Expectations could be a cruel mistress.
On the one hand, they could be a great boon for getting through life: knowing what was expected of you, of your station, of your duties, of your relationships. On the other hand, they could be shackles, weighing you down.
Expectations were impossible to avoid entirely. The struggle of life partly involved coming to an understanding about what was expected of you as you advanced to each further stage.
And yet...what if expectations changed due to circumstances beyond your control? What if they changed due to events you could not recall?
Then the struggle became twofold: not only trying to understand what was expected of you...but coming to grips with the seeming unfairness of why those expectations had changed at all.
xxxx
It was with a start that Mio, walking besides her family towards the Imperial Palace of Alba Cavanich, remembered that Sena would be here. (Would she remember anything? Did she remember anything? Mio had no way of knowing.)
Glancing at Dirk — his face seemingly relaxed, yet his shoulders were tense — she couldn't help but wonder if his memories of Sena were already colored.
A slight shift of lighter gray amidst blue and gunmetal flickered in her peripheral vision; her eyes briefly flicked up and to the right: standing at a railway was a figure with recognizable hair, even from this far away. Lanz...?! (What was he doing here? Why was he here?! Did he remember Aionios, now that he had doubtless met Sena? Sparks, did Sena finally remember? Oh Titan's foot, he was looking in their direction.) She didn't dare speak up. Didn't dare call to attention to it, lest Dirk somehow find cause to make eye contact with Lanz. Would be our luck, she grimly thought, before more motion to her left caught her attention: approaching them from the Imperial Palace was none other than Mor Ardain's Special Inquisitor and her most distinctive Blade, Brighid.
"Well, hasn't it been a hot minute," greeted Rex with a grin, gripping Mòrag's hand in his own with a hearty shake. "Thanks for agreeing to help, Mòrag."
"There are no favors between friends," she responded with an undeniable warmth, even if her face didn't reflect it. The passage of time had rendered Mòrag's face sharper and leaner, even as she had become more open emotionally: her sense of duty had remained over the years, marking her body with the tribute it had demanded in the form of stress and sleepless nights. Even so, Mòrag still managed to look surprisingly youthful. (Possible beauty tips from Kora, perhaps...ah, she was getting too mentally introspective again. Focus!)
As Rex and Mòrag exchanged pleasantries, Mythra and Brighid exchanged...lighthearted barbs. "Not getting slow in your old age?" asked Brighid.
Mythra huffed. "Still sore that Pyra managed to actually burn you?"
"You and Nia had just dunked me into the hot springs, and I wasn't expecting Pyra to come at me from behind...and calling a tap on the shoulder a burn is being generous," retorted Brighid.
(Mio remembered that little spa trip. She, Glimmer, Linka, and Sena had been so embarrassed.)
(Auntie Pandoria had cheered on the shenanigans, but that was neither here nor there.)
"Yep, definitely still sore," Mythra joked with a grin.
"No matter what life I live, you're as incorrigible as ever," murmured Brighid...before her lips curled into an amused smile.
Mythra chuckled, finally hugging her fellow Blade now that the banter over and done with. "Sorry this visit is under...less than ideal circumstances." the blonde quietly said.
(Mio's ears twitched at Dirk's quiet grunt: muffled, nigh inaudible...for the most part.)
"...so it seems," remarked Brighid, her good cheer being replaced by caution. At the same moment, Mòrag turned away from Rex; as one, Driver and Blade looked at Dirk.
For his part, the young man came off as relatively unflappable. "Frigid. Ice Queen," he said, speaking to Brighid and Mòrag in tandem. "Been a while!" he greeted with an easy grin.
Mythra impulsively bopped Dirk on the head, whilst Rex sighed. Not good timing, mentally groaned Mio.
"...speaking of incorrigible," muttered Brighid.
Mòrag simply cut through the bluster. "Hearing those silly little nicknames when your heart's not into it...is honestly quite sad to witness, young Diederik."
At this, Dirk frowned, and all the tension returned. "Ah. No time for laughs, eh? Guess I can't blame you..." Rubbing at the back of his head, he grumbled, "So, how much have you heard, Auntie?"
"Enough to know you're experiencing something that many soldiers under my purview are suffering from," Mòrag coolly replied. "Normally, the soldiers of Mor Ardain go through an established screening process for this sort of...review. But given how close our families have become, I have something more appropriate in mind. If you'll follow me." With prim and proper form, Mòrag turned on her heel, turning back towards the Imperial Palace with Brighid in tow.
Rex gave Dirk a reassuring bump on the shoulder. "Can't blame you for trying to break the ice. Pretty poor timing, though."
"I noticed," dryly remarked Dirk, even as his mother nudged him along. The young man huffed, walking forward between his mother and father; with each step, his back seemed to become more taut, akin to a coil winding up under pressure.
This could go bad in so many ways, mused Mio, briefly glancing back towards the distant balcony; Lanz was gone. I just hope Auntie Mòrag can help Dirk...
xxxx
Dirk actually had fond memories of sparring with Auntie Mòrag.
It was no surprise, to be honest; given how close Rex's family (or, perhaps, Nia's family, if you were a stickler for the priority of royal titles) was to the head families of both Mor Ardain and Tantal, frequent spars had been not uncommon as his generation had progressed to adolescence.
(He briefly recalled a spar with Sena, from before the Intersection; her control over fire and water had been troublesome. But he had managed to get in a lucky shot with his Brightfire Spear to win the duel.)
(There had been another spar after the Rejoining; it had been him and Glim against Mio and Sena in a two-on-two. The little spitfire had seemingly eschewed the majority of her fire and water Arts, utilizing her hammer with a violence that had been uncharacteristic. Caught off guard, he had been knocked out of the arena in less than a minute.)
(But it makes so much bloody sense now, doesn't it?)
That fondness was still present, even as his irritation began to boil; with a frantic weariness, he tried parrying her Whipswords as best as he could. The Special Inquisitor wasted no movement: the very picture of efficiency. Yet this efficiency did not mean her moves were robotic, nor easy to read: her arms flowed like water and snapped like fire, acting with will and purpose. Her form was wreathed in the golden brilliance of her Affinity with Brighid, exhibiting the seamless bond with a Blade that few Drivers had ever attained.
Getting close was a practical impossibility. Mòrag — as ever — was an indomitable warrior, exuding that same sense of untouchability that Dad, Mother, Mom, Mum, and Uncle Ozzy always manifested whenever they got serious.
(You'd better get serious too, shouldn't ya? Show her who's boss.)
(It was just a spar. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't.)
(Then why are you getting so pissed off?)
Shut up, Dirk inwardly snarled at himself, blocking a blow with both arms. With a growl, he raised his spears — "Bright Edge!" — and unleashed an orb of bright ether that burst into a storm of smaller projectiles.
Mòrag casually swung her arms in three quick motions, her Whipswords looking as a ferocious storm of corded metal. In less than a second, all of his ether spears were dispelled. "How often have you kids been told that you don't need to shout your attack names to utilize them?" To illustrate her point, her Whipswords reconnected, allowing her to concentrate her flames; azure fire splashed outward in a dense haze, blowing Dirk to the ground with a loud thud.
(There had been more force than actual heat; Auntie Mòrag's control was such that she determined what did and did not burn.)
(It was the kind of control he wished he had.)
(You don't have it because you've decided to be a loser.)
(Control...he needed to be in control...)
(How can you be in control if you don't have the guts to do what you want?)
(What...he wanted...)
Slowly rising to his feet, Dirk felt a growing urge to cut through Mòrag.
(...was to put her down. To prove his strength, in front of everyone. He wanted to be in control again.)
xx
Mòrag watched intently as young Diederik got back to his feet. There was a brief moment of apparent hesitation...before he finally looked up.
Those red eyes were full of more than just the petulant frustration of a young combatant, or the wounded pride of a cocky boy.
There was disgust; derision; vicious malice, colored with just a hint of anticipation; all simmering in a depth that only those with many years of life could attain.
It was a look that did not belong on his face.
xx
"I've seen enough." Without warning, Mòrag sheathed her weapons.
It was as though water had been dumped on Dirk's head. "...eh?" Confusion smothered his anger and frustration, which only made the messy jumble in the back of his mind and the depths of his heart more wretched. "What for? I thought...!"
"For those with a passion for the martial arts, it's easier to see to the truth of things in the heat of battle." Adjusting the brim of her cap, Mòrag glanced towards the edge of the indoor arena, where Rex, Mythra, and Mio had been watching intently. "Let us retire to my office."
For some reason, the tone of her voice unsettled Dirk.
(Had he done something wrong? What had she seen?)
"Mio, why don't you go and see Sena? I'm sure she's missed you," casually remarked Mòrag in the way of an adult telling a child to leave without being explicit about it.
The catgirl's ears perked up, even as she looked at her brother with concern. "Are...you sure?"
"Go on little lady, we'll be fine," reassured Rex, ruffling her hair with a grin.
And so it was: with Brighid serving as Mio's escort, that left only Rex, Mythra, and Dirk to follow Mòrag to her office.
As the minutes passed, the uncertain feeling had only increased; with Mòrag sitting behind her desk, and with Dirk sitting on the other side between Dad and Mother, the sensation of being called to the teacher's office felt stark. "So...what do you think?" asked Mythra.
"To provide some background: ever since the Rejoining, numerous members of the Ardianian military have exhibited traumatic symptoms that were out of character given their prior records. Exhibitions of personality changes, sometimes to the extreme; increased bloodlust, or on its opposite end, extreme terror; general confusion about who they are, or where they were; it didn't take long for us to determine that these individuals were experiencing flashes of their lives from Aionios. As you're all aware, this has not been a problem unique to Mor Ardain." With a severe tone, Mòrag looked straight at Dirk. "Tell me, young man: how long have you been experiencing memories of that place? When did the nightmares first start?"
"...you really don't hesitate to grab the Feris by the tail, eh Auntie?" grumbled Dirk. "Probably...a month or two after the Rejoining?" (He could hear Mother's hands gripping her knees tightly. He hated that he was the cause for that.) "I didn't want to be a bother, so I kept quiet. Mio and Glim seemed rather unbothered by whatever they were remembering from that world, so I didn't want to be the odd one out." With an almost snarky pout, he added, "Wasn't until Mio's otherworldly-boyfriend-slash-husband recently visited that everyone else found out."
Mòrag arched an eyebrow at his description of Noah, which prompted a perfunctory 'it's a long story' from Dad. "Interesting. Looks like being stubborn and hardheaded runs in the family."
"Hey," protested Mythra. Rex simply shrugged, not even bothering to deny it.
"With that being said, I could tell just from our little spar that you were dealing with something particularly...ferocious," Mòrag diplomatically said. "I take it whatever memories you have of Aionios would corroborate that?"
Dirk could only nod. "Mio and Mum actually remember as well, and...it's not exactly the most sterling endorsement of who I was. What with being Moebius D and all."
Mòrag nodded without judgment, glancing towards his parents. "With that in mind, I'd like your permission to bring in a specialist from Indol."
Mythra blinked at the word 'Indol', while Rex asked, "Indol? Is it someone from the Diaspora, or from the Remnant? The place is still kind of a basketcase, to put it politely." With the blasted corpse of the Indoline Titan resting at the base of the former World Tree, a not insignificant faction of the former Praetorium had taken up residence in their home's fallen body, amidst the ruins of Morytha and Torna. Said faction had refused to join New Elysium, or even explore the new regions of the world that had emerged following the Rejoining...but the story of the Indoline Remnant and the Indoline Diaspora was a tale for another time. "I still hear complaints from Adenine and her fellow explorers about 'Indoline crazies trying to block access to the World Tree' or somethin' to that effect. Makes her research trips a bit of a hassle."
"More importantly...was he close with Amalthus?" asked Mythra.
Mòrag shook her head. "This specialist is a part of the Diaspora, to answer your question, Rex. As for your question, Mythra...he was apparently a historian back when the Praetorium was still around. He was rather apolitical, apparently due to some ideological dispute with Amalthus some centuries back..."
"And he's still breathing?" dryly remarked Mythra, clearly skeptical.
"He's a rather skilled combatant and Driver in his own right. I can only imagine killing him would have been more trouble than it was worth. I suppose his willingness to stay quiet was the reason Amalthus relented...but that's only speculation on my part. He hasn't been too keen on talking events from centuries past," said Mòrag. "But for our soldiers who have been struggling with aggression more than most, his assistance has been invaluable, so I'm willing to let the past lie."
Rex hummed thoughtfully. "Interestin'. Got a name for this specialist?"
xxxx
Shortly thereafter, in a different part of the world...an Indoline man by the name of Oleg felt a handheld terminal within his pocket buzz. The mysterious Indoline quietly pulled it out, reading the message with a stoic eye. "Hmm. Another request from Mor Ardain...for the son of the Master Driver and the Aegis?" For Dirk to have actually been Moebius D; such a small world. "How interesting..." Thoughts churned within his mind as he walked through the Imperial Palace of Alcamoth; his services were in high demand in numerous places throughout the world (both the old and the new), to the point where the Queen of Keves had him on retainer.
(That he had all his memories of his many lives — or was it one continuous life that had been measured in decade-long increments? His subjective experience on that regard was admittedly murky — was probably the primary reason why Queen Melia kept paying him; it couldn't have been easy, to have untold years' worth of memories of another world...at least, not without being to commiserate with someone else.)
He eventually made his way back to his private quarters, where he had been rooming with his assistant. Said assistant had been...'preoccupied' with an old acquaintance of sorts, that Melia had insisted his assistant meet. For obvious reasons, as it had turned out.
(Melia had said it was the adopted daughter of one of her Nopon friends; instead of being another Nopon as he had expected, it had been a young woman that both Oleg and his assistant had recognized.)
Oleg, known otherwise as Teach, glanced inside towards a small couch; a young man with brown skin and dark, curly hair was lying down, sound asleep. A brown-haired female — a Homs-High Entia hybrid, judging by the length of her head wings — was draped over him, snoring loudly. Both of them were clothed, mercifully; despite whatever unresolved tension had lingered from their past lives on Aionios, his assistant had retained some sense of propriety.
He would let Taion and Eunie sleep a little longer.
xxxx
Author's Note: And that's the last two Ouroboros. I'm sure their inevitable meeting with Dirk will go swimmingly.
But seriously, Teach's backstory within Xenoblade 3 is one of the most esoteric and mysterious of all the Heroes. His whole thing with being the commander of Chi as All-Slayer Oleg, then becoming a commander of Gamma and given the name of Teach from Consul G — whose imposed vow (
"To impart wisdom to those who will succeed us. To teach them of strength, and the tenets of battle. That this humble wish should spark, we pledge to never divulge the secrets of the past.") is really interesting to hear from a Consul! — as well as the implications from Ashera that Oleg remembered his past lives...I don't know, there's lots of ways his whole situation could be explored.
But I'm running with the idea that, despite being literally centuries old, Oleg somehow got caught up in the reincarnation cycle in Aionios, and is one of the reasons why his whole deal was so...quirky by comparison. (And why his memories seem a lot more...stable.) But I'm not going to go into further detail, because that's a story for another time. :p
/and also
/if Eunie and Taion ever reunited in the new world
/assuming they were both at least in their teens
/I bet she would immediately grab his face and kiss him senseless :V