Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Author's Note: Been a long while, hasn't it? I'd been in a block for a while, trying to connect where my ideas were to where the story was. I am making it happen.

I have begun playing Tales of Xillia 2. I think it is a pretty fantastic game, for a sequel. Very creative. Actually, I pretty much love the game. I just don't agree with the leveling system. I feel like it's complicated.

My sophomore year of college begins next week. Finally, I'm going to start some animation classes.

My brother and I have begun a blog for our book. It's up on tumblr now. Below is the link.

.com

I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy...
~John Adams

General Sandor Aurion had been in the middle of explaining a tactic to overtake the mountains from the half-breeds when the message came. "A bounty hunter expects us to make time for them? Direct them to the nearest army base; they can collect their bounty there."

"S-sir," the messenger started, glanced around at the other generals, not even daring to look at the king. "The criminal being brought in is…is Kratos Aurion."

His son. His blood traitor son.

Sandor looked to the king, bowing his head. "Your Majesty, may I request a temporary hold on this meeting in order to deal with this matter?"

The King of Sylvarant had gone gray too soon in life with very little of his blonde hair remaining. His face was lined from stress and he looked much older than his forty-odd years. Not that he was even supposed to be king. His brother was. But his brother had died on a beach invasion in the south almost ten years ago and he got left with a sister-in-law that was a bit too broken to be Queen.

"Kratos Aurion," the King repeated. "Your son, isn't he?"

"He is no family of mine, Your Majesty."

"But the rest of the world thinks he is. Bring him here so that we may deal with this matter more privately. No need to get the army gossiping about this."

"Yessir, Your Majesty." The messenger saluted before exiting the room.

The people he came back with were not what was expected.

Sandor's eyes went to Kratos first, automatically. (Sometimes, he still sees the ghost of Melina and right now, she's there. The same hair, the same eyes…) He stood tall, shoulders back, spine straight, even with the chains around his hands. No shame to be seen. Proper military posture, even now; the school had drilled it into him well. His beard was shorter than the last time Sandor saw him, in that ranch—perhaps only a few weeks old and scraggly—but still unkempt. Being a prisoner would do that to you.

The real surprise was the woman. Tall, slender, beautiful. Her hair—an unnatural shade of green—was braided back and pinned to her head to prevent someone from using it as a handhold. Her brown eyes were sharp, steely and there was a tall wooden staff in her hands. Her breeches were tucked into a pair of well-worn boots and the belt slung about her hips was stuck with knives and pouches.

There was a boy beside her, long-limbed and of a similar unnatural beauty that Sandor had seen in full-blooded elves. His hair was getting long, tied behind him in a short tail at the nape of his neck. There was a sword at his hip and those blue eyes glinted with a similar kind of steel like the woman had. He was dangerous too, for all that he looked eleven.

The woman's eyes glanced around the room before she spoke. "No. I'm not a bounty hunter."

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes focused on the King. "Your Majesty, we did this so we could speak with you. We know that we wouldn't have been granted an audience otherwise."

The King stood, hands on the table. "Why shouldn't I just have you executed now?"

"Because then you don't get to hear what we have to tell you," she said. "And you want to hear this."

"What is this information that's so important?"

"A way to end the war."

"You want the humans to win? I don't buy it."

"You're thinking too small." Kratos took a step forward, hands slipping free from the chains. Sandor eyed him, wondered when he'd gotten rid of the stutter, where this confidence came from. "There isn't any information in the world that could make your soldiers stop dying out there in the field. The best information will still involve a sacrifice of your people."

"And what is a blood traitor's opinion on this?"

The slur didn't faze him. "My opinion doesn't matter. The fact of the matter is that this war's been fought for two half-elven generations and more than that of the humans'. Anybody remember why?" He looked around, eyes passing over every one of them and his gaze didn't linger on Sandor a second longer than the others. "Of course not. You didn't start this. Your fathers and even your grandfathers didn't start this. But it's still happening because neither side can give up their pride to say it needs to stop."

"I don't hear a solution," the King said. "I just hear pretty words."

(Sandor still remembers the first time he saw Melina teach. Stubborn, opinionated and with a challenging grin for her students to prove her wrong. Oh yes, Kratos is her son. But he is still trying to figure out how their son got so wrong)

The blonde boy stepped up. "Here's a solution for you," he said. "Stop the fighting. Our King is equally willing to stop. Just—end it. Your people are dying just as much as ours are." His eyes went to the generals. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm tired of watching good people be piled into group graves and burned because there's no time to bury them. I'm tired of having to tell mothers and daughters that their husbands, fathers and brothers are never coming back."

"A child doesn't know a thing about war," William, one of Sandor's fellow generals, scoffed.

"That's a lie," Kratos said suddenly, anger in the undertones. "That's a flat out lie. I won't stand here and be self-righteous, saying that our side isn't using child soldiers too 'cause Mithos is proof of it, but the children of this war know it just as bad as you do. They've been raised with it, just like you were. We can't picture a life without the war and that in itself is part of the problem. We don't work for peace because we don't even know what peace looks like."

The boy—Mithos?—picked up where Kratos left off easily. "But we can figure it out. It's trial and error, but I think we can do it. You just—you have to help us and we can help you."

"Why should we help the half-breeds?" Sandor challenged.

He saw a flash of temper pass across Kratos' eyes. "Because humans are no closer to winning the war than the half-elves. This is a war of attrition and everyone is going to lose." (It's harder to keep his voice from trembling, even though it's just his father. He shouldn't be afraid. He is a grown man, with weapons and no drugs in his system this time. He can hold his own…)

"Kratos is right," the woman said. She'd been quiet, but listening, watching. Now, her eyes were on the King. "And how do you want to go down in history? As another King in a long line of them that were part of this war or the King who helped end it?"

The King's eyes narrowed. "I will be known as the King who won it. Guards! Arrest the half-breeds! Hang their bodies on the walls so that no other half-breeds will know what comes of impudence!"

The woman spoke a word and a blinding light shone. When the humans had regained their sight, the half-breeds were gone.

"This way!" Kratos called after Mithos and Martel, ducking into a servants' corridor.

They dashed past the kitchens, slipping through the cooks and the steaming dishes. The pounding of armored feet was audible throughout the corridors. They could turn and fight, but they would be incredibly outnumbered and besides, they had been here as ambassadors of peace. Fighting had to be the last option.

Kratos caught sight of gardens through a window. There had to be a way to the gardens nearby. Someone came around the corner and Kratos felt a spell rise in his throat, automatic and instinctive. But then he actually recognized the face and he relaxed.

Alstan had done quite a number on him. The old man had created a paste out of some herbs that was very brown to temporarily darken his hair. With his hair at such an angle that it covered the tips of his ears, he looked like human enough to pass. It made him look utterly ordinary so that people's eyes tended to pass over him.

"Guys, I found us a way out," Yuan said, eyes darting everywhere. "Let's go!"

They followed Yuan out through the gardens, ducking behind bushes and crowding behind trees to avoid being seen.

"You guys suck at diplomacy," Yuan told them, eyes on the castle walls. He was waiting for archers to take up the battlements and shoot them where they stood.

"Diplomacy only works when the other party agrees to it," Kratos replied, peering over the edge of the low wall they were currently hiding behind. "Okay, we're clear. We just need to make it out of the castle. The town won't be a problem, but if we get stuck in here, we're dead meat."

They were sprinting for the gate when Martel yelped as an arrow zipped over her head. "Um, they found us!"

"Fantastic," Mithos muttered, glancing behind them.

"Don't kill them," Kratos told him. "That's a last resort."

"Yeah, yeah. Wind Blade!" the half-elf shouted. He didn't put as much power as he usually did in the spell, making the wind just strong enough to knock them off their feet, but not enough to cut them or go flying off the battlements.

Mithos nearly smacked into Yuan's back when he screeched to a halt. Guards. Two of them blocking this gate with more on the way.

The one on the left glanced between them. Before any of them could blink, he'd shoved the hilt of his sword into the ribs of the other guard before knocking him unconscious. "They're locking down the city. All of it. Go to the town square and there's a little alley beside the baker. Knock on the door and tell them that Russell sent you."

Yuan broke first. "C'mon. We stay here, we're dead."

Russell nodded. "Good luck."

The baker was more difficult to find than the town square was. The lights were off and the paint on the sign was fading. A boy opened when he heard the pounding on the door.

"Rus sent you?" He glanced out at the mouth of the alley. "Come in, quick."

"Thank you," Martel said, breathing hard.

"No problem," the boy told them, raking his black hair out of his face. He looked a little older than Mithos, perhaps sixteen. "What's going on out there? They rang the bells for lockdown, but I haven't heard anything yet."

They glanced at each other. Kratos was the one who answered. "They're searching for us."

The boy studied them. "…you're half-breeds."

"Half-elves," Mithos corrected angrily.

Kratos expected the boy to wave the correction off, but instead he blinked. "Oh, sorry. Didn't know that's what you guys liked to be called."

Mithos' anger faded quickly, not sure what to do about this. He'd never seen a human besides Kratos really care about them. "What's your name?"

"I'm Peter. Rus is my brother. D'you guys want anything to eat or drink? We've got plenty of food." He led them through the kitchens of the bakery. It was small, but still more than Peter should have been able to manage on his own.

"Yes, please," Yuan said.

"It's been a long day," Martel added.

Peter smiled over his shoulder at them. "I get it. Grab a stool, I'll grab some extras."

After he'd left and they'd taken their seats, Mithos leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. "I don't trust this," he said in an undertone. "A guard coming out of nowhere to help us and this guy trusting us just like that? Sounds too good to be true."

"You're right," Yuan agreed. "It does. It's probably a trap."

There was something unfinished about that sentence. "But?" Kratos prodded.

"But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that people can be surprising. We're safe, for now. I think we should try trusting these two."

"They've offered us no violence," Martel said. "It would be hypocritical to not trust them now."

Peter came back with a small basket full of bread and a few sweetcakes, as well as a pitcher of water. "Here. Please, eat."

"Thank you. What happens during these lockdowns?" Kratos asked, taking one of the sweetcakes and splitting it in half automatically, handing one half to Yuan. "Do they search the buildings?"

"Not usually. But if they do, we've still got a place to hide ya."

"Not to be rude," Yuan began, swallowing a bite of sweetcake. Martel wanted to groan. That usually prefaced some incredible rudeness. "But why help us?"

"Half-bre—half-elves," Peter amended. Kratos didn't blame him. It was a difficult thing to get out of the habit with. He'd been younger and hadn't talked much, so it hadn't stuck as well, though Yuan had had to correct him once or twice. "Don't deserve to be treated like cattle. They're people too."

"Your government says differently," Kratos said.

Peter met his eyes. "You ain't half-elven, are you?"

"Aren't," the four of them corrected automatically.

Eyeing them strangely, Peter repeated it with the changed word.

Kratos shook his head. "No. I'm human."

"I thought so. I can't see any elven in you." He studied Kratos. "Now that I think about it, I've seen you on the wanted posters. Kratos Aurion, right? The army wants you something fierce. Are you related to General Aurion?"

Kratos cleared his throat a little. "He's my father."

"And I thought I had family issues. Why're you on the half-elves side anyway?"

"Similar reason to you. People shouldn't be treated differently because of where they come from or what blood is in their veins."

Peter glanced between the other three. "…Can I ask you a potentially insulting question?"

"By all means," Yuan told him.

"Why are you called half-elves? I mean, you're half-human too, right? Why does no one call you half-man?"

"Because a half-elf is half-blooded," Martel replied. "A half-man is a half of a whole, to be less than what you are."

They jolted as someone pounded on the front door. "I'll be back," Peter told them. "Stay quiet."

He went out to the front, wiping his hands on a rag. The door creaked open. "Um, can I help you?"

"We're looking for four escapees. A woman, a child and two men. They're half-breeds. Have you seen anything suspicious?"

"I haven't seen much of anything. I've been working in the back since the lockdown sounded."

"No one's been through here?"

"Nope. 's lockdown. No one goes anywhere, right?"

"…You see anything, you report it."

"Yessir. No problem." The door shut and there was a rattle of locks before Peter came back. "Guards aren't a problem when you know how to work them."

"To work them?" Mithos repeated.

"Yup." Peter popped the P. "The guards know me. Rus used to take me to work with him sometimes, when I was too little to stay by myself. I'd stay in the guardhouse or the army barracks and the off-duty guys would play cards with me. Sometimes, I'd take one of their books and read. They trust me now. Or, the older ones do. They got a lot of new guards now."

"Hard to be an old anything, these days," Martel agreed. She'd seen a lot of young people die under her tent. And she was under no illusions—it was a perfectly good chance that one day, she'd be digging a grave for one of her boys.

It was hours before the lockdown ended and the front door opened and closed. Peter went out front. "Rus? That you?"

"Hey, Petey. They make it here okay?"

Russell and Peter both appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Russell was out of his armor, looking haggard, but underneath the tiredness, Yuan could see the similarities. Black hair, same nose; they could only be brothers.

Russell smiled at them. "Good to know you guys are safe."

"Only because of you. Thanks for this." Kratos stepped forward, introducing himself with a shake of his hand. The other followed.

"Good to meet you all. My name is Russell Betel. And don't mention it. It needed to be done. I was on guard duty outside the war room. I heard what you guys told the generals—which, I gotta say, pretty ballsy to tell them that to their faces—"

"You betrayed your fellow guards," Mithos interrupted. "How did they not find out about you?"

"Because I jumped into some bushes and pretended you lot knocked me in there."

"Why would you betray them for us? You don't even know us."

"Like I said, I heard what you guys said in that war room. You're right. About all of it. There's—I'm part of a rebellion here in the capital. We don't have much power yet, but I know you guys could probably be a lot of help."

"You want to overthrow the King?" Kratos said incredulously.

"Yup."

"And—what? Put yourself on the throne?"

"No. Make it so there's no throne at all. The monarchy is decided by 'royal blood'? That's ridiculous. Blood is blood. We all bleed the same, so why do nobles get to have a better life than us? And without that kind of system, we could get rid of the stupid laws that are dividing people—half-elves and dwarves, elves and humans, all of us. We could make it better."

"No King?" Kratos traded looks with Yuan. They'd learned the same histories growing up. It was a long, unbroken line of kings. To not have one anymore was…they couldn't picture it.

"Yup. Have you ever met a real leader? Not like a King or a general, but someone who people just…followed? Because they believed in them?"

Yuan's eyes went straight to Kratos and Mithos. He'd seen a lot of people willing to follow them into suicidal situations because they backed up what they said. They didn't let people do things that they weren't willing to do. They cared about everyone. Good leaders, the both of them. Mithos still had a lot to learn, but that was natural. The kid was only, what, twelve?

(Yuan hopes he can be a leader like them someday, but he doesn't think it's gonna happen. Not in this lifetime. He's too bitter, too venomous. He can't be like Kratos and Mithos, accepting of the other side's faults. He is more than willing to admit that he hates the humans; willing to work to end the war, yes, but he hates them still, somewhere in the part of his being that's branded like the numbers on his arm)

Martel was the only one who actually answered. "Yes, we do."

"Now, picture this—people picking the leader, one they believe in. And it won't be just him in charge. He'll have…advisors and things like that, people to divvy up the power."

"It sounds like a good system, Russell," Kratos told him. "Really, it does. It's well thought out and—not to be insulting—but, how did you come up with it?"

"I didn't. A friend of mine did. He went to the university, studied politics and history."

"Did?" Mithos said. "So…he doesn't anymore."

Russell's eyes went dark. "No. He-he was too open about it. He and a couple of others were hanged for treason against the state."

"And you're continuing his work?"

Russell raked a hand through his hair. "Look, Nicholas was the best friend I ever had. I would've gone to the university with him, but—there were—circumstances. So he came to the capital for his fancy education and when he came home on school breaks, he would tell me all about these—these incredible ideas that he'd learned about. And we would bounce ideas back and forth. After a year, I moved here, with Petey, so we could support him. And then, two years ago, he gets killed."

"You must've loved him very much," Martel said quietly. To have uprooted his life here, with a little brother to look after, it was a difficult thing. Martel, of all people, knew that.

"He was family," Russell told her. "We have a couple of people here in town that agree with us, but it's not enough. We need strength behind us."

"And you want us to be that strength?"

"Yes!"

Yuan shook his head. "Look, it's not that we don't admire what you're doing here—it's amazing—but, we're here as peace ambassadors. We're not a rebellion, exactly. We're just trying to work with what we've got."

Russell's lips thinned. "Yeah…of course. I understand. You guys are welcome to stay here until the air clears."

"Thank you," Martel said sincerely.

The surprise wasn't that someone else couldn't sleep; it was the fact that it was Mithos, of all people, who was the one to join him.

Mithos rubbed at his eyes—he wanted sleep, his body needed it, but his mind had too many thoughts to even attempt it—as he stepped over to the window that Kratos was sitting under. "Somethin' wrong?"

He shook his head. "…No. Just reading."

Mithos sat beside him, ducking his head to read the front cover. "Women in Literature by Melina Kormos. That doesn't sound like light reading."

"It's a textbook," Kratos explained. More than likely, it was one of the books that Russell's friend Nicholas had used for university.

The summery sky eyes glanced up at him, taking in every detail with rapid fire intelligence. "You haven't read this far into this book. Why is it important to you?"

Kratos closed the book and ran his fingertips over the name inscribed there. "This woman—Melina Kormos—she was my mother. I wasn't sure until I saw her photo in the back here. See?" A photo of her—only the second one that Kratos had ever seen of her in his life—as well as a brief description of her background were on the last page. He hadn't even known her maiden name.

(The photo is older even than the one that Kratos has seen. This is before she got pregnant, before she married his father, maybe even before they ever met. She is trying for a serious expression, but her eyes are twinkling and there's a hint of a curve at the left corner of her lips. Her hair is pulled back, but it does little to tame it)

"Your mother?!" Mithos exclaimed.

His reaction made Kratos chuckle a little. "Yes, I have one of those too, y'know."

"I know that. I just never thought about it. Wow. Your mom was a teacher?" Mithos could think of very few professions that he respected more, Healers aside.

"Mmhm. At a university here in the capital. But that was years ago. I didn't think they'd still be using her textbook."

"Maybe there haven't been any more books written about that subject," Mithos suggested. "Or maybe there's no money to print those books. You said the humans aren't much better off, right?"

He hadn't thought about it that way. He was still reeling over seeing her face here, of all places. "Right, yeah…"

Mithos took a closer look at the picture. There wasn't any color left in the photo; it was old enough to have faded almost completely. "She was pretty."

"I always thought so." He paused. "…People used to tell me that I look like her."

"They thought you were pretty?"

Kratos burst out laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise quickly so as not to wake the others. He grinned down at Mithos, an incredible fondness rushing into his body. "What—you don't think I'm pretty?"

The half-elf rolled his eyes, but matched his grin. "You wish. What…what happened to her?"

"What makes you think something happened?"

"You don't talk about her like you actually remember anything about her. And you always use the past tense when you refer to her…'s okay." Mithos wrapped his arms around his knees. "I don't remember my parents either."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "No. Sometimes, I remember some…little detail. Like—a smile, or maybe just words they said a certain way. At least—I think I do. I don't know if I'm remembering it or if I'm imagining it based on what Martel's told me…she misses them, still. I wish I could, so she wouldn't feel like she was the only one who had memories of them, but—"

"It's nothing to beat yourself up over," Kratos assured him. "You were so young when they died; no one could expect you to remember that."

Mithos made a humming noise in his throat, though whether it was of agreement or just acknowledgment, Kratos couldn't be sure. Mithos leaned his head on Kratos' shoulder. "Read to me?"

"From here?"

"Uh-huh."

"It's just a textbook. There's no—no stories, or anything."

"Good. Then it'll put me right to sleep."

Kratos snorted, but opened up to the first page of a random chapter. "Chapter Eight: Mythology. In less contemporary literary works…"

He glanced down occasionally as he read to check on Mithos. The boy was breathing evenly and his eyes were closed, but some scrap of his attention was still on the words. At least it was rest, his mind distracted and calmed from his previous thoughts.

Kratos enjoyed reading this textbook. It was less on the subject matter and rather because of the fascinating glimpses into who his mother was. Her opinions, her knowledge, her teaching style. This textbook in this lonely forgotten corner of this city had given him more insight than fifteen years living under his father's roof.

Mithos finally settled to sleep, well after midnight. Kratos followed him reluctantly. He would need the sleep for the upcoming day. Perhaps he could talk to Russell about possibly taking this book with him for further study.

Early the next morning, Russell and Peter made them breakfast. With Martel's help, of course, because she insisted that it was the least she could do after all they'd done to help. As it turned out, Russell and Peter couldn't say no to her. But, Kratos thought, looking at Yuan and Mithos, who had been roped into washing dishes, at least those two were in good company. None of them could say no to her either.

"If we want to get you out of the city before the search parties go out, it'll have to be before the guards get mobilized. Which should be…" Russell glanced at the clock. "In a few hours."

"Is there a plan?" Yuan asked. "Because I don't fancy making a break for the front gate and hoping not to get shot."

"There's an underground way." Russell ran a hand over his short hair. "A few miles out, there was an old dwarven city. Actually, it might still be there. I have no idea. Either way, there are old tunnels they built that run underneath this city. Supposedly, they were used to keep travelers safe from the monsters."

"If that's the case, why not mobilize the military like that?" Mithos asked. "How far do the tunnels run?"

"We're not sure," Russell confessed. "We've done some recon work to try and map it out, but after a certain point, there's a lot of false tunnels and we kept getting turned around. Nicholas thought that the dwarves were hiding something out there, but there's no way to be certain. Not without dwarves to lead you through it, anyway."

"But there are tunnels that lead outside?"

"Absolutely! Here," Peter cleared a space for Russell to lay out a map. "There's an entrance in the old center of the city, in the east part. We go through there, lead you guys out and the military's none the wiser. Easy peasy."

"Sure," Yuan muttered. "'cause everything always goes that well."

"Stop being so pessimistic," Mithos told him, leaning his forearms on the table to get a closer look. "So. When do we leave?"