Location: Northwest of Vale - the coastal town of Orleans.
High upon the hill overlooking Orleans stood the grand Arc family estate. If one listened closely, they could hear the rhythmic sound of wood striking flesh and the faint panting of a child. Looking closer, that child was none other than Jaune Arc - the only son of the Arc family.
At just seven years old, Jaune stood wielding a wooden sword against the towering figure of his opponent. Before him loomed his father, Miles Arc - known throughout Vale as the Sword of Orleans.
Jaune gripped his practice sword tightly with both hands, his small frame covered in scratches and several bruises.
Miles looked down at his son with visible disappointment weighing on his face.
"Jaune..." Miles called out, his tone heavy with disapproval. "Let's stop the training for today."
"No, Dad... I-I want to keep training. I-I know I'm getting better!" Jaune pleaded, his brows furrowed in frustration as he stared at the disappointed expression fixed on his father's face.
"No, Jaune. That's enough for today." Miles sighed deeply as he looked at the determination in his son's eyes - determination that led nowhere.
"Just one last time, Dad! Please!" Jaune begged, his small hands tightening around the wooden handle as though his persistence alone could convince him.
Miles exhaled, worn down by the same plea he'd heard countless times before. He finally gave in. "Fine. One last round, Jaune - only one. After that, you're letting your mother patch you up." A slight chill ran down his spine at the thought of Luna's anger if she saw her boy covered in bruises again.
"Thanks, Dad!" Jaune beamed brightly, his exhaustion fading momentarily behind childlike joy.
He took his stance - if one could call it that. The position was sloppy to the point of being painful to watch; his grip was too tight, his feet too close together. If even the wind decided to push against him, he would topple easily.
Miles's shoulders slumped slightly as he took in the sight. No matter how many times he corrected Jaune's stance, the lessons just wouldn't stick. Jaune, my boy... what am I supposed to do? I corrected you less than an hour ago - even guided your posture myself... it's always the same.
He didn't even bother to raise his own guard properly and simply held his wooden sword lazily at his side.
Jaune pushed off the ground with his right foot and charged forward, swinging his weapon downward with every ounce of strength his small body could muster - only for it to be stopped effortlessly by Miles's sword. The impact jarred him, and the force sent the wooden blade flying from his grip. It struck him squarely on the head, knocking him to the ground with a dull thud.
Miles sighed at the familiar sight. "Enough. Go inside and have your mother look at your wounds, Jaune."
Jaune's eyes stung, unshed tears threatening to fall. He turned away quickly to hide his face and nodded without another word before trudging back toward the house - his steps heavy with defeat.
Miles watched his son's retreating figure in silence. After a while, he bent to pick up the fallen wooden sword and walked toward the weapon rack. From behind one of the nearby trees emerged his second-oldest daughter, Artoria Arc, who had been silently observing the training session.
"He hasn't improved at all, Father," Artoria said calmly. "It even feels as though he's regressing compared to when he first started."
"I know, Artoria..." Miles admitted tiredly as he adjusted the rack. "I've been training him for three years now, and he shows no progress - none at all. If anything, he's gotten worse. I'm thinking of ending his training and focusing on Jeanne instead. Jaune... he's just not suited to be a Huntsman."
Artoria's eyes widened slightly as she processed his words. "He's... he's not gonna take that well," she warned after several seconds of silence. "He'll hate you for it."
Miles rubbed his temples and exhaled heavily. "I know. I'd rather have him hate me for stopping him than watch him die chasing that impossible dream. I just don't want my boy dying for this."
Artoria cast her gaze toward the direction of the house, imagining the outcome of that inevitable conversation. "When will you tell him?"
"Tomorrow," Miles said softly, now sounding as weary as he looked. "At breakfast."
Artoria gave no response this time and began walking back toward the house in silence.
Left alone, Miles remained where he stood for another moment, his thoughts heavy with guilt over the decision he knew he had to make.
Inside the house, Jaune trudged through the kitchen toward the stairs, only to stop when his mother's gentle but commanding tone called out behind him.
"Jaune!"
Luna Arc - the Saint of Orleans - stepped out from the kitchen, her pale features framed by strands of golden hair. Seeing her son's state, she frowned with concern and hurried to him.
"Y‑yeah, Mom? Do you... do you want me to do anything?" he stammered, trying desperately to hide the quiver in his tone and the tears that rimmed his eyes.
Luna crouched down in front of him, worry etched deeply into her face as she took in the sight of his small frame - scratched and bruised from head to toe. She placed her hands gently on his cheeks; they glowed white as her Aura activated, slowly healing the cuts and bruises.
"Did you finish training for today, Jaune? Did it go well?" she asked softly, hoping to lift his spirits.
"Y‑yeah... I finished training," Jaune answered, his eyes downcast. He couldn't bear to meet her gaze - not when he felt he'd failed again.
Luna sighed softly and pressed a kiss to his brow. "It's alright, Jaune. You did your best today, and that's enough." She gave him one of her radiant smiles, hoping it would bring even the smallest comfort to her son's downcast heart.
Jaune wanted to argue - to tell her that his best wasn't enough, that his best would only get someone hurt someday - but he couldn't bring himself to say it to her face.
"Yes, Mom..." he whispered instead.
Luna suddenly brightened with an idea. "How about you dance with Saphron again, Jaune? She's upstairs in her room right now."
Jaune's expression softened almost instantly, the spark returning to his eyes. "Y‑yeah! That'd be great, Mom!" he said happily before darting up the stairs.
Artoria stepped into the kitchen just in time to see her younger brother's cheerful figure vanish down the hallway. "Is Jaune dancing with Saphron again, Mom?" she asked, smiling faintly.
"Yes, he is," Luna replied with a sigh as she gazed up toward the staircase. "I only wish he didn't dream of becoming a Huntsman..."
Artoria's smile faded. She looked at her mother with understanding but also sadness. "Jaune... he's too kind to stand by while people get hurt, Mom. He'd rather take the pain himself than see someone else suffer."
Luna's eyes softened as she nodded slowly. "I know... I just wish he didn't have to carry that burden."
Artoria placed one hand on her mother's shoulder gently. "Let's just hope he finds another way to help people - one that doesn't cost him his life. Saphron wants to become a doctor, right? She might be able to guide him toward that path."
"Perhaps," Luna said softly. "Though Saphron's only thirteen... She has her own dreams to chase before she could ever help her brother with his."
Upstairs, Jaune peeked into the nursery of his youngest siblings - the twins Blancheur and Noir Arc. The two were fast asleep, bundled under their blankets on the floor, their tiny forms huddled together. He smiled at the sight, walking in just far enough to fix their blankets and kiss their small brows before leaving silently and closing the door behind him.
Continuing down the hall, he passed Jeanne's room but stopped when the sound of clashing wood drew his attention. Peering through the window, he saw his five-year-old sister sparring with their father. Miles's eyes held proud warmth that Jaune had longed his entire life to see directed at him. A pang of jealousy twisted in his chest, but love quickly replaced it as he watched Jeanne move with skill he could only admire. She already handled her sword better than he ever could.
Jaune sighed and continued to his nine-year-old sister Mordred's room next. Loud rock music blared from inside; she was admiring the large sword their father had given her days earlier as a reward for being accepted into combat school. The blade was too large for her to wield properly, but her expression was one of pure joy. Jaune smiled faintly and closed her door gently, not wanting to disturb her - or risk another noogie from her later.
He finally reached Saphron's room. Opening the door gently, he saw her seated at her desk, finishing her homework. He hesitated and began to close the door again to avoid interrupting her, but the slight creak gave him away.
"Jaune?" Saphron called softly. "What brings you here?"
Caught, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "N‑nothing... I was just checking on you."
Saphron studied him for a moment and sighed affectionately. "Did you finish training for today?" she asked in her gentle tone - the same one she always used when he came to her for comfort.
"Y‑yeah," Jaune said, staring at the floor again to hide the shame that welled up inside him.
Saphron frowned slightly before offering with kind resolve, "Do you want to dance, Jaune?"
His eyes lit up instantly. "Really?! I-yeah! I do!" He hesitated briefly and added, "B‑but only after you finish your homework first, Saphron. I don't want you to fail because of me."
Saphron chuckled softly. "It's alright, Jaune. I'll study after we dance."
"W‑well... only if you're sure," he said shyly.
He stepped inside while she searched through her Scroll for music.
"What should we dance to, Jaune? Classical or upbeat? Salsa, perhaps?"
"Classical would be great, Saph!"
"Classical it is," she smiled, selecting one of their usual songs before pressing play.
Jaune took Saphron's hand, and the siblings began to waltz gracefully around the room. Despite his young age, Jaune's movements were surprisingly fluid, guided by rhythm and affection rather than training or discipline.
Saphron smiled as she followed his lead. "You've gotten better at this, Jaune."
"I'm only this good because you dance with me, Saph," Jaune said brightly before spinning her with surprising confidence for his small frame.
They danced together for nearly twenty minutes before Saphron began to tire, laughing softly as she wiped the sweat from her brow.
"Jaune... mind if we take a little break? I'm exhausted."
"It's okay, Saph! I don't want to take up any of your time!" Jaune hugged her tightly before stepping back with his familiar beam of gratitude.
"It's alright, Jaune. I'll study later," she said as she hugged him back.
"No, it's fine. Let's stop for today," he replied softly. He felt slightly disappointed the dance ended so soon but refused to take away her study time.
As he turned to leave, Saphron watched his retreating figure with warmth and sorrow. She wished she could help Jaune achieve his dream, but she wasn't strong enough to fight - and her heart was set on becoming a doctor instead.
Hours later - deep into the night - the Arc household was silent. Everyone slept except Jaune, who shuffled sleepily back from the bathroom. Passing his parents' bedroom, he froze when he heard raised voices through the door.
"What do you mean you're stopping his training, Miles?" Luna's tone carried anger that Jaune had rarely heard from her before. He pressed his ear to the door, dread sinking into his stomach.
"I'm stopping his training for his own good," Miles said firmly, though exhaustion cracked his tone.
"For his good?" Luna snapped. "You're destroying his dream!"
"I know I am," Miles shot back, his own frustration surfacing. "It's for the best!"
"YOU'RE DESTROYING OUR SON'S DREAM, MILES ARC!" Luna shouted, and Jaune flinched at the sheer force in her usually gentle tone. He had never heard her yell before.
"I KNOW THAT!" Miles roared back. "I JUST DON'T WANT HIM TO DIE A FOOLISH DEATH CHASING THAT STUPID DREAM, LUNA!"
Silence followed for several seconds before Miles's next words came much softer.
"I just... don't want him to die," he said wearily. "I couldn't bear burying my son because I didn't have the courage to stop him. I've been training him for three years now - he hasn't improved at all. He's only gotten worse..."
Jaune's breath caught in his throat as those words pierced through him.
"I'll tell him tomorrow at breakfast," Miles continued faintly. "From now on, I'll focus on training Jeanne instead. Even with only six months of practice, she's already leagues ahead of him."
Jaune stumbled back from the door as if struck. The pride in his father's tone when mentioning Jeanne burned into his chest, and the disappointment that followed his own name shattered what little he had left inside.
He slipped back to his room silently and crawled into bed, burying his face into his pillow before the tears could escape loud enough for anyone to hear. That night, under the weight of words not even intended for his ears, Jaune Arc cried himself to sleep - alone with nothing but his broken dream for company.