The story of Kratos and Anna has been thoroughly documented by a lot of really talented writers all over the Internet, and on top of that, the whole genre has really been beaten to death. But I seem to have a thing for overdone topics, so you must forgive me.

I managed to inspire myself for this one. Recently, I claimed the pairing on Livejournal's 1sentence community and have since churned out one hundred fifty sentences on various topics. Along the way I saw the beginnings of stories that I would have liked to read. Someone mentioned that they would like to see a longer version of the journey. So here it is.

If you'd like to see the sentences (some of them have not-so-cleverly found their way into this story) check out my piece of fanwork 'With You, I'll Run Forever'. And if you're ready, let's take ourselves through the birth of an angel.

CONTAINS LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF SPOILERS.

Believe in Me

Don't take away a person's hope. It may be all they have left.

-Anonymous

Prologue: Transformation

x x x

Two days ago, Martel was alive, and I was a human.

The sterile air of Derris-Kharlan did nothing to betray the blood and gore that had been liberally splattered throughout its entirety the day before. The ageless elves that kept it safe had either joined Mithos or died, and there was talk that the little Eternal Swordsman planned to eventually have the converted ones removed as well for the sake of surrounding himself with half-elves. Except for Kratos, of course. Kratos was allowed. Kratos was one half of the Eternal Sword. Kratos was an angel.

Two days ago, Martel was alive. His last memory of her was that smile on her face- she had always smiled. Even when healing whole rooms full of dying elves and half-elves and humans, she smiled. Even when her little brother stated for the millionth time that he hated all humans except for Kratos, she smiled. As the Unicorn said she could revive men but not trees, as the world around her threatened to come apart at its seams, as the Tree withered and died, as the bullet pierced her chest and stole her life away, she smiled.

His footsteps echoed in the deeps as he strode aimlessly down the porcelain halls; though he could get nowhere much faster by flying, he still wasn't used to it. There was a little feeling starting to emerge like ripples in the ocean from the place they touched his back, but it would still be a while before he could do such things as know their movement with certainty or hide them away. They were beautiful. He hated them and what they represented.

Yuan and Mithos- Lord Yggdrasill, as the elves here called him- were off somewhere discussing the state of the world. Origin had split it in two as per Mithos' request, the mana from the seed of the tree being half of what the world needed. One needed to go. Yuan, a thunder mage, would plead for Volt's half, and Mithos would argue for Luna's side. They'd go at it for hours and end up in tears, the both of them.

She was Mithos' sister, Yuan's fiancée. Of the three of them Kratos supposed that he had the least amount of reason to care. But she had been such a woman. She was caring, loving, beautiful. When Kratos had stumbled, half-dead from a shoulder wound and weeks of starvation, into Heimdall, she readily offered the human food and shelter and only after he was fully revitalized by her hands did she ask if he would be so kind as to stay a while and teach her little brother to protect himself? He was a little feisty, and liked to get into trouble with the village's blue-haired schoolteacher and only other half-elf.

She had only thought of others, and now she was dead.

Mithos had her body in stasis. Perhaps he would find a way to bring her back to life. Perhaps he and Yuan would find a way to keep both worlds alive- the pale-skinned nation of Sylvarant and the dark-skinned Tethe'allans. Now that they were separated, at least they couldn't kill each other anymore.

But they had been so close, so damn close to peace.

He had loved Martel, he really had. She was the strongest woman he had ever known. And now she was dead, the world was broken, and his hands were stained with the blood of all those innocents for nothing-

I can't touch anything, he thought. Not with these hands. Never again.

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