Author's notes: I know, I know. I said I don't update/revise already finished stories. But I just had to. This story was in such a poor state that I couldn't help myself. Plotwise, I will likely change very little, aside from the aimless feel of it. But I am reworking the chapters entirely, starting, naturally, with the prologue.
Rating: T, for violence and the like.
Pairings: Mentions of Kratos/Anna
Summary: Eyes darted to the filthy outsider who dared intrude upon the way of the village. Kratos ignored the shocked stares. His feet hit the ground hard, his mind barely acknowledging that he was running. The man raised the switch again as the boy cowered beneath him, but Kratos caught it before it could reach its intended target.
Disclaimer: Do we even need to do this? I don't own Tales of Symphonia.
Prologue: Village of Iselia
He wandered aimlessly, set adrift in a life where all had faded to a dull gray. Life seemed so meaningless without them: without seeing his wife's beautiful smile and hearing his son's childish laughter. All light and laughter were gone from him, leaving nothing more then an empty shell. His wife, his beautiful Anna, was gone forever and his son…
He didn't know why but even though he desperately wished to join his dearly departed, he didn't seem to have it in himself to end his own life. He wanted to die and return to his family, but he kept on living for a reason he could not explain. Whenever he was faced with a foe or monster he would react on sheer instinct, though the urge to allow the witless beast or unfortunate bandit to finish him was strong.
The forest was silent and dark. It was much a torment as it was a solace to return to the place he despised above all else. Coming back here reminded him of his loss. Those who should be at his side weren't and the one who he wished to see most would never return. Why did he continue to return here? What was he hoping to accomplish?
The clearing was as desolate as ever. There was green grass growing were blood had been, and a deformed body of immense size had rested. Mutilated pieces of desian corpses had littered the ground. The one thing he hadn't seen was what he had dreaded above all else. He never found his son. He feared to even look, terrified of what he'd find.
Kratos turned on heel, abruptly cutting off the memories of this place. His throat was thick with emotion, yet he refused to yield to them. Pushing aside all else, he made his way out of the forest, passing beneath the trees like a shadow.
Soot covered nearly every inch of his body. His clothes were disheveled, caked in mud of several days travel. His boots fared little better, and sported more than a few holes. His auburn hair was wildly tossed about, and looked greasy from neglect. And his eyes… the darkness and utter hopelessness would have stopped anyone cold.
As he neared the entrance of the forest, instead of turning right, and going west as he originally planned, Kratos headed straight into the village of Iselia. He knew he would attract quite a few stares, expected it even. He didn't even know why he approached the gate of the town to begin with. But something compelled him to come here, accompanied by a strange sense of importance in the fruitless search.
The gatekeepers stared after him as he entered the village, but Kratos paid them no mind. The dull thud of his boots making contact with the dirt echoed in his ears, though he didn't hear it. His spine, perfectly erect as ever, tingled, his mind telling him something was here. Kratos's entire body went rigid, and he froze mid-step.
He turned his head sharply to the right: something down the street had caught his attention, a commotion of some sort. His eyes fixed in that direction, he turned toward the noise. With a sullen curiosity, he found himself moving swiftly towards the center of the tiny village, a sense of urgency in his steps.
Kratos found himself in the town square, which was currently occupied by a large crowd. He frowned, and pushed his way to the front, his footsteps growing almost panicked as painful cries rose of the murmur of voices. When he reached the center of the impromptu circle, his eyes met with a scene that made his blood freeze in barely suppressed anger.
A boy, the child was so small, lay at the feet of an older man with gray hair. A switch was in his hand and he beat the child with it, shouting at the boy unintelligibly. The child's back was bloodied, and his spine, thin as he was, protruded grotesquely. The man's face was contorted into a hideous sneer as the boy pitifully begged him to stop.
Color rose in Kratos's face, furious as he was, as he stepped into the circle. Eyes darted to the filthy outsider who dared intrude upon the way of the village. Kratos ignored the shocked stares. His feet hit the ground hard, his mind barely acknowledging that he was running. The man raised the switch again as the boy cowered beneath him, but Kratos caught it before it could reach its intended target.
"You're despicable!" Kratos snarled in what he considered a righteous fury. He tore the stick away from the gray haired man and tossed it aside, drawing up to his full height. He towered over the elderly man, eyes dark.
The man stepped back in shock, traces of fear lacing through his features as he beheld a creature that could only be the Angel of Death come down to exact revenge for the child's suffering. But he held his ground, and with more than a fair share of bravery, or stupidity, he glared up at Kratos. "Just who do you think you are to get between me and that little thief? The boy has been stealing our corps for months now!"
Kratos was not to be dissuaded. "I don't care if he killed a man, that is quite enough!" his voice rose to a shout, sneering at the man with a vicious glare.
The man fell back at this, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. Terror melded with panic as his features contorted in fear. The rest of the villagers also wanted to be far away, catching the wild gaze of the filthy and ragged stranger. He must have been a madman, and was not to be taken lightly.
The gray haired man fled from Kratos's presence, and his unyielding features softened greatly now that he was alone. The boy… Kratos turned around to face the child. He lay at his feet, dirty arms covering his head as he cowered beneath them.
A harsh sobs shook the boy's emaciated frame, visible beneath the rags that substituted for clothes. The boy was shivering on the ground before him, his breath coming in short gasps. The blood on his back drizzled down lazily, leaking from open wounds and reopened scars. Kratos's heart clenched at the sight.
He knelt beside the child in the deserted street. His right hand hovered just over the child's back and a warm glow surrounded the limb. The blood stopped flowing. The boy stopped shaking.
Gingerly, Kratos's fingers reached out to ruffle the boy's dirty brown hair. "Aahh!" the child screamed when he made the briefest contact. Frantically the child scrambled away from Kratos, even as his head turned so he could make eye contact with the older man.
Kratos stiffened. The frightened russet gaze was horrifying, the haunted eyes seeing past Kratos, into untold terrors. That wasn't what was so startling. The boy wasn't just a boy anymore; he couldn't be, not with that face. He looked exactly like Kratos's son!
Endnotes: Phew! Doing the prologue over again. I dare say it's much better than before.
