They pulled into the driveway a few minutes past ten.
The quiet neighborhood of Vale's outskirts lay dimly lit, under the yellow streetlights. The Arc house, tucked neatly between a few others—stood dark and still, save for the porch light that flicked on as their dad unlocked the front door.
"Finally," Jade muttered, stretching her arms as she stepped out of the car. "My spine feels like someone braided it."
"Blame your brother," Dad said, popping the trunk. "He's the one who brought the human-sized suitcase."
"I brought one bag..." Jaune protested, stumbling out of the backseat and grabbing his stuff. "Jade packed more than me."
"I packed all of my essentials," Jade replied, shouldering her duffel. "Laptop. Chargers. Hairdryer. Shampoo. Im going to be staying at the dorms, you know. I need all of these stuff?"
Their dad snorted sarcastically. "Well... that's a miniature dorm, alright."
"I'm being prepared," Jade said primly, already walking up the path.
Jaune shook his head but followed them inside. The hallway light flickered on automatically, casting a warm glow across the hardwood floors and half-unpacked boxes still stacked near the corners from the move.
"Alright," Dad said, locking the door behind them. "Jade, you're getting dropped off first thing tomorrow. Got your ID and dorm forms?"
Jade raised her eyebrows. "Of course. I'm not twelve."
"You were twelve when you got lost in the grocery store for an hour."
"That was once. And they rearranged the aisles."
"Still happened."
Jaune smirked slightly at their banter as he slipped off his shoes and set his bag down near the staircase.
"Anyway," Dad continued, turning toward him, "you've got school in the morning too, right?"
"Yeah," Jaune said. "Good thing I got the train schedule memorized now."
"Good. Jade, welcome to Arc homestead no.2"
Jade paused, glancing around. "Hmm, not bad. Cozy place"
Their dad clapped a hand on her shoulder—lightly—and gave her a reassuring nod. "That's the spirit."
Jade glanced around the living room and upstairs. "So... where am I sleeping? You guys didn't add a third bedroom, did you?"
"Nope," Dad said. "Still just mine and Jaune's. But we've got options. The den, or you can kick your brother out and take his bed."
"I'll take his bed," Jade said immediately.
Jaune frowned but didn't argue, his mind too tired. "Right..."
She tossed him a grin but a hint of worry still seemed to coalesce in her mind. "Come on, it's only one night. Plus, I'm a guest. That makes me royalty."
"Royalty that has cold feet and hogs the blankets?"
"I make no apologies for comfort."
Jaune sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll take the couch."
"I'll throw in a pillow," Jade said, already halfway up the stairs. "And maybe one blanket. If I'm feeling generous."
Jaune shot their father a helpless look.
"Don't fight it," Dad said with a smirk. "You know she'd win anyway."
"At least it's only for one night," Jaune muttered.
Later, after everyone had unpacked enough to survive the night, the house finally settled into its familiar hush. The clock on the wall read 10:47 p.m., and the wind outside had picked up ever so slightly, rustling the trees beyond the window.
Jaune took a hot shower—longer than usual, letting the water run over his face and back. It helped a little to push the recurring images away, but not enough to soften their edge.
After drying off, he went to his room in a towel and quietly changed into his chosen sleepwear. The same ones he'd worn into the dream, before. Jade noticed the outfit as he stepped into the hallway.
Her expression was immediate and incredulous.
"Uh... Jaune?"
"...Yeah?"
"You planning to go on a midnight vigilante mission or something?"
He glanced down. "What? It's...comfortable."
"Comfortable? Sleeping with a sword and a bat? You look like a bootleg anime swordsman."
"It's functional," Jaune argued. "Durable. And has pockets."
"That jacket has like, six pockets inside it. And those pads are—are you seriously going to sleep like this?"
"I'm branching out my comfort?" Jaune offered.
Jade snorted, arms crossed, leaning against the banister to the stairs.
"Dad, you seeing this?"
Their dad emerged from the hallway bathroom, toothbrush still in hand. He paused mid-brush.
"You... uh. Cosplaying something, son? This late at night?"
"No," Jaune said, resisting the urge to sigh. "It's just—clothes. For sleeping."
"Aren't those the ones you bought the other day? The ones you said were for cosplay?"
"I... sleep dramatically."
Jade tried to muffle her laugh, then failed.
"Well," their dad said diplomatically, "as long as you're comfortable, I guess. Though, do be careful with that sword. It's sharp. So I'm not sure you should be holding it while you sleep."
"I'll be fine, dad. An I am comfortable." Jaune grabbed a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and marched past them, pretending not to notice their lingering amusement.
He plopped onto the couch, adjusted the cushions, and flopped back with a sigh. The living room was dim and still smelled faintly of cinnamon from the incense burner his dad had left plugged in.
Jade leaned over the back of the couch, grinning. "You sure you don't want one of my old sleep shirts? I've got a Hello Foxy one that'd probably fit."
"Goodnight, Jade."
"Suit yourself."
He heard her pad back upstairs, her footsteps soft on the wood. Their dad followed a few minutes later after rinsing his toothbrush and saying a tired, "Don't stay up too late," over his shoulder.
"I won't," Jaune called back.
Soon the house was quiet again. Just him and the sound of the old wall clock ticking faintly in the corner.
He stared at the ceiling for a while, letting his body sink into the cushions. They weren't terrible. A bit stiff—but he'd slept on worse.
His gaze eventually drifted toward the window, where the faint glow of Vale's city lights peeked between the blinds.
For a moment, he paused and wondered what the hell he was doing. Jaune's life had turned around
Then he shut his eyes. The couch felt stiff and the cushion, too shallow. His blanket thin and barely clinging to his frame.
But Jaune didn't mind except for the fact that sleep didn't come. Wouldn't come. Not with his thoughts wandering like fireflies in the night sky.
His eyes explored the ceiling, flicking between shadows cast by the living room fan as it turned slowly, lazily, above him. The weight in his chest, grew heavier with each passing day. It wasn't fear or anxiety anymore. Not exactly. But it pressed down all the same—like gravity had suddenly found a way to get personal.
Four days ago, he was just a normal teen.
Four days.
Four dreams.
That was all it had taken to change everything.
Jaune let out a slow breath and turned onto his side, curling a bit tighter under the blanket. The fabric of his "dream gear" rubbed familiarly against his skin. It was strange, how comforting it had become. When he first put it on, it felt like a costume, like a silly cosplay outfit put together by instinct to combat a surreal nightmare.
Now, it didn't exactly feel like like armor but it felt.... familiar, maybe. Battle-worn.
Real.
He stared across the room toward the muted glow of the television's standby light, unmoving.
In the beginning, he hadn't known what to think. Waking up in that rotting version of his house, surrounded by decay and silence, it hadn't even occurred to him that what he was experiencing could be real. He thought it was just a nightmare or some sort of vivid dream. Some stress-fueled trick of the mind.
But then the system appeared. Then the Beowolf, the dumb boar, the pack and the fight with the Ursa.
And finally, those two strangers...
Raymond Red and Masked man.
The events over the past couple of days played like film reels behind his eyes—grainy flashes of terror and instinct. Running, hiding and fighting. The cold crack of his bat against Dream Creature bones. The burn of sweat in his eyes. The sick, twisted grin of that skull-helmed man. The sound of Raymond's voice telling him to run. Telling him he mattered. That he wasn't weak for being afraid.
He'd changed.
He knew that much.
It wasn't just the physical gains, although those were there too. His... mindset was different. Stronger, he supposed. His hands were also more confident when gripping the sword. His footwork too, felt more fluid when he practiced in the yard, back in Ansel. But it was deeper than that.
His thoughts were different now.
He couldn't look at the world the same way anymore.
Not after watching someone willingly take a spear through the chest to protect him. Not after hearing someone die—or maybe survive—because Jaune didn't know enough. Wasn't strong enough. Couldn't act fast enough.
He swallowed. His throat felt dry.
"Raymond…" he whispered under his breath, barely audible even to himself.
He didn't know what to think. Was the man dead?
And more importantly why did he even try to save Jaune? He who was a nobody? It made no sense...
Jaune had watched him fall. Watched the spear tear through him like paper. But those eyes—those calm, focused eyes—hadn't blinked. There was resolve in them, not resignation. There was planning in his final moments. That red rune. That shield.
Raymond had believed Jaune would live. That was the point of all of it.
He closed his eyes.
"I'm still here…" he murmured.
But what did that mean?
Was this his life now? A normal teenager by day and a hunted dreamer by night? Would he keep slipping into that other world again and again without end? Would he keep facing monsters and strangers and mercenaries with rapid-fire cannons for rifles?
And what was he even fighting for?
He didn't know.
But he wanted to. He needed to.
The Occult Research Club might be a start. They were weird, sure. Eccentric and a bit too enthusiastic about the supernatural. But at least they were trying to understand the same kind of weird that he was stumbling into, blind.
He'd have to be careful, though. Couldn't just walk in and say "Hey, I fought a skull-wearing assassin in my dreams after fighting a Dream Creature and then got rocket-launched off a building by a maybe-dead dream soldier."
That would get attention on him. Attention he didn't know if he wanted.
Still... they might know something. A term. A clue. A thread.
Anything.
Because right now, Jaune only had fragments. An organization of sorts that was supposed to help him get situated, but never did. A man who said he was an operative, or a soldier or whatever, in said organization. Something to do with ranks. Knowledge that runes, magic runes, were powerful, more than he even thought possible and an enemy who wanted to kill him, but failed.
Jaune? He was just a kid from Ansel who'd tripped into this world by accident. He curled tighter beneath the blanket, his body instinctively bracing for cold that didn't come.
He wasn't strong enough.
That was the problem.
Strength.
The way those two moved. The speed, precision and strength they demonstrated. Kicking cars away, running up buildings, slicing bullets the size of his torso...
Jaune needed that strength
His hands relaxed slightly, fingers uncurling.
He remembered how it felt when he raised the sword on that rooftop. When he stood next to Raymond against the skull-faced killer. His arms had been trembling. His stomach twisted in on itself. He knew it was hopeless—but he had still raised the blade.
That had meant something. Raymond thought so, anyway.
"You will not die today, Jaune Arc."
He clenched his eyes shut.
He didn't want to go back into that world. Not yet, not again. Not when he was so weak.
But he knew he would.
Because the dream would come again. And again. And again. And when it did... he would have to be ready.
For survival. For himself. For whatever that world was trying to throw at him.
He'd keep training. Keep investigating. Keep learning. Because the only thing worse than being afraid in that world... was being helpless in it.
And Jaune Arc refused to be helpless anymore. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling one last time.
"If weakness is a sin, I'm done staying a sinner."
Then, slowly, quietly, he let sleep take him.