Path Forged by blood: a jaune's story (RWBY)

chapter 10

With a casual yet cutting demeanor, I nonchalantly seated myself, fingers wrapping around the crystal glass of whiskey that rested on the ornate table. My father's disapproving gaze met mine as he remarked,

Nicholas:Too young to drink, Jaune.

I offered a wry smirk, lifting the glass in a mockingly ceremonial manner before taking a deliberate sip. The warmth of the whiskey brought a fleeting sense of comfort, a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere that enveloped the room.

Jaune:Ah, the others

I remarked, feigning innocence.

Jaune : I expected a grand family reunion, you know. A moment of heartwarming connection and shared laughter. But alas, it seems I've been stood up.

His stoic expression betrayed nothing, a testament to the practiced art of masking emotions. I leaned back in the chair, swirling the amber liquid in the glass with a hint of theatricality.

Jaune:You know, Dad

I continued, the term carrying an ironic weight

Jaune:I always dreamed of this. The family gathered around, sharing stories, making amends. A picture-perfect scene, wouldn't you say?

The room remained silent, save for the subtle clinking of ice against the glass. The shadows seemed to deepen as the unspoken tension lingered, a palpable force that underscored the facades we both maintained.

Jaune But here we are

I mused, savoring the bitter irony.

Jaune:just you and me. A father and his estranged son, sharing a drink in the ruins of a shattered manor. It's almost poetic, don't you think?

His response, or lack thereof, hung in the air like an unanswered question. As the whiskey continued its descent, the room bore witness to a confrontation veiled in layers of unspoken history and unresolved tension. The dialogue, wrapped in sarcasm and bitter humor, hinted at a deeper narrative yet to unfold. In the midst of the shattered manor, the echoes of the past danced with the present, leaving the future suspended in a delicate balance.

My father's gaze bore into me, piercing through the layers of time and choices that had led me down the path of shadows. His question hung in the air like a weighty anchor, demanding an answer that would unravel the tapestry of my life.

Nicholas:Why, Jaune?

he asked, a depth of inquiry laced with a complexity only a father could convey. The question resonated with the echoes of a past where my choices diverged from the expected path, leading me into the labyrinth of mercenary work and shadows.

Leaning back in the chair, I met his gaze, the amber hues of the whiskey catching the dim light. The silence lingered for a moment, a pregnant pause before the words found their way to the surface.

Jaune:It started with a betrayal

I began, the bitterness seeping into my tone.

Jaune :Betrayed by the institution that was supposed to stand for justice, and t
hen by my  family when they disowned me. I became a pariah, an outcast, left with nothing but the taste of betrayal.

As I spoke, the memories resurfaced – the expulsion from Beacon, the fabricated transcripts, the shattered dreams. Each word carried the weight of resentment and the sting of abandonment.

Jaune:I found solace in the shadows, in the mercenary life that embraced the skills I honed at Beacon. Survival meant adapting to a world that had discarded me. But it wasn't just survival; it became a pursuit of justice on my terms. A justice that eluded the institutions that failed me.