Disclaimer: I don't own anything! The words in italics are from various songs. Here's the list:

Through the Ghost by Shinedown
For Longer than Forever from the Swan Princess
Gone, Gone, Gone by Phillip Phillips
For the Dancing and the Dreaming from How to Train Your Dragon 2
Fall for You by Secondhand Serenade
Melodies of Life by Nobuo Uematsu from Final Fantasy IX

Title is from Immortals by Fall Out Boy.

Author's Note: This is quite a few months' work in the making. I've seen a lot of AUs for somebody living and I've been wanting to write one. So, here it is. Although I think I've put quite a twist on it and I never meant it to go on this long. Ah, well. Writing this has really been a challenge in quite a few ways, so I'm pretty proud of it.

I've begun watching Doctor Who. Or, to be more accurate, I've begun to watch it more regularly. I used to watch random episodes if I found them on. I'm trying to watch them all linearly now, thanks to Netflix. Just finished with the Year That Never Was. I think Doctor Who had some influence on my perspective of this and the seraphim in general.

Also, in my recent Netflix watching, I've rewatched all of Yu-Gi-Oh! that's currently up there. I've decided I realize what makes a good show. Even though I remembered everything that was going to happen, I remembered all the duels and all the enemies, I found myself walking to my car after work, excited to go home and watch what happened next.

With no further gilding the lily and with no more ado, here it goes.

I want people to tell their children terrifying stories about the things we did for love.
-Anonymous

Speak of the devil, look who just walked into the room
The gilded and faded notion of someone I once knew

The castle on Derris-Kharlan was silent, as it had been since Mithos' death. The machines hummed quietly, but Kratos had long ago filtered out that sound, he was so accustomed to it. There were corpses of angels and broken robots in the corridors, loose wires sometimes still having a spark left.

Kratos cleaned methodically, checking every room for any kind of threat. Not that he thought there was any, but he hadn't survived this long without being careful. (The work is something he needs. He's restless like he hasn't been in several millennia. He needs to do something while he figures out what he's going to do)

He gathered every Exsphere in the containers on the impossibly high walls, setting them aside to destroy them. There was the corpse of the dragon as well, lying in the entryway, wings shrunken and shriveled, scales having long ago lost their shimmer and strength from being trapped inside for so long. He deserved to be buried; one of the last dragons of his kind, stuck in ruins of an ancient castle held together by the impossible. He would want to be outside, in the mountains. The most Kratos could do was burn his body and spread the ashes outside. The dragon—even with his increased strength—was too heavy or not maneuverable with his size.

He did just that, finding an urn to place the ashes in and setting it by the door. He had more cleaning to do, but when he went outside next, he would lay the dragon to rest.

Kratos was several floors down when he heard the scream, echoing through the empty rooms and corridors. He sprinted up the stairs, sword in hand. Who was left here?

He froze as he stepped through the door into what had been the Great Seed's chamber. A woman was collapsed on the floor, long hair pooling about her. She was pale, very pale, like she hadn't seen sunlight in a very long time. Hazel eyes were wide and terrified and she tried to scramble away, but her arms—little more than skin over bone—couldn't even hold her up.

But he knew that face, even as emaciated as it was. Knew its shape, knew its expressions.

"Martel?"

There was no recognition in those eyes, but the terror lessened slightly. Kratos sheathed his sword, which also helped. Was she one of Mithos' many empty shells that he'd attempted to put Martel's soul in? No, she was too life-like. There was nothing false about her. Kratos' sharp eyes could pick out the scars on her and her lips were bloody, likely from when she'd screamed. If this was the true Martel, her lips had been sealed shut for four thousand years.

Kratos took a step closer, but she flinched, so he stepped back, crouching down so that they were eye level. "Martel?"

The woman shook her head, looking lost. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but the only thing that came out was a hoarse croak, the voice muscles atrophied as much as the rest of her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Kratos told her. There was a flash of no understanding across her face and he remembered that language tended to change in four thousand years. It took a small effort to switch back to the common tongue of his youth and repeat himself.

She understood him that time, which cemented his theory. This was Martel Yggdrasill. But her body should have been destroyed with the crazed Tree. They'd all heard her, when the Mana Cannon struck.

But there had been a remnant of the Tree left, here, in Derris Kharlan. Sheena had taken it down and nearly been killed by it herself. If the Tree survived, even in such a state, it stood to reason that so could Martel, particularly since, knowing Mithos, he'd put layers and layers of powerful preservation and protection spells on her.

"Do you know who I am?" Kratos asked.

There was a little shake of her head. (That lances something old, something he'd thought was gone. She doesn't recognize him. One of his oldest friends doesn't even know who he is…But this is no time for sentimentality. She needs medical attention. Kratos knows some, but he's no Healer)

He had to clear his throat before introducing himself. "My name is Kratos. I can help you, if you'll let me."

It took her a moment, but she nodded. Kratos stepped closer, careful not to make any movement too sudden. He studied her state. Her muscles were all but gone, not even capable of holding her up. The only reason she was even sitting up was because she was leaning on the dais that Mithos had had her on. She'd tried to get up and collapsed there.

"Can you walk or stand?" She shook her head. "I'm going to have to lift you, alright?" Another moment before a nod of assent.

She weighed nothing, even without his increased strength. He took her to the infirmary that the seraphim had kept on the upper floors, as they were really the only ones who would need the medical attention. The Grand Cardinals did, sometimes, but they were rarely up here when they did.

Kratos set her down on the cot. First order of business was to get water and nutrients into her. He wet a towel and gently pressed it against her bloody lips, dabbing away the blood and soothing the dry, cracked skin. He held a cup to her lips, tipping a little bit of water down her throat at a time. There was no way she was going to be able to chew or maybe even swallow any food. Not yet. But Kratos could make at least a broth, to start.

"Why did you call me Martel?"

Kratos wouldn't have heard her if it weren't for his enhanced senses, her voice was so soft. He turned. "…I know you. I've known you for a very long time. Your name is Martel Yggdrasill."

"…Why don't I remember?"

"I don't know. But we'll figure it out. I promise."

Kratos stayed in the infirmary after she fell asleep, sitting on a stool, hands folded and forearms on his thighs, trying to figure out his next step. Yuan needed to know. But would he want to know? Yuan had grieved for her, had done his mourning. He'd found himself again, had picked up his pieces and soldiered on. To bring it all back would be cruel.

(Except Kratos can still hear Anna's laughter, loud and unashamed. Can still see her smile, still knows the taste of her on his lips. He hears her voice, stubborn and unyielding or sweet and warm. He's been down this road, they all have. If he could have her back, if only for an instant, he would do anything. And that's the problem with men like him, like them. Anything means everything. Moving space-time, genocide. All for the sake of a woman they love. But they haven't done anything this time. Martel is alive. Period. And Yuan will forever be the man who still wears his wedding ring every day. Never takes it off. And that makes Kratos' decision for him, really)

Kratos heard Yuan before he saw him. Not that Yuan was being loud, but in an otherwise silent world, Yuan's breathing, his footsteps, were gongs ringing through the air. He met his friend on the lower levels, keeping one ear tuned to the infirmary where Martel was. She slept little; Kratos understood. She'd been sleeping for four thousand years. She was tired of sleeping.

"What's going on, Kratos?" Yuan hadn't been expecting a message from Derris-Kharlan, of all places.

"You're going to want to sit down."

Yuan crossed his arms. "You're stalling." They weren't as close as they had been in their youth, but he still knew the other man almost as well as he knew himself.

He was right, Kratos thought. "…Martel is alive."

He caught the reflexive clench of Yuan's left hand, where the ring still glinted. "That Spirit isn't Martel, Kratos."

"I know she isn't." The Spirit of the New Tree, while she looked an awful lot like her, was wrong in the details. No one else but two of them could recognize the differences. "I'm talking about our Martel. She's alive."

Pain flashed in blue-green eyes. (Has Kratos finally broken as well? Broken as far as Mithos had?) "Martel is dead, Kratos. She can't come back."

"I'm not talking about bringing her back. I'm saying—she's here. Alive and—not well, but she's as healthy as can be expected."

Yuan searched Kratos for the lie, for the insanity that he could recognize so well. He'd seen it in the mirror for long centuries. But he couldn't find it. Kratos was, as ever, a steady touchstone. (Kratos has only ever broken twice, in their long long lives. Each time for love. This time, there is still Kratos' strength backing his words, his sanity firmly rooted)

"You've always been really bad at jokes, Kratos, but—" It was a feeble attempt at grappling with the idea. Martel was dead. His wife had been dead for four thousand odd years.

"Will you follow me?"

(Hasn't he always?) Yuan's voice wouldn't work, but they hadn't always needed words to communicate. He followed Kratos up the stairs—the man had always hated his wings, from the beginning. Yuan and Mithos were the ones who could take any kind of joy, distant as it was, in flying—to the infirmary.

Twenty paces from the door, his feet stopped moving. (If he turns back now, he can forget this. Can chalk it up to madness. Kratos is going mad, here in Derris-Kharlan, that's all. But there is an old hope flickering in his chest. She's alive? Can he really have her back?)

Kratos turned back, stopping two steps away from him, patient as ever.

Yuan didn't remember choosing to step forward. Didn't remember walking those twenty paces of space. The next thing he knew, he was in the doorway of the infirmary and his breath was gone.

(It's her. Absolutely and unequivocally. It's her down to the scar across her eyebrow, down to the old burn on her left forearm. It's her eyes, a mixture of green and hazel that he has never forgotten)

And there was no recognition in those eyes. None at all.

"Martel?" he tried.

She blinked at him, a long, slow movement. She was so thin… "Do I know you?"

Yuan shoved Kratos up against a wall, hands fisted in his shirt, knuckles bruising his collarbone; rage like he hadn't known for so long was swelling inside him. "You son of a whoring bitch. Why didn't you tell me?"

Kratos didn't tense, didn't try to fight. It didn't help Yuan's mood. "If I had told you, would you have gone?"

(Kratos is manipulative enough to do it, but that's not why and Yuan knows it. Kratos is a coward. He won't be responsible for possibly breaking him)

"She's not who she was, Kratos. It—" Yuan choked on the thought.

It would be kinder to kill her.

Yuan's grip loosened and Kratos slid down until his feet touched the ground. He didn't meet Yuan's eyes for this. "We've done a lot of terrible things, you and I, but neither of us is capable of that."

The rage drained away, leaving Yuan horribly hollow. He wasn't strong enough for this. He'd thought he was, but Martel had always been his weak point. "I can't do this, Kratos." To have his Martel back, but for her not to know him was almost worse than losing her the first time. He'd been trying to reconcile the idea of the Spirit, of the way its face was so close to Martel's that it hurt to look and he'd barely been able to bear that. "Wait…the Spirit."

"What about her?"

"What did she say?" Yuan's gripped Kratos' arms, almost to the point of pain. "When she first appeared? What did she tell us she was?"

"Mana. The Giant Tree…"

"And a symbol of the lives sacrificed to the Great Seed. She said that Martel was one of many souls inside her."

Kratos caught on. "What if the soul holds the memories?"

"Exactly. The brain holds information. Martel can still remember how to speak. She's not a blank slate. But her soul went to the Cruxis Crystal. It's not tethered to her body."

"So you're saying that the Spirit can tether it?"

"She apparently already did. To Tabatha's body. Her soul and who knows how many others. The difference is that the other souls don't have a body to return to. Martel's was kept here. There has to be a way to transfer it back and tether it back to her body."

"And that would bring her memories back."

"Exactly."

Kratos nodded. "I'll stay." Yuan blinked in confusion, trying to find the train of thought. "I was planning on leaving, with Derris-Kharlan. To find all the Exspheres. But I'll stay until we figure this out."

"I'll go talk to the Spirit. See if she knows anything." Yuan read the look on Kratos' face. "No. I can't…stay here, right now. I need to absorb it all."

"Alright. But she needs real medical attention. More than what we know. Can you get Professor Sage on your way back?"

Yuan nodded. They could do battlefield wounds, end of life things, but a slow healing, with this much damage? Of the two of them, Kratos had the most experience. He'd helped get Anna back on her feet, back to her strength. Yuan had helped some of his Renegades, but most hadn't been nearly this bad off and he'd only been there for part of it.

"Anything else on the grocery list? Milk? Eggs?"

(It's a sad attempt at a joke because that's Yuan's defense mechanism. One of many. But it gets a snort out of Kratos, so it's a start)

The Spirit didn't show surprise at his explanation. She may have had the memories, but her body didn't know the physical reactions for any of the emotions yet. Not really.

"I can't give up the memories."

"It's only hers. Only Martel's. There are—I'm going to go with hundreds of thousands—of souls inside you. She's one person." One person whose death had rocked the world, had tilted the dimension of space and time on its head.

"I understand. I am not unwilling to do it, but I am incapable of it at the present time." Her voice was gentle, with a tone he recognized as Martel's, but the pitch was wrong and her words weren't colored with an accent.

"Can you elaborate?"

"I am a young Spirit and my power comes from memories. The memories of your Martel are the strongest there are. Four millennia of memories—yours, Kratos', Mithos' and Origin's—four millennia of remembering her, every day." Yuan hadn't even considered Origin. The Yggdrasills had been beloved by him. "Almost everyone else inside me, everyone who loved them are gone. There aren't memories left to power them and if they are, they aren't strong enough to offset yours. If I was to give you Martel's memories, the Tree would die, for I wouldn't have any power to help it."

(For a brief, violent moment, Yuan doesn't care. He doesn't care about the Tree, about the world as long as he can have Martel back. But he shoves it down, locks it away because he isn't Mithos. Won't become Mithos) "Can you give me an estimate of how long it would be until you're strong enough?"

"It could be a year or longer," the Spirit admitted. "People need to care for the Tree, to make memories in this new world powered by the Tree."

"Memories are being made every day."

"Insignificant ones."

"Some of the things we remembered of Martel were insignificant." Her smile, the way she liked her tea. Little things.

"No. They used to be," she corrected. "But after she was gone, you treasured them. You made them important." She stepped towards him, grass growing and flowers blossoming beneath her feet. Her expression was gentle—and yes, that was Martel's expression. Yuan could see it, even if it wasn't her face—when she said, "People love this Tree. The memories will happen. When they do, I will contact you."

Yuan nodded. "Thank you."

Iselia was a town that didn't change very much. The last time Yuan had been through here was more than fourteen years ago, to visit Kratos and Anna. Their home had been out in the forest, further up the mountain and away from the ranch than Dirk's. Iselia still smelled of its orchards and farmland, the incense from the Martel Temple if the wind blew and underneath all that, the smell of ash. Forcystus had told Yuan how Iselia burned; the town had not yet fully recovered.

Yuan went after dusk, so as not to be questioned by the guards. He didn't feel like dealing with anyone unnecessarily.

Raine Sage opened her door in old pajama pants and a large nightshirt. Her silver hair was disheveled and she glared, slightly bleary, at him when she recognized who it was at her door. "What is it?"

"Ms. Sage, I have a rather important matter I need to discuss with you. Inside, if you please."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not about to be ordered inside my own home, Yuan."

The woman could be incredibly stubborn. Not that his manners were the best either; he hadn't exactly been invited to many dinner parties in four thousand years. "…May I discuss something with you in private, please?"

"By all means." Raine stepped aside to allow him in. "Although, I thought you were done with 'important matters'. Weren't you going to assist the new Spirit?"

"Something has come up." Her house was a small one. Enough space for two beds, a desk shoved into the corner, a stove and a few overstuffed bookshelves. "I'm in need of your medical expertise."

"You know my experience with healing. How bad is the wound that you need me to do it and you can't?" While she'd never seen him heal, he'd saved Kratos with a transfer of mana. Healing was a similar process, just not nearly so direct. And he'd survived the Kharlan War; he had to have some knowledge of healing artes to have done that.

"It's not a wound. I could heal that. But you know nutrition, enhancing spells. Do you have any knowledge of physical therapy?"

"Physi—what are you talking about?"

Yuan tried to think of how best to explain it. "The patient in question has been in a coma for a long time. Her muscles are badly atrophied. I can help, but it would be best for a medical professional to oversee her recovery."

"There are far more qualified doctors in the world than I." Her eyes—pale blue, elf blue—glinted in understanding. "Which means that you need to keep this a secret. What aren't you telling me?"

"I need to know if you'll help first."

Raine studied him. Yuan allowed the scrutiny; she wouldn't see anything he didn't want her to see. "…Yes. I'll help."

Yuan nodded. "We leave tomorrow morning. I'll explain then."

"Who is this mystery patient?" Raine asked when he came to her in the morning. There was badly burnt toast in one hand, her staff in the other.

"Good morning to you too," he grumbled, stepping inside. His nose wrinkled at the burnt smell still coming from the stove.

"You're hardly one to comment on my manners."

"I have another question."

"Hm?"

"Would you prefer to go to our destination via wings or Rheaird?"

Her eyes travelled behind him to see his wings. The sunlight shining through them made exotic shadows play along the floor, almost like a stained glass window. "Where exactly are we going?"

"The Tower."

"The Tower is gone. It fell, crumbled. There's nothing left."

"There are ruins left," Yuan corrected. "And I would think that you, of all people, would appreciate the importance of them."

"A Rheaird. I'll take my Rheaird." They'd each kept theirs, in wing packs that the Research Academy had given them.

Yuan nodded; he'd expected that answer. "I'll see you there." Rheairds were fast, but he was faster.

He was waiting for her when she landed, fiddling with some wires. He'd gotten good at magitechnology. It had taken him years of taking things apart and figuring out what did what to get as good as he was; there had been no teachers back then. The humans hadn't wanted to share their knowledge of magitechnology with a half-breed. So Yuan had just taken it. Story of his life, really.

Raine stepped carefully through the debris. Yuan had been helping clear the rubble away, as had Lloyd and the others, to give the Tree room to breathe and grow, but it was a slow process. "Who is out here?"

"Currently? Only the Spirit." Yuan stood from where he'd been sitting on a pile of rubble, tucking the wires in his pocket. It was a new habit of his; it kept his hands busy. There had been quite a few fishermen in the Renegades; they'd taught him how to bait a lure and tie their sailors' knots. The habit had come from them; they'd kept a small length of rope in their pockets, for those long nights on watch or travelling. "We are going to Derris-Kharlan."

"Excuse me?"

"The teleporter wasn't damaged too terribly." As in, completely demolished. "I managed to get it up and running."

"Why would you? Why would anyone go back up there?"

Yuan's eyes hardened. Mithos was mad, no doubt about that, but at the end of the day, they'd been close friends once. Family, even. (His brother-in-law) "You may not think that Mithos deserves a memorial, but Kratos and I do." They'd originally gone back up to find something to mark what would be an empty grave.

"The only beings on Derris-Kharlan were angels. Who did you find in a coma?" Even as she questioned him, Raine followed him. He and Kratos hadn't needed to clear any debris except to unearth the teleporter, so it was harder going for her.

"Ready?" Yuan asked, standing on the teleporter.

Raine didn't get a chance to respond. She blinked and she was in Welgaia, in Mithos' castle. Yuan led her up the stairs and she both was and wasn't surprised to see Kratos coming to greet them. He must have heard them arrive. His sword wasn't at his waist, but there was a knife on his belt and another in his boot. Even here, he refused to go unarmed. (The only place he forever went entirely unarmed had been that house with Anna. But he had always been so paranoid, listening constantly for the enemy…)

Kratos inclined his head in greeting. "Professor Sage."

"Where is this mystery patient?"

"She's just through this door." The door that Kratos stood in front of him in a stance that Raine had seen Lloyd take. Feet apart, one hand at his waist, where his sword would hang, body not tense, but prepared. A protective stance. (The only person that she can think of that Kratos would adopt that stance for is back on solid ground, getting ready to travel for the Exspheres. And Yuan is also defensive. So who is this person?)

Raine thought about asking what she was about to walk into that had these two men—angels—on such an edge, but she strode past Kratos into the room. The woman lying on the cot was alert and attentive, but entirely too thin. Pale green hair had grown long enough to pool beside her and her ears were the triangular shape of a half-elf. Her high cheekbones stood out in sharp relief in that face. She looked like a skeletal Tabatha.

Or Tabatha looked like her. Tabatha was created to look like her.

But that was impossible. Martel Yggdrasill was dead, had been dead for four thousand years.

It was the only option that fit. The protectiveness of Kratos and Yuan. The secrecy. Her appearance and condition.

Raine whirled around to face the other two; they didn't flinch in the face of her anger like everyone else did. "You two have been keeping her alive? What did we do it all for then?!"

Before Raine could really get the rant going, a soft, hoarse voice spoke up. She couldn't understand more than a few words and the few words she could understand were from languages she had never heard spoken, only written. Because they were dead languages.

Yuan moved forward automatically because Martel was trying to push herself up, fire sparked in her eyes to tell Raine off because these men had cared for her and who was she to condemn them? She and Raine didn't have to understand each other to get the gist of what they were saying.

"It's fine," he told her, the language of their childhood coming haltingly to his mind and rusty to his tongue. "Don't overstress yourself." To Raine, he said, "We can discuss this afterwards. Can you help her?"

The patient. Raine had to think of the patient. "I'll see what I can do."

Yuan and Kratos remained in the room through the examination, translating and helping Martel to sit up or move to the desired position. By the end of it, Raine had a mental note of things to find in the Sybak libraries, things to study or brush up on.

"She's very bad off," Raine told them when she was done. "It will take months of physical therapy before she can even think of walking normally."

"Is that factoring in whatever healing you can?"

"My healing isn't for things like this. It can't build people back up. It can strengthen and I can do that to help her along, but most of it will have to come naturally. The broth is a good place to start until she can start handling solid food. I'll do more research, consult with a few people on various therapies, but we can get her back on her feet. The muscles have to be conditioned, lots of calcium and vitamins for her bone density, proteins."

"Tell us what needs to be done and we'll do whatever we can," said Yuan. Kratos nodded in agreement after he finished translating for Martel.

(Raine has no doubts about that. These two are men who broke the world apart for this woman)

"She doesn't remember a thing?" Raine repeated quietly over dinner of bread and stew. Kratos' culinary skills were basic, but pretty decent.

"No. As you can see, she's able to create new memories. But she has no idea who we were."

"So she doesn't know about Mithos?"

"No."

"And the Spirit could have be the key to getting her memories back. And here I thought we were done with this sort of thing."

Yuan twisted his lips into a bitter approximation of a smile. "When you live as long as we have, you learn that you're never done."

Sure as the dawn brings the sunrise
We've an unshakeable bond
Destined to last for a lifetime and beyond

Raine slept in one of the dozens of rooms on the same floor as the infirmary. The only beds were Yuan and Kratos'. Yuan offered his room—he would be sleeping in the infirmary, but Raine refused, claiming a room with a couch and several dozen books on its shelves. She did take the offered blankets, though. It was chilly, up here.

Yuan and Kratos didn't really feel the cold. It was there, but it was like feeling through a glove; distant and not quite there. Martel was tucked with plenty of thick blankets; she didn't have any body fat to help her keep warm. Yuan had his own spot in the infirmary now; he had a chair that he'd angled perfectly against one of the cabinets so if he slouched, he could put his feet up and sleep rather comfortably.

(He can't leave her alone. He's afraid that if no one's in the room with her—and even then, Kratos is the only one he absolutely trusts right now, which is a strange twist after all they'd done to and for each other—that she'll disappear, that all this will have been some cruel dream)

"Any luck with my memories?" Martel asked. Yuan relished in the sound of her voice, hoarse as it was, in the measure of her words and the traces of Heimdall still in her accent.

"From my understanding, it could be a year or more until you can get them back."

"Oh." Martel studied her hands, skeletally thin and rough at the palms. "…I suppose I just have to make new ones, then."

It was so like her. An optimist, but a realistic one.

They would take turns cooking, he and Kratos. They kept Raine far from the single kitchen; Yuan had heard enough horror stories—some from Kratos, which was saying something—to know that that was a horrible idea. Martel asked to join them much of the time and they would carry her to the kitchen. They dragged a loveseat into the kitchen as well, so that she would have a place where she could sit or lay comfortably, as she couldn't sit on the stools in the kitchen without pitching over.

"Raine," Martel began. Her voice was stronger these days, even though it would get rough if she talked for more than ten minutes. "Pass…the salt?"

She'd been learning the modern tongue, connecting the pieces with Raine. The Professor was astounded by her progress; Martel understood pretty well, as long as no one spoke too fast and she was getting past her main problem, which was pronunciation. She was a quick learner, quicker even than Genis.

(When she explains this to Kratos and Yuan, they both share a look and Yuan takes a sip of his drink to hide the smirk. Raine had known how brilliant Mithos was, but she had never thought that Martel had been—is—very much the same. Her genius is subtler, but absolutely there. She picks up languages and spells easily and is excellent with history and science)

They helped bathe her, Yuan more than Kratos. It was strange, but being able to do something like this was kind of comforting. Martel didn't flinch from her nudity. She used to, back in the beginning. Yuan thought she would do it again because that's where they were. Back at the beginning. Except it's not.

(He forces himself to ignore the white scar on her abdomen and back. In the same place. A through and through. Large enough to be a killing blow. It's the only scar on her body that he doesn't know)

"All this hair is kind of a hassle, huh?" she laughed one day as he combed the knots from it. Her laughter wasn't the silvery sound it used to be. It sounded scratchy sometimes, off-pitch.

"I'm kind of used to it," he told her. His hair still grew, but it grew at such a slow pace that he hardly noticed.

He heard the grin in her voice. "I'm sure. You ever think of cutting it shorter?"

Yuan went quiet for a moment, letting his hands go through the motions. Knots and tangles and this specific shade of pale green. There'd been a geneticist at some point who'd had a theory about half-elves, about how, the closer the color of their hair and eyes was to silver and blue, the more elven blood and therefore genes, they had inherited. It was a decent theory; it made sense in some cases, but there was no way to one hundred percent prove it.

Mithos had studied that geneticist though. When he was trying to figure out how to breed a mana signature through the Chosen line. It was how someone who's mostly human blood like Colette got elf-blue eyes. Like Zelos did too.

"Once or twice. Never really went through with it." He'd started keeping his hair long because it would cover his ears, triangular as they were and a dead giveaway. With how dirty he'd been on the road with Kratos, the blue hadn't even really shown through most of the time. "Why, do you want to cut it?"

"I think so. It would make things easier, for sure."

It would take weeks before Yuan got used to seeing her with the ends of her hair brushing her chin.

"Raine?"

"Professor Sage?"

Kratos and Yuan were surprised it took this long, honestly. Lloyd, Genis and Colette's voices echoed through the halls. Yuan was the one to step out. To their credit, the only suspicious one was Genis, who narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yuan?"

Before they could ask anything, the Professor came out, pushing her hair from her face, staff in one hand. She'd been researching ways to twist preservation and enhancement spells for a body. So far, the experiments had been pretty successful with no horrible failures.

"What are you three doing here?"

"My question exactly," Yuan muttered.

"You've been gone more than usual, Raine." Genis had the problem that most half-elves had while growing up. He may have been—what, twelve? Thirteen?—but his body was still that of a ten year old's while his mind developed quicker. Half-elves usually had a plateau of stasis in between growth spurts. "We were worried."

"But what're you doing up here, Professor?" Colette asked. (She's still glowing with hope and optimism, still so trusting, but there are nightmares in her head and within these walls that makes her glance in the corners warily)

Yuan and Kratos exchanged a look. The three were here; it wasn't like they wouldn't find out. Kratos stepped forward, out of the shadows. To most, it was surprising how easily Kratos could make himself unnoticeable, could make eyes pass right over him like he was invisible. Yuan still remembered him flinching from a raised hand and he'd never been surprised about it. Invisibility was how Kratos had survived for a decade before the two of them met and it was a skill he'd never lost.

"We asked her to help us," he said. "We needed a Healer."

"D—Kratos. You're here too?" Yuan knew it hurt Kratos to hear the almost title pass Lloyd's lips. Lloyd, who had Anna's kindness and nose.

"Why do you two need a Healer?" Genis knew how to ask the right questions. Probably learned that from his sister.

Raine glanced at the two of them for approval—Martel may have been her secret too, but they were the ones who loved her—before telling her former students to come upstairs. Lloyd and Colette's eyes went wide at the sight of Martel in her cot. It took Genis another minute to figure it out.

They introduced themselves dimly, unable to take their eyes off her. After they were out in another room and Kratos and Yuan explained, Lloyd was the first to find his voice.

"So…that's actually Mithos' sister?"

"Yes."

"But then—who's the Spirit? She said she had Martel inside her."

"The Spirit could just have her memories," Genis thought aloud. His eyes—a little more gray than blue—went sharp. "Because she doesn't remember anything, does she?"

The boy would be a terror when he grew into himself. "No," Kratos replied. "She doesn't."

"So you're—what, rehabilitating her?"

"Yes, we are. It's all we can do, until we figure out how to get her memories back."

Kratos was the one who noticed the lack of one person's voice. "Nothing to say, Chosen?"

She looked up from her shoes. "There's no Chosen anymore." She had some steel in her backbone; both seraphim had seen it, experienced it. "And—I want to help. It has to be scary, not being able to remember."

It surprised Yuan to hear Kratos say, "I'm sure she'd appreciate the company."

(He's not wrong, but it's closer to the Kratos from Yuan's memories growing up than the shell of the man he's grown accustomed to)

Lloyd, Genis and Colette stayed for a few hours that day before going home to rest as well as let the others know about Martel. The seraphim had to resign themselves to the fact that it would get much less peaceful.

It took effort for Martel to even sit up on her own, but she grew stronger by the day, pushing herself to her limits. The spoon still shook when she held it, but her grip was firm. Standing was a more difficult thing and she couldn't hold herself up just yet.

Martel was a quick learner, not only in languages, but in technology too. She'd learned how to navigate the screens and machines fairly well, but her typing was still awkward.

"So Lloyd is your son?" Martel began one day, not looking at Kratos, but keeping her eyes on the book in her lap.

It was Kratos' turn for dinner. Martel had been working her way up to more solid food. Rice mixed with the stew was possible now, along with very small pieces of meat and soft vegetables. It was like a baby all over again. Neither he nor Anna had known anything about raising a child; they'd had to ask for help from one of the women in Izlood—the village they were closest to at the time—for advice on when Lloyd could have solid food.

(These days, he can hear Anna sometimes. Particularly at times like this, when he's cooking. He can see her with her hair growing out again from the almost shaved point it had been at the ranch, bangs tucked behind her ears, bouncing Lloyd in her arms. He'd taught her to cook; she'd gotten the hang of it after a few rather spectacular accidents with the stove. He hears her laughter as she would dance away from him; he'd burnt dinner more than once because Anna had been a mischievous imp when she wanted to be)

"Kratos?"

"Yes, he is."

Her eyes were on him now, he could feel them. "You don't act like it. Neither of you do. The only reason I know is because he told me."

"It's…complicated."

Kratos heard the smile in her voice. "Story of our lives?"

"You have no idea."

You're my backbone, you're my cornerstone
You're my crutch when my legs stop moving
You're my head start, you're my rugged heart
You're the pulse that I've always needed

Yuan jerked awake at the scream, his every instinct on red alert.

Martel was thrashing on the bed, her voice ripping itself from her throat. He didn't think; his arms moved to go around her, to try to soothe her to sleep like he had so long ago because nightmares weren't anything new to them ("I can see them, Yuan." Her eyes had been so hollow and bruised. "All those faces…they're kids, Yuan. They shouldn't be fighting.") but Martel didn't know him anymore. Her eyes snapped open, but there was no recognition and a spell lashed out at him before he could think to defend himself.

Kratos stormed into the room, sword in hand. He dropped it as soon as Martel's eyes were on him. She was shaking, terrified. "I-I didn't mean it," she said, voice rough. "I don't even know what I did."

Kratos followed her eyes to Yuan, who was crumpled against a wall, curled into himself, gasping for breath. He moved to Yuan's side, the half-elf's eyes glassy with pain. He saw the wound, a deep burn that spanned his chest. Light spells could be nasty pieces of work and Martel had been a master.

He heard Raine come into the room and kneel beside him. "Do you need my help for anything?" Kratos asked her. She'd healed worse, he knew.

Raine shook her head. "Take care of Martel. I can't move him, so I think it's best you get her out of here."

Kratos nodded and moved away. He approached Martel slowly, careful to keep his hands within her line of sight. Her eyes tore away from Yuan to look back at him.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked. Yuan should have known better than to approach a soldier in the middle of a nightmare like that.

Martel nodded. "Kratos."

"Let's get out of here. Okay?" He waited for her to nod again before lifting her carefully. One of her arms came around his neck to steady herself. He took her to the bedroom that Yuan hardly used, setting her down on the bed.

"Kratos," she said. "That was magic, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Why do I know magic? Especially magic like that?" Martel looked sick at the thought of hurting people. That hadn't changed either. She'd hated using magic for violence; not she'd never done it because Martel was protective and could be vicious if she was defending someone.

Kratos wondered how to phrase it. He leaned on the nightstand. "…We were in a war, once. A long time ago. We were soldiers."

"…I've killed people, haven't I?"

"Yes. But," he couldn't stop himself from adding. "You saved more people than you killed. You were a Healer."

"That doesn't excuse the killing."

"No. No, it doesn't." His hands clenched together. "It was a war. Kill or be killed. You made a choice, like every soldier does."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "You don't like killing people either, do you?"

"No, I never did." He hadn't even wanted to be a soldier, but the war had been unavoidable. Even Yuan had enjoyed the fighting, had enjoyed some of the kills, even if it had made him sick. Some people deserved it, he said, and he wasn't afraid to be the one passing the judgment.

"I almost killed him."

Kratos snorted a little, without meaning to. "To be honest, it takes a lot more than that to kill him." Not that the wound hadn't been bad—it absolutely had been. The damage was extensive, more than most people could manage on angels, particularly without an Exsphere. "It'll take some time to heal, most likely, but he'll be on his feet before you know it."

"You have a lot of faith in him."

"…he's my best friend." Even after everything, that statement still held true. It had been a long time since Kratos had said it aloud.

Martel made a sound of acknowledgment, but didn't press anymore. Her eyes were on the wall that separated this room, large as it was, to the infirmary, as though she were trying to see through it.

Kratos took her hand. "I promise, he'll be fine. He's in good hands."

Kratos waited for Raine just outside the infirmary. She didn't seem surprised to see him.

"He'll survive," she assured him. "He's resting now. It took a lot of mana to get him to a stable place. Though he was a better patient than I thought he'd be."

"He learned quickly to not fight Healers." Martel had been quick to shove him back into his seat if he'd started to get up before she'd released him and had threatened to tie him to the bed if it became necessary. Yuan had just smirked a little and said he liked the sound of that. His next round of stitches had been more painful than necessary, with a smirk from her that matched his. "But give it a few hours. He'll be rebelling soon enough. He can't stand infirmaries."

"I haven't seen damage like that since we fought Luna and Aska," Raine said, a little quieter. "Even Mithos' spells weren't that strong."

"Mithos was a mage in all the elements. He was strong in all of them, but Martel was a master of light magic. I'm sure if you applied yourself, you could be that strong one day too."

Raine shook her head. "No. I have no illusions about my skill. I'm a very good Healer and a better than average light mage, but Martel's level of skill and her power are beyond me."

"The elves used to have a theory—they still might have it. I'm not sure—but the theory went that on a child's birthday, literally the day they're born, a Spirit watches over them, usually dependent on the weather and the position of the stars of that day. According to tradition, Martel and Mithos were both born underneath Luna and Aska. Assuming that theory is correct, it could account for their strength."

"You don't believe that." Raine didn't make it a question.

"I think that, once, it might have applied. Not anymore."

(Raine wonders, vaguely, what would have happened if it had been Mithos who died that day all those millennia ago, not Martel. Would Martel have gone mad from the loss of the brother she'd loved and raised? Would she have used all of this terrifying intelligence and power to try and bring him back?)

"How is he?" Martel asked quietly as Raine measured her, a weekly tradition to make sure she was progressing well. Weighing was a slightly harder thing, as Martel wasn't strong enough to stand on her own yet. "Yuan, I mean."

Raine turned to take down the notes of the measurements. Muscle and fat were coming back well; flexibility was slower, but still recovering at a good rate. "He'll be alright. The burns were third degree, so there was a lot of tissue damage, but it's nothing I haven't healed before." It had taken her a little while, to figure out how damage from light magic was different from fire. It was the difference between a laser and an open flame. The damage from light magic was much more pointed, much more direct.

"It worries you. That I can do that."

Raine looked at Martel in the mirror (She has been uncomfortable with mirrors ever since Mithos' trap, ever since the Derris Emblem. She can't stop seeing her mother in place of her own reflection…). Those eyes were intent and sharp and Raine was reminded very suddenly of Mithos. Not Mithos, the little lost boy from Ozette, not the mask and not when he was broken and lashing out. It was Mithos in the quiet moments, up in Derris Kharlan, when he was perfectly logical and relatively sane, where all that intelligence shone through. It was the first real resemblance to Mithos that Raine had noticed in Martel.

"Honestly? Yes. It takes a very powerful mage to cast magic to that extent."

Martel tossed her head to move stray bangs from her eyes. "Kratos said I was a soldier. That the three of us were soldiers."

Raine was about to respond, but she realized she didn't really have something to say. It was easy for her to picture Kratos and Yuan as soldiers. Even Mithos, however much the idea of child soldiers disturbed her. But Martel? The false goddess? The Healer? Her patient? It was more difficult to see that in her mind. Having seen the damage she was capable of was proof; Martel might not have preferred to fight, or liked to, but she had been just as dangerous as her husband, brother and friend were.

"You were. Some things don't go away just because you lose your memory."

Martel's eyes fell to her hands on the blankets. "…I think killing is something I'm glad I forgot."

(She's so kind. So sympathetic. Raine wonders how this woman survived a war, how she impressed Yuan, how she is worth destroying a world for…)

It took Yuan two weeks to heal fully and that was with extensive healing sessions with Raine or sometimes Kratos, when Raine was too tired from tending to Martel as well. Kratos' healing wasn't as strong, but he could at least help the natural healing along.

At the end of the first week, Yuan went to stand by Martel's bed. He tried not to sit too much; it folded and cracked the skin and healing tissue in rather painful ways. She locked eyes with him. "Show me?"

Yuan considered arguing, but decided against it. He simply unbuttoned his shirt, wincing a little as he allowed it to slip off his shoulders and hang it on a bedpost. He stood near enough to her that she could touch him, if she wanted. Her eyes studied the damage and to her credit, she didn't flinch away. It wasn't a pretty sight; a half-healed mess of scar tissue that was still rather raw around the edges, spanning the length of his chest.

Her hand reached out as if to touch, but stopped an inch away from his skin. "Go ahead," Yuan told her quietly.

Martel's touch was feather-light, hardly there as it traced over the ridges and dips of scar tissue. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It was my fault. I should've known better than to try and wake you from a nightmare like that." He was quiet for a moment before asking, "…do you remember what you were dreaming about?"

She shook her head. "Just…impressions, mostly. Nothing really solid." (One thing stuck. A little blonde boy with madness in his smile and grief in his eyes. She had watched his visage shatter in front of her eyes, watched him break more and more until she can't recognize it anymore, until it disappears into the rest of the impressions)

Her eyes caught on something. He followed her gaze to the fading numbers inked on his left forearm. "What are those?"

"Just a number."

"Why are they on you?" Her brow was furrowed, like she was trying to figure something out.

"A brand. I was a slave."

"A slave?" Martel repeated. Her face cleared a little, still serious. "And your slavers? Are they dead."

"Yes." He'd killed them, before the war ended. With his own hands. After he'd killed their wives.

Yuan refused to feel guilty about it.

Seeing Colette with Martel was…strange. Like the world had shifted two inches to the left. Colette could knit, so she would bring spools of thread and her needles and she would sit and work on her knitting, all the while talking. It wasn't usually important things; little things, everyday details. What the weather was like today, the gossip from Iselia.

Martel laughed and conversed with her, ever curious. Sometimes, she would stumble on her words and ask Yuan—who was in the room ninety percent of the time—for the translation. It wasn't surprising to Yuan that the two got along.

He was walking Colette out—his manners were getting better, Raine commented once—and she said, "…You still love her very much, don't you?"

He glanced over at her. "What?"

Colette didn't pretend that he hadn't heard or understood the question. "I see the way you look at her."

Yuan was not about to go talking about his feelings, of all things, to this girl, of all people. "Enjoy your trip to Meltokio, Chosen."

It took six months before Martel could stand on her own. Not for very long and her balance was still a little off, but she grinned triumphantly at Yuan when he walked in to see her. She couldn't walk yet, but Regal brought her a wheelchair from one of the hospitals in Altamira. Her arms were strong enough now that she could push herself, somewhat. Yuan usually volunteered to push her around anyway.

"I want to see outside," Martel told him. "I think I'll go crazy staring at these walls."

Yuan wheeled her down to the teleportation circle inscribed on the floor. His teleportation magic was strong, but without the help of the circle to concentrate and add to his mana, he couldn't make the trip from Derris Kharlan to the ground.

Much of the rubble had been cleared away, so the path was clear. No longer was the air as full of dust and ash as it had been after the Tower fell. The plants that Colette and Lloyd had been planting were growing well, though not yet flowered. There were trails of grass and blossoms in singular lines going back and forth in seemingly random patterns; the Spirit's wandering, Yuan would imagine.

Martel breathed deep, tilting her face into the sun. She opened her eyes and they shone green in the sunlight, the brown hardly visible. (The sight takes his breath away. She is as lovely now as he remembers her. She comes alive, outside, under the open sky and sun. She always has)

She felt his eyes on her and she turned to look at him. The way he looked at her could be daunting, like she was the center of his universe. "What is it?"

"It's just…nice to see you outside again."

"Was I outside a lot before?"

His lips tilted into a faint, fond smile. "Whenever you could."

Martel glanced at the ground and back up at him. "Get me down?"

Yuan obliged, lifting her easily. She was getting back to a healthy weight, though she wasn't quite there yet. (He had been a soldier—they all had been apparently—but Yuan is always incredibly gentle with her. Not like she'll break, but like she's a mirage, some illusion that'll shatter at the first touch)

The ground was soft, slightly damp and the grass brushed her elbows when she sat up. The scent of earth and some kind of flower was all around her. Yuan plopped himself down beside her, stretching out long legs. Kratos had been right; Yuan had healed perfectly well, moving easily and showing no discomfort in the slightest.

Martel looked out at the wide expanse of sky, at the nearby mountains and the land that sloped downwards from where they were. "…you know, sometimes, I don't think I want my memories back."

He was looking at her again, like he always did. "Why?"

"Because…I'm happy. I like how I'm living now, with you two and everyone." Even without her memories, Martel could see the divide between Kratos-and-Yuan and the rest of the group. "And I'm afraid that…if I remember, things'll change. And I kind of don't want them to."

Yuan hummed in understanding, drawing his knees up so he could prop his elbows on them. "Well, it's your decision really. We won't stop you. But if it's because of the relationship with Lloyd and the others, I don't think it'll change much. They didn't know you. Before."

"But you and Kratos did. I see the way you two look at me. It hurts you that I don't remember."

(She's always been so intuitive, so observant. Yuan had forgotten what that's like) "You know we don't blame you for that, right? It's not your fault."

"You're avoiding my point."

Yuan let out a puff of air in place of a laugh. Martel was stubborn like that, always getting to the heart of the matter. No beating around the bush, as Yuan liked to do. "…yes. It hurts us that you don't remember. We love you. But if you don't want your memories back, it's your decision and because we love you, we'll support you."

"Even if it hurts you?"

"Yes. Even then." Because living without her had been so much worse.

"Heads up!" Lloyd called a split second before Noishe bounded into the room.

Martel and Raine jumped at his entrance and just stared as Noishe lay his big head on the bed by Martel's hand. Lloyd slid into the room two minutes later.

"Sorry, I couldn't stop him." Lloyd grinned apologetically at the Professor and Martel and it turned a little thoughtful as he saw how comfortable Noishe was. He'd thought the protozoan was so excited because of Kratos, but he'd completely bypassed his former owner, who was restocking some of the cabinets, and gone straight to Martel. "And he usually doesn't like strangers."

Martel reached out a hand in invitation to sniff. Noishe didn't and just licked it before nudging his nose into her palm. She laughed and scratched obligingly behind his large ears, the fluffy tail thumping happily against the ground. "He's a sweetheart. What's his name?"

"Noishe," Raine answered. "And he shouldn't be here. Your immune system is still not completely back and he could have been exposed to hundreds of—"

"It's alright," Kratos interrupted, closing the cabinet and setting the now empty box aside. He leaned against the counter. "Ordinarily, you'd be correct, but protozoans are like unicorns; they don't get sick easily. Their blood used to be used for medicine, in fact. Noishe is probably the safest to be around Martel right now."

Noishe barked once, in agreement. Satisfied with his petting—and his observation. Kratos had spotted how he was checking Martel for injuries as she interacted with him—the protozoan moved away from the bed, sitting at Kratos' side, nearest the door. Protozoans had the most powerful protective instincts in the world and Noishe might have a fear of monsters now, but that wouldn't deter him much.

"We'll get out of your way, Professor," Kratos said. "That means you too, Lloyd."

"Did I come at a bad time?"

"A weekly checkup. It shouldn't take too long." Kratos held the door open for Lloyd.

"Oh, okay. Noishe! You can't stay in there!"

"He won't move for a while." Kratos said, closing the door behind him. "Not until he gets used to Martel again."

"Aga—Oh." Noishe wasn't comfortable around strangers. Ever. But it was easy for Lloyd to forget, sometimes, that Martel wasn't new to all of them. Noishe must have smelled her from outside and that had caused him to run in like that. "How's she doing? Mentally, I mean."

"She's doing well." The nightmares hadn't stopped, but Kratos didn't expect them to. He still had nightmares, the rare times he slept.

"Still doesn't remember anything?"

"If she does, she hasn't mentioned it to us. Where is Genis?" The half-elf was usually the one to accompany Lloyd, even more than Colette these days. As a former Chosen, the newly united world was looking to her and Zelos as a connection to the old worlds.

"He has finals." As promised, Genis was at the Palmacosta Academy when he wasn't helping to fight the anti-half-elven legislation that still existed in what had been Tethe'alla. "He said he'd come by after they were done."

They were saved from the beginning tension of awkward silence by Raine calling for them that it was okay to come back in. Kratos hung back as Lloyd went in. (He still doesn't know quite how to act around his son. He's been father, mentor, traitor, enemy and friend to him. He doesn't really have a place as his father anymore either. He hasn't been there. He didn't see Lloyd grow up, hadn't been there for questions and homework and the first day of school. Hadn't been there to teach him to hold a sword. He is an observer now, nothing more can be allowed)

Noishe slunk out, nudging his nose into Kratos' palm. Kratos scratched obediently, automatically. It had been a little bit of a shock to see the protozoan again; he'd thought that Noishe had been killed along with Anna and Lloyd. But no. He'd been doing his job, protecting Lloyd as he'd done since before he'd been born; supporting Anna when she had trouble walking with the heaviness of pregnancy, constantly at her side and volunteering as a pillow on many nights when she couldn't find a comfortable position.

"She's going to be okay," Kratos murmured to Noishe. "You know Martel. She's too stubborn to stay unwell."

Noishe snorted, looking up at him. The large, too-intelligent eyes sparkled a little with something like laughter and agreement.

After about eight months, Yuan went to see the Spirit. He knelt by the Tree, checking its leaves and branches as Martel had taught him to do so long ago. He'd helped her collect herbs and other supplies for her medicine and she'd explained to him which plants were healthy, which weren't and which plants were good for which injury.

He smelled the Spirit before he saw or heard her. An array of flowers and petrichor, with the underlying scent of ash. He stood before facing her. (Yuan doesn't kneel. Not to her)

The Spirit looked different. The likeness to Martel wasn't as strong now. Her hair had streaks of blonde and brown in it—though still largely pale green—and her nose was a bit bigger, her cheekbones less defined. Her skin was still nut brown and her eyes still green like summer leaves, but her stomach was rounder, hips a little wider.

"Hello, Yuan." Her voice was still Martel's, without the accent.

He inclined his head in greeting. "How goes it?"

"Rather well. There have been more visitors than I thought there would have been."

"Here to the Tree?"

"Yes. The way Sheena explains it to me," With Mizuho being so nearby to the Tree now, Sheena stopped by when she could. After all, she still had a village and an entire information network to run. "This place is the last stop on many pilgrimages. There are some people even worshipping it now."

"The Tree or you?"

"The Tree. I understand that Lloyd, Colette and the others have been trying to discourage people from seeing me as a deity."

It was an easy jump for people to make. The Goddess Martel became this lovely Spirit, in charge of the new Tree that was leading the world into a brighter future. Zelos and Regal, in particular, had been explaining to everyone the truth about what had happened, but it was difficult for people to believe all of it.

"People used to worship the Spirits."

"But they wouldn't be worshipping Spirits. Just me. Like I was their Goddess reincarnated."

"To them, you are." Yuan shifted his weight. "And the memories?"

"There are many of them. Weddings and love confessions. Births and deaths. Reunited families. As you can see," Martel gestured to herself. "I'm absorbing many of them."

"Can you control it yet? Your appearance?"

The thoughtful smile she gave him was still Martel's. It hurt less to look at the Spirit now when he could interact and be with Martel every day. (Just as he refuses to kneel, he refuses to call the Spirit by his wife's name) "I hadn't tried yet. Perhaps one of these days, I will."

"I'm sure that'll be an experience in and of itself."

"Mm." Yuan turned to leave, but the Spirit called him back. "Ratatosk was here."

Yuan stiffened. They weren't responsible for killing the Tree; that had been the world at large. The War itself had killed it and therefore broken Ratatosk. Half of his identity was gone and now, the Lord of Monsters was all that was left to him. They hadn't tried to help him, even if they could have. They'd left him alone with a dead Tree and a world full of monsters after he'd agreed to help them, no pact necessary.

Yuan felt guilty for a lot of the things they'd done; the Spirits were a particular sore spot. He didn't do well with betrayal and none of the Summon Spirits had deserved it, but Ratatosk was high up on his list of guilt.

"What did he say?"

"He wanted to meet me. The replacement."

"He called you that?"

"Yes. He was…rather abrasive." Ratatosk had always been rough as bark around the edges. Yuan couldn't imagine that losing half of what he was had done Ratatosk any favors in the personality department. "He said I should give up. That the world wasn't worth it."

"Because we destroyed the Great Tree?"

The Spirit's eyes were studying him and Yuan had the uncomfortable sensation of being x-rayed. "Yes. He spoke of broken promises as well."

"He's not wrong. Not about what we did." Shame wasn't something that Yuan was accustomed to feeling; he'd worked against feeling it for most of his life. But for all the things that he, Kratos and Mithos had done—yes, he was ashamed.

"You are different now than when he knew you."

"Some things aren't forgivable."

She hummed; the sound wasn't natural, coming from more than just her throat. Yuan felt it in his skin, his bones. "…he also called me a fraud."

"What?" Replacement was understandable; that was what the Spirit was, essentially.

"When he called me replacement, I told him my name." Her mouth set in a line and Yuan felt a swell of power from her. A young Spirit she might be, but she would grow to be a powerful one. "He laughed in my face and called me a fraud. Told me that I was no Martel. That I was an insult to her memory."

(Ratatosk had liked Martel. Had liked her fire, her refusal to back down from him. She'd impressed him more than Mithos had and she'd been the reason he'd agreed to help them. Ratatosk had held nothing but respect for her and Yuan can understand what he'd meant. To him, Martel is dead. Has been dead and she finally has the chance to be laid to rest. Her memory has been dragged through hell for four thousand years. She deserves the chance to rest and here is this newborn Spirit, built on her appearance, her memories, her sacrifice)

Yuan pressed his lips together, thumb rubbing at his wedding ring. "…To be honest, if Martel had been truly dead, I would agree with him."

A flicker of hurt passed across that lovely face before he felt that swell of power again, right up against his ribs, a threat pressed against his heart, his lungs. Those too-green eyes were glowing in rage. "You have no right. I have been alive for less than a year and not once in that year has anyone actually seen me. Do you know what Lloyd's words were to me? The first time he saw me? So you're Mithos' sister. And even after I explain myself, you still see me for her. Not for anyone else or as an individual. All those people see their precious Goddess that doesn't exist. She never existed. Even Lloyd and the others. They know the difference, but they don't see me. They see the ghost of a woman I've never met. A woman who has been dead for four thousand years and I refuse to be seen as a mere memory!"

Yuan shoved his own mana up, pushing hers out. He could feel it, sparking along his veins and the anger felt good. "Then why don't you tell them that? They never knew her, in truth. Tell all your followers and fanatics that you aren't their Goddess. You said it yourself. You're made of those memories. For people like myself, like Ratatosk, who loved her, you aren't anything more than a shadow. And maybe that will change in the future, maybe it won't, but you're the one who has to find a way to deal with that."

He teleported away before she could retort.

Kratos caught his arm before Yuan could take more than two steps. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Yuan tried to twist his arm to get free, but Kratos clamped down.

"You're lying. You're practically leaking lightning so something upset you." Kratos could feel it, right underneath Yuan's skin, like static electricity.

"Everything's fine. I'm calming down."

"Maybe so, but until you do," Kratos jerked him back as he tried to take another step. "You're not going near Martel. Anger has no place in a healing room."

(Martel used to tell the families of patients that. Used to tell them that. Mithos' fists would clench in anger at the injuries that soldiers came back with. Martel told him to either put a leash on it and help or get out because anger would disrupt the healing)

Those words made Yuan go still. "…let's talk."

Noishe was staying for several days; Lloyd was in Meltokio, helping Colette and Zelos with negotiations for Sylvarant and Meltokio wasn't fond of Noishe within its walls. Yuan knew that there was no better guardian for Martel than Noishe.

Kratos followed him out and into the sky, out onto a rocky island nearby, but far enough that they couldn't feel the fresh mana that came from the young Tree. He waited while Yuan collected his thoughts, folding his wings back up.

Finally, Yuan seemed to have wrangled his temper back. He took a long breath. "…I may have fought with the Spirit."

Kratos blinked, once in shock and again in confusion. "Why?"

Yuan explained the conversation that turned into an argument. Kratos didn't interrupt, didn't comment, waiting until he was done.

"…she's not wrong," Kratos said finally.

"I know that. But neither was I." His eyes went sharp. Even when he didn't seem to be doing anything, Yuan was watching, observing, memorizing everything for possible use later. "You don't call her by her name either."

Kratos sighed. "No, I don't. I don't think I could."

"That's my point. And—I shouldn't have said it the way I did, I realize that, but—" Yuan trailed off, but Kratos could finish off the thought. "…I've never seen a Spirit so angry before."

Kratos hummed thoughtfully. Origin had felt betrayed, but that rage hadn't been there. Undine hadn't had it either and he hadn't been there for the other pacts that Sheena had made. He'd heard of Volt, though. How he lashed out. "…we need to apologize. We've been…very rude to her."

Yuan's brow furrowed. He knew that he'd been rude, not just in the argument, but in most of the conversations. Rude and cold. But Kratos was polite to a fault. Always had been. "How have you been rude?"

(For a second, Yuan feels settled. Settled like he and Kratos used to be. Brothers and best friends. Not like they are now, distant and a bit quiet. Back when they were kids and Yuan had a million and one questions and Kratos had been big eyes and a bird's nest of hair and he'd had all the answers)

"I haven't been much more polite than you have. I've practically ignored her since the day we met." And it wasn't by accident. The memory of Martel still hurt him. Even knowing that she's alive and well and she's still as kind, as understanding as she'd always been, even if she didn't remember them—he still couldn't make himself go. Couldn't make himself look at the funhouse mirror image of a woman he'd helped rip apart the world for. (Sometimes, he's afraid. He's afraid that he will see traces of Anna in that lovely face. See her smile on Martel's lips, hear her words. See her freckles or the shadow of the burn that had been along her cheek)

"Kratos Aurion, being rude. Be still my heart," Yuan drawled.

"Statistically, it had to happen."

That made Yuan laugh. The sound was bitter and harsh. (It's not the sound Kratos remembers) "Statistics? Kratos, we are living, breathing outliers."

Wasn't that the truth. "We still need to apologize to her. She's Martel's only chance to recover her memory."

He hadn't told Kratos about his and Martel's conversation, that first day outside. "…you're right. I'm not doing it today though."

Kratos nodded. "Understandable." Yuan was very good at holding onto anger and grudges. Whether he wanted to or not, he wouldn't be in any shape to make amends today. "I'll go tomorrow. Let her cool off too."

By the time Yuan felt calm enough to go back upstairs, Martel was asleep. Noishe didn't even raise his head when Yuan entered, just opened a lazy eye before closing it. Yuan went to sit in his chair, kicking his feet up —He's getting better at believing that Martel wasn't some trick of his mind, that this wasn't some dream that he would wake up from, but he's gotten too used to sleeping in this chair. And besides, Noishe was here and Noishe was the best protector in the world.

He heard the sheets shift and Martel's breathing change. "What happened?" she asked quietly. (She may not know why, but she knows that he and Kratos have extraordinary hearing)

"Just a disagreement. I'm fine."

Martel pushed herself to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so they had a better angle. "You don't have to lie to me, y'know."

Yuan's thumb went to his ring, automatic, instinctive. "It's not worth bothering you with."

Martel leaned forward and Yuan half-expected her to try and stand up. She'd managed it once or twice on her own, but it wasn't a good success rate. Usually, she just ended up sprawled over the floor. "What makes you think it bothers me? After all you guys have done for me? It's not a bother."

(His heart aches. This is his wife. This is the woman who used to be his confidant, his partner. She had known every secret and he had never dreaded telling them to her. But she isn't that woman anymore and he wants to tell her, but she's not his anymore)

He managed a smile as he moved to stand in front of her. "I appreciate that. But seriously, it's not a big deal. Go back to sleep. You need your rest." She gave him a look, like she always did with little things like that. She called it fussing. He called it caring. Yuan kissed her forehead, unable to stop himself. "Good night."

It took Martel two more weeks to start being able to take a step. And then another. They weren't actual steps, more like shuffling, but it was progress. Yuan walked in front of her, her hands gripping his forearms as she tried to make her legs move.

"No rush," Yuan told her, voice low enough that only she could hear. "Take as much time as it needs."

"I know." Her nose wrinkled in frustration as she stumbled a little, but she regained her balance quickly enough with Yuan's support. "It's just…I'm so tired of feeling helpless."

Yuan was quiet for a moment. "Needing help isn't a sign of weakness." She'd told him that once, when he'd been so angry with himself because he hadn't been able to learn something as quickly as he wanted to. Magic had not always come easily to him; Martel was the one to help him figure it out. Her and Mithos.

Her eyes met his and—for a moment—it looked like she recognized him. From Before. "You should take your own advice."

His lips twisted in a wry grin. "I'm not that wise."

(He's handsome, she thinks. Handsome in a way that might not always show in a photograph. It needs movement and energy. Needs his voice and the way his eyes change color. Bright, ocean blue when he's happy and comfortable. Teal when he argues with Raine, smirking when she gets into it. He likes to bait people. A navy blue when he's on the edge of sleep. Sea green when he gets defensive. Martel likes his eyes)

Raine sat curled in a chair, making notes. There was a great deal of research to be done here in the ruins of a castle. In the rooms upon rooms of books and scrolls and artifacts that had been sheltered away over the millennia. Raine had gone through several shelves of information—accounts. Real accounts of events in the Balacruft Dynasty! Handwritten on stone tablets and scrawled on scrolls—but there was still so much more to learn.

Yuan was stretched out on a loveseat, book in his own lap. He didn't have a separate sheet like Raine did, for translations. He read them quick and easily as though it were the modern tongue.

Kratos was Martel's anchor today. He was a good candidate for a therapist, Raine thought. His seemingly infinite patience was a good quality. He took one step for every three of Martel's, but still, he was attentive, solid. Right beside her the whole way.

"You're doing fine," Kratos assured her as she wobbled, legs beginning to tremble after a few steps. "You can rest, if you like."

She grimaced. "No. I can make it."

"Pure stubbornness won't get you back to normal. It'll just damage you worse."

A snort came from Yuan as he flipped a page. "You have no room to talk when it comes to stubbornness."

There was something about Martel, Raine had noticed, that made Yuan and Kratos warmer. They weren't cold leaders of revolutions or traitors. They weren't seraphim to face or silent obstacles. Now, they smiled occasionally. Snapped teasing arguments back and forth easier. Younger all around, essentially.

"I should be able to do more," Martel insisted to Kratos.

Kratos took another step before waiting for her to catch up. "Walking is a difficult skill. It takes babies a year to learn. It's only been, what, nine months for you? You're on track."

Her grip on his arm tightened. "You did not just compare me to a baby."

Raine didn't register the sound, at first. She just heard it and turned towards it. Then she figured it out. Snickering. Yuan was snickering. Martel and Kratos both turned to give him a look, which just made his grin widen, despite how he tried to erase it with the back of his hand.

It wasn't until this moment that Raine realized it. Kratos was a father. She'd known this, logically, but it wasn't until right now that it clicked. Kratos had taught Lloyd to walk. Had held his arms out in encouragement. Had crouched behind to catch him. Had held his hands for support. (And then there's the hundreds of things he wasn't there for. The lost teeth, the questions, the growth spurts, the shaving lessons, the voice cracking…)

Kratos' lip curled in the corner and before he could say anything, Martel just gave him a look.

Even without her memories, Martel knew him. Knew both of them. She knew how they ticked, their tells. Knew how to make them smile, laugh. Knew what topics not to touch with a ten foot pole. Sometimes, Raine wondered if the soul kept memories too. If souls could recognize things.

It was a foolish thought. Not one for a scholar, but there were times like this that she wondered.

It took Yuan almost a month to go back to the Spirit. He went a little bit before sundown, (It's his favorite time of day, when the horizon is a blaze of colors) shadows stretching long and looming.

He felt her power before she appeared, that press of anger against his skin, his bones. "Yuan." That was a whole world of rage contained in that one word.

Politeness. Manners. Respect, he had to remind himself. "…Lady." He couldn't call her Martel, but he could call her something.

Those green green eyes blinked in surprise. Had she been expecting another argument? "Why are you here?"

Yuan folded his hands behind his back, at parade rest. He had never been very suited for the military, but some things never went away. "To try and make amends. I—I've been unnecessarily rude and disrespectful to you when you've offered nothing, but help and friendship. For that, I'm sorry."

"You just need my help for your Martel." There was disdain there, not on Martel's name, but on the 'your'. She hated the distinction, hated the fact that there had to be one.

"You're not wrong," Yuan agreed. "We do need your help. But that's not why I'm here."

The Spirit set her hip, leaned on her whitewood staff and gave him an expectant look.

Yuan took a breath before he began. (He's been mentally preparing himself. He's ready to tell this story. But he hasn't told anyone this in a very long time…) "…When you've lived as long as I have…you forget some things. And I forgot where I came from. See, I know what it's like to be a ghost." He met her eyes, unflinching. "I know what it's like to be treated like a memory. To be nothing more than a remnant."

The Spirit took a seat on a boulder, not interrupting. After a moment of hesitation, Yuan sat beside her.

"…I'm the youngest of four sons. My father and my two oldest brothers went to war before I properly knew them. My mother was…not a strong woman. The first year or so after they left, she held it together. But after that…she broke. She didn't want to eat. Didn't want to get out of bed. We were shepherds and as the head of the house now, my brother was out in the fields all the time. So I was at home, with my mother."

Yuan went quiet, his eyes far away. The Spirit didn't kick him into continuing. She was like Kratos that way—content to sit and wait.

"…She had her good days. When she would get up, cook, clean. Be normal. But those were rare and they only got rarer. Most days were…were bad days. She didn't know who I was. She called me my brothers' names, asked me why I wasn't bringing Poppi home." Yuan licked his lips. "I used to correct her. Tell her, 'No, Mama, I'm Yuan.' It would hurt her and she would apologize. It would hurt her that she couldn't recognize me, that she was losing it. I imagine it made her feel like she'd failed, as a mother. So after a while, I stopped correcting her. I didn't want my mother to feel bad, after all. So I stayed a ghost in that house."

(He hates to think of it, but the humans saved him. The humans might have seen him as less than dirt, but they hadn't thought of him as someone else. And Kratos…Kratos had been the first outsider to really see him. To listen to him. More than even his brother had)

"…Do you still think she failed?" the Spirit asked quietly.

"As an adult, yes. I have a very clear idea of what good and bad parents do." And that was why Yuan had gotten so furious with Kratos, after meeting Lloyd, after seeing what Kratos had done to his own son. It was one of the reasons why he'd saved him, at Origin's Altar. Parents didn't get the easy way out; not when their children still breathed. "…I've tried to distance myself as much as possible from that powerless, invisible kid. I forgot that feeling and I did the same thing to you. No one deserves to be treated in that way."

The Spirit bit her lip slightly before saying, "When Kratos came to me, he tried to explain why you treated me the way you did. He didn't tell me that story."

"No," Yuan murmured. "He wouldn't have."

"Does he know it?"

"Yes, he does." Kratos knew almost everything about him and vice versa. "But he's good with secrets."

A wind blew and the Spirit pushed her hair out of her face. "I had not entirely considered what seeing your wife must do to you."

"To be honest, the first moment I saw you, I thought you were Martel. But after that, I could never mistake you for her. There were a lot of differences, even at the beginning, before the other memories came in. Ratatosk got it on the nose; I unconsciously believed you stole her. That she wasn't at rest anymore."

"Part of that was my fault. I—I didn't know how to act, what was normal. So instead of trying to figure it out on my own, I took mannerisms from her. Tried to make them mine."

"We were both wrong." Yuan turned a little, held his hand out. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Yuan."

(She can't help but stare at him a little. Starting over? That's an option? She almost doesn't want to do it because she's still hurting a bit, still wants to keep it to herself) The Spirit shook his hand. "…Thank you."

His smile was a little crooked, bitter around the edges, but sincere. "It's my pleasure, Lady."

"Why do you call me that?"

Martel had asked him that same question once, when people started calling her that. Lady Martel! Lady Martel! all down the streets. Kids tugging at her skirts, women inviting her in for scraps of dinner, men flirting or offering to help move supplies.

"Because that's what you are," Yuan said. Words from a different age to a different woman. And they didn't hurt to say, didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. He was getting better. Healing. It was a strange thing to be doing. Because he never healed the first time. Just stitched up the wounds on his heart and kept going. They would rip open, time and again, but now, they're actually closing, starting to scab and scar over. And it was okay, for the first time in millennia, to heal.

I only want your hand to hold, I only want you near me
To love and kiss, to sweetly hold
For the dancing and the dreaming
Through all life's sorrows and delights,
I'll keep your laugh inside me

Yuan's feet followed the sound before his mind made the decision to move. Waltz music, floating down the corridors. It was an older kind, from almost a millennium ago, if he wasn't mistaken. A Sylvaranti musician. After Forcystus had sacked the town, he'd tried to save what he could of the people, the culture. Yuan had always thought that Forcystus was the best of the Cardinals, the most honorable.

Yuan leaned his shoulder on the doorframe. Martel was in the center of the room, swaying and humming in time to the music playing from the dusty phonograph in the corner. Sylvarant had just come off of a decline and was on their way to developing better technologies back then. Phonographs had been very popular.

The sight made a smile tilt Yuan's lips. "Having fun?"

Martel whirled around, stumbling a little as she tried to catch her balance. She was walking more or less fine now. It was slow progress and Noishe, lying along the wall, head on his paws, had been her support today, but she didn't need as much help as she used to.

"I recognized it. The phonograph." Radios had been very much a human thing back then; that technology hadn't made it to half-elves, naturally, and the elves wanted nothing to do with it.

"Trying to dance?"

Her cheeks went a little pink. "I don't think I'd be very good. I don't know how."

Yuan hummed in understanding. None of them had known how to dance, back then. A friend of theirs had taught them, but Yuan had gotten it easier than Martel had. "I can teach you, if you like. A waltz isn't too complicated."

"Would you?"

Yuan stepped forward, taking her left in his right. (It's natural for him, still. She fits like she used to in his arms. Her hands are bonier, but she's here…) "And the right one goes on my arm—exactly. For a waltz, the thing to remember is the rhythm. One-two-three, one-two-three. So I step forward with my left, you step back with your right…"

It was slow and stuttering, especially since Martel couldn't move very fast, but Yuan enjoyed just having her this close, having her laughing as she tripped or flushing and apologizing when she stepped on his foot.

The phonograph stopped playing long before they actually finished. Martel leaned on his shoulder, his arms automatically sliding around her in an embrace and Yuan felt her smile. "We should do this more often. I like dancing."

"Yeah, we can do this more." Yuan didn't want to move. He should; this wasn't his wife. Martel didn't remember him and if she did, she'd probably hate him for the things he'd done. But he hugged her a little tighter and just pressed his nose into her short hair. Four thousand years was a long time to be alone.

Colette, Sheena and Raine brought Martel clothes. Now that she was at a fairly steady weight, normal clothes could fit her rather than the loose pants and too-large shirts that she'd been wearing.

The girls passed by Kratos with the clothes in her arms and he just arched an eyebrow. "Are you putting on a fashion show?"

Martel shrugged helplessly at him from inside the room. "Apparently, I need new clothes."

"Clearly," he said dryly.

"We'll call you if we need you," Sheena told him before closing the door. The girl was strange in her newfound confidence, like breaking in a pair of new shoes. Noishe looked up at him—as he was apparently tagging along after Colette these days—whuffed quietly before laying down on the other side of the hall in front of the door. He would be ready when they came out.

It was several hours later that Yuan went up to let them know that dinner was ready. He knocked on the door twice before entering. It wasn't lack of manners; it was sheer familiarity. Even after so long, something in him was so used to Martel's presence that it wasn't really strange. Someone yelped—it might have been Sheena. Possibly Colette—and Yuan kind of stayed frozen in the doorway.

Seeing Martel naked wasn't anything he was unaccustomed to. He'd bathed and dressed her plenty of times since Kratos had found her. Seeing her in a sundress, however, was something else entirely. The sundress was white with yellow flowers stitched into it. Nothing scandalous, falling a little above the knee, thin straps exposing her shoulders.

It was how normal she looked. How healthy. Even before she'd died, Martel hadn't gotten many chances to wear normal clothes. She'd been fond of dresses, but they were impractical on a battlefield, in a clinic. So she'd worn breeches and a rough cotton shirt that could get stained with blood and worse, had worn her hair back in a practical braid—Her hair length had been her only real indulgence, then—and had kept her one dress at the bottom of her pack, folded neatly, waiting for a day of reprieve.

She looked happy. Looked like she had in Yuan's imaginings of the future, back then. Grinning at him from under a sunhat—because she freckled before she tanned and she'd always be forgetting a hat if she went to collect herbs—and laughing in markets and curled in their shared bed.

Martel shifted a little under his gaze. "What?"

Yuan shook himself out of his thoughts. (They're dangerous, right now. She's not his, can't be his because it'll be a lie. She doesn't know all he's done in her name, because of her, for her. He doesn't want to have these good moments before it's all shattered. Doesn't want to hurt either of them more than he has to…) "You look good."

She looked like a dream made flesh, like everything he'd ever wanted and he couldn't even touch her.

Raine blinked at her former student, who was pulling several pots from where they'd been rather securely tied to the Rheaird. "Lloyd, what are you doing?"

Lloyd set down another pot. So far, he was up to five. "Dad sent them. I told him about Martel and what was going on. He said plants are good for healing, so he sent them with me." Something caught his eye over Raine's shoulder. "Hey, Martel! Oh, wow, you're walking!"

She walked slowly and stumbling a little towards him, Noishe volunteering to be her support. She had one hand on his back as she came closer. "Hi, Lloyd. What's…with all the plants?"

"Dad sent them. Gardening's good for healing, or so he says."

Martel smiled. (She doesn't quite understand why Lloyd doesn't call Kratos 'Dad' but she figures it's not really her place to ask) "I don't know much about plants, but it's worth a shot."

Lloyd grinned at her. "You're in luck 'cause Dad taught me everything he knows."

Naturally, the plants couldn't thrive on Derris-Kharlan, but Lloyd and Martel found a place for them near the entrance to the teleporter. The ground was rocky, but Dirk had taken that into account. His plants thrived in the rocky soil in the Iselia mountains; it was only closer to sea level where the soil was rich enough to grow crops. He'd sent along sage, succulents, poppies, hellebore and primrose.

Yuan joined them later in the day, crouching to touch the leaves of the young plants. He looked over at Martel, who had a smear of dirt on her cheek and was sitting a little ways away, comfortably exhausted. He went to sit beside her.

"Did I like gardening too?" Martel asked.

"Yes, you did. You taught me everything I know about it."

"Really? Like what?"

Yuan looked at the little plants. "Like what sage is good for. Some people really like it as a tea." Personally, he hated sage tea. "It's a healing plant, usually for skin sores and the like. But if you burn it, it's said to cleanse the air of evil spirits."

Martel wrapped her arms around her calves, resting her cheek on her knees. "What else?"

"Um…poppies kind of depend on what color they bloom. Mostly, it's for imagination and eternal sleep."

"Eternal sleep?" she repeated skeptically. "Why?"

"Poppy seeds can be used in medicine. If you crush them to a really fine powder, they can help insomniacs." He'd sat up with her many a night, doing that, usually for the soldiers who couldn't stop seeing the horrors of the battlefield. "As a poultice, it's good for swollen joints.

"Hellebore is a deadly poison. It's a winter flower, though. The story goes that as a priest was on a pilgrimage to visit Origin, she realized that she had no gift to offer him. So she cried. Gnome took pity on her and made a flower bloom through the snow, but its petals stayed white."

"And I taught you all that?"

Yuan hummed an affirmative. "You were a very good teacher."

Her laughter rang out, silvery as it used to be. "Apparently. You'll just have to return the favor for me."

Yuan smiled at her. "I can do that."

A sudden wind blew stray leaves and grass up. Yuan sputtered as it tangled with his hair and got in his face. Martel just laughed harder, but she gestured him forward. As her fingers carefully untangled the leaves from his hair, she said, "I'm telling you, shorter hair makes stuff like this a lot easier." She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin.

Yuan raised a hand to toy with the ends of her short hair. It had taken him a while to get used to seeing it on her; long hair had been her indulgence. And he'd liked her hair long, had liked how it had been able to create a curtain between them, had liked brushing it out and braiding it—if she braided her own hair, it always ended up rather crooked, so he had done it for her. He kind of liked the short hair on her, to be honest. It made her seem younger, fresher. A new look for a different woman.

"I'll think about it," he told her.

Yuan woke to stuttering footsteps; it was a sound that was getting more and more familiar. He pushed his hair from his face, yawning a little. "Martel?"

It was dark enough that without his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to see her. As it was, her smile was a little strained at the edges from tiredness. "You should go back to sleep."

He shook his head, letting his feet fall from where they'd been propped up. "No, I'm awake now. Is there something wrong?"

"Can't sleep. Thought about taking a walk."

"Mind if I join you?" He knew that there were some days that he certainly didn't want company. Maybe this was one of those days for her.

"Why not?"

They walked through Derris Kharlan, trying to avoid the stairs, but Martel seemed to at once be frustrated by them and relished the challenge. Yuan was careful to measure her pace, making sure that he was available as a crutch if need be. Halfway up one of the flights of stairs, her legs gave out. Yuan moved instinctively to catch her, one arm looped around her waist.

Martel gave her legs a vaguely annoyed look as Yuan levered her down to sit on the steps before joining her. "Some days, it feels like they're getting so much stronger and others, it's like I'm back to square one."

"That's how healing goes. You've come a long way."

"And yet, I still have a long way to go."

Yuan made a sound of acknowledgment in his throat. "Why the rush?"

Instead of answering him, Martel's eyes went to some of the windows, to the seemingly endless stars outside them. "…Have you ever tried counting them?"

She wouldn't talk if she didn't want to, Yuan knew. There was no point in trying to push her, so he just answered, "Not seriously. Kratos has though. I think he got to the several hundred thousands. I knew they were uncountable; it just meant that there were that many stories to hear."

"Which stories?"

"For the constellations. But you can't see them very well from in here." He didn't grin at her, but his eyes did, sparkling bright blue-green with mischief. "Want to head outside?"

Martel's eyes went to her legs, still trembling from her walking efforts. "I don't think I could make the trip."

Yuan stood smoothly in one motion. "That's what you have me for." He crouched with his back to her and motioned her forward. "C'mon." (His first instinct is to carry her in his arms, but a lance jabs his heart at the idea. The last time he had carried her like that had been the morning after their wedding day)

Martel scooted herself forward until her knees bracketed Yuan's hips and slid her arms around his neck. Yuan hooked his arms under her legs as anchorage as he stood, the sudden motion making her arms grip tighter for a moment before relaxing. He held her weight easily, even down the stairs and into the teleporter. She was back in the range of healthy weight, according Raine, but she still had to build her muscle and endurance back up.

The night air was crisp and cool; autumn was here. It was difficult to tell in this part of the world. Particularly so close to the Spirit. She kept things green all year round. Her power had limits, though; just a half-mile out, the trees were less green, the red and golds of autumn setting in.

Yuan set her on the ground gently, not letting go so as to stabilize her as she sat down. Yuan sat with her, close enough that their shoulders touched. He pointed out the north star—and every region had a different name for it. That had been what he and Kratos liked to do; comparing the stories and seeing the common themes—and began telling her about the great ship in which the Spirits first came to this world. The tip of the mast was the north star.

He moved his way across the sky, with the story of Celsius and her lover, whom the old gods—old enough that even Yuan had never known them—had cursed for daring a Spirit to love a mortal. But the mortal hadn't stopped loving Celsius and stayed by her side to this day, an enormous, loyal wolf.

At some point in the night, Martel's head had fallen to his shoulder. She was still awake, but she was utterly relaxed. Occasionally, she commented on a story, but mostly, she just listened.

There was the name of the heroes and heroines that were blessed by Efreet, their names written in the stars for their sacrifices. There was the messenger girl, beloved of the Sylph, who was so fast that none could catch her. It was only with the rare fruit from the Great Tree that she was distracted by and that was the way she was stopped. There was the defender of dragons, in the eastern sky. A boy raised with dragons and he loved them enough to die for them, fighting off the hunters and slayers.

Yuan heard it when Martel fell asleep. Her breathing deepened, her heart slowed. He thought about moving her inside, but the cold wasn't enough to warrant it. (It's selfish, but he wants this moment for himself, to have her here beside him, just like Before)

I always swore to you I'd never fall apart
You always thought that I was stronger
I may have failed, but I have loved you from the start

Martel looped her arm through Kratos'—partially for support, partially out of familiarity—as they walked slowly through Mizuho. Since it was the village closest to the Tree and the remains of the Tower, it was the one they visited most often. Martel enjoyed interacting with different people, enjoyed being outside, under the sun.

Her dress today was pale blue, with darker blue geometric patterns around the hems and three dark pink flowers near her hip. They'd found her sturdy boots if she was going to walk a lot. Her legs were growing stronger, but they still needed the support.

"Kratos, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"…Who is he to me? Yuan, I mean." Kratos looked at her sideways and she saw the denial on his face before it ever left his lips. "I'm not blind. I see the way he looks at me. Who is he?"

Kratos stopped walking and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "…he's your husband."

Her heart dropped into an icy pit in her stomach. "My husband?"

(His smiles, his sad, loving eyes, his soft touch…)

"Yes."

"I forgot my husband." Martel stared at the fourth finger of her left hand, as though she expected a ring to suddenly appear, feeling hysteria starting to build behind her eyes, in her throat. "And you—" She looked up at Kratos. He wasn't too much taller than her, just a few inches. Yuan was taller. "Who are you?"

When Kratos smiled, it didn't have any of Yuan's bitterness. It was just sad, to match the sorrow in his red-brown eyes. "Just a friend."

Martel bit her lip. "How could I have forgotten you? You—and you're still here…after all this."

(Kratos doesn't know how to tell her that he'll be by her side for as long as she'll have him. He has never loved her romantically—that has been reserved almost solely for Anna—but he loves her and he'll follow her to hell and back, if she but asks)

"C'mon, Noishe." Martel didn't quite understand how the 'dog'—she didn't believe that that's what he was, but that was what Lloyd called him—could be so intelligent, but she knew that he understood her. "We're going for a walk."

Noishe acquiesced to being her support. The dog was easily the size of a small horse and he could handle her weight quite easily. Yuan had gone out earlier that day; there had been some kind of business to take care of and it had been just her, Kratos and Noishe for most of the day. Martel hadn't been able to get what Kratos had told her a few days ago out of her head.

Yuan was her husband. And she'd forgotten him.

She walked to the room where Kratos had first found her. She hadn't really had reason to go before and she wasn't even sure why she was there now. Noishe waited patiently beside her as she took in the room. The dais where she'd been, the cold looking machinery and—there was something underneath one of the tables. Something glinting in the cold light.

Martel had problems crouching; her legs couldn't take the weight being put on them like that. "Noishe, can you get that for me?" She pointed and she watched Noishe's eyes—so incredibly intelligent. It was almost like there was a person trapped in there—land on the item. She put a hand on the wall in place of him—he wouldn't have moved otherwise—so he could pad towards it, picking it up carefully in his teeth.

Noishe deposited it in her hand; Martel had no fear of the sharp teeth lying in those undoubtedly powerful jaws. Noishe might be a predator, but he wasn't a threat. Not to her.

The object was light and small. A ring, in two colors. Half gold and half—was that steel or silver? It was rather plain, no fancy ornamentation. Martel sat on a table, peering closer at the ring. There was something written on the inside, but it was difficult to see in this light. Yu…n…nd…Mar…l…

She could fill in the blanks. Yuan and Martel. A wedding ring. Her wedding ring. It had likely flown off in her initial panic upon waking. She'd seen Yuan wearing a ring, but she hadn't thought to ask where his wife was, if she liked him being here, day in and day out, for her.

And now she had her answer.

A yawn made her look up. Speak of the devil and so shall he appear.

Yuan stood in the doorway, a travelling cloak still on his shoulders. Now that she knew it for what it was, Martel couldn't stop staring at the ring on his finger.

"What're you still doing up?" Yuan asked, stepping in the room. Noishe whuffed at him and he scratched obediently, sending that tail thumping. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that." Martel looked down at the ring in her hand. "…I found this." She watched Yuan go stiff, watched every muscle tense, watched his easy expression shutter away. "Glad I don't have to explain to you what it is."

(He hadn't thought he'd ever see it again. Her ring. He'd thought it had been lost in the millennia. After all, she hasn't had it once in all these months. He hadn't thought that it would be right here…) "…Kratos told you?"

"After I asked." There was some strange code of trust between Yuan and Kratos. Martel couldn't quite figure it out. "…Why weren't you the one who told me?"

"It's complicated, Martel."

"So, what, I'm incapable of understanding it?" Martel got to her feet, temper giving her energy. "I forgot everyone I love. I forgot you."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not taking it personally," Yuan told her quietly. "It's not your fault."

"I'm getting really tired of hearing that. I know it's not my fault. Why won't you tell me? Not just about us; about anything. What happened to us?"

Yuan's hand dropped away from Noishe's head and he took a step back. "…Don't ask me to do that." He's not strong enough for this. He just got her back; he couldn't let her go. Because that's exactly what telling her would do. It would drive her away.

"I hate being in the dark, Yuan!"

He forced himself not to flinch. "I know. But you'd hate the truth even more."

"…are you alright?" Kratos had the strangest way of projecting his voice. It could be quiet as a whisper and still be heard clear across a room.

Yuan glanced over his shoulder at him. "No."

Of course Kratos would be the one to find him. Even after all the time, all the secrets and pain between them, they still knew each other best. Yuan still knew that when Kratos needed time to think, to simply be, he went to Origin's Altar and Kratos, apparently, still knew that Yuan came here, to Asgard. The place of his birth. Warped through time, raped by war and still here, still standing strong.

This aqueduct hadn't been here, in his time. This was new. Relatively. This broken aqueduct that towered over the town. It was hard to get to; part of its appeal, really.

"You left her alone?"

"Of course not. Noishe is with her." Kratos moved so they were standing shoulder to shoulder. A quiet, warm presence by his side. "She asked me to come after you."

Yuan snorted, scuffing his boot along the ground. "Still a mother hen. Still needs to make sure everyone's okay."

"…she still loves you, Yuan."

The half-elf set his jaw. "It's not the same, Kratos. She—she doesn't know what we are. What we've done."

"It doesn't seem to matter to her."

"But it will and you know it. Once she has her memories back—"

"She'll love you just the same."

That stopped Yuan short. "What?"

"Martel." Kratos stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes on the stars. "I don't think there's a power in any world, any universe, that could stop her from loving you."

"When did you become a romantic?"

"…Nineteen years ago." When a stubborn woman stopped him in his tracks. When she told him straight out that she didn't care what he'd done, what his past was. What mattered was what he was doing now.

A snort. "Anna was something else, wasn't she?" Yuan had met her. She'd been a real spitfire.

"Yes, she was." (And he has nothing to remember her by. No ring. Not even the locket anymore. Lloyd has it. Kratos doesn't regret giving it to his son. Sometimes, he simply wishes he had more of her. He's afraid his memory will fail him, that it isn't good enough to remember someone like her)

Yuan sighed; it was cold enough that he could see his breath. It was getting to be winter around these parts, although there had been reports of wonky weather all over the world. "…I can't do it, Kratos. I can't explain to her what happened."

"Then can you explain to her why? There are only a few months left until she has her memories back, assuming the timeline hasn't moved. Hopefully, that'll lay it to rest until then."

"Yeah. Not tonight though. She won't have cooled off yet." It took a lot to really set Martel off, but once she exploded, she could stew for a long time.

"When did you become a coward?"

"First rule of marriage: if it's your wife, it's not cowardice. It's survival."

That made Kratos laugh, just a little. The sound was alien to Yuan's ears—and when had that happened?—but it made him grin a little in response. It was comfortable, like they used to be.

Yuan walked the familiar corridors that they lived in. Derris-Kharlan was still cold and empty, at its core. It was only in the few floors that they'd been living in these past months that there were signs of life. Otherwise, it was just cold machines and stars everywhere.

(He sees Mithos sometimes, his blue eyes hollow and bruised, his smile broken with blood on his teeth. He hears him talking, more times than he sees him. It's usually not anything specific, what Mithos says. He just talks. Talks about the Renegades, about Yuan and Kratos—traitors that they are. They left him alone. He talks about Martel too. Talks about how much he misses her and how he can't wait for the project to succeed at last. He'll be able to hug her again, laugh and sing with her…)

Yuan turned when he heard her breathing—a little shallower than his or Kratos'—and for a brief, horrible moment, he saw Mithos' face imposed over hers. Like a ghost.

She didn't stay. She was actually turning to leave when he called her back.

"…I don't mean to keep secrets."

Martel looked at him. Her husband. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were on the ground. "But you do it anyway."

"I know. It's—I'm protecting people."

She walked, still slightly unsteady, to stand in front of him. "What are you protecting me from? The truth? Do you think I can't handle it?"

"Honestly? I don't think I can handle it." (He is like a statue, previously broken. He's been put back together, but the cracks are still there and he's waiting for the day, the moment, that he falls apart)

He wondered what she saw, when she looked at him like that. Did she see how much of a shell he was? She might not remember the man he'd been, but surely she could see that he wasn't who he used to be. Did she see every fragile crack and shattered piece of his mind, his soul? Did she think he was too broken to fix? He wouldn't blame her if she did.

"You can't keep the secrets forever."

"…I know."

"When I have my memories…I'm still going to have questions."

Questions and accusations and worse. Yuan inclined his head. "…I'll answer them. Every one."

"Okay." It bothered Yuan, to see her give in so easily. His Martel would have argued him to the ground because she never minded him not telling her things. She minded when the things concerned her.

Martel stepped past him. They were still off-beat, her steps. Not a smooth rhythm yet. Every few steps, she had to stop, gather herself up.

"I'm sorry," Yuan said suddenly. "For not being stronger."

Her steps stopped and he felt her eyes on him. "You don't have to apologize. It's not a sin to be weak, you know."

Yuan stood there long after she was gone. He wasn't okay with being weak. He wanted to be strong enough to not crumble underneath his own memories. (But he knows that might not ever happen. He knows that memories have more power than anything in the world. They can make or break him and here he is, teetering on the ragged edge, trying to decide between being pushed or jumping)