(A/N) Next chapter done! Thanks for the reviews, guys, it's good to know how this stuff is coming across to the readers. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned ToS, I'd play Kratos' theme during the intro and I'd also have them give audio to the skits (like in ToS 2, but I'm still pretending they didn't make that travesty...), but sadly I don't own. So please don't sue! XP

Chapter 9

Kratos glared vehemently at the surrounding vegetation. There were no flowers. Not a single remotely colorful petal. Weeds and wiry bushes littered the sparse peak, but for the most part it was a barren and rocky region with little life whatsoever. He sat dejected dangerously close to the edge. Xilia was a dimwit. He should have known better than to accept such a ludicrous task. It was late afternoon by now, and the sun hung languidly just past its zenith.

Kratos took the time to appreciate his work, and carelessly let his legs sway over the edge. A wide blue sky stretched flawlessly across the horizon, paling as it met the earth. There was something wonderful in the solitude. A breeze ruffled his hair and the temperature, that would most certainly be warm down at sea level, was pleasantly cool at this altitude. From up here, he could spot the city that was Sybak, and the surrounding wooded region. Mountains and hills rolled through the land like a frozen wave, and the creatures trapped to its surface seemed small and insignificant.

Humans, elves, dwarves and anyone in between really didn't see the big picture. He could see everything from up on the mountain's peak and petty territorial disputes didn't matter where he was. Sighing softly at the incompetence of mankind, Kratos hoisted himself up and grabbed a fistful of weeds. He'd need a flower substitute for Xilia's stupid proof. Dusting himself off, Kratos began the trek back.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Yuan was barely holding his temper. Any second now and it would skyrocket out of control. He kept his fists cemented tightly to his sides, if only for fear of brutally mauling the idiotic man in front of him and eliciting a court marshal. He would do no good for his troops if he was discharged.

"It was the only option." The man grudgingly admitted, though he saved Yuan from any retaliating anger that might have entered his tone in another circumstance. Yuan was understandably upset at the turn of events. In fact, upon hearing the news he'd sprinted the last half of the distance to Triet. The rookie soldier was left in the dust, unable to match Yuan's stride. He'd made up so much time that it was only early evening, when he was going to have to stop for the night along the way. Panting and fuming, he'd barreled his way to the military headquarters of Triet and marched himself right up to the commander in chief stationed there.

"No it wasn't." Yuan's tone was eerily calm now, and had a dangerous edge to it. He was being incredibly disrespectful to his superior, but if the army didn't need its ass handed to it every once in a while, then he wouldn't have had to take this stand. They'd crossed a line.

"Anything else would have resulted in a substantial loss of territory to the Tethe'allans, and we'd already lost too much ground on that front to ignore." He was patronizing him, Yuan realized. With evident disgust flashing through his features, Yuan grimaced.

"Then lose the damn territory!" He barked, "It's not worth killing off an entire regiment under faulty command!" He narrowed his eyes. This war was degrading quickly into mindless idiocy. Lives merited so much more than feet of territory, but everyone had become so disturbingly desensitized to death, that they no longer knew their true worth.

"Countless lives were given to get that land, and I will not have their sacrifice be in vain!" He retorted angrily raising his voice.

"The dead are dead and we can't change that, but we're never going to stop the killing unless something gives!" Yuan's yelling escalated to a new high in the conversation. The man couldn't get it through his thick skull that something was wrong, soon to be irrevocable if they didn't fix it.

"The Tethe'allans have to give first!" Yuan spun on his heel and barged right out the double swinging doors so that they were left flapping fiercely in his wake. What a childish notion. Was that what his men, his family, were going to die for? They were so much more than that. He was going to stop them, no matter what the Sylvaranti Chief had to say about it.

Someone had obviously gotten the message to leave him alone, because no one bothered to debrief him or stop him on his way out. At least these idiots had a good sense of self preservation. He wasted no time grabbing a horse and riding off into the sands.

Kratos figured he'd made up plenty of time on the way down, so he had an hour or so to spare along the way back. He wasn't in a rush to get back to his room and do nothing. Deciding on a leisurely pace to walk at, his right hand brushed his left shoulder eliciting a stab of pain. It wasn't a bad injury, per se, but it was part of the reason he'd made up so much time on the way down.

Precariously picking his way down the steep slope was more difficult than going up, if only because he couldn't see the hand and footholds as well. He'd gotten about half of the way off the mountain without incident, until a slip in concentration led him to neglect an unstable ledge. Fully putting his weight on his left foot resulted in the rock dislodging from the cliff and a total immersion in the stomach wrenching free-fall. Kratos had gathered his senses rather quickly and the adrenaline pulsing through his veins made the world sparkle in burning clarity. Both his arms scrabbled along the edge of the cliff searching for purchase on its coarse surface. His left arm jerked painfully upward as he managed to catch himself on a protruding root thick enough to hold him up. A searing ache ripped through his shoulder, but he knew well enough that it wasn't dislocated. He'd felt that before, and this, though admittedly painful, wasn't the same kind of pain. After slipping his right arm up to relieve some of his weight, finding footholds was simple.

He was breathing heavily, and after slumping to rest on a wider (and solidly supported) landing, Kratos inspected the damage. His shoulder throbbed and felt as if he had over stretched it. Hopefully that just meant he had strained it and not torn anything. He could fully move everything, which was a good sign, if not for the unpleasantly piercing sting that followed. His hands were scratched and bloodied, the left one with something akin to rope burn, but the scratches weren't very deep. He wasn't that beat up. Glancing back up, Kratos saw the disfigurement in the cliff side where he'd slipped. It was a good twenty yards above his current position, and he'd only transversed about five yards since. Luckily enough for him, that was the steepest part. The mountainside began to smooth out a bit below him, and sooner or later he'd be able to walk the rest of the way instead of climb.

Now he was at that point, and the walk gave his arms a rest. Surprisingly, though he wasn't as tired as he would be expecting, even with heightened endurance. It was a good thing it was his left shoulder, as he needed to be able to properly defend himself. He wasn't incapable of fighting with his left hand, but he was not as well practiced with it as he was his right. As it got dark, he'd have to expect more monsters, though sunset was still a couple of hours off.

His feet found the path easily, as the woods weren't that thick and it was the second time he'd gone over it. Kratos found that he really did enjoy walks, they were good for reflecting, and he didn't have any pesky interruptions marring his contemplation. Nostalgia or something of the sort had taken hold of him, and Kratos fondly wondered what his sister might be doing, and how his father was faring. A row like they'd had was merely a difference of ideals, and he hoped his father had understood that much. He'd get a chance to explain better after Nyx was officially became the successor to the Aurion throne. Kratos had never been, well, good with people, and for that reason they seldom saw his point of view. He couldn't accurately represent the people of Tethe'alla when he didn't agree with them, so that would be a travesty of a government if he were in charge. He could hardly force them to desire peace, so he'd have to do it the old fashioned way. Somehow he needed to end this dispute, and he couldn't do that from a cushy throne. Not without it being a dictatorship. To do this, he'd have to eventually play both sides, and that might work best if he didn't have obligations to either.

Kratos broke from his musings as he heard the rustling of brush to his left, most likely a monster of sorts. It sounded as if the leaves were thrashed lightly by wind, but there was no breeze. He drew his blade out of the leather sheath cautiously, while swiftly turning to face the noise. There was no use startling a creature that might not be malicious.

"Whoa there!" A young man's voice called out from behind him, sounding flustered all the while. Kratos nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice had come from behind him, not where he had expected. The small noise he'd heard didn't sound large enough to be human generated either. He spun around quickly enough, still keeping his sword handy.

A young man, perhaps in his late twenties stood crouched on a low oak branch thick enough to support him and just above Kratos' eye level. He tilted his head up to meet steel grey eyes. The man wore fighting garb, but oddly enough didn't appear to have a weapon. Dark, striking features carved out his eyebrows and hair while a thin piece of cloth covered his nose and mouth. The covering was a signature characteristic of the ninja of Mizuho, Kratos realized. At least it wasn't another Sylvaranti.

Despite the presence of a gleaming sword between them, the man managed a smile at Kratos' inquisitive look. Kratos assumed it was a smile from the way his eyes crinkled up affably. The gold lacing on the shoulders of his jacket suggested he was a royal official from Meltokio, and Kratos lowered his sword a bit. Still on edge, this man hopefully wasn't in search of him. He would've come with a sword in that case. The smile slowly faded as the courier realized Kratos didn't intend on speaking immediately.

"Just passing by, I didn't mean to startle you." He leapt nimbly down from his branch and stood squarely to his full height. Kratos frowned at the insinuation, and the tone the man was patronizing him with. It was as if he was some little kid the way this man was talking to him.

"You didn't startle me." He promptly killed any chance the man had at an easy introduction.

"Good! Not many people notice my passing, and you looked prepared to skewer me!" He was still annoyingly chipper about it. Kratos suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Is there something wrong at Meltokio?" Kratos inquired, the man wasn't getting anywhere anytime soon and he desired to propel the conversation along. The man looked pleasantly surprised at Kratos' pick up on his attire before his face darkened.

"Ah- so you haven't heard? It's a shame really. I was sent to spread the news along with a couple others just yesterday." Kratos was paying rapt attention now. "I'll be heading to Flanoir next, for the same reason." Patience was not one of Kratos' prime virtues.

"What is it?" An anxious feeling was welling up in his chest. The man's eyebrows quirked down, in a good impression of grim seriousness.

"Good King Aurion passed away just the other day. The funeral is going to be held at the end of the week." Kratos blinked.

"Pardon?" He stared uncomprehendingly at the ninja messenger.

"The King is dead. From illness." The man shook his head sadly, sympathetically. Kratos felt the weight crush him, and his breathing quickened. Harshly, he closed the emotions from his face and mustered an unintelligent "Oh." He almost felt as if he was going to be sick. Dead? The grief crawled up his throat and his muscles tensed rigidly. His father couldn't be dead. His eyes flashed back to the moment as the courier gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Kratos flinched away from the unwelcome touch to his left side injury. The pain helped him refocus.

"Thanks for telling me, I'll be on my way then." He managed as cordially as possible without letting any intense sadness creep into his tone. Regular citizens were much more distanced from the king, he couldn't act like he was about to break down.

"Sorry, kid." The man averted his gaze guiltily as the bringer of bad news. His choppy shock of black hair licked up in a couple of areas and he nervously smoothed it down. "Guess I'll be off, too. Flanoir's a long walk." He sighed and disappeared into the woods as quickly as he came, leaving Kratos dumbstruck with his sword drawn. He sheathed it and slipped slowly to the ground while leaning heavily against the nearest tree.

He felt heavier. Nervously his hands kneaded the floury soil that powdered the dry forest ground. His father had died. Ceased breathing. Kratos hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. A rising turmoil of guilt and dread and overwhelming grief threatened to drown him. It was his fault, too. He might as well have stabbed him in the heart. And Nyx, oh God, what had he put her through? Now she was forced into an early inheritance of the throne. She was strong, though. She could manage. Absently, Kratos noticed his left hand was searing. It didn't really matter, did it? He was far past caring about his own discomfort.

However, it was distracting.

Kratos glanced down at his Cruxis Crystal to see the gem blazing white hot bands of heat. It coursed up his body, and made his skin tingle feverishly. His hand was burning ferociously where it met the exsphere, and Kratos furrowed his brow. It wasn't supposed to do that. He was prepared to yank the rock off, but the thing dimmed after the short burst of frenetic energy. A rapid cooling sensation replaced the heat, and Kratos curiously examined his hand. It didn't look any different to him, but he'd better get it back to Xilia and possibly remove it.

He should never have left Meltokio. His father's illness was partly due to an aging immune system, and an accumulation of hard losses. Selfishly, he'd become the proverbial final straw that broke the man. He'd dealt with loss before, but Kratos had never been the cause of death. He could have done any number of things to prevent it. His father could be alive and talking to him in his warm and authoritative tenor at this very moment. But he wouldn't be doing that anymore. Contrary to their differences, Kratos still held tremendous respect for him as leader. Knowing that the man probably regretted their final conversation all the way to his grave splintered Kratos' resolve. Another one dead while he was only doing his utmost to prevent death. He couldn't even manage that properly.

Kratos hefted himself up from his limp sitting position and purposefully jarred his shoulder and was rough on his scratched hands. The dull stinging was a much better replacement for the knife that wrenched in his gut when he thought about his father lying cold and lifeless in a coffin. His feet were numb as they deftly lead him back to Sybak.

When Daisuke returned to the research institute, Xilia noticed an immediate change in his demeanor. For starters he was pretty well worn and relatively beat up. Scratches left light trails of red down his arms while his hands were dirty and had a few nasty gashes that had already stopped bleeding. If she were the type to bet, she'd wager that the climb had not been an easy one. Remorse flushed her features, but she'd expected the boy to be raging mad that she'd accidentally sent him on a wild goose chase.

This new Daisuke was mute and stolid, though he wasn't particularly emotional before. He was even more detached, and his wine-colored eyes seemed to be sullen and brooding. He didn't even muster a greeting, as she called out to him. Instead, she saw the boy roughly reach into the flap of his tunic and wrench a crumpled wad of weeds out. Daisuke dropped said weeds on the lab counter in front of her and muttered something like 'Damn proof' almost too quietly to hear before marching himself out.

Xilia didn't really have the heart to stop him and examine the exsphere. It was her mistake after all. Though she'd rather he got treated for his cuts or other injuries, he'd probably rather get a good night's rest and come in the morning. He was still wearing the heart monitor as well. She'd get it back the next day, anyhow.

That reminded her. She spun in her revolving chair to face her computer station monitor and pulled up the data from his expedition today. High heart rates would mean more stress exerted on his body, and therefore more situations for the Crystal to adapt to. Daisuke's pace of how hard he strained himself would determine the speed at which the technology matured itself, and she was interested in his progress. Her eyes widened behind the flashing lenses as they darted along the reading graphs. His heart rate spiked repeatedly, and his recovery time had vastly decreased in between spikes. Obviously the strain was taking its toll on him, if his recent behavior was anything to go by.

Xilia resolved to send him on something easier, or give him a day off. This was too much. Checking the time stamp, she saw that the last major spike in his heart rate was only about an hour ago. Far too recent to have been attributed to mountain climbing. Monster interference? Not likely, Daisuke didn't even reach those levels of stress in his duel with that half-elf the other day. Perhaps it was a mental stress. She'd investigate tomorrow. The kid had been stressed more than enough today, and she felt bad enough as it was. Sympathy and guilt washed over her. The experiment shouldn't have been this traumatic.

Just what was Daisuke going through?

(A/N) Drop me a review! I'll get the next chapter out soon!