NF37/49/50

His aura should have prevented that.

It hadn't… which meant it was still not working as it ought to. If that were true, however, then he'd have surely died on that train. The White Fang had guns on their side, and only a huntsman's aura protected them against those.

That meant his aura worked… it protected him, shielded him.

But if so, then why was it not doing so now?

Where had it gone?

—NF37

[...]

His aura still wasn't working. He'd be killed by them, and even if he could make it by, the impact with the ground would surely end him. Landing strategies were for those with the means to protect themselves. Without his aura, he was doomed.

He'd known that, of course.

His eyes closed.

"I know we've not gotten on of late. I've been distracted. I've been trying to escape…" He chuckled. "I've been pulling a Blake. That stops now. I won't run away any longer. I'm going to fight. I'm going to keep fighting, and I don't care if that means this ends now, next repeat, or a hundred thousand repeats from now, because I am not going to give up." His eyes snapped open, lips peeled back. "I won't give up. I won't stop fighting. I won't stop trying to save them. I'm condemned to this path, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have chosen it for myself! I'll never regret it! Not once!"

The Griffons below screeched, and some noticed him. He saw one careen away from the horde, surging towards him. Crocea Mors came free from her sheathe with a mighty rasp of steel on steel. The blade glinted.

"So fight with me," Jaune roared. "Help me! Come back and help me make a difference. I know you're still there, and I know you haven't given up. You're my soul. You're a part of me. Jaune Arc doesn't give up, so come! Come and fight!"

Something flickered inside of him. His eyes shone as he drew his family blade – as old, if not older than he – back above him. Both his hands wrapped about the hilt, fingers feeling that oh, so familiar leather.

His aura flared.

—NF49

[...]

I can't run from this fight, even if it was to try and find aid. Adam's too fast and would surely catch me. The moment I turn my back, I'm dead. To be fair, he'd have been dead already a hundred times over if it wasn't for his aura coming back to him. Stay strong for me, aura. We're in this together. We have something to fight for.

There was no answer from inside of him, but no news was good news. Aura was the manifestation of the soul, and was the one part of him that travelled back through repeat after repeat. For the longest time he'd though his lost aura a result of fatigue… that even the soul had limits, and he'd reached his. That hadn't been the case, however. He hadn't lost his aura due to it being worn away, but due to him abandoning it.

His soul represented who he was, and he was a man who wouldn't ever leave his friends behind. His aura had failed because it didn't recognise him when he became a person determined to do just that, to be expelled and to run away, to hide and let his friends die. His aura wanted to protect him, but had no idea who he was. His soul, and the person he'd become, were incompatible.

No longer was that the case. Jaune's eyes focused on his foe as he brought Crocea Mors up before him, the shield in his other hand. Now, he knew what his goal was – and even if he didn't know how to achieve it, that would not stop him fighting.

He felt his aura flood his muscles as though to say it heard his thoughts and agreed.

—NF50