Oh Mirror
The sands of Vacuo stretched endlessly, golden dunes bathed in the dying glow of sunset.
But there was no beauty in this sight.
Only finality.
Weiss Schnee sat on a half-buried rock, her combat dress torn, Myrtenaster resting limply in her lap. She wasn’t exhausted, not yet, but the weight of the battle had settled deep into her bones.
Team RWBY and JNPR were gathered around her, their silhouettes outlined against the shifting sands. Worn, bloodied, but still standing.
For now.
Because the enemy was still out there.
And they all knew this was the end.
Weiss didn’t know when she had started replaying everything in her head.
Maybe it was the silence, the eerie stillness before the next wave of Grimm.
Maybe it was the way Jaune sat beside her, arms resting on his knees, staring at the horizon with that distant, haunted look.
Maybe it was because, after everything, after all the fights, the losses, the victories that never felt like victories—
They had ended up here.
With nothing left but each other and the last moments before the final battle.
Weiss exhaled, gripping Myrtenaster a little tighter. “How did we even get here?”
Jaune chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. “Hell if I know.”
Weiss sighed. “It feels like a joke. All that effort, all that struggle, and this is where it leads?”
Jaune didn’t answer.
She turned her head slightly, studying him. He was scratched up, bruised, but very much alive.
Unlike so many others.
Weiss looked away before she could think about them.
The sun was setting now, and night would bring the last fight of their lives.
Jaune sighed beside her, rubbing his face.
“I’m afraid,” he muttered.
Weiss blinked. “You?”
Jaune let out a breath, staring down at his hands. “Yeah.”
Weiss smirked slightly, teasing despite the heavy air. “You? The Rusted Knight? Afraid?”
Jaune snorted, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”
His expression softened, his voice dropping to something almost gentle.
“I’m afraid for you.”
Weiss felt her chest tighten.
Jaune looked at her now, his blue eyes unreadable, but filled with something deep, something unbearable.
“…It’s not fair,” he murmured. “For you. For the others. For everyone.”
Weiss swallowed. “Jaune—”
“At least I had decades,” Jaune said quietly. “At least I had time.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “But you? You should’ve had so much more.”
Weiss could feel it now, the weight of what was coming.
Of what they wouldn’t escape.
So she did what she always did when things got too heavy.
She teased him.
“At least,” she murmured, softly nudging his arm, “you got to spend that time with me.”
Jaune blinked.
Then, after a beat—he chuckled.
“Can’t argue with that,” he admitted.
Weiss smirked, but it was weak. “Really, Jaune? I thought you’d be more resistant to flattery.”
Jaune let out a tired laugh, shaking his head.
“Gods…Why’d I have to fall in love with you twice? At the beginning and at the end…”
Weiss froze.
The words settled between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.
Jaune didn’t look at her.
Didn’t take it back.
Didn’t try to explain himself.
He just sat there, watching the sun dip below the dunes, as if accepting the fate that awaited them.
And Weiss?
Weiss didn’t know what to say.
Because she had felt it too.
Had known it for a long time.
And now it didn’t matter.
Because the end was coming.
And there was nothing left to do but face it together.
The city was burning.
Smoke choked the air, embers flickering in the wind like dying fireflies. The streets of Vacuo, once filled with life, were now a war zone—crumbling buildings, shattered glass, and the constant, unrelenting sound of battle.
And in the middle of it—
Team RWBY and Team JNPR stood back to back.
Jaune was somewhere behind Weiss, his hands glowing with Aura, keeping their team refueled, strong, standing.
Every time their Aura flickered, Jaune pushed more into them.
Every time someone stumbled, he dragged them back to their feet.
His voice was hoarse, exhausted from calling out to them—
“Keep moving!”
“Stay close!”
“I’ve got you!”
Weiss could barely process anything but the fight.
The waves of Grimm, the enemies pressing in, the sheer exhaustion clawing at her bones.
Her blade danced, parrying, slicing, thrusting—
Every strike was muscle memory, every movement automatic.
And yet—
They kept standing.
Because Jaune made sure they could.
“STAND TALL.”
Ruby’s voice cut through the chaos.
Weiss gasped for breath, adjusting her stance. Her arms ached.
“WAIT FOR IT.”
Jaune exhaled sharply beside her, wiping blood from his brow.
They waited.
Even as the next wave loomed.
Even as Cinder Fall descended upon them.
It was a blur.
A whirlwind of fire and steel, of explosions and dust and raw power.
They clashed with Cinder in the ruined heart of the city, their goal clear—
Take the Staff.
Send Salem to Everafter.
End this.
Weiss moved on instinct, muscle memory, desperation.
She barely remembered the pain.
She barely remembered the blood.
All she knew was that they fought.
And fought.
And fought.
It was all so blurry now.
Weiss could barely remember.
Only flashes.
Only glimpses of what they had endured.
Because in the end—
What did it matter?
What did any of it change?
Nothing.
Everything.
And as the battle raged on, as the end drew closer—
Weiss realized.
They weren’t fighting to win.
They were fighting to survive.
And even that—
Was slipping away.
The first thing Weiss felt was pain.
Her body ached in ways she had never known, her lungs struggling to pull in breath. The world around her was a haze of dust, blood, and destruction.
She wasn’t sure if she was alive or dreaming.
Then—
A familiar voice, hoarse but steady.
“We did it.”
Her vision cleared, her head slowly turning to the figure kneeling beside her.
Jaune Arc.
His armor was shattered, his face streaked with blood and exhaustion, but he was smiling.
“We did it, Weiss,” he repeated. “Yang and Blake got the staff.”
Weiss inhaled sharply, forcing herself to sit up. “Where…?”
Jaune followed her gaze, looking past the battlefield.
There—half-stoned, half-broken, stabbed through the chest—
Cinder Fall.
“I got her,” Jaune murmured.
But Weiss wasn’t looking at Cinder anymore.
She was looking at Nora.
At the madness in her eyes, the way her hammer tore through the endless tide of Grimm, her screams of grief echoing across the ruins.
She was fighting alone.
Because Ren was gone.
And yet—she refused to stop.
Yang and Blake were calling out to them, urging them to go.
Jaune grabbed Weiss’ arm, his grip firm despite how much he was shaking.
“We have to go.”
Weiss staggered to her feet.
And then they ran.
They found Ruby on the brink of collapse, too.
She was holding back Salem, dodging her twisting, unnatural magic, her silver eyes dim but still burning.
Jaune and Weiss barely had time to react—
Time to prepare.
They had to spring the trap.
Jaune lunged, grabbing the Sword of Destruction, its power searing into his Aura as he struck Salem down with it.
Salem staggered, her regeneration slowing.
Jaune lifted his arm.
His Aura flared, surging toward Ruby.
Her silver eyes shone like the sun.
Weiss felt the air shatter around them as Ruby unleashed her silver eyes, the blinding radiance tearing through the Grimm like divine fire.
Weiss, her own Aura barely flickering, reached for the Staff of Creation.
She didn’t hesitate.
She focused—on a pathway, a bridge, an escape.
And then—it formed.
Jaune could barely stand.
He was at the end of his life.
But he saw what needed to be done.
With what little strength he had left, he grabbed Salem—
And dragged her onto the pathway.
“GO!” Ruby screamed, her silver eyes burning everything in their wake.
Jaune stumbled, his vision blurring, but he didn’t stop.
The path began to close.
Weiss was sobbing.
Then—
A sudden blast.
Jaune was thrown back, landing hard, his body unable to move.
Salem rose, barely standing, her form twisted, broken, but still alive.
She lifted her hand—ready to finish him.
And then—
The newly reborn Jabberwalker struck.
Its jaws clamped down on her throat, twisting, tearing, ripping—
Salem’s scream was cut short.
The immortal—killed.
The Jabberwalker turned to them, its gaze unreadable.
Then—it ran.
Jaune lay on the ground, barely breathing.
Weiss limped toward him, falling to her knees.
She grabbed his hand, her voice shaking.
“…Jaune?”
Jaune gave a weak smile.
“I’m alright,” he murmured. “I’m going to be alright… you know where this place… and even if I don’t come back… at least..
Then, with the last of his strength—
“…I get to see you my Snow Angel.”
And with that—
Jaune closed his eyes.
The last breath left his body.
Weiss stared.
Then—she sat beside him, groaning in pain.
She leaned against him, bleeding out, her vision fading.
The world was quiet.
And for a moment—
She let herself rest.
So tired.
Weiss woke up with a sharp inhale, her eyes snapping open to—
Beacon.
She blinked rapidly, her breath hitching.
She was in her dorm.
She was alive.
There was no sand, no blood, no war.
Just the familiar walls of Beacon Academy, the sunlight filtering through the window, the distant sound of students in the courtyard below.
As if everything had been just a dream.
She sat up slowly, fingers gripping the sheets.
A dream.
A long, terrible dream.
But…
Her chest felt tight.
She rubbed her temples, forcing the thoughts away.
No.
No, it was nothing.
Just a bad dream.
A dream of a world where everything had gone wrong.
A dream of a fool who never stopped making a mess.
Still…
It bothered her.
Days easily passed.
Enduring shenanigans.
So carefree.
Fulfilling the role of the Weiss who was at Beacon.
Weiss was stirring her coffee, mind drifting, when—
“Morning, Schnee.”
She looked up.
Jaune Arc stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, giving her that usual easygoing smile.
“How’s the coffee?” he asked.
Weiss blinked.
Her mind took a fraction of a second too long to process the way he said it.
“Schnee?”
Not Fair Lady.
Not Snow Angel.
Just Schnee.
Weiss stared at him.
Something about it felt wrong.
Something about it made her chest tighten.
But why?
She didn’t understand.
She didn’t know why it shook her.
It started small.
Little things she ignored.
Little things she told herself were meaningless.
Then, one day, Penny had approached her.
“Weiss,” Penny said, bright and cheerful as always. “Do you know how to do makeup?”
Weiss had barely registered the question.
And then—a silly thought crossed her mind.
“Jaune could do it.”
The idea had amused her at first.
And then—it happened.
Jaune actually did it.
With expert hands, practiced movements.
Like it was second nature.
Like he had done it a thousand times before.
And Weiss had paused.
Had watched him too carefully.
Had started to suspect.
Then she how he handled Crescent Rose.
Jaune had fought with it.
Had wielded it too well.
Had moved like he had spent years learning it, understanding its weight, its momentum, its intricacies.
Like it wasn’t his first time.
And Weiss had felt something twist inside her.
Something too familiar.
Something she refused to name.
Then, one day—
He was gone.
For a month.
Without a word.
And Weiss had realized—
She wasn’t just suspecting anymore.
She knew.
Something was wrong.
She waited.
And waited.
Days turned to weeks.
Weiss Schnee had never been the type to worry so openly.
But this—this was different.
She didn’t know why.
Or rather—she did.
She just didn’t want to admit it.
Because if she did—if she let herself think too much—
Then the thought would fester.
And she couldn’t afford that.
She couldn’t afford to wonder if he was gone.
If he was never coming back.
If she would be alone.
If she would be the only one who remembered.
Oh Mirror, will I be the loneliest of them all?
So she buried herself in books.
She read until her vision blurred.
She studied until the words lost meaning.
She drowned herself in everything and anything to keep the thoughts at bay.
Because if she stopped—
If she let herself feel—
Then she would have to admit that she was afraid.
Afraid of what it meant.
Afraid of why it hurt so much.
Afraid of why it was him she was waiting for.
But then—
One day—
He just came back.
A sunlight melting snow.
Jaune Arc walked into Beacon like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t disappeared for a month.
Like he hadn’t left her in silence.
And yet—
The moment she saw him, she knew.
Something was wrong.
And then she saw it.
The faint, faded noose mark around his neck.
Her stomach turned.
Her breath hitched.
Why would you leave me here alone?
To be the loneliest of them all?
She hated it.
So—
She didn’t think.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t let herself break.
Instead, she did what she always did.
She masked it.
With words, with banter, with deflection.
She scoffed, crossing her arms, and before she could stop herself—
“And I thought you got attacked by some Grimm-controlling woman and were being manipulated into some tragic, mind-controlled knight situation, and I’d have to punch you out of it!”
The words left her lips without her permission.
And Jaune—
Jaune paused.
Saw through the crack in the mirror.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Not his usual bright, foolish grin.
Not his usual sheepish, boyish charm.
But something softer.
Something warmer.
Something that made her chest ache.
He noticed.
He knew what she was doing.
And yet—
His heart swelled.
Because he was here.
Because he saw her through the mirror.
Because her words, as clumsy, as ridiculous as they were—
Were something familiar to him.
No one else’s.
No need to hide anymore.
Not from him.
Never from him.
She let herself breathe again.
Oh Mirror, I won’t be the loneliest of them all.