Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Author's Note: So, it's been a while. Hit a temporary writer's block with this as well as been distracted by everything that's been going on. Graduated from high school, got me a job and applied for college. I feel so responsible. I decided I'm going to community college for the first two years of the Gen. Ed classes and then…well, I'll figure it out.

For anybody still reading Photographs of Freedom (Whose title I'm thinking of changing), I read over it to try and get myself back into that rhythm and I noticed how very much my writing style has changed, so I'm going back and I'm re-editing the whole thing which will hopefully give me enough momentum to finish it (finally).

So yeah, passed the AP Test, I'm re-editing our book so that we can try resending it to publishers. Saw Expendables 2 and thought it was awesome. Bruce Willis and Jason Statham for the win.

And guess who made a mistake in a story detail? This girl! Looks like Efreet isn't the one to drop a ruby after the fight, which to me doesn't make any logical sense, but whatever. I've fixed it in this chapter. Also, looks like a hurricane is on the way here with a couple of tagalongs right behind it, so hopefully my power doesn't go out. Already feeling the rain though.

So this is back, officially, and thanks to Moonlight M3lody for inquiring about this story.

The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble.
-Clara Ortega

They searched for nearly two days, splitting up to search the countryside. Mithos was the only one missing, so it was doubtful he was in a ranch (But the thought still niggles Martel's mind, nightmares flashing before her eyes). They listen for Noishe's whistle since he was searching from the skies and with every wind that whipped its way through the steadily growing rockier terrain, they would look up, but it was never what they hoped for.

Kratos' back ached and he had to stop to rest too often. Yuan would stop with him, of course, not saying anything, but Kratos could feel the nervous energy coming from him like wings humming in the air.

Martel refused to stop and Kratos wished he could have that kind of stamina right now. She wouldn't go too far ahead of them, the Healer in her making sure she didn't leave behind her patients (They've tried to insist that they're fine, that she can go on without them, but Martel always disagrees) Right now, they could see her, standing on a mossy boulder, balanced on the balls of her feet like she would take off running any moment.

"He didn't say anything to you, did he?" Yuan had asked this before and Kratos had answered him the same way—"He didn't tell me a thing."—but Yuan wanted to believe that he'd simple missed a detail somewhere that would remind him that he knew where Mithos was.

Martel walked back to them. "I think I found something." Immediately, the both of them look up at her, knowing that any truth would be written on her face. "There's something that looks like a tunnel less than a mile out."

"You think Mithos would've gone in there?" Yuan personally didn't think so, not unless there had been trouble and they would've seen the remains of trouble scattered across the field. Mithos was elven in his personality, preferring trees and open skies to caves.

"It's somewhere we haven't looked yet."

Kratos got to his feet, a little slowly. "Let's look then."

The tunnel was actually a path, deeply and smoothly carved into the cliff-face. They followed it warily, keeping their eyes on the high cliffs in case of an ambush. The path branched off, winding upwards, too steep to seem real in some places, and there were some paths that led to smaller tunnels, mining equipment apparent.

"Are the lot of ye lost?"

Martel, Kratos and Yuan whirled to look at the speaker. He was stout and short, hardly tall enough to reach Yuan's waist, but he had an impressive, full beard that was neatly braided. Small, dark eyes peered out from above a rather large, flat nose and a long hammer was slung over one shoulder. Dwarves were a rare race to be seen aboveground; they drew back from the world just as much as the elves had, if in a different way.

Martel—brave, stubborn, steel-spined Martel—took two steps forward. "We're looking for someone."

The beady eyes studied her before sliding over to Kratos and Yuan. "An elf boy?"

"Half-elf, but yes." It was easy to make that mistake with Mithos. He looked like an elf, save for the shape of the ears. Particularly now that he was growing. His face was maturing out a bit, baby fat leaving high cheekbones in sharp relief, the long angles of his face almost skirting the line towards feminine. Elves were a tall race and Mithos had clearly inherited some of that; he was slowly creeping up to reach Kratos and Yuan's shoulders, his limbs lengthening with their smooth sheaths of skin. He wasn't graceful by any means, not yet accustomed to the longer legs. "Did he come through here?"

"Aye, he did. Wanted to go the temple."

"Temple?" The three of them repeated, confused.

"Haven't you heard? Gnome's Temple is down here."

"Gnome? Like the Summon Spirit?" Martel wanted clarification.

The dwarf nodded. "Don't ask me why though. Far as I could tell, it isn't worship day, but I don't pretend to understand elven traditions."

"Did he leave here?"

"Ain't seen him since he went down yesterday."

"Which way to the temple?" Yuan asked, feeling the urgency creep back into his body.

"And why should I help ye? That kid's probably not alive any more—'s dangerous down here. Lots of accidents. You'd be wastin' your time."

"It's our time to waste, isn't it?" Martel challenged, her grip tightening on her staff.

"…Yer a stubborn one, aren't you?" The dwarf sighed and hopped down the cliff side, nimble as a mountain goat. "I'll lead ye to 'im, elsewise yer likely to wander 'round this place till you rot."

"Thank you."

The dwarf led them through paths that were far too linear to be natural and yet, at points, they arced, bridging various tunnels together. (They do not realize it now, will not understand what they are seeing until much later, but this is the remnant of one of the great cities of old, from a time when dwarves and elves worked together, for dwarves don't work in sinuous curves and elves don't work in such geometric patterns)

They were taken down a contraption of the dwarves—an elevator, they called it. Yuan asked how it worked and the dwarf explained that it was a combination of pulleys and metal rope. They'd designed it to go straight down into the mines rather than having to dig a tunnel to get in.

Kratos felt more than a little claustrophobic down here. There was no sense of how far down they were, though the dwarf told them that when they felt pressure on their ears, to hold their noses closed and breathe out harshly. It would relieve the pressure. But there was no sky, no fields, no mountains in the distance. It was an entirely different world down here. No plants, no seashore, no animals other than worms, bats and the occasional mole.

Noishe, he thought, would go crazy down here and he was grateful he'd thought to tell the bird to keep searching aboveground for Mithos, just in case.

Martel stumbled and slid a bit on loose stones and Kratos reached out to grab her reflexively, his muscles moving without his say-so and his back ached sharply. Muscles not having been used for something like this in so long protesting as he steadied her. Her sharp Healer's eyes assessed him, but he waved her away. It was nothing he couldn't handle.

The place that the dwarf led them to was a wide cave, with strong pillars and perfectly symmetrical stairways creating a second tier of space. There were a few fire pits long put out and several wooden stools thrown across the room. Scorch marks blazed up the walls and painted several boulders black with ash. In the center of this cave was an altar the color of olives with steps leading up to it. Curled at the bottom of the altar was Mithos.

Martel dashed forward, hands lightly brushing over him to check for wounds with need to make sure he was alright. He was battered and heavily bruised, scrapes and small cuts along his arms. Martel was willing to bet that there was a broken rib or two, but she couldn't find out just yet. One hand was clenched tightly, as though unwilling to let something go.

Familiar blue eyes cracked open before shuttering closed. "Martel?"

A weight heaved itself off her shoulders. She brushed some of his hair, dirty and tangled, out of his face. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just got stampeded."

Yuan squatted beside Martel. "Shit, Mithos, the hell were you thinking?"

Martel shushed him. "We can question him later. Right now, he needs healing."

Kratos and Yuan both backed off, neither feeling particularly calm about finding Mithos in this condition and therefore not good to be around a healing. (In truth, Mithos is in better condition than they'd imagined. There are no numbers inked on his arm, no lashes across his back and no iron collar or shackles wrapped around his neck and ankles and for now, that is enough)

Martel wouldn't go far from Mithos, insisting that she stayed nearby as he healed. Yuan barely managed to convince her to come outside of the healing hut to breathe for a bit and share some rations.

She sat on the steps, leaning her head in one hand, not eating. "Why would he do that? Go fight Gnome without…without saying anything? Without asking anyone for help?"

"He probably didn't ask us because Kratos and I are still recovering." Martel had estimated another week, two tops, before Kratos was in full form and Yuan was still a bit cautious about using his hands, but Martel had told him that he could do everything but magic right now as magic would mess with the mana still working to heal him.

"Why didn't he ask me to go with him? I can fight, I-I could have helped him."

Yuan took a seat beside her. His head ached and he wanted sleep, but he would stay awake for now. "Mithos is never going to do anything that can put you in danger. He loves you too much to run that risk."

She lifted her head and there was fire in those eyes again. "I can't accept that. I'm the one who's supposed to do the protecting, not him. I don't need that much protection; you guys may not like it or even think about it, but I can take care of myself."

His smile was weary and only half there. Yuan hadn't slept in nearly three days and despite the Exsphere, he looked like he was running himself ragged. "I never said otherwise."

"You try and protect me though. Don't think I don't notice." There was an attempt at fire in those words, but it fell short. They were all too tired for this; the world was tired and perhaps there was no rest. Not for the wicked, or for the virtuous, not for anyone.

"Call it instinct."

Kratos stayed in the healing room with Mithos, partially because he was still healing and partially so that when Mithos woke up—it wasn't an 'if' statement. Martel was becoming one of the best Healers that Myra had ever taught—he would at least wake up to someone he knew.

Kratos rolled the small stone in his hand. Mithos had been holding it and it had taken quite a bit of work to get him to let it go. It was very red, but not quite warm and it was rather rough in strange places. He wanted to show it to the mages, but he would wait for the story from Mithos first, although he could guess how the kid had ended up with it. After all, Efreet had dropped—or become? None of them were very clear on exactly how the stone got there—a precious stone when Mithos had made a pact with him. They'd taken it to the mages to ask what it was and they'd told him that it was a garnet. Kratos remembered Yuan teasing Mithos a bit for calling it a ruby and what kind of scholar could he hope to be if he couldn't even tell the difference?

And Mithos had gone to fight Gnome on his own. Myra and Alstan would probably murder him for that alone, but the fact that he hadn't told anyone where he was going? They'd likely bring him back from the dead just to murder him all over again.

(Kratos thinks that Mithos has courage in mountains, more courage than he has ever had, because he knows that he would never have been able to try and do something like that on his own. It's something he admires about him and he won't say that he isn't a little envious of it)

"…she's angry, isn't she?"

He hadn't noticed when Mithos stirred. "A bit." It had been a reality-warping scene, to see Martel angry. She got upset and she got flashes of temper, but nothing like this. And though he knew it was fueled by worry and relief both, he still had trouble believing it. "She's calmed down."

Mithos flinched a little. "I did it though. I made a pact with Gnome." It had been something done on the fly, something that he hadn't known how to handle. With Efreet, at least Arin had been there to teach him the customs and the spells. But with Gnome, no one had been there. The dwarves were the ones that lived in that area now, for the most part. Some half-elves still lived within the tunnels and mines, but they were a precious few. Mithos had ended up taking what he remembered from Efreet and changing some of the words to suit Gnome.

"And you got yourself a spot on Death's doorstep for your trouble," Kratos told him. "…Why'd you do it?"

"You think I don't hear Viren and Zaren talking? Or that I can't see what's going on? We have an advantage with the mountains because we live here, we have the high ground. But it's not enough against them. They have…all their technology, their soldiers are actually fed properly. We're not. Most of our soldiers can't even use magic." Myra and Alstan had been working to remedy that, but it was a slow process. "We needed something defensive. Efreet's power is…incredible, but it only hurts them. It doesn't help us. With Gnome's help, we can actually build walls again, have defenses and still be able to attack back."

"You're not wrong," Kratos said slowly as he mulled it all over in his mind. "But you still should've mentioned to someone where you were going. We thought—"

"That I'd been taken." It was a nightmare Mithos had had more than once and he couldn't blame them for thinking it. "I know."

"How do you feel?"

"Still hurts. Bed rest?"

"Yup." Mithos groaned and Kratos laughed in sympathy. Bed rest was torturously boring.

Martel came in then in full Healer mode (Kratos thinks that she's afraid she'll fall apart if she lets herself be just a sister right now because Mithos isn't her only patient and there had been a bombing while they were out looking for him) and before she could start to fuss—over the both of them because Kratos' back muscles were apparently too stiff and he'd done something to them when he'd gone to catch her—he slipped out the door.

Martel stood in the center of the room and looked between the four people there for some clue as to why they'd called here when she still had dozens of patients from the bombing that had bandages that needed changing, burns to disinfect, broken bones to—

Myra's voice breaks her out of her thoughts. "Martel, this is General Lyrion. He's come to help us."

The person she gestured to was an older half-elf, grey streaks in hair the color of moss. His eyes were bright, elf-blue, like the skies they'd come from. He seemed surprised when she offered a hand for him to shake and even more surprised at her grip. Or perhaps it was the fact that her hands weren't soft, were calloused from weapons and needles and holding people together when their bodies were falling apart in front of her.

"Pleasure to meet you, General." Martel saw Viren behind Lyrion, leaning against the wall. In comparison, Viren looked so much younger than the other general with his pale, red-tinted hair with the beaded bones dangling and the lack of lines on his face. Viren didn't look very happy either; that wasn't surprising. Martel had heard rumors of Viren's reputation among the other generals.

"Likewise, my lady."

There was a dim annoyance at the words—everyone insisted on calling her that, so she'd been getting used to it, but the way the general said it, it was almost degrading. "Not to sound rude, but why am I here?"

Alstan exchanged a look with Myra and Viren's lips thinned, his jaw tightening, but he stayed silent, crossing his muscular arms and somehow looking smaller for the gesture. The general was the one who said it.

"I understand you have a younger brother, lady?"

Martel frowned a little, not understanding where this was going. "Yes. What about him?"

"I've been told he went missing a few days ago."

Something like an ice wind made the hairs on the back of Martel's neck stand on end. Her instincts were telling her not to trust this man. "Yes. We found him in Gnome's Temple."

"And you weren't given leave to go look for him, were you?"

Martel caught the way that Viren's hands clenched tight on his arms. "Leave?" She repeated.

"Permission."

"Permission? To go look for my kid brother who could've been on his way to a ranch or to some rich noble's house to work in the fields? You're saying I should've waited for permission?"

"The military stands because of rules and regulations—"

"And since when do those things come before family?" Martel demanded, her temper rising.

The general ignored her. "Technically, the boy should count as a deserter—"

"A deserter?" Martel wasn't the only one saying it. Alstan did as well.

"He left without leave as well."

"And why don't I count as a deserter? Because apparently I did exactly the same thing."

"Because people knew of your whereabouts, of your intentions. No one knew anything of the boy."

"He has a name, it's Mithos and so sorry that he was trying to help stop this damned war from going on longer than necessary!" It felt good to raise her voice. Since Mithos had gone missing, she'd been wrung out, emotion-wise, because all she'd seen since then was limbs that had been blown off, horrible burns that oozed and spread, hollow, hollow eyes, dying children and adults and her only brother lying in on a cot bruised and broken.

The general's eyes narrowed at her, but Martel stood her ground. "You think a deserter was doing good for this army?"

"I think he's trying to make a difference since we've been fighting this same war for generations and no one's gotten anywhere!"

"A difference?"

"She's not wrong, Lyrion." Martel felt that the absence of a title attached to the name was deliberate on Viren's part. "Mithos made a pact with Efreet about five months back. We've lost a lot fewer troops since then. With Gnome's power, imagine how the war can change."

Lyrion's eyes went to Viren and Martel had a feeling she wasn't the only one who felt degraded. "Efreet is the guardian Spirit of your homeland, isn't he? Not surprising that you put them up to this."

"He didn't," Martel said. "It was our idea."

Alstan finally stood up. "They've done more good for this war than we have." Lyrion turned to him. "They've changed things and it's for the better. I think it's a good idea, what they're doing."

"The issue still stands though," Myra pointed out quietly. "That Martel, Kratos and Yuan put one person ahead of the good of the army. That's where the problem comes in. We needed the three of you here, particularly you, Martel. As a Healer, your place is here."

(The words echo years, almost a decade, back and Martel remembers looking up at the elves—graceful and tall and beautiful—and hearing their teachings of society and a lady's place and, later, the much more malevolent whisperings of the fact that there was no place in society for half-elves and really, Martel is rather tired of people telling her where they think she fits. She fits with her strange, patchwork family, right beside Mithos and Yuan and Kratos)

"As a sister, my place is with my brother," she corrected. "And, if you'll excuse me, that's where I should be right now." Martel turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

"...And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds,
are immune to your consultations, they're quite aware of what they're going through..."
-David Bowie-Changes