BEFORE
Kratos stumbled from the cramped and sweaty confines of the longhouse drunk and angry. Shoved out into the cold by the annoyed northmen.
His appetite for mead far surpassed their stores and when the alcohol had run dry, it was enough to send the god into a fit of rage. He swung wildly, demanding more and more. He was set on drowning himself in mead until he could forget a lifetime of horrors. At some point it came to blows. Eventually a small mob northmen got the better of Kratos, but only after bones had been broken.
Kratos fell face-first into the cold mud. It smelled like piss and alcohol.
"Go home, outlander," a few said as they leaned against the doorway. Kratos knew enough of their strange language to understand that.
He attempted to stand but only managed to keel backward into a tree trunk. His head slammed against the rough bark. His vision spiraled and the heavy leather bag on Kratos' back clanged loudly in response. The northmen laughed and for a moment Kratos considered using the blades. It would have felt good to have them in his hands again. Whole. Complete.
Kratos' throat was on fire at the thought and his stomach churned with hot bile. His swirling vision turned red. Though a drunken mess, he still had enough fight in him to take on the rest of the northmen.
Kratos tasted blood in his mouth, felt it dribbling down his lip. Foggy memories bubbled up from the mire of his mind. He remembered fists connecting with his jaw, and his own nearly crushing the skull of a man. The events of the night were already becoming an incoherent blur. He grunted and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, pausing when he saw his chain-linked scars.
He threw his hand to his side, gripping his fists and reeling with disgust for himself. Kratos knew that he had gotten sloppy and careless. Where had the warlord gone? Where went the man whose bare hands killed gods?
The northmen shook their heads and shut the door, chuckling to themselves about the pale foreigner in their lands.
"Freak," they murmured to each other.
Kratos ground his teeth together so hard it rattled his skull. Why should he care about the petty thoughts of arrogant mortals. They were only men, afterall. They didn't matter. No one did. As long as Kratos' belly was full of hot food, mead, and there was a chance of a voluptuous wench around, he could be content until he stumbled across the next longhouse and emptied their stores as well. As long as he had the gold to fund his vices.
Kratos' hand went to his side where he was sure he had a satchel of drachma he had taken with him from his homeland. But there was nothing, probably stolen in the tussle. Kratos slumped and a pang of disappointment rang through him. There would be no bed to sleep in tonight and no woman to warm his side. Only a cold, wet ditch to nurse his drunken stupor. If only they had taken the blades as well then maybe then he would finally be rid of their curse.
The sky broke with rain as night approached. Kratos lumbered down a lonely, muddy road in search of someplace to sleep it all off.
He lost track of how long he had been in this northern land. Weeks? Months? All the while he felt himself growing weaker and wasting away. He had been wandering aimlessly, not knowing where his destination would be. He felt himself searching but not knowing what for, only driven by his most basic needs: food, water, shelter, and a woman whose face he'd never remember. But no amount of ale, whores, or sleep could keep the nightmares at bay. He still heard the screams, he could still smell the foul stench of blood and viscera. Those memories were there like a constant pit in his chest, a hungry mouth that devoured and destroyed everything it touched. It was almost worse than when the Blade of Olympus stuck him through like a pig on a roast. There were times he still felt the phantom of the cold ethereal blade through his abdomen.
Kratos settled himself into a hillside den beneath the tangled roots of a tree. It smelled thick of animal musk and he would probably encounter his host come morning. But that was a problem for another day. At least he'd have breakfast.
Closing his eyes, he wished for nothingness. The void was more preferable than the torture of his own guilt and regret. But his dreams were haunted by the memories of his wife and child. There was blood on his hands that he could never wash away. Evidence of his crime was etched into his very skin. Their ghosts were with him, always. Kratos thought that his rage was strong enough to harden him against the world. When everything else crumbled, he thought his rage would be enough. But it wasn't, it never was.
Close your heart to it, Kratos would tell himself. He thought he'd build high enough walls to keep out the world that never gave a shit about him. And day by day those walls he was rotting away. Kratos was a raw nerve and he knew it. Everything hurt. The endless torrents of sorrow and rage never abated. They were equally his shield and his crutch from which there was no relief. A miserable existence. It was nothing less than what a monster like him deserved.
What would Lysandra think of him now? Sleeping in a soggy ditch in a place that was not his home, too drunk to even swat away a fly. He could imagine her hard-cut face twisted in disgust at the sight of him. Pathetic, she'd say. Worthless. And she would have been right to say so. He had become a shell of the man, the god, he once was. And little Calliope? She wouldn't even meet his eyes, he was too shameful to even bear the sight of.
Kratos eyes lulled shut, and as they did he longed for the sweet relief of silence. No more screams, no more visions of violence, no more memories to haunt him. But they came anyway.
Even nothingness is too good for a monster like you , a voice would whisper. Sharp and familiar. He still felt Athena's judgement even from afar as if she had never left his side all this time. She was there even in his dreams.
You think you could escape your own guilt? She'd chuckle, her ghostly form moving around him. She'd smile and watch as he slaughtered his family again and again and again. No matter how much Kratos begged, his eyes streaming with tears and hand slicked with the blood of his family.
You'll never change what you are, Kratos.
Night after night, Kratos re-lived those horrible moments when he watched the life drain from their eyes.
You'll never escape your true nature.
NOW
Hrothga felt a shiver crawl up her spine as she sat fireside with her granddaughter asleep on her lap. A cold slithering feeling drew her up from her slumber, a cold so profound and intense it was dredged up from the depths of the ether itself. The old crone awoke with a sharp hiss on her lips, clutching the child hard to her chest. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Her heart galloped in her chest. Something was wrong.
Hrothga rose from her chair and laid the child in bed. Her heart beat hard and loud like the harsh rhythm of war drums. With a shaking hand, Hrothga pushed white-blonde curls from her granddaughter's cherubic face. The sweet child stirred.
"Nanna?" her voice was thick with sleep.
"Hush now, go back to sleep Sigrid," Hrothga said and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The child was already fast asleep when Hrothga drew up the fur blankets around her.
Another chill, unbidden, shook the old woman. She clutched her shawl, nearly dubbing over with its power. Dread weighed heavy in her chest. She tried briefly to convince herself it was only a sign of the coming winter. It was the right season. The icy winds from the north were beginning to draw breath and push south to their homestead. Had a draft snuck its way into her hovel? But wise old women like her knew better. This was a warning.
Hrotgha snatched a small leather pouch from the clutter of her workbench. The bones inside rattled together, their magic whispering. Hrothga could feel the familiar tingle of their power creep across her skin.
She plucked at the drawstrings with her tattooed fingers and dipped her hand into the pouch. These old bones vibrated, their energy trembling in her grip. Hrothga could hear the whispers and feel the cosmic threads of life twisting together. She felt the voices of the Norns whispering: past, present, and future. She swirled her hand inside the pouch, her eyes closed and her mind focused.
"What disturbs this land?" she asked the bones. The bones rattled together in the pouch.
A stranger comes , they said.
Hrothga withdrew a troubling rune. Hagalaz .
She clutched the bone in her fingers, making sure her old eyes did not mistake her. But deep down she knew the meanings: Destruction. Chaos.
Hrothga sucked in a shivering breath.
Wrath.
Hrothga's eyes rolled back in her skull. Screams rippled across her mind's eye. A mother clutching a dark haired child to her breast. Blood pouring from lips. Two jagged blades dripping red.
The old woman gasped, her mind's eye returning to her hovel with one question blaring in her mind: Who was this stranger?
She dropped the bone back into her satchel and slumped into her chair. It was within the realm of possibility that Odin's sons would return to finish their work and exterminate all life from these lands. They had done gleefully with the Jotunar, why would puny humans be any different? The gods treated Midgard as their personal playground long before the Jotnar came. Perhaps they grew bored in their kingly halls of Asgard and required further recreation.
Hrothga pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, heart aching with the revenant memories. The rivers ran red with Jotnar blood. She would never forget the screams and she would never forgive the gods for what they'd done.
Despite their efforts, they had not killed all of Jotnar. One remained as the last guardian of Midgard. The thought warmed her some but Hrothga couldn't sleep after that. Something in the air was still unsettled, rippling with discontented energy.
FAYE
Faye and Kratos mustered their way through a thick cluster of mossy trees and twisted brambles that opened up to a small clearing. Smoke rose from the crooked chimney of the haphazard dwelling. Many years of long winters had beaten down upon the witch's home. The roof slumped downward in disrepair and the thatch was balding in some places. But not everything about the place was so ugly. A goat munched on greens idly and a few stray chickens clucked merrily to themselves. Ugly and cramped as it was, it was still the place where four generations of Hrothga's kin had lived and died.
Kratos stood beside Faye, adjusting the sack of goods over his shoulder as he shifted from foot to foot. His face was creased with worry, eyes narrowed on the hut.
"Is this the friend you spoke of?" He asked, voice rough from lack of sleep.
"We won't be long," Faye reassured him just as an old woman came to stand in the doorway of the home. Short, squat, and hair like an angry stack of dried hay. Faye approached with a smile spread across her face. Relief flooded her heart at the sight of the old woman. So the reavers had not made it as far as she had feared. There was still time to warn Hrothga of the danger and to ask for her guidance. Faye nodded to Kratos, bidding him to follow.
"Lo Faye," the old woman called, swiping her tattooed hands across her apron. She did not return Faye's warm smile. The old woman's eyes were set upon the pale stranger.
"Lo Hrothga," Faye said, she tipped her head at the rucksack, "I've come to trade with you."
The old woman's glare shifted between Faye and Kratos. She visibly bristled when she saw that Kratos was holding Faye's axe in his grip.
"And you've brought company I see," she said, crossing her arms.
"May we come in?" Faye asked but Hrothga seemed hesitant, more distant than usual. If it was because of Farbauti, Faye couldn't be too upset with the old woman's cautious nature with a granddaughter to look after. Kratos held back a few steps as the two women greeted each other, that signature scowl never leaving his face. He knew well enough to know when he was not welcome. Finally, Hrothga spoke.
"My badger stew is boiling," Hrothga said, turning back to her hut. Kratos gave Faye a look and passed the rucksack to her. The muscles in his jaw moved as he peered inside the hut for a moment, probably trying to see if there were any threats to him within. It was enough to have one witch in his quarry.
Faye's gaze lingered on him a minute. She could tell there was something on his mind that was troubling. Wherever he had gone all night, it had brought him no relief and his troubled thoughts lingered with him still.
"Don't do anything stupid, eh?" Faye said. The god only grunted in reply, more concerned with the homestead perimeter. He looked shifty, as if he were waiting for a trap to spring.
"Are you going to stand there all day?" Hrothga asked from her fireplace. Her back was to Faye and Kratos, and her finger probing a bubbling stew in the cauldron. Kratos waited for Faye to lead the way before following her inside.
"Have your woods been restless with reavers, Hrothga?" Faye closed the door behind her. Kratos stood close to the wall, the Leviathan axe held tight in his grip. Hrothga sampled the stew, smacking her lips together. She shrugged and stuck the lid back over it.
"No reavers. Not yet. But the runes did speak of a stranger. The trees too. Skin white as birch they said." Hrothga turned back to her guests. Kratos' face hardened at the mention of him. Hrothga's gaze fell from his face to the bands of cloth around his wrists and forearms. The bandages were yellowing, a chain-link pattern evident in the cloth. Hrothga's nose wrinkled and her thin lips puckered like she tasted something sour.
"You should come stay with me until the reavers move south. It would be safer for you and Sigrid," Faye said, trying to alleviate the tension between the two. Hrothga shook her head and hobbled to her workbench to chop herbs.
"I am old but I can handle myself, Faye."
"Why take that chance. For the sake of your grandchild, please."
"I can handle it myself, Faye. You said you came to trade, didn't you? So what do you want?" Hrothga barked.
Faye chuckled, but her breath stopped short and she grabbed her side. Hrothga noticed, and snapped her attention to Kratos. His eyes met hers, if only for a moment, and there was something guilty there. Enough for Hrothga to start worrying.
"The usual. Grains, fish," Faye listed, "And medicine if you have it."
"Medicine, huh?" Hrothga echoed, eying Faye's side. She nodded to the satchel. "Lets see it then."
Faye hefted the sack onto the table and emptied its contents. It brought spirit into the woman's old bones. Hrothga scurried over and dissected the contents, mumbling to herself all the while.
"Oh yes, this will do," she said as she examined a pelt in her leathery grasp. "This will fit my grandchild nicely."
"Will that be enough, witch?" Kratos growled. Hrothga popped a piece of jerky in her mouth and kept her shrewd eyes on Kratos. She barely reached up to his waist in height, regardless the old woman didn't seem intimidated by the strange man.
"You use too much salt," she said, chewing loudly, and paying Kratos no mind. "I have what you need. And these."
Hrothga scuttled to her workbench to retrieve a small leather pouch and tossed it on the table before Faye.
"Runestones," she said, as she began to pack the satchel with goods. Faye snorted and pushed them back toward Hrothga. The old woman slapped Faye's hand away.
"You laugh at their power?" she scolded. Faye shook her head.
"I don't believe in fate, Hrothga. You know me better than that," She said.
"Fate doesn't require your belief," Hrothga said, stuffing the runes into the satchel. "It simply is."
"Don't condescend to me about fate, Hrothga. I don't want the runes," Faye insisted, anger growing in her voice.
"I wasn't asking you, child ," Hrothga growled.
Faye's fist pounded on the table. Kratos roused and stood alert. Frost began to bloom along the edge of the axe. Faye shot a look back at him.
"Don't," she snarled at him, "Don't get involved." Kratos regarded her for a moment and stood down, the axe falling back to his side. There was something in his look that was different. Concern maybe? Or perhaps he just simply did not want to get caught between the two witches.
"I don't mean to upset you Faye. I know your heart," Hrothga raised her hands and her demeanor softened.
"And I've watched the belief in fate drive so many to a singular path and when ill fell upon them, they had the audacity to call it destiny," Faye growled at the old woman. She remembered as the elders of her people refused to step in as thousands were slaughtered. Whatever people wanted to call the greater powers at work in the realms be it fate or destiny, Faye had no interest in either.
"Will fate protect you and Sigrid when the reavers come?" Faye scowled at the indignant old woman.
"It's none of your business."
"Then stay out of mine, Hrothga."
"I know, but please...Indulge an old woman who cares deeply for you. As if you were my own kin," Hrothga said. Faye clenched her jaw, trying not to give in to her emotions. Odin's kin believed that it was the Aesir's destiny to cleanse the realms of the Jotnar's existence. If things were meant to be as such, then what a cruel power fate was. With Faye's own visions she could see how the future could change, how decision to decision unwound the threads of destiny. And Faye couldn't bring herself to believe in a power that required the countless deaths of her people and called it fate. Fate wouldn't make sense of their deaths, but at least justice would avenge them.
"Fine," Faye relented, "But I can't promise that I will make use of them."
"I feel better knowing that you have them should you need them," Hrothga insisted.
"I promise you, I won't," Faye said going to sit at Hrothga's table. The rush of movement caught her off guard and a sharp pain stabbed at her side. Faye hissed, clutching her ribs. In her haste, she lost her balance and was tumbling over.
"Faye?" Hrothga gasped. Instead of hitting the floor, Faye fell back into strong hands. One at her hip and the other holding her hand to steady her.
"Easy now," Kratos' voice was in her ear, low and gentle. His touch was uncharacteristically soft and he was holding her as if she were made of glass. Faye hadn't even noticed that he'd been close to her. Yet, he'd been there to catch her.
"I'm alright," she said to him, meeting his molten gold gaze. He helped her ease down onto the bench as careful as she'd ever seen him.
"Thank you," she said. He only gave a curt nod in reply.
"What's this now?" Hrothga fussed, shooing Kratos away like a pest.
"It's nothing," Faye began but was cut short by Hrothga grabbing at her side. Faye yelped, the pain blindg her.
"You're injured," Hrothga said, peeling up Faye's tunic. Faye sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
"It's on the mend," Faye ground out, but she knew by the intensity that she was healing much slower than usual.
Hrothga turned to Kratos.
"Go make yourself useful and fetch us nettle leaves," the old woman demanded.
"I'm not familiar with herbs, witch," Kratos said, brow knit with confusion. There was something helpless about his tone that struck Faye as incredibly human. Hrothga rolled her eyes and sifted through the pile of materials at her workbench before snatching up a green leafy plant.
"This and lots of it! You'll find it among the woods. Quickly!" she shoved the plant into Kratos' hands and was pushing him out the door. "Oh and freshwater while you're at it," Hrothga added as she shut the door behind him.
Faye watched from the bench as Hrothga waited for Kratos to stalk off into the forest.
"What's the nettle and freshwater for?" Faye asked, raising a brow at the old woman.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing," Hrothga scoffed, "I simply wanted him to leave."
Hrothga sat across Faye began working on a proper bandage for Faye's broken ribs. The crone pressed her boney fingers into the bruised flesh causing Faye to groan and grind her teeth down to drown out the pain.
"You've never come to me for something so childish as broken bones," she grumbled, "So why don't you tell me why you're really here."
Faye chewed on her lip, not wanting to worry Hrothga more than she already was. What would she think of Faye knowing she kept the company of gods, knowing exactly what they're capable of. She had seen the carnage first hand along with Faye and both women carried the burden of those memories with them.
"What do you know about curses?"
Hrothga wretched and spat a ball of snot onto the floor.
"Not my specialty. But I'll see what I can do."
Hrothga finished the binding with a sharp tug that stole the breath from Faye's lungs.
"Easy," Faye hissed, regaining her breath.
"The bone's smashed to bits. And you're not healing like you used to, Faye." Hrothga paused, the muscles in her jaw working over. "Does this have to do with the god?"
Of course Hrothga could tell, she was too wise for her own good at times. Faye felt a flush of shame overcome her.
"You should have told me," Hrothga added. Faye nodded bitterly.
"I didn't want you to worry. I'm sorry," Faye said. Hrothga scoffed.
"Too late for that. What's his damage?"
"He bears a curse made by god-magic," Faye admitted. The thought of those chain-link scars made her stomach twist like a pit of snakes. There was more he was not telling her about his dealings with gods.
"A nasty one too. I could smell it," Hrothga sniffed. She rose and bustled around her larder for various herbs. "It's best not to meddle with that kind of magic."
"Do you know if it could be broken?" Faye asked as she pulled on her tunic and jerkin. Hrothga shook her head, turning back to Faye.
"He was cursed for a reason, child. I'm sure you have your reasons, but you shouldn't mingle with the god-kin. I see rivers of blood behind the pale one."
"I can't get rid of him so quickly, he owes me a debt."
"I know you Faye," Hrothga snapped. "And I know you want justice. But this god will bring nothing but trouble."
Faye shook her head.
"I can't explain it Hrothga, but there's more to him than whatever his past is."
Hrothga sighed. "You're too compassionate for your own good. I hope you know what you're doing because whatever debt he owes, it isn't worth your life."
"It's more than that, I…" Faye closed her eyes and braced herself for what she was about to tell Hrothga. It would be troubling news but she had to tell the witch. She was the only other person who knew her secret.
"I've had visions, Hrothga," she said. A terrible stillness came over Hrothga.
"It's been a long time since you've had those," Hrothga whispered, almost to herself. Faye knew what she meant. A familiar ache settled in her heart at the thought. She hadn't had visions since the murder of her people.
"I was given this gift for a reason," Faye continued. "I couldn't save my people but I need to know why I see what I see." Faye thought of the child with scars across his kind face.
"I need to know why I see him ."
"There's more you aren't telling me," Hrothga said, crossing her arms.
"Let me show you." Faye outstretched her hand to Hrothga. The witch's gaze lingered on Faye's hand.
"I'm not sure I want to see what the future holds. It isn't my place," Hrotgha backed away. Faye stood, still desperately offering her hand to the witch.
"Please," she begged. "Maybe your belief in fate can make sense of what I've seen."
"Alright." Hrothga swallowed hard, stretching her hand to meet Faye's. When their hands met, Faye showed her the boy with auburn hair and ice-blue eyes. He was running through the forest with Faye's bow in hand, Kratos close behind him with the Leviathan axe. They were hunting a tawny stag through a field of snow covered grass. She showed Hrothga the vision of the boy with his cheek pressed against Faye's as she taught him to hunt the rabbit.
Hrothga pulled away from Faye, her face stony and unreadable to Faye.
"You see now?" Faye pressed. "I have to know."
"This god…" Hrothga thought hard, "He is not of the Aesir, nor any court of the nine realms. A traveling god. Banished, more likely. Do you know why he is here?"
A dark thought occured to Faye.
"Perhaps he came to join Odin's thrall."
"You know what you must do if that is the case."
"I know," Faye said. She didn't want to think about what she would have to do. Though she was a warrior and had fought the Aesir, she had never killed a god. The last time she fought a god she barely escaped and she knew she was not as strong as she was all those years ago. If she had to kill this god, she knew the fight would be her last.
"He is weakened, you should kill him while you still can," Hrothga said grimly.
"It might not have to come to that. I believe this god is different."
"What? Like Tyr? And look what happened to him!" Hrothga argued. "And what if the gods of this realm smell him out? Eh? They will find you."
"I know," Faye admitted.
"Then why aren't you being more careful!" Hrothga took Faye's hands and squeezed, her wrinkled features overwhelmed with worry.
"What would you have me do? You've seen what I've seen!"
"I would have you shoot him thrice in the heart if I knew it would keep you safe and hidden, Laufey."
"But the child-"
"Fuck the child!" Hrothga snapped, "You are the last Guardian of the Jotnar!"
Faye fell silent and Hrothga searched her eyes for some semblance of reason. Faye hated to disappoint the old woman. These past years they had grown as close as kin and Faye knew that she only acted out of her motherly instincts. And Hrothga was right. Everything she said could come to pass but that is not the future that Faye had foresaw. Despite Hrothga's worries, Faye had to know how the god was connected to her visions.
"I have to know, Hrothga," Faye said quietly, knowing that she was breaking the old woman's heart. Hrothga sighed and squeezed Faye's hands.
"I cannot convince you," Hrothga said, letting go of Faye's hands and returning back to her workbench. "I hope that it is worth the trouble."
She returned to Faye with a small jar and a bitter quiet about her.
"Use this salve for the pain. And I want you to return once every month to see how that's mending."
"And the curse?" Faye asked.
"I will consult the aether, but you should be wary of any creature that has broken free of it's chains. They were put there for a reason."
"So you keep telling me," Faye said. She noticed footsteps approaching. She turned in time to see Kratos enter the hut with the ingredients in hand. Before she could say anything Hrothga pushed past her and snatched the jar of water and herbs from his pale hands.
"Finally! Give me that," Hrothga barked, "Now git, your stink is all over the place. Shoo!"
Kratos was confused as ever.
"Did you not require this for her injury?" He asked Hrothga.
"We're done here," Faye said, passing him the satchel full of new supplies.
Leaving Hrothga's homestead, Faye felt more worried than when she had arrived. Hrothga hadn't offered her any insight, just more questions to which she did not have the answers. She wasn't sure if there were more gods like Tyr. Even if there were, she knew what happened to gods that fell out of line. Tyr was probably rotting in a cell somewhere deep in the dungeons of Asgard, or banished to some other horrible place. If he wasn't dead already.
She always admired that Tyr was able to see the best in people, even if it made him blind to their faults. And despite Hrothga's warnings, Faye knew that she saw something other than the rage in the god that walked beside her now. But Faye was still unsure if she could open her heart to another god again, to trust them and see promises broken. Tyr had not meant to cause harm to her people, but he was blind to Odin's treachery and that cost her people their lives. Though he did try to right his mistakes by banishing Odin from Jotunheim and hiding the paths to the realm, the damage could not be undone.
KRATOS
The two women were arguing. And though Kratos only caught the tail-end of their conversation, he knew that they had been talking about him.
"I have to know, Hrothga," Faye had said. There was so much pain in her voice like a bitter admission. What did the huntress need to know so desperately that it hurt her to even say it?
And then she mentioned the curse. Kratos grew still.
Then the witch told Faye to be wary of animals broken free from their chains.
"They were put there for a reason," she said.
Kratos looked down at his forearms, his skin crawling with shame. The blades that were given to him by Ares were a curse, even if he didn't realize it at the time. He had tried to rid himself of the blades after the destruction of his homeland but the effort proved more difficult than he imagined. No fire could melt them, and no power could keep them from coming back to him. Kratos had even thrown them off a cliff, yet they washed ashore. They were a reminder of what he was, and what he had done. Just like the ashen color of his skin.
He couldn't blame the huntress for being curious about his condition. He never stayed anywhere long enough for people to grow suspicious about him and what he was, until now. For a brief moment Kratos thought that it was best that he left without fulfilling the deal with the huntress, and the blades of Chaos remained hidden from him forever. No. They were too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands. Even if those hands were his own.
If the huntress knew the full extent of Kratos' past, perhaps she would put him down with the very weapons that ruined his life. And Kratos hated that there was still some part of him that craved to be connected with the blades once more. There was something inexplicable about them that made him feel whole again.
When the Kratos and Faye returned to her homestead, dusk had already fallen. There was an unspoken routine between the two. Kratos started a fire and Faye began preparing dinner for them both. While she worked, her mind was wandering elsewhere. There was a battle going on behind her eyes and Kratos couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking.
"You do not believe in fate?" Kratos asked as they ate. Faye's eyes met his for a long moment, and the deep blue of her gaze reminded Kratos of the Aegean sea.
"Nothing that is written cannot be unwritten. I believe in what I can change," Faye said, and the way that she spoke made Kratos think that she was speaking to herself.
"What if there are some things that you cannot change?" Kratos asked. What would she do with him when she realized the kind of monster he was. Athena's words came creeping back to him.
You cannot change what you are, Kratos.
Faye thought hard for a moment. Despite his curse and his rage, could Kratos really change? Could he live as a man? Kratos can barely remember his life as a man in Sparta. Though the memories are faded by a lifetime of bloodshed, he remembers the warmth of those days. There was the sound of Calliope's laughter in the breeze, and Lysandra's skin shone like bronze in the sunlight. A hard pit formed in his chest, grief threatening to swallow him whole. Everything he touched became ruined by his own actions. Even if he lived as a man, and goodness came to him, it was only a matter of time before his past caught up with him again.
"If something cannot change, it's because it does not want to," Faye replied.