Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia. It belongs to Namco Bandai. (I think that's pretty obvious.)

-/-/-

My name is not important. My identity is not important. What is important is that I'm very strong-willed and strong-voiced, but I know when to shut up and be quiet. I know when to admit you're in the wrong, and when to hold your place. I know when to grin and bear it, and when to come out of my shell and cry.

…At least, I thought I did.

Now I'm lying in a pool of my own blood. Can you believe what I've done? The things I've said? I gained their trust. It took months, but it did. And I took all of it – I grabbed it all in one fell swoop – and I smashed it into the ground. I mashed it with the heel of my boot and laughed as I did so.

I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.

It was a long time ago. It feels like it was a lifetime ago, when the ball started to be formed. When it was just becoming a snowball.

One winter night in Meltokio, I was playing with my mother. It was the first time I'd ever seen snow. My father, the previous Chosen, had never been there to play with me, and my half-sister was too sickly to even consider the idea. My mother had, kindly, taken it upon herself to entertain me. The snowman in front of us was grand; at least to my six-year-old self.

Suddenly, my mother cried out in pain. I turned to her and gasped at what I saw; her chest stained with blood as she fell. I tried to keep her up, tried to ignore the red snow that was falling, and cried. The woman who had shot the magic was being restrained by guards.

The words my very own mother told to me that night, made the ball start to grow.

Yet, at the burial, the only looks I got were pity. The only thing anyone said to me was "You poor thing," in those words or similar ones. Then, they turned around and continued on, most of them attending a party at the castle that night. The party that they expected me to be at. And guess what?

I was there.

I've learned that no matter how broken your heart is, the world doesn't stop for your grief.

Throughout the years, as I realized that people only loved me for my obvious good looks and status as the Chosen, I began to use that to my advantage. If no one wanted to know the real me, I'd give them something they all wanted.

The snowball continued to grow and grow.

Then, suddenly, I ran into someone I would grow to love. Even though I've traveled with him for so long, I can't remember his name right now. It's all foggy… But I do remember that he was life-changing.

He wanted to save his friend. He would sacrifice his whole world in order to save her. I was so confused at the time. How could he be so confident that everything was going to be okay? How could he just know that everything would work out?

After we rescued her, though, I realized why. It was because he was doing what he needed to do. He was worried about her, so he needed to help her. In that same way, whenever he saw someone in danger, he would always rush to his side. It was so…

So odd…

I've learned that heroes are people who do what has to be done, regardless of the consequences.

To think; after all that – after months of being by that idealist's side, I would end up where I am now. The previous events flash through my mind; my sick, sick laugh at his attempts to save her again. The way I turned from his beliefs, stubbornly refusing to change.

I've never hated myself more than I do now.

Yet, I'm proud of him. I'm proud that, when it came down to it, he drew his sword and stabbed me. He knew it had to be done … he was a hero.

I'm proud of him. I promise. But that doesn't stop the tears from falling. That doesn't stop me from trying desperately to hold on to what once was. I remember all the times we laughed together; sure, most of them were fake. But they were happy. I was enjoying myself; I lost myself in the adventure.

And I turned around and threw everything back in his face tenfold.

And, most importantly…

"Hmph. Stubborn to the very end."

I look up and laugh. Of course it's the Seraph that descends. Of course it's the Messenger of Death that's at my side now. "Yeah, I guess I am," I chuckle. Kratos isn't as amused as I am.

"I'm sorry you had to die."

I just snicker. "Yeah, you are. But it's okay – the plan worked, didn't it?"

He's quiet now. It's quiet for a long time. I close my eyes, concentrating … I don't want my life to end in his presence. Not his. Not that bastard's.

I hear him move – I think. Then he says, "I'm willing to help you."

… I've learned that you can keep going…

I open my eyes with a bit of trouble. His hand is extended. "I promise, you will live."

… long after…

With somewhat of a struggle, I lift my arm and put the palm of my hand in his. The movement makes me cough, and blood trails down my chin. As if I hadn't lost enough already.

… you can't.

"Goodbye … Hero of Tethe'alla."