Shortly after Oscar was born, his parents attempted to show him what he looked like. They found great joy in the process, giggling all while they situated the infant in their arms, pointing at the mirror and gently stating with all the pride in the world: "That's you!"

And it was.

There he was, a bright-eyed, fuzzy-haired, giggling, chubby baby boy. His little face scrunched up in confusion as he realized what his parents were looking at, not quite getting what they were trying to communicate but having a grand time all the same.

Finally, when he was around a year old, he made that connection; that the thing he saw in the mirror was indeed him. His chubby, clumsy hands batted the mirror as his parents smiled and laughed while filming it on a scroll.

It was then that he spoke his first word. His parents had tried their best to help him realize his name, and it all came to fruition when their baby boy looked at himself in the mirror and said: "Osca!"

"Yes honey, yes, that's you! That's you Oscar!"

And at that point of time, it was simply the truth.

Oscar Pine was Oscar Pine, and that was that. No one could take that away from him just quite yet.

(Not yet.)

His parents were killed in a Grimm attack when he was 10 years old. A Huntsman showed up just in time to spare his life, but it didn't stop Oscar from watching his parents die. It didn't stop the Grimm from giving Oscar the scars on his neck and arms that he would bear for the rest of his life.

Oscar's aunt took him in on her farm. Since she didn't have a spare room, they made do and he claimed the attic in the barn as his own. He didn't have much in there; just a bookshelf, a bed and spare blankets, a dresser. A mirror.

Throughout the healing process, he avoided the mirror like the plague. His aunt changed his bandages for him so he wasn't forced to look. Eventually, the wounds were healed enough for him to remove the bandages for good. That night, after avoiding his reflection for months, he approached the mirror. And he saw.

He saw the healed gashes the Grimm had given him as a priceless parting gift. All over his neck and arms, clear as day for the world to see. He would never look the same. He would never be the same, either. But he could ignore that for now.

He grabbed the roll of bandages and watched as he covered his scars. The world couldn't see them anymore, they wouldn't even know they were there. He wouldn't see them again either, but he was all too aware of their existence. The bandages constricted his neck and arms but he found it wasn't as suffocating as being faced with his loss every time he saw himself.

He tied off the last bandage and looked himself in the eyes. They were duller, less full of life. They lacked the innocence that they had just a few short months ago. But despite it all, it was still him.

His name was Oscar Pine. This, he knew: He was named after his grandfather, his parents died protecting him, he named the stray dog Toto, he loved books and fairytales, he loved cooking and hanging out with the farm animals. His favorite food was casserole, his favorite color orange, he preferred coffee over tea or hot chocolate. Scars now made a home on his neck and arms and were a constant reminder of what he had lost, but he hadn't lost himself.

Not today.

There was a gradual buildup leading to the voice in his head making itself known. First, the night of the Fall of Beacon, he woke in the middle of the night feeling like his entire body was on fire, the image of flames seared into his mind. He felt as if he had just been burned alive. Next came the dreams. He saw a school and classroom, a blonde woman with a stern face, a land of red and black.

Finally, came his reflection. He woke up one morning, deciding to ignore whatever was happening in his mind, and went to the mirror. But something was different.

His face had changed. Wait, no - it was still the same as it had been yesterday, right? Then why did he feel like he was seeing himself for the first time? He knew the pattern of his freckles, the mixed paints of his eyes, his unruly hair. But some part of him...didn't. To some part of him, this was completely new.

"Hello!"

The greeting didn't come from his own mouth. Or his aunt for that matter. No, it came from inside his mind. Great, he was hearing voices now. Maybe that repressed trauma of his was finally coming back to bite him.

"I'm Professor Ozpin."

With those four words of greeting, his life changed forever.

His name was Oscar Pine. He was fourteen years old. And Professor Ozpin had just ruined his life.

Life without Ozpin was the most alive Oscar had ever felt. He no longer had his fate watching his every move and breathing down his neck, or had to deal with the physical and mental exhaustion that occurred after Oz took control.

The burdens were still there, yes. He still held himself differently, James still looked at him like he was someone else and slipped up by calling him the wrong name, and he still felt like his shoulders would never quite be free of this weight ever again. He still had dreams consisting of a young girl with fiery red hair and striking green eyes, his cravings for coffee slowly transitioned to hot chocolate, he suddenly had a love for the color green, and every now and then he expected to wake up somewhere else. But it was simply easier to pretend that everything was normal.

Normal as it possibly could be, that is. He shared a room with Jaune, Nora, and Ren, who treated him like their little brother. They were still in a Huntsman academy training to defeat the world's evils, but for the first time in far too long, they were able to act like the kids they were. They indulged in prank wars, movie nights, sleepovers with Team RWBY, late night stealth runs to the kitchens, cuddle piles under piles of warm blankets to combat the Atlas cold. They all came to know the one, true Oscar Pine. No immortal wizard strings attached.

It hit him when they were all cramped in their room's adjoined bathroom, all fighting for space to prepare for the day, and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair was messy from sleep and when Jaune's tousles, his eyes were still sleepy but no less his own, his smile was genuine and carefree. It all came to him at once; the idea that this was him.

For the first time since he was ten years old, before his eyes grew weary with the ghosts of his parents, before fairy tales were nothing but fiction, before scars were drawn onto his skin, Oscar Pine looked into the mirror and recognized the person who stared back. He greeted his reflection with open arms.

His name was Oscar Pine. Of that, he had never been more certain.

A single gunshot and the indescribable sensation of sudden weightlessness were the only warnings the world gave him before his life stopped once more and the voice in his head returned.

"Oscar."

He had never wanted to die, but the idea of death seemed a lot easier than going through this again. It was everything he could do to open his eyes and reach for the Long Memory, to continue this vicious cycle of losing himself and fighting to find it again.

Finding his friends again did not ease his anxiety in the slightest. He was immensely grateful that for the most part, they were safe. But the presence in his mind served as a constant reminder of what had to come.

He had to tell them eventually, yes, of that he had no doubt. But for now, he cherished the way their eyes all lit up when they saw him, Nora's warm and gentle embrace, being in his family's presence again. Surely, he could pretend for just a little bit longer.

Before he set off with Jaune, Yang, and Ren, he stopped in the restaurant's tiny bathroom to cleanse his face of the remaining dirt and blood. After he was finished, he looked in the mirror, daring himself to change. Daring Ozpin to take what little he hadn't, daring him to ruin another life in his long, long list of pawns.

From the hallway, Yang called his name. Oscar. Not the other one. No, he was still just Oscar. And he had long ago decided that just Oscar was a glorious thing to be.

He woke up hours later in a sorry excuse for a cell. Salem herself knelt before him, her lips curled into a smile.

Something inside him was different. Something was not the same. He knew that if he were to look at himself in a mirror, he would be different from what he was mere hours before.

She called him by a name. "Hello, Ozma."

He didn't correct her. He felt no need to.

Who was 'He,' you ask? That was a question with no clear answer. He was there to see the first run of humanity, he was a father, he was a farmhand. He was fifteen and infinity years old. He was Ozma, Ozpin, Oscar, and all who came in between.

The body of Oscar Pine remained - a testament that he was once here. A temporary monument to his unwilling sacrifice. But, there was no time to mourn.

Ozpin took a breath before looking evil in its eye. He grinned, a dark and vengeful expression that had no home on the face of a boy.

"Hello again, dearest."