Tales of Symphonia
Hope

A simple one-shot that came to mind earlier this morning. I don't know where it came from, just that it felt good to write.

I pray
To be only yours
I know now, you're my only hope

Kratos, Anna and Lloyd.
Anna's perspective.

They've finally grown quiet, nothing but the soft breaths they take, and the quiet of night gently touching my ears. It's peaceful, for a change. The day has seemed endless, and Kratos fought so hard for all of us. More blood has been spilled, his sword forever stained, as is his new sweater.

It's pointless trying to buy him new clothes, since he has a knack for ruining them the same day. Apparently, that's something he passed onto his son, for Lloyd's quickly found that if his father looked a mess, he could not quite linger in that now, could he? No. He'd swiftly spilled his dinner all over himself, leaving Kratos to sigh deeply before smiling that hopeless smile of his. Not a word had passed his lips as he cleaned up the mess, finally resolving the issue by carefully feeding Lloyd every single bite on his own.

I'd told him to leave the lad to learn to wield his own spoon, but Kratos shrugged, smiling on as he helped his little toddler getting some food down. With that smile, I've little left to argue.

It stays a strange thing to see such warmth come from him, even after so long. Days had become weeks, and within no time at all, like the beat of a heart, it had become months and years. Two years already. The stoic man who'd come to my aid, despite all the objections he himself had summed up before me, had swiftly retreated to a different part of him. He was broken, his mind too old for his body, but even so, he'd willingly helped me escape a terrible fate.

Love on first sight, he commented with a hint of mockery after a while, when once again we sat wondering how it had come to pass as it had. It wasn't true, no love on first sight, and we both knew, but something in the way we'd viewed one another had lit that spark anyway. The spark that soon had become a wild inferno.

Kratos is as deep asleep as Lloyd now, and not even the boy's playful stirring seems to rouse him lately. Ever since he took his Exsphere off, he's regained some of his humanity. He can sleep again, feels my touch as he should, and sometimes even feels hungry. His stomach is strange though, and his taste even stranger. He likes to blame it on the years of not needing any form of food, his tongue and palette probably damaged forever, in his own words.

I merely think he's more finicky than he cares to admit, with his bizarre despise for salads, tomatoes in particular, and his insatiable craving for fish. Lloyd seems to be fine with mimicking his old man in that. He frowns just as bad when a tomato comes in sight, though he did comment it was "pwetty".

The boy likes red, and loves nothing better than to run around in his red shirt. It took him a few minutes after learning the word, before he yanked on his father's hair, shouting happily that it was just as "wed", for which Kratos' cheeks rapidly became that color too. A blush blazing on his cheeks, he'd tried to explain to the boy that his mess of hair was more brown than anything.
But trying to convince Lloyd that Kratos' hair isn't really that red, is like trying to convince a priest that Martel isn't truly a goddess.

It took Kratos a while to convince me in all he said, in all he spoke. He proved things to me, showing me his beautiful wings and proving to me with ease his inhuman strength. And even then, I was still reluctant to accept his words on everything. He was one of the former guardians of this world, a hero whose name had long been lost, for only Mithos and Martel remained in the endless writings of the past. Martel wasn't a goddess, he told me in a soft voice, merely Mithos' sister who had come to pass during the Kharlan war of long ago. Four thousand years. I've hardly lived past thirty myself, so to imagine just a hundred seems impossible. Never mind thousands of years.

But Kratos takes it as it comes. He's grown so quiet and calm in all the years by longing to just let go. Of longing for that moment's peace that any man deserves after a long and tiresome life such as his. But Mithos needs him, still, and somewhere, despite all the things that have gone wrong in our world, as well as the other one that lies near ours, Kratos knows that someday, it will all end well.

An hourglass, he says. Not just our world and the one split apart from ours, but the whole cycle of life. Each up has a down, though his facial expression begged to differ as he muttered the words.

Lloyd's awake now, carefully prodding his father's cheek. It's hard not to giggle at the sight of it. Those big brown eyes curiously blinking, a chubby hand trying to rub the sleep from them before he continues his attack. Kratos stirs slightly, his hand carefully feeling around until he's managed to find the boy's collar. He plucks him aside and opens an eye lazily, grunting softly before pushing himself up a bit.

Time and again, Kratos comments how Lloyd takes after me, but as I see them now, both scowling and sleepy, it's as if Lloyd is a younger mirror image of the man. I wonder if there is a word out there with which one can describe all I feel as I watch them so quietly. Happiness and pride are few terms that come to mind, but none of these truly captivate that which seems to glow within me.

Kratos stares at me curiously, the boy once again crawling about, making little growly noises, mimicking his best friend. Noishe has been watching the two with his beady eyes for some time. I often wonder what goes on inside the white animal's head, though I think that perhaps he feels as satisfied to see them like it as I. Kratos lazily reaches for the fellow, scratching him behind the ears, his eyes still on me. I can't help but smile, and he smiles back wearily, proudly glancing at Lloyd before meeting my gaze again.

He needs no words to inform me of what it is he wants. And so I will soon cuddle up to him, listen to the endless slow beating of his heart as sleep captivates me, whilst he watches over us. He won't sleep then, his Exsphere once again touching his skin, keeping him awake forever, letting him guard us from everything. Lloyd might ask to see the pretty wings again, and to that he'll merely shake his head.

I know, for it's always like that. And it will stay that way. Forever. Or so I hope.
Maybe that is the best word to describe the feeling within me.

Hope.