The drone of the bullhead engines was a monotonous hum, a thin blanket thrown over a silence thick with questions. Jaune—or Crusader-1, or whatever he was now—lay strapped to the deck plates of the cargo bay. His sheer bulk, even inert, dominated the space. He wasn’t a passenger; he was freight. His white and gold armor, scuffed and battle-scarred, seemed to glow faintly in the dim utility lights.
Ruby sat on a bench opposite him, her knees drawn up to her chest, her gaze fixed on the blue eagle symbol on the tattered cloth at his waist. Blake was a shadow in the far corner, watching everyone and everything. Weiss stood with her arms crossed, her posture rigid, as if holding herself together by force of will.
It was Yang who finally broke the quiet. She was pacing the length of the cramped bay, a caged tiger. She stopped, planting herself in front of the little floating robot hovering near Jaune’s helmet.
“Alright, Sparks. You’ve got a captive audience,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “Start talking. Tell us everything. And don’t leave anything out.”
The Ghost, who had been silently running a diagnostic light over Jaune’s armor, swiveled its single blue eye to face her. “My name isn’t ‘Sparks’,” it said, its tone cool. “I am a Ghost. And he is my Guardian.”
“You don’t have a name?” Ruby asked, her voice small.
The Ghost seemed to consider this. “I have not needed one. My Guardian’s designation is Crusader-1. He is a Titan. That is what matters.”
“A Titan,” Weiss repeated, seizing on the word. “You said that before. You said the Light provides what a Guardian needs to be. What does that mean?”
The Ghost drifted higher, its light brightening as it warmed to the subject. “Guardians are vessels of the Traveler’s Light. But that Light expresses itself differently depending on the individual. There are three orders. Three classes.”
It projected a faint image in the air between them: a figure in heavy armor, much like Jaune’s, standing firm. “There are Titans. The builders. The protectors. They are the wall against which the Darkness breaks. They channel the Light into shields of Void, hammers of fire, and barricades of impenetrable energy. They are defined by the strength of their conviction.” The image was a perfect, idealized version of the exhausted man on the floor.
“Then,” the Ghost continued, the image shifting to a figure in long, flowing robes, levitating slightly, “there are the Warlocks. The scholars. They seek to understand the universe, to unravel its secrets—including the nature of the Light itself. They are warriors and mystics, wielding the Light as an arcane weapon, healing allies with celestial wells and unleashing storms of lightning.”
Weiss’s expression shifted from skepticism to intense curiosity. “So, they’re researchers who fight?”
“They believe that knowledge is power,” the Ghost affirmed. “And they are not wrong.”
The image changed a final time. A lithe figure appeared, clad in a cloak and light armor, a long rifle slung over their back. “And there are the Hunters. The scouts. The survivors. They are masters of the frontier, pragmatic and ruthless. They live by their wits, staking their lives on a quick draw or the perfect placement of a blade. They are the long arm of the Vanguard, striking from the shadows with golden guns and spectral daggers.”
Blake, who had been silent, leaned forward slightly. She recognized the posture, the philosophy. The lone wolf.
“So Jaune… he’s a Titan because he’s stubborn?” Yang asked, a bitter edge to her voice.
“He’s a Titan because his first instinct upon being reborn into a world of monsters was not to run, not to study, but to stand,” the Ghost corrected. “He found the highest wall, the deepest trench, and he made his stand upon it. The Light simply gave form to the will that was already there.”
A heavy silence fell. The engine’s hum seemed louder now. They were looking at Jaune, but seeing him through a new filter. A class. A role. A box he’d been put in without his consent.
“You mentioned a ‘Vanguard’,” Ruby said, breaking the spell. She had leaned forward, her silver eyes sharp and focused. “Who are they? Your leaders?”
“The Vanguard is the unified military and political leadership of the Guardians,” the Ghost explained, its voice taking on an official, almost reverent tone. “They operate from the Last City, coordinating the defense of humanity. There is a Commander for each class. Zavala, the Titan Vanguard, impassive and resolute. Ikora Rey, the Warlock Vanguard, a legend in both combat and research. And… there was Cayde-6, the Hunter Vanguard.”
“Was?” Blake asked quietly.
The Ghost’s light flickered for a moment. “The position is… currently vacant. But the structure remains. They are who I would report to, if I could. They issue the directives. They manage the grand strategy against our enemies.”
“Enemies?” Weiss interjected. “You mean the Grimm?”
The Ghost rotated to face her. “The Grimm are a localized threat. A symptom of this world’s particular sickness. We fight the Darkness. It has many faces: the Hive and their sword logic, the Vex and their endless calculations, the Cabal with their imperial ambitions, the Fallen scavenging in our ruins. The Darkness is the fundamental enemy of life. Of the Traveler.”
Team RWBY exchanged uneasy glances. This was bigger than they thought. So much bigger. They had been fighting Grimm their whole lives, believing it to be the defining struggle of their world. This little machine was telling them it was a backwater skirmish in a cosmic war they’d never even heard of.
“And where are they?” Yang demanded, gesturing around the rattling hull of the bullhead. “This Vanguard? These other Guardians? If Jaune is one of you, where’s his backup? Why has he been out here alone for weeks?”
“I don’t know,” the Ghost admitted, and for the first time, its synthesized voice sounded small, lost. “My connection to the Traveler’s network is severed. I can feel the Light, I can channel it for my Guardian, but I can’t reach the City. I can’t reach the Vanguard. For all I know, we are the only ones here. Or the only ones left.”
The confession hung in the air, more chilling than any monster. They weren’t just taking home a resurrected friend. They were taking in a refugee from a lost army, a soldier whose commanders and comrades might not even exist anymore.
The bullhead lurched as it began its descent, the lights of Vale and Beacon Academy’s spire glittering in the night sky below. The sight, usually a comfort, felt alien. Threatening.
Ruby looked at the straps holding Jaune’s body to the floor. She thought of all the times they’d flown in a bullhead together, laughing, joking, cramming for a test. He was always so full of nervous energy, so painfully, wonderfully alive. Now he was just cargo. Heavy, silent cargo.
They were bringing him home. But the home he needed—this Last City, this Vanguard—was a place they couldn’t take him to. And the home they were bringing him to, Beacon, was a place he wouldn’t recognize.
The bullhead touched down with a gentle bump. The ramp began to lower, flooding the bay with the familiar lights of the academy’s landing pad.
Weiss looked at Jaune’s still form, then at the open ramp, a deep frown creasing her brow. “We can’t just carry him to the infirmary. What do we tell Professor Ozpin?”
Yang didn’t answer. She was staring at her friend, her teammate, her big, dumb, blond knight. He had run off to be a hero, and the universe had granted his wish in the cruelest way imaginable. It had made him one, and it had taken Jaune away.
Ruby stood up, her joints stiff. The mission was to rescue a village. Then it was to find out who the silent knight was. Then it was to get Jaune home. Now, she realized, the mission was something else entirely. It was to stand between the empty shell of a Guardian and the friend she refused to believe was gone for good.
The man they knew wasn’t here *right now*.
She would just have to wait. And fight for him until he was.