There was a time where off-seeing did not exist as a function.

(In the face of Eunie's disbelief at how Ashera had known about Moebius — about the cycle of rebirth — since before they had ever met, the Commander of Colony 11 could only answer in the form of a short story: "It's from a ridiculously long time ago, a time all but gone from memory. Today, soldiers fight and scrabble to survive for ten years, all to be blessed with the honor of the Homecoming ritual...but once, there was a time when there was no such thing as a Homecoming ritual." Her explanation of its predecessor — a ghastly and bloody ceremony — left Eunie agog.)

However, it had come to occupy a relatively unique function in the world of Aionios: a means of release; of relieving pressure; of expressing grief; of sharing sorrow. Because of this, off-seers seemed to be unusually compassionate relative to their peers.

(As Noah accompanied Schoon — Gamma's off-seer — as part of her lesson, she watched solemnly as the corpses of her fellow Agnians dissolved into a flurry of blue motes. "I wonder...what were these people thinking, when they realized they were dying? I wonder if they wanted to carry on living..." Noah's observation seemed to wash over her ineffectually, as she added, "I feel like...I have no idea what to do...I want to empathize with them, but it feels like my melody just rings hollow...the more people I send off...the emptier I feel inside...")

So much so, that their intentions played a part in the very efficacy of their work.

(As Ouroboros confronted Url, a fourth-termer from Colony 9, the young man spoke earnestly to Noah. "Since I became the off-seer in your place...I sent off friends who died in battle, with all honor and respect. But...everyone who died after the Flame Clock was destroyed...what were those lives for? I felt so much pity for them I couldn't stand it. All I could do was try not to think of anything at all. And when it got to that point, I couldn't raise the motes when I played the melody. I can't...I can't send them off properly." Yet, there was a way to move forward.)

The ubiquity of off-seeing, insofar as Aionios was concerned, could seemingly be credited to a single man.

(It was seemingly a whim by M that stayed V's hand, that prevented a tenth-termer's execution. Into that gap stepped a blonde man playing a distinctive flute: as the tenth-termer dissolved peacefully into golden motes, the man's song seared the moment into everyone's minds. So much so, that not even Consul V could protest.)

The man called Crys. Who did he represent in the world prior to Aionios? What life did he live, in the former realm from which hailed the Bionis and Mechonis?

Such questions are not our concern.

Rather, the pertinent focus...is on why the music drove him so, and why he chose to become Moebius.

xxxx

/Time: Four Years Prior to the Main Plot/

/The Amphitheater, Origin's Core/

"A roundabout way of ending it all, is it not?" said an unfamiliar voice.

Crys slowly opened his eyes, wondering why he was alive. I...I gave my farewell to my student...my friend...Noah. His time had been almost up...and yet, the thought of going through his own Homecoming had become a distasteful thing. So much so, that charging into an active battlefield — an elaborate way of committing suicide — had seemed the more viable option. Yet...here I am. Looking around with tired eyes colored a steely blue, Crys observed the grandiose theater, knowing not what it was. "What...?"

"One particular end you judged to be utterly anathema...and so you chose an end of your own making. And yet the life you possessed would come to an end, regardless."

Frowning, Crys looked to his left; a strange man with pale skin — cracked, exuding purple light(?) — and a crimson outfit sat a few seats adjacent, his long hair flowing with a strangely immaculate grace. His calm town was belied by the violet flames which roared from his forehead like horns. "Who are you...where am I...?"

The man did not answer his questions. Instead, he continued pontificating. "Could it be that your attachment to life is stronger than you believe it to be? That your desire to experience life is greater than your desire for rest? You would not be the first..." As he spoke, a certain scene played out on the canvas...a very familiar one, of two Colonies fighting.

Crys's eyes widened as he heard his own voice emerge from all around him, echoing in a haunted way. "Noah, will you keep moving?" At Noah's confusion, he added, "Me, I'm good here."

The footage once more went silent, prompting the mysterious man to ask, "What, precisely, was 'good' in that moment? What was 'good' to you?"

"...before I answer your questions, I would like to know who you are...and where I am," cautiously inquired Crys.

"My name is Z," immediately answered the man. "As for where you are? To put it in a way you'd understand...this is the place where the songs of every human life coalesce. The voices of the formless dead, meanwhile, form a chorus; paired with the living, they create a grand ensemble. Together, they create the eternal harmony that is the Endless Now; ensuring that harmony does not fall into discord...is the reason I exist."

Crys pondered those words. He did not immediately respond, for his understanding was still lacking. Instead, he wondered, and pondered in silence. As he did so, the canvas continued to show more images: of Crys, playing his flute, through untold years and in countless places...some of which he could not recall.

"The cycle of rebirth," elaborated Z. "An unending flow of desires, seeking to perpetuate the moment. Yet in the face of this...the song of the off-seer emerged, as if by evolution. A natural means of coping with the hardships of the world, you might say. Seeking to impart meaning to the end of life...by trying to feel for those who have departed. Thus do the motes rise, in glorious color, accompanied by your melody...do you not agree?"

"...you seem to know a great deal about this world," observed Crys. "So much so, that you seem akin to one with a great deal of control over it. Am I wrong?"

"Those you know as Consuls belong to Moebius...and I am their leader. Perpetuating the world as it is...preventing the oblivion that humanity dreads...ensuring that mankind's fears do not come to pass...has been our duty for time immemorial."

Crys frowned. "The world is quite a tragic place, then...gripped by a war without end."

"The world came to be as it is, because of mankind's desires; that it runs on the consumption of life is a consequence of such. You might find it a deplorable state of affairs," Z mused, sounding rather detached about the whole scenario. "However, if it is for the sake of satisfying mankind's wish...then could it be anything but beautiful, I ask of you?"

"...hmm," murmured Crys. The ramifications of Z's words (if they were even true) had very disturbing implications about the nature of the world. "My initial reaction...is that it sounds rather contrived." For the first time, Z deigned to look in his direction. "In my time as an off-seer...I've experienced the feelings of so many people. To generalize all of that into a generic desire for war...for death...carnage, for carnage's sake...it rings hollow. It lacks rhythm."

Z did not immediately respond. However, he did not berate, nor did he chide. "For one in your position, such a sentiment is understandable. It is but one of the reasons why you are here: to impart greater understanding of an off-seer's melody." As he spoke, the image of a masculine Consul with a bulky physique showed on the screen; amidst the wreckage of an Agnian Colony, he pulled out the seemingly deceased body of a young girl with brown hair. "An experiment, by Moebius Y. As the one who introduced the current Homecoming ritual, you could say that your expertise would be highly valuable."

...what? Crys boggled at those words. "Introduced...?" he echoed.

"Indeed," remarked Z; now the canvas showed an image of Crys himself, playing his flute before a kneeling soldier. Standing beside him were two other Consuls: one with a tall helm in crimson, the other being an Agnian with long silvery hair and armor of a similar color. "Nearly a thousand years ago, your rendition of Homecoming occurred for the very first time. In response to your music, the soldier faced his end with an incomparable peace. Through these feelings you claim to have for the fallen...a feeble connection is born. Is that connection not in itself a manifestation of humanity's desires?" queried Z. "Whether it be red motes, born from shed blood, and offered to the Flame Clock...blue motes from the deceased, offered for the consolation of the living...or golden motes from those who make it to the end of their tenth term, offered to the Queens, nay, to the world itself...each one is an embodiment of life. Each one is witnessed by the formless dead, and is a cause for celebration. So even if you do believe this state of affairs 'rings hollow'...it nonetheless persists by their own will."

Crys leaned back in his chair, feeling somewhat confused and bewildered. That connection...is what I've been seeking as an off-seer. He could empathize with that idea, even if Z's characterization also seemed repugnant. It didn't take long for him to realize why. "You speak of the 'voices of the formless dead', yes? How do they sound to you?"

"...an endless babble," admitted Z. "Akin to a rushing river. The pitch; the timbre; the dissonance; the chords; the tempo; though they constantly change, they all belong to the same flow. If you know the direction of the flow...then you can understand them."

Crys wondered if that was true; Z spoke as one who had been at this for a very long time. To even refer to a collection of human voices as a 'babble' painted a very unflattering picture. "Hmm." He needed to think more. "You said...'but one of the reasons'. For what other reason am I here?"

"...there is a certain motif to this world; one whose existence is rather intriguing. The one called Noah." As he spoke, the canvas rapidly played images of Noah: some in his garb as a Kevesi soldier; others in drab and unusual garments; others with the golden armor of Keves's Lord High Consul (which was a revelation in and of itself...!). "Should their presence become a nuisance, you would doubtless be an amusing counter. The student, versus the teacher...does the drama not strike you as invigorating?"

Crys didn't know what to make of such a base motivation, especially from one who had carried himself with such a dispassionate and apathetic air. "I'm not quite sure it does...nor can I see the necessity of this 'drama'...are you trying to convince yourself?"

Z seemed disappointed by his response. "Why would I need to convince myself?" he remarked, not quite answering the question. "I suppose it matters not...because regardless of your belief, the confines of this world are what they are."

Crys tried putting the pieces together, using only what had been given to him. "Lives. Rebirth. Motifs. It would seem...that I have lived many times before...and will live many times hereafter. Yet I will retain no memory of such...I assume that would change, if I were to become a Moebius?"

"Indeed."

"And what would the cost be?" he asked. "This world...there is no such thing as 'give' without 'take'. I do not believe that you grant such power to just anyone."

"Correct. Yet the method by which you would ensure the existence of this world...is yours to choose," gravely remarked Z. "Whether it be crude, or primitive, or unrefined...it matters not."

Crys wasn't sure he believed that. If the upkeep of the world was truly so important...must it be in such a wretched way? "...for one of your power, do you not have the luxury of choosing a better way?"

"I can only choose what the world allows," Z replied. "Existence itself is tolerated; to seek anything beyond its flow would be akin to breaking the confines of the world itself. Why would anyone do something so delusional, I ask you?"

...delusional, hm? "Hmm...I wonder." Crys felt a strange draw to the proposition. To be thrown back into the cycle, living out an uncertain existence, dancing to a melody I can't divine...or to witness the fullness of the song that purports to keep Aionios going? In the end, something simpler influenced his decision. If I am reborn, I will forget...but if I choose to become Moebius, I will remember. "...very well. I will become Moebius...so that I may better understand the music that drives you and the world."

As he made his choice, Z's eyes glowed with twin infinities-

xxxx

In that precise moment, the fullness of Crys's many lives played out in his mind's eye.

All of his past memories came rushing back...and some were more noteworthy than others.

xx

It was a time not too long after the capture of Queen Melia, and the founding of the eternal war...Crys found himself tending to the wounds of a certain scientist: one who purported to not belong to either Keves or Agnus.

"It is a strange world, Aionios," the man said. His face was surprisingly wrinkled. "You would have been astounded by the former worlds...what they were supposed to be..."

Crys frowned, wondering what this man was saying. "What do you mean?"

The beleaguered man looked at his wounded torso, only to scowl. "I doubt I'll make it; you're clearly not a medic."

"Just a scout, I'm afraid," he remarked, looking warily at the dense foliage of the Maktha Wildwood.

"...then maybe my words can be the catalyst for something more." Scowling, the man gripped for the lapels of Crys's uniform. "Listen. This world of yours...it's not what you think it is."

Crys listened with bewilderment as the man spoke of bizarre and frankly unbelievable things: of Aionios being formed from two worlds; of 'Origin', the great machine that had been their ark; the failure of the machine to do as it was supposed to, and the rampant artificial intelligence at the heart of it all; finally, there was the wretched war they had engineered, led by two simulacrums pretending to be the rightful Queens. "I...honestly don't know what to make of all that," admitted Crys, somewhat dumbfounded by it all.

"Doesn't matter. Just tell it to your superiors," muttered the scientist, his voice wavering from weakness. "Spreading the knowledge...will ensure that Moebius won't get its way...in that, my death will have meaning-!"

A new voice suddenly interrupted them. "Oh ho! There's the scallywag I'm s'posed to be hunting!" Crys and the scientist both looked up with alarm; a burly man in crimson armor with a billowing cape stared at them from upon a thick tree branch. "Hmm...a Kevesi too, eh? Wasn't told about ye...guess that makes it a two-fer-one deal!" With a delightfully manic roar, the man's body surged with purple ether as he soared down at them, chest first.

Crys and the scientist had the ignominious honor of dying from Moebius T's body slam-

xx

It was nearly a thousand years ago. After Consul V departed, Crys — Commander of Colony 19 — went to confront the Prime Consul of Keves. "Lady M-"

"I apologize for V's rudeness," she quietly remarked. "But I must be off."

"That stuff you two spoke of...of lives being lost from circulation...and this 'Z'; is he a new Consul?"

M quietly looked at him with an expression fit for a funeral dirge. "...that Homecoming ritual of yours was quite beautiful," she mused, changing the subject. "I think it would be a much better fit, for those who have made it to the end of their tenth term...it is certainly more merciful, in a way..."

As the woman in silver trailed off, she quietly warped away. Crys held out his hand futilely, somehow sensing that his questions would not be answered-

xx

It was nearly five hundred years ago, after another Homecoming.

It was one of the few times that N, High Consul of Keves, had been present. The Commander of Fort O'Virbus had made it through an entire decade, having fended off numerous assaults by Colony Upsilon during his short life. As such, his Homecoming had been a thing of pomp and ceremony, attended to by a number of other Commanders, numerous Consuls, and the Kevesi Queen herself.

Strangely, the Golden Consul seemed dissatisfied by it all. After the ritual, Crys confronted him. "Was my playing not to your satisfaction, Lord High Consul?"

Icy blue eyes stared at him from behind his facemask. "Such pageantry for the sake of those who make it to the end of ten years...it seems a wretched commentary on the world, doesn't it?"

"Pardon?"

"Fighting to live...and living to fight," mused N with a bitter tone. "To celebrate death with such splendor seems rather contrary to the whole enterprise...and yet therein lies the truth underlying the moment: no matter how much grandeur its given, the Homecoming ritual still ends in death. It almost makes you wonder if the departed Commander truly felt satisfied with his lot."

Crys quietly looked down at his flute, bewildered by N's observations. "...I didn't feel anything like that, when I played."

"As though the 'now' can be encompassed by something as simple as a flute," murmured N, shaking his head at the idea. "I suppose playing away is all you can do. You'll face the end yourself, one day...and in that instant, you'll find yourself wishing for just one...more... moment."

As N walked away, Crys found himself bewildered, even lost; what had spawned Consul N's strange enmity...?

xx

All of these and more: countless memories, of untold lives...every single one, contributing to the symphony that was Crys.

Through it all, one sound was paramount...

...the melody of a flute.

xxxx

-and when the glow in Z's eyes faded, Crys understood implicitly that his very being had changed. "And so you have chosen," remarked the leader of Moebius.

"...indeed," said Crys, smiling wanly. So many disconnected pieces of information, so much discordant data...finally, it all harmonized together. "Strong...yet fragile," he mused.

Z arched an eyebrow.

"...simply coming to an understanding," assuaged Crys. "Now...you said that Moebius Y wanted greater insight into the off-seeing melody? I think I'll be able to do so...now that I know the truth of Origin, and the nature of this world."

If Z was surprised by his claimed knowledge of the world's origins (literally or otherwise), he did not react. "Then do as you will."

xxxx

Such was the demeanor of Consul C: even if he empathized with Moebius to some degree, protecting his song — and the connections it enabled him to make — was paramount above all else. This was especially true, in light of the dichotomy between Noah and N: two sides of the same coin, it would seem. How could Noah's beautiful song ever lack the harmony that would produce someone like N?

He swore to endure until that day.

And lo, it was so: as N — sitting despondent beneath the spotlight — lingered on the stage, Z spoke as one who was both vexed yet tired. "The Sword of the End...of all the vestiges of Origin, strewn through the world...who knew this fragment yet remained?"

Crys knew that Z had foreseen such a potential outcome; it was why he had been given the chance to become Moebius. Yet, in spite of that foresight, perpetuating the 'now' had removed all thought of proactively preparing for the future. Possibilities beyond that paradigm were discarded thusly, to Moebius's detriment. "It is no longer one with the flow," he observed, sounding neither pleased nor upset by that fact. "We have no means of controlling it."

"Will you go, then?" asked Z.

"No...there's no need, is there?" Deactivating his helmet, Crys spoke into the open air with a smile. "He will come to me. I know it. To share with me his feelings..."

(He would gladly serve as the final obstacle for Noah; one last test, for his former student; one final confrontation, to see if Noah's conviction to change the world was rooted in something as beautiful as his own tune.)

xxxx

Author's Note: I honestly wish Crys had been more thoroughly integrated into the main plot, because his whole deal seems very interesting. Especially since, unlike a lot of other Moebius, he seemed to know more about Origin and the nature of the world than many of the other Consuls.

(also why can't I resist bringing in Triton out of nowhere, it's really a problem)

This might be my final update of 2022; if that's the case, I'll see you all in 2023, Lord willing!