lungs. He hacked and coughed, throwing up bile onto the wooden floor.

“Until now you've been dealing with small fry. Grimm, some barely inhuman cultists, whatever you've encountered in your Marduk dreams, which probably are weak beasts most of the time, and your initiation, which was specifically designed to be achievable. You're a child. Think of the times you've truly faced the unknown. The Worms, Father, that giant tick you told me about, the Tarkon leader - you've always either lost, been allowed to live, or survived by a fluke. These creatures do things that make no sense to us, but one serious action and we are dust in the wind.”

Jaune pulled himself to his knees.

“By the end of this training period, you are going to long for the gentle nursery of the Creeperjack Forest. We need to get you back into shape and adjusted to your new body, which is still changing.”

-----

“Um... Hi dad?”

Jaune stood in the weak sunlight and pale mist of morning in Silent Hills. Just outside the threshold of the crypt, the surrounding mausoleums loomed as if judging.

“Hello Jaune.”

Oh no, dad was calm.

“How nice of you to drop by! Been doing well? Had a fun time getting mixed up in newsworthy situations?”

“Alright, before you get mad-“

“Mad? I'm long past mad.”

Oh Dust.

“But I'm not mad for you getting involved. Worried yes, and wondering about your sanity, but I would only have been mad if you hadn't tried to help. I'm just angry that it's taken you several months to contact your family to even tell us that you survived!”

“Yeah, I’m... Sorry. I've been sort of not... Able... To?”

Aurum sighed.

“Son. You may still be a kid, but your life is your own. You don't have to justify yourself to me, especially with Phos there. Even so, you are still my son. I at least want to know you’re alive. And... And know that you can always call on me if you need help. I'll tell the others you’re ok.”

Jaune let out a long breath of relief as the call ended. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if his father had tried pushing for answers. There was no way to explain all the dreams and monsters he'd been involved with. Now though, now he had one more call to make.

“Hello Winter.”

“Jaune! Are you okay?”

Winter’s voice had a thinly veiled exuberance to it, as though she was trying to hide her excitement. Given what Jaune knew of her personality, that tracked.

“I'm fine, better than fine actually, though I am a bit achey. How are you though?”

“Oh, I'm doing well! New Eisgarten is up and running, and Cinder’s adjusting. Actually, Cinder’s case started a bit of an inquisition.”

“A what?”

Hey, he was eleven. He might know a lot of words, but that was not one of them. He plopped himself down on the ground and leant against the stone wall.

“An inquisition, a hunt.”

“Ooohhhh. Of what?”

“Well, father and the general really started searching for others in Cinder’s position. They've already found twelve more children and arrested more than twenty of Atlas’ richer people.”

“Well, that's good.”

They're was no way Jaune could have saved everyone in Cinder’s position, but if people like Mr Schnee were trying, then they could help a lot more.

There was a sound of shuffling across the call.

“Um, Jaune?”

“Yes?”

“I... I miss you."

Jaune smiled.

“I miss you too. Tell me if you're ever in Vale, I'll see if I can come visit. But... I've got some new responsibilities , or that's what Phos calls them. I've got a lot to learn and practice.”

A slight huff came across the connection.

“Very well, but I won't let you get too far ahead. Remember, you’re eleven, you’re allowed to be a kid, don’t just train.”

There was a sight tinge of annoyance to Winter’s voice.

“I know. I'll talk to you again soon, ok?”

“Make sure you do. I have to pay you back for everything you've done and I don't want you getting yourself killed before I do.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do. You're not going to get me saying anything else.”

“Fine, fine, see you later.”

-----

The apprentice and his master were within one room of the labyrinth. Polished wooden walls reflected the warm light of the fireplace to create an atmosphere of pleasant calm. The companionable silence posted for a while, both occupants deep in old books. Eventually though, Phos placed his tome on an old oak coffee table and swallowed, as he had to break the silence.

“Now that I can speak freely with you Jaune, given that even without my introduction you jumped head first into the insanity pool, there are a few things about how we fight that I need to explain.”

Phos stood from his leather armchair, dragging Jaune’s attention from his reading, before using his semblance to disappear in a burst of fire and reappear a metre to the left.

“This, well, this isn't entirely my semblance.”

Phos raised his hand and snapped his fingers, producing a small flame above them.

“This is. Soul Immolation. I can create fire, that’s it. The movement? Well...”

Phos moved again, bursting into faint white mist which shot a metre to the right to reform into Jaune’s master.

“I disguise it with my semblance, but that teleportation is an incredibly powerful, and incredibly hard to learn, ability that can be granted by the blood. Essentially, I'm physically jumping into a dream then jumping back in a slightly different place. You've mostly been traveling to dreams purely in your head, but it is possible, and much more dangerous, to travel there physically.”

Jaune’s eyes widened as he closed his book.

“That’s possible?”

“Yes, though inadvisable without proper preparation.”

Phos sat back down in his chair.

“This skill, known as Quickening, is just one of the thousands of techniques developed by Hunters over the years to use the Blood and connection to the Eldritch. Frankly, I’m no expert with these techniques. I have a few I can rely on; Quickening, Beast Eye and Lunar Augur, but I’m basically a dumb brute of a Hunter. Luckily, we have thousands of skills recorded in the Labyrinth.”

Phos gestured around them at the seven stuffed bookcases that ringed the room. He then raised three fingers.

“The skills can generally be placed into three groups, though they overlap. The are physical techniques, ones that rely on and enhance your body and senses, blood techniques, that rely on manipulation of the blood, flesh and instincts, and finally Arcane techniques, which are all about the mind and the stranger parts of being a Hunter.

In general, physical techniques are safe. They are all about you and your abilities. Blood techniques are also mostly okay, though they come with some risk of, well, losing yourself to bloodlust or mutating your body beyond repair. It's arcane techniques though that are risky, because unless you’re careful you can leave your mind open to anything that wants entry or mutilate your memories, personality and consciousness.”

Jaune stuck his hand up to interrupt.

“I'm pretty sure that 'mutating your body beyond repair’ doesn’t count as ‘mostly okay’.”

“Well, no. It's pretty bad, but there are far worse things that can happen when using arcane techniques. Because of the risk, let me check any skill you find that you want to learn. Even if I okay it, there's no guarantee you'll be able to learn it, and even if you can it'll probably take months of study and practice.”

“So, I'll be able to do that misty teleportation thing?”

“Probably, if you work at it. Since we rediscovered quickening it has become one of our most basic tools. Once you have fully recovered and adapted to both your new strength and your aura, we will set about teaching you some of these techniques. Two, probably. Including quickening. Of course, you need to continue taking association missions.”

Jaune hopped up from his chair.

“Can I choose the other skill?”

“Within reason. However, while I have your attention... Marduk.”

Jaune nervously took a deep breath..

“Ah, yes-“

“Look, Jaune, I won't complain about you interacting with Great Ones. It's not like you can avoid it if they want it, but it is dangerous. I've lost far too much to their machinations as it stands."

Phos released a long sigh.

“I hoped never to mention this again but... Jaune, you weren't my first apprentice.”

Jaune’s eyes widened with shock and he slumped back down into his chair.

“What?”

“I had an apprentice before you. I took one when I was too young and foolhardy, and my poor judgement led to his demise. He engaged a Great One too early, head swollen with praise, hubris and a desire to prove himself. So I urge you Jaune, use caution in all your dealings with this 'Marduk’.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Ongoing Story of the Beetle King

“The Beetle King Living In Ignorance” is an old elegy found lying in the Labyrinth, recorded in the latter days of the City of Leechgears. Incomplete, and yearningly searching for its continuation. Who was the author? Who is the King Beetle? What is the mystery? No mere bug, no mere fire. Yet chillingly just that. Much like many ramblings in the Labyrinth, it is not to be taken literally, but beware prophecy. Allegory and allusion are fond tools of the beyond.

As the Moon rose and the hour grew late
The day help on a Coconut estate
Raked up the dry leaves that fell dead from the Trees
Which they burned in a pile by the lake…
The Beetle King summoned his men,
And from the top of a Rhododendron stem:
“Calling all volunteers!
Who can carry back here,
The Great Mystery that’s lit once again?”
One Beetle emerged from the crowd
In a fashionable abdomen shroud:
“I’m a professor, you see, that’s no mystery to me...
I’ll be back soon, successful and proud”
But when the Beetle Professor returned
He crawled on all six, as his wings had been burned
And described to the finest detail all he’d learned
But there was neither a light nor a heat in his words
The deeply dissatisfied King
Climbed the same stem to announce the same thing
But in his second appeal sought to sweeten the deal
With a silver Padparadscha ring
The Lieutenant stepped out from the line
As he lassoed his thorax with twine, thinking
“I’m stronger and braver,
I’ll earn the King’s favour, and
One day all he has will be mine!”
But for all the Lieutenant’s conceit
He, too, returned singed and admitting defeat:
“I had no choice, please believe, but retreat...
It was bright as the sun, but with ten times the heat!
It cracked like the thunder and bloodshot my eyes,
Though smothered with sticks it advanced undeterred
As it carelessly cast an ash cloud to the sky,
My Lord, like a flock of
Dark, vanishing birds.”

Chapter Text

The mists of the Ghost Forest were well known for their tendency to hide Grimm. The forest was small, but notorious. Its trees were old wood, hard as iron and gnarled by years of wear. The moniker of ghost forest was somewhat underserved, honestly. When compared to the mass grave that filled the rest of Silent Hills the forest barely contained any dead. In truth it was more the thick clogging grey mist that curled through the branches and clutched like spectral fingers that had granted the region its name.

A small pack of beowolves prowled through the underbrush below, hackles raised. Something wasn’t right here, they could tell. There was a stiffness to the air that bled through the muggy fog. One put its paw against the bark of a tree as it reared onto its back legs.

Without warning the Grimm collapsed forward, as though its puppet strings were cut, the rest of the pack keening in a mockery of worry and fear. The beowolves looked around for their attacker, but found nothing. With a pair of muffled ‘thunks’ two more fell.

The two remaining creatures stuck their snouts to the sky and released low crooning howls, the mist coiling in the wake of the sound. Unfortunately for them, their calls were cut short.

A pair of alphas crashed into view, drawn by the call of their fellows, only to see them beginning to slowly smoke. The crack of a pistol retort threw the head of one alpha backwards, before it could respond a shadow fell from the canopy. A dull dagger dug into the monster’s throat and tore it down to the groin. The shadow spun and rammed its knife between the other alpha’s exposed ribs. Both Grimm fell, barely comprehending how they had died.

Jaune stood from his crouch to observe his work. He had grown some and filled out in the two years since his transfusion, and stood more secure in his skin. With a mild flourish he sheathed his blade and inspected the most recent addition to his armament.

-----

Phos thumped Embers Burst onto the table in front of Jaune. The bulky, heavy hand cannon had been used by Phos for as long as Jaune knew him.

“I told you back in Ebontark that we took an unusual stance on firearms. Have a look at Embers Burst, see if you notice anything unusual.”

Other then the fact it looked much more primitive than any other gun Jaune had seen, there was initially nothing particularly odd about it. Barrel, trigger, grip.... However, there was one thing he noticed.

“How do you load it? I've seen you fire multiple shots, so it can't be a muzzle loader, and it doesn't fire Dust, so there can't be a Dust vial, yet I don't see any magazine?”

Phos have a wry smile and picked the weapon back up.

“Correct. Our guns are unique.”

Phos flipped a hidden latch which popped open a hatch on the side of the grip. From within the gun Phos extracted a large phial that was half full of a thick silver liquid. And capped at both ends with a thick bronze lid.

“They fire this. It is a concoction called quicksilver. Related to and based on the metal mercury, which is sometimes referred to by the same name, though this particular substance is heavily augmented. I'll explain how to make it at a future date.”

Phos sloshed the liquid to and fro a little.

“Not exactly the safest mixture. Mercury alone is poisonous. This stuff, well... Don't mess with it. Anyway, proper use of quicksilver is only available to those with the blood. All of us have some small ability at what a lot of comic books and other fiction call ‘Haemomancy’, control over our blood. For most it is weak and inefficient, but sufficient for party tricks.”

Phos sliced his thumb with a knife, smeared some blood on the table and quickly arranged it into the numbers 1 through 5.

“That's the most I can do.”

Phos pointed at something else on Embers Burst that Jaune had missed, a small array of tiny needles that would dig into the hand when held.

“These have improved a lot since the early days. Essentially, these needles are used to provide a channel for the wielder to mix their blood with the quicksilver in the firing chamber and solidify it into a bullet.”

Jaune looked at the needles.

“Wouldn't shooting the blood into someone be bad? Wouldn't that cause, well, beasts?”

Phos nodded.

“Good, you're listening. You're correct, the early bullets did lead to beasthood in those who survived being shot, though few did. The formula we use now to make the quicksilver contains components to prevent that. Doesn’t make them any less dangerous, but does prevent greater issues.”

Jaune tilted his head.

“Sooooo... How does it actually fire? If it doesn't use Dust and the bullets are solid or, well, liquid, metal. Where's the propellant?”

Phos nodded and moved his fingers to another part of the weapon.

“Do not move Jaune, this place is, um, volatile when opened.”

Phos pried open a panel with extreme care, as the metal moved out the way, a cloying smell reached Jaune’s nose. It was somewhat sweet, but repulsive. Within the cavity was something pale white. It was limbless, slimy and revolting. Tiny protuberances along its length and longer ones from what Jaune could only assume was its head wriggled agitatedly in the light and openness. Phos quickly closed the hatch.

“An Augur. The little masters. In truth, we do not know whether they are pseudo children of Great Ones, or extensions of them. Our bullets are propelled by the shockwave created by imploding a tiny black hole created by an eldrich worm. Somewhat overkill, but it never runs out, unlike Dust.”

Jaune cocked an eyebrow.

“That seems rather excessive.”

“You've seen what we fight.”

“Okay, fair point.”

Phos returned his weapon to its normal place on his lower back.

“It is time for you to choose and construct a firearm of your own.”

-----

Jaune's gaze roamed over his firearm. Almost two years since its forging and he still looked at it in awe. Much like the Blades of Mercy, it was an old design, though apparently modified heavily to make the system more efficient. An elegant device called an Evelyn, long of barrel and intricate of detail. Seriously, the embellishment took almost as long to craft as the rest of the weapon, but Phos insisted the weapon be treated with respect.

“You okay in there, little friend?”

Jaune grinned at the small hatch where he knew his own little Augur lay. Honestly, he had no clue where Phos got the thing, but he was already somewhat attached to the grotesque little worm.

Focusing back on the task at hand, he diverted his attention to the fog. Those beowolves were only part one.

With a few quick leaps he was back in the trees and on the prowl again. This was his last mission before becoming an E-rank with the association. He was, frankly, abusing the mentor system to take missions far above his rank because Phos was supposedly helping him. In truth, he was more often completing these missions solo and blasting his way through gathering the necessary points, he had been an F rank for about 2 years now, and if he kept up this rate, he would be a C rank by 17. Of course, it got harder as you went, so he doubted that would happen.

This mission was to thin the Grimm population of the Ghost Forest, with a few specific targets. Many of the branches were thick and strong, making it easy to traverse the canopy. Below he saw a few Grimm, mostly creeps, but they were not what he was after. When an Ursa Major strode into view below him and down a short cliff, he jumped from the branch and hunkered down on the edge.

The monster was well over three metres tall when it stood on its back legs, like now, and the large scarring down the left of its faceplate indicated that this was one of his targets. With a quick flourish of his hand, he called on an ability he had spent the last two years honing.

-----

Of all the places Jaune had read about during his time in the Labyrinth, none held his attention more than the castle of Cainhurst. Perhaps it was a holdover from his old hero dreams, when the knights in shining armour were his aspiration, but it had long since passed that. Most Hunters, it seemed, let the blood control them to some degree. The Cainhurst Hunters bound the blood to their will. Phos had already explained how Hunters could manipulate that blood to an extent, Jaune was already using it in his Evelyn, but those of Cainhurst could do so much more.

Even the control required for correct admixture with the quicksilver was a struggle for Jaune right now, but practice makes perfect. He had seen a knight of Cainhurst in action through Caryl the Runesmith, and he had seen what she could do. Extending her sword with a scarlet blade.

With excruciating effort, he carefully moulded the red liquid into a crude spike which then fell apart at a lapse in concentration. Well, it was a start.

-----

Jaune’s hand filled with a blade of blood, the small knife no more than five centimetres in length, but razor sharp. With a swift throw, the blade quickly found itself buried in the single eye remaining on the Ursa, which let out a low roar as it was blinded. With a few lithe hops Jaune descended to the floor and hamstrung the bear.

Another target down.

Jaune's control over the blood was still infantile compared to the hunters of old. Phos had explained to him that he had chosen one of the most sought after and varied skills within the Labyrinth to learn, the epitome of the blood techniques, and one that could never be truly mastered. The most he had ever achieved were throwing knives of blood, given he had Evelyn, they were little use beside the fact they were silent. When he eventually forged his main weapon, which shouldn't be too far off, he could set to the art in earnest.

The trample of heavy feet belied the arrival of a truly fearsome opponent, a Kardakann. The black flanks of the immense beast steamed in the low light, trails of perspiration drifting into the sky, it threw back its immense head in a bellow, over a metre of thick, green-lined horn casting eddies through the fog.
With a pawing of large brutish feet, the monster snorted thick trails of vapour from outsized nostrils and glared with beady eyes. Thick skin and immense size gave the creature a fearless bent, it was the indestructible king of the Ghost Forest.

With a gruff snort, the Grimm bowled at Jaune in a charge. Moments before the horn would have gutted him, Jaune disappeared in a puff of white mist to reappear just out of reach. Jaune's blades ground on the thick hide of the Kardakann, one making minor damage, but mostly sliding off. The creature wheeled around to face Jaune as soon as it succeeded in killing off its momentum, before charging again. Quickening was not something Jaune could do in quick succession, it dragged too much out of him, so he could only dive away this time, scoring a few more hits.

A Kardakann was far from the largest of Grimm, but it still outstripped most other breeds to be found within the Valean mountains. Their rarity meant that they were rather poorly understood, but among the things that were known, the horn stood out. The green veins pulsed thickly with an eerie glow, a mere look at the trees the beast had crashed into would reveal why. From the point of impact, they crumbled with a wet smell, rotting from within. The Kardakann’s poison ate away at life, resulting in a spreading malaise.

This was another time that Jaune wished he had larger weapon. There was a reason huntsman and Hunter weapons alike were often oversized, they were dealing with oversized opponents, and Jaune’s small blades were not designed for this.

Luckily, Kardakanns were not exactly intelligent, and on the next charge Jaune scored a scratch along its face which tore through one of the creature’s eyes. Half blind and angry, it wasn't going to last long. Baiting the creature Jaune taunted it towards him, and it sealed its fate with its next charge.

With no thought whatsoever, the beast rammed its horn deep into the cliff. It bellowed angrily as it was unable to pull itself from the earth, giving Jaune ample time to ram the knife deep into its eye over and over until it slumped to the floor. The horn’s venom might have disintegrated living things, but rock and earth?

No.

-----

As the sun began to set Jaune left the Ghost Forest, the requirements for completing his mission were done and then some. With sure feet, he stepped back onto the gravestones of the Great Dead Road and began the trek back to Mausoleum.

By now he was used to the grim surroundings of Silent Hills, the dour gravestones were just that, stones, and those they marked were far less dangerous than other dead he'd already crossed.

The sun was rising by the time Jaune returned to Mausoleum, the blood permitting him longer days without need for sleep, though that wasn't indefinite. The apathetic pall over the city seemed to pass around him as he smiled towards tiny tentacled Midnight Lilies playing in the shadows. The crooning cries of the radial Starlight Pilgrims pulsed with their bodies as undulating wings carried them through the sky. Even in a city as dull as this, there was life. You need only open your eyes...

With light steps he entered the association building. The sweeping buttresses and sharp spires of the former church provided ample perches for several large creatures with too many limbs, while the ornate internal woodwork provided paths for smaller creatures with scurrying appendages. Honestly the feeling of reverence in the building had long since faded for him. Though he often still got dirty looks for his exuberance.

“Hello Maisie!”

The blond receptionist visibly wilted.

“Jaune, I just got on shift. Can you keep your exhausting optimism on hold for, I don't know, five minutes?”

“Fine, fine! But I have a mission to hand in!”

She sagged even more.

“Another one? What is with you? That’s, what, the fifth one this week? And it’s... 7am. On Thursday. You're lucky we never run out here. Code?”

Jaune checked his scroll.

“D-V/SH/MAU-53421-AC”

A few taps on the desk scroll brought it up.

“D rank area cull... The 53, 421st hmm... Any evidence?”

Jaune turned his scroll around.

“About sixty pictures?”

Maisie sighed.

“Why are you like this? You know I hate paperwork. Anyway, I guess your master had nothing to do with this? Even though with the mentor system he’s supposed to be on higher rank missions to take most of the load, not have you going off on your own.”

Jaune sat down on one of the stools by the counter and begun to spin on it.

“Like normal yeah.”

After a few minutes swiping through the scroll images and tapping on her holographic keyboard she spoke again.

“Aaand paid. Well, you did it. You're ready for your rank up. Last of the easy ones. For the rank D and up exams you have to beat the huntsman and go on a supervised mission. For today though... I think we have a slot available in a few hours to fight a huntress, so you can try the written exam now.”

The written exam was not difficult in content, because he'd been doing higher rank missions so encountering the kind of Grimm it asked about. The Kardakann for example. Rather it was difficult because he had to remember to not mention his eldrich black-hole powered gun that fired caustic liquid bullets and the countless “not real” creatures that scurried around out of sight. Seriously, his only two encounters with Steeplejacks, a type of Grimm with very long bladed legs, had ended when a couple of Canopy Watchers intervened.

Either way, with the exam behind him, and a passing score that should pacify Phos attained, it was time for the conflict with the huntress.

“Angela?!”

When Jaune entered the room he was surprised to see the exact same huntress who had presided over his F rank exam.

“Didn't you go to Beacon last year?”

Angela smiled at him.

“Yup! But it's the holidays now, I’ve finished my first year and I needed some cash, so back to the old grind.”

Jaune drew his blades.

“Well it's good to see you again. Even in these circumstances.”

“Likewise.”

Angela then lunged with Serpent’s Fang, the metal curling towards him. Jaune lunged to the side, easily avoiding the snaking blade. He was no longer much shorter than his opponent, so it was down to speed and skill. The blades scraped the side of her aura before she could react, but he only got one hit in before she was back on him. It was dangerous trying to bat the malleable blade away because it could just curve around his knife, but he had a plan. He let the silver metal wrap around one knife, then hooked the other around it further down and yanked, dragging the sword out of her hands. His blood-given strength overwhelming hers.

Flinging the blade wrapped in Serpent's Fang aside, Jaune lunged forward and placed his other knife under Angela’s throat.

There was a moment of silence before Angela started to giggle.

“Well, you got me tiger. Fair and square. I rely far too much on my semblance, Goodwitch is always telling me. Congratulations, you pass. Well done on hitting E rank."

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Specific Lesser Critters

There are a multitude of variants of lesser critters, like a whole hidden biosphere. These include such creatures as Midnight Lilies, Starlight Pilgrims and Canopy Watchers.

The midnight lily, like many of these beings, is radially symmetrical, rather than bilaterally like most normal life. They resemble fleshy vases with a rim that branches into five or six tentacles. Rarely breaching the one foot tall mark, these creatures are relatively harmless. They have no teeth, and subsist off debris found in dark corners. They appear sensitive to light and will shuffle into the shadows using an array of tiny tube-feet like appendages at the base of the vase bell. They are somewhat social and can often be seen in pairs or groups of three, seemingly playing together with their appendages. In the shadow of night they roam the environment with surprising speed.

The starlight pilgrim is also radially symmetrical. Long tapered cylinders set all about with fin-like wings, they can reach several metres in length. Multiple eyes array themselves around a five jawed mouth at the tip, but they seem to bear no interest bar curiosity towards humanity and their creations. The larger individuals can often be seen flying at the wingtips of aircraft, while the smaller frolic through eaves and rafters, especially in large communal buildings. At night these creatures seem to all rise high into the sky, and their crooning wails as they try to reach the far-off stars gave them their name. It is likely they hail from a dream bathed in starlight.

Canopy watchers appear to have once been radial as well, but have since taken on bilateral characteristics. Strong arms and legs hold them on the highest structures in their vicinity. Whether this be treetops or church spires. They observe the ground with large, outsized, bulging eyes, looking for something. While they ignore humans, some animals, especially cats, seem to fear their gaze, and their reaction to Grimm is almost always violent.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the Labyrinth went by quickly. Given how much time Jaune now spent among the long-deceased, all the mournful atmosphere of the region had leeched out of him, especially given that, for him, this place was very lively. His hand trailed along a furred back as the three jawed form of a young Scarlet Feline let out a faint chirp and shook its right third pedipalp in pleasure.

With a quick motion Jaune whipped out his scroll, the prototype model still really advanced. Though the SDC had since released the retail model, it seemed this still particular one had many advantages. The benefits of getting one before feature to cost balancing.

“Hey Winter, guess whaaaaaat!”

A faint exasperated laugh.

“What is it Jaune.”

“I'm an E rank now!”

“Congratulations! I know you have been working really hard. So... What is your plan now? You claimed you were only staying in Mausoleum until you achieved that rank, so where are you going now?”

Jaune sat on a nearby tombstone and leant back, its markings long since faded. The Scarlet Feline crept into his lap. Pseudopods moving with slick grace over his leg.

“I'm not sure. Up to Phos I guess. Don't think I'll be coming up to see you again yet though. I can try, but I'm pretty sure Phos knows exactly where he wants me to go. Anyway, how're things going up there?”

Winter’s disappointment was tangible even over the phone conversation. Jaune had only managed to make two visits up to Atlas over the last two years, and only one of those was actually planned. The other visit was only because Phos was pulled up there for a job.

“Well... Let us see... Whitley is still improving. The doctors suspect the scars will never fade completely, but the therapy is assisting. Weiss has thrown herself both into singing and emulating me in training. I suspect that day is still affecting her. Cinder and the rest of the rescues are flourishing, even if the press is still keen on finding something nefarious about the orphanage. She is planning on following me to Atlas Academy. Speaking of which... The General came to visit yesterday, and he gave me an offer.”

Jaune leant forward. Excitement and apprehension in his tone, as much as this was likely positive, something about General Ironwood had unnerved him the one time they met.

“He has requested I attend the academy a year early.”

“That’s... Good?”

“Yes, it is good!”

Jaune smiled.

“Well congratulations! That means... I should be entering Beacon the year after you finish at Atlas? I think? Your sixteenth birthday was only about a month ago, and the school year starts in a month, while my fourteenth birthday is two months away, so I'll be starting when almost eighteen.”

“Do not count your chickens Jaune...”

Despite the words, there was amusement in her tone.
“I know! But, think of it this way... You’re being let in early and, well, you haven't beat me yet!”

Jaune teased.

“Oh, ha ha.”

Winter let out a good-natured huff.

“Well, I want to see you soon. You’re one of very few people father approves of who are not stuffy and hungry for connections. Also I... I miss you.”

Jaune smiled gently.

“Hey, I speak to you most weeks, don't I? I know I've been on radio silence since your birthday, but you know you can call me as well. You don't have to wait for me to get in contact.”

“I know, but what if you're in a fight?”

Jaune stood back up.

“Then I'll just call back. I'm not reckless enough to try and have a scroll call while fighting an Ursa. Or five.”

“You know, it's generally not a good idea to boast while reassuring someone.”

Winter's tone wasn’t angry, just slightly exasperated.

“A great man once said 'It's not boasting if it's true’.”

“Don't quote my father, it borders on unnerving. Also, that quote doesn't even make sense.”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, congratulations on your entry, but I need to head off, Phos’ll be getting annoyed in a few hours. I'll talk to you later.”

-----

Jaune himself didn't actually have a way of entering the Archive Labyrinth on his own. From what he understood, that required Phos’ pocket watch. No, he had to hope Phos was in and, for lack of a better term, ring the doorbell. As Jaune stood there, surrounded by the Hunter dead, his eyes scanned for the doorbell in question. Unfortunately, the shifting of the Labyrinth didn't stop at the door. The catacomb also altered itself, changing every time he walked through. The coffins were never the same. How many Hunters were buried here? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands? How many had perished over the years since the ascension of the moon reborn?

The doorbell was not a bell per se, rather it was a single stone that somehow told Phos that Jaune was outside when he touched it. Maybe there was something living on the stone that Jaune just couldn't see, his eyes were barely open after all.

Jaune was expecting some sort of congratulations from Phos at least. E rank was not something that your average thirteen year old could achieve after all. Instead, Phos hadn't even got up from his armchair, or his book.

“Ah, you passed, did you? Good.”

“Was expecting something more than that if I'm honest.”

Phos looked up.

“What? You would be probably a D rank already if combat skill was all that mattered. Really, this whole thing was a foregone conclusion.”

Jaune slumped in the opposite chair.

“Still...”

Phos placed his book on the side table.

“Either way, it's time to move on. You have your blades; you have your Evelyn. You’re almost fourteen. Any weapon you make now will only be slightly oversized for a year or so, if that. Take some time to look through the blueprints and-“

“Burial Blade.”

“I'm... Sorry?”

“Burial Blade. Come on, I've been decided for almost six months.”

Phos collapsed backwards in the chair.

“I'm going to have to try and find a ridiculous amount of siderite aren't I?”

“Hey, you gave me free reign to choose whatever I wanted. How could I not choose the giant scythe?”

Phos stood up and pulled a bunch of old scrolls out of a bookshelf, gesticulating at his apprentice.

“You could have taken the Hunter axe for one, then I’d have actually been able to train you in using it.”

“I'm not just copying you.”

Phos spread the scrolls, which turned out to be weapon plans across the desk.

“The Beastcutter? The Rakuyo? The Chikage?”

Pointing at each one in turn, Jaune rejected them.

“Too unwieldy, tempting but I already have a dual blade, again tempting, but I need something large.”

Phos rolled them back up, before briefly unrolling another. He muttered to himself.

“Well, at least it's not the bloody Logarius Wheel.”

Phos turned back to Jaune.

“Right. I'll get onto finding enough siderite. Then we’re back off to Sable Down to forge the damn thing. Then I have to find someone who can actually teach you how to fight with a dust-dammed piece of farm equipment. I only know one person who still does really.”

Phos leaned forward, and the look on his eyes told Jaune that the jovial tone of their conversation was over.

“Jaune, you've been sleeping in the Labyrinth almost every time you actually need sleep. The strange nature of this place, alongside your runes, have given you protection from the Great Ones that kept harassing you before. You haven't encountered either The Worms or Father since your initiation. And yes, I'm still annoyed you didn't tell me about Father for almost a year. When we leave, you’re going to be more open to them again. You need to tell me if anything happens with them.”

Jaune sighed, playing with the hilt of his knife.

“I know. The two stellar assholes are bad news. I have no desire to be infected by worms again or sacrificed by zealous Faunus. Even Marduk's only contacted me rarely.”

-----

One year ago.

Jaune's knife cracked against the black glass in the blade of the lord of the Night-Bones. Arms holding where once they had failed like twigs. A strange chittering laugh, punctuated by the clacking of two sets of teeth, emanated from the creature’s monstrosity of a mouth.

“Ah, a true challenger to the throne of the Night-Bones approaches. I am Tollahke, the Slice of the Sandstorm. Lord of the chief defenders of Akopatlakah. Let us see then, if you are worthy to wear the Nailod-sud, the Ring of Iron.”

The monster’s voice was smooth and at-odds with its appearance, noble and confident.

With a mighty swing the armoured figure threw Jaune away, before he launched forward.

This was honestly probably the hardest duel Jaune had ever encountered. At least, that he was actually able to win. Sure, the monsters of the Nightmare Voyage might have been stronger, but here was a simple man to man duel.

Jaune's dives and immature attempts at quickening led to him avoiding the blade by millimetres, if that, taking several minor scrapes. Jaune's problem was not being unable to hit Tollahke, rather it was being unable to hurt the heavily armoured foe. Macabre the bone armour may be, but its mutated frame afforded much better protection than the more mundane skeletons of the other Night-Bones.

Eventually, twisting below a strike, Jaune was able to slide his blade through a hole in the armour below the armpit. Unfortunately, that was the only wound he would make for quite some time, and while he struggled, Tollahke did not stand idle. The lord let loose into a rush of mighty swings, bellowing in pain. Jaune thought he had avoided them all, as he felt no pain, but this was not the case. He was only alerted to his loss by a strange lopsided feeling. It was when he looked down that he realised, his right arm lay two metres away on the ground. Though momentarily weak with nausea, Jaune made no sound. There was no pain to initiate a reflexive shout.

Tollahke placed his blade in the ground and leant on it.

“You have lost, young challenger. That wound will bleed until you are empty. It was a good fight.”

Tollahke was obviously expecting Jaune to give up, blood pouring from his stump, but instead, Jaune lunged forward, his remaining blade sinking to the hilt in Tollahke’s third eye before the man could raise his weapon to react.

Even with the blade in his forehead, Jaune’s opponent didn't react except with a deep laugh.

“Well done little champion! Yes, you will wear the Nailod-sud well. May it open many doors for you in life.”

The man threw a simple ring of black iron to Jaune, before he closed his eyes. It took Jaune several delirious moments to recognise that Tollahke had died standing up, then several more to stumble past the corpse standing sentinel, and to the altar he could see behind.

Once more, like seemed to be the norm in these excursions, as he felt his body failing, Marduk appeared against the orange sun.

“I wonder sometimes boy, whether I'm making the right decisions. That feeling doesn’t go away if you become a Great One. You just deal with bigger choices. Nevertheless, the course is set. The flames will be born, the rot will be burned, and the child will be whole once again.”

Six Months Ago

It was finally time. After over a year of avoiding it, Jaune would defeat that damn snake-man priest that had killed him on his first visit to Chalchiuit. It had taken hours to return to the first pyramid, or Lewain he supposed, if he used the local vernacular. Then again, he only made the journey because it turned out that Tarkon Lewain, the pyramid where he had killed Tollahke, was a bleeding dead end. The iron ring the lord of the Night-Bones had given him rested heavy on his right hand. A strange item that had actually followed him from the dream to reality, but currently it wasn't much of a balm against the annoyance of finding out he had struggled all that way for seemingly nothing.

The gilded snakes of the large room deep within the pyramid were lit by flickering light from open torches. The area hadn't changed at all from his first visit, other than the man already being transformed into a giant snake monster before his arrival. Jaune supposed that since he had already been here once before, the transformation wouldn't have just reset. The dream didn't restart every time he came back to Chalchiuit, creatures stayed dead, why not transformed? Honestly reverting the progression of the blood’s corruption would be nigh on impossible, even in a dream.

“I'm back!”

Jaune's cry was enough to alert the snake, which lunged at him in a parody of the attack that had slain him at their last meeting. This time however, Jaune merely sidestepped, driving his blade into the side of the snake man.

The beast’s hissing cry rang like the rubbing of sandpaper as its hairy arm pressed to the massive tear in its side. To try and stem the bleeding. The snake came snapping its jaws towards him but Jaune was not particularly impressed. Was it always this slow? Did this really kill him that easily? With an almost tired sigh Jaune stuck his knife through the snake’s lower jaw and into its brain, taking the full weight of the monster’s charge on one arm.

With a swing of his wrist to shake the sickly dark blood from the blade Jaune turned his back on the beast. The lectern at the head of the room bore a short book.

“Wetchey-Lewainod Ochwaichod-Lepat Aiodwet. The journal of Lepat Ochwaich of Wetchey Lewain, the Praise Pyramid that is the Place of Books.”

Jaune turned to look back at the snake.

“I guess this was you, eh? So, you were one of those Lepatan I guess.”

The book, while in another language and heavily damaged, was readable to an extent. Jaune was glad that, unlike when he first arrived, for some reason, probably Marduk related, he could read and speak Teywahkul.

“Day six of the Height of Sun: The communion is on schedule, the time for the Faceless One to walk our streets draws near. The small-folk celebrate in jubilation. Slaves from the Waintach rebellion, murderers and thieves, and the honourable volunteers are being prepared for sacrifice. Weary God bless their dedication to our protection from the black hounds. The gates to Lepatodan Woshchey have all been sealed for the preparations. The Wechlepat wants no errors this time.”

Jaune took the journal with him, heading through the simple door behind. The pyramid’s name, Wetchey Lewain, the praise pyramid that is the place of books, was certainly appropriate, given wall upon wall of scrolls and leather bound tomes.

Quickly finding another altar, Jaune sat to rest and felt himself drifting away. It was strange to leave Chalchiuit without dying. This was...a novelty. Which to be honest was worrying enough itself. He should not be this used to dying.

”Books. Knowledge. The greatest weapon of all. But beware, any weapon can be crafted by a master or an imbecile. In time you will know the burden of too much knowledge, thus is the curse of the blood, and many before you have drunk too deep from its black well.”

-----

"I can't exactly stop any of them from messing with my sleep, but I'll tell you if anything happens."

Phos plopped Jaune's hat on his head.

"Just try your best kid, I know you'll do fine."

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Duality of Beast and Kin

Excerpt from ‘Denizens of the Outer Planes’ by Master Hunter Orion Krieg of Ravenspire.

The two terms of Beast and Kin are often used interchangeably and incorrectly. In truth there is a division between them, and it all stems from blood and insight.

In the absolute simplest of terms Kin are the offspring of insight, while beasts are the scions of blood. In slightly more depth, it all comes from their source.

Beasts are the mostly mindless common enemy of the Hunter. Deranged, thirsty, aggressive. Born of blood, anger and instinct. A Beast is spawned by the exposure of the mundane to the blood of the ascended. Blood brings power, but no understanding, leaving the beast to be ruled by their power. Warped and twisted beyond the tangible into the real. Beasts are power without direction, without control, without mind. Identities occluded by the sanguine fog. A strength of will and a higher knowledge let some survive into beasthood, but all will eventually succumb. The corruption of the blood grows exponentially, further corrupting the body until the power overwhelms the self, and the instinct is all that remains.

To the contrary, Kin are not mindless, nor necessarily aggressive. Many breeds of kin divert their higher mind to higher concepts, appearing subhuman to our limited perspectives. Kin are born of knowledge. They are mind without the corruption of blood, their own twisted and thinned into the off-white paleblood. The mind is the strength of the Kin, and all their physical ability is the manifestation of their mental desires. Kin are not slave to their instincts, but they are slave to an endless thirst. Knowledge, knowledge. The urge to see the truth, to sprout eye upon eye to see the world bare, and this can drive them to lose themselves and go mad, reality too much for the mind of the restricted of view. Some Kin are merely children of others, entities who have never known the mundane.

It is balance between blood and insight, between Beast and Kin, that the Great Ones have achieved. Power and knowledge in stable, if not equal balance. It is this state for which Hunters strive. Strong and driven enough to Hunt, but knowledgeable enough to maintain their self. It is necessary for a Hunter’s eyes to open to keep themselves from descending fully into beasthood.

Chapter Text

The lump of metal glowed dully in the low light. Siderite was both rare and expensive, so samples this size were only seen a few times in a decade. For most, the aura sapping star-steel was little more than a curiosity, if known at all. Even for those who knew of it, it held little worth beyond a museum piece or a statement of affluence. Indeed, even in this case, the tired sheen of the material merely reflected the pale light of lamps strung in the corridor in which its display case found itself. A plain corridor of white and blue, strung with the relics of fallen cultures seized after their time. Modern successor states may rant and rave about the loss of their history, as indeed Vacuo did about the acquisition of statuary and inventory from local temples by the Mantalian occupiers before the Great War, but in truth the theft of these items was the only reason they have survived. Had Vacuo kept their treasures, the civil wars and unrest that have plagued the last seven decades would likely have resigned these treasures to the void.

This item, though precious for its size, was not intricately carved, nor culturally important. In truth, it was a mere lump of metal. Therefore, Jacques Schnee had no problem slashing its price when Phos informed him of the importance of such a sample to Jaune’s training. The loss of a frankly unappealing and disconcerting chunk of celestial iron, expensive though it may be, still filled only a tiny fragment of the thanks he felt.

With a faint smile, Jacques looked out his window to the sheltered courtyard below. His children stood below, playing in the drifts with their young companion. It was difficult to see through the gentle snowfall, but the smiles on his children's faces brought some degree of warmth to his heart. The live of a Schnee was not an easy one, and he was well aware that his paranoia and urge to prepare his children for the dangers of their life had nigh on smothered their childhood in the crib. Which was why he was glad Jaune had dragged them from their constricting expectations. A good friend, it seems, could create a blazing drive under others like nothing else.

Never before had Winter been so driven, Weiss was chasing her sister and Whitley... Whitley damn near worshipped the ground his saviour walked upon. Jacques had been searching for a playmate for them for over a decade, but the arena of backstabbing and blackmail within their social circles did not contain people you wanted to associate your children with. The Marigolds had been fighting each other for years for a multitude of reasons, the Eisnachts had never adapted their views on many issues since the Great War, the Saltires were more Mistralian now than Atlesian and blatant criminals. The Gornysnegas and the Grauermonds were still embroiled in a blood feud, and he wouldn't even dignify the Untergrubes with a consideration. That's only scratching the surface, but none of the others really strayed from the mould.

Jaune had sincerely not expected to see Winter again in person for quite a while. It was quite a surprise when Phos decided to take him up to Atlas. Apparently, it was because Jacques just happened to own a large chunk of siderite, but Jaune secretly suspected that this was supposed to be some sort of reward for him.

As they were out playing in the snow, Jaune tried his best to enjoy it as much as the other children. They had tried to have a snowball fight, but Whitley's trauma made even that level of violence impossible. Now they were just messing around. Weiss had tried making snow angels for a while, until Jaune pointed out that her long ponytail was just messing them up. That had got him a kick to the shin. It seems that just like Weiss herself had barely grown since they'd first met, her temper was still short. In fact, it might even have got shorter.

By this point he and Winter were basically just sat on a bench near the wall, watching Weiss command her brother in the construction of a snowman. The snowman had a suspiciously Jacques-like moustache.
Despite the occasional amusement, it was just too relaxed and calm for Jaune. When you had fought tooth and nail for survival multiple times, though you could appreciate the calm, you would eventually, it seemed, be pulled back towards that intense sensation. Like an addict going through withdrawal. In fact, given the blood, that might be more accurate than you would think.

Jaune was brought out of his momentary introspection even he felt Winter move closer to his side. As she put her head on his shoulder, he gave her an odd look. At least, as best he could with the awkward positioning of their heads.

“What? It's cold.”

Winter looked vaguely offended as she spoke.

“Winter, you’re from Atlas. You're used to the cold.”

“And? Be quiet and let me lean on you. You're going to head off soon and I may not see you for months. I might be able to talk and even see you over scroll call, but I won't be near you. I won't be able to do this.”

Jaune gave a good-natured huff and indulged the older girl.

“Fine. You are nice and warm.”

With Winter there with him he supposed, the lack of excitement and adrenaline became more bearable.

Unfortunately, their time in Atlas was short. Winter began her first term at the academy, and Phos decided that was as good a time as any to depart. Unfortunately, with Winter already behind the academy’s walls, she couldn't be there to see them off, but when the Atlesian vessel set off from the grounds of the Schnee manor, Weiss, Whitley and a visiting Cinder waved as their Manta flew away. Jacques stood stoically beside them. With many kilograms worth of soul-sucking metal now in their possession, the vessel chartered a course to Sable Down, off to visit Jeklo’s forge.

As Jaune stepped off the Manta and into Sable Down he breathed deep. The nostalgic scent from the myriad clouds of Dust slag pumped out of the beating red muscles of Vale’s industrial centre inundated his senses. The unearthly tang that he had found clinging like a miasma to Dust in the last few months flowing with it. Within the glowing smog shadows crept, worms the size of buses slithered down the train tracks, many joined legs clutched at walls while beady eyes stared from shadows. Small feline shades played in the soot of forges, eyes like embers glowing in their throats. There were distended blobs of flesh with gulping mouths clasped to smokestacks, breathing deep and belching filtered smog from holes in their flank, smog strewn with the glint of starlight.

In the shadows however, the creatures seemed to shift and shimmer, legs softening into grasping tendrils, slimy skin growing to solid shell. It seemed even the expression of reality even through opening eyes was malleable. Kin a state of mind not form.

Phos leapt down beside them, waving over his shoulder to their pilot, who gave a salute and took off. Both Hunters grasped their hats in the buffeting wind.

“We should get the Siderite out of the open. I'll go get us a room. I called ahead to Jeklo so you’d better go see him.”

Jaune nodded back and began to takes step, but paused and cocked his head at Phos.

“Have there always been this many critters here?”

Phos looked at his apprentice before running his hand over empty air to his left, the hand tracing a path through previously unseen fur that gleamed darkest night and sparks of stars despite remaining absent to Jaune’s vision.

“Kid, there are far more critters here than you realize. Our world is old, the Kin have had ample chance to multiply.”

With that Phos set off, their luggage held with ease over his shoulder. Leaving Jaune to shudder softly at that he still could not see. How many times had a dark moonlit carapace brushed his skin as a child? He may be growing accustomed, but fear of the unknown is an integral part of the human condition.

Jaune strode through the heat and fire. Hand brushing damp, dark, slimed fur and scales with a heat like fire. Creatures looked on in curiosity, sensing the blood and being drawn in. Some of them, strange glints of iron in their skin, probed the Nailod-sud, the heavy ring of dark iron that Tollahke, the lord of the Night-Bones had given him. It was a strange item, following him from the dream and seeming at times to almost writhe with darkness and snakes. There was the presence of Marduk in its bones, his unique spicy scent, sand and rot and an unusual metallic tang of ozone like air after lightning that had only become evident in the last few months.

As he left the heat for the academic centre, the form of the creatures changed, but not their presence. Stone backs and shimmering white skin. Slick with clear secretions and smelling sweet. Heads stuck somewhere between canine and bovine lowed deep cries that tickled his inner ear. Navigating the herd of bloated Silver Sleepers, Jaune pushed the door to Jeklo’s building open, unfortunately misjudging the weight of the doors which resulted in a rather loud bang as they slammed into the walls.

“What is going on here!”

Oh, Dust it was the same receptionist as the first time Jaune had met Jeklo. You'd think she would recognise him given he and Phos dressed rather uniquely and he was still wearing the exact same style of clothes as the last time they met. Albeit his coat sleeves were getting annoying short after several years. Same with the hem. Either way, she should have learned her lesson.

Jaune rolled his eyes and planted himself.

“Jeklo! Get down here!”

The receptionist’s jaw dropped at Jaune's yell.

“What are you-“

“Ap-ap-ap-ap-ap! Last time we did this song and dance you embarrassed yourself.”

The recognizable thunder of Jeklo's hooves on the stairs heralded his careening arrival into the hall.

“Arc! Is that you kid?!”

Jeklo stormed over and grabbed Jaune’s arm.

“Come with me!”

Without any explanation, Jeklo dragged a stunned Jaune up the stairs and into his office. Jaune was thrown into a chair before the heavy desk. Jeklo thundered around the rim and threw himself into the chair in the other side of the desk. His momentum spinning it around until he slammed his hooves on the floor and hands on the desk.

“So, kid. Did you bring the good stuff?”

“What?”

Jeklo leaned backwards and waved his hand in the air.

“The Siderite! Phos said you'd got a metric fuckton of the stuff! That's a blacksmith’s dream kid!”

Jaune relaxed.

“Oh, that. Yes.”

Jeklo reached forward with grabby hands.

“Gimme.”

“I don't have it on me! It's a pain to carry. Phos took it to the hotel when we landed.”

Jeklo deflated with a groan.

“Plus, most of it is going into my weapon.”

Jeklo spoke up with his head on the desk.

“I know... But I can dream...”

Jeklo raised his head.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on that stuff?! My yearly budget from the school would only buy me a kilogram!”

Jaune shrunk into the collar of his coat.

“I am... Aware of its value, yes.”

It took Jaune a week or so to get his eye back in. The sweltering heat of the forge was just as he remembered it, but his hands were out of practice. The lump of star-steel almost bucked and writhed under Jaune’s hammer. Fighting the forming, spitting stars and song in its resilience.

The critters that lived in Jeklo’s forge had all fled at the sight of the Siderite. Fear glinting in sensory pits and nervous chatting from chitinous mandibles.

It made sense that when he formed his blades it took all night now that he could See. The astral iron despised bending to the will of others, it was a fight as much as it was a craft. With the shriek of tortured metal and the pounding of hammer blow, the flaring of the forge and a glare of will enforced, the misshapen mass was moulded into edge and sheen.

By the end the blade was forged, a dull night’s sky ran the length to a cruel point and a crueller edge. A crescent of clouded sky, stars straining to breach the fog. A simple hilt burst from the base, appearing almost as bone. Rough hewn varnished wood, wrapped with leather and capped with a Siderite clasp. The blade lay like a knife across the firmament looking primed to slice through to a dream with a mere touch. The blade was made, now just to create the haft.

The haft had a core of iron, bored through a wooden body. Hinges and clasps of Siderite allowed it to bend in the middle and clasp the blade hilt.

When Jaune first raised the sword, it seemed to sit steady in his palm. Holding itself up of its own volition. It wanted to be used, it almost thrummed in want. The edge cut flesh with no effort, and would shear cheap steel like its existence was an affront. Initially attaching the haft was a clumsy and slow action, slamming the hilt onto the haft over his shoulder and unfolding the weapon to a scythe. However, after a week of practice, the action was smooth if slow. Eyes opened below the star-steel, moonlight glinting on the edge.

Despite possessing a burial blade now, Jaune had no experience or knowledge in its use. In essence the weapon, which would cost millions of lien if its components were considered, was pearls before swine. A useless, though impressive ornament.

One evening, as the pair returned to the single hotel room they'd been able to rent, Phos slumped onto the lone mattress, Jaune still refusing to sleep anywhere but the floor. They'd spent the day a short way outside Sable Down, clearing a few Tremorvores from a nearby cave. In the fight, Jaune had briefly tried to use the Burial Blade, but quickly switched back to the Blades of Mercy, after the large sword almost overbalanced him into a fanged maw.

“I do have a plan for teaching you to use that thing, but I'm not going to be any help.”

In the seclusion of the hotel room, Phos sat Jaune down.

“In this job you can pretty easily get connections if you're good enough, and one of mine just so happens to be a dab hand with both a large sword and a scythe. Problem is, he's stupidly hard to get ahold of, and he's generally pretty busy. There's only one way I really know to get his attention, but even then, I can't guarantee he's gonna be available anytime soon.”

“Do we have any other option?”

Phos sighed.

“Not really. Well, unless you want to be a mediocre fighter. Or tear your mind apart trying to get into a dream that's far too buried and arcane for you now.”

The next day the pair left the small scrap of remaining siderite with a grateful Jeklo and boarded a bullhead.
Phos hadn't told Jaune where they were going, but they had set off East. A few hours in they began to fly over the city of Vale itself, the first time Jaune had ever actually seen the capital, but they didn't stop, and soon they were over the sea. Their bullhead was harried by a few nevermores, but some well placed shots from the two Hunters quickly took them out. Even without being told, Jaune had an idea of where they were going, as there was only really one location on this flight path. Soon he was proved right as the aircraft landed on Patch.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Burial Blade

If any weapon could be said to represent the Hunters in their entirety... Well it would really depend on who you asked because the Holy Blade and the Saw Cleaver both have strong claims to that position, but at least a few, and most in the upper echelons of every iteration of the Hunters, would name the Burial Blade. The weapon, a large scythe, was initially created by the Honoured Predecessor, the guide Gehrman, in the days of the Old Workshop.

The Blade was created to tie to old superstitious legends that featured the scythe of Death, to promise a true, destined, death to the horrors of the early scourge. Thus, the name, a blade dedicated to the burial of its foes. One that promised not wounds and routing, like many lesser weapons did in the early days of the scourge, but death and finality. The first Blade was forged from a fallen star that Gehrman discovered in the forests around Byrgenwerth, a star that glowed with an unearthly light. Though not confirmed, this star is believed to have been Siderite and thus, outside of a few early imitators, every true Burial Blade has been forged of the Dream-Alloy.

The Burial Blade is a crescent of cold metal, studded with starlight. Siderite is a metal with a personality, it has to be persuaded and coaxed, yet the rough curved scythe is a shape it seems always fond of. Possibly harkening back to the curved crescent the moon sometimes took on the elder days before its shattering at the end of the fourth age. Some Burial Blades burn with the darkness of the beyond, others are spangled with the endlessly shifting cosmos. Yet others strike with hidden semi-scarlet trails of liquid or manifest in delicate golden tracery. No two are alike.

Despite its position as royalty among Hunter weapons, the Burial Blade is not a traditional or conventional weapon. A scythe is not a tool designed for combat, and to use it for such requires a flair for the aberrant. Then again, to assign your protection to semi-sentient metal from beyond the world, one must be rather aberrant in the first place.

Chapter Text

Patch was a calm place, well known for its relative safety when compared the the Grimm-saturated wilds outside of city walls elsewhere. It was a large island by normal scales, with a long history. When exactly humanity returned to the island during the sixth age was unknown, but it had existed as part of Vale for many centuries. The success of the province was, secretly, owed in part to the old feudal lords. The family had long pledged a degree of allegiance to the moon, albeit they were not all Hunters, but the Moon Reborn held a place in their hearts.

The air was clear and cool as Jaune left the bullhead. The airpad sat on the outskirts of a relatively large port town. It was smaller by far than Sable Down or Mausoleum, but bigger than most. The town was constructed, mostly, of homely and comforting log buildings, the dark brown bark exuding a natural feel that was absent from the steel and stone of Sable Down.

The town didn't even have a wall. That would be unheard of elsewhere. A dusty earthen road led past lines of log cabins to a square at the end. At the edge of this square was a much larger building.

“Welcome to Thicket. Patch’s only real town.” Phos jumped down beside him. “It's a nice place, if a little insular.”

Jaune craned his neck to try and see further. “How can they be so... Carefree? There's no protection!”

Phos grabbed their luggage. “They have reason to be. Grimm levels on Patch have been nigh on zero for hundreds of years. Bar the chaos of the Great War. There are fifty or so retired huntsmen living here, so they can deal with anything fairly quickly.”

The pair began to walk down the street, faint clouds of dust rising from their footfalls. Their unusual attire caused a few strange looks, but compared to the initial response in Ebontark or Sable Down, the people didn't seem to care.

“So, where are we going?”

Phos nodded to the building in the square. “Signal primary combat school. I know one of the teachers. Good man. He went to Beacon around the same time I did. We never talked overmuch, but I've worked with him a couple times.”

“Huh, never thought I’d go to a combat school.”

Phos chuckled. “You'd be there right now if I was going to send you to one. The schools start at twelve and run for five years. Most of the great huntsmen start training much earlier, but most combat school attendees start with no experience.”

Jaune's eyes widened. “Oh bugger, it's my birthday tomorrow, I need to remember to call home.”

Phos smiled and looked up.

“It's been five years huh...”

The building at the square was unusual. Like everything else it was constructed like a log cabin, but had a tall clock tower topped with a spire. Now that he was closer, Jaune could tell the building was deep, probably with a courtyard in the centre.

Phos stepped up the the main door and pulled it open. When Jaune followed him in he was slightly surprised.

“Oh, yes, most combat schools double as association branches.”

The lobby of the building was a roomy pub, leather sofas sat against wooden walls, old and well loved tables sat before them. A literal bar lay against the back wall, wooden shutters pulled down over the collection of alcohol.

“They put a pub in a school.”

Phos laughed. “The kids go in the side doors. Patch isn't crazy enough to give teenagers with their aura unlocked access to whisky.” He walked up to the bar, where a young woman sat at a high chair behind a computer. “Hello!” he greeted, cheerily before passing her his ID. “Phos Argentum. I'm looking to speak with Mr. Xiao Long when he has time.”

The woman swiped the ID into her computer. “School or Huntsman related?”

Phos dithered for a moment. “Uhhh, Huntsman, I think. Probably counts as that more.” The words were sheepish as he scratched his head.

The woman looked at him with a vaguely suspicious look. “Okay... I’ll send him a message. He should be free in period four.” Her dubious thoughts were obvious.

Phos nodded. “Thank you. Oh, and could you tell him thank you for that one time over in Tongdao.”

The couch was comfortable, old worn brown leather. It was the sort of couch that most people would begin to drift off to sleep in. Indeed, Phos did. Jaune however, was kept awake. He was starting to think there was something influencing his strange sleeping habits, but whether it was yet another example of eldritch meddling in his life or just an adaptation to avoid traveling to Chalchiuit at every possible occasion.
Jaune was bored, and a scroll could only hold his attention for a short time. So, to pass the time he stood up, lowered himself to the floor and started his workout routine, launching straight into push-ups.

Taiyang felt the notification going off in his pocket mid-lesson, but he continued with his lesson nonetheless. It wasn't until the next period that he could look at what had come in. A message from the front desk.

“Oh, it’s him again.”

Taiyang didn't mind the call, but he did wonder why. He'd retired from active missions. That one thing in Tongdao was an exception, he was visiting graves.

“Hey, Salmon, can you print out the materials for my lesson five? I have to go to the reception.”

With arrangements for his final lesson in hand, Tai walked down to reception.

The bar was as empty as you'd expect it to be before the lunch rush. Phos was slumped over on the same old couch he always seemed to gravitate to. Tai began to walk over, but stopped. There was a kid here, second or third year by the looks. Not one Tai recognised. At least they were using their truanting time well. The kid was currently doing sit-ups. Tai paused for a bit to wait till the kid took a break, but they just didn’t. They kept going, past three hundred.

Eventually Tai decided enough was enough, he had to stop the kid before he hurt himself badly. Halfway across the room he was surprised when the kid noticed him.

“I was wondering when you were going to come over. Are you the one Phos called for?” His voice was clear and energetic, void of the exhaustion Tai expected. The kid jumped to his feet and began poking the older Hunter.

“Hey, heeeeey, he's here.”

So, this kid knew Phos?

“What? I'm up, I'm up. Stop prodding me.” Grumpily Phos began to stir. He put his hand on the kid’s head and pushed him gently away. “Oh, uh, hi Tai. It's been a while, how are the kids?” Suddenly awake, Phos looked rather awkward.

With a put-upon sigh Taiyang dragged a nearby chair over and sat down. “What’re you after this time? I'm retired.”

Phos winced. “Ok, don't be angry, but I'm not really here for you this time.”

Tai slumped. “You want me to call Qrow don't you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Tai sat back up. “Fine. I think he's in Vacuo actually.”

Phos sighed in relief. “Thanks. Sorry about this.”

Tai waved his hand. “Don't mention it, I owe you.” His smile fell. “Unfortunately, I can't let you stay at the house this time. There’s a bit of a situation going on.”
Phos started. “Are your kids alright?”

“Not really. There was an incident with the White Fang here about a month ago. A rally in the central square turned dirty, the girls got caught up in it. Physically they're fine, but both are having nightmares. It was bad enough that Yang unlocked her semblance.”

Phos winced. “They're going that far now?"

The leadership change in the White Fang a year ago had caused some ripples of discontent, especially considering Sienna Khan’s disposition, but at least initially the change had been minimal. In the last six months or so however, incidents of violence had been picking up.

“Honestly for a protest it wasn't as bad as some of the wage strikes in Vale, but in a peaceful place like Patch, with such a high number of Huntsmen around. And for two preteens...” Tai shrugged. “Anyway, I don't want to try introducing them to new people right now.”

“That's fine, we’ll find room in the town.” Phos forced a gentle smile on his face and patted Tai on the shoulder.

The Hunter stood and made his way to the receptionist. “Is there anywhere set aside in the town for visitors?”

The woman shrugged. “Not really.” She began typing away on the scroll behind the bar. “We have so many older Huntsmen in permanent residence and older students taking the G and F rank jobs that it’s rare for any travellers to visit. Because we're attached to the school there's no rooms in the association building too...” She paused briefly. “Unless you want to use one of the seaside tourist traps, trust me you don’t, I think your best chance is old Squall.” She lifted a screen into the bar with a picture of a grizzled old sailor on it. “He can sometimes be convinced to put visitors up for a few days.”

Phos squinted at the screen. “Wait, Squall ended up here?”

Jaune walked over. “You know him?”

Phos glanced back. “Yeah, Squall was one of the few captains crazy enough to venture within five miles of Oscuras. He took me on the startup expedition for the eleventh Oscuras expedition about ten years ago. He was also the only Captain still around when we had to evacuate two months later.” Phos got his scroll out and began searching through his photos. “I think I've got a scan here.”

Phos showed Jaune his screen. On it was a picture of the same man, younger but still grey of hair. Clad in a heavy coat of green leather darkened by the violent spray and a wide brimmed hat with a large black feather in the band shedding water in all directions. screaming orders from the helm of a ship. The tide roiled around the craft with anger and, flickering on the edge of Jaune’s perception, a swath of grey scales sliced through the waves.

“Haven't seen the bastard in years, always thought something from the depths of the Varander Sea tore itself from the sea floor and swallowed him for the express purpose of preventing that much sheer 'fuck you’ from existing.”

The bartender put her screen back. “Huh, you know him. He turned up here about five years ago with a ship straight out of the colonization wars, built a giant covered dock to keep it and lives over on the coast. He's mounted cannons in his walls. Every few days we hear a giant bang where he's shot a Grimm with it.”

Phos laughed. “Sounds like him. Right, can you send him a message? Tai, how long do you think Qrow’ll take?”

Tai shrugged. “Couldn't tell you. Could be a week, could be a month or two.”

“I can't unfortunately. We don't have his number. I don't even know if he has a scroll.”

Phos waved dismissively “That's fine. We’ll just head over. And hope he doesn't shoot us with those cannons”

“He lives on the north coast. A bit called Narrow Landing, bookended on both sides by massive cliffs that run around most of that side of the island. There's a signposted path heading to it from the town.”

Patch was just as peaceful as Thicket’s lack of a wall indicated. They only encountered a single young beowolf in crossing the entire island. The thick pine forest crowded the path from all sides but the gloom didn't feel oppressive. Either side of them the ground began to rise until they walked through a canyon. It was narrow and tight, damp sheer walls of rock on either side. The path twisted and turned before opening up on the beach. It wasn't the classic holiday beach you'd find in the resorts of the South coast.

Grey cracked pebbles led down to the shore, they were almost sharp, and shot with the jagged edges of smashed shells. The cliffs loomed at either side; cave filled edifices peeling away at the shoreline. The sky was an overcast expanse of grey cloud curving down to a dark ocean. Sat on the shore was a wooden jetty curving out into deeper water where a wooden building stood. The wood was dark and slimed with seaweed and algae, clad near the waterline with barnacles and limpets. The smell of rotting wood and salt drifted in with the ocean breeze. There were dark, inhuman eyes laying on the water’s surface, curious spineless creatures clad in shells of rock and blue luminescence. Faces seemed to fade in and out of the ancient whorls in the planks. Frames on the jetty held dead fish out to dry, seabirds crying in harsh calls as they fought over the old catch. There was an axe in the floor beside a heavy and warped wooden bench, the head of a marlin sat on the bench in a puddle of oil. A raven sat atop the head, picking at the flesh within the empty eye socket with harsh thumps of its beak.

“Nice place.” Jaune said drily, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

“I will admit it's not exactly 5 stars, but you and I have both had worse.” Phos stepped onto the rickety jetty to a chorus of groans. “Though if it gets much more precarious that'll no longer be the case.”

The walk along the jetty only took a short while, and luckily they were not accosted by any cannonballs. The building seemed to lack Windows, but had an ill-fitting wooden door. Phos attempted to knock, giving the wood two sharp raps, but the damp rotten planks absorbed the sound. With some trepidation, Phos pushed the door open and called, “Squall? You in there buddy?”

Within the building was an old sailing ship. A caravel of somewhere between thirty and forty feet, she was in remarkably good nick. As the receptionist back in Thicket had said, it was a type of vessel rarely seen since the colonization wars, when Vale, Kaze and Mantle had all claimed swathes of Vacuo. Proud red letters on her rich wooden hull marked her as the Sailor’s Moon.

At Phos’ call a man stepped out onto the deck of the ship. He was little changed from the picture the receptionist had shown them. Wrinkled and grey haired, his eyes were still wickedly sharp and he still wore the same green coat.

“Who goes there!?” Squall stamped over to the edge of the boat and stared at them.

Phos stepped forward with a friendly wave. “Hello Squall! It’s been a while! The name’s Phos, you sailed me over to Oscuras a decade ago.”

The man scratched the short whiskers on his chin with a hand clad in a thick leather glove. “Aye, that I did. Grown some lines on that pasty face since then I see. Now wadda you want. I don't sail anywhere no more. Not since the Greenhawk went down off Fargone Point.”

Phos moved over to near the gangplank. “I was wondering where your old ship had gone, but no, my apprentice and I just need somewhere to stay for a few days.”

Squall tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t Crya-“

Phos interrupted, “Yes, she did. This is Jaune, my apprentice.”

Squall nodded. “Pleasure to meet ya young Jaune. The name’s Obediah Squall” He turned his gaze back to Phos. “I can put ya up here fer a few days yes.”

Another voice came from the ship. “Father? Who is it?” the figure was female. She wore a long heavy green dress that covered almost all her skin. This was made more extreme by long gloves and a face covered by a veil.

“Ah yes, this is my daughter, Nana. She has very sensitive skin, so she’s generally covered up.”

Nana stepped forward and pulled her veil up to reveal a face with the palest skin Jaune had ever seen. “More accurately, I have sensitive skin so my father makes me cover up. Pleased to meet you.”

Phos inclined his hat. “Pleasure to meet you too miss. Squall, you didn't say you had a daughter! She must be in her late teens, where was she during the expedition?”

Squall waved his had dismissively. “She used to live with her mother. Anyway, come aboard, I'll show you around.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Oscuras Part 1

Oscuras, also known as The Dark Continent, The Dragonlands or Aldmarch, is the large landmass north of Sanus. Since the end of the fourth age Oscuras has always had high Grimm levels, that have grown extremely high since the beginning of the sixth age.

The large size of the landmass, and legends of bountiful resources have led many to seek to try and claim it for themselves. Unfortunately, thus far, all attempts have failed, driven back by high levels of Grimm... Or something worse.

There have been twelve attempts by Vale, the most recent occurred about five years ago and disappeared with zero survivors. Five years before there was another with only five survivors. The oldest happened almost eight hundred years ago but the exact timings of each are unknown. These expeditions have definitely grown more common over the years.

Rather intriguingly, Mantle actually managed to push into and control a large portion of the 'Dragon’s Wings’ at the tail end of the Grimm Invasions seven hundred years ago, but after the disappearance of Garmath the Glacier Knight they were quickly forced out. Many Hunters have since theorists that this trip into Oscuras was the cause of the Kranken Plague that decimated Mantle a generation later.

There are reasons for why Oscuras is always so swarmed by Grimm, but it seems people will always obsess over it.

Chapter Text

The Sailor’s Moon was steady as they boarded. Squall quickly led them belowdecks.

“Me own cabin is astern an’ Nana’s be ta larboard. Ah, that back of the ship and the left side t’ the landlubber. The bow has a small galley. Ye can use the storeroom t' starboard. So long as ye respect me daughter’s privacy an’ me own we should get along jus’ fine. Also, stay out the cargo hold, there be a few trinkets o' personal worth kept down there that I’d rather not risk. Among them gifts fra Nana's mother.”

The cabin Squall had given to the two was comfortable, about four metres square and decked out like you'd expect of a ship’s cabin. A pair of bunks on the back wall, stacks of crates, and little else. There were signs that the tackle and assorted gubbins required to maintain a ship under sale had once been stored there, but had been moved when Squall started boarding people on his ship. The only piece that remained was a folded bundle of sailcloth in the corner.

“It's only early evening, but you should probably get some sleep, it’s not like we have much else to do, and you need to call your family tomorrow.”

The planks on the ship’s floor were strangely springy, slightly more comfortable than Jaune was used to, but ever so slightly disconcerting.

Jaune had grown complacent recently, becoming used to his journeys to Chalchiuit and forgetting how it felt to enter another dream. However, sleeping as he was, afloat on the inky sea, he found himself drifting away.
The first thing he knew was a pressure. A silky weight on his skin. Then there was the shimmering light that filtered down to him. It was cold, and he felt his hair and clothes tugged by phantom hands. Before him, the abyss sunk down into a deep blue void, but looking up he couldn't see the telltale shimmer of the surface.
A quiet gasp released a flurry of bubbles that drifted upward, and his air was replaced by cold and unyielding water. The water sunk heavy into his lungs and incited coughing. This merely let more air escape. Jaune collapsed to his knees as his hands moved sluggishly to clasp his throat. Though, at length, despite the discomfort and pain, Jaune did not find his head growing foggy, nor did he fall into unconsciousness. With a tentative breath Jaune inhaled the water. It didn't flow like air, eddying and churning with greater force in his lungs, but it served equal purpose.

Reassured of not drowning, Jaune turned from the cliff to behold a city of black stone and brass. The golden metal reflected light refracting from some unknown source, sending rays of gold through the ornate array of baroque pillars and arches. The stone held veins of grey, as though it was alive, but mostly was a deep midnight black that absorbed the reflected light. The city rose before him to a great building atop the sea spire. A great facade of arches, pillars and statuary, capped and embellished in brass such that the frontage was lit up by reflections like the summer sun. This lay before a great brass dome topped with a spike that seemed to stand in authority over the city.

The plane was borderline silent, only the low constant rumble of deep-sea currents moving like a heartbeat below the city of night and brass. With little option, Jaune stepped forward up onto the streets. His movements felt slow, awkward and weightless in the water, struggling to maintain a normal walk along the street with his clothes billowing around. The buildings were monolithic and ornate, large imposing structures from which great figures glared down imperiously. The figures had hair and eyes of brass and to look upon them filled Jaune with unease. On looking away he couldn't recall their features or their pose, they could have moved outside his vision for all he knew, for it felt as though those gold eyes followed him as he walked.

He felt great discomfort here, a pressure at the base of his skull that made his fingernails ache. He couldn't wake though, so he had no choice but to move forward. There were no living things, no beasts for him to fight, no people, no kin. Not even any fish swimming through the water. Just the muted sound of the water and the worries in his own head.

Eventually, after much walking, Jaune found himself before the great facade he had seen from the edge, and once there he realised something. He had not seen a single door. None of the buildings he had passed had possessed a door, not a window. Not even those he had circumnavigated in their entirety. These weren't buildings by definition, there was no entry, they just were. Statues themselves, or monoliths, or great props to mimic buildings.

This building however, this great decorated structure before him, at the heart of this city of brass. This building had a door, a great pair of doors that lay in the centre of the facade. Made of the same stone and brass as the rest of the city, they sat as an uncomfortable anomaly, that rumble in his skull pounding and his teeth joining his fingernails in an ache. Those doors filled him with foreboding.

Therefore, Jaune turned away. He was no coward, but fighting in these conditions was not something he wanted to entertain. He stated back through the city, taking a different route. The gaze of the statues felt harsher somehow, their metal eyes just that bit colder.

Then, despite walking determinedly away, Jaune once more found himself before those doors. The insistent gaze of the building’s statues making clear their desire.

"No. No, I refuse.”

His voice came out garbled and deep through the water, but his declaration was understandable, and once again he turned and walked away, following a straight line back down the hill.

Despite walking down one straight road, ignoring the harsh disapproving gaze of the statues, Jaune soon found the downward street curving back up. Before long the door loomed large before him again. The ache in his extremities was intensifying and the pressure in his head was growing.

“I said I'm not opening it!”

This time when Jaune turned around he wasn't even able to walk away. He found himself immediately facing the door. Every time he turned; the door would just reappear. The pressure now pushed at the back of his eyes with an itch like tiny insects. He had to physically check that his nails and teeth hadn't fallen out. It was harder and harder to focus.

Jaune crouched down to grab either side of his head.

“Stop! Stop! I'm not going to open the door!”

He could feel warmth on his upper lip, and a faint cloud of red through the water told him that his nose was bleeding. Jaune strained himself to look up, only to find the stares of the statues pressing on him.

“Why? Why do you want me to do it?”

All the sensations intensified and he found his head driven back down.

“Fine! I'll open the damn door!”

The pressure alleviated only slightly, letting Jaune slowly rise to his feet. Annoyed and reluctant, he put his hands to the giant door and began to push. The door produced a tortured creak and began to slowly move. Before Jaune could fully open it however, the pain in his head spiked causing his whole body to spasm. With a short cry he found himself losing consciousness and falling into darkness.

Jaune awoke spluttering and coughing water from his lungs. His harsh calls and the sound of splashing woke Phos and brought him running over.

“Jaune!”

Phos grabbed Jaune around the midriff and squeezed, ejecting litres of water from the teenager’s lungs.
Almost a minute later, gasping through coughs and splutters Jaune collapsed back to the ground, heaving for breath. "Kid! Are you ok?!”

Jaune held up a finger while he coughed out the last of the water. “I... I think so. Not the best way to wake up, but never mind.”

“What happened?”

Jaune moved over to the wall and slumped against it. “A new Dream. An abandoned underwater city of brass and black stone. Not somewhere I've seen before. It's been ages since I've been to a new one.”

Phos sat on his bed, chin in hand. “The Great Ones always have had a strong connection to bodies of water. This is the first time you have slept afloat. It could be that's what let them reach into your head.”

Jaune pulled himself to his feet. “Well hopefully-“ he coughed out a last few drops. “Sorry, missed some. Hopefully I don't go there again. It was extremely uncomfortable. Also, even though it was abandoned, something was very insistent on me opening a door.”

Phos started. “A door? What do you mean insistent?”

“A large door. The only one in the entire city, none of the other buildings had one. No matter where I went, I would always end up back there. And it made my head feel like it was splitting open.”

Phos raised his hand. “Please, please tell me you didn't open the door.”

“No?” Jaune shrunk, “Well, not fully? I refused as long as I could, but the pain got too strong. I didn't really open it though? I passed out and woke up as soon as I started.”

Phos grabbed his arm and looked at him seriously.

“Jaune, if you end up there again, don't open that door. It sounds like a seal. If something has been sealed, there is generally a reason.”

“What, you mean like Father?”

Phos let go. “Well, probably not that serious. I don't know much about Father's seal, but given it was going to need the sacrifice of a Schnee to break it, it is undoubtedly extremely strong. When it comes down to it, making someone open a door is not that stringent of a requirement. If not for the fact you were in a giant city seemingly devoted to this single entity, I’d say this was merely a middling kin, buuut... Just in case it is a powerful kin, beast or Dust forbid, another Great One tangling with you, I would say avoid it.”

“Yeah, good. The Moon, Marduk, Father and the Worms... Four is more than enough. Though... If I do end up there, how do I resist?”

Phos stood and made his way to the door. “Honestly? Hold till you pass out. Or die. It generally works in dreams, the moon saves us and brings us back to our reality, though it can't do the same in what we consider the real world. If we were able to lose our tether to Remnant that restriction wouldn't apply, though in that case we’d be halfway to Great Ones ourselves, so it's not much help. Once you’re cleaned up, follow me to the deck.”

Phos left Jaune with that, though it only took a few minutes for him to follow.

The inside of the building was still dark, despite shafts of light coming down through some windows above.

“I need to go into Thicket to check how long Qrow’s gonna take. Squall! You got anything Jaune can help out with?”

Squall stamped over from a workbench on the dock.

“Aye, that I do. Fishing off the coast in the Azure Sea grants Nana an’ I most o’ our food. But she's a young girl and canna survive on fish alone. We make a few trips overland ta the village every now and again to top up the stores. We’re due one sharpish. If yer kid can help ‘er with the haul I’d be thankful. Some’n needs to go to keep any Grimm away.”

Jaune waved gently. “Yeah, yeah, that'll be fine.”

Squall waved dismissively. “It ain't gonna be right away. Nana needs to check the stores first. Yer master can set off first. Yer free to stroll ‘round the dock. Jus’ don’ touch me tools, or the Sailor’s Moon. Ship’s surprisingly touchy an it took a lot o’ work to repair ‘er”

The dock was surprisingly well maintained, contrary to the decrepit look outside. When Jaune had seen the rotten structure he had expected the inside to be equally dingy, but it seemed to be plated in rather better cared for wood.

“Hey Squall! Why's the outside of the building so, well... Run down?”

Squall squinted at Jaune from across the structure.

“Ah, yeh noticed. Kid, I just be one man. The sea be a cruel mistress, I can't treat and maintain the full structure to pristine quality all the time. T’ outside gets inta disrepair sharpish. Faster than I can build and coat it properly. So I use t’ outer shell as a guard, an’ build a better shelter inside.”

Jaune wasn’t sure exactly how much sense that made, but he was no sailor.

“Anyhaps, Nana’s probably finished t’ checks. Lemme see if t’ pair o’ you can set off.”

She had, so the pair set off, Jaune pushing a wheelbarrow. Nana still wearing her veil. In the dock it was hard to tell, but out here in the fresh air, it was clear that the smell of salt and sea had seeped deep into her clothes.

When the pair arrived in Thicket, clouds had begun to cover the summer sun. It was still warm, but that warmth was showing the hints of a muggy night to come.

“So, what’re we after?”

“Vegetables for the most part. They spoil quickly so we need to restock often. Some carbohydrate variety would also be useful. Hard tack lasts for months but can be boring weeks on end.”

Nana walked with her hands clasped at the small of her back. Her stride was steady and sure, despite the uneven ground. The people of Thicket seemed not to pay her any mind, but Jaune could tell that it wasn't so simple as her being seen as normal. No, this was a targeted ignorance. They did not look her way. Unsurprising, despite the destitute look of Squall’s abode, his daughter’s style of dress was pricy when compared to the other locals, and her covered face likely didn't help matters.

As they walked through the market, Jaune was briefly pulled aside. The man was as average and forgettable as a man was possible to be. Short mousy brown hair and a slight pudge to the jowels.

“You’d best stay away from her my boy.”

Jaune roughly pulled his shoulder out of the man's grasp.

“A grown man manhandling a minor does not paint a good image sir.” The man backed up, his hands in the air.

“Woah there sonny, I'm just trying to give you some advice. There's something unnatural about that girl and her father. Something ain't right I tell you.” Jaune rolled his eyes, he'd seen things far more unnatural.

“Look kid, you can't trust someone who covers their face all the time. I don't know what they're doing in that ruin of theirs, and I don't care to know, but anyone who chooses to live somewhere like that rather than a town has more than a few screws loose.”

Jaune gave the man an unimpressed look. “Are there any actual reasons you can give me that aren’t 'I think they're a bit spooky’?”

“Kid, she's grown from a child to a woman freaky quick. And that smell! Besides, mere looking sets our teeth on edge.”

Jaune sighed, and turned away.

“Just be careful sonny!”

Nana had stopped to wait for him.

“Were they disparaging me again? Nevermind, it's unsurprising. The lifestyle my father and I choose to live is not conducive to healthy understandings.”

Maybe there was something not human to Nana, but despite Jaune’s run ins with Father, The Worms and Chalchiuit, the majority of the unusual entities he encountered were benign, the critters posing little threat to anyone. Without hostility shown to him, he was willing to let those unlike himself live out their lives.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Oscuras Part 2

Many, though not all, of the 'Great Calamities’ of the Sixth Age have had their origins, at least in part, in Oscuras. Any conflict in Anima that involves the Mori of the eastern steppe is due to the Mori invasion of Anima from Oscuras at the turn of the age. The majority of Vacuo’s troubles were directly due to, or lingering fallout from, the arrival of the Akopatlakah religion that originated in Oscuras. Finally, as before mentioned, both the Grimm Invasions and the Kranken Plague of Mantle came from Oscuras.

In fact, of the ‘Great Calamities’, only the Grimm Crusades and the Loss of Douron Hall from Vale can be counted as not being particularly caused by Oscuras, and that us likely due to the placement of the Azure sea between those shores.

Now, as to why Oscuras is such a hotbed of disaster, it can only be assumed to be due to how much of a cesspool for Eldritch influence that region of the world has been throughout the ages. One single spot in the middle of the continent has been the location of Pthumeria, Yharnam, The City of Leechgears, The Pools of the Dark Brother, The Castle of the Parents, and now a new old horror.

Yes, the Eldritch has sunk deep into Oscuras, but it only acts as a lure. A pull for like to seek like. It's current atrocities are not caused by them what came before, and they cannot be halted by looking to that which has already been. Yet, all actions ripple forward in time, and thus sometimes it's necessary to at least observe the past, to know how we arrived at the now.

Chapter Text

By the time Jaune and Nana had returned to Squall’s wharf, Phos had already returned.

“It’s gonna be at least a week before Qrow gets here.” Phos was looking down, bemusedly aggravated from the deck of the Sailor’s Moon. “It’s a bit annoying, but not unexpected. He's off dealing with some bandits over in Vacuo it seems.”

Jaune joined Phos on the deck, stumbling up the gangplank when he expected the boat to rock more than it does.

“At least we have a bit of a time frame?”

“Admittedly, but for people like us, Patch isn't exactly an enjoyable place to spend a week.” Phos perched himself on the gunwale. “Not many contracts for us to take from the Association, or Eldritch emergencies here. At least, with any regularity.”

Jaune raised an eyebrow as he joined Phos. “None of the Eldritch stuff we've encountered has-“

Phos gave Jaune a playful cuff, “I know it’s not actually regular! It's a turn of phrase.”

“Sooo... what're we going to do in the meantime?”

Phos stood and turned to face Jaune. “Long-short term? I don't know. Short-short term? You are going to ring your parents for your birthday.”

“Crap.”

Phos chuckled. “I know, I know, it's awkward, but you have to.”

“Fiiiinnneee.”

With reluctance, Jaune pulled out his scroll and dialed his mother. Aurum may be busy somewhere, but Juniper was almost always available. The scroll attempted to call, but stuttered and froze before it could connect.

Phos frowned, “That's a bit odd. It might be a few years old now, but it would still be a top off the line Scroll even today. Wonder if something’s up with the CCT.”

Jaune gave the Scroll some mild percussive maintenance, but it still failed to connect.

“I'll go outside, maybe there's something about rotten wood that messes with the signal.”

Phos waved him off. “I doubt it, but go ahead. Most likely something’s gone wrong with your Scroll. That or the local amplification tower is shut down for maintenance or something."

Jaune hopped back down from the ship and scrambled outside. Electing to move a few hundred metres inland, away from the rotten wood and fish in assorted states of preservation, spoiling and dismemberment. No need to disturb his family more than usual.

When he tried to call again he was fully expecting it to fail, but it actually connected. Juniper Arc was sat in what Jaune assumed was the living room, they seemed to have redecorated since he was last there.

“Uh, hi mum.”

Juniper’s face shifted from surprise to elation quickly. “Jaune! You've grown! Wait a moment, I'll go get the others!” Juniper hobbled out of frame as fast as her weak body could, leaving Jaune to wonder at her words. Had he grown that much? He was 14 now, and already approaching six feet. So that did put him at the top end of the spectrum, yes. Among huntsmen he wasn't really tall per se, aura had this strange effect of increasing height in a lot of people, but he was already taller than a lot of civilians. Aside from that, his hair was still bleached a bone white by the sun and the influence of the Moon, even bound with a strip of leather, it fell past his shoulders. He'd never been particularly bulky, but with the hat and the clothes he could kind of see it.

“Kid, how're you doing?” Aurum moved into the scroll’s camera, Jaune was immediately hit with an uncomfortable sensation. His father looked... older. He was still the pinnacle of strength that he'd always been, but there was grey in his hair and lines on his brow.

“Hi dad. I'm... I'm good. I'm an E rank already.”

Aurum was visibly uncomfortable. “That's good I suppose... keeping well though?”

“Er, well enough? I'm still around and I'm pretty well off at the moment."

There was an awkward silence before Aurum got an expression of sudden relief. The reason was quickly explained as Xantha bowled into view. Over the years the members of the Arc brood had mostly fled the nest. Tawn was the most recent escapee, the former crybaby had long since grown up in the time since Jaune left. Now seventeen, given her training with Xantha over the years, and that inherent Gran Arbor madness, she too had gone on to learn better ways of stabbing.

As she wasn't qualified for, or particularly enthused by, entering a huntsman academy, she'd instead entered a similar role to Jaune, superficially. There were many rogue huntsmen, and even official ones, who, in groups or alone, would take on trainees.

Unfortunately for Jaune's parents, this meant the pair of them had to contain the chaos of the, now fifteen but no less of a chaos goblin, Xantha.

“Jaune!”

“Xantha!”

In the background, Aurum began to sneak away, as sneakily as a man of his size could.

“How's Gran Arbor been recently?”

Xantha huffed and jumped into the seat Aurum had vacated. Sienna the, now very aged, squirrel was still around. Turns out activating an animal’s aura does wonders for its lifespan, just like humans.

“Boring! We haven't had a grimm raid in weeks.”

“Most people would be glad for that y’know.”

There was a growl from the woods to Jaune's right.

“I'm not most people. I'm not getting any practice!”

Jaune raised his Evelyn and fired a shot into the woods. There was a pained yowl.

“I am.”

“Boooo.”

The siblings talked about inanities for a while, but as the sky began to darken, thick clouds started rolling in from the grey sea. As awkward as it was, when fat drops off rain began to fall, Jaune had to quickly cut off the call and sprint for Squall’s quay. Stumbling slightly on the slippery planks of the walkway as billowing gusts began to herald an oncoming storm.

“It’s turning sour out there real quick!”

Squall yelled over from the other end of the hall.

“Aye! That it be, kid! The Azure Sea be angry tonight.”

The water below the walkways began to roil as waves from outside swept their influence in from below the surface. Wind and wave alike were beating on the walls, creating a whistling, thumping chorus. Squall has to lunge to grab a hammer that was knocked from a table by a particularly violent lurch of the structure.

“Get aboard the ship lad! Yer mentor be aboard already. Methinks I need to bolster the gate and make sure the stays are well tied.”

Jaune ran for the Hunter’s Moon, dancing nimbly up the gently swaying gangplank and aboard the deck. It seemed Squall had recently undergone a round of maintenance, as the deck was slick with a sticky concoction derived from pine resin. Designed to secure the wood from damage and wear.

Swiftly crossing the deck, avoiding the worst seeming patches, Jaune bolted into the wooden hull.

“Phos!”

Jaune barreled into the room, almost bowling over Phos, who was doing maintenance on the edge of Ignited Ashes. “Watch where you're going!” Phos had to sweep his axe out of Jaune's path and stop his apprentice with a hand on his shoulder. “What's got you in such a fuss?”

Jaune fixed his face with an incredulous look. “Have you not noticed the storm?”

Phos picked up a mug from the edge of a small table and drank. “Yes, its been a bit loud lately."

Jaune looked at him askance. “The dock is threatening to tear itself up.”

Phos waved. “I've been through worse. I trust Squall to keep the place together.”

With nothing else really to say, conversation dwindled in the gently rocking boat.

“Get some sleep, we'll see if the Association can find anything at all to occupy us tomorrow.”

When Jaune opened his eyes, he stood before a familiar underwater cliff, the deeps descended into true darkness below. His hair swirled in cold eddies, heavy water settling thick in his lungs. He turned sluggishly to see the dark edifice that was the city of black and brass.

In a voice thick and burbling with the weight of the water, he spoke. “Here again.”

He paused for a few moments.

“I won't open the door.”

Jaune spread his arms and, facing the foreboding city, topped backwards, diving slowly into the void below.
Jaune’s fall was faster than one should fall through water, but still was not particularly fast. Slow it may have been, but short it was not. Surrounded by nothing but inky blackness, Jaune soon began to long for something to see. He counted the seconds, but lost count once it took longer than a second to mentally read the number. He cracked his knuckles and scratched himself, just for the feeling. He screamed, his voice rendered low and keening by the material around him. He slept, and woke and slept again, so many times he lost count of even that too. As he touched his face, it was as if the vitality of youth had begun to drain away.

When a change finally appeared, Jaune almost didn't notice, so gradual and unexpected was it. There was a faint light from below, filtering through mile upon mile of water.
The light grew, slowly but inexorably as he fell down. Over time, the blackness of the water faded into a grey blue. A shimmering began to bloom in the distance.

It was still unexpected when Jaune reached the shimmer. With an unceremonious motion, Jaune fell through the surface of the water and down thirty meters to a cracked street.

His right side throbbed where it had hit the surface. It took an unknown length of time for him to adjust, lying on the stone below a thin layer of flowing water, a light but constant drizzle keeping his clothes moist. Eventually, with creaking bones and a heavy head Jaune stood.

The street was narrow and grey, buildings slumped as though they had stood abandoned for decades. Water was flowing down the centre of the road, water from the drizzle, a drizzle that fell from a rolling and roiling sea suspended upside down across the sky above Jaune's head. Immeasurable quantities of water, pressing down on a thin atmosphere above him. White foam tossed and churned among the roar of the waves. Spray was kicked off by the rough swell, losing its grasp on the inverted ocean and falling as salty rain.

Jaune set off along the street, his ears assailed by the thunder and patter of water. Though he was now out of the ocean, he felt the presence of the water moreso now than ever before. While the sea had functioned merely as air by another name. Here in this dilapidated street it was all encompassing, oppressive and draining.

There were people here, small, hunched, withered folk. Clad in crumpled and soaked suits and stained dresses, their hair was white and straggly, hanging bedraggled over sunken eyes and downturned mouths.

The folk ignored Jaune outside of a few slow head pans from those slumped against the sides of buildings, squatting in the squalid gutters. Some stumbled along the road, relying heavily on warped canes and swaying from side to side. Garbled newspapers stuck under their arms were inundated with the drizzle, ink running from letters as they deteriorated in the salty spray. Others sat against walls, hands rested on knees or floors, palms towards the sky as if in supplication. The once-opulent skirts of their dresses leeching colours from intricate patterns into a vague stain.

The street extended eternally, it didn't disappear over the horizon, rather curving up in the distance to disappear behind the ocean in the sky. Ahead on that curving landscape, he could see other streets on the sides of his one, also curving up.

There was no change to the world, nothing substantial at least. Water flowed, people stumbled, waves roiled overhead, but there was nothing to mark the passage of time. No timepiece to mark out the hours, no day or night to dictate the passage of the days. Jaune walked the cobbled street, his shoes soaked in the stream, He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he merely walked. A creeping malaise dripped over his mind, leaving him stuck in a grey drift. In the indeterminable time that passed he curled in on himself, the witherings of time pressing deep into his skin.

It was a twist of fate that caused change. Jaune tripped.
He sprawled to the floor, strained baggy skin scraping on damp stone. The brittle bone in his right arm crumpled with a dry crack and a choked, withered cry escaped his disused and tightened vocal cords.

The pain was excruciating but brought clarity, a morbid ray of light shining into his haze. He had become one of the withered living corpses walking these endless streets. He tried to speak but could only produce a faint whine. Something about these streets sucked the vitality from you, youth and vigor fleeing from even the fittest body. He tried and failed to stand, his unbroken arm dragging him along the cobbles to the side of the road. He had to return to the sea above, to the city. In an unpercievable length of time he had not slept nor died from hunger, down here he couldn't die or pass out, he would just exist, an eternity of impoverished existence carried on mindless by the beat of eternity that was mapped in the waves above. He had to climb.

With his sole arm he pushed himself through a door and into a building. Motionless, the withered slumped in the corners, their rattling breathing echoed in the cracked halls until it was swallowed by the water flowing through the corridors. Grasping at mouldering grey carpet he hauled himself to a flight of stairs. It took forever, but he had forever provided his mind remained his own. Provided whatever caused his entrapment didn't turn their eye upon him.

Up the stairs he dragged himself, using his legs as much as he could but unable to stand. Other withered lay on the stairs, obviously having once sought the same as him but having been drained of will.

When he reached the roof he lay gasping on the cracked stone. The churning waves rolled above his head, if he stood he could touch it. All he needed to do was stand. His muscles groaned, strong flesh gained through years of training now dwindled to feeble strands gasping brittle bone. Those bones groaned like he carried the world, he could feel them complain and protest, but he persevered.

Eventually, hand held high, his fingers brushed a wave. The water seemed to grasp and hold, within seconds he was falling back through the ocean.

The fall took an age once again, an indeterminable time of fraying perception. Eventually, below, rose the shimmer of brass. From that first sight it took mere minutes before Jaune once more found himself slumped among the towering black stone edifices and stern statues of the city once more.

Sitting before him, standing proud, unbending and towering were the same doors that this realm sought to have breached in his last visit.

Jaune's mind screamed. His teeth and nails shook in their beds, a pain like screws into their roots splitting his brain. His head filled with writhing tendrils that spoke whispers of dread depths beyond the reach of human perception. His very bones tensed and bent on the verge of snapping as muscles tensed in conflicting directions.

He tried to give voice to his agony, but his jaw was locked tight, like steel wire between his teeth. Hot rivers of red flowed from his eyes, nose and ears, he smelled colours and heard dying stars, his senses were scrambled and contorted. His mind rebelled and warred with itself; will and knowledge fighting primal fear and overwhelming pain.

“ALRIGHT!”

It was short and clipped, barked through agony.

“I'll- I'll open the damn door!”

The numerous pressures eased instantly, their absence almost as painful as their presence. His mind released and flooding into the gaps that had once been filled with snarling tentacles with a crash.

Jaune crawled forward and slumped against the door. His palms pressed to the stone, but he was unable to stand on his own feet. With a motion more akin to falling than truly opening the door, he began to slowly shift the gate.

It moved slowly, edging with a pained groan. Despite the seeming resistance, his own weight seemed to be sufficient. Through the crack he could see darkness, not an absence of light, but an oppressive, thick blackness that was substance unto itself. Not the black of nothing, but the black of a great shadow cast by something immense.

Within the blackness there was a deeper shadow, an unlight that squatted in the cold, its silhouette writhed invisibly in the distance, coiling and unravelling.

Jaune stumbled and fell through the door. His withered arms landed on dark stone and splintered, sending him crashing to the floor. His face broke on the stone, shards driven deep into a brain that, in its final moments, could only process a deep rumbling roar of fury that swelled like the roar of a stormy sea.

Jaune woke screaming.

His muscles siezed and spasmed. Restored from withered threads within his mind to their former glory, burning with a phantom pain as he felt flesh long absent. His vision was overtaken by red as thick trails seared their way down cheeks soaked with cold sweat.

His cries snapped Phos from sleep, the older Hunter at his apprentice’s side immediately. “Breathe Jaune!”

Phos tried to hold Jaune still, wiping the teenager’s eyes of blood with the sleeve of his shirt.

“What happened to you?”

Jaune panted hard, throat hoarse. “The black and brass city again.”

Phos held Jaune's back as he helped him sit up. “It seems to have been worse this time.”

Jaune forced himself to his feet, waving away Phos’ help. A spasm in his thigh almost toppled him, with a grunt he smacked the offending leg to stave off the tremors. “It was.”

Phos raised a brow and joined Jaune on his feet. “What happened?”

Jaune waved Phos away. “Give me a moment. I... I need some air.”

Jaune left the room and moved towards the deck hatch.
“Wait, kid! You need to recover!”

Jaune ignored him. As he opened the hatch he was met with the violent rumble of an angry sea. It seemed to tear at the dock building. Despite the risk of the storm, he'd encountered a greater danger already this night.

Phos chased Jaune off the deck and across the groaning building floor. The door was something of an effort to open in the raging wind, but Jaune forced his way through. The walkway outside was almost suicide. Slippery and treacherous at the best of times, under the storm’s anger waves broke across the wood, wind caught at clothes to tear one from the path and sheets of freezing rain all but blinded anyone who attempted to cross.

Despite the danger, Jaune dived into the crossing. “Wait! Jaune!” Phos’ call held true fear.

Jaune felt his feet torn out from underneath him by a wave, his elbows and ribcage thudding on the damp wood as he was almost torn off. Fingers scrabbling on rotten wood, he clawed himself back onto the bridge.

The pair scrabbled up the beach to the shelter of the trees, though in this weather any shelter was minimal. “You idiot! What were you thinking coming out in this weather?!”

Jaune took deep breaths. “Salt, salt and more salt. That smell, its everywhere...”

“Kid! You moron! Look around! These kind of storms are no joke, and you've just come back from some awful experience in another dream-“

Phos was cut off from his tirade by a call coming through his scroll. The whistling wind made it difficult to hear the sound, but he still picked it up. The call was from Tai. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Argentum! Thank Dust! I've been trying to contact you for the last twenty minutes! That sailor’s daughter! She came out here into the storm, some beowolves found her near my cabin. I've been trying to hold them off, but they keep coming and she looked pretty badly torn up!”

Phos’ attention was immediately grasped. “What! I'll get there soon! Just hang tight!”

Phos hung up. “We’ll be talking about this later.”

The rain hammered on the leaves above, tree trunks groaning as they swayed in the wind. Water spun around in powerful eddies as the storm was churned about by passage through the woods. The two hunters crashed through the underbrush, ignoring the long paths via Thicket, in exchange for barrelling along goat trails and through the low canopy, a dangerous dance along swaying branches slick with moisture and moss.

As they ran more Grimm appeared, many a Beowulf fell to a thrown sanguine knife or a spray of buckshot. Despite dealing with the Grimm, the pair didn't pause to fight them, bent on their destination. Eventually they reached a crowd of Grimm, all baying at a light before them. Tailing glowed with a baleful fire, golden tongues of flame lashing the air as they flickered down arms taught with muscle. His hair appeared like the sun, glowing almost white. Work a roar he surged forward, his fist burning through a Beowulf’s torso. Grasping the beast by a forearm, he swung it like a flail. Another Grimm managed to land a bite on his calf, but the flames on his leg flared, seemingly emboldened by the damage, catching on the oily blackness of the monster’s fur.

The hunters jumped in themselves, Ignited Ashes slammed through Grimm after Grimm, Phos’ own fire leaving conflagration in its wake. Meanwhile Jaune, reverting to the Blades of Mercy thanks to his inexperience worth his Burial Blade, traced a silver thread through his enemies, red flashes of blood blades and the sharp, refined retort of the Evelyn kept others away.

The Grimm fell apart quickly. As a united front against Taiyang they had held well, but with their rear collapsing, the older and brighter individuals turned and fled, leaving the young and newformed to the grinder.

“Tai! How is she?!” Phos called, over the last few meaty thumps of combat.

Tai peeled off from his last Beowulf to check. He winced.

“Not good.”

Nana’s dress was slashed open in three large gashes from shoulder to navel, and her skin below along with it. Crimson soaked the once black dress, adding a morbid richness to its color. It was clear to Tai’s eyes that she was gone. Even Atlas would struggle to heal an auraless girl this wounded.

To the hunter’s eyes, rather more was revealed. Below the collar of her dress, Nana’s skin was a pallid grey, set with a myriad of tiny scales. Though inhuman, the covering would have been quite beautiful, were it not rent by the Beowulf’s claws. Now lain on the ground, from under her skirts could be seen, not legs, but innumerable grey tendrils, calmly twitching in her dying moments.

As Jaune approached, she opened her mouth gently, calm eyes meeting Jaune's.

“The Moon-Eyes for Mother...”

Those eyes gently closed, and a last breath escaped her mouth.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Quicksilver

Quicksilver, or Mercury, was once believed to be liquid moonlight, indeed, it was once known as Moonblood. Old hunters once imbibed of this metal to expand their minds, dilate their pupils and see the world. Their bodies of course rejected it, but there was some method to the madness.

The mind has a particular connection to the metal, and in the Quicksilver bullet, a weapon of illumination from the scions of the Moon, the mind in the metal and the body in the blood combine to create a microcosm of the human condition. With just the application of the Eldritch and the soul through the actions of the augur within the firearm, the body's simulacrum is completed and balanced, finding purpose in its truth, as the bullet is fired.

Chapter Text

As Nana drew her last breath, Phos released a sigh that was torn away by the grasping wind. “I’ll take her to her father.”

He delicately picked up Nana’s body, her tendrils writhing mindlessly, searching for signals from the brain but finding none.

Tai nodded with a grim face, “Right, I'll return to my cabin.” He paused, warring with himself whether this was to appropriate to say given the situation, but he eventually decided it was necessary. “We'll probably need to help out the Association tomorrow, this storm will cause a lot of damage.”

“Right, we’ll head into Thicket when the weather clears.”

The pair’s walk back to Squall’s dock was spent in silence.

When the dock hoved into view the two hunters paused.

“What are you going to say to Squall?” Jaune was honestly torn.

“I'm not sure kid. On one hand, the bugger hid that his daughter was an Eldritch abomination from us. On the other hand, he's just lost his child. Besides, he couldn't have known we had any Eldritch knowledge.“

The storm had refused to abate, leaving the crossing back across the dock just as perilous as Jaune's initial flight, even moreso for Phos who was carrying Nana’s body.

When the pair entered the cabin on the dock, the Sailor’s Moon was rocking gently in the swell. Atop the deck, hands on the helm, stood Squall. Silent and statuesque. In seeming mourning.

“Squall-“ Phos attempted to gain the sailor’s attention, but was cut off.

“Nana’s dead, ain't she?”

Phos slowly walked up the gangplank.

“How did you know?”

Squall sighed and turned to Phos, releasing his grip on the wheel.

“T’ ocean weeps at its daughter’s death.”

He stretched out his arms to take Nana from Phos’ arms, but Phos tensed his grip on the corpse.

“Boy.” There was a stiff note of warning in his voice.

“Squall, you know she's not human.”

“Human or no, she remains my daughter. Return ‘er to me, that I may return ‘er to t’ sea."

Phos sighed. “Look Squall, she's just become my business. Where did she come from? What is her mother.”

Squall’s face was beginning to darken. “She was my child.” For a moment Jaune felt like the two of them would break into a fight, before Squall sighed and moved off to lean on the gunwale.

“Two years after I sailed ye back fra’ Oscuras, I ran afoul o’ a great storm in t’ Azure Sea. I was windrunnin’ Dust down fra’ Atlas t’ Vacuo on t’ back o’ t’ winter gales...”

In the dim half-light of the solstice’s departing shadow, a small vessel plied the churning waves. Lashing sea foam and fangs of surf gnawed at the battered hull. Barrages of stinging sleet careened into a deck slick with ice and pitch. The cold wind tore across the small vessel, beating against the frozen sails that stiffly flapped in groaning protest.
At the helm, grasping a wheel that strained to tear free from weathered hands like a living thing, stood a younger Squall. His chin already rough with salt-stiff grey hair, and his skin a wrinkled, dry canvas of lines and pockmarks long before its time; thanks to the wearying efforts of the merciless sea winds.

Upon Squall’s face sat an unsettling grin, half-cut with mania in a tableu of yellowed tombstones. Skin crackling into a folded map of valleys at the corners. In his eyes could be found a twinkle of joyous madness, a love for the harsh sea in all her violent ways. He roared with a scratching laugh as the vessel tipped over a breaker and careened thirty metres down the other side into the abyssal shadow of a tethyan valley. A wall of icy water met the prow of the ship at the base, and barrelled over the deck with a sound like cannon fire. When the vessel emerged from the ocean, the water gushing over the gunwhale to bare the deck once more to the icy rain, Squall's booming laugh echoed again, loud over the freezing ocean. His expression undimmed by the soaking.

“Khanty! Mirovia! Are y’ bilgerats still aboard!” Squall’s shout was as course as his appearance, and as mockingly joyous as his laugh. The captain barely registered his subordinates’ reply filtering down from the crow’s nest past the roar of the waves. Instead he turned to his other crewmen, staggering storm-drunk across the icy deck.

“Ready up ye lubbers, t’ day’s only just begun! A battle o’ storm an’ wave lies afore us, an’ we’ll be damned if we don't meet it head on with a laugh in our throats an’ a twinkle in our eyes!”

With another roaring laugh, the ship crested another wave to plunge back to the darkness. One crewman almost fell, grasping the rope railing along the boat’s edge. The man let out a choked cry as the icy fibres tore into his palm, but his grip remained solid to prevent his tumble to a watery grave.

In the low morning light, the occasional flash of lightning lit up the world behind the sleet and wind, marking out the waves in stark relief. In these brief flashes, white spines could be seen breeching the surface. With a croaking roar, a slick black form leapt the gunwhale and slapped wetly aboard the deck. Vicious teeth like broken glass latching deep into a deckhand. The deckhand’s voice was cut off in a wet gurgle, as he tried to cry through a flooded throat. Baleful round eyes stared an unblinking orange from a fish-like mask, as the creature staggered on strong, short legs.

“Razorback!!!” Squall’s cry rung around the deck. “Arm y’selves boys! We got Grimm in t’ storm!”

It was too late for the bitten sailor. Light fading from glassy eyes. Two sailors, young boys barely of drinking age, and armed with mere bilgehooks and belaying pins, advanced on the imposing beast. The ship dived deep again, unsettling footing of men and beast as it went. The dark, fishy tail of the Razorback lashed out, catching one man across the chest, the sharp edge boring deep through his chest.

“Royal! Take t’ helm!”

Without waiting to see if his crewman had followed his orders, Squall leapt the railing down to the deck. With a yell, he charged the Grimm, his fist slamming into one large bulbous eye. The monster released an ear-splitting screech and spasmed sharply in pain. Its wild flailing sent a muscular limb careening into the chest of another deckhand, whereupon it crushed the man's ribcage into a fine, white powder.

Squall laid another punch below the grimm’s jaw, the monster’s teeth crashing together with a sound like shattering ceramic. He thrust his fingers deep into the creature's eyes, eliciting a shrill roar of pain. Muscles cording in his arms as he strained, squall used his grip on the Razorback’s eye sockets to wrench its head to the side, and with a final bellow, he snapped its neck.

“Mirovia! We need ye below! Up t’ engine t’ full bore an’ let us outrun these creatures!”

A young woman swung down from above, rope almost swinging wild in the gale.

“Aye captain!”

Squall stomped back to the helm and tore it from Royal’s hands.

“Thank y’ lad. Now back t’ the dance!”

The ocean roared. It was a frenzied struggle through the dawn hours as the weak sunlight strained to shine through the dark cloud. Flurries of white flakes built on the deck, mounding against gunwales and the base of masts. The waves didn't abate, tossing the craft to and fro despite the best efforts of its captain.

“Sir! We can't keep this up!” Royal’s face was dark, none of the crew had slept in the last 24 hours, and that was showing. “Mirovia can't keep her focus on the engine anymore, and Khanty is practically frozen to the crows nest.”

Squall's face didn't change. “Aye me boy, but what else are we supposed t’ do? T’ storm isn't going to end for ye, and we can't just stop fighting. Now back to yer post.”

Royal staggered on the pitching deck, the ice leaving his footing unsteady. Then, from the black depths, a leaping breaker ricocheted off a nearby swell, and with the roar of wind and rain, the ship was blindsided by a wall of water.

Squall's hold on the helm was strong and true, but Royal’s staggering stance left him completely unsecured. When the wall of dark water swept away, the ship rocking wildly in its wake, the young deckhand was gone.

“Khanty! Are you still there!?” There was no response to Squall's cry, the crows nest silent and still. Whether Khanty had been swept away with the wave, or frozen to death in the exposed roost, Squall didn't know. It was just him and Mirovia now.

The day dragged on in a drudging haze, a mire of salt and water, sapping energy and thought from those it caressed. Until, in the fading light of the cold, heavy evening, Mirovia too, emerged from the bowels of the ship. Freezing fog and horizontal rain kept her from Squall's eyes, but her voice was loud and sure.

“Captain! The engine should hold steady!” She was the oldest of his crew, and now would remain so.

“Hold fast lass! T’ sea’s been hungry today.”

Mirovia emerged from the fog, squinting through the obscuring moisture around the pitching deck, searching in vain for the rest of the crew. “Captain! Where’s Royal?”

“E’s gone Mirovia, they're all gone. Taken by t’ beast and t’ angry sea.”

She visibly recoiled. “All of them?”

“Aye lass, lost upon t’ briny deep.”

Mirovia ran to the rope barrier at the edge of the ship.

“We have to get to shore! The Greenhawk can't be crewed by two people.”

Phos let out a hacking and mocking cough.

“Nay lass, its a difficult business mooring up t’ a natural coast at t’ best of times. In a storm like this, t’ hawk’ll be torn t’ shreds upon some godforsaken headland.”

Mirovia turned, incredulous. “So we just hold the course?”

“Aye, barrel down t’ swells an’ hope we reach Thalass.”

“That's suicide! We need to-“

Mirovia’s voice was cut off, a force within the fog seeming to almost grab her from behind. A huge cold misty hand dragging her backwards from the deck. She tried to scream, but all that emerged was a choked gasp.

Squall was left alone in the storm, his hands almost bound to the wheel. The cold grasped at his coat with scrabbling fingers as he scrambled to keep the Greenhawk afloat. The sun set and the fog retreated, but the roiling tide and thundering rain continued. By the dawn, Squall's clothes were frozen stiff and crackled whenever he moved. The hard going and cold weather had siezed the dust engine and frozen the sails in place, not that squall alone could have manned the rigging. The salt tried his best to hold the course with rudder alone, but the battle was lost before it began.

The sun set again, and a mysterious scent joined the salt of the spray. Squall couldn't place it, but it filed him with an awful yearning, for what he couldn't tell. The violence of the waves diminished, but their size only increased. The Greenhawk was tossed and turned upon mountains of water until squall couldn't tell east from west.

As the sun crested the horizon, it seemed to slice through the clouds for the first time in days. The rudder had frozen solid during the night, taking Squall's one source of control, but it wasn't like he could leave, his gloves were locked in frosty grip to the holds of the helm. Before him loomed a headland, festooned with spiked rocks and great spraying waves. It was one he recognised, whispered of in sailors’ legend, where the currents brought the damned to crash upon the rocks; Fargone Point.

Another man might have panicked. Dived overboard to try and save himself among the surging spray, but Squall was made of sterner stuff. The sea would not save the single man adrift, and even upon reaching land, what was to stop the black tide of Grimm from catching him. So Squall merely readied himself, secured his stance and grip, and roared as the Greenhawk smashed into the rocks.

When he awoke, Squall found himself atop a rotting deck below the waves, the collapsed mast of the ship was cracked to the side, lying off the side of the gunwhale. The shipwreck wasn't the Greenhawk, it was far older. Dark soft wood, slick with slime. High above, close, yet feeling miles away, on great stone spires were caught and impaled the wrecks of countless ships. A graveyard of torn and wretched vessels, seemingly crying out. Rotting spars and crooked jibs jutted out like reaching fingers crying for supplication. Closer around the craft was a painful maze of black masonry, angular constructions that clawed at his sight, impossible geometries making a mockery of space. Squall didn't feel the pressure of the water atop him, but the sight of those black buildings that seemed to grasp the base of the stone spires, reaching with foul twisted fingers as if to clutch the boats above, put a crushing weight upon his skull. Great towering spires soared upwards, twisting and almost spasming like a writhing thing alive.

For the first time in his life, Squall felt dwarfed by the ocean, small and helpless beneath the waves. An unfamiliar feeling bore down on the captain. While his days had always been tinged with intense respect for the sea, he had never felt fear of it before.

Squall’s legs failed him under his fear, sending him down to the floor. The light from above began to fade, the surface now seeming a lot further away. It felt, to Squall, that he lay there for an age, in the cold and the dark. Deep sea currents dragged at his clothes and hair, ghosting over his skin. Eventually, out of nowhere, the water around him seemed to boil. Great silvery bubbles blocked his vision.

When the bubbles cleared, there was a girl atop the deck. Small, sleeping, innocent.

The weight of something greater than the water settled atop his shoulders, the intense pressure pushed on him, and he found himself drifting back into blackness.

When he awoke, Squall was back above the waves, the wrecked ship from below now whole below his feet.

Squall took a deep drag from his flask.

“We came ta Patch not long after. Nana grew fast, an’ became an outcast, then ya know the rest. She was me child. ‘Er mother may be in doubt, but I raised ‘er and she was mine none t’ less.”

Squall stood from the gunwale and stamped over to Phos. His grasp on Nana was gentle but iron, and he pulled his daughter’s body from Phos’ arms with a manner that brooked no protest. Though Phos let Nana go, he certainly didn't do so too willingly.

Squall descended to the dock with heavy steps. Bearing Nana’s body down to the waterline. At the edge of the planks he bent and lowered her to the surface. The water was still as a mirror all around her body, ripples halting a few feet away, as if waiting. It almost seemed to reach up around her as she touched the surface, as if grasping her to return Nana to the stygian depths. The water met her in a velvety embrace as she was finally placed on the surface.

For a few minutes she floated atop the surface, as though it was a solid, as squall was allowed one final goodbye. Coarse fingers softly caressed Nana’s cheek, as silver tears dropped from Squall's hidden face. The teardrops mingled with the water, small waves seemingly caught each to hold them close. Squall may have been a mere man, but his love for the waves was true, and even the ocean seemingly felt at least a small desire to reply in kind.

At the end of his goodbye, Squall lurched backwards, cutting back quiet sobs. As soon as he made some distance from his daughter, she sank quickly. Deep ocean currents pulling her away into the darkness.

“Tis done. Sweet child of t’ storm, returned to t’ ocean. A bottomless blessing sunk to t’ bottomless sea, accept all she was... or could ‘ave been.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Sailor’s Madness

There are few old sailors on Remnant, as with any job that takes one outside settlement walls, most die young. Among these sailors who survive to grey hair, they are, to a one, victims to sailor’s madness. This is less a disease, but an all encompassing mindset that outcasts them in the societies of land.

When outside the walls, an angry man dies. A sad man dies. A stressed man dies.

The grimm seek negative emotion. Most men are, to them, a glowing beacon. Not so the mad sailor. Sailor’s madness is a disease of joy, of exhilaration and wonder. The sailors who survive to old age are those who find joy in storm and toil. Those who can truly smile past hardship, not endure the emotions and smile through the pain, but those who by birth or trauma, truly feel their excitement and adrenaline filled joy, even as their comrades fall around them.

Sailor’s madness is a particular breed of sociopathy, a mad sailor is a great companion in the best of times, but a disorientating and unrelatable stranger at the worst of times.

Chapter Text

The sun rose on a dreary morning. Rain and roaring wind had battered the wooden hall that held the Sailor’s Moon, but now, in the early hours, atmospheric violence had been supplanted by rolling fog and weak, reedy sunlight. As Jaune and Phos trudged along the gangway to the beach, glowing beads of water gathered on and rolled down leather and cloth. The mist lay heavy and thick on the world, spreading a damp chill to the bones. Light from the sun strained to pierce the fog, but lost its battle to result in a weak, but ever present, effervescent golden light.

The two had begun the trek to Thicket, honoring their promise to Tai. Even here in the deep woods, among trees that had stood for centuries, there were great sentinels of the dark forest that lay dashed upon the ground, boles and boughs cracked and broken. Every minute in their run, at least one wooden giant lay across their path. To the two these were barely a challenge to traverse, but their sheer scale and number would make travel through the woods for a normal person a long and painful slog.

As they approached the town, the damage became even more apparent. The first sign Jaune saw was when he realised that the tree they were climbing over was actually the roof of a log cabin, detached and blown from its moorings. When the pair reached Thicket proper, the scale of the damage hit them in the face. Several buildings had cracked like eggs, slumping into the central thoroughfare in a deluge of broken beams and foot-long splinters. Small trees impaled windows, and lay strewn around the base of sterner walls. Carts and the few cars in the island lay tipped over or blown hundreds of metres from their resting points, and a dusting of glass shards impaled the dusty road and wooden walls.

One building that suffered least was the central combat school. It remained standing, the walls designed to deal with aura enhanced teenage mishaps, but the glass in its windowpanes was still cracked or full on shattered, and the central clocktower had snapped off at the base to slump down at an angle into the square, weather vane bent, broken and impaled into the ground. Clock hands mangled and contorted.

The bar inside the building was packed with people, as the village huntsmen attempted to arrange some sort of response. The general mood was surprisingly calm. Tai stood at the bar, listening to reports from residents. As the two entered, Tai stood up and clapped to get the attention of the others in the room.

“Everyone except for Tarn and Patina are accounted for. We know that enough houses are still standing that everyone has somewhere to sleep. We need to clean up all the debris and find out what needs to be fixed. That should be first priority. Make sure to keep eyes out for the missing. Morn, Conifer and Ragu, you three patrol the edge of the town to deal with any Grimm.”

Tai looked at the glum crowd and gave a smile. “We're going to finish today with a party, so everyone look forward to that. “

The room quickly emptied as people filtered out to survey the town. Phos and Jaune slowly approached Tai.

“Ah, you're here.”

Phos slowly sat on a creaking barstool. “It looks pretty bad Tai.”

“Yes it does,” Tai sighed as he joined Phos at the bar. “But we'll persevere. We always do. It's not the first time a Northwestern gale has trashed the town, and it won't be the last.”

“So, how can we help?”

Tai brought up a map of the town on his scroll and pointed at an unmarked area nearby.

“The storm destroyed the livestock pens. The animals have scattered and we really need to retrieve them. Doesn't help that they've been going missing for the last few years."

Phos looked at him askance, “Years?”

Tai returned the scroll to his pocket and started drumming his fingers on the oaken countertop. “Yes, one or two go missing every few months. Been happening for a good three or four years now. Definitely not a grimm, they don't touch livestock, but we have no idea other than them just wandering off. We've tried looking into it, but it's just not worth it. Anyway, just roam around outside the village looking for any sheep or cattle. I can trust you to handle any Grimm you come across.”

The pair of hunters had little luck for most of the morning. The weak sunlight was slow to burn off the mist, and despite their stronger than normal senses, they still struggled to pick up scents through the vapour. Phos even activated Beast Eye, a skill that hovers somewhere between a physical and a blood technique. The skill excites the blood and encourages localised minor beasthood to enable the user to view small traces left behind by prey in excruciating detail.

Sadly, even with the skill their hunt was fairly fruitless. The land around the pens was so trampled that to work out an individual track was a hopeless endeavour. They did find a few lone sheep, bleating panickedly in the wood, but by lunchtime, that was the totality of their achievements.

As the sun finally forced the fog to retreat, the pair returned to the bar at the front of signal academy. Significant progress had already been made towards clearing the village. The broken wood had been cleared from many of the houses, and piled into a building-sized heap a short distance away. Big things like the collapsed spire were still around of course, but Jaune was surprised just how fast the villagers moved. In the shadows he could see little Dust Shadows gnawing at slivers of wood, while larger creatures with too many limbs picked through the shattered piles.

Tai wasn’t surprised at their lack of progress. Apparently a fisherman out from Vale had come across a small raft of slowly bloating cow carcasses out to sea. While nowhere near the full complement of missing livestock, it did indicate that many more may have stumbled or been blown over the cliffs in the storm, to be lost at sea.

“Honestly guys, I know I asked for your help earlier, but a huntsman’s specific skills aren't much help here. Between us, I think we took out virtually every Grimm on Patch during the storm, and the rest of this is just clearing wreckage and building. Don't worry about the animals anymore, we'll just claim them on insurance. All I can suggest is just to go out and help around, we’re about to try shifting the spire.”

For most of the remaining day the work was boring and uneventful. The village made good time clearing wreckage, the school’s spire was eventually moved out of the square, and the mood was high.

As the sun began to creep down over the horizon, Tai and the two hunters ventured out from Thicket in search of a villager who was still missing. Given Phos and Jaune had already scoured quite a bit of the surroundings, the trio headed off in a different direction.

Here the trees were shorter, gnarled things. Wide of bole and twisted. Their branches were numerous and entwined, roots bursting from the ground in ankle-twisting knots. This was old growth forest. Stunted and weatherbeaten in comparison to the teenage woods around Thicket, but tenacious and deep-rooted enough to endure any storm.
Here in the thick undergrowth the sun’s rays had yet to burn off the mist. It lay like a coiling, undulating blanket along the soft mud. Twining like cold fingers up the knots and whorls in the bark to dance slowly from branch to branch. The moisture dimmed sound to whisper and dulled scent to musk. Obscuring the way ahead through a veil of far-off grey. Yet through the pale fog the enticing scent of blood still filtered its way to the hunters’ senses. A thin, reedy smell, smothered by a hundred others from the dripping forest, but bright like starflash to the trained nose.

“This way.” Phos’ voice was low and measured. "Something’s wrong.”

Tai immediately readied himself and nodded, not raising his voice. The smell grew as they moved, cloying as it built. The fog continued to cling, obscuring their visibility to merely a few trees away. Eventually, in a patch of wildflowers and moss, flattened by the strong winds of the storm, the smell reached its climax, yet there was no sign of the cause.

The three of them looked around, seeing nothing, until Jaune felt something drip on his hat. He looked up.
The branches of the trees above were an abattoir. The remains of livestock strung across the branches. Branches of bone and flapping leaves of skin made grotesque extensions to the foliage. The branches were coated red, blood mostly congealed in the frigid air. From above, an assembled murder of crows paused in their feast to observe the three humans. Strangely silent, one gave a quiet croak, but there was no squabbling. The carnage spread across several trees, as though a macabre artist had arrayed them personally.

To Phos and Jaune, there were strange slivers of black crawling along the branches. Suckling on strips of flesh with toothless mouths. Many legged insects with skin of white bone slowly gnawed on cartilage and grime.

There was no sign of Grimm nearby, or anything more threatening than the gore crows and critters.

"I can't smell any human remains. Its just cows and sheep."

Tai gave a relieved sigh at Phos' words. “Well, at least that's good, and i guess we know what happened to the rest of the livestock. The winds must have been stronger than we realised in order to do this to them.” Tai rubbed sweat from his forehead. “It’s not like Grimm would do something like this, and there’s nothing else on the island big enough to do something like this.”

“What are you going to do about all... this?” Jaune’s desensitised mind was entirely on how much of a pain it’d be to clear this up.

“Not much we can do. We can't spare the manpower, most wouldn't touch this with a ten foot pole. Besides, the crows will clear it eventually. Most people avoid this place anyway. Ghost stories and the like. It's also the closest place to the town you're likely to find Grimm, so we're not in much danger of civilians wandering in.

As the trio emerged from the foggy wood on their return to Thicket, the villager still missing, they saw a bullhead moving swiftly across the clouding sky in the direction of the town. When they approached Signal, having increased their speed to arrive as soon as possible, they saw an unknown woman talking to some of the other huntsmen.

“It's not surprising none of our digital messages got through. With the spire down, your connection to the CCT would have been awful.”

She noticed Tai and Phos approaching.

“Ah, you must be the other two huntsmen. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're gonna be in for another tough night folks,” the pilot was a woman in her mid twenties, short hair a bright green, “A second front is sweeping down this way, so stay out of anything too flimsy.”

Tai grimaced. “Are you sure?”

The woman nodded. “Unfortunately so. We've received reports from Otembaer and Vytal of another front bearing down this way. It'll be here shortly after dark at its current speed.”

With news of another storm bearing their way, mood substantially dimmed. Tai and the village leaders began to herd people into the body of signal academy, but eventually those who lived outside the village had to return home to deal with their own families. With storm clouds already brewing on the horizon, Tai left for his cabin, while the hunters headed back to Squall.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Azure Sea

Between Sanus and Oscuras lies the Azure Sea, so named due to the clear blue waters on Vacuo’s northern coast. Before it was given this name in the language regulations of the Vytal Treaty, the Valean region knew it by a different name, the Hungry Sea. Along Vale’s coast, the cooler waters and stronger current sweeping down from Solitas give the sea very different traits. Outside of a few notable spots around Vytal and Patch, the water here is rough and grey. A hungry, cold ocean, unwelcoming in its entirety.

A trench runs down the centre of the sea, created by the upwards push of Sanus as it slowly moves towards a collision with the dark continent. This makes the Azure Sea the deepest ocean on Remnant, but no one knows truly how deep. Any vessel to go more than a kilometer down has never returned. Most theorise either the pressure crushing Remnant’s fairly primitive submersible technology, or the existence of immense deep deepwater Grimm, but the deep can itself be hungry.

Chapter Text

Phos and Jaune didn't initially hurry much on their walk back to Squall’s dock. That quickly changed however. The wind rapidly began to build, the storm arriving far faster than anyone could have predicted. The gusting talons began to tear at the trees, threatening similar destruction to the previous night.

The arrival of the rain was initially only revealed by the thunderous pattering upon the canopy overhead, the thick vegetation preventing the rain getting through. This relief was short lived, as the sheer volume of water swiftly breached the protection. The sun had fully set long before this point, and were it not for the increased senses bestowed by the blood, both hunters would have found navigating exceptionally hard.

Both began to feel uncomfortable as they progressed. There was a dark fog growing in their heads, a slick sensation inside the back of their skulls. It grew so gradually as they travelled that even for people as sensitive as the hunters, it was hard to detect.

A mere few hundred metres from the beach, both of them paused, water building in both their hats. The storm may have explained the lack of birdsong, but both could see insects, that would normally be hiding, crawling frantically across the ground, away from the beach. There were no critters around. Even though Jaune didn't register every strange creature lurking in the shadows or at the corner of his vision, he could always tell that there were things there, slithering away at the edge of his notice. Now? Now there was a dark silence he hadn't felt since before New Eisgarten.

It felt like the time before an earthquake, when animals flee for their own safety. Something was obviously wrong, and with a quick nod, both drew their weapons and progressed with rather more urgency.

As the two stepped onto the beach, they skidded to a stop, sending pebbles flying. The sky was dark and clouded, looking like smoke. Before them lay the dock as they knew it. For a brief moment Jaune almost convinced himself into believing everything was fine, despite the almost unbearable sensation of wrongness bearing on the top of his neck. It was like returning to your childhood home after many years and desperately trying to see it as it once stood. Not noticing the new extension or cars in the drive. A human need to reject the unfamiliar and unexplained for that which was known, despite your subconscious brain screaming that you were merely lying to yourself.

Then, in a flash of lightning that tore the sky and illuminated great contours in the clouds, the building in the bay cracked out of existence to reveal what they now realised had always sat there. Whereas before the structure they knew was barely sixty feet long, a great behemoth near ten times that scale squatted out into the bay. The great wooden walls were as water damaged and rotten as they had ever been, but curved in great buttresses and flowing spires. In the top of the building, a massive hole lay, as though blasted out from within, an immense chasm of splintered beams that looked more like the wound of a parasite exploding out of a host than any sort of structural damage. The sheets of rain lanced through the hole, as wind threatened to tear the shattered planks from the roof.

There was no hesitation as the pair ran for the door. With Nana dead, their only explanation as to the damage, was that her mother’s ire had been raised on Squall. As they burst through the now, much larger doors, they were confronted with a vessel that dwarfed their expectations. The Sailor’s Moon was now no mere caravel, it stood at almost five hundred feet in length, six great masts lancing to the sky like massive trees. The gangplank, which had once seemed so inconsequential, was a great ramp up to the deck many metres above. Yet... this had always been the Sailor’s Moon. There had been no great change of form between the previous night and the now, both hunters just hadn't Seen.

Master and disciple shared a brief look, but couldn't afford to hold it for long. The roaring of the wind through the great hole in the ceiling quickly drew them back to the situation. Both of them knew, instinctively, to head towards the ship. There was a grasp on their hearts and a ray of moonlight in their heads, both of which dragged their focus to the naval monument. Were it just the dark grasp drawing them in, they might have thought better, but with the guidance of the Moon Reborn urging them along, there was no other cause of action.

Both pounded up the ramp, diving through rain from the open roof that fell like silken sheets before a soothsayer’s doorway. The deck of the craft below was immense,a wooden plain sticky with pitch and tar. The pair stood atop the quarterdeck which, like the forecastle at the prow, towered far above the main deck. Ornate wooden sculpture ringed the raised stage, rising to a great height above the stern. Black wood and brass turned the ship into a facsimile of the great city Jaune had been subject to while sleeping in the vessel’s bowels.

Ahead of them, between masts two and three, lay a giant metal grate. Gnarled iron in an ornate yet terrible tangle created two massive doors upon the deck’s surface, foreshadowing the great chasm of the hold below. The gates were buckled and bent, warped as though smashed from below. Splintered wood to either side told how they had been forced wide open to crash into the deck, but they now lay securely closed, almost fused, such was the sheer force with which they had been slammed shut.

With the sheer scale and damage to the gate, both could tell that even their blood-blessed strength would be unable to pry it open. Phos jumped the railing at the front of the quarterdeck as lightning crashed outside, illuminating the craft in a flash of yellow light. He seemed almost to flicker like flame as the wind blew his clothes.

“Come on!” his cry was like an urgent bark, dripping with tension and a steely professionalism that shook Jaune. It was at this point that he finally realised something he had known since they arrived on that beach. For the first time, he saw Phos working towards the hunter’s duty. Phos was not merely his master, but a full blown hunter staring down what could very well be the first spark of a global disaster. This was what he was expected to become.

Baring his teeth in a dark expression of tightly wound anticipation and nervousness, Jaune followed his master’s example. There was a door below, set in an ornate frame. Still far above the deck on a second level to the raised stern, the two dove into the boat’s internals.

They found themselves in the same area where they had once slept, though it was much changed. Dark wood and a strange smell of dusk and ozone permeated a completely different layout. Two sets of memories warred in the hunters’ heads, they remembered the simple accommodation they had once squatted in, yet they also remembered walking these ornate halls. Their visions twisted and warped, struggling to reconcile the double-memories.

“We need to keep moving.”

Phos was the first to recover. Many years of experience granted him greater ability to deal with such situations, despite Jaune's extreme experiences. Phos too had suffered through much in his time.

There was a strange silence within the almost still craft. The roar of the weather outside was reduced to a mild rumble, more felt through the feet than heard through the ear. Unlike Jaune's adventures in his initiation, the Sailor’s moon was not filled with abominations and danger. The long corridors were more cerebral of a threat, the warp in his memory still ached and stung like the ragged edges of an open wound. Dark shadows played at the corners of his vision, the quiet more disconcerting than any roar.

The ship was devoid of life and motion. Air still and stagnant, critters flown in fear. A dark, depressing maze, seemingly designed to disorient the traverser. The pair would walk along a bare corridor only to stumble upon it again minutes later and find it festooned with doors. Jaune knew the doors hadn’t been there last time they passed, yet simultaneously he had seen them the first time. Stairs and corners were laid out without reason, switchbacking into themselves and twisting like something alive. Each second felt an eternity, there was no glimpse of the world outside, or way to tell how time had passed. Even the hands on Phos’ pocketwatch spun and stuttered erratically. Jaune was reminded of the rain-soaked city below the sea in the sky, time passing and seeking to prevent all interference. Wasting away with a pall on the mind.

It was Phos who heard it first. A third breath, weezing and weak. Drifting to them on still air. Both hunters broke into a run.

At the base of a flight of stairs lay Squall. His frame was cracked and broken, red seeping barely seen into red carpet, only perceivable via the thick, cloying, sweet stink that warred with the smells of old wood, dust and distant stars permeating the vessel. A wheezing burble came from lungs slowly flooding. Weak eyes lolled their way and brightened somewhat in recognition.

“Squall!” Phos’ cry was short and sharp, flooded with both worry and anger. The old salt was an old acquaintance, but he had still hidden all of this, even after what happened with Nana.

Squall only released a wet wheeze in response. His face seemed torn between relief and apprehension, with a strong undercurrent of pain.

“What is going on!?” Rifling through his pockets Phos pulled out various medical supplies, but he was interrupted by Squall lifting a twisted arm to stop his hand.

Through cracked teeth and a swollen tongue, Squall managed to croak out a few lines. “Don't waste yer time lad, I'm already gone. Can't say I don't deserve it.”

“What's going on here?”

A quiet, wet laugh teezed its way from Squall's throat. “Ah, my son. He's grown too much. A few cattle are no longer enough... The sea’s scion is hungry.”

With that last sentence, trailing off into almost imperceptibly, Obediah Squall gave his last wheezing breath.

With a short breath to stay himself, Phos said, curtly, “Let's go.” Before marching off down a nearby corridor.

From that point, the spacial abnormalities seemed to cease, as though a lens had finally locked in place over the world and stabilised the twisting fragments. A long corridor led its way into the hold, leading them down and deeper, into the dark. Smells of salt and mould grew stronger with the darkness, but it was that sharp, acrid smell of stars burning that attacked their sinuses most aggressively. It was a hard to identify smell, like high pressure before a storm. Perceivable and recognizable, with obvious effect, but rarely noticed actively.

When they came to a larger space it was a shock, the entryway seeming to manifest behind them as they entered, walls ballooning out to the edges of the space. Cold, pale light from the shattered moon lanced down, through the hole in the building’s roof, through the mangled gate, and into the empty hold.

The hold was empty, so it seemed, but the light didn't reach every wall. Massive shadows lay languidly over wall and floor, seeming to undulate as though seen through water. There was a pressure in the air, a thick apprehension that only seemed to grow. The pair stepped forwards into the light, maintaining close watch around them. Both drew their weapons, the moonlight played along the edge of Ignited Ashes and Jaune's knife, as though caressing them lovingly. There was still no sign of any aggressor.

Jaune closed his eyes briefly to focus on hearing and smell, but there was no sound besides the crash of water from outside, and no smell beside that overwhelming acrid stench. When he opened his eyes he shared a look through the shadow to Phos. They knew there was something there, but where?

Both hunters dived in opposite directions as something impacted the floor where they had been. Something had to have cast that shadow, but Jaune couldn’t see anything there. No... that wasn't entirely true, there was a strange shimmer in the air, like haze on a hot day, or light seen through water. Based on Phos’ intake of breath, his master could see far more.

Indeed Phos could, but the writhing mass of tendrils in the rough shape of a hand tried its best to skirt his understanding all the same. Visible yes, making sense, no. The tendrils merged into an incomprehensible mass that retreated back into the shadows.

“Jaune... can you see it.” Phos words were urgent.

Jaune continued squinting to try and make it out but... “Not properly, there's a shimmering in the air, but that's it.”

“You’re close then. Fuck, I didn't want to do this... take this.” Phos reached into his jacket, before diving to the side as the arm swung in again. He managed to extract what he was after, before throwing the white object in Jaune’s direction.

When Jaune caught the off-white sphere, he was briefly taken back to those ice tunnels at New Eisgarten, for in his hand was a skull. Cranium shattered to reveal the empty cavity, carved with hundreds of eyes, and just as before there were strange wispy shapes within. Writhing and dancing hypnotically, tempting fate.

As before, Jaune held his hand out, and the ethereal throng flocked to his fingers, far more than there had been in that cave. His vision lit up with colours beyond colour. Strange waves and shimmers plied his vision like ships on a sunless sea. Whispers echoed in his ears in languages he had never known, and it wasn't just sight and sound. Nerves shone with a song from the great beyond, flashing and sparking like live wires, he tasted light and sound, and the absence of both, while his sense of smell sang him a lullaby. His proprioception too, told him what his eighth arm was doing, and he felt his ninety eyes. New senses sprouted in his mind, he could feel time and watch the waves of magnetism. Lines flickered in his subconscious, drawing maps between Atlas and Vale and Solitas and Vacuo. Lines of gold and white and pink and red and black, so black it would appear as void within the void itself. All his senses, mundane and fantastical, danced to an unknowable tune, the music just instructions to the great dance of the spheres, a pale facsimile to hint at the truth, a simulacrum, a false copy, and that knowledge rankled. Why could he not know the real thing? He didn't sense all this, no, that word was too banal, he experienced it, there was no other way to describe it. His fingertips brushed on the cusp of Truth, yet found it endlessly drawn away. It was maddening- no nothing else could possibly ever be this maddening. It stirred emotions in Jaune that neither he nor any human had felt before, anger and sadness that went beyond rage and despondency, an endless and bottomless hunger for that which was denied him and-

And it was all gone in a fraction of a second, leaving Jaune reeling with a whiplash that literally played along his very soul, flickering his aura in waves of unreadable patterns, themselves almost unbearable to look at. With a gasping, heaving breath he came back to himself, slumped on the ground with foam around his mouth, a fearsome migraine roaring in his skull. With shaking hands he crunched a white pill and felt it dim.

Remembering the situation he leapt to his feet. He could only guess that he had been out for at least a few minutes. Gouges in the splintering wood revealed the violence that Phos’ battle contained. Then, in the moonlight, he saw his master, and his perception halted as though frozen in time. His coat bellowed like a thing alive as his axe carved a path through falling rain. The droplets were swept in the blade’s wake in a silver tail. A fierce shout on his face, and orange sparks blooming in his left hand.

Finally Jaune could see the creature that they faced. It appeared to mostly consist of innumerable writhing tendrils, fashioned into an amalgamation of sea life. Some twisted into the appearance of shelled legs, others fins, others needle-toothed maws. No part fit any sort of true body plan, and they contorted and changed endlessly, a leg twisting to become a claw then a single long tentacle, then a fish's mouth. More than that, occasionally human traits would show themselves as well, hands and legs sprouting from the mass, then losing all cohesion and falling into a writhing bed of cephalopodic flesh. A single entity containing all aspects of ancient antideluvian phobias. Great tendrils soared to the sky, through the now open hold gates.

With a screech the world careened back into motion. Tendrils of squidlike flesh whipped out in simulacra of an octopus’ tentacles, trying their best to grab Jaune. With a puff of white smoke and a smell of ozone, Jaune quickened away. Phos whirled like a dervish, his axe cleaving slick white flesh with ease, writhing tendrils falling all around him. Once again, Jaune found himself hampered by the small size of the Blades of Mercy. Even though he carried his Burial Blade on his back, using it would be folly for him now.

An inferno lit up around Phos, the flare of his semblance catching on the oily skin of the creature.a great face formed in the flank of its mass, in silent frozen scream. Phos trailed fire from the edge of his axe, the weapon cleaving flesh to leave charred, smoking wounds behind. Wounds which didn't heal. For the first time, Jaune truly understood why his master had earned the epithet “Crackling Silver”, as the sound of flames and the flow of moonlight off Phos’ silver hair would stick with him for a long time.

Jaune too, set to the beast in earnest. Though he had no flame to cauterise the wounds he caused, his blades were made of siderite. And as the blades sang through tendril after tendril, they cut through soul and truth, as only metal from outside the waking world can. Jaune took several attacks to the shoulder and back. Squid tentacles holding vicious hooked barbs tore at his leather coat, while a myriad of needle-like teeth that looked to be made of glass sunk through almost to the bone of his shoulder.

Blood flowed from that wound down Jaune's arm, but then went against the pull of gravity, to congregate on the blade of star-steel. His grasp on the finer points of blood control were nigh nonexistent, but at this occasion he wasn't alone. Yes, he'd only managed before to make throwing daggers, but they were isolated, constructs of pure blood. Here, his blood found the Blades of Mercy, and in the moonlight, the attention of the moon itself was in that metal. Around the edge of Jaune's blades, grew a cruel and jagged red edge. Poorly formed, unstable, and threatening collapse it’s true, but the blood gave Jaune what he needed most. Reach.
When Jaune first recieved the blades, they were almost full swords to his smaller body. Now almost four and a half years after receiving them, they were mere large knives, designed for people, not beasts. The blood granted them back that length, once more swords, now laid out in sanguine.

In a whirl, Jaune too, set upon the tendrils. Like a pair of spinning blades, the two approached the centre mass. Their best hope was to reach a central body within the fronds, and so both set to in earnest. This close to the mass each attack was nigh instantaneous and their frantic dance to dodge, deflect and dismember limb after limb was almost more frantic than their attempts to carve at the creature. The longer they lived, the more maddened the creature became, and the less coherent its conglomerate limbs. Eyes opened along all sides. Hundreds, cephalopode, composite, piscine or any other tethyan form all sprouted like moist gemstones. As quickly as they sprouted near, they were mowed down.

It was a strange sensation for Jaune, cleaving through this amalgamation of creatureflesh. Almost all things that he'd fought had red blood. Humans, mammal and reptile based beasts, things like that. But even among mundane creatures there was a veritable rainbow of blood colours. A slice could spurt red, if he hit a fish, but it could equally splash blue if it was cephalopode or crustacean, even green, purple or yellow for various worms and shellfish. Most of this blood was thin and pale, colour barely visible, but it all stank of oil and old seafood.

It felt like the tide would never end, but via a combination of cauterisation and Eldritch cleaving, the tendrils were slowly carved away. Covering almost the entire floor of the hold in a sea of flesh, some tendrils slowly writhing or jerking spasmodically in their mindless death throes.

Left behind was a giant, malformed child. A toddler on a titanic scale. Pale grey mollusc flesh and silver scales formed a patchwork across its flesh, fins emerged from back and arm, and all the broken tendrils issued from the scalp to replace hair. The beast wailed in silence, throwing its head to the sky. Its face instilled an intrinsic disgust, almost half its face resembled that of some deep sea fish. A silver eye within a scaled expanse, skin pulled taught at the edge. Its mouth sliced up to the rear on one side, as though a slit wound, revealing a mess of needlepoint teeth. Though it had a nose, it was merely half of one. The flesh twisting, warping and puckering to meet the scaled, noseless fish side of its countenance.

The baby threw a tantrum. Rising unsteadily up to short, thick legs, it began to stamp its feet and slam its fists on the ground.

Unfortunately for the beast, it was far less threatening without its hair. A panicked, outsized child was slow and uncoordinated. Phos’ axe swung into its ankle as though felling a tree, causing the thing to stumble. Jaune took advantage, leaping onto the sloped creature and running up its side. His blades scoring lines in its flesh. Jaune did feel a twinge of sympathy for the creature, but a beast is a beast, and Jaune had no doubt that this was the reason for thicket’s endlessly disappearing cattle.

At the beast’s shoulder, Jaune swung his enhanced blades at its neck. They cut deep, but brought a reaction. A large meaty first thwacked into his side, sending him flying into the far wall. He hit the wood with a crack that knocked the air from his lungs and sent a shocking pain through his right shoulder. As the baby fell forwards without using its arm for support, Phos responded with a hoarse cry. His axe swung towards the creature’s falling face and crashed through the bridge of its nose. For the first time, the creature made a sound, it let out a soft, wheezing cry befitting its form, before it slumped to the ground.

Phos ran over to Jaune and gave him as quick of an examination as he could.

“Sorry, we have to get out of here.” Phos’ speech was panicked and rushed. Grabbing Jaune by his waist, as both shoulders were now injured, Phos threw his apprentice over his shoulder. The hunter proceeded to make a mad dash for the hold wall, leaping halfway up the height with the aid of quickening, before leaping again to clear the hold. Once on the deck, he ran. A frantic, panicked sprint, sacrificing control for speed.

He jumped from the deck to the dock, and wheeled towards the door. As he ran, Jaune could see the reason for their flight. Behind them, the Sailor’s Moon had begun to break down, wood cracking and splintering, as the entire ship seemed to start caving in on itself, crushing towards a centre point, and the crushing area only grew.

After they burst through the door Jaune's view of the destruction was blocked for mere moments, until the dock itself began to splinter and warp. It wasn't a smooth process, water was dragged up from the bay in silver spires and in from the sheets of rain, while the forces involved sent shards of wood the size of small trees spiralling into the air. Jaune could swear he saw things writhing in the torrential rain as they burst through the building, great tendrils nigh invisible, to even his enhanced sight. Shimmering light, like their opponent had been until he touched that skull, but he would never be sure.

The last of the bridge was dragged in just as they leapt from the end. The whole of Squall's influence on Patch reduced to a single glowing speck. Then the water rushed in to fill the hole, and where it met in the centre a great spout shot into the air. The spout crashed into that speck. There was a moment of total silence, as though the world was holding its breath, before water and air expanded out in all directions from that point. A great shock wave that threw both hunters to the ground and toppled every tree within twenty metres of the treeline. Clouds were torn away as a great hole burst into the storm, leaving a clear night sky. A ripple spread in a circle across the water, growing to a wave as it moved away from Patch, leaving a perfectly still pane of glass on the surface of the water, the moon’s reflection shining bright.

“Every Great One loses its child.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Rejection

If a Great One can be described as a creature dipping its hand into the pool that is our reality, the what happens when that hand is retracted? If a true Great One actually were to manifest ‘fully’ (or at least as fully as they ever normally try to) and then be forced back, as hard fought and difficult as that fight would be, Remnant itself would reject all sign that they had ever been there.

The more minor the entry, the smaller the rejection. A failed entry attracts barely any rejection at all, a full entry’s rejection can send shockwaves across the world... or the moon. Of course, there are exceptions, as there always are with Great Ones.

Even things that are not Great Ones, like powerful kin, can cause such rejections upon death, even though they do not reside between dimensions as the Great Ones do. Though, most often, such rejections come as Great Ones extend their influence to retrieve that which they believe is theirs.

Chapter Text

Taiyang was usually confident in his workmanship. His cabin had held for well over a decade, and he knew every plank and seam, but now, in the second raging storm in as many nights, doubt couldn't help but seep into his mind. He hadn’t been able to make any repairs that day, too involved with helping Thicket, and now the battering wind was creating several disturbing sounds against his walls. Creaking groans, a metallic rattling from a dislodged gutter, branches and small stones cracking off his windows, and a sharp rapping on his door.

With a small start, Tai realised that last sound wasn't a result of the storm. Someone was out there in the storm, beating on his door. Scrambling to his feet, Tai ran to let them in. With a clenched fist, just in case it was actually a grimm on his porch, he yanked the door open.

Standing there was Phos, an unconscious Jaune slung over his shoulder. The pair of them were dirty and soaked, but Tai could see blood on Phos’ coat. With shock, Tai registered the clear, cloud-free sky. There was no sign of the storm outside the still raging wind.

“Phos!” Tai immediately hurried the pair in, manhandling Phos towards an armchair, slamming the door as he did so. With gentle hands Tai removed Jaune from Phos to lay him on the sofa.

“What happened!?” he rapidly removed Jaune's coat to begin tending his injuries.

Phos took a few deep breaths and removed his hat. “A Furcifer.”

Tai full on stumbled, dropping the bowl he'd just started to fill with water. “This far south?!” His voice was sharp and contained a notable warble of genuine fear.

With a sigh, Phos slightly relaxed. “I can only assume its storm was caught in the Great Wind and was blown down from the ice ocean.”

“The CCT is still down! With the storm we won't be able to send a message-“

“Don't worry Tai. It was a Furcifer. Its gone. Took Squall and his entire dock with it mid you, but its gone. The storm should be clear by the morning.”

Tai collapsed into a chair. “Dust man! I almost had a heart attack. How in Ohm’s name did you deal with it?”

Phos took a deep drag from his flask, before allowing his head to loll to look at the ceiling. “Pain, fire, Jaune, and a whole lotta luck.”

“Seriously? The kid was important to it?”

Phos focused his sight back on Tai, looking down the line of his nose. “’The Kid’ stood side-by-side with me and held his own for most of the fight. There are few people alive who I trust more to cover my back than the man my apprentice is growing to be.”

Tai looked somewhat disbelieving. “Come on Phos, he can't be older than fifteen or sixteen.”

“Fourteen, and only just.”

“He's Yang’s age!?”

Phos just held up a hand. “Tai. Stop. I know he's young, I still trust him. He’s been under my wing for near 6 years now. He's Rank E with the Association already, and I have full confidence that he could do the Rank D exam as he is now.”

Getting up, Tai returned to filling the bowl. “Phos, no matter how much you trust the boy, he's a child. I'm a teacher, he's only just hit the age we start introducing them to fighting Grimm. I cannot condone you letting him face a Furcifer of all things.”

Gently, Tai removed Jaune’s coat, waistcoat and shirt and began to dress his wounds. Phos snorted. “Don't tell me you didn't let Yang at any Grimm before Signal.”

Tai rubbed his temple. “I didn't ‘let’ Yang at any Grimm.” Phos chuckled, “Like that is it? ... Jaune killed his first Beowulf at nine.”

Tai just sighed. “Do I need to tell you how stupid and irresponsible that is?” Jaune's wounds weren't that bad. General bruises, grazes and small cuts, some fairly major laceration on one shoulder, more serious bruising and minor bone fractures in the other. “This shoulder is going to need heavy splinting, we can't risk it setting wrong.”

Phos waved a hand. “Just clean and bandage the cuts. He's an Arborian, it'll mostly be healed by the morning, and completely fine by tomorrow night. Don't suppose there's been any word on Qrow?”

Tai was again fairly aghast at Phos’ seeming disregard for his apprentice’s health. “Listen here! He needs proper medical treatment-“

Phos surged to his feet. “Don't suggest that I don't know what I'm doing. I've been his master for more than five years, I know how to keep him healthy. If you splint him up and restrict his motion like you want to he's likely to end up with his bones fusing together as they try to heal. Now, Qrow.”

Tai glared sourly. “No word before the storms, and no chance of one now, but he's not going to stay away after a dust-damned Furcifer has shown up here. Now if you'll excuse me,” his voice was clipped, “I'm going upstairs, before either of us do something we'll regret. Try not to bleed all over my house.”

Phos looked Jaune over briefly. He chewed up some leaves and spat them into the lacerations as a poultice before bandaging them. He covered his charge with his coat, before leaning back into the armchair, his own coat as a blanket.

Phos was woken to someone poking his face.

“Hello mister.”

There was a small girl leaning on the armrest looking up at him.

“Well hello little lady...” His voice trailed off. Under his breath he couldn't help but whisper, “Moon Eyes...”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Mister, why are you in our house?”

Phos smiled, “You must be one of Tai’s brats eh? Ruby I’d guess. You look like your mother.”

The girl propped herself on the footstool. “You knew mum?”

“Only in passing. We went to Beacon together, shared a few missions later. Good lady, good huntress.”

The girl beamed and whispered under her breath, “Supermum...” she then realised Phos hadn't actually answered her question. “Oi mister, I asked why you were here.”

“Sorry Ruby. I'm Phos, I was staying somewhere else on the island, but it was destroyed in the storm. I knew your father so my apprentice and I came to stay here tonight.” He pointed over at Jaune, who was still sleeping.

Ruby sprung up and walked over to Jaune, who she initially thought was just a pile of dirty, and rather smelly, clothes.

“Your apprentice?”

“Yes. He's my student. He goes around with me and I teach him how to do my job.”

Ruby beamed, “You went to Beacon right?”

“Yes.”

“So you're a huntsman?”

“... Yes.”

The smile grew wider.

“Can I be your apprentice!?”

Phos took a deep breath. “No, Ruby.” Her face fell. “For a few reasons. For one, your father would try to kill me. Your sister would also, probably, try to kill me. More pressing though, I'm part of a special group, and we can only have one apprentice. So long as Jaune lives, I won't take another.”

“Oh.” Ruby's dejection lasted for only a few moments. “Can you tell me some stories then?”

Phos’ smile was gentle. While he couldn't tell her any of the real gritty stories, he had a few more palatable tales he could tell.

Jaune woke with a grunt. He felt stiff and his mouth was fuzzy, but other than a few aches he couldn't feel any of the injuries from their fight. As he sat up he was met with a mild, but rather annoying, headache. He let out a hiss and rubbed his forehead.

“Sleeping beauty awakes!”

Jaune looked over towards Phos’ voice. “Oh shut up you bast-“ Jaune cut himself off as he was met with two silver pools sat by his master’s feet.

“Uh... hello?”

“Hi.”

“... I'm sorry, did i miss something?”

Phos looked between the two teenagers. “Not really.”

Jaune rolled his eyes. “So, who are you?”

The girl hopped to her feet and ran over.

“Hi! I'm Ruby! You're in my living room.”

Jaune gave her a strained smile. “... Well this isn't awkward at all...”

“Mister Phos has been telling me a bunch of stories, you’re so lucky!”

Jaune couldn't keep looking at the beaming smile, he was forced to look to the side slightly. “Yeah I know. Doesn't always feel that way though.”

Ruby tilted her head, “Why?”

Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Why? It’s not all fun and games. You get hurt, other people get hurt. Sure, improving feels good, but it hurts when you haven't improved enough, and I'm rambling about some kinda heavy stuff, so I'm just going to shut up now.”

“Oh... but that just means I need to improve faster so that doesn't happen!”

Jaune didn't have the heart to correct her that it would happen anyway.

It was at this point that Tai entered the cabin. “Right. You're lucky, relay’s got an emergency connection set up. Qrow is already on his way and... why are you talking with my daughter.” His expression went from slightly grumpy to cold.

“Relax Tai. She's the one who came to us, I'm not going to be a rude guest to such an enthusiastic host.” The statement was tailed by a few giggles from Ruby. “Anyway, Qrow’s on his way? Good. Right, Jaune, we can't have you drop behind, we'll go for the reduced regimen today given what happened last night.”

Tai’s face turned thunderous. “Phos, if you try to force your injured-“

“Right, let's go.” Jaune hopped up off the sofa, rolling one shoulder after the other to work out some of the ache, before moving towards the door. “Excuse me Mr Xiao-Long.”

Tai stepped to the side completely dumbfounded, looking at Jaune's retreating back.

As he too passed Tai, Phos couldn't help himself. “I did tell you. That child is nothing if not resilient.”

Tai was in some ways impressed with Jaune's training, and in other ways appalled. Oh Phos certainly knew how much Jaune could take and how to push him, but the level he was working at matched the routines of some official huntsmen he’d met. Granted, none of them were among the higher tiers, but they were adults.

Ruby had initially been excited, and had joined Jaune on his starting run, if there was anything his daughter could do with ease, it was run, but she'd quickly grown bored with the endless exercise. She did pick up when the two began to spar though.

Phos was using his axe this time, and Tai could tell neither were pulling punches. Many trainees, and even full huntsmen, sometimes couldn't get used to fighting other people full bore, but not these two. Each attack was fully committed. He almost stepped in when it seemed that Jaune had taken a full hit from the axe, but it turned out a hidden knife held against his forearm had blocked the attack.

“So cooool...”

No. No no no no... he didn't want Ruby having yet another ridiculous role model. Qrow was bad enough.

He was drawn out of his musing by Phos’ voice, “So, Tai, how long do you think Qrow’ll take?”

The two seemed to be done, Jaune retrieving his hat from where it had been dislodged during a particularly sudden dodge. Jaune was also being mobbed by a hyper Ruby.

“Three? Four days? Two if he pushes himself to the limit.”
Phos briefly took his glasses off to wipe his face with a handkerchief, revealing his ruined eye socket. “Good, not long then.

That evening the four of them were sat awkwardly around the kitchen table.

“... Tai? I can't help but recall that you have two daughters. Where is Yang?”

Ruby's face fell, while Tai’s hardened again. “I told you when you first got to Patch, Yang’s not feeling that good right now.”

“Is she eating at least?” Phos’ voice held genuine concern, which seemed to mollify Tai somewhat. “Yes, but she doesn't leave her room much at the moment.”

Phos recalled that Tai mentioned this being a result of an event, rather than an illness. “Does she have anyone to talk to? And I mean someone she's not close with, we both know from Beacon that people won't always talk to family.”

Tai sighed, “Unfortunately, Patch’s sole qualified therapist was involved in the incident. Tangentially, but enough that it would be a bad idea to involve them. Then given her reluctance to leave the house, taking her to one on the mainland is less than viable.”

Ruby quietly got up from the table And began to head towards the stairs. Phos sent Jaune a meaningful look, before continuing his conversation, forcibly keeping Tai’s attention.

Ruby was sat in the upstairs corridor, knees to her chest. Without saying a word, Jaune sat opposite. The quiet lasted a good five minutes.

“I used to think people were either good or bad.”

Jaune refocused on Ruby at her quiet words.

“I don't think I can believe that anymore.”

“What happened?” Jaune's voice was low and gentle, trying his best not to agitate.

Ruby hugged her knees, “A protest, I think. I haven't looked since, I don't want to know any more.”

“I'm guessing it didn't go well.”

Ruby sighed, “Yang and I had just met after school and... after the crowd gathered we couldn't get out. Everyone was just so big and angry.”

Jaune nudged his foot over to touch Ruby's, hoping to ground her slightly. She gave a smile in response, but it was weak and short lived.

“In the crush, someone tripped over us and... he was furious. Yang could have fought him off, she's amazing, but dad’s told us we can't do anything to civilians. She tried to protect me, but it looked like it hurt so much. It was enough that she unlocked her semblance. Then dad saved us...”

“At least you're both safe.”

“No! That's not the important bit.” Ruby's voice rose above a whisper for the first time in this conversation. “We’re both training to be huntresses, Yang’s fought Grimm and I at least have aura, being hurt isn't unusual. It was painful when it happened sure, but we've both had worse. The important bit is that we knew those people, some of them we've known for years. Teachers, shopkeepers. I mean, most of them weren't from Patch, loads came across from Vale, Thicket isn't that big. But the point is that people we trusted, became something else. Something different. If that can happen to them, what about everyone else. What about us?”

“Ruby, I suspect it was just the stress and the crowd getting to people.” Thinking back to the travel from Aspenbairn on the Wend to Sable Down, when the most dangerous thing was the attitude of the group. When their travelling party seemed more like one large creature, thoughts passing between people. When one was scared, they all got scared, when one started to see the light, they all did.

Then he thought of Schaff. “Then again, sometimes people's true colours can remain hidden for years. Maybe they were lying to you, but I doubt it. Everyone has dark thoughts, instincts, they deliberately decide not to act on. I've wanted to punch Phos in the face many times, I've dreamed of doing some awful things to some people, but I haven't acted on them. I'm sure you've at least wanted to raid the cookie jar a few times then decided you shouldn't.”

He took a breath. “I expect it was just stress and adrenaline causing people acting on some impulses they normally repress. It hurt, I’ve no doubt, but what you should take from it is why it is important to keep a hold of your principles, and not lose yourself. Keeping a handle on our instincts and not being ruled by them is what makes us different from beasts.”

“... You don't talk to other kids much do you?”

Jaune spluttered a little. “Hey, I have friends my age!” Thinking back to the Schnees.

Ruby's look was deadpan, “I don't know about half of the words you just used.”

“I read!” Jaune was indignant.

“Normal books, or old people books?”

As much as he wanted to, Jaune didn't think he could justify the things found in the Archive Labyrinth as normal books.

Ruby smiled, “But thank you. I get the idea at least, though I don't think there's bad in everyone. I think there's good in everyone, I suppose sometimes people just lose sight of it.”
“If more people thought that, everything would be much better.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Furcifer

The Furcifer is a particularly dangerous Grimm normally found only in the far north of Solitas and the ice ocean beyond. Appearing as immense winged deer, Furcifer are almost mythical due to how rare they are, and how much rarer it is to encounter them.

Their greatest strength lies in their storm. Each Furcifer generates a thunderhead around themselves, a writhing roaring vortex of wind, rain, ice and lightning. These storms have an almost supernatural power, driven as they are by the Grimm's strength, rather than natural forces.

To slay a Furcifer is no mean feat. Many are coated in a thick layer of ice and frost, increasing their defences to a ridiculous degree. The one thing that always works against a Furcifer is fire. These Grimm seem almost to fear fire, as it melts through their defences with ease, to reveal their weaker flesh.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned annoyingly bright. After the days of storm and the weak, wan light of the previous day, the harsh sun, that was already becoming oppressively warm, seemed almost an insult.

With little else important to do but wait until Qrow’s arrival, Jaune went through the motions of his lessons via scroll, and his physical training. With the warmth, both Phos and Jaune had removed their overcoats and put them towards the side.

Ruby was leaned up against an old oak at the edge of the clearing, close by their gear. As exciting as watching fighting could be, Ruby had to admit that watching this training wasn't exactly entertaining after a few hours.

Her eyes wandering, they naturally fell upon Jaune's folded Burial Blade. As he still had little clue how to use it, it had been left with the coats. For all her childish innocence, Ruby had long held an obsession with mechanics, specifically weaponry. Indeed, she made a habit of of helping her dad in the small workshop he maintained. She’d made several small projects herself, heck her bedside clock she’d assembled from scrap when she was nine.

Needless to say, when it came to mechanisms and materials, she was precocious. So when Ruby looked at a cruel hunk of Eldritch iron, designed to cleave the sinew of even the largest beasts from their bones, she didn't see an instrument of death that most would avoid at a glance. No she saw a simplistic and brutalist masterpiece of engineering.

Her small fingers sure and steady, she manipulated latches and catches, unfolding spring-loaded spars and gently locking ratchets. The scythe unravelled slowly like a midnight flower in bloom, exposing itself under the face of moonlit eyes.

It took several moments for Phos or Jaune to notice Ruby's actions. She was quiet and unhurried, the harsh barks and clashes of mechanisms normally used in rapid strain were replaced with gentle metallic burrs and clicks as the device was used with loving care.

“Ruby... be careful with that...” Phos voice was measured and calm, endeavouring to prevent starts or startles while the Burial Blade’s soul-hungry edge lay so close to the preteen.

“It’s beautiful. Cold and simple but... clear. Refined for one purpose.” Ruby's voice was quiet and steady, almost absentminded. Her fingers ghosting gently over the flat of the blade. Grain and whorls in the wooden haft embraced by her other hand.

Phos took a few slow steps towards Ruby, hands held out to keep tension low. “Ruby, look at me. That weapon’s made of something rather dangerous, so please put it aside. “

“I know. Siderite. I never thought I’d see it. It's amazing.” One finger began tracing a curve of golden stars on the surface of the metal. She raised her head towards the two of them and the tense moment was broken. A wide, beaming smile sat on her face. “Thank you for letting me see this! It's so cool!”

‘Not the reaction I was expecting honestly.’ Thought Phos.
Ruby gently and lovingly refolded the weapon, setting it back to the side.

“I wanna use a scythe too! Uncle Qrow is always so cool, and he's been teaching me the basics when he's in town.”
“Really?” Jaune had moved closer and plopped himself down beside Ruby.

“Yeah, Qrow’s the best huntsman I know (sorry dad), so if he can teach me, I might get really good! But why do you want to use a scythe? I know you don't see them very often.”

Jaune scratched his head, then pulled out his blades. “Well, the group Phos and I are part of has a list of weapons that we traditionally use. My big problem with my knives had always been anything large. Turns out, stabbing a goliath with a toothpick doesn't do very much. So I chose something that could deal with big targets.”

Ruby pulled out a dogeared little red notebook, “Something... to... deal... with... big... targets...”

She froze for a moment, before patting her lip with her pencil. “Is there any reason something that works on large targets wouldn't work on small ones?”

Though Ruby was mostly talking to herself, Jaune chipped in. “Well, sometimes you don't have the room to use large things.”

Ruby looked over, glancing first at Jaune, then the scythe, then the knives. She paused briefly, then scribbled something out in her book. “Something small and something large. If I make both, I won't end up with something in the middle that struggles with either!”

Upstairs in the house, a bedraggled head of yellow hair turned away from the window. It had been incredibly obvious that there were guests in the house. The two of them weren't exactly quiet.

Yang had been hit hard by that conversation Ruby had with the younger one the previous night. As they were right outside her room when they were talking, it wasn't exactly hard to hear it. Deep down she knew that Ruby would be affected. She was eleven after all, not five. It's not like she'd have just forgotten, but given how... unaffected Ruby had seemed, Yang had managed to convince herself that her sister really had managed to put it aside.

Given how much it still tore at Yang, seeing Ruby seemingly overcome the memories so easily had been like a knife in the wound. Yang was the big sister, she was supposed to be the one to protect Ruby, and yet it had seemed like it was she who needed protecting.

Instead, it turned out that Ruby was still hurting, she had just hidden her pain beneath a smiling face to not worry Yang and dad. That knowledge replaced the metaphorical knife with a ragged hole. Ruby had been hurting, and she had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to see that her sister needed help.

The memories still hurt, hurt in a much more deep-seated pain than any injury, but the core of her reason for hiding away now wasn’t the incident. It was shame.

To say Ruby had taken the news that Jaune had made his own weapons with enthusiasm was the understatement of the century. She’d immediately grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to her father’s workshop and begin talking his ear off.

Sadly, despite his experiences in the forge, most of Ruby's ramblings went right over his head. It was clear that from the technical standpoint, Ruby’s knowledge eclipsed his own. Indeed the only issue she tended to run into was a lack of practical experience. At only 11 years old, while she was in the pre-combat class at signal, she wouldn't be taken on any Grimm hunts for over a year, and what little experience she had gained during training with her father or uncle had always been extremely controlled. Even more so than Jaune's first Association mission, when Phos sent through a grimm at a time.

Ruby lacked the knowledge of what got in the way or became annoying in a fight. Sure she could make something impressive and technically sound, but it was likely that it would have issues in proper use. Jaune had no doubt that over the next 6 years at signal, Ruby would more than cover all her missing bases.

As it was however, the two of them were pretty good at shoring each others shortcomings up, and between them the rest of the day blurred by fairly quickly. The two of them had mocked up a blueprint, or more accurately, Ruby had with some input from Jaune. It was just a shotgun-axe designed for close quarters fighting and grappling in confined spaces, but it had been an interesting experience for Jaune, designing a weapon from scratch, rather than relying on the old schematics of Hunters past.

Ruby had been somewhat put out by the news that he didn't design his scythe and blades, but when she heard they were an ancient design important to him and Phos, she seemed to understand it more.

“Your weapon is a reflection of you. If this is important to you, then it's part of you too. I still think you should add a gun to the scythe too though.”

She had however insisted that he think up a name for them both. Evelyn was apparently close enough that it counted, but she drew the line at continuing to use ‘Blades of Mercy’ and ‘Burial Blade’, insisting that, even if they were variations on an ancient theme, his weapons were unique and should be treated as such. Honestly, Jaune had no idea where to start with that.

That night, for the first time in months, Jaune felt his nose tickled by the spicy sweet smell of Chalchiuit. Jaune had noticed the strange absence of the seaside jungle city from his dreams, but hadn't pried too hard. Now awakening at that altar in the depths of Wetchey Lewain, from which he had slipped into slumber all that time ago, he stirred to the presence of Marduk at his side.

”Ah, child. Returning to these sandy streets. Your duties here are not yet done.”

With a sigh, Jaune swung his legs over the side of the altar, “I thought I was finally free of this place.”

”Nay child. Shaded, not free. Another had a greater grasp on you momentarily, keeping you from me.”

“You know, you guys could just ask, instead of fighting over who can kidnap me.” Jaune turned to address Marduk directly, but found the hooded green robe absent, with little more than some swirling patterns in the dust to indicate he was ever there.

Once more released onto Chalchiuit, Jaune briefly reviewed his options. The Pyramid of the Night-Bones was a dead end, and the other doors beside Almadonna were locked. He knew that eventually he needed to pass through them to the Lepatodan Woshchey, that domain of the priests. The final clue he had was Chuitwechtaih Lewain, that great Pyramid just into the jungle where the emperor supposedly lived.

Either way, whether he was going to find a path to Lepatodan Woshchey or Chuitwechtaih Lewain, first he needed to find another path to get anywhere at all. The altar he woke at lay at the bottom of a temple to knowledge, and while mostly that consisted of shelves full of scrolls and tablets, there was a simple door in one wall of the chamber.

Beyond that door, Jaune found a small office. It was fairly barren, painted walls long faded. A rotting desk sat at the centre, attended by a toppled chair. There were no papers on the desk, only a reusable wax writing tablet covered with an incomprehensible scrawl. Within the desk’s single drawer, Jaune found a heavy iron key. It was unusually flowing and jagged when compared to the blocky carvings and brickwork of Chalchiuit. Though Jaune had zero clue on where said key should be used, he took it, for when he had need.

When Jaune emerged from the Pyramid, he noticed that the sun had risen even higher, Jaune hadn't noticed in his earlier jaunts, but the sun had never seemingly moved from its positionin the sky. Now however, it blazed down from directly overhead. In addition, the streets of Chalchiuit he had already walked were once again populated by men coated in scale and feather. Once more the Blades of Mercy drank deep, but Jaune couldn't help a feeling of dullness. As he removed one feathered arm from a torso he realised just how little of a challenge these beasts provided. They were little more than men. Easily sidestepped, misdirected and disassembled. A cut tendon here and a broken joint there had them writhing on the floor, with no recourse but to snap pitted yellow fangs ineffectually in the vague direction of his ankles. Even the few strikes that landed on him skidded of his new aura, barely even registering, and at that he felt... hollow. Disconnected from the brutal dance that he had grown to enjoy.

It was with cold realisation that Jaune felt the withered remains of his remorse attempting to flutter. That horror and devastation that had once caught in his throat at the idea of causing harm to beasts that kept even the slightest resemblance to their human forms was a blackened husk. Furthermore, the realisation that his realisation caused him more discomfort than the action of killing these beasts was even more of a knife to his back.

With no recourse but to keep going, Jaune travelled deeper through the stone streets. Down a steep staircase and past crumbling palisades, the roads led him deeper into dark alleyways. For a city on the edge of jungle, Chalchiuit had always seemed remarkably dry, but now there was moisture on the walls. The sun beating down from above didn't seem to dry these streets, rather allowing moisture to rise in cloying mists. Down here new symbols appeared in the poorly maintained carvings in the scuffed and weathered walls, cubic snakes were in greater evidence, alongside writhing tangles of what may have been vines marked in stone. Clambering gingerly through a break in a ruined wall to jump a few metres below, he felt his feet splash into tepid water. Thick white vapour, hued with a thin green hovered heavy above the floor.

From the fog, Jaune felt an impact on his arm that almost threw him to the ground. A sharp, stinging pain blossomed from the impact zone, seeming to have entirely bipassed the flimsy auric shield his defence became without focus. Searching the fog, Jaune could see scale and fur writhing in the mist. Lunging forward with a splash of rancid water, Jaune’s knife bit into the very top surface of a hide, causing no damage, Jaune had seen these creatures on his first trip to the city from the summit of his first Pyramid, lithe cats with mangy, fleabitten fur. The wedge heads of serpents propped at the end of long necks.

Jaune could feel an icy sensation building at the impact site. Poison, a searing coldness pulsing through his veins. With the liberty of caution stripped away, Jaune charged the nimble shapes, catching one in the hindquarters by a handful of hair matted with unknown filth and gore, he wrenching backwards. Obviously a creature of speed, not strength, it was dragged backwards with the sound of fur ripped from skin and the strange marriage of hiss and yowl, only to recieve a knife into its skull. A second emerged almost silent from the gloom with a lightning fast uncoiling of its mottled neck. Prepared now, the fangs felt like a blunt pickaxe in his shoulder, rather than an initially painless needle strike. Strong hands grasped the beast by the jaws and wrenched, a competition of strength cracking the maw wide open and sending splinters of bone into the brain.

Staggering onwards through the flooded road, Jaune stumbled up rickety wooden platforms to escape the water. Rotten crates of ropes and sailing tackle littered the makeshift wharf, alongside the half-sunk wrecks of several small boats scattered on the bed of the deepening waterway. Green moss reached up the walls, but the cooling mist provided no relief from the stinging ice in his arm. Eventually he came to a depression to his left, a wooden door in the wall. With a muffled thump, Jaune collapsed against the planks only to find the door swinging open, sending him to the floor.

He found himself in a dark room illuminated only by the misty light from outside. The array of dulled alembics and crude brass implements, alongside bundles of musty-smelling herbs and jars with contents stained brown, indicated that this was some form of apothecary. The cruelly gleaming scalpels of obsidian and dark stone tables arrayed with twisted rope bindings implied some form of surgery or sinister laboratory.

Thinking of death’s tendency to not exactly stick in Chalchiuit, Jaune began searching through bleary eyes for something to deal with the haze of poison clouding his brain. Finding a murky vial of obviously spoiled liquid labeled with the Teywahkul word for ‘antivenom’, he deliberated for a moment, before forcing the rancid slime to the back of his throat.

Though the icy feel in his veins did dim, it didn't vanish, and the awful writhing that settled in his gut was almost worse. Eyes somewhat clearer, he observed his surroundings with greater care. It was definitely a surgery but there were obvious signs that some of the surgeries had been non-standard. A scaled human hand lay in a basket below the stone surgery table, dried blood lay uncleaned and dark brown across the area.

Behind the apothecary counter was a doorway fenced off with strings of beads. Igniting a torch using sparks from his blade on stone, Jaune moved through the door. On the other side was a room arrayed with simple beds and small tables. If there was any sign of hospital equipment, he would have thought it a wardroom, but there wasn't.

Several dessicated corpses lay in some form of almost clerical uniform of leather and silk upon beds across the room. Each had an arm draped over the side of the bed, below it a pool of dried blood. They had slit their wrists. Rifling through the pockets of one of the corpses, he found a some folded pieces of parchment in a pocket, they were lecture notes. A metal badge alongside the parchment was inscribed with an institution’s name, The Anen Institute. A medical school.

This was a dormitory. Why a dormitory exited into an apothecary in what could best be described as a very seedy part of the city Jaune couldn't quite grasp, but then again the rest of the city planning in this place wasn't exactly standard.

From the dormitory, Jaune crept through strangely silent hallways, torch held aloft. The inner walls were constructed from worn black bricks, many almost falling out of the wall in their age. Panels of wood, once pale but now marred with patches of black rot and years of grime and neglect, covered the lower sections from floor to nearly shoulder height.

Given he was basically in a basement the lack of windows was annoying, but unsurprising. When he reached a flight of stairs heading up he took each step slowly, attempting not to creak the ancient floorboards and break the silence. Atop the stairs the silence was chipped at by a faint dripping sound.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Jaune began to scour the rooms nearby. While most were of little use, he did find some useful items. In a storeroom he found a coil of remarkably well preserved rope which he slung across his chest. It was crude hemp and almost painful to the touch, but better than no rope. At the front of a dilapidated classroom, past row on row of tiered desks, upon a cracked stone slab at the front of the room, he found two strange stones. He had seen their like before in the Nightmare Voyage, and offered them to his knives.

As he exited back onto the landing he heard a louder splash. The dripping had been nigh ubiquitous, to the point Jaune had mostly put it out of his mind, but this caught his attention. Hearing the sound of air moving, Jaune quickened backwards as a large mass fell from where it had clung to the roof above. A massive human head, stretched grotesquely forward, with a small, withered body behind. The creature’s arms were fused to the side of the head by growths of yellow skin, while the hands were similarly gigantic.

The creature steadied itself, rising on its fingertips to stand like some grotesque spider. Milky oval eyes swiveled to focus on Jaune, and almost the entire creature split as it opened its maw to yell. The sound that emerged was monstrously loud for how small its lungs must have been. The teeth, cracked, yellowed and browned leered at Jaune in a distended rictus grin once its mouth was shut. Thick drool leaked from the insane sneer.

The creature was tough, Jaune found that out to his cost when his blade was caught in one finger, blood seeping out to coat the hilt in wet red. With the handle slick, Jaune couldn't keep his grip when the beast ‘kicked’, sending him flying across the room to impact a wall. Now armed with only Evelyn and the torch, it was more evident to Jaune than ever, that he needed a larger weapon.

The beast seemed to delight in Jaune's anguish, not striking immediately, but almost prancing a distance away. The massive teeth clacked a cacophony as it laughed in silence. In a characteristically foolhardy move, up there with shoving enough dust to level a village into an elder creep, Jaune shot the creature in the eye. With a roar the creature stumbled to the side, one eye reduced to a hole leaking clear fluid. Leaping forward, Jaune rammed his arm deep into the eye socket, fist crunching through the bone and into the warped brain. With a yank Jaune grabbed something from deep within and pulled out a writhing clump of misshapen eyes embedded in brain matter.

The creature flailed, knocking Jaune up into the air via the strike of a finger to the gut. With a leap, the beast followed, and Jaune could do nothing as he was caught by those awful teeth. The beast crunched down on Jaune, grinding on his hastily formed aura. Jaune gasped at the pain that filtered through from the immense pressure on his abdomen. Flung about wildly like a dog with a toy, Jaune almost lost his grip on the torch, but through almost sheer luck, Jaune was able to plunge the lit torch back into the eye socket.

Though not hurt that badly by this, the sensation of searing flesh in somewhere that sensitive caused the beast to bellow. This threw Jaune free, but not before the pressure on his gut finally caused his aura to shatter in innumerable motes of light. For a brief moment, the teeth pressed fully on Jaune.

Free of the mouth, Jaune was in intense pain. He was bleeding internally, several ribs were badly cracked, and he could feel bruises developing swiftly across his belly and chest which made any form of muscle tensing agony. Taking advantage of the beast’s half blindness, Jaune quickened forward, ripped his blade free and, using the blood that was now emerging from his mouth, extended the knife like a lance, skewering the giant head.

Though he had defeated the beast, Jaune too could feel his life drifting away, the damage to his chest too great. He was sure that several ribs had pierced his lungs, and he could feel them filling with blood.
Closing his eyes, Jaune left Chalchiuit.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Primary Combat School Curriculum

Though termed a ‘Primary’ institution, which would normally indicate that its pupils were of the very youngest school age, Primary Combat schools such as Signal and Sanctum enrol pupils for the six years between the ages of 12 and 18.

Many of these schools do have pre-combat level classes for pupils of ages 10 and 11 to prepare them for their future learning. These years consist mostly of standard schooling, with limited wilderness, Grimm recognition and weaponsmithing classes, alongside a stronger focus in basic subjects towards combatative applications.

From ages 12 to 17 pupils run through the standard curriculum. The strenuous nature of this curriculum, which expects study of standard civilian subjects alongside specialist courses, causes most students to drop out early, reducing the average size of a fifth year cohort to approximately 40% of the average first year cohort.

Required non-standard subjects include Dust Studies, Wilderness Survival, extensive physical education classes, the basics of Grimm biology and a plethora of martial classes depending on personal style and the individual school (including various martial arts (both unarmed and with weapons), marksmanship, archery and demolitions). Pupils are also required to undertake meditation classes if they have yet to unlock their semblance.

Students are expected to have chosen a weapon by halfway through their second year and have built the first iteration of their personal weapon by their fourth. Those pupils who have not unlocked it via other means will have their aura unlocked at the end of their second year. Excursions to fight Grimm in the wild only begin properly during year three, however those with unlocked aura are allowed to accompany these during the first two years provided they both have permission from their guardian and completed the two years of pre-combat enrolment.

Those who pass the entry exam for an Academy at the end of their fifth year will proceed on the road to become a huntsman or huntress. Those who do not are given the opportunity to return for a sixth year. Though Sixth years rarely get the opportunity to enter the academies, many are taken on as apprentices by active huntsmen and work within the Rogue’s Association. Those who do not are given additional specialist training. This can be for other combat roles, such as town guards and security organisations, for noncombat roles that require an understanding of huntsman operations, such as various logistic roles and liaisons between huntsmen and local authorities, or for a variety of other roles, from pilots who transport goods and personnel across the grimmlands to various engineers.

Even those who do not follow a specific path in their sixth year often end up in successful careers after the fact. Merely being able to keep up with the immense workload of a combat school for the full five years and then willingly returning for a sixth speaks volumes for someone's capability and persistence. Though understandably crushing for those who fail to enter an academy, the notoriously tiny rate of enrolment mean there is little stigma on those who fail.

Of course many failed applicants, whether or not they return for a sixth year or gain an apprenticeship, go on to be Rogue Huntsmen with the Association, even if they have another role that is their main job.

Chapter Text

The next morning Jaune woke with a feeling of self-irritation. He had fallen into that trap against which Phos had warned him all those years ago in the Creeperjack Forest. He had trusted his aura to protect him to the point of neglecting basic situational awareness, leading to him being poisoned and mentally unhorsed for the duration of his visit. Even past that, he had overestimated his physical capabilities compared to the beasts of Chalchiuit after his more recent visits. Moronically, he had attempted to stand against a far more powerful beast strength to strength. The advantage of the Hunter lies always in their mind, that thing that sets them apart from beasts. Planning, scheming and taking every avenue before falling back on a contest of physical power.

Once done with his pessimistic self-evaluation, the rest of the morning passed with little more than a smattering of mild aggravation from Jaune, due to his lingering foul mood, and rather less mild irritation from Tai. The Huntsman’s distaste for the intensity of Jaune's reduced training regimen on the first day the pair stayed at Tai’s house had been tempered with respect. Now however, fully recovered, and fueled by anger, Jaune’s complete workout mostly instilled a sense of horror.

It wasn't so much the length of sessions, but the ease and willingness by which the barely-a-teenager completed exercises that would have laid out the majority of the final year Signal students he taught appalled Tai.

Of course, the veteran huntsman was completely unaware of the strength the Blood gave Jaune. The sheer physical capabilities it granted only increased as his combat experience grew, allowing him, at least in terms of strength and durability, to eclipse the majority of first year academy students. Tai’s own capabilities, though he rarely showed them nowadays, dwarfed Jaune of course, just like any real veteran, but it wasn't the level Jaune was at that disturbed Tai.

Honestly if that were the case the growth rate of his own daughters would be enough to disturb him. No it was purely the method. He was very much a proponent that childhoods should be the primary concern of anyone placed in a teaching position. Yes they may be training warriors at a very young age, but they should have the chance to be children without being forced to work themselves to the bone. The part he struggled to come to terms with himself, was that Jaune seemingly was working himself to the bone purely off his own will. There was no dragging his feet at training sessions, no being forced past his limits. Instead he attacked exercises that would have made academy students groan with annoyance, with little more than a blazing grin. It was almost as though this was a cherished childhood for the apprentice, despite all other evidence pointing at these activities being abusive.

----

As evening drew closer, Yang began to stir in her room. Though awake, she'd barely moved for a long while. In her head she was witnessing a battle, a fight between a version of herself glowing with white flame, the version of her that could, nay, should be, and a grotesque squatting mass of sticky black tar. This was no Eldritch monstrosity invading her mind, but rather her way of visualising the mental dilemma she was facing. She had no idea which would win, between her fears and worries, and her desire to keep moving forward.

Every argument, every strike, that she formulated in her brain seemed to get stuck within the amorphous mass, black tendrils clinging to the skin of her mental arms and legs and threatening to drag her even further down. However, each time it was about to consume her, the flames on her internal self would burn off its black taint. It sometimes took an uncomfortably long time for each stain of black to burn off, some remnants of each argument taking a while to be counteracted.

Honestly, the more it tried to drag her down, the more angry she got. Rather than taking her to despair, it only carried her to fury. Why did it matter the reason those people had done what they did? Why did she get to take the easy way out, wallowing in her misery while her baby sister was forced to confront and overcome it? Why was she still squatting in this room moping about herself while everyone else moved on? What did that say about her?
With every remark, Yang’s anger with herself grew. She wasn't angry with the protestors, at least not that angry. She wasn’t angry with her sister. She wasn’t even really that angry at anyone else. She was only absolutely black-in-the-face furious with herself.

----

Despite Ruby's best efforts, mealtimes were still rather tense in the Xiao-Long household. Mostly due to the black looks Tai would send Phos every time Jaune winced at a bruise.

In the middle of one of Ruby's rambles about how the Kirkhammer that Jaune had explained for her earlier was totally a reasonable weapon and not so impractical that it would break any wielder’s arms for dust’s sake-, a bang silenced the table. Thumping steps down the stairs threatened to shake plaster from the ceiling, giving Jaune his first look at Yang.

Honestly his first impressions were probably not all that flattering. Yang had obviously not taken care of herself well in her isolation. Her clothes were crumpled and obviously just house clothes rather than any she would go out in. There were deep bags under her red eyes, and perhaps most tellingly, her once impressive mane lay tangled and stringy.

Stomping over to the table, Yang stopped beside a trembling, ashen Ruby, face like murder.

“Yang...” Tai’s low warning went completely ignored, as Yang wrapped her arms around her sister in a forceful and almost painfully tight hug. Yang’s face, pressed to the crook of her sister’s neck began to say words for only Ruby to hear. As she did so, Ruby's face transitioned from fear, to worry, to a gentle, calming smile, and her own arms came up to wrap around her elder sister’s back.

After a few moments of silence, Yang and Ruby shuffled around so that Ruby was now sat on her sister's lap, Yang’s arms still tight around her waist.

Though awkward for a few moments, dinner proceeded slowly. Once done, Phos grabbed Jaune and gently led him outside. Whatever words were to be spoken tonight, they were for the family's ears only, and neither Hunter would betray the trust of their hosts.

----

The third morning was overcast and beset with a mild drizzle. Once again, Ruby sat nearby Jaune watching his training, though this time she sat on the porch out of the rain. Unlike before, they were joined by Yang, who once again had set Ruby on her lap and sat in silence, giving no explanation for her attitude. She had cleaned herself up considerably. Her clothes were clean and her eyebags had just barely started to fade, though her hair was still showing the damage of her stint in solitude and would likely take quite a while to recover.

She obviously wasn't completely back to normal, whatever normal actually was for her Jaune could tell this probably wasn't it, but she was at least out of her room. In fact, Jaune knew Yang hadn't returned to her room that night, he could tell from the sounds that came from upstairs that Yang had spent the night in Ruby's room. Actually, Jaune thought he could likely count the number of minutes Yang hadn't been in some form of physical contact with Ruby since she emerged on his fingers.

Of course, Jaune had no real intention of pressing her for any information. They were guests, and uninvited ones at that. While he had enjoyed connecting with Ruby, after barely seeing any other children since the Schnees, that was quite different from attempting to psychoanalyse someone going through a tough time. If they were friends? Of course. However, strangers approaching you and inquiring about your insecurities unprompted never goes well.

Speaking of the Schnees, he had completely forgotten to call them. It had been over a month since he was in Atlas, and with the temporary CCT relay up and operational he didn't have the excuse that calling was impossible.

...

Winter was going to be pissed.

“Hey, uh, Phos? Give me a few minutes break please?”

Phos raised an eyebrow as he relaxed out of his stance. “Tired already?”

With a dismissive wave as he began to jog off, Jaune shouted back; “No, I've just gotta do something!”

Once he was a few hundred metres into the treeline he pulled out his scroll and tentatively navigated to Winter’s contact. He did remember that she was now at Atlas Academy, so would be attending classes, but it was a weekend, so that wasn't much of an excuse. With trepidation he pressed call.

It only rang twice.

“Hello Jaune.”

That was not a promising tone.

“Heeey Winter...”

“And what time do you call this?”

“Ummm, about one thirty?”

Winter’s cold tone broke. “What? No! That's not what i-“ She sighed, “Why haven't you called?” her voice was a lot quieter and softer.

“Honestly, for the last week or so things have been rather crazy, but before that... yeah I have nothing. I was just too focused on things. I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay... I know you can't call all the time. I just worry.”

Jaune didn't like this. Winter sounded too much like she had at New Eisgarten.

“Hey, it's fine. I'll call more often. You just focus on dominating the Academy like I know you can. Don't worry about me.”

“But I do worry!” On the plus side, she was no longer sounding down. On the other side, she was now sounding more angry. “You’re out there risking your life already. Whenever I think of you, the second thing I always end up thinking is whether you're still alive!”

“Hey, it's not that bad, it's not like I'm just going to keel over-“

“No, it's worse. That's why I haven't been calling you. I'm scared of calling and you never picking up.” Now her voice was hard and cold.

“I’m not gonna say that I'm not in danger, but I still plan to hang around. We've gotta have a rematch after all, and with everything you're learning at Atlas I'm sure you'll beat me.” Jaune chuckled, “The only thing you were lacking before was experience.”

“Can you promise that?” Her voice was heavy.

“What?”

“Can you promise me that you'll live until we have another spar?”

Jaune’s face shifted to a fond smile.

“Yeah, I'll promise that. I'll hang around at least until you manage to beat me.” Jaune's voice was warm.

Winter sighed. “That's good enough for me. If there's any things about you I trust, they're your fighting ability and your absurd tendency to survive through anything.”

“I'm not that bad...”

Winter’s deadpan expression was discernable over the line.
Their conversation from then was rather more relaxed. Both just relayed some of what had happened to them since they last talked. Winter had been made leader of her team, team WTRM, or Wintermint. Though this had initially caused some friction, given she was a year younger than her teammates, they had rapidly smoothed that over.

It helped that one of her teammates, Robyn, and her little sister Crimson, had been helped off the streets of Mantle by Jacques’ new orphanages. None of her teammates were particularly supportive of Atlas, but, to them, Winter was alright.

Winter’s main emotion when it came to her team seemed to be exasperation. Robyn’s blunt attitude kept stalling Winter when she tried to say some things, as Robyn managed to summarise what she was going to say far less tactfully and in far fewer words. Fiona was overly timid and tended to hold back in sparring because she didn't want to hurt people, while May, as she’d asked to be called, was rather more confrontational, and often snapped back at instruction.

Despite her frustrations, there was a definite note of fondness in Winter’s voice. Robyn’s bluntness was a breath of fresh air when compared to the flowery, misleading conversations favored by the Atlesian upper class, plus, she’d settled well into a second in command role, and Winter could trust her to succeed at tasks, even if not always in the way she wanted. Fiona was optimistic and enthusiastic, and Winter had seen May’s gruff personality slip on occasion to reveal a much more jovial person underneath.

The call lasted for over an hour. Most of their talk was on completely inane topics, just enjoying each other’s time. Eventually however, both had to bring the call to an end.

-----

As Winter hung up her scroll she looked down from her bunk across her dorm room. At some point the rest of her team had returned from the canteen and were all sat on Fiona’s bunk.

“Soooo... How's the boyfriend? Or girlfriend, I don't judge.”

Winter groaned. “He’s not my boyfriend Robyn.”

May raised an eyebrow “Could've fooled me.”

Winter’s look was the definition of deadpan. “Leave it.”

“So, if that wasn't your boyfriend, who was it?”

It was Fiona who asked that, and as much as she wanted to drop the conversation, Winter couldn't refuse the little sheep. “A good friend. I owe him my life.”

Robyn whistled. “That sounds like some story.”

“It was, but I'm not going into the details. It's not something I like to dwell on.” Winter lay back in her bunk.

Robyn nodded respectfully, deciding not to pry further into the event. Doesn't mean she couldn't still needle her little leader a bit though. “Still sounded like you wanted him to be your boyfriend though.”

Winter squawked quietly, not a sound that she normally made or wanted to make, as she sat up quickly to glare back down. Unfortunately, she still wasn't used to these bunks and clonked her head on the roof above. Rubbing her head with a wince she finally looked back at Robyn, whose face was fixed with a teasing grin.

“Robyn! He's only fourteen!”

Robyn whistled, “And he saved your life? Must be quite the kid.”

Winter rubbed her forehead. “Actually, he was eleven at the time.”

This time it was May’s turn to whistle. “You better get on that fast, because a guy like that’s not going to be available for long.”

“What part of ‘he's fourteen’ do you not understand?”

Robyn raised an eyebrow in Winter’s direction. “Girl, you're only sixteen. By the time you graduate you'll be twenty and he'll be eighteen. That's not ridiculous.”

Fiona decided that was the moment to reenter the conversation. “You were cute. When you were talking to him I mean. You were smiling the whole time.”

Winter whined and fell back into her bunk to hide as her team chuckled.

-----

“’A few minutes break’? That's what you said, wasn't it?”

Jaune shuffled slightly in place. “Yeah...”

“Is an hour and a half a few minutes Jaune?”

“I mean... it is if you think ninety is a small number?”

“... Drop and give me ‘a few’ pushups. You're then going to give me ‘a few’ situps and ‘a few’ of whatever other exercise I can think of. If you'd just asked I’d have given you an hour or two off, but you left me to stand in the rain for half an hour before I decided you weren't coming back. My waterlogged hat needs revenge.”

Jaune dropped and started the exercise.

“Your hat is leather, it’s waterproof.”

“Doesn't mean it can't be waterlogged.”

-----

Evening was slightly more relaxed than previous nights. With Yang at least participating semi-normally, some of Tai’s stress seemed to have, but evaporated, but at least let up a bit.

As the group sat at the dinner table, eating a dinner that Phos had forced Tai to let him help with, the atmosphere was certainly, noticeably, different than before. Ruby was trying to lead conversations, Yang piped up with a word or two, and Phos was trying his best to lure Tai into tales of old hunts. Mostly unsuccessfully, but he did eke out a few paragraphs.

The weather had only picked up from the morning drizzle as the day progressed, and while it was nowhere near the storm of the earlier part of the week, heavy rain was beating down on the cabin.

Just as dinner was wrapping up, some extra sounds added themselves to the rain, a banging sound from the front door.

“Coming! It's probably Qrow.”

Tai stood and made his way over to the door. A gust of ice cold wind shot through it as it opened, carrying droplets of cold water and a flurry of oily black feathers in spiralling eddies. A large black hand of avian scale and talon clasped the doorframe as a shadow of ink smoothly slid through the portal. Its neck unfolded into a pillar of black feathers, dragging a head of six red eyes and shining jagged beak to almost brush the ceiling. The edges of the shadow shifted amorphously as a pair of crooked wings spread to almost cover the entire wall, shaking the dark feathers and casting water everywhere. The creature’s vision swept the room until those blood eyes settled on Jaune, who had jerked from his seat, causing it to crash to the ground. As their eyes met, Jaune saw a black scythe rimmed in gold hanging in the air behind the beast’s back. The air flickered and shook as another gust of oily feathers filled the room and a high pitched shriek rang from the three jawed beak.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Black Feathered Eyes

With flesh the Host-Convoker
Filled the feathered ravens:
The raven, when spears were screaming,
With the she-wolf’s prey was sated.

He who gluts the Gull of Hatred,
Our precious lord, could govern
The sword; the hurtful raven
Of Huginn’s corpse-load eateth.

But the King’s heart swelled,
His spirit flushed with battle,
Where heroes shrink; dark Muninn
Drinks blood from out the wounds.

Chapter Text

The black feathered monstrosity jerked its head, the clicking of talons on the wooden floor echoing. It had a smell of oil and ink, sunlight right at the edges, an almost imperceptible tint to the scent. An intense presence of danger bore down on Jaune like a physical weight, sliding over his shoulders and pressing on his brain enough to send black spots across his vision. Jaune had shot to his feet, but as he began to reach for his knives he felt his wrist grasped by a calloused hand that he easily recognised. Phos stood from his chair, turning to the abomination in their midst. Loud footsteps and the clacking of claws heralded the creature stepping closer, its neck arching like a great feathered serpent until those baleful eyes bore into Phos’.

With a strange shifting motion, like ink spreading in water, the outline of the creature seemed to disperse into the room, washing over Jaune in a tide of shadow that made him briefly turn away. When he turned back, the beast had been replaced by a scruffy black haired man in a silver tailcoat and a red cape. Or... not quite a man. His fingers still ended in sable talons, and between blinks the feathery hair on the man's head would shift to plain feathers. The worst parts though, were the man's eyes and his shadow. Where the whites of his eyes should be was a flat, blazing gold that seemed almost hungry, yet the iris was black, a deep pit that hurt to gaze upon. His shadow was still that of the monstrous creature he was when he entered the cabin, writhing darkly on the wall of the cabin and coiling its long neck as though inquisitively looking upon him. Jaune felt exposed and unguarded.

“It’s been a long time Qrow.”

The thing smirked, withdrawing a flask that, even closed, radiated a strong stink of alcohol, shadow and metal. It stung Jaune's nose horribly, a sensation that only grew more intense as it opened the cap and took a swig. The faintest scent of blood hid behind copper, iron and oil.

“Yes it has. Three years. The ruins of Erom On, over in Valenmoor. You shot me.”

Phos shrugged. “Guilty.”

The creature snorted a laugh out of its nose. “Thanks for your help back there. That was a nasty nest.”

Phos clasped arms with it. “You too, ya dusty bird.”

Jaune was still very much on edge. Ruby looked like she wanted to jump onto the creature that had come through the door, but was held back by Yang’s arms around her waist and the general tension.

“Tai, if you don't mind, I'm going to take Qrow and Jaune away for a bit. Get them introduced so Qrow won't get interrupted from his family when he gets started.”

Tai was grudgingly accepting, this wasn't the first time these two had done this song and dance, and believe him, he didn't want to know any more of the secrets Qrow was privy to.

-----

The three of them moved out of the house over to Taiyang’s workshop for some privacy. As soon as they were through the door, still dripping from the rain, Jaune had drawn his Blades of Mercy and dropped into a stance, hard eyes intent on the creature in their midst.

“Hold your horses kid!”

Jaune glanced at Phos in disbelief, before focusing back on the greater threat.

“Stop Jaune. That's an order.” Phos’ voice had a harder edge to it now.

“You can see it! You can feel it!”

Phos put his hand on Jaune's shoulder. “Yes, I can, and you’re being stupid. You already know from Nana and the Critters that not everything we see is dangerous.”

“This is.”

Phos sighed. “Well, yes, Qrow is dangerous. Of course he is or I wouldn't have called on him to teach you. Point is, he's not a danger to us.”

Jaune relaxed slightly, but he was still in his stance. Qrow just observed the display with faint amusement.

“Did you think we Hunters are the only ones who know about all these things Jaune? Two people to police the world? You've already had a run in with two Eldritch plots... admittedly that is more than we normally get in that time period.”

Jaune was somewhat floored. “Yeah? that's kind of how you've always treated it. I did wonder about how two people were supposed to keep up with everything the order used to do when it had more people though.”

Qrow dropped himself into a wooden chair. “That's where I come in.”

Jaune narrowed his eyes at Qrow, who was still radiating a horrific aura of danger. “What even are you!”

“I'm not exactly allowed to tell you. I'm a huntsman and I work directly for Beacon’s headmaster, Ozpin.”

Jaune seemed like he was about to reply with a not quite flattering retort, but Phos jumped in before he could.

“Do you remember our first time in Sable Down, when you were learning to smith, I had to rush off because of some stories coming in from Valenmoor?”

“Yeah?”

“That was because there had been an outbreak of beasts in the ruins of the old kingdom of Fade. Some prospectors from a new village trying to take advantage of the old fortifications had stumbled upon an old ritual site while exploring an old abandoned mineshaft. One of the prospectors had touched some blood at the ritual sight and ended up turning into a beast. The village didn't last long and the resulting horde started attacking other nearby villages. I went in to deal with them. Qrow was there for the same reason, and yes, I accidentally shot him.”

“How do you know he wasn’t the cause!?”

“Because Qrow’s abilities don't come from that Blood. I don't feel off to you, do I? That's because we share in the Moon’s Blood. You're still young, so you can only tell ‘Our Blood’ from ‘Not Our Blood’, and even then, only when it's obvious. I’ve got much more experience than you. Qrow's constitution comes from what I like to call Sun’s Blood. These beasts did not. They were from far older Blood. Though Qrow, you could have been a bit more subtle with your arrival.”

“You could have had this discussion with your apprentice before you met me.”

“And where would be the fun in that? Jaune, Ozpin has the connections to hear a lot more about what goes on in the world than one random huntsman, and if something seems off, he sends Qrow in to have a poke around, or drops a message to me. I don't work for him, but it's in his best interest that I do my thing.”

Qrow scoffed, “You don't work for him despite decades of him trying.”

“The Heirs haven't knelt to any authority but the Moon since they left the Valean crown, and that's not going to change soon. If Ozpin can't accept that, that's his problem. Also, be thankful, your niece was the target of an Eldritch plot that we only just stopped.”

“Wha-“

“Anyway! You know why I've been trying to meet with you?”

Qrow scratched his head with his talons, looking oddly sheepish. “No, actually. I was quite busy, so I saw Tai’s message and knew you were here, but I didn't actually read it. I only came because of Tai screaming at me about the storm and a Furcifer or something.”

Phos sighed. “That was our cover. There was no Furcifer, it was a Child. Malformed yes, but almost fully realised.”

“Here?”

Phos nodded. “It had at least some interest in Ruby. ‘Moon eyes’ they called it.”

Jaune noted that Phos seemed deliberately to be construing that there was a single child, maybe giving Nana some respect. Needless to say, Jaune didn't refute him.

“You’re sure?”

“Aye. Though not linked to what you're thinking of. It was definitely a Deep One.”

“That's good at least. So... why were you calling me before the storm?”

Phos pulled out Jaune's scythe and thumped it on one of the benches. “My apprentice has chosen his weapon, and you’re the best scythe wielder I know.”

Qrow raised an eyebrow, “You want me to teach him?”

“You’re already sort of teaching Ruby.”

Qrow pondered for a moment, tapping his finger on a bench. “I guess... I'm not sure I can get that much free time though.”

Phos sighed, “I'm willing to do some of Oz’ dirty work for a while.”

Qrow rubbed his chin, “... I'll think about it. I've got to test him first. I'm not going to waste my time.”

Phos huffed but nodded, somewhat insulted on his apprentice’s behalf.

-----

The mood between Phos and Jaune was somewhat fractious that night.

“And you didn't think to tell me, at all, that the person we were waiting for was like... that.”

Phos sighed. “I didn't think it was that important. I would've done when he sent word that he was coming, but then that whole deal with Nana happened and I thought you were fine with treating people like us normally.”

“People like Nana, yeah, sure, but can't you feel him? It's...” Jaune struggled to come up with words for how the crow shadow felt to him, he felt an unexplainable sense of dread the moment it had entered the cabin, a moment of purified malice grasping at his being, a clawed hand of anger and loathing.

Phos sighed. “Look, I know Qrow can be... a little intense, but he's a good man.”

“And what about when the blood overcomes him? You told me about what happens to Hunters in the end, and we at least have the moon protecting us, what about when that thing gets fully unleashed?”

“It’s true that Qrow doesn't have quite the same arrangement as we do, but equally... he's probably safer than we are. He's more... borrowing power. Your insight, your strength, they're your own, grown over time and expanding. Qrow has been gifted his, and while he can expand it in similar ways, it will never be really his. It’s not bound to him, it can be recalled, the insight he gains is siphoned away from him, and I know that its destination, the source of his strength, is more than capable of handling whatever is thrown its way in regards to falling to beasthood.”

Jaune raised an eyebrow, “I thought you'd stopped being all secretive with me.”

Phos snorted with laughter, “Jaune, what I do tell you is only a drop in the ocean of what I can, and even that's miniscule compared to what I can't tell you. I don't want you losing your mind on me just yet. Dust, I remember the Moon prevented me from talking about the City of Leechgears to you before-“

Phos stopped, stunned, “Wait, you can hear that now? That's... somewhat concerning... I'll address that later, I have to check up some things myself. Anyway, in this case, it's just not my secret to share.”

Jaune looked at Phos with steely eyes. “Riiiight.”

Another sigh. “Jaune, provided you don't die you'll find out the answer to this on your own. Point is, he's basically your only chance to learn how to fight with a scythe, and you're going to have to get used to working with him eventually, given he's one of very few people we can actually be open with about all this.”

Jaune grunted. “Fine. I'll give him a shot, but it's because I trust you. Not him.”

-----

The weather from the previous night had died down substantially by the morning. With Qrow claiming his customary position on the family couch, Phos and Jaune were basically turfed out of where they had been sleeping the last few nights, and instead had hunkered down in the workshop.

When Qrow left the house he had Ruby clinging tightly to his back. The wide smile she had almost made Jaune lose his suspicion, however the beak of Qrow's lurking shadow reaching for him across the ground brought that to a close.

“Jaaaauuune! Hi.” Ruby's enthusiasm couldn't help but be infectious.

“Hi Ruby. Enjoying yourself?”

Her smile was her only answer.

“Right kid, if you want me to teach you, you have to prove to me its gonna be worth my while.”

Jaune sighed, “I can guess what that's going to entail-“

He then had to immediately duck as a slab of dust-forged steel sailed over his head.

“Ruby, you're gonna have to get down for now. Uncle has a boy to beat up.”

Dutifully, Ruby transformed into a cloud of rose petals and flurried away to the porch. Meanwhile, Jaune drew both his blades. “Good luck Jaune!”

Qrow lunged forward, swinging his outsized blade in from the right. Jaune didn't trust his strength to deflect the blade, so was back to dodging again. The monstrosity was comparable to Phos in some ways, swinging just as large of a weapon with ease, but he moved considerably faster than in most of Jaune and Phos’ spars. Jaune was quite hard pressed to launch any attacks at all, ducking, weaving, diving and retreating around a block of metal that his opponent wielded with the ease of a rapier.

Needless to say, Qrow did eventually get a hit in, Jaune couldn't keep his dodging up forever. The blade cracked into his side with a teeth-rattling impact, sending Jaune to the ground. Nevertheless, Jaune didn't give up. At Qrow's next swing Jaune decided it was time to go all out. The Hunter quickened to his feet through the bird’s next slash, drawing Evelyn and cracking a bullet into the huntsman’s face. Though nowhere near as staggered as some people would have been, it was enough to knock Qrow's head back and throw off his rhythm. Stowing his gun with a small flourish, both Jaune's knives raked his opponent’s side.

Qrow’s shadow crowed loudly, sending a thunderclap through Jaune's ears, but it wasn't enough to throw him off. Qrow's face was stuck halfway between a grin and fury, showing too many teeth for his mouth. Then with a blood-curdling howl that Jaune was fairly sure no one else could hear, Qrow's slab-sword unfurled like a monstrous wing. The resulting scythe, though obviously constructed from parts of the sword, seemed overlaid with a scythe formed from stands of golden filigree. These strands of sunlight enveloped and chained a writhing darkness, Jaune saw teeth and staring eyes emerge from within the roiling mass of black. Tendrils constantly probing for a way out of their golden cage, but relentlessly driven back by sparkles of gold.

The man's human appearance had receded somewhat too, black scales had clawed their way across his hands. His hair was entirely replaced with oiled black feathers, reaching down his neck and encroaching along his cheekbones. The black of his iris grew to cover his whole eye as a miasma of visible dread grew around him.
If Jaune had thought Qrow was fast before, now he was lightning. The curved blade of that horrific scythe came millimetres from him six times in under three seconds. Jaune backpedalled in desperation, pushing his quickening to the limit. With a searing heat that seemed almost to come from nowhere, a vibrant line was carved across the flesh of Jaune's right shoulder.

With strained focus, Jaune directed the blood leaking from his shoulder. The crimson fluid turned the short knives back into the swords he knew. Both boy and huntsman turned into a flurry of red, gold and black. Even pushing his speed as far as he dared, and taking every possible opportunity to lick the monstrosity’s aura with his red blades, Jaune was so outclassed that it wasn't even funny. Any attack for a major area was met by the haft of the scythe, whereas Jaune could do nothing to change the trajectory of the immense blade, leaving him in a frenzied dance to avoid all he could. Jaune had never pushed quickening this far, and he was only trying so hard out of legitimate terror.

Jaune was horror stricken, completely. No other fight he had faced had ever caused him this much fear. To be fair, his lack of sight during his altercation with Father and his inability to truly die in Chalchiuit likely affected that, however Qrow's shadow alone exuded so much predatory focus that Jaune felt like an insect trying to avoid a hunting bird. His eyes dilated, his breath came in short flurries that only served to starve him of oxygen, black bleeding into his vision.

With a sudden rush, Jaune felt his death approaching. Qrow's scythe came slicing inexorably as a guillotine directly to his neck. In an instant, Jaune felt blood spray from his throat, as his head began to spiral forward in the air. There was pain, yes, but not to the extent Jaune was expecting. More than anything else, the worst part was the lack of feeling below his neck.

Then suddenly he was back, Qrow's scythe warring with the aura on his throat.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Contemporaries of the Heirs

As much as the Heirs of the Moon Reborn are the most skilled and experienced people when it comes to dealing with the Eldritch, they are far from the only ones that at least attempt to do so.

Admittedly, most who consider themselves hunters of the supernatural are merely completely delusional. It’s remarkable how many people think they see more than others while being blinder than almost anyone else. There are forever, at any one time, at least a handful of people across Remnant who have stumbled upon some insight and taken it upon themselves to hunt the unseen.

Most of these people utterly fail, causing more harm than good when they inevitably fall to insanity. There have however, throughout the years been many such freelancers who have been instrumental in preventing serious incursions. While some of these successful individuals do so with no Eldritch backing of their own, most have at least cursory support from some Great One or other. In general however, these individuals are more slaves to the whims of their Great One than free agents, given power to foil plots from that Great One’s rivals.

To be honest, that applies to the Heirs too. Heirs are, at their core, slaves to the Moon Reborn. It just happens to be far more lenient than most.

Regardless of their lack of efficacy or tendency to go insane, without individuals like Garmath the Glacier Knight, history would have gone in a very different direction.

Chapter Text

With a gasp of fear and panic Jaune fell backwards into the ground, away from that horrific scythe.

“I'll give you this Phos, you've done pretty well with him so far.”

“Jaaauuuunnneeee!” Jaune suddenly found himself squeezed by a hug from Ruby. “That was awesome! You were so fast and then you turned into mist kinda like me and you made uncle use his scythe and oh dust YOU’RE BLEEDING!”

Ruby once again turned into a cloud of rose petals as she darted off of Jaune to fret over his injured shoulder. Jaune was still far too overwhelmed and unfocused to really register what Ruby was doing.

“I would hope so, he's been at it for over five years.” Suddenly Jaune realised that Phos had emerged from the workshop at some point to observe the fight, probably from near the start.

Weakly and still reeling, Jaune got to his feet. “That was not pleasant.”

Qrow fluidly stowed away his scythe. “I’d be surprised if it was. You've got good footwork, exceptional reactions and awareness. It's also clear you're not just flailing, you've got a basis in some form of martial art. My best guess would be SDAA?”

“Aye, that's what I started him in, yes.”

Qrow stepped forward and tapped Jaune's shoulder. “You're not without some pretty big flaws though. Your biggest is that you’re too slow. You can see things happening and know what to do, but you can't move fast enough to respond before it's too late without relying on that mist technique. Also if this fight is any indication, you're either not confident in your ability to deflect attacks or not confident that you have the strength to deal with attacks of that force.”

Phos stepped forward and brushed Qrow’s claw off Jaune's shoulder, replacing it with a reassuring hand. “So, are you willing to train him?"

Qrow took another swig from that horrific flask of oil and iron. “Yeah, I'll give him a shot. I was planning on continuing with Ruby's training while I was here anyway. Some healthy competition’ll be good for her."

“He's still bleeding!”

Jaune waved off her concern, “It’s just a small cut Ruby.”

“That is not a small cut!”

“I've had worse.”

“That doesn't make it better!”

-----

Unfortunately, Phos had to make good on his deal with Qrow, and agree to do some of Ozpin’s dirty work while Jaune was training, but he was at least able to hang around for the first few days. Unfortunately, those days mostly consisted of getting Jaune used to holding the Burial Blade and transforming it without cutting himself at any point. The scythe was obviously heavier than the Blades of Mercy, and was certainly more unwieldy.

At least at this point, Ruby's motions with her training scythe mostly consisted of utterly showing Jaune up. Though Qrow quickly put an end to the smug grin Ruby kept initially throwing him. It wasn't a mean spirited grin by any means, but given the only other person Ruby had seen use a scythe was Qrow, she was momentarily reveling in not being the newbie.

Unsurprisingly, Jaune's main advantages in the few training spars he had with Ruby were his real world experience and the fact that, provided she didn't use her semblance, he was able to move faster than her. Of course, speed didn't mean much when half the time he lost control of his weapon.

It took almost a month of practicing every day before his control was up to the standard that Qrow began diving into anything bar the most basic of basic techniques.

After one of their sessions, when both Ruby and Jaune were slumped on the ground panting, Qrow walked over to Jaune and squatted on his haunches. “Kid, what part of the scythe has a blade on it?”

Jaune squinted, trying to judge whether Qrow was just messing with him. “The head?”

“Yes! The head! So why do you keep trying to smack Ruby with the haft? We've been over this, you either have to aim the point of the blade for your target, or pull down as you swing so the edge bites in. You're fighting like it's an axe-“

Qrow cocked his head in an unmistakably avian manner “... Jaune, have you been mimicking Phos’ techniques?”

He hadn’t been doing it intentionally, but he had fought against and alongside Phos for 5 years. He knew how his master fought almost down to a tee. “Uh... maybe?"

“That’s gonna be a bit of a problem. Don't get me wrong, axe techniques can be adapted for a scythe, often the footwork and general motion are pretty comparable, but you’re gonna keep accidentally going through the motions. Basically, we've got to force scythe techniques into you until your muscle memory overrides your prior knowledge.”

What Qrow meant by this, was endless hours copying him in slow katas. At least Ruby was forced to also follow along to shore up the basics, as Qrow had noticed her getting sloppy. They spent a good two months doing little else. Well, Qrow did do at least one ‘spar’ with Jaune a day, so he could see proper motions in action, and the two students did spar fairly often as well, but Qrow was never quite satisfied with Jaune's performance.

Phos popped back on multiple occasions to see how Jaune was doing, but evidently he was running himself kind of ragged to deal with Qrow’s workload, because he could only stay for a few days or so. At least during those days he took Jaune off Patch to ensure he kept doing the occasional Association mission.

-----

It was after these initial three months that Qrow moved them on to hunting a few basic Grimm. Ruby had been badgering Qrow to do this pretty much since they started due to being more practiced with her scythe, but given her younger age and lack of real world experience Qrow wanted to be certain she was prepared. If Jaune got a little savaged by a beowolf, he'd live. If Ruby got injured, well... Tai would kill him.

Wan, pale sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees. The days were already noticeably shorter and colder, the warm times rapidly gave way to autumn, and now winter was beginning to set in. With the changing seasons the leaves had briefly shifted through a vibrant red, before settling, at least in this section of Patch’s forests, into a depressing threadbare canopy of muted yellow. A thickening carpet of brown leaves squished beneath Jaune's feet, dampened by the night’s rainfall.

Jaune was only tracking a single beowolf. Beyond simple for him to follow, but pretty much the most dangerous prey left on the entire island, given all the retired huntsmen. He came across the creature in a small clearing. It was small, young, weak and most likely stupid. Hefting his scythe in preparation, Jaune stepped into the clearing. Hunting sole Grimm would have been so easy with his knives that he wouldn't have even considered it a mission, but with his new scythe it was actually a little bit of a risk. Only a little bit though.

The beowolf registered Jaune's appearance in the clearing almost immediately, responding quickly enough that your average civilian wouldn't be able to react. To Jaune however, the Grimm was slow, slower than almost any opponent he’d faced in years. The clawed hand swept towards his centre mass, only for Jaune's scythe to meet it in a rising spin, separating the arm at the elbow. The Grimm briefly backed off, appearing to show a degree of self preservation Jaune wouldn't have expected from a beowolf this young, but that impression was immediately reversed as it charged unthinking at him. Jaune's scythe met its head as it approached, bisecting the Grimm vertically and allowing the two halves to tumble either side of him.

This hunt was very much the pattern of each real life engagement using his scythe. To tell the truth, Jaune felt exceptionally infantilised by these fights. He never felt that he was able to improve in these ‘missions’, everything was just over too quickly, the Grimm would charge in, he’d respond, and they'd be dead.

-----

Meanwhile, Jaune made sure to keep a much more regular conversation up with Winter. After her small breakdown on that last call, Jaune was determined to keep her happy, and if just calling every now and then to assure her he was alive would help, then that was easy.

“Heeeeey Winter!”

“Hello again Jaune, how have you been?”

Jaune swung his feet a little where they hung over the cliff. The remains of the old ruined castle of Rozenkrantz squatted crumbling on the mountainside to the north, casting interesting shadows onto the water below in the setting sun.

“Kinda not the best actually. I've been training to use my scythe, and frankly... I'm crap with it. It's been endless drills against imaginary opponents, and taking out the weakest of small fry in two or three hits. Then there's the spars... Qrow really doesn't hold back.”

Jaune could identify Winter’s raised eyebrow without even looking back down at the screen. “I must admit, I'm not very impressed with this mentor of yours.”

He sighed “Yeah... yeah, I get that. But unless you can find another scythe master to train me, he's my best shot. Plus, as much as I have my own... issues with him, he certainly knows his stuff. What about you? How's Atlas going?”

It was Winter’s turn to sigh. “Depressingly militaristic and restrictive. I'm beginning to wish I’d rejected Ironwood’s offer of attending a year early and applied to Beacon or Haven next year. Its not all bad though...”

When Winter woke up in the morning it was to the campus-wide alarm at 6am. All students were expected to be in the canteen within half an hour, resulting in four very short showers in the tiny dorm room’s even tinier bathroom. After her own shower, Winter had to basically manhandle Fiona out of bed and into the shower, the faunus being far from a morning person. Luckily Robyn was, and so the rather more snappy May was her responsibility to get moving.

Once team WTRM left their room, Fiona and May still rubbing sleep from their eyes, they quickly made their way to the canteen for breakfast, fixing bits of their uniforms as they went. Breakfast was singularly unimpressive. Nutritious, but far from interesting. While their first class only began at 8am, giving them some free time, this was expected to be used for some form of improvement, and so the four went for an early gym trip to force themselves to wake up.

After working for a while, and having some rather more refreshing showers, their lessons began. Geography, Grimm studies and Dust Basics before lunch. The latter of which Winter would have found dreadfully boring if she wasn't translating the dry and droning lecture for her less academically inclined teammates. Robyn especially struggled with Dust, having had very little exposure to the expensive resource on Mantle’s streets.

Much like breakfast, lunch was similarly uninspired and clinical, but it was at least followed each day by either combat class or some other form of dedicated training. Today it was combat class, which let May finally have her rematch against Spruce Van Drummond after he kicked her in the crotch last time. Other than that, it was good to have some people close to her own age that Winter could consider... close to equal. She'd yet to lose a spar of course, but she'd come close a time or two.

After that there were another two hours that were supposed to be used for training as a team before school finally let out. After that there was proper free time until lights out at ten, though pupils were expected to be in their rooms by eight.

“Oh for Dust’s... Winter, I’d go insane. Can you even leave campus?”

“Well... we're not really supposed to without permission. The academy has a duty of care and-“

“Winter, you know that's bullshit.”

Winter spluttered and coughed, “Jaune! Language!”

“Winter, apart from you, ‘cus you entered early, all the pupils are legally adults. Not letting them leave campus is probably breaking some sort of human rights, and I know your father would never allow that to happen.”

Winter raised an eyebrow, “I don't want to get my father involved in anything. I like not having him looking at everything I do.”

“Fair.”

Their call was then interrupted by the hydraulic hiss of the dorm door’s lock disengaging.

“Oh shit, is this the boyfriend?”

“He's not my boyfriend Robyn!” Winter’s face had turned bright red.

A new face propped itself on Winter’s shoulder. Sandy hair hung around a tanned face that was considerably more robust than Winter’s. “Huh, it's good to finally have a face to put to the stories. Hey there! Robyn Hill here, Winter’s little lieutenant in this military training camp.”

Winter obviously tried to end the call, but Robyn grabbed her wrist with a gentle but strong grip. “You do right by Winter okay? I don't want her worrying about you all the time again. For one thing, it really hurt our teamwork for a while, and though she's cute when she's angry, she's not exactly easy to live with.”

“Robyn!” Winter was scandalised, her face somehow an even brighter crimson. She began struggling against Robyn who obviously didn't actually want to fight Winter, given she willingly let go of her arm and allowed her to end the call, throwing a cocky salute towards the camera.

Once the call was ended, Winter turned to her teammate. “You, why... why would you do that!?”

Robyn raised an eyebrow. “I've been living with you for months now. You bring that guy up at least once every other day, you're not quite pining yet, but it's near enough as makes no difference. I'm not spending four years watching you dither around because you don't have the courage to make that leap. Honestly Winter if you can tell me to my face that you have no interest in him, then I'll drop it."

“But-“

Robyn gently turned Winter’s head to face her. “Come on.”

“I can't say I'm... not interested...”

Robyn have a reassuring smile. “There you go! If you change your mind just tell me, but until then... I'm going to be the best wingwoman you're ever going to have."

-----

Jaune yelped as Qrow's sword soared through the space his head had occupied a moment prior. Honestly, Jaune wasn’t particularly fond of their spars. He still felt some deep primordial fear whenever that horrific shadow pecked at his own, and that fear made him make mistakes. Retaliating with a swing of his own towards Qrow’s outstretched arm, he had to rapidly abort as Qrow's speed allowed him to intercept it easily. With a crouch and a twist Jaune slammed the sword back onto the haft of the scythe, swinging it back and around to come in a rising arc for Qrow's chest.

An arc he easily parried away with a sigh.

“You're slow,” Qrow's pommel smacked into his head.

“Sloppy,” Harbinger’s scythe blade slammed behind his knees, knocking him off his feet.

“Stubborn,” and the back of the head rammed into his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.

“And fight like a cornered mouse.” Qrow put his blade away, barely focusing on Jaune, before fixing him with a glare of disapproval. “Ruby's a natural, but you're far from being one of those. You're too used to swinging around your little penknives and so you wield a proper blade like it's a slab of slag iron, hurling it around without any finesse. That could possibly be fixed by training, with time, but I don't have time. I'm on a tight schedule, and even if you fixed that issue, you fight like you’re always on the back foot if you ever think you’re outmatched. When you fight me you only ever react and you spend most of your spars with Ruby in the same mindset. You don't have any plans of your own, you just wait for your opponent to do something and try to respond. You let me dictate the entire fight. That's not something I can fix in training, and I'm not going to risk getting you killed to fix it in the field. If you want me to continue with your training, you need to buck your bloody ideas up.”

Qrow turned to walk off in disgust, leaving Jaune in the dirt, feeling his own disgust. The awful part is that Qrow wasn’t wrong. He had years of active muscle memory driving him to fight like he was using his knives, which really did not work with using the blade. He was sloppy and slow. Worse than that, yes he was fighting passively. Qrow reminded him of all his worst fights, every opponent who had been too much for him, every panicked struggle, every death on the streets of Chalchiuit. It was that that drove him to be passive. These were enemies that he had rarely been able to meet on even footing. He had to rely on speed and luck, and now his speed was neutralised by the new weapon, and his luck seemed to leave him every time he faced Qrow.

Something was going to have to change.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Futility of Logic

The greatest folly anyone who has glimpsed the shadow of the Eldritch Truth can make, is attempting to apply logic to what they can see. It is an exercise in utter futility for mere mortals to try and grasp how beings that are beyond them function.

This is not to say that there is no logic to the actions of such entities, but there is no way for mortals to comprehend their logic. This is because there is no unified logic. Looking at the most extreme cases, Great Ones are, by some definitions at least, characterised by their ability to enforce their own twisted logic on the world, their own truth.

Using an extremely simplified viewpoint, the Eldritch Truth can best be considered as the pattern formed by the logics of all Great Ones interacting. At least, that is one way to think of it without bleeding from your eyes. Of course, technically, all beings with the slightest level of insight cause ripples in the fabric of the Eldritch Truth, and even your average person who has never encountered anything Eldritch has, purely by dint of existing, the slightest impact on the Eldritch Truth. To comprehend it entirely would require understanding and focusing on every point of interaction between the logic of every entity possessed of insight. Comprehending the beliefs, actions and metaphysical fingerprints of every conscious being, how they all interact and which other logics they touch. It is a constantly changing concept, composed of billions upon billions of variables from innumerable entities across uncountable dimensions.

A ‘logic’ that can apply to everything sensed with insight is a completely unreachable target, an exercise in futility, and the treasure that every creature with insight is inexorably drawn towards. The Eldritch Truth is like an ocean, an ocean where human, kin and beast merely splash among the shallows. Dipping in periodically like a pebble skipped across the surface. Even Great Ones, who swim in that ocean, likely do not know its depths. If anything lives, or better termed, exists, within the crushing, mind rending depths of that great unknowable sea, what can tell, or even comprehend, of the smallest fraction of their being?

We are but dust, floating through the void, peering through the thick fog and naming patterns in the mist. We are small and insignificant, and washed aside by the slightest wake of things unseen. I have seen heathen gods consume their flocks, great monstrosities with limbs that went up to rest on the floor, and mens’ sorrows made manifest. I have stood above the cliffs of damnation, and watched creatures consume time a second behind reality. I have dreamed of whalesong and fire that burned black, fury and compassion and all-smothering affection.

And now I stand on the precipice of my annihilation, writing this as my hand dissolves and my eyes cry ink and seawater. I see the future stretch out behind me, as though time seeks to run backwards, and in it I see myself die a hundred times. Insects claw at the edges of the walls, as existence itself seems to become malleable. My own reality, collapsing back to the ocean. My logic is no longer enough to hold my world together, my reality which, till now, hung suspended on the jutting spires of the truth I knew to be, flaps in the cosmic wind. I could not agree with my own truth, and as my own filius philosophorum disperses in the pull of innumerable strands of fate, I feel myself being torn asunder, and spread thin across that deep black behind the cosmos. I am just a hand now, a thing only held together by the knowledge of my writing and as I acknowledge that, I-

-Only writings of an unknown scholar named Balthasar Alarossa, found abandoned in a derelict wing of the Gerber Building of Thurim University during the fourth era. When found, the ink was still damp.

Chapter Text

As Qrow stepped out of Jaune's line of sight, a hand fell on his shoulder like an avalanche. A gruff, furious voice rumbled up in its wake, full of fire and anger. “That was too far.” Qrow's shadow riled and rolled like flickering shadows before a bonfire.

Qrow turned to Phos, who must have arrived back from his latest errand only minutes before. The huntsman was far from intimidated. “I refuse to teach children to die.”

Phos snorted angrily, “So what, you have him swing the thing a few times, give him no chance to get any real experience with it, and then try to crush all his self-esteem? Yeah, really keeping him safe there.”

“I won't deny that the boy has skill in a fight, but you've ruined him Phos. He's so experienced with his knives, and so used to your axe, that he's completely set in his ways. I’d have to break him back to basics then build him back up. He'd end up weaker, and it would take months that I don't have.”

Phos raised an eyebrow, “Honestly, I think you're just pissed that there's someone else who wants to use a scythe who might steal Ruby's thunder.”

Qrow grabbed Phos by the front of his clothes, hooked claws digging into the leather. Lifting the man bodily into the air with a single hand and slamming his back into a tree, Qrow leveled the pools of shadow that had replaced his eyes onto Phos and growled through gritted teeth. Feathers had spread across a lot of his skin, and crooked wings burst from his shoulders.

“Don't you dare insult me! I said I'd teach the boy, and I hold to my word, but you need to realise that not everything is possible! I can't just throw him into danger and have him sink or swim. If he can't learn the basics and get used to using the weapon, I'm not going to risk his life.”

As Qrow turned to walk off he threw Phos to the side, though Phos easily landed on his feet. As the bird stalked away, the shadows cast by the hunter's hat concealed a briefly satisfied grin, but that was quickly replaced by an expression of worry. Qrow had always been abrasive, he'd lost too much and suffered too much to not be, but this was further than Phos had ever seen. Qrow wasn’t really a teacher, he never had been. The cruelty of his semblance never let him spend time with others and so his ability to interact had suffered. There was a reason he hadn't joined Tai teaching at Signal on a more permanent basis, but even so, Qrow was being unusually neglectful here, and it had seemed to only intensify with time.

Phos had seen that corvid shadow, razor-focused on his apprentice from the moment Qrow had clawed through the door. The black apparation had always cowered from him, like a shade before a bonfire, but it glowered and prowled at Jaune. It was almost as though it felt hate, a deep, deep anger, for a child it had never met.

It also wasn't like Qrow looked normal either. His skin had grown paler and more waxy since he arrived, and he was being forced to drink more and more of that abhorrent mixture he needed to keep his body stable.

Despite this, there were definite benefits to having come here. Qrow's training had taught Jaune how to properly hold and move his scythe, and though Jaune’s confidence, speed and accuracy with scythe techniques were still poor, he did now know how to use them. It was better than nothing, and even if they had to leave early, that knowledge would stay.

-----

“Jaune, do you want to stay learning from Qrow?”

Jaune looked up at his master’s words. The sun had set, and pale moonlight beamed in through the workshop window as Jaune arranged his bedroll. “Why do you ask?”

“Kid, I'm not blind. Nor am I deaf. Even though I've had to head off for long stretches I’ve noticed his behaviour. He started off teaching you fine, but every time I've come back he's been more neglectful and dismissive. Normally I'd just think a person like that was an ass and leave it at that, but I know Qrow. He has been a good friend of mine for many years, and though I've known him to get snippy and depressive, I've never known him to shirk his duties before.”

Jaune sighed and flopped back on the roll. “What are you saying Phos?”

Phos tapped his fingers on the haft of his axe. “The point is Jaune, that as much as I want you to get the best you can out of training with the Burial Blade, it's not worth permanent injury or ages in a poor environment. Only the savage regard the endurance of pain as a measure of worth.”

Despite Phos’ words, Jaune was occupied by Qrow's comments from earlier. Said in anger and harsher than needed, they were nonetheless true. He was slow, he was constantly playing it safe. He fought like mad with his knives because he'd always had to. He'd never had the luxury to fight slowly, everything was a risk. The first time he'd held his knives he’d had to kill a beowolf, and before that all he'd done was what he could now tell was basically play fight with Phos. Aspenbairn-on-the-Wend, New Eisgarten, Chalchiuit-

Wait...

“Give it a month Phos, if my improvement is just as slow I'll leave, but I want to try something. “

For the first time, as Jaune fell asleep clutching the Burial Blade, he prayed he would wake on those dusty streets.
He was not disappointed.

-----

Jaune's greatest problem with the scythe, was not absorbing the technical know how, it was using it. Jaune had always been awful at practicing without an opponent, and the opponents he faced with it didn't help much. He didn't want to risk hurting Ruby while he was still so uncoordinated, the Grimm were barely a fight, and that shadow made any fight with Qrow a waste of time by throwing him so off kilter he fought like a scared child. What he needed, was practice, and there was definitely one way he could practice.

When Jaune awoke to the characteristic spiced scent of the jungle city, he found himself once more within Wetchey Lewain. It struck him that every time he had awoken since he first found himself in the city, had been at one of these altars, and that he had never encountered one on his last visit. Needless to say, he would not be returning to the Anen Institute until he was sure he could handle the monstrosity from last time. No, for now, he would keep it simple.

The roads he’d travelled before still held the same creatures as before. They were close to men, but growths of tattered red and green feathers burst from taloned arms. Eyes yellowed and blind, with pupils milky and collapsed, peered out from below ragged sunhats of straw. Their bodies, clad in loose robes were unidentifiably distorted, strange growths causing bulges and folds that disguised their forms. They bore tools and weapons that seemed to have been grabbed quickly.

Jaune had expected that, if he was ever to encounter armed people in Chalchiuit, they would either have once been soldiers or have taken up arms to defend themselves from the growing scourge. Indeed the Tarkon, the Night-Bones, were guards. Either way, he was not expecting to see people armed with kitchen knives and farm tools. In fact, none of the residents that he'd met who were able to speak, not Chail-Shesh, Almadonna or Tollahke, the Lord of the Night Bones, at any point mentioned any fight against these beasts. Almadonna had mentioned hunters, and he'd met Marian on his first visit, but the presence of such hunters seemed to have come after the city was already completely consumed by the scourge. It seemed almost as if the scourge bloomed overnight, and people had mere hours of frantically trying to defend themselves before it was all over.

Drawing his scythe, he dropped his aura and stepped forward, grasping the attention of a collection of eight or so beasts. One of these alone would have been a doddle. They were slow, unsteady, uncoordinated and fueled by blind aggression, but eight of them? That was a fight where a slip promised pain, a fight where he had no choice but to improve. With a cry, Jaune leapt forward in a swing, the scythe powering at an angle into the side of a ribcage, shattering the bones and pulping the flesh just as much as it sliced. With a risky acrobatic twirl, the point of the scythe speared a skull. Jaune danced past a saw swinging his way, feeling rusty metal carve a thin line along his chest with a sting that filled him with life.

The butt of the scythe cracked into a forehead, splintering bone and driving the body to the ground. A old, bent garden hoe clipped the side of his head as he dislodged his scythe, sending him briefly staggering. With a quick duck he threw a blood knife at the offender, before he swung the scythe in a great arc that bisected two of his opponents.

Regrouping slightly from the last three, Jaune disconnected the blade from the scythe, smacking the wooden haft into the side of one’s head as he swung it to fold on his back. The fallen beast was quickly disposed of via a gunshot to the head. The last two came at him with tarnished knives, which were blocked by sweeping motions of the large sword. The sword still felt off in his hands. Too heavy and curved when he thought of his knives. The scythe at least wasn’t marred directly by his experience with the blades, allowing him to remember those katas that Qrow had shown him. Another swing with the sword moved too slowly, still impacting the opponent, but on the wrong part of the blade, throwing off Jaune's balance. A knife dug into his shoulder to punish him for his misstep, but Jaune grabbed the arm that had stabbed him, and lopped it off with a heavy swing.

With two sweeps, Jaune knocked aside the last knife and decapitated both opponents.

Drawing the rusty knife out of his shoulder, Jaune activated his aura again. While it didn't just heal him instantly – aura had its limits – it certainly dulled the pain and was known to speed up your natural healing.

Jaune fought his way along that entire street, still the largest he had encountered within the dusty, humid city. From the pyramid of Wetchey Lewain right back to that beach upon which he had first entered this land. He fought beast after beast, some almost human, others contorted by fur, feather and scale into crawling abominations. His inexperience with the weapon showed, taking attacks that he should have been able to repel. A bite to the arm, a lumber axe to the shoulder, a small knife to the leg. By the end of the road he was bloodied and stumbling, but the scythe definitely felt more at home in his hands.

As he stood once more on that beach, beside the bloated whale carcass he faintly remembered, now partly stripped by the cawing seabirds such that bones protruded from its flesh, he thought on his progress. One night wouldn't erase his problems, but that rush of adrenaline, that knowledge that it was ride or die, gave him a euphoria that he really hadn't noticed feeling before.

The ocean was strangely calm, now that he looked at it. There were almost no waves whatsoever. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his gut, a dark anticipation, writhing languidly. There was a moment of utter stillness, before the water erupted.

A massive maw snapped shut where Jaune had been, crooked yellow teeth gnashing in a long jaw. Jaune, crouched from his dodge, watched as the creature pulled itself from the waves. It was a large and lumbering bipedal mass, coated in thick scales. A crocodilian monstrosity, coated in extratraneous horns and bones that ruptured through its skin. The head was large, but barely marked as unnatural besides the many more crooked teeth and a second pair of eyes that seemed to have split from the natural via mitosis. Too close to each other and distended by the movements of its warping flesh to look natural.
The creature’s legs were long and underslung, not reaching to the side like those on a normal crocodile. Its steps were powerful, though lumbering, and each seemed to send a writhing wave through the creature’s skin.

Jaune quickly readied his scythe. Was this not the exact reason he'd wanted the scythe in the first place? A weapon to deal with enemies too large for his knives. With a roar, Jaune charged the crocodile.

-----

Jaune awoke with a panicked gasp, clutching his right side. The moon still shone from the dark sky outside, the night far from over. Needless to say, the fight with the crocodile hadn't gone well. None of his attacks caused anything more then superficial wounds. Well, he destroyed one of its eyes, but that was it.

Nevertheless, Jaune wasn’t discouraged. He was shaking, but he was shaking with anticipation, not fear. He wanted to fight that thing again. He had decided, that crocodile was to be his marker. That massive, deadly creature, was little more than a training dummy. Sure, it had killed him, but thanks to the nature of his dream, he could always come back.

Turning over and lying back down, he closed his eyes and awoke once more on those bloody streets.

-----

Qrow could tell there was something up with the kid. It had been a week since his little outburst, and the brat’s rate of improvement, while not unreasonable, had increased by an improbable degree. They still flinched and hesitated fighting him, that much was obvious, but his hesitation and lack of initiative when fighting Ruby was rapidly disappearing. It was good that Ruby had someone to learn with.

Their scythes clashed blade to blade, locking them in place, Ruby tried her best to disengage, but Jaune was the one to best capitalise on the situation. With a harsh clicking, the head of the Burial Blade disengaged, breaking the deadlock and sending Ruby stumbling. Jaune swung the haft as it began to fold, the metal butt curling towards Ruby's head, only to meet a cloud of petals.

The two were interrupted by a clap and a call of “Right kids, wrap up there for now.”

Both combatants turned to face Qrow. “Ruby, you're not going to face many scythe wielders, but I've told you before about the risks of blade clashes. Nevertheless, that was the perfect time to use your semblance to dodge. Jaune, splitting your weapon like that was a good decision. You did however put your arm in some risk by bringing your hand that close to Ruby's blade, it wouldn't be difficult for a more experienced opponent to land a hit there. You’re very fond of hitting with the butt or detached haft, which isn't inherently bad, but remember that, especially on your scythe given what it's made of, a hit with the blade is generally more effective.”

In general, Jaune's scythe sat more comfortably in his hands, as though weeks had passed in mere days. Qrow's mind had sat more restfully since his outburst. His constant migraine had abated, and his little passenger had seemed to be almost cowering. His steps came with a lightness they hadn't held in months. Qrow was not going to do anything to jeopardise this increased improvement. Instead, he'd lean into it.

Qrow had to suppress a twinge, as spectral talons grasped his frontal lobe, shaking away golden motes from his vision. It was good that Ruby had someone to compete with.

-----

The beasts on the mainstreet were now little more than a warmup to Jaune. Oh sure, if he messed up things could go badly, and he had taken some pretty hard knocks, but after the number of runs he had done, he wasn't that worried.

The crocodile however, there was a fight. Jaune's scythe cleaved scale and flesh, but the thrashing tail, grasping clawed hands and monstrously strong bite of his foe were ridiculously powerful. He had brought the creature low on several occasions, but had yet to bring it down.

He couldn't count the number of times he'd made this journey now. Multiple times a night for two weeks he had stormed down the path. Not only had his scythe grown surer in his hands, but his body felt stronger, faster. His blood sang.

Of course, this many runs meant many, many brutal deaths at the claws and teeth of the crocodile. He... preferred not to think on the sensations that always preceded his deaths.

He knew that his seeming nonchalance towards and tolerance for death and pain was... unusual, but it was just how he was. He doubted that there were many people on Remnant who were as familiar with dying as he was. Though he didn't discount the possibility that there were a few others who were, given all he had already seen.

This was also the first time he'd thrown himself over and over at a difficult foe. Every other time he'd stumbled through on the first attempt, or returned much later after great improvements. It was both vexing and reassuring, he'd become strangely fond of the crocodile as a rival. Despite, y’know, the 'it killing him' thing.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Grudge

A Great One’s grudge is a dreadful thing,
A grinding, glaring, blood soaked hate.
It lurks and writhes below the skin,
Of its hosts, and won't abate.

Though years and ages pass it by,
Sun’s light burns and shadows grow.
Gold rage builds to crack the sky,
For insult man shall never know.

Though true self cower, kept at bay,
Souls still tremble for insult paid.
So offshoots search for source’s prey,
And never let their grudges fade.

Chapter Text

Ruby was a little worried about her uncle. Sure he often passed out exhausted, and could be a bit snippy, but for the last few months he'd been... odd. He'd go from talking to her like the uncle she'd always known, to glaring at Jaune. Ruby had never known Qrow to glare at anyone, if he didn't like someone he’d make a little quip and walk away or start a fight.

“Dad?”

Tai looked over his shoulder from the kitchen to where she was lying with her head hanging off the sofa, “Yes Petal?”

“Does Uncle Qrow not like Jaune?”

There was a brief clatter from the kitchen as Tai almost knocked a jug off the counter, before he stuck his head into the living room. “Why do you think that?”

“Sometimes he starts getting angry with him, or ignoring him. It's weird.”

Tai winced a bit, he'd noticed a little tension, but he'd mostly avoided the Hunter and his training, only watching the occasional spar with Ruby, trusting Qrow with his daughter’s safety. “Ruby, Qrow's an adult. I'm sure he’s not going to hold any serious grudge with a child. At least I hope not...” that last bit was said under his breath.

Ruby wasn’t convinced, “You don't like Jaune either Dad.”

Tai walked over to sit beside his daughter, “No Ruby, I don't have a problem with Jaune. He's a pretty good kid. What I don't like is all the training he does. He's spending too much time trying to rush past his childhood into a dangerous world. I don't have any issue with the boy himself. At least, I won't unless he hurts you in sparring.” Tai waggled a finger playfully.

“Oh. I don't think he'll hurt me.”

Tai ruffled her hair a bit. “No, I don't think he'll try to hurt you, but accidents happen. Jaune's not been learning at home like you, he's been out there at constant risk, and sometimes people like that have to act before they can think.”

Ruby cocked her head slightly. “What does that mean?”

“Hmmm... you remember how you accidentally touched the stove a few months back.”

Ruby pouted, “Yes. My hand hurt for days.”

“Do you remember how you pulled your hand back as soon as you felt the heat?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you have to think about pulling it back?”

Ruby thought for a moment. “I'm not sure...”

“Sometimes when something happens your body reacts without you telling it to. To protect itself. Your hand suddenly felt ‘ow hot!’ And so your arm pulled back to take your hand off the hot thing. It’s called a reflex. Reflexes are faster than having to think about what you’re going to do, but you can't stop yourself from doing them. People like Jaune, who are used to danger, build reflexes that help them in a fight, but because of that it's hard for them not to react. Do you understand?"

Ruby furrowed her brow. “I think so...”

Tai sighed fondly, “Just be careful in your spars Ruby.”

-----

The crocodile was limping, its back left leg hanging by merely a few scraps of flesh and a badly cracked femur. Blood streamed down Jaune's face from a bad graze above his eye, and all across the back of the beast from the numerous lacerations carved deep into its scales. Jaune's bones ached, though he couldn't tell their extent, he could feel fractures running through them like fault lines in rock.

With a roar, Jaune charged in, his scythe sweeping in along a blinding uppercut, red crimson danced along its edge, flowing along a network of tributaries from his bloody hands. The blood created a crescent of red razor twice the normal size of the head, and it carved through the beast’s side with barely any resistance. The beast reared and howled, a great red and black waterfall ruptured out of its side, but Jaune's elation was premature. The beast’s roar of pain transitioned into a two footed plunge downwards, catching Jaune's shoulder beneath its bulk, and folding his bones with a crackling like wood on a fire.

Jaune awoke with a start to a pale winter’s morning. The sun just beginning to crest over the horizon, sending glimmers through the thin layer of snow found outside.
Jaune sighed, he was so close that time.

-----

As winter hit Atlas, it was much harsher than in Vale. Immense clouds dropped vast quantities of snow onto the twin cities of Mantle and its more affluent brother. While the floating city had hard light shields that would easily keep out the snow, they were far too Dust intensive to run, leading to thick blankets that had to be carted off or melted each day. A rain of snowmelt fell with the rising sun each morning from the edges of Atlas onto the city below, as heaters fired up with the dawn.

The constant rain from Atlas made life in Mantle even more miserable, not least because the rain was either freezing or half refrozen into sleet, which would solidify on the roads like a skating rink. Those temporarily under the city would at least experience nicer weather, as the giant floating rock blocked out just as much snowfall as it did sunlight.

It wasn't all bad in Mantle though. The Schnee Dust Company had started providing house heaters free of charge to all its workers the year before, along with a basic but more than sufficient stipend of fuel Dust to keep them running during the winter months. While some workers would have preferred a raise instead, the heaters at least ensured that no worker was left without warmth. The streets looked cleaner too, as old models of Atlesian Knight had started to be de-armed, and repurposed for tasks like picking up bins. At least, until there was a functioning force of living people to fill the roles, taking away jobs from Mantle would not be a good idea.

As team WTRM began to come in from their night shift patrolling the Mantle wall, Winter couldn't help feeling a small sense of happiness looking over the old city. It was far from perfect, she knew, and she knew her father’s actions weren't entirely altruistic (good press sells after all, and gratitude is a powerful motivator), but either way, there was a spring in the step of the city's children that she hadn't seen a few scant years ago.

A chill wind blew for a moment, a stronger gust in the constant icy breeze atop the wall, one that cut briefly through the heavy white coat that Winter had donned instead of the lighter one in her standard outfit. She shivered slightly, her aura worn well down over the last few hours, despite her habitual resistance to the chill temperatures to be found sheltered behind Atlesian city walls.

The coat had been a birthday gift from Cinder and Weiss, the pair had created it alongside Cinder’s own outfit she planned to use next year to apply to the academies. As such, the Weiss-designed coat was woven through with fire Dust, which Winter activated with a faint smile, allowing the gentle heat to thaw her bones.

The rest of Winter’s team varied in their attitude that morning. Robin still held herself with the same cocky ease as ever, seemingly unaffected by the cold and the early hour. Despite this, Winter could tell she was running on fumes, the constant clenching and unclenching of her left fist a sign of Robin trying desperately to keep herself awake. Meanwhile Fiona and May both had glazed expressions that indicated they were practically sleepwalking, their extreme not-morning-person nature coming out full force.

The four of them were on their first real mission, one that was classed as D rank by the association, but it was only that high because it was guarding the walls of a capital, rather than any other settlement. They did have a member of the faculty responsible for their group, but Atlas Academy treated the teacher’s role as more a daily check in, handing over normal authority over the group to a gruff sergeant.

There were few other huntsmen on the walls, much fewer than Winter had expected. Atlas was much more snippy about the association than the other kingdoms, due to still having an active military, so it was often difficult for rogues to build their rank here, as most of the tasks that would be low level missions were assigned to soldiers instead, leaving a paucity for rogues trying for a rank up. This meant that most rogues that could be found in Atlas were from overseas, and had only come over to assist with dangerous jobs that the Council was more than willing to throw a foreign mercenary at, rather than risk their own men.

Winter almost sighed, honestly, she regretted going to Atlas Academy. She wouldn't change her decision now because she had grown rather fond of her team, but in a vacuum, yes, she thinks she would have been happier going somewhere else. She regretted not waiting a year until she was the correct age as well, because she wished she could have attended with Cinder. She didn't blame Cinder for wanting to attend Beacon either. Cinder hated restriction and orders, and there were few places Winter thought she’d fit less than the rigid atmosphere of Atlas Academy.

-----

Cinder enjoyed living at the orphanage. It would be hard not to after spending almost a decade at the Glass Unicorn. She was warm, well fed, got to go to school, and she wasn't hurting. For a while, those were the most important things.

She was 16 now though, and had begun thinking of what she wanted to do with her life long ago. She wanted to stop others having to go through what she had. When she brought this up it was less than a year since her rescue, and the matron had slowly suggested she look into a career in the social services, obviously thinking she was too young to be deciding her path in life. However, Cinder remembered that social services had been no help to her. As far as she knew, no one ever bothered to tell them about her.

She was one of many who just... fell through the cracks. After all those years of being right in full view, there was only one person who had seen her. Only one person who had noticed and cared about the obvious signs and made a change, and they were even younger than she was.

That was why Cinder had chosen the path she had, if Jaune (and his master she supposed) had been able to help her, then to help others she needed to become like them.

That's why one one visit to Winter, she had tracked down Mr Schnee and begged him on her hands and knees to help her become a huntress. Kneeling to someone hurt, bringing up bad feelings that she'd thought long gone, but she powered through with the knowledge that it would be worth it in the end.

Training was hard. She was far behind Winter, who had been training in the sword and family semblance for years, and even compared to Weiss, who had only begun taking her training seriously at about the same time, she was overshadowed by years of at least familiarity.

However, over the last two years she had tried her utmost, improving at an astonishing rate. Despite this, Weiss was still her main rival, Winter was just... Cinder cared for the older Schnee, but Dust was she scary in a fight, as though all the Grimm of the Dark Continent were baying at her door. Cinder still didn’t know why Weiss had grown so dedicated to her training either, but the one time she'd asked, the young Schnee had thrown her such a venomous glare that she'd almost had a panic attack.

Whitley on the other hand, she barely saw. The youngest Schnee seemingly could no longer deal with the sight of blood or sharp implements, and so he avoided the training grounds like the plague. Though Cinder had never risked asking why he acted like that, she had seen the newspapers about the incident just before she was rescued, so she had a pretty good idea.

Honestly, her life was good right now. She was... happy. She was comfortable, she had a friend in Winter, and she had a goal. Her one wish was that she could see the boy who saved her again, but even though she knew Winter could contact him, she'd never been able to pick up the courage to talk to him. He'd seen her at her lowest and, well, she had to be able to prove to him that she'd done something with the life he saved.

-----

Qrow had asked Yang and Tai to spar before he started instructing Ruby and Jaune today. The thin layer of snow, while something they'd have to learn to deal with eventually, was not something he wanted to risk training on. Especially with their speed.

Yang had bounced back pretty well over the last few months. The dark cloud handing over her had long dispersed, and she met her father with a blazing smile. “Don't slip dad.”

Tai raised his eyebrow, “Thank you? That's surprising civil-“

“I don't want you to have any excuses when I knock you to the dirt!”

Tai sighed, “I should have known.”

Yang ran forward, a pair of metal gauntlets covering her hands. As everyone around expected, Yang’s right hook was stopped dead and grabbed by Taiyang’s bare palm. “Really Yang? Again?”

“Hey, one day it'll work.”

“Not today.” With seemingly no effort, Tai lifted yang by her fist and threw her. He was well aware of his daughter’s limits and durability, and even more aware of the cockiness born of her superiority over her classmates. Yang bounced once before landing in a crouch, immediately rushing back in. Yang launched into a flurry of punches, but each was carefully diverted away by a Tai that, Jaune, Qrow and Phos could all tell, wasn’t even having to try. Tai himself didn't throw a single punch during the exchange, but for every attack that he deflected away, he got ever so slightly faster, and a spark began to grow in his eyes.

Tiring of Yang’s repetitive attacks, Tai snuck an arm through her punches with surprising speed, and flicked her in the forehead with his middle finger, sending Yang catapulting backwards.

“Wooo! Go dad!” Ruby's call was slightly garbled through a mouthful of the cookies that she’d procured from... somewhere.

Jaune raised a eyebrow at her.

“What? Yang stole the last batch I baked.”

Standing, Yang began to light up like a bonfire, flame crackling along her hair. She pulled a lock into her vision, “Huh, I'm already flick-ering.” Ruby groaned.

When she attacked again, the audience could feel the air moving from her strikes, but they were still all being deflected and, even more, Tai’s speed was increasing.

The fire in Yang’s hair was wild and uncontrolled, roaring defiantly, but as the pair continued, a different sort of flame grew in Tai’s hair and along his arms. It was gentler, flowing and left trails of orange in the air with the motion of his arms. It... flowed, almost like water, and as it grew to a blazing white, Tai’s speed finally exceeded Jaune's ability to see. The warm sensation of a sunny summer’s evening spread across the area, pressing gently on everyone's skin.

With a put upon sigh, Tai threw his only punch of the match, which sent Yang cartwheeling through the air.

“Yang... you literally just fed my semblance until there was no chance of you hitting me. I didn't even take a step for the entire fight. You knew this a year ago, you can't just throw punches at everything until it goes down. It might be enough at Signal, but it won't be out there. We'll be having a discussion about this later.”

Tai picked up his older daughter by the scruff of her neck and held her like a chastised puppy. “Still. You have become stronger and faster, and there were some good attacks in there. You've definitely improved in some ways, but you've really let yourself go in others."

The flames from the Xiao-Long's fight had melted a wide area in the snow.

“Jaune, Ruby, your turn. I want you to focus on your footwork this fight, you've both begun to fall into a bit of a habit of using speed to compensate for cutting corners.”

Qrow was glad that Jaune's improvements had continued, he was taking on advice much faster now. He also seemed to have picked up a knack for improvisation, probably because he'd stopped being so cautious all the time. Normally when students tried to come up with new things the first few iterations had glaring flaws, and, admittedly, there were a few things Jaune tried which caused Qrow to suck in a quick breath through his teeth, but most of them were surprisingly practical. Yes, it was good that Ruby had someone to compete with.

Jaune and Ruby faced each other, scythes in hand. The two had grown somewhat accustomed to each other’s foibles, but Jaune was nowhere near as accustomed to her as he was to Phos. The two began to circle each other, the tension briefly keeping both aggressive fighters from making the first move.

It was Jaune who broke the deadlock, leaping forwards with a downward strike that skidded off the back of Ruby's quickly raised blade. Jaune quickly recorrected, using the redirected motion to shift into a spin, sending the butt of his scythe towards her gut.

Ruby, in response, did something which she'd only been able to do for about two days, since she made another modification to her training scythe (or Petal, as she'd decided to call it). She fired the gun she'd mounted at the top of the haft. While the small rifle’s caliber wasn’t the largest, that didn't stop one of the cartridges she'd made with gravity dust that Yang had snuck out of Signal from throwing her out of the way of Jaune's attack, causing Petal’s tip to graze across the leather of his coat.

With another spin, Ruby too set at Jaune, twirling her scythe almost like a baton as Jaune was briefly sent to the back foot. Separating the Burial Blade, Jaune drew Evelyn. Deflecting Petal’s blade onto the ground with his blade, he stepped right up into Ruby's guard with a shoulder bash that sent her flying. With a quick rush of rose-scented air, Ruby had used her semblance to recover, but before she could return to the fight, a bullet from Evelyn cracked into her right shoulder, forcing her torso to twist. Jaune jumped forwards only to be met mid-leap by Ruby's scythe as the girl once more fired herself forwards.

Tai had almost started forwards, eyes widening, “How did she get-“ He turned an angry face to Yang. “Yang! Are you the one who's been stealing from Mr Albus’ Dust stores?!”

Yangs shifty look was enough proof. Tai span to face Qrow. “Qrow, stop the spar! Ruby hasn't been taught how to use Dust properly yet!”

Qrow had been just as surprised by Ruby's new trick as Tai. As the two locked eyes he opened his mouth as though to speak, but was interrupted by a strong wince as a headache stabbed his brain. It was good that Ruby had someone to prove herself against.

“No. This will be good experience for using this in a fight. Using gravity Dust to propel oneself is a common technique.”

Phos frowned, studying Qrow.

Meanwhile, Jaune was engaged in a rapid fire clash of blades, the unexpected leap of Ruby's had knocked Evelyn from his hand, leaving him with only his sword, and no time to reextend it. It was in this kind of situation that Ruby's greater experience with the scythe came to the forefront. Though Jaune may have used it in more real situations, none of the humanoid enemies he had fought recently in Chalchiuit had put up a protracted battle, so dealing with a skilled opponent was somewhat out of his wheelhouse.

Though - he parried a strike to his left leg - none of these attacks - another to his shoulder - had caused any real damage - a lunge of his own in a quick break that skidded off the aura of Ruby's torso - a few had – the butt spike on Petal grazed his left hand – left scratches.

Another shot from Ruby send her skidding past Jaune, Petal's blade catching briefly on the leather of Jaune's belt before he quickened out of its path. This time however, Ruby overbalanced, losing her footing and sprawling across the dirt.

“Qrow! This needs to stop!” Taiyang had stepped up to his brother in law by this point.

Seeing the scratches from Ruby's meeting with the earth, Qrow seemed about to agree, but then once again he winced. Phos narrowed his eye.

Despite her fall, Ruby seemed to be winning this fight, Jaune was more scratched and was dealing with something new. It was good that Ruby had someone to beat.

“Why? It's good training?”

Tai looked shocked and somewhat betrayed. “I can't just sit here and risk this.” He began to step towards the area, but Qrow grabbed him by the back of his jacket.

“Don't interfere.”

Tai turned to face Qrow, anger beginning to burn behind his eyes. “I won't risk children!”

“Ruby's winning.”

A look of utter shock and disgust begun crawling across Tai’s face, while a dark grimace spread across Phos’
“Is that all you care about!?”

In the background, Yang had begun to shake. “Dad... Uncle...” her voice was quiet and almost broken, but a soft hand on her shoulder made her start, looking up the arm she saw Phos, and though his eye behind his glasses was still hard and dark, a gentle smile was on his face. “I’ll sort this out. You head inside and try and keep calm okay? Everything’ll be fine.”

Getting to her feet before Jaune could reach her, Ruby was forced into retreat by the swings of the Burial Blade, now back in scythe form. The two were so focused on each other that neither noticed the building tension a hundred or so meters away on the sidelines. Both combatants were now using their respective abilities to avoid attacks, both semblance and quickening turning it more into a dance of launched attacks rather than a clash of blade to Blade.

Ruby swung towards Jaune's neck, he quickened through and launched a strike at her knees, which were quickly just a cloud of petals. Both were actually enjoying the spar, much more entertaining and informative than shadow drills. Until with a brief thrill of panic, Jaune tried to quicken but realised halfway through he had hit his limit.

Jaune phased back into reality just before Ruby's scythe would have passed through where he'd been. Petal tore into and through his right shoulder, unable to activate his aura in the fraction of a second he had to react. The cut tore into the meat of his upper arm, ripping a thick gash through the flesh. Ruby's momentum carried her forward through the blood that sprayed from Jaune's shoulder, covering her face, and the mouth she'd reflexively opened in horrified shock, with crimson red.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Moon’s Blood

The Moon’s Blood, or Moons blood, or Moonblood or Nightblood or Huntsblood. Whatever name it is currently being referred to by, is blood that stems from the Great One known as The Moon Reborn. A being that inherited much from the Great One it slew in its ascension. However, Moon’s Blood is not the same thing as Paleblood, the blood that stems from that Great One.

Each Great One’s blood is different, a direct tie to, and representation of, the Great One. Given these beings are occasionally regarded as intention granted power and presence, their blood can be inferred as a literal manifestation of that power and presence, thus each Great One’s blood is guided to an extent by their intention.

What this means, is that an individual, if blessed with the blood of one Great One, would not necessarily experience the same effects as it would if blessed with that of a different one. Though it can be hard to predict what those effects would be in any case.

Creatures of different bloodlines; Moon’s Blood, Paleblood, Sun’s Blood, Deepblood, whichever; can often tell like from unlike, identifying those of their line, from those of others.

Of course, the best known trait of the blood, is its ability to spread. Strong contact with the blood of any Great One permeates and changes your being. While touching it will likely give you no more than nausea and a headache, taking it inside yourself in any way will begin to bless you with changes, and eventually your blood too will be its blood.

There are, of course, ways to mitigate these changes. Depending on the Great One involved, entering its service may save you from the worst mutations and contortions. Raising your own understanding will shield your sense of self at least, even if you become irrevocably changed in mind and body. Past this, many bloodlines face their own esoteric and double-mythical rumours of ways to avoid such changes, but most are unsubstantiated, morally bankrupt and dubious.

For the Moon’s Blood in particular, it is not a Great One prone to spreading its bloodline, outside its Hunters of course. These hunters are immune to the effects of its blood, provided they keep their sense of self and are not driven mad by the knowledge they gain from elsewhere. Outside of that specific circumstance, little is known.

Chapter Text

“Jaune!”

It was Taiyang’s voice that tore across the area. The huntsman tried to throw off Qrow and run to the boy’s aid, but Qrow's claws in his coat held him fast.

“J-Jaune?” Ruby's scythe fell from numb fingers as she dropped to her knees. Her eyes were wide and panicked. Jaune's blood coated her face in crimson, and a metallic tang filled her mouth.

Jaune couldn't help but think back to Aspenbairn-on-the-Wend, Ruby may not have killed someone, but he still remembered the horrific emotions around the first time he injured someone. His shoulder was screaming and it was a more severe injury than he normally faced, but he was by this stage experienced with with pain and injury so it wasn't that debilitating.

Jaune activated his aura, slowing his blood loss dramatically, and knelt down to bring his uninjured arm around the younger girl, bringing her into a hug against his shoulder. “Don't worry, it's okay, everything will be fine.”

Phos realised that his apprentice had Ruby covered, and that Yang had safely gone inside.

“Why are you struggling? Ruby is winning?” Tai was still trying to break out of Qrow's grasp, “Ruby! Come on, you have the advantage, keep pushing!”

“What is wrong with you?!” Taiyang normally had a good hold on his temper, but anger was now set strongly in his eyes.

It was then that Tai felt an immense heat on his right hand side, as though a bonfire had burst into being beside him.
“Qrow. Let Taiyang go.”

Phos was almost wrapped in flames, an orange and gold haze of crackling tongues that cast waving, thrashing light across his face that was normally half-cast in shadow.

“I see, you want your apprentice to hurt Ruby. Well, I'm not going to let you!” Qrow let go of Taiyang, a gold glow growing to devour his eyes. Qrow's shadow began to writhe and swirl, as the great black bird crowed and clawed itself from the ground.

“Tai, take the kids inside.”

While Taiyang wanted to help snap Qrow out of... whatever this was, he could recognise Ozpin’s bullshit when he saw it, and he had long decided he wanted nothing to do with it. “... Fine.”

It didn't take long for Taiyang to pick up Jaune and Ruby and take them into the house. The two other men-things didn't move, too occupied with observing each other.

“I've known that something is up with you for weeks, but I can't believe you've let it get to you this much.”

Qrow tilted his head, birdlike, “What do you mean?”

“How much of Qrow is still awake?”

The shadow billowed around Qrow's shoulders, wispy blackness settling into intangible claws that had been clutched along his body, the monstrous head blooming behind his back. The air stank of oil and smoke, dark smells pressing metallic and acrid in their noses. A pressure lay upon the clearing, the atmosphere heavy and still. Sound seemed to move slowly, motions swimming along as though deep underwater.

The shadow clicked and cawed, as it revealed itself around Qrow, almost engulfing him. Phos drew his axe, the heavy black head glinting in the pale winter sun.

It was the shadow that made the first move, a great oily wing of tattered feathers swung towards the Hunter, but was met with a swung axe. The thick blade carved into the Eldritch flesh with a spray of gold-tinted black. The flames that still licked along Phos’ body reached hungrily for the dark feathers, glowing embers settling with sizzling sounds and small plumes of smoke. The beast cawed angrily in pain, retreating the wing.

Qrow lept forward, his eyes pure glowing gold and empty, like bright windows from which something else glared out. Phos ducked a swing of Harbinger, rolled forward under a billowing wing, and raked his axe up the shadow’s back. As Phos’ flames trailed in his weapon’s wake along the oil- slick feathers, the crow let out a screech that felt like nails being hammered into your ears, sending exploding stars across Phos’ vision.

Clawed legs burst from the shadow's back, coherency of form coming second to anger. Phos dodged one, but felt the other gnaw across his aura, flickering tongues of black sapping his aura faster than he had considered possible. With a hail of buckshot crashing into the black mass, Phos quickened away.

Once clear, Phos dived back in, pale white shining behind his glasses, with precognitive reflexes he ducked a scythe swing, leapt a reaching claw, and spun over a billowing wing. The red-gold aura of fire across his back caught in the feathers of the opponent, leading to the shadow flailing and cawing its skull-splitting cry.

Momentarily frozen with pain, blood leaking from his eye due to overuse of Lunar Augur, Phos was unable to dodge a scythe swing that caught him along his upper arm. Though the scythe was caught on his aura, the writhing tendrils encaged within the gilded blade sometimes visible in its place bit and clawed and sucked at him, piercing through that barrier and lacerating with a thousand teeth.

Within the cabin the sounds outside, though muffled, were still easily audible. Yang and Ruby heard the sounds of a fight, Tai heard some more, with a rasping cawing writhing variably at the edge of his hearing. Only Jaune heard it all, but he was otherwise engaged.

His shoulder ached beneath a quick bandage, but his attention was kept by the girl clutching his coat. Taiyang was doing his best to clean Ruby's face, as tear tracks bored their way through the blood that coated her. Tai’s job was not made easier by Ruby's constant apologising and seemingly desperate need to bury her face in Jaune's uninjured shoulder.

Adding to the difficulty Tai faced, Yang seemed to be having some sort of panic attack, and he had to ensure that his other daughter, perched atop his lap and grasping his shirt as though to ground herself, was kept as calm as possible.

Taking the cloth from Tai and gesturing for him to focus on Yang, Jaune gently eased Ruby up from his shoulder, and began to carefully clear her face.

“Don't worry Ruby. Yes it hurts. I'm not going to lie to you, but it's not your fault. We were sparring, injury is always a risk. If anything, it was my fault, I was the one who had lowered my aura. I'm used to fighting without it.”

Ruby turned away, but Jaune just gently turned her head back to him.

“Ruby, was that the first time you've hurt someone like that?”

She nodded slowly.

“I see. Do you think it would help if I told you about the first time I hurt someone? Mine was much worse than yours.”

“... Maybe?”

Jaune smiled and cleared the last bit of his blood from Ruby's face.

“First off, do you think I'm a bad person?”

Ruby shook her head violently. “No!”

Jaune gave her a sad smile.

“It was just after my tenth birthday, so I was a little bit younger than you. I’d be training for a bit over a year by then. It was the first time I'd ever gone on a long trip with Phos, and we were staying the night at a little town in southern Vale. Unfortunately, while we were there the town was attacked by bandits. Phos went to guard the walls while other huntsmen guided the villagers to the town hall.”

Jaune mirrored Tai, shifting Ruby so she sat sideways on his lap, instead of vaguely slumped over him in desperation.

“I was supposed to just guard the building, but I saw one of the huntsmen outside leading villagers to safety take a bullet to the leg, and before I knew it I was running out of the building. I wasn’t even thinking at first, but by the time I registered what I was doing I’d cut a man's forearm open. He wasn't particularly young or old. He was perfectly average, in almost all ways, but in less than thirty seconds I’d gutted him.”

Ruby could feel Jaune's hands on her arm and leg grasping tighter, a dark, haunted look shadowed his eyes. It was as though he wasn't even there.

“I don't remember everything that happened afterwards. Just glimpses. Random snapshots of normal men as I cut them down. I know that I slit one of their throats, and I remember reaching for one as he tried to run, and mindlessly stabbing him in the back.”

Jaune's haunted look remained for about a minute, as memories played within his head.

“You see Ruby? You had an accident, you hurt someone. But you only hurt someone. You're not like me. You don't have to feel bad about this, it's not like it won't heal.”

They sat for a moment, in as close to silence as they could get with the fight going on outside, before Ruby moved to gently hug Jaune. “You're still not a bad person.”

Jaune's eyes widened, “Hey, I'm meant to be the one helping you here-“ Ruby put her finger to her lips and shushed him. “No talking!”

“They were bandits, right?”

“Yes, but-“

“And they were attacking people?”

“Yes, -“

Ruby smiled sadly. “Then you're not a bad person.”

She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I know Dad and Yang both think I'm just a child, think I'm trying to become a huntress because of mum, and I don't know what being a huntress means, but I do know. I know, that if I become a huntress I will probably end up having to... to kill someone. I know my mother did, many times. Her diaries in the attic say so. But they also say how hard it was for her, how much it hurt. She's my mum, the person I want to be like, and if I can still love her, I won't let you think you're a bad person for the same thing.”

Outside, a hungry night battled with a bonfire. The crow’s wings had billowed and spread, shadow crashing against tree trunks and climbing to the sky. A black canopy had grown to devour the sunlight, uncountable numbers of eyes and mouths from all the beings the crow had consumed, clawed and stared from within the morass that now formed an impenetrable barrier around the area.

In a small clearing within the roiling night, Phos blazed. A pillar of red-orange shot with gold and flickering tongues of moonlight, he resembled less a man and more an incarnation of Ravvas – the flame god of the Mistrali Venis Midderas.

The fight of man and beast had transcended to a battle between the incomprehensible. Qrow's puppeted body had long-since been engulfed by the rolling darkness. A bolt of shadow, still shaped with razor feathers attempted to reach Phos within the flames, but it pulled back with a screech before it could make contact, physical or metaphysical. The heat of the flames greater than the darkness could stand.

Sun’s Blood the crow might have stemmed from, but with light comes shadow, and that is what the crow was, a creature born in the shadow of the sunlight. Phos’ blood may not be of the sun, but moonlight and flame were just as anathema to shadow as sunlight was.

This fact would have already ended the fight long before the crow could grow to such scale, but something else was staying Phos’ hand. An old demon, a nightmare of his past he once thought long gone.

Something he had first encountered when his semblance blazed forth during his second year at beacon, a night terror that had clenched his dreams with a ethereal fist at the greatest lows of his life.

Phos stood paralysed by a flame within his head. A being of smoke and fire that Phos knew from years of experience to be a Great One. Not the Moon Reborn, nor any Jaune had encountered, indeed it was one that Phos had often fallen asleep praying that Jaune would never meet.

The flame pulsed without words, seemingly chastising a child. It was... disappointed? With Phos’ delay. It just sat there, within Phos’ perception, not retreating, not advancing, waiting, observing. Memories kept Phos stuck still, while the shadow around him flailed angrily and impotently.

That was until the shadow turned a thousand golden eyes on the only other light within its midst, the Xiao-Long cabin. Dimmer and colder than Phos’ flame, but still bright, and more importantly, holding the true source of the crow’s hate.

As a wave of oil-slick darkness and feathers, strung with eyes and reaching talons, the amorphous mass that had for so long been bound to Qrow surged towards the cabin.

As Phos saw the shadow rising around the cabin, preparing to surge down and engulf everything within, he was reminded of a laughing face framed by long blue hair... and that same face burned beyond recognition, clutched in his arms as he failed them.

The shadow was not used to feeling pain. It was not used to feeling anything, emotions and thought almost alien concepts to a shard of a fragment of intention given power. It had felt something analogous to fear before on occasion, when the flame man came too close. More recently it had learned what hate and anger were. The sensations had always been there, but never focused, they were strange things, intertwined and burning cold. The shadow didn't like them. It hated feeling hate, and that feedback loop had been blamed on the alien hate it had inherited with the Sun's blood. So, this human child, so far below its notice, had caused it to hate itself, and with that came more hate, and it hated that, until it was nothing more than anger and fury.

It felt fear again when the fire-man had returned, a fear that had overridden its hate for a while, unable to focus on fury when fearing for its survival, but such overwhelming self-feeding hatred was not cowed by fear for long.

Now, the shadow was at the moment of its victory. Ascendant and primed to remove the child permanently, cut off the hate at the source and end those hideous, alien feelings.

It stilled. Frozen. Every tendril and writhing wave, every eye and tooth and talon and feather frozen, a shadow turned to ice. All emotion overridden for a brief moment of utter terror, before a light such as it had never known erupted within its midst.

Phos had always known there was something odd about his semblance, it was an ability that others praised his expertise in, something that people assumed he had trained to a razors edge. He used it well enough that it had even become his epithet, such that people had often heard of ‘Crackling Silver’ even if they had never heard of ‘Phos Argentum’. However, it wasn't something he had trained to exhaustion. It was something that came naturally, easily, and was often harder to hold back than it was to use. He had always assumed that was why this Great One had dogged his steps, bringing so much pain in its blazing wake, his semblance something of curiosity to a being of smoke and flame.

This was why, after heartbreak upon heartbreak, he had stopped using the displays of power he once had. No more did every fight he waged use flame of a degree many thought initially it must be Dust, instead he used it like a controlled scalpel, kept bound tight under mental restrictions stronger than bands of steel. It had seemed to work. He had not seen the Flame since then, and he had assumed that it really had grown bored. Yet instantly, as soon as he began to release his ability, to burn back the swollen shadow that had always shirked from the sparks he had used before, the Great Flame was back.

Immediately, he was paralysed by fear and loss. Unable to act or move. Yet, as the black tide streamed towards his apprentice, Phos couldn't let fear stop him again, even if he risked something worse in the doing.

And so he burned.

The eyes of all four within the cabin snapped in an instant to the windows, even Yang whose eyes had been buried in Taiyang’s shoulder. The light outside had been slowly dimming, until a darkness black as pitch surrounded the cabin. Taiyang hadn’t noticed, too focused on his children, and Yang was too distraught to realise. Jaune had been all too aware, and Ruby too had noticed, though she had not shown it bar a tighter grip on the bandage she was tying around Jaune's shoulder. The cabin’s lights had meant the shadows hadn't extended inside, but the light from the windows had been cut off.

Suddenly that darkness was gone, as red, gold and silver blazed through the windows with a barrage of heat that felt almost hot enough to burn, a supernova of flame and moonlight.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Phos’ Notes - The Great Flame

I haven't found much information on this thing. I've spent weeks trawling the Archive Labyrinth, looking for the smallest speck, but I've only found off-hand mentions in a few documents, none of which are particularly comprehensible. Something matching it was seen a few times during the Great War, and there are a few records that I believe talk about the same thing from the fourth and fifth Ages but... I don't actually know.

I've seen several names, each viewer seems to give this thing a different name, which just goes to show how few people seem to know it exists given that they don't know of previous records. I've seen the Great Flame used most often (three times), but I've also seen Ember Sovereign, The Smoke King and once, scrawled in a margin (which I think refers to it, but I'm not sure), I saw Vennt Zehgradiyk’va, The Heart of All Flames in the language of the city of Leechgears.

So, I mostly have to go off my own notes. This thing seems to be obsessed with my semblance’s ability with fire, but just like every Great One, its ability to comprehend humans, or at least its ability to care, is stunted. It doesn't seem to care about the fact it is fire, and that people burn like moths when they fly too close.

That is all I have. Other people have flown too close to investigate and... they've all burned, and I've learned nothing.

Chapter Text

Light spots danced across everyone's vision. For about a minute after the fire outside faded and weak winter sunlight returned, no one moved. Eventually it was Jaune, worried for his master, who began to move. He shifted Ruby over into Taiyang’s side, grabbed his coat, and stood to head for the door. As he touched the handle, he reflexively let go. The metal was almost hot enough to burn. Wrapping his coat around his hand, he opened the door and was met with a wall of warm air that wouldn't have been out of place in Vacuo.

The clearing outside the cabin was blasted, there was no snow to be found, and the grass had turned to Ash. Trees, already stripped of their leaves by the passage of the seasons, were coated in a layer of charcoal. Some indeed still smouldered. The air was choked with ash and embers that fell as burning snow. Even the cabin was charred and smoking in places.

In the middle of the clearing, Phos knelt on the ground, panting hard, trying to breathe through the ash-choked air. His skin gleamed with faint burns, and the leather of his coat steamed in the heat.

Jaune ran to his master’s side, but he was forced to stop a few metres away by the wave of heat that still boiled around his body. With a deep breath, Phos staggered to his feet. The glass in his glasses had melted, leaving deformed wire frames behind. The scar where one of his eyes should be was red and angry, looking like a young scar, rather than one decades old. Slowly, he stumbled off to the edge of the devastation, and collapsed into a melting snowdrift. The snow flash-boiled into steam as he made contact.

It took Phos almost five minutes to cool to the point he wasn't risking burns to anyone within a metre. With heavy, tired steps, he walked towards a body slumped against a smouldering tree. Qrow looked drained. Hollow cheeks sat below sunken eyes, his skin sallow, pale and littered with burns. His clothes were torn and scorched, but his shadow still writhed slightly.

Anger engulfing his face, Phos plunged his hand into the shadow, grabbing the creature within and tearing it out by a neck. Phos stared into the crow’s golden eyes, as the shadow quaked. His fingers clenched in a vice grip.

The shadow felt fear, nothing but. Anger and hate completely eclipsed by fear for its existence. The fire man had brought a pain that had burned away most of what it was. Now the shadow didn't know what it was any more. For the first time in... it couldn't remember, it was... singular. There were no creatures engulfed in its morass anymore, no remnants of past conflicts feeding it strength. It was a fledgling again and the world was too bright and hot.

With a final squeeze, Phos threw the crow back onto Qrow's shadow, before picking up the used man.

Phos and Jaune returned to the cabin, where Phos laid Qrow on the couch. Tai looked up Grimm his two children pressed to his sides, obviously questioning.

Phos collapsed to the floor to lean against the coffee table. “He should be alright now, but we should probably leave soon. Jaune has picked up the basics at least, we can learn by experience from here.”

“I think that might be for the best.” Taiyang’s voice wasn't necessarily angry, but there was definitely a note of blame for all the chaos they'd just been exposed to.

With a bit of a wince, Phos continued, “Yang might want to leave the room for this next bit, there are some things she really shouldn't hear now.”

Yang frowned, she was still not feeling well with another family member seemingly going off the deep end “What about Ruby?”

Tai gently pushed both his daughters to their feet, sensing the kind of discussion this was going to be. “Yes, Ruby too, you two both go upstairs for a bit.”

Phos really wasn’t looking forward to this. “Actually... Ruby has to stay. There's something we need her here for.”

Tai glared, “Absolutely not, I am not including her in-“

“We don't have a choice Tai, she's already involved.”

Yang scowled, crossing her arms, “If Ruby's staying, so am I.”

Phos’ eyes softened, “You can't Yang. If Ruby decides to tell you when she's older that's up to her, but we don't get children involved if we can avoid it.”

“Ruby’s younger than me! And what about Jaune?!”

“Ruby is already involved, and it would be far more dangerous if she wasn't aware. Jaune is...a special case, a one-off. Ideally he still wouldn't know either, but just like with Ruby, my hand was forced.”

Tai was clearly angry, but he clenched his teeth to choke out, “Yang, please go upstairs.”

Yang looked betrayed, but eventually stomped her way up.

“You better have a good explanation for this Phos.”

Phos climbed up to an armchair from the floor, he was going to need a good, solid seat for this. “Unfortunately, I do. But first, we have to deal with the elephant in the room.” He gestured to Qrow.

“The dusty bird should be okay. It wasn't him out there, in fact I'm not sure if it has been entirely him ever since my apprentice and I saw him arrive. To the best of my understanding from my own observation and the few scraps Qrow and Oz have let slip, his shadow was supposed to be power without its own purpose. Strength without personality. A battery he could draw on, and a blindfold to shield him from the worst horrors. Somehow though, it had grown too powerful, too... self aware. Until eventually the weapon controlled the wielder.”

Phos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Qrow and I have long known that his shadow reacts badly to my semblance. I've burned it away to almost nothing, to the point that it shouldn't have enough strength to think, let alone make a play for control. Either way, something about the two of us, probably Jaune, drove it into a frenzy. We shouldn't be around when he recovers.”

Tai nodded, “I’ll call Oz, I want him to give Qrow a lookover. Beacon’s winter break starts in a few days, so hopefully he can spare the time.”

Phos turned to Ruby and gave a sympathetic smile. “Now, Ruby...”

The barely twelve year old girl was putting on a brave face, but today had been too much. “W-what do you mean by uncle’s shadow?”

Jaune reached over to put a hand gently on her shoulder, “You saw it outside, remember that darkness?”

“That was uncle?”

Phos held up a hand.

“No, not really.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Ruby, there are monsters in the world much more dangerous than Grimm, and there are a small few people who help deal with them. Your uncle, Jaune and I included. The problem is, even knowing about them is dangerous, if you aren't prepared, or look a bit to deep into them, it can drive you mad, change you, and eventually, it can turn you into a monster. That's why so few people know, the fewer people exposed, the fewer can be lost, and the fewer will decide to do something really stupid.”

Ruby wanted to believe this was a joke, but the other three looked so serious. “W-why are you telling me this?”

“Because I have to. Jaune and I... the reason we can fight these monsters, is we've been given power by one of them, a very strong one that exists to fight the others. The problem is... that power comes from the creature’s blood.”

Ruby's eyes widened. “And... Jaune's..?”

Phos nodded sadly, “I'm afraid so. If it had only touched you, it would just have made you a little ill, but unfortunately you opened your mouth. Even if unintentional, you have certainly consumed some.”

Jaune's eyes widened, “Wait, what? But... the transfusion, the initiation-“

Phos held up a hand, “No, not quite that far. Which is both good, and bad.”

Taiyang finally broke his stewing silence. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is, Ruby, you haven't gone through the same process as Jaune and I, so you won't have the same power as we do, but equally, you don't have the same protection as we do, which is not good. Our patron shields us, we go mad slower, we change slower.”

Ruby was shivering, “So I'm?”

Phos smiled gently, “Don't give up hope. Our patron is kind, for one of these beings, and it has, as far as I know, never caused the same problems as others of its kind. In addition... you have silver eyes.”

Ruby looked confused, “Yes? I do?”

“Silver eyes are a sign of an ancient blessing by our patron, Moon Eyes, they were often called, a gift to the Silver Kings of Vytal, way back in the early days of the island kingdom.”

He pointed a crooked finger at the young girl, “You already have some moon in your veins, girl. And hopefully, hopefully, we can use that to protect you.”

Tai was still angry, but there was some hope in his eyes, “So you can help her?”

Phos winced slightly, “There is a chance. Honestly, I cannot guarantee anything, the blood is not something to be careless with. However, in order for there to be any chance at all we need to progress swiftly and I need to research. Tai... I really don't want to do this, but I have to ask you... Please, let me take Ruby to my order’s headquarters. If there's anywhere we can find a solution, it will be there.”

“... Jaune? Can you take Ruby outside for a moment.”

Jaune nodded and quickly led Ruby out.

Tai surged to his feet and grabbed Phos by the front of his shirt, hauling him up out of his seat. “I made Ozpin swear that he would never bring Ruby into this world before she was old enough to decide for herself, and now you and your damnable order have dragged my child right into the thick of it!”

“Tai, I can assure you, I didn't want this-“

“That doesn't matter!” Tai roared, “What you meant to happen has no bearing on what did happen! I've lost both my wives to Ozpin’s ridiculous crusade and the abominable secrets you all drag around, and now I'm all set to lose my daughter and brother in law as well.”

Phos sagged, “I know Tai, and I'm sorry, but I cannot change what has already been done, all I can do is run as much damage control as possible.”

Tai shook with fury, but eventually he threw Phos back into the seat with a frustrated scream, “Dust damn you! Damn whatever scorched hole you came from!” He took a deep breath, “But you're right. I can't help, again. For the third time I can't do anything, and if anyone can deal with this it’s you.”

He slumped on the couch, burying his head in his hands. “Yes, Ruby can go with you. But-“ blue eyes glared angrily between Tai’s fingers, “If you fail, if she becomes another casualty of your thrice damned world, none of your unknowable gods will be able to help you, you're going to answer to me.”

-----

Winter was glad that the term was over. She didn't have to stick to the academy's regimented schedule, and it turned out that Robin’s sister Crimson was actually in the exact same orphanage as Cinder. The two hadn't interacted much, but they were aware of each other.

So today, for the first day of the holiday, all eight of them; Winter, Robin, May, Fiona, Weiss, Whitley, Cinder and Crimson, were all together at the Schnee Estate. Crimson and Whitley were of an age, and she seemed to be determinedly dragging the reclusive boy out of his shell.
Weiss was still in ‘sister is back’ mode and was hovering, rather annoyingly actually, but Winter did find it quite endearing. At least she did at the moment, as to how long that was going to last, well it was a roll of the dice.

Either way, she was still glad for the moment of peace she was currently enjoying, having retreated to her room while the others watched a film. After half a year away, her room felt colder than she remembered. Larger and more empty. She had to admit she'd grown used to the cramped dorm and having others nearby, such that the cavernous room that had once been normal felt impersonal and frankly unnecessary.

She sat on the end of her bed and sighed. She was trailing her eyes over cabinets of old nick knacks, that she was sure were important at some point, when her scroll rang. It was Jaune.

The call was unexpected, but not unwelcome and... Robin had added a heart to Jaune's contact details again. When did that woman get her hands on Winter's scroll?

“Jaune! Hello!”

“Hi Winter. I'm still alive.”

“That's good, that's good...” This was when Winter noticed the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. “You’re hurt!”

Jaune winced, “Yeah, I'm not gonna lie, it was a bad cut, but it's all good now.”

“I hope you dealt with whatever gave it to you. “

“It... was a bit more complicated than that. It wasn't her fault.”

Winter cocked her head, “Her?”

“Yeah,” he turned to the right and called out, “Ruby! Can you come over here for a moment.”

A young girl with black and red hair popped her face in from the top right and stuck her hand up awkwardly. “Hello Jaune's friend!”

Winter felt ice in her veins. “Hello.”

‘Ruby’ shuffled from side to side, awkwardly, “I'm... just gonna... go...”

“Sorry, she's a bit awkward, but she's nice.”

Winter forced down her rising panic, “Jaune, would you like to come up and visit us for the holidays?”

He scratched the back of his head, knocking his hat forward slightly before readjusting it. “Honestly Winter, I’d love to, but something has come up and I'm probably going to be quite busy for a while. I'll be heading back to somewhere with rather poor reception, so I'll try to keep in contact, but I might have to drop off every now and then.”

“Oh... well... happy holidays Jaune...”

He flashed her that blinding smile again. “Happy holidays Winter.”

As the call ended, Winter’s refined posture fell apart, and the sixteen year old slumped backwards into the sheets. It was then that she noticed Robin had snuck into the room at some point, she had always scored ridiculously high at stealth thanks to her time on the streets.

“Winter, you know the longer you wait, the more likely it becomes that what you're fearing will happen.”

“I know...”

Robin sat beside her and put a comforting hand on her leg. “I wouldn't worry for now, he’s only fourteen and she looked to be, what, eleven? I doubt she's even thought of that yet. Just... don't leave it too long, okay?”

Robin left, leaving Winter in silence. Winter opened up her contacts, ready to set Jaune's name back to normal, but as her finger hovered over the edit key, she couldn't do it.

She returned to the home screen, keeping the heart besides Jaune's name.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Moon Eyes

Though they are rare enough now that most of their tales have passed into legend, the Moon-Eyes were once common knowledge. A Hunter once settled down on the island in the early days of the sixth age. The hunter's own deeds have long been forgotten, but he was the first to have the Moon-Eyes. It is unknown whether they were a gift from the Moon Reborn for services rendered, or an ability they developed through study of their own.

Though few Hunters have children, it is not impossible, a male hunter’s children are untouched by the Blood, as the male’s part in creating new life does not involve it. However female Hunters rarely survive pregnancy, as their blood touches the child through the placenta. Unfortunately, no child had the knowledge to control the blood, and most often have already become beasts before their due date.

The Hunter in question had a family, and he did not expect them to inherit any of his ability, indeed he didn't want them to, and yet his children were born with his silvered eyes, though that was all they had, not inheriting the blood. Despite this, given their cold light was as effective on Grimm as it was on the beastly scourge, his dynasty grew and prospered.

They built a castle on their island. The Gleamkeep at Airgetreim, and kept their nation safe, until Vytal was annexed by Fluchtling after the latter manipulated their alliance. Despite the Royal marriage between the two, the eyes didn't take in the bloodline of the Fluchtling royalty. From this point, the Moon Eyes were scattered, as the surviving descendants of the Vytali royal family scattered.
Even later, when the Silver Rebellion reclaimed Vytal’s independence, the Argentum cadet branch of the family only inherited the eyes sporadically, with none of the children of Regulus the First, the first king of the reclaimed nation, inheriting the trait.

The Silver Kings married into many noble houses across Vale over the years, from the Scarlatine of Crimson Glen, the ruins of which can be found within Forever Fall forest, the various families that have ruled the republics and empires of the Eastern Alliance from long-gone cities like Terra Natal, Porto Rosso and Forteresse, and the Rosa family of Rozenkrantz on The Isle Between, which would later become known as Patch.

Despite the decline of the Moon-Eyed, they still remain important to Vytal’s identity. The country united with Vale during the Marriage of Eyes, and the region’s anthem is still titled ‘For Moon and Silver’.

Chapter Text

Phos, Jaune and Ruby left very quickly, only giving Ruby time to pack a quick bag, grab Petal and say goodbye to her father and her sister, who had not taken the news well, before they were running down towards Thicket and one of Patch’s small docks.

To ensure Qrow didn't wake up, and to give Ruby as much time as possible, they couldn't afford to delay. Equally, they couldn't afford to wait for the rare flights to and from Patch, instead deciding to take a ferry across to Vale and catch one of the far more common flights from the city's main terminal. It was the first time Jaune had actually set foot within the city, and he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. He had thought Mausoleum and Sable Down were packed with people, but Vale was on another level. He had thought Atlas had quite a few, but he had never stepped into Mantle, where the vast majority of the population lived.

Vale was unbelievably busy, and for the brief moments where they walked from the bustling docks to the nearby taxi rank, he thought he was going to lose Phos in the crush.

The taxi driver drove like an absolute lunatic, swerving around corners faster than Jaune thought safe, practically racing between the lights, and gesticulating madly whenever another driver did any slight movement that the taxi driver took as offence.

Dangerous and nerve-wracking as the drive was, it was at least fast, dropping the three outside of an airdock that matched the rest of the city in mind-melting scale.

Jaune's travels through Vale were not helped by the reappearance of the Critters. He had barely seen them during his time on Patch, he could only assume Squall’s son had scared them away, and Qrow was enough to keep them from returning.

Strange things had slithered out of the car’s way with seconds to spare, great monstrosities clasped the sides of skyscrapers, while bundles of fins and teeth undulated and writhed alongside flocks of pigeons.

Jaune relaxed when he entered the bullhead. Most of the traffic from the airdock was freight, commercial travel for civilians was still poorly used, people not wanting to risk the chance of their flight encountering Grimm.

The flight was calm, with only a few young nevermores and a small griffon interrupting the journey. Ruby was marveling out the window at pretty much everything, never having gone further from her home than the occasional trip to the capital. However her wonder began to fade as the bullhead swept into Mausoleum’s valley, the thick melancholic atmosphere that Jaune was long used to hung heavy over her.

By the time they landed in the dour squatting city she was silent, and meekly followed the pair out of the gates. It took her a minute or two, but eventually she realised what the grey structures around her were. “Are these... tombs?”

Phos smiled down, “Yes, little Ruby, they are.”

Ruby noticeably shied away, Phos put his hand on her shoulder. “There's no need to fear the dead girl, these people won't ever attack you, or plot against you.”

“I guess...”

Jaune was well used to these graves by now, and wandered the tomb-rows off the sides, greeting headstones he knew like old friends, cleaning moss, lichen and snow from names and dates.

After about half an hour of walking, they had come to the entrance of the Labyrinth.

“...’ In... Interred in Honour, They Fight The Beastly Sc... Scourge? From Beyond the Veil of Sleep’... is this also a tomb?”

Jaune and Phos both nodded, “It’s our tomb girl, our destination.”

She made an expression that somehow managed to combine pity, suspicion and exasperation. “You live... in a tomb?”

Jaune grinned, “We live past a tomb. Or in the middle of a tomb, depending on your point of view.”

Ruby's eyebrow raised even higher than it already was, while Phos sighed at the children's antics. “Let's just go.”

With the familiar heavy clunk of Phos’ iron key, they entered the tomb, and after a long walk, reached the end of the corridor. “Ruby, close your eyes.”

Once she had, Phos placed his pocketwatch in the symbol on the wall, and in a moment they were within the Archive. “You can open your eyes now.”

When Ruby's eyes opened, her mouth fell open in shock. “Whaa- but we were? What?”

“There are many strange and incomprehensible things in this world Ruby, and I honestly hope that you never understand them.”

Jaune took a few steps and sat down on the end of one of the great staircases in the entry hall, meanwhile, Phos knelt down to Ruby's level and gripped her by the shoulders.

“Now Ruby, you have to listen to me. This is very important. There are millions of books, scrolls and other pieces of writing in here. You must not read them. Not unless I tell you you can. Knowledge is dangerous, reading them, and learning about things you shouldn't know, will accelerate any changes from the blood. We are here so I can search for a solution, not you. You have to do everything you can to delay your changes.”

Ruby nodded, scared.

-----

Time began to pass in a blur. Despite Phos’ desperation, and long hours poring over ancient manuscripts from musty rooms, he hadn’t found anything to help Ruby.
Meanwhile, she had continued training and Jaune continued to run missions for the association. With the missions Phos had taken him on occasionally while training at Patch, and the altercation on the Sailor’s Moon being officially retroactively listed as a Furcifer subjugation (a B rank mission), Jaune wasn’t actually far off D rank by now.

Much like last time he was based in the Archive, he hadn’t been to Chalchiuit once while living in its vicinity. He was somewhat annoyed this time, wanting to finally take that crocodile down, but it was what it was. It also wasn't like he couldn't practice with the scythe against the stronger or more numerous Grimm in his missions.

Spring had come with a rise in heat and a final retreat of the snow. It had never been deep this winter, but it had been a constant presence for months.

As time passed, Phos was only growing more frantic, skipping sleep and forgetting meals. Ruby was due to enrol properly in Signal after the summer holidays, but the blood had certainly started to affect her.

It started with unsettled sleep, Ruby would wake sweating, sometimes lurching awake in the middle of the night, eyes wide, but never remembering what she had seen. Bags had begun to grow under her eyes, as she fought sleep for as long as possible. She would twitch at movements in her peripheral vision, Jaune still recalled the first time she'd seen a messenger.

She’d been sat in an old armchair, desperately fighting sleep, when the small creature had climbed up the armrest to stare at her. Jaune, used to the creatures by now, could recognise the mangled expression as worry and care, but Ruby froze, her eyes wide.

Of course, this only worried the creature further, and so it reached out a hand to lay it comfortingly on Ruby's knee. The girl shied away from the hand, before she threw a punch at the messenger. Luckily Jaune had intercepted the hit before it made contact, but it still took minutes of calming explanation before Ruby settled down. Jaune could hear her crying as she finally fell asleep that night.

-----

It was with a heavy heart that Jaune set off for his association rank up test. It was May now, not far off the start of the holidays, and close to six months that Ruby had been living in the Archive. She'd been able to keep up with her school work thanks to Jaune's access to Gipfel’s material, but there had still been no progress in Phos’ research.

The written test was, as always, something of a joke, and even fighting the other huntsman wasn’t that difficult. Jaune had been hoping to see Angela again, but instead he was tested by a thin man in his forties who had retired from active duty half a decade ago. The man might have been a D rank, but he was out of practice and didn't take Jaune seriously. Given Jaune was back to using his knives, and he was fighting a human rather than a beast, the man was disarmed in thirty seconds. It was... underwhelming.

However, from this point on, Jaune was going to have to complete a supervised mission to rank up. Which meant the association had to find a D rank mission for him to complete. This was why Jaune found himself on a bullhead flight along the Vale mountains, to the most westerly of Vale’s heartland territories, after a thin corridor of land where the mountains ran parallel to the sea, the land bulged out into the area known as The Strip.

In the centre of that bulge was Luxon Vega, the only city in Vale that relied entirely on tourism for survival. The tall mountains created gentle sweeping plains almost devoid of Grimm, with the rich coming from as far afield as Atlas and Mistral for opulent business dealings, and to sample the delights of Vale’s city of fortunes.

The problem with Luxon Vega, was that underneath all the lights and glamour there were always people who went away having lost more than they gained, and that drew Grimm.

The mountains kept out much of the terrestrial varieties, and outposts along the coast and mountaintops shot down anything too dangerous that flew towards the city or emerged from the depths.

Nevertheless, the region needed periodic culling, which was why Jaune was not headed towards the glittering thoroughfares and decadence of the city, but rather a small outpost a few miles beyond the region’s border with Silent Hills.

----

Jaune's supervisor wasn’t the huntsman he'd fought in his test, the association didn't allow that for fear of grudges. Instead she was a rather stern looking blonde woman with glasses.

Jaune's mission was just to cull a remarkably long list of Grimm in the next two weeks, with a bonus for any excess. The list ran the full gamut from basic beowolves and ursai to a small herd of Taurochs and some Dark Oaks.
Jaune set off almost immediately after receiving his list, eliciting a dismissive scoff from his supervisor, probably due to his seeming lack of preparation. She had a small but well-packed bag slung over her shoulder, while Jaune only had the contents of his jacket pockets.

The first Grimm Jaune encountered that day was a taurochs. He could have taken it out without alerting it, but he was rather bored and so he'd thrown a blood knife into its hindquarters. The huntress scoffed again, evidently thinking he was punching above his belt. She’d noticeably shifted, evidently preparing to intervene, as the Grimm bull charged him. Just as she stepped forward, he leapt into a cloud of Eldritch smoke, reappearing in front of the Taurochs, bisecting it with a single swing of his scythe.

The woman was quick at hiding her surprise and covering her preparation to intervene, but Jaune could see it.

That was basically the process of the day. None of the Grimm Jaune met were anything of a threat, even when met in a pack. As the sun went down he began carving up his most recent beowolf, and sparking up a fire. Receiving yet more strange looks from the huntress, and a whispered, “Oh, they're an Arborean.”

As she started a travel stove and began cooking a standard ration packet, Jaune turned to her, “Do you need to stop for the night?”

She quirked an eyebrow, “This is your test, you shouldn't be taking me into account.”

Jaune scratched his hair, “Yeah, but I can go for a week or so without needing sleep, and I know that isn't really normal.”

She blinked. “Oh, it's going to be one of those. I'll tell you if I need to.”

By the end of the first week, the supervisor just looked tired. Part of that was that Jaune was as good as his word and had been hunting non-stop all week. He'd finished his list two days ago, and was now just hunting for fun and extra credit. She was only still running thanks to military grade shots of caffeine and many years of practice.

She almost cried with relief when Jaune announced he was having a proper rest that night. But even by the morning she was barely rested thanks to the caffeine crash.

She thought the second week would be easier.

It was not.

When Jaune came back into the outpost, with a scroll full of images of disintegrating Grimm, his supervisor was staggering after him, purple bags below her eyes, a pained face like thunder and hair in disarray. The association representative took one look at the folder of images he was sent, before looking to the supervisor with wide, questioning eyes.

“He passed.”

-----

The flight back to Mausoleum with his new rank went quickly. They were on the cusp of June, and summer was arriving like a runaway train. Winter would have finished her first year at Atlas in only a few weeks, while Cinder was building up to take the Beacon initiation.

When Jaune entered the archive, he found Phos behind a desk littered with old books and paper, his head in his hands.

“What's going on? Where's Ruby?”

Phos looked up, “Oh, Jaune.” He sighed, “In bed. It's not looking good.”

Ruby looked like she was fighting a powerful fever. Her skin was sweaty and flushed, and she was panting heavily, but worse than that were the other effects. Her hair had grown dramatically, not just on her head, but beginning to push through in wiry mats elsewhere. There was something off in the shape of her face, something Jaune couldn't quite identify. Her hands looked too large as well, and sluggish bleeding from the base of her teeth indicated something was happening there too.

“Have you found anything? Anything at all?”

Phos thumped his hand on the desk, “No! If I had do you really think I would be poring through these damnable books still!?”

He sighed and collapsed back into his seat. “Sorry. It was always a bit of a long shot, but I had hoped... no, if there is a solution in this place, its far, far deeper in the Labyrinth than I've ever gone. I just can't find the answers.”

The rest of that day felt awful, all Jaune's satisfaction from his rank up was drained by Ruby's changes, which were still going. Her teeth were definitely larger now. Jaune had read many books over his time here, but just like Phos, hadn’t found anything useful. If there was anything, it was certainly deeper below.

It was as Jaune was pacing the entrance hall that something came to mind, a memory from almost four years ago now.

“Answers... and questions... are like water, shallow... they are glass... deep... they are dark. Oh, sweet tadpole... you are barely a frog... and the grasping... hands are coming. Seek the depths... if you have... no fear. The crow... sits below... guarding answers... at the base... of the labyrinth. If you care... so little... for your safety. But beware... weak insect... no tadpole will survive the hunts... deep below... You are far... from prepared.”

The diver, from the white void before Caryll during his initiation.

Seek the depths if you have no fear, the crow sits below, guarding answers at the base of the Labyrinth.

He couldn't know for sure if this was what the diver had been referring to, but if the only way to save Ruby was going to be found far below, the fact he'd been given this advice was enough of a reason to try.

Phos jumped as Jaune slammed open the door, scattering ancient sheaves of parchment across the floor, where the messengers dutifully picked them up.

“I know what to do!”

Phos surged to his feet, “What? How?” the hunter stepped around his desk with long strides, grabbing his apprentice by the shoulders.

“My initiation, after my main three runes, I ended up talking to a Diver that claimed to speak for the Moon Reborn.”

Phos looked to the side, distracted, “The Walker Below The Water... what did it say?”

“It told me to seek answers at the base of the Labyrinth, guarded by a crow. It said I wasn’t ready then, but it's been several years, and we don't really have a choice.”

Phos sighed, wearily and with dread. “It is our best option it seems.”

“So come on! We can't afford to waste time!”

Phos moved back to his seat and slumped down. “You've got something wrong here Jaune. It was a message from The Walker Below The Water in your initiation, to you. It doesn't include me. If it was something relevant to both of us, the Walker would have told us both. That's just how he works. If I went with you, not only would we be leaving Ruby alone, unable to care for herself and without the tinctures I've been using to slow the process, but I’d probably bollock up the entire thing.”

He sighed. “If you think this is the best chance, you're going to have to do it alone. Bear in mind, for all we know, the answers the Walker was talking about may have nothing to do with Ruby here. You may risk everything for nothing.”

Jaune had looked down at his feet when Phos started talking, but now he looked up, “If I don't try, I won't be able to face her family.”

-----

“Hey Winter.”

“Hello... What's wrong?”

Jaune was sat atop a tomb outside the Archive, looking unusually sullen, but he let out a morose chuckle. “Can't slip anything past you Winter, can I.”

“Of course not.”

He shook his head. “Well, good stuff first, happy birthday! And congratulations on finishing your first year. It's a bit of a shame I didn't get to see you smash the Vytal tournament, but May’s surgery was more important and there's always next year. I'm a D rank now too, passed the test a few days ago.”

“You're stalling.”

Jaune sighed, “Yes I am – Look. I'm about to do something very dangerous. I don't have much of a choice, if I don't, someone is going to suffer a fate worse than death. I can't guarantee I'll see you again.”

“Be quiet.” The voice was harsh, but barely audible.

“Winter?”

“Don't talk like that.”

“Winter, I'm not going to pretend I'm invincible, that's just stupid.”

“Jaune, I know that when someone else is on the line, you'll go through anything to get them out.” Her voice got quieter “You did it for Weiss and Whitley and Cinder and... and me.” She seemed to gather herself. “But speaking like that, like you intend to die, is a surefire way to assure that you do. Look... I'm not going to stop you, it's part of what makes you, you. Just... make sure this isn't the last time I talk to you.”

Jaune smiled. “Thank you. I'll do my best.”

He moved to put the phone down, but Winter spoke up again before he could. “See you later Jaune... the next time we meet in person I've... I've got something I need to say.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Walker Below The Water

One of the Moon Reborn’s mouthpieces, its unknown what the Walker was before it entered its current role, if indeed it ever was anything else. It takes the form of a mundane diver, specifically a heavy diving suit similar to those used by the pearl-diving corporations that sprung up around the Gulf of Vace in Vacuo during the period between the Colonisation Wars and the Great War known as the Vacuan Gunslinger Era.

The Walker is known to give advice to those it meets, this advice is always difficult to understand and vague, but always accurate, though this might just be because it's vague enough you’re likely to run into a situation it applies to. In addition, the advice it provides only ever applies to the person it is talking to. If it advises you to do something while there is no one else is around to hear the advice, that thing must be done alone.

It has never been known to attack, or to lie, and what few records there are of it being attacked itself, indicate that the thick suit is actually empty, as the thing folds like fabric. It may be that the Walker is a literal puppet, a diving suit controlled by the will of the Moon, to give advice where it is needed.

Chapter Text

The two hunters stood before the great double doors in the centre of the entryway, right between the two staircases. The doors matched the rest of the room. Heavy old wood, with fittings of wrought iron. Phos was leant against the wall beside the door, worrying with a book.

“Remember Jaune, the Labyrinth gets more and more difficult to understand the further you go. Up here it’s basically just a confusing building, but as you descend you'll find the look and style changing wildly, and the geometry stops making sense. There's basically no way to navigate if you go far enough except to just keep going. Sometimes if you turn around and go back through the door you just came through you'll end up somewhere new.

I've never been that far down, but there are enough records written by those deep within that have drifted their way up here for me to never want to. That's another thing, beside the messengers, everything you find living down there was once a Hunter. Some may still be aware, though mad, others will be rabid beasts, barely resembling humans.”

Jaune nodded, ensuring his knives, scythe and Evelyn were firmly stowed. He checked his food and water supplies, what little he was taking, his lantern, torches and other assorted odds and ends. “How do I get back if it's that crazy?”

Phos shook his head, “Honestly, I don't know. You aren't supposed to return from the Labyrinth. We'll just have to hope your answers help you out there as well. Jaune... you don't have to do this, there is a big likelihood you won't make it back, but you’re almost fifteen, it's entirely your choice.”

Turning to Phos from just below the big double-doors that led down below, Jaune smiled, “It's not much of a choice. It's at least partially my fault Ruby's like this. You've tried your best to fix it, now it's my turn.”

The doors clunked closed with an unusual feeling of finality. It was an especially unusual feeling as he wasn't deep enough yet that he couldn't just turn around and go back, the door he came through feeling rather warm and inviting.

The first room of his journey was much like those he already knew from the Archive. Warm, deep wood paneling, the dim orange glow of candlelight, and the sheer number of bookcases hidden everywhere, crammed to bursting with books and ancient parchment.

Indeed, it was more rooms than Jaune could count before he saw anything that didn't match the mold. He'd climbed up and down stairs, travelled narrow corridors, and strode cautiously across massive halls, but all were made of that old wood, reasonably lit and festooned in books. This time though, as he stepped through a worn door at the base of a dimly-lit stairwell half-hidden in shadow, they're was certainly something different about the styling of the room. It wasn't a big change really, but there was stone in the walls now. The wood paneling remained on the bottom meter of wall, but it was mostly composed of large stone blocks. Many were missing, to leave a gap filled, as expected, with yet more books.

It was very easy to lose track of time down here, as indeed Jaune had. There was no sun to mark the days and Jaune's own body basically had no circadian clock by this point. He hadn’t really eaten either, outside nibbling the occasional energy bar, yet he didn't feel hungry. Rather worrying given he was on a timer. He had no idea how long he had before Ruby's time was up.

After wandering the rooms for what Jaune reckoned was at least three days, he stepped through a door and found himself in a cave. The walls were rough grey stone, craggy and covered in carvings, all overlaid by mad scrawling cave paintings. It was dark and unlit, for the first time bereft of candles, forcing Jaune to light the lantern he had strapped to his belt. It was strange to see the wooden door he had come through set into the wall of the cave, looking remarkably out of place. He could choose to go right or left, the stone disappearing into the darkness. He deliberated for a moment, but there was nothing to help him decide either way, so he just chose at random.

The cave was long, and varied between cavernously large, and so thin he had to turn sideways. Eventually he saw another door, but for the first time since entering the deeper Labyrinth he also saw movement that didn't come from him. There was a man slumped against the door, his hands twitching at the end of filthy sleeves. Jaune couldn't see his face, hidden as it was behind the brim of a heavy woollen hat. Jaune's own movements were tempered with caution, thanks to the cruel blade propped at the man’s side. A crude, hinged construct of tarnished, rusted metal, arrayed with saw teeth.

Jaune had to get past the man, the old hunter, that or travel back to the door he entered by and explore the other way. The decision ended up being taken from him by the man's muttering.

“See you there... in the light. Your hungry eyes...”

The Hunter stood slowly, gradually, bracing his hands on the rough wall. His coat, a similarly heavy wool to his hat, was stiff and crusted with old blood, cracking as it was forced to unfold, as though the man had sat in place for years. The calloused, dirty hand echoed with the cracking sound of disused joints as it wrapped around the handle of his weapon. His face was still in shadow thanks to the weak light of Jaune's lantern, but the liquid glimmer of milky eyes gleamed dimly below the brim.

Every move the Hunter made came with a chorus of creaks, groans and cracks. Before Jaune had appeared, the man had almost been more a part of the cave, rather than a living person. However, now, life, or at least something similar, was leeching back into him. Stepping out of the shoulder-width entrance, Jaune prepared his knives. In the craggy, relatively narrow, cave, faced with an opponent of human scale, his scythe would have only been a liability.

Jaune wasn’t prepared for the other hunter’s speed. Though the man didn't quicken, he leapt forward with a roar, swinging the saw-edge of his cleaver at Jaune's midsection. Jaune dodged madly and went to retaliate, but the man didn't let up, he continued swinging in an unrefined, undirected frenzy, bellowing incomprehensible babblings. The Hunter didn't even seem fully cognisant of Jaune's actions, as after the first three swings, Jaune had moved behind his opponent, who continued to attack in the wrong direction for several moments before he even realised he had no target anymore.

He was powerful, no doubt there, his swings leaving chips in the solid stone of the cave wall with sprays of amber sparks, but his weapon was old and poorly maintained, and his ability to focus or... well, think, really, seemed to be extremely degraded.

Jaune ran his knife across the man's back after dodging some more wild flailing, expecting to meet aura, but was met with none. Whether the man once had aura and was now too addled to use it, or had never used it, was ultimately irrelevant. Jaune's knife bit into the tough wool, which parted with some resistance, leading to a splash of red as the knife drunk deep. However, just like Jaune himself, the hunter was not brought down by such a relatively small wound.

In fact, the Hunter wasn't brought down by several such wounds. Jaune too took hits, but he had access to aura, so suffered only a small scratch that was stopped by his leather coat. By the time the hunter fell, babbling and trying to hold his guts in, Jaune’s coat was more red than black-brown and none of it was his.

By this point, Jaune was used to death. Let's be fair, this Hunter was far from his first kill. He wasn't the one to initiate the fight but was pretty much done making excuses. That's not to say he enjoyed it, but at least in scenarios like this, he had come to expect it.

Jaune stepped through the door into a world of books. A staircase coiled down in front of him, made of tomes stacked atop each other. Piles of stacked volumes climbed out of a deep void below, teetering crazily in an undetectable breeze. The staircase descended between the pillars, the feeling of paper, leather and occasionally wood below his boots was distinctly and strangely unfamiliar.

Some of the books looked normal, he think he recognised a few storybooks from bookshelves he'd seen, but most were more of a type with those found elsewhere in the Labyrinth. Anything from dissertations with lists of references to crazed scrawlings were in evidence. Some tomes were thick enough, or written on large enough paper, that Jaune doubted the he could lift them, while others were so tiny that, if the writing was similarly small, Jaune wasn’t sure he'd be able to read them.

Eventually at the end of the staircase were two doors. It was far from the first time he'd had multiple options, before the cave most rooms had at least three doors, including the one he entered by. These two just sat without a frame, on opposite sides of the landing, as though glaring at each other.

One was a heavy construction of pitted and worn steel, shot with rust and scratched by long, hard use. The other was made of wood, unvarnished planks barely held together by rusted nails vaguely struck into its surface. Jaune flipped a nearby paperback, which landed with the front cover up, and, with the order from lady luck, choose the wooden door.

-----

Jaune was completely disconnected from time now. The cave and the first hunter felt months ago. He'd seen run down concrete office buildings and jungle villages, underground vaults and the halls of ancient castles, yet almost everywhere he went there were books, or something similar. Cave paintings, scrawlings on wood, in a few notable cases, entire cabinets filled with modern-day scrolls.

He had met more hunters too, most in states similar to the one from the cave, but others rather further gone. Some had muzzled faces, a cover of matted fur, or clawed, distorted limbs. On a few occasions he'd encountered a pair already striking for each other’s throats. Despite the number he'd encountered, he'd never found any corpses that he didn't see made. It was almost as though the Labyrinth itself had taken the bodies. Jaune had never had the courage to try, but he was sure if he entered a room he had just left (if doing so even put him back in the same room) he would find any corpses whisked away.

He couldn't help but wonder if he was already too late, but it wasn't like he could go back, so he kept on forward.

In front of a door made from marble, that he could only hope was thin enough to move, he cleaned his knives before sheathing them, looking back at the two hunters who’d been fighting when he entered. One was a tall woman with black hair that might once have been long and well kept, but had now been hacked short, probably by the sword element of the kirkhammer she’d lost when it became buried in the rotten wood floor. Her coat was once fine and ornate, given it was covered in the vestiges of gold embroidery and gem settings that had mostly lost their contents. The other was a short, heavyset man. The woman had killed him before Jaune got involved, so he hadn't seen the man's face, but a thick grey beard emerged from below a very wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a tattered green feather. Despite the hat’s finery, his coat was more rags than anything more substantial, and his church pick lay snapped below the kirkhammer.

Taking a deep breath, Jaune pushed the marble door open slowly with both hands, and found himself in a temple of white stone and gold.

“Ho, another in the halls of the damned, eh?”

It was the first vaguely sane voice Jaune had heard in his entire time here. He looked around frantically, still expecting an attack at any moment, but he quickly spotted the speaker. Perched atop the altar was an elderly man in a black top hat. Jaune was most reminded of an undertaker, with the long robe, morose aura and Burial Blade propped at his side.

He put a hand to the brim of his hat and inclined it slightly, “Aster Scarlatine at your service lad, former head of the order.”

Jaune had immediately drawn his knives, preparing for a fight, but the Hunter just waved his hand dismissively. “No need for that lad, if I wanted you dead you'd have lost your head before the door shut.”

With something of a jolt, Jaune noticed that this man, despite all he appeared normal, had a wrongness about him. Much like the owl he remembered from the Nightmare Voyage, there was a vertical eye on his forehead that was thankfully shut, and an extra finger on each hand.

Despite how strange they were, they didn't explain Jaune's tension, but then he noticed the hunter's mouth. It was just that bit too wide, his smile just a tad too rictus, filled with more teeth than should normally fit in a human mouth.

“I'm here as a warning, to any Hunter with enough wits to make it this far. Welcome to the Landing lad. No matter where you go in the upper Labyrinth, if you keep moving forward, you'll eventually end up here.”

The hunter's grin stretched almost ear to ear, literally. “From here on things are going to get much, much worse.”

Jaune's eyes were glued to Aster’s face, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I don't believe you're just here to tell people things.”

Impossibly, the Hunter's grin grew even further, and Jaune now noticed that he couldn't picture in his head what was behind the man's teeth. He'd opened them while talking, but Jaune had no recollection of that they hid, except that it wasn't normal. “Smart lad.”

The man chuckled, a sound that echoed unnaturally around the temple. “I'm the gatekeeper. The Moon won't let the insane past here. If you've lost yourself already, there's no point letting you go further.”

The Hunter pushed himself forward off the altar, falling the few small feet to land with a motion that was eerily reminiscent of a spider. The gangly limbs, just the uncanny side of too long, seemingly unaffected by gravity. Each motion seemingly floated, like something uncoupled from the laws of nature.

Jaune immediately jerked back, raising his knives again, but immediately felt a cold humid breath on his neck. Aster was behind him in a single blink, looming taller than any man Jaune had met, bending and squatting to meet him. Only now did Jaune realise how far away the altar had actually been, having thought the hunter was of a normal scale. Spiderlike hands the size of dustbin lids curled powerfully over his shoulder and side, holding him as sure as if he were rooted in place, despite how thin and fragile the fingers looked.

“Ssssoooo lad...” The voice was low, hissing and held a quality that Jaune couldn't name but felt like ice across his skin.

“Are you lossssst?” Aster’s face stretched into his view from the side. Jaune wasn’t sure how he could have ever thought this thing human. Aster’s eyes were black pools, within which Jaune could see an alien night’s sky, filled with stars and writhing nebulae.

“Do you ssssstill know yoursssssself?” The Hunter's hair seemed to move, as though it wasn't hair, but rather a thin, cold fog. He could feel the creature's breath on his cheek as an icy mist.

“Letssssss take a look.”

Jaune was almost glad Aster’s face was close enough that he couldn't see the thing’s mouth, because he was sure that sight would haunt him for years.

Then Aster’s third eye opened.

-----

Phos sighed, replacing the damp cloth on Ruby's forehead with a new one. She had lost consciousness completely two weeks ago. It had been a month since Jaune entered the Archive, and was now mid-june. He wasn't sure how long to give Jaune, but Phos was holding out hope.

Ruby's changes had continued to progress, fur spiraling across her skin. He was almost thankful that she was unconscious, because the changes to her bone structure had started to cause significant pain. It was impossible to deny that she was slowly growing a muzzle, and that her limbs were changing too.

With a sigh he changed her cloth again, her raging fever having already warmed the one he had only just placed.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Damned

Deep within the Archive Labyrinth are hundreds upon hundreds of old hunters, from right across the ages that the Moon Reborn has existed. While they have only been based in Vale for a few hundred years, the tomb that is the entrance to the Labyrinth has existed for far longer. It was the first tomb in Mausoleum’s valley, and it will likely be the last.

While the vast majority of hunters either die in battle, or choose to be killed human, many still decide that they can’t face death, and so enter the Labyrinth to cling to life, even at the cost of their self. A few refer to these as the Damned. Hunters so wretched that they cling madly to life even if they cease to be themselves anymore.

The Labyrinth is full of hunters driven mad by time and bloodlust. Most, all but the most powerful, still retain much of their human appearance. Despite the fact that almost every living thing in the Labyrinth still appears as mostly human, these hunters are still driven to hunt, and so they endlessly slay each other.

There are also a small few who enter the depths of the Labyrinth for other reasons. Maybe looking for knowledge or just curious. These are also Damned. For there is no way out of the Labyrinth without the direct aid of the Moon.

Chapter Text

Jaune slowly came to in a pool of water. It soaked into his clothes and almost covered his mouth. With a wet grunt he slowly pushed himself to his feet, ignoring a rising headache. Above him boiled a churning grey sky, stretching in all directions. The floor was a patchwork, mostly rough stone, but there were strange patches of earth and planks, almost as though a village had once stood on this spot, but had been ripped up, leaving only the foundations behind, like roots in the earth. There was an end to the surface though, a few hundred metres away.

With cautious steps in a strong, biting wind, Jaune moved towards the edge. Far off, all around, there were uncountable other pillars of varying height spreading out to the horizon. For a moment, he thought they were in a void, for he could see the base of each pillar, but then he realised he was actually seeing a reflection on a glass-still ocean far below.

Jaune turned back around and there, in the pool where he had awoken, stood a door. For a moment he could swear he saw Aster’s hand on its edge, but if he did it was only there for less than a second. A chill went down his spine slowly, he recognised this door. He knew it. It was the door to his cabin. The old one from the Arc Compound.

It was with a heavy heart that he approached it, having little other choice except pitching himself over the edge of the pillar. The metal handle felt ice cold, moreso than the real one had ever felt. With great trepidation, and bracing himself, he opened the door.

-----

Jaune woke, he was sure he had been dreaming, but he couldn't remember his dream. The sunlight was coming through his window, right into his face again. His bed felt uncomfortable for some reason, so he got up and dressed quickly. It was strange, his favourite T shirt and shorts felt uncomfortable as well. Too thin and fragile? He shook his head, he must be imagining things.

Going outside he was met by more warm sunlight. Aurelia and Mellyn were in the central sparring ground again, they were headed to Shade next year after all. He stopped for a moment to watch. The twins both used greatswords, favouring large sweeping swings that chained into each other, meaning that in their spars one of the two generally held the momentum. They were poor at improvising and their weapons would make fighting in a narrow space impossible without a drastic change of style. He grabbed his head, a twinge of his headache distracting him.

Dad wasn’t able to have breakfast with them today. There had been a grimm attack in the night, and he was stuck in an early morning call to discuss damages with the Valean council. Xantha kept trying to get a rise out of him, but honestly her needling comments just felt childish. Once they'd finished eating, Jaune sat in the hall. He had to try asking his dad for training again.

The hall felt unusually cold given the weather outside. Despite being called the ‘big’ house, it wasn't that large. The ground floor only had three rooms; the kitchen, the living room (which wasn't often used) and a dining room for when guests came over. Then there was the basement where mum and dad stored stuff and the kids weren't allowed. Upstairs there was just mum and dad’s bedroom and his dad's study. Jaune sat on the shoebox beside the front door to wait.

One of his sisters had scratched marks into the furniture in the hall. Jaune's guess was on Xantha. As far as he could tell, it was just gibberish.

Loud footsteps preceded Aurum’s appearance at the top of the stairs. He was even bigger than Jaune remembered. Aurum noticed Jaune with a faintly exasperated expression. “What is it this time Jaune?”

Jaune felt like his father’s mood should scare him, but for some reason it just didn't. “Dad, I want you to train me.”

Aurum quirked a bushy, golden eyebrow, “Train you? Not unlock your aura?”

Jaune looked puzzled, “Aura is just a tool. It's useless if you don't know the basics of how to use it.”

Jaune's father tramped down the stairs to look down on his son. “That's a very different tune to the one you've been singing for the past year, what's changed? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Jaune's headache exploded for a moment, something had changed, but he didn't know what. So like any kid in this sort of situation, he lied. “No? I want you to train me.”

Aurum huffed, both exasperated and vaguely proud, “Meet me at the square in five minutes, we’ll see your resolve then.”

His father trudged off, heading to the kitchen to say hello to Jaune's mother.

The room had warmed up while Aurum’s golden presence stood in it. Now that he was gone however, a chill cold grew again from the direction of the basement door. He turned to look, and in that brief moment where it was in the corner of his sight he thought he saw movement, but once his eyes focused, everything was normal. What was he worried about? It was just cold air from the basement.

When Jaune told Aurelia and Mellyn at the square that he was going to be training with dad, they could only barely hold in their laughter. He could tell they were trying to disguise it, but only a child would have been convinced by their paltry efforts.

Their tune rapidly changed when Aurum met them at the field.

“Girls, you are better than that.”

Aurum didn't have to elaborate, the twins were sufficiently cowed already.

“Right Jaune, there's no way I can face you in the ring any time soon. I don't have enough control over my strength in a fight to risk that.” He turned to Aurelia, “Could you go and get Xantha for me?”

The twins looked at each other, before looking back to their father, “Xantha’s gone with Melina out into the forest today.”

Aurum sighed, “Of course she has. Verdell and Tawn are both helping your mother as well... damn it, Mellyn, leave your sword here and get into the ring.”

The twins raised opposite eyebrows, but Mellyn did as asked, handing her sword to Aurelia and cracking her neck as she walked into the square.

“Right son, you’re too young to start building up muscle properly, and you're active enough that exercise won't help you all that much on its own, so we might as well start with training your reflexes and form. All I want you to do is do your best to dodge your sister. I don't expect you to do that well at first, but you need to know what you're getting into.” He turned back to Mellyn, “There's no need to go anywhere near all-out, I don't want you hurting your brother.”

Jaune entered the ring and stood opposite Mellyn. Aurum started the ‘match’ with a loud clap.

Mellyn began to throw slow and sloppy punches, deliberately putting zero effort in. They seemed almost insulting slow, allowing Jaune to bend out of their way with only slight motions. Mellyn seemed noticeably perplexed at Jaune's successful dodges, and obviously picked up a bit of speed.

Despite her efforts, none of her hits connected. Most of them were dodged with ease, and the rest Jaune actually managed to deflect, his weak arms holding enough muscle to divert her strikes just off target.

After a little while Mellyn retreated, surprising Jaune. Her face held an expression of worry and suspicion. Jaune glanced around at Aurelia and Aurum, the other twin shared Mellyn’s expression almost exactly, but Aurum’s was far harder, and made Jaune feel far worse.

Jaune's first few steps were tentative and teetering, but then he broke into a run, crashing through the door of his cabin and slamming it behind him. In fear and worry, he looked at his hands. They seemed older than he remembered, and more worn.

A crash caused him to jerk his head up from looking at his hands. He had to shake out a brief disorientation, a strange afterimage-like silhouette imprinted on his eyelids. A glass had fallen off his desk and shattered.

With a sigh, Jaune began to clear the glass up. What was going on? Something had been different today, ever since he woke up. Something just slightly off.

With a hiss he paid for his distraction. A careless motion in his clean up caused a shard of glass to cut fairly deeply into his thumb. Shaking the offending digit, he placed it in his mouth, only to feel an unbelievable flavour burst across his tongue.

Jaune almost tore his thumb from his mouth. Why did his blood taste like that? Why did...

There was something else in the cabin with him.

Frozen and sweating Jaune felt a large hand of thin fingers wrap around his shoulder. An icy breath fell on his neck.

“That wassss fasssster than lassssst time, lad.” The voice was a cold hiss, and cut him deeper than the glass.

-----

Jaune woke, he was sure he had been dreaming, but he couldn’t remember his dream. The sunlight was coming through his window, right into his face again. His bed felt uncomfortable for some reason, so he got up quickly, and got dressed. It was strange, his favourite T shirt and shorts felt uncomfortable as well. Too thin and fragile? He shook his head, he must be imagining things.

Going outside he was met by more warm sunlight. Aurelia and Mellyn were in the central sparring ground again, they were headed to Shade next year after all. He thought of stopping for a moment to watch, but he knew what he'd see, greatsword work that would struggle on the back foot or in a tight space.

Dad wasn’t able to have breakfast with them today. There had been a grimm attack in the night, and he was stuck in an early morning call to discuss damages with the Valean council. Xantha kept trying to get a rise out of him, but Jaune ignored her, he had far more important things to do. He had to ask his father for training again.

The hall felt unusually cold given the weather outside. Jaune sat on the shoebox beside the front door to wait. One of his sisters had scratched marks into the furniture. Jaune’s guess was on Xantha.

Actually... looking at the scratches, it almost looked like they were in a pattern... yeah, from this particular spot those two scratches on the hatstand and bookcase looked like a letter ‘t’. From there it wasn't difficult to find other letters. Oh Dust was dad going to be annoyed.

“It’s watching you.”

Jaune quirked an eyebrow. How horribly cliche. He'd have hoped his sisters would have been more inventive.

“Look out the corner of your eye.”

Jaune rolled his eyes, he thought this was going to be interesting. Mockingly he followed the instruction and had to stop himself from freezing. There was a figure standing in his peripheral vision, a giant, gangly shape stood in the doorway, bending almost double to peer through. Jaune couldn't focus on it due to how he was looking, but even with his blurry sight he could see the horrific smile.

It took massive force of will to tear his eyes back to looking at the scratches.

“Tried every door.”

“Bar one. One is new.”

“We never had a basement?”

There was a cold chuckle in the air. “You’re quick to realissssse sssssomething issss off, but you ssssstill can't essssscape.”

Wide eyed and almost hyperventilating, Jaune launched himself forward towards the basement door. Grabbing the handle and rattling it impotently in panic before he even thought of turning it.

“Ssssso clossssse.”

Reflexively Jaune threw his tiny fist behind him. The figure recoiled, more in shock than pain, as Jaune's fist hit its face. Its skin felt cold and waxy, he felt hard points too, but no pain. His head somewhat clear, Jaune managed to throw the basement door open and pitch himself bodily through it.

-----

Jaune awoke on a wooden floor. It was warped and bent, as though long soaked in water. It wasn't a gentle awakening, but a sudden one. From deep sleep to full consciousness with a jolt. Jaune threw himself to his feet. The room was dark but more normal than he'd grown used to. The warped wood made up the walls and ceiling too but otherwise the room was barren.

“Sssssso frussssstrating... but i ssssssuppossssse congratulationssssss are in order.”

Jaune shivered as the cold voice slithered down his back. He turned hesitatingly and with trepidation to see Aster leaning on the wall. The creature’s neck and shoulders had to bend so it would fit below the ceiling.

“Few esssscape me thesssssse days.”

It lunged forward faster than Jaune could react to, the massive, horrific face only a few centimetres from his own, glacial breath numbing his own mouth.

“I have to ssssslow myssssself in there, but ssssstill, very impresssssive. Esssssspecially for one sssso young and tender.”

The creature hissed frustratedly, “Unfortunately you made it out, and sssso I cannot touch you yet. Go.”

Jaune's head spun, and by the time he had his wits again Aster had vanished. Leaving only another door, and blood dripping from the hand that had punched Aster’s face. Blood speckled with black and stars.

-----

Jaune couldn't recall much of the later places he found in the Labyrinth, or many of the creatures, but flashes and snapshots persevered. Sometimes the two were awfully combined, caves of writhing flesh, pained eyes staring from damp membranes. More often they were not.

He walked among stars and along roads of glass. Through forests of strange trees without any ground except a thin layer of dust, copies of his plane layered endlessly above and below. He strode along mountain ridges and crept through sewers lined with eyes, and in the darkest moments he seem through icy antideluvian waters.

Some hunters down here still kept vaguely human forms, mutated slightly with fang and claw, but most had long discarded their humanity. Fur and feather, scale and rot.

At times corners writhed in impossible angles, strange wondrous geometry that stung the brain and warped the body. Staircases he began to descend ended up depositing him at their summit, as though they forgot their own purpose.

The further he went, the more the books returned. Writing strangely absent from the middle of his journey. The books scuttled in dark corners, leered from ornate shelves, and gibbered from tables.

Jaune moved quickly and determinedly, avoiding fights where he could, and resisting the temptations of knowledge as much as his unfortunately human restraint could endure. Despite his efforts, several books succeeded in snaring him momentarily, the secrets within not being read, but reading themselves into him with the sear of a cherry-red metal rod.

He began to fear for himself with every tome that consumed him. Their pressure inside his skull was palpable, even if he could no longer directly recall their information. On several occasions he woke from a waking slumber, having changed rooms at least once, but having no recollection of doing so. On many such occasions he found himself clad in red, having stumbled across some other poor soul in his unconscious wandering.

He found himself writing in the margins of books with scavenged pens or charcoal, even in blood if there was no other medium. Every time, he could see little to no distinction between the scrawlings of his own hand and the mad author.

Jaune was filled with sheer relief when he found the rooms he entered beginning to resemble the entryway once more. Warm wood replaced writhing space and white shapes in the darkness, candlelight took the place of bioluminescent glows and harsh lamps.

The wood may seep seawater and rest encrusted by salt. Strange birds may flit around the beams above, sending baleful croaks to him down below, and there may be a constant groan of wood that reminded him of the nights below deck on the Sailor’s Moon, but these halls stirred memories of comfortable nights with Phos.

Eventually he came across a large set of double doors, tall ornate things of heavy wood and gnarled black iron. It was with unusual trepidation that Jaune pushed them open, he was long used to opening doors in the Labyrinth, but there was a strange sense of finality to these ones.

A strange pressure set itself onto Jaune's shoulders as he passed through, the heavy weight of eternity rested on the room, the unknown pushing down on all sides. The floorboards were slick with blood, laced with an unusual, but strangely familiar, pale shine. Against the edges of the room, propped up against bookcases and walls alike as though cleared out of the way of the central area, were a massive number of hunter corpses.

Opposite Jaune were two chairs, one sat against the far wall, large and wooden, back carved with the symbol Jaune knew to represent the Moon Reborn. Screaming wolves howled from the armrests and snakes appeared to hiss from the feet.

Before the large chair, as if guarding it, was a smaller chair. Black jagged iron clawed at its surroundings, as if to grasp and possess the man sat upon it. A hunter was slumped in the chair as though asleep, metal claws from the chair curling over his shoulders. He was dangerously gaunt, clean-shaven face sallow and sunken. His clothes clung tight to his emaciated frame, a dirty, once-white straightjacket under a thin coat of leather and feathers. His boots had pronounced spurs and climbed up to his thighs. A black leather stetson perched atop his bald head. In several places he bore brooches of gold; his collar, his belt, his hat. Brooches in the shape of crow’s feet. Bandoliers across his chest held at least five firearms, ornate and beautiful.

One sleeve was empty, his left hanging loose. His right was not normal either, a smooth jointed hand like a mannequin carved of bone and porcelain protruded from his cuff. Inhuman fingers clenched around a hilt to a weapon laid across his lap, dual blades cruelly glinting in the pale light from above.

Jaune looked up. While he had seen many strange things both in the Labyrinth and without, not since he had been in the physical presence of Father, within the ice tunnels outside New Eisgarten, had he felt such a pressure on his mind. Even looking hurt. Above the chairs, in the air, as though presiding over the room, was a silver tear in space.

A curved smear of moonlight, shining iridescent.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Aster Scarlatine

Aster Scarlatine was the Head of the Heirs of the Moon Reborn between 912 and 867 BVT. Over his 45 year tenure as the head he was generally regarded with respect. Unfortunately, in 873 BVT the kingdom of Dale entered a civil war over a succession crisis.

Until this point the Heirs had existed as a knightly order under the Kingdom of Dale, ever since a few of their number joined Ozdael Cadience’s army of 300, during the clearing of the Valean area. Despite their long association with Dale, the order decided to remain neutral during the civil war.

Though Silent Hills as a region would not exist for decades, The Heirs were already well established in the Archive Labyrinth, which placed them right between the spheres of influence of the Arcadia family of The Palisade, and the Prasinos family of Vale. Both families were cadet branches of the now extinct ruling family, the Brackens, and both attempted to gain the loyalty of the Heirs.

In response, Aster made the tough decision to separate the order from Dalean politics. Unfortunately, after the Prasinos family won the war, they came knocking to reclaim the Heirs’ loyalty. At this point, it was Aster’s decision to remain independent. He believed that their ties to the Dalean crown were a shackle on the purpose of the Heirs, they existed to fight Eldritch threats, not petty wars.

Aster himself was a Scarlatine, a cadet branch of the Prasinos line (a family that would later rule the province of Forever Fall), and it was likely that this was the only reason the new king listened to him. He was granted the independence of the order, in return for stepping down permanently from his duties. Aster agreed.

Aster then willingly decided to enter the Labyrinth, his oath kept him from service in the normal world, but the Heirs were his life, and the Moon Blood flowed in his veins, and so he found a way to continue serving the Moon without breaking his vow, though his hubris changed him irrevocably.

Chapter Text

June was drawing to a close, and Phos could only afford to give Jaune a few more days at most. It was hard to see much of Ruby left in the creature that lay in the bed. Her face had been replaced with a canine muzzle, broken teeth extending from her jaws. Her torso had cracked outwards a week ago, the wolf-like ribcage that had replaced it had necessitated Phos removing much of her clothes, as they stretched and pinched, threatening to cut off her ability to breathe. Instead, she was now covered by a loose, formless robe.

While the robe preserved her modesty, it only made her unseen changes all the more disturbing. She spent almost all of her time asleep, which was honestly for the best. She hadn’t woken for several weeks now, which Phos was thankful for. Last time she had, she had woken growling and screaming, eyes wide and sightless. Hands stuck halfway to paws had scrabbled desperately at her own face, feeling the malformed visage that she was now trapped in.

Phos had been forced to hold her down as she began scratching in her panic, eyes rolling madly as she screamed terrified, gibbering cries.

Now at least she slept somewhat soundly, only rising to light, troubled, writhing sleep for a few hours a week. Yet Phos worried, what kind of things was she experiencing in her deep slumber?

-----

“So, a Hunter reaches the end of the Labyrinth sane, for the first time in an age.”

Jaune's eyes jerked downward to look at the man in the chair. Though still slumped, like a puppet cut from its strings, hard eyes glittered below the brow of his hat.

“At least as sane as one of our kind can be.”

With what appeared to be a herculean effort, the hunter straightened himself in the chair. It almost seemed like he wanted to stand, but the metal claws of the chair held him fast.

“What is your name boy?”

Jaune stepped forward, away from the door. “Jaune Arc.”

The Hunter inclined his head in greeting.

“Opal Sands, last of the Crows.”

Jaune remembered the Crows, the Hunters of Hunters. Those of the order who, before the rule of two, were charged with hunting down hunters who became consumed by bloodlust.

“Are you... the one who’ll give me answers?”

Opal raised an eyebrow. “Answers?” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Ah, following The Walker in The Water I see. No.”

Jaune frowned, “Then what do I need to do?”

Opal grinned, “The Archive was never initially meant to be a punishment, a prison or a tomb. It was a trial. Those Hunters who succeeded were to be granted a single boon by the Moon Reborn. It was intended as a way for the strongest Hunters and those most sure of mind to be able to ask the Moon for a reprieve, an extension to their time before they became consumed. Over time however, more and more failed the trial, until the tales of wandering, lost Hunters overshadowed the Labyrinth’s true story.”

Jaune stepped forward, eager, finally seeing a way to help Ruby, “So I can ask the Moon for something?”

A cruel grin grew across Opal’s face. “Not yet. You may have reached the bottom, but you haven't finished the trial yet.”

Jaune sighed. “I think I can guess what I have to do.”

With a chorus of strange clunks and grinding sounds, the pitted claws of the chair released their prisoner. Opal dragged himself to his feet. His prosthetic arm clacked and clattered quietly as it began to move. His empty left sleeve started to writhe and billow, before a spectral limb burst from its end. The phantasmal arm was a pale green, wizened fingers covered with ghostly hair and tipped with sharp claws, halfway to beasthood.

Opal raised his weapon, a sleek saber of silver and black, not siderite, but still deadly. Attached to the rear end of the saber was a shorter blade. His movements were smooth and calculated as he slid into a stance, spurred boots scraping the warped and blood-soaked planks. His phantom hand reached up to grip and lower the brim of his hat with two fingers.

He breathed out heavily, his breath misting under the pressure he was exuding. “Aaaahhhh, how long has it been? For just one more moonlit night... the Last Crow joins the hunt.”

Despite the distance between them, Jaune could barely react in time to Opal’s charge, his silver sword grinding against a hastily raised blade, but still slicing across Jaune's cheek.

Opal didn't press his advantage, instead he took one long step back and leered, sliding his blade across his spectral palm. Despite the blade passing into the ghostly limb, it caused no damage, Jaune’s blood instead being sloughed off the steel and left in the green hand.

Opal brought the blood to his mouth and slowly ran his tongue across his palm, an uncontrollable heavy shiver rocking his body as his pupils blew. “Ah!” he was panting, “It’s been... so long... Fresh blood at last.

Opal’s head rocked to the side as, with a roar, Evelyn fired a bullet into his temple. The liquid metal bullet spread into a silver splatter shot with red, but did no damage through a roiling white barrier. Aura.

Jaune charged with a rapidly unfolded scythe, the starlit blade sweeping up at the crow. Opal bent and took a small step to avoid the singing blade, Opal was faster than he was, but Jaune hoped he could overwhelm him. Most of Jaune's strikes were blocked or dodged, but a small few did land, siderite drinking hungrily across the hunter's aura.

Eventually, Opal grew bored. Jaune saw it coming, but was overextended from a scythe swing. Opal’s blade crashed into his gut, a solid stab that caught and ground against his aura, sending him into an uncontrolled spin and crashing to the floor.

While a dangerous attack, Jaune had spent much of his time in the Archive practicing maintaining a strong aura cover. Despite his historically awful and unpracticed use of it, Jaune had a lot of aura, which turned a deadly attack into only a substantial drain on his reserves and a considerable psychological blow.

Jaune rolled to his feet, the Burial Blade had been knocked from his hands and now lay impaled in an old corpse against one wall. He rapidly reverted back to his daggers. It was likely a bad decision to have tried fighting someone like this with his scythe, despite how much he had improved in the year or so since it was forged. The Burial Blade was always designed for large targets after all, for people he had his knives.

It was sheer instinct that led Jaune to raise his right dagger defensively, an instant later a bullet crashed into the star-steel. Opal had drawn one of his pistols and fired. The bullet hit with much more force than Jaune was expecting, almost throwing him onto his back. He was lucky he hadn’t trusted that one to his aura.

Launching to his feet, Jaune attempted to overwhelm Opal using both daggers, but the older hunter began to quicken out of the way. Jaune couldn't help but notice that Opal's quickening felt shoddy and uncontrolled. Phos had said the technique was rediscovered, so maybe it hadn't been fully realised during Opal’s era? Either way, his opponent quickly stopped using the ability after generating some distance.

“Using the Crow daggers against me? How I miss them.” He gestured to the corpses even as he sidestepped a bullet. “No Hunter before you to come here against me held them.”

Jaune dashed forward to attack again, but found his daggers met by the opponent’s weapon. “The closest I was ever able to reach was this.” He grabbed his weapon with his second hand.

With a ringing sound, the two blades of Opal’s weapon split, leaving him with a dagger in his offhand which shot towards Jaune's gut.

“The Rakuyo was always too elegant a weapon for one like me.”

Now their positions were reversed, it was Opal who was in a fury of attacks, while Jaune was quickening out of the way. Jaune was more skilled at quickening, but Opal was leagues above Jaune in bladework.

Both flurries had resulted in hits, none of which had caused any damage through their auras, but there were differences in those.

Jaune's aura was more diminished, but still solid and smooth, while Opal's had suffered from the sapping properties of siderite. It seemed larger than Jaune's, but was uncontrolled, patchy and writhing, seemingly in pain.
Opal seemed surprised by Jaune's ability to dodge, and recieved a bullet to the head for his distraction. While the older hunter was reeling, Jaune plunged both blades into his gut. The aura spasmed wildly as it was eaten at by the star steel, weakening Opal's barrier.

Jaune was knocked away by a backhand, the older hunter not thinking to use his weapon in his anger. This time as he swung his sword, a wave of silver followed behind, his blade extended by a shining curve. Jaune ducked the starlit strike and charged forward. If his range was that much higher, Jaune's only possible option was to get in close.

As the fight continued, both kept landing occasional hits, Opal landed more but the sapping of the Blades of Mercy meant they the two remained fairly evenly matched. Jaune couldn't help but feel that Opal seemed... constrained, like it was a fight to keep his two inhuman arms in the motions he wanted, his attention split between fighting them and Jaune.

It was a shock to both hunters when their auras broke. They did so at nearly the same time, a strike of Opal's sword cut across Jaune's thigh, bringing a hot sting as shards of light fell away. The very next attack, a slice across Opal's shoulder, sent splintering cracks across his aura’s surface, as it collapsed into motes of glittering dust.
The fight stilled for a brief moment, before it returned with a vengeance.

Now when weapons landed there were not small flashes of light, but sprays of red, and Jaune knew he was solely disadvantaged now. Only siderite’s ability to drain aura had allowed him to keep pace with the older, faster, stronger hunter. That and the strange distraction that seemed to prevent Jaune holding Opal's full attention. Now that aura was gone, the damage caused by Opal's attacks were equal or exceeded the impact of his own, and the older hunter landed his strikes far more often.

The fight came to an end not long after. Jaune couldn't see out his left eye, covered with blood from a scalp wound as it was. Opal had been slowed by a lucky bullet to the leg, and both bore a variety of other injuries that had mostly reduced Jaune to a staggering wreck.

Opal's dagger stabbed forward as a dart of silver and black, to be blocked by Jaune. In the created opening a heavy spurred boot crashed into Jaune's chest, sending him flying across the floor. He was on his feet within seconds, running back in and enduring the ache. As he grew closer to Opal, he saw a cosmic guillotine building at the tip of the blade held above the older hunter’s head.

Jaune moved to the side in an attempt to avoid the falling arc of shining starlight, but as it reached him he felt an unusual lightness. Before Opal could recover from his swing, Jaune stabbed both knives into Opal's chest, but only one knife landed.

Opal gasped and choked, blood filling his lungs. The man slumped to his knees as pain finally began to register in Jaune's head. He tried to raise his right arm, but nothing came into view. Turning around just as the light left the Last Crow’s eyes and he slumped to the side, Jaune saw what had happened.

His arm lay about a meter away in a slowly spreading pool of blood. Still clutching his knife tight, but definitely separated from his shoulder.

Jaune felt hot red falling like a stream down his side, a sticky tide clutching at him as his shoulder screamed.
It didn't register to Jaune through his fear, confusion and pain but an icy chime had rung around the room as Opal collapsed. A high, clear ring that would have caught at the edge of human hearing. Above Jaune, the smear of silver light high above began to grow, filling the room more and more, until it engulfed the entire room, and with it a young, pained, hunter.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

Opal Sands

Opal Sands was a Vacuan hunter born in 185 BVT, in the middle of the Colonisation Wars. His young life in the small nation of Tlasolli far inland was not easy. Though the Vacuan region was not the same desert it is today, the ancient jungles were already dying away. Tlasolli’s lifeblood had dried up with the Great River that it used to sit at the head of, and it was reduced to a harsh, dry place.

Coupled with this, the Longshi Confederation from Western Anima and the Empire of Mantle from Solitas had both established colonies on the coast and were pushing inland. So was Vale, but that was far to the east of Tlasolli.

When Opal was seven, the Mistrali colony of Zhimindi to the west began a lucrative trade for Tlasolli's diamonds. Though considered valuable, historical spiritual reasons had prevented exploitation of the deposits until the nation fell on very hard times.

When word filtered through to the nearest Mantalian colony, Zwillingsast, or Twinbough in the modern tongue, they immediately wanted to control this trade, and began raiding campaigns on the diamond convoys. This led directly to the first major conflict between the two colonisers, which escalated the Colonisation Wars from invasions of local nations, to war between colonising superpowers.

In the chaos, Opal and his family fled, ending up in the Valean colony of Morningstar. Opal would join the Heirs of the Moon Reborn in 171 BVT at the age of fourteen, after his parents were killed by bandits taking advantage of the wartime chaos.

Following four years training in Vale, Opal would return to Vacuo in 167 BVT, shortly after the signing of the Vacuan Accords brought the Colonisation Wars to a close, and found it an unrecognisable and ungovernable wilderness of straight lines. Tlasolli no longer existed, most of it now regarded as part of the diminutive free state of Screp, with some of its territory forfeit to the neighbouring states of Dustcairn and Vintrack.

After almost breaking the Order’s tenets on avoiding mundane conflicts on several occasions while in Vacuo, Opal was directed to the only living Crow by the Order’s head, Vulner Wolfskin, as a way to control his anger. Despite a short apprenticeship, Opal would end up inheriting the position after his master’s death only a year later. It was now 165 BVT, and after only three years as the order’s resident crow, all hunters would be called for the fatal invasion of Oscuras in 162 BVT.

Though Opal did survive the invasion, returning with a missing arm, he was forced to flee into the Labyrinth after losing his other arm due to the infighting that engulfed the order later that year, at the age of only 23.

Chapter Text

The white void was silent, a pale, glowing, effervescent and all-encompassing light. Jaune hadn't even noticed the change in location. He had suffered injury before, he had the painful memories and pale scars to prove it, but never before had he suffered such permanent loss.

He felt lopsided, incomplete. His shoulder ached with intense pain, but it wasn’t the sensation that held his attention. Instead, he still felt like his arm was there, he could feel a nonexistent breeze on his skin, his muscles and tendons felt like they should still respond, and yet they were silent. He felt his remaining left weighing him down, dragging his body to the side without its twin for balance. An alien force that required permanent effort to fight.

His legs had locked ever since he realised what had happened, keeping him on his feet, but now he fell to his knees. His fall was strangely slow, collapsing as though steadied by gentle hands, rather than subjected to the uncaring strength of gravity. The silver void felt peaceful and comforting, but Jaune couldn't process it, still not noticing he was no longer in the Labyrinth.

Jaune couldn't say how long he knelt there, staring at his remaining hand and the space where the other should be, but it felt like years.

Eventually Jaune couldn't just sit there forever, as it finally registered how he should have long bled out. He turned his head slowly to look at his shoulder. His arm was still missing, the strike of Opal's moonlit blade had been unnaturally clean, the smooth cut through his shoulder exposed sheared muscle to the open air, yet his blood wasn’t falling. Instead it pulsed out in streams of red, upon which it writhed back into the stump, as though flowing through veins of air.

This was enough to wake him somewhat from his stupor, and led him to observe the empty surroundings. It didn't take him much effort to recognise it as similar to the last phase of the Nightmare Voyage and remember his entire purpose for his journey. Jaune made to stand, but immediately found himself tumbling to the side. Immaterial hands caught and eased him down onto his back, so as not to fall on his wound, but tears pricked at his eyes even so. He had automatically reached down to brace himself as he stood, only to rely on the support of a limb that was no longer there.

Jaune brought his remaining hand up to cover his eyes as he moved to curl up on the floor. The shock had begun to fade, but with it leaving, there was nothing to mask the other emotions. Ugly tears started to fall down his face as he took several deep shuddering breaths.

It took another long stretch of time before Jaune could bring himself to attempt moving again, but eventually he did. Deliberately ignoring the lack of his arm, he pushed himself gradually to his feet and looked out into the silver light.

It was calm and still, the air, if it was air, was tranquil and windless, but it didn't feel stagnant, just... peaceful. Besides feeling the air, Jaune could make out nothing in the surroundings. It was an endless white-silver void in front and behind, above and below. There was not even any distinction for the ground.

Once more, like he remembered from his initiation, he picked a direction and began to walk.

The void didn't transition quickly to the seafloor where he had met The Walker this time, just continuing on until eventually he couldn't bring himself to walk any further.

“Why do you stop, young hunter?”

Jaune turned at the voice to see someone he hadn’t expected to see again.

“Caryll?”

The Runesmith stood before him in the void, the strings of polished stones across her coat and her pale blonde hair below her black cowl were just as he remembered. When he turned to her, Caryll’s eyes were shut, but she slowly opened them to reveal the same shifting pools of solid quicksilver that he remembered. She didn't have her sword on her this time, her hands empty and held at her side.

She inclined her head in his direction. “Welcome back, to the outskirts of the Moon’s True Nightmare. You were here but for a few brief times before, enough for the Moon to measure your worth, before you passed to your next challenge. Few return as quickly as you have.”

Jaune relaxed slightly, “True nightmare?” his voice cracked.

Caryll inclined her head slightly in affirmation, “Yes, home and greatest weakness of the Moon. Though you stand at its farthest extent, far from anything consequential.”

Jaune shook his head to clear it, he had done all this with a purpose. “The Walker in The Water told me I could come here for answers, and Opal told me the Labyrinth was a trial to ask the Moon for a favour, are either of those true?”

Caryll took one of the many stones on her outfit into her right hand, and rubbed her thumb over the symbol scratched deep into it. “We shadows of the Moon do not lie in its service. The Walker is a mere mouthpiece, and while the Last Crow is a mad dog, he too cannot deliberately tell falsehoods to Hunters who come knocking.”

Jaune frowned. “Aster lied.”

“No.” There was a horrific hissing voice behind him. “You lied to yoursssssself, lad, I jusssst make the dream, you controlled the ssssscene.”

Jaune turned slowly and with rising panic, he tried to reach for his knife, but there was no arm to move, he was defenceless.

Caryll’s arm swept before him as she stepped forward to face the towering creature and its horrific mouth.

“Begone creature, you've served your purpose.”

Aster leant down, craning almost double to place his face beside Caryll’s. “I have yesssss, and yet I haven't received my reward.”

“Your reward is as it has always been, the blood of those who fail your little test.”

Aster growled, his massive hands clawing in anger as tendons writhed in a tensed neck. “Ignoring the child, that isssss not enough anymore! Ever sssssince the glut when the hunterssss sssslaughtered themsssselvessss and many ran into my tunnelsssss, I've had barely anything! Thissssss damn rule of two... No, I want my duessssss!”

Caryll’s eyes narrowed, “Your desires mean nothing. You are charged with a duty, and your payment is specified.”

“I tassssted the boy’sssss blood! He may have essssscaped, but he ssssstill failed!”

Aster stepped forward, stars within his cosmos eyes burning brighter.

“You shall... have your dues... in due time... Aster. Don't forget... who gave you... your reprieve. What is given... can be easily... taken... away”

The voice came from the side, the sound of bubbles and heaving gasps for air that punctuated the words allowed Jaune to easily recognise the speaker. It was the diver, The Walker in The Water.

Aster growled impotently, a heavy, violent sound that felt like it came from a place of deep anger, immense fists shaking with rage as it turned its eyes on the Walker. “Your giftsssss are poissssssoned, ssssslaver.”

“You knew... the terms. The only... poison... is that... you brought yourself. You made... the request... you knew... what it meant.”

The creature roared in frustration, rearing back to his full height, before taking a deep, steadying breath. “I will ssssslip my chain ssssomeday, maybe not today, maybe not even a thoussssand yearsssss from now, but eventually, I will be free, free to hunt, free to eat, free to feasssssst.”

With this, Aster turned and seemed almost to fade into the void.

The diver seemed almost sorrowful, if that could be determined through the faceplate. “Yes...Aster. You will... slip your chain... eventually. Though it is... unlikely to be... in the manner... you expect...”

Jaune felt a deep black pit at those words, as though he heard something not meant for him. He recalled that the Walker’s words were supposed to be only for the listener... had he evesdropped on something he shouldn't have? Regardless, he had the distinct impression that Aster’s fate was not linked directly to him. After a brief period of inactivity, the diver jerked minutely and turned to Jaune.

“Hello... again... sweet child.”

Jaune turned to the diver, “Its you again, The Walker in The Water?”

The suit took a few trudging steps forward. “That is indeed... a name I am... known by. I was... expecting... your return.”

Jaune moved forward and went to put his hands on the diver’s shoulders, only stopping when he remembered he didn't exactly have ‘hands’ anymore. “You told me I'd find answers down here!”

The suit placed a heavy weighted rubber glove on Jaune's head slowly. It was only then that he realised that at some point he had lost his hat. “And you shall... in... time.”

“In... time?” a look of betrayal stole across Jaune's face. “I don't have time!”

The suit turned slightly. “Here... everyone has... time. Walk with me... below the great... deep... sea.”

The diver turned fully and began to slowly trudge off into the void. Almost in despair, Jaune felt Caryll’s hand placed lightly on his uninjured shoulder.

“The Walker speaks true. Time in this place is disconnected from outside. You can't remain here forever, but while you do, nothing will change outside.”

“That's probably not as reassuring as you think it is.”

Jaune set off in the Walker’s wake.

It didn't take long for the void to begin to resemble the ocean again, the floor swiftly became sand, and the swirl of ocean currents began to play with Jaune's hair. There was a brief spike of pain as his shoulder contacted the saltwater, but that was very quickly completely gone, as though something had deliberately taken it away.

“I've always wondered, why does the moon have anything to do with the sea?”

Caryll looked at him out the corner of her eye. “All Great Ones have some degree of link with the sea. They are unknowable creatures, kin to the cosmos. More a part of the strange places beyond your world than your world itself. Humans know very little of what goes on under their waters, the ocean remains a scary, dark place, full of unknown and unknowable terrors, thus, unknown and unknowable terrors feel a connection to it. Or rather, your ability to rationalise them uses the ocean as an analogy for things you cannot understand.”

The walk along the seabed lasted for ages, an indeterminable time of rolling and and moving water, but eventually a shimmering far above told Jaune that their time underwater was almost over.

The air felt strange as they emerged from the waves, though that was likely just due to how long he had spent underwater. A thick mist filled the air, obscuring the sky, but before them was a cliff of smooth grey stone.

The Walker clanked forward, his heavy brass-plated boots grinding on the pebble shore. Jaune looked up the cliff, trying to find any sort of handhold.

“So... am I climbing again?”

The bell-like helmet of the diver turned briefly, “No.” The Walker then walked straight into the cliff, passing through as if it wasn't even there.

Caryll nodded at Jaune, who began to walk forward. As he approached the cliff he held his hand out, expecting resistance despite what he had seen, but he felt none, his hand sliding through into a strange chill.

The inside of the cliff was dark, so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. It was cold as well, and clutched at his skin and clothes with spectral tendrils. The darkness was a slog to trudge through, it resisted his passage as best it could, but its resistance was by all regards rather feeble.

All at once he was out of the darkness, and found himself stood atop a stone pillar, looking down off the edge at a thick mist below.

The scene he saw upon turning was almost quaint, a small house atop a hill, with a graveyard in between. Small white flowers bloomed all around, and far above the moon hung in sentinel, impossibly large, whole and bright.

It was only almost quaint though. The House was a smouldering wreck, roof and walls collapsed, leaving only charcoal beams, smouldering with cherry red. Smoke slowly whisped into the sky from the ashy wreckage. All the graves were overgrown with twisting grass and creepers. The entire place felt desolate and abandoned. Sorrowful, as though great pain was tied to the ruins.

The Walker lay nearby, slumped against a gravestone, the bulky suit deflated and empty. Caryll was nowhere to be seen, but a figure stood at the foot of the staircase that led up to the ruined house.

Jaune moved closer to the unmoving form, but stilled as it raised its head. Jaune wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, given all else he had seen, but it wasn't a larger than life figure made of porcelain and bone.

“Hello, Good Hunter.”

The dolls voice had an accent Jaune couldn't quite place. It was similar to a few he had heard in Atlas, but... richer, smoother.

“Hello.”

“I am a doll, here in this dream to speak with you.”

Jaune took a step closer. He noticed briefly that the doll too was missing an arm. Her right just as absent as his own. Before her on the ground, were the Burial Blade, Jaune's missing knife and his hat.

“About what?”

The doll curtsied slowly. “Whatever you desire.” She reached her hand up towards the sky, her gaze following its path. “The Moon is listening.”

Jaune stilled, this was it. Why he'd come here. He stepped forward again, eagerness almost overcoming him.

“How do I save her? Ruby? She accidentally drank some of my blood and is turning into a beast. How do I stop that and turn her back to normal?”

The doll tilted her head. “You can't. She is changed, she can never return to what she once was.”

Jaune's world cracked. He fell to his knees, all that effort, all that loss! His shoulder twinged painfully. “Is there really nothing that can be done? Is she just going to become a beast?”

The doll crouched down elegantly closer to him. “Not necessarily. She will remain changed, but the path of her change, that can be controlled.”

Jaune jumped forward, grasping the doll’s inhuman hand with his remaining one. Her glass eyes widened at the contact.

“How!?”

The doll released Jaune's hand, and gently rested hers on Jaune's healthy shoulder. “The Moon grants all who come here a single boon. As it is Moon’s Blood that has caused the girl’s situation, you can make this yours, if you like. But this is your only guaranteed gift. Spend it, and you forever fall merely on the Moon's capricious mercy.”

Jaune stood, “Spend it. Give her as close to normal a life as you can, I don't want her to have to deal with all this stuff. She didn't choose it like I did, it was an accident. Make her see as little, and be at as little risk, as you possibly can.”

The light from the moon overhead seemed to brighten a tiny degree. The doll stood too. “As you wish. She will remain changed to a degree, but unless she desires it, the knowledge she gains will fall to you, and your knowledge shall shield her. You have taken most of her risk, but with it some of her strength.”

Jaune sighed with relief and pulled himself to his feet. “It’s done.”

The doll leaned forward slightly. “Few Hunters have asked for boons on behalf of others before. Most ask for more time, a few for more power, some of the wisest or most foolish for knowledge, but very few for anything like you. Even among those, none in as dire a situation as you. You have lost an arm to the Labyrinth, and yet you didn't even consider asking for it back.”

Jaune almost reached to grab his injured shoulder, but stopped in time. “Honestly, it's been so little time that I hadn’t even started to consider it. ... but prosthetic technology has come a long way, and even down an arm, I still have my life and sanity. For now at least.”

The doll’s unmoving face seemed to radiate curiosity. “Interesting... I do this now, not on behalf of the Moon, but on my own initiative.”

The doll reached towards where her right arm should have been, and then within blinks it was back, as though it had always been there. With a gentle tug, the doll separated the arm again from the shoulder.

“I gave this to the last hunter to reach here. It was part of the boon he asked for, a way to still wield his weapons so he could continue to hunt. That young crow was already half blood-drunk when he reached here, as you know. While he still hunts at the end of the Labyrinth, no Hunters have reached here since his passing, and I grow tired of the near solitude. The crow can continue the fight diminished with but one arm, as it does not breach his terms, while I feel you can do better things with it. When you are ready and healed, wear it without fear, for it will answer to you, and know that wherever you go, you carry a piece of me to the waking world with you.”

Jaune tentatively took the proffered arm, it felt strangely warm, hard and without give, like one would expect from porcelain and bone, yet it felt tougher than one would expect, and thrummed with a sensation he couldn't quite describe.

“Thank you... but, why?”

The doll inclined her head. “I am no hunter, and yet sometimes, these fingers itch for something I cannot comprehend. They feel restless and high-strung, aching to grasp a reality that floats just out of my comprehension. A memory of some past self that I cannot touch, as though locked behind a silver mirror from which only tears can escape. When my arm passed to the crow, through him I could feel my fingers around a hilt, ghostly sensations that I could barely parse, but which scratched an itch I had thought unresolvable, bringing peace and calm to a portion of my mind that had been roiling in tempest for oh so many eons, trapped forcefully in a shaking box in the recesses of my subconscious, but screaming muffled cries to be released."

The doll paused.

“I do not gift my arm to you out of purely some altruistic generosity. Though I am bound to help hunters, I do it to help myself too, in the hopes that you, within the waking world, will allow me to finally feel whole again, or maybe even for the first time.”

The doll curtsied.

“I ask you indulge this simple doll this courtesy, if it please you.”

Jaune bowed back.

“As long as there is no catch, or hidden danger to accepting, and I know that you servants of the Moon cannot lie, then your gift is far more valuable to me than giving it is to you. I accept.”

A gentle smile seemed to spread across the doll’s face, though with the solid materials it was made from, Jaune was unsure how it could.

“Thank you, Good Hunter. There is but one matter left to mention. The Walker told you that you would recieve answers.”

Jaune was confused and cocked his head. “But I have? An answer to the situation with Ruby.”

The doll shook her head. “Ah, but that was no answer, it was a boon, and not what The Walker in The Water referred to. You reached that on your own initiative. No, the Moon has an answer that it wants to tell you, an answer to a question that you don't even realise you want to ask yet.”

Jaune's eyes were wide, this didn't sound good.

“As soon as you are recovered, head alone to your world’s city of Mistral. There, seek Darkness and Vice in the Highest House, they will lead you where you need to go.”

... Jaune wasn't impressed. “I thought this whole situation was going remarkably smooth and understandable for talking with creatures like Caryll and the Walker. What on earth does that mean? Can't you just tell me what to do directly?”

The doll shook her head. “No, this is what you must be told, for you to follow the path that you need to.”

Jaune sighed. “Right! I'll tell Phos. Doubt he'll be happy with me running off on my own.”

The silver light from the Moon grew brighter and brighter, until it began to cover everything as a white void. The last thing he saw was the doll’s face, and the last thing he heard was.

“Even so, you must.”

When Jaune blinked the light from his eyes, he was back in the entrance hall of the Labyrinth.

He had returned.

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

True Nightmares

True Nightmares are the only dreams that are fundamentally different from the norm. Both Dreams and Nightmares are only defined by their hostility to the visitor, but True Nightmares are not subject to this.

When a Great One ascends, a True Nightmare is created. The immediate vicinity, whether real or dream, leading up to and immediately following their ascension, is isolated in time. While elsewhere Great Ones are unkillable, merely retreating out of the world if ever defeated, True Nightmares are the Great One’s root, the one place where the death of their form means the death of their self. The one place where their will cannot refute their non-existence.

Within a True Nightmare, Great Ones bring their full force to bear. Elsewhere they may use a metaphorical finger, or at most a hand, but in a True Nightmare you face the full fury of the Great One.

Of course, this requires you to enter a True Nightmare, a task that is far from simple. Great Ones levy their full might to prevent any even straying into their heart without permission, but this doesn't mean that there aren't ways.

In addition, any interference in a True Nightmare has consequences. These are not copies of reality, but frozen points in time.

Chapter Text

The moment Jaune reappeared in the entryway, his shoulder began to bleed normally again. Evidently his walk along the ocean floor had been long enough to begin healing, because the blood flow was less than he was expecting. Yet it was still painful, messy and dangerous.

Disregarding his own safety, he ran for the door behind which Ruby was sleeping. He crashed through with his uninjured shoulder.

Phos was stood by Ruby's bedside, Embers Burst pointed at her head. The slamming of the door shook him out of a trance, and the gun almost went off.

“Jaune?” Phos’ voice was unsure and questioning, unable to believe that his apprentice had truly returned. Then his eyes focused on Jaune's stump. “Jaune!”

His cry was panicked and short, Embers Burst was quickly dropped and forgotten as he ran over to fuss about his apprentice’s shoulder.

“Bed. Now. Talk later.”

Jaune was manhandled quickly into one of the other beds in the infirmary. It was the same room he had undergone his initiation in. Phos ran around, pulling medical supplies out of drawers, and fretting over Jaune's shoulder.

Jaune began to feel the events of the last... he didn't know how long, weighing down on him, and gently drifted into sleep.

When he woke, Phos was still at his bedside. He'd dragged a chair in from one of the neighbouring rooms and was slumped over in sleep. Jaune's shoulder was a mass of bandages, but at least it wasn't bleeding everywhere.

Phos stirred as Jaune shifted, he seemed confused for a brief moment, before remembering why Jaune was in bed in the first place. Immediately he bolted upright and focused himself on Jaune, checking his shoulder.

“What in the name of Kos happened down there!?”

Phos’ voice was angry, but Jaune could tell it was anger born of worry. Gingerly, Jaune sat upright in the bed, still disadvantaged by his missing limb.

“First of all, I succeeded.”

Phos looked confused, “Succeeded?”

Jaune nodded, “Yes, with Ruby. She should be fine now.”

Phos started and looked behind him. In his worry for his apprentice he had all but forgotten the younger girl. Ruby was still malformed, looking more beast than human, but her sleep was calmer, no cries had interrupted his own sleep, and the more extreme features had begun to recede.

“How?”

Jaune smiled, “A gift from the Moon.”

Phos stilled, looking at Jaune's stump, “What else did you have to give up?”

With confusion, Jaune searched Phos’ expression for some more information, “Give up? What do you mean?”

Phos grabbed him by his whole shoulder, “Great Ones don't give gifts like that freely, not even the Moon. What did you have to give up in exchange!?”

Jaune tried to flash a reassuring smile, but his own emotions at his loss made it a dark and hollow thing. “Nothing. Apparently the purpose of the Labyrinth has been forgotten over time as it’s become more dangerous. It's supposed to be there as a trial for Hunters, with the reward being a single gift from the Moon. I took Ruby's survival as mine. She can't go back to normal, but she'll be as protected as possible.”

Phos slumped back into his seat. “You used a free boon for that? You truly are a bleeding heart.”

Jaune smiled again, a far more relaxed and gentle one this time, “She said that too, or something to that effect.”

“She?” Phos had no idea who Jaune was referring to.

“Yeah, the Doll. She said most people ask for more time, some for power or information.”

Phos looked off into the distance, stroking the stubble on his chin, “Information...”

Jaune looked to the side, “Oh, speaking of the Doll...”

The arm she had given him lay on the bed under his hand. Phos had evidently been so occupied with treating him that he hadn’t noticed the arm, not even when he'd stripped him of his coat and shirt. Grasping the porcelain structure, he noticed some things he hadn’t before. Fitting for it having been from a female Doll, it was thinner and more elegant than his real arm, but whoever made it, indeed if it was made and not just created via a dream, had gone to great pains to detail a defined musculature into it.

It was mostly an off-white, covered in thin black craquelure. Gold and red detailing spiraled around the edges of each piece. It was beautiful, but as much as he appreciated the gift, he would have preferred to keep his original arm.

“She gave me this.”

Phos looked at the arm, but seemed loathe to touch it, “Just... gave it to you?”

Jaune nodded, “Yes. She can apparently still feel through it, and I think she just wanted to feel a weapon in her hand. She was intrigued by how I didn't even think of asking to heal my arm.”

Phos looked troubled, “Hmm... well, I won't stop you, but I'm not convinced. Now... What exactly is going to happen with Ruby?”

Jaune nodded, “Essentially, I'm taking her burden. Unless she wants to, she won't grow to see more, and my knowledge will protect her. She couldn't go back to how she was before the blood, but she shouldn't progress too far.”

Phos stroked his stubble again, “So it's almost like Qrow’s situation with Ozpin. She has some power, but it's tied to you... you do realise that this is going to accelerate your own changes, right? Not by much, but you will begin losing yourself faster now.”

Jaune nodded, “Yes, but she's involved because of me, I should be the one to take the burden, until she wants to.”

Phos nodded as well in acknowledgement, “I understand. It’s your choice at the end of the day. Is there anything else you need to tell me about your time down there?”

Jaune sighed, “Just one thing for now, and you're not going to like it.”

Phos slumped in his seat and groaned, “I already don't.”

“As soon as you are recovered, head alone to your world’s city of Mistral. There, seek Darkness and Vice in the Highest House, they will lead you where you need to go.”

Phos dropped his head into his hands, “I really don't like it.” With a groaning breath of exasperation he looked back up again. “But I guess I don't have any choice.”

-----

Jaune looked down at his scroll with a heavy heart. It had been a day or two since he woke up, and Phos had finally let him out of the Archive. His shoulder was aching now, as though all the sensations that had been numbed were back with a fury.

He knew what he had to do but... he didn't want to do it. He had warned Winter about his decent into the Labyrinth, and he didn't want to leave her worrying about him for any longer than necessary. Then again, he didn't want her to know about the loss of his arm. Call it pride or call it fear, but Jaune didn't want Winter to think less of him. Consciously, of course, he knew that Winter wasn’t shallow enough to do that, but equally... people acted on their subconscious.

With trepidation, Jaune pressed the voice call button. Deliberately avoiding the one for video calls.

“Hey Winter.”

“Jaune! Are you okay?”

Winter’s voice was bright, relief and worry palpable.

“Yeah... I'm okay.”

“Oh...” Winter had obviously picked up on the poorly hidden shame in Jaune's voice. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing!” he responded a bit too quickly, “Everything's fine.”

“Jaune... if there's anything I can do to help-“

“No! It's fine. Really. I don't need your help with anything!”

“Oh...” Jaune could hear the sadness in Winter’s tone.

“Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, just...”

“Don't worry, I know...” Winter’s voice sounded weaker than Jaune had heard it since those cells in the ice tunnels. “Just, remember... I'm here if you need me.”

“Thank you...”

An awkward silence broke the conversation. Jaune didn't remember that ever happening before while talking with Winter, ever since Winter’s misunderstanding at New Eisgarten, talking to her had always been so easy.

“So... tell me if you're ever in Vale and... yeah.”

“Yeah... I'll... I'll see you later.”

“Bye Winter.”

“... Bye.”

Jaune ended the call.

With a growl he almost grabbed his shoulder, but stopped himself just before he could. Jaune slumped down to the ground beside the tombstone he had been leant against and thumped the hard ground with his fist. He was filled with anger and shame at himself, he had messed up a conversation that he knew would have gone fine if he had only been more open.

This new distance with Winter was entirely his fault.

But that only made it feel worse.

-----

Ruby had been drifting in a sea of red and black. She hadn’t known where she was, but she had known the sea hurt. It had grasped at her with sharp claws and... she didn't even know. They were sharp and slimy, they tore and grasped and she couldn't see them. She didn't know what they were!

She had almost given up several times, but on the brink the world had turned white, and she had been granted a slight reprieve.

Things had changed recently. There was a moon in the sky. It had always been there, but it was a wan, pale thing, barely visible against a sky of stars. Now it was brighter, glowing silver, and the sea seemed to be sluggish and in pain.

-----

It took about a week for Ruby to regain consciousness. One of the two hunters kept a constant vigil while she was recovering, and luckily she was actually starting to look more normal. The Beastly attributes that she had grown were well on their way to receding completely, but they were not totally gone.

Ruby woke to a headache. Everything just felt... more. The musty smell of the Labyrinth felt like moldy cloth on her nose. The slightest shift and creak of wood sounded like a cannon shot. As she cracked her eyes open, the mild candlelight wasn’t overwhelming, but she could see everything within the shadows.

She groaned, screwing her eyes shut. It was Jaune who was by her bedside this time.

“Hey, easy...” Jaune noticed Ruby was awake very quickly, and so spoke gently to reassure her. Even at the low volume he used, Ruby still flinched as it sounded deafening.

Ruby's eyes cracked open slightly, “What happened?” Even her own voice felt extremely loud.

Jaune tried to help ease her up into a sitting position, “The changes got too much for you and you've been passed out for a while. Everything is going to be okay now though.”

“Oh... that's... good...” a yawn split Ruby's still slightly too big jaw as she passed once more into sleep.

-----

Over the next month Ruby and Jaune were both in recovery. August was about to begin, and there were only a few scant weeks until Ruby was due to start at Signal. Jaune's weapons had luckily returned with him, so he hadn’t lost them at the base of the Labyrinth.

Jaune's shoulder had healed over completely, and they were only waiting a week or so to allow it to settle before he’d try the doll’s arm. Ruby had panicked when she saw Jaune's injury, and her expression still fell whenever she caught a glimpse of it. Seeing an injury like that had been like a shock of ice water to her.

Ruby was changed. It was undeniable. Several traits she had developed while unconscious had remained, and they began to return in greater force when she hit extremes of emotion. Most notably, a pair of large wolf ears remained on her head. These were the only trait that normal people seemed to be able to see, Phos’ best guess was that the existence of Faunus meant people were used to seeing animal traits, but not to the extent Ruby had, so they just saw the one.

As well as the ears she had a ragged tail and her yellowed teeth now resembled those of a dog more than those of she had before, set in a jaw that was still slightly too large to be human. At extremes of anger, happiness and sadness, or when surprised, hair would begin to creep across her skin and her limbs would change, lengthening bones and fingers, and claws bursting from her nailbeds. Her senses had remained heightened, her smell and hearing were much more sensitive, and she could see in near darkness with ease. It hadn’t really shown itself yet, but Phos was convinced that her general physical capabilities would probably increase in the same way.

It was Ruby's physical changes that made Jaune realise that Marlin Fathoms may have been onto something when he called Father the God of Animals. If the blood and the blessing of the moon could mutate Ruby like this, why couldn't it have been a Great One that was the initial cause for the Faunus?

Ruby wasn’t entirely sure how to take her changes. She was thankful to be alive of course, and honestly in many ways they were perks, but they were still changes she hadn't asked for, and after the White Fang protest in Patch a year ago, she was worried how her family would react. Sometimes when she caught herself in the mirror she still started, as though seeing someone who wasn't her staring out from behind her silver eyes. Regardless... she was growing strangely comfortable in her new skin.

-----

Phos sighed as the bullhead came in to land on Patch. It was a Friday in mid-august, Signal started up next Monday, and he was flying Ruby back home. He'd left Jaune at the Archive, knowing that, even with his missing arm, Jaune was perfectly able to fend for himself for a few days.

He was not looking forward to Tai’s reaction. Neither was Ruby. The girl was half curled up in her chair, new ears pressed down against her skull.

“Don't worry Ruby, it'll be fine. If anyone gets in trouble, it's not going to be you.”

It was not fine.

The two of them had walked quickly over to Tai’s cabin. Luckily Qrow had long left. Phos had barely knocked on the door before Tai had thrown it open.

“Is she okay?!”

Phos made a placating gesture, “She's alive.”

“Is. She. Okay.”

Phos sighed, “She's okay.” He then stepped to the side, revealing Ruby, who’d been hiding behind him.

Immediately Ruby was engulfed in a hug. Tight and smothering. Her nose was immediately filled by the smells of a hot summer’s evening.

For a moment she thought everything would be the same, but then Tai pulled back to see her, and he saw her ears. He stilled and several emotions ran through his eyes, from confusion, very rapidly to anger. He stood quickly and rounded on Phos, grabbing him by the shirt and lifting him off his feet.

“What have you done to my daughter?!” he roared.

Phos put his hand gently on the one Tai was holding him by. “My apprentice risked his life and lost an arm ensuring that your daughter lived. I would think you should be happy she came back to you at all, even if she looks slightly different.” Phos’ voice was cold, he had thought better of Tai.

“Almost everyone on Patch knows us! What do you think is going to happen if Ruby shows up and she's suddenly a Faunus now? How am I going to explain this?”

Now Phos realised, Tai’s attitude wasn't because Ruby looked like a Faunus now, but what that would mean for her and the people she's known.

He sighed, “I don't know. Maybe just say that you got someone to use their semblance to hide it for a while. If you don't like that idea ask Oz. Look, your daughter is alive, not at risk, and possibly even stronger for her ordeal, and you're giving her a panic attack. So I suggest you stop your outburst and remember that she is the most affected here.”

Tai immediately dropped Phos and went over to comfort Ruby. Picking her up into a hug and gently rubbing her back. When he turned back to Phos though, his eyes instantly became steel. “I don't want to ever see your face here again. You've caused more than enough trouble already.”

Tai then slammed the cabin door in Phos’ face, leaving him abandoned outside in the falling light.

-----

“Are you ready Jaune?”

It was finally time. Jaune's shoulder was healed and recuperated enough that they were going to attach the Doll’s arm. It was a fitting day as well, as it was Jaune’s fifteenth birthday.

As much as he knew he should, Jaune couldn't bring himself to call anyone and inform them of his situation. He hadn’t called his family since he left the Labyrinth, and he still hadn’t told Winter about his arm. He knew that he was far out of his depth in the Labyrinth, and he was lucky to have made it out with only a missing limb, but that didn't stop him feeling like a failure.

Jaune let out a deep breath, holding the arm in his hand. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

With bared teeth, Jaune pressed the base of the arm to his stump. Immediately the area of contact lit up with a bright silver light, blinding both hunters. Jaune's shoulder flared with pain, far greater than the pain he remembered from the wound. He let out a grunt through gritted teeth.

When the light faded, the arm was very much affixed to his shoulder. A porcelain shield covered most of the area, from which the arm projected. It still looked much like it had before, still off-white porcelain and bone, lither than his other arm, and in many ways vaguely feminine.

He tried moving it. Initially it was ever so slightly sluggish, but it did raise at his command. It felt... strange. He had a sensation of touch from it, but not hot or cold, and what touch he could feel felt indescribably different from what he knew. The fingers clacked slightly as he tested them.

“Any issues?”

Jaune continued testing the arm for a minute or so, “I don't think so?”

He moved it a bit more, “Though its definitely fused to my shoulder. I don't think I could take it off if I tried.”

For the rest of that day, Jaune was just getting used to the arm. It was different from his old one. Longer, for one, by a small degree, and slightly stronger he thought, though that might be because he could reinforce it with his aura just like any other inanimate object. Most of all though, it didn't feel like him.

That evening, the two of them sat down for one final meal.

“So, you're healed, which means tomorrow you're off to Mistral.”

Jaune nodded. “Yes.”

Phos sighed and rubbed his brow. “I really don't like this, but I don't have a choice.”

Phos's rubbing moved to his temple in exasperation, as he let out a short grunt. “I may not be able to go with you, but I can give you some advice. Mistral is dangerous. The city is a hotbed of gangs and criminal groups that practically run most of the city, if not the kingdom. Don't antagonise anyone. If you can, stay out of the seedy outskirts or the darker areas of the underground regions.”

Phos groaned, “I know you won't listen to me, given you have the self preservation instincts of a drunk lemming, but just try not to piss off any of the major syndicates.”

“I don't want criminals chasing me down any more than you do.”

Phos snorted and waved his agreement, “I have one final piece of advice. ‘Seek Darkness and Vice in the Highest House’. If you're in Mistral, the Highest House can only refer to one thing. Jaune... have you heard of the Venis Midderas?”

Jaune thought for a moment, “That's a Mistrali religion right?”

“Almost. It's the Mistrali religion, pretty much. It absorbed all the others. Of course, it's not practiced as much as it was before the Great War, but it's still more common than religion is over here. Venis Midderas means Divine Pantheon effectively, the religion has thousands of gods, most of them minor. There are three hundred ish major ones with their own temples scattered across the continent. Each of these gods is the god of something, and each has two halves, a ‘Rein’ half and a ‘Kald’ half. The Rein half embodies change, while the Kald half represents stagnation. So prayers to the Rein half of a fire god could be to start or put out a fire, while prayers to the Kald half could be to keep something burning or stop it from igniting. You get the idea.”

He took a deep breath.

“I’d bet my remaining eye that the Highest House is the main temple of the Venis Midderas, on the third level of Mistral City.”

--------------- Hunter Files --------------

The Doll

The Doll has been seen by few Hunters since the second age and the days of Yharnam. The nursemaid of the Moon Reborn, it is safe to say that there are few beings as close to its Eldritch heart.

Outside of dreams, the Doll would not function, as it is just a construct animated by memory and intention. It has never been known to be hostile, and spends all its time at the right hand of the Moon, as the herald of its closest word.