RWBY: LUCID

The rest of the train ride home was quiet enough that Jaune almost fell asleep. The only reason he didn't was because he was afraid that he would get dragged back into the dream, unprepared.

The sun had dipped well past the rooftops now, turning the skies into a shade of rich gold that slowly faded into violet streaks as the city lights flickered on. Jaune leaned back in his seat, the bag of gear resting beside him, and watched the scenery shift from the bustling downtown core to the quieter, tree-lined streets of his neighborhood.

When he stepped off the train and made his way back home, the warm light from their living room windows told him that someone was already there.

Sure enough, the moment Jaune opened the front door, he heard the sound of the television murmuring in the background and the soft clatter of a spoon in a mug.

"Hey, you're back late," his dad called from the kitchen. "What kept you?"

Jaune shut the door behind him and toed off his shoes. "Yeah, no worries. I just stayed back to check out some clubs."

That got his dad's attention. "Clubs, huh?" There was a beat. "Didn't think you'd be the type to join any."

"Neither did I, but here we are." Jaune shrugged, setting the bag down by the wall.

His dad leaned against the kitchen doorway with a steaming mug in hand. "So? What caught your eye?"

"Well," Jaune said, scratching the back of his neck, "there was this one club… Occult Research. Thought it might be interesting, but—uh—it turned out to be a lot more… weird ritual cosplay than actual research."

His dad snorted. "Hah! What were they trying to do? Summon demons or something."

"…They were chanting around a Star of David and burning incense. Not even a pentagram. So… you know, pretty close."

His dad blinked. "Right... that's... a new one."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be going back to them for anything other than comedy," Jaune said dryly, then perked up a little. "But I also checked out the Sword Arts Club. That one was actually really fun. Learned a couple of sword forms too from an upperclassmen. Thought I might keep it going, in the long run."

That seemed to get a grin out of his dad. "Sword Arts, huh? That's more like it. Now maybe you'll be able to protect all of the girls you hang around so much?"

Jaune deadpanned at his dad. "Right..."

There was a pause before Jaune ventured, "Hey, do you remember that sword you made? Back when you were trying out blacksmithing? Crooked Maw?"

His dad raised a brow. "You mean, Crocea Mors?"

"…Wait, that's what it was called?"

"Yeah. Not Crooked Maw, you fool," his dad laughed. "It's Latin. Crocea Mors means Yellow Death or something like that. I figured that it sounded cool and dramatic enough to hang on a wall."

Jaune grinned sheepishly. "Well, I was thinking… maybe I could bring it here. Not to hang up, but to actually practice with it. Just for forms stuff, nothing dangerous."

His father gave him a long look, slightly confused. "You really wanna train with it?"

Jaune nodded. "Yeah. If I'm joining the club, I figured it'd be nice to use a real sword. Even if it's just a prop for now."

His dad leaned back slightly, considering. "Well, it's still in the basement back in Ansel. I left all my tools and creations down there when we moved. Since we're heading back this weekend to visit your mom and sisters anyway, you can pick it up then."

"Really?" Jaune perked up.

"Sure. Just be careful with it. That thing's not a toy. I didn't forge it to hang on a wall—I made it functional. It's quite sharp. Also heavy. Just a heads up."

"I'll be careful," Jaune promised. "It'll mostly be for balance and training, anyway."

"Mm-hmm. Famous last words." His dad sipped his drink. "Next thing I know, you'll be running around school in a trench coat calling yourself Blade Knight Jaune."

Jaune rolled his eyes. "No capes. I have standards."

His dad snorted, but his gaze drifted toward the white bag Jaune had brought in. "What's that, by the way?"

Jaune froze for half a second before answering smoothly. "Oh, that? Just some stuff I thought looked cool. Maybe for cosplay or something."

His dad raised an eyebrow. "Cosplay, huh? Since when were you into cosplay?"

Jaune pulled out the helmet and armor pads, doing his best to make it look casual. "Yeah, you know… figured it might be fun to try. School's got a lot of clubs into anime and conventions and stuff."

His dad squinted at the motorcycle jacket with its oddly thick padding. "Looks more like biker gear."

"Well… yeah. But stylized. It's more for the aesthetic."

There was a long pause.

Then his dad turned back toward the kitchen. "Kids and their weird fetishes…"

Jaune coughed. "It's not a fetish, Dad."

"Uh-huh."

Jaune scooped up the bag and turned toward the stairs. "Anyway, I'm gonna go finish some schoolwork."

"Dinner's in an hour," his dad called back. "Don't forget to bring down your laundry this time!"

"Got it!"

Jaune grabbed a pair of shoes from beside the entrance, before heading up—just in case. He didn't know if they'd follow him into the dream, but he didn't want to end up barefoot again if the dream let him prep ahead of time.

As he dropped the gear bag beside his desk and glanced at the clock, a part of him couldn't help but feel a little restless.

Jaune spent the next hour finishing off his leftover homework—mostly some math problems and a few reading questions that hadn't been due until Monday, but he figured he'd get them out of the way while his mind was still halfway in school mode.

By the time he came down for dinner, the smell of something fried and savory had already drifted into the hall. His dad was plating food in the kitchen—crispy crumble steak, golden brown and sliced thin over a bed of hot rice and runny eggs. Classic Valean comfort food, the kind that filled the house with warmth.

"Smells good," Jaune said, taking a seat at the table.

"Figured I'd reward your hard work," his dad said, handing him a plate. "Sword clubs, cults, cosplay—you've been busy."

Jaune rolled his eyes, but smiled. "They're not a cult... probably."

"Sure they're not."

They ate for a bit in comfortable silence. About halfway through the meal, Jaune thought back to what Weiss had said earlier that day, and spoke up.

"Hey, you remember that cereal brand that I used to love eating when I was younger?"

His dad raised an eyebrow. "Uh... Pumpkin Pete's or something?"

"Yeah that one. The model for the cereal brand goes to my school too. Apparently she's a champion from Mistral. Mixed martial arts tournament winner or something. Pyrrha Nikos"

"Wait—that girl?" His dad laughed. "I remember that you used to eat that junk all the time. Then you threw up after polishing off half a box in one sitting."

"I was young that time," Jaune muttered.

"You were fifteen and your stomach has never been the same since."

There was a glint in his father's eye, the kind that spelled danger. "So... are you courting her now, or what?"

"What—no!" Jaune flushed a little and waved his fork. "I just met her in some of my classes. She's... cool, I guess."

"Oho," his dad grinned. "So you are talking to her."

"I said I met her—"

"Sounds like someone's got their sights set high."

Jaune groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Why are you like this."

"Because I'm your father, and it's my job to embarrass you."

"Mission accomplished."

They shared a chuckle, and dinner passed with light conversation after that. His dad talked about work—some management changes at the shipping firm, and how one of the interns nearly flooded the warehouse trying to fix a leaky sink. Jaune mostly just listened, offering the occasional "yikes" or "that sucks" between bites.

After they cleaned up, Jaune grabbed his scroll and slipped into the living room to call his mom.

She picked up quickly.

"My precious son! How's Vale?"

"It's fine, Mom. Just wanted to call and let you know how school's been."

"Oh good! Any cute girls yet?"

Jaune sighed loudly.

"Why is this a thing with both you and dad?"

"Because we love you, and you're a sweet boy, and you deserve someone who isn't allergic to laundry," she said sweetly.

"I'm hanging up now."

"You better not! I birthed you, you owe me."

They talked a little longer—about classes, about the teachers, about the other students. He left out the weird dream stuff, of course. No way he could bring that up without sounding insane. Eventually she let him go, though not without another round of teasing.

After the call ended, Jaune made his way upstairs.

The room was quiet and it was currently dark outside now.

He closed the curtains, turned off the desk lamp, and began checking through everything.

The motorcycle helmet sat neatly beside his bed, along with the elbow and knee pads. He slipped them on, tightening each strap, then shrugged into the heavy padded jacket. The fabric was flexible enough to move in but thick enough to give him some peace of mind. While it wasn't armor, it would have to do for now.

He bent down to double check his shoes. Tied and ready. Although it felt weird to go to sleep with them on, he wasn't going to change anything.

The steel bat leaned against the side of his bed.

He picked it up, weighed it in his hands, and took one last look at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous.

But he looked ready.

"Alright," Jaune murmured, flicking off the last light in his room. "Let's do this again."

He slid under the covers, the bat still in his hand, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before closing his eyes.

And then—

Like a light-switch flipped, the world was gone.

When Jaune opened his eyes once again, the familiar dead mottled ceiling had appeared, bathed in red, bloody moonlight.

The dream had returned.