Shadow
Okay, people, this is supposed to be a story two years before Kratos met Mithos and Martel. In the beginning, it's a couple of days after Kratos left with Derris-Kharlan. When the beginning of the story that he remembers starts to come up, Kratos is 7 years old with curiosity that knows no bounds. One more thing, THIS IS TRAGEDIC! I cried…
Mr.Who2123: Alright, my first off the real story plot! I felt like using Kratos as the victim, I mean the main character.
Kratos: …what exactly will happen to me?
Mr.Who2123: ummm…ummmm. Just read it okay?
Kratos: …humph. Mr.Who2123 does not own Tales of Symphonia, but she does own shadow, druids, and the prophecy village (no, it's not Iselia!)
Mr.Who2123: Alright let's go!
Derris Kharlan floated lifelessly in the depths of space, glowing with a dim purple hue. So close to Symphonia, Derris Kharlan seemed like the dark side of Symphonia itself, like two images in a mirror, except Derris Kharlan was dark. Inside the mass of mana was a hero of Symphonia, Kratos. In a large, red chair, he thought of his life, his crimes, and his dark past. He remembered Lloyd, his optimistic and forgiving son, and of Anna, his sweet wife who died by the evils of Mithos. Kratos' right hand clenched hard in his memories. Of all his memories, one shone brightly, yet it was one he could least remember.
Centuries ago, two forces drove humans, half elves, and elves alike into fear every day. These two forces were unstoppable, unless by their own kind. Druids, masters of black magic, and shadows, beasts said to be born of an evil more powerful than the druids themselves.
Druids. Said to be people with their souls sucked right out of them, and the shells aree druids, looking for a soul, one soul to bring them back to life. Their whole bodies are covered in their cloaks except for a thin opening where the eyes would be. Instead of eyes, however, are two glowing white eyes that are filled with lifeless despair. Their dark arts are superior to ant magic and can kill in the blink of an eye. Just by looking into the white lights of a druid's eyes is enough to kill you in minutes. They send shivers down your spine, your heart tingles, and you fall, all to gazing into the fateful eyes. Druids are nuetral, though, and do not attack...unless approached.
No one even knows what a shadow is. Some claim to see them as twisted, black forms of humans wrought of soul and body, and their hatred surfaces to form them. They will forever be enigimas...
These two forces will come to an end by a boy with dark arts just like the druids. That is the prophecy of a small village that lies close to the Western Temple. They are the only people that believe that, and have continuous faith in the prophecy. The village was called Arciona, and no one ever came to that village, for the village was dangerously close to the temple of dark, where druids and shadows are believed to be held. Because of isolation, the villagers were poor, but believed in their prophecy no matter what.
In this village, druids passed by, going about their mysterious business. They would pass right through the town without looking anywhere except for their destination. They passed twice a year, and the villagers watched, at a distance, the mysterious creatures.
It was on one of these days, the prophecy was fulfilled. A druid passed by the village for the second time that year. People who were brave enough would watch it pass by at the sides of it, speechless and in fear of any noise they make.
One of the spectators was a mother, with smooth black hair tied into a ponytail. She wore a long, simple blue dress and watched the druid, speechless. Holding tight onto this woman's hand was a small boy of about seven. He had auburn hair that spiked up, though his bangs covered part of his left eye. He was clutching onto his mother's hand tightly, watching the druid in amazement. It moved slowly, floating through the air, its white eyes fixed ahead of him.
The young boy enjoyed watching the druids, although everyone else was frightened. Kratos had loved the stories that his mother told him of the druids, and how they are silent and deadly. Kratos wanted to be as strong as a druid and fight one when he was older. With a deep breath, Kratos let go of his amazed mother's hand and ran towards the druid. Kratos' mother gasped in desperation, though didn't make a noise for fear took over her. Kratos bravely grabbed the cloak of the druid, but stopped as the druid stopped and turned around.
"Kratos!" the mother yelled. She was about to run to the boy, but the druid had moved its eyes to her, and she stayed put. The druid turned completely around, facing towards the fateful child. Kratos began to regret his decision as he let go of the cape and stepped backwards.
The druid was now staring at Kratos' hazel eyes. Slowly, it lifted up its hand until it was right in front of Kratos' wide eyes. A black void was inside the large sleeve of his cloak, and the dark in there never seemed to end. A black magic circle appeared underneath the druid, but the mana had reached out and was under Kratos as well. The young boy grew afraid and tried to run, but the black under him wouldn't even let him turn his head.
The druid let his hand move an inch closer to Kratos, nearly touching his nose. Suddenly, a blast of mana shot Kratos square in the face, and knocked him back into wall of a stone house. The boy's mother screamed his name and ran over to her son, who was black and bloody. The dark energy surrounded him, but before his mother could see, it was absorbed by Kratos.
Kratos' mother grabbed Kratos who was unconscious and cried. She picked him up, and brought him into their house. Kratos' injuries were severe; they had never seen a druid act that way.
The rest of the day, people talked of Kratos and his unfortunate fate.
"The druid acted strange, usually, he just turns to look at you and you die. He blasted the poor boy, and probably killed him that instant," one villager, a middle aged man with a trimmed beard. The other, his wife, nodded.
"Poor woman. She won't leave Kratos no matter what we say."
Kratos woke the next morning, aching to the bone. He couldn't move without wincing in pain, and it even hurt to breath.. He tried to move his arms, but they ached so much, he could only inch them slightly. Kratos' mother stood next to him, her eyes were red with drowsiness, but she watched her son diligently. When she saw him wake up, she jumped.
"Kratos?" she asked, stroking his auburn hair, the boy turned his head a little, and looked at his mother. Kratos' mother began crying with joy. Somehow, the boy survived, and the news was to be spread across the village. Kratos tried to smile, but failed, only moving his lips.
Soon enough, everyone knew of Kratos, the boy who survived the druid's attack. He was practically famous. His wounds healed at an amazing pace, and life was normal again…mostly.
It was a school day for Kratos, and all of the class sat in their desks. Kratos went to get his pencil, but when he moved his hand, he noticed it was gone. Kratos screamed, and everyone turned around, wondering what happened. Kratos looked at everyone, and back at his hand, which was there again.
"Sorry, I thought I saw something weird," he said and smiled apologetically. Kratos looked back at his hand. He knew it was gone, but why?
Mr.Who2123: Sorry it's so short, but I want to finish my other story
Kratos: What the heck are you doing with me?
Mr.Who2123: Hehehehe…I mean…it'll all workout, Kratos.
Kratos: humph, please review
(Note: I have updated this chapter at 4/10/07)