Offering to a Star

by fowl68

It's about war and legends. Sometimes it's about races and hideouts, but mostly it's about brothers and growing up. An origin story in the form of collected one-shots and drabbles.

64. Concerning War and Love: Part Two

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Author's Note: Went to go see Puss in Boots, the new Footloose and Anonymous. All were excellent, even the remake. Well, as good as a remake can get. They messed up severely on the factory dance, but the rest of it was pretty good. Puss in Boots is better than all of the Shrek movies, mostly because of the depth that it goes into the character. As for Anonymous, it was mostly for my AP Lit class, but it was still interesting.
Went to go see the new Sherlock Holmes. Just like the first one, as soon as the movie was over, I wanted to watch it again—which I did. They did such an incredible job.
I beat both Arkham City and Assassin's Creed: Revelations. Gorgeous games, both of them. And both made me stare at the screen and forget to breathe for a few moments for various reasons.

I found this chapter rather difficult to write, at least as far as Janine is concerned. Mostly because it's difficult for me to picture Kratos interacting personally with anyone not mentioned in the game. And this chapter came out nothing like my initial plan.

I was lucky enough to be able to go see the Candlelight Procession in Disney's Epoct with Neil Patrick Harris as the host. Oh, yeah, and I am officially eighteen years old and I have my learner's permit to drive. God help my garage. Happy new year, everyone!

-/-/-

"Promise me you'll remember: you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you've seen, and smarter than you think."
-Christopher Robin's Thotful Spot

-/-/-

She'd gotten used to seeing him around. He was the only other human she'd ever spent time around, had even seen, really. And he wasn't what she'd heard some half-elves say; he wasn't cruel, wasn't vicious, wasn't even very threatening. Not at first or even second glance, anyway.

Kratos was quiet and polite, with a strange sense of humor. He had a nice smile, Janine thought. A little shy and endearingly crooked. Something about him was boyish, despite him obviously being a man. Perhaps it was the way he interacted with Yuan, like two adolescent brothers who liked to yank on each other's chains. Or perhaps it was how very…contained…he became around women. Not just the dancers, because Janine could understand that—most women never showed that much skin—but around all women. Except Martel. Martel was an exception to a lot of rules.

Janine felt vaguely jealous of Martel sometimes. Janine knew she was no great beauty. She'd accepted that long ago. But when she looked at Martel, who always had dirt beneath her fingernails and her hair—and Janine thought that Martel had lovely hair. Such an…alive…color out here was a reprieve from golds and reds—never stayed neat, and yet, when she smiled, people reacted. When she spoke, people listened. Kratos laughed openly with her and Mithos shone and Yuan was obviously in love with her.

But whenever she got those feelings, Janine felt rather silly. After all, Martel was kind to her—to everyone really—and she was so uncomfortable in anything more revealing than breeches and a shirt or a long cotton dress that Janine couldn't even blame her for anything.

"Are-are you busy?"

Janine looked up from the shirt she was mending. Kratos was in the doorway waiting. That was something else he did—he never came too close to anyone without their permission first. "Not really. Why?"

"I was, uh, wondering if you could teach me to sew."

Janine blinked at him. "Sew?"

"Yes. It's a pretty useful thing to learn, I guess and…" He trailed off.

"But sewin' is women's work."

The instant she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing. Nothing physical happened beyond a vague stiffening of Kratos' shoulders, but she could still see him shrink, saw walls go up.

Kratos didn't think he could ever forget his father's voice, no matter how much he might want to. (…He's missing something…under people's boots…never able to stand up for anything…) He couldn't forget Agenor, making excuses, though Kratos hadn't known it for what it was then. And the few things he knew of his mother, Agenor had told him about it. His father had never spoken of her. (…Seeing all these books, you remind me of your mother. She liked to read too…)

He didn't know why he was remembering this now. Perhaps it was because he had too much time on his hands in this town, too much time to think.

"Maybe it is, but we're out in the field enough that I should probably learn to do it myself."

Janine nodded. "If you say so. I'll start you off easy." She handed him one of the many things that were given to her; apparently, more things became ripped or torn during festival days.

Janine was a patient teacher and Kratos was a little clumsy with the needle. By the end of the hour, his stitches may not have been the tight, neat ones that Janine made, but they were serviceable.

"What's on your hand?" She asked when they took a break for some lunch of spicy lentils and bread.

Kratos looked down at the orb. It was pale blue, set in bronze and his hand still ached a little whenever he moved it. "Your father said it's called an Exsphere. That he got it from trading with the dwarves. It's supposed to make people come to their full potential."

"I've never seen such a thing."

"I don't think he'd want it for his daughter. The only reason he gave it to us was because it seems like Mithos is nearly done with his training and we're going to have to fight Efreet."

"Does it hurt?" Janine asked, noticing that the area around it was reddened.

"A little. It's actually in my skin, apparently. It's supposed to be the only way for it take effect."

"Does it work?"

"Dunno. I haven't tried it out yet. Yuan's been with Martel since this morning, so I can't spar with him, and Mithos was gone before I even woke up this morning."

"What will you guys do once you go after Efreet?"

Kratos shrugged. "Head back to the capitol most likely. There're people there who'd want to know if it was possible for Mithos to summon Efreet. And Martel doesn't like to leave her patients very much."

"I can imagine…What's the capitol like?"

"It's…" Kratos struggled to find the words. He could see it all laid out in his mind; the streets with their network of alleyways. The flat-topped roofs that would have planks running across them that the kids would play on. If the windows had ever had glass, the glass had long ago been blown out of the frame in the bombings. The entire city was a lovely lady made dusty and dull by war. "I think it was a beautiful place once."

"…Are you going to be happy to leave? I know that not everyone likes the desert."

"...This place is very different from where I grew up. We didn't have sand there and it rained a lot in autumn and snowed enough that it got to your knees in winter. And it was never hot like this—well, it was hot, but it was so wet that it was humid too, so it seemed worse."

"That don't answer my question."

"Doesn't." Kratos corrected automatically. "And…I don't think so. I like travelling, seeing new places." He smiled a little. "It's what we dreamed of, Yuan and I, back when we were kids."

"You two been friends a long time, ain't you? Anyone can see that."

"Since we were…almost ten." Kratos found himself feeling suddenly, inexplicably, old. Twenty-three—well, nearly twenty-four—wasn't an old age at all, but he could suddenly almost see all his ages—one, two, three, all the way through Yuan's Years of ten-eleven-twelve-and-on to the present—and they seemed so very many.

"Wow. I ain't known anyone that long. Well, no one like a best friend. I've known the people in this village near all my life."

"I…can't really remember the people that were in my town." And it was strange. For so long, they had been his world. Those classmates in that schoolhouse, the old woman that ran the bakery, the kids that bullied him, his father, those slaves…now, with so much more to give things scope, those things seemed very small. "We've been on the road so long, I've forgotten."

"Do you gotta travel? You could stay somewhere, put down roots."

Kratos felt the uncomfortable prickles of sudden, unfamiliar territory dance up his spine. "We're trying to find a way to stop the war. Mithos has this…crazy plan and I won't abandon him."

"Can't be that crazy if you're going along with it."

"No…it's still pretty crazy. But I think he can do it."

"You guys are better dreamers than I am." She said, leaning back on her arms. "I can't imagine a world without this war."

"That's part of our point though. No one even remembers what started this war, not even the elves. The only reason we're fighting now is because we don't know how to do anything else. That has to change—why're you smiling?" Kratos felt his thoughts brake to a sudden stop at her expression.

"Because of you." Janine said honestly. He hadn't been shy at that moment, hadn't been embarrassed or concerned about being polite. He'd been passionate in his thoughts, something she hadn't seen in him before. It suited him.

He stared at her, perplexed and she couldn't help but laugh, even as she pushed herself to stand, taking her basket of mended clothes and perching it on one hip. Still smiling, she told him, "It's hard to explain."

-/-/-

"Are you afraid?" Yuan asked quietly, sitting on the roof as had become their tradition. "Of tomorrow."

Mithos had come to them that evening, his face streaked with soot and ash, but triumphant. "Arin says I should try to make a pact with Efreet tomorrow. He says I'm ready."

Supper had been a quiet affair, no one sure what to say. The threat of tomorrow hung over their heads, heavy with the weight of the future.

Martel looked at him, her hazel eyes seeming suddenly too old for her face. "I think I should be."

"But you're not?"

"It feels like…that it's not real, y'know? I feel like tomorrow will be the same as all these months before us."

Yuan reached down to entwine his fingers with hers as though trying to borrow some of her strength. It had been nearly a month since the festival and its subsequent events and three weeks since Arin gave them the Exspheres that he still wasn't accustomed to. "With any luck, we'll come back here tomorrow, safe and sound."

She kissed the back of the hand that held hers. "With luck."

-/-/-

"What if I can't do it?" Mithos asked in the darkness. Kratos wasn't surprised to see him out here, sitting on the front steps of the inn. He doubted anyone would be getting sleep tonight.

"Then at least we tried. It's more than most people can say." Kratos wasn't sure when that small ball of anger had appeared in his gut. Anger at the people that stood by, at the people who refused to see what was so plain in front of them, at the ones who were so willingly blinded by the need of someone to blame. The anger was always there now, sometimes simmering, low and forgotten, but other times, it flared to life with a terrible strength.

"We?" Mithos repeated, watching his friend and teacher manipulate the orb of water in his hand. It was something that Alstan insisted was good for control. He also said it was absolutely necessary that Kratos constantly practice as his body couldn't contain magic like people with more elven blood could and really, water was the safest one to use. Even wind magic had gotten Kratos' hands sliced up more than once.

"Yeah. You didn't think we were going to let you do it alone, did you?"

"Arin always talks about it like I am."

Kratos smiled at him. "Well, I don't think that most summoners get a whole lot of people to volunteer to go up against a Summon Spirit."

Mithos laughed, sounding a little bleak. "Yeah, I guess not." He paused, uncertain. "Are you sure you want to come? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"I want to." Kratos assured him.

Mithos wrapped his arms around his knees. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you even stuck with me and Martel so long?"

"Martel and I."

Mithos rolled his eyes, but repeated it anyway. "Why? And don't say it's just because of Yuan."

"You don't think I would've stayed for Yuan?"

"Of course you would. But that can't be why?"

Kratos let the magic dissipate, which left his hands feeling moist. "Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't be going this far just for that."

"Heh." Kratos disagreed strongly with that, but this wasn't the time for that. "I'm here because I think that…you're right. That there is a way to end this war peacefully and we just need to find it."

Mithos tilted his head curiously. "Y'know, sometimes, I think you can be a little naïve."

"What? Why?"

"You just seem too trusting sometimes."

Kratos chuckled and ruffled Mithos' hair. "You ever think you're too cynical?"

Mithos squirmed away—he'd gotten to that age where he insisted that he was too old for that sort of thing—and said, "Well, I can't help that, can I? Will you practice water magic with me?"

Mithos didn't mention how he needed the easy motions of magic to keep him awake because he knew that if he slept, he would dream of flames licking at his feet, his calves, of hellhounds with rust-red fur with black smoke-mist at their heels and darkbright red eyes (Red like blood and hatred and lives taken) that pad closer with the quiet, languid deadliness.

"Sure."

-/-/-

Yuan pushed a mug of coffee into Kratos' hand. "You sleep?" Kratos shook his head. "Nightmares?"

"No. Mithos looked almost…afraid to sleep last night, so I stayed up with him to practice magic."

"And you're not tired?" Using magic tended to always draw some energy away from the user to direct the spell in the way they wanted it to go, even if they took the actual mana used to fuel the spell from the environment around them. For Kratos, he got tired much quicker, as his body wasn't built to accommodate for that extra non-physical strain.

"Not any more than I should be since I didn't sleep."

Yuan studied him carefully, observing the look in his friend's eyes and the way he stood. Yuan couldn't see mana the way Mithos could, but he could sense it—part of the time, and always with Kratos—and Kratos was already regenerating the mana used up during the night, something that used to take much longer. Yuan's eyes flicked to the Exsphere on Kratos' left hand and back up to his face before he noticed something.

"You're taller."

Kratos blinked at him. "What?" Kratos took a step towards Yuan so that they were side by side and measured with his free hand. Where, a few weeks ago, he'd been several inches shorter, now they were the same height. "I am taller. That explains why my shirts don't fit right."

Yuan burst out laughing. "Well, what did you think was happening?"

Kratos shrugged. "No idea. The thought of me getting taller didn't occur to me."

"What did Arin say about the Exspheres? That it brings you to the maximum physical potential?" Yuan wondered if not having enough to eat could affect height because back when it had just been Kratos-and-Yuan, they hadn't had much and while Yuan took longer to grow, took longer to develop, those years had been, or were supposed to be, Kratos' growing years. "Maybe this is the height you were supposed to be."

Kratos ran a hand through his hair and grinned. "No complaints about that."

Yuan slung an arm around Kratos' shoulder. "Maybe you should ask Janine to make you some new clothes, since those're too small now." Kratos elbowed him, making him laugh. "Borrow some of my clothes then."

"Do you have any that're clean?"

"Why do you ask like you don't expect me to? Of course I do. You, however," Yuan made a show of sniffing Kratos. "Are in need of a bath." He gave him a light shove between the shoulder blades. "Get going, I'll get the clothes."

"Yes, mother." Kratos muttered, but Yuan still caught the words and barked out a laugh.

-/-/-

"TheTempleis that way?"

"Mm." Mithos seemed almost frozen to the spot.

Martel wrapped an arm around him. "What is it?"

"You'll all get hurt. I can feel it. Efreet…he's dangerous. What if I can't do it and you get hurt for nothing?"

"Then we tried."

Mithos shot her a look. "You've been spending a lot of time with Kratos."

She chuckled. "That I have. But he's not wrong. And wounds heal. If this doesn't work, we'll recover and try and find a different way."

"You are stubborn."

"Well, where did you think you learned it from?"

-/-/-

Arin stood by the village gates, the bone beads in his dark hair clacking with the wind. Janine looked small standing beside his muscular frame. She didn't seem to belong in this environment, like a cuckoo bird.

"I've broken my pact with Efreet." Arin told them. (He tries not to think about the hollow in his chest where, until midnight last night, a fire had warmed him from the inside out. Now, he feels cold and empty, but he hopes that it's worth it, that these young people can fulfill their dreams of peace) "Should you defeat him, he'll be free of me to make the pact."

It made no sense to Kratos, none at all, but it must have made some to Mithos because he nodded. "Alright."

They turned and started heading out past the dunes to the temple. Arin had told Mithos that every summer solstice, the entire village would make their way out to the temple and spend the day there to thank Efreet for protecting them.

"Wait!"

The four of them turned back to see Janine sprinting up to them, not once slipping or sliding on the sand beneath her feet, her dark curls bouncing as she ran. She skidded to a stop in front of Kratos before going on her toes to kiss him lightly. "For luck," She said, her cheeks pinking before she started running back to her adopted father.

Yuan grinned, hooking an arm around Kratos' neck to tug him forward and make him walk. "We hate to say this, Kratos, but…"

Martel matched his grin. "We told you so."

Yuan let go of Kratos now that he was walking, sensing that, at the moment, Kratos needed to have a small panic attack and Martel was better at dealing with those than he was (Or rather, he's better at dealing with the problems of the past. Martel is the guardian of the future).

"Breathe." Martel advised once Mithos and Yuan had gone a little farther ahead.

"I-I don't know what to do." He said, running a hand through his hair. (Martel has seen Yuan do the very same movement and she wonders if Kratos got it from Yuan or vice versa)

He seemed young then, to Martel. Younger than she'd ever known him. Thirteen, or fourteen, perhaps. Not the twenty-three she knew he was. But, it seemed, Yuan's theory of ages was good at proving itself. "Hey, she's not asking to marry you."

"Thank heavens for that." Kratos muttered before glancing up at her. He'd calmed a little, but not all the way. "But I think she wants me to stay in this village. She mentioned something about that the other day."

"Do you wanna stay?" Martel asked.

"Of course not." He said immediately.

"Then don't." She said simply. "But, you do know that if you wanted to stay, none of us would blame you. This life on the road thing…maybe you need a life that's lived in one place."

Kratos shook his head. "Not a chance. I…like travelling. Actually, staying in only one place seems…it seems a little boring. I can't picture doing that. Not after all this."

Martel smiled. "That's good to hear."

"I thought you wouldn't blame me."

"I wouldn't. But I would miss you." She kissed his cheek. "Now come on, before those two leave us behind."

-/-/-

He remembered the fight in snatches. Jumping aside to avoid a wall of flames, lightning crashing around him, but never once did he feel threatened. Small tides of water summoned from both his and Mithos' hands, Martel's barriers making sweet, high music when the fire hit them.

It was over now, but they're not without injuries. Efreet had gone for him, as any smart enemy would. Kratos knew he was the weak link in them, a little slower, a little less able in magic. He smelled of char and his right arm was garishly red(Like cherries and strawberries and fire and heartbreak), the skin having been seared away. One of Yuan's legs was badly burnt and he was currently leaning on Kratos' good arm to keep the weight off it and there were several slices across his chest. His neck, where Efreet had grabbed him, was bruised and burned, which made for a horrible cacophony of colors. Yuan was the most reckless of all of them and was the worst off. Mithos, at least, seemed to have had the good sense to stay back…sort of. There was a slice across his face, going from his temple to the corner of his mouth—Efreet was relentless and ruthless, his hands constantly changing shape from hellhound's claw to powerful fingers—and one of Martel's ankles was black and burnt.

Efreet's physical body—or the one he chose, according to Mithos, as Summon Spirits apparently didn't have corporeal bodies of their own except when they chose to—was mostly the torso of a man, his skin the red of hellfire, darkening in places to be the dark crimson that made Kratos' stomach churn with memories (The man he killed bled that color, his nose half-burnt away and one eye was missing…). The red lightened at the collarbone up over Efreet's horned head to flicker in yellows and oranges, like a candle. He was cloaked in dark violet flames that licked up his shoulders to white—the hottest of fires—and behind the horns on his head flared burning wings that made Kratos think of that story of the boy who wanted to fly higher than the sun, but he flew too close and his wings caught fire and brought him crashing down.

"Well done. When Arin told me of you, I did not think you would be able to succeed." Efreet's voice was deep and hoarse, like someone who'd breathed in too much smoke. "Tell me your vow. Why do you want my power?"

Mithos stepped up, soot in his hair and one hand shaking from exhaustion—his mana had taken a beating and now that Kratos saw him from the back, he saw that the back of his shirt was oozing…something—and yet, still with shoulders squared and chin raised. "This war's gone on too long. With enough power, we could end it. With enough power to make ourselves heard, we could make them stop fighting, make them see that there is a middle ground."

Efreet's eyes glanced at the rest of them. "Yes, I can see that you believe in that. Not many half-elves would travel with a human in these times."

"So you're willing to help?" Mithos pressed.

"I hope you're right, and that they will stop. This war has taken a toll on all creatures, Summon Spirits included. So yes, you may use my power."

They watched in awe as Efreet flames dissipated into small, dazzling pieces, slowly working their way up his body until there was nothing left. The pieces solidified together, as if brought together by a magnet, and dropped to the ground at Mithos' as a red stone.

Mithos bent to pick it up, grimacing as he did at the pain in his back. He rolled it in his hands. "A ruby…I think. I've never seen one. But the mages back in the capitol always say that gemstones hold magic better because of the purity of their minerals...or something."

Yuan was tapping at Kratos' shoulder, a sign, and Kratos lowered the both of them to the floor accordingly. His own legs weren't feeling too great about then either. Martel half hopped to them, the sight of which automatically made Yuan start to get up, but Kratos grabbed the back of his friend's shirt to jerk him back down before his leg gave out on him.

"You're worse off than she is. Let her fuss."

"She shouldn't be fussing over us if she hasn't healed herself."

Martel glared at Yuan. "Who's the Healer here, me or you? Since, last I checked, you hadn't learned any healing arts, now's the time where you're going to have to swallow your manpride and trust that I know what I'm doing."

Her magic healed the worst of their injuries and, more than once, Kratos saw Yuan about to tell her that she should rest, but thought better of it and kept quiet. Mithos wasn't quite so smart and got a dark look. Martel had a fairly easy temper most of the time, but when she was a Healer, she wanted only to get the job done.

Yuan winced at the sight of Martel peeling the shirt from Mithos' back, burnt skin still sticking to the fabric. Mithos tried to be strong about it, tried to not let out a sound, but Kratos, seeing how close he was to bursting, offered a hand to hold. Mithos clutched at the hand as Martel ran a cloth damp from her canteen gingerly across the blistered and burned skin.

"Yuan, can you get the burn salve from my bag?" She asked quietly. He quickly fished for it and handed it to her. Dipping her fingers in the salve, Martel said, "Mithos, this-this is going to hurt, alright?"

Mithos' hand clenched tight around Kratos'. Martel tried to put as little pressure on her younger brother's back as possible. It had been her fault; she hadn't been fast enough with the barrier magic, hadn't gotten to him in time. Mithos squirmed and shifted under her touch, trying not to move too much, hissing between his teeth.

(He's strong, her brother. Stronger than he should be. At times like these, Martel curses and rages mentally at the world for its utter blindness. Couldn't they see what the war was doing to their children?)

She wrapped gauze loosely around him. If she had more mana at her disposal, she could have healed all of them so that the burns would be red, angry skin and the cuts little more than cat scratches, but today, she was so tired…

They didn't need to start a fire, it was so warm in the temple. Mithos was still holding onto Kratos like he would never let go and Kratos had shifted closer so that they would both be more comfortable. Mithos, finally, fell into a fitful sleep with his head on Kratos' thigh and Kratos wasn't far behind, leaning his head back on Efreet's altar.

Yuan sat by Martel. She hadn't healed herself yet—people weren't wrong when they said that Healers made for the worst patients—and he took her ankle into his lap and began to gently dab it on. The ankle was swollen and bruised, but at least it wasn't broken. "I don't think we'll be attacked tonight—not in here—so you should get some sleep. You won't be able to help anyone if you're too tired to even walk."

Martel nodded, leaning back on her arms. Her entire body was sore and she wanted nothing more than to curl into her bedroll and sleep. "…I'm sorry. For snapping at you earlier."

Yuan smiled wearily at her. "It's alright. We're all a little cranky and…I-I shouldn't interfere with your work. You were right; in the Healing department, you're the one who knows what you're doing."

"Well, I've been told that I can get pretty stubborn—"

"An understatement." Yuan murmured, grinning a little when she gave him a look.

"And, the way I figure it, you're good at callin' me on when I'm being too stubborn."

"At your service, Lady."

"Are you calling me that too now?"

Yuan didn't say anything, just smiled and wrapped her ankle with leftover gauze. It struck him that he shouldn't be so good at wrapping bandages (But this is a war and you learn things quick in a war or you die).

The people in the capital—the ones she's treated, the ones she's laughed and eaten with, the ones she's fought with—they've begun to call her their Lady. The first time she'd heard, Martel had shaken her head, laughing a little. "Me? Lady? Not a chance!"

Whatever her protestations, everyone kept calling her that. At first, it was mostly only the men that used the title, but it begun to catch on until the children would tug at her skirts and laugh, calling her Lady Martel and soon everyone was saying it. Because she was theirs, they'd protect her with all they had. Their Lady. She'd protected and fought for them more than most women—or even men—would have. She'd healed them, freed them, given them strength when they thought they had none.

Yuan had smiled to himself when he'd first been told of the reasoning behind the title. Despite all that she'd done, he suspected that Martel was still largely ignorant of all the good she'd done. It was endearing.

Martel shifted her foot out of his lap so that she could sit closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. She thought about saying something, but decided against it. It was nice to have this kind of silence, warm and soft like a favorite blanket. Apparently, Yuan thought so too because he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, scooting the both of them back until they hit a wall and shifted until they were both comfortable.

Perhaps this was what peace was. Or at least, a small measure of it. It'd be nice to see this kind of atmosphere spread out everywhere.

-/-/-

The first thing they saw on their return to the village was a scramble of silver and green feathers heading right for them.

Kratos laughed and hugged Noishe's neck when the protozoan neared them. Viren had convinced them to leave Noishe behind so that there was some line of contact between the capital and them. "We get it—you missed us."

Yuan ran his hand along the familiar feathers on the underside of Noishe's neck, where they were soft and downy. "Just a little."

Martel kissed Noishe's head. "Nice to see you too."

Mithos patted Noishe's wing. "Well—it has been a while. We didn't know it would take so long."

"You know this bird?" Arin asked. He had a spear in his hand and he looked vaguely tense.

"Yes, he's ours." Kratos said. "His name's Noishe." The bird tapped Kratos' cheek with his beak and bobbed his head downwards. "Oh, well, that explains why you're here."

He bent down to retrieve the message tied to Noishe's leg. "Let's read this inside. It's hot."

Janine wasn't in the inn when they entered, something that Kratos was grateful for. He wasn't sure how to act around her now and, with a message from the capital, he was sure that any possibility in him staying was utterly shot. They took their seats on the ground, cushions and pillows, always warm, felt warmer from the morning in the sun.

"It's from Viren." Kratos said, unrolling the message. Noishe settled himself behind him.

Yuan leaned to peer over Kratos' shoulder. "What's he say?"

"The humans are sending a lot of forces out here, towards the west." Kratos frowned and looked up at Arin. "What would they want out here?"

"We do much trade and beyond the desert are our richest ports. They're not much either way, but they're a major piece in getting goods all over half-elven country."

"That must be what they're after."

"And if they destroy another Summon Spirit's temple, they'll be that much better off." Mithos murmured.

"They don't think of it that way." Yuan said absently. "They don't think of the Summon Spirits as corporeal. To them, they're just old gods that we're clinging to because we don't have a prayer. They might destroy them just for the sake of destruction, not because they think that they hold any power."

"Viren's asking us to meet the fleet in…what's that say?" Kratos squinted at the letter. Viren hadn't known how to write beyond his tribe's picture-words, but Kratos and Yuan had both sat him down and taught him as well as Zaren. Viren's letters were, for the most part, legible except for when he felt rushed and then his words tended to blur together or he would forget letters.

"Izlion." Yuan supplied, peeking at the message. "The great ocean city."

"You've heard of it?"

"Of course. They say that it sprawls on the coastline like a large cat and that Undine watches over the city so that they aren't flooded."

"That's what they told us in Heimdall." Martel said. "That the reason our swamps and lakes never flooded our homes was because we had Undine's blessing."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that Undine can bless more than one place." Kratos said reasonably. "And I didn't know that we had a fleet on our side."

"He's calling it a fleet, but it's really just a bunch of traders and fishermen that're part of the militia." Mithos said.

"Do they have any magic-users over there?" Kratos directed the question to Arin, who had more knowledge of the people there.

"Yes, but not in the way that you're thinking. Their magic is to navigate the ocean and to make the winds more favorable." Arin replied. "I doubt that any of them could turn that into something offensive."

Arin was surprised, to tell the truth. While he knew that these four were part of the military and he knew that Kratos was on the side of the half-elves, he hadn't really understood what that meant. It was strange to hear Kratos speaking so easily about things that humans weren't supposed to care about, about things that were so close to half-elven culture that most outsiders hardly took the time to learn them.

"If we get there soon enough…" Kratos began.

"We can help change that." Yuan finished. "Air and water magic is powerful in its own right. On their land, where they know the streets and the terrain? It'll be an enormous advantage."

"How far is Izlion from here?" Mithos asked.

Arin thought about it."A good two days' travel. Longer, depending on the desert."

Mithos rubbed at the ruby from Efreet in his pocket. Efreet was said to control the desert, that his rages had brought down fiery tornados and sandstorms. "I think we can make good time. It'll take a while for the humans to get through the desert."

"Hang on," Martel interrupted. "Izlion is beyond this village. If we leave and the humans march through the desert, what happens to you?"

"We can defend ourselves." Arin said. (They never had to before and the hollow in Arin's chest twists sharply at the reminder. Efreet isn't there to protect them anymore)"And our village is difficult to find. If we're careful, we can make it seem like no one has lived here for a very long time. The humans will pass right by us."

"And if they decide that it would be a good idea to take shelter here? This village isn't big enough to hide all of you for very long."

"We wouldn't be in the village limits. We'd hide in Efreet's temple."

"That place is like a maze." Mithos said, frowning. "The humans'll get lost in there, definitely, but so might your own people."

"We'll stay towards the front and fight from there."

"With what people?" Martel demanded. "Your men are gone to fight in the war, as they have everywhere else."

Arin's eyes hardened. "I had not expected you, of all people, to underestimate the strength of those left behind, Martel."

The women, the children. Martel felt a flush of shame creep up her neck (But she hadn't allowed herself to be left behind. She had to be stronger for Mithos, had to find courage where there had been none so that they could move onwards). "They shouldn't have to take on an army by themselves."

"You're not wrong, but this world isn't so nice." Arin took a deep breath and began walking to the door. "I must go tell everyone that we leave the day after tomorrow."

-/-/-

"I won't be able to stop it from scarring a little." Martel said, her warm mana hovering over Kratos' arm. "Some of those burns went to the bone."

"It's fine." Kratos assured her. "At least I can still use my arm." He glanced down at her ankle, still wrapped in several layers of gauze. "How's your leg?"

"At least you're asking and not assuming."

Kratos smiled. "Mithos?"

"Naturally."

"How'd you manage to get any time for yourself today?"

"Yuan's helping the villagers get supplies to the temple and I told Mithos that he needs a lot of rest for his back to heal."

Kratos lowered his eyes. "I don't like leaving these people to fend for themselves."

"Neither do I," Martel confessed. "But…I was talking to Arin this morning over breakfast—"

"Couldn't sleep again?"

"No." She couldn't stop seeing faces, so many faces; people she knew, people she didn't. People that she loved, lying dead at her feet.

Kratos thought about trying to get her to sleep now, before they got on the road again, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He trusted Martel to know how far she could push herself, trusted that she would give her body rest when she had sufficiently exhausted herself to keep the nightmares at bay.

"What did Arin say?" He asked instead.

"He told me that I should stop worrying, that we should hurry up and get to Izlion. He said that the sooner we put a stop to this war, the better off they'll be."

Kratos huffed out a breath. "Is it bad that he makes a lot of sense?"

She smiled. "I think he was trying to. He knows you pretty well by now, Kratos. We've lived here for almost two months and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're not very good at following orders. He knew that you'd be stubborn enough to stay and help them fight off the humans unless he gave you a logical reason to go. It's the way you work. "

"There's a logical reason to stay too." He pointed out.

Martel just patted his arm before standing up. "You keep telling yourself that. And make sure not to overwork that arm. The surface is completely healed, but it'll be another week or so until it's up to full functionality."

"Yes, ma'am." He followed her lead, getting to his feet a little more slowly because he'd been sitting for so long. He wasn't sure how Martel could bear to kneel like she did for hours and never feel any kind of strain.

"You're about to go out and do the exact opposite of what I just said, aren't you?"

"No…I'm just going to help the villagers pack the necessities." He caught her look and smiled reassuringly. "I won't overdo it, I promise."

"Uh-huh."

"Where's the trust?"

"Out for a lunch break."

Kratos chuckled as he stepped out, blinking in the hopes that it would help his eyes adjust faster to the bright sun. The entire village was electric with activity, everyone going this way and that, but most of them were putting their things on the pony carts, like a well-oiled machine. (Kratos says that once to Martel, the thing about machines, and she looks at him strangely. Then she makes a sound of understanding and says, "I guess some things never go away." It takes Kratos longer to realize that the elves don't use machines and half-elves can't afford them. Machines are entirely a human creation)

"Fior," Kratos called to the blacksmith's apprentice. The kid (Kid? There is a scant three years difference in their ages) came around the inn often, looking for Janine.

Fior turned automatically at the call of his name. "Kratos. Did Lady Martel finally let you out?"

"In a way. Does anyone else need help packing?"

"Um, last I checked, Mariel needed the help. She's been watchin' the kids, so she ain't had to time to do much."

"Thanks. I'd help with the moving, only Martel said I shouldn't."

"What the Lady says, goes. 'M a little surprised to hear that she let Yuan out there." He hadn't been in the best of shapes either, still recovering from his own wounds and walking with a slight limp, but he'd assured Martel that he was only going as back-up in case of monsters and that of course Noishe was going with him.

"Noishe is with him. He won't let anything happen to him."

If Fior thought that the trust Kratos put in an overlarge bird was strange, he didn't mention it. "I'm sure he won't."

-/-/-/-

Mariel was a small woman, but a tough one. Her skin was rough and brown from a lifetime in the desert's harsh sun, her hands strong. And yet, she was still had a sweetness to her; one that didn't often show up when Kratos was nearby. Old prejudices were hard to let go of.

The children, on the other hand, were far more accustomed to Kratos and actually volunteered to help him pack the things that Mariel needed. It got to the point where Kratos wasn't particularly needed for the process at all. He was sitting back, watching them, when he felt Mariel's eyes on him.

"You are good with children," She said.

Kratos looked back at her. "Is that a compliment or just an observation?"

"An observation. Did you have brothers or sisters, back in your land?"

Kratos shook his head. "The only brother I've ever had is Yuan."

Mariel's eyes narrowed at him, studying. "I knew Yuan's brother while he was here. Zaren."

"I know him too. He's a good man."

"He is a good man." Mariel agreed. "But he and Yuan ain't very much alike."

"You think so?" Kratos murmured. "Because they seem very alike to me."

"How so?"

"The look on their faces sometimes, and they're restless. Always tapping their foot or pacing."

"Family tends to be that way."

Kratos wrapped his arms around his knees, wincing as the skin on his newly healed burns stretched at the new angle. "Did you have siblings?"

"Oh yes. Two sisters." Mariel lowered her eyes. "The humans took them."

Mariel was surprised to see Kratos' hand clench in a sudden anger, at the flash of ferocity on his face before it morphed into sadness. It wasn't something that should have been on a face so young. "…Can you tell me their names? If-if we find them, when we're…out there, I want to be able to tell them about you."

The boyman—despite being human, despite having been raised against her people—was so sympathetic. It was a strange thing to hear something like that from his mouth. "Feryin and Suriana."

"Do you remember them?"

"My sisters?"

"Mm."

"Most of the time. I'm the youngest, so I have fewer memories." Mariel paused. "Do you ever hate your people, Kratos?"

"Humans, you mean." Kratos hardly thought of himself as human much of the time these days.

"Of course."

"…Sometimes. I don't want to, but…after seeing and hearing about the things they've done—Hellsfire, experiencing some of them—I can't help it. But, at the same time, I remember what I was always told growing up. About the things the half-elves have done to us—them. And I don't know if you—we—are guilty of all the things they say we are, but I know that we're definitely guilty of more than a few."

"Do you ever hate half-elves?"

"…Sometimes. But I think that's because I get frustrated at how damn stubborn they can be." Kratos twisted a smile at her and it made Mariel chuckle. The boyman had a brutal honesty about him that she appreciated.

"You musta picked up a few lessons then, boy."

A knock came at the door before a head poked around it. "Mariel, came to get your things in the pony cart. Everyone's things are just about over there…" Janine trailed off as she saw Kratos sitting on the floor, at the pink and white scar tissue along his right arm.

They hadn't seen each other since Kratos and the others had returned from Efreet's temple; most of that was on Kratos as he'd been avoiding her, unsure of what to do or how to act around her. His interactions with people of the opposite gender extended to Martel,Myraand girls in the capital and the town near the military school. Girls had never been interested in him romantically. It was a fact he'd accepted early on and it had never particularly bothered him.

The children clamored around Janine immediately—they loved her, as she was one of the younger grown-ups who didn't mind spending time with them—and Kratos took the opportunity to slip out of the room, bidding a quiet goodbye to Mariel.

(He'd thought he'd shaken the constant fear of his childhood; had thought that now that he'd found his courage, that he wouldn't have to run away anymore. He's wrong)

-/-/-

"You gonna keep avoidin' me?"

Kratos looked back at Janine, arms folded across her stomach, leaning against the doorframe. It was almost a forced casualness. "You noticed that, huh?"

"I ain't blind or stupid. And I didn't think you for a coward."

Kratos didn't flinch at that. It was something he'd been called—and thought himself—often enough that being told it to his face didn't have much of an effect other than give him a healthy dose of shame. (Perhaps his father hadn't been wrong after all)

"Janine, I—how to say this?—"

"I get it. I ain't good enough." Janine pushed herself off the doorframe, preparing to turn and leave when his voice called her back.

"No! No, no, of course you are. It's that…I'm not very good at…well, with people in general, actually. And—I'm not sure if you heard—but, we're leaving tomorrow. For…what's it called? Izlion. General wants us to be there to meet the humans. I just—I don't think it'd be fair to you, 'specially since there's no guarantee that I'll ever be able to come back."

Janine walked towards him with easy stride and Kratos wondered where she got her confidence. "You think I don't know that?"

"I…don't really have an answer."

"I know that tomorrow's probably the last time we see each other. I ain't new to the war." Kratos backed up a step when she was right in front of him. "We could have the rest of today, just for us." She held out her hand, small and nimble. "Whaddaya say?"

Kratos thought about it, thought about having a day of trying to forget the war, a day away from all the things going on outside of the village and after he was through thinking, he put his hand in hers, smiling. "Let's do it."

-/-/-

When Yuan would ask him, later, how his day had been—for Yuan wasn't blind nor was he stupid. He saw the look on Janine's face, saw the one on Kratos' and he'd always been good at arithmetic so he could certainly put two and two together—Kratos could only remember it in flashes.

He remembered sitting on a rooftop, laughing with her. (He can't remember why and he's not sure if he should) He remembered both of them telling stories, or perhaps memories, of their homeland, her more than him. (His memories aren't always happy ones, but there's Yuan and that makes them seem all the brighter). He remembered that Janine tasted of spices and stale rainwater. He remembered her hands warm on his skin, but cool in comparison to the powerful sun.

When Martel and he were clearing up the table after supper—lentils and hard bread—that Martel said, "See, wasn't so bad, was it? The thing with Janine, I mean."

Kratos didn't question how Martel knew. Half the time, he agreed with Mithos that she had a mother's omniscience. "You were right."

"Your pride hurting to admit that?"

Kratos thought about it. "No." At one point—or perhaps to anyone else other than Martel—it would have, but it didn't anymore. How strange. He saw the smile on her face—or rather, the smirk. She'd known Yuan too long—and he snapped playfully, "Get the smirk off your face."

Martel's laughter made Kratos laugh as well, enjoying the slow ease of an end to the day.

-/-/-

Kratos was woken by shouting and by scrambling to his feet, sword appearing in his hand without him having any conscious recollection of having gone for it. When he looked around, the others weren't in their beds, but he did hear Mithos' voice in the hall.

"The hell's going on?" Kratos asked. His soldier senses were buzzing in the back of his head, a hornet's nest of activity.

"The humans moved during the night." Mithos said. It was too easy to see him in the dark hallway, all warm skin and pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "Arin rose the alarm before they could get inside the village. Him 'n Yuan're out takin' care of them. Martel's headed for the roof, said she can make a difference more from there. I figured that was a good idea—mages are just targets on a level battlefield after all—so I was gonna follow her."

"You do that .Yuan and Arin are out towards the front of the village?"

"Yeah. Just listen for 'em!" Mithos called, already jogging down the hall.

They really weren't difficult to find, not with flashes of lightning and short bursts of fire lighting up the cool darkness of the night. It was second nature for Kratos to slip into the flow of the fight, to slash at this man, duck, step, turn, stab, left hand out to block, leg forward to sweep, sword arcing down to piece precisely through the torso, muscle, heart. He heard voices behind him and he reacted—a spell in his throat and magic sparking down his arm through his fingertips and it exploded out of him, a sudden flash of light and fire, his sword following.

He heard Yuan behind him, saw him from the corner of his eye. Yuan didn't stop moving (Can't stop. Can never stop. They'll catch us if we stop), always ducking and dipping below their swords and axes, his double-headed spear whirling in his hands, lightning crackling over his skin, eyes bright.

Arin was a fearsome warrior. Kratos had known that, had seen the beads in his hair, but it had never really registered. Now, seeing him, eyes burning too bright—like a fever or perhaps simply trying to make up for the absence of Efreet—with a spear in hand, warm yellow tassels dangling off the end to catch the blood running from the tip. The yellow was completely obliterated, saturated as it was with the warm red.

Noishe was out there too, silver feathers flashing in the sun, beak stained and talons splattered with blood. The humans didn't seem to know what to make of him, many of them hesitating in shock at the enormous bird when they reached him. It gave the protozoan the opening he needed to attack, sharp beak piercing and plunging into flesh.

He tasted citrus before he saw the magic burst past him, saw the wave of water and was nearly blinded by the bright spears of light. Mithos and Martel, his mind registered. But even with the five of them and their magic and their skill, it wasn't enough. The humans had brought a small army and they, at least, could afford armor.

Kratos felt the mana in the air swell, felt it sweep past him like a powerful, hot wind and he followed it instinctively with his head, searching for the source. He was startled to find Mithos at the source and he wasn't; that kind of power had felt familiar, but he'd only felt it once and he wasn't particularly sensitive to these sorts of things.

Efreet, Kratos realized. Mithos was summoning Efreet.

He saw the glow of red-hot coals surround Mithos' feet, tracing itself into an expansive magic circle before the power released in a sudden breath and Efreet was right there, all hellhound fury and waves of fire, eyes brighter than the flames.

And as quickly as he'd come, he left, leaving behind only the smell of char, ash and burning bodies.

Yuan let out a loud breath of relief. Sweat shone on his forehead, his hair sticking to his face. "Remind me to hug that kid. I didn't think we were gonna make it, there were so many."

Arin glanced around. "Let's get back inside the village. There might be more of them and I'd rather not be a target."

Kratos agreed and followed him, having to step over more than a few bodies to do it. He stroked a hand down Noishe's neck. "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up." The bird trilled lowly and began walking.

The villagers surprised Kratos when they stepped back through the gates. He'd expected most of them to be hiding inside their homes or to be just coming out. They weren't. Most of them had knives or other small weapons in their hands, faces tense and battle-ready.

Don't underestimate those left behind. Kratos snorted; he doubted he ever would again.

Upon seeing them, the smiles broke out on the villagers' faces and they ran to embrace them, clapping them on the shoulder and Kratos felt the cool brush of Janine's lips, the taste of spices and stale rainwater.

"Where's Mithos?" He asked her, trying not to touch her. The blood on his clothes and skin wasn't his, but Janine didn't need to be bloodied. That wasn't her life.

"He passed out." She told him. "Martel's takin' care of him."

"It's nothing to be concerned about." Arin assured Kratos. "Summoning takes a lot out of anyone and for someone as small as Mithos, it probably took out more."

There was a crackle and pop of lightning and thunder and Kratos whirled towards the sound. "Where's Yuan?"

Voices echoed and repeated the same question, but his blood brother's familiar voice or face was nowhere to be heard or seen.

Kratos fought his way out of the crowd, breaking into a sprint as soon as he was free. He headed straight past the village gates, to where the residual taste of Yuan's magic still lingered in his mouth. He saw more shapes than there should have been out in the remains of the battle and he felt the periodic shocks of power from here as Yuan struggled to get free.

He raised his arm—and his voice-, a spell halfway out of his mouth when something ripped into his side, sending him stumbling sideways. He whirled towards the attacker, ready to defend, but someone came up behind him, grabbing his arms and locking them behind his back. They twisted his right one to the point where he swore he heard it creak, his hand releasing the sword in a sudden spasm. Kratos kicked backwards, trying to gain some leverage, but whoever this was was too large to take on. He opened his mouth to speak a spell, but a bloody rag got shoved in his mouth and one hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply to the point where he began to see black dots.

(He can still feel the sparking of Yuan's magic, can still feel his friend fighting and he wants to fight back, but the dark is so inviting, so quiet…)

-/-/-

There were faces above him, blurry and brown. Voices, indistinct and murmuring, swirled around him. One came closer.

"…nother dose. One didn't do the trick…what? Impossible… He's a…rous one."

The blessed dark was back.

-/-/-

"…s...tos. Kratos!"

He woke groggily, something cold at his back. He was somewhere dark and whatever he was lying on was stone.

"Kratos? Can you hear me?"

He turned towards the familiar voice, a tension he hadn't known was there leaving him when he saw the blue eyes. "Yuan. Where are we?"

It should have been too dark to see Yuan's lips thin across the corridor, to see his eyes go hard. Should have been too dark to see the sleeve rolled up and the pale underside of the forearm exposed, the black numbers stark on skin.

The breath that left Kratos' body was that of a dying man. He glanced at his own arm. No number, but several white dots that hadn't been there before. He followed the line of his arm down to his left hand. His Exsphere had been taken out, leaving a round scab that looked less than a week old.

A ranch. They were at a ranch.

"What happened to us?"

"Shoudn' answer 'im. 'S not like he cares what happens to us anyway." Another voice said, from around where Yuan was. Kratos focused harder—the Exsphere might have brought out as much of his natural ability as possible, but now that it was gone, its effects were fading fast and it was getting more and more difficult to see—and found dozens more people in the same cell—how had he not noticed the bars going vertically and horizontally?—as Yuan.

Yuan whipped around. "He does care, alright? Leave off if you don't know what you're talking about."

Iron footsteps echoed down the hall, clanking closer and closer. Kratos saw the half-elves back towards the backs of the cells. Except, of course, for Yuan; his best friend was too proud to allow himself to fear something so small as footsteps.

Someone stopped in front of the cells, arms held behind their back. "Seems we haven't gotten the fight out of you yet."

Yuan smiled—or rather, he bared his teeth. "And you never will."

"Oh, I doubt that." The person turned to look at Kratos, dark eyes boring holes. "As for you…our doctors can't figure you out."

"Sorry to disappoint." Kratos said, pushing himself to sit up. It took more effort than it should have and his mind wasn't entirely clear yet.

"No you're not." The man held up a vial full of a glowing green liquid. "Our best scientists and doctors came up with this quite a while back. A drug that targets elven blood and neutralizes it. It's worked astoundingly well in the past. Until now. You barely reacted to it. Feel like sharing with the class as to why?"

Kratos shrugged clumsily. "'M just that special." Such a wonderful time to pick up Yuan's smart mouth.

The man's eyes glinted in the dimness. "Funny, that's what the doctors said. They're fascinated with you."

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"No. But it will."

-/-/-

He was taken to an infirmary. It had been a long time since he'd been in a human one; the difference was noticeable as soon as one walked through the door. In Martel's clinic, there were herbs hung everywhere, jars of salves on shelves and various plants at the windows. Here, everything was white, sterile. Nothing but needles and magitechnology everywhere.

(He hasn't really been around magitechnology since Yuan gave him his blood. The feel of it now is terrible, wrong. It's not enough to make him sick, but it makes his throat run dry and his fingers itch.)

Voices come down the hall and into the room. Kratos would have sat up, but he'd been strapped down, arms outstretched and legs together to form a cross. He couldn't really see them, looking down his body as he was.

"…you told me about." Kratos froze at the voice, something inside him trembling. Not him. Please, heavens…not him. General Sandor Aurion moved above Kratos and he barely withheld a gasp at the sight of his father.

Once, his father could have been called a handsome man. Dark hair that he always wore slicked back, strong features. Now, the dark hair was greyer with dark streaks in it, still slicked back, but those strong features had hard lines that hadn't been there before. Kratos struggled to find any sort of resemblance to him, but found that he couldn't.

"He doesn't look like much." Sandor was saying.

"Tell that to the half a desert-full of dead men that him and another half-elf left behind them." The doctor said. "And you should see Jemson's men; one has a dislocated kneecap, a few with broken noses, a whole group that have signs of electrocution…this one and his friend are more dangerous than they look, sir."

"Have we identification?"

"The other one, yes." The doctor consulted his notes. "Subject E-583495, five foot nine, age—a young man, though the exact number is debatable—weight a hundred and twenty pounds, hair blue, eyes blue, half-breed—"

"Half-elf." Kratos coughed out. His throat was still dry.

Both the doctor and his father looked down at him like he'd done something interesting. "What?"

"Half-elf is the correct term."

"Not for that kind of scum."

Kratos tilted his chin, a defiant move for someone pinned down like a butterfly on a wheel. "I suppose you're an entirely different sort of scum, then?" So long as he ignored—as much as he could, anyway—that his father was in the room, his courage, and Yuan's apparently transferable smart mouth, wouldn't fail him.

A heavy hand cracked across Kratos' face, hard enough that he knew there would be a bruise tomorrow. Sandor still stood there with an arm raised. "Brave words for someone in your position."

The doctor waved the general aside. "Have you a name, boy?"

Kratos glanced at his father. A part of him considered giving his name, just to see the reaction. (He hopes his father will care, hopes that there will even be a reaction, but he's older now. He doesn't have the illusions he had when he was ten and young and believing his father to be the center of his world) "Does it matter? You'll just give me a number and I'll be one among the thousands."

"Rebellious to the end, aren't you?"

"Someone has to be."

"It could make things easier on you."

"It won't." Kratos said with certainty. He had no illusions about how he was going to be treated. He wasn't human anymore, their blood tests showed that; he was as good as a half-elf to them.

-/-/-

The drugs and tests continued for weeks—or so it felt. Kratos had no measurement of time. He was kept away from the others, closer to the labs. He had no idea if Yuan was still alive, how he was doing. Every day was a haze in the too-white walls and the proximity to the magitechnology paired with the cocktail of drugs coursing through his system had made him sick on more than one occasion.

His father didn't show up often. Kratos would see him, walking with the doctor, but there was never any recognition the rare times that he even deigned to look in the cell.

"…getting the numbers straight. There was a lot of chaos in that desert."

"What're the numbers looking like right now?" His father again, walking down this corridor. Kratos wondered what else was in this hall that made generals walk through them so regularly.

"At least fifty dead. Probably more. Jemson reported that some…fire demon that the half-elves conjured burnt a lot of them to ash, so any remains of those will have been taken by the wind by now. You said something about a test subject?"

"Yes, the one resisting the half-elf drug."

"Resisting or is immune?"

"Resisting. At least a double dose has been needed to make any kind of useful effect."

"And this subject is where?"

"Right here."

Kratos didn't look up as his father and another man stood in front of the cell. His shoulders seemed to hunch a little out of their own accord, the rags he'd been given to wear rather than his familiarly worn breeches and shirt were slightly too small on him and did little to help him hide. His throat felt tight and parched, having not used his voice since he saw Yuan that first day.

"I expected something a little more impressive."

"So did I."

"Have the blood tests come through?"

"The come in tomorrow."

A noise of understanding. "It hasn't been numbered?"

"Not yet. We've been waiting for results to properly classify it."

"I see." The other man—something about his voice was vaguely familiar, but Kratos couldn't focus on it with the current drugs in his system—seemed about to say more, but was cut off by shouting down the hall.

"Grab him!"

"Don't let him get away!"

Kratos managed to maneuver himself onto his knees with some difficulty, the world spinning and the ceiling falling in a dangerous way. He crawled to the edge of his cell, bracing himself on the bars and pressing his face against cool metal to try and get the angle to see what was going on.

Kratos swore he saw a flash of blue (Blue like the ocean and summer rivers under dappled sunlight, like wide skies and pages lit by moonlight) before two soldiers grabbed the escapee by the arms, jerking him flared and flashed, but the soldiers didn't let go, despite the spasms that ran through their bodies the instant before the captured prisoner vomited. Doing magic—even small magic like that—so near magitechnology must not have been a pleasant experience.

He had to work to focus on the face, to recognize the familiar-strange face with its elven angles and triangular ears, with the humanly arrogant tilt of the head and the fierce pride in the slightly slanted eyes. One of those eyes was swollen and bruised, the face thinner than it had been and the lip split.

His father strode forward towards Yuan. The two soldiers holding him down snapped to attention. "General, sir. This prisoner was trying to escape."

"And where was it working?"

"…In the yard, sir."

"Would you like to explain to me, then, how it managed to get all the way in here without anyone catching it?"

Kratos clenched his fists around the bars; it was an involuntary, instinctive reaction now. His mind might be having trouble functioning past the haze in his mind, but his body still remembered. It. His own father was calling an entire race of people its.

"Half-elves are smarter than you give us credit for." Yuan said, unafraid to look one of the generals of the human army in the eye. "And the more you underestimate us, the faster your army will go down."

(He believes in Mithos-and-Martel's ideal world, he really does. He believes them when they say that there can be a peaceful end to the war, but he can't stop himself from hating the man in front of him. It had begun because he was human, because he'd taken him from his pomegranate trees and his fields with their flocks. But he hates him because Yuan has a reason to thank him now. Had Kratos' father not taken him, he and Kratos would never have met—the very thought makes something inside him shrivel at the very same time that some emotion floods inside, like lungs would fill with water—and he hates him for what he did to Kratos. It had never been anything physical, no beatings, no whippings, but the damage was just as permanent. He hates him for what he represents, hates him enough that seeing him now makes Yuan want to spit and rage and snarl)

"And what makes you so confident?"

"Old men tend to make mistakes." Yuan wasn't surprised when the fist came down, had even braced himself for it. He knew it wouldn't be the general who did it; the man was too controlled for that. But the other soldiers weren't. It was all too easy to make them enraged when they respected their general so much. (Yuan tries not to see the possible parallel, tries not to see Kratos in his father in that way. Kratos is good at earning people's respect, is honest and polite enough and has enough strength to back up his own words. He knows that the general is, in some ways, much the same)

"These half-breeds don't got no manners, talking like that to a general."

"Any." Yuan corrected, spitting out a glob of blood. He'd bit his cheek when they punched him, hard.

"What?" Everyone looked at him then.

"Half-breeds don't have any manners. If you're going to insult us, at least do it properly. Aren't humans taught to read and write? One of your superiority things?"

A distant thump on metal distracted him and he tried to find the source of the sound. It took some head tilting and neck arching to see around the general and the man beside him, but he saw a cell and a familiar head of bird's nest auburn hair. The tension left his body in relief. He hadn't seen any sign of Kratos since they'd taken him away that third day, only the second for Kratos, after he woke up. But he was alive.

(He can imagine the look on Kratos' face, the exasperation. It feels good to declare the knowledge that Kratos taught him, to show it to humans who'd denied the same right to his people for so long)

"You are literate?" The general asked.

"Moreso than your soldiers here, apparently. Or are humans so concerned with the warfront that they're forgetting about education?"

"And what blood traitor did you learn to read from?" Yuan wondered if the general was making a mental list, checking off names with every report of the dead brought back from every battlefield.

Yuan didn't smile, but bore his teeth in a dreadful approximation of one. "Your son." Yuan severely doubted that Kratos had been outed as the great general's only child yet. He would've heard the gossip among the other slaves or the soldiers, would have heard something.

Yuan wondered if the general made the connection, if he even remembered the slave he'd gone with his son to pick out, the slave that his small, timid son had escaped the military school with.

The general's eyes—very different from Kratos', a brown dark enough to look black. Kratos really did take after his mother—hardened into cool stones. "I have no son."

(A part of Yuan regrets making the general say that within perfect earshot of Kratos. Another part of him thinks that Kratos needed to hear it a long time ago.)

-/-/-

"A hundred and twenty-seven." Agenor sat across the desk, leaning back against the chair and knees protesting the movement. He was grateful to be back at a camp rather than out on the front; his old bones couldn't take that kind of battle anymore. "That's how many have been reported dead in the desert. Those half-breeds were good warriors, whatever else you might say about them."

"They weren't both half-breeds." Sandor said, looking down at a paper in front of him.

"Sorry?"

"The blood results came back."

"The one that resisted the drug?"

"Yes."

Agenor frowned, not understanding. It wasn't like Sandor to be bothered so much by something like this. "So what has that look on your face?"

Sandor thought for a minute on how precisely to phrase this. "…What would you say if I told you that the one who resisted the drug was Kratos?"

Agenor started. "Your son?"

"Yes."

"I'd ask if you were feeling alright. Your son was never a soldier."

"I know." Sandor remembered the boy, always timid and small, with a book in his hands and flinching at a harsh word. Even when he last saw him, at the military school, he'd been hunched shoulders and meekness. Not someone who could participate in the killing of a hundred and twenty-seven people. Not the man he'd seen lying on that table in the infirmary.

That man had been a little thin from malnourishment, but muscles were evident, particularly along his arms. A pink and white scar had flared along the right arm and there had been a red and brown one splattered on his stomach, reaching around his ribs. The lines of his face had been hard, lean, with a few days' worth of beard stubbling it.

"But apparently, that man's blood is a match for mine, besides the rather strong traces of half-elven blood. All that human blood in him dilutes the drug's effects."

Agenor leaned forward, not quite understanding. Or perhaps, not wanting to understand. "The person I saw in that cell…that's Kratos?"

"If the blood tests are to be believed, then yes."

Agenor remembered the man that hadn't looked up as he'd looked into the cell. The man hadn't been timid or afraid, but resigned or…waiting, was a good term for it. Though what he'd been waiting for was beyond him.

"What will you do?"

"He's a blood traitor."

In other words, Sandor would do what was necessary.

"…Allow me a chance to speak with him first. See if we can't turn him back."

"It's not worth it. Even if you could convince him, we could never trust him."

"Of course not. But whether it is worth it or not, I'm going to try."

-/-/-

He really didn't recognize this boy. No, not a boy anymore. The person sitting in that cell was quite clearly a man now, all broad shoulders and lean, strong muscle. He'd told the doctor not to administer the drugs for at least a day. He wanted the man lucid for this conversation.

"Kratos?"

The man looked up automatically. Agenor studied the face. The lines were leaner and it was strange to see the growth of beard, but yes, that was Sandor's son. Had the same chin, the same stubborn mouth. And Kratos had always taken after his mother, Melina; an intellectual, never a fighter and she was a singular woman where looks were concerned.

"…Agenor." Kratos said and the older man was surprised by the depth of his voice, the hoarseness of disuse notwithstanding. "You're still alive."

"I could say the same thing about you. No one's heard anything about you since you left." Kratos shrugged. "Did you really teach that half-breed to read?"

"Half-elf." The bite in his voice was unexpected. Sandor had gotten his wish; his son had become a fighter, a soldier. "And yes, I did."

"Why?" Agenor was curious about the mindset behind the action, wanted to know if it had been a child's innocence or a premature rebellion against his father.

"Because there's no reason that they shouldn't be given that chance to learn." Kratos' voice was different and not only the depth of it. Some of his words were strangely accented now and Agenor had seen enough soldiers to know why. They spent so much time in the company of others from so many other places that accents sort of seeped into the language if they weren't careful.

"Is that really what you believe?"

Kratos leaned his head back against the wall. "Lemme guess, you're about to go on a small speech on how humans are so superior that we deserve to have half-elves as slaves for no other reason than they believe something different than we do? That they look different, are different? That they have different blood than you do?"

"I suppose you're not human anymore. Not after what they did to you." Agenor hesitated for a moment. "I saw the blood test."

Kratos' back snapped up, fire in his eyes. "Don't say it like it's something unfortunate. The half-elf that did it is my best friend and he did it to save me because you perverted elven weapons with magitechnology."

"Is that half-br—elf the one you taught to read?"

"Yes, it is. And no matter what you do or say to me, I won't regret ever teaching him, or the others."

"Others?" Agenor repeated. "You taught others?"

"Of course I did. They deserve the same chances that humans and elves do."

Agenor sighed. "It's sad that you believe that."

"Why? Because there's a half-elven child with your face, or your eyes?" Kratos snapped. He didn't like being cooped up for so long, hated being here, hated knowing that his own sire was the one doing these things to people who didn't deserve it.

Agenor's eyes flashed. "You're going too far, boy."

"This entire war has gone too far for too long. Do you even know why you're fighting it anymore?" Kratos stood and there was a cracking and popping of joints held in one position for too long. Agenor was startled to find that Kratos was nearly as tall as him. "Tell me honestly, why are you fighting?"

"Answer the question yourself."

"I'm fighting to keep my people safe." Kratos knew that Agenor would understand the meaning behind it. Humans weren't his people anymore. He wasn't welcome in his own homeland, wasn't wanted by his own father (In truth, he knows he never was, but he doesn't think about it). He remembered Mithos' smile as he passed him a bowl of stew when Kratos came back from patrol to their little fire, remembered Martel's arms wrapping around him when he, Mithos and Yuan came back from the front, her words of thanks whispered to the Summon Spirits that they were all okay. And Yuan, always Yuan. Half-elves, while wary and distrustful, had allowed him inside their walls, inside their homes. Half-elves were his brothers, his friends, his family. "I'm fighting to end this stupid war, to find a way for everyone to live in peace."

"It's a child's dream."

It brought Mithos' face to the forefront of his mind, summer-sky eyes stubborn as stone. "You have no idea how literal you're being. But child's dream or not, it's the reason. Your turn."

"I'm fighting for my people too, to give us the rights we deserve. The elves have had control of this land for too long."

"Is that you or your fathers and grandfathers saying it?" (…From his father's knee, he would have heard stories of the great heroes of the war and the great monsters they'd battled and how they'd defeated the king's armies at Seagull's Pass. He'd have been taught to defend the town at all costs, would have been said that that was the highest honor any man could have, was to defend his home. It was never a question. He's just like the man Kratos killed. Perhaps they all are.)

Agenor was faintly disturbed by the too-old wisdom in Kratos' eyes. The man was too young to have that kind of wisdom. (Elves and half-breeds have that look—too old for the youth of their faces. It's only further proof that Kratos isn't one of them anymore) "The words are mine own. Don't presume things."

"My apologies." The sarcasm was sharp and dry. "If you'll excuse me, I do have other things that need attending. As you can see, I've been granted so many liberties."

The man was nothing like the boy. The boy had been quiet and meek and timid, but smiling, happy enough. The man was like a tree finally grown into itself—solid, unyielding and stubborn. There were touches of bitterness to him, sharp edges and a new almost bestial quality that made him do the same as the half-breed had and bare his teeth in a smile. It was something threatening, something that promised violence if there was ever a chance to get out of here. It was something Agenor would never have expected out of the gentle boy.

The man was walls and sharp edges and bared fangs and bristled fur. He was stubborn and had found some kind of courage and Agenor wondered what would have happened if he'd never met that slave.

-/-/-

He didn't fit in with these people, something that frustrated him because they were his people. Half-elves, trapped and enslaved and worked until there was so little of them left. They didn't believe him when he said that things were getting better outside the walls of the ranch—he was exaggerating, but he wasn't lying—and they didn't believe him when he told them that he would get them out of here.

These people in the ranches were without hope and it frustrated and angered him. It made him rebel against the guards and soldiers even more, which made them whip and beat him. The others gave him pitying looks.

"'S no use." They told him. "You can't fight forever."

"Watch me." Yuan challenged. Because at least he was fighting.

And they did. Through all the lashes and the starving and the beatings. But he kept fighting and their complete inability to understand why did nothing more than anger him more.

So when someone new was tossed into his cell, he turned automatically towards them. When he recognized them, he was unable to hide the grin. "Looking a little scruffy there, mountain man."

Kratos looked up and laughed, actually laughed, and it looked like it was the first positive emotion to cross his face in weeks, which it probably was. "You don't look much prettier."

Yuan's grin grew, even as he rose and crossed the small space between them to pull Kratos into a hug. "You are okay, right?" Even as he stepped back out of the embrace, he took Kratos' left arm, searching for black ink. There wasn't any.

"Yeah, 'm fine." Kratos followed Yuan's eyes. "They're trying to pretend I don't exist."

Yuan frowned. "Do they know? About…your dad."

Kratos ran a hand through his hair in a habitual movement, wincing when his fingers raked through tangles. "Yeah…Agenor came to see me."

"What'd he say?"

"Tried to convince me that half-elves—he wasn't actually that polite—weren't worth dying for."

"I bet that went well."

"You'd lose that bet."

The muttering of the other prisoners, ignored until now, became a little louder, the looks dirtier. Kratos had known his reception wouldn't be a good one and he grabbed Yuan's arm to stop him from doing anything rash. "You won't get anywhere with them and you know it. Not here."

"They take your fight away too?"

Kratos' brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes at the bruises on Yuan's face. Some were yellowed, others still plum-colored and dark on his skin. There were cuts as well, scabbed over and healing. He spun Yuan slowly around and Yuan let him. He hissed in a breath at the sight of his back, the blood making the ragged shirt stick to his skin, fibers no doubt getting caught in the healing scabs.

"I knew they were hurting you, but I didn't think it'd get this bad."

"I'm fine."

"Let me see."

Yuan sighed, knowing that there was no arguing with Kratos when he got like this. He winced as he tried to maneuver his way out of the shirt with as little effort as possible.

One of the other half-elves stepped forward. "Yuan, stop. You don't have to listen to 'im just because he's human."

Kratos looked at them, curious at their reaction even as Yuan glared at them defensively. "That's real nice coming from you, Fiel. And, for the record, I'm not doing it because he's human. I'm doing it because he's my best friend and I trust him."

"He's a human." The word was echoed and repeated through the cell.

"I'm stuck here, same as the rest of you." Kratos pointed out.

Yuan grabbed Kratos' right arm, turning it enough so that they could see the scar flaring across the skin. "See that? He got that fighting to defend the lot of you, fighting for everyone."

"Can't trust humans."

Yuan snarled in frustration and Kratos calmed him down. "Let me see your back."

It took more than a bit of maneuvering to get Yuan out of his shirt and Kratos flinched every time Yuan did. He had to lean closer to really see the damage and when he did, he had to clench his teeth to keep from saying anything. He let his hand hover over the wounds, still bloodied and many still open.

"First Aid." He murmured. Martel had taught him the spell—Yuan was next to useless with healing—and while he wasn't great at it, he could do simple things. The spell rushed out of him and his stomach twisted and knotted at the way the magitechnology's false mana entwined in the air with his own.

"You shouldn't do that." Yuan told him quietly. "It'll make you sick."

"Not as fast as it would you." Kratos repeated the spell over Yuan's lower back, new skin closing over and knitting the wounds afresh. "These'll get infected if you leave them like that and then you'll have Martel scolding you."

Yuan chuckled. "I suppose." He paused, eyes able to discern the outlines of the other prisoners in the cell, but his mind ignoring them. "…Think they'll come for us?"

"You really think Noishe would let them leave us here?"

(They don't think about the possibility of being here forever, of being trapped behind walls with so little sky. Without warm hazel eyes and a child's grin sparking with mischief)

-/-/-

"Sir, they're getting more and more rebellious." The boy in front of him didn't look at him, keeping his eyes focused on his feet.

"Do you know the cause?" Sandor asked, though he already had a very good guess.

"Subject E-583495 and the unnumbered one, sir. They were seen starting it. But others are following their examples."

"And where are those two now?"

"Subject E-583495 was handed over to Lieutenant Harroway and the unnumbered one was tied up outside."

"I'll take care of it. Dismissed."

"Yessir."

-/-/-

He waited two days before going out just to the edge of the property. He found the man-who-wasn't-his-son tied standing up to a rough tree in what must have been in full sunlight for these past das because there were sunburns on the bridge of his nose and cheeks and along his shoulders. Sandor didn't doubt that the guards who patrolled the area and who came to make sure that the prisoner was still there had had the pleasure of beating him while he was helpless to respond. There are bruises, yellow and purpled black, melding with the sunburns in a kind of sick finger painting.

Sandor took a moment to be curious as to what, exactly, the process had been for turning the frail, frightened coward his son had been into a warrior capable of killing hundreds.

"It won't work."

Kratos stiffened, and immediately regretted the motion. The rough bark of the tree had worn bloody sores into his back and his shoulders were stiff and the movement had stretched the tight, burned skin an inch too far.

But he hadn't been expecting his father. (He hates himself for the fear that curls in his stomach, for the dread that hunches his shoulders and bows his head. He's not the same terrified boy he used to be; his father shouldn't be affecting him like this. But he is and it makes disgust mix with that old fear that makes the air smell like stale bread and that disgust gives him a kind of small, fragile strength)

"…What won't?" His voice was rough, his throat parched. The ranch couldn't be far from the desert, he knew. Perhaps just over the mountains.

"Inspiring the half-breeds to rebel. They can't understand what you're doing for them. Why waste the effort?"

Because giving in, giving up, meant that the humans won, Kratos wanted to say. He wanted to ask his father if he really didn't see how terrible his actions were, how many lives he was destroying and ripping apart, if he really believed in all this. Had Kratos' mother seen that in his father? Was that why she'd left?

"The—they're smarter than you give them credit for. And stronger."

"Perhaps. But they're too frightened to do anything."

Kratos clenched his fists, the not-so-familiar anger that had recently come to rest at the pit of his stomach rising, strengthening his vocal cords, steeling his spine. He should have known. Of course his father knew exactly what he was doing to these people. "Why do you hate them?"

"They're barbarians and abominations, Kratos. They cling to their old gods and make no way for the future. If the world wants to progress, they need to be out of the way. They're mixed blood, too strong to be human and too weak to be elven." Kratos wanted to disagree, wanted to tell his father about how they were stronger than anyone, strong enough to withstand the hatred that both races had, strong enough to keep standing up after being knocked down, strong enough to find ways to smile in the middle of a war. "There isn't enough space for them and us on this planet. I chose a side."

Kratos didn't look up at his father, keeping his eyes on the dusty ground in front of him. But as he stared at the ground, he saw farther than he ever saw before. He saw generations stretching back hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years, saw echoes of echoes of hatred, saw the loathing reflected from a mirror into another mirror, like an optical illusion, creating an endless corridor.

But mirrors could break and echoes only lasted so long and that thought makes the indignant fire in his stomach blaze a little brighter.

"And so did I."

Sandor was surprised when the man in front of him lifted his face back up (It's his son, biologically, even if he swears up and down the street that they really are nothing alike). There was unwavering determination there and a confidence that seemed to reach down into the earth like roots. (He pretends not to recognize them, but he does. He's seen those same things in his face in the mirror before. It's unnerving to see it on Kratos)

"The rebellions won't continue. When dealing with a snake, best to cut it off at the head. You'll face the firing squad tomorrow at dawn."

-/-/-

His wrists were rubbed raw and bloody from trying to free them, splinters of wood scraped into the skin of his arms from the rough bark and his shoulders ached with stiffness, his legs burning and shaking a little from the constant support.

He glanced up at the sky. It was roughly an hour past midnight by the position of the moon. He had a few hours left then. He wondered if Yuan was going to be standing beside him when the soldiers fired. If he would be, no doubt he'd be spitting curses at the soldiers even as they pressed the triggers.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice the quiet steps until they were right beside him, making him jump. There was a flash of a toothy grin in the dark.

"Lost in your head again?" Yuan's familiar voice, so very near and absolutely alive made Kratos smile despite himself.

"I always find my way back. How'd you get out?"

"Handcuffs can't hold me." Yuan held up a hand, the grin melting into a grimace. What little moonlight there was illuminated the blood running down his hand and wrist, particularly the deep scrape along the line of his thumb which was bent at an unnatural angle. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You're lying."

"You look worse, believe me. Now hold still while I try and figure this knot out."

"You couldn't find a knife or something?" Kratos tilted his head back, trying to see Yuan working at the ropes.

"With what time? The guards'll notice I'm not there soon. I did, however manage to snag these." Yuan's held out his hand palm-up, cradling two round orbs, one blue-gray like a good autumn sky and the other violently violet. Their Exspheres.

"…We can't leave these people here, Yuan."

He could feel the look his best friend shot him. "Of course not. But we can't save them from in here, Kratos. Let's get out, get to safety and see if we can't contact the others somehow. With enough people behind us—Hell, we might even only need Martel 'n Mithos—we could take this place."

He felt the instant that the knots came free and he hissed as his arms fell, flexing his muscles and rotating his shoulders as Yuan set to work on the ones around his ankles. "The guards'll be making their rounds soon."

"Then we should hurry."

As soon as Kratos' legs were free, they collapsed from underneath him, weak from holding his weight without rest. Yuan hoisted him up—"C'mon. We'll rest later."—and half-carried him as they stumbled their way towards the border.

It wasn't long before they heard shouting and they both glanced over their shoulders, fear paralyzing their lungs for moments before their instincts kicked in and they started running, or, as close to running as they could, with months of starvation behind them (It's nothing new. They both remember the years on the road before they met Martel and Mithos on that boat, remember the shared slices of bread and how very grateful they were for apples found rotten on the ground beneath their barren trees).

The soldiers were rested and uninjured (Hadn't been tortured), so they weren't surprised when they caught up. This far from the ranch and all it's magitechnology, Yuan could let his magic loose, thunder roaring across the plain and lightning flashing from his fingertips. Kratos was right beside him, weaponless save for the words on his lips that made the night blaze bright and the earth shudder beneath them. (He's more one of Them than of the Others now, but Yuan has always known he would be, has always seen it in him and hadn't Kratos been the one to teach him how strong words were in the first place?)

They left bodies behind them—blackened and charred and sparking and crushed and bleeding—and they didn't look back.

-/-/-

"You really think evil is a choice?"
"Everything is. Each moment. Each day."
-MacKayla Lane and Jericho Barrons (The Fever Series)

-/-