Wowie, 'nother chappy of this out. I'm… working on the other stuff, really. I'm just… extremely lazy.

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I luff you all! (…I think?)

Hmm… Now…

Disclaimer: I don't own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters.

Let's see, what else…?

1, the next few chappys will be mostly Kratos-centric.

2, this ficcy's dedicated to Kukki-chan.

3, …There is no 3.

On to the fic!

…Your Destiny Awakened

Dearest Father, Mother,
I am coming home.
I wanted to break that news, the happiest matter, to you early, before I tell you of other matters. Do not worry for me, for I am well; I have only good fortune to report with this letter.
You may have noticed the package I have sent with this letter. If you have not yet received it, it should arrive soon. In it, I have included thick fabrics and warm blankets to help you through the winter. Also, at the bottom of the pack, there is a wallet with 5000 gald. Please use that as you will. I have had a job guarding a wealthy merchant, and have another on the way, so I am not short on gald, and will bring you more later, when I return, as well as fresh herbs for any illness going around the village.
Wait for me, Father, Mother. I will be back by Yuletide. (1)
With love,
Kratos

The 19th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age. Meltokio, the capital city of the kingdom of Tethe'alla (2)

An auburn-haired mercenary strolled down the cobblestone streets of Meltokio, a letter in his hand, a rather large parcel tucked under one arm. A soft smile played on his lips as he watched gaggles of children play on the sidewalks, away from the carriage paths. Even at this time, a month before the festivals of Yuletide, lights were already hanging from roof awnings and twined around lampposts. It gave the city a cheerful, welcoming glow, though it would still be a while before the stream of tourists arrived.

"Ah, Kratos!"

The mercenary turned; it was his previous employer.

"Thank you again for doing this job. I don't know what we would have done, had we had to come all this way without a bodyguard." The merchant shook his head ruefully at the thought, then sighed, though whether in relief or something else, no one could tell. "You will be ready to accompany my brother's family back to Sylvarant tomorrow, will you not?"

Kratos nodded slightly. "Yes."

"Good, good. We know you will do a good job." With a wave of farewell, the merchant winked conspicuously. "And you will, of course, be paid handsomely."

"Of course," was the mercenary's answer, spoken in a non-committal tone. Did these people think to bribe him with money? He had a greater pride than to scamper after rich merchants. Though, he supposed, as the came, this one was not too bad. Still, his main reason for guarding the brother's family was because they really would need it. They had two children, of ages 11 and 17, of whom he thought may be half-elves. Most people now, of course, would leave them alone, but there was still talk of half-elves as the "forbidden" or "taboo" children", and they had, in general, a much lower social standing than humans and the occasional elf.

Mithos. That was the name of the younger child, the son. Kratos had met him the previous day, though he had not yet seen the older sister. The young boy was bright-eyed and intelligent, showing much promise of becoming a very successful mercenary, should he choose that path. Already, he had asked Kratos to teach him the way of the sword, but at the boy's father's disapproving nod, the auburn-haired mercenary had refused. The child would grow to inherit his father's business, would become a merchant. It was just as well. Rumours had the kings of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla massing for war. The less fighters available, the less destruction would occur.

Yes, better the boy went back to his books and scrolls, better he went back to his readings of the Hero Mithos, his ancient namesake.

Soon, Kratos came to a large building near Castle Tethe'alla. In fact, it was the largest there save for the castle itself. A plaque outside proclaimed this to have been the "Chosen's House". However, like many archaic terms and titles, "Chosen" was not explained.

This building was now the combined bank and postal office of Meltokio, and the mercenary's destination.

Kratos mailed his letter and package. To "Lord and Lady Aurion of Luin", it was addressed. Of course, his elderly parents were no such thing, only the owners of a plain shop, but the upper-class of Meltokio looked down upon, and sometimes refused to have any dealings with, the simpler folk. The auburn-haired mercenary had little choice but to give them a higher title.

Having done what he needed to, he retired to an inn for a hot meal and a comfortable bed. It was true that it was only early evening and the sky still held a few tints of light, but the mercenary had already completed all his business in the city – shopping for weapons and supplies, and finding a new assignment. And besides, he seemed to be the only bodyguard the merchant was hiring, having been highly recommended by his previous employer. It meant the payment would be through the roof, but he would probably not see rest for a few days, or even up to a week, depending on where in Sylvarant they were heading. He was, of course, used to it, but such exhaustion may still affect his reflexes.

Deep asleep, Kratos was not aware as a boy of 11, bent over an ancient scroll by the light of a candle, smiled. As hair of pale gold brushed the dark words, two pale blue eyes gleamed in the darkness.

The 20th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age. The gates of Meltokio.

"Really, Father? Kratos is coming with us? He's going to protect us?" Mithos grinned happily, fiddling with his hands, shuffling his feet. "I bet he'll do a much better job than those people before. He'll keep us safe."

"I should hope so!" the merchant declared indignantly. "We're certainly paying him enough. He had better earn his worth."

Behind his father's back, the boy sneered angrily at his disrespect. He would have spoken up if not for the hand on his shoulder, beseeching him to calm down. He turned to see his older sister looking at him warningly. That had been a surprise in itself, for she rarely left their caravan wagon.

"Martel?" His father's actions forgotten, Mithos turned his full attention to his sister. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to stay in the wagon? The men might bother you again, if they see you!"

The woman shook her head. "It's okay, Mithos. I want to see the city one more time before we leave, even if my memories of it are not the greatest. And besides…" She offered him a small smile. "I know you'll protect me."

"Yeah!" The golden-haired boy nodded enthusiastically. "If they come near you again, I'll burn them to a crisp!"

"Shhhhh…" Martel placed a finger on his lips. "Not so loud, and no magic, Mithos. We can't let them find out what we are."

The younger child looked down, kicking the dirt underfoot. "I know, I know. But it's not fair!" Suddenly, he looked up, and his normally-clear eyes were filed with anger, though his voice was still a low hiss. "We are all born the same; we're better than the humans, even – smarter, and we have magic! So why should we be treated as if we're less? They respect the elves, so why not us?"

"I don't know." Martel, pale, jade-green eyes sad, hugged her brother soothingly. "I don't know, but I want it to change. And Mithos, it will change someday, and we need to make that change ourselves. That is my wish… To have a world where humans, elves, and all those caught in between could live in harmony. That would be our world."

The small, sun-kissed head nodded in determination. "I'll give you that world, Martel. I'll do anything… whatever it takes to create such a world."

"Thank you." Though she offered him a smile, the verdant-haired girl looked distracted. Her gaze was on someone far in the distance, coming down the main street of Meltokio towards them. "Mithos, that man… why is he…"

"Hmm?" Mithos squinted, trying to make out the figure. He was tall – Mithos was pretty sure it was a man – and walked with a firm, flowing stride. His supple body was covered in dark cobalt, and a mane of red-golden chestnut sprouted from his head, seemingly ablaze in the morning sun.

The boy smiled brightly. He knew who this was. "Oh, that's Kratos! He's the mercenary Father hired to protect us on the way home. He seems really serious, but he's really nice, and really strong!" He grinned from ear to ear. "I even asked him to teach me swordsmanship. But…" The boy made a face. "Father wouldn't let him, though. But when I'm older, I'm going to leave Father, and I'll seek out Kratos and get him to teach me. And then, I'll be able to protect you, and I'll live up to my name."

Martel smiled softly, sadly. It would never happen, but she would not, could not deny her brother his dream. He felt, at times, like the only family she had. Their mother had died giving birth to him, and their father drew farther and farther away from them. Sometimes, it seemed that he viewed Mithos only as an heir he must raise, and Martel as a free babysitter. Though the difference in their ages was not too big, they often felt like mother and son.

Kratos had almost reached them now, and he lifted a hand slightly in polite greeting.

"There you are!" The merchant rushed over, blatantly checking a pocket-watch with a gold chain. "Good, you're on time."

The mercenary did not flinch from the not-so-subtly disguised insult, but when he spoke, his voice was cold and laced with barely-veiled distaste. "Yes, and I am glad that you are as well." He paused, but not long enough to give time for a response. "Are all of you ready? Are your businesses done? Would you like to leave now, or…" He paused again, just slightly. "…shall we wait out the five minutes before my assigned time?"

"We… we will leave now." The merchant abruptly spun around and headed towards his wagon, his face crimson. He could say nothing against the younger man, with his expression of cool innocence and voice of aloof mockery. For all he knew, Kratos could claim sincere questioning.

"Father said to give this to you," a small voice piped at the mercenary's side. "He said it's half of your pay, and that you'll get the other half after you finish."

"Thank you, Mithos." The auburn-haired man offered him a smile. The children, at least, were not so corrupt as their father. Curiously, he looked towards the girl standing to the side of and a few paces behind the young boy. "And you are, miss…?"

"I am Martel." She introduced herself shyly. "I am… Mithos's older sister." For a moment, she hesitated, and a small blush covered her cheeks. "Thank you for agreeing to this, and for acting kindly towards my brother. Please forgive our father. He is, quite frankly, blinded by the power of money and thinks one could buy the world. He treats us no differently."

"I see. Mithos and Martel, named after the Hero and the Goddess…"

Kratos could not understand how a child could speak of her own father so harshly and disinterestedly, but then, he had never had a family like that. He was infinitely thankful for his parents, for the elderly couple who had found him on their doorstep and raised him, though they certainly did not have the money to spare. They called him a gift from the Goddess and gave him everything they had, and finally, when he was old enough, he began to travel and work as a mercenary to give back what he could. It was rare now that he had a chance to return home, and he treasured this year's Yuletide.

Finally, he was going home. Finally, he would see his family again.

The day passed without much event, as Kratos traveled with the rich merchant family. A few small bands of bandits crossed their paths, but they were soon discouraged and ran with all they had. To warn others, no doubt, for after a few hours of random pestering, there was no more trouble. Kratos was glad. It would be some time before he would have a chance to rest again, and, as the merchant did not tell him their destination, he could only assume the worst and prepare himself for the longest journey possible. It was not an efficient way to work, but, as the employee, he had no right to glean information his employer would not give. Perhaps the merchant would tell him that night though he did not have much hope of that. The children, then. Maybe they would let it slip. He did not like to have to work in this way, but it would be too difficult, and not nearly effective enough, if he did not.

Finally, as the sun sunk beneath the horizon and shadows loomed from trees and rocks, the merchant – he still did not bother giving Kratos his name – declared that they would stop for the night.

Mithos jumped out of the wagon gratefully and stretched, smiling as he felt the solid, steady ground under his feet. As his sister's pale head poked out, he ran over to help her get off. Both children, traveling so much with their father, were used to the long hours spent shut in that wagon, but that did not mean they enjoyed it. They much preferred the freedom outside.

Leaning against a tree, his arms crossed casually over his chest, the mercenary smiled. How innocent they were, kept away from the poisonous influence of the outside world. How naïve, how idealistic. He was glad; there were so few people left like that.

"Kratos? Why don't you join us for dinner?"

The auburn-haired man looked towards the voice, and was greeted by a brilliant smile.

When Mithos saw that he had the mercenary's attention, he went over and tugged on his arm. "Come on Kratos. Eat dinner with us! Even Father said it was okay, because we have a lot of food and you would need your strength."

Kratos considered this proposal for a moment. It was the first act of kindness his employer had shown, thought it was more than likely for his own benefits. If his guard was too hungry or too tired, he would not be able to perform well.

Good, Kratos thought. At least the man had that much sense.

There was no point in declining the invitation. "Thank you. I will be there momentarily."

Dinner was a simple meal of baked potatoes, seasoned and prepared by Martel. As the companions ate, they began to talk. Rather, Mithos began to talk; the merchant had long ago finished and left to catalogue his wares, Martel was sitting near the campfire, quietly washing and mending torn clothes, and Kratos was content to just listen and answer the occasional question.

"So where are you from, Kratos?" The golden-haired boy tilted his head curiously.

"…Luin."

"Oh!" The boy grinned, and bounced from his seated position. "We're going to Luin too! Well, kind of. We'll be passing by, anyway. We'll probably stop in lots of different towns, so we can sell our stuff. We're going to Sybak right now, but I guess you know that already. We'll stop there for a few hours and leave, and camp outside the Gaoracchia Forest tomorrow. Father said he was scared of the 'Forest of Death', but I'm not, because you're with us. After that, we'll stay at Ozette (3) for the night – and Father's going to give you a room at the inn, too – and cross into Sylvarant the next day." (4) He paused for a moment to regain his breath. "We'll sell the stuff at Hima, and hurry on. We'll sell things in Luin too, and I think I can convince Father to let us stay there overnight. After that, we'll continue to Asgard, camp out after the Harkonesian Peaks, and rest at Palmacosta (5) the next day. Then, we'll take a ship across the sea, rest at Izoold, go over to Triet and sleep there, and finally, we'll go to Iselia. Father said he would pay for all your food and lodging, and the last one would be when you're in Iselia, and then he'll give you the rest of your payment, and that's when your service ends."

"I see." The mercenary was silent as he digested and recorded the information in his head. So, if the going was smooth, he would be able to reach his home in four days, though he suspected it would still be some weeks yet before he could truly return for Yultide, before he would be able to stay there and settle down for a while. "Thank you, Mithos. And your father is… quite generous in his payment."

Mithos smiled up happily. "It's no problem, really. I'm just glad I can help. And father said that he hired enough mercenaries before to know that they – you – need food and rest and stuff to be able to protect us well."

He was interrupted as a voice called his name softly. "Mithos, it's getting late. Father is finishing up, and we should go to bed. You mustn't bother Kratos anymore tonight. It's dark and he needs to concentrate more."

"Oh!" The boy looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Kratos. I didn't mean to be a bother."

Kratos shook his head and offered a small smile. "It's all right. Go to bed now. You need your rest. Your information has been very helpful, Mithos. Thank you."

"Really?" Immediately, he brightened.

"Yes, really."

The 24th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age. The Mana Tree Grove.

The graves were almost as he remembered, though a bit more worn, a bit more washed by the tides of time. Not much could be seen on them. The deepest cuts were shallow now, the rest already gone. Only one stone marker could still be read.

"Lloyd Aurion." Kratos mouthed the name etched in the stone; the rest was unreadable. They had the same family name. Was he a great hero of old? But he was not in any story; there were only the Hero Mithos and the Goddess Martel. Each time the mercenary passed by the grove on his travels and jobs, he remembered the old legends, wondered at the ones that were not told.

Right now, he had some free time, as the merchant transported his goods to Hima via dragons. The children were still asleep the last time he checked; it was still early in the morning. He would not be needed until noon. After that, they would start out towards Luin.

"The tree's name's Yggdrasill," a voice commented behind him. "I read it in one of the old scrolls. It was named after Mithos Yggdrasill – Mithos the Hero. Lloyd Aurion… it is not clear who he is. All I know is that he's another hero from another time, who accomplished… something… on the scale of Mithos, but never recorded. He is also known as 'Lloyd Irving,' the 'Angel Child.' I don't know which is his real name, or what he really did, though."

"Thank you, Mithos." Kratos did not have to turn to figure out who was talking. "Those must be very old scrolls that you have."

"Uh-huh." The boy grinned. "I found them in Father's junk pile. No one cares much about old myths anymore, so they're not worth much, but I find them interesting. The oldest one about the 'Lloyd' person that I can still read is dated a little more than 500 years ago! I think some of them are even older, but they're falling apart. It's funny, though, 'cause the Mithos books and scrolls are really nice and preserved and stuff. I guess people think he's more important than the Lloyd person…"

"Hm. I suppose." The mercenary stared at the tree, seemingly transfixed. "He is, after all, the one who stopped the Ancient War. Although… nothing I found explained how. I am curious about that, and about that Lloyd… Aurion."

For a moment, the golden-haired boy tilted his head, before realization dawned. "Oh, that's right. Your family name's 'Aurion' too! Do you think he might be your ancestor?"

"…No." Kratos looked away from the Mana Tree, finally turning to his young charge. "Even were he my family's ancestor, he would not be mine. I… am not born from them, but found and raised. I am glad. They are good people."

"I wish someone found me when I was little…" Cerulean eyes stared at the ground as bitterness crept into Mithos's voice, and perhaps a hint of jealousy. "There is nothing this family can offer me, except half-ruined books that I have to hunt down myself!"

"What about your sister, then?" the older man inquired softly. "She's your family too, isn't she…? Would you be happy away from her?"

"But if I never knew her, then I wouldn't be upset without her!" A determined pout sat on the boy's lips. "I wish it were all different. If only I weren't born, or if I were somewhere else, I wouldn't be stuck with this, and she wouldn't be so busy looking after me! Why were people like us born? Why would our parents keep…"

"People like you?" Kratos asked softly.

"Ah…" The boy looked up, startled and apparently back to his normal self, offering a disarming smile. "I'm sorry. I was just rambling. It's nothing important, really."

"…" As Mithos made a hasty retreat back to the wagon, the mercenary turned back to the Tree of Life. "…Yggdrasill, huh…"

The 25th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age. Luin, the City of Rebirth

It was the end of a long and tiring day. The merchant's wagon caravan had rolled into Luin around mid-afternoon, and all four occupants spent hours selling wares, including the children and Kratos, who helped out, mostly by organizing and finding items for the merchant. Finally, after the sun had gone down, activities started to slow, and, after a while, cease. By then, Mithos was already half-asleep, resting his head on Martel's lap. Though she would not admit it, the girl was not much better off. After sending both of them to bed, the merchant grudgingly gave leave to Kratos to visit his family, with a warning that they were to meet at the south end of Luin at noon.

"…Very well." Languidly and deliberately, the mercenary stood, keeping a mask of unhurried dignity, though he wanted nothing more than to dash to his house. Slowly, he stretched and began down the path to the weapons shop, giving all the air and appearance of one taking an evening stroll.

The door of the shop was shut, a "closed" sign over it. For a second, Kratos hesitated, wondering whether or not he should head to the house. But it was still early, and the weapons shop lights were on; his parents were probably cleaning up.

Kratos knocked.

"We're closed!" a gruff voice called from within, followed by the thump of metal hitting cement and a muted curse. "Come back tomorrow!"

"I won't be here tomorrow," the mercenary answered softly.

There was a pause within; the auburn-haired man could imagine his father blinking in surprise. After a while, he spoke.

"Kratos?"

"…Yes, Father. I'm home… for now."

The door flew open and the young mercenary was quickly ushered in. For a moment, father and son could only look at each other, each noticing new lines of age on the other's visage, new signs of care not there before.

"Father…" Kratos hesitated, cleared his throat, and spoke again with as much of his practiced calm as he could muster. "I trust that you and Mother are well? Did you receive my letter and package? Is everything going smoothly?"

The old weapons smith laughed, and it seemed to wash away all the weary tenseness. "You are acting like a mother hen, my son. Don't you worry; there is life and strength in these old bones yet! Yes, we are well. Yes, we received both letter and package, and thank you dearly for them. I know how hard it is for you. And yes, everything is going smoothly."

The younger man slumped in relief, chuckling slightly in embarrassment. "I am glad." Without seeming to move, his eyes searched the room. "Ah, where…"

"Your mother has gone for bed. She has… a slight bit of a cold, nothing to be worried about."

"I see."

Father and son worked in silence. There was nothing more to be said. They were going down different paths now, though parental affection was as strong as ever. Just seeing, just knowing that all was well was enough.

For once in a long time, the shop was clean. It seemed almost unreal for Kratos, how beautiful it could be. The polished wooden walls shimmered gold in the soft glow of the candle-flames, a warm contrast to the cold glint of metals; of gleaming blades and sparkling, bejewelled handles often set with a large gem on the pommel; of round, lacquered shields in bright explosions of colours; even of the dying embers in a small stove for customizations, casting a dim red glow upon everything, the glow of crimson twilight.

"And now, for some rest."

Slowly, they made their way to their house, careful as they climbed the rickety stairs that creaked at times. It would not do to wake Kratos's aged mother. There would be time enough the next day to greet her.

The 28th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age. Luin.

It was half past ten before Kratos stepped out of his house, his worried mother shoving food items into his hands. The old weapons smith was at the store already, towards which Kratos was heading.

"Mother, really, I'm fine. They're not starving me. Please, keep the food. You would need it more than me."

The old woman shook her head and brushed a wisp of grey hair behind her ear. "You need your strength, son. You have to fight all the time, you don't eat regularly…"

The mercenary gently pushed the food back. "Mother, I am used to it. I have to be used to it. If… you want to think about it as a matter of practicality, take the example that I am perhaps in a battle in a land plagued by famine. Were I to be expecting food, Mother, I would mostly likely faint and be killed."

The woman sighed. "…I know."

"…" The mercenary looked away, uncomfortable. "…I'm sorry, Mother. I appreciate the sentiment."

Through the passive, pre-noon activities Kratos walked, taking in the sight of the city in which he grew up. Everything was as he remembered; there was the items shop, the small town hall and church, the inn, his family's weapons shop… even the three unrecognizable statues strewn around town.

It was not long before someone fell into step beside him.

"Where are you going, Kratos?" Mithos asked curiously. "Can I come along?"

The older man offered a small smile. "Of course. Do you want me to show you around?" He could always go to the weapons shop later.

"Thank you, but don't worry, I went around already," Mithos told him. "But can you come to the fountain with me? I want to show you something." Absently, he fingered a scroll held in his small hands.

"Hmmm? Sure."

When the two arrived at their destination, Mithos unfurled his scroll and held it up, presenting it beside the statue at the center of the fountain. "See, Kratos? They match! He's the one in the statue!"

The mercenary gave a small nod, his interest piqued. "And who was he?"

Smiling azure eyes lit up as the boy proudly announced his discovery. "He is… Lloyd Irving, aka Lloyd Aurion."

"Oh?" Deep garnet eyes widened considerably. Kratos studied the faded picture on the old, worn scroll. The colours have almost all washed to a light tan by then, but he could still dimly pick out the crimson of the shirt, the ebony of the pants. Hair, only a shade darker than the parchment itself now, formed a makeshift crown on the figure's head. Subconsciously, Kratos fingered his own hair. They may have been similar in colour, though he could not tell for sure now.

"I wonder if your family really is descended from his…" Mithos murmured softly, tilting his head.

And I wonder, the mercenary thought to himself, why, each time I walk by, he stirs up such fleeting memories!

1) If I remember right, Yuletide is basically a kind of Christmas-ish type of celebration. Kinda like a big winter celebration thing.

2) Now, if anyone actually paid attention to the dates, you would be able to figure out how old Kratos is right now. For those of you not wishing to do math, he's 25. XD

3) I'm too lazy to make up new town names, so please assume Ozette was rebuilt and give the same name.

4) Yeah… I'm assuming that since the Tower of Salvation was described as being in the center of both Sylvarant and Tethe'alla, that's where the worlds will be joined.

5) …Assume Palmacosta was rebuilt too. XD