Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing, which is quite a shame for me.

EDIT 4/21/17: For returning readers, I highly recommend reading this updated chapter before continuing on to chapter 17. Hell, read the whole thing thus far again. I certainly won't complain, nor will I turn my cheek to reviews to those who appreciate it (hint hint).

This is like the fifth or sixth version of the first chapter thus far. After working on this project for about fourteen months, it didn't match the quality of more recent content, what with the information dump and everything. I have been told numerous times that it's off putting to new readers, and so I finally got off my ass and did something about it. To be honest, looking at how it turned out, my only regret is not doing this sooner.

After rewriting chapter one, I saw the need to edit chapter two as well, since I took a scene from there and added it here. Past that, the only edits I make to other chapters are grammar and stuff. It won't alter the story too much; just makes it easier to read.

A/N: This is my first story. I have been reading on this site for a few years, and I thought I should give it a go. I feel like I should make a few things clear before I begin.

First, I will not mention any pairings in the summary or in the character filter. I find it kills the suspense a bit if one knows who ends up with whom in the end.

Second, if I see concerns or questions from reviewers, I'll try to address them.

Third, I will borrow from other source materials. See disclaimer above.

Fourth, I'm introducing a new calendar for Remnant. After all, they have an entirely different culture and history, so why should they have our Gregorian calendar? No B.C. or A.D. because no Christ. It will be seven days a week (still Mon - Sun), four weeks a month, four months a season, four seasons a year, which comes to 448 days a year. The acronym for year is a similar to the Star Wars Calendar, marking years before and after significant events (i.e. ABY, After Battle of Yavin). In this case, it's AVA, After Vytalian Accord.

Enough dilly-dallying. It's SHOWTIME!

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Chapter 1: Blood and Games

XXXX Summer M1 W4 D4, 80 AVA XXXX

It is said that the path to paradise begins in hell. To the fourteen-year old Jaune Arc at that precise moment, stumbling into his room in the middle of the afternoon after a quick shower, on the cusp of physical exhaustion, few words held more truth. He had finished his physical training for the day with his father. Despite the older Arc calling it 'character building', Jaune had a much less polite term for it.

It was a mixed bag of pros and cons. With his aura having been partially activated a few days ago ago, his recovery speed was markedly improved. Already, the encompassing soreness in his muscles, and likely in his bones too, was slowly fading into relief. He had asked why wasn't it activated sooner, and was told that there are physical requirements for the body to harness the power of its soul. Physical conditioning up until then had been to get him to the point where it could be partially activated. It was then that the torment truly began.

He was also done with public education. No longer would he have to endure that zit covered, hormone addled, low-stakes ass world anymore. He had no regrets with having the imparted knowledge being the only thing he kept of that part of his life. After all, it wasn't like he had any friends. On the con side, training, or character building as Dad calls it, was increased due to the increased supply of free hours.

In regards to his aura, Jaune didn't ask for it to be fully activated, because that would require him to change his mind about being a Hunter; something that he didn't want to be. He respected the hell out of the warrior organization, came with the territory of being the son of two of them albeit one retired, but he had set his mind on what he considered to be a more noble pursuit.

Hence why he was training in the first place. On the Summer Solstice last year, a four-day celebration in which his entire family congregates annually, he was offered a deal. If he's still set on his chosen path until the end of this year, then his newly minted brother in law would fund his education, training, and hire him into Naughty Grimm Studios, of which he was the CEO.

Many would consider him crazy to think that creating video games was nobler than being a Huntsman, but he would retort with, 'Crazy is just an ignorant term for an alternative, boring perspective'. The Grimm was an endless, insatiable tide of darkness, seeking out the darkness of humanity and devouring it, along with the humans, Faunus included, in question.

To Jaune, the answer was not simply by holding back the darkness though martial prowess, nor was it in suppressionism. The idea of repressing all emotion, a core of humanity, made him uneasy. And, of course, there was the tiny detail of it being the cornerstone of the Great War that had ended eighty years ago; a war that had nearly writ the Arc name extinct as they had been on both sides of the battlefield.

Nor did he have any delusion that was his idea the answer, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to bring a bit of joy in the near-apocalyptic ball of dirt called Remnant. Dear Oum, even the name of the planet is morbid as fuck!

On a side note, he was so articulate on this topic because his mother had needed a lot of convincing to give her blessing on this accord. She didn't much care for his self-induced isolation when indulging in his strain of an obsession that was almost an Arc family curse. It was this same passion that drove his sisters in their own careers.

'And here I thought extended tangents were for old people.' Having enough of being lost in his own thoughts for the moment, Jaune turned on his console to continue his favorite game, Bloodborne, once more.

He hadn't played it in a while, to delay the inevitable diminishing returns of entertainment. Though he knew every step, every twisting route, and every monstrosity within as well, or perhaps better, than his own hometown of Crow's Hill, he kept it fresh by trying a new build after completing NG+7.

His newest character, ArcAngel Mk. VIII, was a skill-based toon, a personal favorite, but he still needed the most crucial component that was ironically near the end of the DLC, the whole reason he made Mk. VIII in the first place. However, it's two giant shark-people pain in the ass guardians were as difficult to slay as any boss, especially the one with the fucking anchor flailing and flopping like… well, a fish, only much more rage inducing. Even knowing their attack patterns by heart, the challenge was still prevalent.

Luck was finally with him, after possibly being stuck in traffic for ten failed attempts, and the Rakuyo was finally his. "Yeah! Take that you overgrown, tuna-faced slug fuckers!"

Before he could continue his taunting of dissipating pixels, he heard the familiar sound of his father clearing his throat. Clicking his teeth with his tongue and inhaling with a hiss in a failed attempt to reduce his agitation from crashing from his 'gamer's high', he asked with a sarcastic tone, "So, how can I help you?"

Hans Arc, the patriarch of the family, embodied the concept of living large as he bent his head to enter his son's room. He stood six feet nine inches tall, 400 pounds of muscle, bound in tanned skin with scars and tattoos from his experience as a Hunter. He had a head shaved bald with the exception of a thick, well-kept golden beard with one grey streak over the chin, the only hint as to his true age, wearing a brown shirt and black trousers, and a thick leather apron signifying his secondary trade as a blacksmith, stamped with the emblem of an arm holding a raised hammer.

"Do you know how fortunate you are that I decided to come get you and not your mother?"

Taking a second to review what had just happened, he made a small wince. "I am now. What's up?"

At his son's half-bored, half-exhausted gaze, he answered the question with "It's 19h28."

"Ah. Let me just make sure I can still feel my legs…" 19h30 meant dinnertime, practically a law of the universe in Arc household. With this being the last night all eight of her children were assembled before going back to their respective careers/passions, there was no chance of her being lenient on tardiness. It would inevitably lead to a creative training exercise tomorrow.

Muttering even more expletives under his breath while he stretched, as if trying to get to get them out of his system before he entered his mother's auditory range, he quickly stood up and went to join the group downstairs.

Whispering under his breath, just loud enough for his father to hear, "If she asks, I was doing cool down stretches."

"That's … not technically untrue." Hans mused on an equally low volume as he stroked his beard in contemplation. Though his wife was tolerant of the inherited obsessive nature of her family, said tolerance had limits. The two men helped each other out to avoid acts of a disciplinary nature. For Hans, being absent due to losing track of time in his smithy usually involved a night on the worn couch just too small for his frame.

"We'll be starting weapon fundamentals next week. Just need to figure out the right fit for you." Hans added as they joined the waiting women, and one man, for supper.

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XXXX Fall M1 W2 D1 XXXX

Though a season passed, Jaune still stumbled into his room, exhausted from a brutal regime. This time, he barely had the energy to ascend the stairs and flop onto his bed. He was unable to muster even the will to desire to play. The most he could do was put his headphones on, and let the music carry him away into a sea of thought. 'I'm over half way done, and then it will all be over.'

Under normal circumstances, if someone doesn't like doing something, then they do the minimum effort, but Jaune knew that shit wouldn't fly. Besides, work hard now to relax longer later was almost his motto. Slacking in his family accomplished nothing but the removal of privileges and comforts. Like his favorite game, it was a harsh, but fair policy. Half-assed efforts get half-assed results.

He had once thought that life after school, focusing on only one goal, would be easier to manage, but this was the busiest he's ever been in his short life. 'Good thing I don't have to worry about maintaining a social life.'

After an unknown amount of time passed, possibly an hour or two, this sense of comfort was ripped from him, with the removal of his headphones by his mother's hand. Julie Arc, née Curtis, was her spouse's opposite both without and within. She's a deceptively young-looking woman despite being in her lower fifties. She was about five foot five, practically a midget when standing next to her husband. Fair-skinned with dark-eyes, a slender frame with a curvaceous yet well-toned and well-endowed figure, and upper back-length black hair worn in box braids. Tattooed on the left side of her collarbone is her personal icon that most hunters develop before or during their career, a cross with a snake curled around it with a winged crown floating above it, all in a dark shade of blue. She was wearing her usual long, white collared-blouse with a flowing backside, form-fitting grey pants reaching her ankles.

Before he could ask why she had seen fit to interrupt his peaceful recuperation, as there was plenty of time before dinner, a siren's screech ripped through his ears. That siren, based on its frequency and sound pattern, warned the citizen's of Crow's Hill that Grimm had arrived, and they had entered the large village.

The soulless creatures manage this feat every now and again, but it usually took time and larger than average horde. Meaning, Jaune had only himself to blame for this mess they were in. Apparently, his headphones had isolated him from the outside world too well. "Sorry."

"Just move your ass." She should have been angry, but that would only make their situation worse with an unknown number of hateful obstacles between them and the nearest emergency evacuation bunker. Although a Beacon alumni, she had not done any significant training in twenty years. Jaune was no better off, having had barely any training at all. He had seen Grimm before of course, but never in person, up close, and or with the mindset to kill them.

So rather than lambaste him, she took one of her daggers and shoved it into his hands, keeping her high-caliber pistol and an identical dagger for herself. "You're going to need this."

Thanks to some basic training, he at least knew how to hold the 9" bowie knife properly, the textured grip feeling comfortable in his hand, despite it not being made for him, as they passed the tailor shop where Julie, and his paternal grandfather before her, plied their trade.

The town was designed for stragglers like themselves to make it to safety. While one could easily get around anywhere via the wider streets, there were plenty of backstreets and narrow alleys to evade and bottleneck predators.

"I think some cookies would be really nice after this blows over." His mother calmly quipped as they passed the bakery's aroma, trying to use humor to stave off any negative emotions that could draw any Grimm's attention. Unfortunately, it was for naught as when they crossed a street, an Ursa turned the corner one block to their left and spotted them. Roaring, the D-class Grimm charged in the effort of gaining the pleasure of killing them. A bullet in its left eye and brain quickly dissuaded it of that notion and it fell over, already beginning to evaporate after it's quick death.

"But what flavor to make… oh, who am I kidding? Chocolate chip, of course." Julie prattled on, not giving the Grimm she just put a hole in any more mind. With luck and good vibes on their side, they traversed to one block away from the bunker entrance without either the two or Grimm finding each other; but such things never last forever.

Hearing a loud clanging noise, they peeked around the corner to spy upon their final destination. They counted four Creeps, bipedal lizard Grimm, feasting upon a few corpses that were likely once citizens caught unawares before the door could have been opened. A safety measure on the vault-like door was that it could not be opened if Grimm were within a certain radius. It may have seemed heartless to those locked on the outside, but it protected even more within.

What was more concerning was that at said entrance, an Ursa easily twice the size of the one Julie had previously killed, and more heavily armored in bone, was busy ramming the door in an effort to get in. As the doors were built to sustain much worse abuse, its bulk had no effect.

As Jaune was fixated on the grisly sight before him, he barely noticed his mother pulling him in back around the corner. Speaking quietly, Julie instructed her son on what they would do next. "All right, we've got about thirty seconds before they sense us. I'm going to lure as many as I can, especially the big one, away. You get inside when it's clear."

Despite being nervous about his first life-threatening encounter, he nodded. "Will you be okay with the Ursa? It looks-"

"Oh, I'll manage. It'd just be pathetic if just one of those buggers were enough to do me in after how many I've killed back in the day." She reassured her son, before charging in without warning. Though he didn't look, the two gunshots and heavy thuds indicated that in less than two seconds, she had killed two of them. The pounding of running footsteps tapered off, meaning that it was his time to move.

Unfortunately for him, his small twinge of fear for his mother's safety had led the third Creep in his direction, and he had to stumble out of the way as soon as it came into view. Hearing the commotion behind it, the other Creep still alive turned back, seeing Jaune as an easier target in its single-mindedness to kill.

He tried to back off a bit to keep some distance, but they wouldn't let up. After a few moments of moving around to not get caught between the two, Jaune felt a distinct sense of déja vu. To an outside viewer, in his mind, this would look like a Hunter in the streets of Yharnam, dodging his opponent's attacks. To be more specific, the fight against the two Scourge Beasts upon the Great Bridge of Central Yharnam came to mind. The idea bought him some confidence, and he held himself with a greater bearing. Every hardcore gamer desired, at some level, to be like their pixelated avatars, and he was getting exactly what he wished for.

The less armored Creep lunged forward with a bite, and Jaune in response stepped to the side and stabbed into the side of its head with a reverse grip as he passed. As it was a newborn, it did not even have the distinctive mask of its kind, making his strike a fatal blow. Had his grip been less firm, its momentum would have ripped his only defense right out of its hand. The other Grimm, which did have a mask as well as a few hexagonal splotches of bone armor, appeared to be enraged by the death of its own kind and rushed him in an identical manner. Jaune side-stepped and slashed at its hip, not wanting to do the same thing twice, but all it did was irritate the creature and bolster his morale further after his first kill.

As their tentative dance continued, a feeling cultivated in Jaune's chest; something he had only felt staring into a television screen with controller in hands. He began to feel truly alive, accomplished even. The sensation was intoxicating, but it was also blinding. So focused on his emotions, the steel in his hand, and the Grimm in front of him, his sandals slipped on a puddle of blood. Taking advantage of his sudden lack of balance, it charged and rammed him in the chest with its head, sending him a few yards backwards to crash into the wall behind him. In shock from the impact, he fell with his back on the ground. Before he could get up, its taloned foot held his torso down, the weight causing his ribs to groan.

Its mouth hissed and slowly descended as if to savor the kill. The fear Jaune felt as the reality of his impending death sank in was powerful for a moment, but ultimately fleeting as a fiery rage overtook his senses. "No! I refuse to be fodder for noob-level scum!"

Tapping into a previously unknown well of strength, Jaune took the momentarily forgotten dagger firmly in hand and began stabbing wildly into the leg that made him its prisoner. The neon-red energy interior became visible as chunks were carved off like a festive ham, eventually severing it at the ankle.

With its balance compromised, it collapsed under its own weight and the bipedal Grimm fell to its side with a growl that was almost a squawk. Eager to reverse positions, Jaune climbed on top of it, stabbing and slashing into anything and everything within his reach like a wild animal, screaming and shouting expletives at the abomination that almost killed him. Though it bucked and flailed as best it could, having no arms proved to be a fatal flaw, as it found no purchase to escape from. Red overtook his vision, both figuratively and literally as his body began glowing red. It was a sign of his aura activating on its own, made possible from him being under severe stress.

As the glow reached its peak brightness, he felt an odd compulsion to say words of significance. Having long since left his inhibitions behind, he gave the impulse little consideration as he spoke with paradoxically both serene reverence and malignant bile, unfaltering in his assault on the soulless menace. "Blue skies have turned to blackest night. The night brims with defiled scum, and is permeated by their rotten stench. Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind. Let us cleanse this tarnished world, to behold a paleblood sky."

As if the final words were the final blow, the Grimm ceased its struggles and began to fade into oblivion. As Jaune was still on top of it, he inadvertently inhaled the remnants of his prey. Though he hacked up a lung from the unexpected and vile aroma, he kept breathing it in with a growing smile baring all of his teeth. Though repugnant beyond nearly all measure, it still carried the sweet, undeniably addictive taste of victory.

"Right. I'm wearing boots from now on." Jaune just then noticed that the sirens had silenced, indicating that the attack was over, and no more Grimm were around. Hearing a final gunshot instead of the roar of an Ursa, he went to go find his mother Instead of seeking shelter. Jogging down the street and rounding the corner to share his sense of success, that jubilation soured as he literally ran into her.

"Sorry, my ba-" Jaune cut himself off as he saw her injured state. Her right arm was a mangled mess from her wrist to her elbow, sanguine life trickling onto the cobblestone. Seeing his mother in such a state caused him to freeze up, until she smacked him with the butt of the pistol in her left.

"Wake up! I'm not dead yet, just need to get to the clinic." Julie chided as she stumbled along to the now open door.

"But Mom, you're bleeding… a lot." He was still trying to come to terms with the sight before him.

"Thanks, I didn't notice." Sarcasm dripped heavier from her mouth than blood from her arm. "Ugh, this is what I get for slacking off. Fucking hell, this hurts like a bitch!"

The oddest thought passed through Jaune's mind one hearing that. 'So that's where my penchant for cursing comes from. Neat.'

As a member of the town militia came out with a doctor to help her inside, she asked for a quick diagnosis. "It's not good, Julie. These lacerations go to the bone. With the rate of your blood loss, we need to amputate and cauterize immediately."

She nodded in consent with little hesitation, quickly weighing her life as more valuable than the loss of a single limb. The effects of her blood loss were already taking hold, as her skin paled and her breathing became more rapid.

The militiaman gave her one of his leather gloves to bite down on, before taking out his sword and removing the injured arm just above the elbow with near surgical precision. The now detached flesh hit the metal floor with a wet and meaty thud. Without a moment's hesitation, the doctor sprinkled Fire Dust powder on the clean cut and used a lighter to ignite it. Her muffled scream echoed in the hallway.

Throughout the whole rushed operation, all Jaune could do was watch with impotence, unable to look away. As the Dust activated, he was unsuccessful in repressing the urge to vomit as sounds and smells that would be more in place within a kitchen filled the air, that of the sizzling of meat cooking and its corresponding fragrance. Soon after, a new aroma filled the air as he emptied his stomach.

'I think I'll be a vegetarian for a while after this. Fuck, that should not smell so much like pork chops.'

Seeing them wheel her away on the stretcher they laid her on, he silently caught up to them, walking next to his mother to see that she was still conscious, though looking a bit under the weather. Understandable, but what wasn't to him was her looking at him with concern as if their positions were opposite.

"Are you all right Jaune? It's never easy the first time seeing so much."

Bewildered, Jaune retorted, "Am I all right? What about you? You just got your arm fucking cut off!"

"Hey! Language!"

"Oh no! You have no room to talk now. I'm pretty sure now that I got my foul mouth from you Mom." Jaune said with an uneasy, but growing smirk at the return of a familiar argument, finally securing a victory.

"Ah… well, cat's out of the bag I guess. But do try to tone it down, all right Jaune?" Julie was frustrated and now resigned to the fact that she'll never get him to stop cursing now.

"Fine, fine. Sorry about vomiting. I've never seen so much blood before. Here I thought all of those years of playing violent video games would have desensitized me by now. Hell, my favorite game is called Bloodborne, for Oedon's sake!"

With a sigh and shaking her head, Julie said "Not quite. No matter how much you may want otherwise, it wasn't real and you knew that. It only engaged your sight, not any of your other senses."

"Besides, you handled your first time better than your father at least. First time he saw blood, he fainted… like a little bitch." She smiled and giggled with nostalgia.

In disbelief, Jaune asked, "Really? Are we talking about the same 400-lb man? Because I can't see it being any more likely than his earlier claim of being even scrawnier than me at my age."

"Oh that's true too. I've got hard proof. He might say that he 'passed out from blood loss' or some other macho crap, but he fainted like a Mistralian dame with the vapors." She said the last part with an exaggerated drawl and her remaining hand theatrically fanning herself.

Despite the morbid events that had occurred, they continued with lighter spirits, eager to get some rest after a long day.

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XXXX Fall M1 W2 D6 XXXX

The rest of the week had passed since the Grimm attack. In that time, Jaune had been more of a recluse than usual, and that worried his parents. He rarely left his room except for biological needs like food, and his eyes looked heavy from restless nights. Training also continued, but it had been reduced to give his mind something else to focus on.

He had gone through a traumatic even, and so they gave him some space while their son came to terms with his experiences. When the two passed by his room, the silence was both troubling and not. He wasn't trying to avoid the problem, but stewing in it for too long was just as harmful.

After a hearty dinner of steak with risotto and spinach, Julie put her hand on Jaune's shoulder before he could excuse himself. "We need to talk. How are you feeling?"

"Better." Though a short reply, it looked truthful enough. He looked more rested than yesterday, and he actually ate his usual portion size, meat included. "I've just been… trying to find the right words."

"Well, before you do, I have good news." The father spoke up, reading a text from his scroll. "Gepetto finally responded."

"How is he?" Julie asked, though Jaune was a bit lost at the sudden shift in topics.

"According to him, never better. He got approval and funding for his pet project in Atlas, but I called in a favor and he'll be down in a week."

"Why?" Jaune inquired.

"Well, I can't exactly do my job with one arm, can I?" His mom asked rhetorically. She was a tailor by trade after she retired to eventually raise eight children, trained by Montgomery Arc, Hans' father. "Bianca can pick up the slack while I get used to the upgrade when she arrives."

Jaune's oldest sister was the only other member of the family to pick up the trade. All of his other sisters had gone their own paths, while she had been hired to be the personal tailor for some wealthy, snobbish pricks that were likely unappreciative of her talents. However, with recent events, they had decided that it was time for her to come home and run the shop. But what had captured his curiosity the most was, "New arm?"

"Indeed. A friend of ours, Gepetto, is a pioneer in cybernetics, and so I called in an old favor and he made a prosthetic for your mom. It's going to look awesome…Not that you don't already, dear. Just even more so." That last part was added as he saw the beginning of the 'you're going to the couch tonight' glare. It quickly faded and was replaced with a cocky smirk.

"You're damn right I do."

"While that is good news, why do you need one in the first place? I mean, shouldn't your aura shield have prevented it?" Aura, once fully activated, enabled their wielder to do a myriad of wonders. But the nearly universal ability that everyone had was a shield that nullified most damage.

"Never had one. It's rare, but it happens to people every now and again." She stated bluntly. "It's why that, when we had you all coming, I changed careers."

"Okay then." As many questions as that rose, Jaune put them aside for later.

"Good to see that you're taking this so well." Hans complimented. "You mom was thinking that you'd blame yourself or some nonsense like that."

"Hans!" She growled in warning, but was cut off by Jaune's chortle.

"What, like some whiny protagonist? I've played way too many games with characters like that, and I'll have no part in it. Besides, what blame can I claim? It was hard enough for me to kill those two low level Creeps, so I would have been but a distraction, worse than useless against something stronger like that Ursa. Mom's not exactly going to be crippled for life, so everything will work out for the better." One trait that Jaune was proud in self-cultivating was pragmatism, inspired by several well-written villains. Why waste time languishing over things he couldn't change?

"Ah, yes. Your first fight with Grimm." Hans spoke pensively, stroking his well-kept beard. "Tell me, how did it feel?"

It was on this issue that Jaune had put the most thought in during his seclusion, recalling his encounter and the emotions associated during it. "After it was over, and even in some parts during, it felt… right? I don't really know how else to describe it, other than being a good feeling."

The events afterward though, had left him feel helpless and weak, things that he never wanted to feel again.

Out of the blue, his father asked another question. "When I was your age, do you know what I wanted to do?"

"Blacksmith?"

Laughing, Hans answered, "Not at all. I wanted to be a chef." Hearing that, Jaune's eyebrow rose in disbelief.

"Shocking to hear, I know, but I was just like the twins when I was your age. All I wanted to do was cook. At first, your grandfather was all right with that, seeing as he had no talent in the kitchen. It was so bad I feel like I learned out of desperation. But when that desire killed any interest in being a tailor or a huntsman, he wasn't as happy about that. It also didn't help that I had no skill with a needle at all. So one day, he made the same deal that we made.

Train for a bit, and if I changed my mind, he'll train me even harder to be a hunter. If not, he'll fund my tuition for the Olympian Culinary School in Mistral, which still is the best in the world. Father did not care for Mistral, or its people, at all, likely stemming from his time in the war, but he offered it nonetheless. Anyway, I took that deal and trained hard until I had my own first battle with the Grimm. When I picked up a hammer for the first time, the feeling was… hard to describe like you said. I knew then that I had changed, and then my new goal was to be a huntsman. When I began forging my own weapon, I grew a taste for that as well."

Taking a moment to draw the easy comparison, Jaune asked, "You thought that I would be the same, no?"

"Just so. But enough of the past, it's time to get back to the matter at hand. Follow me into the living room, I'm going to unlock your aura fully this time."

"I think that it already is. The glowing sort of gave it away." Jaune shrugged it off.

"So, have you made your decision then?" Julie asked, with the odd bit of hesitation. Aura didn't activate willy-nilly.

"I have. I can go into video games if I retire, but for now I'll be a Hunter."

"Damn it!" The odd and sudden exclamation confused Jaune. "You couldn't have waited another month?"

As it turns out, his parents had made a bet for when he would change his mind. "What were the stakes?"

"It's probably for the best if you don't know." Hans replied with a smile too wide to be hidden by his beard.

"Okay, but why were you so sure that I would change?"

"The calling for Arcs has been as artisans and warriors for generations beyond count. It was never a matter of if, but when. It's literally in our blood. Though I would never force you into it, as your sisters abstained, I cannot deny that I wanted at least one child of mine to fully continue the legacy."

Jaune couldn't help but agree with the claim of the call for battle being inherited. Something about the battle called to him, the rush of exhilaration within his soul. In victory, he felt a sense of satisfaction that equaled or eclipsed any achievement earned from a controller.

"Well, it seems that you got what you wished for, Dad. I'm gonna catch up on some sleep."

"All right, but don't fall asleep with your headphones on again." His mom chided him. "Why do even have such potent noise cancellers in the first place?"

He gave her a 'are you kidding me?' look. "My room is right next to yours. I'd never get any sleep when Dad comes back from missions if I didn't get them as a gift."

"Rest well. Your real training starts tomorrow." Though his father laughed at his cheek, Jaune knew that he'd get a special exercise in the morning. It was still worth getting payback for all the times he actually wanted to go outside, or sleep in his sisters' rooms on the floor.

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Chapter End

Here's one quick extra hint, for new readers, as to how this will play out. I still have the same names for weekdays, and D1 is Monday. The origin of the name 'Monday' comes from the Latin 'dies lunae', or 'day of the moon'.