Around the campfire, the silver-haired outsider was facing away, gazing into the darkness. Of the two sprites which normally hung about his form, the emerald one was quietly hovering above the outsider's head.

However, the purple sprite, to Dirk's surprise, had transformed into...someone else. A man, specifically: one clad in tight, dark armor; one with a purple Core Crystal embedded in his chest; one with short black hair, arranged in a neat yet spiky hairstyle; one with gray eyes that glimmered with amusement. "It's interesting, isn't it? The way that memories are an approximation of reality...yet for however perfect one's recollection may be, it'll never get to the core of who that person was..." Looking up at him, the man grinned bitterly. "Yet here I am regardless, born from the memory of existence itself. I wonder if the 'old' me ever resolved his identity crisis in the end...?"

"...who are you...?" murmured Dirk. (He should recognize this individual; he had heard enough stories growing up about the Endbringer.)

"So...quite a name you've chosen to go by amongst your little crew. Dee." He tested the name out, letting it hang in the air. "Who do you think you're trying to fool? What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything," growled Dirk.

The stranger laughed. "Oh please. You could have chosen to go by anything if you were trying to hide. But this name wasn't forced on you, wasn't given to you...you chose it. And for what?" Leaning forward, the man's grin could be seen in all its sardonic mockery. "Who do you think you're doing this for?"

Who else would it be for? Why else would Dirk have done any of this? "...for my family," he retorted.

For some reason, this made the stranger frown. "...is that so?" Chuckling bitterly, he remarked, "You're even more of a brat than your old man was...and he was still just a kid. Yet he somehow had more sense and conviction than you."

What...?

The stranger clenched his fist, holding it up: a threat? A promise? Or something else? "You think you're being clever. But you're just going about it all half-assed...and that won't change anything."

What was he talking about...?

xxxx

Dirk suddenly opened his eyes, grimacing at the sight of ambient light filtering in through gaps in the ceiling: it was morning. "...hmph." Sometimes, his dreams slipped away so damn quickly; he couldn't even remember what it had been about...

xxxx

/Six Years after the Rejoining/

/Four Months After Dirk Ran Away from Home/

In the grand scheme of things, Zeon's current state in life was relatively simple: like many, he had begun experiencing memories from his time in Aionios. However, most of his memories seemed to revolve around...crops. Agriculture. Farming.

For an individual who had once been gainfully employed in Alcamoth's 1st Logistics Brigade (and even thinking of it as employment felt odd, in retrospect), his current occupation as the designated cook-slash-gardener of a mercenary vessel might have seemed strange to most. However, the relative isolation of the Defiance — as compared to Alcamoth, at least — was a strange balm to his nerves; being a part of a monster-bashing crew allowed him to indulge in a combat instinct that had been simply missing before the Intersection; and, most importantly, the overall camaraderie amongst the members of the Defiance was...fresh. Lively. Where Alcamoth was heavy with the weight of ancient tradition and history spanning untold years, the Defiance was light with the promise of possibilities. (That sentiment — of newness, and new life — was something he identified as integral to his past self from Aionios. Curious.)

Mornings on the ship were another example of that liveliness, as he served fresh-caught fish with stewed and seasoned seaweed, accompanied by colorful citrus fruits purchased at their prior port of call. Those who had been responsible for the night watch were getting their last fill before turning in, whereas the majority of the crew were stirring to wakefulness. Their choice of drink was also a tell: the majority of the night watch had some variant of ale, beer, or grog, whereas those readying themselves for the day ahead had tea or coffee. The drowsy night crew were pestered regarding any interesting sights or stars they saw, whilst others mentally prepared for whatever their duties would require. It was all a ritual of sorts, that helped solidify the bonds amongst the crew, and helped any newcomers find their own way of belonging.

"Okay Dee, I'm putting in my guess, at fifty G!" shouted a half-Machina half-Homs hybrid: a woman with thick brown hair by the name of Ronja. "Your name is actually Duncan!"

The young Agnian arched an eyebrow, the motion made clearer due to the bandana covering up his hair. "...nope."

Ronja groaned with defeat, even as some of her fellows alternated between jeering or reassuring her. Dee simply shrugged nonchalantly before returning to his breakfast.

Zeon was filling the plate of the crew's newest member when said member asked, "What guarantee have they that he is being truthful?"

"You accuse Dee of being a liar?" pointedly asked Zeon.

Garvel huffed, his headwings twitching with visible irritation. "It is only sensible. They are betting money, are they not?"

"Api handles the ship's purse. So she also handles this little ongoing bet." Even now, in the corner of his eye, he could see Api writing something down in a tiny notepad; doubtless that Ronja's next payment would get docked by fifty G. "It's a bet among the rest of the crew, more than anything else; once it became known that 'Dee' is just a nickname, they flocked to the idea of making a wager out of it. Those who guess wrongly have their next paycheck cut by however much they bet. But the guessing is strictly limited to once per day amongst the crew so they don't get too loose with their funds." Captain's orders, apparently; also, there were only so many names that began with the letter 'D'. Without that limit, someone would have doubtless figured it out by now. "The winner is whoever guesses correctly."

"And if no one ever guesses? Does Dee get the money?"

"Not at all."

"Then why is he playing along?" honestly wondered Garvel.

"I imagine he tolerates it because it is a source of amusement for the crew."

That answer made his fellow High Entia scoff. "For such a hardy combatant, he has no pride to speak of. Is he aware that they demean him so?"

Zeon honestly wondered what sorts of thoughts went through Garvel's head; even after being on the crew for about a month now, he still needed some ironing out. (But Zeon was just the crew's chef and resident gardener; he would leave discipline up to the captains.) "If you find such an arrangement demeaning, then that's your issue."

"...hmph." Garvel grabbed his plate, looking back into the crowded mess once more. "For what reason would he not provide his own name? Why go by 'Dee'?"

Zeon could think of a plethora of reasons as to why: some good, some bad, some in-between. However, it was not his place to pry. "Triton and Irma are the captains, and they've allowed him to be on the crew. What they say goes. If you feel Dee is a threat to us, then I suggest you bring it up with them."

Garvel seemed downright offended by the suggestion. "Sparks, that would be ridiculous. Dee may be a lowly cur with...surprising strength...but he is no threat to this ship or its crew." The man had been working too hard for anyone to suspect foul intentions. "Yet one can't help but wonder why he is here, toiling for such little gain."

Now that was something Zeon had occasionally pondered. "You are free to ask. And Dee will be free to completely ignore your attempts at getting an answer."

xxxx

/Five Months after Dirk Ran Away from Home/

It was less than an hour after a deep salvage operation — with their chief salvager, Mwamba, leading the dive — when the Defiance had been attacked by a whole pod of Ravoons: horned sea serpents with colorful fins and draconic features.

They had managed to fight them off, wounding the alpha serpent seriously enough to allow them to flee.

(As cannons fired projectiles and ether in tandem at the swarming Ravoons, Triton laughed uproariously. "Hah! Looks like we need to bring out the big guns!" Without hesitation, the madman actually jumped off of the deck, landing atop the snout of a Ravoon; the crew were then treated to the bizarre sight of a burly, bearded man wrangling a Ravoon by its fleshy whiskers.)

Granted, Mwamba and his bunch hadn't been able to pull much from the derelict wreck they had been investigating, but it was enough for their quartermaster, Hackt, to find some materials they could sell at their next port of call.

And that was the rub, as far as Dee was concerned.

Hence why, as night crawled over the sky, he requested a private meeting with the captains. The cabin had two desks, each one sized for their respective captain; numerous trophies and trinkets that had intrigued Triton were hanging on the walls, whilst Irma had numerous paintings and photos of landscapes and navigational maps. The presence of a king-sized bed — and only one bed — was the only indicator as to how close the captains were with each other.

"So, lad; what is it ye want?" asked Triton, even as his meaty hands massaged Irma's relatively dainty feet.

("Need to get new boots," she growled under her breath.)

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the only indicator. "...had myself another memory pop up, before all that business with the Ravoons," grumbled Dirk (because there was no point in thinking of himself as 'Dee' in front of the only two members of the crew who knew his secret). "About our head salvager, and the quartermaster."

"Is that right?" Triton chuckled, his teeth appearing rather pearly relative to his bushy black beard. "They've always been the dutiful go-getters, eh? Especially our salvager. I keep tryin' to get him to yell 'it's Mwambin' time' before he does his dives, but he still won't budge! Maybe if I make it a Captain's order..."

Irma, ignoring Triton's silliness, stared flatly at Dirk. "And I suppose this memory of yours was an unpleasant one? Let me guess: you killed Mwamba and Hackt before, is that right?"

Dirk grimaced, his hands impulsively clenching together. (Hands that had clenched around the torsos of two tenth-termers, heartlessly crushing them. The future Ouroboros stared in horror.) "...they were part of your crew before I joined. So I can't complain..."

"Of course you can't." Irma briefly tapped at Triton's shin with her other foot, prompting him to begin massaging it instead. As Irma wriggled the toes on her free foot, she seriously asked, "So why are you bringing this up to us? You weren't brought onto this ship just to whine and complain, were you?"

Dirk huffed, accepting the barbs with however much grace he could muster. "Just wondering about how you two have managed to keep things squared away in your head, is all."

Triton couldn't help but chuckle. "Was wonderin' when ye would bring this up." Shooting the younger man a sad grin, he remarked, "Me and Irma? We were Interlink partners, in Aionios. T and I."

"T was one of the oldest Moebius around, pulled from those who had always been outside the cycle, well before the first City even existed," elaborated Irma, crossing her arms as she gazed at nothing in particular. "I was part of the Cycle, before becoming Moebius I. Yet we worked well together, as partners."

"You ain't saying anything I haven't already figured out-"

Dirk's interruption was swiftly culled by Irma. "I'm telling the story, D." (How strange; even if it was phonetically no different from 'Dee', he could still impossibly hear the difference.) "But for whatever reason, T got older. Started getting forgetful. Forgot a lot about how and why he became Moebius to begin with. Got to the point where I couldn't stand being around him. And yet...there were times where even his addled brain had a decent thought or two."

"Aw, I had plenty of decent thoughts, 'specially given what I wanted." Triton looked straight into Dirk's eyes; the sheer depth to them, more than anything else, solidified the reality that he had experienced countless ages as Moebius. "We Moebius did what we pleased, 'tis true; but in my mind, what was the point of eternity if I couldn't share any of my fun with anyone else?"

Dirk frowned, trying to think about where this was going. "Well, the only thing I can recall is that Moebius I kicked the bucket well before I fought Ouroboros the final time, and T was treated as a traitor in all but name. But without context, I feel half-mad at times..." Fighting down as much of his desperation as possible, he asked, "However...you both remember everything, yet you still seem like you've got decent heads on your shoulders."

"Was a strange bit of luck, running across Irma again, and both of us rememberin' everythin'. Not exactly everyday ye get to remember what it's like to have a brain sliding headfirst into dementia and the forgetfulness of old age. But it provided a nice bit o'context, for why I've got such wanderlust." Lightly nudging at Irma's foot, he added, "And it's rather sweet, having around someone that remembers and understands."

Irma rolled her eyes, even as she muttered "stupidhead" quietly. Clearing her throat, she audibly remarked, "But you seem to misunderstand: Triton and I have no reason to regret anything. What's done is done."

"Good for you," growled Dirk. "Your Moebius selves weren't bloody murderers."

"Don't patronize us," snapped Irma. "Before T started losing his mind, he had no issues killing any Kevesi or Agnian who got in his way." Triton shrugged, not even denying it. "And I...was just as invested in the Endless Now, doing what I could to harvest quality flames..."

Dirk noticed Irma trail off, and so he pounced. "Until you weren't. Until you got wiped by Ouroboros."

Surprisingly, Irma shook her head. "Ouroboros were just a means to an end," she said cryptically.

Triton chose that moment to speak up. "Lemme put it this way, lad: at the end, we both had reasons for doin' what we did. Just like you had a reason for doin' what you did. Whether those reasons were bad or not is beyond the point, 'cause we're well past that."

"But from what little I know, Moebius T and Moebius I apparently decided to change. Moebius D...didn't." Why else would the voice of D keep haunting him? Why else would the temptation still linger? "How did you two pull it off?"

"Not by ourselves, that's for sure," cracked Triton with a smile. "Can't help but feel like yer sendin' off mixed signals. You don't want nothin' to do with Moebius D, yet you've decided to call yerself 'Dee'. You say you're doing this all for your family, yet you intentionally left them behind. Are ye that confident in yourself, or not?"

Dirk wasn't sure how to respond, because he just didn't know. "...I'm still trying to figure it out."

Irma, recalling some of her moxie, added, "I'm going to be real: the only reason I'm still fine with your presence onboard is because other than food and board, you're working for free. And that's barely enough to compensate for the fact that you've crippled yourself as far as fighting is concerned." As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the ether-suppressing shackles on his wrists. "Trying to figure yourself out is one thing. But what's the reason behind why you're doing it? What's the motivation driving you? If your answer isn't satisfying...then maybe you're not being honest with yourself."

That's just it, thought Dirk, even as he kept his face stoic. I don't know if I can be honest...

("Only because you think being honest will mean letting me exist," whispered Moebius D, unheard by anyone save Dirk. "And doesn't that say volumes about how you truly feel...?")

"...this whole thing isn't gonna make workin' with Mwamba or Hackt difficult, will it?" asked Triton, sounding genuinely concerned. "I mean, you three have been cleaning it up at the weekly card games..."

Dirk thought about it. (Thought about the hands of Moebius D & J, once again crushing Mwamba and Hackt. Thought of Moebius D, smiling with glee. "Your hands are still big enough to crush their throats. And if you got your hands on a sword...well, why spoil...?") "I'll manage," he said, with forced calm.

"Then that's that," huffed Irma, glancing up at Triton. "Your back still hurting?" she asked as she got onto her feet.

Triton grinned nervously. "Ye noticed?"

"With how you limped after breaking the horn off of the alpha Ravoon?" pointedly said Irma, pointing to the mattress.

"If you insist," he acquiesced with a tired smile, letting his muscular frame sink into the mattress.

Irma glanced over at Dirk, saying, "Off you go now. If you feel like you're about to come unhinged, we'll talk again. But just because we were former Moebius doesn't mean we're your babysitters. Keep that in mind."

"...I will," murmured Dirk, turning away with a tired sigh.

"-which muscle?" asked Irma.

Triton answered, "Just below me right shoulder-OW, not with yer heel!"

"Ah, don't be such a baby, Triton-"

The words of the captains faded away as Dirk departed. The moment he did so, he was Dee once more: the lowly seaman, toiling away on the Defiance, even as the world continued to move on. I'm still living. I'm still alive. Just take everything one day at a time...

xxxx

Several months after Dirk had run away from home, Triton and Irma's crew would receive a new mission.

It would involve them venturing to the territory controlled by the mysterious political entity known as Polis.

To those who had lived in Aionios...they would have known it as the City...

xxxx

Author's Note: Next time, Dirk sets foot into the City.

I'm sure nothing bad will happen.