Tales of Symphonia
Traitor's Tale

Born amidst the chaos of war, raised to be a knight and more than punished for befriending a half-elf, Kratos Aurion has a difficult choice to make. Stay loyal to Tethe'allan court, with all its intrigues, or save the world of Aselia, even if it means to trust half-elves once more?

A Kratos Aurion story about the Kharlan War, from beginning to end.

Author's notes:
I had previously uploaded this to my old account, but received some comments on my older fics, wondering if I were going to go "that way" with this. I'll just say that I intend on finishing this eventually, no matter how long it takes me. And I intend to do it well.

An important note about the plot:
While I've watched most of its footage in a magnificent walkthrough by WishingTikal, I simply feel that Dawn of the New World's plot was utter rubbish. People like Kratos, Yuan and Mithos wouldn't have "forgotten" about this secret extra spirit who accidentally was betrayed on the go. Furthermore: Marta Sue. Enough said?
I pretty much liked to wave at DotNW as it passed by, and regard it as "canon" as Zelos' death.
As such, there will be no mention of Ratatosk, Centurions etc. in this entire fan fiction.

Last not but least, about the characters:
Since I am not too good when it comes to naming things (people, cities, pets), you might come across some very familiar names. Namco has always had a soft spot for cameo appearances, so I will take it for granted that somewhere on the go some characters might have had the same names. Think of it like FF always having a Cid?
In addition to this I feel that I should really tell you that Soleila is in fact a real character, though she was mentioned only very briefly in Tales of Fandom. Yuan mentions how Kratos had left her side, and Kratos doesn't seem too happy about it. (and yes, I managed to use one simple sentence from Fandom as the backbone for quite a big part of the plot. Scold or praise me later.)

And without further ado...

The beginning of it all

Once upon a time, there existed a giant tree, that was the source of Mana.
A war, however, caused this tree to wither away.
And a hero's life was sacrificed in order to take its place.
Grieving over the loss, the Goddess disappeared onto the heavens.
The Goddess left the Angels with this edict:
"You must wake me, for if I should sleep, the world shall be destroyed."
The Angels bore the Chosen One, who headed towards the tower that reached up onto the heavens.
And that marked the beginning of the regeneration of the world.

Once again I stare at the words, pondering how often I have written them down by now. Surely, I could easily look around and count the amount of ruined pieces of parchment I've swooped off my desk, but I simply know, regardless of numbers, that there are too many. After having been here on Derris Kharlan for a long time, I found there was little left to do. I have done most of my tasks, and apart from wanting to fulfill my last promises, not much else is there left to do. Writing down the true history of the world I left behind is one of those promises I made, yet, it's far from simple. With every attempt, I find myself writing the history of my companions and I, rather than the impersonal history of Aselia itself. Perhaps I should just carry on with writing what my heart desires. It does hint toward Aselia's true history more than any other personal tale you could find. After all, four millennia is more than even most Elves live to see.

So here I go again, writing what I definitely should try not to. But with my mind set on it, I have little choice.

I should start with the day that marked the beginning of it all for me. A day that's been in and out of my memory, painful to recall, but I don't think any other day would be more suitable to begin with.

It was a remarkably warm day in spring, something I will never forget for I'd never seen my generous teacher take off his winter cloak that early in the year. Underneath it, he wore a simple cheap shirt, which was patched and he apologized to me. After all, you weren't really supposed to be so tattered in front of the duke's son.
"That's alright, sir." I told him, trying not to eye how shabby he seemed all of a sudden. He shrugged it off and went on reading aloud. My parents were wealthy, and my upbringing was dedicated. I suppose that's what happens when you're a distant cousin of the Tethe'allan royal family.

My teacher, Master Avery, spoke of the Triet Desert that day, and claimed it was possibly the warmest place beside the cramped room we sat in. Usually, he'd ask me to meet him in the library, but that day the library was occupied by my father and some of his men. While I'd deliberately asked several times for his purpose there, he had told me I was too young to understand and had no reason to know anyway. Being 'already' ten years old and spoiled at that, I hadn't taken the answer for a no. Just like now, my mind then was set on it: I had to figure out what was going on.

As my teacher went on, I noticed the curtains hung still, even though both of the windows in the room were open, as well as the door behind me. I'd have expected a draft, or at least a gentle breeze, but nothing but warm air passed through the room, too slow to feel, and sweat ran down my forehead. Slowly, I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, and tried to keep up the act that I was in fact paying attention. My eyes wandered around the room after that, and I noticed that one of the banners had a hole in it, right on top of the wolf's eye. Or was it merely discolored?

"It was there that Efreet…"
Right. Summon Spirits. Six of them, one for each element; plus Origin, plus Aska, plus Maxwell. Had it been a book displaying pictures of them, I'd have been interested, but alas, master Avery was merely describing Efreet's fiery appearance to me in his nasal voice.
After about five more seconds of trying to pay attention, I carefully readjusted my feet several times, trying to find a comfy position, whilst trying not to disturb the old man, to no avail.

"Are you bored, young master?" he lowered the book which he had held close to his face to see it better, and looked at me with his piercing grey eyes. Deciding he wouldn't appreciate a lie, I just nodded. Old master Avery put the book down and scratched his long, dark grey beard in thought, while his bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"I think we… Well, perhaps we should call it a day," he decided after a moment. "It is quite hot, don't you think? It won't do either of us any good to stay in this hot and tiny room, if you don't mind me calling it tiny."

"Pity the library is occupied today; it is much cooler in there," I hinted, trying to sound as casual as my curiosity would let me. Master Avery closed his book after fiddling with a bookmark, and then put it on the stack he had brought with him. Deciding he hadn't fully understood my hint, I tried again, "Would you like me to bring those back for you?"

"No, no, Kratos… it is better if we don't disturb your father and his men for the time being."

I let out a sigh, annoyed that he would simply not answer my unspoken question, so I decided to voice it. "Why's that?"

"If he hasn't told you himself-,"

"He said he was too busy to tell me," I quickly threw it in. It wasn't completely untrue: my father had been fairly annoyed by my interruption, as he had indeed been rather busy. Of course, I wasn't going to tell master Avery that it was just a coincidence. The old man let out a sigh and his eyes met mine once more. Hesitantly, he finally dared say it, "They're setting up strategies for times to come."

While my young brain barely understood what this truly meant, I let out an understanding "ah" anyway. The last thing I wanted was for master Avery to think of me as a stupid kid.

I knew such strategies had to do with the war against the opposing country of Sylvarant, but details weren't given to me at the time. I'd grown used to it. After all, half of our grounds were used for training soldiers. Knights, even. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be among my father's troops. To wield a sword, and lead Tethe'alla to victory…
My father had always promised me that eventually I'd be allowed to undergo the training, but only if I had learned first things first. Reading, writing, basic math, history and the sort. My mother had seen to it that I was taught by the best of teachers, or so she'd heard when she'd found master Avery. Wise as he was, the man was near demented and hardly interested in me at all. So long as he had someone to listen to him, he was satisfied.

Deciding that master Avery wasn't going to share more details about my father's business, I let the old man klutz about with his pile of books and left the room, slamming the door shut behind me without looking back even once. In the hallways it was somewhat more bearable than it had been in the small study, though a breeze was too much to ask for.

I headed toward the end of the hallway where I paused, thinking of what to do. With this lesson being cancelled halfway, I'd have at least an hour more to do as I pleased. My stomach gave a soft gurgle and I decided to take a peek in the kitchens. Not the one from which my daily food came, but the soldiers' tavern, in the building next door. My feet automatically strolled down the hallways and a staircase or two, leaving the mansion through one door only to enter the smaller building less than a minute later.

I inhaled the wondrous scents of the kitchen deeply as I closed the door shut behind me. The building was small compared to my house, but it felt more like home than anything. It was crammed full with long, wooden tables and equally long benches. On the other side of the room was a counter of sorts, behind which the kitchen was built. Momentarily I kept standing near the doorway, looking at the cook and the maids rush about the kitchen, obviously preparing for lunch time. It was remarkably silent, though it was without a doubt far too early for most soldiers to drop by yet. The few people that sat there looked up at me, others didn't, and altogether they didn't pay me any mind. It was this lack of interest in me that I found so soothing about this building.

To almost everyone I was Kratos Aurion, son of Duke Aurion, almost nephew of the King of Tethe'alla. I was no longer considered an actual nephew to my King, due to the simple fact that we were not related by blood. Before I was even born, my father's sister had been married to the King, thus tying my Aurion blood to the royal Tethe'allan family. It had been a political marriage, to bring two of the most favored families together, and to create a respectable heir to the Tethe'allan throne.

Sadly, my aunt passed away, long before she'd ever carried a new heir, and all ties between both families should have been severed , had it not been for my father's kind interference. The King had come to like his brother in law, and had never taken back the position he'd given him. And so my father had remained one of the most influential military figures in all of Tethe'alla.

Despite my privileges, I often wished I'd been born elsewhere. A free man, rather than being imprisoned between two mountainsides and two walls, confined to a mansion and boring classes with boring teachers. To be able to live happily with my parents, rather than barely recognizing them among the mass of other people they were almost always accompanied by.

I snuck behind the counter and prodded a somewhat plump older woman with graying hair tied in a bun on the back of her head. She almost dropped the spoon she'd been holding in surprise and I shushed her playfully as she let out the usual annoyed sigh. Rose, as she was called, often told me to steer clear of the soldiers' tavern as it was no place for a "boy". The rough talk, the noise, and sometimes the brawling among the men were all deemed far too dangerous by her. I saw them as interesting forms of entertainment instead, much more enjoyable, even more educational, than any minstrel that ever came by. The gossip among men was different from women's, I'd found out quickly, in that it was often remarkably accurate, save for the bragging, and far more interesting too. After all, hearing about some stain in cloth isn't as interesting as hearing about a wild boar chase.

"I'm starving. Could you…" I asked with a bit of a grin. Rose rolled her eyes, and clacked her tongue impatiently. She had this way of scolding me, trying to keep my manners in place.

"Please?" I added reluctantly. She let out another sigh but the usual smile came onto her red lips. It had worked once more.

Looking at her fellow maids and cooks, who were running up and down, stirring big pans, cutting ingredients and fretting over some burnt bread that came out of a smoking oven, Rose beckoned me to the back, behind a heavy wooden door. In there the scents tickled my nose and made my mouth water. It was used for storage of both fresh and cooked ingredients. Big hams hung upside down from the ceiling on one side, and the shelves on the walls were filled with baked bread, ready to be served at lunch time. I almost tripped over a sack of wheat I swear hadn't been there the day before.

My mother always saw to it that I was given no food but the best; fine small portions of rich ingredients, cooked perfectly and seasoned in detail. I always saw to it that I snuck most out of the room for the hounds, or ate an actual meal in the soldiers' kitchen beforehand. In the past, I'd stuffed myself beforehand for several days a little too much, and when I couldn't force any of the refined food down afterwards, she'd called a doctor. It took more than a dozen glares at the man for him to understand what I'd done and why, and he shushed my mum that it was no problem to not eat if one wasn't hungry. Afterwards he told me to try and find a balance to satisfy both me and my mother, and I suppose I succeeded. Save for that morning, since I'd just skipped breakfast altogether.

Rose gave me a bowl filled with thick soup that made my stomach roar, and a piece of bread which she broke in half. She took a seat opposite me at the empty table and nibbled on the other half of the bread, staring at me for a while as I wolfed it down.

"Didn't see ya this morning," she said. "You ate upstairs?"

I shook my head and almost choked on a gulp of soup when I tried to answer, "N-no… Sorry, no. I was late for Master Avery's class. Overslept. And the dining room smelled as if they'd dragged in something long dead. So…" I hesitated as she raised her eyebrows. "…I skipped breakfast."

She shook her head at me, waving a finger, "Skipping breakfast is bad for ya! And so is oversleeping… if ya were my kid, Kratos, I swear I'd kick ye outta bed at five to work right with me."

I shrugged and went on with my soup. Rose loved scolding me and for some reason I didn't mind. According to the rumors I'd heard, she'd not only lost her husband in the war, but also lost the baby she'd been expecting shortly after her husband's passing. Depression, or so I'd heard some maid say. It meant so little to me, the reasons why, but apparently it had led her to mothering me whenever she could.

Not half bad, since my own mother was often occupied, be it with headaches or be it with her many female companions. Those female giggle machines were noisy, pinched my cheeks and often commented on my "rough" appearance, much to my mother's annoyance. The comments about my appearance usually were about my hair. If there was anything I hated, it was sitting down for a haircut. Somehow every time someone cut it, it seemed to get worse than before and the female companions of my mother managed to say even worse things. So the only person to be able to restrain me to cut it was my father, and he was seldom around to go and catch me. Even as I sit writing this it still looks pretty much the same as it did then. Long, messy and unsymmetrical; the latter because I'd come to enjoy getting scolded by my mother (if only for an excuse to stay away from her monstrous company).

"It is quite early though… still about two hours till lunch," Rose said, leaning her head on her hand after finishing her bread.

I nodded, "Ye… master Avery complained about the heat and let me go so he could cool down a little. He could've just told about Celcius instead of Efreet though."

"Summon Spirits, eh… Interesting?"

"Not really," I admitted. "Especially not since they decided to not draw any pictures anymore. Adults are so boring."

Rose let out a laugh as she got up and picked up the empty bowl. With a wild movement she wiped crumbs off the table and pat me gently on the head, winking kindly.

"It's a mess," she said thoughtfully while she pulled on a strand of hair, as if she'd read my mind before.

"It's fine," I pushed her hand away and got up too, ruffling my hair with my hands some more.

"True. A fine mess it is!" she said with another wink. "Now shoo before the cook decides to yammer about this again."

I left the storage room and quickly swooped out of the kitchen, into the dining area. The cook indeed yelled after me, or did he? I simply had no time to decipher his ranting as I bumped into a maid who'd been carrying off empty bowls from a table. I paid her no mind as she cursed aloud but rushed for the door instead, which I opened and slammed behind me. Silence. Absolute silence.

I stood in the hot sunlight, deeply inhaling the fresh scent of the morning. The door I had entered lead to the inner courtyard of the little settlement the several buildings formed. I always liked to think of our belongings as a small village of sorts, with my mansion as the council, making my father the mayor. In the middle of the courtyard was a massive patch of grass, an old oak tree at its center. Its blanket of leaves was brightly colored, casting a dark shadow on the area below it. I reckoned it was rather cool out of the sun, and began to walk for it.
With another two hours till lunch, if Rose had been right, I could lie down in the grass for a while. Before I'd reached it, however, I heard the cook again and turned around to see.

Unlike I'd expected, he wasn't yelling at me for knocking the maid over. Instead, he was scolding a little boy I'd never seen before. I stared in awe at him, for he had an utterly impossible appearance. His face was pale, be it dirty, and some strands of poorly cut hair hung in it. Looked like someone had half shaved his head, without caring for the result. But what really made me wonder, was the color of his hair. His hairs were colored blue like the sky above. Never before had I encountered anyone with hair in such an impossible color, but it suited him well somehow. Even brighter than his hair were his eyes. Even from afar I could clearly see the bright green color of them, and I could've sworn that the grass would've looked grey in comparison.

Once I got over the shock brought on by his colorful features, I noticed that his ears were different from my own. Subtly pointed, the mark of a half-elf. My stomach twisted in disdain to it. Young as he was, the boy had already fallen subject to the horrid discrimination that went on in Aselia. Both Tethe'alla and Sylvarant looked down upon half-elves, for they were outcasts to both humans and elves. The elves lived secluded, hidden lives and kicked out any half-elves born among them. So the half-elves were forced to roam around the world, seeking petty jobs and being abused for being considered lesser. The reason why they were seen as lesser has always been a mystery to me. Seemingly, even folk as grand as humans or elves, need a scapegoat to kick around…

The roaming folk of half-elves were sometimes taken in by humans, be it as poorly paid workers, or worse: as slaves. My father had once told me how simplistic it was, the reason for forcing half-elves into becoming slaves. They were long-lived, a trait they inherited from the elves. Raise one well, teach him to serve his family, and in return give it the simple security of survival by supplying bed and food. In such a way, a single half-elf slave can live to serve a dozen of human generations.

Apparently, this boy had been taken in recently, and was to be trained for such a purpose. Barely older than me, and somewhat shorter, he still had something intimidating about him, even though he was crying silently with a pouty look on his face. The cook yelled at him, demanding an answer but the boy merely stared at his own feet. The cook raised a hand threateningly and yelled some more, but again the boy didn't respond. I closed my eyes in shock as the cook let his raised hand slam down. I heard it come down on the boy's face with a loud smack.

When I opened my eyes, the boy let out a roar of rage, his voice hoarse as if he hadn't used it for a while, "Don't touch me!"
"How dare you speak back! You filthy mongrel!" the cook shouted back, his face turning red in anger. Again, the chubby hand was raised, but this time the boy wasn't willing to let it come down on his reddening cheek again. He ran right at the man, hands outstretched. With a massive flash and a jolting sound, the cook got blown off his feet and slammed into the wall behind him, breaking a barrel and sliding down slowly. For a second the boy seemed smug, rubbing his reddening cheek slowly and wiping the tears off his face, but then he realized that what he had done was pretty bad.

The cook didn't move, and a tiny stripe of blood trickled down from underneath the thinning black hair. I put a step toward them, but long before I could reach them, the door beside the boy opened. I watched as he jumped in shock when several people stormed out. A soldier and two maids, including the one I'd bumped into only minutes before.

"Did you do that? DID YOU!" the soldier grabbed the boy, shaking him thoroughly as he pointed at the unconscious cook. The boy didn't respond but just stared at the soldier in fear. The soldier looked at the maids, who'd gone over to check on the cook, asking if the poor man was alright.

"He's alive," one of them muttered. The other one ran back inside, probably to fetch help of sorts. While the soldier didn't pay attention only so briefly, the boy had shrugged him off and began to run the hell away. In the meantime, I had approached them silently, causing the boy, who hadn't noticed me at all – he was looking back over his shoulder– to slam right into me. Since I saw it coming, I managed to keep my footing, but the fellow fell onto his butt.

Like I'd thought, he was indeed a lot shorter than me, and it slightly pleased me. I stared down at him for a moment, trying to make eye contact but he refused to look at me. I turned my attention on the soldier instead. He was only about three feet away from me, sword in hand. He'd intended to chase the kid down, to punish him for the intolerable act. As he noticed it was me, he halted and I saw his grip on the sword loosen slightly.

The half-elven boy looked from me to the soldier and back again, while he slowly got onto his feet. I felt a bit smug; he really was a few inches shorter than me.

"Young master, this slave-," the soldier said, straightening his back and moving his feet nervously.

"He merely returned the favor," I interrupted him coolly. "I don't know what he did, but I can't imagine him to have deserved such a smack in the face. What did you do?" I asked, turning my attention to the boy, ignoring the stuttering guard. His eyes truly were too green to be real, and I had trouble forcing myself to look into them. With a nod at the cook, he quickly spoke or rather, he whispered.

"I brought the wrong ingredients to him… I didn't know there was a difference!" the last words he said which such panic, in such a high-pitched voice, I thought for sure he'd burst to tears. He did not, however, and his eyes flashed toward the unconscious cook again.

"That deserves no smack in the face, though… you really shouldn't have hit him like that," I said slowly, trying to pick my words carefully. Had I said he'd used magic, the soldier would gain the right to execute the kid right there and then. For any half-elf slave to use magic, meant losing what little rights they had left to them. In that sense they were treated worse than the hounds we kept at the stables…

The soldier stepped forward, shaking his head. He knew that the kid had used magic, and wasn't going to lose this opportunity to prove himself.
Right on cue, the boy quickly stepped around me and grabbed my arm as he hid behind me. He eyed the soldier from behind me, pressing his chin against my shoulder as he did.

The idea that someone deemed me strong enough to protect him made me feel a lot bigger than I was. Even as I saw the soldier's grip on the sword tighten once more, I kept my footing. I felt the boy tremble slightly.

"But he-," the soldier stammered, halting with a frustrated look on his face. He could hardly bump me out of the way and kill the boy I was willingly protecting. Insulting me, meant insulting my father, and that meant the soldier would lose his position, or possibly even his life. But right before the soldier made a choice, the door opened once more and the maid returned, together with Rose. I watched as she quickly observed the situation, placing her hands on her hips. She seemed to chew on her tongue as she stared at the mess before her.
"Well, what have we here…" she said, her voice breaking the tension abruptly.
Rose looked from one side, where the cook lay, to the other, where we stood, and then finished by waving a finger at the soldier. With a disappointed face, and a bit of a scoff, he let his sword fall back into his sheath and bowed before me.

"My apologies, young master,"

Rose placed a hand on his shoulder, with some effort as he was rather tall, "Thanks for understanding, Fernando. It was just an accident. If anyone's to blame it is me. Had I not been occupied I could've given the boy exactly what he was looking for. Besides, I heard that he'd been smacked in the face -his cheek is still red!-, which is good for nothing. The kid's been here for only a few days, he needs time to learn."

"But he's a mere-,"
"I will have no such rubbish, Fernando. You very well know how I deal with people spitting such rot at me!" Rose's eyes seemed to light up with fury as she spoke the words. A shiver passed my spine upon seeing her anger, but I made sure not to let anyone notice. Especially not the boy who was still clinging onto my arm.

Fernando the soldier left without saying a word. I wryly watched as he marched alongside the grassy field, toward the soldiers' barracks.

Rose went to help the cook get up, as he'd somehow regained consciousness in the meantime. Figuring that they were occupied, I turned around and looked at the half-elf, shrugging his gripping hand off. He let go, blushing violently when he realized how he'd been clinging onto me.

"Won't I be in trouble?" he asked timidly, staring at his feet once more. I shook my head and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and I managed to smile a bit at him, trying to get him to smile back. No such thing happened as he was still too aware of the situation.

"Nah, no trouble…" I added to my smile, and for a moment I saw the corner of his mouth twitch nervously. Almost, I managed to make him smile back, but what little confidence I'd pumped into him ran right out of him. Behind us, the cook had gotten onto his feet and was cursing at the boy loudly. I heard Rose tell him to shut his fat face, and they broke into arguing about half-elf rights. The boy's brow furrowed and he stared at his feet again.

"You know what, let them be. C'mon," I said, beckoning him as I stepped ahead of him. He looked at me curiously. For a moment he hesitated but then he quickly caught up to me. I lead the way, and he followed, half a pace to my left and behind me. Apparently someone had lectured him on how to follow a superior properly already.

We didn't say anything as we walked around the kitchen building, toward my mansion. Once inside, a few people turned their heads to stare at us as we walked through the hallways, some going so far as to mutter or whisper about us, but I paid them no mind. The half-elf followed my example and didn't respond to any of this either. Every few steps I glanced back, to find he was still there. It filled me with a strange kind of pride, to know that someone would follow my orders like it.

We went up two flights of stairs and I automatically walked down the hallway, going right and heading for the door at the end of the corridor. The door was made of the same dark wood as all other doors, yet it was painted with the Aurion coat of arms. A wolf across a cross, which was detailed with white and a color caught in between blue and purple for which I still have found no appropriate name.

I opened the door and gestured for him to enter. He hesitated and finally decided to keep his ground. I clearly remember how surprised I was at this. Never before had anyone refused a polite gesture; I should know, since I rarely made them. He quickly explained to me in a low voice, "But I'm just a… slave. I should be the one to let you in. Not the other way around."

"Nonsense," I said and I grabbed him by the arm to drag him in with a grin. "You're no slave anymore."

It was then that his unusually green eyes filled with tears. I could merely watch him as he walked into my room. I closed the door behind me, slightly aghast that he cried at words so simple while he hadn't cried when facing death. Or hadn't he realized that the soldier would really have executed him on the spot had I not stepped in?

He wiped the tears away and sniffed.

"So," I said, and I clambered onto my desk to sit on it, after which I gestured he take the chair. "What's your name?"

"Yuan…" he muttered as he sat down carefully, his eyes avoiding me.

"Speak up! I don't bite… hard…" I added teasingly. Apparently he could appreciate my poor sense of humor as he smiled back shyly.

"Yuan, sir!" he said a lot louder than before. At least his voice seemed to be less of a squeak that way. I held my hand out to him and he looked at it in shock.

"I'm Kratos," I offered.
He merely gazed at my hand and then looked at his own hands in confusion. He faltered, uncertain of what to do. His hands were rather dirty after all. As were his face and his feet, which were bare. His clothes were no better, not to mention that they were simple and tattered, even though he hadn't been around for long yet. Or so Rose had just exclaimed.
I raised my eyebrows.

"I know who you are…" he whispered hoarsely. "And I'm just…"

I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh, "Just shake the hand, Yuan!"

"B-but I'm a half-elf," he almost choked up the words. But as he did, he stared so defiantly, it was as if it made all the difference in the world.

"Yeah… so?"

His eyes widened, losing all fire in them within a second. Figuring that he had never had a human treat him as an equal, I decided to try and explain. What came out of my mouth were the thoughts of disdain I'd have wanted to word to anyone for so long. They were the reasons that I couldn't comprehend why people looked down on half-elves the way they did.

"Listen, I don't care what you are. It's not like you chose to be a half-elf, right? I never chose to be me either. We just are. So…" I made a beckoning gesture with the fingers of my outstretched hand. With a determined face he grabbed the hand and shook it. At first he barely dared touch me, but within seconds we were squeezing as if it were a power struggle. When we let go we were smiling.

That day marked the beginning of the weirdest ever friendship, rivalry and so many other things more.

Should you come across any typos or grammar flaws, please let me know and I will fix them straight away.
I always appreciate constructive criticism, so perhaps leave me a review on your way out.
So... I hope you enjoyed. Until next time!