Chapter Text
Wake
Book 1
Rolling Out the Red Carpet
Chapter 1
The wet crunch of breaking bones and ripping flesh echoes across the forest floor as a black beast- red eyed and carapaced with white bone protrusions- tears mercilessly into the unidentifiable corpse of what was once a sentient being. Whoever they were, they no longer have to worry about concepts of identity and other such things, not that the creature gnawing listlessly on their lifeless mess of a corpse could or would give that any consideration.
The creature raises it's head, burning red eyes flaring as a ripple of energy infuses the air above it. It rears up on its hind legs, a guttural and unnatural howl piercing the air. Above, lighting up the mountainside, a streak of heat and flame cuts a line across the night sky. Debris peels off from the main object as it breaks up in the atmosphere, but even at this distance the creature can sense the lifeform contained within.
Or rather, it senses the pain and suffering that emanates from what would be it's next victim.
It drops onto all fours, breaking into a gallop as it passes trees and bushes, climbing up the side of the mountain as it gains both speed and fury, the taste of fear in the air acting as an adrenaline rush. An explosion sounds over the rise, flaming projectiles shooting off into the night. The Grimm, a Beowolf, snarls and picks up its pace.
At last, the beast summits the small mountain, looking down into the now burning forest raises its head once more, canine lips peeled back in preparation to howl, to call more beasts for the slaughter-
Until an emerald blade flashes down as if from nowhere, the sound of energy igniting on the air as it slices cleanly through the dark creature, leaving its head to roll lifelessly off the side of the mountain. The blade is held aloft by an aged man, wearing a green uniform suit and thinly framed spectacles. His face is calm, yet wryly satisfied with the death of the mindless beast. He looks down upon the wreckage below, reaching out with his senses until-
Ah, there it is.
A small, flickering light among the flames. Young, afraid, and drifting away at an alarming rate. As the man begins to descend the mountain he misses a voice on the wind, whispered and sacred:
"Welcome home, son of Remnant."
Jaune sits alone, eyes closed and mouth pinched. The wave of fear and pain echoes into the room, filling him with ill thoughts. He reaches out to grasp the side of a fountain, hewn from marble quarried thousands of years ago on the far side of the galaxy. Water trickles gently in the fountain, tempering the ill sense that would have brought Jaune to his knees were he not already sat Half-lotus on the tile. He can sense other Jedi in the room, the expansive room of a thousand fountains, and he senses them withdrawing from the Force as his pain and fear poison the room with doubt and negativity.
Except, it is not his pain and fear.
"I am sure Serra will be fine."
The voice of his Master, the revered Battlemaster Cin Drallig, cuts through his meditation like a hot utensil through solid grease. Jaune opens his eyes, surprise abandoned for concern as he opens his mouth as well, a rebuttal forming on the edge of his foolish tongue-
"Little one," Cin lowers himself to the ground, hand gliding gently to clasp the Padawn's chin. "Yes. Serra is in grave danger. Many Jedi are, at this very moment."
Jaune grits his teeth, eyes slamming shut as he tries to block out another wave of pain.
"Make it stop, Master."
"I cannot take this from you." The hand on his chin moves to his shoulder, and another lands on his back, pulling Jaune into a fatherly embrace. "Your empathy is strong, Jaune. You will sense the pain of Jedi across the galaxy as this war rages on. I am sorry little one, that I cannot spare you this pain."
Make it stop. Make it stop.
"I cannot take this from you, because though it causes you pain, it is also your greatest attribute."
Jaune's eyes open in surprise, brows kneading together in confusion. His head tilts to look back up at Master Drallig, a question on his lips.
The older man smiles sadly down at Jaune. "The galaxy will try to tear you apart Jaune. It will not be easy to resist, especially as your power grows."
Jaune didn't want to resist, didn't want this pain-
"But in time you will learn that your talent for empathy will draw those to you that need you the most. And you will be uniquely enabled to help them in their time of need."
Help… Them…
"Help them."
The scene changes. Jaune is no longer the young boy in his memory, but rather garbed in his Senior Padawan robes. White plasteel bracers adorn his forearms, and a flex plate is draped across his collar. Captain Sunshine had insisted he continue to use the armor even though most Jedi had abandoned their own over the course of the war.
The carbon imprint of a blaster bolt attests to the wisdom, ironically having been left by Sunshine as he tried to gun Jaune down.
A ripple shoots out across an inky black void, emanating from where Jaune shifts his feet. His mind tells him he stands on solid ground, yet the ripples speak to some strange surface tension of the invisible floor.
"Jaune."
He startles, turning quickly to find the source of the voice, which seems to come from all around him.
"Who's there?!"
His hand lands on his belts, scrambling for a lightsaber which is- what- where-?
Serra's lightsaber- a green blade she'd tossed to him after his own had overloaded from deflecting the high powered Z-6 rotary cannon a clone trooper had tried to kill him with- was nowhere to be found. Jaune gasped in shock and grief. The saber was the last time Jaune held to Serra, to his sister Padawan and mentor on the battlefield. The last time to his Master, Cin Drallig who Jaune felt die in the deep core, defending the Temple while it was besieged by the Empire.
"Do not despair, little one."
"Who's there!?" Jane roared, spinning on the spot into an aggressive stance whith both his hands spread open palm on either side.
"It's alright, Jaune."
Behind him-
He whirls round, only to be caught in a woman's gentle embrace as he is pressed against her chest. Eyes wide in shock, he leans back, struggling against her strong arms as he tries to get a decent look at the woman.
Blonde hair and blue eyes peek out from beneath the hood of a Jedi cloak, and a gentle smile that reminds Jaune of Serra, of Shaak Ti, of Master Drallig-
"I love you, my son."
What.
"Are you-"
The scene dissolves, and Jaune rushes towards the surface of the water.
Jaune gasps, then gags as he realizes that there is a plastic tube shoved down his throat. His first instinct is to rip it out, though firm hands grasp his arms and stop him from doing so. He looks up into the eyes of a humanoid woman, brown eyes locking onto his as she helps him to remove the tube.
"Hello young one, that's alright- just breathe." She pats him on the back as he coughed, and her firm hands guide him back into the cot. "Just rest now."
"Who-" Jaune coughs again, before wiping the saliva from his chin with his forearm. "Who are you? Where-"
"That's quite enough, Healer Tsune." An older man's voice cuts across the rooms, and Jaune squints against the bright lights to glimpse an older man in a green suit and thinly framed- where those spectacles? Jaune wasn't sure who would wear something so primitive in today's day and age, but he had to admit they cut a wizened figure on the man's thin face. The man smiles slightly, warmly, and steps further into the room. "Would you mind giving us a moment? I have a few questions for the young man."
The healer, Tsune, frowns. Jaune is sure for a moment that she'll protest, but instead she nods stiltedly and steps out of the room. The man smiles again at Jaune, taking a seat on the cushioned bench beside his cot.
"You've been unconscious for quite some time, mister…"
Jaune swallows, eyes cutting to the doorway before answering.
"Jaune. Jaune Arc."
If this was some sort of trap, Jaune was sure it was a pretty bad one. They'd already had him in custody, so it would be easy to just keep him locked up in a cell, or if it were the Empire, to have let him die. The Force however, was surprisingly unclouded here, even through his waking haze.
There was no deceit in the man's eyes as Jaune turned back to him.
"I must say you are quite the peculiar guest, Mr. Arc." The man learns forward, both hands on a simple yet ornate cane that seems to sing in the corner of Jaune's peripheral senses. "I found you six days ago in the wreckage of a strange craft, and brought you here to recover. Most people would be shocked to awaken in a strange place, with strange people, and yet you…"
Jaune finally meets the man's brown eyes, suddenly reminded of Master Yoda.
"You are assessing threats." He decides, sitting back. His eyes never leave Jaune's.
"Who are you?"
The man's smile wanes slightly, and he tilts his head gently. "My name is Ozpin."
Jaune gets the sense that is supposed to mean something, specifically from the way that Ozpin waits for him to react.
"Where am I?"
"Beacon, the third moon of Vale."
"Never heard of it."
This breaks Ozpins calm façade. Intrigue and concern war on the man's face, and he leans forward. "Interesting."
A beat.
"Where are you from?"
Jaune narrows his eyes at the man. "Coruscant."
This seems to amuse the man, but only momentarily. Confusion spreads across Ozpin's features, and he brings a hand up to his chin.
"Truly…?"
Jaune hesitates at this, and instead of waiting for a response, Ozpin nods.
"I sense only truth from you." The man reaches into his coat and withdraws a thin cylinder-
Serra's lightsaber.
"Tell me Jaune, where did you find this?"
Jaune wants nothing more than to leap forward and snatch the blade out of his hands, but he restrains himself. "That- that belongs to me."
"Truly?" Ozpin turns his head to examine the hilt, something unidentifiable in his eyes. "It's quite well constructed, if a tad… utilitarian."
Jaune ignores the temptation to bristle, and instead says: "I would appreciate if you returned that to me."
Ozpin finally looks back to Jaune, eyes searching once more for something Jaune could only guess at.
"You are a Jedi." Ozpin says plainly.
Jaune is silent, watching the other man cautiously, waiting for the snake to lash out and bite. Ozpin however, stands with the aid of his cane.
"It has been a thousand years since a Jedi from Coruscant set foot on this world." Ozpin intones, pacing over to the window adjacent to Jaune's cot. He turns his back to Jaune, leaving him reeling. "In fact, it was a thousand years ago when Jedi first set foot on this world, stranded and isolated from the greater galaxy."
Jaune's breath leaves him, and realization breaks over him as Ozpin adjusts a dial on the window, turning the opaque privacy screen transparent. Jaune reaches out with the Force simultaneously, doing so for the first time since… since order 66 went down. Even thinking those two words was terrifying. Yet the terror is washed away by the light of a thousand Force signatures as they wander about the courtyard below.
Jaune rips the sheets from atop him, dashing out the door to the medical room, down the hall, guided only by impulse and the Force. A moment later he bursts into the courtyard, gathering the startled attention of several passersby.
He ignores them, medical gown flapping in the breeze as the world reels around him. He comes back to himself as he kneels down next to a shin-high stone wall that separates the stone ground of the courtyard from the large planter in which grass, bushes and trees grow freely. The Force thrums in the air, setting his senses alight and bringing the calm and serenity of his childhood to the forefront of his mind.
He senses Ozpin approaching, and Jaune looks up at him. He sees before him now not a potential enemy, but a Jedi Master, smiling down at him.
"Where am I?" Jaune repeats his earlier question, understanding finally within reach of his grasp.
"You are in the Beacon Enclave, Mr. Arc."
Jaune's face is split by a sad, hoping smile.
"Home to the Jedi Knights of Remnant."