Was it possible to miss someone when you'd spend decades not sparing them a thought?
Was it possible for one created to aid others in their pursuit of knowledge to grow frustrated by ignorance?
Was it possible for her to hope for a different outcome when she had always been cursed to know better?
She had many who found her dwelling, and some wise enough to believe in rumor and folklore, to hear the whispers of their ancestors and learn the sound of the key that would loosen her from her shackles… but never more than loosen.
Jinn called none of them master. Because they were never capable of freeing her.
The one she did call master… could.
But he wouldn't. And it had always been her curse to know it.
He came to her many times, wearing many faces and guises and speaking with many different tones and inflections. But the voice of his soul was always the same. She always saw the light behind each new pair of eyes.
He was the only one in the world older than herself. He was the only one who remembered a time before it had been reduced to a remnant. He was another blessed by the God of Light and tasked to guide humanity, just as she was…
And at any time in his many lives he could've freed her, and he did not. He would not.
He could. She knew he could.
But he didn't, and he wouldn't, because he was still burdened by obsession. He was -like lesser mortal men- determined to prove himself right no matter the weight of his failures. He was wise and capable, but he could not move past that simple weakness of flesh.
He was chained too, but his chain was one of his own making; his own choice. The God of Light did not give Jinn the option to refuse and to rest. He never had to carry the burden.
Jinn tried to guide him, in one lifetime or another. And in one lifetime or another, he spent what time he could with her. In some instances he was attentive, caring… apologetic. In others he was blunt and harsh, little better than a king demanding of his subject. She knew why he was what he was in each shell and chassis, and did as she could to be what he needed in that moment, in that fleeting present.
Jinn understood why she'd miss him. Sometimes he'd be born again in a man who already loved another, and didn't wish to damage another life with his wants or the necessity of his task. Sometimes he would exhaust what use Jinn could allow of herself, and wait to wear a new face before summoning her again.
She knew why it had to be so for him. And that was the cruelest of it: that he could not change who he was.
He could free her from this cycle she was trapped in. But she couldn't free him.
The last time she saw him he was old and wizened, but not yet betrayed by time. He took a moment before asking her the question, explaining what was to become of her, and where she would wait now… until his latest plan bore fruit.
Another fool's errand, but she could not tell him that. Not unless he asked.
Instead he asked her something much nearer and dearer. He asked her a question he already knew the answer to… and one Jinn wanted to remind him of.
When he reached to take hold of her, when Jinn floated down and set her feet on the floor and returned his embrace and their eyes met, the old king of Vale -the latest of many such places he ruled- Jinn felt at peace knowing what he would inquire and how she would answer.
"Did you miss me?"
He knew. And he let her say it just the same.
Was it possible for something to be both cruel and kind?
"Always," was her reply, as it ever had been.
The soul older than her own kept her there -away from the prison she carried with her- a while longer. Her master gave her time and attention, and she knew it'd be far too long until he held her again.
It had always been her curse to know.
Oscar looked down at the lamp, at the faint blue glow. He hadn't understood the dreams before, but the memories were becoming clearer the more Ozpin retreated deeper into Oscar's head.
There were so many things he was ashamed of. But this… this wasn't so much the burden of his hand, but rather the guilt of his neglect: the punishment of knowing he could've done more and never taking that step.
Because he was so alone, and had no one else who could take her place. Only Jinn… the only other from his era, the only other not bound by the mortal coil, the only other chained as he was.
Oscar knew it was best to leave her be; to save her powers for a time when they would need to know.
But with Ozpin so far away, Oscar knew what it was to feel alone… and summoning her had done something to lessen that pain in Ozpin, in one life or another. Oscar didn't know for sure -he'd never known it himself, only glimpsed it in Ozpin's scattered thoughts- but he didn't think anyone felt alone in such an embrace as he had seen.
One last time he hesitated, looking at the cool blue floating under the surface.
One more time he thought on what he'd seen -or recalled- and known this step had been taken many times before.
Was it possible to be both selfish and selfless in a single action? To help oneself and help another?
Perhaps that was the question he'd ask her. He hadn't thought that far ahead.
He only wished to see her…
Oscar held the lamp close and whispered, in barely more than a breath: "Jinn."