The Dream had spat him out again, exactly on time.
Eight hours. Always eight hours.
If an operative spent more than that time in the dream, their bodies would start to deteriorate. Their stats would slowly grow weaker, until they were unable to move, let alone kill any grimm. This was why the priority when entering the dream, was to ensure that exit authority was always ready.
Curiously enough, if an awakened stayed for less than eight hours, they would also only awaken after eight hours. Their soul would be in a type of fugue stasis that that would only end once the time was up.
This explained the earlier questions which he had. During his time spent in the dream prior to being discovered by LUCID, Jaune had consistently observed that he would awaken precisely after eight hours, coinciding with the ringing of his alarm.
He'd read in the archives about dreamers who didn't heed time and were killed due to that. Ranking up however, combated this phenomena. With dreamers of higher rank being able to stay for longer and longer times past eight hours. Jaune now understood why
The Will and Aura stat. These two in conjunction allowed an awakened to defy the laws of the world.
In any case, that wasn't a mistake Jaune planned on making. He was happy to leave on time.
He sat up, exhaling sharply. His shirt clung to him with the faint chill of sweat. He flexed his fingers once, testing the return of sensation. The sluggish response was normal; his body always felt slightly muted after exiting the Dream, his physical stats had been dragged down to a fraction of what they were, after all.
Ten percent capacity. That was where he was now.
He swung his legs off the bed and rubbed his eyes, trying to piece through the fog still hanging over his mind. His last memory of the Dream was Raven standing with her arms crossed, expression unreadable as she critiqued his final spar. Even when she pulled her strength down to his level, she still moved like someone several orders of magnitude above him — sharp, disciplined, terrifyingly efficient. Every strike had been simple, almost lazy, yet completely beyond him.
He'd fought Grimm, he'd brawled with Ren during sparring sessions, and he'd even tested himself against Pyrrha herself in LUCID's simulation hall. None of them compared to that. Against Raven, he hadn't just been outmatched. He'd been outclassed.
She'd toyed with him at first, flicking aside his attacks with a single finger like she was brushing away dust. When he pressed harder — when he'd used every ounce of speed and strength he could muster — she hadn't even blinked. Not once. It was like trying to cut through a mountain with a pocketknife.
And yet, the part that lingered most wasn't humiliation. Rather, fascination.
He could still see it clearly — that moment when Raven stepped onto thin air, her boots resting on nothing, weight suspended by something unseen. No rune glow or skill activation. Just pure control, as though she'd decided the world would bend and it had obeyed.
Projection of Aura through Will, she'd called it before ending the session. A simple principle that separated the average from the transcendent. Rank 1s could brush the edge of it; Rank 2s made it second nature.
Jaune wasn't there yet — not even close. But she'd told him he would understand it faster if he increased his Will.
He'd taken that to heart before exiting.
Fifty Runes, all poured straight into Will. Watching that number tick upward had been oddly satisfying. A small, steady climb. From 1 to 3. It didn't seem like much, but he could already feel the difference now — even muted to ten percent power. His metaphysical mental power felt slightly sharper. His focus steadier, and his sense of equilibrium when channeling his rune, stronger. The human body wasn't designed to process that kind of incremental spiritual feedback, but he was adapting. Slowly.
His Body and Aura stats were still at zero, however.
He sighed and pushed himself up, the floor cold against his bare feet. Training those back up would take time — more time than he liked. Especially Aura. Weakness, his Rune skill, burned through it faster than anything else. He hadn't realized just how steep the cost was until the last fight in the Nightmare Zone. The more targets he tagged, the faster it drained, like trying to hold a dozen burning threads at once. The result could be brutal in the future.
If that fight had lasted even another thirty seconds, he wouldn't have been able to pull off the power of his weakness rune.
"Note to self," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "Get Aura up. Soon."
His gaze drifted to the desk by the window. His phone sat there, buzzing faintly with unread messages — probably Ren asking about lunch plans or Ruby forwarding another meme. Beside it lay his schedule for the day, handwritten in the scrawl he only used when planning serious tasks.
Florrick. The name circled twice in red ink.
He'd nearly forgotten.
The blacksmith had finished reforging his weapon — the one that Jaune wanted to upgrade. He'd been told that it would be ready today. Hopefully.
Still, there was one errand to run first.
He glanced at the kitchen clock through his open door. 8:32 a.m. He could squeeze it in.
Groceries.
Reality might have shifted since he first joined the Occult Research Society, but the basics hadn't. Even dream-bound soldiers had to eat. And his fridge — currently containing half a bottle of water and a single expired yogurt — wasn't doing him any favors.
He dressed mechanically, sliding into his jacket and pulling on socks. His mind moved between tasks automatically — list-making, stat planning, training projections. When to log in next. How to balance recovery between sessions. Whether he could simulate aura control drills without Raven's oversight.
The thought of her made him pause mid-step.
Raven Branwen. Rank 2. Peak physical power condensed into a person who could balance on air and break stone with a thought.
The memory of her effortless smirk as he swung his sword returned unbidden, and Jaune couldn't help but huff out a laugh — quiet, self-deprecating, but genuine.
Yeah. He was still a long way off.
But he'd get there.
He always did.
And as the morning light poured over his desk, casting long shadows across his notes and rune diagrams, Jaune felt that familiar flicker of determination rise again — quiet but steady. The Dream might drain him. The training might crush him. But he would rise, again and again, until the air itself felt solid under his feet.
For now, though, he had milk and eggs to buy.
The late morning sun had barely risen over Vale when Jaune Arc found himself standing in front of his house's narrow kitchen window, sunlight scattering across the countertop. His reflection in the glass looked... a little tired. Not exhausted, but simply worn down by everything.
The city outside hummed with life, cars and trains rumbling in the distance, the faint murmur of conversation drifting up from the street below. Somewhere out there, people were living normal lives. Going to work. Eating breakfast. Smiling with their families.
Jaune's gaze lingered on the mug drying beside the sink. It had a slight chip to it, his father's favorite.
He closed his eyes.
It had been nearly a week since his father's disappearance, and with him, Jaune's family who were mostly in the city of Ansel. "Kidnapping" didn't exactly feel right to use, not when his father had been the one to take everyone else. His mother, his sisters... gone. He hadn't heard a single word from them since that night. No calls or texts. Just silence.
The house had gone eerily quiet since then. Jaune had never liked too much silence, but now it weighed on him like a presence. Cooking, oddly enough, had become his answer to that. When he cooked, the place felt somewhat alive again. The clatter of pans and the smell of simmering sauce—those were sounds of home.
He could've easily eaten down in the LUCID facility beneath the academy. They provided food for operatives like him—nutrient-packed, balanced and optimized for performance as well as taste.
But cooking? That meant warmth. Familiarity or sorts. His mother's voice echoing behind him as she gave him little instructions—"A pinch more salt, Jaune," or "Don't stir too fast, you'll ruin the sauce."
So today, grocery shopping wasn't just a chore. Rather, a promise.
After making sure his wallet and train card were in his pocket, Jaune slipped on his jacket and stepped out. The morning chill brushed against his face, crisp but bearable. The train station wasn't far, and he made it there within a few minutes, boarding the silver-and-blue bullet line headed toward Vale Central.
He could've stopped at the smaller grocery store which was closer—only three stops away—but Jaune preferred the one ten stops down. Bigger store, better produce, and, honestly, a change of scenery that would help keep him from overthinking. Plus, it was attached to a mall, which made wandering afterward a little easier.
Eight stops later, his reflection in the window blurred into the cityscape flashing by.
When the doors opened, the wave of warm air and chatter hit him. Vale Central Mall was alive with the weekend crowd—parents with kids, teens in groups and couples holding hands. He moved through the flow of people, sidestepping casually as he made his way toward the grocery wing.
But as always, something managed to distract him.
To his right, nestled between a café and a bookshop, was a Mistralian samurai weapon store. The sign out front read "Yamato Steelworks: Authentic Craftsmanship." The display case showed polished katanas—replicas, of course, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. The curve of the blades caught the light just right. Even blunted, they had presence.
Jaune slowed to a stop.
He thought of Ruby immediately. Her wide-eyed enthusiasm for anything with an edge or mechanical function. He could picture her geeking out over the store's weapon displays, maybe rambling about weight balance or the physics of swing arcs. He smiled faintly at the thought.
Then he remembered something—about a week ago, she'd invited him to Comic-Con in Vale. He'd had to turn her down because of his meeting with Jade that day… and, of course, the Grimm incidents that spiraled afterward.
He frowned.
Maybe he should ask her out to hang out sometime. Not a date—he wasn't that oblivious—but something normal. Coffee, or a visit to that shop, maybe. Anything that didn't involve monsters, the dream realm, or the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders.
But then again… did he have the right to relax when everything was still unraveling?
Jaune exhaled through his nose, pushing the thought aside.
The grocery store's automatic doors parted with a quiet chime. Cool air swept over him as he grabbed a basket and began moving down the aisles. He wasn't much of a list person, but today, he had a plan: eggs, chicken, rice, a few vegetables, and some of that sauce his mom liked.
He found himself moving on autopilot, eyes flicking across shelves, occasionally stopping to read labels. It was… grounding, in its own strange way.
As he reached for a carton of milk, a familiar voice caught his attention.
"Jaune?"
He turned—and blinked.
Standing by the meat section was a familiar face: Grise, the third-year from Beacon who ran the Sword Arts Club. The same club Jaune had been training with before everything truly spiraled into the supernatural.
"Grise?" Jaune managed, blinking once. "Man, it's good to see you."
The older student smiled, setting down the package in his hands. "Yeah, no kidding. Haven't seen you at the club lately. I was starting to think you quit on us."
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "Been… busy. Family stuff. School stuff."
"Ah," Grise said, giving him a knowing look. "Well, you better show up soon. You were getting good, you know. Like scarily good. You might even surpass me soon enough."
Jaune chuckled, a faint warmth threading through his chest. It was nice—normal, even—to talk to someone without the shadow of LUCID, ranks, or the Dream looming behind it.
The two chatted for a bit, catching up. Jaune learned that Grise had been helping teach a few new recruits and that the club was hosting a small in-house tournament next month.
Then, midway through their conversation, Grise's expression brightened as he glanced behind Jaune.
"Oh, perfect timing," Grise said. "There's someone you should meet."
Jaune turned, eyebrows raised slightly.
Another young man approached, around the same height as Grise, with dark, blood red hair that caught the fluorescent light. He had a quiet, steady presence in his stride. His piercing blue eyes, were sharp and focused, carrying the kind of intensity Jaune instinctively recognized—someone who understood the weight of a blade.
Grise grinned between them. "Jaune, let me introduce a fellow sword enthusiast. Meet Adam. Adam Taurus."
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AN: Advanced chapters are available on patreon