Oh, how he fucking hated his name.
A bucket load of responsibility just thrown on top of him, because of his last name. Because of who his family members are. Because of who he once was.
Sometime between the twentieth beating from his disappointed father and the horribad semester review from his school did Jaune realize that he could never be what his parents wanted him to be, no matter how much he could better himself.
He was Jaune fucking Arc of the fucking Arc family, a family of brave hunters and huntresses, and as such was held to a higher standard than most parents held their meant no friends, no television, no books that weren't educational, no distractions of any kind. No fun of any kind.
And yet, despite all of his restrictions and disciplines Jaune could never succeed at anything he was expected to exceed in.
Jaune was complete garbage at schoolwork and theory, never asking for help because 'it was below an Arc.'
Jaune was dead last in all of the physical practicums, and always lost when sparring against his peers.
Jaune didn't know how to use the sword and shield passed down from his family from generations long past - the Crocea Mors.
Jaune was tired of not knowing, not doing, and not being able.
And so it was that Jaune decided not to be Jaune anymore.
The idea came to him spontaneously, some time ago. On his way home from Lux Veritas Academy, a thirty minute walk as his parents wouldn't devote the time to pick him up, Jaune suddenly got a notion in his head that would gnaw at him during the numerous times he resided in quiet.
He didn't need to be Jaune Arc. He didn't need to stay on his family's property. He didn't need to be here, of all places, and spent his days slaving away in an abode of abandonment and scorn.
His parents had only provided him with three things. Food, shelter, and a weapon. The clothes on Jaune's back were procured by the fieldwork and odd jobs he was forced to do, as his parents stopped providing an allowance past the age of 6.
He had excellent muscles, but being an apprentice farmhand could only do so much.
Jaune came to an epiphany that he could, with as little as had, just start over. Sure, he was young, and inexperienced, but it's not like he was going to a completely different living situation. Hell, Jaune spent most of his nights on his roof, staring at the stars, contemplating life in a sort of way that was unbecoming of a teenager. He had plenty of experience being outdoors.
He could do menial tasks, like clean and reap and wash and sow, had minimal combat experience from school, and had built up a pretty hefty savings account. Jaune had learned to become self-sufficient at a shockingly, at least, to his teachers, early age.
For months, he had dwelled on this idea, this concept that, while outlandish at first gradually made itself known as the only option if Jaune were to live his own life, be his own person, without the added pressure of a family who thought needed to be pleased at all aspects of their child's skill.
Early on, he thought he was being selfish, berating himself for even thinking of the idea. Now, Jaune had become a sort of cynic, and berated himself for berating himself in the first place.
It was a rainy September when Jaune decided to put his plan into motion. Upon coming home and realizing that his parents were, yet again, not home, Jaune decided upon a quick exit from the village he had spent the last thirteen years of his life suffering in. There was no long moment of deliberation, no heartfelt temptation to stay, no optimism that things would get better.
Jaune likened his situation to a band-aid. Quick and painful, but satisfying.
He went into the attic and found the smallest suitcase he could find, one that he could wear on his back if necessary. He stuffed it with only the bare minimum - 3 shirts, 2 jeans, a hoodie, some underwear and socks, and a toothbrush. Jaune had spent much of his time poring over a map, and found the best route he was to take, one that would lead him past streams to wash in, or inns where he could acquire missing necessities. He packed that in the suitcase, too. He turned all of the picture frames on his room face down, drew shut the curtains, unplugged all electric appliances, and stripped his bed, storing everything away the space of his closet.
Crocea Mors lay in the corner of his room, polished and gleaming. He strapped it to his belt and moved on.
Jaune ran his hand over all of the imperfections he could find in his room, as a sort of parting to the last of what he knew every crack, bump, stain, and chip, as if remembering each thought that had occurred to him in this prison cell of a room. Each blemish only reminded him of himself, unchecked and unchallenged, not attended to until it was too late. It was then that he swore to himself that he would never return.
He exited his room, reaching back inside to turn the lock on the other side of the door, before gingerly closing it.
There would be no turning back now, it seemed.
He closed the door to the house behind him without a second thought.
To his credit, he didn't flinch when the bank teller told him that he couldn't withdraw all of his money, on account that he was only a minor and his parents still had leeway on his money.
Jaune, however, noticed the pitying look in the man's eye. His name was Edgar, and despite making various deposits to this man come payday, Jaune only knew his name through the nametag he was forced to wear. It was as if he knew the reason why a kid with a suitcase strapped to his back would ask for all the money in his savings account.
Then again, it didn't really take a genius to put two and two together, now did it?
So Jaune got the bright idea in his head that, if the bank wouldn't give it to him willingly, maybe he could take it by "force".
Looking around, there was no one inside the bank, no one in the immediate vicinity, either. Convenient.
"So what if a minor, oh, I don't know, just happened to threaten a teller, who I might add is a little past his prime, and the only employee in the building at the moment, to put his entire life savings in a bag and give it to him at sword-point?"
It didn't take long for the teller to catch onto Jaune's game, once he spied the sheathed sword that rested at Jaune's waist. With a smirk, he replied earnestly.
"Well, that old teller would have no choice but to let that minor escape with his entire life savings at sword-point, because he obviously can't fight back and has no inclination to do so."
So Jaune idly flicked his sword part-way from his shielth with his thumb, and Blaise turned to open the lockbox and empty its contents into a small pouch that Jaune promptly clipped onto his person, inside his jacket and away from plain view.
Not before he reached into the pouch, pulled out day's worth of wages in Lien, and set it on the counter.
"A little something for your troubles old man. Now you keep being compliant and remember, snitches always get stitches." With a flourish bow and a final, appreciative grin, Jaune shook the hand of the teller, who played along.
"Oh yes, sir. I'll be sure to keep my mouth shut. Those dirty Feds won't get a lick out of me. Thanks for letting me escape with my life." Replied the teller, sarcasm coating every word he said.
They shared one last snicker before Jaune turned on his heel and walked out.
Had he glanced back at the right time, he would have noticed the teller give a sorrowful look before picking up the phone and dialing one of his contacts.
He just hoped the poor boy would find what he was missing on his journey.
Jaune was nearing the village limits. Thankfully, there weren't any checkpoints or guards roaming around the village, it was too small to warrant any attack, only housing about 600 or so. They didn't need to worry about either Grimm or the White Fang. In truth, Jaune wasn't expecting anyone to be at the entrance to the village.
So imagine his surprise when at the gates there is a lone figure.
Slowing his pace so he could ascertain just who he would pass on his way to freedom, realization dawned on him just as he reached the figure.
There was no way those dark blue eyes and short-cut blonde hair shadowed by a green hood could belong to someone other than his mother. Who made no attempt to look up once her progeny had reached her.
"I wish I could say this is a pleasant surprise, but you've always taught me that it was uncouth for someone of my status to lie."
"To tell you the truth, I've been expecting this day to come."
"The day when you would realize that running from your problems would be the best solution."
To his credit, Jaune's hand only clenched to the point of drawing a tiny amount of blood.
"After all, it was about thirty years ago when I had the same notion in my head as well..."
And there went all of Jaune's aggression.
"You're telling me that you 'ran from your problems, as well?'" At this, Jaune's mother smirked.
"You seem to forget that I'm not a pureblood Arc, just a distant cousin. Very distant, in fact. We can't all have the ingenuity and stubbornness of your father, now can we?"
The smirk faded.
"I'm not here to stop you, or even tell you to reconsider. I'm here to give my son the send off he deserves on the road to finding himself, and give him one last push that helps him along the path of life, so he doesn't fall into despair that he is doing the wrong thing."
Jaune's mother stepped forward and silently put her hand on his shoulder, before patting him on the back and walking back in the direction of the village, throwing away some parting words as she left.
"It would do you well to think of a new identity. Security checkpoints don't question minors as much as they should, so you should be able to slip through relatively easily. It would help, however, if you had a family name that doesn't inspire recognition everywhere you go."
Jaune only stood there, contemplating his mother's words as she left. It was nice to know that his time in the hellhole wasn't completely worthless, and his mother's advice would come in handy... but he couldn't bring himself to bid farewell. Maybe it was lingering feelings of anger, or a want to see his mother again. Maybe he just hated goodbyes, he didn't know.
He opted not to say anything until the footsteps were gone and the only thing he could hear was the soft patter of the rain as it fell onto the hood of jacket.
"I love you." An emotionless statement, but meaningful nonetheless.
Opening his eyes, he faced upwards, looking towards the sky as the rain fell onto his face. He took a deep breath, inhaling the musty smell of rain water before exhaling deeply and continuing his walk out of the village gates and into the wilderness, path set towards the next village.
Jaune had split his attention between keeping track of where he was going, and deciding on a new alias for himself. It would not do himself well to get caught right at the start of his journey, and, worse yet, explain to his father his probably unstable mental thought process. So Jaune thought, and he thought hard. But nothing seemed to stick. He quickly found out that it was troublesome deciding on a new name, after so many years of already having one, no matter how much he hated it. Add on to the fact that he was trying to be unique without sounding outlandish, and simple although not generic, and Jaune was in a spot of bother.
Yu Narukami? No, too foreign. Michael Scott? Nope, pretty sure that's copyrighted... Troy Baker? Isn't he an actor?
It was four hours of quiet travel, accompanied by only the sounds rain, his own footsteps and local wildlife before Jaune happened upon a sign.
Varien Town- 8 miles North.
Brehmington - 6 miles South.
"Miles, huh?" Jaune spoke out loud to himself, a habit he had picked up after constantly being the only one in the house for so long - a tactic to help himself not feel so alone.
And as he looked up, contemplating what a good last name to fit Miles would be, he spotted what he would have considered to be a Deus Ex Machina.
"Moon? Miles Moon? Nah, that's pretty silly, even for me."
And at the apex of darkness stood the lunar circle, A beacon of Hope for all who gazed upon its dust.
"Lunar...? Luna... Miles Luna! Yeah, that's it!" Jaune exclaimed, feeling satisfied with what he had decided for himself. For some reason, it fit all of the criteria he set, and wasn't stupid in the least. Better yet, this name seemed to resonate within him for some odd reason.
He was not going to be some throwaway child to a family who seemingly never wanted him in the first place. He was going to make something of himself, for himself, and by himself only. There was no room for old connections or sentiments where he was going.
The story of Jaune Arc became no more. The legend of Miles Luna would blaze a trail in the hearts of many for generations to come.