It had been two years since the day Miles Arc ended Jaune's training. In the time that followed, Jaune had thrown himself entirely into mastering the one thing no one could take from him: dancing. Combat, at its core, was rhythm, movement, and instinct. and Jaune had been refining those elements with relentless focus, all channeled through his own unique expression. the art of sword dancing.
Deep in the forest outside of Orleans, far from the eyes of anyone who might judge or pity him, the sound of wooden sword swings echoed softly through the trees. The gliding of bare feet against the forest floor, combined with the gentle murmur of the nearby river, created the quiet symphony of his daily training.
Anyone who happened upon the source of those sounds would find him there. graceful, precise, and unrelenting. Jaune Arc, now nine years old, danced as if the world depended on it. His movements were fluid and seamless, twirling and weaving through falling leaves as though they, too, had roles to play in his performance. His wooden sword moved like it was part of his body, striking one leaf after another mid-air, never allowing them to touch his skin, every thrust and slash guided by both instinct and choreography.
Each leaf he stabbed floated to the ground after meeting its mark, accumulating at his feet until he finally stopped, breathing lightly but steadily. He looked at his sword, smiling faintly at the sight of over two dozen leaves pierced along its length. With one swift flick, he sent them scattering back to the earth. Then, with practiced grace, he spun the wooden blade in his hand, performed one final flourish, and resumed his dance as if he had never stopped at all.
This was Jaune Arc now. graceful, determined, and alone in his pursuit. but no longer lost.
As he danced to the rhythm of his heartbeat, his thoughts drifted to the newest member of the Arc family: Olivia Arc. She had been born just two months ago, the bright-eyed baby girl with her mother's soft green eyes and the early traces of their family's signature golden hair. Today, the entire Arc family was heading out for supplies and leisure. nothing particularly special, just time together at the mall, but even the smallest things had meaning after everything that happened two years ago.
Since Miles had ended Jaune's training, the aftershocks had never truly left the family. The guilt, disappointment, resentment. it lingered, unspoken but ever-present. Everyone in the family knew that Miles had distanced himself from Jaune since that day, not out of dislike, but out of guilt… and perhaps fear. Mordred, on the other hand, wore her rage proudly. Her animosity toward both her father and Artoria had only grown in the past two years, and though Miles had tried his best to reconcile with her, she met every effort with that same rebellious fire he had once admired in her training. Now it only made his apologies harder to bear.
Artoria, meanwhile, had tried her best to pick up the pieces in her own way. She rarely expressed emotion, but even she had become visibly frustrated in her attempts to bond with Jaune again. She often wandered the house searching for him, either to talk or simply spend time together. Even if she didn't say it out loud, everyone could see that she was trying. and failing. to rebuild what had been broken between them all those years ago.
Despite everything, the family found solace in one thing: Jaune's passion for dancing. That passion had only grown over the years, blossoming into near obsession, and not one of them failed to notice the beauty and joy he found in it. He had direction now. purpose even. and watching him lose himself in his own rhythm filled the family with some measure of peace, even if the wounds hadn't fully healed yet.
Surprisingly, the strongest bond Jaune had formed in those two years was with Mordred. Once rough and distant, their relationship had become one of the closest in the family. Mordred had taken it upon herself to support Jaune in secret, dragging him into training sessions and pushing him to use his dancing in combat. She treated his sword dancing seriously, knowing full well how effective it could be. She sparred with him regularly, pushing him to adapt and improve. to test his movements in ways dancing alone couldn't provide.
Jaune had even managed to defeat her in their last bout, and she had been using her aura at the time.
When he'd asked how she'd unlocked her aura, she told him their father had done it for her when she turned ten. Then she shared another truth: that unlocking one's own aura without assistance was possible. difficult and rare, but possible. She'd explained that doing so made the aura more personal, more refined, because it was the breaking of internal chains by one's own strength. However, the process usually only occurred in moments of mortal danger or extreme emotional breakthrough.
She had offered to unlock Jaune's aura for him just weeks ago, but he'd refused gently, saying he wanted to try it himself first. He promised her that if he couldn't do it by his tenth birthday, he'd let her help him unlock it. She respected that choice, even if it worried her.
Jaune's relationship with Jeanne, however… was still awkward. There wasn't animosity, but there was guilt. deep, quiet guilt that lingered in every interaction. Jaune had forgiven her the moment he realized she blamed herself for their father halting his training. She believed her natural talent was part of the reason Miles gave up on Jaune, and no matter how many times Jaune reassured her, she couldn't shake that crushing belief from her heart.
She hadn't said it directly, but her actions showed it. being more reserved around him, holding back in training, giving him space he hadn't asked for. He remembered the time she asked for his help with her dance recital, how uncertain she had looked when approaching him, how hesitant her smile had been when he said yes without even thinking about it. That memory still made him smile when he thought about it now.
Then there were the twins. Blancheur and Noir. the polar opposites of the Arc siblings. Blancheur, the quiet and introverted one, mostly kept to herself. She was never far from her books or her coloring pages, always hiding behind bangs and silence. Noir, on the other hand, was loud, energetic, and impossible to stop once she got going. Where Blancheur was shadows, Noir was sunshine, and both of them shared the same sky-blue eyes and golden hair that marked them unmistakably as Arcs. The only way to consistently tell them apart was their hairstyles. Blancheur's long and free, Noir's tied up in high pigtails, bouncing with every skip and spin she made around the house.
They didn't fully understand what had happened with Jaune and their father, but even at their young age, they knew how to cheer their big brother up when he needed it. whether through hugs, drawings, or dragging him along into whatever make-believe game they'd made up that day. And Jaune, in turn, loved them dearly for it.
Saphron, on the other hand, tried her best to be there for her family in general, but she was busy studying for high school and aiming for the scholarship that would get her into medical school.
She still danced with him every now and then when she took breaks, but most of her time was occupied with school and studying. Jaune couldn't be mad at her for that because he agreed her education was more important than dancing with him.
After finishing his thoughts, Jaune placed his wooden sword inside the hollowed-out tree trunk he had prepared long ago.
He thought about how Mordred had stolen that wooden sword from the family's training weapon rack and told their father she broke one when she accidentally struck too hard in training.
Jaune smiled lovingly as he thought about Mordred. She was the only one, in those first few months after his father had stopped his training, who didn't treat him like he was made of glass.
Mordred had actually stalked him through the forest, intending to train him herself. until she discovered he'd already been training alone for quite some time.
She had been shocked when she first saw him, not only because he was practicing so deep in the woods alone, but also because of the way he incorporated dancing into combat.
Mordred remembered clearly how Jaune had looked back when he trained with their father. It always seemed like he was bound by chains, like every movement was being restrained, like he wasn't meant to fight that way at all.
When she saw him sword dancing for the first time, her jaw dropped wide open in awe. The way he moved was nothing like the rest of their hunter-trained family.
Mordred often told him their father was simply too rigid of teacher if he couldn't see the possibility of turning Jaune's talent for dance into combat ability. She'd always say that one day he would regret stopping Jaune's training when he saw how skilled he had become.
Jaune only smiled in response and said he held no grudge against their father. He admitted that, in many ways, if his training hadn't been stopped, he might never have found this kind of freedom. He would still be forcing himself into someone else's mold.
Mordred had been the first to support him when he said he wanted to keep his training secret from the rest of the family. She eagerly offered to be his sparring partner, excited to help him challenge and refine his skills in any way she could.
He couldn't help but love her even more for supporting him so fully.
As he walked through the forest in the direction of town, Jaune smiled to himself, thinking about how far he had come on his journey to becoming the kind of Huntsman he dreamed of being.
From the boy who couldn't hold his sword properly, to one who danced with it like the wind, gliding through leaves with grace and strength alike.
Day by day, his skill grew more refined. Add to that the fact that Mordred. who even at her young age was still the most aggressive fighter in the family. continued to spar with him daily. His ability to counter her attacks was magnificent. The way he danced around her strikes, the precision in which he parried, was truly breathtaking to watch.
Even when Mordred used her aura against him, she had extreme difficulty landing blows. Without her aura, Jaune won every single match. And with it, she only managed to win four out of six fights. that too after pressing herself to her limits.
His skill had reached such heights that even aura wasn't enough to bridge the gap between them anymore.
AN: (the only reason Modred lose whenever she fight jaune while using her aura was because of the first hit rule. If it were a serious fight or a fight to the death modred win 10/10 times. Because of her aura basically making her a superhuman)
[AN: Give me all of your power stone muahahahhahaha]
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[THIS CHAPTER GRAMMAR HAD BEEN FIXED!]