Thanks to a very special "angel buddy", this story began. Ever since, Emil Lime and I have been formulating it, shaping it and creating it. Now, as a co-write between the two of us, the story is ready to be told. Each chapter is from varying points of view from different characters, the heading at the beginning signifying the change. Who wrote each chapter will be stated at the top.

Cover art is borrowed from: member_ ?mode=medium&illust_id=27848746.

Reviews are always welcome.

Enjoy,

Orangepotato and Emil Lime

Chapter by Emil Lime

Kratos Aurion: Chosen Project (Tethe'alla), Status-Incomplete

Could she be the one?

Shutting off the valve for the water, the auburn stepped out of the shower. His ears caught the sound of ticking water droplets as they made their first and final decent onto the tile below. Holding back the urge to sigh, he headed to the large mirror and smudged the steam off of it.

Kratos Aurion, an angel of Cruxis and an escort of the Chosens, stared back, eyes empty. He recalled the conversation he'd had with his leader not more than 30 minutes ago, the blonde's eyes glowing with an oddly 'alive' quality.

She could be the one, Kratos. She could be the one who becomes Martel's vessel…

Shaking his head, he turned away from his reflection and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Heading into his overly gray room, he pulled open his wardrobe and glanced at the few articles that existed there.

She was the Chosen of Tethe'alla, meaning he'd need to look as if he hailed from that world. Holding back another tired sigh, he grabbed the belted uniform he'd become so accustomed too. It'd been so long since he'd needed to travel to Sylvarant, counting it'd been flourishing for nearly 800 years now.

Every Chosen Kratos had attempted to escort in Tethe'alla had lost their life to the Renegades or to monsters. It'd not only frustrated him but his leader as well, whom turned and blamed it on Kratos. That usually ended with the killing of several lifeless beings and a grunted apology from the leader once his temper had stopped flaring.

Strapping the last of his belts together, he glanced at himself in the mirror that hung on the wardrobe door. Like always, he looked pristine and ready to head into the world of Tethe'alla. Kratos went to his desk and picked up the manila envelope that sat on the top of his growing stack.

Opening it, he pulled out the large picture and examined it closely. Her red hair, long in front and short in the back, curled gently onto her chest. Ocean colored eyes were looking off somewhere, like someone had grabbed her attention right as the photo was being taken.

He frowned. She would be excepting the oracle within a matter of hours, readying herself for the Journey of Regeneration a short time after that.

Kratos forced down all of the hope that was welling in his stomach. If there was one thing the angel had learned to avoid doing, it was allowing himself to be whisked away by hope. So many times before, his leader, Lord Yggdrasill, had believed it was finally their time. Kratos, foolishly, had allowed himself to believe that as well, only to feel the painful stab of failure when the Chosen died or didn't match the signature.

This time, he wouldn't let himself be carried away. He'd stay grounded, no matter how close she got. At any moment, this Chosen could die on him, leaving the emptiness he'd come to expect from the task of escorting the Chosen.

She was a Chosen and nothing more.

Kratos put the picture away, not bothering to look at the thick packet of intelligence that'd been collected on her since she was young. He didn't want to get that personal with her, any of them for that matter. Living for so long had created a hard shell around him, even he knew that. Knowing about this Chosen would only make him soft for her, make it harder to except the eventuality of her death, rather by monster's fangs or by Regeneration.

Gingerly, he placed the packet on the top of his stack, swearing to himself he'd clean off his desk when he got back. Walking out of his overly bland room, he entered the overly bland hallway, his feet taking him along the all-to-familiar pathway.

How many times had he walked this path? He supposed the real question was how many more times would he be forced to walk it.

His musings were halted when he heard footsteps behind him, ones that he'd recognize anywhere.

"Heading out, Kratos?"

"Yes, Yuan. Another Chosen is about to receive the oracle."

"I see. I'd heard one was coming of age soon."

The sound of feet scraping the ground, as if Yuan were moving from side to side, caught Kratos' attention, though he didn't turn around. Other than that sound, silence travelled between them, neither adding anything to the conversation at hand.

Finally, the auburn spoke, "I should be going."

"Right," Yuan sounded tired, more tired than usual, and heaved a sigh, "Good luck."

He didn't say anything, just nodding to satisfy the end of their dialog. There was nothing to say anyway. Stepping forward, he headed towards the warp that would lead him down the Tower of Salvation. He could hear Yuan as he turned and headed back the way he'd come from.

The warp activated under the angel's feet, its glow catching and casting shadows. He imagined the Chosen, her name leaving his lips as he activated it and headed landward, "Ilene Capella."