For DISCLAIMER, SPOILERS, etc., please refer back to chapter one. Any additions will be added as we go.

EIRI NOTE: Thanks to OFIS, Anime_Lover, Lupanari, and others for pointing out both the spelling and the misspelling of Kvar's name. (On it was spelled as K-e-v-a-r.) Regarding the spacing issues, we have no idea how that happened except for something screwy going on with . (Or, as Eiri would like to point out, user stupidity, but who knows.) Deep apologies about misspelling Kvar's name. We are trying to make this story as professional in format as possible, so mistaking a character's name is very embarrassing. (Erro managed to correct it for those of you reading on LiveJournal and went back and fixed it on .) We will do our best to monitor and edit better. Thanks for everyone's patience and understanding.

ERRO NOTE: Apologies for the formatting. I took the time to make it pretty but ff decided to be funky. Sigh. Also thank you to the few who looked ch2 over on the LJ preview to make sure I got all the mistakes, and sorry if we missed any.

KUDOS: Pat yourself on the back if you caught the (really) vague "Get Smart" references last chapter.

CONCEPT: CRdreamer (Erro) and heartofShou (Eiri)

WRITTEN BY: heartofShou (Eiri)

Ripple Effect

"Snail! Scary knot of desires!

Hungry snarl! Small son.

Why do I have to love you?

How have you won?"

-Anne Stevenson, The Victory

Chapter Two: Time Does Not Create Bonds

~~~~

It was not the soft crying that woke him, but something of a more pressing nature.
Dirk's mind had been richly immersed in the warm, soothing colors of dreams when nerve centers had rudely interrupted and informed his brain that he was not receiving enough air. Alarm quickly spread through the rest of the body, and he opened his mouth to gasp in oxygen. Inhaling deeply, he recoiled and choked as instead of air, numerous strands of hair entered his throat instead. Brown eyes flashed open, but his mind had not yet caught up enough to see. Panicking limbs clawed out before him, eager to remove whatever was in his way. By the time Dirk realized that what he was seeing was a fluffy, white tail, he had already grabbed hold of the nuisance with a fist. He yanked on it angrily, and a sharp whine came out from beside him.
Groggily, he blinked a couple times, taking in his surroundings. His house... a beast in his house... and two strangers... Chink by chink, awareness and recognition leaked through the dam of his subconscious and soaked into his waking mind. He released his hold on the tail, the wounded appendage curling back to its whimpering owner.
Dirk winced slightly with guilt. The poor animal was already injured, needing no help from him to add to that condition. It was an almost comical sight to see so large a creature trying to hide his head under Dirk's sorry excuse for a table. One flap of an ear bent awkwardly against the dwarf's wooden stump of a chair. The fit was obviously not a comfortable one. Most would have been dubious about having such a big beast inside one's home, and indeed Dirk would have been one of them, but self-preservation had taken over last night.
The father had not so much as blinked at the sight of the roughly built, one-story Dwarven abode. However, even in the dark night, Dirk could have sworn that whatever awareness the man had gained at the sight of his son was waning until very little light was left in those garnet eyes. Once, as they were drawing near the house, he stumbled. Dirk, having been trailing behind to cover any tracks they might have left, had been too far way to have steadied him, though the dwarf had darted forward anyway. He watched, sharply irritated, as the man once more gathered his feet under him, thinly restraining the wildly irrational urge to demand the boy from him.
Well, if he was going to be so irresponsible!
Admonishing himself, Dirk strode forth and ushered man, child, and animal inside. Scanning the grounds one last time for any trace he could have missed, he backed into his dwelling slowly and bolted the door. (Thank the Vows he had had the foresight to include that on his still-in-progress- home.) Crouching down beside the wood barrier, Dirk drew his axe from its pouch with a firm grip.
It might have been paranoia, but his nerves were still taut from all of the night's activities. He would not be getting any sleep any time soon, and he could think of no better way to spend the dreaming hours than by keeping watch at his door. While there was no blood link tying him to any other occupant, his Dwarven heritage insisted that his corpse would be cold before any of them were harmed.
Dwarven Vow #205: He who does not stick out his neck for others buries a dagger into his own back.
So it was with extreme chagrin that Dirk realized that he must've fallen asleep at his position by the door. He had not slept long though, it seemed. The bare furnishings of his home were being softly illuminated by a waxing light that could only be from the new dawn. He sat there for a moment, letting his night vision- which was like seeing all the world in neon highlights with muted colors filling in-between- softly shift to his normal sight. Sighing deeply, he reflected that it was indeed true that every night- no matter how dark or frightening- must give way to the day.
Then he stood. The day had started its work; so now must he. Still feeling apologetic, Dirk's proposed first order of business was to tend to the animal's wounds. Considering the events of the night past, he thought the two humans could stand with a bit of rest. "All right then, pup," he smiled at the big monster trying to hide under his table. The remnants of yesterday's lunch rattled on its wooden surface from the force of the beast's wiggling. As obliging as the animal had started previously, Dirk's attack on the beloved tail seemed to have erased all signs of trust. If that was so then this would become particularly difficult. The dwarf crept forward cautiously, still trying to looks as friendly as possible. It was then that it occurred to him that the mewling sounds he was hearing were not coming from under the table like he thought, but from another source.
A thick, solid stone dropped from his chest, through his heart, and plopped heavily in his stomach. Pausing in his steps, he listened as the muffled words continued. Or at least he thought they were words, but sounds and syllables strung together in a poor mimicry of what had been heard before.
Like what a child would, for example...
Y'vows.
After hurrying inside, Dirk had been vaguely aware of the father making his way toward the darkest corner and slumping down, probably secure in at least knowing that his back was covered. The last drowsy awareness the dwarf could now recall having was of the stark outlines of firm shoulders rocking gently back and forth... For whose sake had that soothing motion really been for- father or child? The dwarf crept forward silently.
The man was still- back to the wall, knees drawn up, and shoulders hunched forward. Matted red hair hung down limply in front of his eyes, making his state look even sorrier. Dirk reflected that this could not have been a comfortable position to sleep in, but perhaps that was the point. It had just occurred to him to wonder about the child when his eyes caught movement. Brown eyes focused to see a small form wiggling in the father's limp grasp.
The boy was awake.

Curled in towards his father's heat, the little child drew invisible patterns on the man's shirt, mumbling nonsense under his breath. To him, daddy was just sleeping. Still, it would be hard to keep hold of that youthful energy for much longer. Already the boy was squirming, torn between the need to move and stretch and the way to be quiet. As with most kids, the former was starting to win out. Dirk was a bit impressed though, despite himself. What little he knew of children- which, for a man that had gone out of his way to learn more about economics than child care, was very little indeed- was that, no matter the race, children were, in essence, all motion and noise. As little as he was- how old could he be anyway? Honestly, all humans came in three sizes to Dirk's untrained eye: small, medium, and large- the boy had obviously been taught the practicalities of being still and quiet. Odd.
For a moment, Dirk was torn over what his next course of action should be. Inexperience suggested he leave the child alone and wait for the father to wake and handle it. However, self-preservation- which dwarves valued very highly for a reason- rebutted that the last thing he wanted was for the boy to give up on playing quiet and go screaming around the house. (He had seen such- and worse- from other human children.) Besides... A memory came unbidden of the boy's mother, in so much pain but clutching together the last remnants of sanity to see her child to some semblance of safety. A remarkable woman, Dirk was sure. It was sad that he would never know her true face, come to know the lady inside the monster. But more sorrowful was the knowledge that this boy would never see his mother again. Pity and sympathy moved Dirk's heart enough that approaching the child no longer seemed like a burdensome chore.
Dwarven Vow #2: Never abandon someone in need.
He moved forward gently, allowing himself to make some noise so as to not spook the boy. The little brunette mop perked up and the small boy turned to look at him. With the room almost fully illuminated now, the color shone out as Dirk met eye to eye with this one named Lloyd for the first time.
One thing Dirk would admit about humans was this fascinating quality they had about eyes. They were like dwarves (and elves as well, if his father had spoken true) in that no two people ever had the same pair of eyes, no matter how much people merely insisted they were inherited. (Which, in Dirk's opinion, was an over-simplification of the mixing between strong and weak genes, etc., but he digressed.) The truth was in the detail of the irises, in gold scratches or blue smudges, in blends of green and gray or in speckles of red. What was uniquely human, however, was the sheer number of different colors possible for the eye. In Dwarven communities, it was the scientific judgment that humans were just above dogs in their color comprehending abilities; the public's opinion was that humans were hopelessly colorblind. Again, Dirk wasn't sure such wasn't true. He had been bemused by a young maiden expressing woe by her plain brown eyes and by a young man explaining to his friends that his gray eyes came from his father. Poets used phrases comparing the feature as bright as suns or deep as oceans, but none paid any mind to describing the colors. Did they really think eyes could be so easily classified into generic groups like blue, brown, green, or gray?
In any case, this child's eyes would have stood out even amongst his peers. A casual observer would dismiss them as a thick shade of brown, the same as so many of the human population. As deep red as the man's eyes had been, this stronger gene could have come from the boy's mother. It was little wonder that the father's rare coloring would have been overridden by the stronger shades of brown in hair and eyes. But its presence had not been completely erased.
As Dirk had observed the night before, there was little doubt as to who was the boy's father. The lineage was strongly present in the face and in the eyes. True the coloring had been influenced by the dominant genes, but not completely. There, hidden for now behind the brown, was a flush of auburn highlighted with red. He would never have the full crimson of his father, but perhaps that was only fitting. The boy could then become an attractive blend of both parents. That was eventually though. For now he would have to settle for looking perfectly ordinary. Dirk chuckled at the thought- such was often the burden of youth.
"Hello there, lad," he greeted cheerfully in Common, finding it easier to smile with his new good humor. "Good morning to yeh."
To Dirk's surprise, the boy's eyes grew wide before he let out a cry of, "Aaaah!" He clutched tighter at his father's tunic, trying to burrow into the man's side. "Don't eat me! Mama said I was good! I don't want to be bones!" ...Well, at least Dirk now knew that the boy could, indeed, speak Common if these high-pitched yelps were anything to go by.
Somewhat disappointed that this first interaction was not off to a great start and mostly irritated that the boy could travel with something that looked like a giant wolf with mutant rabbit ears and still be frightened of him, Dirk sighed. "There, there," he soothed, patting down gently at the air. "I won't eat you." He tried grinning again. "I don't eat little boys. Yuck!" He gave a great guffaw to further show the child he wasn't the least bit threatening.
As the last of his laughter was swallowed into silence, a lone agate eye peered up from the folds of the man's tunic. Then two eyes peered up. Still not completely trusting, the child finally fully lifted his head, but did not relinquish his hold on his father's shirt.
Dirk leaned down, resting his palms on his knees so as to level the staring field.
Then, as if they had been in conversation all along, the boy gasped out, "Mom...she said...that bad boys get eaten! So...um..." He fiddled with the cloth beneath his fingers, eyes riveted to some detail, but he continued explaining. "So you hafta be...um...
"Quiet?" Dirk supplied.
"Yeah," the boy nodded, still not looking at the dwarf. "Quiet..."
"I see," Dirk said at last. He was no less confused. "Well, like I said, I don't eat little boys for breakfast, of for any other meal. SO have no fear on that account."
The boy scrunched up his nose, more probably at the sound of Dirk's thick Dwarven accent than at his words. "Good," was all the little brunette said before clambering off his father's lap, only to hide on the other side of him. "Not s'posed... to talk to strangers," he explained somewhat apologetically. Then the small head and body swiveled about on clumsy legs, taking in these strange, new surroundings. "Where's Mama?"
The dwarf flinched physically; such had been the question he had been dreading. Was there a Dwarven Vow for this sort of thing? Dwarves valued honesty very highly, yet this was so clearly not his place to explain. He retained his smile by force. "Oh, I'm not a stranger," he assured. "I'm a friend. My name is Dirk. What's your name?" Best to dodge the question for now. He'd wait for the father to wake and then follow his lead.
To wake...
"Lloyd," the boy answered, like Dirk knew he would, but the dwarf's mind was diverted by a sudden thought.
Brown eyes darted concernedly to the still man who had not so much as twitched during this whole conversation. Surely he would have at least shifted or acknowledged in some way the movement of his child. "Has he always been such a deep sleeper?" he pondered aloud, forgetting for a moment that his audience was a mere boy.
"What?" Lloyd asked, furrowing his brow in exaggerated confusion. Clearly he had never heard the term before.
"Er," Dirk thought quickly for the simplest explanation, "it means... is he often hard to wake up?" He had to repeat the question a few times and in a few different ways for the boy to understand.
Lloyd's face contorted into an expression of such seriousness that Dirk almost laughed. How odd that one so young can manage to look so grave. In his young mind, though, Lloyd was vaguely remembering the very few times he had seen his father sleeping. Even when his mother had to stop for much needed rest, Daddy was always awake. To protect them, so his mother had said. From what, he had wondered. The only world he knew of consisted of himself, Mama, Daddy, and Noishe. There were others, and he was shy of them, but he knew so little of danger. So his mother had told him that he would understand when he was older.
There had been that one time though, when his father had been sleeping- because Mama had made him after a long talk- and Mama and Lloyd had been playing together quietly in a corner. Some noise had started up from the bottom of the inn. Lloyd had been curious and had darted to the door, despite Mama hissing after him. Not that Mama was much better. She had tiptoed over after him and knelt just behind him, their two pairs of eyes peering through the slightly ajar door. There was nothing to hear, just angry voices wafting up the stairs. Lloyd couldn't understand what they were saying, but he had felt his mother stiffen behind him. Without saying a word she closed the door softly and grabbed her son firmly by the wrist. He toddled after her as she took hold of the dagger that was absent from her side only during those quiet, playing hours. Lloyd tried to ask her if they were leaving already, but she had shushed him. She had turned to wake her husband only to find him gone from the bed and standing by the door. Lloyd had wondered how he had gotten up so fast, but then remembered that this was another of those "quiet" times. Daddy turned to face them, serious as ever. Everything after had happened so fast. One of them had wrapped his mother's shawl tightly around him and then he was up, all that way up in Daddy's arms. He had squirmed, being old enough to not like being held. But then, "An adventure, Lloyd," was what his father had said. All feelings of apprehension had faded then. Lloyd loved adventures.
Much later, when they had gone far away from that place but continued walking anyway, Lloyd had been dozing atop Noishe's back. Crawling as deep into sleep as he was, he still felt when his father's firm hand came to steady him, resting warmly on his back. He heard Mama ask Daddy how he had known; she had suspected him deeply asleep. "You and I have always been light-sleepers," Daddy had answered her, with a grim sense of humor. "I, particularly, considering all the experience I've had. But," he paused here; there was the rustling of cloth and the clasping of two hands, "my first and only priority is my family. Do not doubt that I would not do everything I can to protect that."
The words themselves meant nothing to Lloyd; their meaning utterly lost on him. The strength in his father's voice, however, wasn't. Drawn out his memories, he shook his head at the dwarf in answer to the question.
Worst fears confirmed, Dirk openly cursed in Dwarven. Then he snatched at the man's shoulders, to try and wake him up.

His spirit was in a state of peace, but his mind was in a state of panic.
There was nothing.
Anywhere.
Which was precisely what his heart had wanted, but his essence was refusing to disappear entirely. The mind of sentiment beings- whether dwarf or human or elf- balks at nothingness, at lack of control. Too long a time spent in this way led to insanity or the placid emptiness of being a body without a spirit. A piece of him turned at this thought. That's right... He had experienced something like this before, a long, long time ago.
When he had gotten his wings...?
It had been different then though. Then, something foreign and powerful had invaded him and like a parasite, had tried to force him out of himself. He had fought it though, holding onto his identity- the man then known as Kratos Aurion- through sheer will and for a cause he had wholly believed in. Because of that, he had been able to retain his mind when becoming his angel self, unlike the unfortunate souls that had become little more than soulless servants upon being turned.
Now, though, there was no outside enemy to force out; his only foe was himself. And as he had long feared, such was proving to be too powerful an opponent for him to struggle against. Yet, where the spirit dies, the sharp mind, so carefully cultivated after so many years, was not so forlorn. With sheer stubbornness, it clawed out into the recesses of the consciousness, searching out any sort of memory it could use to rebuild itself. Finally, it took hold of something...
Experienced fingers strummed knowingly at the taut strings of his dulcimer, fine-tuning it in a way that only the trained ear could identify. He browsed through different beats that lay stored inside his head even as he was noting the tempo of the passing crowd's steps. Noishe, perched upon his shoulder and trying to hide his head under a wing so as to get some sleep during these daylight hours, squawked as Kratos too quickly changed his mind and plucked at two awkward notes. The bard promptly cleared his throat by way of apology.
He paused, taking a moment to nudge his billowing hat with the toe of a boot. Not as full as he liked but the day was early and a particularly bright Market Day. He could afford to be optimistic for a few more hours. So what would fit this kind of occasion? Something cheerful and full of the hope of an earlier springtime; something lacking the dark cloud of war that hung in shadows even now. Ah, he had just the lesson-
Most pickpockets worked fast enough and smoothly enough that it takes some time for one to realize that they have been robbed, if indeed they realize at all before they get home. Kratos took the time to reflect that it truly showed the inexperience of the thief that not only could crimson eyes track the movement as if it were happening at a tenth the speed, but the fact that it happened right in front of his nose was almost stupidly daring. Of course, had anyone else been watching, they would have merely noticed that one moment the tip hat was there and the next it wasn't. Even though he had practically seen it happen, that did not stop Kratos from letting loose a string of fierce curses.
That had been the earnings of some hours!
Luckily, even as he had breathed out the second syllable, Noishe had unfurled his wings and soared after the perpetrator. With more practice than Kratos liked to think he had, he swung the instrument gently around on its strap so it lay securely on his back and chased after his companion. It did not take long to track down the criminal. Cries of, "Ouch!" and "Stop it, stupid bird!" guided him right to where he needed to be. He was somewhat surprised- despite himself- to see that it was a child Noishe was pecking at, effortlessly darting out of the way at careless swings of the treasured hat. Of course, only a child would be so desperate, so inexperienced, and so daring as to try such a thing. He was neither the first nor the last to turn to such a tactic to make a living, but Kratos could not help but reflect on how young he looked. Surely no more than ten with how small he was, but then it was hard to judge since street children were so rarely in the best of health.
Just then, as if feeling that he was being watched, the young blonde boy turned and looked at him. The sun bright hair only slightly dimmed with dirt, the pale skin only slightly marred with bruises- all the possible impressions such could have given yielded way as the bard caught a glimpse of the bluest eyes he had ever seen-

The memory was stopped, torn out from recollection, and stuffed into a used drawer. No, not that memory. It still hurt too much. Even the mind was shaking from the after-effects. No, that was too far back. Think closer, think sooner...

"When next you see Lord Yggdrasill, please convey our deepest gratitude that he deigned to take an interest in our little experiment," Kvar reiterated for the twelfth time as they strolled along in empty hallway after hallway. The clicks of their boots echoed out into the emptiness and returned alone with no reply to their calls. Sometimes the starkness would be broken by the scurrying of a Desian soldier rushing forward to clear the way for them. Other Desian officials would have been left to their own devices- under a very paranoid watch of course. (Magnius, in particular, had been fun to watch when he had stayed over for a period of training.) However, as devious as Desians could be toward one another they could be as smooth as silk when it came to impressing the higher-ups. And they didn't come much higher than a Seraphim. One of the Five Grand Cardinals Kvar might have been, but it pleased him to think that he had only just begun to tap into his full potential. This sudden interest of Lord Yggdrasill might yet prove to be the making of him.

"The results of your experiment should be adequate enough to speak for itself," Kratos had answered, not even moved enough to be annoyed. Crimson eyes stared dully straight ahead, like one lost in deep contemplation except there was very little left to contemplate. "Should all go well, they would better sing your praises than ever I could."

Kvar's confidence faltered a bit, but the bruise was one easily recovered from. He knew after all, that the experiment worked, had ruthlessly worked to insure it so. His ego swelled, puffing out his chest. Success was tantalizingly close. "Of course, of course," he murmured, satisfied for now.

They continued on wordlessly for some time, neither naturally inclined to chatter. The clicking of the boots continued. They passed empty cell after empty cells, the human occupants were out doing hard labor and the empty space just seemed to emphasize the lack of life in the fortress. Kvar, though always in the perfect posture as befit his station, could not come close enough to meeting Kratos's height, square his shoulders back as he might.

Gaps.

Gaps and emptiness everywhere.

It was a singular thought coming and passing through Kratos's head without the least bit of panic.

Like a firm fist, his mind grabbed hold of the memory with a death grip...

Dirk clasped the man's right shoulder and shook him gently. "Hey," he called, keeping his tone even. The last thing he wanted was to make a parent's protective instinct go berserk. "Hey! Wake up!"

The only response he got came not from the man, but from the pair of agate eyes widening in curiosity as they watched him.

There was a clue here-

Something he was missing-

What was it?

Yet another door opened before them. They were heading toward the heart of the fortress now. Artificial lights shone brighter to stave off the natural darkness. Kvar spoke up as the door closed behind them.

"We keep it secluded from the others so as to avoid foreign contaminants," he explained. "The climate of the room is kept controlled and closely monitored. Three hours of exercise per day, along with three meals of carefully prepared nutrients. We have to let it out in the sunlight or its health will suffer, which we unfortunately found out with the last specimen." The Desian sighed, rubbing at the wrinkles that this long process had given him. Or so he thought- elven skin, even when mixed with human genes, does not wrinkle so easily.

It was here Kratos asked his first question since arriving. "What is its temperament?" the question was posed coolly before red eyebrows furrowed. "Your report said that the subject was female, correct?"

Kvar took to the questions as warmly as any other getting a chance to talk about work that absorbed them. "Yes, it is," he answered, addressing the second question. "When it comes to general processing, any type will do. However, for what we had in mind, we needed to know what makes these things flourish." A sinister light gleamed in those small black eyes, remembering with a thrill the scientific exploits he had undergone. "In that case, it responds better to a female's body. No real surprise," he downplayed slyly, glancing at Kratos with hopes of a compliment, "seeing as how the female body is built not only to create life, but sustain it." When Kratos proved as taciturn as ever, Kvar continued, a bit soured. "As for temperament, AO12 is proving to be surprisingly docile. Aside from its odd quirks, we've had next to no problems."

"Quirk?" Kratos raised an eyebrow.

Kvar grinned sharply. "Yes," he chuckled indulgently, "she nicks things." At the slightly incredulous tweak of Kratos's eye, he expanded, "it started soon after AO12 had been moved into its new quarters. The attempts were pathetic at first and not much improvement has been made since then. It is usually only small things- a deck of cards, a toy ball, or some other trivial item the soldiers carry on their person to pass the time on duty. It never went for anything dangerous, like a weapon or such or else this behavior would have been terminated at once, naturally. As things stand it is but a harmless game. The project may need physical fitness and not mental, but so long as it stays this way, it hurts nothing. Ah..." He gestured to a different looking door in front of them. Two guards, who had been previously kneeling down in the midst of a card game, suddenly stood at strict attention. Kvar spared them only a mildly annoyed glance. "Here we are."

Oh, that's right...

Dirk was nearing full-out panic now. The man was not responding and the dwarf couldn't figure out why. He was shaking the man bodily now, but still not so much as a twitch. It would have helped had he a name to call, something that would have pulled personally at the man. Nothing was working. He had checked the heart and breath rates and had been alarmed to find that they were slow, very slow. However, at the same time, both were steady and even the heartbeat didn't flutter or fluctuate. The body was allowing only the minimal amount of energy necessary to keep vital functions working and seemed to be shutting down all else.

All this just lead to a continuous thought of not good, not good, not good.....

"Wake up!" Dirk bellowed, searching for some sort- any sort- of reaction in those dulled crimson eyes. "You've got to wake up! Your little boy is here waiting for you. Doesn't that matter? Wake up!"

Frightened and not at all understanding what was going on, Lloyd started to react to the abuse being done to his father in the only way he could. He began to cry and then because no child cries quietly, he started to scream, filling his young lungs with air and expelling with all the force he could, the one tool of his that always brought his parents running to him. But this time no one heeded him and as Dirk yelled louder to be heard over the noise, Lloyd yelled louder to compensate. It was even more disconcerting to him to not hear his father stir and come to quiet him or his mother hurry over and soothe him. There was no one at all and loneliness so pierced his heart that he sobbed harder and called more.

The door slid open with a hiss to a cold box of room, four barren walls of metal trapped inside blaring artificial lights. Kratos followed as Kvar stepped inside the cell, the doorway only allowing one person to pass at a time. It was a temperate setting, neither too warm or too cold, but constant and even. The left corner was set aside for toiletries far better than the outhouses the people of Sylvarant were still using. Against the right wall was a table and one solitary chair and on the far wall was a cot covered with a threadbare blanket and flat cotton pillow. Sitting atop the cot, curled up in the corner and drawing imaginary patterns on the wall, was A012.

She was small, almost fragile looking, but well-fed and fit. Modestly covered with a plain shift that hung down to her ankles and with brown hair cropped short so that locks hung about everywhere, it would have been easy to overlook her or pass her off as simply ordinary. "AO12," Kvar greeted with some pride, "why do you not greet our new visitor?" She lifted her left hand, the one with the EXsphere implanted in it. It was a sphere of a rich, deep blue color but its excellence was contrasted with the aggravated veins rising up around it. As much as the EXsphere took to its host body it was still recognized as an unnatural parasite. The same pale hand came up and brushed brunette bangs off the forehead and behind round ears so that earth eyes could peer up at him, studying him in turn.

Her...

There was no answer.

Dirk's heart sank even as he gathered his feet under him. He peered closer at the man's countenance, looking for any sign of change. Crimson eyes were gone now, replaced with closed lids that showed not even the hidden movement of dreams. But the face... The blankness in features that had so frightened him before had been smoothed gently into an expression of peace, like one lucky enough to be taken in his sleep. The man wasn't dead, Dirk knew that, but for all intents and purposes he was as good as gone from this world.

The child was starting to cough from the strain on his lungs but still he stubbornly tried to keep at least some sort of noise going. The fit had exhausted him and that was what was really quieting him; he had not been soothed at all. Somewhat bewildered and dazed himself, Dirk left the man's side to deal with one that truly needed him. The dwarf walked over to the small child and kneeling before him, did his best to awkwardly comfort the poor boy. Thankful for some response at last, Lloyd huddled closer to Dirk's bulk, seeking the warmth and solidarity that used to always be there. Callused hands awkwardly rubbed the small back that continued to quiver like a small bird's heart. Numbly, Dirk wondered what in the world he was going to do now. How did things continue from here?

Still huddled under the table, a silent witness to all the chaos, Noishe whined softly, feeling just as helpless.

He should have known better.

He had been sent there to monitor, to keep note of Kvar's progress. No effort had been necessary on his part to get to know the subject better. He had been suspicious though of just how congenial AO12 acted. A turkey's display of plucking itself and stretching out its neck before the ax would have been just as conspicuous. But years of good behavior had brought the guards' and even Kvar's defenses down, so sure were they that this was how it was supposed to be. "Why should it be troublesome?" Kvar had insisted the one time Kratos had brought it up. "Spared even from beatings, it does seem to live a life of luxury compared to its fellow samplings. Why should it want that to change?" Kratos was not so sure. He knew from long, hard, bitter experience that it only took so long before people- before humans- showed their true colors.

Not at all interested in extending his time spent with Kvar or sitting at a desk to study computer read-out, perhaps it was only natural that he turns his attention to her. Long hours he would spend in the cell, presumably to closer watch her behavior, but really to reside for even an hour in the one spot of quiet and peace. Not needing to eat had deprived him of even that pleasure and quite frankly he was bored. He stood back against a wall, arms folded and eyes closed because what difference did it make to have them open or shut? AO12 must have mistaken it for sleep though and he could sense her watching him, no doubt wondering what was with this man that would nap in front of a prisoner. As he felt her eyes peering at him, he wondered contemptuously what she could be thinking. How to use him? Another enemy to be studied? How could she deceive him? He would put nothing past a human's capacity. His heart gnawed on this old bitterness for awhile until the sound of soft snores met his sharp hearing. A crimson eye peeked out to see the specimen curled up on the cot, her back towards him, and sleeping peacefully. Gutsy- he would give her that. He did nothing like she must have known he wouldn't, just closed his eyes and held his position against the wall.

It was a silence that wouldn't become comfortable for quite a while yet.

Dirk set the last stone atop the newly made grave, grimly taking in the finished product that had taken him a good portion of the day. After treating the creature- "Noishe," the boy had said- and the child's wounds, he had set out some meager food for the both of them before heading out to retrieve the mother's corpse. Leaving the child alone might not have sounded like the best idea, but this was not the sort of task he wanted the boy watching him undertake. Besides, there was the more selfish desire to have some time for himself. If only to try and figure things out. Old Thayne of the Sword, who had been the one to instate Dwarven Vow Number 39 after the Lerdo War, had unexpectedly been burdened with the responsibility of becoming king after six older brothers had gotten each other assassinated. Not only had Thayne not retreated to his previously luxurious lifestyle, but he had worked in cooperation with the council of advisers to help Southern Dwarves not only push out Northern Dwarf influence but become a vast empire. So the moral of the story was that unexpected responsibility could end up being given to you for a reason. Dirk knew that, but as usual with sad tidings, wondered what he could have done to deserve this.

He could not, with good conscious, hand the kid over to care of Iselia. The people there were so cowed by the Desians and their power that the first sign of trouble would result in handing the boy over without a second thought. They liked to think they took care of their own, but anyone outside of that was fresh bait. Dirk was also aware that with one parent dead and the other as good as comatose, that the mother's wish for him to take care of her son was pretty binding. Granted, she might not have had any particular timeframe in mind so long as her son was brought to safety, but...

At the same time was he really the best person to raise a child? He'd have his doubts even had it been a Dwarven child dropped on his doorstep! The reason he had left his home without first getting married was not only because he wanted to be free to pursue his own interests, but because he knew it wouldn't be fair to a potential mate or child. Families took time and effort and money. Y'vows, the money! His business was steady enough, income trickling in just enough so that he did not lack for comfort. But children were expensive! He'd have to feed it and clothe it and...and... other child rearing things!

Rising up from his stooped position, Dirk gave a long sigh even as he stretched out his back. He rubbed his eyes, fending off a headache, and when he dropped down his hand, there was the headstone patiently standing before him, waiting for his answer. He sighed again. It was not so much a question if he was the right person than the answer that he was the only person to do so, even despite his gut feeling that this might not turn out well.

Gloved fingers scrawled along the etched in name.

"What are you writing there?" he had asked suddenly, breaking a long line of days spent in agreed silence. His curiosity had grown despite himself. The long hours spent "observing" her had allowed him to notice that she was not thoughtlessly drawing mind patterns with her fingers. Instead it was the same motion over and over again, a relentless routine that she continued in all her free time. So, yes, he was curious.

Her fingers finished the pattern and paused. Was she making up a lie? What falsehood would she create to placate him? Then she breathed, "Anna." Even as he blinked in slight surprise, she sat up in her cot. "It's my name," she explained, then went on to repeat her habit, making the characters bigger so he could see it for himself. Sure enough it was the simple name. Then her finger stilled and she stared at the wall, perhaps seeing in her mind the name written over and over again as she had done over the years. "So I don't forget... and so I can remember-" She caught herself and looked at him guiltily, but he could think of nothing to say.

He turned his own gaze to the wall, a memory struck inside him. Of a time when he been inside a different sort of facility and had etched many, many different names onto the bunk above him. Had "Kratos" been one of them? He couldn't remember. When was the last time he had used this name he had chosen so long ago? His companions were the only ones who would address him by name, but his run-ins with them were few and far between and for good reason. Blinking, he found that he had unconsciously walked to face the same wall and just because he could, drew out his own name.

The sight of her confused face drew his attention. She peered at the wall as though she could see the letters if she tried hard enough. "What is it?" she asked, hesitant and still unsure of this new interaction between them. "I don't... understand..."

It was with chagrin that he realized that he had written his name in Angelic, just out of habit. Too proud to admit his mistake and suitably distracted enough not to wonder why he cared, he turned back to the wall. What had she written it in? Common? Slowly he rewrote his name, this time with different characters. "Kratos," he said simply as he finished and he saw her eyes studying him.

Much, much later he would notice that it was not just her name that she scrawled over and over, but by that "much, much later", his heart would seem a very achangéd thing.

Dirk started awake, but even as he became aware that he was sitting up in his bed, he didn't know what had awakened him. Irritated, he cocked an ear and listened to see if Noishe- Y'vows, he was getting used to calling the new additions to his home by name and it had only been how many days?- was howling again. The first few nights the "dog" had been put outside it howled like someone was killing it. The sound had distressed the boy and had annoyed Dirk greatly to the point that he tried to shoo the animal off so that it wouldn't have to feel what it was actually like to get mauled. Even with his tail between his legs Noishe had refused to budge and the threat of him leaving was enough to make Lloyd even more panicked. It was then that Dirk had to reconcile himself to the fact that the pet was here to stay and he gave in gracefully enough, but with the firm decision that the animal was to stay OUT-SIDE. Perhaps after getting used to the notion that not only was Lloyd safe but the two of them were here to stay, Noishe had eventually stopped putting his nightly fusses and settled himself beneath the shelter of a nearby tree.

A few moments of listening proved that Noishe was innocent of this sleep interruption, but before Dirk was able to pass it off as nothing, the soft sound of sobbing caught his ears. Something in his chest twisted and with a deep sigh, he pulled himself out of his warm bed.

He opened the door that led down to the cellar and subsequently to his resting area- old habits were hard to break- and walked into the aboveground portion of his home. His single story house was becoming rather crowded, even a full month after that dark, tragic night. Another chair- or stump, depending on how you look at it- had been added to his table, if a bit taller than its counterpart so as to make-up for lacking height. The man, still deeply asleep within himself, had been set in a corner and Dirk had little choice but to just curtain that section of the room off. To be fair, his house was much tidier than any living quarters of his had ever been in his life. Some of his things, like those relating to his work, had been moved outside into a locked shed, while some had simply found new homes lower up. For a child only so big, it was amazing the sort of things the boy could grab, break, take apart, get into, or other activities that only made sense to a four-year-old mind. In his own little corner, with an impromptu bed of thick quilts, Lloyd was curled under his blanket to form a small mound that quivered as he sobbed. Dirk quickly ascertained the problem as his sharp ears picked up the hoarse voice calling for Mama and Daddy. The old him wanted to scurry back to bed and hide, but pity and compassion stirred his heart so that he easily dismissed that selfish part of him and gently took a seat upon the small make-shift bed.

Lloyd had been told the truth about his mother as gently and as simply as Dirk could put it. It had been awkward to step into the role the dwarf knew the father should be taking, but there was no one else and the boy needed to know. He had assured the little brunette that his mother was safe now and would always be watching over him. (How did humans describe death? The subject was nearly taboo as far as conversation went and the one thing he had noticed in his travels was the way they had buried their deceased. In this way, he hoped he did right by Anna by imitating this style of burial. Yet the one thing he knew dwarves, humans, and elves held in common was this notion- though it varied by belief- that those that came before somehow maintained this vigil over their loved ones. And after leaving so young a child, he could not doubt that Anna would do the same.) The issue of Lloyd's father was another matter. The boy just could not understand why his father was not there, and try as he might, Dirk could not come up with any suitable excuse.

For a moment, they coexisted in silence. Words failed Dirk; even all the ones he had collected from all the folklore and the Vows could not seem to avail him with this. It was a dark problem indeed when Vows offered no real advice. The night was warm, but not yet that suffocating heat that would infuse the cabin during the summer nights. Sleeping underground would keep him cool enough during that time, but what about the boy? Dirk had not been all that eager to give up his last semblance of privacy nor had Lloyd been too keen on spending time in such pitch blackness; it had been one of the easier arrangements. Perhaps he could-

Dirk ran a callused hand down his face, stretching out the skin around his cheeks, and brushing out his beard. His thoughts could just run away with him sometimes. The boy was his, but not his. His to take care of, provide for, and shelter- but such alone did not make him a father. Lloyd, despite his young age, was little more than a stranger that shared his house. Like two planets they lived through the same day and while coming close to each other now and again, they never really interacted. Oh, he kept an eye on the lad and made sure he didn't entangle himself into too much trouble. He had also noticed- who couldn't?- the boy's deep depression, leaving Lloyd quieter than any small one usually was and still left deep fears trembling beneath the eyes and skin. They were not family; y'vows, they were not even the same species! As if that could not distance them enough, there was no possible way Dirk could even attempt to relate to how the boy must feel. His parents, so far as he knew, were both still alive and had managed to raise him to full adulthood. So, yes, he could not comprehend what it must be to have that love and stability suddenly ripped away and seemingly with no explanation, to be living in a strange environment with an unknown face.... How could Dirk possibly try to understand what it felt like? It just... it just seemed...

So very lonely.

Ah, now that... He craned his neck back to peer up at his ceiling, a bit disoriented at seeing the thin crevices of wood instead of the granular support of earth or stone. So much had changed from his previous life, but that was the way he had chosen. He had known that it would not be the same to be out on his own instead of surrounded by familiar faces and places, yet it had seemed worth it, like loneliness was as mere an inconvenience as a hard bed or dry food. Dirk didn't... didn't regret his choice per se. He still had the utmost faith- and stubbornness- that this lifestyle could yet yield countless bounties if he could just work his way to it. The empty house, the solitary hours- all were just a price to pay to get to what he wanted. However, he could understand the feeling of loneliness, could still recognize its hollow form when he met it.

The best way to counter loneliness wasn't necessarily just in words or actions. People speak, people act everyday. Dirk hadn't ignored the child after all, but there had been one aspect he- they both- had missed: presence. Basic mathematics really. The only way to get rid of a void was to fill it up.

Now that he had a basis of understanding, his actions came more naturally.

Gently, he lowered both hands palm down onto the boy's small back and created a loose hold over the tiny shoulders. He could feel, even through the blankets, the soft flesh and solid bones- the boy was so fragile.

The small one jumped at the feel of his hands, probably having assumed that he would have been left alone until morning. Still, the sensation of warm hands was familiar and the child instinctively leaned into the touch. He sat up slowly, resting his rump upon his hind legs and keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Agate eyes, shaded red from the interrupted flood of tears, blinked up at him in confusion and fear. "Sssh," Dirk soothed, rubbing the boy's back. "The night is dark, but it will pass." It seemed to be the only prompting the child needed as the small face scrunched up again only to be hidden into Dirk's side as the boy tossed himself onto the dwarf's lap. Dirk was momentarily surprised and cautiously brought his arms closer, steadying the boy's weight as he continued to rub the small, trembling back.

Children did not seem to do anything neatly, not even cry. Lloyd was projecting more air out of his lungs than the dwarf could imagine would fit in that small body. No sooner had a breath been sucked in than it was shrieked out in trembling sobs and muttered gibberish. Tiny hands clutched at Dirk's coat and pant leg so tightly, so very tightly and it did not take long before the cloth beneath the boy's eyes became damp. It was such a racket, but such was the form of the grief of the young child. Humans seemed to prefer private, quiet displays of emotion, but this was much more Dwarven in style. Dwarfs knew that when one experienced loss, it must burst forth from the body for how else was one to resist the depression's possession? When one of the clan passed on, the very earth would tremble from the vibrations of the family's cries. So this Dirk understood and while he continued to repeat, "Sssh," it was not to silence the child, but instead to give comfort in the knowing that someone heard you, that not all was lost. Dirk could not bring forth Lloyd's mother and neither could he even snap some sense into the boy's so-called father; this was all he could do. Yet it pleased him, oddly made him glad that he was able to do this one small thing.

The wailing became more choked as the boy became less able to breathe through his nose. Sniffling was now the prevalent sound as Lloyd struggled to find a balance between his need for air and the want to continue his bereavement. His failure to do so made him whimper out of frustration and Dirk couldn't help but chuckle as he gently lifted the boy's chin up, reaching into the one pocket of his nightclothes and pulling out a spare piece of cloth. Agate eyes were even more red-rimmed, but there was now a stubborn quip to the mouth as the child tried to sniffle his nostrils clear. Still keeping a friendly arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders, Dirk spread the cloth across the palm of his other hand before introducing it to the boy's nose. The smaller brunette instantly tried to pull away, but the arm around his shoulders kept him from squirming too far. Dirk's thick fingers, more used to working with heavy tools, now squeezed gently on the pert nose. Lloyd gave a soft honk of surprise, but stilled as if any more movement would cause his nose to be torn off.

"Blow," Dirk commanded.

The child did not move except to move his agate eyes to look questioningly at the adult.

Odd... Had he accidentally said it in Dwarven? Dirk did not think so, but it was sometimes hard to keep track. "Blow," he repeated in Common. Again, nothing.

Dilemma.

Was he using the right word? He thought so. Granted, it was not a word he had used often before so perhaps there was another term he was unaware of? It was also a possibility- he continued to ponder as Lloyd began to work his nose free- that the child was too young and thus had not yet garnered a repertoire of vocabulary. "If only you spoke Dwarven," Dirk sighed, brown eyes looking at the child with pity. Agate eyes were starting to reflect a hint of annoyance. Only one thing for it then.

Feeling slightly silly, Dirk gave a long snort, trying to demonstrate the action he wanted the child to mimic. It took a few tries, but Lloyd eventually caught on to the idea and when he began to mimic it correctly and thus blow his nose, Dirk felt strangely proud. There might be hope for the two of them after all.

The next day found Dirk moving around rather stiffly, having fallen asleep against the wall by Lloyd's bed. He had told himself he would stay only until the boy had drifted off into sleep, but no sooner had the boy dozed off then he himself had slipped into dreams after him. It was slightly strange, but it was hard to feel embarrassed when the only witness was a small child. The daylight hours seemed unusually long as he continued to work on the assignments his clients from Iselia had asked for while still keeping an ear out for Lloyd, who as usual played outside with Noishe. Despite the night before, they seemed no closer than usual- until bedtime came.

It might have been a strange sight, had anyone else been able to witness it, that of dwarf and small child sitting side by side on a miniature bed. Dirk had just wanted to ensure that Lloyd would be able to sleep without nightmares but the small brunette seemed anxious about going to sleep again. A few minutes passed into an hour and Dirk felt as though he was sinking into a pool of awkwardness, the waters already lapping at his throat. With a sigh, he looked at the boy and asked, "What does it take to get you to bed?" However, it was worded in Dwarvish and the child had no answer save to blink shyly up at him. The dwarf sighed again and thought- mostly sarcastically- that it perhaps would have been too much to ask that the child he had found would have been a Dwarven. Oh well.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of Lloyd talking. Or, at least, he assumed it was talking. Again, most of it sounded like Common, but it was all strung together and connected with made-up nonsense that Dirk could barely understand it. Also, unlike an adult, Lloyd did not chatter, not even in tone, but instead seemed to always mumble his words, never looking at the one he was talking to, and usually prodding some body part of his, this time being his toes. Dirk listened for a little while, despairing over the lack of any intelligent conversation in the near future, when some important thought must have entered Lloyd's head for the boy looked at him with solemn eyes and seemed to be repeating some sort of word.

"Pardon?" Dirk prompted.

Lloyd frowned and again said, "Dars."

No immediate meaning came to mind, so like any cultured adult, Dirk answered, "What?"

"Dars!"

"Dars?"

Looking just as frustrated as Dirk had been over trying to figure out how to explain the action of blowing one's nose, Lloyd tried to explain the best he could in the odd language that was his own. "Dars" was the word most repeated. Catching on that Dirk was no closer to understanding him; the child huffed and ran to the door. Startled, Dirk ran after him.

Lloyd knocked on the door and looked back at Dirk. "Dars!" he insisted.

"Door?" Dirk tried laying a hand on the wood barrier. "You want something with the door?"

Lloyd's mouth twisted as his eyebrows furrowed. There was more muttering under the breath before he began to pull at the door; he could not pry it open, however, with Dirk in the way. Sighing, he looked back up at his guardian and again said, "Dars! Dars!"

Not the door then. Outside maybe? Intrigued, Dirk went back, fetched the blanket, and then, with a firm grip on Lloyd, opened the door. A chilly breeze greeted them and his body naturally shivered, goosebumps rising up his arms and legs. For a moment, the dwarf thought this was a bad idea and wanted to scurry back into the house, but then the wind stilled and he found that while the air was still cool, it was not too crisp to stand. Letting his body adjust, Dwarven eyes took in his surroundings.

It was a beautiful night, with a calm air and bright moonlight. He supposed even human eyes would be able to see well in this illumination. The trees rustled but Dirk caught no sign of any trouble lurking nearby. Unless one counted that giant, mutated dog trouble and Dirk's judgment was still out on that. Noishe, still curled under a tree, lifted his head and perked his long ears up; the green and white tail swaying softly. "Dars!" Lloyd cheered and Dirk looked to see the child pointing up to the sky, nearly jumping on his heels. "Dars!" The dwarf tilted his head back and saw the shimmering carpet of lights the boy had tried to lead him to.

"Stars," he breathed out the proper Common word, now in full understanding.

Dwarf and child settled themselves against the side of the house; the blanket carefully tucked in around them both, and stared up at the sky. Looking fully content, Lloyd now became a little chatter-box, keeping up a constant stream of talking while pointing at different areas of the sky. Dirk made sure to mumble in response while inwardly wondering if perhaps one of the boy's parents had actually taken the time to point out constellations. He peered at the infinite stretch of lights and tried to discern some, but was forced to concede that he was no good at it. Oh well. Star gazing was said to be an elven thing anyway.

Still, this reminded him of something....

If you be my star, I'll be your sky...

Some sort of song. The kind sung in childhood days only stretch thin in memory from infrequent use. The tune was there though, in broken pieces that he could not remember the order of. He wanted to remember though and in his dreamy sort of efforts began to hum it. "If you be my star, I'll be your sky," he whispered, the words flowing now that he had stopped reaching for them. "You can hide underneath me and come out at night. When I turn jet black and you show off your light-" He shook his head suddenly, clearing it of melody and words. How odd he was acting!

When he looked down at Lloyd, the child had stopped talking in order to stare at his weird behavior. Dirk chuckled nervously before clearing his throat. "Enough stargazing," he declared before standing and scooping the boy into his arms. "Time for bed." His tone left no room for argument, but he could fee Lloyd peer over his shoulder.

"Dars," Lloyd called, a bit sadly.

"Stars tomorrow," Dirk insisted gently, heading back inside the house. "Sleep now." He deposited the child back in his bed and tucked him in once more. The short excursion seemed to satisfy the child as not a few moments later Lloyd was deep in sleep. Slowly, so as to not take any chances on perhaps waking him, Dirk straightened and stretched out his back, feeling ready for some fully sleep himself. He shuffled over to the cellar before pausing and then retracing his steps to the door. It was only he was sure the house was secure did he allow himself to head for bed.

Kratos had returned from his nightly excursion to find that Kvar had nearly gone too far.

While it bothered him little to be cooped up in a room for days on end- and indeed he could almost say that he was starting to enjoy it if only for company's sake-he made himself take time to go out and "smell the roses", figuratively speaking. It had been advice given a couple times by comrades whom he fully trusted. One had once been a comrade in arms, battle-scarred, sarcastic, and a red and black bird atop his shoulder; the other a gentle spirit he had fully believed in, kind and full of wisdom. If two such opposite people had insisted that it was important to take time to let the world stop, then he supposed there had to be some truth to that. So at night he would go and sit under the stars, which were beginning to feel as eternal as he was.

But at this moment he was mocking himself for every calm and peaceful moment. Fool.

The poor thing- woman- was curled up on her cot, shivering violently though the room's temperature remained at its constant. Her teeth even chattered with cold and even from the when he had first stepped back into the cell, sharp eyes had been able to discern beads of sweat upon her forehead. His first thought was to grind his teeth and curse Kvar for letting impatience getting the best of him. It was immediately obvious that the Desian leader had allowed his need for results to taint his judgment, perhaps carrying out routine experiments farther than was wise. His first successful specimen in decades and the man still had not learned any better.

His second thought was so vague and foreign that he could not comprehend it. It took no heed of his preoccupied mind and instead took control of his hand and laid it upon the feverish brow. Or so he believed. Kratos was only conscious of his hand suddenly brushing away strands of hair with no memory of how it had gotten there. Growling under his breath about senility, he removed his hand and swept his gaze across the now familiar room for items he could use.

Kvar may have caused this, but Kratos was going to fix it.

… Or at least, those had been his original noble sentiments. He certainly hadn't counted on getting bruises in the process.

Vulnerable as she looked it was easy to forget the fiery stubbornness that was innate in AO12. Though Kratos had only been trying to maneuver her into a position so he could more easily administer a draught, the feel of hands once more upon her sparked a self-preservation instinct that dived into her anger for fuel. All in all, though, it was a poetic way of explaining how he ended up with a fierce bite into his wrist and a solid smack on the nose for his troubles. It was a blind attack and hardly hurt since he was so quick to recover. Still, as he stared down at this creature he thought he had come to know, he was forced to reevaluate his opinion of her once more and was startled to see that she had changed.

Whether it was the slight throbbing in his wrist that helped bring about some kind of focus or if it had been the first time in a long while he had actually looked her over, somehow the little things stood out to him. For example, she was no longer so small. The woman weakly- yet stubbornly- sitting up was not the same as the young lady he had first seen which made logical sense, as his mind so kindly informed him that it must have been years- not that he had noticed- since he had first come. Her hair was now longer and her body more mature in ways he was not able to pinpoint. In fact, it was awkward to be thinking about her like this at all. He had thought it harmless to like her, but now he started to realize that it should have never happened.

AO12 should have remained a specimen.

Pain glazed eyes stared back at him without recognition and he was oddly relieved to not have his study noticed. It took longer than he liked for realization to light up those eyes. She blinked once, then twice, and then sighed. "Sorry about your wrist," she mumbled, rubbing her arm. The action gave Kratos the chance to finally see the hand with the EXsphere since before she had kept it clutched tight to her chest; now he could see why. Her whole hand was red and slightly swollen and could see scratches tearing up the skin particularly around the gem. If her fever was being caused by some sort of infection than this was worse than Kratos thought.

"It's nothing," he answered flippantly for indeed his mind was already busy analyzing this new problem. With one hand he eased her back down on the cot- it was often said that he had a masterful presence and he supposed it was that and her own exhaustion that made her more docile- and with the other he gently took hold of her EXsphere hand to take a better look. As far as the parasitic gem was concerned, the color was strong and not diminishing in the slightest. To Kvar's credit, this leaps ahead of anything the project had produced thus far. He momentarily contemplated the notion that Kvar might be tempted to harvest the item soon rather than risk complications later, but he pushed it away with a vigor that surprised him. Thus was Kvar's own worries; Kratos would instead work on saving the host.

Easier said than done as it turned out.

File Two: SAVED~

For Antiquity-Dreams, supernovadobe, and JereduLevenin-

For your support, your new friendships, and your encouragement.

Welcome to the team!