"Just down this road is Asgard. It shouldn't be too long now."

Lloyd sighed. His feet ached like hell, the sound of the harsh wind blowing across his ears had deafened him for so long that when his father led him to the windless cover between two mountains, he found their footsteps uncomfortably loud.

The mountains were bare and red, rising toward a cloudless sky with seemingly unnatural steepness. They reminded Lloyd of the desert—these dark hills seemed like the distant, sharper cousins of the white dunes that rolled under the same deep blue sky. He imagined the strong winds here blew rocks off their sides the same way the wind at home blew grains of sand from the crests of the dunes.

When they entered the quiet, shadowy mountains, Lloyd urged Kratos to resume his divulgence. Lloyd didn't know if he was being constantly lied to by a particularly practiced charlatan, or if everything his father said was true, but at this point the image he had of Mithos was so vivid in his head it no longer mattered whether he was real or not.

The boy who had split the world in half to save it from itself had been young, far younger than he was often depicted in his portraits and statues. He'd been a little scrawny, but made up for it with a resourceful quickness. He had been stubborn and strong willed, and for a large portion of his life, illiterate. He had been of mean birth but had done what he could with the hand life dealt him. He had been an avid musician—he'd played a variety of instruments, but favored the pan flute. He had a sister he'd loved as a mother, and was as devoted to her as Lloyd was to Anna.

It appeared the only difference between Lloyd and Mithos was the four thousand years that separated them. "Is he still alive?" Lloyd asked.

"Yes. He's like me."

"An angel?"

"Yes."

Lloyd thought for a moment, pulling his lute closer to him. Mithos being an angel meant one of many possible things. He could be like Yuan, fighting against Cruxis, he could be a rogue spirit by now, like the winged spirits said to flutter from tree to tree around the northern forests. Or he could be… "What does he think about you working for the Desians? A hero like that probably wouldn't approve."

Kratos hesitated for a moment. "We have… our disagreements from time to time."

"You still talk to him?"

"Occasionally."

"Can I meet him?"

Kratos stopped in his tracks. "I don't think that's a good idea, Lloyd."

"Why not? We seem like we'd get along."

Kratos took a deep breath. Lloyd hoped he was pausing to consider it. But when Kratos opened his mouth again, it was only to announce that they had arrived.

The gate to the city was cracked and brown, like the mountains between which it stood. The wind that managed to flow through the lee of the hills rattled its faded sign. Lloyd looked around, at the rundown shacks of houses, the tumbledown inn, the dirt streets. "Seen better days, huh?" he couldn't help commenting.

"The nicer part of the town is up those stairs, if I recall correctly," Kratos answered. "The ruins are up there, but I haven't been here in quite some time."

Probably not since he first met my mother around here, Lloyd thought. "I wonder if she's here," he wondered aloud.

"I can't say I have an educated guess," Kratos said. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

By the time they dropped off their belongings at the nearest inn (with the exception of Lloyd's lute, of course), the sun was eagerly slipping behind the distant mountaintops. It didn't stop Lloyd from exploring the town a little, images of his mother as a young woman haunting every step. He wondered what it must've been like for her to arrive here on her first tour. Driven by this thought, he passed by massive pillars and ancient monuments, past the museums and houses and shops, looking only for the building that would connect him to her.

It turned out not to be a building at all. The only playhouse in town was an outdoor amphitheater, nestled into one of the many hillsides that sloped away from the business district on the back end of the main square. It seemed that the theater itself was thousands of years old, and it mystified him that this town could upkeep a monument, even retain its original use, for so long. Lloyd wondered how old his father had been when the theater was first constructed.

He thought that if Anna was somewhere in the town, she'd probably be in close proximity to the theater. He had no justification for this, except for that she might think it would be the first place her son would look for her. He sat himself down in one of the empty rows as the sun set behind him, lighting the stage a perfect white.

He started to play a variation of a familiar Trieti song. The sound rang clear down to the stage and back, saturating the air. The frequent gusts of wind carried each measure across the grass and into the surrounding neighborhoods, reverberating off the buildings and the mountain slopes.

He thought perhaps if he played loud enough, played well enough, his mother might hear him. She might emerge from wherever she was hiding and reach out to him, follow the lines of his melody straight to him. He knew that even though the strings of the lute vibrated differently than those of his oud, his mother would recognize the swell of his phrases, his augmentations, the way he carried a tune. She would know it was him, and she would come running. If only she heard.

He ended the song with a heavy strum, and listened to it dissipate into the air. For a few seconds, all was silent. Then he heard the slight, unmistakable sound of a foot compressing dirt, and turned eagerly. He tried to hide his disappointment when his visitor turned out to only be his father.

"Lloyd, it's almost dark. I know you want to keep looking for her, but you should get some rest."

"Yeah… I know." He should've known better than to hope she'd come running, just a few eager strums. She might not even be in the town, much less within earshot of his instrument.

He exhaled heavily as he pulled himself off the marble bench and followed his father up the aisle. At the top of the stairs, he glanced back to see the last rays of sunset slip off the pillars of the stage and disappear entirely.

Lloyd sat on the bed, stroking the inn's affectionate cat, grey fur floating onto his pants. He sighed, gently pulling clumps of hair from its back as it purred and kneaded his knees with sharp claws.

Kratos could sense his unease. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "Relax, Lloyd. Two days of searching doesn't cover the whole town."

"But it does," Lloyd said. "This town is no Palmacosta. There sure as hell aren't that many places to hide."

"You forget the tunnels under the city. The ruins. The darker, more forgotten parts of the town."

It made Lloyd a little angry, thinking of his mother living in squalor in the collapsed wreckage of buildings long demolished by time and wind. He just pulled at the cat's coat as it rolled its head around in pleasure, mewling. Each night, she had come to visit him in their room, begging for affection, and leaving satisfied with Lloyd's gentle petting. He moved the cat from his lap and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The old tabby meowed at the rejection and decided she'd better crawl onto his thighs, where she kneaded him a few times before settling down, purring. Lloyd sighed and let the cat win.

Perhaps Kratos could tell he did not want to talk about their failure when it came to finding Anna. "Are you fond of animals, Lloyd?"

"Oh, they're okay. I like birds the best, because they can fly wherever they want. I like cats, too. They… well, I think I have something in common with them."

"Cats eat birds, you know."

"I know. But so do we, sometimes. Doesn't mean I can't like them both."

"You don't seem like a cat person to me."

"Yeah, elá says that too. But they remind me that I'm not in the ranch. Out here, cats are the ones to go into the walls and bring rats out. And they do it because they want to, not because they're forced to. I like how they don't let anyone tell them what to do. I want to be like that." At Kratos' heavy silence, he continued. "The first nice animal I remember meeting was a cat. An old white tom by the oasis. I was so scared of him."

"You don't remember Noishe?"

"Who?"

"We had a… dog once."

"Oh. No, I don't remember him."

"That's a pity. He was quite fond of you. He and your mother were constantly competing for your affection. Your mother usually won, but that didn't stop him from trying." Kratos paused to look out the window. "I wonder where he is now."

"Dead, probably. Dogs don't live as long as cats do."

"He's most likely alive. He ran from the gunshots… when it happened." Lloyd did not need reminding of the event. "He's out there somewhere, in the wilderness."

"What sort of dog is he? He's gotta be older than fifteen."

"He's much older than that."

Lloyd shot his father an incredulous look. "Don't tell me—"

"He saved me, once or twice, during the War. Took down more soldiers than I did."

Lloyd closed his eyes and laughed. "Goddamn. Even the family pet is a war criminal."

Kratos snorted. "He would throw a fit if he heard you say that."

Lloyd shook his head and closed his eyes, listening to the old cat purr fervently.

The next day, he left his lute in their room. Too often these past few days he found himself sitting and playing it, hoping his mother would hear, instead of looking for her like he should be. He felt empty-handed without it, inexplicably vulnerable, even though he had his knives and the little exsphere his father had given him. He didn't have anything to occupy his fingers, so they twitched at his sides as he made his rounds of the town.

He walked down by the cliffs, up toward the ruins, past the houses and hotels and shops, and stopped by the amphitheater again. There was no sign of his mother, but it looked like there was an event scheduled that day. People gathered at its entrance, shouting to one another over the dozens of vendors trying to sell souvenirs or snacks. Many lounged on the seats, talking, laughing, but the stage remained empty.

"What's happening here?" Lloyd asked a man passing by.

"Oh, just a farce put on by the students here. A real old one—free to the public, you know."

Lloyd wondered if he should sit down and watch his first play, but it seemed wrong for him to go without his mother. She was supposed to show him around, tell him about theater and buy him wine at intermission. All so he could take Colette…

He suddenly didn't want to see the play. He bit his lip and pushed through the crowd to the path that led back into the city proper. He wondered if his mother was among the members of the audience that plugged entrance to the theater, and if he was missing her by slipping out of the crowd. He figured he'd be able to get a better view of the audience from a higher hill or the top of a building, so he decided his first order of business was to squeeze past the mob and find a viewpoint.

Before he could find the edge of the crowd, he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see a small man hunched over an equally small easel. He looked like had just rolled over the hill of years that constituted middle age. His fingers were stained with charcoal, and he had a black smudge on his upper lip where he had presumably wiped his nose. On his easel sat a stack of thick paper.

"You want your portrait done?"

"No, thanks." Lloyd tried to go.

The man reached out and grabbed his sleeve before looking him over. "Wait a tick, you look like a boy who appreciates art. I have a picture you'd probably like to contemplate, free of charge."

Lloyd gulped, a little confused, but willing to humor this obviously nutty old man. His fingers flexed, aching for something to do as he waited. The little man sorted through his stack of pictures, looking for the right one. He took forever, and when he finally handed Lloyd his picture, it was folded in quarters and crumpled terribly.

"Uh. Thanks," Lloyd said, without looking at it.

"Don't mention it, kid." The artist turned back to his easel, calling out to passers by, offering his services.

Lloyd put the tiny piece of paper in his pocket and pushed his way through the crowd. When the density of people thinned, he slowed down, stomach growling. It was close to dinnertime, almost time for him to call the day a failure and retreat to the inn. He didn't want to give up until he'd scanned that entire crowd for his mother, so he quickly stopped and bought himself some fruit to tide him over until he got back to the inn. The only thing they had available were a few dark red apples, but he made do.

He sat himself on the slope of a hillside by the theater, where he could see down onto the audience. He couldn't view the stage from his vantage point, but he was fairly certain his mother would not be on it. He instead watched the crowd. He saw their smiles appear and disappear as the play wore on, he saw their laughter, their mouths drop, he saw a few whisper to one another, giggling amongst themselves, but he did not see his mother. He sighed, resolving to remain for the duration of the performance, and threw his apple core down the hillside.

He decided to take out the little paper and look at it. He opened it carefully, trying his best not to rip the edges, and unfolded it on his lap. The sky was darkening quickly, but he could make out the curves and contours of the portrait.

It wasn't a portrait at all, as he expected, at least not of a person. The scene was drawn as a landscape, the gate of the town sitting in the very center of the picture. On one side of the gate, a lone sparrow flew up toward the sky, feet curled elegantly beneath her. She was missing a few feathers on her wing. On the other side of the gate sat another sparrow, pecking at the ground for crumbs. Beside him lurked a hawk, casting a long shadow across the ground.

Lloyd's heart skipped a beat and he instinctively crumpled the paper in his fist, looking around for any sign that he was no longer alone. He stood up, abandoning his post, ignoring the laughing faces of the audience, and broke into a run down the hillside. He slipped on the grass, arms flailing about him, feet tripping over one another, but he made it to the path to the theater in one piece. He sprinted down it, paper clutched in his hand, until he reached the spot where the artist had been. He found only an empty plot of soft grass, dirt still imprinted with the three legs of the easel.

He started the walk back toward the inn, glancing down at the paper more than he was watching where he was going. He stumbled along, eyes glued to the picture of the sparrows and the hawk, and tried his best to interpret it. His mother had obviously left the city, yes, that was why she was going though the gate toward… was it a lake? A river? Lloyd couldn't tell. The crumbs she left him remained insubstantial. He turned his eyes to the hawk, at the way he loomed, sharp talons digging into the earth.

So, she was here long enough to know he was with his father. She might've been watching him from the shadows and he utterly failed to notice. It struck him then how horrible of a son he was. She was able to smell him from a mile away, and he hadn't been sensitive enough to know he was within sight of her.

Lloyd knew for certain then that his mother would not reveal herself if he stayed with Kratos. With him out of the way, it should be easy for Lloyd to find her, especially if she was aware of his whereabouts intimately enough to leave him little messages like this. But he had no way to get rid of his father. He couldn't kill him, he couldn't fight him off… maybe if he could sneak off into the night… no, his father had unnaturally good hearing, and never slept. That reduced his chances of nighttime escape to zero, but maybe tomorrow, when he was sent out to search for Anna, he could slip out of the city and into the wilderness, following her clues.

Lloyd took one last look at the picture and committed every detail to memory. A sense of déjà vu enveloped him as he stared at the drawing, and he instinctively glanced to his arm where his mother had left him her first picture message, at the ranch so many years ago. When he was sure that he had memorized the whole thing, he crumpled it up and threw it into the wind. It flew past a dilapidated handrail and tumbled off a cliff into the dark ravine below.

Satisfied with his plan, he made his way back to the inn. The old grey tabby came out to greet him, mewling, rubbing up against his legs. He picked her up and held her over his shoulder, her claws sinking through his shirt and tickling his skin. He walked through the lobby and to their room, cat firmly attached at the shoulder, and he found his father at the room's tiny desk, hunched over the map.

"You think she's not here in town?" Lloyd asked.

"I think we should keep searching for a few more days, but we should decide where to go next should she fail to turn up."

Lloyd pried the tabby from his shoulder and dropped her on the bed before positioning himself over his father's shoulder to get a good view of the old, crumpled map. He looked for any body of water around Asgard, a large river or an inlet. He scoured the land, but the only substantial smear of blue he spied was what appeared to be a large lake to the northeast. He lay a finger on it. "What's this?"

"That's Lake Umacy. I don't think she would've gone there."

"Why not?"

"Because around there was where… it's too close to the ranch. If she's not here, she must've gone to Hima, maybe. Or around Balacruf, perhaps. I suppose she'd stay away from the north, keep Luin at a distance. Or maybe she's all the way down south, gods, I don't know…" Kratos voice steadily degenerated into incoherent mumbles, and Lloyd left him alone with the map.

When he went to get food, he couldn't get the image of that crazy old artist out of his mind. It puzzled him how his mother could've convinced that old man to do her bidding. Maybe she had made him draw the picture, maybe she had drawn it herself and gave it to him for delivery. Lloyd didn't know. At this point he cared little. When he found her, she'd be able to answer all of those questions, and more.

He reentered their room to find Kratos still hunched over the map, tracing its contours with two fingers as a makeshift compass. Lloyd wondered how long it would take his father to notice he was missing when he ditched him the next day. Hopefully hours. But not likely. That man had senses that could put any animal to shame.

Lloyd reclined on the bed and reached over for his lute. When he pulled it on his lap and lay his fingers across the neck, the strings felt thin and taut against his skin. He looked it over before playing a few notes, sharp and crisp.

"One of your strings snapped when you were out," Kratos told him. "So I had someone put a new set on. I hope that's all right."

Lloyd didn't like the harshness of the tone—he preferred the softer, more oud-like vibrations of his previous set. "What did you do with the old ones?"

"I threw them out."

He struck a chord, and the sound that rang from his instrument seemed to cut the air. He tried playing a few melodies, but the sound had a forceful quality about it that left him thinking that his instrument was shouting rather than singing. He put it down.

"I think I'll turn in early," he said, but utterly failed to force himself to go to sleep. Even after his father blew out the lamp and sat in the darkness with him, he stayed awake, punishing himself. He scolded himself for not finding her, for staying with Kratos when he should've left, for getting himself caught up with Yuan and the Chosen and Cruxis and all of the forces of the world he did not understand. He cursed himself for not having enough strength to find his mother and keep her safe, he cursed all those nebulous organizations that had power over him.

"Are you all right?" his father's voice struck down his thoughts. "You're tossing around."

"I'm okay."

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Is there anything you need?"

Lloyd sat up. "I need you to leave me alone. I need you to stop asking me if I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm wonderful. Peachy as hell."

Kratos recoiled for a moment. After a few seconds he stood up and left the room, his exit marked by an awkward silence. He didn't come back till morning, and Lloyd was still awake, staring at the ceiling, plotting.

"I didn't find her last night," Kratos said. "But I'll continue today. There's breakfast in the lobby."

With that, he left, and Lloyd forced himself out of bed. He went out into the lobby and poked his head out the front, just to make sure his father wasn't in sight, before popping back into their room. He stuffed his clothes in his bag, grabbed his knives, strapped his lute over his shoulder, and almost as an afterthought, decided to steal the map. He slipped it into his bag and leaned down to say goodbye to the cat that sat in the doorway.

"See you, old girl," he said, scratching her ear. "Be good."

When he made his way through the lobby, all geared up, he considered telling the innkeeper to not tell his father that he'd left. He reconsidered, since Kratos would see the lute gone and know immediately. Lloyd would just have to be quick.

He slipped out of town with no trouble, and practically ran down the path toward the open, windy fields. When he was sure he was far enough away, he slowed to a brisk walk, pulled the straps of his pack tighter to him, and began to hum.

It almost felt nice to be alone again. He sometimes went alone out into the desert for days, just on a whim, and although his mother had confessed it made her worried, she hadn't stopped him. She probably understood what it meant for him to have the sort of freedom of movement he'd never had at the ranch. There was the aspect of privacy, too, that enticed him out into the vast sands, especially at night. He could lay down alone and look at the stars for silent hours.

Maybe when he found his mother again he could convince her to come out into the desert with him and look at them. It seemed natural to him to have a companion on his stargazing outings, although he didn't know why he thought that. Perhaps because, in rare, intense moments, when he would truly understand the scope of the sky above him, he would suddenly realize how alone he was in the vastness of existence. Those were the only times he felt lonely out under the night sky, and they didn't occur often.

No, he could make it alone. He had been alone at the ranch, and had survived until his mother found him. Now he could survive alone until he found her. Then they could go home.

He took lunch well away from the main thoroughfare, hidden in a small grove of apple trees. He would've preferred to sit under a different kind of fruit tree, but he acknowledged that beggars couldn't be choosers and pulled a few off the branches, hiding them in his sack for later.

He took the map from his bag and struggled with it for a while, trying to open it against the wind. When he finally got it open, he lay it across the grass, attempting to figure out where he was. He traced the road from Asgard north, trying to calculate how many miles he had come. He had not yet reached the House of Salvation, although he should be close. From there he would have to keep on going north, then branch off the main road. It didn't seem like there were many paths leading to the lake—he might have to improvise.

He thought if he could find his way through the featureless desert consistently, finding a lake would be easy enough. He folded the map and put it away. He stretched before setting off through the tall grass and back to the road.

He reached the House well before dark, so he skipped it entirely. It would be the first place his father would look when he finally realized his son was missing. Lloyd wondered if he knew by now, or if he was still scouring Asgard for Anna, all to no avail. He reveled briefly in the thought of his father searching in vain, though he didn't know why.

A few hours after the sun set, he came across a tiny dirt path that diverged from the main road. He followed it, hoping it might lead him to the lake, but at this point he wasn't sure. It hadn't appeared on the map, but it seemed to lead in the right direction.

A few miles along, the road disappeared entirely and left only a grassy plain. When Lloyd found himself without a footpath, he looked to the sky instead. He followed the usual shapes and markers northeast, praying that he would come across water soon. Not only would that bring him closer to Anna, but his flagon had run dry hours ago.

He kept walking until the grassy plains sloped upward into a dark forest. He slipped through the trees, one hand on a knife, just in case something stepped out at him. He wasn't displeased with the change of scenery, since it would make it more difficult for Kratos to find him. He released a sigh when he heard the distant trickle of water through the trees. He followed the sound, keeping an eye out for any stray predators, human or otherwise, until he came to a small creek winding its way through the woods.

He stopped and knelt by the water, splashing his face before filling his flagon, drinking from it and filling it again. He squatted there, trying to decide which direction he should take. He wasn't sure if this river came from some higher altitude and went to the lake, or if it went from the lake down to the ocean… Perhaps he should just continue going north and see where it took him. Then again, he might be on the west side of the lake and traveling north would take him right to the Asgard ranch…

Lloyd stood, propelled to his feet by a sudden sound behind him. He raised his knife and whipped around, backing into the best stance he could with his pack and lute on his back. He sighed and lowered his knife when he saw his father, leaning despondently against a tree, shaking his head.

"I thought you said you weren't going to run from me."

Lloyd sheathed his knife. "Yeah? I lied." He couldn't help sighing with both disappointment and a little relief. "I knew you'd find me anyway."

"I wouldn't blame you, if you ran," Kratos said.

"But you'd still follow me."

"It's not something I can help. I won't leave you alone until you're safe." Lloyd assumed Kratos meant both him and his mother.

"How did you find me?" Lloyd asked.

"You were quite interested in Umacy on the map last night. I supposed that's where you'd go."

"Am I close? I don't know which way to go from here."

"Follow me, then. I'm fairly sure your mother isn't in Asgard anyway."

"Yeah. Me too."

Kratos led the way, but his silence had a guilty self-effacement about it that Lloyd found a little uncomfortable. He wondered if it had anything to do with his short outburst the night before. Not willing to suffer through the awkward silence, he decided to attempt to remedy it. "It's not because I hate you," Lloyd said. "Why I ran, I mean. I'm not even sure I hate you anymore."

Kratos glanced over his shoulder at Lloyd but didn't stop or speak.

"It's because I know elá won't come out with you around. She's running from me because she's running from you. So I'm never gonna find her while you're still with me."

"I see. Well, I can take care to hide myself, if you want."

Lloyd thought for a moment. "But then I'd be tricking her into coming back to me. I don't want to do that." He pulled his cloak tighter around him. "Besides, she knows when I'm being crafty. She can smell it."

"Then it appears we're at an impasse," his father said. "My presence is both necessary and detrimental." To Lloyd's surprise, Kratos let out a short laugh. "As usual."

They followed the river all the way out of the small patch of forest, into a clearing. At this point, no longer driven by the desire to outrun his father, Lloyd sat down on the grass and pulled some food from his bag.

"You seem tired," Kratos said. "We'll train in the morning."

Although Lloyd didn't look forward to having to use his exsphere the next day, he did feel oddly comforted by his father's presence. It surprised him to no end, but he had to admit he was almost glad to have him back.