The digital clock on his nightstand stared at Jaune Arc. He stared back, challenging it, demanding the blue-lit numbers not to change. It was ten till seven in the morning when he started this contest, and it was 7:00 now. His eyes trailed to the beige ceiling that looked down at him, goading him to try his luck against it. Jaune knew better now, and looked away, down to his right, where white hair sprawled across his chest and hot breath brushed over his bare skin.

Jaune idly noted that the warm body curled up beside him was closer than usual. She would normally have her back to him when he awoke. Instead, her head laid against his chest, where she (if she were awake) could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Beneath the covers, he could feel his naked skin flush against hers, one smooth leg over his, an arm resting across him. He allowed it, knowing what today was, and what they would both have to do.

He did not stare lovingly at the woman who shared his bed but smiled nonetheless as she stirred beside him and groaned, digging her face into him for a few passing moments before her eyes were on him. Those same eyes that lazily opened drifted shut, laying her head back down onto his shoulder, her breasts pushed against his arm. She pressed her lips to where his heart was.

"You're seeing your sister today, right?" he whispered.

Her body stilled, before she stared up at him, the lingering feeling of her kiss on his chest still there.

"Yes," she whispered back. The beautiful woman leaned into him to press her nose to his. "Are you sure you can't come with me?" She asked, breathing the words directly into his mouth. Her light-blue eyes became lidded once more and watched his with a heavy gaze. She pressed her lips to his.

Her warmth was a deadly temptation, one that he allowed himself to partake in time and time again. He drew her closer, his eyes staring into hers that drifted shut. His remained open.

When she pulled away, she leaned back in to lay a kiss on his lower lip this time short but filled with as much need as all the other times. She went on to kiss and nip at his neck.

"I can't," Her affections stopped. She looked to him, their noses touching, her breath mingling with his. If Jaune wanted to, he could have captured those glistening lips of hers. "It's not that I don't want to go, because I do." He felt her body relax when he said that. "I got a call last night before you got here about a mission, so I-"

She silenced his words with her lips and pulled away before he could act more on the kiss.

"Okay," She pressed her face to his chest, cheek to where she kissed him upon awakening. She said it was 'okay' and considering how important their jobs were it shouldn't have mattered whether she approved or not. But seeing that sad smile of hers.

It broke his heart.

/-/

"I'll always be here for you, Jaune."

The video rewound as it always did, the girl in his scroll smiled the whole time. He paused it and saw that she was still smiling. With a dull click, the stilled frame of the redhead turned black. He'd seen this recording of Pyrrha hundreds of times, and he could easily recount its contents.

But it never got easier. No matter how many times he would watch it, he was like a man who went days without food and water. His stomach would tighten, his throat would dry. But that was trivial compared to the pain in his chest.

Jaune turned away and toward the door, and reached the wooden desk pushed against the wall where picture frames stood. They were custom made with oak by a designer whose price equated to about a month's worth of his rent. They were the most valuable belongings in his apartment — not the frames, but the photos of heroes, of friends.

With a soft sigh and a pained smile, Jaune brushed his fingers against one of their faces, only doing so because of his black gloves. He would not dare smudge the glass. His eyes met the still image of seven familiar faces, their gazes filled with hope for tomorrow. He was among the group, still wearing the armor he had commissioned to get forged when he was just a teenager. Jaune no longer held any use for it as he hadn't needed its protection for years. All it served to do was slow him down in a fight. Now he wore a black button-down jacket that reached just below his waist, leaving it open to reveal a white dress shirt like what Qrow would wear, but he opted to tuck the shirt in. His trousers that matched his shirt were straight-legged, leading down to black, dress shoes.

To hold his pants up was a dark belt with a silver buckle of simple design; it was not an expensive brand to show off wealth or elegance for such things were trivial. It was paired with a thicker, brown leather belt that ran diagonally across his waist, down to a sword sheathed in a white scabbard trimmed with black lining. It was not Crocea Mors for she was lost to him years ago.

Albus Mors was the sword's name, and like her predecessor, she was simple but would never fail him. She was a beautiful weapon too, though that should have been obvious considering who made it for him. The crossguard was a breathtaking silver that had scrolling on it. The hilt looked ornate too, with carefully maintained black leather wrapped about it.

It still surprises me that Ruby stopped herself from adding a gun to the design. Jaune did not doubt the urge she must have felt to do that, but Ruby probably knew that there would never be enough time to teach him how to use one.

Times have changed though. He eventually learned, but he wasn't a marksman by any stretch of the imagination.

It wasn't just his attire or weapon that had changed, but his age too, he was older, his body stronger, it had to if he was to survive the life of a huntsman. Smooth hands that had never known a day of hard work were now full of callouses, limbs that were once gangly became well toned and defined muscles earned by years of constant training and fighting.

The change did not stop there, though. Like his body, so too did his mind age and mature. So when Jaune looked at the old picture, it was a marvel to him at how young he used to be. How hopeful the young man in the frame seemed and how naive he once was. It was the weakness of youth, he supposed. Jaune wasn't decrepit by any means; he was twenty-three for goodness sake! By all accounts, he should be in his prime full of life and energy.

But he was tired. Always so very tired.

He left a single key next to the photos, a routine whenever the woman in his bed came to visit from Atlas. It took Jaune five paces to reach the front door of his apartment. He opened it and felt the frigid winter air of Vale brush against his face, instinctively taking hold of his red scarf, lifting it to cover his nose. It was a tattered little thing, with the twin ends dangling down his back. It didn't match the clean cut of his clothes, but he found it impossible to part with the cloth. Jaune lowered his hand to his breast pocket, where a handkerchief of the same material took shelter.

"I'm going out," he called.

She did not answer, a fact that did not upset or surprise him.

Fresh snow crunched under the weight of his shoes as Jaune made his way through Vale. The soft ice was gentle in its fall, a stark contrast to the fall of Beacon six years ago. He shook his head, cutting off those thoughts before they could fester and grow in his heart like they always did.

He was walking down the sidewalk, it being midday there were plenty of pedestrians. Many looked his way, their focus immediately on the sword strapped to his waist. From what Pyrrha told him long ago, attention was a hassle, and he was inclined to agree with her. Thankfully, no one tried to approach him and went back to talking and laughing with friends and loved ones.

Jaune didn't let it distract him for long. He ignored his solitude and carried on. Besides, His hand came up to the handkerchief, and then up to his scarf. I'm not alone.

His feet carried him in the direction of the Bullheads docks. Dozens of the aircraft were grounded, but ready to take off the instant they were needed. He gave one of the pilots his ID before paying the asked fee. It was a fair one, but given his occupation and where his destination was, it made sense.

"So were you a student or somthin'?" The pilot asked, most likely to pass the time.

"Yeah," Jaune let his head fall back against the wall. His eyes drifted shut. "Yeah, I was."

He was returning home.

/-/

As the Bullhead touched down and he stepped out of its confines, the spires of Beacon welcomed him. A few students looked at him, the next set of pawns under his control, donning the same uniforms he and his friends once proudly wore.

"You're late..." He may be a grown man now, but Headmistress Goodwitch was still perhaps the scariest huntress on Remnant even with the gray that started to appear in her hair. There was no other woman he knew that commanded respect the way she did.

"Sorry Miss Goodwitch, my flight got delayed." He lied but winced, realizing what he called her.

"Twenty-three, and you still act like a scared teenager in my presence."

"Sorry, Glynda." he corrected, scratching the back of his blond locks as he smiled at the headmistress. It was a poor attempt at an apology, but she seemed to accept it with a soft smile.

"It's good to see you, Jaune." Her arms found their way around him, and he found it easy to return the gesture. She was warm to the touch, a welcomed contrast to Vale's cold air. Glynda, for he would force himself to call her that, smelled of fine vanilla. Too soon did their embrace end, if he had it his way, he would have continued to hold her; she was one of the few from the cherished past. "I see your hair hasn't met the touch of a barber."

Jaune caressed the small tail he had let grow. It was not as long as what Ren wore, but he had grown it out just long enough to tie it in a ponytail. "What can I say, I like the look."

Glynda smiled, nodding. "Come along; he's been expecting you."

Jaune frowned, straightening himself and standing tall.

She led him through the halls of Beacon. While he was sure that the headmistress did her best to maintain the original design during the school's reconstruction, it was inevitable that things would change — little details such as the rugs being a darker shade of red, different colored walls and new artificial lights. But despite these changes, it wasn't difficult to imagine the roaming teenagers replaced by him and his friends causing trouble, and making messes for Glynda to clean up. Simpler times that he wished to have back.

So much has changed.

"It still amazes me that you got the entire school back up so quickly." Jaune blurted out, a desperate attempt to divert his focus elsewhere. He figured it was good enough as he was genuinely amazed by the effort put into building Beacon back up. The academy was ready by the fourth year of its reconstruction a feat that was only possible thanks to Glynda working 'round the clock to restore Beacon. Without her, repairing the academy could have taken close to a decade to accomplish.

"It wasn't easy, to say the least. While repairing the damages in a cafeteria made by a group of teenagers is paltry," of course she would bring that up again.

"In my defense, I was hardly part of the fighting."

"Hm..." as always she didn't seem to care for his answer and opted to glare at him. "Repairing the entirety of Beacon, on the other hand, was a much more arduous task. One that I do not regret doing." The last part came out as a soft whisper accompanied by a delicate smile.

Jaune once again found himself grinning. And it was without its usual baggage. Smiles these days were often ones of melancholy for when he thought of friends. To see his restored old home never failed to brighten his mood. Sure it also brought back painful trauma, but he found that it was worth it if he could also have these beautiful memories. Like sitting with friends at the cafeteria, or fighting there when it became their battlefield. The school dance, where he got to bust out moves with his team in a silly white dress. Before that was Ruby giving him advice on leadership, and before that was when he first met her. And what a first impression you made, Crater Face. Jaune loved those times. He still does.

He was marking papers behind a desk when Jaune walked in the room, with Glynda behind him as she shut the door. He heard the click of the lock going in place. "You're late." He echoed the words Glynda said just minutes ago. Jaune rolled his eyes as he slid a chair back, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor.

"Like I told Glynda, my flight was delayed." While he felt sorry for lying to Beacon's headmistress, he found it more comfortable when speaking to the man in front of him.

"Oh?" He didn't buy it. "If that were the case then why didn't you fly here?"

"I did."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Jaune averted his gaze, finding the wall to be a great victim of his glare. He closed his eyes, breathed in, holding it for three seconds before releasing. He looked forward, meeting eyes that belonged to Oscar Pine, or at least that was who they should have belonged to; it didn't take long for Oscar to merge with the wizard. It wasn't obvious at first. It started with only a few occasions when Ozpin would be in control longer than usual. Or when the group would wake up, it was not Oscar who would greet them. But after Atlas, the boy who everyone quickly called friend had almost next to no time as the mind in control. Eventually, only Ozpin remained, thus another friend lost in the wizard's eternal war against Salem.

"Glynda, could you please give us some privacy?"

"Of course," she nodded, then looked at Jaune. "It was good to see you again." She left, locking the door again on her way out. Jaune heard the click of her heels departing. He no longer had any friends around.

"It is good to see you, Jaune," Oscar — Ozpin said with a soft smile, his dark locks fell into a wild mop that mirrored his old host's. He put one of the vast amounts of paperwork down, offering his full attention for the vastly younger individual before him. While Ozpin may have been centuries old, he inhabited a body that was only twenty years of age with the tall stature and sturdy build of a deadly huntsman. He wore a closed charcoal-gray blazer, two pale gold buttons positioned on his left breast, while two others were sewn parrel on the right. The long sleeves were buttoned up to reveal the dark skin of his forearms leading to his black-gloved hands; both had two green belts that formed a slanted cross. Underneath was a dress shirt that was a dark jade, like moss from a swamp. The top two buttons were undone revealing a black turtleneck to keep warm during this winter season. Reminiscent of the pin his old body once had, was a silver cross with a purple gem in the center around his clothed neck.

"It has been far too long," Ozpin continued, taking a quick sip from his white porcelain mug. And contrary to popular belief, it was not steaming coffee that he enjoyed, but hot cocoa. Who would've thought?

Jaune hummed but said nothing as he looked around the small room. Though he had never seen it, Ruby told him in passing about Ozpin's old office in Beacon's tower and how the dozens of gears turned in harmonized sequence. This room did not belong to Headmaster Ozpin but Professor Pine the new combat teacher at Beacon, and the man who was chosen by Glynda to be her successor. At least that's the story they were going with; the old man couldn't take over the reins of the school immediately. People would no doubt question why an upstart huntsman younger than students in their fourth year at a combat school would be given the position of headmaster over the veterancy that Glynda Goodwitch held. Furthermore, Ozpin had never revealed a successor before his untimely death. So it was up to his right-hand woman to cultivate the next academy head.

Until a time that felt appropriate for him to reclaim the seat of headmaster presented itself, the old wizard would have to wait for the school and its students to officially be his.

As Jaune looked through more of his former teacher's room, noticing how it lacked any personal decoration, a single picture protected in a black frame caught his eye. The image was of four smiling women, but the one who captured his attention the most was the one with dark hair that was red at the tips, who had the most stunning eyes he had ever seen. They were practically silver.

Why did Ozpin have a picture of them?!

"So how is Miss Rose?" Ozpin asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "Have there been any changes?"

"Why did you call me?" Jaune scowled at him, for he would not stay here longer than needed. Whatever it was that the old wizard wanted, he needed to spit it out now. Jaune found that patience was a luxury that was rather sparse, and he rather not waste it on the man in front of him.

"I apologize if I upset you," Ozpin said, his voice calm. "It seems you still think rather poorly of me. Very well," his smile turned somber, "I'll keep this brief, then. I need you in Mistral to find any potential leads in our search for Salem's agents. More specifically, I need you in Haven. While I have eyes and ears across the other kingdoms, I have yet to find someone to take Leo's place as my agent."

"What about the new headmistress, Laura? She's had the position for a year now."

"Laurie Theodora," he corrected. The physically young but soul ancient wizard enjoyed a sip from his hot chocolate. There was a hum of approval before he set the mug down. "Though I've considered it, and have spoken with the woman on a few occasions, I am still uncertain whether to add her to the fold. She is bright and seems to have the best interests of her students at heart, but that is I looking from the outside in."

"A whole year, and you can't make a decision."

"If trusting someone with the world's darkest secret was that easy I would have told the entire world to fight Salem years ago." The former headmaster said with a little chuckle. "It will take much more than one measly year for me to decide on the matter. Besides, I once thought that Leo was a trusted ally, and we saw how that ended. It is best for there to not be any uncertainties when I make my decision."

"But this is not the reason why you are here," he continued. "This is about your assignment to Mistral." Not whether Jaune would go or not, for that was a choice he wasn't given. It should have made him angrier than what he was feeling now, but it didn't. Because even if he hated Ozpin, they had a common enemy, and unlike what Raven Branwen did before, he was not going to run away and let others fight in the war against Salem. Not when he still drew breath and had the use of his body.

"You said you wanted me in Haven. How do you propose I accomplish that?"

"That has already been resolved," of course it has. "With your credentials, it was easy to procure you a position as a teacher." Ozpin linked his hands on the table. "In fact, Laurie was so impressed by your resume that she sought you out to be her assistant. Like Glynda is for me."

"Was, Oz. She was your assistant."

He gave Jaune an unimpressed look.

He coughed into his fist, hiding the glee he felt from irritating a wizard who could have very well told fairy tales to his great-grandparents. "When do I leave, and how long do you want me there?"

"You will leave today, and as for the duration of your stay. I'll need you there long enough to determine if any of Salem's agents are within Mistral's criminal underworld, or anywhere for that matter. It will also be a good opportunity to have another opinion on Laurie, seeing as how you'll be near her for quite some time." He frowned, looking like a chess player who couldn't find many good moves to make. "James has not been able to find anything in Atlas, and my sources in Vacuo say that things are normal there. At least, normal in the sense that it is still chaotic as Vacuo always is." He chuckled, "Only Mistral remains, and I can think of no other person in Vale that I trust with this mission than you. "

"I'm the only person you can send. Glynda is the headmistress of Beacon; you're you and Qrow..."

Ozpin's smile fell, his gaze set on the table with cluttered paperwork as he let out a strained sigh, sounding more tired than a man his age should ever seem. Well, more tired than a man Oscar's age should be feeling. "The fact remains, you are the only one I can send." He picked up his mug and downed the cocoa that was inside, setting it down a moment later. "It does help that you are a rather talented young man. I'd dare say you could give Qrow a run for his money when he was your age."

"Don't hold your breath, Oz. I doubt I'm that good." Jaune rose from the desk, his chair scraping back. "Can I expect this to be a solo mission, or am I to be paired with my beloved snow angel again?" Despite the cheesy nickname he still made use of, it wasn't accompanied by the goofy smile his friends said he had whenever he used it.

"You will be on your own. Miss Schnee shall stay in Atlas where she will be well protected."

"She doesn't need it," he replied with a snort. "She can take care of herself."

"Of that, I do not doubt."

"And yet you feel the need to have me babysit her when she could kick my ass nine times out of ten." Though if his parnter ever took a spar with him seriously, the chance of making her break a sweat was nonexistent. When Ozpin didn't reply, Jaune turned to leave. "Well, I'll get going now."

"While we're on the topic of Miss Schnee," Ozpin spoke up with a far more casual tone, no doubt amused that Jaune stopped dead in his tracks. "She did arrive last night and is most likely visiting her sister now at this very moment. But you knew that already. Didn't you?" Ozpin had that knowing smile of his, the one that he used whenever he caught his students in one of their hijinks. He poured himself another cup of the hot chocolate.

"Perhaps you should pay her a visit." Ozpin continued but said nothing more to instead focus on his heart-attack in a cup.

Why did Ozpin feel the need to know everything that didn't involve him?

"I've no idea what you're talking about." He denied, his voice betraying nothing. "And I think I'll pass. Wouldn't want to annoy Ice Queen today of all days."

He went to leave, his hand enveloped the bronze knob, ready to open the door with a twist and pull, "I hope I do not have to emphasize how important it is we find her followers." Ozpin stopped him, his voice taking on a much sharper edge. "While we may have the other relics, Salem still has the Relic of Choice. It is imperative that we reclaim it if we are to end this war. To ensure that the sacrifices our friends made are not in vain."

"They were not your friends!" Jaune spun, glaring at the man who used his so-called friends to fight a war! "Don't you dare pretend that you were our friend. You were just a puppeteer controlling his dolls."

Ozpin sighed, "Whatever you may think of me, trust that I have the best interests of Remnant and its people in mind. Sacrifices have to be made to save the many. I understand more than anyone that it is never a comfort to the few."

His fists tighten. "What can the Relic of Choice do for Salem when she's one foot in the grave? Answer me that."

"That isn't information for you," he warned.

"Bullshit!" Jaune yelled. "I've continued to work for you despite everything you've put me through. I deserve to know what has you so worried! Of all the relics, Choice is the only one you refuse to go into detail about. It's time you tell me what it does." After all the pain and loss, there was no way in hell that he wasn't getting answers! Hadn't he earned that right?!

"All I can say is that the Relic of Choice can potentially undo all that we have accomplished."

Ozpin didn't flinch when the wood cracked from Jaune's fists hitting the desk. "Then why hasn't anything happened?! She's had three years to do something, yet nothing has happened! For all I know, Salem could be dead after what Ruby did to her!" Which meant there was only one name left on his list of enemies that he needed to kill.

"If she were dead, then my curse would have been lifted, and it would be Oscar speaking to you now, sitting in this chair doing paperwork with a cup of hot chocolate to ease his stress. While my footsteps would be long vanished, forgotten by all so that I can finally rest after a war that has lasted lifetimes."

"And how," he leaned closer to Ozpin so that their noses were only an inch apart. "Do you fucking know that?"

For the first time in his life, it was Jaune that left the immortal wizard silent with his words. Ozpin suddenly found his paperwork much more interesting. His mouth opened and closed trying to find the words that he could use to counter back with, but he finally settled to keep his jaw shut. Their eyes met again, and when Ozpin remained mute, Jaune realized that their conversation was over. He pulled away.

"You've already ruined so many lives because of the mistakes that you made! You sacrificed generation after generation of people like Team STRQ, like my team, like team RWBY!" He wouldn't cry. He would never show weakness in front of Ozpin. "Like Ruby..." The same word came out in a whisper, but it held new meaning — one that almost broke him.

"When are you finally going to stop using people?" He continued. "When will it all end?"

Jaune wished for an answer. But one never came.

/-/

Jaune went to visit the prettiest, fastest, and most amazing girl he had ever gotten the privilege to meet.

"I'm here to see Ruby Rose."

The woman checked her computer for a moment, before smiling at him prettily. "Of course. Her room is-"

"430 B, I know." His eyes widen. "Unless it's been changed!"

"No! Miss Rose hasn't been moved. She should be there."

A sigh of relief exploded out. "Thank you. I'll go see her now." Jaune smiled as he moved toward the elevator.

It did not take him long to find her. Jaune knew this place like the recording of Pyrrha; the ins and outs were common knowledge to him. He maneuvered through the white-coated men and women, some waved and said their hellos recognizing him from one of his many other visits. He returned their kind gestures, but never stopped to talk.

He nudged the door forward, walking in a white room its walls and tiled floor seemed to glow. It could not have been from rays of the sun piercing through the window, for the clouds blanketed the ball of hot gas. Perhaps it was because any room seemed to sparkle when Ruby was around. It certainly wasn't because of the slumped form of Qrow Branwen, the last of his team.

Jaune never met the leader of team STRQ, but he wished he had. Summer Rose was the first to part from Remnant many years ago, a mother that Ruby said made the best cookies on Remnant, and was the best huntress around.

Next was the supreme sun of the team, whose brilliant golden aura died with him after he fought Hazel Rainart to a battle that Jaune was not there to witness. If he were, then it would have been a different blond who died that day, for Jaune swore that he wouldn't sit on the sidelines and let anyone else lose their lives. It was a promise that he failed to keep time and time again.

Then finally, came Raven's end, dying in a way that no one could ever foresee, in the arms of her crying daughter, after using her body to take an arrow made of glass aimed at Yang's heart.

Qrow was all alone, his only family now sleeping in a hospital bed.

The retired huntsman sat beside his niece, red eyes staring blankly at the resting woman's face. The years were not kind to Qrow something that Jaune sadly found relatable. The scythe wielder's spiky hair retained only a few strands of its dark locks, the rest now a dusty gray. The slight stubble around his jawline was now a short, unkempt beard that matched the hair atop his head

They did not exchange any words of greeting. It was understandable, considering that Jaune was the reason for his former mentor's retirement from the field. He pulled the only chair in the room back. Unlike his time in Ozpin's office, he did not slide the chair along the tiles, but lifted it, before placing it close to the sleeping form of Ruby Rose.

Jaune took a seat, and like the man that he now sat across from his eyes took in every detail of the woman that peacefully slept — ignorant of the world around her. He removed his gloves, setting them down on the nightstand, before taking hold of Ruby's pale hand with both of his. She was cold, but Jaune rubbed his thumb along her skin anyway, feeling her delicate little bones. He made sure to be gentle, as he always did. Ruby didn't stir from his touch; she never did. She never would.

"It's funny..." Qrow let out a light, but raspy chuckle.

"Only you could find humor in this," Jaune glowered at him but soothed his features a second later. He knew that the old man didn't mean anything by it. After all, Ruby's pale slumber had most likely affected Qrow the most.

"She was always full of energy." Qrow ignored him. "Nothing could ever settle her down. Every day was a new opportunity for her to either go out and train, or to tinker on Crescent Rose when she already did it a mere day ago. She always had that smile of hers too when she did anything. The kind that reassured you that everything would work out. That she was going to fix the world with her boundless energy and be unafraid the whole time."

"She's a lot like Summer," he continued with a pained smile. "Willing to go out and fight all of Remnant's darkness without worrying about whether she would die or not, or how that would affect those who cared about her." Qrow took hold of Ruby's other hand, giving it a soft squeeze. The machine that was always by her side continued to beep a steady rhythm, a comforting reminder that she was still alive.

"Ozpin gave me an assignment," Jaune said, but his eyes never strayed from Ruby. He was too afraid that she would be gone like everyone else if he looked away. "I'm going to Mistral today."

Qrow said nothing. He just sat there, holding his niece's hand as if she would slip away at any moment. Jaune did the same, before bringing Ruby's slender hand to his cheek. Her skin was soft and warm against his, thanks to the heat he shared with her. He leaned into her touch, before kissing her palm.

"I'll leave her in your care," Jaune said, voice barely above a whisper. They were parting words, but he didn't move for another minute. Leaving her here never got easier. What if that heart monitor's steady, rhythmic beats became one solid tone while he was away? Would the world be so cruel as to rob him the chance to say goodbye? He didn't know, and it was a question that he hoped would never need to be answered.

Finally, he stood and walked to the window where he could see the dark gray sky, the sun covered by clouds. It continued to snow, their descent still slow and gentle. He unlocked the window hatch, and let the cold wind inside, feeling it run through his hair and scarf. He held the red cloth, a remnant of Ruby's beloved hooded cloak.

"Come back alive." It was whispered softly, yet it held the weight that so few words could ever have. "Ruby would be devastated if you kicked the bucket." Jaune turned, and for the first time blue met red. Qrow no longer held her hand, to instead push against the wheels of his chair until he was only a single pace away from the blond. He looked up at Jaune, once one of Beacon's weakest students, now one of Remnant's greatest huntsman. He looked down at Qrow, once Ozpin's most valuable agent, now a broken man restricted to a wheelchair. Yet he found it impossible not to look up to his former mentor. Qrow Branwen earned his respect when he sacrificed his body to protect him.

"Why would you do that?" Jaune looked down at the man who saved him from collapsing rubble.

"Because losing you would break her heart." Qrow looked up, and smiled at his student, revealing blood stained teeth. It was as if the sharp concrete crushing and piercing his body were just a figment of Jaune's imagination. But when he blinked and saw that he wasn't looking at the ceiling of his room, he screamed.

It was one of those memories that haunted him, yet now it somehow brought a smile that didn't feel forced, and it was aimed at the two greatest scythe wielders on Remnant.

"Goodbye," he vanished, all around the space he once occupied, white feathers tipped black seemed to flutter and float in the air, one landing on Qrow's unresponsive lap. A lone feather glided past him, dancing in the air before finding its place on Ruby's chest.

In the distance, Qrow heard the magnificent shout of an eagle.

/-/

It was dark out when she stood outside in the cold, but thankfully the artificial lights of the city illuminated her surroundings.

The snow fell gently, blanketing the world around her in a layer of frost. It had been snowing for hours now, becoming a deterrent to the citizens of Vale from staying out, lest they risk their ankles getting buried in powdered ice.

The former Schnee heiress deemed it unimportant like everything else around her was when it came time to visit her sister.

Weiss deserved her undivided attention; Winter had failed to do that for her when they were younger. The least she could do was confront the cold for her little sister. Besides, winters in Atlas were much worse. She sighed, her breath took shape into a sheen of mist that was whisked away by the stiff breeze.

Worse on paper, yet Winter found it colder here than her home kingdom's harshest days of frost. Perhaps she should have worn a coat, after all. Her specialist garb did not protect her shoulders from the falling snow, allowing the tiny flecks of white to coalesce on her exposed skin. But she had been through the same in Atlas, never bothering to wear a coat save for the days when the temperature would be at its worst.

It's because he wasn't here with her; Winter's treacherous mind piped up. It only made her feel even colder.

Kneeling before her sister, she brushed her fingers against the smooth surface of the gray tablet, feeling the grooves from letters that spelled out a word a name.

"I'm sorry that I left you," Winter whispered, uttering the same words she always said as she stared at the marker. "I wish I could have been a part of your life when you needed me. Wish that you and I could have been proper sisters like your two teammates." She bowed her head, finding it difficult to look at the headstone. She would not cry though, for her tears had dried long ago. "I hope you didn't hate me."

She stood, eyes looking down at the headstone once again. "I hope you loved me, Weiss."

Winter heard wings flapping, and then a pair of little feet land on the branch of a tree. She looked up to the source, seeing a lone eagle with feathers as white as the snow around them, its tips pitch-black. The bird's dark blue eyes looked at her, and only her. Winter smiled as she always did when those eyes met hers.

Wings fluttered again, and it landed, on two feet — feet that were protected by leather shoes which led up to a human body, clad in a black jacket with a tattered scarf wrapped around his neck. The man's face was smooth and clean-shaven, letting her appreciate his features that she grew to love.

"I miss her too," his voice was soft, a deep tenor that never failed to lull her to sleep on late nights.

She said nothing in response. The wound from hearing the recording of a dead girl just outside the room they shared was still fresh. Not only was her time with Jaune shared with a woman in deep slumber, but with a dead one too.

"Hmm," she would no longer let her gaze stray from the gray tablet. It was the only thing Winter had — other than memories — of her little sister. Father had also made arrangements for a funeral, with much more money spent on his part, but not out of love, but for public opinion. Jacques wanted to look the part of a mourning parent. There was even a banquet in honor of Weiss, a celebration of his daughter's life. But it was like any other party he hosted. Just another social event to make allies, and strengthen current partnerships.

Father might as well have spat on Weiss's grave.

She almost jumped as warm, calloused hands caressed her shoulders, removing the snow that had piled on. The coldness her skin felt was forgotten and now hungered more for the warmth his touch gave. But they left as soon as they blessed her, replaced by his jacket that was too large for her. The comfort it provided was nothing compared to his touch.

"You've been here all day," he whispered from behind, his hot breath washed over her left ear. "Were you waiting for me?"

He maneuvered to her left now, allowing her to look at him to the side without her hair getting in the way. The sleeves of his white shirt protected his arms, but it left little to the imagination of what was under the thin material. His rough hands took shelter in the pockets of his pants. Like every other time she found herself in the company of this man, her eyes were drawn to the ragged red scarf around his neck, then to the handkerchief in his breast pocket. They both stood out like her ivory hair would in a crowd. He stepped closer so that their shoulders would touch. She neither flinched nor moved away, and completely ignored the tattered pieces of cloth.

"Thank you, Jaune" she whispered.

The blond said nothing. He stood in place as if he forgot Winter was right beside him. She knew better than to believe such a foolish notion, though. He was far too gentlemanly to do that.

She too remained silent, in favor of basking in the comfortable presence she found herself in; the frigid air now only a memory, as was the loneliness she felt. Her grasp on his jacket tightened, and she allowed her eyes to drift shut. The urge to lean against him was strong, but she stomped out those desires.

"I wish we could have gone together,"

Her eyes widened when she realized that it was not her voice who spoke those words. Winter swallowed when an arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. Despite her wishes, she did not look up to see his face partly because his chin rested atop her head, and mostly because she found it hard to look at him.

He almost never held her like this outside of the bedroom. It was a question she would have pondered the answer to, but right this second she couldn't care less.

Why was it that when he was around, all of her pain just faded away, and a new ache took its place in her chest? How was it that feeling his warmth was an entirely new experience every time, one that eased the cold better than any coat ever could? Even the jacket he let her wear could not compare to the feel of his skin against hers.

"Are you ready to leave?" He asked, while releasing her and for the second time, his eyes went to her. As always the world around her seemed to stop when she met his gaze. It was as if she discovered something that no one else had ever experienced before, and she selfishly wanted to hide it for herself.

Hadn't she deserved to be selfish, after everything she had lost? Wasn't it time she finally asked to stay with him?

"Yes," she replied. "My ship is ready to depart." Her hand took his, their fingers intertwined. Jaune watched her, then looked down at their connected hands when she gripped him tighter. Winter let go, leaving the key he always gave her in his grasp.

Maybe Winter did deserve to be selfish. Without Jaune, she had no one to care about in any intimate capacity. Years of fighting and losing made the very act of living near impossible.

Until she fell in love, that was. But it was because she loved him so much that Winter could not act on her selfish desires.

Jaune cared for another woman. And there was nothing she could do to change that. She couldn't force Jaune to love her no matter how desperately she wanted him to. It was his choice whether to love her or not.

They walked together, snow crunching under their feet.

"By the way," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Where are your gloves?" She asked, eyeing his hands that were buried in his pockets.

He looked away; his cheeks flushed with color. "I forgot them."

What a boob.

And so my rebellion continues.

Hey friends, it's been quite some time since I've last written on this site. It was nice to write for you all again. If you are new around here, it also makes me happy to know that you've stuck around to the end. Back to my old readers. You may be wondering why I returned, and the answer is quite simple. I missed writing, missed the brief moments where I would smile whenever I read a review. It was a small bit of happiness, but it was one that I cherished.

But there's more, I was so focused on the university, and the idea that I needed a degree to be happy. I turned my back on what I enjoyed doing, for a piece of parchment that (while important to many people for the path they want to walk) opens up the door to a job that may or may not pay for a comfortable life. But to be honest, I don't want that. I just want to write for hours upon hours for whoever may read my content.

So I quit school, and I'm happier than I've ever been.

I have a job that pays my bills, and still gives me time to write for you all. However, I eventually want to be able to make writing my full-time job. So, I plan to open up a p4treon(that thing where you support people. Apparently you can't type the P word on this site)

Now hear me out! I won't be doing it now because my track record on updates was horrid. You can support me if you wish to after I prove that I can provide a reliable schedule for all of you. To prove that I can provide content that will be enjoyable, and come out in a timely manner I will be writing this short story. I promise to release a chapter of this story once a month, and it will be at a word count of about 6000-8000 words. I want this to be a demo of sorts, a small taste of what I can provide.

As for how long this story will be, I can guarantee that it won't run for longer than ten chapters.

As for my old stories, I may or may not go back to them. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯