General James Ironwood sat alone in his office, with only the soft glow of multiple holo screens accompanying him. The lights casted a pale shine across the polished steel and glass that defined the space.
His attention was fixed on the files hovering before him.
Rows of data scrolled past with methodical precision. Patrol reports. LUCID readiness updates. Centurion deployment timelines. Political correspondence from council members who wanted reassurance, influence, or both. Each document was reviewed, categorized, and dismissed with practiced efficiency.
James Ironwood believed in preparation, in knowing more than his enemies, moving before they did, and never allowing sentiment to cloud judgment. Atlas was strong because it planned and because it acted.
This was a mindset that had been adopted by all the rank 3s before him and one that he would continue to adopt.
A sharp chime interrupted the quiet rhythm of his work and the office door suddenly slid open.
Ironwood looked up.
The man who entered was tall and broad shouldered, his posture sharp even as he moved at speed. Short, spiked hair framed a face marked by alertness rather than age. His piercing green eyes were focused, intense, and very awake. He wore the uniform of the specialized Ace Operatives, with the insignia catching the light as he came to a halt several steps inside the office.
Clover Ebi.
One of Ironwood's most reliable subordinates.
Clover snapped into a crisp salute. "Sir."
Ironwood returned the salute with a brief nod. "Report."
Clover straightened. "We've had a confirmed sighting of a Sleepless agent in Atlesian territory."
Ironwood's fingers stilled against the edge of his desk.
"Location?" he asked.
"Rime," Clover replied immediately. "Two hours ago."
Ironwood's brow furrowed. "Confirmed?"
"Yes, sir. Visual confirmation from multiple angles."
Clover stepped forward and flicked his wrist. A holo projection expanded between them, resolving into a high resolution image.
The photograph showed a man standing in a snow dusted street, the edges of the frame slightly blurred. He was tall, broad, and carried himself with an unsettling ease. His hair was dark blonde, streaked faintly with silver at the temples. His expression was what caught Ironwood's attention.
The man was staring directly into the camera.
Grinning.
Not a friendly or amused smile. It was the kind of grin meant to unsettle, to mock the very act of observation. As if he had known the picture was being taken and welcomed it.
Ironwood's jaw tightened.
"It's that kid's father, Nicholas Arc," he said quietly.
"Yes, sir," Clover confirmed. "Intelligence confirms his identity. One of their major team leaders."
Ironwood leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving the image.
Nicholas Arc.
A name that had begun to surface more frequently in recent months. Sleepless was an organization built on fragmentation and secrecy. Cells within cells. Operatives who vanished as easily as they appeared. But leaders were another matter.
According to intelligence, there were currently four confirmed team leaders within Sleepless. All of them had reached the peak of Rank 2. Highly mobile and all of them were extremely dangerous. Each commanded their own networks and operated with near total autonomy.
Arc was one of them.
"Casualties?" Ironwood asked.
"None reported," Clover said. "The sighting occurred in a residential district. Arc did not engage anyone. He remained visible for approximately ninety seconds before disappearing."
"What about the Dream realm?"
"No abnormal surges of nightmare zones in Rime either."
Ironwood exhaled slowly. "Hm... very deliberate."
"Yes, sir. It feels like provocation."
Ironwood nodded. Sleepless rarely moved without intent. A leader showing himself openly inside Atlesian territory was not an accident.
"Have you responded?" Ironwood asked.
"A team of Ace Operatives has already been deployed," Clover replied. "Along with a Specialist. They're sweeping Rime now, establishing future containment zones and tracking any unsuspecting carriers of Nightmares."
Ironwood brought up a new holo screen with a flick of his hand.
A map of the Kingdom of Atlas expanded before them.
Atlas city glowed at the center, a bright nexus of infrastructure and power. From it branched transit routes and energy lines stretching outward toward other cities and settlements. Rime appeared far to the east.
Ironwood studied the distance.
Approximately five cities apart to Atlas.
Roughly fifteen hundred kilometers or so.
"Time to intercept?" Ironwood asked.
"Hard to say," Clover admitted. "If Arc moved immediately after the sighting, he could already be gone. Sleepless leaders are known for their unpredictable movement patterns."
Ironwood folded his hands together. "He wanted us to see him...."
"Sir..."
"He wanted us to react..."
Clover hesitated. "Do you think this is connected to the upcoming centurion reveal?"
Ironwood considered the question.
The timing was suspicious. Atlas was preparing to unveil its next step in dream realm defense. Cross kingdom deployment. Political eyes were already watching. Sleepless's goal had always been to awaken the god known as the Sleeper. A public appearance by one of their leaders inside Atlas territory could be a message that they were going to interfere somehow.
But, then again, it could simply be a distraction.
"It is possible," Ironwood said. "Sleepless thrives on destabilization and if they can force us to divert attention or resources, they will."
He zoomed the map further out, highlighting other cities.
Glacier.
Blizzard.
Several smaller towns and industrial hubs scattered across the frozen expanse.
"If Arc appeared in Rime," Ironwood continued, "he could move toward any of these locations. Or double back. Or disappear entirely into the dream realm."
Clover nodded. "Our teams are covering the most likely routes."
Ironwood leaned forward slightly. "What about civilian response?"
"Zero panic so far," Clover replied. "Rime authorities were briefed about a dangerous criminal appearing and lockdown protocols were enacted quietly. The public has not been informed of the identity of the individual."
"Good," Ironwood said. "No need to create hysteria."
He stared again at the image of Nicholas Arc.
The grin unsettled him.
This was not the look of a man fleeing or hiding. This was the look of someone confident. Someone who believed himself untouchable. Perhaps he was, with his rune combinations.
Ironwood knew better than to underestimate that kind of confidence.
"I could reach Rime in twenty minutes," Ironwood said aloud, more to himself than to Clover.
"Yes, sir," Clover replied. "But by then…"
"He may already be gone," Ironwood finished.
Silence settled over the office.
Ironwood weighed the options carefully. He could deploy additional forces. Tighten security across the kingdom. Personally intervene. Each choice carried consequences. Sleepless thrived on forcing heavy handed responses that alienated civilians and strained alliances.
And yet.
Allowing a leader like Nicholas Arc to move freely was unacceptable.
"Maintain current operations," Ironwood said at last. "Do not escalate until we have confirmation of his location."
"Yes, sir."
"And Clover," Ironwood added.
Clover straightened. "Sir?"
"Notify Intelligence," Ironwood said. "I want a full analysis of all of Arc's previous appearances. Patterns, messages and anything we might have missed."
"Understood."
Clover saluted once more and turned to leave, before pausing.
"Sir, will we be informing the boy?"
Ironwood pondered for a moment.
"No. Not yet. While the kid hasn't shown any inclination to join Sleepless, we can never be too sure. Keep it hush for now. Need to know basis only. In fact, put a ghost unit on him. Monitor his location at all times."
"Understood, sir."
As the door slid shut behind him, Ironwood remained seated, eyes drifting through layers of concrete, into city above LUCID.
Atlas glowed steadily in the night.
Order held, for now.
But somewhere out there, Nicholas Arc was moving.
And Ironwood knew that when men like that made themselves visible, it was never without purpose.
.
.
Jaune left the research wing with quieter steps than when he had entered.
The door slid shut behind him and the low hum of machinery softened into the familiar cadence of the base proper. For a moment, he stood there, hands resting loosely at his sides, eyes unfocused. The conversation with Pietro lingered in his mind like an unfinished equation. Insight. Penny. Centurions. Boundaries politely but firmly drawn.
There had been no hostility in Pietro's refusal. If anything, it had felt almost protective. As though certain truths were not merely classified, but dangerous in the wrong context. Jaune did not know what unsettled him more. The fact that the centurions were clearly not produced here, or the ease with which Pietro had acknowledged that there were things Jaune was simply not meant to know.
'Well,' Jaune supposed, 'At least it wasn't all useless.'
He had found out that there was an external facility, connected to this base from underground. It was there that the Centurions were produced and later sent to the LUCID base. It was heavily guarded, however, with restricted access. Not part of this base's standard flow.
Jaune had no illusions about clearance. If Pietro Pollendina himself would not explain the deeper structure of the project, then a first year operative from Vale was certainly was not walking into the manufacturing wing anytime soon.
He let the thought go.
Fixating on it would not change anything.
As he walked, his mind drifted elsewhere, to a quieter realization that had been forming since the night before. He had seen hundreds of people die over the course of his involvement with LUCID. Civilians caught in spillovers and the... horror of Belmont.
And yet, only now, did something feel different.
He found himself thinking about the centurions not as weapons, but as remnants, echoes. There was a faint unease that had nothing to do with efficiency or effectiveness and everything to do with what it meant to keep using something once it crossed a certain line.
It surprised him.
Once upon a time, Jaune had barely cared about people at all. He had gone through his days isolated, drifting, unnoticed. Friendship had been something abstract. Connection, distant. Loss had been theoretical.
Now, he felt it. Not sharply or painfully, but constantly. Maybe this was empathy. Maybe this was what happened when strength gave you the luxury of noticing others.
Jaune did not have an answer but what he did have was time and opportunity.
And a body that could still be pushed further.
The simulation wing greeted him with familiar intensity. Runic light barriers shimmered along the walls and the air carried the faint scent of exertion. Blake was already inside one of the rooms, her silhouette moving fluidly as she practiced against projected targets.
She noticed him immediately.
"Took you long enough," she said without breaking stride.
Jaune smiled faintly. "Got distracted."
"That's new."
"Not really," he replied. "Just more noticeable now."
She snorted and deactivated the current program. "So did you find what you were looking for?"
"Sort of," Jaune said honestly. "Enough to know I wasn't going to find more."
Blake gave him a sideways look but did not press.
They selected a mixed combat scenario. Not a duel, but a cooperative pressure test. Waves of Grimm constructs emerged from shifting terrain, forcing them to adapt and coordinate without relying on their runes.
Jaune deliberately held back.
He did not activate Weakness or Plunder fully. Instead, he focused on movement, timing, and restraint. Blake noticed almost immediately.
"You're sandbagging," she said as she deflected a strike.
"I'm pacing," he corrected.
She raised a brow. "Same difference."
They moved together easily. Blake's clones created space and misdirection while Jaune intercepted heavier constructs with controlled force. He adjusted constantly, relying on instinct rather than dominance. His weakness sense still whispered to him, mapping vulnerabilities in everything around him, but he treated it like background noise rather than a command.
An hour passed like that.
Sweat clung to his skin and his muscles hummed with pleasant fatigue. Blake leaned against a barrier, breathing evenly.
"Okay," she said. "I think that's enough before one of us decides to prove something stupid."
Jaune chuckled. "Fair."
They exited the simulation room and began cooling down. Blake stretched methodically, then glanced at him.
"We should probably find Weiss," she said. "She's either done with Winter or about to get buried under work."
Jaune nodded. "Yeah. Let's go get her."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the LUCID issued model that had replaced his old one back in Vale. He tapped the screen to bring up the messaging interface.
The display flickered.
For a split second, the entire screen was overtaken by orange static.
It pulsed in irregular patterns, like a half formed image struggling to resolve. Lines twisted and overlapped, creating something almost organic in motion. Jaune froze.
Then it vanished.
The interface returned to normal, pristine and responsive, as if nothing had happened.
Blake leaned closer. "What was that?"
Jaune blinked. "I… don't know."
She squinted at the phone. "That didn't look like a normal glitch."
He tapped a few icons. Everything responded instantly. No lag or error messages.
"It's fine now," he said slowly. "Probably just a hiccup."
"On a LUCID issued device?" Blake asked.
He shrugged. "Even their tech isn't perfect, I guess."
She looked unconvinced but did not argue.
Jaune typed out a quick message to Weiss, telling her that they were done training and on their way to find her. The message sent without issue.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, though a faint confusion lingered. Orange static. The color stuck with him. Wasn't it supposed to be black an white or gray or something to that extent?
"Maybe I should get my phone checked when we're back in Vale," he said aloud.
Blake nodded. "Probably a good idea."
They started walking. Jaune did not know why his thoughts kept circling back to the centurions. Or to the idea that death could be reused.
He only knew that the world was larger than it had ever been and that he was standing closer to its fault lines than before.
Strength had given him that view.
And weakness, perhaps, had taught him to care about it.
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AN: Advanced chapters are available on patreon