Whoops-a-daisy, misjudged how long this one would take. Ah well, it's here now, and only slightly late. To all you lovely readers and fantastic people, I am proud (and a little sad) to give you the last chapter of Sergeant Arc.

"Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few"

Winston Churchill

Chapter Twenty-Nine—Where the Heart is

The pool was still. Placid. Not a ripple disturbed its glassy surface. The liquid was a putrid brown, reflecting the sheer white cliffs that circled it, trapping the foul water within the bottomless pit of snowy ceramic. A white boulder perched on the edge of the cliffs, its face pockmarked with cracks and crevices that crisscrossed the cube like scars. Jaune watched the boulder teeter, balanced precariously on the tip of oblivion. It tipped forwards, backwards, forwards again, before finally tilting too far, tumbling downwards in an endless fall, before it finally landed in the pool with a splash. Tidal waves were sent crashing outwards, reverberating against the cliffs and creating whirlpools of turbulence. The boulder bobbed there for a second, as if hesitant, before slowly, like a sinking ship, it was dragged below the surface, disappearing with barely a sound, to be replaced once more by the immobile body of liquid, as unending as the horizon itself.

"Mr Arc? Mr Arc, did you hear what I just said?"

Jaune blinked. His eyes peeled themselves away from the cup of coffee he'd be lost within, rising along the length of a green sleeve, before finally coming to a rest on the piercing brown of Professor Ozpin's concerned eyes. "Sorry sir, what did you say?"

Jaune was once more sitting in Ozpin's office at the top of Vale's CCT tower, the panoramic view of Vale sweeping around them and the steady ticking of the clock above them permeating the wide space. He was in the same chair he'd been in all those weeks ago when Ozpin had first suggested he join the military. How much had changed since then. How much he'd changed.

Rather than be offended that Jaune hadn't been listening to a word of what he'd just said, Ozpin merely smiled sympathetically, as if he'd fully expected Jaune to be lost within his own world after… well, everything. "I merely informed you that Atlas has rather rapidly pulled its forces out of Valesian territory and has attempted to open channels for peace talks to proceed. Thanks to Miss Nikos' and the students of Beacon's efforts, Vale is safe; Grimm activities have been at an all-time low; and this war is finally coming to an end."

"That's great," Jaune murmured, his words as lifeless as the drowning sugar cube he'd been watching.

Ozpin leaned closer. "You don't sound particularly thrilled to hear that the war is over."

Jaune grimaced. "I am happy sir, I just…" He grasped for the right way to say what he wanted. "It just cost too much," he eventually mumbled.

"Wars always do," sighed Ozpin. The professor removed his glasses and began to clean them on the green bandana around his neck, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. For the first time since seeing him on the podium all those months ago, Jaune was struck by how old Ozpin seemed. It wasn't just the white of his hair or the wrinkles around his eyes, though both seemed to have increased since last he'd seen the headmaster. No, it was the eyes that struck Jaune as old, those ancient, weary eyes that seemed to be always holding back so many memories. Just how much had those eyes seen?

"Professor," began Jaune hesitantly, "why did Salem start this war? What did she want?"

"The destruction of all that is good in this world," Ozpin answered, leaning back in his chair and replacing his glasses. "It has always been her goal—dare I say, her very nature—to return man to the dust. She has tried many methods over the years. I believe this war was her most recent, and perhaps most successful, attempt. Fortunately, it will also be her last." A small smile slipped out from Ozpin. "You've done mankind a great service by killing her."

"It wasn't me that killed her," Jaune replied, feeling that cold pit in his stomach open up again. He'd already explained to Ozpin what had happened when he'd gone to finish Salem, yet he'd done so vaguely, only naming the main events, never the specifics. The memories were still too raw for that. "What now?" Jaune asked instead.

"Well, I suppose that is up to you. If I'm not mistaken, Mr Winchester has already spoken to his superiors in the military, rather loudly I might add, that you and your section are to be forgiven for deserting your post on the grounds that you were under orders from a member of the Council of Vale to do so."

Jaune looked at Ozpin, confused. "But, we weren't."

"No, you weren't, but they don't know that, and the council member in question is more than willing to lie in your favour."

"Who's the council member?"

"Why, myself of course."

Jaune smiled. It was good to know that Ozpin had his back. "So I can go back to the military then?"

"If that is your wish. However, there is one other avenue I believe you ought to consider." Jaune's eyebrow rose inquisitively, until Ozpin placed a single, crisp sheet of paper in front of him, and he caught sight of the Beacon insignia in the top right-hand corner. His eyes trailed down the page, spotting a dotted line at the bottom, underneath which was written the word 'signature'. His eyes widened. "I believe you have more than proven your capability. There is a place at Beacon for you, if you so wish it."

Jaune stared at the sheet of paper before him and all the promise it brought. For the longest time, this was the only thing he'd ever wanted, enough so that he'd lied and cheated his way into the school. All he had to do was sign the document now, and before he'd know it, he'd be back in school with his team, sleeping in Oobleck's classes or doodling in Port's. He'd get his shot at being a hero again. A shot at doing his dream. His hand twitched towards the pen on Ozpin's desk, his fingers reaching for the stylus that would change his life.

But then he paused, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air, before retreating back to his side. Yes he'd complete his dream, but it would mean leaving his section behind. Could he really do that? Just turn his back on them after everything they'd been through together? But didn't he deserve this, after everything he'd been forced to endure?

"Think on it," Ozpin offered, seeing his uncertainty. "A decision as big as this should be given sufficient time to dwell on. But be aware that the longer you wait the more lessons you will fall behind on. I will expect an answer from you by the end of the week. You may go now."

Jaune nodded gratefully, standing up from his chair and making his way to the lift. His mind was a maelstrom as he pressed the button for the ground floor, thoughts chasing each other around and around. He bit his lip as the doors shut, and the elevator began its descent back down to Remnant. He had no idea what he was going to do about Ozpin's offer. For now, he just wanted somewhere quiet where he could be alone with his thoughts. He knew just the place. The elevator pinged, the doors parted, and Jaune stepped out into the sunshine, his destination brimming in his mind.

He was going to the graveyard.

Ozpin remained seated, watching as the doors to the elevator slid shut, closing the troubled teen inside. He remained that way as the number on the top of the elevator ticked down, tracking the descent of the lift. It was only when the display of red dots finally showed a G that Ozpin released the breath he'd been holding, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them on his bandana again. They were spotless, and he knew it, but he found the action to be surprisingly comforting in its mundanity.

Once finished with the reassuring circular motion, Ozpin put his spectacles back on, then stood up and strode to the window behind him. He stared outwards at a city still reeling from the shock of what had just happened to it, yet nonetheless trying its best to claw its way back to normality. It was a testament to the people's resolve, not their weakness, that they fought so hard to bring back that shred of comfort that came with what was ordinary. Ozpin didn't despise them for that desire, however naïve it might have been. He had set up the Huntsmen academies specifically to allow the people to continue to live their sheltered lives, safe from the monsters outside. So long as there were protectors to enable that lifestyle. But now…

Ozpin looked down at the hand holding his mug of coffee, at the slender fingers that curved around its handle. Deft despite his age, calloused despite his occupation as a teacher. Deep down, somehow, he knew these would be the last fingers he'd ever have. Salem was dead. His punishment from the gods was over. This life would be his last. The realisation should have brought him relief; hadn't that been all he'd ever wanted? To be free from his curse? Yet now that he was here, he found himself afraid. Death, once a concept so abstract, was now breathing down his neck for the first time in centuries. His own mortality was not what scared him though; it was what would happen once he was gone.

Without him, who would be left to continue to protect the civilians' way of life? Who would fight and bleed and die, so that they might live in comfort and ignorance. Who would lead the next generation of heroes?

Movement caught the corner of Ozpin's eye. He glanced downwards, way, way down to street level, just in time to spot a blob of blond hair pass beneath him towards the bullhead launch pad. For a moment, Ozpin could only stare at the figure trudging across the Beacon quad. Then he smiled to himself, brought his mug up to his lips, took a long draught of coffee and returned to his seat.

There would be heroes in the next generation. But more importantly, there would be leaders for them. His long and weary watch over the world was finally coming to a close. Now he had to trust that someone else would take up the torch that kept the darkness at bay. The only thing he could do now was prepare them for that immense responsibility.

So it was with that thought that Ozpin settled down at his desk, mug in one hand, pen in the other, and began to work through a large pile of paperwork. He still had a school to run, after all.

Spotless white filled her view. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, even white light shining down on her from white lightbulbs held within white fixtures. It was one thing Bea wouldn't be missing, she thought to herself as she strode through immaculate hallways and past pristinely-kept doors. That and the meals. You'd have thought Atlas could have at least bothered to provide decent food for their army.

Bea sighed. She was stalling. Allowing herself to get caught up in all the memories of the place she'd spent the last two years of her life in. It was perhaps understandable, given what she was about to do, but unprofessional still.

So, allowing herself only a single moment to run a hand through her electric blue hair, she rose to her full height and marched the rest of the way to the new General of the Atlesian military's office.

When she arrived there however, it wasn't the general she first saw, but a familiar, overexcited, ginger-haired teen. "Salutations, Miss Bea!"

"Good afternoon, Penny," Bea smiled. What could she say; the girl had grown on her. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise. My father is inside with the General now; he shouldn't be too long."

"Not to worry, I can wait," Bea assured her. "How've you been?"

"Well, thank you. Now that Watts is no longer general, my father has been free to come home and work on more of his projects. He has been in a much better mood. He's even promised that I can visit Vale now that the hostilities have died down. I have always wanted to visit the Kingdom. I wonder if I will be able to make any new friends over there."

"It's nice," agreed Bea. "Definitely warmer than Atlas. I'd warn you to be careful in Vale, but it's pretty clear you can look after yourself." At this, Penny blushed a deep crimson.

Just then, the door to the General's office swung open, and out walked a rotund man with a white beard. He smiled at Penny, before turning his warm eyes to Bea. Bea was immediately struck with how grandfatherly the man looked—the sort of man children would crowd around by a warm fire on a winter's evening to hear stories of faraway Kingdoms and forgotten adventurers.

"This is Miss Bea, father," Penny excitedly informed him. "She's the woman who fought Watts."

"A pleasure to meet you," the man smiled easily, bowing his head slightly. "That man was a true menace, and a dangerous one at that. I can't thank you enough for bringing him to justice." Bea accepted the gratitude with a nod. "I can see you're waiting to speak to the General. I shan't keep you waiting. Come along now, Penny." And off they two of them went, the man taking long, heavy steps, whilst the girl bobbed along besides him, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she chatted excitedly with her father. Bea couldn't help but smile.

Reminding herself of why she was here, Bea turned back to the metal door in front of her and knocked twice, before stepping back and awaiting permission to enter. "Come in," came a stern, feminine voice. Bea took a quick breath to still her thrumming nerves, then pushed open the door and strode in, giving herself no more time to second-guess herself.

General Schnee sat behind a large, curved desk laden with papers and forms. Her hair was pulled back into its standard bun, and the general uniform she wore seemed to shine with unquestionable seniority. Bea had to admit, rather begrudgingly, that the uniform fitted Winter well—very well in fact. She supposed that giving orders to other people was probably second-nature to her by now.

"Commander Blitz," greeted Winter, putting down the pen she'd just been using to sign some form or other and indicating the seat across from her, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Bea remained standing. She didn't intend for this to take long.

After they'd imprisoned Watts, the following days had become a blur of rapid activity. The two women had done what had never occurred in the entirety of Atlas' history: they'd overthrown their general. No one had known what was happening. The moment Bea had imprisoned Watts and Winter had denounced him as a traitor to Atlas and the world, a power vacuum had been created. Watts had still had lots of allies, many of whom shared his belief that the war was justified. Any number of scenarios could have played out, from Watts being released, to him being succeeded by someone just as bad, to the collapse of the entire Atlesian military.

Or at least, it might have done, had one person not stepped up to plug the vacuum Bea had created. Winter Schnee. Bea had to admit, the woman was good. She'd known exactly who'd needed persuading, who'd needed threatening and who'd needed imprisoning. She'd used the very same emergency powers which had given Watts such autonomy to secure herself as head of the Atlesian military, then to pull out of Vale and retreat to Atlas, where she'd called for an immediate cease-fire. The Council of Atlas had been livid, not least of all, as Bea had come to learn, Winter's own father. Yet with the military on Winter's side, there was nothing the Council could do. She'd all but made them her puppet, and Bea had heard rumours that she even intended to depose the lot of them and replace them all with fresh council members. Bea had been the one to end the old order of things in Atlas; but it would be Winter who'd lead in the new age.

There were those who still whispered fervently of the Tyrant Schnee; of the traitor who had stabbed Atlas in the back right at their moment of triumph, who had violently and forcefully upended the great leaders of Atlas and placed herself on the throne of their bones. There weren't many of them, however. Very few people had welcomed the war, and fewer still had had much love for the Council, corrupted and privileged as it had been. Winter was ushering in a new chapter in Atlas' existence, and although change was scary, it was also necessary. And if anyone had asked Bea, she would have told them that there was no one better suited to the immense task than Winter Schnee.

And as for Bea? Well she'd been happy to simply fade into the background once more, allowing Winter to take on the immeasurable mantle of responsibility that came with general. By the time Watts had been arrested, she'd simply wanted to go home. And by home, she didn't mean Atlas.

"General Schnee. I've come to resign," Bea stated. She'd thought long and hard about this decision, and although it destroyed her to leave behind such a huge part of her life, she knew she couldn't stay here anymore.

Winter glanced up sharply, and Bea could have sworn there was rebuke in those icy eyes. "Now why would you do that?"

"I don't believe it's right for me to remain in the Atlesian army," Bea informed her. "Some of the men still see me as the foreign traitor who overthrew their leader. There isn't a place for me here. I feel it would simply be best if I just left."

Winter studied her from across the table. "Why else?"

Bea paused at the question. "What do you mean?"

"That's not the only reason you're leaving. You are many things, Blitz, but a coward is not one of them. You would not be running from names and faces."

Bea sighed. Nothing got past Winter. "I need to return home. To Vale I mean," she clarified when Winter opened her mouth to point out that she was home. "I… I've been gone for too long."

Winter regarded her curiously, as one might a piece of abstract art. "Your brother… the one you told me about… he's in Vale, is he not?"

"He is." Winter hummed, drumming her fingers on the desk. Bea was finding it increasingly hard not to squirm under Winter's interrogative gaze. She didn't know why. Winter had looked at her with disdain more times than Bea could count in the two years she'd been here. Yet now something had changed. Now… now Bea felt an odd sense of shame at Winter's look. As if she were letting her down. "So may I leave now?" she asked.

"No," stated Winter.

What? "I… I beg your pardon?"

"No. I reject your resignation. You do not have permission to leave."

Bea stared at Winter, hardly able to believe the words she was hearing. "With all due respect, general, you can't stop me."

"With all due respect, commander, I can. Technically speaking, Atlas is still at war. That means I have the right to conscript troops into active service. Failure to comply with said conscription for non-conscientious objectors is an offense that will lead to being court-martialled and arrested."

Bea was flabbergasted. Winter was actually trying to trap her in the army. Just who did she think she was? "Why do you even care what I do?" she demanded.

"Because," Winter sighed, seeming to force the next words out between her teeth as if they caused her physical discomfort, "despite how much it pains me to admit this, you're a good soldier, Blitz. Not just in terms of ability, though that is unquestionable, but morally too. It was you who convinced me to do the right thing and move against Watts. Without you, I would not have had the courage to do so, and countless civilians' blood would be on my hands."

"So I'm to be your moral compass?" Bea snapped.

"Among other things. Adviser to the General, for one. I would consult you on any major matters of national or international importance, and you would help me to find the best course of action."

"We're too different," warned Bea, "we'd argue on everything."

"I'm counting on it. The last thing I want is more yes-men. Goodness knows I've had enough of them in the swarm of sycophants that seem to follow me wherever I go."

"And what if I refuse to help you?" asked Bea, crossing her arms. "You can't make me take this position."

"No, I cannot. I can only ask." Winter's voice had become quieter, and to Bea, it might have even sounded sincere, for just the briefest of moments. "Bea, please. All my life I've been surrounded by people who would sell their own daughters to become more powerful. I…I fear I'll follow them down that path without even realising it. I want you here with me, because I know you're one of the only people who will stand before me, look me in the eye and tell me what I'm doing is wrong if it's so needed. You claim there's no place for you here; well I'm asking you to take a place beside me."

Bea hesitated. She was torn, she really was. Winter had always seemed like such an independent figure, the sort of person who could take on the world and win if she so wished, that to image her admitting she needed help was incomprehensible. Yet here she was, asking Bea of all people for aid.

"And what about my business in Vale?" she questioned hesitantly.

"I believe some holiday is more than deserved considering your recent endeavours on behalf of the good of Atlas. Consider yourself on indefinite shore leave, until otherwise requested to return. You may travel to Vale; I'll even provide you transport, a commodity I hope you realise is rare considering recent tensions between the Kingdoms. I'll expect to see you back in this office in no later than three months' time, ready to return to active duty. That should be long enough to fulfil whatever business you intend to perform in Vale. Besides, currently the only major matter to attend to is hammering out a peace deal, something I am more than capable of seeing to myself."

Bea paused, suddenly curious. "How are the negotiations going?"

"Poorly," stated Winter matter-of-factly. "Vale is attempting to wring every last drop they can from Atlas: insurmountable reparations, limitations on the amount of dust we can trade and the price we have to trade it at, massive disarmament of our military to nothing more than a ghost of its former glory. They want to cripple Atlas so that it can never rise to its same level of prominence again."

"The people of Atlas will despise that forever," Bea warned. "There'll be another war within fifty years if you accept that."

"If I accept that," Winter drawled.

Bea raised an eyebrow. "You've no intention of giving in to them, do you?"

"Absolutely not. A few reparations for damages is as far as I'm willing to go. Vale has no real leverage here, and if there's one thing I'm very good at, it's getting people to agree with what I want." Bea smiled. She had no doubt that was absolutely true. "But back to the matter at hand. Those are my terms; do you accept them?"

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?"

"No, you do not. Do you accept them?"

Bea eyed Winter. Winter stared back evenly, both command and plea visible in her eyes. "Six months," Bea ground out.

Winter cocked her head, considering her preposition. "Four."

"Five."

"Done."

Bea sighed. "Then I accept your terms."

"Excellent," said Winter, leaning back in her chair and just about managing to reel in the triumphant grin Bea knew she wanted to reveal. "I expect to see you in five months' time." Bea got up and began to head towards the door. "Oh, and Blitz," Winter added. Bea turned back to face the general, noting the smug smile adorning her lips. "Do be sure to dye your hair before we meet again. If I see that ridiculous colour again I'll personally see to it that it gets shaved off."

Bea left the room with a scowl marring her face, her mind awhirl with treasonous thoughts of how she was going to beat that pretty Schnee face into a pulp. Just who did Winter think she was? She had no right to order Bea around like that. No right.

Despite herself, she couldn't stop a small smile from creeping onto her face, splitting her frown like the façade it was. Some things never changed.

Terry Hulett

Pvt

Valesian army, Beta section

2nd December 60—18th November 79 AGW

That was it. The gravestone was like any other in this field of white limestone: short, rectangular, with the words printed neatly and evenly, it sprung from the ground like a budding plant, one of a hundred shoots growing from the grassy field Jaune stood in. The war had claimed thousands of lives; the government had needed a quick solution to the mass of fresh bodies it found on its hands. Hence the graveyards. Dozens had sprung up, all in different locations, all exactly the same, rows upon rows of neat, uniform gravestones dotting the green of the gently rolling fields, just like the one before him now.

Jaune hated it. It stank of conformity. There was nothing special about this particular gravestone compared to all the others; nothing to mark how special the person inside the grave had been. A white slab: that was all that was left of Terry. That was all the world would ever know of him, and as wind and rain and time gradually wore away the writing on the stone, even that would be lost.

But not for Jaune. For Jaune, he would always see the eager face, the pale skin, the blond curtains, eternally greasy after their distance from civilisation, the tall body and lanky limbs. Even to the day he died, he swore he'd remember his friend, and what he'd given up to save Jaune's life.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the white chunk of rock, but eventually he felt a presence behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. "Y'know, I never took you to be the brooding type," Phil informed him, "but right now you could give even Ash a run for his money."

Jaune huffed a quiet laugh, turning to find Phil and Aiden watching him. For some reason, Phil had a backpack slung around his shoulders. "Sorry. Just… lost in thought."

"That is understandable," accepted Aiden. "No one would deny you the right to mourn after everything that has occurred."

"Yeah, mourn…" Jaune glanced back at the headstone, the only memorial to a hero. There was no body buried here—that had been incinerated in the blast that had killed Salem, but Jaune still liked to think of this as Terry's final resting place: a green field in a peaceful corner of the city, where birdsong fluttered on the air and the wind played with the tree branches. It was better than where he'd actually died. "Where's Naomi?" he asked his companions.

"She is visiting her brother," Aiden answered him.

"Oh, is he…?"

"Buzz is buried here too. As are Ash and Cole as far as I am aware."

"What about Cat, Finn and Bounty?" Jaune asked, voice tight. Those last three members of the squad that had been left behind before the fight with Salem.

"See for yourself," smirked Phil, indicating the path back the way they'd come. There, rattling down the slight incline of the gravel footpath in a wheelchair screaming for mercy from the weight upon it, was Bounty. His body was jostled around like a ragdoll as stones collided with his wheels, causing his beer-belly to bounce majestically and turning his face bright red as he spat obscenities about slowing down to the person pushing him. The person in question was Cat, slinging back a stream of colourful curses about losing weight instead. The whole scene was regarded by Finn, bent nearly double and cackling heartily as he watched Cat and Bounty's antics.

An easy smile escaped Jaune, blooming over his face. He could still remember the shock, followed by the immediate relief when Cat had appeared in one of the bullheads they'd taken to Salem's domain, Bounty and Finn cut, bruised and bleeding in the hull, Bounty unable to even walk with his shattered leg, but grinning nonetheless, alive thanks to Cat's foolhardy flight directly back into the swarm of Grimm to rescue them.

The trio finally reached them, Cat and Bounty's argument immediately forgotten as they grinned at their squad mates. "We finally get some holiday for the first time in months, and you go and waste it all in a graveyard," chided Cat.

"Just spending a bit of time with Terry," Jaune smiled at them.

"Nah, Terrier's spirit wouldn't be wasting time in a cemetery," countered Bounty from his wheelchair, a blanket covering his casted leg. Jaune suspected Bounty would have been able to walk with crutches but had intentionally chosen a wheelchair. Anything to get out of more work. "I bet he's already back at the base, getting cuddly with whoever holds the highest command."

"Whomever," Naomi corrected, appearing besides them.

"Oi, Miss Victorian, no grammar lessons please," Cat mock chastised, grabbing Naomi around the waist and bumping their hips. "We're on holiday, remember? Besides, I can speak proper anyway."

"You can speak properly—" Naomi began, exasperated, only to catch the mischievous sparkle in Cat's eyes. "I hate you so much."

"Well wherever you are, Terrier, I hope it's better than this shithole of a planet," toasted Finn, pulling out a can of beer and cracking it open with a hiss, before tipping a sizable amount of liquid onto the grave. "Who knew you had the biggest balls of all of us?" Cat coughed menacingly. "Second biggest," Finn rectified.

"I, uh, I'm pretty sure Terry didn't drink," Phil warned them.

"Then he best start making up for it now," grinned Bounty, opening his own can and mimicking Finn's actions. "Here's to you, you skinny little prick. Hope the afterlife still has seniority figures for you to suck up to."

Jaune smiled, even as his mind zoned out the further comments of his section, each one commemorating Terry in their own, abstract way. To the outsider watching them, the comments they made would have been seen as obscene, utterly disrespectful, but since when had that ever bothered any of Beta section. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there beyond the world he knew, Terry was watching them too, smiling.

Slowly, Jaune became aware of someone watching them. He turned his head, and there, standing at the gate entrance to the cemetery, was a dark-haired woman. She looked vaguely familiar to Jaune, though from this distance he couldn't make out any details. What he did make out though, was a slight protrusion of her belly, like a small bump. "Finn, is that—?"

Before he could get any further, Finn had swept past him, his fast pace becoming a jog, before increasing to a full-on sprint. The woman began to run towards him too, arms open, smile wide. The two met mid-way, both their arms coming around to envelope the other in a cocoon of warmth and love, each unwilling to let the other go. Finn had his eyes closed, a blissful smile playing on his face, all his worries and concerns melting away under the embrace. It was the happiest, most carefree Jaune had ever seen Finn, and for a moment it was all Beta section could do to watch the happy couple, the epitome of love and purity.

Then Bounty had to go and ruin it. "She's a seven out of ten at best."

Bounty's head made a resounding crack as Cat's hand collided with it, causing Bounty to howl in pain, clutching at the bump that was visibly forming on his scalp.

"Abuse! Abuse! You're beating up a cripple!"

"Oh please," Cat rolled her eyes. "The only thing crippled about you is your mental capability."

"Nah, you love me really," smirked Bounty.

"I most certainly do not," replied Cat, indignant.

"Sure you do, or else you'd have left me to die in that hole."

"Don't flatter yourself. I was happy to let you rot in that hellscape, except Jaune ordered me to pick your sorry arse up."

"I didn't," piped up Jaune.

"Maybe it was Nuke then."

"Nope," chirped the person in question.

"It was probably Terrier in that case. Shame he can't confirm it for you guys."

"Would you like me to take his wheelchair then?" offered Aiden, reaching over to take it out of Cat's hands.

"Don't touch it!" hissed Cat, hands tightening on the handles and knees bending in readiness of an attempt to steal her treasure, a lynx protecting its brood. Aiden merely smiled innocently, but it was the twinkle in the wolf Faunus' eyes that gave away the true intention of his question. The group laughed heartily as Cat attempted to backtrack spectacularly, before giving up and resigning herself to shoot daggers from her eyes at Aiden.

The group was so preoccupied ribbing Cat that they didn't notice Finnegan approaching, leading his wife by the hand towards their group. It was only when Finn was once more standing by the section that they finally turned to face him. "Guys, this is Jasmine."

Jasmine was a short, fragile-looking woman, with olive skin and pretty, long, dark brown hair, styled in a braid that trailed down her back. She seemed shy, half hiding behind Finn, but she smiled prettily at them all nonetheless. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Finnegan's already told me so much about you."

"Nothing good I bet," muttered Cat.

"Only the truth," insisted Finn.

"So nothing good," concluded Naomi.

Finn introduced each of them in turn, but when he got to Bounty, something unexpected happened. Jasmine suddenly turned to Finn, asking excitedly, "Is that the one? Is that him?"

"It is," answered Finn, smiling.

"What?" questioned Bounty. "What about me?"

Finn looked at Jasmine for a moment, some unheard conversation going on between the two of them, then she nodded slightly, and Finn turned back to them. He put his arms around his wife, hands falling protectively onto the bump on her stomach, before looking Bounty directly in the eye and saying, "We've decided to name him Magnus."

Several seconds passed in silence, Finn and Bounty's eyes locked onto each other as the rest of the squad was left glancing between the two of them, wondering what on Remnant was going on. Then Bounty nodded tightly, his eyes glittering and his voice unusually fragile as he croaked, "Thank you."

Jasmine stayed for a while, listening to the group trade stories about how they'd spend their leave before they were inevitably called back to the base. It felt good to talk with the others, Jaune realised—really good. No threat of imminent death, no world-threatening adversary looming just around the corner—just chatting, as friends should do. Jaune realised that these moments might be the thing he'd miss most if he took up Ozpin's offer and returned to Beacon.

Eventually, Finn informed them that he and Jasmine had a dinner scheduled for this evening, which they needed to get ready for. Finn had left with a last promise to see them all back at base. Jaune had felt a slight pang at that. Would he ever be returning to the base?

Once Finn had gone, the squad gradually dispersed, leaving in dribs and drabs, until only Jaune and Phil were left. Jaune was still deep in thought, his mind awhirl with what to do, yet with no clear answers presenting themselves.

"You ok, Jaune?" asked Phil, noting his indecision.

Jaune sighed. "Not really," he admitted. "I've got an important decision to make, but I don't know what to do. It feels like I'll hurt friends no matter what I choose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," mumbled Phil sympathetically.

"What do I do, Phil?" Jaune asked, turning to his first friend in the army, with his shaggy, overgrown matt-black hair and his nervous attitude.

"I dunno," he admitted. "And I can't make the decision for you. But… sometimes… sometimes you just have to do things for yourself, y'know? Forget about other people. Just do what makes you happy."

Phil wasn't looking at Jaune as he said that. Jaune followed his gaze into the middle-distance, towards the cemetery entrance, where he spotted a young woman with a blue bob haircut watching the two of them. It wasn't Naomi, whose hair was spikier, though something about the woman was familiar enough to tug at the back of Jaune's brain. She looked a bit like… Phil.

Phil began to trail up the pathway towards the woman, and hesitantly Jaune followed. It was only when Phil reached the gate that he turned around, as if only just noticing Jaune was following him, and quietly said, "This is Bea. She's my sister."

Jaune glanced at Bea, a straight-backed woman whose stony eyes seemed to guard vast caverns of intelligence behind them. She nodded once to him, then turned back to Phil. "Ready to go?"

"Yup," confirmed Phil, hefting his backpack.

"Go?" inquired Jaune. "Go where?"

Phil smiled sadly to him. "I'm going to find my teammates. The ones from Beacon. I've spoken to Bea and she agrees. We need to make things right with them."

"But… what about the section?" Jaune asked.

"Don't worry, I'm coming back. My sister's got five months leave to find them. Plenty of time. They've got to be somewhere on Remnant. How many places does that even leave?"

"Um, a lot?"

Phil's smile twisted into a wince. "Ok, true. But I've got to at least try to do this. Even if I fail, at least I gave it my best shot. You get it, don't you?"

"I… I think so," said Jaune. "I guess this is goodbye then." Jaune offered his hand to the older boy. Phil looked at it, then pointedly ignored it as he pulled Jaune into a hug.

"I'll see you soon. Stay safe, Jaune."

"You too, Phil."

Finally, Phil pulled back, hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, and turned away, following his sister. It was only as he was about to take a turning out of Jaune's view that he turned around and waved one last time. Then he was gone.

Jaune stared after Phil long after he lost sight of him. It was because Jaune was there for so long that he was present when a blond-haired stranger entered the graveyard. Jaune spotted him out of the corner of his eye, a tall, lanky man with greasy blond locks. Jaune wouldn't have paid much heed to him, except for one feature that stood out stark enough to garner his attention.

The man had only one arm.

He walked through the graveyard until he reached Terry's stone. There he stopped, staring at the grave for a long moment, unmoving, before slowly, precisely, as if he had performed the action a thousand times, he raised his remaining arm, opened his fingers until they were all straight, and put his hand to his temple. He was saluting Terry's grave.

Jaune smiled to himself. It might have taken everything Terry had, but in the end, he'd made his father proud. He hoped he knew that, wherever he was.

Jaune turned away from the scene, allowing the man some privacy. He pulled out his scroll and went to his contacts, pulling up a familiar number. There was one more group of people that Jaune wanted to see again. The number rang once, twice, three times. On the fourth it was picked up.

"Hey Pyr…" began Jaune.

Jaune sat on a bench in a nearby park, the gentle sun warming his skin, the crisp breeze playing with his hair, and his nerves utterly frying themselves. Jaune had faced guns and fire and death, but none of those had produced such anxiety in him as this. He was about to meet his old team again. Despite the fact that he'd returned to Vale over a week ago, he'd been so busy at the base with the military that he'd had no time to meet up with them, and non-military personnel, even Huntsmen, were barred from entering the compound. Now, that was to change.

Jaune glanced at his scroll again, checking if he had any new texts from them. There was nothing, just as there'd been nothing the million other times he'd checked in the last twenty minutes. He hastily put it back and stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to halt their shaking. Despite their confirmation that they'd meet him here, Jaune's treacherous imagination refused to stop harassing him with scenarios where they didn't turn up, or simply forgot about him, or had better things to be doing with their free time.

Jaune took a deep breath and tried to sooth his racing heart. They would come, he tried to assure himself. And if they didn't, he'd… he had no idea what he'd do if they didn't. Go home, he supposed. He really wasn't very good at this whole 'comforting himself' thing.

Finally, after what felt like an eon of waiting, Jaune spotted a mess of black hair, a blob of ginger, and a crown of red appear down the path. Jaune leapt to his feet, then realised they were too far away so sat back down, then clambered back to his feet when he found his blood pressure was too high to allow him to sit.

The trio of hair types came closer, slowly materialising into people. Jaune's heart was a caged bird in his chest, fluttering madly for release as his eyes fell on his teammates for the first time in what felt like years. For an instant, Jaune doubted himself, suddenly all too aware of the last time they'd seen each other, when he'd allowed himself to be bullied into throwing a jar of sap at Pyrrha. Surely they couldn't have forgotten that? What if they were still bitter about it? What if a part of them still despised him?

These thoughts were a rampant hurricane in Jaune's mind, tearing through whatever confidence he might have had. The three of them finally came close enough to make out their features, so familiar that Jaune felt a burning sensation in his heart, the pain that of realising how much had been stolen from him by the injustice of the fates. Jaune opened his mouth, apologies falling over themselves to escape his mouth. "Guys, I'm so—Ooof!"

Jaune gasped as the air was punched out of his lungs by a rocket. He gazed downwards, expecting to find a gaping hole in his chest.

Instead he found Nora.

She clutched his chest like a drowning man clutched a float, arms pressing vices around his back, face squashed against his chest, tears turning the material damp where flesh met fabric. For a moment, Jaune was too stunned to do anything. "I missed you," Nora sobbed into his shirt.

"I missed you too," broke Jaune, hands coming around to hug Nora back. The two stayed like that for a long time, until finally Nora stood back, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and sniffing loudly, but smiling all the same.

Next came Ren, stepping forward and hugging him lightly. "It's been too long, Jaune."

"It has," he choked. "It really has."

And last came Pyrrha.

Jaune's heart fluttered in his chest as he took in long legs, covered partly by a knee-length black skirt, then a torso and arms clad in a cute, peach cardigan, and finally a face, one he'd thought he'd never see again. "Pyr…" He didn't get any further.

Pyrrha stepped forward and silently wrapped her arms around his chest, enveloping him in an embrace. It wasn't hard, panicky, like Nora's had been, an instinctual attempt to grasp onto what had been lost and to keep hold against the battering storm of the world. Nor was it like Ren's, a moment of shared contact, of solidarity and brotherhood against whatever nightmares both had been forced to endure. No, Pyrrha's hug was gentle but firm, her hands lying flat against his back, feeling his clothing, feeling him, as if she just wanted to assure herself that this really was real, that Jaune really had returned to them. Jaune did the same, breathing deeply through his nose as he staved off tears, letting the sweet aroma of his partner roam up his nostrils—it was the smell of Autumn, of falling leaves and crisp air, a veritable palette of fragrances like the palette of reds and golds and browns that accompanied the season.

Jaune might have stayed like that for a minute, or an hour, or even a year, holding onto Pyrrha as if he might never let go, but eventually their embrace had to end. He took a step back, taking in his team before him, all so similar to how he remembered them, all slightly different from their time apart. For a moment, Jaune was afraid his heart would erupt with the happiness he felt then.

Instead, he laughed. It was the culmination of weeks of worry proven wrong, of long nights fretting without cause. The tension that had been building in Jaune's chest had finally burst, and up it bubbled, until it reached his mouth and was finally released in one, clear chuckle. The others began laughing too, as if it were an infectious bug, cackles spreading through the group faster than any disease ever could.

If there were any awkwardness before, the laughter finally broke it. Jaune joined his friends, and the four of them spent the rest of the day together. They strolled through the park chatting amiably as they caught each other up on their experiences in their time apart. They found a restaurant in Vale for lunch, where Nora animatedly recounted a tale of her epic battle against the largest Death Stalker Remnant had ever seen, slain by yours truly, of course. They went bowling in the afternoon, they walked around Vale in the evening, but mostly they just talked, trying their best to make up for lost time.

Finally, just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, Ren and Nora were forced to excuse themselves, explaining that they had lessons early the next morning. Jaune too, decided it was pretty late, and he ought to be getting back too. He was staying in a cheap hotel he'd found to allow him to be closer to the city for a while, after which he planned to return to his home village to see his family again.

"I'll go with you," offered Pyrrha. "I don't have any lessons tomorrow morning." A slight blush crept across her face. "I mean, that is, if you'd like me to."

Jaune smiled. "I'd like that."

Jaune and Pyrrha strolled through the darkening streets of Vale together, watching as street lamps flickered to life along their path and strangers scurried home, a hot meal and a warm bed consuming their minds. Most stores were closed by this hour, and those that weren't tended to be pubs and nightclubs, their owners strolling through the bright interiors with a skip in their step, the day only just beginning for them. The two of them passed a junction, and in the break between the buildings Jaune spotted the glassy surface of the sea blinking back at him. He paused, and Pyrrha turned with an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"Let's go down by the docks," Jaune suggested, suddenly wanting their walk to take longer than it should have done. Pyrrha nodded, and the two of them made their way to the waterfront. As they walked, Jaune said, "I never actually thanked you for saving Vale."

"It wasn't just me. And I couldn't have done it without your tip off."

"And Cinder…?"

"Dead," said Pyrrha, the word clipped enough for Jaune to know Pyrrha didn't want to talk about it right now. Maybe not ever. Jaune understood that feeling.

So instead he tried to ask a less personal question. "How's team RWBY?"

"Doing well. Weiss is still kicking herself for allowing Emerald to escape though. You'd have sworn she'd been responsible for the fall of Vale with the way she scolds herself."

Jaune smirked. He could more than imagine Weiss storming through the halls of Beacon, cursing and chiding her failed efforts. She always did set such high standards for herself. "Who's Emerald?"

"One of Cinder's protegees. Her semblance was illusions. Once she realised the day was lost she grabbed her partner and ran. As far as I know they're still on the run. Though wherever they are, I doubt they'll be a threat again." Pyrrha paused to think more on it, then she half turned to Jaune with a small smile splayed on her face. "Blake's a Faunus by the way."

"No!" gasped Jaune. Pyrrha nodded. Jaune cast his mind back to the few times he'd hung out with Blake. He remembered the bookworm had been quiet, reserved, an enigma wrapped inside a mystery, but he was sure he'd never seen any Faunus traits on her. No tail, no scales, only a bow on her head—

Oh. Ohhhhhhh.

Jaune slapped his forehead. "I'm an idiot."

Pyrrha giggled. "In your defence, it fooled me too."

The two finally reached the docks. The sun had set by now, and the cold was beginning to creep in like a layer of frost, made worse by the open water, from which an icy wind bit at their clothing. Jaune didn't mind the cold too much, but Pyrrha pulled her cardigan tighter around her, and for a moment Jaune was worried she'd want to turn back. "We can go back if you like."

"No, it's alright. The view is worth the cold." Jaune had to agree. The sun was gone, but the golden light still crept over the horizon, staining the sky a myriad of varying colours, from deepest navy to richest reds, the shades bleeding into each other like the finest water colour. Below the sky and mirroring the endless mosaic was a horizon of water, placid and still, with only the smallest of ripples disturbing the glassy surface. Tiny boats bobbed far out to sea, looking to all the world like toys in the boundless bathtub of the planet, whilst seagulls swooped and soared on invisible winds, cawing in ecstasy at the freedom only they could grasp.

The sight was worthy of any postcard, and for a minute, Jaune could only stare. Numbly, his legs took his body towards a nearby bench facing the water, and he sat down gingerly, worried any sudden movements might ruin the moment. Pyrrha joined him, perching herself lightly on the edge of the bench, her knee halting just short of touching Jaune's, and her hand coming to rest in the space between them. Jaune had never been more aware of every millimetre of space between them. Had he really never noticed how stunning Pyrrha was? How beautiful the line of her neck, how endearing the errant red strands blowing in the wind that Jaune was desperate to brush aside. He wanted to reach over and take her pale hand in his own. He wanted to so badly it hurt, but he kept his arm pinned unforgivingly to his side. He wasn't even sure if he was going to stay with Pyrrha. It wouldn't be fair to start something if he couldn't see it through.

Pyrrha was still looking out at the water, unaware of Jaune's mental struggle. Then, quite unexpectedly, she said, "Jaune… there's a reason I wanted to walk you home. There's something I need to tell you."

"Ok…" Jaune gulped, suddenly very worried what she'd say to him. "Couldn't you have said this with Ren and Nora around?"

"No, they wouldn't understand. I need to ask you, because you might be the only one who's been through what I have."

Now Jaune was curious. Pyrrha's tone was subdued, and she wouldn't look at him. What could she want to talk about to him and only him?

Pyrrha took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, before she asked, "Do you believe in destiny?"

Jaune blinked, unsure where this had come from. "Destiny? Like, fate? I… I don't really know… Why do you ask?"

Pyrrha released a shaky breath, looking down at her lap. "During the Breach, I fought Cinder. I… I killed her." Pyrrha's voice hitched up, forcing her to stop. Jaune immediately put an arm around her, pulling her in to him as he rubbed soothing circles into her back. In an instant, he knew exactly why Pyrrha needed to talk to him about this. Ren and Nora had killed Grimm, but that was it. Pyrrha and Jaune however… they'd killed people. There was blood on their hands that wasn't there on Ren and Nora's, a black splotch on each of their souls that they might never be able to be rid of. And Pyrrha thought that maybe, just maybe, Jaune would have the answers she so desperately wanted for the questions she couldn't stop asking.

The answers Jaune didn't have the heart to tell Pyrrha he was still looking for too.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," Jaune cooed, holding Pyrrha against her chest as tears slid free of her eyes and were absorbed by his shirt. "You did what you had to do to save Vale."

"I know, I know," Pyrrha murmured into his chest, finally regaining control of her voice to continue talking. "I just… Ozpin told me a bit about Cinder. She grew up on the streets. She was forced to do unspeakable things as a child… she had no power over her life, so when she grew up it became the only thing she cared about. I'm not saying what she did was right, but I can't help but wonder… if Cinder had grown up differently… if she'd been shown even an ounce of human decency, maybe she wouldn't have done what she did. Maybe she wouldn't have had to die." Pyrrha pulled away from the hug to look up at Jaune, tears staining her green eyes. "Cinder had no control of her life. From the moment she was born, she was destined to become evil, through no fault of her own. Her fate led her down that path, and there was nothing she could do about it. Meanwhile, destiny has blessed me with a good life, family, friends, talents, gifts, all things I've taken for granted my entire life. Why is that? Why me?"

Jaune tried to slot this new revelation into his understanding of the woman who had attacked Vale. At first Cinder had been a name. Then an enemy. Then a monster. But now… now he was forced to consider her as a person. "This has been bugging you a lot, hasn't it?"

"Every night, I see her eyes. I see the fear in them as she dies. I see the humanity. And every night, I can't help but wonder… if the roles had been reversed, if it'd been me born on the streets… would it have been me dead on the top of Beacon tower?"

Pyrrha was looking up at Jaune, guilt and desperation warring in her eyes. She was pleading with him to answer her unanswerable questions, to say something that would magically make everything better again. But he couldn't. There wasn't an answer that would fix everything, or if there was he didn't know it. Pyrrha had taken a life—she would never be able to shake that, just as Jaune would never be able to shake the faces that swam through his nightmares too. The questions she asked now, Jaune had been asking himself the exact same ones endlessly, and he still didn't have an answer. Maybe he never would.

But there was one question he could answer.

"No," he stated. Pyrrha glanced at him, confusion written on her features. "You asked me if I believed in destiny. Well the answer's no. I don't." For a time, maybe Jaune had. He'd been kicked down by the universe so often that it had simply been easier to think that this was his fate, that his life was out of his hands.

It had all been a lie.

Jaune had begun to accept that his legacy was to fail because he was tired of getting back up again. Of continuing to fight in spite of his loses. For a time, he'd fallen so deep into despair that he'd been willing to never try again.

Phil had snapped him out of that mindset. He'd reminded Jaune of why he fought, why the universe could knock him down again and again and again, a million time over, and why he'd get up a million and one times to keep fighting. Jaune had had help, true, but ultimately, he had chosen to keep fighting. Destiny hadn't gotten him back up; he had.

"We all make choices in our lives," he continued, "and it's those choices that make us who we are. Maybe our scenarios make certain decisions harder than others. Maybe sometimes they make doing the wrong thing easier. But we always have that choice." Jaune rotated fully to face Pyrrha, letting her see the truth in his eyes. "Cinder chose to follow the path she did. Maybe she was set down it by her childhood, but there would have been opportunities to get off it. She didn't. You would. That's what makes you different to Cinder. Not your upbringing, but the choices you make. When you heard Vale was under threat, you didn't run. You put yourself at risk to try to save a city full of strangers."

"I had to."

"No, you didn't. You could have run. You could have left it to the authorities and hidden until it had all passed. You didn't. Then, when you learnt a very dangerous individual who had already beaten you once was on her way to Beacon, you went after her despite having almost no aura left."

"Anyone would hav—"

"That's not true. Don't diminish what you've done. Sometimes running from your problems is easier than facing them. I know that." It had been running from what he'd done that had started this whole adventure. "You chose to do the right thing, even though it was harder. That makes you a good person, and that's why you wouldn't have done the same thing as Cinder in her position." Jaune stopped, suddenly realising he was out of things to say. He looked to Pyrrha to gauge her reaction, only to find her looking out to sea, her eyes glazed slightly. Then a small sigh escaped her, some tension seeping from her body along with her breath.

"Thank you, Jaune. I needed that." Jaune nodded back, pleased to have helped Pyrrha in some small way. "So what's next for you?"

"I… I don't know," Jaune admitted. Then he decided to take a risk. "Ozpin's offered me my place back on the team. I know that sounds great," he added when he saw Pyrrha's joyful expression, "and it is. It really is. But if I rejoin you guys, it means—"

"You'll have to leave your section," Pyrrha realised. Jaune nodded glumly. Caught between a rock and a hard place. One team or the other, and no matter what he chose he'd be burning bridges and breaking hearts. Pyrrha was silent for a while, but then she said, "Jaune… I want you to be happy. So do Ren and Nora. If you want to stay with your section, we'll fully support that."

"But what about you guys? I only just reconnected with you."

"We'll always be friends. That won't change because you decide to pursue a different career. You need to make this decision based on what you want, not on what we want."

What he wanted. That was the second person now who had told Jaune to do what he wanted. But what did he want? Did he want to be with his old friends, or his new ones? The life of a soldier, or a Huntsman? Team JNPR, or Beta section?

Maybe the question went deeper than that. What did Jaune Arc want out of life? He didn't want fame or glory—at least not anymore. He also wanted to help people. Help civilians, yes, but also the people around him. The people he cared about. Who then, needed him most?

Team JNPR had lasted without him; they'd been able to keep themselves going despite losing their leader, leaning on each other and team RWBY to fill the void he'd left. If he did so again, they'd manage. They were all stronger than he'd ever be.

But Beta section? They'd already lost so much: their first sergeant, their friends, their brother, their mobility. Could they survive losing him as well? Did he want them to have to go through that?

And suddenly, everything became much clearer. Jaune Arc didn't know what he wanted; but he knew what he didn't want. And that was to let his section suffer anything else alone. They'd lost friends. They'd seen death. They'd felt hope drain from their body like blood drained from a corpse. But they'd always done it together.

"Keep them safe, Jaune." That had been some of Sergeant Cole's last words. Maybe he'd known, even back then, how much they'd need him in the coming weeks. Maybe he'd known how much Jaune would need them.

"Pyr…" began Jaune, "I think I know what I need to do."

Ozpin glanced up from the sheet of paper in his hands. "You're quite sure of this?" he inquired.

"I am," replied Jaune Arc, sitting once more across his desk from him.

"I see," replied Ozpin, skimming through the contract before him. On the top right-hand corner was the seal of the Valesian military, and down at the bottom, resting above a dotted line, was Jaune's signature. "If I may ask, what convinced you to discontinue your pursuits to become a Huntsman?"

"The world needs heroes. But for Huntsmen and Huntresses… it's got that covered," answered Jaune, smiling slightly. "They don't need me. The army on the other hand…"

"Is in dire need of good men, or so I hear," smiled Ozpin. "Very well then. I wish you all the best. Goodbye, Sergeant Arc."

"I'm not a Sergeant anymore," corrected Jaune, before he rose from his chair and left Ozpin's office for what might be the last time ever.

Now alone in his clockwork tower, Ozpin steepled his fingers and hummed to himself. "Indeed, you aren't." It seemed a great shame, really. The boy had proven himself resilient, capable, compassionate, and an excellent strategist, all qualities denoting a good leader. It was almost a crime to let such talent waste away if Jaune were to remain a Private. Some might have even called it a hindrance to the work of the military. In that sense, it would be beneficial to the army if Jaune were promoted ahead of his time, and as a good citizen of Vale, it was Ozpin's duty to support the armed forces in whatever way he could.

Ozpin leant over his desk, picking up a pre-printed sheet of paper and writing something at the bottom. Then he took a second piece of paper and wrote on that too. Finally, he held the two pieces up before him and smiled at his handiwork. One was a legal document accepting Jaune Arc back into Beacon as a student. The second was a transfer sheet of one Jaune Arc from Beacon Academy directly into the military. If Ozpin recalled correctly—and he did have a stellar memory—the army had a policy of promoting recruits from Huntsmen academies directly to sergeants. What a convenient policy for Ozpin's desires.

Satisfied, Ozpin put the two sheets down and settled back into his chair, bringing a mug of steaming coffee to his lips, from which he took a long, well-deserved sip. "Good luck to you," he murmured, "Sergeant Arc."

Jaune Arc marched through the bustling base, a brand-new sergeant rank slide gleaming on his chest as soldiers made way to him in deference, before hurrying back on their paths like impatient bees. It was still taking some getting used to, watching men far older than himself rush to give way to him, but such was the way of the military life he'd rejoined.

It wasn't long before he was met by a soldier going the opposite direction to him. This soldier was larger than most, and he didn't bow his head and avert his eyes either. Instead, he simply nodded once to Jaune, greeting him with a crisp, "Sergeant Arc."

"Field Sergeant Winchester," Jaune greeted back.

"New batch of recruits arrived last night. Can't wait to have a bit of fun with them. Command's told me I can oversee their training."

Jaune winced. "Go easy on them."

"And risk leaving them underprepared for what's out there? Not a chance," Cardin grinned, his eyes ignited in joyful anticipation. Gone was the nastiness that had once accompanied every word he'd drawled at Jaune, gone the mean, pig eyes and the ferret sneer. Ever since returning from Salem's domain, Cardin had gone above and beyond to change his ways. Sometimes he still slipped up; sometimes he couldn't stop a jibed comment slipping off the end of his barbed tongue or a dismissive huff when he spotted a Faunus. But he was trying to change. That made Cardin better in Jaune's eyes than all the other racists and bigots that littered the four Kingdoms.

"I'll see you around, Cardin."

"You too, Jaune."

Jaune continued on his way, boots crunching on gravel as he approached a stout, grey building. As per usual, the army was sorely lacking in the aesthetics department, this particular eyesore resembling a squat and grumpy gnome, surrounded by other misanthropic dwarves, all forced to sit eternally within a drab garden of grumbling dreariness.

Jaune had to admit, it was beginning to grow on him a bit.

Jaune stepped up to the oversized garden decoration and pushed open the door, striding in and calling out, "Room, room 'tion!" The inhabitants of the room were as disorganised as the day he'd first met them all. Bounty and Finn were sitting on either side of a table, their elbows resting on the plastic top as their arms bulged and sweat poured from their faces, their two appendages locked in a deadly struggle for dominance as they tried to wrestle the other to the ground. Around them stood a barking, braying crowd of three, screaming for blood as they alternately cheered their champion and jeered their enemy. In Cat's balled fist was a wad of lien, and she screamed Bounty on with a fury that only one with money on the line could produce.

Aiden was the first to notice Jaune's entrance, a feat in itself with all the noise, his eyes widening in panic and his tail speeding up to a furious wag as he leapt away from the crime scene and to the foot of his bed, coming to stand at attention all in one smooth motion. The others weren't so lucky. Finnegan reared upwards upon seeing his sergeant, his knee flying upwards and upending the table, sending the top flying into Bounty's face, which in turn toppled the mountainous man onto the floor with a spectacular crash. Cat and Naomi glanced down at their friend and ally struggling on the floor, collectively deciding that the greater good demanded that they abandon him at once. As they turned tail and fled though, several cards of lien slipped out of Cat's hand, catching Finn's eye, who decided dignity was overrated anyway as he launched himself after them, coming to an unceremonious heap atop Bounty, now spitting obscenities at everyone, everyone's mothers, and everyone's mothers' mothers.

So it was that Sergeant Arc, leader of Beta section, found his squad scattered around the room, nursing bruised limbs and cradling hurt pride as they sheepishly met the eyes of their sergeant. It was chaotic. It was undignified. It was them. Sergeant Arc threw back his head and laughed loudly, feeling his chest shake at the mirth that poured out of him.

He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Thirteen months. Twenty-nine chapters. A whopping 220,000 words on my Word document, at least half of which will never see the light of day. One epic story.

It's been an absolute blast, and to anyone who's gone through it all to read this line, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

You know, I've always wanted to do an acknowledgements page. But I always found them a bit boring. Let's see if I can spice this up a little…

To Natasha, who fist introduced me to fanfiction and created something the world wasn't ready for; I hope you realise this makes you Frankenstein in the analogy.

To Matis, who helped me create Terry, then bugged me for over a year about whether he was still alive or not: Ha!

To Chey, who gifted me with her wonderful brain children, Cat, Naomi, Aiden and Buzz, then watched me brutally murder them like the internet version of Walder Frey. I'm sorry to say I'm unapologetically not sorry for being sorry about chapter 11.

To my good friend the anarchist/communist/what-political-ideology-you-have-this-week Joshua, who Beta-read my first few chapters, hated them, then tried to wiggle out of reading any others. You're not getting that free lunch I promised you.

To Noble, who convinced me to write another fanfic, and without whom this story wouldn't exist. People always say we create the very things that usurp us ;)

And finally, to all you gorgeous people, whose lives are so empty you had to fill the time with this steaming pile of shite fanfic. To have read this far, you're all either insane, so devoid of entertainment that this passes off as actual enjoyment, or a bit of both. Never change.

So what's next? I've absolutely no idea. I'm gonna take a break from writing, at least for a bit. I doubt I'll be able to stay away forever though. I might try Beta-reading for a bit, see how that goes, before I start writing another story. What that story will be though is anyone's guess. If you've enjoyed my writing, maybe you could drop a suggestion you'd like to see me write about. Should I do a sequel to Sergeant Arc? Should I write about Phil's adventure to refind his team with Bea? Or are you sick to death of OCs and want me to write a normal fic with a bunch of normal canon characters like some sort of normally-functioning human being? Please let me know, even if it's just a character or an idea you'd like to see me do.

But apart from all that, its time for me to say: adiós, auf Wiedersehen, au revoir, ciao, see ya, wouldn't-want-to-be-ya, good day and a very good night, and a great big fat BYE!

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

Winston Churchill