I do not own Tales of Symphonia. Though I am fascinated with Yuan and Kratos' relationship.

Yuan stopped – could he really do this?

Yuan had never seen a person look so miserable in his entire life – a life that spanned for nearly 4,000 years.

Kratos, knelt, in the dirt, his hands were smeared with dirt and blood. Some of the sticky, brown red substance clung to his face; his eyes were glazed over, he was staring straight ahead, but it was clear he saw nothing. His hair had become matted with blood and sweat and dirt from last night's… development. He was on his knees, his arms hanging at his sides, his palms turned up, pleadingly to an imaginary goddess who slept through his pain and all the pain of the world. In one of his upturned palms, a locket lay; it was silver, and blood splattered – the only thing that Kratos could salvage, Yuan realized.

Never, had he seen someone so distraught. Not even in himself when Martel died; not even Mithos when he had his tantrums after one failed vessel after another; no… this man was… destroyed.

"Kratos." Yuan stated firmly. But he did not move. Yuan took a step closer; the sword in his hand suddenly felt oddly heavy; he had no desire to move it.

But he had to. Now was his chance; he had to release Origin and the only way to do that was to… take Kratos' life.

That had been his plan.

That's why he was here.

But, he couldn't do it. Not like this. Not when Kratos was already….gone. Kratos had the right to fight back. If he should die, it should be in the fray of battle; he should die complete and whole. His sword slashing sword, sweat and blood covering him – but the blood should be his own or his enemies…. Not his wife and child's.

No… he couldn't kill unless Kratos had a chance to fight back.

As it was now, Yuan wondered if Kratos would ever be able to fight back again.

The auburn haired man continued to stare blankly into the unknown void ahead.

Yuan gripped his sword more tightly. He closed his yes, gritted his teeth and took another step towards Kratos. He had to do it. He began to justify himself: truly, wouldn't it be more human to kill him now? Put him out of his misery? Yes. He would do it as a friend; he couldn't let Kratos suffer.

Yuan raised his sword; Kratos made no acknowledgement of the blade that was hanging above his head – he wasn't aware if it; he wasn't even aware of Yuan; nor the blood caked on his hands, or the crimson stained sword at his side; he was only aware of emptiness.

Yuan swallowed, and faltered. The sword fell at his side.

He couldn't.

Not when this man was so… broken.

Yuan let out a sigh; damn. He sheathed his sword and knelt down in front of his fallen comrade.

"Kratos." He repeated more kindly, his voice was gentle this time.

Kratos' eyes finally blinked. They glanced around wearily before they met Yuan.

"Yuan." He stated quietly, 'I…."

He looked down again, his eyes glazing over. Yuan closed for a moment before reaching out and placing a comforting hand on Kratos' shoulder. Kratos did not acknowledge it.

Yuan tightened his lips and stared at his old friend. What miserable existence. Living without the ones your love.

Yuan was already familiar with it; he had been four almost 4,000 years.

He swallowed.

He realized he wouldn't be able to fight Kratos until he had become whole again.

But since Yuan was already familiar with this type of situation, he wondered if that time would ever arrive.

After all, he had never felt whole since Martel's death. He knew that there were some broken things that could never be fixed.