Raine leans against a tree, staring at the familiar patches of night sky. The moon they so falsely call Tethe'alla has not yet risen; starlight alone paints the woodland a faint shade of silver. Everything is still, no breeze stirring the leaves—and no angel approaches her.

What did she expect?

As she rests there, breathing in the silence of the evening, her fingers automatically tighten on her crossed arms: is that movement? Forcing herself to move slowly, cautiously, Raine takes a tentative step forward to glance around her. Nothing shifts in the darkness but her heart, throbbing painfully as she reluctantly settles back against her tree.

Time passes, and the world lightens as the moon surfaces gradually. Raine wonders, in the small part of her mind that is not preoccupied with angels and allegiance, whether anyone has gone looking for her yet—but she reasons that they have much to discuss with Dirk.

Then again, Raine underestimated their loyalty to her when she went to investigate the Otherworldly Gate. Perhaps she should go back to the dwarf's house, heavy heart and all, before they all went looking for her again.

After all, it was useless to have asked Kratos to meet her here when doing so would undoubtedly be impossible for him, or at the very least dangerous. There is no way he, whom already broke her heart piece by deliberate piece, will risk his life just to see Raine again.

Especially considering that he said he would return to Cruxis. They are enemies. There are no two ways about it. Raine stares desperately into the shadows, trying to trace his outline, but no angel awaits her.

"Kratos," she sighs, half-voluntarily, and remembers all the times and in all the ways she's said it over the time they've known each other. Suspiciously, anxiously, softly, passionately, furiously. With that one word, she feels her eyes well up with tears, but refuses to release them. She will not cry. She won't.

"I don't care if you're here or not," she continues, throat burning. Why is she lying to empty darkness? Raine rephrases her thoughts guiltily. "You're our enemy. I never expected you to come anyway."

Nothing responds. A hot tear slips down her cheek in the chill of the night, and many more follow in its path; she bows her head, defeated by nothingness and her own tormented thoughts. Where do Kratos's loyalties lie, and why did he rejoin them today? What is his connection to Yuan and the Renegades? What is that peculiar warmth in his eyes when he looks at Lloyd?

And will she have to fight him—or heal the wounds he inflicts on her comrades?

A sob escapes her mouth at the thought of facing him in battle, and an almost physical pain stabs into her heart; she muffles her cry with a hand, silencing herself. Even alone, Raine doesn't want to—can't—lose control.

It is utterly against her nature to let lovesickness seize her. Especially considering that the object of her affections has officially declared himself their enemy.

But then, why is Kratos helping them?

Raine takes a deep breath, forcing her heartbeat to slow and her breaths to deepen, though they still rattle painfully in her dry throat, and her eyes still sting with tears. There is no earthly reason he should have this effect on her so long after his betrayal, even considering the times he's helped them. Except—

"I loved you," she whispers to no one, hoarsely. "I loved you, and I thought you loved me." And she could have dealt with her feelings if he had merely been their enemy. She would have set them aside for the greater good, and helped her friends kill him, if necessary. There would be time for her to mourn later.

But now, Raine doesn't know what is right or wrong—whether Kratos is right or wrong. If he is their enemy, why can't he stay away from them? Why can't he give her broken heart time to mend? Why does he insist on tormenting her, making her think there might be a chance it could work out for them?

"Whose side are you on?" she demands thickly and suddenly of the shadows, an abrupt change from the tone of her last spoken words. "A double agent always supports one faction or the other. So, choose a side. Mine, or Yggdrasill's. Me—or Yggdrasill."

Raine knows in her heart that it will never be her.

Kratos made his feelings, or lack thereof, abundantly clear on their last night together. It was her own fault, she told herself wearily. After all, Raine was the one to suggest their bargain what feels like so long ago, in an effort to find out more about him. A mercenary's deal: questions about his background for a shared bed.

She not only failed to discover his true origins—he revealed his angel wings to her of his own volition—but she also neglected to account for the possibility of falling in love, and now she's paying the price.

"I hope you think about me half as often as I think of you," she mutters, crossing her arms and fixing her gaze intently on the ground. Kratos may have insisted he didn't love her, but if Raine knows one thing from experience, it's that touching the body can also touch the heart. Perhaps their nights together could sway his decision.

Perhaps their dalliance wasn't useless after all.

"I can't stop thinking about where you belong," continues Raine, and something about talking to him again—even when she knows he can't hear—is comforting to her exhausted heart. "And I know there are more factors involved in your decision than I could ever hope to comprehend. But—" She hesitates, wiping a tear away and listening carefully to the voice of the forest, hoping to find Kratos's within it.

A light wind has arisen and stirs Raine's hair, but the sound of the leaves whispering amongst themselves is not the same as that of his footsteps. The rising moon etches the ground in patterns of silver, but the black shadows intermingling with the pale light do not take his shape.

No one is listening to her words, and Raine bows her head, half-disappointed. But what does she expect? For Kratos to emerge from the darkness, press her against the tree, and kiss her again, as though they are the only two people in the world—as though the war between Cruxis and the Chosen doesn't matter?

No. She shivers at the memory of the taste of his lips, of his skin, but forces herself to take a deep and shuddering breath, momentarily purging her thoughts of bygone passion. Thinking of these moments will only distract her now that there is no hope of any continuation.

There are still words that must be said, whether she has an audience or not.

"I hope you think of my heart, too, when you decide," mumbles Raine, and almost falters—but then looks up again, determination renewed by some unknown force. "You're not an easy man to forget, Kratos Aurion—and now, you're only making it more difficult."

She glances around once more in hopes of finding her fallen angel at last, something like hope flaring in her bosom and replacing the last of her tears, but the night is unyielding as ever. Knowing that her time is up, she turns her feet defeatedly back towards the house where the others talk and laugh.

Raine feels sure she hasn't seen the last of Kratos, even if he didn't come here tonight. The question is, on whose side will he be when next they meet?

She glances back at the forest once more, as if sensing something shifting in the shadows, but she doesn't see the angel that gazes after her retreating form with something like wistfulness.

He doesn't love her. He has never loved her. He can't love anyone.

But he can't deny that what's left of his heart aches a little when he remembers the hurt in her eyes.

I had been thinking of how his divided loyalties would affect the others, and of course Raine's is the most interesting reaction, given my headcanon about their affair.