"Here you go, Lloyd," Dirk put a piece of metal in Lloyd's hand and closed his fingers around it. The dwarf stood there for a moment, looking at Lloyd's small human hand in his giant one. He sighed and let go. "Take care of yourself."

Lloyd smiled. "I will."

"C'mere." The dwarf wrapped his arms around him and squeezed the air out of him. "Ah, I just wish things coulda turned out better for you than they had. But when you're done with all your drama, you're always welcome here. There aren't any other dwarves around here, so I wouldn't mind being stuck with a human apprentice, if you're interested."

Lloyd smiled. "Maybe. When this is all over I'll definitely come back and visit."

"I wish you luck."

"Thanks."

Lloyd was almost reluctant to leave the dwarf's little house and get back on the road. He'd wanted to take Noishe with him, but he didn't know how the poor animal would handle the rheiard rides. Besides, Dirk had said he had been enjoying Noishe's company for months and was happy to take care of him. He seemed to have forgiven the dog for all his years of service to Kratos.

Before they left, Lloyd removed his expensive Tethe'allan key crest and put it in his pocket. He flipped Dirk's project in his fingers, looking it over, the impeccable craftsmanship, the pleasing shape, the gilded curves shining gold in the light. He wished he had been able to make something like this, something so beautiful, so functional. Maybe he should go back and accept that apprenticeship. At least he might be able to help other ranch escapees like himself, give them a chance at a longer life.

The skin around his exsphere was greenish and flaking, and burned when he touched it. He tried not to look too hard at the stone as he placed Dirk's key crest over it and snapped it in place. The crest pinched his skin, but he could ignore the pain. It felt so much tighter, much more secure than his previous one, and after a few minutes of adjusting, it almost felt like he didn't have an exsphere at all. He chalked it up to the dwarf's exemplary craftsmanship. As he walked, the pain in his hand receded, but each time he hopefully checked his arm, he found the same unnerving discoloration. The disease, or whatever it was, didn't look like it was done spreading. He would have to keep an eye on it.

With Colette back to normal and Lloyd graced with a little more time to live, they would have to decide what course to take next. It turned out to be a more difficult discussion than he had first thought.

"So, I was thinking," Sheena said, when they were well past the ranch and near enough to Iselia to be safe, "if we want to deal with this whole mana imbalance, I'd better start making pacts with the spirits in both worlds."

"Do you really think that will help?" Raine said. "Undine said the links were how the two worlds exchanged mana, but we don't know if severing them is the correct thing to do."

"What else can we do?" Sheena said. "As it is, you've completed your Regeneration, and we're on the decline. If we don't do something about it, Tethe'alla's screwed."

"I'm not saying we don't do anything about it," Raine said. "I'm saying we should perhaps look at every option before we choose one. And with Lloyd—"

"I'm fine," Lloyd said.

"I meant, with your father. What are you going to do about your father?"

"I… don't know," he admitted. "I guess I'm going to have to find the Renegades, and ask Yuan about him. That was my plan."

"It looks like we might be splitting up soon, then." A half dozen faces fell, just a little, but Raine took a breath and continued. "In any case, no matter what we do, the first step is recovering the rheiards."

They all had to mutter in agreement. As they gave up trying to get ahead of themselves and again focused on the hike, Raine fell into step beside Lloyd, slowing a little to let the others wander out of earshot.

"Lloyd," she said, adjusting her pack. She spoke quietly, as if she were about to tell him a secret. "Your hand has… changed. How does it feel?"

"It actually feels... fine," he said. "Weirdly."

"Well, please allow me to continue examining it. If you don't mind."

"Of course."

"Let me know if anything changes. Immediately."

"I will. And Raine?" Lloyd looked at the front of the group, where Colette and Genis seemed happily engaged in a word guessing game. "What about her? Have you figured it out yet?"

Raine pursed her lips. "Unfortunately I think I have. I've been scouring texts to find out a cure."

"Well, what is it?"

"She has... she's suffering from a gradual paralytic petrifaction caused, I think, by her Cruxis Crystal."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lloyd said, perhaps a little too loudly.

"I don't know yet. Some of my books have mentioned it, only briefly. Chronic Angelus Crystallus Inofficium."

Lloyd almost flinched at the name. "It sounds serious."

"It can be. But I've read that there is a cure. Some of the ingredients I already have stashed away. I have a few herbs and a unicorn horn, so I'm at least partly prepared to deal with it. I'll do some more reading when we get to Iselia."

When they reached the village, some of the townspeople came out to greet Colette. Men and women embraced her, children ran around her legs, and she gave them her most benevolent smile, greeting them amicably, as if she had never left. When they asked her about the Regeneration, she only answered that it was in progress, that everything was going fine, and they had only come around for some supplies. She pacified them so efficiently and easily, Lloyd wondered if it was a skill she had been honing for years. He supposed that was why Raine always let her neglect her schoolwork—she had plenty of more important things to learn.

When the townspeople had tired of bothering their Chosen and her companions, familiar and new, Lloyd followed Raine and Genis to their house. He threw his pack on the floor and settled down, stretching across the wood. Genis took his usual place at the stove, and Raine took hers between the covers of a gargantuan book. Lloyd unpacked his things and made himself a nest on their floor, where he sat staring at his two exspheres.

He hadn't wanted to leave his mother back there, in the cold ground. But he supposed Dirk would take care of her memory, leave flowers on her grave, tend to it and make sure that she had a peaceful place to rest. Lloyd supposed there were worse places for her grave to be. And he had a little piece of her, at least, in his exsphere. Even if there was no truth to the idea that the stone might house some part of her, alive but bodiless, he had to admit it was comforting to know he had something. Something she had worn, something she had protected.

He figured after he found his dad, he might as well return the exsphere to him. He supposed he ought to hand over the locket as well. Lloyd wouldn't have much use for them, when everything was done and over with. He never knew how much time he had left, but even Dirk and his craftsmanship couldn't promise much. Besides, he might see his mother on the other side anyway, then he'd have no use for trinkets. Maybe after his exsphere killed him, he'd make sure it would protect someone else close to him. Maybe he'd have Kratos give it to Colette.

He toyed with the thought all evening. After he had helped clean up dinner, when Raine buried herself deep in her book and Genis was chewing his pencil trying to work through a set of mathematics problems, Lloyd decided he might as well go for a walk.

The sky was soft, dusky yellow, and the air hung heavy over Iselia. He supposed there was no better backdrop on which to watch Zelos and Sheena, who had decided to set up camp in the vacant schoolhouse, dangle from the roof. From his vantage point, it looked like they were trying to acrobatically outdo one another.

"All right, Lloyd," Sheena called down to him when she saw him walk by. "Tell us who does the backflip better." She squatted against the wall, pushed off, traced a beautiful arc through the night air and landed squarely on her feet.

Zelos frowned at her, trying to keep his balance on the rooftop.

"I don't think you should try that," Lloyd warned him.

"Can't compete with ninjutsu," she taunted.

"Whatever, hunny. You just watch." Sheena did, eyes bright, as Zelos sailed off the building, wobbling precariously in the air, and crashed into a rosebush. Before Sheena and Lloyd could move to help him, he sprang from the bush, a few thorns embedded in his cheek. "I swear, why do we only do things you're good at? If this were a beauty contest, I'd be wiping the floor with you."

"Not anymore you wouldn't. You've got some, uh… schmutz on your face." Zelos' hand moved up to his cheek, brushed the thorns, and he flinched. "I'll help you with that," Sheena offered, laughing and taking a step toward him.

"No way," Zelos hissed, scrambling backwards. "This is my precious face. I'll do it myself."

Lloyd watched Sheena chase Zelos behind the schoolhouse and disappear before continuing his little tour of the town. He smiled to himself and strode past the school, past abodes and barns, until he came to a house whose front window gave off a glow so warm he had to stop and bask in it. He stared through the glass, and saw three faces: one was an old woman, wizened and brown, one belonged to Colette, and one belonged to what Lloyd thought must be her father. They shared the same golden hair, the same kind face, and he couldn't help but stare at them as they ate and talked and laughed. Lloyd thought he looked like he was a good father, at least on the surface. But Lloyd didn't have much experience with good fathers, so he could very well be mistaken.

Colette, mid-laugh, turned her head toward the window and locked eyes with him. She smiled, he waved timidly. She leaned over the table, passed some food to her father, said something to him, and got up. Lloyd watched the front door creak open, and Colette came out, smiling, wiping her mouth.

"Hello, Lloyd," she said.

"I don't want to interrupt," he said.

"You're not. I was just done." She took his arm and led him down the street. "How do you like Iselia? I know it's not very impressive, but it's home."

"I think it's nice. It must be hard having the ranch right there, though."

"We have a treaty with them. They leave us alone, for the most part."

"Oh." It must've been wonderful, not having to constantly worry about raids, kidnappings, violence, ranch taxes. He briefly wondered how the refugees from the Asgard ranch were doing.

"Colette," he started.

"Yes?" she looked over at him, her hair shining in the dim light.

"When we go to get the rheiards, I... I want you to stay here."

"Lloyd…" she muttered, visibly disappointed.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he said. "Here, you have a family, you're safe. You should wait for us to return."

"I can't, Lloyd. Don't you remember? I'm supposed to be on my quest of Regeneration. I can't just give up and stay here."

"But I don't know what will happen—"

She stared him down until he shut his mouth. "Please don't make me stay here, Lloyd. I want to come with you. And I can take care of myself. We both know it."

"But—"

"Why are you trying to get rid of me?" she asked, upset.

He was suddenly reminded of the first time his father had abandoned him at the Palmacosta academy. He had desperately wanted to stay with his dad, gods knew why—it was probably better for him that he hadn't, and he had always resented being left behind. He felt trapped, penned in by the excuses that it had been for his own safety. Gods, he would be damned before he did to Colette what Kratos had done to him. He wasn't going to let himself turn into that sort of tyrant.

"I'm not trying to get rid of you," Lloyd gave in. "I'm sorry. If you want to come, you should. You're your own person and you can do what you want. I was just worried about you. I don't want you to get hurt again, not after what happened last time."

She smiled. "I understand, I really do, but what would the village think if their savior gave up and came home? What if she abandoned the world for her own safety? I can't be safe, I can't stay home, not until Sylvarant is saved. I don't know how we'll do it, but we will. And then we can come back here. I'll come to visit my family, and you'll come to start that apprenticeship with Dirk."

"I'd really like that," he said.

"Me too." She smiled, taking his hand again. "Don't worry about me, Lloyd. I'll be fine. But thank you for worrying. Thank you for everything."

Without warning, she leaned in, laying her lips on his cheek. He froze for a moment, skin tingling, and couldn't help the stupid grin that crossed his face. "Uh…" was all he could say.

She giggled. "I should go to bed. I'll see you in the morning, Lloyd. Don't stay up all night."

"See you." He watched her go, skin still warm where she touched it, and when she disappeared around the corner, he stared at her footprints in the dirt.

He smiled uncontrollably, folding his hands behind him and making his way back to Raine and Genis' house. He couldn't help but feel a bit glad he'd failed to convince Colette to stay in Iselia. Even when she had been silent, lifeless, she had been good company. A part of him didn't want to continue this journey alone, wherever it took him, but a bigger part wanted not to turn into his father.

It wasn't until a few years after Kratos had sent him away to Palmacosta that things turned truly sour between them. When Lloyd entered his teen years, that was the beginning of the end.

It wasn't so much that Lloyd didn't do well at school. If his father had been a normal parent, that sort of thing might've mattered. But what seemed to bother Kratos most was that Lloyd had any sense of identity, any mind of his own, any backbone at all. When he heard that his son had been wandering off during classes, or leaving the academy without supervision, or doing anything at all without explicit permission, that's what upset him. His father seemed to make it his mission to stifle any excitement or curiosity about anything even remotely risky. And Kratos seemed to think everything was risky.

By the time Lloyd was fourteen, and his father had picked him up for the summer holiday, he was quite used to hearing the usual "No"s, "Stay here"s and "It's too dangerous"es. He was used to getting endless commands but no suggestions, limitless orders but no conversation. He was used to following his father wordlessly, head down, ever-obedient, having his own ideas and inquiries shot down. But there was nothing he could do, except fall in line behind his father. There was nowhere for him to go, no family he could run to, no place Kratos wouldn't be able to find him. So he shut his mouth and followed, keeping to himself.

That summer it was especially hot. Lloyd was relieved when his dad said they would be going into the mountains, toward the coast. He was eager to escape the wet lowland heat and the countless mosquitoes, and as they made their way up into the mountains, (what for, Lloyd wasn't sure), he relished the cool, mercifully dry air. He was prepared to enjoy this particular trip—the only problem was that their route brought them within a few miles of the Palmacosta human ranch. Kratos, who normally maintained some degree of the jitters, went absolutely insane with panic.

Lloyd couldn't even go for a piss by himself without his father hovering, scouring the distance for any sign of danger. The man came and went, snuck off and returned, sharp ears perpetually perked, hand resting on his sword hilt. Even Noishe, who was jumpy even at the best of times, couldn't match Kratos for fear.

On the third day, when they settled down that night to rest, a fire was out of the question. Between bites of hard bread and old cheese, and frequent wishful thoughts of a hot pot of tea, Lloyd tried to whisper some sense into his father.

"You know," he started, "you don't have to freak out all the time. The Desians aren't going to look in their own backyard for slaves. They usually go to Palmacosta."

"You know nothing about it, Lloyd," his father said, eyeing the trees suspiciously. "You don't think they patrol for escapees?"

Lloyd shrugged. All these years of wandering the wilderness with his dad, he met very few Desians in a place as deserted as this. They went for more populated areas, where the human harvest was so much better. But he knew he couldn't argue with Kratos, so he leaned back on a fallen log, munching on his pathetic dinner and watching the sun set behind the trees.

Suddenly his father's head whipped around, like a deer hearing a twig crack. Hand on his sword, he trotted to the edge of camp. Lloyd sat up, curious, but he hadn't heard anything. Noishe lowered his head and growled deeply, and Kratos slowly drew his sword, trying to keep its metallic ring to a minimum.

"What is it?" Lloyd asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"Be quiet and stay here," his father said, never taking his eyes off the forest. He crept into the shadowy trees, Noishe close behind, hackles raised. Lloyd swallowed the last of his dinner, watching them disappear into the forest. He fully intended to follow them, of course, but he lingered for a moment, barely breathing, listening intently for any sign of trouble. The trees into which his father had gone remained silent, except for the gentle rustling of pine needles. When a noise finally caught Lloyd's attention, it came from the opposite direction.

He froze, straining to hear. Leaves crunching, a voice, maybe a man's, then, after a full minute, a muffled yell.

Lloyd pulled himself to his feet. He didn't have a weapon, but he knew that whoever—or whatever—was out there in the woods would stumble upon him soon enough. He might as well know what he was up against. He crept as silently as he could through the undergrowth, ears perked, eyes scanning. He held his breath, trying to stay low, to stay quiet, and only crawled for a short while before he came upon what had made the noise.

Only a few feet away, in a small clearing, a man struggled to his feet. He was deathly thin, dressed in ill-fitting rags. Bruised and bloodied white skin was visible where the cloth had torn. Two Desians flanked him, taking turns insulting him, striking him, daring him to try to escape. He darted back and forth between his two attackers, looking for an exit, and Lloyd could not help but think of two cats he had seen at the Palmacostan harbor, taking turns toying with a dying fish. The man wore much the same look of suffocating shock as the fish had—mouth agape, eyes wide, body twisting and flailing in painful desperation.

Almost unconsciously, Lloyd reached to the ground by his knee. His fingers closed around a heavy stone, and he slowly, silently rose to his feet. The Desians, laughing and distracted, did not see him stand and wind up his arm. They only stopped laughing when the rock flew through the air and hit one of the Desians' heads with a satisfying thump. The half-elf dropped to the ground, and his partner immediately looked to where Lloyd stood, now empty-handed.

Be brave, he told himself. Be brave. But he was shaking, his legs itching to run.

"Who the hell are you?" the Desian bellowed, making for him. The prisoner froze up, wide eyes locked with Lloyd's. Run, he thought. Run, you idiot. Before Lloyd could reach down and pick something up to defend himself with—a rock, a stick, anything—the Desian grabbed him by the collar. He dragged him to the center of the clearing and threw him down on the dirt.

Lloyd rolled, jumping up and placing himself between the Desian and the prisoner. He raised his arms, hands curled into fists. His mind frantically told him to swing, that if he could just land a good hit on the Desian he'd get out of this mess, he'd be able to get back to the camp unharmed, Kratos wouldn't discover him, all if he could just take a swing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, kid?" the Desian said, brandishing his whip. Lloyd gulped, mind rushing in circles, fists shaking. As the Desian raised the weapon, he hid his face behind his forearms, waiting for the stinging blow.

No blow came. Instead, Lloyd heard a low growl. In a flash of greenish hair, Noishe sprang from the bushes and clamped his teeth around the Desian's shoulder. The man screamed, fell to his knees, and dropped his weapon. As he cried out, struggling to pry the dog from him, Lloyd froze, shocked. He had never seen Noishe do anything like this—the animal was usually so docile, even fearful. He took a step away from the scene, putting as much distance between him and this frightening new Noishe, and backed into his father.

A rough, gloved hand pushed him aside, into the brush, and he scrambled to sit up. At Kratos' deep call, Noishe released the Desian. Bloodied and horrified, the half-elf struggled toward his whip, outstretched hand falling to the ground when Kratos ran him through. The second Desian, now wobbling to his feet and holding his head, didn't have time to draw his sword before his head flew from his shoulders. Shaking blood from his sword, Kratos turned on the prisoner.

Lloyd's stomach dropped, and he scrambled forward. "Wait!" he shouted.

His father, as usual, ignored him. He stepped toward the prisoner, who raised his hands in supplication, begging for his life. Kratos cut it mercifully short by stabbing him through the heart.

Lloyd collapsed again to his knees. The escapee fell forward in silence, a cloud of dust rising where his body had crumpled. Lloyd stared at the corpse for a few moments, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he mustered the courage to speak. "Why did you do that?" he whispered. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Kratos turned. "He saw us."

Lloyd threw out his arms to catch his balance as his father hauled him by the collar back into the forest. Noishe, muzzle still stained red, followed closely behind.

"You killed him!" Lloyd repeated stupidly, struggling against Kratos' grip. "You killed him for no reason! Let me go! You're no better than the Desians! You're one of them!"

Kratos spun him around, expressionless, and struck him on the cheek. Lloyd stumbled back, stunned, raising a hand to his stinging skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but before anything could come out, his father hit him again. One swift fist to the back of his head, and Lloyd was half-blind, immobilized. He doubled over, head spinning, trapped in his father's iron grip.

He felt himself being picked up. He saw nothing but a vague blur, a purplish glow radiating from the edges of his vision. Something like wind rustled his hair, and he felt cold all of a sudden. His body felt light, too light, but he couldn't get up, couldn't find ground. He swore for a moment that he could almost feel himself hover, weightless, in the air.

But when he opened his eyes again, he was securely on the ground, at the mouth of a cave on a shady, tree-dotted hillside. Near his feet, a small fire blazed, and although the sun was still low in the sky, the mountains behind which it set were unfamiliar. He blinked, confused, and rubbed his eyes. Where was the forest, the ranch, the bodies of the men his father had killed?

He painfully felt for lumps on the back of his head, wondering how hard Kratos must've conked him to make him forget what had obviously been a long journey. His father emerged from the woods, logs in hand, and knelt down by the fire.

"Where are we?" Lloyd asked. He realized Kratos must've carried him here. Him, the packs, everything.

"Don't get up," his father said, not taking his eyes from the fire. "You need rest."

"Like hell. Where are we? What did you do with the bodies?" He took a step toward his dad. "And what did you do to my head?"

Kratos stood to meet him. "We needed to get out of there, fast. I could've taken care of it, but you had to—" Kratos paused at Lloyd's defiant look, towering over him angrily. "Don't you ever, ever do anything like that again, Lloyd. Do you hear me?"

Lloyd felt blood rush to his face. "Why? Because it was the right thing to do?"

"Because you could've been killed. Or worse."

"Worse? What could be worse than what you did to that prisoner? I wanted to help him!" He couldn't imagine any worse fate than having a sword driven through your heart, right when you thought you'd escaped your captors.

"I don't care, Lloyd." The look on his father's face was immovable.

"Of course you don't care. You don't care about anything but yourself." Lloyd turned to go. He certainly had no destination, but he knew he couldn't stay around Kratos.

"Look at me, Lloyd," his father called after him. "Lloyd!"

Without thinking, he made his way to the edge of the forest, his father following, calling his name. He couldn't look at him, couldn't be near him, not this bloodstained bastard. He started to run, jumping over underbrush, trying to disappear into the green, to fly away. But he couldn't—his father was right there, always a few steps behind. The man was silent, inescapable, indefatigable, and after what Lloyd knew must've been less than a pathetic mile, he gave up. After he tripped on a stray root, falling face-first into the dirt, he didn't bother picking himself back up again.

His father stood over him, radiating frustration, and reached down to haul him back to his feet. Lloyd, too pained, tired and aimless to continue his daring escape, and exhausted of all his usual defenses, decided to get out the big guns.

He smiled bitterly as Kratos gripped his arm and hauled him upright. "I wonder what mom would think if she saw you push your kid around like this?" Kratos stopped, deathly still, hand locked around Lloyd's arm. "Would she be surprised?" Lloyd continued, on the cusp of victory. "Or did you hit her too?"

He could see Kratos clench his teeth, fingers tightening, pale face motionless in the evening light. Then, a moment later, he turned beet red, arms shaking, trying desperately to hold himself back. Lloyd almost smiled at the sight. He had struck blows against his father using Anna before, but never had one landed so precisely, and so powerfully.

Kratos managed to control himself only a few seconds before he dragged Lloyd up by the collar and slammed him against the nearest tree. Lloyd could tell he was trying his best not to break his neck, not to wrap his hands around his windpipe and choke the life from him. For a moment, he actually entertained the thought he might die here, that Kratos would kill him the same way he'd killed the innocent prisoner.

This was the first time he had seen his father completely lose control, and a tiny, undeniably sick part of him felt a strange sort of elation. At that moment, he was the only person in the world who could get under Kratos' thick skin, he was the only one who could have any power over the normally stoic, invincible man. It was a perverse kind of power, Lloyd knew, but when his father grabbed his face, palm covering his eyes, his heart skipped a beat with something that may have resembled triumph.

When his vision cleared and his eyes opened, it took his sluggish, sleep-addled brain a moment to realize his father had used magic on him. He tried to move his arms, tried to get up, but couldn't. He looked around, glancing at the cave, the fire, but his father was nowhere in sight. The bastard must've used a binding spell of some sort. Not that Lloyd wasn't used to it—when he was a child and prone to flailing in his sleep, Kratos had cast many a spell over him to keep him still and silent.

He sighed. It had been so many years since he'd felt this helpless, this stupid. He wondered if any wanderers might come across him here, paralyzed by the fire, and help him. He knew it was unlikely, so he decided he might as well not try to call for help. He lay there, bored and sore, watching the fire lick at the starry sky. After half an hour or so, his father returned, followed closely by Noishe. He carried what looked to be the bloodied body of a rabbit with him. He didn't look at Lloyd, didn't greet him, just slapped the dead animal down on a flat rock and skinned it.

Lloyd watched because there was nothing better to do, but he didn't speak. He vowed he would never speak to his father again, after what happened. He only stared at the fire, at his father's bloody hands cutting the meat from the rabbit's bones, at the pot boiling over the flames. He watched dried herbs and spices go in the stew, the chunks of meat, an old, budding potato.

"You know," his father said quietly, stirring the pot, "I often ask myself what went wrong." Lloyd sat silently, trying not to listen, but he couldn't help it. "Am I being tested? Why did the gods give me a son like you?"

Because they're the same cruel bastards that would give me a father like you, Lloyd thought, but his recent vow prevented him from speaking.

"And then I realized, it wasn't the gods that went wrong, it was me. When did I let you become so cruel, so self-absorbed? Was it when your mother died? Was it before, even? Maybe if she were alive, we both would've turned out differently."

He tossed a bone to Noishe, who gnawed at it eagerly. An enticing smell wafted from the pot, and Lloyd's stomach growled. He tried to tell it to shut up, to not give away how much he wanted that soup, but it rumbled on.

"Nevertheless. It was wrong of me to strike you. There is no excuse for that." Kratos put a lid on the pot, stood, and came over to him. Lloyd tried not to look him in the eyes. "Are you ready for dinner?" he asked. "Are you going to run away?"

Lloyd stared at his feet, trying to scowl, flinching at the pain in his face. His father sighed and knelt beside him, waving a hand over him. When the metaphysical cords fell away, Lloyd stayed still. He was afraid to move, so he waited until his father walked back to the fire before he sat up. His dad slopped some stew into a thin metal bowl and handed it to him. He didn't serve any for himself, but he gave Noishe a few mouthfuls.

The soup was delicious, and strangely comforting. The more Lloyd ate, the more comfortable he became, and he only got through half his bowl before he had to set it down and close his eyes. His pain left him, and warmth spread from his stomach through his limbs. He yawned. It seemed like all the drama of the past day, the fear, the exhaustion, the confusion, and the remnants of Kratos' spell had all caught up to him at that moment.

His head drooped, and his father was there, asking him if he was all right. He was suddenly too tired to answer, and only muttered some nonsense. He closed his eyes and arms wrapped around him, picking him up. His father carried him to his bedroll and lay him down, limp and yawning. He draped the blanket over him and stood up to leave.

Lloyd, still in a soporific haze, heard himself say, "Wait."

His father turned and knelt by him.

"I'm… I…" he couldn't get the words out for the life of him. He must've temporarily lost his mind. Even now, he could hardly remember exactly what he had said. It was something like, "I miss her."

Kratos was silent for a while before replying, "Me too. More than you know."

Lloyd closed his eyes, and even though he desired nothing more than to stay awake, to nurse the resentment and anger he had towards his father, sleep came over him like water, and he swiftly, mercifully drowned in it.