Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Author's Note: Almost Thanksgiving. Wow, the year's flown by.

Animation class is fun. Challenging, but fun. Got an infographic project that's gonna have to be turned in late.

Also, I saw Big Hero 6. That movie absolutely broke my heart. I almost cried 3 times. Fantastic. I would absolutely watch it again and again.

Been posting a lot of my artwork for my brother and I's book up on our tumblr, as well as chapters. If anyone's interested, by all means, go check it out.

e - p - pfister . tumblr . com

Can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?
Danielle La Porte

The room went silent, the air buzzing with shock. Myra and Alstan were grave, their ages showing in their eyes despite their still relatively youthful faces. Viren let out a strangled sound, though whether it was a cry or a scream, Yuan couldn't say.

"To General Aurion?" Alstan repeated finally. "He gave information to him?"

Yuan nodded tiredly. They had sent word ahead that Zaren had been compromised, but they hadn't given details.

"And he was so close. To everything."

"He's still alive," Yuan told them, voice slightly hollow. "We left him locked in a cell, but—who knows how long that'll last."

"Not long." Viren had found his voice. "He's no longer useful. They'll kill him and dump his body by the road. No burial. No nothing."

Myra glanced at him. "A burial? You can't sympathize with that traitor."

Viren's eyes flashed, fists clenching. "He's my best friend! My brother!"

"He was," Yuan corrected, voice harsher than he intended. "You can't forgive traitors. No matter who they are."

Viren's mouth twisted cruelly. "Would you be able to tell me that if it was him?" He pointed to Kratos, who despite being at Yuan's side for the entire report, had said nothing. That was the norm, though, since the capital.

Yuan's mouth went dry. (He knows exactly what he would do. He'd tear through any army, single-handedly if he had to, to get to him. Might even follow him to the other side because they're -and-someones and that's just how that works)

But his mouth refused to be cowed. There was still too much rage from Zaren and protectiveness for Kratos in him. "But it's not him. He's the one who killed his own father for us, not the one who abandoned his wife and kid, betrayed his own people and lied to everyone!"

The others went still, but Kratos still wasn't speaking much. (It worries him, to be completely honest. Kratos has always been the quiet sort, but this isn't his usual kind. This is withdrawal. Yuan had kind of hoped that speaking of his father would spark some kind of reaction)

"General Aurion is dead?"

"Yes," Kratos spoke for the first time since they'd arrived back in the half-elven capital. "I did it."

Alstan eyed the boy carefully—not that he was much of a boy anymore. (He's damaged. That much is apparent. His eyes are dim, not meeting anyone else's. No matter what he might say or believe, killing his father had hurt him somewhere deep. Alstan still remembers how he used to idolize the man, remembers the boy who had been so terrified of disappointing him. That boy is still in there somewhere)

"Both of you go get some sleep," Alstan said tiredly. "There's nothing more you can do. Thanks for your report. Can you send in Martel and Mithos on your way out?"

After nodding, Kratos-and-Yuan turned to leave, but Alstan called Yuan back. "I know you probably don't need to be told this," he said in an undertone. "But don't let Kratos be alone."

"Yessir."

Alstan and Myra listened to the siblings' report patiently, but Viren was full of restless energy, constantly shifting his weight, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Alstan couldn't blame him. His best friend was a traitor.

"So you made a pact with Luna and Aska."

Mithos nodded. They'd nearly gone night blind during that fight. None of them had considered that fighting the Spirits of Light while it was dark was a really bad idea. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the stone that they had dropped. It was smooth and milky, shot through with an array of blues. "They gave us this."

Myra plucked it from his hand, studying it. "It's moonstone. It has quite a few magical properties, depending on where you go. The warrior monks that worship Shadow use them not only to refract light, but also because they believe that they bring the owner beautiful dreams. The elves will tell you that if a woman wears a moonstone on her wedding day, Luna the Great Mother will bless her with many children." She gave it back to him. "It is a great gift, what they've given you."

"Is that why it took you so long to get back?" Alstan asked. If he looked carefully, he could see the changes each Summon Spirit had brought to Mithos. Efreet had given his passion fire and fuel; Gnome had brought his head down from the clouds, even if only a little. Luna and Aska…they had likely been his guardian Spirits since birth. That was an elven tradition, asking specific Spirits to be a child's guardian. Alstan could understand Mithos' parents reasoning; he was a sky child, blue eyes, blonde hair. Asking the Spirits of Light to guide him made perfect sense.

"We couldn't have gone back the way we came," Martel pointed out. "We couldn't run the risk of Zaren having told the humans about that route. We took the long way back and since we were in the area anyway…"

"Understandable. And a good thought, since it would be difficult to have gotten to those temples otherwise." Alstan leaned forward. "Now, Martel, I need your professional opinion on something."

"Of course."

"Kratos and Yuan—how bad off are they?"

"To be honest, it's bad. Yuan, at least, seems to be working through it. The first week after we escaped the capital was…it was pretty quiet. But he's had his good days and bad days. Kratos though…I don't see him working through it. He just kind of keeps spiraling downwards. I can't tell for sure, of course, but that's what I see." She fiddled with loose threads on her shirt. There were dark circles beneath her eyes; had she been unable to sleep or had she been staying up to watch over the others?

"Is there anything that can help them?"

"Yuan—I think he needs to feel like he's helping again. Like he's doing something."

"And Kratos?"

"I've never seen him like this. I-I don't know." (And it's tearing her apart. These are her boys, she should know how to help them, should be able to help them, but she can't)

Alstan sighed. "I appreciate your honesty."

"What will happen to Abernac?" Martel asked.

"He is under guard, for now. We can't trust him," Myra answered.

"He saved us," Mithos said. "We wouldn't have gotten out if it weren't for him."

"I know," Alstan said. "But in light of Zaren's betrayal, we have to be more cautious. Why would he save you? What does it get him?"

"It doesn't always have to get people something!" Mithos wasn't aware of raising his voice. It felt good, after so many weeks of awkward, tense silences and vague attempts to make conversation. "People can be good, you know. Not for anything or anyone. They just are."

"It doesn't work like that," Myra told him.

"No?" he challenged. "Then why would he," Mithos gestured to Alstan with a sweep of his arm. "Have trained two kids in a military school? He didn't know what would happen. For all he knew, Kratos was off to fight the war on the humans' side! And I've seen you in the healing huts. You do a lot of things that you don't have to for those people. I've heard you at night, when the soldiers have night terrors." She sang lullabies, elven ones. Even if the soldiers didn't know what she was saying, the tone and rhythm were so soothing, it would put them back to sleep. "What's your logic on that?"

(He half expects Martel to call him on his rudeness, but she's had enough too. Had enough of the silences, enough of the excuses. Both of them had been company for Abernac as they travelled. They'd come to some kind of understanding, even if they aren't friends. And Abernac doesn't deserve this)

Myra's face hardened, her walls slammed up instantly. Alstan could have told Mithos not to bring that up; she only ever sang for her patients, these days. But he remembers before they joined the war, how her lovely voice could be heard throughout the village, carried on the breeze. How her wonderful songs stopped the day the humans dared bomb an elven village, the day her husband and daughter were found in the wreckage. The elves had retaliated terribly; no more bombs had been dropped in their direction. And Myranda the Healer had gone cold, leaving Myra in her place.

"You want to leave this room," she said, voice the deadly kind of quiet.

Mithos' fists were trembling with the force of his anger. "Damn right I do."

The door slammed and Martel was left standing there. But she was unafraid of Myra's temper. At her core, Myra was a Healer; she didn't like hurting people. "He's right and you know it."

"Don't start."

"You can't avoid this. Abernac has done nothing to deserve your treatment of him. He just had the luck—bad or good—to be born human! Isn't that what we're fighting against?"

Alstan put a steady hand on Myra's shoulder, a warning and a comfort. "It's not a prison cell, Martel. Just under guard. General Lyrion has final say on what's to happen when he returns from the south front."

Martel's lip curled a little at the very mention of Lyrion and she wanted to argue that putting him under guard was almost the same thing, but she knew that, before Kratos-and-Yuan had come to prove everyone wrong, Abernac was likely to have been killed or imprisoned on sight. This was progress.

"Okay. Have a good night." Martel turned to leave and Viren was already opening the door, following her out.

Viren waited until they were at the end of the hallway to speak. "…When you see Yuan, tell him I want to speak to him."

She folded her arms. "Without shouting and accusing?"

"I can't promise that." His eyes were hollow and he was approaching some kind of desperation. What the desperation was for, Martel couldn't say. (Why will no one understand? They have brothers. Best friends. Spirits only know what they are willing to do for them. Why are they so blind when he tells them that this was his brother? And it hurts more than he can articulate that Zaren betrayed them. Betrayed him)

Martel let out a long breath. "I'll pass on the message, but I can't guarantee he'll go talk to you."

"That's all I can ask."

Yuan lay curled beneath his thin blanket, staring at the wall, back to Kratos. He wanted to stop thinking, stop remembering. "Kratos," he finally said into the darkness. Noishe was ever watchful by the door, but he didn't twitch at the sound of Yuan's voice. "Kratos, you're gonna be okay, right?" (He's never been so unsure about something when it comes to Kratos. It has Yuan on edge)

It took Kratos a long time to answer. "…Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine." His voice was hoarse and scratchy from so little use over the past weeks.

Yuan wasn't sure if he could believe him.

Alstan stood just in the doorway of Myra's quarters, quietly shutting the door behind him. She looked up from the scroll she was reading.

"Something wrong?" she asked. Alstan rarely entered a room without permission.

"You tell me," he said. "The things that Mithos said—they were a little too close to home, weren't they?"

Her face hardened, but Alstan was unfazed. Myra might be able to lie to the rest of the world, but the rest of the world didn't remember her like he did. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." Alstan pulled up a stool to sit across from her. "Myranda…you know that it is okay to miss them? To grieve?"

"Of course I do."

Alstan's eyes were dark and sad, his age showing through. (They never speak of the disaster that had taken her family. He had been returning home from the university in Heimdall then and she had just finished her apprenticeship to the Healers'. He'd been the one to find her, on her knees, holding her little girl's broken bracelet of small flowers inlaid with aquamarine in front of the wreckage. She has it still, he knows this. Wrapped in a square of cloth that never leaves her bag) "...So why don't you wear your wedding ring anymore? Why don't you sing?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Alstan."

"No," he admitted. "I'm just suggesting that your husband and daughter wouldn't want to see you living like this."

He never saw her move, but suddenly, he found himself pressed against the wall, her forearm on his throat. "My husband and daughter are dead. They're not coming back and they're not up in some heaven watching me. They're nothing more than ashes in the ground."

Alstan looked down at her. The pressure she had on his throat was slight, no threat behind it. Just holding him there. "…Please don't tell me you believe that."

"I couldn't save my family. No Spirit answered my prayers. Why should I believe otherwise?"

"Because their memory deserves better that that. You deserve better."

Myra removed her arm, taking several steps back. She was still coiled, anger poised and ready to strike again. "Get out."

It was two days later that Martel found him on one of the city walls, straddling a battlement, eyes staring out, as ever, to the horizon. It was fuzzy, this early in the morning, tinged pink and gray.

"Hey," Martel greeted. "I haven't seen you in a while."

As she mirrored his position, he just had to take a few deep breaths. "Sorry. I had to get out. I needed some air."

"What about Kratos?"

"I-I don't know what to do, Martel." And that was what scared Yuan the most. He didn't know how to help his best friend. "I've tried everything I can think of. Maybe he just needs some space."

"Don't be ridiculous." Her voice was unconsciously sharp and she hated how he flinched at the sound. She calmed herself, but didn't apologize. "Yuan, Kratos needs you. That's—it's a fact of life. The sky is blue, grass is green and you two need each other."

"I don't know how to help him."

Martel took her lover's hands, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over them. "I don't know either. But I think you help just by being there. By reminding him that he's not alone. Otherwise, he'll start to think he's scared you away with what he's done."

"What? That's—he couldn't ever do that." Especially not with something like killing his father. Yuan had actually been rooting for that outcome for a while.

"And if he were in his right mind, he would know that. But right now, he doesn't." When Yuan didn't respond, Martel asked, "What is it?"

Yuan forced the words out because if he couldn't tell this to Martel, who could he tell it to? "…I'm afraid I'll break him. Kratos. He's close to that point, I think and with the way I am right now, if I lose my temper, I'm afraid he'll break."

"Break him?" Martel had a very hard time picturing that. Kratos was so strong, so solid. He'd grown so much. Surely it would take much more than that to undo all his progress.

Yuan didn't know how to explain it to her. Didn't even know that he would if he could. "…It's a lot easier than it looks."

"So instead of maybe possibly losing your temper at him, why don't you talk to me?"

Yuan gave her a look. "What do you think we're doing?"

"Don't be so literal. I know you know what I mean. You're even free to yell, if that makes you feel better."

"I don't want to yell at you."

"Yell in general, then." Martel swept an arm out to indicate the war-torn landscape around them. "Yell out there, if you need to. I'm just letting you know that you can."

Yuan bit his lip, not quite meeting her eyes. Finally, he spoke. "…How did I not see it? Zaren. Why was he so far into my blind spot?"

"He was in all of our blind spots. And—I think it's also because…well, he didn't lie to us. Well," she amended, seeing him about to protest. "He did, of course, but—he did always hate the humans. He did escape the ranch, he loved Viren and his wife and he was passionate about fighting the humans."

"But?"

"But he was so scared of going back to the ranch that he did anything he could to stay out of it. Even if it meant hurting us. His fear was stronger than anything else, at the end."

"We were still so stupid. I should've seen it—I've known him the longest—"

Martel cut him off. "Hey, stop. It's not your fault." When he didn't respond, she took his chin, tilting it up so he had to meet her eyes. "Listen to me: It's. Not. Your fault. There was nothing you could've done to stop him. Do you understand me?"

"…yeah. And-and I know that, logically. But it's just…I'm still trying to believe it. And what do I tell his wife and his kid?"(The wife and kid that are now in the city. The wife and kid that he has never even met)

"To be honest," she began thoughtfully. "I don't even know that I would want to hear the truth in that situation."

"But at the same time, if that kid grows up believing his dad's a hero, someday he'll learn the truth. And nobody deserves to be hurt like that."

He had a point. "…I'm sorry. I-I don't have any answers for you." She smiled, though it was tinged with bitterness and self-deprecation. "I seem to be saying that a lot lately."

Yuan leaned forward to kiss away that smile; it didn't belong on her face. "You don't have to have all the answers. That's not your job. "

"Then what is? Being a Healer? I fixed you and Kratos up, but you're still hurting. Or being a sister? My little brother is growing up before my eyes." She lowered her gaze to their joined hands. "…I'm afraid he won't need me anymore."

(She knows, logically, that Mithos has to grow up. And that he will grow apart from her. This is something all parents understand. But she is a sister as well as a mother to him and she doesn't know how to separate the two, can't even imagine a life without him in it)

She was a little surprised to hear a trickle of a laugh, particularly from Yuan, since he'd been so serious since the capital. But the sound triggered a little bit of anger in her; she hadn't laughed at him! Yuan seemed to realize that laughing was the wrong response; he rubbed his thumbs soothingly over her skin.

"I didn't mean it like that," Yuan assured her. "It's just—Mithos loves you more than anything or anyone in the world. He won't ever stop needing you. Even when he grows up. Just like you said Kratos and I are a fact of life? So are you two."

This time, Martel's smile was sweeter, happier. "Would you look at that? You really do listen when I talk."

That made Yuan burst into laughter (It sounds strange because she hasn't heard it in so long. It gives her hope, lets her know that everything will work out in the end. If it's not all right, she thinks, then it's not the end) His hands moved to her hips, tugging her forward until she landed practically in his lap. His nose was just beneath her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"I love you." The laughter was still on the fringes of his voice. "You're amazing and I love you."

She backed away a little so she could kiss him firmly. "I love you too," she murmured between kisses.

Viren found him standing several feet away from the tent. It wasn't a surprise, really. Yuan was the honorable sort (the kind that Viren had thought that Zaren was. Is. He has to believe that Zaren is still alive out there, that he still has a hope of redemption). Of course he'd be out here, at his sister-in-law's door.

"Are you alright?" Viren asked quietly. Yuan looked better than he had when he and Kratos had reported in. Like he'd actually managed a few hours of sleep and had a decent meal or two.

Yuan swallowed a little, glancing at him. "…That's my nephew and my sister-in-law in there."

"You don't owe them anything." Viren was sure to be gentle with that. While he looked more stable, Yuan could have a very mercurial temper. "You've never even met them."

"No, but…that woman deserves someone there," Yuan said slowly, remembering his own mother, raising two boys alone, her husband and oldest sons dead. Remembered her, broken and so lonely. Remembered he and Zaren growing up with a dead father and an absent mother. Remembered the rare good days and so many of the bad ones. "And so does the kid. I won't let them grow up like we did."

Viren gave him a long look. "…Very noble of you." (In Yuan, he can see what he had thought was in Zaren. A good man. A family man) "So why are you still out here?"

"Cause I'm—" A coward? Like he had accused Zaren of being? "Waiting to be done talking to you."

A breath escaped Viren, the closest he could get to a laugh right now. "Go on then. I need a drink."

"Getting a headstart on me, I see."

"Yeah, sure, kid."

The woman sitting inside was a pale wisp of a thing. Ashy blonde hair with skin that was beginning to regain its color, though it still clung too tightly to her bones. It was difficult to put healthy weight back on when rations were spreading thinner every day. There was a little body curled underneath a thin blanket in a cot. The only thing visible was a head of ruffled brown hair.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, her voice still holding the remnants of tears.

Yuan licked his lips. "…my name is Yuan. Zaren was—he was my brother."

"Oh, you're his little brother?" Her lips twitched in an effort to smile. "He told me about you."

A lump formed in his throat, but Yuan forced himself to talk around it. "I-I just—I wanted you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, just let me know. I'll help you. And if-if I'm not around, talk to Kratos or Martel or Mithos. They'll help too."

He saw the tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you. Oh, boyo, you're—come here."

Yuan followed the instruction dimly and found himself engulfed in a bony embrace. He'd been hugged since the capital—mostly by Martel—but this was significantly different. (It feels like his fuzzy memories of Mama, of her good days and it's that fact that has him folding around this little woman)

He didn't cry. To be honest, Yuan didn't think he had many tears left, but he let himself grieve for this woman, for her little boy—his nephew—and for himself too. Because as much as they weren't close anymore, as many lies and years and experiences separated them, Zaren was still—and perhaps would always be—the brother of his childhood. The brother who had played cards with him, had weathered storms with him, who had helped him through Mama's bad days. It was that Zaren that Yuan missed and that Zaren which was gone forever.

A little tug on his shirt made him look down. The boy had watery blue eyes, but he looked like his father had at that age. (Just like the photographs that have always been on that wall. Sometimes, in his more morbid moments, he wonders if he were to go back to his little mountain village, would that wall, with all the photographs and newspaper clippings, still stand?)

Yuan sniffed a little, crouching to be at eye level with the kid. "Hey. What's your name?"

The kid struggled with the sounds. Finally, his mother stepped in. "Lloyd."

Yuan blinked; that was no elven name. Pure human. Possibly in the hopes that the boy would carry on with his father's genes and look human enough to pass. "Lloyd, huh?"

The kid—Lloyd—grinned wide, missing a few teeth. "Uh-huh!"

He managed a smile at his nephew. "Nice to meet you, Lloyd. I'm your uncle Yuan."

"Unka!" Lloyd lifted his arms, the universal symbol to be picked up.

Yuan hoisted him him—he hardly weighed anything—and held him close. Curious hands grabbed his hair—it wasn't an uncommon occurrence—and he just held this little kid whose father had abandoned him.

That night, Yuan curled up beside Martel. She turned a little to try and see him, but he had his nose buried in her shoulder.

"Hey," she murmured. "What's wrong? How'd it go?"

Yuan didn't answer for long moments, taking comfort in her warm body pressed against his. "…Have you ever been so hurt that you start to go numb?"

Martel turned over in his arms so that she could face him. "…Yeah." (Holding her little brother and watching the village that had seen them grow up turn on them)

"Does it ever get any better?"

She combed his hair away from his face, brushing her lips against his forehead, his eyes, his cheek and finally his lips. She appreciated that he didn't press her for details. "Sometimes. But a lot of other times, I think that there's nothing for it. You just have to learn to live with it. You have to decide to live past it."

Yuan stared at her. How had a woman so wise ever fallen for him? "…Did you?"

She made a noise in her throat. "…I like to think so. Sometimes though, I'm not sure I have."

"That's…incredibly unhelpful."

Martel burst out a short laugh. Yuan found himself joining in. The laughter was gentle, hardly there and staccato, but it made him feel lighter. Just being with her made him feel lighter. He kissed her, searching for the laughter caught inside her.

Several nights later, Yuan woke to the sound of rustling blankets. He cracked his eyes open, peering through his lashes into the darkness. He could make out Kratos' shape, a darker silhouette than his surroundings. Yuan debated getting up—it was perfectly likely, after all, that Kratos just needed to relieve himself—but then he saw Noise rise from his spot by the door to follow Kratos outside and he knew he didn't have to worry. He would anyway, but it was comforting to know that someone, at least, was keeping an eye on him.

"You don't need to follow me," Kratos told the protozoan quietly.

Noishe gave him a disbelieving look and kept following. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe he only had a bird's form, he was so expressive.

"I'm fine!" Kratos insisted, but stopped trying to persuade Noishe. The protozoan was stubborn. It wasn't as though he was lying. He was fine. Just restless.

Did killing his father make him the same? His father and the other generals were also acting as judge, jury and executioner to all the half-elves. What gave him the right to decide?

Well, Kratos reasoned as his feet took him towards the refugee camps on the outskirts of the city, it's not as if the outcome would have changed. If they'd somehow managed to get Sandor to the half-elven kind, he'd still be found guilty. Would still have been sentenced to death.

Kratos had to climb and clamber to his space. The room he had found in the semi-collapsed building, the room where he had so clearly envisioned a school in was where he came to think sometimes, away from the others. (He loves them, he really does, but he is sometimes still that little boy who is more comfortable being alone)

He let himself plop down against one of the walls that was still intact. Noishe settled down beside him, folding his wings and curling his long neck inwards.

I am not the same, Kratos told himself firmly. He was entirely different from his father.

But had he not become precisely what his father had always wanted from him? A soldier, a killing machine? A warrior without morals?

No. He had morals. He cared about people. He was not heartless.

But didn't he have to be even a little heartless to kill his own father like that? (Where has he gotten so turned around? When had he stopped creating, only destroying?)

Kratos surged to his feet, feeling the need to move, to make. He could feel Noishe's eyes on him as he began lifting beams and shoving aside slabs of wall. Noishe finally helped him when he realized that Kratos wasn't going insane. The protozoan was stronger than he looked and Kratos was grateful for the help.

He used magic to create support for the walls to stand by themselves again. He was particularly good at earth magic—though he had yet to be able to really get a decent Grave spell going—and while it took a lot of mana, after a few hours, the space had been cleared so that it was actually looking like a real building again.

Noishe nudged his elbow. Kratos followed the protozoan's gaze; his hands were scraped and cut in a few places. Nothing terribly serious. He felt calmer now, more secure. (He is not a product of his father's beliefs. He can make his own choices, live a life free from his shadow. He will create something for himself, create a place for learning)

Noishe was still watching him, wary and a little too close, neck bent so he could peer up at Kratos. Kratos leaned forward to press his forehead against Noishe's beak. Noishe was his oldest friend, before Yuan even. And he was lucky to have him.

"You've been pulling quite the disappearing act lately."

Kratos nearly gave himself whiplash at the familiar voice. The old blacksmith rarely left his smithy; to see him here, as Kratos was walking back to his and Yuan's room, was disorienting. But he was carrying several buckets of water on a rod over his strong shoulders. New water for the new day, Kratos noted as he caught the pink edges of dawn creeping their way into the sky.

"What?"

"Come down to the smithy later," the blacksmith said. Blunt as ever. "All four of ye."

"That's it?" Kratos called after him. He'd started walking away right after saying that.

The blacksmith looked over his shoulder. "Way I been hearin' it, you ain't one for conversation, these days."

Meaning one of the others had gone to look for him there. Meaning that he'd worried them. He'd probably been worrying them since the capital.

Kratos tried on a smile. It probably came out more like a grimace. "Next time you see me, I'll be more of a conversationalist."

The blacksmith made a sound low in his throat—a harrumph—and kept walking.

He found Martel first. Not surprising. It was almost dawn, so her shift at the clinic was starting soon. She'd bathed not long ago, judging from her still-wet braid.

She stopped at the sight of him, a smile on her face. "Kratos! How are you?"

It struck him then that it had been a long time since he'd seen her. Days, perhaps. Everything was blended together in his mind; how long had it been since they'd even arrived back here? "I-I'm sorry."

She blinked at him. "What for?"

"For making you guys worry. For shutting you out. I'm sorry." The words came out in a rush; the most he'd said to her in weeks.

Martel's arms were suddenly around him, still cool from the bathwater. "It's okay," she murmured, holding him close. "It's okay." (When her boys are weak, it means someone else has to be strong. Martel doesn't mind being that person. She likes knowing that she can help, even if only in this small way)

He buried his nose in her damp hair, suddenly greedy for the comfort as he hugged her back. If he cried a little, Martel would certainly never tell. (He does cry. He cries for the little boy he'd been, the little boy who is still there who had lost his father. He cries for the people who've been hurt. And he cries for Yuan, losing his brother all over again)

Kratos finally pulled back, hiding his red eyes behind his bangs. Martel didn't mention anything, simply linking her arm through his. "Join me for breakfast?"

Kratos nodded. He'd missed his family.

Breakfast was a wonderful affair. The mess hall wasn't busy this time of morning—not as busy as it could be—and people were still not fully awake so it wasn't as loud. But Kratos absorbed what noise there was, letting it wash over him. Yuan was at his side, a comforting warmth. Mithos' legs accidentally kicked his as he shifted. The kid was going to be elf-tall when he was full grown, according to Alstan. Martel laughed and joked with some of the others eating with them, but during the lulls, she would smile comfortingly over to him.

The food tasted right for the first time in a long time and he was in good company. At some point, Viren slid in to sit beside him.

"Hey," Kratos greeted. "How-how are you?" His voice still caught on words, his throat still dry sometimes from not speaking for so long.

If Viren was surprised to hear him, he didn't make any motion of it. "I'm managing. You?"

"Same." Kratos poked some tomatoes in his direction. "Want these?"

Without a word, Viren took them. After that, he slid some potatoes from his plate to Kratos'. "Lost my appetite for them today," he said shortly.

Kratos thanked him and they spent most of the rest of the meal in comfortable silence. Apparently, Kratos wasn't the only one in need of noise and companionship.

That afternoon, once they'd finished lunch, the four of them went to the smithy. "Hello," Kratos greeted. He wasn't surprised to get no reply.

"With the trouble y'all get into, can't be havin' normal weapons. I made some for all of you," the blacksmith said, uncovering several objects laying on some worktables.

Kratos stared at the sword being presented to him. It was handsome, the steel smooth enough to look like glass. It was stained a powerful crimson—like flames, not blood—its edges tinged in warm orange and gold. The hilt curved over the hand in a smooth, simple design. "I-I can't accept this. It's too much!"

There were the beginnings of similar protest from Yuan, who was running his hands up and down a double-headed spear, blades decorated in streaks of robin red, traced in canary yellow. Its blades were long and arching, the edges glinting in the afternoon light.

"Ye don't get a choice. These are yours. My gifts to ye. The steel is triple-folded and Aionis-fired. Gives it properties. Never dulls or rusts. In a dwarven village, such gifts are given to great warriors. Ye've earned them."

"A flute?" Martel said, tracing her fingers across the beading. The pipes were inscribed with runes, but she couldn't recognize which ones. Not elven or common, that was for sure.

The blacksmith nodded. "Aye. My village was high in the mountains. We traded often with the dwarves. There were trees that grew up there who sang when the wind blew. The dwarves taught us to make instruments from them. That one's imbued with summoning artes. It can summon the Spirits to you, should you need them."

Martel put a hand to her lips. "Oh my, that's…"

"You can summon?" Mithos asked.

"No. My grandmama could, but I don't got that much talent. Little things like this is all." The blacksmith nodded to the purple bracelets that Mithos held. "No point in making a sword for you. Ye'd only grow out of it at this rate. Those're for your magic. I don't got much of it myself, but I've carved some spells into 'em. One'll conserve yer mana. Summoners use up a lot; that'll help you keep going on the battlefield. That middle one's got a barrier spell in there. Help keep you safe. And that last one's got a preservation spell in there, so the effects don't fade."

"Wow," Mithos said, running his fingers across the runes, feeling how smoothly they were carved in. "Thank you."

"Why?" Yuan asked. "Why do this for us?"

"The way I figure it, you lot are the best chance we got. Thought I'd ye the best odds."

Kratos stared down at his sword. The old blacksmith must have been slaving away at these for months, maybe even longer. He'd been believing in them this long? "Thank you," Kratos told him. "We'll honor these."

Yuan and Kratos took to training with their new weapons, to get used to the balance and length of them. Yuan had already liked using spears and he could use a sword, but the new double-headed spear was a wonderful mix of both. A sword's edges with the spear's arching movements.

Kratos had never had a sword that fit his hand better or that was more perfectly weighted. It was a hand and a half, so he could still swing with both hands for more power, but most of the time, he would use it one-handed, leaving the other free to deflect or cast a spell. Alstan had suggested a small shield, so he could defend better and still have the mobility. It didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"Have you tried channeling the magic through the sword?" Yuan suggested once after training. "Seems like it'd be more efficient."

Kratos frowned thoughtfully. Yuan was right and the idea did seem sound. After all, wasn't a sword just the extension of the arm? To pass mana past his fingers into the sword to shoot outwards didn't seem entirely absurd. He pushed himself back up to his feet from where they'd been resting.

He pointed the sword, forcing his left hand to stay down. "Wind Blade!"

He hissed a second later, instinct the only thing keeping him from dropping his sword altogether. The back of his sword hand was cut up from the spell. Yuan was on his feet, studying him.

"I think you released it too soon," Yuan said. "I mean, let the mana finish transferring. That's the only thing I can think of."

Kratos cast a First Aid on himself. It was a basic spell, but one that more soldiers were learning. That way, it would help the Healers conserve their mana for the life-threatening things or at least keep the soldiers alive until Healers could get to them.

"Wind Blade!"

A little better this time. Kratos had lessened the strength of the spell so he wouldn't cut himself all over again. But it was further from the center of his hand, affecting only the middle knuckles this time.

But after a spar like that—because his and Yuan's spars were always intense—he didn't have much energy left. If he kept on using magic, he was likely to pass out. He would try this tomorrow, Kratos decided. And the next day, until he got it right.

Kratos knocked before entering the room, though it was unnecessary. "Hello, Abernac."

Abernac turned to face him. The ex-guard looked a little thinner, but then, didn't they all? They allowed him a razor, at least, so he had kept himself clean-shaven. "Quite the show you put on." When Kratos gave him a confused look, Abernac nodded towards the window he'd been looking out of. "The fight with Yuan. Your higher-ups were kind enough to give me a cell with a view."

"It's not permanent," Kratos told him, taking a seat on a stool. "There's a general that's on his way back with some troops and it's his decision what happens to you."

"That doesn't sound comforting."

"It's not, really." Kratos could have a very blunt kind of honesty, Abernac was learning. And he rather appreciated it. "General Lyrion is a prejudiced man. Like most of the world."

"So this is death row, essentially?"

"No." Abernac was surprised at the firmness of Kratos' tone. "I won't let them kill you. You've done nothing to deserve it. Hell, you deserve the exact opposite. But after what happened with—Zaren, they're being more cautious."

Abernac made a noise of understanding. "I'm surprised to hear you speaking, frankly."

"Yeah, well, I got some sense knocked into me. Just took a little while to see it." Kratos leaned his forearms on his knees. "They haven't let you send messages, I assume?"

"Of course not."

"Is there anything you want me to send to your wife?"

"If she saw a letter from the half-elven camp—"

"I think the first reaction would be shock," Kratos said. "Most of them still can't read. Or write."

"After the shock, then, she'd probably not trust a word in it."

"Is there anything I can tell her that she'll know can only come from you? A code word or something?"

Abernac shook his head, running a hand through his hair. It had been growing out from its military-shortness in the time since the capital. It felt strange; he hadn't had hair this long since before the military academy. "No. Not since I was discharged." He smiled, wry and bitter. "Prison guards tend to have a safer life than soldiers."

"And before you were discharged?"

Abernac seemed to be about to say something, but changed his mind quickly. "No. It'll only put her in danger. At worst, I'm a traitor now, but that's an individual choice. It won't affect her much. But if she receives messages from this camp—"

"Then she's a traitor too," Kratos finished. "Makes sense."

"Is there any way you can get them free? Get them here?"

Kratos narrowed his eyes, studying him. "Strange that you're not asking to be released so you can go back to them."

Abernac hunched his shoulders defensively, feeling strangely small with those piercing eyes on him. Kratos had a way of looking at people as if he already knew everything about them; he was just too polite or reserved to say anything about it. "…This place feels different than back home," he said finally.

He waited for Kratos to ask him why, to look at him like that fact was obvious. But he did none of those things. Kratos simply sat on that stool, with all his seemingly infinite patience, and didn't push. Just waited for Abernac to find the words. (Kratos knows all too well how difficult words can be to find. So he knows what to look for in others and knows that if he asks, if he interrupts that train of thought, the words get stuck and there's a very good chance they don't get un-stuck)

"The half-br—people," Abernac corrected himself. Kratos wouldn't judge him for it—after all, he'd been raised the same way—but the other half-elves would if he called them half-breeds. He needed to make a good impression. "They don't seem as angry as humans."

"They're plenty angry," Kratos said, playing with a loose thread on his sleeve. "But I understand what you're saying. It's—" He paused, trying to find a way to phrase it. "It's been a long time coming," he settled on.

"Is it because of you and Yuan? And the Yggdrasills?" Abernac had never seen anything like it. Had anyone told him that half-elves and humans could be so close, he would have volunteered to put a straitjacket on them. But those four were so close. Even with Kratos and Yuan so…affected…by what had happened in the capitol, there had been a connection. He'd seen them, fighting that Spirit (And if that isn't a kick in the teeth. Spirits are actually a thing) and they communicated without speaking, hardly even looking at each other half the time.

"Part of it. They still don't trust me, most of the time."

"But they have to trust you. Otherwise, they wouldn't let you near me."

"The people who've been here, in the capitol, for a few years know me and they're more inclined to trust me, but—I want to say about ninety percent of the people here—they still think I'm the monster from their bedtime stories that'll eat their children."

"Is that really what they think of us?"

Kratos arched a brow. "And what do humans think of half-elves? Our history books paint them as savages, barbarians who are invading our lands because they're uncivilized. That they'll steal our children in the night and slaughter our families."

"Which isn't wrong," Abernac pointed out. "They've killed plenty of our people."

Abernac half-expected for that anger that he'd seen in Kratos at the prison, facing his father, to make an appearance, but all the other man did was shrug. "Sure. But we've done the same. And they're not savages. Just people trying to survive too. Humans just put out their propaganda, saying we were 'spreading the light of civilization' and whatnot." Kratos had begun to do some research into the origins of the war. There wasn't much, in the libraries. History books could only tell you so much. But it was how the history books said it and what differed that told him more than the actual facts. He and Yuan had spent a few nights studying them and debating over the possibilities.

(It kind of creeps Abernac out that Kratos can be so calm. Where is all that rage from the prison? The fighter that he'd travelled with? This Kratos is a little too relaxed and it puts Abernac on edge)

"I thought you'd be more upset about what I said," Abernac said finally. He was having problems figuring Kratos out and really, it was probably quicker just to be blunt about it.

"I could be," Kratos agreed. "But you're not trying to be rude. You're trying to understand. So there's no point in me being angry."

"You're like an old man."

That made Kratos chuckle a little. Abernac stared at him. He hadn't seen anything remotely happy on Aurion's face since the prison cell. He'd wondered if the man had become as war-hardened as other soldiers that Abernac had met.

Still smiling, Kratos explained, "You're not the first to tell me that." Kratos glanced out the window. "It's getting late. I should get going."

"Thank you," Abernac said as Kratos had his hand on the doorknob.

Kratos looked back over his shoulder. "What for?"

Abernac gestured a little. "For saving my life. For not forgetting about me once you got back here. Take your pick."

Kratos seemed to shrink a little and for a second, Abernac saw the kid at the Academy. "Well, you're welcome."

Kratos sat in shade of his building, as he had come to think of it. His future classroom. He'd cleared the path so that it was more accessible and the inside had been cleared of debris. With some help from Mithos, he'd been able to make the roof supports sturdier.

One of the refugees was a carpenter and Kratos had talked to him about creating benches and desks. The carpenter had thought the idea was strange, but a good one. He'd been teaching Kratos to do it, teaching him where pieces went and which wood had which properties. Not that they could afford to be picky.

Kratos had created a few crude benches—they wobbled a little, slightly off balance, but they were serviceable. The carpenter—Donovi, was his name—was working on his second desk. It had taken some sketches and a lot of miscommunications before they'd managed to agree on what the desks should look like.

(This makes him feel infinitely better. His hands are not just for destroying. He is creating things, things that are of use to people)

Yuan had come down a few times, either to help or to see the progress. He always grinned when he saw it, wide and proud. "This suits you, y'know," he'd said when Kratos explained the idea to him. "And this is gonna be so great for everyone."

Kratos had ducked his head, a little embarrassed at so much praise, but Yuan had just grinned a little wider and asked what he could help with.

Now, it had been more than two weeks since then and Donovi had gotten a glassblower to make some windows for the classroom. And a lot of the women had come with their children. "To help clean," they said. "This is for all of us, so we should all help."

Kratos had stood there, stunned as they moved past him with brooms and buckets and scrub brushes. Martel had come by that day to have lunch with him and she'd been shocked too, nearly dropping her basket.

But she came to her senses first, leaning up to kiss Kratos' cheek. "You see?" she said when he looked at her. "Look at this, Kratos. Look at what you've done for them." Martel smiled, wide and proud. "You've given them hope again."

Kratos kept coming back for Abernac, usually in the late afternoon, as the sun sent. He would sit and talk with him for a while, asking him how he was being treated, if there was anything he could get him. Sometimes, Yuan or Mithos came with him. If Mithos came, he usually kept quiet, just listening and occasionally commenting on part of the story.

Yuan was, as ever, excellent at getting a rise from people. His and Abernac's arguments got explosive and had startled the guards at the door more than once. But by the end of it, Yuan will give that rueful grin, low and long, because he liked to mess with people and Abernac was just too responsive to pass up.

"I may have been wrong," Kratos admitted one night.

"About what?"

"About the percentage of half-elves and what they think of us. Or maybe just me, I don't know." Kratos went on to explain what he'd been doing, with the classroom.

Abernac stayed silent through the entire explanation. "…You're teaching more of them?" Kratos went still at the words, but forced himself not to react, to let Abernac finish his thoughts. "I mean, you taught Yuan, right? And you still want to teach more?"

"They have the right to learn. To grow. To become more than they are."

He'd struck a nerve, Abernac could tell. "I mean, are you sure they're even capable of learning? Maybe Yuan was just the exception."

"They're not dumb savages."

"O-of course not." He'd seen differently, hadn't he? But all he could remember was all of the things his teachers had ever said to him about the half-bre—half-elves.

A knock interrupted them, a split second before Viren entered the room. He'd lost weight, Kratos noted immediately. Not enough to be unhealthy, but he picked at his food more often than not and there were dark shadows forming beneath his eyes. Zaren's betrayal had hit him hard.

"Lyrion's here," he said, though his words were more directed at Kratos. "He wants to see both of you."

"What about the others? Has he asked to see them?" Kratos asked, getting to his feet. His anger at Abernac's words still simmered beneath the surface and he knew that this was not the best way to go speak to Lyrion, but there was no time to cool off.

"Not yet. I think it's his way of remaining impartial."

"Like that'll ever happen," Kratos muttered. He held the door open for Abernac to follow him. He was surprised at the lack of extra guards outside. "Are we his guards now?"

"Lyrion thought we would be enough if he tried to escape."

"He's not wrong."

Abernac had to agree. He had never seen the other man fight, but he'd seen Kratos spar and he knew that even though it might be a good fight, Kratos would definitely beat him. Especially with his bad leg. Maybe before his injury, he could have taken him, but now, there was no chance.

Viren turned to Abernac and held a hand out. "We haven't been introduced. My name is Viren."

Abernac's instincts were to not even dignify Viren with a handshake, but that would be disrespectful to a man who hadn't shown him any. So he shook his hand. "Abernac Michelson."

The rest of the walk to Lyrion's office was in silence. Viren knocked twice, curtly, before entering. Abernac wondered what kind of position Viren held to be able to just enter a general's office like that.

Viren saluted before standing at ease. (Abernac wonders how both militaries can overlap like that. Their standing positions are the same. Perhaps human parents had passed it down?) "General Lyrion, I've brought the suspect, Abernac Michelson, here for questioning." Viren then moved aside to stand against the wall, watching everything with sharp eyes.

Lyrion's eyes studied Abernac before going to Kratos. "I'll hear your statement first. Explain the situation at the capitol to me."

Kratos stood at attention unconsciously as soon as he was spoken to. "Sir, the four of us went to the capitol to propose a peace treaty with the human king. As we would not have gotten through the front door without being attacked, Martel and Mithos posed as elven bounty hunters with myself as their prisoner. Yuan stayed in disguise, outside the castle. Should the need have arisen, he would have broken us out.

"The human king refused our terms. He ordered us to be captured and killed. We managed to escape into the city. We were found by a rebel group that is in the capital, opposing the war. They're small, but they gave us shelter from the soldiers. They also knew of a tunnel network below the city and were leading us through it when we were ambushed. In the fighting, we were separated from them.

"General Aurion led his troops to the exit of the tunnels and ambushed us with a paralyzing agent. We were knocked unconscious and taken to the prison. We were in separate cells in separate halls from each other. The paralyzing agent took several hours to wear off and we were due for executions in the morning. The king and his generals wanted an example to be made of us.

"Mr. Michelson was our prison guard. I recognized him from military school. I managed to persuade him to let us go and help us get out. When we went to release Yuan from his cell, Zaren was in the cell opposite him. Zaren's cell was unlocked already; he could leave at any time. Yuan told us to lock him in there and leave him. That he was a traitor." Kratos' fists clenched. "Zaren didn't deny it.

"Martel and Mithos were in bad shape. The prison had a great deal of magitechnology in there and it had made them sick. Mr. Michelson was leading us to the exit when General Aurion found us." Kratos had to clear his throat, trying to gather words and thoughts and make them make sense. "I—I volunteered to stay behind and fight General Aurion to give the others time to escape. I ki—killed the General and left to catch up with the others. Noishe found me and took me to them."

Lyrion stayed quiet for long moments more, processing the information. "The humans will twist this into an assassination, that the peace treaty was only a ruse. You've made an already difficult task nearly impossible."

Kratos lifted his chin a little. "It couldn't be avoided. General Aurion was a threat not only to ourselves, but all half-elves. He was a believer; nothing we could have said or done would have changed his mind and he was a dangerous opponent."

(Lyrion doesn't quite know what to say to that. Kratos seems unrepentant about his actions, which is new. The boy isn't fond of killing)

"What's done is done," Viren said, voice low. "Aurion's dead. We have to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be, but that's not why we're here."

It was only years of military training that kept Abernac from shifting underneath Lyrion's gaze. "You're not wrong, General."

General? Abernac's eyes flicked to Viren. He was a General? He looked a little too young, but maybe it was his elf blood?

"We've already been betrayed once," Lyrion began. "Why should we begin to trust you?"

It took a moment for Abernac to register that he was being spoken to. The way the words had come out of Lyrion's mouth, he could have been chewing sand and referring to the dirt on the floor. "Because I didn't have an army following me? I don't want to hurt people. I just want my wife and kid."

"Your word is worth next to nothing."

"What about mine?" Kratos asked, pitching his voice a little to catch Lyrion's attention.

The General arched a brow. "You're vouching for this man?"

"Yes, I am. He saved us, all of us. If it weren't for him, we would have been hung from the city walls and Zaren would have come back to continue feeding the humans information." Kratos caught the way that Viren's jaw tightened and his shoulders hunched at the name of his best friend.

"And how do we know that he's not a spy too?"

"Because if he was, he would have stopped me from killing General Aurion. The man was a valuable piece for the humans." Kratos glanced at Abernac. "And because I trust him. He could've played it safe and left us to rot, but he didn't."

"Your are too quick to put your trust in people."

"We can't allow Zaren's betrayal to hurt people who haven't done a thing to deserve it. He's done no more than I had when I came to the capitol—saved a half-elf and was in the human military. It's the same list of crimes." Kratos looked between Viren and Lyrion. "And you gave me a chance. Give him one too."

"That decision had already been made when we came to the capitol. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have allowed you to stay," Lyrion said.

"Then trust Myra and Alstan's judgment! He's done nothing to earn this suspicion. Are we to kill innocent people now?" (…And you're going to play judge, jury and executioner?)

"…He's right, Lyrion," Viren said, voice tired. "We're treating him like this because he's human. If it had been a half-elf, they'd probably be free by now. Humans aren't automatically guilty until proven innocent. It should be the other way around."

There was a long moment until Lyrion spoke. "…You know the human's strategies, yes?"

"As of six months ago, I did." Abernac shifted the weight off his bad leg unconsciously.

"Mm. That's more recent than the rest of our knowledge." Lyrion's eyes slid to Kratos, who just shrugged. There wasn't a whole lot to say to that. The General was right. His knowledge about the human military was over ten years old, but it was better than working with no knowledge at all. Six months ago was pretty damn recent. "I will allow you to stay here, in the capitol, as an informant. Should any suspicions arise about you, this conversation will be revisited. Is that clear?"

"Yessir."

"The both of you are dismissed."

Kratos and Abernac both saluted, automatically, but Kratos' wasn't quite as sharp, just lazy enough to skirt the line of disrespectful. After they both left the room, Abernac held his hand out. Confused, Kratos shook his hand anyway.

"Thank you," Abernac said sincerely. "You didn't have to say all those things, but you did anyway. I owe you for that."

"You've been thanking me a lot lately."

"You've done a lot to help me."

"No. Just...call it even for getting us out of those cells."

"Fair enough." (His wife and daughter aren't here and that hurts, but he knows he can't really fix that right now. They're safe as they can be back home though and he has to be content with that) "I don't know what I should do now. I can't go on the battlefield."

"And we wouldn't let you. Too much chaos out there; we wouldn't be able to keep track of you. But there's plenty of refugees that could use training." Kratos stuck his hands in his pockets. "You may not be able to fight anymore, but you can teach them how."

The idea wasn't a bad one. "Never thought I'd be a teacher."

Kratos laughed a little then. "Neither did I."