Jaune woke up, his eyelids still puffy and heavy from the tears he had shed the night before. His body felt sluggish, weighed down by the exhaustion that only comes after crying oneself to sleep. The sunlight poured in through the window, bright and cheerful, but Jaune didn't feel any warmth from it today. Instead, he felt the creeping dread wrapping around his heart like vines, tightening with each breath. He knew what was going to happen at breakfast. and that knowledge alone made getting up even harder than usual.
He pushed himself out of bed and shuffled toward the mirror. What greeted him was not unexpected: his blond hair was wild and tangled, sticking in every direction, and his eyes were swollen and rimmed with red. He sighed deeply, rubbing at them in hopes of pushing the puffiness away, but the irritation only made them worse. Frowning, he turned from the mirror and made his way into the bathroom to wash up.
As he brushed his teeth, his thoughts drifted again to what he had overheard the night before. his father's voice, so full of pain and resolution, saying it was time to end his training. The thought of having everything he had worked for taken away so simply, so calmly, made his eyes sting with tears again. He blinked them away quickly, trying to keep it together. He didn't want his family to see him cry again.
After washing his face, Jaune stared at the reflection in the mirror. He looked slightly less disheveled, though the weight on his chest remained. He reached up, ruffled his bedhead into some semblance of order and let out another half-hearted chuckle at his own appearance.
"Come on, Jaune," he whispered to himself, "you can't be more of disappointment than you already are. Don't let them be more disappointed in you…"
Ten minutes later, he made his way downstairs. The smell of breakfast filled the air, but it didn't bring the comfort it usually did. He spotted his mother at the stove, flipping pancakes while cooking bacon and eggs. She turned slightly when she heard him approach, and Jaune's eyes immediately caught the redness surrounding hers. she'd been crying too. That realization made guilt well up inside him again, but he pushed it down and walked up to her with as much cheer as he could muster.
"Let me help with breakfast, Mom," Jaune said, moving to stand beside her at the counter.
Luna turned to look at him. her expression soft but clearly saddened. but she nodded and handed him the bowl. "Alright, sweetie. You can help me mix the pancake batter while I finish the bacon and eggs."
As he stirred, Jaune's mind wandered again. He mixed the ingredients absentmindedly, the wooden spoon moving through the batter without much thought. Luna glanced at her son out of the corner of her eye and sighed quietly. He was so good at helping around the house. diligent, thoughtful, precise. Why couldn't those same skills translate to combat?
Twenty minutes passed, and soon Jaune was setting plates on the table just as the rest of the family began making their way downstairs. Saphron carried the twins. Blancheur and Noir. who were still half-asleep, their heads resting on her shoulders. Artoria appeared next, as prim as ever with her aristocratic aura…but her hair was completely wild, and there was even dried drool on her cheek. Jaune couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight.
Mordred, surprisingly, looked the cleanest among them, her messy ponytail the only sign she'd just rolled out of bed. She wore her usual combo of shorts and shirt. Jeanne followed behind in her cute pastel pajamas, tilting her head curiously as she eyed the food already placed on the table.
Miles entered last, dressed in his simple shirt and pants. He gave Jaune the briefest glance, his eyes full of sadness, and said nothing as he sat down slowly at the table.
They all began to eat. Jaune sat quietly, waiting, dreading every bite because it brought him closer to the inevitable. He tried to focus on the joy his cooking brought instead. on the way Mordred lit up when she took her first bite.
"Jaune, you made the pancakes, right?" Mordred asked excitedly, her mouth already full and her appetite in full force.
Jaune smiled softly. "Yes, Mordred. I made the pancakes. Are they good?"
"They're the best pancakes I've ever had, Jaune! You should make them every day!" Mordred declared between bites.
"Swallow before speaking, Mordred," Artoria said pointedly before turning to Jaune with calm dignity. "Jaune, the pancakes are delicious."
"Artoria!" Mordred scowled, attempting to reach across the table for another pancake, but Artoria was quicker, snatching it before her little sister could. She was already on her third helping, which earned her several annoyed glances from around the table.
Jaune watched it all. the laughter, the small battles for food, the joyful chaos of his family. and smiled to himself. It was beautiful. It was everything he loved most in the world. And yet, beneath it all, he could feel the tension growing. He could see it in his father's grim silence. The moment was coming.
Miles cleared his throat and everyone turned to look at him. Jaune felt his stomach twist.
"Jaune," Miles said, his voice subdued, "there's… there's someone I need to tell you."
Everyone quieted instantly, sensing the gravity of the moment. The air stilled as they all looked at Jaune.
Jaune struggled to keep his voice steady. "What is it, Dad?"
There was another delay. tension stretching seconds into hours. before Miles finally spoke the words that changed everything.
"I… I am stopping your training, Jaune."
For several seconds, nobody could speak. Then chaos broke across the table like shattered glass.
"You can't do that!"
"What… Dad, what are you saying?"
"Dad… please tell us you're joking!"
Everyone spoke over each other, anger and disbelief filling the air, but Miles kept his gaze fixed on his son, waiting for Jaune's reaction.
Jaune stared down at his plate, hands clenched tightly in his lap. "O…okay, Dad… I… I understand."
Even though he had tried to prepare for this, hearing the words spoken aloud made tears sting his eyes again. He kept his head down, refusing to let them fall. not here, not in front of everyone. Saphron watched him carefully, heart breaking at the sight of her little brother trying to stay strong. She turned her gaze sharply toward her father before looking back at Jaune again.
"Jaune… are you sure you want to go along with this?" she asked softly, barely able to keep her emotions in check. "Are you really okay?"
Jaune took one shaky breath, then another before answering. "It's okay… I… I understand why he's stopping it. I…"
His voice cracked before he could finish the sentence. He quickly stood up, pushing the chair back with sudden force, and ran out the front door without another word.
"Jaune!" Saphron called, about to follow, but Miles raised his hand and shook his head slightly.
"Don't," he said quietly. "He needs space right now. He needs to calm down."
His daughters all turned toward him sharply, glares full of anger and disbelief.
"You…you…" Mordred's face was bright red from fury, her hands clenched in fists. "How could you destroy his dream like that!?"
Saphron opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She looked down, composed herself, and finally turned toward her mother, who had remained silent this whole time.
"Mom… did you know?"
Luna didn't answer right away. She closed her eyes and let out the slowest, most tired sigh in recent memory. "Yes. Your father told me last night…"
Saphron's face fell, disappointment clear in her expression as she turned her gaze back to her father.
"You can't do this, Dad… Being Huntsman has always been his dream," she said quietly, doing her best to control the storm building inside her.
Artoria fixed her father with frustrated eyes, equally bothered by the decision and by how bluntly he had announced it. Jeanne looked down at her lap, guilt shadowing her features, while the twins sat wordlessly, too young to understand the full weight of what had just happened but nonetheless sensing the grief in the room.
"I know it's his dream," Miles said at last, his voice low and solemn. "Believe me, I know… but he's simply not suited for it. In the three years I've trained him, day in and day out, he's never shown any progress. none. And if he had shown even the smallest bit of promise, I would have continued. Gladly."
He looked down at his own hands, remembering every moment of that training as though it had been carved into stone. "Whenever I see him hold the sword... or any weapon... he looks trapped. confined. as if the very act of wielding it is foreign to him, like it's not where he truly belongs."
None of his daughters said anything for several long moments after that. Even if they wanted to argue, even if they wanted to protect Jaune's dream, they couldn't bring themselves to refute the truth in their father's words.
"But Dad… can you at least give him one more chance? Please?" Saphron pleaded, her voice trembling slightly as she looked her father in the eye, desperate for him to reconsider. "Just one more."
Miles sighed deeply, the weight of his thoughts visible in the set of his shoulders. "Saphron… I know how much you love your brother. maybe even more than the rest of us combined. but I've already tried everything I could." His voice was heavy, quiet with despair. "I've taught him countless stances, countless ways to fight with the sword and other weapons… but it's always the same. He looks… confined. Like his very body is shackled. Like invisible chains are pulling him down."
Saphron watched the guilt settle over her father's face like dust on stone. She wanted to argue. wanted to scream that it wasn't true. but in the deepest parts of her heart, even she had seen the truth of it. Jaune's movements had always lacked fluidity when training. He always looked like he was struggling to be someone he wasn't. Before she could find words to protest, Miles continued quietly, his voice barely above whisper:
"I… I don't want to send my son to his death…"
Even Mordred, who sat with clenched fists and flaring nostrils, quieted at that. The rage still simmered in her blood, but those words managed to still her just enough to listen. for now.
Luna finally spoke, her voice tender yet filled with sorrow. "Your father talked to me last night about this… and as much as I hate taking Jaune's dream away from him… I don't want him to die either."
"But Mom! You can't just do that!" Mordred snapped, her voice breaking as she turned toward Artoria for support. "Right, Artoria?!"
Silence followed. Artoria didn't respond. She sat still, her eyes dropped to the table, her lips pressed into nothing but quiet resignation.
"Artoria… right?" Mordred whispered again, but her voice revealed the flicker of dread forming in her chest. That flicker became fire. "Artoria… Did you know?"
Artoria kept her eyes low as she answered calmly, preparing herself for the storm that was coming. "Yes… I did. They told me yesterday."
Without hesitation, Mordred surged across the table, her expression twisted in rage. She swung her fist with all the fury in her heart. only for her father to catch her mid-motion, trapping her in his arms before the punch connected.
"LET GO OF ME YOU BASTARD! LET ME BEAT THAT BITCH!" Mordred shouted, thrashing violently in Miles' grip. Her fury erupted like wildfire as Luna rushed over to try and calm her, the room teetering on the edge of chaos once more.
Artoria didn't move from her seat. She met her sister's rage with guilt, not fear. She understood. She would have done the same in her place.
"YOU CAN'T DO THAT, ARTORIA!! YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO JAUNE!"
Miles held Mordred tighter, afraid to let go. even more afraid of what this decision had caused between his daughters. He felt the weight of his choice like iron chains around his own heart. He made this choice to protect his son… and in doing so, risked breaking the rest of the family apart.
Meanwhile, far from the heated argument and shaking table, Jaune ran deeper into the forest beyond the edge of town. He didn't know where his feet were carrying him, just that he had to get away. He cried and cried, the tears burning his cheeks as they fell, blurring his vision until the trees around him became smeared shapes of color and shadow.
He cursed himself with every step. Cursed his weakness. Cursed his failure. Cursed the lack of courage in his heart that never seemed to shine where it mattered most. His breath caught in his throat, and he stumbled to stop, gasping for air, shoulders heaving.
'Who would want to train someone like me, anyway?'
He looked around and realized he had run too far. The forest had closed around him, unfamiliar and vast, and he didn't know which way led back home. Wiping his eyes, he began to walk in what he hoped was the right direction. but as he moved, he caught the soft sound of flowing water not too far away.
Guided by instinct, he followed the sound until he arrived at the riverbank. and froze in awe.
It was beautiful. The wind danced through the treetops, carrying with it the crisp scent of leaves and earth. The water glittered with golden sunlight, rippling in soft waves across the rocks. Amber leaves floated down like kisses on the surface of the river, drifting lazily along the current. Birds chirped overhead in tunes that only they understood, melodies blending seamlessly into the breath of the woods around him.
Jaune stood there, heart quiet, thoughts still. And then… he moved.
At first, it was barely noticeable. Just the sway of his shoulders to the birdsong. Then the tilt of his head to follow the rhythm of the wind. Before he even realized it, his feet began to glide across the grass. He picked up the nearest fallen branch, light and smooth like his training sword. and danced.
He danced to the sound of the water flowing beside him. He danced to the whisper of the wind threading through his hair. He danced to the gentle patter of leaves falling like soft rain. He danced to the songs of birds echoing from above. He danced to the rhythm of nature and the steady beating of his own heart.
He danced with all the passion he had, and all the pain he couldn't say aloud.
Time slipped away unnoticed. He lost himself in motion, each movement more alive than any swing he'd ever taken during practice. When he finally stopped, panting and blinking slowly, he realized the sun had risen high in the sky. noon already. He looked down at the stick still clutched in his right hand… and smiled softly to himself with newfound clarity burning behind his eyes.
He had danced for more than five hours straight. And in those five hours, he had never felt more alive. not once in three years of swordplay had his body felt like this. Fluid. Free. Limitless. He stared at the stick like it was both sword and partner.
"I… I cannot fight… but I can dance," he whispered to the trees and river. "That's the only thing I'm good at…"
His voice strengthened as he stood straighter, his eyes shining with resolve. "I'll dance instead of fighting. I'll dance to the sound of swords clashing… I'll dance to the thunder of guns firing… I'll dance through the chaos of the battlefield… I'll dance to the rhythm of my heartbeat."
He placed the stick across his shoulders as if it were the blade he would one day wield again. not with brute force, but with purpose and grace.
"I'll dance to the sound of my love."
He closed his eyes, letting the wind sweep through his hair once more, and smiled.
"The dance of love."
[AN: Give me all of your power stone muahahahhahaha]
[You could read up to 10 chapter ahead if you support me on patr30n. At patreon . com / Zaneninjacat for only 10 dollars.]
[THIS CHAPTER GRAMMAR HAD BEEN FIXED!]