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Gillian's eyes followed the crimson liquid as it swirled into her cup, the reflection of torchlight catching in its depths like fire trapped in glass. Vermillion's movements were smooth, practiced—every gesture deliberate, like a man who never wasted effort. He poured for Jax, then himself, before settling back into his chair. The old warlord's eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, his smile sharp and unreadable.
Near the door, one of his new guards loomed silently, a figure that seemed carved out of menace itself.
She was an oddity, even for Vacuo's mercenary-laden world—dressed in a skintight black catsuit that clung to her form like a second skin. Her face was obscured by a ghastly mask, a gas-filter contraption with lenses that glowed faintly, making her look more machine than human. Her dark hair was bound tightly into a bun, giving her a severe, almost militaristic air.
Twin revolvers gleamed under the lantern light—one holstered at her hip, the other strapped awkwardly across her back as though daring anyone to test her draw speed. Three belts of bullets crossed her figure: one snug at the waist, two crisscrossing over her chest in an "X" like the marking of some deadly shrine.
The whispers had called her only The Ocelot; her real name was a mystery. Gillian studied her for only a moment before pushing the thought aside—there were bigger things to focus on tonight.
She lifted her cup, the wine sweet on her tongue, before turning her attention back to the man who had become their greatest benefactor. Vermillion smirked, his expression calm, almost amused, as if he already knew their answers before the question left his lips.
"So, now that you've declared war, raised your banners of rebellion, and set yourselves upon the path of kings and queens... let me ask you something," he began, voice smooth as the wine he drank, his gaze flicked between them, sharp as a knife's edge. "Are you afraid?"
Jax frowned, brow furrowed, a touch of steel entering his voice. "Afraid?" he repeated, as if the word itself was foreign on his tongue.
Even Gillian blinked in surprise, turning toward Vermillion with a faint crease in her brow. She could not yet tell if the man was mocking them, testing them, or laying some hidden truth bare.
Vermillion nodded slowly, sipping his cup before setting it down with a hollow clink. "Yes, afraid. Because you should be, both of you." he said simply. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur that somehow carried across the room. "You're in the great game now, and the great game is terrifying." His smirk widened into something cold, something wolfish.
"The game?" Gillian echoed, curiosity sharpening into caution.
Vermillion's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The game of thrones, Your Grace," he said, voice smooth as polished obsidian. "It's not merely who wins a single field or takes a single fort. It's a wheel that keeps turning—one ruler at the top for a season, then another, then another. You must understand: this isn't only a contest of steel and bullets. It's a contest of minds and hearts. You can win battle after battle and still lose everything if you haven't won the people."
He steepled his fingers, leaning forward as if confiding a secret.
"And when I say "the people," I don't mean only those desperate folk in the far south, or the settlements the city neglects. I mean everyone: merchants in the market, mothers in the towns, the sellswords who change loyalties for coin, the bandit clans who decide which side pays best. If they do not see you as their salvation, they will see you as another crown to be plundered."
Gillian's jaw tightened. "And how exactly do you suggest we win the hearts of an entire kingdom?" she asked, the question blunt but necessary.
Vermillion's eyes glittered in the torchlight. "It's simple, in principle, show them why you deserve to rule. Tear down the council not just with steel, but with compassion and service. After you take a village, or one of the other three major settlements, stay. Don't loot and move on. Rebuild. Feed them. Protect them from bandits and Grimm. Put someone capable in charge who answers to the people. Make your banners mean safety and stability, not just a new master," he said. He tapped the rim of his glass. "You've already demonstrated the willingness to strike where the Huntsmen do not. Now prove you'll be the ones to stand guard afterward. Charity and axes alike; rations and justice. Make the council's inaction vivid: let people see the Crown at work while the Council hides behind stone and protocol. Hearts are won by actions more than speeches. Do that, and you don't just gain followers—you gain a populace that will defend you."
Jax leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his attention razor-sharp. "So what you're saying is we have to win the people over—tend to them where the Council refuses?" he asked, voice low and hungry with possibility.
Vermillion inclined his head once, a slow, approving nod. "Exactly."
Jax's smirk widened, one corner of his mouth turning up as the map of a plan started to form in his mind. "We do that, and the kingdom will finally see who the true saviors and rulers of Vacuo are." He let the words hang, tasting them. "Yes. I understand."
Vermillion's chuckle was a soft, confident thing. He gave both siblings a curt nod. "Good. But know this—before you can win hearts, you must prove you are not some fleeting rabble that Hunters will sweep aside. You must become a threat they cannot ignore."
Gillian's eyes sharpened. "And how exactly do you mean we prove it? By striking at one of the major settlements and hoping everyone takes notice?" she asked, lifting her glass for another measured sip.
"Precisely," Vermillion said. "Strike a major node of power. Make it unmistakable. Make the Huntsmen—and the Council—wake up and look at you with fear."
Jax frowned, thinking aloud. "But which one? Each of the three major settlements is valuable in its own right."
Gillian set her cup down, her expression thoughtful as she turned toward her brother. "Yes—Sandstone Harbor, Moria, and Sunspear each feed a different part of Vacuo," she said, tracing the contours of trade and power with her words. "Sandstone Harbor is the gateway for trade with Vale; it keeps goods and commerce flowing. Moria controls the mines, metals, and wealth that fund armies. Sunspear supplies food and is home to Oscuro Combat Academy; it's a military and agricultural heart."
"If we take Sandstone, we risk cutting off our trade with Vale too early in the campaign. That loss of supplies and coin could cripple us before we've even consolidated power. " Jax mused, fingers drumming on the table as he weighed the map in his head, "But if we seize Moria and Sunspear, we'd gain a massive strategic edge — mines and food, plus control of a major combat academy."
Jax then paused, the gravity of the choices lining his features. "There are two problems with taking those cities, though." He pushed his cup aside and continued, voice low and careful. "Moria is effectively controlled by Harrkon's mining consortium. The Master of Coin doesn't just sit on wealth — he bankrolls forces. I've heard he keeps a sizeable private army and even military-grade Bullheads at his disposal. That's not a garrison you can storm without consequence."
"And Sunspear?" Vermillion prompted.
Jax's jaw tightened. "Sunspear houses Oscuro Combat Academy. You're not just fighting a town, you're facing trained students and instructors, young and reckless and vicious in their confidence. Take them lightly and you'll pay dearly for it."
Vermillion listened, expression unreadable, then gave a deliberate nod. "Everything you say is true," he agreed. "These are not decisions to be made on impulse or bravado. If I may suggest a course... call a war council. Bring in your commanders, put the intelligence on the table, and craft a plan." His gaze flicked to Gillian, inviting her judgment.
Gillian met him with the same clear appraisal, then inclined her head. "I agree," she said. "This can't be a two-person wager. We need a strategy, time to brief our captains, and to prepare supply lines and contingencies. We'll hold a council in the morning and decide then."
Vermillion's thin smile returned, the corner of his mouth lifting with approval. "Agreed. For now, rest. Tomorrow will be long, and we need steady minds and strong bodies."
They let the silence settle like a pact. Torches flickered; the wine in their cups cooled. Outside, the mountain wind carried distant sounds of camp life, but on the small stage by the warlord's table, leaders planned and waited, knowing the first choice they made could set the course of an entire kingdom.
Meanwhile, far across the sands, inside the stone walls of Shade Academy, Headmaster Theodore stood alone in his strategy chamber. The lamp of his office cast long shadows across the vast map of Vacuo spread over his war table, every settlement marked, every trade route traced in ink and pinned with tokens of carved wood. His eyes swept over the map again and again, searching for the place where the enemy would strike, but the answers refused to settle in his mind.
He knew the Crown would not waste time on small raids. Their ambition was vast — their banners called for conquest, not skirmishes. One of the three major settlements would be their mark. But which?
Sandstone Harbor was the lifeblood of Vacuo's trade, its docks forever laden with ships from Vale. Close to the Dead Mountains, close enough for the Crown to march upon swiftly. Yet to take it meant severing Vacuo's veins, trade cut, supplies strangled.
Sunspear was no less tempting, its golden fields feeding half the kingdom, and Oscuro Combat Academy resting like a fortress at its heart. To seize it would be to claim food, warriors, and a symbolic victory over the very system that trained Vacuo's future defenders.
Moria, though... Theodore's brow furrowed.
No, not Moria.
It lay too far to the west, too deeply entrenched in Councilman Harkkon's iron grip. The man's private army was more than militia. It was a war machine with Bullheads and armaments enough to rain destruction before an invading force even set foot near the mines.
To attack Moria was to invite suicide.
That left Sandstone and Sunspear. One or the other. But as Theodore studied the enemy's numbers, the thought pressed against his mind like a blade to the throat. They had thousands. And with thousands came possibility.
What if they struck both?
The idea was madness, yet not impossible. With their swelling ranks, the Crown might split their army, overwhelming both Sunspear's militia and combat-ready students, while grinding down Sandstone's defenses before reinforcements could be mustered. Even Huntsmen and Huntresses — elite though they were — could not stem the tide of thousands. Not alone.
Theodore exhaled, slow and heavy, and pressed thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, his temples throbbing from hours of contemplation. He shut his eyes, but even in the darkness behind his lids, he saw fire, saw cities burning, saw Vacuo's heart cut out before his people could rally.
A voice stirred the silence, gentle yet steady.
"Need some company, Headmaster?"
Hearing the familiar voice, Theodore lifted his head from the map. His tired eyes softened when they landed on the figure in the doorway — Lie Ren, standing tall and composed, looking better than he had in weeks. The boy's posture was calm, his expression serene, but there was strength in the way he carried himself, as though some inner weight had been set down.
"Ah, Ren," Theodore said, a faint smile breaking through his grim expression. "It's good to see you again. Come in, sit. I would welcome the company."
Ren inclined his head with quiet respect and stepped inside. His movements were measured, almost silent, like a shadow drifting across the stone floor. He settled into the chair across from the Headmaster, his sharp eyes immediately catching the map sprawled across the desk. Vacuo's settlements were circled in thick ink, with lines of notes scrawled in the margins — a web of possibilities and dangers laid bare.
"Headmaster," Ren began, his voice even but probing, "you're worried about the Crown, aren't you?"
Theodore leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling a slow breath through his nose. His gaze met Ren's, steady and solemn, before he gave a firm nod.
"I am," he admitted. "More than worried. They've gathered an army the likes of which we've not seen in Vacuo for years. I tried to warn the Council, laid it all before them — the risk, the numbers, the stakes. But they dismissed me. They think waiting will protect us." His jaw tightened. "They'd rather stand idle while cities burn and people die. But I will not. I will not watch Vacuo fall the way Vale did. I will not let Mistral's fate repeat itself. And I'll be damned before I cower behind these walls like Atlas did."
Ren studied him quietly, the words sinking deep. His expression was unreadable, but the faint narrowing of his eyes betrayed thoughtfulness. After a pause, he gestured toward the map. "And the marks? The points you've circled?"
Theodore leaned forward, his hand sweeping over the parchment. He tapped the yellow mark drawn deep within the jagged outline of the Dead Mountains.
"Here, the Crown has carved out a base of operations. From this stronghold, they can reach any of these three," his finger moved across the three orange circles further south, "Sandstone Harbor, Sunspear, and Moria. Each is vital in its own way. Each is vulnerable. And I fear they will strike one—or perhaps more—to prove their strength," he said firmly.
His hand hovered over Moria, the westernmost settlement, before withdrawing slightly.
"Of the three, Moria is the least likely target." He said.
Ren's brow lifted, an instinctive question lingering in the air. "Why?" he asked simply.
Theodore tapped the map, the candlelight catching the worn edges of the parchment. "Councilman Harrkon practically owns Moria," he explained, voice low and steady. "He controls the mines and, with them, the town itself. He keeps a private militia there, well-equipped, well-funded, and, from what I've seen, they've got military-grade Bullheads at their disposal. Any army that tried to take Moria without crippling its air support first would be inviting annihilation. I don't think the Crown is that stupid. Which means the more likely targets are Sunspear and Sandstone." He let the words hang for a moment.
Ren's fingers traced one of the roads on the map, thoughtful. "But they could hit both," he murmured.
"Exactly," Theodore said, meeting Ren's eyes. "That's not the only worry. It's not just which one they take first, it's the possibility they split their force and strike two places at once."
Ren nodded slowly, taking it in. He looked up again, curiosity sharpened. "Sir... if I may ask," he said, careful and direct, "How do you know the Crown has an army? I don't doubt you, Headmaster, but it's odd how much information you seem to have on them."
A rueful half-smile tugged at Theodore's mouth. He leaned back, folding his hands on the desk. "The truth is plain: headmasters have eyes," he said. "We don't only teach, we listen. We maintain networks of informants, scouts, and contacts. People who slip through the cracks and bring us word of danger. Ozpin had his own channels, Qrow Branwen, for one."
Ren's face brightened at the name. "Qrow Branwen? I know of him. He's Ruby and Yang's uncle—met him briefly at Beacon, though we never had much to do with him."
Theodore nodded. "Ozpin had Qrow; I have more than one. I've kept a closer watch on the Crown since Mr. Arc's... incident with Ms. Adel." He let the name fall with a clipped edge, anger sharpening the syllables for a heartbeat before he smoothed his expression.
Ren didn't catch the subtle performance in Theodore's tone, the mask the Headmaster wore so naturally. Instead, he simply exhaled a long, weary sigh, shoulders sagging with the weight of memory. "I still can't believe he did it, Jaune... he was always kind. He cared about everyone he called friend. He carried us when we faltered, stood by us even when we didn't deserve it. And to think that same person could kill someone he once called a friend..." Ren murmured, his voice edged with disbelief and grief alike. Ren's eyes lowered to the map, though he wasn't truly seeing it. "That doesn't sound like the leader I followed. It doesn't sound like him at all."
Theodore's expression softened, his brow furrowing in a somber way that seemed to mirror Ren's pain. He gave a slow nod, the kind that carried the weight of experience. "Yes... unfortunately, people change, Ren, some for the better, some for the worse. And it seems, in Mr. Arc's case, the change has been for the worse. He has chosen a darker path, one that brings ruin rather than hope." he said, his voice quiet but heavy. He paused, eyes lowering to his hands folded on the desk. "And yet... I cannot bring myself to place all the blame solely on his shoulders."
Ren blinked, his gaze flicking back up. "You can't?"
Theodore's nod was deliberate, his tone steady but tinged with regret. "Make no mistake, I have no intention of excusing him, nor am I forgiving the actions he's taken. A life was lost, trust was shattered—those are choices he made. But..." he said firmly, he leaned back, sighing deeply. "He was failed long before he reached this point. Failed by the systems meant to protect him. Failed by the schools that were meant to guide him. Failed by those of us entrusted to shape the next generation. We teachers are supposed to be your guardians, your compass, your shield. And yet... Beacon failed him. Shade failed him. Even I failed him."
Ren's lips pressed together in a thin line, his chest tight with conflict. "So you're saying... Jaune didn't just fall—he was pushed?"
Theodore's gaze lingered on him for a long moment, a flicker of pity in his eyes. "I'm saying that when a good man loses his way, it is rarely by accident."
Ren nodded slowly, the motion small and hesitant. "Then... do you think—after what he's done—there's any chance he could come back?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Could Nora bring him back?"
Theodore lifted an eyebrow at the question. "Why single out Ms. Valkyrie?" he prompted gently.
Ren's shoulders tightened. He looked down, fingers absently tracing the edge of the map on the desk. "I don't know if I can bring him back," he admitted, a raw honesty wrapped into his words. "I don't know that I deserve to. He... he abandoned us when he was hurting. He hated and pushed people away when he suffered, just like the rest of us did. He once called me brother, but now I'm not sure he sees me that way. After everything I've done, after everything that's happened, I don't know if I have any right to call myself his brother."
Theodore's expression softened. He exhaled a long, slow breath and folded his hands on the table. "Ren, I can't tell you whether Mr. Arc is too far gone. That may be something only time, or he himself, can decide. But if there is a chance to bring him back—if there is even a sliver of hope—then it should not rest on Ms. Valkyrie's shoulders alone." he said carefully.
Ren blinked, looking up at the Headmaster.
Theodore continued, "Despite what you feel or what you believe you deserve, you do have a claim in this. If Jaune ever called you brother—if he loved you enough to give you that title—then being his brother isn't a matter of rights earned perfectly. It's a responsibility. If you truly are his brother in all but blood, then you have the same obligation as Nora to try. Don't shrink from that because of guilt."
Those words sank in slowly. They landed and settled, and something in Ren shifted. He felt the ember at the center of himself stir—less like duty and more like a quiet, determined flame. "Thank you, Headmaster," he said, voice steadier now.
Theodore gave him a small, encouraging smile. "Of course, Ren."
Ren's gaze slid back to the map. As he stared at the inked roads and circled settlements, an idea began to form, steady and practical. He drew in a breath and met Theodore's eyes. "Headmaster... I might have a plan to protect Sandstone and Sunspear without raising the Crown's suspicion," he said, the first hint of purpose knitting his features together.
Theodore's brow arched, his sharp eyes narrowing with interest as he leaned back in his chair. The flickering lantern light carved half his face into shadow, giving him a calculating air as he studied the younger man across from him. He said nothing at first, simply gesturing with a small tilt of his hand for Ren to continue.
As Ren began to outline his strategy, the headmaster felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. What he was hearing might actually work. Against all odds, this quiet young man, once overshadowed by louder voices in his team, was showing the kind of insight and subtlety that Vacuo desperately needed.
Theodore's eyes sharpened with a new glimmer of respect and hope.
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The next morning the war council assembled in the stone-hewn chamber that doubled as their war room. Torchlight pooled against rough walls and threw the long table, an old slab carved with Vacuo's map.
Around it stood Vermillion, Jax, Gillian, Carmine, Bertilak, Rosa, and Jaune, their faces lit and shadowed in turns. On the carved map a single Crown token marked their current position in the Dead Mountains; four Vacuo emblems sat like targets: Sandstone Harbor, Sunspear, Moria, and the prize that towered above them all, Vacuo City itself. If Jaune had to read intent, those four pieces were where the Crown planned to press its hand next.
Jax took the head of the table and drew a breath, the weight of leadership already settling into his voice. "As you know, we're camped in the Dead Mountains," he began, hand sweeping over the carved tokens. "These four are our objectives: Sandstone Harbor, Sunspear, Moria, and Vacuo City. Last night Gillian, Vermillion and I argued the merits of each. If we can seize any of them, we gain leverage, supplies, and the narrative. Moria, though... we're putting Moria off for now. Harrkon's private force makes it a dangerous opening move—Bullheads and a trained militia. That's a problem we'll solve later. The reason we convened this council is to hear every opinion. Right now we're deciding between Sandstone and Sunspear."
Rosa, voice level and blunt as always, didn't hesitate. "Why not both?" she offered. "Split the forces and strike simultaneously. If we hit both at the same time, we overwhelm their ability to respond."
Bertilak's grin was a bare thing under his scarred face. "We have the numbers for it," he said, the certainty in his tone like flint striking steel.
Carmine folded her arms, considering, then nodded. "It's a sound strategy," she agreed. "With five thousand men split evenly, we can pinch both cities fast. Take key infrastructure, cut supply lines, and hold until the people accept our rule." She tapped the map with a finger for emphasis. "Timing and surprise will be everything—no prolonged sieges. Quick, sharp, and decisive."
"But there's one major problem with Sunspear," Jaune said, leaning forward and pointing at the carved city on the table. He kept his voice steady, forcing clarity into the edges of his warning. "If I remember right, that place holds Oscuro Combat Academy. That doesn't just mean a local militia, it means Huntsmen professors and trained students. They've got Aura, discipline, and tactics. A horde of inexperienced fighters is dangerous, but an organized force of dozens, even hundreds, who've been forged at a combat academy is another matter entirely. You can't treat them like ordinary townsfolk."
Bertilak scoffed, face hardening into a sneer. "A bunch of brats and civilians can't stand against five thousand men and women," he spat. "Numbers win wars. We still have the advantage."
"In numbers, yes, but what if we can't get past the walls?" Jaune allowed, he tapped the stone where Sunspear's ramparts were carved. "Attack head-on and they'll seal the gates, activate defenses, and hold until reinforcements arrive. That buys them time — and time is what they need. The same goes for Sandstone. If the defenders hold the gates and the Huntsmen arrive, it becomes a slog, and the tide can turn against us."
Bertilak's tone curled into a sneer. "Then what do you suggest we do, Dog?" he jeered, goading Jaune to overstep.
Jaune met the barb with a cool, measured stare, then turned his attention back to the map. He traced imagined lines with the tip of his finger, running through routes, supply lines, weak points and averages of guard rotations. All the things a commander thinks about when weighing an attack. He didn't want to tell these people everything; too many loose words could become weapons, and revealing the whole truth might expose his own double life.
He had to thread a needle: offer a plan that would secure them a visible victory — something bold enough to rally their troops and convince the populace that the Crown was unstoppable — while not tipping off the settlements or making the Crown suspicious of his true loyalties. In doing so, he could steer events so that, after their "win," the other cities would be on edge and predictable. That predictability would create an opening that he and those who opposed the Crown could exploit later.
Jaune's finger paused over the carved map as the pieces of a plan clicked into place in his head. He let the room settle around him, the torchlight, the low murmur of commanders thinking and then spoke, measured and sure.
"If we're going to do it, we take Rosa's idea and sharpen it, Hit both cities at once, but don't throw men at gatehouses and ramparts like lemmings. Before our main force engages, we'll feed the city a small, covert element — maybe fifteen to twenty people disguised as nomads or merchants looking to trade. They slip inside under the pretense of commerce." he said, meeting each pair of eyes around the table. "Once we start the outer assault and the defenders seal the gates and focus outward, those men and women will move. They sabotage key defenses, winches, gate mechanisms, watch rotations, or create distractions at choke points. When the moment's right, they open routes for our main force to pour in. It's fast, it's precise, and it keeps the fighting from becoming a drawn-out siege. If we take control quickly, we minimize civilian casualties and infrastructure damage. People are more likely to accept a new rule if you take their town cleanly instead of burning it to the ground."
A hush fell over the table as the commanders considered the proposal. Vermillion's lips curled into a slow, approving smirk. "Clever, if executed cleanly, that would indeed reduce bloodshed. A rapid, surgical operation leaves fewer martyrs and more subjects willing to bend the knee," he said. He tapped the rim of his cup thoughtfully. "Sandstone Harbor is tailor-made for this: port traffic, traders, a constant flow of outsiders. Getting a handful of disguised men inside will be easy. Sunspear is another story. With Oscuro Combat Academy and Huntsmen in the region, infiltration will be hairier."
Jaune nodded, acknowledging the hazard. "True, sunspear's a tougher nut, but the infiltrators don't need to defeat the Academy outright, just sabotage their outer defenses, cut communications, or even take the mayor or key figures hostage, and bam, you have leverage. With the hostages in our hands and the port gates seized, morale collapses. The academy's students may fight bravely, but if the town's leaders capitulate and the food depots are under our control, the will to resist evaporates faster than any blade can cut it."
Carmine whistled softly, impressed despite herself. Bertilak barked agreement, while Rosa leaned in, eyes bright with tactical approval. The calculus of logistics and timing filled the air like a new scent: risky, but elegant.
Vermillion's smirk widened; the old warlord's mind was clearly at work. He looked at Jaune with something between appraisal and hunger. 'He's quick-minded... he could be useful much later,' Vermillion thought with a cold glint. "I like this plan, it gives us a decisive victory without painting ourselves as monsters," he said aloud, the words carrying weight in the room.
"As do I," Gillian said, voice steady, then she turned to her brother and let the practicalities fall into place. "If we take them quickly and cleanly—no scorched earth, no slaughter of innocents—we win more than terrain. We win the people. They'll see we're not savage raiders; we'll be the power that rebuilds instead of burns."
Jax's jaw set, the grin that came next carrying the weight of a strategist who finally saw the path. "You're right, sister. Seize their trust with speed and mercy. If we control one—or better, both—then we can press our advantage. From there, we push on the other settlements. Ideally, we cripple the Council's leverage and make the next move toward Moria when the time's right." His eyes flashed at the mention of Harrkon's mines, calculating and cold. "If everything goes well, Moria will be isolated and easier to take later."
Rosa couldn't help herself; she leaned in, a crooked smile curving her lips as she looked at Jaune. "Damn, Arc, that was a smart call," she said, admiration blunt and sincere. "You've done well."
Jaune allowed himself a small, practiced smirk. "Thanks," he replied simply, keeping his face a mask of composure even as the plan inside his head continued to tick and rearrange possibilities.
Jax folded his hands, the leader now in full command. "Then it's settled," he announced, every syllable authoritative. "We split our forces. Five thousand to Sandstone Harbor, five thousand to Sunspear. I'll lead the assault on Sandstone with Rosa and Bertilak at my flank."
He cast a quick look to Carmine, who nodded with the confidence of a veteran.
"And Gillian will take Sunspear, with Jaune and Carmine at your side."
Gillian gave a brief, approving nod, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "I agree," she said. "We move fast, secure the supply lines, and show the people we aren't the kind to burn their homes. Momentum is everything."
Carmine clicked her tongue, already running tactical calculations in her head. Bertilak snorted in approval, eager for battle. Rosa's expression turned practical and sharp, already listing the points they'd need to seize first in each city. Jaune watched them react, feeling the plan solidify outward from his suggestion into a machine of intent.
Beneath the outward confidence, Jaune felt the familiar prickle of unease, the cost, the compromises, but for now the council had a course. They would strike, and the kingdom would watch.
He let himself hope—quietly, stubbornly—that once the Crown showed its hand, the Council would finally move. That Theodore's warnings would no longer be shrugged off as paranoia. If the cities burned or fell, perhaps then those in power would feel the urgency he'd been pleading for. It was a dangerous wish, and he felt the guilt of it like a stone in his chest, but it was the only sliver of hope he had.
The meeting broke up soon after.
All four of the Commanders began to disperse, their voices and boots echoing down the stone corridors as plans and orders were shouted and taken. Jaune rose from the table and was intent on heading back to the room to ready himself and Aurora, when a firm hand closed on his shoulder and stopped him.
He turned to find Gillian standing there, the torchlight throwing sharp angles over her features. She wore the same unreadable expression she'd carried on stage, calm, measured, but there was something like approval in her eyes.
"Do you need something, Your Grace?" Jaune teased, letting a playful lilt touch his voice.
Gillian rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a faint smirk. "Not really," she said. "I just wanted to tell you—your plan was brilliant. Since you came up with it, I want you leading the charge into the city when we attack. Commander Arc." Her tone was flat, but the command carried weight.
"Me?" Jaune blinked, a brow arching in disbelief. "You're sure you want the Dog of Vale leading your men?"
Gillian's gaze pinned him, steady as a blade. "You may be from Vale," she replied, "But you've proved you're Vacuovian as any of us. Don't you dare forget that. If you do, I'll beat it into you." There was a faint threat under the words, half jest, half promise.
Jaune let out a nervous laugh at that. "Ha, I'd gladly take a beating from you any day, Gillian." The joke slipped out easily, but then he realized how it sounded. Heat rushed up his neck, and he flinched, cheeks coloring. "I-I mean...! I don't mean that I-!"
Gillian let out a light, airy giggle, one that caught Jaune off guard. She waved her hand as if to dismiss his nervous fumbling. "I know what you meant, Jaune," she said, her tone softening, almost warm in contrast to her usual commanding edge. For a heartbeat, her eyes lingered on him, studying him with something between amusement and respect, before she gracefully shifted the subject.
"How's Aurora doing? The last time I saw her, she was standing proud on that stage in the armor you bought her. She looked like she was ready to lead an army of her own."
Jaune's lips curved into an easy chuckle, the tension melting away. "She's doing good. Healthy, happy... and her training's coming along better than I could've hoped. Honestly, she's damn good with a sword for someone so little." His voice carried that mixture of pride and awe only a father could hold, as if even he couldn't quite believe how quickly she was growing.
Gillian's smile softened at his words. "Well, it seems she's taking after her father in that regard," she said, a touch of admiration coloring her tone. Then, with a mischievous glint, she added, "Maybe she'll go full medieval and take up the bow as well. Armor, sword, and bow—she'd be a one-woman knight's tale."
Jaune laughed again, shaking his head. "I wouldn't mind that. A friend of mine used to say that nothing beats the classics." His gaze dropped for a second, a wistful edge hidden in his smile.
Gillian tilted her head slightly, catching the shift in his tone, but chose not to press—at least, not yet. Instead, she let his words settle in the air, her expression softening further. For all the weight of war and rebellion pressing down on them, it was moments like this—small, personal, unguarded—that reminded her why they fought at all.
Gillian lingered for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze locking with Jaune's cobalt eyes. There was a flicker of something unspoken between them—respect, perhaps, or something gentler hidden beneath the mantle of war. Finally, she took a single step back, her smile poised yet faintly softened.
"I'll see you later, Commander Arc," she said, her voice carrying the weight of both formality and something warmer, something meant for him alone.
Jaune held her gaze, unwilling to be the first to look away. In Gillian's amethyst eyes, he caught the shimmer of strength, pride, and a faint, human softness that the battlefield rarely allowed. His lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "Same to you, your grace," he answered, the words laced with a quiet fondness that went beyond the jesting title.
The two stood there for a heartbeat longer before the world intruded once again, pulling them apart. Gillian turned and strode down the left corridor, her braid swaying with each step, while Jaune moved in the opposite direction, his boots echoing against the stone hall.
But they were not alone.
From the shadow of an archway, a pair of eyes followed their every move—burning, venomous, and heavy with jealousy. The unseen watcher's jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists as they tracked the faintest trace of Gillian's smile and the way Jaune's expression softened for her.
What should have been a passing exchange between allies felt, to those eyes, like a betrayal. And beneath the seething hatred that festered, one thought struck like a dagger:
'That smile should have been mine...!' Berilak thought angrily.
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A/N:
So, if you haven't guessed by now, I've changed part of the focus of the story. The story will deal with a bit of the RWBYverse politics (at least my version of it), which means we're getting a little of a "Game of Thrones" type vibe.
Also, Yeah, I added characters from other media, for example, someone pointed out Ashara Dayne from the GoT book series (If you don't know who she is, look her up) but I'm surprised no one pointed out that I added Baron Harkonnen from Dune (Though i did mess up and spelled his name as "Harkkon" so fuck it we ball with it XD).
Anyway, I'm planning to add other character from other media, I mean I want to add other GoT and Dune Characters, but hey, I might other characters from other desert setting medias.