"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships were built for."
-John A Shedd

"You deserted your posts and treated with the enemy against orders."

"Technically," Yuan interrupted. "You never ordered us not to go in there, so—"

"Your orders were to remain with the troops and command your men."

"We chose to ignore those orders on the grounds that they were detrimental to the army, as well as to the overall strategy, sir." Kratos said it with the stiff words, straight posture, and serious face that only military school could train into you.

"That's precisely the problem," Lyrion said tightly. "You don't get to just ignore the orders you don't agree with."

"The end result was worth it," Mithos said, stepping forward. "We managed to end this without bloodshed."

"The end does not justify the means. The entire army falls apart with that kind of thinking that you all do. There is a chain of command that must be obeyed."

"So what happens to us then?" Yuan asked.

"This isn't the first time that you two have demonstrated this kind of rebellious behavior." Myra stood with her arms crossed beside Lyrion. Yuan glanced over to Alstan, who hadn't said a word since they'd been called into the command tent. His lips were tight, jaw clenched. Not good news. "In fact, you have a history of it. Regardless of the reason, or the results, we have decided to discharge you. Dishonorably. We cannot condone this behavior in the military."

"You said 'we'. Who decided?" Kratos asked.

"The four of us took a vote," Viren answered. "Majority ruled."

"That's bullshit, Viren!" Yuan exclaimed. "You agreed with the decision to try for a treaty!" Viren had been the first one Yuan found when he'd returned to camp with the news that Gower had agreed.

"I agreed with the result, not the action." Viren's eyes were hard, still not quite able to mask the pain left behind from Zaren. "This isn't personal. I have to act as an example for this army."

Martel, who had been quietly absorbing everything, finally spoke up. "Just to be clear—who is being discharged?"

"Kratos and Yuan. You and Mithos are certainly accomplices, but they are the ones who deserted, and therefore will take the punishment."

"Oh good." Martel's tone immediately put everyone on edge. It was entirely too pleasant and polite. "I'd hate to think you lot were biased and self-serving."

Lyrion was the only one to challenge that tone. "Excuse me?"

"We are equally as guilty in all of this, but you want to keep Mithos and I around because it suits you. The army is low enough on Healers as it is, and Mithos' pacts with the Summon Spirits are an enormous advantage for you." Kratos and Yuan exchanged a look, glad that her anger—which had gone positively icy—wasn't directed at them. "You honored them for killing men, and you're discharging them for saving lives. You may not see the fault in that logic, but I most certainly do. We're leaving."

Yuan's jaw dropped a little, and he tried to speak, but the words were stuck.

Martel arched a brow at him, imperious as a queen. "Did you have anything to add?"

There was really only one answer to that. "No ma'am."

Mithos was the last one to be jolted from shock, and had to jog a little to follow them out. (He has seen his sister do things like this before, being powerful, demanding attention and respect. It's something he finds incredible, and he will never cease to be stunned at how Martel knows how to command a room)

"Martel—you—" It took Yuan a few tries to get his words in the right order. "Are you sure about this? I mean—" The military was as safe a place as any she could find for her and Mithos, a place where both of them had respectable work and a roof over their heads—even if half the time, it was only a canvas one. A place where they could both grow into their incredible potential.

Martel turned on her heel so abruptly that Yuan had to dig his heels into the dirt to stop from crashing into her. He felt Kratos bump him. "You two are our family," she said. "We're with you, no matter what."

"Besides," Mithos added. "We're just as guilty as you are. Martel covered for you, and this whole thing was my idea."

"But—where will we go?" Kratos asked. It was a question he hadn't had to ask in years now, because they'd found a home. And now they were being forced to leave again.

"Well, I've been doing some thinking—"

"It's been fifteen minutes!" Yuan said. "How much thinking could you have done?"

"I figured that they'd probably pull something like this," Mithos replied, shrugging. "And I don't want to keep being their pawn. So…there's still other Summon Spirit pacts. We can go make them while still advocating for peace."

Yuan looked over his shoulder at Kratos. "Well? You've barely said a thing."

Kratos bit his lip a little before grinning tentatively. "It's a better idea than we had the first time we set out on our own. I say let's do it."

Yuan hooked his arms around Kratos and Martel, yanking them into a tight hug. He waved Mithos into it too, unwilling to let his family go. (He has a family again. It's something that hits him powerfully now; he's not alone. It's not him-and-Kratos against the world. With the Yggdrasills added into the equation, they can surely take on anything)

"Where will you go?"

Kratos looked up from where he was packing his and Yuan's meager belongings. Yuan had to run to the blacksmith to see about picking up his rings. Alstan hovered just out of the doorway, looking older than he'd ever seen him.

"We're going to find a peaceful way to end all this, and make pacts with the Summon Spirits at the same time."

"You really think it can be done?"

"Yeah." Mithos' conviction was contagious, and hadn't he and Yuan just proved that people were willing to settle for peace?

Alstan huffed. "Well, if anyone could prove the world wrong, it would be you four." Alstan looked at the young man in front of him, thought of Yuan, and he felt a surge of pride. It was perfectly likely that Alstan would never have children—he'd never been very interested in them, or in making them—but he imagined, with Kratos and Yuan, that this was what having sons must be like. They had grown so much from the brave, frightened children he'd met all those years ago.

"…Send word, when you can?" Alstan was old. Not, perhaps, in terms of the elves. He was barely past middle-aged in those terms, but he felt old. Time was a heavy thing to rest on one's shoulders, and he was so tired of losing people. Friends, family, soldiers under his command. He needed to know that these boys—these men—were doing alright in a world that hated them. He wanted to believe that they would be fine, but he was too realistic for that.

Kratos smiled gently. "You're getting sentimental in your old age."

Before Alstan could reprimand him for disrespect, Kratos added, "But we will. You know us—we've never exactly been subtle."

"I don't think you guys know the meaning of the word."

Kratos barked a laugh, but quickly quieted. "…I'm worried about my classroom, Alstan. I don't want it to just…stagnate and get left behind. But I won't be able to teach them anymore. And—I know you're busy. Everyone is. I just—if you can find anyone who can teach them, even if it's not on a regular basis—"

"I will."

Kratos jolted in surprise, staring up at Alstan. "But, your duties—"

"I'm not going to say that it's going to be a common thing. You're right, we are busy. But I'll do my best to teach them when I can. I don't think finding another teacher to help will be easy, but I'll see what I can do."

Alstan was still quietly furious at the fact that Viren—of all people—had voted for discharging them. They'd done a great thing, even if they had disobeyed orders. Alstan would have agreed to punishing them somehow, to keep the order in the military, but to discharge them entirely was a foolish decision. They could stay in the city; they'd only been discharged from the military after all, but neither Kratos nor Yuan were any good at staying behind when battles were being fought.

They would have made good teachers, the both of them, Alstan thought fondly. Kratos with his patience and enthusiasm, Yuan with his energy and the way he put people at ease. They were good for this community. People had come to trust and like Kratos, despite his blood, and the children never learned to be afraid of him. At first, Alstan had wondered if, perhaps, Yuan-and-Kratos had been a fluke, that humans and half-elves as a whole couldn't get along like that, but he'd been wrong. He wanted to preserve that feeling, that legacy here in this city.

Kratos beamed at him. "Thank you."

"About that commission…"

The blacksmith looked up from his dinner of thin soup and some mutton. "The rings are done."

Yuan shifted on his feet, hating the lightness of the coins in his pocket. He'd been poor all his life; he'd slept on the cold ground more often than he had a bed, but he'd never been ashamed of it until now. "Thank you, but—I'm afraid I don't have the money for them."

The blacksmith sighed, setting his fork and knife down. "Spit it out."

"Kratos and I were discharged today. We're leaving the city." And everyone knew that their odds of making it back alive were rather low. Yuan dug the coins from his pockets. There had been much of his life when this much gald would have sent him over the moon, more money than he'd ever had at one time, but now? It wasn't nearly enough. "I mean, I brought what I have, but…"

They'd agreed to pay in installments, some of Yuan's paycheck every few weeks. It had been a fair deal, had let Yuan breathe through the thought of never having enough for the lovely rings.

The blacksmith looked at the coins gathered in Yuan's hand. He knew the young man well enough; earnest, hard-working, a family man. It was why he'd agreed to the installment plan in the first place. He almost wanted to take the money and give him the rings anyway; the blacksmith had been poor before. He knew how much it burned to never have enough.

But Yuan was also a proud man—and rightfully so. He'd earned his way to where he was—and wouldn't accept anything possibly perceived as charity.

He took the money from Yuan's hands; not all of it, but a decent sum. "I'll take this as an investment. You lot really believe in this peace nonsense." And they'd proven it was possible. He'd been braced for many funerals, ready to make quite a few talismans to place on bodies for protection, but there had been no need. And it was thanks to them. "If you believe in it that much, you come back when the war's over, and you pay me back for the rest. Plus interest."

Yuan grinned, life returning to him. "You got yourself a deal."

The blacksmith got to his feet, knees creaking and cracking, to get the box from his storage area. They were a lovely pair of rings, he had to say; Yuan had a good eye for design. Made half of gold, half of steel—a mix that suited the both of them, but particularly Martel. Engraved on the inside were their names, Martel-and-Yuan, linked together with woven ivy leaves whose pattern continued on the outside.

"Best of luck, boy."

"Don't forget to take this."

Martel was surprised that Myra even bothered to visit at all. To be fair, it was Myra's clinic, but the place had become something like a home. (It's been a long time since home was a physical place. Ever since they were run out of Heimdall, her home has been Mithos. And then Kratos-and-Yuan had expanded that. But Martel will miss this place, and that is a feeling she isn't used to)

"Thank you." Martel said curtly, taking the offered batch of precious apple and orange gels. There wouldn't be any more gels until after the next harvest.

"They would've been killed. You understand that, right? None of you are invincible."

"Of course I know that."

"We can't have them constantly putting themselves and others at risk like that."

"Some things are worth risking everything for."

"Sure," Myra agreed. "But the things that you all seem to think are worth it are impossible dreams."

"We disagree." Martel sat back on her heels, setting down the rolls of bandages that she was taking with her. Myra looked even taller from this angle, but she also looked incredibly tired. "…Why are you so afraid?"

(Martel's strength is a daunting thing. Myra doesn't understand how she can have such little fear when those boys of hers were so vulnerable, when they did such reckless things that could get them killed. She has so much to lose, and yet, she never backs down from that fact, never cowers, and for that, Myra admires her)

"…I lost everything once already. I refuse to let it happen again." Martel reminded Myra so much of herself, all those years ago. A promising talent and intellect, a lover, a child, friends. She had hope, was happy to help everyone. The bitterness hadn't hit her yet, disillusionment still little more than a nightmare. She hoped that Martel's path was different than hers, that it didn't end with her being alone in the world. (Except for Alstan. He's stubborn like that, but at the moment, he's not happy with her for voting in favor of the dishonorable discharge)

"I won't lose them."

"You can't control that."

Martel bared her teeth in a vicious, terrible smile. "I'd like to see the world try."

(Martel has defied nations, and castes, and religions to defend her and Mithos. She has fought mobs and monsters, has survived storms and sickness and starvation. She won't allow the world to take her family)

Looking at that expression, at the steel in those eyes, Myra knew that she wouldn't be able to dissuade her former pupil from her course, as she'd been intending to do. "…I wish you the best, then."

Kratos found Mithos sitting in a tree at their designated meeting spot near the edge of town. He was staring out at the city, back against the trunk, his pack settled on the ground beneath him. Kratos set his own pack and sword down beside Mithos', climbing up to sit on a nearby branch.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Kratos asked. He doubted that Mithos would ever be anywhere without Martel, but the question had to be asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I've always thought it was weird, when I heard the other soldiers talking about being homesick. I didn't understand it."

"But you do now?"

Mithos shook his head. "No. I thought I might, now that we're leaving. This is the first place I can remember living in, y'know? I don't remember Heimdall, like Martel does. 's why I came up here, to look at the city. But…nothing. I think I'll miss some pieces of it, but…I don't regret the decision to leave, and I don't feel like I'm missing anything."

Kratos carefully brought one knee up so he could rest an elbow on it, trying not to unbalance himself. "I felt the same way when Yuan and I left for military school. I was afraid to go, but when we got there, I realized that I never did miss home. I didn't miss it when we left the school either."

Mithos turned to look at him. "Think there's something wrong with us?"

Kratos snorted. "No. I think we're the kind of people that have home with people, not places."

Mithos hummed thoughtfully, thinking of Martel, of Kratos and Yuan. It sounded right. "I think that makes more sense. Places can be taken away."

"So can people," Kratos pointed out.

"True. But I don't much like the idea of being in one place for so long." Mithos smiled a little. "I like travelling, dangerous as it is."

"I enjoy travelling, but…I think I would like a place to return to. A place that's mine."

Mithos considered that thought, but he couldn't imagine it. What would he even fill a home up with? Books? "I think any place of mine would look more like a library."

"Mine too," Kratos laughed.

"Maybe a garden," Mithos added. He'd learned a lot of plants with Martel, and he liked the fresh scent of sage, and the sturdiness of verbena.

"I'm terrible with plants," Kratos said. "But I think a garden would suit you. Or at least a flowerbox."

"I think you would have art on the walls too. Not the fancy kind, but just…things your students would make you." Mithos could picture it quite clearly now that he'd thought about it. "Clumpy teapots, drawings on the walls, a whole drawer full of the stories they write. And a lot of windows too. You would like a lot of light."

Huh. Kratos looked out towards the city, trying to imagine Mithos' words. He did kind of like the idea. Of being in a place steady enough to have students, to watch them grow and mature, even long after they'd stopped taking lessons with him. To celebrate their achievements, to teach their children. "That sounds like a nice life."

"Planning for the future already, Kratos?" Both of them looked down to see Yuan smiling up at them. He put a dramatic hand over his heart. "I always knew you would leave me for a younger man."

Mithos threw an acorn at him, landing squarely on his forehead, making him yelp. "Oh don't complain," he called down. "You cheated first, remember? With my sister!"

"You're cheating on me now?" Martel said, her pack slung over her shoulder, grinning at Yuan's sputtering. "With Kratos too. Well, I should've known." She kissed Kratos' cheek as he finished climbing down. "But who can say no to this handsome face?"

Yuan clapped a friendly hand to Kratos' red cheek. "I know, right? This face is the inspiration for poetry the world over."

"Shut up." Kratos shoved his best friend away, laughing.

(Yeah. Home is them, Kratos knows this now. Home is Yuan's familiarity, his warmth and ferocity. Home is Martel's sweetness and steel will, her arms around him. Home is Mithos' smile, his wicked fast humor and cleverness, his quiet vulnerabilities. Kratos can't imagine wanting to be without them)