/From a letter, written to assuage a young man before he began his long sojourn in a foreign land.../

Dear Crys,

I'm not sure if I'll be able to say everything I want to when you leave us tomorrow; hopefully, when you arrive at the City and open up this letter, it'll tell you anything I was unable to. I'm not exactly the best when it comes to goodbyes.

It's so strange, thinking about the Somatic Feedback Resonance Loop; the means by which it effects individuals (Keves or Agnus) are of such nature that it implies a common source. However, even over five years after the Rejoining, we lack context to determine or even quantify that source. Based on my discussions with Melia, our hope is that the City will provide that context.

Forgive me. I shouldn't be talking about objectives or geopolitical matters. This should be a letter from a father to his son.

I've wanted to apologize for a while; I did not expect that an interaction with Noah would prompt a Resonance Loop within you. I should have anticipated that when he recovered his memories of Aionios, it would have changed his metaphysical profile. But since both of you hailed from Keves, the possibility did not occur to me.

I wanted to say sorry, because you became rather melancholy afterwards, and you seemed uncomfortable around our home. You were subject to a process which you did not ask for; I don't blame you for volunteering to be Melia's 'secret' ambassador to the City. From what I've heard, your Agnian counterpart is Lady Astelle of Tantal, and is apparently of a similar disposition to myself and Nikol. Hopefully you'll be able to work well together. I'm also glad that the City's leadership apparently won't hold your former status as a Moebius against you, given their interactions with Triton and Irma.

There's also another gift included with this letter: a Core Crystal. A gift from Queen Nia; she said that her daughter chose it from a random selection of artifacts that had been excavated from the land of Morytha. "I have a good feeling about this one," or so Mio told her mother (not that she's aware of who the intended recipient is). Given how gut feelings have turned out well for us more often than not, I hope that trend holds; may whoever lies within be both a boon to you, and a companion.

The words I've written seem so shallow; there's so much I want to say, yet I can't fathom how to put it on paper.

I suppose all I can say is this: if you ever wish to return, just let us know. Fiora, Nikol, and I will welcome you back with open arms.

With all my affection,

Shulk

xxxx

/Six Years After the Rejoining/

/Seven Months after Dirk Ran Away from Home/

Dirk frowned at Crys...or rather, 'Consul C'. "I don't remember you at all." After a brief pause, he corrected himself. "What I mean is that I don't have any memories of you."

"It wouldn't be a surprise," admitted Crys, leaning his elbows onto the table. "I was only Moebius for only a few years before I met my end at the hands of Noah and Ouroboros." The blond tilted his head slightly, as if trying to gain a better perspective. "Your presence is muted, compared to the likes of Triton or Irma. You've not had a chance to interact with J, have you?"

It was surprising, just how in the loop this man was. "...no. And it'll stay that way."

"Hm."

And what is THAT supposed to imply? "And how did you remember? Who was the Interlink partner you met that ended up unlocking your memories?"

"I never had an Interlink partner. J was the most recent Moebius prior to my transformation, and he was your Interlink partner. And only one other person joined Moebius after me...and they perished during their first outing." He didn't elaborate any further on that point. "And so it went."

"If you didn't have an Interlink partner, then how did you remember?" asked Dirk. (He dreaded the possible answer, because if it had happened without any input, if it were simply a matter of chance...then what hope did he have...?)

Crys smiled sadly. "It was a meeting with Noah."

"...Mio's boyfriend?!" Dirk exclaimed, utterly shocked. "How?"

"A curious development: before I became Moebius...he was my student, in the art of Off-Seeing. My last act as Moebius, was to fight him and Ouroboros...to see if their opposition to the Endless Now was rooted in a false ideal, or in something true and beautiful. And then I died." Crys folded his hands, still bearing the same enigmatic smile. "Then I awoke back in my original world, none the wiser...until I recalled my memories of Aionios. And here we are."

Dirk didn't quite know what to make of it. "So, you from Agnus, then?"

"No. Keves."

"Then why did Noah awaken your memories? You're both from Keves."

Crys shrugged. "I'm not the one who made the rules; if there are any rules to how our memories work, research will hopefully uncover them...but that's neither here nor there." Leaning forward, his melancholy gaze seemed to pierce without any malice or disdain; despite his seemingly distant demeanor, there was an undeniable kindness in his expression. "I've been told you've chosen to go by the name of 'Dee'...not much of a difference relative to 'D', is it? For what purpose, would you go by a name confined by Moebius's design?"

"You're thinking too deeply about it," griped Dirk. "I want to drown my memories of D with those of a mundane life. If he's forgotten...I'll be content with that."

"...do you truly believe that?"

Dirk angrily bit into his fish. "Of course I do!"

"I don't think you do; or do you believe your spirit to be one that's content with mediocrity? Say whatever one will about their characters...but those chosen by Z to become Moebius certainly did not strive for mediocrity." Crys raised his hands to rest his chin on them. "D was certainly a vile sort...but he was also a skilled combatant, and possessed a great zeal for what he did. Do you think a desire for mediocrity will suffice to subdue someone like that?"

Dirk didn't know how to respond. (Part of him did, and he hated what his answer to Crys's criticism was.) "Well, what about you?" he snarled. "If you have your memories, then tell me why you became Moebius, C."

Crys smiled. "I didn't want to forget."

Dirk blinked. "What?"

"Z had his own motive for selecting me, but I simply didn't want to forget: had I not become Moebius, I would've gone back into the cycle, and started life anew. But if I wanted to divine the mystery of the world...of the connections between myself and those I sent...then my choice was simple. And upon becoming Moebius...I remembered all of my past lives. Through the people I met through all of those instances, I gained context as to the nature of Aionios, and of Origin...and why Noah was so important, through his connection to N." There was a certain weight to Crys's smile, now. "Even though Z had transformed me for a selfish purpose, to perpetuate the Endless Now...I knew at that moment, that I would one day perish in battle against Ouroboros. And if it were for the sake of a worthwhile future...then I would do so gladly."

"...well, good for you." As far as Dirk was concerned, it was yet another example of a former Moebius who'd had a 'redemption' of sorts. (Once more, he was the wretched outlier.) "But that's not exactly the case with D. So why exactly should I take any solace from what you went through?"

"If you think I'm trying to provide you solace, you're quite mistaken."

Dirk's hackles rose. "Then why are you talking to me?"

"I'm trying to determine the connections that influence you; the feelings that drive you forward. Whether you like it or not, the presence of D is something you carry with you...that will remain a reality, even if you don't face in truth." With a heavy stare, Crys continued, "I was under no illusion that freeing Origin would solve all of our problems; yet the conviction of Ouroboros, and the promise they represented, was enough for me. So why, then, would you persist in walking alone?"

"I don't have to answer to you," Dirk all but spat.

Crys accepted his bitterness in stride. "Indeed. You ultimately answer to yourself...and whether you like it or not, you are a young man, facing a killer who lived for decades...perhaps centuries. What hope do you have, trying to face that alone?"

"What makes you think I am?" growled Dirk. "The longer I can go without facing D...the better it is for me, and everyone else." With a frustrated huff, he angrily ate the rest of his meal, uncaring for Crys's solemn expression. "You can spare me whatever philosophy you're tryin' to sell; this is my choice."

"...I guess I can't fault you for being so suspicious. But I suppose this path is one you've chosen...even if I think you're intentionally deceiving yourself. Whether you can persist for long with that mindset...will depend on your conviction." Crys quietly looked over Dirk's shoulder. "It's okay. He's not a threat."

Dirk's eyes widened. Turning around in his seat, he boggled at the sight of a specialized ether weapon, in the form of two handheld fans with a glowing green edge; they were held by a girl with brown hair fashioned in a bob cut with shorter bangs, whose chest bore a square Core Crystal right above the collarbone; her outfit echoed in his memory, evoking a familiar shape — the Agnian Off-seer uniform? — that was nonetheless her own, composed of red ribbons, and flowing white and green robes in a style echoing that of ancient Torna. Alas, the suspicion that Mother would have been delighted by the Blade's outfit was overwhelmed by outrage. "Oi, what's this about?!"

"Erm, sorry, sir," said the girl, still keeping an outstretched fan a few feet away from his neck. "I was just here in case...things went wrong. It's nothing personal."

Dirk turned towards Crys, demanding an explanation with but a glance. "I told her to wait outside until we were done. I think you might have gotten a bit loud...?"

"I wasn't loud."

"You kind of were," dryly said Crys.

Dirk huffed, crossing his arms with childish petulance. "Whatever." Looking over at the girl, he remarked, "So. A Homs with a Blade, eh? I've heard that there were a few running around by now."

"Miyabi was a gift, in more ways than one," said Crys, quietly fanning himself with one of his Blade's fans. "The affinity that a Driver and a Blade possess is rather...enlightening. Yet I can't help but wonder if a connection persists, beyond what we can see."

The name triggered an old memory. "...Miyabi, eh?" Dirk glanced at her. "My sister had a lot of stories about Aionios. She mentioned a friend by the name of Miyabi...a girl with fans for weapons, who was a treasured comrade of both hers and Sena's. Ring any bells?"

Miyabi's green eyes looked strangely solemn. "It's odd, to be honest; even though I'm a Blade, the City carries such pleasant sensations...and there are so many people who, after I was first awoken, treated me like a long-lost friend." Smiling, she added, "The names 'Mio', and 'Sena'...they carry that same feeling."

"It was Mio who apparently selected this Core Crystal, for Queen Nia to provide as a gift; even if memories are gone, a connection remains: a bond that persists." Crys had that strange look in his eyes again, of a seer who witnessed everything with but a glance. "There's a lesson there, I think: even if you refuse to recover your memories from when you were Moebius, that connection you had with Moebius remains, whether you like it or not...and you ignore that your connection at your own peril. That is what I believe."

"...well, that's your opinion," grumbled Dirk, not wanting to think about just how badly Miyabi's presence was rattling him. (A Blade that had borne a bond of friendship with Mio and Sena in Aionios; a bond that, to some degree, had persisted after the Rejoining, even though the Blade did not remember at all...what that did imply about his own connections?)

("Do you need to have it spelled out for you?" mocked a familiar monster.)

Miyabi suddenly stood up. "Crys; I have an idea. Can we head up to Mitia Lookout?"

"...ah. Of course." Crys rose, looking down at him with an earnest detachment. "Please, 'Dee': follow us."

It wasn't like Dirk had a choice in the matter; the trio of Lost Numbers still hung around at a distance, ready and willing to pounce if he so much as looked at anyone funny. So he followed the blond and his Blade, idly watching the people of Polis move about them; as the day neared its end, the populace of the ancient Ferronis moved with the lethargy either earned by a long day of work, or scorned by the leisure of a peaceful land. For all that the Cityfolk had done to stop the Endless Now, this place possessed a strange timelessness that Dirk could not shake off. Was it simply because that Polis and their descendants were, ironically enough, the only living heirs of Aionios?

He didn't know.

All he knew was that, upon reaching Mitia Lookout, he was treated to an expansive view of the golden fields and mountains surrounding the great Ferronis that served as Polis's stalwart heart. The light of the setting sun rendered the fields with a color of gentle fire. "...nice view," Dirk admitted.

"The view's only part of it," remarked Miyabi, pulling out a cylindrical white flute with various patterns etched into it.

As Crys pulled out his own flute — a dark counterpart to Miyabi's — the connection finally hit. "Those are...off-seer flutes, aren't they?" He vaguely recalled Mio mentioning how she and Noah had been unable to find flutes of similar quality in either Agnus or Keves, post-Rejoining. (Plus, off-seers had been so ubiquitous in Aionios, that even D had a memory or three of them playing their dirges.) "How...?"

"...this one used to be mine," said Miyabi. "I mean...the Miyabi of Aionios, that is. A lady named Boxy was holding onto it."

"And the City had existed for so long that they had numerous effects from fallen soldiers in storage...including the flutes of off-seers." Raising it with both hands, Crys observed, "The brightness they kindled...it would be a shame, to let it dim, becoming naught but forgotten embers..."

Dirk snorted. "If any of 'em are around, they're either in Agnus or Keves. If they're lucky, they'll be getting on with their original lives."

"And yet, for all that Z could not look beyond the perpetual moment...even he was aware of just how much this song soothed the unyielding voices within Origin. That sense of connection, of belonging...even in the Endless Now, the formless dead longed for a finale that was worthwhile. And so it was...that is, if the off-seer could imbue his tune with the right feeling."

Dirk shook his head, plopping down onto the edge of the Lookout; with the guardrail between him and an immense drop, he could pretend that he was within a prison. "Not that it'll mean anything, now. Those motes...Mum once said that they were a sign of data returning to Origin." (Motes of shining blue, from those sent; motes of bloody red, from the bodies of the slain; motes of golden yellow, from those who had survived ten whole years: all bearing precious data, for the engine which drove and sustained an inherently unstable world.) "So I don't much see the point."

"Even without the function of Off-Seeing, music can still reach people," implored Miyabi, speaking with a fierceness that belied her usual gentleness. "I know it."

Crys nodded. "So please: listen, and think of the connections you have. Think of the emotions which resonate the most. A small ask, I assure you."

"...whatever." It's not like it would do any harm.

And so Driver and Blade began to play: first Crys, then Miyabi, and then in tandem.

Dirk watched the sky darken, wondering just what the point of all of this was. Reminding him of his connections was only an exercise in frustration, because every single day he thought of his bonds.

(As a child, he cheerfully wrestled with Dromarch, who was too gentlemanly to ever claim victory; after a spirited bout, it would always end with the white tiger buried beneath one or more of Rex's children.)

What were bonds worth, in the end? They hadn't been able to save him in Aionios: not like they had Mio, or Glimmer.

(He charged into battle, firing his spears with abandon; his first time taking down a Gold-ranked Colony...and oh, what a rush!)

He couldn't rely on bonds; not when he had voluntarily left them behind, so they could get on with a life bereft of his sorry carcass.

(As a boy, he relished the times exercising with Mother, especially when it came to the use of ether. Even if he wasn't as strong as her, he could glow like Mother if he tried hard enough. Sure, he was a mere lightbulb compared to her brilliant star...but their glow was the same shade, the same hue, the same wavelength. More than anything else, it cemented how he was truly her son.)

Yet despite his best efforts at trying to leave everything behind, to suffocate the wretchedness of his past life in mind-numbing tedium...

(He quietly stared at the head of a brown-haired Kevesi girl with headwings, marvelling at the horrified expression eternally cemented on her face. "How about that...so many lives, we ended up killing each other...and only now, do I get to live long enough to gloat about it." Raising the head above her lifeless body, he boasted, "I think you'll make fine addition to my collection!")

...that wickedness refused to go away: clinging onto him like a feisty Gogol.

(As a young man, he wanted to celebrate his first successful round of working with the patrols. His sisters had actually brought him lunch, happily enough...only for it be ruined by an ornery Ardun that had trampled their food. Despite their frustration, taking down the beast alongside Mio and Glimmer...well, it helped him feel normal, at least for a little while. If he could match Mio's smile and Glimmer's grin, he could at least pretend.)

Thinking about the connections that mattered most to him...what was the point, other than to relive the pain of realizing just how much of a failure he was?

(A good life, and a happy life: one with a loving family, Yet, against centuries littered with corpses, against blood shed over countless battles, how could they possibly compare?)

He had promised to try his best, truly. Yet, as Dirk furiously wiped at his eyes, inwardly cursing at himself for crying...he could not recall ever feeling so alone.

xx

(As Driver and Blade played their song, they watched for Dirk's reactions...for they would inform as to what course of action they would recommend to the Elder.)

(Thus, as Crys witnessed the bitterness upon the young man's face, an idea came to mind.)

(One that would, he hoped, be a boon to more than just one former Moebius...)

xxxx

Author's Notes: This chapter was just one long dialogue scene, for the most part.

Getting into Crys's head was a bit of a challenge.

But there's also something poetic about Noah and Mio's off-seer tutors/buddies/inspirations becoming Driver and Blade, I think.