The Boy On The Tree
The old farmer had seen many things in his years.
Storms that could tear apart his fields. Droughts that turned the land to dust. Grimm lurking beyond the safety of the village, waiting for a moment of weakness.
But this?
This was new.
With his trusty walking stick, he gave the strange young man a firm poke.
The boy groaned as he swayed.
So he was alive.
Mostly.
The farmer squinted up at him. “Boy, you alright?”
The young man stirred. His blond hair was a mess, stubble full of drool, and his blue eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His clothes were dusty, travel-worn—like he had been wandering without purpose. Sword swaying along him.
For a moment, the young man didn’t answer.
Then, in a dry, choking, quiet voice—
“…Not really.”
The farmer sighed. “Didn’t think so.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and the boy swaying.
The farmer tapped his walking stick against the ground. “Well? Gonna tell me how you ended up in this mess?”
The boy chuckled, but it was hollow.
“Depends,” he muttered. “You got time for a long story?”
The farmer shrugged. “Ain’t got much else to do. I won't be looking up though. Neck's not good for a while.”
And so, the boy began.
“I was supposed to be just a Huntsman,” The boy said simply.
The farmer raised a brow. “Supposed to be?”
The boy let out a breath. “Yeah. That was the plan. Join Beacon. Become a hero. Save the world.”
He laughed bitterly. “Didn’t really work out.”
The farmer leaned on his stick. “Why’s that?”
The boy went quiet for a moment.
Then—
“…I got lost.”
The farmer frowned. “Vale’s big, sure, but you look old enough to know how to find your way back.”
The boy shook his head. “Not lost like that.”
He closed his eyes.
“I went somewhere. Somewhere different. A place not even on the maps.”
The farmer said nothing, letting the boy speak.
The boy’s voice was distant, as if speaking from another lifetime.
“I fell into this… fairytale. A world that almost surreal.”
His fingers twitched, as if grasping at memories he didn’t want to hold.
“I got stuck there. For years. Got old. Got young again.”
He let out a breath. “I think I lost my mind somewhere in the middle.”
The farmer tilted his head. “Sounds like a dream.”
The boy chuckled, low and bitter. “Yeah. A dream.”
His voice dropped.
“…Or a nightmare.”
The farmer stayed quiet.
Because what could he say to that?
The boy took another breath.
“When I got back, I thought I’d be happy. Thought I’d wake up, see my friends, and everything would be okay. Keep fighting the good fight.”
The farmer waited.
The boy’s expression darkened.
“But it wasn’t. It still went… wrong. Then after some hard time fighting in Vacuo. I was suddenly back here. Just lost everything. Didn't even got a moment to say goodbye to this snowy girl who I feel in love to TWICE when she and her team went to fight someone immortal.”
His hands curled into fists.
“They were different. I was different. I was supposed to be happy, but all I could think about was what could’ve been.”
He let out a breath.
“I saw them smiling. Living. Just… being kids. It hurt. I tried so hard to distract myself you know?”
A pause.
“And I hated it. I just couldn't do it anymore.”
The farmer raised a brow. “Why?”
The boy’s voice was hollow.
“Because I saw how they were nothing like the people I loved who had given their life for a world that kept hurting them.”
The farmer frowned, waiting for him to continue.
Jaune let out a breath.
“This red-hooded girl I knew? She carried the weight of the world. She never stopped fighting. She was a leader, whether she wanted to be or not.”
“The Snow Angel I knew? She wasn’t just some haughty little heiress. She was strong. Sarcastic. Knew exactly who she was and didn’t care what anyone thought. God, she knew how to make a man swoon for her.”
“This lovely faunus I knew? She had to fight for everything she had. She wasn’t just some quiet girl who read books all day, she was a survivor.”
“The Badass Blonde I knew? She was broken somewhere. But she kept going. Didn’t matter if she lost an arm or two.”
His voice grew heavier.
“My two friends? They fought until they had nothing left. Until everything was taken from them. And even then they kept on going while nursing their hearts.”
His fists shook.
“And this Champion I know…”
He stopped.
The farmer noticed.
“…You loved her.”
Jaune let out a breath. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“I think she loved me, too.”
Another pause.
“But it didn’t matter. She was a short moment in time... I only knew her for months... but the scars she left... But you know how it is. Time heals all wounds and then sometimes… someone replaces that place in your heart where it was left gaping.”
Silence.
The farmer understood.
This was a man speaking as if mourning ghosts.
Even though his friends were still alive—
To this young man, they were already gone.
The farmer sighed. “So what now?”
Jaune blinked, looking at him. “Huh?”
“You told me the past,” the farmer said. “What about the future?”
Jaune let out a low chuckle.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I tried to stay. Tried to pretend I belonged there.”
He shook his head. “But I don’t. Not anymore.”
The farmer hummed.
Jaune looked at the sky, his voice quieter than before.
“Maybe I was never supposed to go back.”
The farmer sighed. “And yet, here you are.”
Jaune didn’t answer.
The farmer tapped his stick against the ground. “Well, I don’t know much about what you’ve been through, but I know one thing.”
Jaune raised a brow. “And what’s that?”
The farmer looked at him, voice calm.
“If you’re still here, then you’ve got something left to do.”
Jaune blinked.
The farmer turned, beginning to walk away.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Jaune Arc, Sir.”
The old farmer sighed, gripping his knife.
“Hold still, boy.”
Jaune blinked. “Huh? Wait—”
SNAP.
The rope cut clean through.
Jaune dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Face-first into the dirt.
The farmer winced. “Oof. That looked painful.”
Jaune, muffled by soil, gave a thumbs-up. “’M fine.”
The farmer leaned on his walking stick, watching Jaune slowly push himself up.
Jaune cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as his Aura flickered around him.
Then, in the most casual voice possible—
“Aura is so weird.”
The farmer raised a brow. “That’s your takeaway?”
Jaune dusted himself off. “I mean… yeah? Not many people get to test if their Aura actually protects against that.”
The farmer stared.
The farmer sighed, looking at the noose. “Not that anyone would believe me.”
Silence.
Then the farmer exhaled through his nose, muttering, “You kids really are something else.”
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
“…Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
The farmer huffed. “I ain’t scared. Just don’t like seeing young idiots trying to check out early.”
Jaune flinched.
The farmer shook his head. “Whatever you were trying to do, you’re still here.”
Jaune didn’t reply.
The farmer turned, already heading back toward the fields.
“Well?” he called over his shoulder. “Come on, then.”
Jaune blinked. “Huh?”
The farmer didn’t look back. “I figure if you’re still breathing, you might as well get some breakfast.”
Jaune stared after him.
Then, slowly—
He followed.
The sun was rising, bathing the fields in gold and orange hues.
Jaune sat across from the old farmer at a small wooden table, a steaming plate of food in front of him.
The smell of fresh eggs, buttered bread, and crisp bacon filled the air. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a simple farmer’s breakfast.
But after everything, it felt like the best meal Jaune had ever seen.
The farmer sat down with his own plate, taking a slow sip of coffee. Then, without missing a beat—
“So,” he said. “Next time you’re feeling bothered, could you not try hanging yourself on someone’s farm?”
Jaune, mid-bite, choked.
The farmer smirked, clearly amused as Jaune coughed, slamming his fist against his chest.
Jaune finally swallowed, shaking his head. “You really just went for it, huh?”
The farmer shrugged. “I ain’t the type to dance around things.”
Jaune let out a breath, rubbing his face. “Well… I doubt I’ll try again.”
The farmer raised a brow. “Doubt?”
Jaune hesitated, then sighed. “I get the memo.”
The farmer grunted. “Good.”
Jaune took another bite, chewing slowly. “... Thanks for the talk, by the way.”
The farmer scoffed. “Didn’t do much talking. You’re the one that spilled your guts and I listened.”
Jaune chuckled softly. “Guess I needed to.”
Silence fell between them.
The wind rustled through the wheat fields. Birds chirped in the distance. The scent of fresh earth and morning dew hung in the air.
Then, the farmer leaned back in his chair, giving Jaune a long, measuring look.
“Well, boy,” he said. “What now?”
Jaune looked up, blinking. “Huh?”
“You still got a choice to make,” the farmer said, tapping his fingers against his mug. “You gonna live, or you just gonna exist?”
Jaune froze.
The farmer sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve got a story, kid. A long one. And maybe it ain’t what you wanted, but it’s yours.”
He met Jaune’s eyes, gaze steady.
“So what’s it gonna be?”
Jaune stared down at his plate.
He thought about Beacon.
He thought about his friends.
He thought about all the memories he had buried.
Then, slowly—
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“…I guess I’ll stick around a bit longer,” Jaune muttered.
The farmer snorted. “That’s the spirit.”
Jaune exhaled, shaking his head. “You really don’t give up, do you?”
The farmer smirked. “Kid, I’ve raised crops through storms, droughts, and damn near Grimm attacks. You think you’re more stubborn than a wheat field?”
Jaune chuckled.