Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm Unlimited Blades (yes, basic ah reference, I know), and this is officially my first time writing and publishing a fanfic, so buckle up and go easy on me.
I'm super open to feedback, so feel free to drop constructive criticism in the comments. Emphasis onconstructive(I bolded and italicized that so you best listen) — if your critique involves caps lock, twelve exclamation marks, or a paragraph psychoanalyzing my taste in pajamas (which is a Pikachu onesie. A man can want comfortable, and I take pride in my taste), I'll be ignoring it harder than Jaune ignored Aura theory lessons.
Seriously though, if you've got tips, theories, or want to fangirl/boy/person over characters with me, I'm all ears. Just keep it respectful — I'm learning, improving, and doing my best to honor this amazing story while adding my own spin.
Now, the legal stuff: I don't own RWBY (sadly — if I did, certain characters would've gotten better treatment, let's be honest,cough Pyrrha cough). All rights go to Rooster Teeth and the original creators. I only own my original characters, rewritten arcs, and emotional damage from Volume 3.
What to expect in the story:
For the first few chapters, things will mostly follow canon, especially around Initiation. But rest assured, that's just the runway before liftoff. Once Jaune unlocks his Semblance (which will happen pretty soon, I promise), the story begins diverging in big ways. I've put a ton of thought into it, and there's foreshadowing if you're sharp enough to catch it. The payoff will be worth it, promise.
Also, heads up: Jaune will be a little ooc, and that's on purpose. In this version, he wasn't just some kid with a stolen transcript. He was helped. Trained. Not just by his eldest sister Saphron, but also by two of his younger sisters — Vivianne and Celestine — who are in Signal and took it upon themselves to whip their big brother into shape. (he's the third oldest, so we have 1 older sister and 3 younger siblings to meet) So yeah — still dorky, still Jaune, but with a bit more confidence, insight, and quiet competence, especially in combat. Growth hits different when it's backed by sibling chaos and sparring bruises.
So yeah. Thanks for checking this out. I hope you enjoy what's coming — this is a story I'm really excited about, and I'm grateful to share it with y'all.
Let's make something awesome together.
— UB
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The first thing Jaune Arc noticed was that the sky looked bigger from up here.
He'd flown before—once, years ago, when Saphron snuck him onto a patrol flight while visiting from deployment—but it hadn't been anything like this. That ride was sharp turns, clipped military chatter, emergency lights flashing red.
This?
This was quiet. Almost… gentle. Too gentle.
Jaune swallowed and gripped the railing. The metal buzzed faintly beneath his palms as the wind rushed by. Motion sickness crept in slow, not overwhelming, but just enough to make him regret the breakfast Celi dared him to eat at the station. ("If you can't fight evil on a full stomach, are you really a hero?")
"Just breathe," he murmured. "In through your nose… out through your mouth. Focus."
The words were Vivi's, from countless sparring matches where he'd fallen flat on his back. Stern, crisp, but not unkind. He could still hear her coaching him while patching up a scrape.
"You tilt like a drunk moose, dork," Celi had added every time he wobbled. And yet she'd still made him a salve for bruises.
Jaune adjusted the straps on his armor—old, hand-polished so many times the family crest had become almost invisible—and tried not to think about his parents' voices.
"Your sisters have talents. You… you have heart, Jaune.""But heart won't keep you alive in a fight."
His jaw tightened. He stared out toward the horizon.
There it was. Beacon.
A white tower rising from forest and cloud, sunlit and pristine, like something out of a fairy tale.
And this time, he wasn't sneaking aboard.
He belonged here. He had to. As he continued to stew in his thought and desperately try to loose this morning's breakfast, a voice confident and very much feminie came from behind him.
"Oof. Someone's looking a little green around the gills."
Jaune turned around and blinked. A tall girl with wild gold hair was grinning at him from a few feet away.
"Huh?"
She popped a bubble of pink gum and offered him a piece. "Helps with nausea. Trust me, rookie. This is my sister's first time flying, so I brought some along."
She tilted her head to the side, nodding toward a smaller girl standing by the window in a red cloak.
The younger girl turned. Wide, silver eyes sparkling, her hands pressed to the glass.
"This is so cool! We're really here!" she beamed. Then, looking at Jaune, "Isn't it amazing?"
And for a second… yeah. It kind of was.
"Yeah," Jaune said, lips curling faintly. "It really is."
The bullhead lurched into descent.
The blonde, whom he would later come to know as Yang, laughed. "Better grab something, Noodle Boy."
"Wait, what do you mean Noodl—"
The world tilted. His stomach flipped.
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His boots hit the landing pad with a soft thud. He stumbled, caught himself, then squared his shoulders and stood straight, brushing dust off his chestplate.
Around him, dozens of other students disembarked from the bullheads. Some carried weapons as big as their torsos. Others looked calm, practiced—like they were born for this.
Jaune tried not to compare.
He glanced at the frayed red wristband tied snugly around his wrist—Saphron's parting gift.
"For luck," she'd said, tugging it tight."Or for wiping your nose the next time you cry in public."
He chuckled softly, just once.
"This place is insane," he whispered to himself.
The towers stretched impossibly high into the sky. The breeze carried a crisp scent of pine and polished stone.
And he was here.
He scanned the crowd: the orange-haired girl from the ship vaulting her luggage over the crowd; a tired-looking boy with a green sash and a pink streak in his hair quietly watching; a girl with vibrant red hair standing alone with incredible poise.
None of them looked his way.
Not that he particularly wanted them to.
Then, just as he was about to take his first step toward his hopefully new school—BOOOM.
Jaune yelped and ducked instinctively as a burst of multicolored smoke erupted near the center of the plaza. He stumbled into a pillar and blinked against the haze.
Two silhouettes emerged:
One small, clearly panicking. The red cloak gave her away.
The other? All white—boots, coat, expression.
"You complete dolt!" the white-haired girl snapped. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? This is highly refined Dust, not glitter!"
Jaune winced. He didn't know the red-haired girl well, but he found himself drifting toward her anyway, hovering near the edge of the smoke.
Not to interfere.
Just… drawn.
There was something in the younger girl's stance—shoulders hunched, hands fumbling—that reminded him of himself. And something in the sharp edge of the other girl's voice that cut deeper than she may have intended.
Watch. Listen. Feel.
He wasn't sure where the thought came from.
But he stayed.
Just long enough to witness how the girl in red bowed her head… and then ran.
He followed her. Not far—just to where she'd paused near a stone railing, her eyes flicking downward.
"Hey," Jaune said softly.
She turned, startled.
"I, uh… saw what happened. That was intense."
She groaned. "I didn't mean to! She was waving it in my face, and then I just sneezed and the Dust went everywhere and… now she probably thinks I'm a criminal."
Jaune smiled. "Dust allergy?"
"Apparently."
They both laughed.
Then Jaune nodded toward her weapon. "That's a pretty awesome scythe."
"Oh! Crescent Rose." She lit up immediately. "I built her myself!"
And then came the words.
Ruby's words tumbled excitedly, bright and passionate as she explained Crescent Rose, its firing chamber, the range mechanics, the dust injection ports. Jaune didn't follow all of it, but he listened anyway, nodding with a quiet smile.
Not because he understood the weapon.
But because she lit up when she talked about it.
She slowed eventually, cheeks tinting pink. "Sorry. I kinda get carried away."
"It's cool," Jaune said, genuinely. "You really did that yourself?"
Ruby nodded, eyes sparkling.
There was a pause.
Then she glanced at his hip. "What about you? You've got a sword, right?"
"Oh. Yeah—uh, it's nothing fancy."
He stepped back slightly, unclipping Crocea Mors from his belt. The metal gleamed in the light — clean, simple, sharp. Old, but well-kept.
"This is Crocea Mors. Classic Arc blade. Been in the family for… generations, probably."
Ruby leaned in, eyes wide. "Whoa… It's kind of—"
"Underwhelming?" Jaune offered, smiling sheepishly.
"I was gonna say classic," Ruby said with a grin.
He laughed, holding it out slightly for her to see better. "The shield's nothing special either, but—" he turned and let the folded metal shift off his back, catching it with one hand—"it doubles as a sheath. Makes it easier to carry when I'm not using it."
Ruby blinked. "Wait. Doesn't it still weigh the same?"
"Yeah, but… uh… I feel like it weighs less when it's shaped like something else."
She snorted. "That's not how weight works."
"Maybe not in your world."
Ruby giggled, reaching out to gently knock on the shield. "Still. That's pretty clever."
Jaune's cheeks flushed faintly, but he grinned. "Thanks. I'm planning to upgrade it eventually. Just need time."
"Well, classic isn't bad," Ruby said, stepping back. "Sometimes, the old ways are still the best."
She smiled again, a little softer this time.
And for a moment, Jaune forgot to feel embarrassed at all.
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The day blurred by after that.
There was a formal speech in the Grand Hall — an older man in a deep green suit standing beneath a massive Beacon banner, his tone soft but commanding.
Headmaster Ozpin.
He spoke of courage, legacy, and the trials ahead, but not as someone issuing warnings — more like someone offering permission. Permission to be afraid. To grow. To become something more than what they were today.
Beside him, a stern woman with sharp glasses and sharper posture delivered the rules — curfew, uniform conduct, combat zones. No fighting outside of designated arenas. No wandering off-campus. No "unauthorized dust experimentation," she added with a meaningful glance in Ruby's direction.
Professor Goodwitch, he thought. She had the cadence of someone who'd run Beacon for years — and the eyes of someone who could kill with a glare alone.
Afterward, they were told they'd be spending the night here — the Grand Hall, transformed into a chaotic sea of sleeping bags, duffels, and scrambling teenagers. Just for tonight.
One massive, awkward, overwhelming sleepover.
Jaune stood near the edge of it all, arms folded awkwardly across his chest, watching the chaos settle. He hadn't brought a sleeping bag. He hadn't packed a real change of clothes, either. What he did have… was a fluffy white bunny onesie.
It had been a joke gift from Celi — his fifth sister and a 13-year-old chaos gremlin — but Saphron had insisted on packing it anyway.
"In case the floors are cold," she'd said with the dead seriousness of someone preparing for war.
So now, here he was. Wearing it. Hood up. Ears flopped.
A few students glanced over. One or two snickered. Jaune pretended not to notice, adjusting the sleeves with faux confidence.
It was stupid.
It was soft.
It was fine.
"Whoa," came a familiar voice, light and teasing. "Either there's a Faunus infestation, or someone's hopping into Beacon style."
Jaune turned his head just enough to spot the golden-haired girl from the bullhead — Yang. She leaned against a pillar, grinning like she'd just won a bet.
He gave her a flat look. "It's comfortable. And soft."
Before she could reply, Ruby appeared beside her, bright-eyed and curious. She reached out and rubbed his arm experimentally.
"Oh wow," she beamed. "This is, like, aggressively soft."
Jaune flushed, but couldn't help smiling. "See? Validation."
Yang smirked and nudged Ruby. "Don't let the bullies get to you, Bunny Boy. You wear that thing with pride."
Jaune was just about to reply when another voice cut through — dry, frosty, and unmistakably familiar.
"…At least you're committed to your delusions."
He turned to see Weiss walking past, graceful as always, her ponytail flicking behind her like a banner of judgment.
"Oh. You again," he said, feigning mild surprise.
Weiss narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Me. Again."
Ruby stifled a laugh. Yang didn't even bother. Weiss turned her frown on both of them with exasperation.
Jaune just raised an eyebrow, deadpan. "Well, at least you didn't explode anyone this time."
The look she gave him could've frozen the air.
But instead of pressing the moment, Jaune offered a cheeky half-smile and turned away before she could fully unleash the Schnee glare.
He stepped out of the verbal crossfire, weaving between scattered bedrolls until he found an unclaimed corner near the far wall. As he sat down to adjust his boots — now mismatched with soft fleece paws — a quiet voice drifted over his shoulder.
"You're Jaune, right?"
He blinked, looking up. A girl sat nearby, her long black hair falling over her shoulder like ink. A bow rested atop her head. She held a book, but her eyes were on him — calm, unreadable.
"Uh… yeah. That's me," he replied. "And you're…"
"Blake."
A small silence passed between them.
She looked back at her book for a moment, then added, "I liked what you said earlier. About Dust allergies."
Jaune laughed under his breath. "Glad someone appreciated that."
She smiled — just a little. "It was clever. And accurate."
He nodded, and for a moment, there was nothing more to say. But it didn't feel awkward. Just… quiet.
Comfortable.
They exchanged no more than names and a few glances, but something passed between them anyway — a gentle mutual recognition.
After that, he returned to his corner, tugged the bunny hood over his head, and lay down on the cold marble floor.
Around him, the lights dimmed. Voices faded. Some students were still talking in low whispers. Others were already asleep.
But Jaune remained awake, staring up at the high ceiling, where shadow and moonlight painted quiet shapes above.
Everyone else is exactly where they're supposed to be, he thought.
I feel like I snuck in the back door, and no one noticed yet.
He reached up and touched the frayed red cloth still wrapped around his wrist
He smiled faintly at the memory of Saph and slowly, he fell deeper into his thoughts. He thought of her. Of Vivi teasing him for being too soft. Of Celi and her sarcastic, but still loving care. Of all the sisters who believed in him — even when their parents didn't.
He closed his eyes.
This place was full of stars.
He just hoped he could shine next to them.