((Hi all!! Its your friendly neighborhood author speaking... I really enjoyed writing this chapter! I apologize for the lack of names! They exist, it's just that I felt like making it more from the individual point of view and less expository. I wont start using names until people have introduced themselves. XD sorry if thats weird... Anyway, I do assure you that this indeed a TOS fic. Though it is my first fan fiction ever so I'm sorry if I'm bad at capturing the characters! T.T And yes, if you find that you have trouble remembering who the hell the girl in the first chapter is thats is okay because she is an OC. Though I solemnly swear to try very hard to keep her out of the realm of Marysue-ness. I intend to have this fiction focus mostly on Kratos and what he might have been like as a teen. (He's like fourteen at the start of this BTW) Later I may try and write all the crap with Mithos and then Anna and then everything else, but I'm taking things one step at a time. Also, I apologize for the vague lore, I had to make most of it up XD;; I would love love love your input!! Please review!))
The young swordsman lay quietly in the dirt. It wasn't that he was entirely unconscious, he just couldn't feel his legs thanks to the blood loss. When those two had come at him at once, one of them had managed to get him. At the moment it had been something of an adrenaline rush, it might have even been the reason he won. How sloppy... he thought with some self-loathing. Though, the wound was probably only minor, any second he would get up...
He heard the soft scuff of someone kneeling next to him. He opened his eyes to slits, spying a small blood-smeared face with scared blue eyes. Oh right, the kid. He hoped that blood on her face wasn't her own. She was younger than him by about five or six years. He closed his eyes again, looking at that face brought back memories that he wanted to forget. He should get up and go, but he was just so tired...
"First Aid." came an uncertain whisper, a soft light brushed his eyelids, soon followed by sensation of warmth that flowed through his every vein. He felt the heat settle over his wound before disappearing, followed by a sudden burst of energy.
He gasped and sat up, his defenses bristling at the unknown sensation, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" he yelled in alarm.
The last bit of light in her hands blew out as the eight-year-old jumped back in surprise. Her eyes held the most naked look of fear as she cringed away. "I-I I was--" tears began to stream down her cheek and the young swordsman immediately regretted his actions.
He moved to face her a little better and show that he meant no harm, but before he could speak again, the child had scrambled to her feet and run away at full tilt.
He stood up, meaning to chase after, however, he was soon sidetracked at how painless the motion had been. Pulling up the corner of his shirt, he examined his fresh wound. After wiping away some of the drying blood, he saw that it had hardened into something that looked at least three weeks old. There was a tough scab and the skin was even knitting together.
He looked after the child in confusion but she was long gone. This small miracle couldn't have been anything but magic. She must have been a half-elf, since the people chasing her were from the elven military and humans couldn't do magic on their own. He looked in the direction the girl had disappeared feeling even worse for scaring her off. No wonder she feared him, half elves were hated by each side due to their intrinsic connection to the other. He had saved her simply because she was a child, but now he wondered if there was even a point. She was just as likely to be killed as soon as she encountered people again.
Whatever the case, he must be moving on, life was harsh and one person could only do so much. He paused for a moment shoving the bodies of the slain soldiers over the edge of the cliff, pausing as he watched them disappear into the mist far below. For a moment he felt a pang of guilt if only because he was so satisfied to see those uniforms stained with blood. He didn't fully comprehend the meaning of this war, but he knew who was at fault for destroying everything he had ever loved. He scuffed up the dust on the ground, doing his best to conceal the bloodstains. A trained eye might be able to discern what had gone down, but it would buy him a bit of time before discovery of the bodies.
As he continued on his way nothing of major interest occurred. The morning fog finally burnt off and the sun began to stream through the trees. Once in a while he would hear a small rustle in the bushes or get the feeling of being watched, but in the end he was alone. The only evidence to the contrary came around midday when he stopped to wash off at a stream. Just along the shore he saw a set of small footprints that lead away from the water and up ahead. They were still wet.
He sighed heavily, it seemed he had acquired a silent follower. He wasn't really looking for traveling companions, but if he were to have one, he thought it might be better if they at least walked in plain sight. He thought about trying to get the girl to come out by talking, but he didn't really have much to say. Not to mention that he really didn't want to get into the habit of talking to himself. That was what crazy people did.
None the less, he made sure to walk in the direction that the footprints lead.
Day turned to night as the young man continued to walk, still catching a glimpse of copper hair here and the odd noise there. He maintained a look of obliviousness but he almost found it funny, stealth did not seem to be her strong suit. The only thing that kept him from catching her, was his own fear of scaring her into more danger. He knew that as long as she skirted his path as she was, it was unlikely that she would be eaten by bears, or stumble into an unfriendly village. Sure, he didn't know her at all, but such a thing might weigh on his conscience. When the time came to make camp, he stopped in a small clearing. Looking around, he sighed again, being constantly watched, even if it was by something decidedly non-lethal, was really annoying.
He sat on a rather convenient rock and began to make a small fire. Closer to the major cities, he probably wouldn't have done this, but out here in the forest he would be able to hear anything coming and easily hide.
"I'm making camp now." He said gruffly, feeling a bit foolish about talking to what looked to be an empty forest, "If you want, you can come out. I'm not going to hurt you." He paused and looked around, hoping for some kind of response, but his stalker was silent.
Once the fire was going, he surveyed the contents of his worn pack, looking to see what he might have in the way of dinner. As expected there wasn't much. All he had left after the past week in the wilderness were a few strips of dried meat and half a tin of "Intsant Nutrition Drink" (chocolate flavor), tomorrow he should try to hunt something for breakfast.
He pulled out a small, charred looking kettle, filling it with water from his canteen he set it into the coals to boil. His eyes flicked quickly to the right edge of the clearing as he heard a twig break only three feet away. He strained to see but the darkness beyond the fire was too deep to make anything out. The swordsman smirked a little and took two tin cups out of his bag. It was kind of a lucky coincidence that he even had two. Into each, he measured the suggested amount of drink mix. While he waited for the water to boil, he closed his eyes and listened to the woods. If he hadn't known better he might have been back on the outskirts of his hometown. It hadn't been so long ago that he did this kind of thing for fun.
He guessed that the water was hot enough. Gingerly, He dragged the hot kettle out of the fire with the tips of his gloved fingers. Using a cloth, he picked it up and poured the hot water into the cups. The powder quickly melted into a slightly watery, dark liquid. He picked up his own and took a small drink of the molten liquid. With his other hand, he held the other cup out to his right.
"You'll collapse if you don't have something." He said, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire, though he heard some movement.
No answer came. He took another sip of the hot liquid. A twinge of fatigue started to run through his arm as he continued to hold out the cup.
"It'll get cold", he commented sedately, "and, believe me, its even more inedible when its cold."
There was a small shuffling noise. but still no answer. Minutes went by.
He stubbornly took another sip, still refusing to revoke his offer of food. After a while, he caught some movement in the corner of his eye. Slowly, he turned to the right where a small figure had come to the edge of the firelight.
The girl said nothing as she fixed both man and steaming cup with a look of suspicion. But one could also see the hunger in her eyes. She must have been cold too. With only a knee-length shift and no shoes it could be deduced that she must have had to flee unexpectedly. One so young could never be at fault for anything heavy enough to be a death sentence. There was no doubt that she was simply caught in the wanton violence of this war, as so many had been. Pity and outrage clutched his heart at the pitiful sight.
Slowly, he set down his own cup. "My name," he said mustering a melancholy smile, "Is Kratos Aurion.", he held out his hand, "What's yours?"
