DISCLAIMER: I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, Kratos would never leave.
He would love her forever – and he was doomed to live forever without her. The most precious gift she had given him was also gone, slipped silently out of his grasp.
Holding onto her was like trying to hold onto wind, and he knew it from the beginning. She blew into his life, flew about him like a summer gale, warm and refreshing, then wafted out of it again. Gone in one moment. The breeze left him cold, chilled, and alone. It had taken her smell, her touch, her love.
No, not her love, her love was still present, but an echo of what as there.
All those moments they shared would make him love her forever.
He remembered the first night he had known her completely. Her light tough on his chest. The fall of her hair against his shoulder, the candle's soft glow reflecting in her green eyes… Each kiss was as soft as a paintbrush. Her fingers brushed over him like a breeze, her breath filling his ear, the air leaving it pleasantly cool. Chills spread over him, even though her body was warm.
Moments like that would make him crave her forever.
He remembered the morning he gave her life. How her yells filled the air, howling like tundra. How her screams came in great gusts, and filled his soul with concern. And the a creation came; life produced by their love. He remembered holding the tiny naked, bloody body that was placed in his hands. How soft, and pink the treasure was. He remembered the matted brown hair – a trait from his mothers, the deep brown eyes gazing back at him – his own gift to the child. He remembered placing the beloved gift back into the arms of his mother. Her green eyes smiling at him, her lips chapped. A small kiss shared, the taste of the sweat on her mouth – The taste reminding him of a sea breeze.
Moments like that would make him appreciate her forever.
He remembered the last night he held her. Covered in blood. His emotions ripped through him, like a hurricane threatening to break his very being. He, a windstorm of emotions, and yet she laid still, quiet, silent. There was no movement, no stirring, her soul had gone, left him to join the wind. And now all was still.
Moments like that would make him miss her forever.
A breeze picked up, it blew through his clothes. He closed his eyes and for a moment she was there, her fingers whisking his hair from his eyes, her light lips upon his skin.
But it was just the wind.
The others had stopped, waiting for him to join with them. He remained silent as they trudged through the forest, his mind consumed with memories he had always been unable to surprises.
It was a name that had blew them back to his mind, like leaves in the wind descending lightly around him. The name of the boy at the temple from that day.
Amazing the pain one name could cause.
He remained in the shadows while the others went inside. He did not want to be in the light. He wanted to stay out in the breeze – the closest thing to her touch. He followed the wind, letting it blow him behind the house, where there was a grave.
He read the name. The wind picked up more, it pressed his clothes against his skin, it tousled his hair. She was there.
The sound of footsteps came behind him,
"Whose grave is this?"
The boy explained, then left. He wanted to call out to him again, ask him to stay; but her remained silent. There was no doubt; at least the gift, the product of their love, was still alive. The wind picked up once more. It filled his soul and dried his tears that he let slip silently down his cheek.
They walked through the forest again in silent. The Chosen, he noticed, glancing up at him.
"Kratos, are you okay? Your eyes are all wet."
He shakes his head, swallowing the rising emotions.
"It's just the wind." he replied softly, stealing one last look at the grave behind them, "It's just the wind."