He had heard that some people, when describing someone they found remarkable, compared them to angels. "She was beautiful as an angel", "he was kind as an angel", "She had the mercy of an angel". Well, Kratos knew many angels, and comparing the woman in front of him to one of them seemed a very poor choice.
"Hold out your arm," he ordered, his voice cold. The woman raised her arm, and he took it and considered it. There was no discoloration on her skin, which had to be a sign of something. He glanced around her at the vials aligned on the wall, and wondered for a moment if her dosage was correct.
He turned her arm over and put his fingers against her wrist, checking for an even pulse.
"What's your name?" she asked. She glanced up at him-he was nearly half a foot taller than her-with unaccusing and curious eyes. She hadn't spoken to him before-normally if he was in the room he was simply observing-but he had heard her talk to others on several occasions. That was what had first grabbed his attention, why he considered her "remarkable". The things they were doing to her were... well, euphemisms were useless. It was horrible. But she accepted it with a kind of grace and dignity, a beam set in the water that refuses to bow or bend. She hadn't changed, even for everything they had done to her. It seemed as if, if they were to suddenly let her go, she would wish them a good day and go on her way as if nothing had ever happened.
She was truly a remarkable person.
"... Kratos," he answered, after a pause. The quiet smile on her face, unable to escape the tarnish of her exhaustion, widened a touch.
" 'Kratos'. It has a nice ring to it. Like something from the old stories."
"Hmm," he responded, because he didn't really feel like thinking about the fact that he was from the old stories. He realized he'd been taking her pulse for a long time and let her have her arm back.
He was about to ask her to turn around and push her hair away from her neck-he had to check the injection site near the top of her spine-when she spoke again.
"Do you have a last name?" He hesitated for a moment again, taken aback.
"Turn around and hold your hair up," he said instead. She did as she was instructed, but it was with a faint laugh, like the popping of a bubble.
"A strange last name," she said. She was joking? At a time like this? Remarkable.
"Aurion," he answered, pushing the hem of her shirt down a touch so he could see the vertebrae that rose from her back and into her neck. There was very slight discoloration around the injection site, but it was faint, and much less than was exhibited in their usual subjects. She really was coming along as well as had been reported.
"That's pretty." They lapsed into silence. She seemed fine with it, but he found himself somewhat uncomfortable. How long had it been since he'd spoke to someone who wasn't Mithos, or to an underling he was giving orders to?
"... What is your name?" he asked. He had read it in her report at some point, and he knew her subject number, but he couldn't remember what her name actually was. And it was the only thing he could think of to ease the awkward silence.
"Anna. Anna Irving," she responded, and though she was turned around, he could hear the small smile in her voice.
"Very well, you can turn around, Anna-Anna-Irving," he said. She had started to turn, but she gave a little jump and a laugh when he said her name.
"You angels do have a sense of humor!"
It struck Kratos like a blow to the chest, even though he wasn't entirely sure why. He was an angel, one of the four grand Seraphim of Cruxis, sent here to observe Kvar's project with the angelus project and to report back to his Lord Yggdrasil. He had been for four thousand years. But it still stung. For a moment-one brief, warm moment when he had let his guard down-he had been able to speak to someone as if he was just a person again, just a plain human working for the Tethe'allan military, before Mithos, before Martel, before Yuan and the Kharlan Tree withering and the rending of the worlds. Before all of it. He had been able to speak to someone else as if he was alive.
The Angelus woman-Anna, Anna Irving-knew she had said something wrong. The brief warmth, delicate as a candle flame, had flickered out, and she stared at the ground with her hands clasped together, quiet and obedient and everything she needed to be to survive. To be able to keep on going day by day, so that when she could, she could be herself again. When had he stopped counting days?
Kratos turned from her without a word and approached the door into the examination cell. He knocked twice at it, and it slid open.
"I'm done with my examination. Take her back to her cell. I'll report to Lord Yggdrasil personally," he said. The Desian bowed and held the door open further so he could leave.
Before crossing the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder for a moment, back at Anna. She had lifted her head again and was watching him, her eyes curious and tired and sad-sad for herself, and... just a touch... for him?
He walked out of the Desian base, released his wings, and took to the sky faster than was necessary. The feeling of that sympathy burned cold under his skin. She felt sorrow for him? For him, Kratos Aurion, Angel and high Seraphim of Cruxis, Companion of the Hero of the Kharlan War?
He knew many angels, and he knew many things about them. Some of what people said about them could be true. Certainly Martel, though she hadn't lived to see her ascension, was beautiful, kind, and merciful. But for the most part, angels were just like the humans, or elves, or half-elves they used to be-weak, and corrupted, and scared.
Angels were many things. Anna Irving was greater than all of it.
