One, two, three, four . . .

Again, and again. One, two, three, four. If he could simply count to the beat of his pounding footsteps upon the cobblestones, maybe the pounding of his heart would cease its ramming. One, two, three, four; just like that, just like how he'd been taught ever since he was little to quell the rising panic in his chest to which he was so prone.

He flew past markets, past parks, benches, pedestrians, shops, everything nothing more than a blur in his peripherals. He was certain to be attracting strange glances and concerned stares, but he had no time to recognize them. He had to run.

One, two, three, four . . .

They were right. Qrow, Jaune, all of them. He wasn't really himself anymore, was he? Had he ever been? How much of his identity was merely a reflection of thousands of years of lives that he, Oscar Pine, had no part in?

Was Oscar Pine ever real to begin with?

The air had grown cold around him, and it felt like he couldn't breathe. Slowing, Oscar ducked into an alley, gulping for air and leaning heavily against a wall. His chest hurt, and it felt like his eyes were prickling.

"I've never been real, have I?" Oscar gasped, still struggling to catch his breath.

'You're wrong.'

For a moment, Oscar felt as if his heart had stopped, only for it to kick up a notch.

"Nice of you to show up," he growled, keeping his voice low in case of anyone passing by.

'Things have been . . . difficult.' The voice sounded strained, almost as if its owner were in pain.

"And they haven't been hard for me too?" Oscar snapped. "I don't know where you've been, but it hasn't been a walk in the park over here."

'I know, and I'm sorry.' Ozpin's voice was low, barely above a whisper.

"You have a real funny way of showing it," Oscar muttered. The anger he had felt only moments before was quickly melting away to exhaustion. He slid down the wall, sitting against it with his knees pulled up to his chest, resting his head in his trembling hands.

'Oscar?'

"I want nothing to do with you," Oscar said. "Please leave me alone."

'Do you want me here or not? I'm afraid the signals you have been sending are, as some would say, mixed.'

"You left me alone," Oscar said, his voice accusatory.

'I did no such thing.' Ozpin argued.

"Right, you left me with a group of people that I barely even know, who know nothing about me, who care nothing about me, and all of whom hate me because of you," Oscar amended.

'I'm sure that isn't true,' Ozpin said.

"You weren't there," Oscar snapped. "You didn't see the looks on their faces, the things they said."

'Whatever happened, happened due to emotional response,' Ozpin explained. 'Surely, whatever was said wasn't said in hate.'

"What about my emotional response?!" Oscar yelled, no longer caring if he were heard. Let people talk, or point. Why should he care? "Everyone is allowed to be upset about things but me? I'm the one who just has to sit and take it? How is that fair?"

'I never said that.'

"No, you just expect me to carry on your burden," Oscar snapped. "You expect me to fight a losing battle I never asked to be a part of. Everyone else chose this life of fighting, I didn't! If you ever gave a damn, you'd have never asked me to leave home."

Ozpin was silent. Perhaps what Oscar said had struck a chord?

Oscar leaned his head back against the wall, looking up into the sky. It was getting dark. Surely the others had noticed his disappearance by now. Would they look for him? Would they care? He wasn't a part of their team; he was nothing more than an unfortunate vessel for their deadbeat professor. And now that they knew all of Ozpin's secrets, what more did they need him for? How long would it take before they decided to abandon him on the nearest curb? Or worse, just put him out of his misery . . .

Oscar almost laughed at the thought. It wouldn't do anyone any good to try that. He'd just reincarnate, right? He'd keep existing, another person's life robbed from them by this entity called Ozma. How many times had this happened? How many people had lost their identities to him? And here Oscar was pitying himself for his plight, when he was merely one of many.

He was a fool to think himself special to be separate from this curse.

"How long do I have left as myself?" he asked to the air.

Ozpin still remained silent.

His eyes prickled again. It wasn't fair, he knew it wasn't fair. But he also knew he couldn't change it. He couldn't give the life back to all those people Ozma's consciousness took over. He couldn't even save himself from this fate.

"Was it hard for you?" Oscar asked, nearly choking on the words.

For a moment, he didn't think Ozpin would answer. 'Yes,' finally came the reply. 'But I knew I had to do what must be done. Once I realized this, it was no longer a burden unbearable.'

"I'm going to stop being me, aren't I?" Oscar said. It was hardly a question.

'You . . . will certainly change,' Ozpin began. 'But that doesn't mean you will lose yourself.'

"Did you?"

Ozpin was silent at first. 'I'm not sure anymore.'

"Real reassuring," Oscar scoffed.

'You are not me,' Ozpin pointed out. 'You don't have to follow my footsteps exactly.'

"That's not what the others think," Oscar muttered.

'It is not their place to decide that for you,' Ozpin said. 'That is entirely up to you.'

"Maybe it would be easier if they were right," Oscar mused. "Don't drag this out longer than I have to. What's the point of holding onto an identity that might not have been mine in the first place?"

'Oscar . . .'

"We're cursed with this impossible task, right?" Oscar questioned. "Save the entire world from probable destruction? If Ozpin couldn't do it, Oscar Pine certainly can't. Maybe Oscar Pine shouldn't try. Maybe he should just give in to whatever ancient being he's fused with. He's not strong enough for this. It shouldn't be him; it should be someone else, anyone else. Just not him. Say it, Ozpin! Just give the word and I'll hand it over to someone else!"

'Oscar!'

He hadn't realized how quickly his breaths had been coming, how fast his heart had started beating again. His vision was blurred, and it took Oscar only a moment to realize the cause was fresh tears pooling in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks.

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, almost laughing at himself. When had he become so pathetic?

The wind whistled through the air, sending a chill up his spine. He could hear the sounds of people walking up and down the streets, vendors bargaining their wares and children laughing and skipping through the markets.

These people were so carefree, so happy to simply exist. Did they have any idea how close they were to the edge; how close humanity was to destruction? Could anyone be happy with that knowledge?

One, two, three, four . . . One, two, three four . . .

Oscar hummed to himself, a soft melody he had heard so long ago. He had almost forgotten the words, and he could barely hold back a bitter smile as he recalled them.

"To everyone . . .

Yeah, you were right . . .

I'll never get better . . .

And I'm sorry . . .

This time . . .

I won't sob when I speak . . .

I'll be at peace . . .

Cause it's not want, it's need . . .

I need to be someone else . . ."

His voice was barely above a whisper, and the melody died immediately as he concluded the final word. The sounds of the world around him remained unchanged, as if his small voice could make a difference in this vast city.

"Can I ask you something?" Oscar said softly, slowly wiping at the tears on his face.

'That is more than alright,' Ozpin answered.

"It wasn't a mistake, was it?" he asked. "That I was chosen as Ozma's next reincarnation?"

'No, there is no mistake.'

"In that case, I have no choice, do I?" Oscar asked.

'You always have a choice,' Ozpin told him. 'But I would not ask this of you if I thought it was more than you could bear.'

Oscar didn't respond to that.

'You know, if you were meant to lose yourself in this process, there would be no point in your being chosen at all,' Ozpin continued. 'We are meant to be likeminded individuals; that is what makes this process easier. You weren't chosen because you are a blank slate meant to be rewritten. You were chosen because of who you already are. Oscar, what you need to be is you. Not me, not Ozma, but you.'

"What if who I am doesn't want any part in this?" Oscar questioned.

'Then that is a decision you alone must make,' Ozpin said. 'I will not stop you. But I don't believe you will make that choice.'

Oscar sighed. "No, I don't suppose I could at this point. Not after everything that's happened."

'You're going to be alright,' Ozpin assured him. 'I can't promise it will be easy, but I promise I won't leave you alone again. And I'm sorry I have already failed you there.'

For once, a genuine smile pulled at the corners of Oscar's mouth. "Thank you, Ozpin."

'You are welcome.'

"What am I going to tell the others?" Oscar asked. "I've probably made them upset by running off."

Ozpin hummed softly. 'Perhaps you could give an excuse?'

Oscar smirked. "Oh? Like what?"

'Tell them . . . you went shopping.'

Oscar blinked. "But I haven't bought anything."

If Oscar could see Ozpin's face, he would have seen the old professor smiling. 'Not yet.'