Rewritten (with permission) of Rained Mirror's Identity Crisis.

Evan used to love the world.

He'd stand on the roof of his farm, arms wide and his face would be bursting at the seams with this wide smile on, and it would be real. He'd roll in the mud with the pigs and jump in the leaves every autumn, and his eyes were always a pure, pure blue.

("oh, what a lovely blue," his mom would say, and he'd brush her off with a "mo-oom")

It's not like he really needed to become a dragon master in the first place. He is young, far too young to be caring for a large reptilian beast, traveling through the world to fight the Black Mage. A boy can only do so much. But if this is war, he thinks as he splashes his bare feet into the crystal pond, caressing the scaled muzzle that measures up to twice of him and staring at himself in the water, then it is not so bad.

His hands still smell like the earth and he was so truly happy, back then.

Maple World does not grant him any more favors of happiness.

When he learns of Freud, the name immediately leaves this weird sensation in his mouth. It's slick and slimy and he thinks he might be sick. He does not know why, only that this dead man once called himself a dragon master as well and he was caring and kind and everything you aren't. He's set the bar so high Evan isn't sure if he can even try to reach for it. He is not Freud- he will never be. It is simply truth. But he doesn't know why he grows into the reflection of him, and it feels so off that the now polluted body of water doesn't even show his own reflection anymore. Nobody even bothers with his real name anymore. It's always a disgusting greeting of "Hey, Freud!" or "Hello, Freud!" and his body does this stupid thing where his heart squeezes inside his rib cage and pounds at his chest and his eyes prickle like he's about to cry. It's like routine now to correct them ("It's Evan." "Oh? Sorry.").

He haven't visited your family once. In all honesty, Evan doesn't even want to.

(he doesn't want them to forget him, too)

But he can't let them down. The millions of friends he's made under your pseudonym are counting on him, so he cuts the crap. He grows up. Matures. He stops rewarding himself with candy and gets books instead. He quits asking for help because that's not what Freud would do. No, Freud would keep trying until he gets it right.

Really? What are you, a dog? Evan can't keep being this behind when everyone else is training hard, training more. He has no time to splash around in a puddle of water when there are people that need saving, people that need help. There isn't a reason to have fun when everyone else is in trouble. He cuts out the small things he used to do when he was Evan, and that don't fit into the shape of Freud.

And those heroes, the young dragon master trusted them to at least try to remember.

"Freud?"

They never learned. And they'll never. Never for ever. Just like Evan will never even live up to half the man Freud was, they'll never even bother to remember his name. "Don't be yourself," a voice almost calls, and he tries to ignore it; the growing feeling of bile in the back of his throat each time he hears them say Freud, Freud, Freud.

(he likes to pretend that they can actually tell the difference between him and his predecessor)

It settles eventually, a numbing feeling in the very tips of his fingers, and he gets used to it. It was impossible from the beginning anyway, there was no point to even try. Raises his head just very slightly from his book every time they call out another man's name. Perhaps it was the one thing he had and ever will have in common with Freud. He reads for days on end; sleep is not a thing to be bothered with when there are dreams of a happier place that haunt him, and there is no point to eat if everyone is going to feed it to someone else- someone who looks so much like him that buries the soul of Evan under the strange too-loose, too-big skin of the one who came before him.

Yes, because why should he look forward to those things when he could be picking out new information on how to perfect his spells, how to win this war, their original purpose. Why should he bother with such boring people if such an exciting chapter was right in front of him, with people living such better lives?

There was no point keeping to his thoughts, he sighed, and set the worn book beside him, already finished with it. He walks to the light, ready to sleep for once in a whole week. Everyone else was already pestering him about it. The boy stopped short in front of the crystalline mirror, reflecting the moon's glow. He shifted ever so slightly on his toes, and his stomach turned.

He wonders if this boy, who stares back at him with tired, weary eyes, is what Freud really looked like. Maybe it was the man who had hidden himself to the world in favor of studying, or yet, perhaps, maybe it was not. Maybe this was just a child that had seen better days once upon a time ago, where the small birds sang and there was peace. But he does not know if who he is can even be called Evan or Freud. Maybe he is an outcast: someone stuck between happiness and pain he does not know.

In the end, this boy who roams the world disguised under an identity he does not want, has created a shape too perfect for himself. Naturally, his opponent did not like him, yet somehow, never showed much hate for him either. He does not know why anyone would like him at this point, because everyone likes Freud. Evan is merely a boy who reads, a boy who studied and helped people and visited his family often at their farm but he is gone now he is no longer there; thrown away for someone too strange and it leaves this horrible feeling in his intestines that slops around like heavy water.

He stared at the other person, the different person in the mirror. This is what he was now. This is what defined him now.

Evan regrets it all, and wonders when he can be 'Evan' again.

And the answer is,

never for ever.