Three months passed in a blur of steel and sweat.
To Jaune Arc, the days seemed to bleed together, dissolving into one long ache. Grey mornings slid into crimson evenings, then faded into nights gilded in exhausted gold. Every dawn began with sore muscles and lungs that burned raw. Every dusk ended with him dragging his tired trembling body to bed, with the phantom taste of adrenaline still clinging stubbornly to his tongue.
Training had consumed him.
He hadn't exactly meant for it to happen that way. All Jaune had wanted to do was to never feel the feeling of helplessness ever again. He wanted to strengthen his body and sharpen his skills to prepare for what lay ahead. After all, they were patrolling in the Dream. They were fighting Grimm. Danger was constant and preparation was survival.
But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being rational.
Rather, necessity.
Even now, as he stood in one of the vast training chambers of LUCID's base, sword raised, he could see the worry etched faintly on his squadmates' faces. Lie Ren watched with arms folded. His expression was neutral but Jaune could see that his gaze was sharp. Assessing him. Nora Valkyrie twirled her hammer around idly, but she kept biting her lower lip. Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long leaned against the far wall, whispering quietly to each other, eyes occasionally flicking toward him like they were checking if he was… alright.
They didn't really... understand his mindset.
None of them really could.
The one thing Jaune had noticed was that, all of the awakened around him, treated this world—the Dream—as a job. A dangerous one, sure, but still a job. It was something they clocked in and out of, something they prepared for, scheduled and strategized around.
For them, it was dangerous work.
But for Jaune… it had been survival.
And there was a difference. A razor-thin, bone-deep difference that he hadn't noticed at first, not until he'd gone on enough patrols through the dilapidated corpse of Vale's Dream echo, weaving through broken skyscrapers and dilapidated streets alongside them. They moved like soldiers. Cautious, efficient and most importantly, confident.
But they didn't move like prey.
They didn't have that instinctive edge, that desperate crackling spark of someone who had been forced, again and again, to look death in the eye while holding a blade. Jaune had lived that. Alone. In the first week of his awakening, every fight was a cliff edge. Every second, he had teetered. Every breath had been on borrowed time.
And the thing about surviving something like that was… it branded you.
That brand still burned under his skin.
Compared to Jaune, all the other awakened had received safety nets in the form of higher ranked operatives looking out for them, teaching them and helping them kill the creatures of grimm. The Relic, Great Rune of Knowledge, allowed LUCID to find awakened before they could enter the dream, on the day of their 14th birthday. Which generally made them safe.
This experience was something that Jaune didn't receive.
"Ready?" came Oscar Pine's voice, pulling him back to the present.
Jaune exhaled, centering himself. Oscar stood across the sparring floor, slender frame wrapped in a dull grey special LUCID tech bodysuit, a standard issue training suit offered to operatives. It was made in such a way that it could dull impacts.
Two practice daggers rested in Oscar's grip, their point steady. His green eyes narrowed.
There'd been a time when that look would have rattled Jaune. When Oscar's stance—light, balanced and sharp—would have sent a trickle of nerves crawling up his spine.
Not anymore.
Jaune rolled his shoulders. The weight of his own longsword felt natural now, like an extension of his arm.
"Yeah," he said simply. "Let's go."
The bell chimed.
Oscar moved first, quick as ever, darting in with a flurry of light strikes aimed to overwhelm. Jaune's body flowed into motion, almost without thought. Steel hissed and cracked in sharp succession as he deflected the blows with small, economical parries, feet sliding in perfect half-steps that carried him just out of reach each time. His blade moved like water, redirecting Oscar's momentum.
He'd drilled this.
At home, he'd stood in his backyard for hours with Crocea Mors, moving through footwork sequences until his feet ached and his calves cramped. He'd practiced each parry angle until his wrists ached. He'd even sought out Grise twice a week, letting the older swordsman carve him apart just to understand how, why and where he failed.
Jaune had pushed his body to the brink, even going as far as sparring against rank 1's to feel the vast difference in combat strength between him and them. Pyrrha was all but happy to teach him, stating that she had always wanted to mentor someone. Considering her prowess in sword, spear and shielding techniques, she was simply the optimal choice.
Blake had also joined the two of them in their sessions. After that shared horrific ritual experience, she had started interacting with him and Pyrrha more. More than she did with her own squadmates, in fact. In between training sessions, Jaune would also often see her and Pyrrha sparring together.
And after all those grueling sessions... both his reflexes and dynamic vision improved to such a degree that rank 1's no longer appeared as blurs of movement before his eyes. He could track their movements.
In the waking world.
So when Oscar tried to press his advantage with a sudden low sweep, Jaune was already moving. He pivoted, blade flashing down in a textbook hanging guard that caught the strike and rolled it aside. The younger boy's balance faltered.
Jaune lunged.
Steel smacked sharply against Oscar's chest. The impact thudded through the atrium.
Oscar hit the ground hard, skidding a half-meter across the floor.
A stunned silence followed.
Oscar groaned, sitting up and rubbing at his sternum with a pained wince. His green eyes lifted toward Jaune, wide and a little betrayed, like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
Jaune blinked, realizing only now how fast he'd moved. His heart was hammering, but not from exertion—from something else. Something sharp and cold that slowly softened into… guilt.
"Ah—sorry," he said quickly, lowering his sword. "That… might've been a bit much."
Oscar just stared at him for a long beat. Then he shook his head slightly, still looking like Jaune had just kicked his puppy.
"Damn... I used to be able to beat you," he said, voice small and incredulous. "Like… all the time."
"Yeah." Jaune scratched the back of his neck, slightly sheepish. "You did."
"How'd you even do that?"
Jaune hesitated. How could he explain it? That relentless clawing need, that gnawing certainty that if he didn't become stronger, faster, sharper, he would die? That it wasn't about points or pride or even skill anymore—it was about survival?
Instead, he just gave a half-smile. "Guess I've been practicing."
Oscar squinted at him, then climbed to his feet with a groan. "Practicing, he says. You move like… like one of the damned LUCID instructors now."
Jaune laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Exaggeration."
"Not really," came Ren's calm voice from the side. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Your form's definitely changed. It's cleaner and exceptionally well controlled now."
"Scarier, too" Nora added, tilting her head. "Like you're about to eat him alive."
"That's… a little dramatic," Jaune said, but his smile wavered faintly.
Ruby crossed her arms, studying him with quiet, careful eyes. "No, she's got a point. You've really been training a lot, huh?"
"Yeah," Jaune admitted.
"Like… a lot, a lot."
"...Maybe."
Yang snorted. "Dude, it shows. You just mopped the floor with Oscar."
"Thanks," Jaune said, though there wasn't much pride in it. Just… acknowledgement. "I needed to get better."
"Mission accomplished," Nora said dryly. "But maybe… don't forget to breathe sometimes?"
Jaune gave her a faint smile, but said nothing. Because how could he tell them? That to him, every night in the Dream wasn't just a mission. It was walking the edge of a cliff again, the way he had those first nights—alone, half-blind, heart jackhammering in his throat as he fought for every breath.
They fought because it was their duty.
He fought because he still half-believed that if he slowed down, if he stopped, if he breathed—
He'd die.
But that didn't mean that Jaune was afraid of the Dream. Instead, he welcomed it. Every experience, every kill, every time he entered made him stronger. It was addicting, in its own way.
Oscar dusted himself off, still muttering under his breath about unfair growth spurts. Ren herded him toward the water station. Nora bounded after them, hammer resting across her shoulders. Ruby and Yang lingered a moment longer, watching Jaune as he stooped to collect his practice sword from where it had fallen.
"Seriously," Yang said, voice gentler now, "take care of yourself, okay?"
Jaune rolled his eyes. "Yes mom."
"Hmm... calling me mommy already huh? You move fast, Jauney boy." Yang teased.
Jaune rolled his eyes, immune now to her teasing.
In any case, they didn't believe that he was fine. He could see it in their eyes.
But that was also fine.
Because this wasn't about belief.
It was about survival. And the power that came with surviving.
.
.
The hum of the lights above the LUCID changing rooms buzzed softly, almost meditative in the quiet aftermath of the day's session. The others, had already filtered out, voices fading down the hall as they talked about their weekend plans and snacks and anything else but the dream realm. Considering that they would have to head into the dream later that night, it made sense that they didn't want to speak about it, as of yet.
Jaune stayed behind.
He stood shirtless before the mirror bolted to the locker wall, steam still curling faintly from his shoulders. Sweat clung to him in a sheen, catching the pale light. For a moment, he almost didn't recognize himself.
Three months ago, he had been… well, normal. Taller than average height, a bit lanky and somewhat soft in the way most teenage boys were when they spent more time at desks than on the field. His arms had been slightly wiry and his chest, shallow. If he'd flexed back then, nothing much would've happened except maybe a cramp.
Now, though…
Jaune's reflection had changed. His body had filled out, not explosively like some caricature of musclebound perfection, but with something subtler and far more real. Broadness had crept across his shoulders. His chest had thickened, firm and square. The faint outline of his abs, once buried under boyish softness, now stood out in gentle definition. Ropey strands of muscle curled along his arms when he turned them, and his forearms bore the fine hardness that came from endless repetitions of sword drills and grip work.
He tilted his head, watching his collarbones shift under the skin. His jaw seemed a bit sharper now, too.
He ran a hand along his abdomen, the skin still hot from exertion. It wasn't vanity—though he could admit to himself there was a faint thrill in seeing the progress. It was more… proof. Proof that he wasn't imagining everything. That he wasn't just pretending to become stronger.
He could see it.
And more importantly, he could feel it.
When he'd first joined LUCID, everything about him felt weak. Now, his stamina had grown. His reflexes were crisper and even his strikes hit harder.
And not just in the waking world.
Jaune's gaze drifted to his reflection's eyes. There, faint and fleeting, he imagined that he could see something else stir—like a glint of pale light swimming under the surface.
'The Dream has changed me too.'
In the realm of broken moons and blackened skyscrapers, he had fought, and killed, and survived. He had earned Runes—enough that his stats had climbed upwards, steadily, over the months. All three of his stats, now rested close to the peak, at 9 each. Well, except for his body stat. That one stood above the others.
Body: 10
He rolled his shoulder experimentally, the muscle coiling like a spring.
Reaching ten had been… interestingly jarring. The change wasn't like the slow accretion of strength that had come before. It was like crossing an invisible line. Suddenly, he was miles faster. Stronger. Jumps that had once strained his legs now felt light. A rusted sedan he'd found abandoned in the Dreamscape—he could now lift with ease, and even throw it a short distance.
Even here, in the waking world, little bleeds of instinct and reflex tended to come through. Sometimes, he caught the environment moving slowly, and him faster, catching falling objects before they hit the floor, or brushing past people in the halls without meaning to, like their presence barely slowed him.
He exhaled slowly.
Then his thoughts wandered to something stranger still.
Aura.
Jaune had unlocked it close to two months ago at this point. It was a curious sensation. Like something had poured into him.
Not out from his soul, as he might have expected, but in.
Like someone had uncorked an invisible vial of liquid light and let it flow through his veins. It had flooded him, not painfully but wholly, like cold water spilling into a dry vessel. Every nerve had sung. Every heartbeat had thrummed like a drum.
Even now, standing here, he could sense the faintest echo of it—an afterimage of invisible energy that curled deep in his chest. It wasn't solid. It slipped away from his grasp the moment he tried to seize it, like trying to catch a handful of water. But it was there.
This was normal. At Rank 0, none of his stats could manifest into the waking world, not really. It was like a dream you half-remembered when you woke up, shimmering on the edge of sense. Only by climbing the Ranks could one make it stay. To fight against the laws of the world that prevented the action from being completed.
Still, knowing it was there—that something in him could burn like that—made his pulse quicken.
And then there was Will.
Jaune frowned faintly at the mirror.
That stat had been the most… confusing. If Aura was supposed to be the energy source that fueled Rune skills, Will was supposed to represent a Dreamer's ability to control their Runes, to bend them precisely instead of clumsily flaring them. And while he didn't have a rune yet, he did notice something else about the stat. Something no one had warned him about.
Since unlocking Will, he had… changed. Not just in skill. In mind.
It was subtle, like the quiet shift of a compass needle. It was almost as if it was... easier for him to be.... calmer in battle now, where once he would have acted under panic. Fear still came, yes, but it no longer affected his movements. It could no longer root him to the spot.
And it wasn't just in the Dream.
Back in class, when a teacher had called on him unexpectedly, he'd answered without stammering. When he'd stood up to present a group project, his voice hadn't cracked, and he hadn't wanted to crawl into a hole afterward.
Jaune narrowed his eyes at his reflection.
'Is it actually… changing me? Or am I just tripping over my own idiotic thoughts?'
It seemed absurd, but… he couldn't deny the possibility. Maybe Will didn't just control how well he wielded Runes. Maybe it was literally fortifying his willpower, the same way Body fortified his flesh.
It was a little confusing, however. Because he was certain that his stats weren't supposed to bleed over into the waking world until he reached Rank 1.
And if that was true, what else might the stats be doing to him beneath the surface, in ways he couldn't yet see?
He shook his head slowly, reaching for his towel.
He wasn't sure how to feel about that thought.
On the one hand, it was exhilarating. He was becoming stronger, sharper and more confident—the kind of person who could stand in the storm instead of being swept away by it.
On the other hand, it was… unsettling.
Because if the System could alter him, not just physically, but mentally, then… where did he end, and it begin?
Jaune draped the towel around his shoulders and sat heavily on the bench, staring down at the floor tiles.
He remembered something Glynda Goodwitch had said earlier that week, in a group collaboration setting. About how the Nightmare did not simply grant power—it remade people. Burned away what was weak. Strengthened what was left.
Was that what was happening to him?
And if so… how much of the old Jaune would remain when this was all done?
He drew in a slow breath and let it out.
Then, quietly, he smiled to himself.
Because if he was being honest… he didn't mind.
For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like someone fumbling through the world, trying to fake his way through everything. He felt like someone who could become something. Someone who could stand beside the others—Ruby, Ren, Nora—and not feel like dead weight dragging them down.
He would become someone who could protect them. Even if it meant burning away the old him to do it.
Jaune rose from the bench, slinging his shirt over his shoulder.
The lights hummed softly overhead.
His reflection watched him go, eyes steady, shoulders squared.
.
.
AN: Finally a time skip. Jaune's first Rune creation will be coming soon. Remember that each awakened can create one rune at each rank, which means three max. So, any Runes that you would like to see Jaune have?
Advanced chapters are available on patreon.