The locker room was quiet this usual time of day.
Most of the trainees were still in the simulation blocks or the gym annexes, which left the long large steel rows of lockers echoing faintly with the hum of the ventilation system. Jaune pushed through the double doors, exhaling softly as the sound sealed behind him.
He waved over his shoulder as Oscar turned down a different corridor. "See you tomorrow."
Oscar raised his water bottle in salute. "Yeah, don't do anything weird."
"No promises."
The doors slid shut with a muted hiss, leaving Jaune alone.
Today had been short. He could've waited for Ren and Nora — they'd offered to train together tonight — but he didn't feel up for it. His muscles weren't tired but his head, that felt heavy.
And there were other things he needed to deal with anyway.
He stopped in front of his locker — Section 3-C, row twenty-one — and tapped the side panel. The mechanism beeped, scanning his face, then unlocked with a soft click.
The door swung open, revealing a neat arrangement of his gear. The scent of metal and clean deodrant drifted out.
His LUCID-issued weapons were stacked precisely on the shelves — a pair of standard-issue rune-tech handguns, his training swords a few spare cartridges, and beside them…
Crocea Mors.
Jaune's gaze roamed over it. The sword rested in its worn leather sheath, the edges faintly scuffed, the grip dark from handling.
It looked almost humble next to the sleek lines of his LUCID-issued blade, the one he had come to call Lux Aeterna — a longsword forged from special alloy using rune technology. That one looked like something out of the future. Crocea Mors, looked like something ancient.
He reached out, fingers brushing the hilt, and for a brief moment, the world felt smaller. Simpler.
It was strange — all the technology, the runic networks, the simulations and weapon mods — and yet this plain steel sword still held more weight to him than any of it.
He unlatched the sheath and lifted Crocea Mors free. The blade caught the overhead light, reflecting a soft gleam along its edge.
There were neither nicks nor scratches from old battles. All damage his sword had accumulated in the past, within the dream, had never returned with him to reality. But still, Jaune could feel the memories within the blade. Of his battles. Of his early days in the dream.
Of his father.
Jaune exhaled slowly, then began unfastening the locks on his training armor. The segmented plates retracted, hissing faintly as the conduits disconnected. He stowed the Rune Frame suit back into the locker and pulled on his regular clothes — black pants, and Beacon issued jacket that he had bought a while back.
The weight of the sword against his back felt… right.
He closed the locker with a quiet click and turned toward the exit.
The armory was a short walk away — tucked in the lower half of the training wing, near the hangar bay. A few other awakened passed him in the corridor, nodding in acknowledgment. Jaune returned it absentmindedly.
When he entered, the armory was bathed in warm light and the rhythmic hum of machinery. Racks of weapon frames lined the walls, glinting faintly under the overhead lamps. The smell of metal and oil filled the air — a familiar scent, reminding him of the first few times he had come here.
Behind one of the central counters, a stocky man looked up from a holographic console. His closed cropped hair gleamed under the light, and his uniform was slightly rumpled, sleeves rolled to the elbows.
"Arc." The man's deep voice carried across the room, rough but good-natured. "Haven't seen you here in a while."
Jaune smiled faintly. "Hey, Florrick."
Florrick — the head of armory logistics and one of the few unawakened technicians who could easily command respect from the awakened — gave a nod. "What brings you down here? Need a new calibration for your Rune Frame? Or are you finally upgrading your handgun mods?"
"Neither," Jaune said, walking up to the counter. "Actually… I wanted to ask about something else."
Florrick raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Jaune unslung Crocea Mors and set it gently on the counter. "This."
Florrick blinked. "That's… not regulation."
Jaune chuckled. "No. It's… personal."
The older man leaned forward, curiosity piqued. He reached out, taking the sword with surprising care. "Mind if I?"
"Go ahead."
Florrick turned it over in his hands, inspecting the blade, running a thumb along the fuller. The scanner embedded in his workstation beeped as he placed it beneath an overhead lens. Light swept across the sword in thin, rotating bands, data scrolling up on a small display beside them.
"Huh," Florrick muttered, eyes narrowing as he read. "Good balance. Excellent tempering. Carbon steel, traditional quenching. Whoever made this knew what they were doing."
"My dad," Jaune said quietly.
Florrick gave a low whistle. "Well, credit to him. This thing's solid work. Outdated, sure, but solid." He tapped a few readings on the holo display. "Still, you know it's not exactly built for Grimm-tier resistance after Rank 0, right? Normal steel doesn't hold enough power to cut through their hides."
Jaune nodded. "I know. It's not practical anymore. But…"
Florrick looked up. "Sentimental value?"
"Yeah," Jaune said, smiling faintly. "It saved my life more than once in my first week of ever using it. I don't want to just leave it collecting dust."
Florrick studied him for a moment, then leaned back, crossing his arms. "So what are you thinking? Polishing it up? Decorative mount? Don't tell me you're planning on using it again."
"Something like that," Jaune said. "Actually, I was hoping you could… enhance it. Reinforce it with LUCID alloys and tech. Maybe retrofit it to have a monomolecular edge like the regular swords here. Reforge the blade if you have to, but keep the shape and the core steel."
Florrick blinked, as if making sure he'd heard right. "You want a hybrid? A traditional blade refitted with rune tech-grade components?"
"Yeah."
Florrick whistled again, shaking his head. "You realize that's not cheap, right? And not easy. Most smiths just scrap and rebuild."
"I know," Jaune said. "But I don't want a new sword. I want this one. Crocea Mors has been with me through thick and thin. I'd rather give it new life than replace it."
The older man chuckled. "You kids. Always the sentimental ones." He set the sword back down gently. "Alright. Humor me — why now? You've got LUCID steel now. What was the name you started to call it?"
Jaune smiled "Lux Aeterna."
"Right, Lux Aeterna. That thing cuts through grimm like butter."
Jaune's eyes flicked toward the sword, then back to Crocea Mors. "Because I want to try something different. Something I've been thinking about for a while."
"Oh?"
"Dual wielding," Jaune said simply.
Florrick paused, eyebrows lifting. "Dual wielding, huh? Not a common choice. You know that most awakened stick with a single weapon, right?"
"Efficiency," Jaune said. "Skill, control and power. Yeah, I know."
Florrick grunted. "You'll burn twice as much energy splitting focus. Are you su—"
"I've tested it, time and time again" Jaune interrupted. "In the Dream. Before LUCID even found me. I fought using two weapons back then — improvising, mostly — and it saved me more times than I can count. I've seen what it can do when done right."
The older man studied him for a long moment. "And you think you can pull that off in real combat?"
"I know I can," Jaune said quietly. "Even during that Amalgamation incident in Vale, where the restaurant breach was, when everything went to hell — I didn't have any of my stats. But when I grabbed a second weapon, it clicked. It just worked."
Florrick exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "Hm... you're serious about this?"
"Yeah."
"Alright." The man finally nodded, expression shifting from skeptical to intrigued. "I'll see what I can do. I can run a compatibility test — see if the core steel can handle some reinforcement without warping. If it passes, I can start working on an alloy infusion using a tech matrix. I'm not sure if it will be as indestructible as LUCID composites, but it should be pretty damn close."
Jaune's face brightened. "Really?"
"Don't thank me yet," Florrick said, holding up a finger. "I'm not even sure if the blade will break in the process."
"That's fine," Jaune said immediately. "Whatever it takes."
Florrick nodded, picking up Crocea Mors again. "Alright then, I'll start the scans tonight. You'll get a report by tomorrow morning on whether it's viable. If it is, we'll move forward with the reforming process."
"Thanks, Florrick. Really."
"Eh," the man grunted, waving him off. "Don't thank me yet, kid. You might end up hating the end result."
Jaune laughed. "I'll take my chances."
Florrick grinned. "You awakened types always do."
As Jaune turned to leave, the sound of metal clinking followed him — the rhythmic hum of machinery, the faint flicker of forge light dancing across the walls.
He glanced back once more, watching as Florrick set Crocea Mors on the reinforced workbench beneath the scanner. The sword gleamed softly under the lights — old steel waiting to be reborn.
And as Jaune stepped out of the armory and into the quiet hallway, he felt something settle in his chest.
A decision.
A direction.
He didn't know where it would lead yet — but dual wielding felt right. Like a bridge between the past and what he was becoming.
And maybe, just maybe… it was time for Crocea Mors to awaken too.
.
.
The house was dark when Jaune stepped inside.
He kicked off his shoes, the quiet thunk echoing faintly in the empty foyer. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the otherwise still home. For a moment, he half expected to hear his father's voice — that deep, steady baritone greeting him from the kitchen, asking how his day had gone.
But of course, there was nothing.
His father had left.
Jaune stood there for a long while, letting that silence breathe. Then he sighed, tossed his bag on the couch, and locked the door behind him.
Seven stops. That's how long it took to get home from Beacon, using the train. Seven stops and a world apart from the life he used to know.
The last few days had been… strange. Not busy in the physical sense — LUCID had lightened his missions after the restaurant breach — but mentally, it felt like he was carrying a mountain on his shoulders.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his messages. The last text in the Arc family group chat was from a few days ago.
That was before the conversation.
Before the ultimatum.
Jaune's thumb hovered over Jade's name. He could still remember the way her voice had cracked with sisterly worry when she had seen him armless. A panicked sisterly worry. She didn't remember the Amalgamation or the monsters in the restaurant. She didn't remember the grimm that tore through the veil in the world, or the way Jaune had nearly died.
LUCID had made sure of that.
And his father....
When he called upon that entity to drag them into the dream... Nicholas had said words that still burned in Jaune's chest:
"You'll see them again when you're ready to defeat me."
Jaune clenched his jaw, locking his phone and setting it on the table.
He'd replayed that moment so many times it almost didn't feel real anymore.
That night... was something he didn't like remembering. His father hadn't even needed to use any runes to dominate him. Against his father, a peak Rank 2, it was akin to a baby trying to punch through solid stone. His father had smiled, cruelly and knowingly.
"Everything I've done, Jaune," Nicholas had said, standing over him in the light of the broken blood moon. Amidst the disintegrating corpses of Rank 1 grimm. "Every lie, every secret… it was to prepare you for what's coming. The world doesn't have the luxury of ignorance anymore. If you want to change it, you'll have to surpass me and make that future never come to pass."
Jaune still remembered the calm in his father's eyes as he said it — and the... resignation behind it.
He hated that he understood the reasoning.
He hated that, deep down, he could almost agree with it.
But that didn't make the ache in his chest any lighter.
He looked around the living room. It was clean, still arranged the way his father liked — minimalist, quiet, ordered. The faint smell of food still lingered in the air. The scent of the last meal his father had cooked for him.
Jaune rubbed a hand over his face. "Two years," he murmured. "That's the deadline."
Two years to reach Rank 2.
Two years to catch up to the man who had built his entire life around preparation.
Two years to fight his own father.
And if Nicholas reached mastery in his third Rune skill before then?
Jaune exhaled through his teeth. "Then I'm screwed."
He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.
His mind shifted gears — from the frustration, the grief — to something steadier. Focused.
Training.
He stood, walking toward the corner of the living room where he had just recently installed a rack of weapons. He grabbed the two of the heavy wooden longswords and tested their weight in his hands.
Not perfect, but they'd do.
He remembered the first time he'd tried dual wielding — back in Ansel, during that insane week when he'd first discovered the Dream. He'd been terrified then, swinging a sword in one hand and a bent metal bat in the other against a hulking Ursa. Somehow, by sheer instinct and panic, he'd survived.
He'd never forgotten how it felt — the flow between offense and defense, the way both hands worked in harmony instead of dominance. That memory, clumsy as it was, had stuck with him ever since.
He set the swords at his sides, took a breath, and began.
Left hand leads. Right follows.
He slashed through the air, one, two, three — then pivoted, crossing both blades into a high guard. The rhythm slowly started to click, each motion flowing a little smoother than the last.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture the movements from the restaurant when he wielded the long chef's knife and the meat cleaver. There had been no hesitation then. No thought. Just motion.
He wanted that again.
Minute after minute, swing after swing occurred in blurring speed, until his shoulders burned and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.
He stopped finally, breathing hard. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his shirt clung to his back.
He stared down at the wooden swords. They looked plain, almost pathetic compared to Lux Aeterna or Crocea Mors. But this wasn't about the weapon. It was about the motion. The feel of balance between both hands.
He sank down onto the couch again, one sword resting across his knees.
"Dual wielding, huh…" he muttered softly. "You'd probably call it stupid, Dad."
He smiled faintly at the thought, a humorless sort of smile. "But it doesn't matter. I will surpass you. And I'll break that hallowed future."
He looked up at the ceiling again — white, still, impassive — and let out a slow breath.
Every night lately had been filled with more questions than answers. His father's words about the "truth of the world" still echoed in his head. About the beginning of the Dream.
If even half of what his father had said was true, then all understanding of the Dream was simply just scratching the surface.
"Even if I have to die trying."
.
.
AN: If you were to be given the choice of transforming into a vampire or a werewolf, what choice would you prefer?
[Vampire] Strengths: [Blood magic], [Strong regeneration].
[Vampire] Weakness: [Holy], [Sunlight].
[Werewolf] Strengths: [Transform at will], [2x as strong in the presence of a full moon], [Weak regeneration].
[Werewolf] Weakness: Silver
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