A/N: Oh yeah, it's another one of my crazy plot bunnies. I just finished playing Milla's and most of Jude's path in Xillia, so I guess this was basically inevitable. I figured I'd post it since the Xillia archive has barely any stories, so I'll add to the count. XD

So! This takes place after NR because for some reason I have an addiction to writing unofficial sequels before I even finish the main fic. Well, I hope you guys enjoy it! I'll try to update my other stuff soon, I'm just juggling two jobs and school so it's been a pain.

Also, just a heads up - don't expect regular updates with this. I'm just doing it for kicks because I'm in love with the scenario, so I'm going to be prioritizing NR and my other stuff first, haha. Anyway, HAVE FUN.

It was snowing.

The flakes drifted down from the grey sky overhead and he observed them impassively, noting with a vague sense of discomfort that he was also laying on a bed of snow. He didn't remember arriving here, but he couldn't have been here for long as there was only a thin dusting on his chest.

Martel.

The boy let out a slow sigh. He raised one hand to the sky, staring at it. He was whole.

The hand lowered to his body. Wetness on his stomach, cuts on his arms, a dull, numb feeling coming from his left thigh. Yes, that was right. He remembered Lloyd's sword going completely through. He didn't feel pain the way normal people did, but the dull sensation alone told him that the situation had to be serious.

Martel.

Why did he care? His dream, the dream she had inspired in him…it was dead. She was gone. Four thousand years, wasted. His entire existence was meaningless. The suffering, the sacrifices, the betrayals…for nothing.

For a minute, the boy lay there and contemplated closing his eyes, giving in to death. Under normal circumstances he could survive this easily, even with extensive blood loss and the beginnings of hypothermia. But now…perhaps if he didn't move, the bleeding would be enough. He was gravely wounded.

But then, somehow, the gears in his head started turning. It was enough to wake him up a little.

He remembered fighting in Vinheim's throne room on Derris-Kharlan. So, then…why was he here, in the middle of a snowy field? What had happened?

Grudgingly, Mithos gave in to his mild curiosity and forced himself into a sitting position. A surge of real pain ran through him, causing him to wince; it was the first time in ages he had actually felt the sensation so acutely.

The snow around him was stained with red. He was bleeding so much he could smell it, the cloying metallic scent hitting him like a wall and making his head spin. His sword laid next to him, its form sunken into the snow.

The field offered him no answers. It was actually more of a plain, stretching quite far into the distance with nothing more for cover than the occasional tree. The mountains surrounding him were jagged peaks, cold and unforgiving. This had to be the Flanoir continent—but how he ended up here was a mystery. He hadn't had the energy to warp at the end of that last fight…and Kratos would have intercepted him had he tried.

"Sir! We found something!"

He felt his body go rigid at the sound of a new voice and approaching footsteps. What was this? Somebody knew he was here?

The seraph turned his head, searching for the source of the noise. He counted six soldiers approaching, all clad in strange dark uniforms, their faces hidden by helmets. He didn't recognize their garb or the weapons they were carrying.

"Perfect." One of the men said, and then paused to stare at him. "Huh. Doesn't look like much. This kid's the source of the mana spike?"

"Don't look at me," the other replied. "I'm just going off the readings I got."

"Hmph. Well, looks like he's about to kick the bucket anyway. He'll make a good test subject if he survives," the commanding soldier said, turning to him. "All right, kid, you're coming with us."

It didn't take much for Mithos to figure out that this was an undesirable scenario. These people had very bizarre mana signatures, but he understood that they were indeed humans. They intended to make him a test subject? He could never get over just how arrogant humans were.

The commanding soldier took a step towards him. Mithos felt his features automatically adopt a frightened expression, and he shrunk away.

"W-wait! Don't come any closer!"

His words only served to make the soldier more confident, as the half elf had known they would. He had encountered many men like this over the course of his lifetime.

"Must've been robbed," the man commented, walking forward. "Come quietly, kid, and we won't have to hurt you. You might even get to live a little longer depending on how useful you are."

"Please," Mithos said, stumbling to his feet. "I—"

The soldier reached out to grab him, and the blond reacted the moment he was within reach. One arm lunged down to scoop up his sword, and in the next instant it was plunged through the man's stomach. His comrades balked, staring in shock for a moment before fumbling for their own weapons.

"Commander!" one of the men yelled. "You—you little brat, you're going to pay for that!"

The five remaining soldiers attacked immediately. Mithos yanked his sword back, the muscles in his arm screaming as he did so. Blood flew. He swung around in time to fend off two of the assailants, managing to dodge just in time as a powerful bolt of lightning flashed past him.

His clothes were soaked with blood and it was beginning to freeze to his skin. The pain was becoming more than just an annoyance; he didn't have time for this, and he absolutely refused to die on anyone's terms but his own.

Mithos' eyes narrowed and he drew on the last reserves of his energy, driving a fist into the ground.

"Death Eater!" he yelled, and a few powerful bursts of light rained down on his enemies. The four that were hit were downed instantly, stunned. He wasted no time in finishing them off.

A remaining soldier shot another blast of lightning at him. Mithos held up a hand and neutralized it with Guardian. He lunged, sword at the ready, and quickly overpowered the man. With that soldier downed, one remained.

The seraph turned to see that the survivor had wisely chosen to run. His eyes narrowed and he debated giving chase, but then a wave of dizziness hit him and he decided that it was hardly important given his current circumstances.

He sheathed his sword and called upon the last of his power to cast a simple First Aid on his leg, which was bleeding more heavily than anything else. It wasn't much, but it helped to clear his head a bit.

Mithos gritted his teeth and set his gaze on the horizon. He would have to find shelter before nightfall if he wanted to rest and regain some of his strength. After that he would be able to better heal his wounds. It would take a while before he would be at full power again, but time didn't necessarily have to be an issue. He was strong enough even at a fraction of his power.

And then…and then what? He didn't know. But he had moved past that initial moment of apathy and he was on his feet and adrenaline was pounding through him, so he decided to find shelter and take things from there.

As long as he focused on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other, he could keep the reality of the situation from hitting him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was truly alone.

He felt a childish ache, an old longing for the warmth of his sister's embrace, and pushed it aside. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about anything right now, because falling apart out here would be infinitely worse than bleeding to death. He just had to keep moving; that was all that mattered…

Somehow he had found his way to some caverns that seemed to cut through the mountains. They were no less freezing cold than the rest of the tundra outside, but at least here he was protected from the biting winds. Though he had stopped to rest a few times, he was still thoroughly exhausted. He could sense that his body was going to give out on him soon but he didn't feel that this place was safe either.

He gritted his teeth, pushing onward despite the growing pain. He had survived worse. He would not succumb to this…not now.

Martel…why did this have to happen?

Monsters were lurking in the caves. He fought them off at first but eventually settled for running and hiding, as conserving his energy was becoming more and more important. His Cruxis Crystal could only take him so far.

He could remember it…how difficult that last battle had been. The fierce determination in Lloyd's eyes. The anger and conviction shared by the entire group, the will to do what must be done…he had had similar feelings once, when life was simpler. But with his sister gone and his friends no longer at his side, he had been at a disadvantage after all.

Even that girl…that damn girl. He hadn't intended for her to amount to such a threat. She had seemed so weak when he first approached her, pleading for help even as she lost consciousness. And yet when the final battle had come, she had been standing there with the rest of them. More than that, she had helped them unravel every last one of his plans.

He felt a surge of hate for her. She came from a world of humans dooming themselves to destruction through their own selfish means—she represented everything he despised about mankind. That was why she had been dispensable, a necessary sacrifice. Her people and their way of thinking were a poison.

But…

Her actions in Palmacosta flashed through his mind, and he remembered the things she had said to him.

No. He didn't have room for doubt right now. He was thinking too much again. Inevitably his mind began to wander to Kratos and Yuan, and he had to shut his thoughts down once more.

There was a light up ahead; the exit to the caves was near. He continued on, forcing out another First Aid despite his lack of mana. Darkness was starting to lurk on the edges of his vision, and he felt groggy. In a way it was funny; when was the last time he had truly slept? He couldn't remember. Even at Altessa's he had remained alert, knowing that Zelos would stab him in the back at the first opportunity.

He left the caves and found himself once again on a snowy plain. He almost gave up right then, but after scanning the surroundings he saw the outline of a building in the distance. Daring to hope, he began to trudge slowly in that direction. Maybe he would be lucky and there wouldn't be any Renegades waiting to finish him off…

Warmth.

His limbs were tingling and he was warm…

"Tess, he's waking up!"

Mithos' eyes shot open.

A black haired human woman was standing over him, smiling. He felt completely vulnerable; his first instinct was to reach for his sword, but he saw that it was leaning against the wall out of reach. Instead he forced himself into a sitting position, watching the woman carefully.

Another woman walked up; she had the same face and hair as the other girl, leading him to assume that they were twins. She offered him a friendly smile as well.

"Well, it's a relief to see you're all right. We thought you might be a goner. Here, move closer to the fire."

It was now that he heard the crackle of flames coming from the nearby hearth. He was sitting on a bed in a cozy room, thick blankets draped around his shoulders. The freezing cold from before seemed almost like a dream now.

"I…" His voice cracked from disuse. He looked from one woman to the other, unsure. "Where…am I?"

The woman on his left spoke. "Oh, I'm sorry! We should explain. This is Xailen Woods Temple, on the outskirts of Kanbalar. I'm Patel and this is my sister Tess—we're the caretakers here."

"Ah…I'm Mithos," he answered absently, running those terms through his head. Xailen Woods? Kanbalar? He wasn't sure he was familiar with either of those locations.

"How were you hurt, Mithos?" Tess asked with obvious concern. "You were bleeding so badly."

"…Bandits," he replied. It was the easiest excuse to give. And considering those shady individuals that had approached him before, it wasn't extremely far-fetched.

"That's terrible," Patel said. "Where are your parents?"

Mithos shook his head.

"I'm so sorry," Patel murmured, biting her lip.

"It's okay," he said quietly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. He paused to observe their reactions as he did so, preparing himself.

"We'll escort you to Kanbalar," Tess told him, not even taking note of his action. She still had the same concern in her eyes. "You need to see a doctor for your injuries. We did as well as we could, but we don't know any healing artes."

"We should get an audience with King Gaius!" Patel exclaimed, standing up. "He'll do something about this, I know he will. Remember? Last time somebody talked to him about the bandits prowling the road outside the temple, he sent in soldiers to guard us while he cleared them out himself!"

"W-we can't go to the king for every single problem…" Tess scolded. Then she seemed to think for a moment, and finally nodded. "But this means our original problem isn't completely solved, doesn't it? I bet that'll get his attention. His Highness doesn't leave things half finished."

Patel nodded. "Don't worry, Mithos. We'll make sure you get some help."

"Th…Thank you," the boy answered, feeling his insides freeze with shock. It was enough that they hadn't reacted to his slightly pointed ears, other than glancing at them for a short moment. Now they were talking of helping him? Getting help from a king, no less?

Not to mention he had never heard of this king, either…the only king he knew of was in Tethe'alla, and somehow he doubted the united world would have appointed a new leader so quickly.

He was getting a strange feeling about this. But he couldn't jump to conclusions. He had to test this out.

"But…" He let out a breath. "I—I don't want to be a burden. I know how to defend myself. Could you just tell me how to get to Flanoir? I have relatives there."

Tess tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "Flanoir…I don't think I've heard of it. Is it in Auj Oule?"

Auj Oule? What was Auj Oule? The strange feeling intensified. Suddenly the room seemed suffocating.

He abruptly stood up. "I'm sorry. I need to think."

"Hey, wait! You're still hurt!"

He ignored the call of Patel behind him, instead grabbing his sword and pushing his way through the door. It seemed impossible, but his legs hurt even worse now. There was an underlying ache that throbbed through his whole body with every step. It was the first time in many years that he had felt so mortal.

This place was indeed a temple. He walked down stone steps, observing high cathedral ceilings, pillars, and stained glass windows. It was chillier out here, but the cooler air helped him breathe a little easier.

He moved through the temple's large doors and stepped outside, into the snow once more. Xailen Woods, Kanbalar, Gaius, Auj Oule…what did it mean? How could they not know of Flanoir? This climate was clearly under heavy influence from Celsius; how could they be anywhere but the Flanoir continent? Unless…

"You shouldn't be out here," Tess called, finally catching up to him. "Don't scare us like that. You still need rest."

"Yeah, I know the temple's a little musty, but it's not that bad," Patel told him. "Please come back inside. We'll find your relatives after you see a doctor."

Mithos felt a surge of frustration at his own ignorance to the situation. He didn't want to accept hospitality from these humans, but at the same time, what else could he do? He didn't even know where he was.

"There he is!"

A new voice caused his entire body to tense. He looked up and saw more of those soldiers from earlier—this group was twice the size of the last one, and they were headed straight for him.

"What?" Tess froze up next to him.

"Who are those people? Those aren't the bandits, are they?" Patel murmured.

It was too late to run. Mithos felt his lips set in a grim line.

"Go inside," he told the women, drawing his sword. "You'll only get in the way."

"But Mithos—" Tess started.

He abruptly revealed his wings, the appendages bursting from his back in a flurry of iridescent feathers. The women beside him gasped. He turned to stare them down.

"Go," he said simply.

They didn't protest after that, immediately turning to run back inside the temple. Typical human behavior. Perhaps they were somehow ignorant of half elves, but the moment they encountered something they couldn't understand, they were quick to run away. Fear always led to violence; he had just ensured that he would have to leave this place immediately.

"Incredible," one of the soldiers remarked. They had slowed their approach as they drew closer, shocked. "You weren't kidding, Hal."

"Don't underestimate him." Mithos realized Hal was the soldier he had allowed to live earlier. "He uses spirit artes I've never seen before. This freak must have some kind of mutant mana lobe."

"You think he's a spirit, like that Maxwell girl?"

"What does it matter? We'll take him in as planned. Lord Gilland will be pleased," another soldier said.

"All right, kid, listen up," the leader said. "This is your last chance. If you resist, then you're going to get hurt."

"Then fight me," Mithos replied in a flat tone, readying his blade. "I'd prefer to rid the world of your stink."

"So be it," he growled. "Men, attack! Use force and take him alive!"

Six soldiers carrying the same strange weapons from before began to circle him, their weapons powering up. Others ran at him immediately. He raised his sword.

"Ray!" He yelled, drawing upon some of his recovered strength. Beams of light crashed down on the men, destroying their formation.

"Demon Fang! Fierce Demon Fang!" He cut down three men at once. Adrenaline flowed through him, his heart pounding. He usually relied on angelic magic; it felt almost nostalgic to go back to his old fighting style.

He swung his sword out in a deadly arc, and then feinted to the right before thrusting his blade out in a maneuver Kratos had taught him long ago. Two more men fell.

Mithos swung around to fend off the soldiers aiming for his blind spot. He released a Fireball into their faces, throwing them backwards. More men ran to replace them. He was surrounded on all sides, and the attackers kept coming. This was bad; he hadn't recovered enough and somehow these humans had found a way to harness magic.

He moved out of the way of an attack, thrusting his blade into the stomach of a soldier. Just wrenching it out took an amount of energy he just didn't have. He felt himself growing sloppy with exhaustion. Even now, he still hadn't had enough time to really rest.

Then it came. Suddenly he was hit with a powerful shock and he fell to the ground, realizing belatedly that it must have been a lightning spell. He cursed himself for succumbing to such a weak group. If only he were at full power…!

Men approached him. He forced himself out of his paralysis and gripped the ankle of one of the soldiers, squeezing hard until he felt the bone break. The man screamed and fell.

"How the hell is he still moving?!" the leader snarled. "Dammit! Use it!"

"Yes, sir!"

One of the men aimed another strange device at him. It began to glow with an odd purple light—and then he felt his own body begin to glow as well.

Mana, he thought with shock. My mana is being sapped. How can this be?!

"L-look at these readings, sir! This is incredible!" The man gawked.

"Don't stop now, idiot! Until he loses consciousness!" The leader snapped.

His energy was being drained at a rate faster than he could fathom. The world was growing dark. This was a worse situation than he ever could have believed—that device was beginning to draw on his Cruxis Crystal! If they kept up, it might just shatter—there would be no coming back from that. He would die without a doubt.

There was no other option. He had to do something or give in to death. He began to mutter an incantation under his breath.

"…cast your purifying light upon these corrupt souls…"

"What is he saying?"

Mithos' eyes snapped wide open. "Judgment!"

He felt his body grow even weaker than before, but the spell had the desired effect. The clouds overhead darkened and suddenly impossibly bright beams of light were raining down, crashing into the snow and sending debris flying. The men dropped their weapons and scattered, overwhelmed by the power of the attack. It was in the chaos that Mithos forced himself to his feet and picked up his sword.

The light of Judgment continued to rain down around him as he trotted down the road outside the temple, leaving everything behind.

Hours passed.

He was in Kanbalar, and it was a place he'd never seen before in his life. He knew now that there was no way he could possibly be in Sylvarant or Tethe'alla. This was something entirely different.

It was a snowy city like Flanoir, but the culture was new to him. The city was built on a mountainside, surrounded by high stone walls. Each part of the city seemed to be connected with a transportation system of hanging cars. Colored banners hung from the buildings, though he was unsure of their significance. The architecture was strange. The people dressed oddly.

…And yet, he was the odd one out. His clothes were made for a warmer climate and his shoulders were freezing. He was covered in bandages and blood, and people were staring. It wouldn't be long before someone started to ask questions.

All he wanted was for people to leave him alone. He wanted to rest…he was so tired, so tired.

Mithos moved into an alley. The alleyway seemed more sheltered from those scrutinizing gazes; he hated being stared at, regardless of the reason. He was too set in his old ways—whenever he used to travel alone with Martel, they had to hide in big cities like this. They would always move on when people started staring.

Now…now he was away from people. But he was still cold, and he needed shelter. Where could he go? Even if this was a place he was familiar with, he still didn't have any money on him. He couldn't stay at an inn. What, then? If he didn't do something soon, he was going to collapse.

There was a castle looming on the horizon, overlooking the city. He had seen the city soldiers—they wore armor that was nothing like that of the soldiers he had fought. If he went closer to the castle, maybe that would at least be safer…or perhaps they would throw him in prison for intruding. But even then, a prison cell would mean shelter and medical treatment, wouldn't it?

Mithos smiled grimly; how far he had fallen. Was he honestly considering this right now?

He had no choice. Even now, he was unconsciously making his way toward the castle. There was really nothing more he could do.

"Well, that's far enough, kid."

The boy drew to a halt, looking up to meet the gaze of a tall brown haired man. The man was smiling lazily, pointing an unfamiliar weapon at his face.

"Gotta say, though, you're quite the trooper. Can't believe you're still on your feet," the man remarked, shaking his head. "Well, anyway. You know the drill. Just be warned, I'm tougher than those grunts you faced earlier. If you try to fight, you'll be seriously hurting."

"I doubt it," Mithos replied, glaring. He didn't feel nearly as confident as he sounded, and he hated it. He wanted to wipe the cocky smirk off that human's face.

The man shrugged. "That's how you wanna be? Man, you sure are a glutton for punishment. Well, don't say I didn't warn you. Nothing personal, all right?"

He pulled a large blade out of its sheath, falling into a fighting stance. Mithos mirrored with a stance of his own, though his arms were growing too weak to hold his blade up. That Judgment spell had taken a lot out of him.

Even as they faced each other, several more of those soldiers showed up behind him and Mithos understood that this really might be the end of the road. He couldn't take on all of them. This was his limit.

The man seemed about to lunge, but at the last second his eyes narrowed and he grimaced.

"…What?" He muttered. "Well, crap."

Then, out of nowhere, he ducked into a side alley and melted into the shadows. The soldiers that had come to back him up looked at each other in confusion.

"Should've known," one of them growled. "He always pulls a fast one at the worst possible moment. Fine, we'll have to do this job ourselves!"

There was no time to wonder what had happened to the brown haired man. Mithos braced himself, trying hard to figure out how he could evade his attackers. They ran at him, and there was no more time.

Suddenly, blood flew. The entire line of men was knocked back. Several fell at once, bleeding to death.

"That's enough," a deep voice uttered from behind him. "Harming my people is a crime punishable by death. I have no qualms administering that punishment myself."

Three soldiers remained standing. They all visibly balked, nearly dropping their weapons. "Gaius," Mithos heard one of them whisper.

The new voice belonged to a tall raven-haired man clad in impressive shades of red and black. The man walked slowly forward to stand beside Mithos; in his hands was a long katana. He raised the blade and fell into a battle stance. So this was King Gaius.

"Submit and I may show mercy," the man warned. "Who are you and what are your intentions?"

The soldiers looked at each other and had some sort of exchange. They seemed to decide on something; eventually they slowly, shakily raised their weapons. What foolishness...if they were so terrified, then why didn't they give in? Humans and their pride.

"So be it," Gaius said.

The three ran at him, and it was over in an instant. In a flash, all of the soldiers had fallen and Gaius was sheathing his sword. Mithos tried not to acknowledge the relief he felt. He had been saved by a human once more.

The king turned to him. Mithos noticed that he possessed piercing red eyes that stood out against his dark hair and tanned skin.

"You are injured."

"Why did you help me?" the boy asked before he could stop himself. He knew it might seem like an irrational question—if this man had no reason to discriminate, then he probably thought he was just helping some child. But he was unused to people rushing to his aid. He didn't know how to react.

"My people are my responsibility," the man replied.

"I'm not from here," Mithos snapped. He didn't want to accept this man's help. He didn't want to be lumped in with "his people," the humans he hated so much.

Gaius' expression didn't change in the slightest. "It changes nothing. My duty remains the same. The strong must protect the weak."

That remark caused Mithos' fists to clench. How dare—

"You disagree?" Gaius caught on immediately. "If you were strong, you would not have needed protecting."

"Don't insult me, you arrogant—!" Mithos lashed out, clashing swords with the man. The king threw him back easily and he hit the wall, sliding to the ground with a grimace.

"Perhaps you were strong once," Gaius mused, "but you failed in your duty. If that is the case, then I will no longer allow you to roam astray. Stand up, boy."

It was too late. That last hit had knocked the wind out of him, and he was finished. He felt consciousness leaving him.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was the image of those indomitable crimson eyes…

A/N: Oh yes, MITHOS AND GAIUS. I am going to have so much fun with this.

Where's Brit at? Well, this is just after the final battle, so she's still with the gang back in Aselia. Rest assured we'll be hearing from her soon, though. For now we get to enjoy watching Mithos and his entertaining adventures. B-D Oh, chucked into another world, Mithos? Payback's a bitch!

As always, the events referred to here don't necessarily reflect the actual ending of NR. I did drop a vague hint or two as to some things that I actually have planned, though nothing is really set in stone.

Review review revieeeewwww :D

Next time: The strong-willed king of Auj Oule. True strength. Losing the path and finding it again.

"Is it a sin to be weak hearted? Not everyone can be strong. Not everyone can stand being despised..."