Kratos

Kratos sat silently in the shadows of the comet, Daras Karlan. He had left the world, his only son, and all of the people that he had come to call friend so that he could protect it from falling into the wrong hands. It was the birthplace of the elves, and held enough manna to do almost anything. He sat silently looking up at the black of deep space, sighing softly.

He had been away for too long. He wanted to return to the world where he had left his son, and where everyone that he knew was. There wasn’t that much left for him there, but there was absolutely nothing for him here. It was a dead world that he was on now. There was nothing here, except oceans, upon oceans of raw manna.

Kratos looked down at the sword in front of him, his back pressed up against one of the buildings. He looked over to where the final battle had occurred, where Yggdrasill had finally fallen against that band of fighters who had visions of saving the world. He sighed softly as he got up and dusted off the front of his pants before sliding the sword into its sheath at his side.

He turned and started to walk towards where the final battle had taken place. He looked over the final battleground for a few moments and gently brought his hand up to his face. When he had been fighting for Yggdrasill’s new era it had seemed like the right thing to do. It had seemed right. Now everything seemed wrong, and he had taken up his post as guardian of Daras Karlan as his penance for all of the wrongdoings that had seemed so right.

“What I thought was right before turned out to be wrong…how can I be sure that what I am doing now is right?” He mused softly, “Perhaps my place isn’t here…but rather by my son’s side…”