The fire crackled as another log was placed atop the charred branches, spitting up a torrent of orange sparks. A voice cooed as their hand swept out to touch one, only to recoil at the heat.

"Careful," he chided softly.

His reply was a stuck-out tongue and he gently laughed at such childishness. Paying it no mind, he returned to his work, carefully carving away at the stick he held in one hand with his knife. It wasn't particularly suited to the job (he wasn't trusted with a sharper blade, much to his annoyance,) but it sufficed.

A casual prod at the stick's tip proved it to be pointed enough. Taking a marshmallow from the bag, he easily skewered it onto the stick. One down. As his fingers reached for another, they brushed against warm skin.

"Sable..." He warned.

"Oops," his sister said, utterly unrepentant as she withdrew with her prize.

"Those are for everyone," he reminded her. "If you lot just keep eating them out of the bag then we miss out on the whole experience."

"Yeah! Stop eating!" A squeaky voice added in, clearly having forgotten her own sweet thievery.

"Pipe down pipsqueak, bigger kids are talking," Sable sniffed as she consumed her ill-gotten treat.

"Pearl! Not pipsqueak," Pearl declared with a pout. It was an old debate and he tuned them out.

"Honestly, you three… This is meant to be a nice, calm fun time," their mother's voice called out to them.

"We are calm Mom," he replied as he put his stick next to the fire.

"Zen!" Pearl agreed, nodding excitedly.

"Right. Well, hopefully the others will be back soon. They've been gone for a while now…" she trailed off, mumbling worriedly to herself.

"That's alright, more marshmallows for me!" Sable crowed, happily snatching the stick and ripping a pair off with her teeth.

"No fair!" Pearl whined, her gap-teeth snapping as she tried to grab some for herself.

The sooner his father came to restore order, the better. At least it was only the two of them, if he'd been left with the twins as well he might have gone mad.

Sighing to himself, he reached for another stick.

"Jaune! Sable! Pearl!"

His eyes flew open, the knife dropping from his hand at the call. How long had he been resting? It felt like he had just closed his eyes.

"Uh… Yeah, Mom?" He replied hesitantly, scooping it up.

Just what was so urgent?

A terrifying screech pierced the twilight air. It bounced off the trees, sounding as if it was coming from everywhere at once.

"We have to run!" His mother cried and now other, different shrieks began to sound out too.

Horror filled him as he realised that some of them were human screams.

"What's going on?" He yelled out, trying to locate her in the dying firelight.

"Grimm!"

He froze in place as the shadows seem to distort. Was that the reflection of the flames or were those red, glowing eyes he saw?

Where was his father? Surely he could keep the demons at bay? One slash of his sword was all he needed to dispatch them.

A whimper caught his attention and he spun around. Sable looked up at him, one arm held around Pearl's mouth to silence her.

"Be quiet!" She hissed. "Maybe they won't find us."

"Jaune!" His mother cried again.

"We have to go!" He declared. "If those things come here, we're all dead."

Sable just shook her head as Pearl squirmed.

He stared down at his sisters, torn. Did he dare leave them to save himself? They would surely be doomed.

He clenched his teeth in annoyance as he turned away. He needed to find Dad, that was it. If they were all together, they would be fine.

"Stay here then," he said as he strode off to follow his mother's voice.

The sound of the trees creaking in the wind mingled with the howls of the monsters, yet he could hear no more screams - was that a good thing? His fingers tightened on his knife - it would be no real help, he knew, yet it was better than nothing.

There was no sign of his mother anywhere but he dared not call out for her. Was he even going in the right way? There was no way of knowing.

As he trudged onwards, the growls grew quieter, less frequent. Would he find his parents at all before the Grimm found him?

Something splashed underneath his foot. Had he stepped into a puddle? His eyes had been so focused on looking ahead that he could hardly spare a moment to watch where he was putting his feet, even when he kept tripping over tree roots.

He glanced down. It wasn't a puddle.

Blood ran like a river from the hole in her chest where her rib cage had been torn open and the contents ripped out. Wide blue eyes stared at him, but there wasn't a spark of life in them - her head had been severed from her body.

He distantly wondered which wound had killed her.

"Saffron…" He whispered as bile began to rise from his stomach.

Tears leaked from his eyes but he could not stop to mourn his sister lest he joined her. A few steps forward revealed two more bodies huddled together.

Aureolin and Arylide. Even in death, the twins were at each other's sides, clutching one another.

A crunching sound disturbed his sorrow.

He slowly turned to see the hulking outline of a wolf-like monster. It was crouched over, tearing at something on the ground. A pair of cracked glasses lay beside it, reflecting the light of the shattered moon. Citron.

The beast hadn't noticed him yet, focused as it was on its meal. Great rents were gouged in its inky, writhing hide and one of its arms was missing. Yet the bony plates that covered its form were spattered with red.

What was he to do now? If he moved, would it see him? How could he hope to fight it off? His breath began to come in shallower bursts and his heart beat ever faster until he thought he would collapse and die then and there.

He looked around wildly, hoping for salvation. A glint of white caught his eyes. There! His father's shield, the twin crescents of the Arc symbol defiled by mud and gore. But beyond it lay something else too.

His heart dropped.

Jonquil Arc lay sprawled against the roots of a great tree. His right hand held Crocea Mors, his ancestral sword, risen as if to strike. Red fluid covered the tip, dripping down the length of the blade.

In his left hand he clutched his youngest daughter to him. Unlike the other bodies, Jasmine almost looked peaceful. Blood was seeping out of the wound in her chest.

His father had seemed invincible to him. A strong, renowned Huntsman who had never failed to defeat his prey. Yet proof of his mortality was all too apparent in the injuries that coated his body, the cracks in his armour.

He had taken many of their number but the Grimm had broken him in the end.

A growl sounded from behind him. His eyes widened as he looked back to see the Beowulf advance, crimson eyes focused squarely on him. It's jaws opened wide, teeth filled with the flesh of his siblings.

It would kill him too, he knew. Him, his remaining sisters and his mother as well. The whole Arc family, slaughtered in one night.

He turned to run, but it was upon him in moments, bounding forward to swipe at him with its remaining arm. The claws bit deep into his flesh, slicing across his face. He screamed in pain and terror as the force of the blow knocked him back.

It wasn't finished with him yet. It seemed to savour his fear as it prowled forwards, almost waiting to see what he would do. He squinted at it through the blood that seeped into his eyes, bringing his hands together to pray for a miracle.

The knife smacked into his palm. He had managed to keep ahold of it throughout, his fingers so tightly clenched that the bones began to grind against each other. If he was going to die, he was at least going to go down fighting like his father had.

The beast seemed almost amused by his resolve, expelling its breath in a mocking howl. It raised its paw once again, smacking the knife from his hands. It flew out into the bushes, far beyond his reach.

There went his only means of defence. Yet he still refused to give up and die. He stared his enemy down as it came for him.

The monster's jaws wrapped around his midsection, a crushing bite that would surely kill him instantly. Suddenly his body flashed white and the beast howled, dropping him to rear back in pain and confusion.

He was alive? What had just happened?

No answers were forthcoming from the snarling beast as it glowered hatefully at him, yet seemed a little warier now. He tried to push himself up onto his backside, but his questing hands found something other than dirt and blood.

It was his father's shield - he must have been knocked next to it in the struggle. It was a lifeline, nothing had ever penetrated its thick bulk before. He quickly raised it before him as the Beowulf decided he wasn't actually a threat.

It crashed into the shield, attempting to seize it in its jaws. He barely managed to hold on as it tossed its head about, yapping and growling.

If he was by the shield then he was by his father. And if he was by his father, then he was by…

His fingers clenched around the hilt of Crocea Mors. He ripped it free from his father's cold embrace. It had served him well, but he had no further need of it now.

The metal felt strangely light in his hand though Crocea Mors was not a small blade. As the Beowulf finally knocked his shield aside and prepared to make another attack, Jaune readied himself for it.

He would finish this. For his sisters, for his father and for himself.

The beast charged forward, howling with fury. Crocea Mors sank deep into it, and the monster shuddered in pain, snapping its jaws one last time before going still. He collapsed under the strain of its bulk.

The weight on his chest began to dissipate until he was left alone with nothing but the remnants of his family's bodies. He lay there, panting as terror, fatigue and pain mingled together until the toll finally proved too much and unconsciousness took him.