DISCLAIMER: I do not own Tales of Symphonia.

This is a CruLloyd fanfic gone horribly, horribly wrong. Because I refuse to believe Lloyd would ever willingly support Cruxis in what they do, unless they hid cruxial (ahahahah) information from him. And then he would disagree as soon as he learned that info.

Kratos could open the door and go inside the room, he knew that. He could even go and talk to the prisoner. He was well aware of that.

But no, he could not. What was there to say? Was there even anything to be said? The person behind the door hated Kratos, they both knew that. According to Yuan and the guards, being inside there for four months had not changed his mind at that.

Four months. It had been four months since last time they had seen each other. And it had been four months and one week since they were even close to be friends. Although four months and one week would be like a blink of an eye for things like him in any other situation, it now seemed like another four thousand years.

He's your son, Kratos reminded himself. You brought him into this torment, you must see what you did to him. See your failures. Without fully registering it, he touched the button at the door's side, opening it.

The room inside was white and empty. Well, it was not completely, but that did not make Kratos' mind better. On the walls and the floor was blood, not too much for a person to die of loss, but enough that it illed his mind. Kratos took a quick look at the crimson before turning elsewhere in the room. In the middle was some clothes; the little hints of light blue made it easier to exclude it from the floor's colorlessness. Those were not important, either, so he continued searching for the obvious. Finally he found what he was looking for.

A person in ruined red clothes, contrasting Welgaia's regular white color, sat on the floor, his back leaning against the wall. His arms were around the knees, and the head was laying on them to hide his face as he slightly rocked back and forth. His hair was different from last time, Kratos noticed, as it now was dirty and ugly compared to when he was able to wash and brush it. With the old man's senses, he could hear mumbles coming from the boy, something he had done for a while, according to reports.

Witnessing the sight of the young man, the words from his leader came back in Kratos' mind:

"I will forgive you for lying to me, Kratos, but that does not excuse the dog's existence and threat to Martel's resurrection. However… if you agree to take it back to Welgaia and keep it out of our way, I just might tolerate it."

Why had he been so stupid, so blind? Why had he not thought it properly through? To think that the proud and loyal young boy would even give the situation a second thought in order to live. Why had Kratos even considered the chance of Lloyd leaving his best friends for those who made his Chosen suffer, even if one of them was his still unknowingly father?

Kratos registered a move from the boy. His head lifted up, and their eyes met. The Seraph was half-expecting the boy to get up from the floor and attack him in an attempt to escape, or at least have hatred in his eyes upon recognition.

But the eyes were empty, tired. Tired after numerous failed escapes, tired after trying to stay alive after assaults and punishments, tired after being locked up in the same white empty room for months, tired after so long with no human being to communicate with him. Just tired.

Kratos closed the door again, using his arm for support against the wall. Was this really what he had wished for his son? Did he really want to see him like this, just as lifeless as everything else around him, yet still not the same as the other angels? Why didn't Kratos do something to help him? Why didn't he just walk in, take a hold on the boy and warp down to Tethe'alla, where he could be taken care of by his friends?

But Kratos knew well enough the reason. The moment he had stopped Yggdrasill from killing the boy – the moment he began begging him to spare him by revealing that he was his son – he had official ruined the boy's chance of normal living again. Why else would Mithos let Lloyd live? He knew now that the only weakness in Kratos was still alive, and that as long as it was alive, or allowed to go free, there was a chance Kratos would repeat his betrayal. So what could be better than to have the weakness alive, claim it into Mithos' side and use it against his former mentor?

If Kratos gave out a hint to betray Cruxis, Lloyd would get killed; if he took Lloyd down to Tethe'alla, he would get located and killed; if he ran away with Lloyd in an attempt to protect him, they would still get located, and he would get killed. The only safe way for the boy was to stay on Derris-Kharlan, in that room, until he was willing to cooperate. But so far, after four months, the only noticeable difference was the many wounds, the ruined clothes and the empty look of tiredness.

Yes, Kratos had ruined the boy's life.

Footsteps were heard, and Kratos turned toward the sound. A blond man clothed in white approached him, a smirk playing around his face. Kratos frowned a little at the sight, but that did not make the smirk vanish. Then the man opened his mouth.

"Aren't you glad to have your son in Cruxis, Kratos?"