The first thing Jaune felt when he stepped through the doorway of his childhood home was the sensation of being smothered. It wasn't an unexpected feeling, seeing as no sooner did Blanc drag him home and through the door then his mother tackled him and latched on with the strength of a bear. He had some minor issues breathing and that was only compounded when his siblings all piled in and wrestled his arms to his side and made escape impossible.

Jaune was uncomfortable and he tried to hide it from his face.

Living in the past eight years in constant battles and small periods of rest made him paranoid of new places. Being surrounded by so many familiar but foreign people, despite familial ties, didn't make it any easier. Jaune struggled initially, almost suffering a panic attack before a reassuring whisper of words made him relax.

He stopped himself from resisting too hard, suddenly content to lay on the floor as his family did their best to suffocate him in their attempt to make sure he was real and alive. While it was difficult, he felt deep down that he truly wouldn't be able to break free even if he used his full strength.

Earlier, he had shaken Blanc off when she tried to hug him when he wasn't paying attention. The general feeling of restriction made him unintentionally shake her off, making her cry.

Even in his battle-scarred mind, the crying of a woman, especially one that was related to him, was such an unnatural feeling that he visibly pitched forward, hand over his heart in phantom pain.

Deacon had also whacked him over the skull.

In the end, when the Arc ladies had let him up only to launch into a mass babble of questions and words, Jaune had felt something. It was familiar but small, a feeling long ago that he thought he wouldn't experience ever again. As he started to field questions and answer to the best of his ability, he caught the eyes of the only other males in the room.

His mentor and his protector, the man who watched him grow from a little boy into a battle hardened warrior, stood off to the side and leaned against the wall and quietly discussed something with his father and patriarch, the man who birthed him and taught him his steel clad morals and honor.

Nicholas Arc calmly met his gaze while smoking a pipe, Deacon providing a flame off his index finger. Both men, quietly conversing with each other, seemed to be sizing each other up. Jaune internally gulped, hopeful but afraid of what would happen if the two men didn't get along.

Having to choose between his father and his mentor would be a hard choice, something that he probably wouldn't be able to properly decide even if given unlimited time.

=E=M=P=

It was dead quiet in the middle of the night as Jaune Arc sat outside and stared at the stars. Nearly a decade spent in constant strife, constant battle, had made him unable to adjust to the now nearly idyllic scene outside his ancestral home. It was strange really. How many times did he entertain the thought of peace, how many hours were wasted just daydreaming of a time when he would truly be free from warfare?

And now that he was, he couldn't relax.

"It's quite a beautiful night out here," A familiar voice intoned, "Not often do you get to see so many stars. Though I'm not sure how to feel about the shattered moon."

"Deacon," Jaune began, "I'm…I was uh."

"Restless? Unable to sleep? Too overstuffed and crushed by the combined weight of eight women all hugging you until your bones nearly cracked?"

Jaune grimaced, rubbing his arm. It was strange, his memories of his family all fuzzy but still there. He had longed to return to them when he first was whisked away to somewhere else but over time, the desire to return dulled and was replaced with the wish to survive. Each passing day was spent in continuous acceptance that it could be his last.

"Your family…they're lovely. Not too jaded by the darkness that surrounds them. Your father is a great man too; I can see it in his eyes and his words."

Jaune sighed. Another reminder of his awkward reconnection. If it wasn't the near suffocation then it was the silent judgment, the appraisal of each other when both Arc men finally laid eyes on each other once more.

While Nicholas Arc retained his figure from his early hunter days, cutting a dashing well sculpted hero who had seen conflict, his face bore the mark of time. Salt and pepper colored hair, eyes that hid many traumas, wrinkles that settled in deep and kept growing with each passing day. No, Nicholas Arc wouldn't be winning any handsome contests anytime soon but with his imposing impression and the near stone like stare, he was still quite a man to behold.

Jaune was already following in his footsteps. His face had grown to be close enough that he could be mistaken for a younger version by a stranger. He didn't cut the striking stature of his father but the full plate armor and general air of nervousness combined with a steely aura made it clear enough that Jaune could eventually match his father in both bearing and power.

Maybe surpass him.

In the end, while father and son stared at each other in deafening silence, the females flocked to the other companion who arrived at the home and forced an interrogation upon him. Deacon stoically bore the attention, answering most questions efficiently and curtly without divulging too much. He was a man that acted rather than spoke and while he was uncomfortable with the focus on his burn scars that littered his body, he remained polite.

He also needed a shirt.

"You know, I think my baby sister likes you."

"Which one?"

"Violet. You know, the one with…" Jaune pantomimed towards his hair, "I guess time never changes the hero worship. And in her eyes, you're a great hero. What with guiding me through the years and such."

"Ha, if she knew what I really was like, she would run for the hills. Besides, I'm too old for her. Mentally I'm probably older than all of them."

Deacon sighed, adjusting the white cotton shirt and grumbling as he surveyed his body for the hundredth time. It was immensely jarring to suddenly find oneself young again yet still possessing the scars obtained over a lifetime of fighting. Having his life force slowly sucked out of him, Deacon should've become a decrepit old man that was near dust but the backlash from interrupting the demon's ritual and the resulting backlash instead gave him back more than what was taken.

Deacon, for all intents and purposes, was eighteen again.

Which sucked.

"I hated dealing with hormones back then and I hate dealing with them now. I'm a fighter, I've always been a fighter. Never once have I strayed from my faith but the constant reminder of the beauties around me does not make things easy!"

Jaune got a small chuckle out of his friend's predicament before stating, "I just want you to know. You may have had a hand in raising me and I consider you my male role model and older brother in all but blood but if you hurt any of my sisters in any shape or form, I'll gut you and nail your corpse to a cross."

"That sounds justifiable."

Jaune and Deacon stiffened, turning to look as the man of the house strolled out in front of the two.

"Jaune. Sir Deacon."

"Dad."

The fiery priest remained silent, observing the older man as he stuck a pipe in his mouth. Wordlessly, Deacon slowly bought his hand forth and snapped his fingers, lighting the tobacco for him. Nicholas didn't react much, puffing away. The trick, when he first did it, had been impressive and surprising but with the amount that his father had been smoking, the novelty wore off fast.

"Wish I had a man on hand who could do that for me. Would save us on tinder and matches honestly."

"Nice to know I'm a glorified lighter in your eyes, sir."

"Don't call me that. I'm not a commander or a captain or anything. I'm just an old man trying to keep his family safe and making sure his daughters can marry happily while making sure his one son didn't change too much over the eight years he spent away from home."

Jaune silently bore his father's stare as the man puffed away.

"Deacon has told me of the…adventures you've gone through. Of the battles, you've fought and the men you…killed."

Jaune started to turn away, fearful of what he would see on his face.

"I'm proud of you."

His head snapped up, the action nearly giving him whiplash.

"I admit, I never wanted you to have the life of a warrior. Our family history is one of sacrifice and martyrs. The Arc name has always beared this burden, forever having to perish in the line of duty."

The older man sighed, his age showing as he sagged.

"I'm terrified, knowing that your sisters and now you have taken up arms. I'm terrified that one day I would outlive my own offspring."

"As any father would be, especially in these times," Deacon chimed in, "You go through what every father does when all he knows is how to swing a weapon and that's all he can teach. As it stands, you won't have to worry about this son anytime soon. I swore an oath and he promised on his name that I would be first before he would be."

Nicholas shifted his gaze back and forth between the two young men, mouth moving as if to say something.

"I'm tired," Jaune said softly, "I'm tired of fighting. It's all I've done since I left. I've killed humans, I've killed monsters, I've killed men I respected, I even killed young children…some as young as Violet."

His father and his mentor both stared silently at him, faces unreadable but eyes showing nothing but concern.

"I've fought…and I've lost…I just want to rest father. I'm only eighteen years old and yet I've felt like I lived fifty."

"But you can't," two voices said in sync. Both father and mentor looked at each other before sharing a small chuckle and Deacon gestured for him to continue, "You're haunted. And tormented by the things you've done to survive."

"Yes. I am. And even if I wanted to…I know I can't stop. So long as my heart beats, my hands will ache to do battle. I know that deep down, with what I know of the injustices that go on in this world and Deacon's world, I could never stop fighting. My body will give out long before conflict stops."

"Then the least you can do is be capable of meeting the danger head on," Nicholas said as he puffed on his pipe, "Tell me, do you think you have what it takes to beat your old man in a good old fashion sword fight?"

Jaune paused and sized his father up.

"If I could find some way to force down the natural instinct of not harming my family, I feel like I could beat you. Not because I'm stronger or better, but because I've learned to fight strictly to the sense of finishing as fast as I can and as fatally as possible. You probably won't even realize what I'm doing until you're choking on your own blood."

Deacon hummed in thought before he slowly withdrew a Black Key. Long had he etched magical runes into his body that allowed him to store countless amounts of the holy weapon and Jaune had long associated the faithful zealot with the holy sword.

"Honestly speaking, I'm fairly certain Jaune could hold his own against the hordes here. The Grimm are unique only in name and design but not in strength or darkness. Jaune here has faced countless horrors, most of them stronger than him and all of them infinitely more terrifying despite his training. And if anything…"

Deacon threw one of his swords at Jaune. Jaune didn't even flinch as he swung upwards with the back of his gauntlet and caught the weapon mid-air.

"His instincts allow him plenty of leeways."

Nicholas glared at Deacon, "I would appreciate if you didn't attempt to harm my son in front of me."

Deacon held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Peace, we both know I would sooner throw myself onto my own blades than to bring unnecessary harm to our mutual charge."

"So long as we have an understanding," Nicholas sighed, "It's getting late. We should turn in. Tomorrow, we can decide where to go from here. I know Juniper has her own words that she wishes to express about what life path Jaune will take. If anything, my children will do their hardest to keep him anchored here."

Jaune shot his father a look before his eyes flickered over to Deacon. Nicholas caught the meaningful gesture and chuckled.

"If you think I would abandon the man who protected you and bought you back to us after all these years, then you must think the Arc words are only in effect when spoken and worth just as much as the breath we use to speak them. Our family owes Deacon a debt that cannot be repaid by just meager lodgings or supplies. If anything, he's just as much as a part of our family now for what he's done."

The youngest by age raised his eyebrows before Deacon shot him a smug look.

"And here you said that the day I ever become accepted into a family is either when I end up drunkenly impregnating a girl or being possessed by a lust demon. Look at me now, boy."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks, I'm straight even if I'm near celibate."

"You know what I meant."

=B=U=R=N=

The next morning didn't bring more talks of Jaune's future or the cursing of Deacon's name but physical work. Jaune and Deacon integrated themselves into the local work force and set about rebuilding the barricades that separated the outside dangers from the inside safety. The villagers kept a small circle around the two, speaking in hushed tones and gossiping about the returned son of the Arc patriarch and the foreigner who could fight while on fire like it was nothing.

"You ever think they'll stop gawking and just focus on working?"

"We're spectacle Jaune, it would be impossible for them to ignore us. Not after what we did and how we did it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm just used to being well known enough that we don't have to deal with this kind of attention all the time. Especially when we should be bolstering our defenses, not spreading rumors about others."

The two worked in tandem, efficient and quickly. While whole sections of the wall needed replacing and would take hours of work, the two of them were doing it in half the time. Long had they developed a routine to aid each other when menial work needed to be done and prior experience made wall building and fortification quite easy and mundane.

Still, there was much to do and the recent casualties had only made it harder. Bodies needed to be recovered and given proper burial rites, weapons had to be retrieved and either scraped for raw material or given to someone who could use it, and there had to be a constant guard in case another round of Grimm came to say hello.

Jaune had already demonstrated, with unnerving calmness, how much he despised the dark soulless creatures when he went scavenging through some nearby old homely ruins and ended up slaughtering a pack of Beowulfs with extreme prejudice. When his sister Blanc, who had seen his rather violent actions through binoculars inquired why, he had stated simply because of some brotherly predisposition that made him angry enough to ensure that the damned monsters wouldn't have a chance to torment any unfortunate soul ever again, especially his mother or sisters.

Deacon had returned from his own scouting mission quoting about the same, covered in ashes and shirt in tatters. He did not specify what he had killed exactly, only that whatever he had killed had been big enough to burn slowly and cause the surroundings to alight on fire too. Good news, the Eastern front had been cleared of enemies. Bad news, the landscape had been reduced to blackened earth and ash as his actions torched down everything. At least there wasn't much left to recover.

"All I'm saying is, if stabbing it in the eye doesn't make it die immediately, immolation usually does wonders for those stubborn little bastards who just won't quit."

"And what happens when the stubborn little bastards that you are attempting to burn into nothing ends up panicking and dashing around."

"Then it stops being about the immolation and more about the target practice."

The banter between the two was light and in good fun. Those who listened in were befuddled but couldn't help but chuckle at some of the particular words and seriousness the two spoke with.

Which was the exact moment a massive airship descended outside.

Jaune and Deacon and everyone else working at the entrance were enamored by the sudden appearance by what could be classified as a warship. The landing was as gentle as its weight and bulk would allow, which wasn't by much and nearly threatened to topple over some of the unsupported pillars of wood that was yet to be secured.

"Damn it, of all the time to arrive," Nicholas growled as he made his way to the front, "I told them we had it handled and they come anyway. Why do I even bother?"

"Who are 'they'?" Jaune asked as he followed behind his father.

He noticed that Blanc and Verte were also present. Deacon was helping direct the rest of the workers to avoid any issues before he too joined the group towards greeting the unexpected visitors. The motley little crew stepped through the open gates, men with refurnished rifles unsure of how to react to the unexpected visitors.

Jaune himself let his eyes roam over the ship, trying to pinpoint weak points or potential avenues of entry. Deacon focused on the fuel and the fuse lines, internally judging how much fire he would have to pump into the machinery to cause it to explode.

As the five got close, a ramp descended downwards and admitted a squadron of soldiers being led by a beautiful white haired woman. The soldiers separated into rows and stood at attention with their firearms ready as two other noticeable characters walked through.

First was a tall man of steely stature. His hair was black, with some areas colored like salt and pepper. His eyebrows were solid black and there was a noticeable strip of silver metal above the right eyebrow. He was dressed meticulously and cleanly, white overcoat, with a gray undercoat, black sweater, a red necktie, and a white glove on his right hand.

The other man was a middle-aged man with tousled silver hair and thin brown eyes. He had a light complexion and sharp facial features. Interestingly, his eyebrows were black, unlike his silver hair.

He wore shaded glass spectacles and a small, purple, cross-shaped pin on the cowl around his neck. His outfit mainly consisted of an unzipped black suit over a buttoned vest and green shirt. He also wore black trouser shoes and long, dark-green pants.

In his hands, he walked along with a cane and a steaming mug.

"Ozpin. James. Miss Schnee," Nicholas' voice was as hard as stone, "What are you doing here?"

If any of them noticed the hostile tone, they didn't react. Ozpin calmly sipped from his mug while James tapped on a clear screen before handing it off. The Schnee was the only one to speak up.

"We are here to aid in the recovery of Sanctuary."

"Specialist Winter, direct the men to drop off the supplies while I converse with the Arcs."

"Blanc, go with her. Make sure the workers understand what to do and that no one causes any trouble or they answer to me."

"Sure, dad."

While she wasn't told to, Verte elected to trail after the oldest sister and with that only the men were left. Standing around in a former battlefield and flanked on one side by his son and on his other by a man who conjured fire like he breathed air, Nicholas sighed as he felt more out of place than when he first took to building a castle.

"I'm not going to question how you guys knew about this attack but-"

"I like to make it my business when we hear about what rates as one of the bigger horde movements in recent history attacking our new fledging city," Ozpin stated simply, "And even more when we receive a transmission for help."

"Sanctuary may be an extension of the Pour La Famille but it is a foothold into the main square. Letting this town fall would be to invite disaster into the new settlement."

"Grimm movements are closely monitored by my men, in particular when we are on the outskirts of established civilization. The sudden attack was recorded and my troops were scrambled as fast as possible to reach here in time," James paused as he squared his shoulders and let his eyes roam over the two flanking Nicholas, "Only to hear that our presence wasn't needed anymore. Not because the area had been wiped out by the Grimm but because there was no Grimm left after two men came onto the field and slaughtered them out."

Jaune and Deacon exchanged looks, the words and their meaning not lost on them. The names of the settlement and the city nearby, the spoken words laid out by the two men who radiated respect and discipline, and the very look that seemed to pick them apart to their basest core.

"Disregarding the fact that you have eyes watching every movement of the people under my protection, I have to ask again and in simpler terms. What. Do. You. Want?"

"We merely wish to assess and help repair the town. And meet the two gentlemen that aided it in its defenses."

Nicholas stiffened and made to speak but Deacon beat him to it.

"Well, here we are," Deacon stepped forth and bowed before rising, "My name is Deacon Ignis. I was put upon this ground to do one thing and one thing only. Purge the unjust with fire. Take that as you will."

Sip.

"Interesting."

"Was a threat?"

"No, just my introduction," Deacon give a friendly smile, "Despite Mister Arc's words, I can tell you two are sincere in your purpose. I will not let my judgment be swayed so simply by another's views. I do not know what reason it is for Mister Arc to bear such animosity towards you, but I will let time tell if his view is correct or not."

"He's basically saying he gets a good vibe from you two and that he hopes that you aren't trying to play him for a fool or else things get unpleasant," Jaune sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, "I'm Jaune Arc. A pleasure to make both of your acquaintances."

That got a sharp reaction as Ozpin actually let something close to surprise color his face and Ironwood to narrow and openly radiate suspicion. Both men shot Nicholas a meaningful look that he met with a stone face.

"Is this true?" Ozpin asked, "Has the prodigious son made his mighty return from whatever journey he's left on at the tender age of eight?"

"Ozpin, stop trying to sound poetic, it wastes everyone's time. You there, how can you prove that you are who you say you are."

Nicholas flared up with rage and opened his mouth to shout before Ozpin raised a hand.

"Allow him this. We all know that these years and constant failures to find your son have weighed upon you. And while this would be the first time that someone has stepped forth to claim that he is the returned Jaune Arc, we shouldn't rule out the potential of this being a ruse."

Jaune felt his head nod along with approval, "Yeah, not going to argue with that. I've done the same before, especially when the enemies you're fighting against can wear the flesh of your friends like a new skin. "

Everyone present looked a little unsettled at how causal he spoke of such gruesome happenings except for Deacon who was giving his own bitter smile at the memories. Jaune let out a dark chuckle before he presented his evidence.

"We got blood tests running somewhere and the results should be coming back soon. Other than that, I can present this!"

Slamming his fists together, a mechanical sound erupted from his torso before his plate armor sprouted out and started to expand over his body. The clothing he wore underneath was encompassed and gave way for the blessed steel. The color was a simple metallic gray but was crafted in a complex pattern that was in a manner of smaller interlocking and overlapping pieces rather than larger plates. The vitals were protected and the joints were given fluid motion in exchange for full protection.

While the guardsmen accompanying the general and headmaster had tensed, their stances lessened and became intrigued as engravings started to appear and shimmer with a faint glow. Jaune's face had disappeared under a hood that had flown over his head and while the teen was relaxed as his armor wrapped around his body as it had done hundreds of times, the ones with no prior experience could only continue to watch with interest until the process was finally complete.

It was with a final flourish that Jaune presented Crocea Mors, his ancestral blade to see. The sheath remained locked to his side while the beautiful and simple but durable and trustworthy blade shone in the sun. The crest of the Arc family shimmered in the morning light as Jaune Arc stood before the two powerful men in his outfitted glory. Drawing his dependable weapon and displaying, a faint aura infused itself around the length.

"Crocea Mors only responds to an Arc's touch. That glow and the crests should be proof enough."

"Impressive," Ozpin remarked as his eyes roamed up and down the figure before him, "I seem to recall this from a history book. In a memoir of one of your ancestors, it was said that he inspired his men to fight for his cause by brandishing his family crest for all to see and drive them forward."

"Think that was a great grandfather to the fifth power. He was a commander on the fields when humanity first made the push to reclaim its lost lands. Those very same lands where an academy stands."

"Atlas Academy has a statue of a man holding a similar weapon on display in the main courtyard," Ironwood stated, "I must admit, it's quite something to see history become real in the flesh before my own eyes."

"When I was taken away when I was dragged kicking and screaming into the war, I drew upon my readings of my family history to become my shield and bulwark. I lived as long as I did only because Deacon here allowed me to bring forth the glory that was my family name."

"Aw shucks kid, you're making me feel all embarrassed," Deacon deadpanned, "Stop it."

"Oh, go hang yourself."

"Ahem."

Both men stopped their banter and focused back on the two authority figures.

"As far as evidence goes, the sword's activation would mean enough. In addition, your prowess has been acknowledged by our combat analysts abroad our ship. Tell me, what are your plans for the future?"

"I don't think I like that tone of voice James. If I didn't know better, it sounded like you were looking to take my son away from me again."

"That's hardly the case. I must admit, I am quite curious to seeing for myself the full combat capabilities of your son and his mentor. The world could always use more heroes and Beacon offers the best training."

Nicholas' aura flared as his anger spiked once more but it stopped when Jaune placed a hand on his father's shoulder. The two Arcs shared a quiet silent communication before Nicholas sighed deeply before turned away and started to walk back to his home.

"We speak more of this with your mother. James, Ozpin, don't make any trouble for my family."

As the men started to depart, Deacon remained behind.

"Whelp, you gentlemen look like you have all things handled, I'm going to go clear out the Western front."

Ozpin took a sip as he passed him, "Alone?"

"I take it you saw the Eastern front on your way here."

"Deacon…don't burn everything down please," Nicholas shouted back with a bemused tone.

"I make no promises."