She was trembling.
Beside her, Zelos slipped his hand in hers and squeezed, giving her a sad, sideways glance. I'll protect you was his unspoken message, and Seles squeezed back. She wanted to close her eyes, but her morbid fascination with what was about to happen kept her staring at the arena, where the guillotine was set up and ready to go.
She didn't want this to happen. There had already been enough suffering. She could barely understand her brother's pained expression, the same haunted glint in his eyes when they brought her to him. The first thing he'd done was embrace her, whisper, "It's not your fault."
Seles didn't know what he was talking about, then. They made him tell her. Her mother killed his. Her mother was trying to kill him, and killed his mother instead. For the crime of attacking the Chosen, her mother would die.
Of course, she would have died if she'd merely spoken out against the Chosen. She was a half-elf. A half-elf who was manipulated by the Pope into trying to put him to death, for whatever purpose it might have served him.
There were several things Zelos noticed as the guillotine fell; Seles clinging to him, howling in agony, the bitter, bitter cold and the Pope's vicious, nihilistic smile in his direction. The red on the snow in the arena. The red on the snow.
It was cold. So, so cold.
Zelos clung to his small half-sister as she screamed, clung to her for warmth, for dear life. The red on the snow filled his vision as one of the guards attempted to take the girl from his embrace, snarling, "You're next!" Seles shrieked louder, his name tearing from her raw throat, and before he knew what he was doing, the Chosen lunged forward and snapped the Knight's short sword from it's scabbard and brandished it threateningly. "You're not going to hurt her!"
The Pope's smile faded; beside him, a rather unhappy-looking man with auburn hair leaned forward against the railing from the platform where they stood, making his presence stand out to the boy. Zelos shook the distraction from his mind, vaguely realizing that the other Papal Knights had drawn against him, but it mattered not. Seles mattered, and they were about to take the last thing he cared about and crush it.
He'd sooner be crushed with her. He'd gladly be crushed with her.
It was the King who put a stop to the standoff, loudly ordering the man beside the Pope to disarm the Chosen and for the Knights to release the girl and back away. The man walked before the boy, clad in a weird blue and white uniform with straps all over it that he'd never seen before, and held out a hand as the Knights retreated. "Give me the sword, Zelos."
"No! You mean to hurt her! Get behind me, Seles!"
The girl obeyed and the man shook his head. "I mean no such thing. You don't know how to wield that weapon; you will hurt yourself. Give it to me. I swear I will do what I need to protect you and your sister."
Hesitantly, Zelos held the blade out; the man took it, and nodded to the Royal Guards who stood to the side, who swooped in and separated the siblings in a flash, both of them screaming at the top of their voices.
Zelos looked to the man to yell at him, to scold him, and hesitated at the vast array of emotion on the man's face, from shame to anger to remorse to sympathy. Zelos was quieted, although his tears of rage were not, as he was led away from the scene.
The boy was draped over his bed, sobbing his sorrows out into the lush blankets that covered it. All this wealth his father- their father- meant nothing. He'd failed. He'd failed to protect his sister. It was as his mother said, in her last breath.
He should have never been born. If he had not been, this would have never happened. It was all his fault.
"Zelos," came a familiar, quiet voice from the window of his bedroom.
Zelos looked up sharply. "You!" he snarled, and his eyes widened as his eyes fell on the man who sat on the windowsill of the open window. He wore the same outfit he did earlier that day in the arena, but now he sported iridescent, shimmering sky-blue wings. "Who are you?"
"I am Kratos," the man replied softly. "I know what happened today," he said, sliding off the sill and walking slowly to the kneeling boy. "I am deeply, deeply sorry for what transpired."
"Sorry?" Zelos snapped, rising, fresh tears springing to his eyes. "You had Seles taken away! You swore you would-"
"Do what I must to protect you and her," Kratos finished for him. "I did. Seles is safe now. You are, too." Kratos closed the distance between them and pulled the boy into an embrace. "I swear, personally," he said, his voice laced with a barely controlled anger, "that no one will ever do that to you again. You have every right to live. No one- no one- has the right to tell you otherwise."
Zelos returned the embrace, fully breaking down, sobbing into Kratos' chest. After a long while, Zelos' tears subsided, and he pulled away. "So you'll protect me?"
Kratos nodded. "I will do what I can, although I cannot promise I can always be here. Therefore," Kratos said, pulling back fully and producing the short sword that Zelos had snatched earlier, "you will learn how to protect yourself."
"You will teach me?"
"I will. Under one condition," he added in a hard tone. "You must never, ever tell anyone about my presence. Understand?"
"I understand."
"Good. Your lessons will start tomorrow, if you're up for it. Get some sleep now. You've had a hellish day."
"Is everything ready, Kratos?" The man nodded hesitantly. Zelos smiled. "Good. You realize I will kill him tomorrow."
Kratos shook his head. "You will kill him tomorrow if you can best him. You cannot."
"Heh. So much confidence in your own teaching, Kratos."
Kratos took the man by the shoulders and shook him. "Listen to me, Zelos. I know my son's strength. You will die if you fight him."
"Death is better than being the Chosen," Zelos snapped, shaking Kratos' hands off his shoulders. "You don't understand. I know you don't want me to fight Lloyd. But I don't have a choice. Lloyd doesn't stand a chance, the Renegades would have won by now if they were going to. You yourself gave me the message that if I helped capture Colette and get them out of the way, I'd be free of this curse. I have no other choice."
"Yes, you do, Zelos. There's a fourth choice. One I haven't told you about yet."
Zelos tilted his head. "Oh?"
Kratos took a deep breath. "Carry out the plan as instructed, until you are to eliminate Lloyd's group. Leave them to the Angel guards, and go with the Chosen. Lloyd's party will be able to take care of the Angels with ease. When you get the chance, steal a chunk of Aionis and meet me at the seal room. I will take you to Colette and, likely, the others."
Zelos stared hard at Kratos. "Why? What difference will it make?"
"With the Aionis, I can complete the Ring of the Pact Maker. If Lloyd has this, he can wield the Eternal Sword. He can and will succeed in defeating Mithos."
"You have an awful lot of faith in him."
Kratos' face softened. "Of course I do. He's my son."
Zelos sighed. "I remember when you had faith in me, too."
"I still do. I wouldn't have asked you to do this for me, otherwise."
Zelos sighed again, putting a hand to his forehead. "I need to think about this, Kratos."
"Think fast. You have just under twelve hours. Good luck." With those words, Kratos turned and walked away, leaving Zelos alone in that street in Flanoir, cold.
Bitterly cold. Good luck, indeed.