Even if two worlds had become one — truly one — in the wake of the Rejoining, their pasts had not been forgotten.
That was a fact that Oleg was grateful for: it was the past that gave context to the present, and gave a means to determine which way the future could go.
After all, it would have been quite inconvenient for his life (or lives, if one wanted to be pedantic) in Aionios to have overridden his former life in Alrest.
Fortunately, it seemed as though his personality in Aionios — bereft of all context beyond that engineered by Moebius — had been rooted in who he had been as an individual in Alrest...
xxxx
Less than a hundred years after the signing of the Osirian Treaty, which officially prohibited the Idoline Praetorium from interfering in wars between other nations, Praetor Amalthus quietly confronted Quaestor Oleg within the Archives of Indol. "You've been rather quiet of late," calmly remarked the Praetor; despite his sterling reputation and otherworldly persona, the lighting of the Archives rendered Amalthus as though he were in a dim shroud.
The other Indoline occupant, sitting at a desk crowded with old parchments and books, seemed as a living shadow by comparison. "I believe that was at your request," calmly remarked Oleg, his relatively youthful face belying eyes that seemed surprisingly old. "After all, you needed to be sure that the Blade Eater process would still work after your...refinements." As he spoke, he quietly rolled up the scroll he had been reading, revealing that it bore the marks of the former nation of Torna. "A rather risky move, to bond yourself with a Blade that played a prominent role in the Aegis War; personally, a simple name change isn't enough, in my opinion. After all, who knows when the Aegises will return? If they retain any memory of that time, they would easily be able to undo your subterfuge."
Amalthus frowned, yet did not betray his true thoughts. "It just seems out of character, to so fully withdraw from society," he said, ignoring Oleg's opinion entirely.
"Even if I was thorough on my assignments, our more diplomatic brethren came to believe I was too thorough." A polite way of referring to how his past bandit eradication missions had not only included the targets, but also their supporters: financial, moral, or otherwise. "Stamping out evil at its source tends to carry a heavier cost than most would countenance. My 'newfound interest' in history was more than enough to allay their concerns."
"Many of our warrior monks miss your tutelage. Quaestor Gerodi in particular complains that the new recruits are not up to your...exemplary standards."
"When all it would take is a mere slip to reveal 'my' Core Crystal?" Oleg remarked, shifting aside both his pale hair and the edge of his quaestor cap; a crystal of sharp turquoise that had been shorn in half, its flat side embedded into the cheekbone below his right temple, gleamed in the relative gloom of the old Archives. "It would be nothing more than an elaborate form of suicide." Left unspoken was whether that would have been the intent; neither man in the room was so gauche as to say it out loud. "Though, given Indol's alleged 'mastery' of Judicium's feats, it seems quite unusual that both Blade Eaters and Flesh Eaters are so anathematized."
"You know quite well why-"
"Do not insult your intelligence or my own with the 'official' answers, Praetor," respectfully answered Oleg, rising to his feet. Amalthus, resplendent as ever, seemed to drown out the ambient light: a mere trick behind how imposing he was as an individual, or the world itself recognizing his preeminence? Given the quiet rumors amongst the oldest Indoline about what Amalthus had truly seen atop the World Tree, there was no telling where the truth ended and the lies began. "A means of maintaining control over all the Core Crystals on Alrest is what it is in effect. A very dangerous thing, given how Blades will one day evolve into Titans, if left to accumulate enough data."
There was a sudden sharpness to Amalthus's gaze; even so, his face remained perfectly placid. "I was unaware that you had a working relationship with Stannif."
"He was in his twilight years; you know how the old love to talk of their exploits. They, like anyone else, want to leave something behind," calmly remarked Oleg, folding his hands behind his back. "His recent passing was quite a shame."
"Indeed," agreed Amalthus.
(Anyone listening would have caught the subtext: one of the men in that room had arranged for Stannif's death. Which one? That was the question which no one would have been able to answer with certainty.)
"If it would please you, Praetor, I would like to impart a piece of advice. I hope that I don't come across as arrogant, for daring to help my senior in both rank and age."
"Not at all. By all means, speak." Such polite words from two men that would not hesitate to kill in an instant, should they so desire.
Oleg stood at attention, recalling all that he had learned in the depths of Indol's oldest records. The lack of categorization had been a true obstacle, to the point that one could conclude that it had been by design. "You were not wrong for bringing vengeance upon those who killed your mother." At this, Amalthus's expression finally cracked: a bit of intrigue, but nothing more. "Our census records from back then were still quite thorough. Furthermore...you were not wrong for killing the refugee who had partaken of your generous aid. One might question whether ending the life of a mere child was warranted, but that's in the distant past at this point." Now there was true surprise. Oleg explained, "An old after-action report from a Blade by the name of Minoth; his last, I believe, before you awoke Malos. It seems even in spite of his private disgust, Minoth was still dutiful in his own way."
"...I see. I suppose that is true," remarked Amalthus, who had not had cause to think about his old Blade for many years. "Your point?"
"The power you seek to control...is akin to a maelstrom: a raging torrent that will devour everything in its wake. Do you believe yourself strong enough to control it?"
"...I will be," calmly admitted Amalthus, with a confidence born from secret zeal. "Such is the Architect's Will. After all...a maelstrom is quite effective at, how did you put it? 'Stamping out evil at its source'."
"It can. Yet a maelstrom cares not for what it destroys: good or evil, everything is swept up in its wake. Unless you believe that humankind are inherently beyond saving?"
Amalthus seemed truly amused by Oleg's words. "After all you've seen of this world, and read of its history...what other conclusion is there? They will never change."
Oleg pondered those words. (Inhaled, as he felt Amalthus locally activate Haze's power from the portion of Core Crystal embedded in his forehead. Exhaled, as his muscles worked without the aid of ether, primed to move at a moment's notice.) "Then I suppose...we'll have to agree to disagree." With quiet ease, he casually walked towards Amalthus, coming to a stop by his side. Extending his hand towards an old pot filled with ancient maps, Qíjīlóng slithered out with a silent hiss.
Amalthus arched an eyebrow, intrigued at the serpent apparently being able to move at all. "How curious."
"The ability of Haze to limit and restrict the power of a Blade was less effective if the Blade did not use any Arts."
"I believe you meant Fan la Norne."
"Of course. My apologies," said Oleg, not apologizing in the least. As Qíjīlóng coiled around his body until he came off as a loosely tied scarf, he added, "Still, it would be something for you to practice, perhaps?"
"...perhaps," relented Amalthus. "A shame that you will be leaving the Praetorium; your services will be missed. I would be more than happy to provide you a security detail, at least for the first part of your journey."
It was not a request, but a demand. Any refusal would mark Oleg as a target for the rest of his days...and that was taking it for granted that he would make it out of Indol at all. All it would take was a word from Amalthus — for his word was law — and his death would be assured. (And yet...Oleg would not go down easy, and the blood he'd shed would be a scandal that not even Amalthus could keep quiet. Both men knew it: thus, a mutual ceasefire was the most optimal solution for both.) "Your kindness is appreciated, Praetor. I'll try not to bore them."
For once, Amalthus seemed genuinely amazed; for the briefest of moments, the tension between two murderers — each close enough that they could reach out and slice an artery in the neck with but a finger — flickered. "For one with such strength and poise, you seem remarkably disinterested in power."
Oleg could only bitterly smile. "On the contrary, I'm quite interested in power: the power to act; the power to teach; the power to change. It is a terrible power...and I'm not quite sure I'm worthy of wielding it. A thought for you to ponder...maybe, one day, you will encounter someone with the power to change even you."
"...wouldn't that be the day," replied Amalthus, giving no further indication as to what he was thinking.
Thus did the two Indoline exit the Archives; Oleg pointedly did not pay attention to the fact that successive patrols were rendezvousing near their rough location. A pure coincidence, surely (and not at all a contingency in case Amalthus's conversation had gone poorly).
Within the hour, Oleg would depart Indol with a company of four warrior monks, off to explore and wander the furthest and most remote reaches of Alreast.
It would be a decade until Amalthus would relieve them of their duty; they would remark that it was among their most quiet and boring work ever. Amalthus, privately of the belief that Oleg's silence was more or less assured, would have spies continue watching Oleg from afar for decades more.
(Oleg would not set foot on Indol again...not while the Praetor was alive, at least.)
xxxx
...truly fortunate, indeed.
Oleg often pondered, in light of what came centuries later, if he should have tried harder to strike down Amalthus. Much suffering would have been avoided, that was true...yet suffering in and of itself was not the end all and be all. (That was also notwithstanding the fact that, even accounting for superior martial prowess, Oleg had been unsure if he would have been strong enough to defeat the Master Driver. A man strong enough to forge a bond with a Blade like Malos...was not one to take lightly.)
Had it been a naive hope, thinking that someone would come along that could rouse Amalthus from his slothful malaise? Had Oleg been a fool, thinking that it was not the place of a mere murderer to bring about change in another murderer?
Maybe.
His assistant had certainly been of that opinion...
xxxx
Little did Oleg know, but it was nearly twenty years before a human by the name of Rex — a boy not yet born — would become the Driver of the Aegis.
What Oleg did know was that it was five years since he had taken a young Blade Eater under his protection.
(The circumstances by which Taion had become a Blade Eater...well, that was a tale best told by the boy.)
On a distant 'island' of the Leftherian Archipelago, the company of four — Oleg, Qíjīlóng, Taion, and his Blade Nimue — quietly ate a simple dinner of roast fish beneath the stars.
"Even after all these years, I still find it odd to eat when I don't need to," remarked Nimue.
"Ether suppression is still a threat to us," hissed Qíjīlóng as he swallowed a fish whole. "Not as bad as if we were Flesh Eaters, but energy is energy. Be grateful for a biological constitution that allows us to eat at all."
Nimue arched a fine eyebrow with amusement. "Just as wordy as your Driver." Qíjīlóng hissed with irritation, which only made the woman smile.
Taion — having looked like a ten-year old for the past five years, with practically no growth in the meantime — seemed less enthusiastic about his food.
"Eat, boy," said Oleg. In response to Taion's mulish silence, he added, "Still thinking about my words from earlier?"
"...'if you had a chance to come face-to-face with the source of your miseries, what would you do'," he said, quoting his Indoline protector. "...who was it that you faced? Was it Amalthus?"
"Perceptive," calmly praised Oleg.
"No one else would fit the profile; why else would an Indoline Blade Eater be an exile for as long as you have?" It was uncanny, how erudite Taion came across; it was always an 'out of the mouths of babes' moment with him. Vexing, for someone who would have otherwise been a young adult to still appear so young; to be caught up in the ravages of puberty for such an extended period. "...why didn't you do it?"
"Be specific."
Taion frowned, his boyish face doing little to hide his emotions. "Why didn't you kill Amalthus? I've seen you fight; you're strong. And don't tell me that same nonsense about worrying about the person replacing him potentially being worse."
"...that is true, to an extent. We lack the power to predict the future with certitude," admitted Oleg, quietly looking into the fire. He wondered how his own green eyes appeared in the flickering light. "But the cost would have been great. Slaying Amalthus, if I had even been successful, would have meant pitting myself against the entire Praetorium. I would have had to fight and kill many of those I considered comrades and old friends, just for the sake of surviving."
"Why not just run?" 'Like me', Taion didn't say.
"Not from within the Praetorium; I would have been surrounded on all sides. Besides...I wanted to live." A simple motivation, yet no less true. "By leaving, I spared the lives of many who would have otherwise died. By living, I was able to eventually come across you. But then you might counter that, had I slain Amalthus, the circumstances behind you becoming a Blade Eater would never have come to pass. Asking 'what if' can consume the mind if left to its own devices for too long, Taion. Best to focus on what's in front of you...and preparing for the future."
Taion still wanted to argue, his lips curling with frustration. "Then why not actually reveal the truth about Amalthus? Why not take evidence with you from Indol? You could have done something!"
"And all that would have done is confirm Amalthus in his paranoia, removing all incentive for him to change," countered Oleg. "Power makes a mockery of us all...Amalthus is no different."
"Then what are you going to do about it? Are you going to just linger on the edge of society forever? Hide in the shadows?" Nimue placed a hand on Taion's shoulder, calming his ire somewhat.
Oleg smiled bitterly. "The paths I've walked over these long years are...many. There are people I've interacted with that you will never know, whose effects I'll have no way of measuring. Instructing people how to confront power...to come to terms with it in their own way...that's all I can do."
Taion sat in silence for a while, before eventually replying, "I think you do yourself too little credit, sir."
Oleg chuckled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence. I doubt those I killed during my long life would agree. But I suppose that's the way of things, in this world, gripped by war and competing powers..." A trace memory from not too long ago emerged. "I'm reminded of a lesson I imparted to a pair of mercenaries I encountered, years before I met you. In a war...power is the deciding factor, more than 'right' and 'wrong'; everyone is fighting for their own reasons. The power they wield, however, can differ, and change...and understanding that power is necessary to fight your war, lest you be doomed. Who's right and who's wrong...such questions are left for the future to decide. In the moment, you can only protect what matters most." Tossing fish bones into the fire, he added, "One of those mercenaries was a man by the name of Cole; he laughed and appreciated the reminder." It was interesting, to see how age had ravaged Minoth so, even back then; he wondered if the Flesh Eater had found some form of peace since then. "And his Urayan comrade, Aquila...he seemed rather thoughtful. I'd like to think I at least made an impact, in the short time our paths crossed."
(Oleg would have no way of knowing just how much his words to Aquila Paronet Sol Esteriole — better known to most in those days as Vandham — would mean, or how far they would reach.)
"...so what does that all mean for me?" asked Taion. "Why take me under your tutelage, then?"
"Because you have power, and you yearn for understanding. Teaching you to confront that power is reward in and of itself. As for how you'll use that power...well, who knows what the future will bring. I'm sure you'll find a war worth fighting."
The young Blade Eater huffed. "No thank you. I'd rather not fight if I could help it."
"Then you'd best work on your endurance," playfully chided Nimue, as an older sister would deride a younger brother. "I am timing your morning marathons, after all."
Taion seemed taken aback by those words. "W-What?! Nimue, come on...!"
Oleg smiled, leaning back against a hard boulder; the night sky glittered, and the World Tree shimmered in the distance. "If you're strong enough, you'll always be able to run," mused the Indoline Blade Eater to himself. Architect...I wonder what you see when you look down upon us?
(He would never know.)
xxxx
...and perhaps rightfully so.
Yet, the past was the past; it could not be changed. His decisions with regards to Amalthus had been made, for good or ill.
Amalthus had confronted power; in his pessimism and his unwillingness to change, he had been consumed by it.
Oleg had confronted power; in both Alrest and in Aionios, he had learned to change.
Applying that wisdom to those struggling with their own startling changes, wrought by memories of a world frozen in time...well, that was only par for the course.
xxxx
Oleg mused on those thoughts, and more, as the tiny Titanship set down near the Imperial Palace of Alba Cavanich. It had been some days since he had departed Alcamoth; Taion, naturally, was accompanying him. To no surprise, Eunie had brashly blustered her way into tagging along. With Qíjīlóng draped over his shoulders and Nimue quietly serving as Taion's proverbial shadow, their company cut a somewhat imposing appearance.
"Eunie, just promise me that you'll behave yourself."
"Taion...I promise not to punch him."
"Worryingly specific..."
Mostly. Clearing his throat, Oleg spoke aloud to his younger compatriots, even as their escort — Aegaeon — approached from the Palace doors. "Remember: our task is to assist Dirk with confronting his memories of Aionios. From my understanding, he is not the same as the one you knew as Moebius D. Above all, remember that we are guests." Shooting a glance at Eunie, he added, "Your behavior is a reflection on Keves; I would hate for rumors to get back to Queen Melia."
Eunie pouted, even as Nimue hid a titter and Taion shook his head.
Oleg accepted her acquiescence. "Then let us be off."
xx
When Aegaeon escorted them to a training arena, they arrived to the sight of Dirk and Lanz whaling on each other.
Taion and Eunie gaped.
Oleg simply hummed. "About what I expected."
xxxx
Author's Notes: Come for the Dirk Crack, stay for the Oleg Lore. :V
But as you can see, Dirk ain't the only destroyer with remorse.
I don't know if it's ever said definitively
what the particular age range is for those trapped in Moebius's cycle for rebirth. Given the oddness with Teach in XC3, I'm running with the idea that the system wasn't perfect (the fact that there were memory leaks even amongst Homs from one life to the next), so those with naturally longer lifespans got a bit...funky.
