(A/N) Hey all, it's been awhile, but a playthrough of ToS got me inspired to continue this and connect scraps on my hard-drive. If you really want to know what's going on after all this time, I recommend a re-reading of the last few chapters. Here's a quick recap:

Kratos has been separated from the others and has been captured by the Meltokian knights under orders from the war-mongering General Tristan. His sister, Queen Nyx has been held captive as a figurehead in the palace and she is searching for a means of escape for her brother. Yuan, Martel, Mithos, and Zerai (the Sylvaranti spy that has been tagging along) are preparing to fight Shadow. The last they saw of Kratos was after a fight with Yuan, from which he never returned. The mana in the world is draining away from magitechnology in the war, and it has poisoned the Great Tree, putting the two nations on borrowed time.

Anyway, sorry for the hiatus.

Chapter 38

The cave was full of living darkness. Every magic light spell was leeched at the edges - pale and watered down and barely enough to navigate by. Mithos' eyes struggled to make shapes out of their surroundings, but his eyes felt like they were full of static.

"How much longer?" He asked Celsius, herded onward by a careful Yuan as they traced the cold stone walls with numbing fingers.

You're nearly there, She encouraged, but I must warn you: Shadow is not like me. He is unfeeling, apathetic. He may not be swayed by the crisis at hand.

"You think he'll be difficult." Mithos felt a shiver. If Celsius thought that, they were in trouble. Celsius had been one of the toughest fights they'd faced - weathered by the biting cold and set against a strategic foe.

And they had Kratos, Mithos recognized with a little apprehension and a lot of unresolved hurt. Without Kratos, could they really face Shadow and win? He supposed that Zerai was fighting with them now after witnessing the last fight, but Zerai wasn't half the fighter Kratos was.

The orb of light bouncing alongside their slow pace trembled and flickered out, fully swallowed by the blackness.

He is here. Celsius said with conviction and Mithos' grip on his sword tightened.

"Get ready." He told the others, hearing them shuffle around him protectively. A deep purple, so violet it was almost at the edge of his sight bled through the runes on the floor. It was by virtue of this meager light alone that Mithos made out a growing silhouette ahead, as filaments of pure shadow knit together into a towering form of black, with pale, narrowed eyes opening out of nothing to stare at them.

"Intrudeeerrrrss." The rumbling voice was low, slow, and echoing. "Fiiighhtt or dieeee."

The darkness attacked them from all sides.

Nyx knew she was running out of time.

The General would return any day now, and with him would come an execution. She had options to pursue, but they were mostly insane, relying on rumor or loyalty in her subjects she couldn't count on. A calculated escape would require divine intervention at this point, something that would help her obtain keys she didn't have or help her empty the halls in a crowded castle.

It would take magic.

And that was her starting point. There were court physicians and even, though the practice was frowned upon, court magicians. Since half elves were typically servants, these magicians were sometimes high elves and sometimes knowledgeable Dwarven enchanters. Magitechnology was one thing; building machines that served a purpose, but pure magic was still seen as amorphous and other.

The only practitioner of magic that had been known to her was a Dwarf that lived north of the city - a stout man with dark skin and a perpetual scowl named Kaahdi. She wasn't even sure he could do what she needed, but she had to try.

With a goal loosely in mind, she could either attempt to send for him, use a trusted messenger, or go herself. There was no way the military would allow her to bring in a magician on the eve of her brother's death, and she trusted no one in the city.

The line of thought brought her to Kratos' old room in the palace - guards in the hall thought she would be sleeping there in what she hoped looked like bittersweet nostalgia. Nothing had been moved, except the awful note he had left behind. She brought Kratos' blade with her, Typhon's old sword that had been abandoned by the base of the castle the first time he was arrested. She had held onto it, hoping to return it to him eventually, but now it felt cold and impotent in her hands.

She found his old clothes, which to her simultaneous delight and embarrassment actually fit her. Thus, pulling on slightly too big boots and strapping Typhon's sword to her belt, Nyx Aurion, the Queen of Tethe'alla, was dressed as a boy and prepared to search for a warlock. Returning the sword would have to wait. She may need to use it.

Glancing out the window, she felt apprehension and wonder. Kratos had made this climb years ago, and now she was tracing his steps in hope of saving his life. Hair tucked under a cap and fingers pushing the shuttered windows open, Nyx gazed at the ledges below. It would be difficult in the dark, but the dark was safer. She slipped outside and closed the window behind her, finding hand and foothold by feel in the night. Soon she hit the grass and was slipping to the perimeter wall only a few yards away, a blade at her hip and fire in her eyes.

"Ngh!" Yuan grunted as the dark collapsed around him with little warning, digging under his skin and striking like thousands of needles. His bladework had made some progress against the spirit early, but Shadow was fast, somehow trickling into nothingness and reappearing elsewhere.

The halfling was sweaty and hurting, elbows and knees undoubtedly bloodied from crashing into the stone floor several times.

"Photon!" Martel called out, her spell blinding them all for a split moment as it staggered their adversary. It may have been expected, but light was the only thing that seemed to work. Unfortunately, they only knew a few spells as a whole.

As Zerai dashed forward, dagger seemingly gliding right through the spirit rather than striking true, he cried out in frustration. "We need a better pla-ooomf" Backhanded across the room, he landed next to Mithos, who remained casting feverishly.

"Eruption!" The gushing red magma danced out of thin air, but Shadow was no longer there. Dark lances glazed in red whirled out of their surroundings, crashing towards the summoner before a guardian spell could cross his lips.

"Mithos!" Martel cried out, already preparing a healing spell for him that would do little good if he couldn't defend himself in time.

The boy was yanked out of the way by a, still prone, Zerai who had no time to move himself away from the dark spears raining down. His left leg was clearly impaled as he cried out in pain.

Yuan moved to protect the staggered pair of fighters, seeing Mithos' eyes wide and fearful from the near miss.

"We have to retreat!" His voice cracked and Yuan nearly fell over in surprise. Mithos was right, they were losing. He magicked his blade away, summoning a guardian sphere as he leaned down to hoist Zerai up, since the human was struggling to walk.

As a group they ran almost blindly back to the mouth of the cave, the darkness chasing them with contempt the whole way back. The dim light of evening was still too bright to Yuan's starved eyes, but he used it to examine the others.

Mithos was almost hyperventilating, hands shaking and eyes bolting from place to place. Martel was weary, her Mana supply almost depleted. Yuan was exhausted and bloodied, and Zerai had a wound on his lower thigh that made Yuan wince in sympathy.

"Shadow wasn't like the others." Yuan finally said after catching his breath. Mithos was staring at Zerai's injury when he answered.

.

"I don't think he was holding back."

Nyx spent several hours traveling in the night, maneuvering her way carefully through a city under curfew and into the lower towns about the capital. It felt good to breath fresh air again, to feel the thrill of freedom and the apprehension of capture. She tried not to get drunk on the sensation. There were reasons she had stayed behind before, based in loyalty to her people and her family.

If she didn't keep perspective, the giddiness of getting out could overrule all her discipline.

The records she consulted said that the dwarf lived outside the village of Serthmore, in a cottage off the main footpath to the east. Nyx was nearly there, a lantern swinging in hand as she marched so very solitary in her little circle of light, the whispers of forest dancing around her.

It was late, very late.

She found the cottage without too much trouble, a glowing light in a window indicating activity.

She knocked.

A gruff dwarf answered after a short delay, the wood creaking open to reveal a face full of distrust and annoyance. His beard was braided elaborately, pulling away from his face and up into silvered hair, only making age more pronounced in his wrinkly visage.

"Kaahdi, the Enchanter?" She confirmed, lingering in the doorway.

"The on'y dwarf for miles, of course I'm 'im." Kaahdi answered, not shifting to let her in.

"I need your help and I can pay." Gald jingled meaningfully as she patted her pockets.

"I got a pension from th' Crown. Royal jobs only, m'afraid." His eyes darted to the sides, looking for anyone that might be watching. His excuse given, he made to close the door.

"No! Wait!" Nyx took a chance and pulled off her cap, long hair spilling out messily "Your Queen needs your help. Please don't turn me away, a life depends on it!"

Kaahdi spent a long while examining her face before stepping aside. The door opened all the way.

She stepped into the home of the warlock.

They spent the next few days camped outside the cave to recuperate. Martel worked on healing Zerai's leg and replenishing her Mana, and Mithos practiced light spells distractedly. Yuan came across him casting a shaky photon on a tree branch and sat down, body still sore and aching.

.

"Are you alright?" The Sylvaranti asked carefully.

Mithos contorted his face and shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not hurt more than a few bruises."

"That's not what I meant." Yuan lightly chided. Mithos didn't answer him for a while.

.

.

"I don't know that we can beat him, Yuan." He finally muttered.

"Yeah, me too." Yuan said honestly, "But if we fight smarter next time, I'd say our odds improve a little."

"We needed Kratos in there." Mithos' voice grew quieter and he had his head tilted down.

Yuan felt his heart ache a little. They had needed Kratos. His human friend was powerful and focused. He was far ahead of them on battlefield strategy and Yuan missed him. There were a few nights when he thought about leaving to search for the Royal and make him see sense.

Some nights he made it twenty minutes out from camp, packed, with no intention of returning without a redhead trailing behind him. Those nights saw him coming back defeated and pacing restlessly, wondering where the hell he would even start looking.

"Yeah, we did."

"Do you think he knew that?" Mithos' flashing, angry eyes were now boring into Yuan's, "When he left us, do you think he knew we couldn't win without him?"

"Of course not!" Yuan was getting angry too, "What you're doing - saving the world - it's all he ever thought about. He would never jeopardize that! He - he would die first." He felt cold all of a sudden.

"Why past tense?" Mithos had calmed down, anger now converted into worry.

"I wonder that something kept him from coming back is all." Yuan's fingers knotted in the grass, pulling and tearing as he spoke.

"But he was angry!"

"He was hurt. Kratos has always been able to ignore pain. He would have come back."

"Then why didn't we look for him, if you're so sure?" Wide eyes and the boy was bouncing to his feet.

"I- Maybe we should have, I don't know." Every regret over his indecision was coming out of Mithos' mouth. "Just, before he left he kept saying that we were running out of time." The boy paled at this. Yuan continued, "We had to keep moving, didn't we?"

"I don't know." Mithos sat in the grass beside him now, looking drawn and older than he should.

"You think you can face Shadow again?" Yuan tried to lighten the mood without success. Mithos made a face.

"I know we can't run anymore. We need to gather our strength and find some we don't have over the next few days." There was a kind of conviction in the halfling's voice. "We need to put it all out there and quick. Apparently we're running out of time."

"What y're asking for 'sa tall order, miss." Kaahdi said.

"It could happen as soon as tomorrow." She sat resolutely at a rough-hewn table, fingers playing at the hilt of her borrowed sword.

"Most magic like this, it takes time t'act." He shrugged, "I can't promise it'll help."

"What can you try?" She asked, "What does it take to get him out of there?"

"I am an Enchanter, m'lady." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "I can't unlock a door ov'r there from here, and I can't make 'im invisible."

"Well, what can you do?" Nyx's hope was trickling away.

"I can give 'im a sword at th' right time and you'll have t'hope for the best." He rubbed his chin in thought.

"That's it? I could throw him a sword myself, but I don't think that's enough. There are guards and bindings and almost a full regiment camping in the courtyard."

"Do ya have someth'n important of 'is?"

"Of Kratos'? Yes, this is the sword he's used for a decade. It was our brother's before he died." Nyx pulled the sword from its sheath and laid it on the table, the noble blade glancing in the firelight.

"Good, tha's perfect. I can send it to 'im at th' right time." The dwarf admired the cut of the sword. "If yer willing to perform riskier magic, I can also give't power."

"What kind of power?" Nyx rubbed her shoulders to ward off the sudden chill.

"Tha' depends on the price of th' magic." His eyes met hers meaningfully.

"I already said I could pay." Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Not that kinda price, miss." Kaahdi looked uncomfortable with the topic. "This is soul magic. What I put into th' sword I have t'take from someth'n else."

"Take from what?" Nyx's stomach sank and it felt like the ground was dropping away from her feet.

"From a person. From 'im, or from you."

He saw her distress and backtracked quickly. "Ya don't have t'do it." He reassured, "I can send 'im the sword without."

"Take it from me." She said, an ominous sense of finality ringing in her chest. "How much do you need?" She knew nothing of soul magic, but she knew she would pay this price. How could she have come this far and not cross this last line? She'd never forgive herself if she didn't try everything.

"Tha' depends." He said with a look of consternation. "On 'ow much he needs."

"Okay." She said with more conviction than she felt. She hoped this was enough. She somehow still doubted that it would be.

.

Hopefully this night would not be Kratos' last.

It was a beautiful morning, Kratos thought. Far too beautiful a morning to die on. He hadn't gotten to say goodbye to Nyx, and that was perhaps his biggest regret.

Kratos could feel the eyes on his back as he was thrust forward through the armored bodies around him, bright white sunlight glancing off the metal so vividly that it almost hurt. There were too many men for him to do more than drag his feet. The chance at escape was trickling away, the seconds of his life ticking down to a few sparse handfuls. There was an executioner's block set up in the middle of the courtyard. An enormous man with a large axe and helmeted face stood waiting.

It would be a beheading then.

.

He felt his heartbeat quicken and his palms begin to sweat. This was death. There would be nothing more in this life. He tried to grasp at opportunities, but there were none. He fleetingly recalled his promise to Nyx and felt foolish relief at not having to compromise his morals before the end. There was no opportunity to escape. There had been none. He was free of this last burden.

His thoughts drifted to Yuan and he was glad that his friend was not present. There was some regret for his angry words and the endless tribulations the halfling had been dragged through on his behalf. He trusted the loyal man to see their quest through to the end. Martel and Mithos would be in good hands.

.

He just always thought that he would be a part of the journey—not a stone on the path.

.

.

He found himself herded to the platform, the only one standing aside from the executioner himself, in a filthy tunic, with arms loosely bound in front of his body. Eyes peered up at him, a few sad, some stoic, mostly apathetic. These men had protected his family for generations, watched over him as a child in this very palace yard.

They did nothing.

He was forced to kneel before the block. There was no ceremony, no words spoken, no reasons given.

He refused to close his eyes as his head was placed on it.

The executioner hefted the steel blade, axe hovering over neck as he measured the blow.

Kratos couldn't recall what his last words had been.

The blade lifted.

Kratos inhaled deeply, in anticipation of the strike.

.

There were sparks. Blood-red light spit upwards from a glowing rune swirling about the platform. Suddenly Kratos' bound hands were no longer empty, and the mana was whispering-singing-screaming at him. His body twisted, shoulders falling back onto the stone and arms pulling the familiar hilt up-up-up to protect his head on pure instinct.

The axe struck against the sword with an ear-splitting clang that turned into a hiss as the top half of the executioner's weapon was cleaved straight off, a molten mess to his left.

Eyes wide, Kratos moved—leaping to his feet and kicking the startled man in the sternum with enough force that he stumbled off the platform into the crowd, still clutching the destroyed axe. Kratos twisted his blade to split the rope bindings at his wrists and finally looked at it.

He held Typhon's sword—lost to him since the first capture in this city. Though it returned to him through magic, there was an even more remarkable quality—one he didn't quite understand.

.

The blade was on fire.

.

The sword shone a muted red, dancing with licking yellow and crimson tongues. The hilt was not hot, but warm and alive as if it had mana of its own. In fact, it must have, because where it touched him he felt power surging into his hand. The mana said move move move and he did. Eyes drifted up from the magnificent weapon to the crowd of soldiers, gaping at him in surprise. He felt his blood run cold.

There were so many.

Whatever it takes, she had made him say. There was bile in his throat.

There was power surging through his veins.

.

He could do it. He shouldn't. He should surrender in spite of this power.

She had made him promise.

.

When the four men nearest to him finally gathered their wits and unsheathed swords to strike, he struck first—like a snake with a blade. The lethal sword cut straight through metal, but they kept coming and he was only so fast. Soon, it was carving through flesh and bone as he used every ounce of skill to minimize casualties. It wasn't enough.

There were cries of pain, screams of terror, but the Tethe'allans were trained well. They did not flee. And there were so many. Swords nicked at his arms when he was too slow, a thrown dagger narrowly missed his eye and instead traced a line across his forehead. He was fast tiring as he navigated the small army that was too close too close. Mana was singing in the sword, so he used it.

Lightning struck once, then twice. Thunder, ear-splitting in its wake, and the smell of burning in the air. Still, he fought off brave men following orders while his stomach flipped at the utter havoc being wrought. Men died. Many men died. And there was too much blood. Grief for them rose in his gut, and utter hatred for what had driven him to this.

"What are you?" a desperate shout.

.

It was the General, standing above a crowd of corpses and wailing bodies. The man that willingly slaughtered innocents in the name of nationalism, the man that threatened murder on Martel and Mithos and Nyx to his very face and the man that drove the production of mana-sucking weapons in their country. General Tristan was the human that usurped his sister and placed him on that platform to die. There was only rage and no thought. The man never received an answer, as Kratos' flaming sword was plunged into his chest in the next moment. The body crumpled like any other, but the royal was already spinning away from a new attack and parrying another. It was a deadly dance punctuated with powerful spells that Kratos had never pulled off before. It was all gasping breaths and muscle memory and just on the verge of being completely out of control.

When the last foe fell, Kratos finally stopped. Injured men gazed at him in horror and awe and he was almost shaking with his own revulsion. He glanced over his shoulder and with perplexity found that his wings were out, glowing blue wisps somehow triggered by this influx of powerful mana.

He dropped the sword and the wings vanished, the blade extinguishing and the extra power dissipating in the air. It clattered on blood-flecked stone and he stumbled at the loss of the potent magic and the weight of his exhaustion. He finally had a clear look at the destruction in the palace courtyard and only felt despair.

.

It was a massacre.

.

Nyx. He had to find Nyx. He had to learn what she'd done for this. What price she paid for this.

Nyx's stomach was twisting with alarm.

But Kratos stood in front of her, alive and with mystified, exhausted eyes, and she could not bring herself to add her own gut-wrenching dejection to his. Nyx looked at him, she knew she must have seemed dazed and he would not understand why. Despite the warm air, she was chilled to the bone.

"What did you do?" He asked aloud, but What-did-I-do? was written all over his face instead.

How could she tell him? How could he forgive her for what she had traded away? She knew what he would say. He would say that she had no right to spend her life on his. He would say that she had a responsibility to the kingdom, that her life was not hers to give.

He would tell her that he wasn't worth it, with that tragic, hurting look in his eyes but never on his face.

.

But he was.

"I paid a dwarf to enchant the blade." She did not lie.

"Oh." He was dazed and confused enough to take it at face value. "General Tristan is dead."

Her eyes widened at that news. It could be possible to wean off the production of mana weapons without his influence. A chill wracked her frame. It frightened her despite her conviction. Her eyes fixed on the sword in his hand and she could feel it grow stronger as she grew weaker. She didn't regret it. After losing everyone, it only made sense to grasp tightly to whoever was left. She would sooner die than lose another brother.

.

"Don't leave me again." She hated how pleadingly desperate it sounded.

.

But she was dying.

And if he left, she would be truly alone, with the burden of leadership and the poison of this strange fate eating her away at the inside. It was so good to see him whole and innocently concerned for her, so familiar and comforting that warmth ebbed away at her cold. Kratos could do no wrong, at this point. She regretted nothing.

Even if he left her, he was alive, and it was worth it.

.

As his brow furrowed and his eyes drifted down in deliberation of her request, she realized it was an incredibly selfish thing to ask of him. Meltokio had not been his home for years now. She might be the only person he truly knew in the city. It would be ridiculous to ask him to cling to her when he had clearly made a life for himself elsewhere. And perhaps first and foremost, it was still not safe for him here.

.

And what of his companions? The halflings? They must be worried and searching for him.

.

Yes, it was terribly selfish of her to ask.

Still she waited, tormented by unfounded hope, for his answer.

.

.

"I can't stay."

And he was wrecked, she could see that. The blood soaked into everything; the bodies of those that had tried to stop him sat in piles outside. She'd made him promise to do this, to do what it took to live. The violence had astonished her. She almost regretted it, when she saw the shadow in his eyes.

Almost.

.

"Go find them." Her voice didn't break, and she even managed a smile.

.

Yuan needed an edge he didn't quite have, he realized as he failed to inject his mana properly into a light spear. They didn't stand a chance like this, with one fighter still limping from the last bout and Mithos' confidence shaken. Martel still needed rest and Mithos still needed practice. This was all time they couldn't afford to waste. Yuan had to do something differently.

His eyes tracked to his pack, where the ever-present Cruxis Crystal sat—the one the researcher Xillia had gifted him. He came close to using it once, when he first rescued Kratos from Meltokian prison, but the situation had been less insurmountable then. For all he knew, the Crystal only had side-effects on humans. Kratos was fine after ingesting Aionis, so why should a half-elf suffer the same symptoms?

While Yuan had very little understanding of how it worked, Kratos was faster after the crystal had been affixed, with sharper reflexes, better vision and hearing. It was hard to separate some of the fighting improvements from Kratos' innate talent, but it wasn't a hard sell to say the crystal had made the human stronger.

If all the other summon spirits were like Shadow, Yuan would need that boost. They might all need that boost, he thought with a grimace.

It was probably worth the risk.

Kratos would kill him if he found out, but Kratos wasn't there.

.

Yuan reached for the pack.

Mithos watched carefully as Martel checked Zerai's leg. The wound was only a very deep bruise, after all her ministrations lessened the initial injury. He was conflicted. After Martel left to get something from their camp, Mithos remained.

"Thanks."

"Hm?" Zerai's head of dark curls tipped up in acknowledgement.

"Why'd you help me?" The halfling boy asked, with a little bit of wonder and a lot of caution.

"I don't know." Zerai said with a shrug. "I saw that I could."

Mithos fingered the edges of his fraying sleeves as he thought.

"Why didn't you get out of the way instead?" The Summoner tried again, trying to reconcile the skulking Sylvaranti with this seemingly selfless act. He'd expect something like this from Martel, or even Yuan, but never Zerai.

"He wasn't aiming for me." Zerai squirmed a little bit under the scrutiny, "You're the one who can do this thing, right? So if we lose you, we've done it for nothing." While the human was only just now coming to grips with the idea of Summon Spirits, his logic was sound and it helped Mithos a little bit.

"Oh. Okay." Mithos gave him one last appraising look before standing up to go find Yuan. He didn't see any deceit in the man's expression and it put him a little more at ease than before.

"Mithos?" He asked as the blonde turned his back.

"Yeah?"

"When are we going back in?" The boy couldn't tell whether there was apprehension or curiosity in the question, and he found it didn't really matter which was which. Mithos was a little baffled that he got to make the choice, but he swiftly grew to like the mantle of leadership that was being offered.

"Tomorrow morning." He decided, with a small smile he hoped projected the fearlessness he didn't feel.

The day came with nerves and clammy palms. Mithos was trying to breathe calmly through his anxiety and fear, but he still found his feet tapping and his eyes roving through the dark again and again with nothing to land on. Yuan was awfully chipper this morning, spine straight and posture more confident. Martel was refreshed, and Zerai's limp was almost gone. They were as ready as they were going to get.

When violet light poured up into the air a second time, Mithos was already on his toes, and Yuan—was he always that fast—was already running to the middle of the dais, blade in hand, to strike the amassing shadow. Mithos began his novice photon spell with a little trepidation and Martel followed suit beside him. Zerai chased after Yuan with no magic to support him, and say what you will about him, Mithos realized in that moment that he wasn't a coward.

Shadow spared them no words and struck with a vengeance, moving with supernatural speed, sending dark spikes flying every which way that Mithos could barely see coming. Flashes of light magic kept the room bathed in unsteady light, and the battle was already faring better. He thanked Mana for Martel's quick tutelage on light spells, because between the two of them keeping up a steady barrage was much easier.

He heard the whistle of an incoming projectile and rolled out of the way, blocking another with a quick force field. Yuan was doing a fair job of keeping the spirit's attention focused on him, managing a few artes Mithos had never quite seen him pull off before. After a perfect light spear staggered Shadow's towering form and some spectacular bladework followed up on it, Zerai joined in. By some miracle, the monster was contained for a short while, and Mithos put everything he had into another photon spell.

Martel joined him, and together they created an enormously brilliant orb, crushing the darkness out of the Summon Spirit with sheer force and leaving them all temporarily blinded. For just that instant, daylight existed inside the dusky cave and Mithos felt that they had won.

It was silent for a moment, and Mithos' eyes slowly readjusted to the deep amethyst, barely present light. An orb of pure shadow floated in the center of the room.

"Summmmonnnnerrr. Pact." Two words and Shadow seemingly had nothing else to say. Mithos stepped forward proudly, still shaking off the shock of victory.

"I vow to save this world and heal the Giant Kharlan Tree. I ask for your power to help us stop this poisonous war!" Mithos kept his vow similarly short, and he could see Martel's glowing smile without even looking.

"My poowwweerrr isss youurrrsss." Shadow hissed before vanishing, the orb drifting towards the boy with intent. The room was suddenly less dark, though there was still no true light, and Mithos grinned.

"We did it!" He jumped up and down, only a little winded by expelling so much mana in the fight. Martel ruffled his hair as they left the cavern and Yuan's laugh sounded like bells.

"You're a fast learner." The teal-haired halfling praised, "Didn't you learn that spell yesterday?" Mithos flushed, but was still pleased.

"Martel is a good teacher." He said modestly, "You were amazing, Yuan! Where have you been hiding all those moves?" Without the pressure of impalement by daggers of shadow, Mithos could fully admire how impressive Yuan's display had been. "I could barely cast before, but you managed to keep him busy all by yourself." Yuan shrugged in uncomfortable self-deprecation, and Zerai chirped in dismay.

"All by himself? I was there too!" The human was indignant.

"Maybe do something next time then, huh?" Yuan mocked good-naturedly, earning a shove from the other man as they all walked into the sunlight with confidence in their hearts.

"So Sylvarant is next, is it?" Mithos asked with a stretch of his shoulders, squinting at the sun as it sat just past its zenith.

"I'd like to try one more thing in Tethe'alla first, if you're okay with it?" Yuan spoke up, looking somber. Mithos knew immediately what he meant, and his smile was even brighter for it.

.

.

"Yeah, let's do it."

They found him by accident—or at least it seemed that way.

They bent their path further north, intending to check back upon their old camp before moving on completely. There was nothing left to do in Tethe'alla, but Yuan felt like they should give Kratos every possible opportunity to find them again before hope of reuniting was lost completely. Maybe Kratos had felt Yuan's presence, or perhaps it was a weird twist of fate, but all the same, while skimming the outskirts of the lower towns of Meltokio several days later they found him.

Standing in a clearing, as if waiting for them.

.

"I owe you an explanation," Kratos was quiet, "but I cannot give you one. Not yet." His voice trembled at the end of the sentence, almost imperceptibly, but the effect still had Yuan shaken to his core. Kratos wouldn't look at him, wouldn't look at any of them. The relief at seeing his old friend was stifled in his throat.

Yuan knew something was terribly wrong.

Mithos was suddenly angry again, even though Yuan had though he was past it, and Martel looked somewhere between cross and concerned.

"We defeated Shadow without you, Kratos." Mithos found his words after he found his scowl, and Yuan could tell the boy was only angry because of the healing wound that Kratos' abandonment had torn open in its wake. It was a façade of rage and barely there at that.

"You left us."

"I know." Kratos looked so tired, so off-balance. When he finally lifted his gaze from the dirt, his eyes were bloodshot.

Yuan noticed the red, next. It was everywhere on the human—drenching his pants and boots in deep maroon swaths of gore.

"Mana! Kratos! Are you injured? There's blood everywhere!" With the way the man was staggering about, it was likely severe.

Yuan remembered to move, and was quickly by the swordsman's side, a healing spell on his lips and his hand glowing before he had even reached him. Kratos merely slumped against the tree, a hand lifting his bangs from his forehead in a rare show of fatigue. There was a long scratch across his forehead that was caked with dried blood.

.

"It's not mine." He sank into a sitting position, head falling in to his hands.

.

Yuan took a step back in surprise. There was too much blood.

"Most of anyway." The statement was full of darkness and sorrow, but it was also frightening.

.

Yuan didn't have words for a moment. Oddly enough, Zerai did.

"I'm glad." It was almost an olive branch, but Kratos didn't seem to notice.

.

"I'm not sure I am." was the soft reply.

.

"Kratos, what happened?" Martel was just as soft, eyes holding no judgement as she took a step closer to the man they had all been missing.

.

"It's – I," The Tethe'allan fumbled for words, "I'll explain later. We have to go." The lapse in composure was gone as the redhead pulled himself to his feet again, "You shouldn't have come back here."

"What would you have us do, Kratos?" Yuan knew incredulity was rising in his voice already. He needed to clear the air between them—guilt and tension had weighed the halfling down for days now. "We had to make sure you were alright. I didn't want to leave things the way we left them. We couldn't just go marching into Sylvarant without knowing what had become of you!"

"You should have. You're wasting time."

"From the looks of it, you could have died, Kratos. Forgive me for trying to stave off that particular ending." Yuan had his hands thrown in the air. Kratos paled slightly at this. Yuan took that as a sign to continue.

"Look, Kratos, I'm sorry for what I said. I had no righ—"

Yuan was interrupted by a sharp bark of laughter.

.

They all stared.

Kratos was laughing.

His head tilted back, it was a strange sound—fond and bleak all in one.

.

"Yuan?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." The human was almost smiling now, no malice hidden in the phrase. Yuan returned the expression hesitantly. He had been forgiven? Just like that?

.

Mithos seemed to have been following it all closely. His eyes had lost their angry slant, and his arms uncrossed.

"So, you aren't mad?"

Kratos scoffed and took a few long strides to the edge of the clearing.

"No. We really should be leaving."

.

Zerai snickered in amusement. He had already taken steps to follow.

"You don't sit still, do you?"

"You prefer it this way, trust me." Kratos tossed the comment back, off-hand, gaze reevaluating each member of their party to catalogue injuries and changes.

"I'm considering it."

Kratos' eyes snapped back to the Sylvaranti in a brief moment of astonishment, lingering there with suspicion for half a moment more before passing on without saying anything further. Zerai didn't seem bothered by this, in fact, it looked to be quite the contrary. Yuan resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. He traded a surprised glance with Martel before following Kratos out of the clearing.

Five people and a mutual goal, somehow united again in spite of it all. Yuan looked at the back of his friend's head with a fond smile, the weight of uncertainty and guilt sloughing off his shoulders to be left behind in the damp soil of Tethe'alla.

He was going home.

(A/N) Drop me a review or a PM if you need a memory jogger, I know it's been awhile, but this one was extra long as recompense :)