There's a saying that went 'Never meet your heroes because they're sure to disappoint you' or something along those lines. Well, forget meeting them, mine lived in the same house as I do.

"Put your wrist into your swing! Don't just stay in one place after each strike, your enemies won't be braindead!"

"Shield up, shield up! Crocea Mors is both the sword and shield, Jaune! Use them together!"

"Duck, roll, and weave if you think you can't tank a hit! Keep your Aura up! Oum didn't give you so much of them just so that you can look stupid!

Not so much as disappoint, as it was… uh, what's the word I'm looking for… oh yeah. Torture.

[Hahaha! Do you feel it, master?! The feeling of your muscles aching, your heart pumping and your bone creaking as you build yourself up into the perfectly forged blade that you are?! Isn't it glorious?!]

"I'll… show you… glorious…" I look pathetic. Gasping and breathing for air while trying my best to not let my noodly legs collapse under the weight of my pathetic self.

"...we'll take a ten minutes break," Mathias told his son, looking unwinded as if he didn't spend the last two hours putting his son through the wringer. Seriously, dad, just what kind of superman are you?!

"Although, Jaune…" Mathias wondered, "you told me you've spent the last five years training. What kind of training did you do?"

Oh, well, uh…

[Remember master. Only you can hear me speak. I have witnessed it countless times before, but, people tend to get concerned when someone they know started talking to a supposedly inanimate object.]

Well fuck me in the ass and call me Jennifer, Morty, why didn't I think of that? Of course, they'll get concerned you piece of ancient steel forged at an awkward length. It's bad enough that dad's suspecting me of having my second phase of puberty, he doesn't need to know that his son's been having intelligent conversations with the family's ancestral sword!

I swear, the irritation I'm feeling was due to the fact that I hadn't touched dad at all ever since the moment I exited the house. Dad thought it was a good idea to gauge my skills - as if I had any in the first place - by straight-up letting me use everything I have at my disposal against him.

Oh, how well that's going you might ask? If you must know, it's going as well as trying to describe the color purple to a person who has been blind ever since they were born.

[You are being too hard on yourself, master! I can see at least two things you're doing right and I think so does your father.]

"Oh, uh… I've been doing a lot of cardio." I managed to say after regaining the amount of air necessary to allow me to speak. "I changed my diet and worked out in my room whenever possible."

"Not… as worse as I expect you to be." Well, that's not disappointing at all. Mathias hummed, scratching the stubble on his chin. "You can certainly dish out strikes quicker than anyone who's new to training. I half expected you to faint after we hit the one hour mark, but you didn't."

So, what does that tell me?

"You have the strength and stamina necessary for an aspiring Huntsman," Mathias told his son, managing to sound impressed. "In fact, I think those are your strongest traits at the moment."

'At the moment' he said. So that means I could improve myself, right? To be honest, hearing an honest compliment from dad made me feel better about myself. Good enough to overlook the fact that he just made me feel like I wanted to projectile vomit the dinner I had for last night's supper into the bush.

Strength and Stamina. Huh, I guess those cardio exercises and diet you made me do were useful after all.

Why of course, master! In the field, strength determines how fast you can swing me around to hit your foe! Your stamina, in turn, allows you to keep up with the ever-changing flow of battle. The great hallmarks of a warrior in the making!

"Cardio, huh?" Mathias mused. "So that's why you've been saving up for those running shoes you got a few years back. I was convinced you were going to buy yourself a guitar, but you didn't."

Ugh, please don't remind me about that dad. I was looking forward to buying that guitar, but it's not like it'll help me fight in the field. What? Am I supposed to scare the Grimm and thugs away with my singing voice?

[Now that's-

Don't even think about it, Morty.

"Anyway," Mathias began, his voice taking a serious turn, "have you decided what combat school you're going to apply to?"

Huh?

Dad must've noticed the look on my face. He should've. Otherwise, he wouldn't have looked at me as if I'd just popped out a second head on my neck.

"Jaune." Mathias started, articulating his son's name slowly. "You do realize that in order to enter a Hunter Academy, you need to graduate from a combat school, don't you?"

Well, uh, shit.

I lay down Morty - who's sheathed inside the scabbard-shield - while I turn to focus my attention on dad. Okay, to clear things up, I'm not dumb. I know that you can't just waltz into a Hunter Academy without any background knowledge or prior combat school education. I'm an idiot, not suicidal.

In fact, what kind of idiot would march into a Hunter Academy like - let's say - Beacon, without any transcripts, and stay for Oum knows what kind of hellish initiation process they might throw at you? A dead one, that's what.

Good thing I'm not one.

"I know, dad. I do." I had to reassure him. "But, then again, there aren't any combat schools that are willing to accept latecomers into the semester. I was thinking something along the lines of… uh…"

[Just tell it to him, master! Remember what I told you? About the story of Thaddeus Hawthorne? He was the model adventurer! A brave soul who proved his worth by culling evil in the untamed continent of Solitas! A flame who burned so strong, he thawed the frozen continent in his wake!]

I know, just let me prepare myself mentally, geez…

Okay, here goes nothing:

"I was thinking of getting my experience out there in the field," I said.

"No." Mathias replied without missing a beat. "No. No way. No way, Jaune Arc."

Yeah, I was expecting that.

"If you think I'm about to let you go off into Oum knows where without at least four years of proper combat training, then think again Jaune." Mathias's voice is biting. Harsh and scolding.

"Let me explain myself, dad, I-

"I thought you're smarter than this, Jaune. If I'd known this is the case, then-

"Then what?" I couldn't hold myself back. I shouted at him. "Then what, dad? You'd go back on your promise? You told me, last night at supper, that you'd train me yourself, dad. You told me that you understand. That you'd let me live my life the way I want to."

"Jaune, I-

"Do you really not trust me at all?"

I know… it's underhanded of me.

I know it's cruel of me to say this to him.

But by Oum, I need this.

Mathias's lips were clamped shut. He stared at me with guilt in his eyes; guilt I've inflicted upon him. He remained stoic, though. I guess decades worth of experience of being a Huntsman will do that to you.

"I trust you… son." Mathias's could barely stop his lips from quivering, "but no good parent on this planet would let their kid leave their home one day just because he wants to go on a self-proving journey that can potentially get him killed."

"Then teach me. Train me." I begged. "Break me and remake me if you have to. I-I have to… I need to be a Huntsman… please… dad."

"Why?"

Mathias's voice broke through the silence like an arrow shot straight and true. It made me look at him. And for once, I saw something else aside from that usual stoic demeanor. Confusion. For the first time in my life, I'm seeing my own father with a look of utter confusion on his face. I'm willing to bet all my life's saving that none of my older sisters have ever seen it. Maybe this was something only mom and I know of.

"Why do you want to be a Huntsman so very much, Jaune?" Mathias asked his son.

You're damn right, dad. I want to be a Huntsman so very fucking much.

[Master…]

I know Morty.

Taking in the deepest breath I've ever breathed, I finally spoke, "It's because I want you to be proud of yourself."

But I didn't stop there.

"Dad, I know you'll always be proud of me regardless of what I become. Noir told me that I could be a hobo and both you and mom will still be proud of me."

I have to tell this man in front of me that he can still love himself.

"But don't you see? I want you to be proud of you too! I want my dad to know that his son looks up to him so much to the point where he wants to be like him! If you can't be proud of what yourself, then what does that say about me?"

Mathias Arc may not be fighting a Grimm. But I know that I've taken the place of a foe far greater than the most dangerous Grimm on this planet. I am his own son, his own flesh and blood.

Me crying on and on about how I want to be Huntsman like him is nothing short of a nightmare coming true for him. But that was all he saw it as. A nightmare. Morty was right. Dad had looked so much into the Abyss and he did not like what he saw, and in turn, it transformed him into a man who's blind of his own strengths.

[Do you know the only way to cure a blind man, master?]

...how?

[It's simple. You just have to shine bright enough to make them see again.]

Mathias thought nothing on Remnant could render him speechless.

He had seen it all. The good, the ugly, and the in-between. He had basked in the light, he had felt the twisted embrace of darkness and he had walked through the gray boundary of morals. The things he went through shaped him into the man he was today and he would be lying if he said he had not regretted anything.

If only he had been stronger, then perhaps he would've turned out more emotionally stable. If only he had been smarter, then perhaps he would've planned things better.

Yet here was his son telling him, straight up to his face, that he had been a stronger person. He had been a smarter person. Those words might come up as empty reassurance from anyone else, but to hear his own son say it to him?

It meant everything.

Those cobalt blue eyes that were identical to his own looked back at him with such admiration and awe. A younger him would've been floored to see someone look at him like that.

'Ah, this was how it all started, wasn't it?'

"Father, when I grow up, I want to be a Huntsman just like you!"

A crooked smile formed on the face of an old warrior. He reached down, lifting his one and only heir by the waist and holding him close.

"Is that so, my little cub? I'll see what we can do, then."

Two lions roared as one.

"Dad…? Dad? Are you okay?"

Shutting his eyes, he let a tear run down the outline of his face.

Mathias Arc never considered himself as a strong person. Sure, he might have been in situations that required him to be strong, but those were things that anyone could face if they put their mind into it. He never saw the need of being the strongest Huntsman on Remnant. He just had to be strong enough to protect his family and himself. For the longest time, it had always been that way to him.

Until now, at least.

Before him was his own son. A son who looked up to him as a role model - no - the role model. Children will look up to their parents. A son to his dad. How could he have forgotten such a simple fact?

Wordlessly, the patriarch of the Arc family shifted his stance. His weapon, a two-handed sword forged by his own two hands, was raised. He spread his feet apart to accommodate his weight, while his hands were gripping the hilt of the blade with the tip pointed forward. Through his lips, he took in a deep breath of air, releasing it moments later, his chest heaving as a result.

"Jaune?"

"Yes dad?"

"Shield up."

Rush. Swipe. Blocked.

"Whoa?!"

Kick, swing, and stab. Hit, dodged, blocked. Too fast. No, it must be fast. Have to be. Dad swooped down with a low swing, aiming for my legs, but I have always been quick-footed. A trait that earned me the nickname 'Twinkle-Toes' by my sisters, much to annoyance. Dammit, I could do nothing but blocking and dodging the flurry of swipes and stabs coming my way.

Parry, parry, block. Dodge, sidestep, duck. This was not good. Dad wasn't giving me any openings or whatsoever. This was infuriating, as much as it was exciting. I have to do something. Even though I'm confident in my stamina, I can only last so long from the experienced attacks dad was sending my way.

[Master, don't treat this as a spar! Your father is no longer a sparring partner. He is a foe, an enemy! Fight him!]

Dammit Morty, if you say it like that, it sounds so easy!

Duck. Sidestep. Parry, and strike! But dad proved to be the experienced fighter he was, slapping away my counter effortlessly. I could not attack him properly. I could barely dodge his strikes and most of those times I had were spent on blocking with my shield. A wide horizontal slash would've hit right on the neck, but a swing with my left hand managed to slap it away. A chance, an opening. I rushed into his personal space, slipping underneath his guard. He proved me wrong. A boot to my chest, pushing me away. Almost made me fall.

Shield up, I charged. Dad complied. I rushed, dad side-stepped, and swung his body to strike with a downward strike. Shield blocked the attack. Move sword to stab. Thwarted. Dad anticipated this, grabbing me by the shield arm with one of his hands, and tossed me sideways. I rolled my body to fall properly, dodging a ground stab. Instincts kicked in. Kicked the dirt into the air, hitting dad right in the eyes. Success! Rushed forward and speared him right on the gut, bringing him down.

Dad reacted quickly, using the pommel of his sword to strike my throat. A strong push with his boot threw me back, and I recovered. Gasping. Panting. Breathing for air. Growing tired and weary. Couldn't last long. But no time to rest. I dodged a stab, but dad followed up with a sweep of his legs, bringing me to the ground. He raised his boot and was about to stomp me, but I rolled away. Scurrying to my feet, I raised my shield again to block an upward strike, and another strike, another and another.

Dad looked at me, his stance changing. He had both hands held high, tip of his sword pointed at me. His legs are spread apart wider than before. Alarms blared in my head. He then rushed at me with his sword, spinning and twisting his body, striking me from all sides. I had my shield up to take the burnt of the strikes, what it couldn't, I used my aura. Dad was like a spinning top of silvery death. I couldn't keep up, he's too fast! I could feel my aura beginning to weaken, anytime now, he'll break it!

[Your father is right about me being both the sword and shield, master. But what he doesn't know is that I am also an extension of your soul!]

What?

Ah.

Crocea Mors. It's closer to a relic belonging in a museum than a proper weapon by today's standards. But don't let him hear me say that, he'll be upset. The stories Morty told me. Stories of him and his past users.

If you ignore all the gallivanting tales and bloated glory stories, they are quite interesting. Especially when almost all of them have one thing in common.

The users of Crocea Mors have the same Semblance.

[Remember master! Not only am I your sword and shield, I am also-

A manifestation of my soul.

In other words, my Semblance.

I burst into a pillar of white, causing dad to retreat at the suddenness of it all. He lowered his weapon, staring at me with wide eyes and an open mouth.

It was hard to describe. I felt light and heavy at the same time. I felt strong but vulnerable. I felt safe but scared. The fact that I had yet to have breakfast was long forgotten as a surge of dormant energy began to well up within me. I felt empowered, yet overwhelmed at the same time.

[Master! Your body is now akin to an Aura generator, you are independently increasing the amount of aura you have! Focus and control the flow of your soul into me, I'll show you what I can really do!]

Increasing Aura? Aura generator? Maybe if I had been calmer I would've had time to really question Morty what on Oum's green Remnant was he talking about. But as I am now, it's not just possible.

The sword in my hands shone like a dying star.

I could faintly hear dad shouting my name, as well as the sound of commotion coming from the direction of my house. It was impossible to describe. The amount of power I'm harnessing into my hands made me feel like I could conquer the uncharted lands all the way from Sanus to Menagerie!

And like most people who had power, I had to use it.

With Crocea Mors aimed towards the sky, as a last-ditch attempt from me to not harm my dad, it unleashed a literal pillar of golden light that shot up high into the firmament and through the atmosphere. The action caused a ripple of warm air to hit my face like some sort of backblast off of a rocket launcher from those action movies I'm so fond of.

But instead of just hitting me, it also launched me away.

Crocea Mors fell out from my grip, I could feel my back, neck, and head hitting a large tree. My aura protected me, which baffled me. That bullshit move I pulled straight from a Mistralian anime must've used up a lot of aura. How the hell did I still have enough to protect me?

[It is your semblance, master! All of my users, past, present, or future, were blessed with large aura reserves and a semblance that complements it greatly!]

In Sanusian, please, Morty…

[You are an aura generator in human form, master. For as long as you live and breathe, you are capable of regenerating your own aura. With enough time and practice, you can single-handedly outsize the combined amount of aura of a Kingdom's worth of Huntsmen and Huntresses!]

That's… great. So great. But… why am I so sleepy?

Ah, much like yourself, your semblance has just newly awakened. It will take time before you can fully utilize it in its truest form.

Ah… is that so? I see. I'm glad.

Damn. I have such a badass Semblance. Take that Noir! You're not the only one… with… a bad...ass Sem...bla…

Sleep well, my master.

In the darkest corner of Remnant, where even the slightest glimmer of light failed to pierce through the dark shroud encasing every crawling corner of the land, a girl locked up in her tower woke up from her brief slumber with cold sweat pouring out her pores.

On her throne of bones and cartilage, she looked around her chambers with maddened zeal. Her breathing failed to regulate itself, causing her to draw out short gasps of air as if she had the wind knocked out of her.

No one else was present in the room to see her act uncharacteristically. No one was there to see the fear being etched onto her corpse-like face, to see the dilation of her soulless eyes and to see as her most powerful creations emerge from their corners and gather from the sheer amount of dread she was emitting.

"This feeling…" she whispered, "...no…"

Looking up, the girl noticed the gathering of her spawns inside the room. With an indignant cry, she dismissed them, returning them into the darkness from where they came.

She groggily stepped off of her throne, walking down the steps onto the carpeted floor. With a rigid gait, she made her way to the door leading into the balcony that overlooked her domain.

The sky was dark purple, while the clouds were ashen grey. The soil was charred and marred, the land barren and dead. A land where the living had no place, a land where beasts resided… this was her domain.

Her spawns - at least the ones gifted with the ability of flight - occupied the air, slithering through the rotten canvas of the sky like snakes. The girl of the tower reached her hand out, materializing darkness seemingly out of nothingness.

The darkness separated. What was one, now becoming two. They morphed and contorted to take the form of a blackbird. They bore similar characteristics to their unholy brethren, dark with bony white features adorning their bodies.

"Huginn. Muninn."

Given names, the two blackbirds born of darkness squawked in response much like their living counterparts. They hopped off her hand and into the railings of the balcony, obediently awaiting her orders.

She had lived for a long time. She had seen many kingdoms thrive and fall and live only to forget about them as many more fall into the same pattern. This was a plight she shared with her foe. The Wizard.

The girl steadied herself, something she had not done in a long time.

This world was nothing more than a continuous loop of patterns. She had seen it all play out and end in the exact same way. A time of strife begat strong people, strong people begat peace, peace begat complacency and complacency begat strife. Like a never ending spiral this pattern had remained consistent ever since sentience had emerged in the minds of people.

She strived to break that endless cycle. A goal she was sure her eternal foe The Wizard shared, at least to a point.

"Find me whoever was responsible for the surge of power I felt."

A goal she would see until completion no matter the cost.

"And when you do, keep an eye on them at all times and report back to me."

A goal that would soon come to progress after years of preparation.

The twin blackbirds flew off their perch and away from Evernight Castle into the distance, soaring through the bleak purple skies of the Land of Darkness.

A goal that could be hindered should the scale of balance remain tipped to The Wizard's side. What she had just felt was familiar. So scarily familiar it was enough to worry her. It's like throwing a boulder into a completely still pond, disrupting the stillness of the surface she had been constructing and causing ripples throughout the pond.

In other words, a weight on the scale.

A weight which both she and The Wizard could use to tip their own sides of the scale.

Being the ever opportunistic individual she was, she intended to do just that.

"...Glynda, did you put something in the brew?"

"Aside from the usual two spoonfuls of sugar and the amount of cream you prefer, no."

"I see."

…

"Glynda?"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"...nevermind, forget I've said anything."

Up in his tower, a man with two souls could not stop himself from letting his lips stretch into a thin smile.

Whew, got this down just in the nick of time. To those of you who would like to listen to the recommended soundtrack for this fic, please tune in to the story over at SpaceBattles! It does a way better job of formatting and allowing links, which makes the reading experience smoother!

And the story goes by the same title over at SpaceBattles, don't know why I have to get that clear lol.