"Does your dad come home today?"
Kratos looked up through his long, spiked bangs that hung over his eyes as Miles entered the room. His father had been away on a research assignment for nearly a year now, and the 15 year old teenager was preparing for his 'grand return'. In reality, Kratos just rolled his eyes at the speeches the scholars gave him about how he would have to look his best to greet his old man. They kept trying to make him cut his longer, spiked hair back to how it was a few years previously, but Kratos persisted that he retained his hair the way it was.
"Yeah. He gets in late afternoon." Kratos replied, buckling up his black boots and tucking his black combats into them silently.
Miles fiddled with the exquisite purple drapes that hung by the window in Kratos's room. The two boys were as close as ever, and Miles had become more and more accustomed to Kratos's insane ideas for escaping their adjacent manors without the scholars noticing. They had been caught on a number of occasions and many a wooden sword had been confiscated, but the two boys had persisted with their antics much to the displeasure of the scholars.
"They want you to go to that crazy dinner thing tonight?" Miles asked cooly, adjusting his uncomfortable jacket.
"Of course, my father has returned home to 'high Meltokio society', they will want the next historian in the family to sit on the top table," came the sarcastic reply. Miles grinned causing Kratos to narrow his eyes, "Besides...they will want you to be there too! Your old man will be present, so I don't see why you won't have to go."
Miles pouted and sat down on the soft four poster bed with a thump, "Aw, that's so unfair. I was hoping I could get out to do some practise tonight."
"What alone? What a loser..." Kratos murmured, stiffling a grin, "Who are you supposed to spar with if I'm not there?"
"I wasn't going to spar!" Miles countered, "I was just going to practise some techniques...you have gotta give me time to get as good as you at some point, Kratos! Heck, you can buy a real sword when you're 16, that's not even that long!"
Kratos grinned at his friend and shook some hair out of his face. He toyed with the idea of putting a grey bomber jacket on, but decided to stick with his black tank top on the hot Tethe'alla day.
"Come on, Miles," Kratos stood, stretching his arms out in front of him to loosen his shoulders, "How about we go and see if we can grab some food from the kitchen, I'm dying here."
"Master Aurion"
Kratos sighed and turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder. A black suited servant with a neat comb-over and moustache stood behind him, arms held smartly behind his back.
"Master Aurion, it is time to go. Master Lowthian will be meeting you at the banquet," the servant stated curtly. Kratos rolled his eyes and shuffled towards the door, following the servant and ajdusting his tightly fitted suit jacket in the process.
The room was expectably grand. Stuffing his hands in his pockets agressively, Kratos scanned the room for signs of Miles. He spotted two large rebellious bangs of brown hair, out of place in a place such as this, and the small wiry frame of his best friend. Miles seemed bored as his father was deep in conversation with a group of other men. Kratos knew the ways of the aristocracy, and felt it best to leave him alone as it would be frowned upon for the son of a well known businessman to leave his father's side during a conversation with peers.
"Master Aurion, your father has arrived back in the city safely and wishes for you to meet him in the side hall to greet him."
"Joys..." Kratos replied, following the same servant to the side hall of the banquet room.
Closing the large oak-pannelled door behind him, Kratos stared at the back of his father. Charles Aurion was a tall, stocky man with broad shoulders and a stiff upper body. His pointed face was framed by dark black glasses and his auburn hair was combed neatly to the side. Kratos had spent much of his childhood being told how much he resembled his father, and subconsciously did everything he could to make himself appear different.
"Kratos. It is good to see you my son."
Kratos scowled as his father stepped towards him and pulled him into a one-sided hug. The teenager just let his hands fall limply to his sides as his father clutched him.
"Let me look at you," Charles stepped back and held on to his son's shoulders, "You have matured greatly over the year, Kratos. I can see you have begun to transform into a fine young man."
A soft smile appeared on the historians face as he removed his hands and stepped backwards, the aristocratic facade fading for a second. Kratos stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his black trousers.
"Did your trip go well, Father?" Kratos mumbled politely as he had been told to, his right toe drawing small circles on the wooden panelled floor.
"It was a fascinating trail through Tethe'alla, Kratos, very rewarding indeed. I trust you are progressing well with your studies?" Charles nodded to the servant who had escorted Kratos to the side-hall, watching the man leave the room silently. His eyes fell back on his son, who was staring intently at the floor as he replied.
"Yes, Father. I have become proficient in the language of the-"
"Kratos, listen to me, I haven't got much time."
Kratos looked up as his father's voice dropped to a whisper. The historian stepped forwards and crouched, hands resting on Kratos's arms just above his elbows.
"I will be leaving again in the morning, something happened during my trip and there is suspicion that my colleagues and I have been passing information over to the Sylverant government."
Kratos's eyes widened, "But Father, you could get done for treason!"
"I know, son, that's why I have to go. The King's men are petty, our group merely stretched out a hand of friendship to the history academy in Palmacosta, but the King's forces assume we were passing on vital tactical information that I may have picked up." Charles scanned the room again, small sweat beads beginning to form on his brow.
"Where will you go?" Kratos sounded almost worried for his father's safety, his cool attitude faltering momentarily.
"Sylverant, where else?" came the brief reply. Charles stood and turned towards a locked cupboard, "I need to give you something."
Charles turned, holding a black leather belt with an attached sheath. In a swift movement, the historian unveiled a magnificent red sword the like of which Kratos had never seen. It was a perfect size and curved elegantly to a viscious looking point.
"Flamberge," Charles said, swinging the sword slowly, "An ancient sword of the elves, assumed to have been brought down from the legendary comet of Derris-Kharlan. I want you to have it."
Stunned to silence, Kratos recieved the sword from his father who placed the sheath on a sideboard. He marvelled at its light weight and perfect balance, testing it out with a few choice swings.
"You want me to have it?" Kratos questioned, recieving a nod from his father, "Where did you get this?"
"It was given to me by the leader of a group of elves I met near the coast. I saved them from a rebel group who threatened their lives. Their elder told me he had not met another human who would have stopped to help their race, and so entrusted me with this sword. It has saved my skin on a number of occasions, I hope you are as lucky with it as I was." Charles smiled, almost sadly.
"It saved your skin?" Kratos asked, "You're a historian!"
"Heh..." Charles adjusted his glasses, "It gets a little more complicated than that sometimes, especially when race comes into play, I try to avoid letting any human persecute those of another race. I hope you would do the same."
Kratos smiled inside, understanding what the word 'complicated' meant. A surge of pride for his father rose within him and a brief moment of mutual silence was shared between father and son, before it was rudely interrupted.
"Professor Aurion, sir," a rapping at the door sounded, breaking the silence, "There are envoys from the King here to see you, they say it's urgent."
Charles's nose crinkled, "Shit...seems I've run out of time."
"They have come for you?"
"So it would seem." Charles licked his lips and adjusted his cloak, revealing a sword hidden beneath it to the teenager, "Be careful, son. I'm sure your mother would have been proud of you."
Charles placed his hand on the side of Kratos's head for a second, cold fingers almost stinging the boy's neck, before he turned and strode out of the room.
Kratos Aurion clutched his brand new sword as the knights of the King broke their way through the door to find the one they were seeking to be gone.