Mannn...this is wayyyy overdue. I'm super sorry. I'll ramble at the end to spare casual readers having to scroll past my shit.

I now use Tumblr more regularly: hedgehodgy

Enjoy? :D

For many moments, there was silence and stillness in the room. Kratos frozen by the scene he had seen before him; Faye by the terror of being caught out, and Atreus by the act of being tossed against a wall.

It was only when he noticed that stillness in his son that Kratos finally found the ability to move again. His feet, however, did not know where to take him. His instinct was currently leaning towards approaching Faye and – and – and doing something. Grabbing her, shaking her, demanding to know what she had been thinking. Kratos's hands were clenching with the dirty need to hit his wife, a thing he had never imagined himself longing to do.

But she has hurt our son. She hurt. Our. Son. He still has not moved.

Kratos didn't realise that he was moving until Faye was flinching and backing away, her top teeth worrying at her bottom lip, her brow furrowed as it did when she was thinking. Kratos did not know where he found the strength to bypass her and make straight for the child on the floor, though she skittered out of his path anyway. Dropping to a knee besides him, he didn't dare touch him – for fear of his anger accidentally burning the child. Instead, he vocally nudged the boy with a murmur of, "Atreus,"

Atreus hummed and groaned slightly, blue eyes peeking between his fingers as his hands covered his face. Kratos felt a shudder of relief as the boy's body wriggled, showing no sign of real long-term damage. Good. The force that she threw him with- "Pack some things, boy," Kratos said quietly, his voice sounding like stone even to his own ears. He took one of his packs from his belt and left it next to Atreus as he was slowly pushing himself up. "Then stand outside until I am finished in here. Do not wander off,"

Kratos pushed himself to his full height then, staring at Atreus until he jolted and nodded, unwrapping his arms from around himself. It was then that Kratos noticed a flash of purple ringing his wrist, revealed by a shift of his clothes which was quickly righted by his son as if it were a natural reaction.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Faye asked from behind Kratos, her voice trembling. "M-My love, you don't-,"

"Quiet," Kratos snapped at her. "I'll not have this battle with you while the boy is here to witness it,"

Atreus jolted at the word 'battle' and rushed towards his bed. Kratos watched him grab a few belongings, including a spare tunic and a carved wooden toy and a child-sized water skin. He watched him though it was menial; he did not trust himself to turn around and face his wife just yet. He knew that he was dangerously close to exploding as it was. If he looked upon her, he…

Atreus closed the pack – with so little in it – and turned away from his bed. His expression was worried and scared and there were tears on his cheeks as his eyes darted between Kratos and, he assumed, Faye. He stood there silently, as if he did not understand what he was meant to do now.

"Outside," repeated Kratos. "Wait for me,"

The boy nodded once. He rushed out of Kratos's peripheral vision and towards the door, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his meagre weight. Kratos waited until the footsteps were crunching against earth and snow rather than tapping against the wood until he steeled himself and, slowly, turned around.

Faye looked close to tears. "I don't understand," she said shakily. "You – are you taking him away?"

"From you, yes," growled Kratos. An easy answer to an easy question.

"But you will come back?"

A slightly harder question. Kratos could not answer it yet. "What were you doing?" he asked, in a voice so calm and steady. Faye visibly swallowed, sensing the need to be afraid. It took her some time to string together an answer – time which Kratos used to try to organise his thoughts.

Trying to comprehend the scene he had stumbled upon was painful on a near-physical level. Faye was good. She was his wife and he loved her, and she was a wonderful mother to their child, raising him without complaint despite his difficulties. How often had Kratos come home to see them cuddling together in the bed? How often did he listen to Faye talk to their son softly, singing him small songs or soothing his aches when they grew intense with his sickness? She was soft, she was gentle, she was loving and caring and – and she had grabbed their son and shaken him and screamed at him and threw him across the room. His little body had hit the wall with such force and the only thing Faye seemed guilty about was the fact that Kratos had been there to witness it.

There were bruises on his son's arms, there had always been bruises on his arms. Kratos was spiralling into a whirlwind of doubt – how many bruises had actually been the result of illness and clumsiness on their son's behalf, as he had always assumed? How many of them had been inflicted by Faye? For by the way Atreus was acting, relatively unperturbed by his slam against the wall, Kratos now couldn't doubt that something had been going on all along. Atreus, like his mother, was mostly shaken by Kratos's presence.

"You don't understand!" Faye eventually cried out, having the audacity to burst into tears. "How could you? You're not – you have no idea why it is so necessary that I-,"

"Then inform me," said Kratos, challengingly. Something dark and ugly was clawing its way from the recesses of his soul, snarling and barking for blood. His fists felt hot and full of sparks as it broke down part of his barriers; if he had glanced down, Kratos would have seen that his man-crushing fists were spitting fire. "You just threw our son across the room, Faye. Make me understand why it was 'necessary',"

He was taunting her. He didn't want her to make him understand anything – he wanted to beat the person whose hands had done the deed of throwing his son, whose hands had hurt him. He didn't care what the motives were. He didn't care that it was his wife. We vowed to protect him, Kratos thought in disbelief. We are his parents, we-

"It is necessary in a way that you can never comprehend, husband, not with the way you are," Faye's tone was pleading with him to hear her out, to give her the benefit of the doubt. She wanted him to brush this off, as he had brushed off everything – his doubts about the child's incapacities, his disbelief about the regularity of his bruising skin, his temptation to take the boy and teach him everything he could.

I have failed him. I gave up on him and barely even argued it. I did not notice that she was-

Kratos could not think the words. Could not even picture them in his head. He felt sick.

"The boy…" Faye whispered suddenly, approaching him now, as if she had no more concept of the danger she was in. Her eyes had dried up as quickly as they had wettened. "Kratos, he… he is evil. He is no normal child. If we had allowed him to grow up as normal, he would go on to do terrible things, trust me. Monstrous things! I had to prevent it no matter what I felt for him, I-I had to spare the world-!"

"A monster?" said Kratos, in such disbelief he was breathless. "You – you would call our child a monster? Can you not hear yourself, woman? The boy is an innocent-!"

"And what do you know about innocents, besides how to murder them?" she countered.

Kratos's hand darted forwards, locking his wife's arm in an iron grip. She struggled, her muscles coiled between his fingers, which tightened and twisted and debated how easy it would be to snap the bone. "I know what it is to be a monster," Kratos snarled, leaning into her face. "And our son is not one. How long has this been going on?"

Faye seemed to ignore the question, shifting until she could step closer to Kratos, her hand pressing against his chest. "I had to," she said imploringly. "A-And I knew you would disapprove, why do you think I kept it secret? Your aversion to prophecy and your rejection of fate-,"

Kratos shoved her away, cutting her off. He wanted nothing more than to clamp a hand over her mouth to silence her, to keep those words from coming out of her mouth. To hear them made the whole thing an even more grim reality. "Do not even dare use that as some kind of excuse," he warned dangerously. Prophecy?! His heart felt like exploding with the indignance of it. "And do not brush off my questions-,"

"It is not an excuse, it is the very reason I have done what I have done for these past nine years!" Faye's voice was growing stronger, her voice more determined. She was straightening her shoulders and lifting her back; of course, her fear of Kratos did not last for long. "Do you know how painful it has been for me? Do you know how much I have suffered raising a – a – a demon?! Feeding him at my breast, warming him against my skin, nursing him to health when he fell ill even though I wanted nothing more than to let him-,"

Kratos had to cut her off before she could say the words, before she could completely break his heart. Without thinking, he tore his hunting knife free from his belt and pitched it fiercely across the room, roaring as he did. The blade skimmed past his wife, slicing a few strands of her wild red hair, and embedded itself in the wall behind her. Its quivering blade as it stuck out from the wood mimicked that of Kratos's hands, so full of anger.

Faye staggered back, flinching in surprise, her instincts likely dulled by her own panic. For a moment, there was fear in her eyes once more. But it faded faster than Kratos would have liked.

"You act like you did not think the same thoughts as I," she said, when the sounds of their heavy breaths had filled the silence for more than a few moments. "When he was born, don't you remember? We did not think he would live. I know that in your culture, you leave sickly babes on mountains to die – and you wanted that,"

"You have already made my point for me; I wanted it. That sentiment is in the past," said Kratos, glare intensifying at her implication that he would do anything alike to what she had done to their son. "The boy gained his strength, he proved us wrong. He survived. That is what matters-,"

"He is still weak, Kratos. Leave him on a mountainside and come back home to me. Do what we should have done years ago and let us put this all behind us," Faye's voice was soft, enticing, pleading.

Kratos lashed out with his fists and a snarl. His wife, however, was still a warrior even when she was so unpredictable. Her frost axe was immediately in her hands, the long, curved handle blocking Kratos's raised fists. They stared at each other from either side of the glowing weapon; Kratos's anger remaining, Faye's desperation fading. Fading and being replaced by a resigned, yet disgusted, look.

"This is not how I wanted it to be," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you, my love,"

Gods, but there were a million things that Kratos wanted to say to that. Then you should not have harmed our son. You should not have called him a monster, a demon. You should not have told me to leave him to die. You should not have allowed yourself to be reduced to this. In the seconds that passed, however, Kratos could not decide on which answer would be best. So he left her with none.

Stepping back, he lowered his arms and subtly shook some of the tremors from his hands. He made his way towards the door, not quite turning his back on Faye just yet – her axe was still in her hands.

Watching him retreat, Faye said tearily, "My door is always open to you,"

The effort it took for Kratos to step out of the house and shut the door behind him, without going for the impossible womanwith his bare fists again, felt nearly painful. But he forced himself to do it. I will have to return, soon – once I have figured out our next plan. But I cannot see us remaining here while she is still like that. No, I'll not have Atreus step foot in this home so long as he may be mistreated.

…How? How did it come to this? When did I lose my wife to this madness – how did I not notice?

Kratos shook his head in disbelief, backing away from the closed door and the sound of Faye's sobs coming from inside. Turning towards the gate leading out of their garden, he spied his son. He stood with his hands at his sides, as if at attention, though his head was bowed in subjugation. Kratos's pack hung clumsily from his belt, weighing down his ill-fitting clothes even with its sparse contents. Approaching, Kratos knelt to undo the messy knots tying the pack into place, putting it on to his own belt where it belonged.

Atreus flinched but stayed deathly quiet at Kratos's proximity. His eyes did not move from a spot on the floor until Kratos said, "Come," and turned towards the forest.

At first, it was only Kratos's footsteps that filled the relative silence of the outside. The smaller set of footsteps did not follow until Kratos was a small distance away – they hurried to catch up with him, then fell into pace just behind. Kratos waved a hand until the boy picked up his pace once more to advance ahead of him, so that Kratos was bringing up their rear instead with his son in his line of sight. Which he will not be leaving, for a long time now.

…Though, there will be only a few exceptions.

Atreus walked without complaint or hesitation, though he did glance back in the direction of the homestead a few times – the fear in his eyes painfully clear. The fear was all that Kratos could see in him. There was no curiosity, no questioning, no sadness or confusion. It was as if the last thing on his mind was where they were going – meanwhile, that thought was currently dominating Kratos's own mind. He forcefully had the debate take up the forefront so that he would not have to think about Faye again, at least for a little while.

He'd have to drop Atreus somewhere safe and guarded before he could leave the boy and let out his burning anger in the only way he knew how – so long as it was beyond the boy's sight.

There were few times when Kratos was glad for Atreus's lifelong silence. Now was one of them. There was a lot to reflect on and a lot of debate. The first question was where they were going – there was no civilisation near their home for miles around, as there hadn't been for years. If Kratos wanted to keep Atreus from his mother for a few days while everything was somehow figured out, they would need shelter. Kratos would have to build one. Where? Beyond the protective ring of their forest, or within? Which presented them with the most danger? To stray beyond the magical boundaries or to remain within the very circle that his wife had painted?

Would she try to follow them? Would she stalk them? What would Kratos do if she did – force her to leave them alone, threaten her, fight with her? Did he want to resort to those methods? Or did he want to attempt that thing called 'negotiation' for the first time in his life? Because gods, did Kratos not want to fight with his wife. He longed to wake up and find out that this whole thing had been a very long, very realistic dream. Kratos rarely wished for such things, but with his only options being to abandon his wife or fight her…

No, it may not have to come to that, he tried to tell himself. Perhaps…perhaps the abuse was minimal. Perhaps I have blown the situation beyond proportion. Perhaps Faye's abuse only occurred on rare days, when she was not feeling herself. Perhaps I am wrong and something has been done to my wife, twisting her mind in such a way.

There was only one way that Kratos was going to find out most of his answers to the questions concerning the abuse. And the source in question was one mute, upset, afraid little child.

What am I to do? Kratos wondered, glancing at his silent child, who was hunched and sniffling. The person whom I would usually consult is the source of his pain. I cannot fix it alone.

I cannot fix a thing, even if it was my wish. And Faye was right when she spoke of innocents and I; how they suffer.

They walked for as many hours as Atreus's stamina allowed – which was not very many and did not even take them beyond the stave. They both spent their journey in silence. Atreus, since they had left the home, had not even glanced in Kratos's direction. He stared at the floor was he walked yet still managed to trip over tree-roots, lagging behind as their journey got longer. Kratos knew that the boy would not have the strength to travel far, considering his lifetime of living exclusively within the fenced area of their home. There was also his poor health to consider. When Kratos could hear the boy's lungs beginning to wheeze with exertion, he at last slowed his rapid pace and began to survey the land for some kind of camp for the night.

He did not yet know if the camp would be temporary or permanent. He did not know if they would stay within the stave or leave at some point. He did not know when, if ever, they would return to their home.

There was no chance of that happening until Kratos finally got the full, transparent truth.

He was dreading having to find it all out. He dreaded it even more as he knew he would have to pry it from the boy.

There was a small clearing just beyond the beaten track, encircled in large gnarled trees which tilted against a rocky outcrop. The tree's roots would make for decent natural benches, the tree trunks and the land would serve as barriers from the worst of the wind. Kratos would be able to see most of the forest around them, should he tuck Atreus next to the outcrop of earth (where it would likely be warmest) and sit opposite him.

It looked about as good as they were going to get, so Kratos strafed towards it. Double-checking that the small area was well – and that they were still very much alone in the forest – Kratos gave the signal for Atreus to sit down. The boy did so, trying to be discreet about his heavy breathing and tired legs. His arms wrapped around himself in a subtle indication of the boy's temperature. Right, yes, he will be cold, Kratos reminded himself. The weather here did not bother him as it did others; it was as if his body still believed that it was in the Peloponnese, where the sun was always bright and warm. His skin maintained the same heat no matter where he was. The only time Kratos remembered being even mildlycold was when Faye had thought it funny to push him into a frozen lake years ago.

No, do not think about those times. Not right now.

Kratos went quickly about gathering sticks and leaves to be used as firewood and kindling, dumping them on the ground on the most sheltered side of their chosen camp. He dropped into a crouch to build the fire himself when a thought occurred to him. He glanced up at Atreus, who was watching discreetly from the corner of his eyes. Kratos would have to give it to the boy – he was good at making it seem as if he wasn't paying attention when he was. Kratos would not have noticed his focus at all if not for what had transpired and his greater understanding now.

"Have you ever started a fire yourself, boy?" Kratos asked, holding out his stick of flint to the child.

Atreus shook his head negative but his bony fingers still reached out for the flint, slipping to his knees besides his father, glancing up expectantly. He did not even have to be told that he was about to learn.

…Good, thought Kratos, mildly surprised. After receiving a few words of direction and going through a couple of failed attempts, a small fire was soon crackling before the father and son. The flames were meagre, but hopeful, and Atreus was dutifully stacking up the kindling little bits at a time to avoid smothering them. So he does understand. He has always understood. Faye has just…she must have lied to me. Lied to herself, maybe.

Atreus was not the hapless child that Faye had made him out to be, not at all. He understood Kratos and his instructions perfectly – he picked up the skill of starting fire with little to no effort, while Kratos remembered having far more difficulty with it when he was a child, so many decades ago. He had followed Kratos's every order so far, even though his wife had always complained about the child's inability to do something even as mundane as fetch a log of firewood from the shed.

She confined him to a lifetime in a sickbed, his mind quelled and supressed, all for some fear of a 'prophecy'. She…

"Keep it fed, but do not smother it," Kratos said through gritted teeth, his hands trembling again. "I…am going to scout the area. Do not move from this spot, understand?"

Despite everything, Atreus was not as skilled at hiding emotions from his face as he was at hiding his greater understanding of the world. There was fear in his eyes as Kratos rose to his full height, gaze darting between his father and the trees. There was no telling what the boy was thinking, what he wanted to ask. And for this moment in time, Kratos simply didn't care. He had to rid himself of some of this rage before long, else he would accidentally take it out on the wrong target. Kratos would prefer to apologise for leaving the boy alone for a while than for hurting or scaring him in some way. Even if the child did not see it that way.

No matter how much Atreus seemed to hate it, he did not say anything to Kratos as he walked away. Somehow, it reminded Kratos of when he was a babe. How clingy he had been – and always to Kratos, never to his mother. Kratos had assumed it was because of his extended absences, whereas he was always around his mother. Now, though, Kratos wondered whether it was because his mother was…

The god rushed through the trees with an uncharacteristic desperation, quickly measuring an appropriate gap to place between himself and his son – far enough that the boy would not see, but near enough that he would know if something were approaching the boy. It was foolish, selfish, that Kratos was leaving his child alone and defenceless in the forest while he released his anger. Especially after all that had happened.

Soon enough, Kratos found a slab of Earth which jutted from the ground to form a cliff-face, so characteristic of their rugged forest tucked into the valley. He wasted no time in clenching his fists and releasing his fury with a roar, flying at the doomed wall of stone. Every punch made him feel better, but also worse. Every punch reminded him of his strength, but also his weakness. The hard stone crumbled to dust beneath his fists as if it were clay, Kratos unleashing everything he had on it until he had carved out his very own cave.

It wasn't enough. It was not enough. And yet, he had already done too much. Screamed too much, hit too much, left his young Atreus alone for far too long. When Kratos paused to breathe, he focused on his ears and heard nothing else in the forest – not even any animals skittering away from him in fright.

That will make hunting difficult, he thought distractedly, walking numbly back to their camp. The gashes and scrapes on his knuckles closed up by themselves, his traumatised bones knitting themselves magically back together. If only everything in life were as easy as that – if things were so easily mended, Atreus and Kratos would not be here now.

He found his son exactly where he had left him, which made Kratos feel both relief and indescribable guilt. The boy had his hands pressed over his ears and his eyes closed. Kratos wished to scold him: what would you have done if someone had come across you? You left yourself vulnerable, blind and deaf. But as it was his own fault that his quiet boy was recoiling in such a way, he held his tongue. Atreus must have somehow felt his father's presence approaching as his eyes peeked open without prompt to look at him once he was near enough.

They sat in silence around the fire, which Atreus hadn't been feeding more kindling, distracted as he was. Kratos gestured for the boy to resume once he had unfurled from his tightly-wound ball. Roughly half an hour later, they had a decent-sized fire warming their camp – warming Atreus, as he was the only one of them who needed it.

In that time, however, Kratos had not managed to come up with many conclusions in his head.

"Boy," he broke the silence eventually, knowing that he would have to at some point. Better to get it over with. "You…your mother…Was it common for her to lay her hands on you?"

For many moments, Atreus gave no indication that he had heard Kratos, that he had even been paying attention. Kratos was about to force himself to repeat the insanely difficult question when – to both his relief and his dread – the child's head nodded in confirmation.

Kratos wanted to groan. He'd wanted nothing more than for the boy to shake his head, no, no she rarely did that.

"How often?" asked Kratos, He saw no point in trying to deny the fact of it, anymore – Faye hurt Atreus. Abused him. Rather than bemoaning over it, Kratos had to do something. He had to settle with the change that he hadn't even realised had taken place in his wife and choose how he would confront it; confront her.

Naturally, Atreus's answer was not verbal. He gave a shrug and gesticulated with his shaking hands, waving one in a circle like a fast-moving wheel. He was grimacing, as if something hurt him. Quite often, he was saying.

Kratos grunted, trying to ignore the squirming in his gut. "Show me your injuries, boy,"

Atreus shook his head, arms wrapping around his stomach as he tried to curl back into himself.

"Atreus," Kratos forced a sternness into his tone. "I do not ask to provoke discomfort. I must know the extent of what she has done to you,"

Technically, there was no reason for it, as he already knew that Atreus was physically stable – walking a decent distance without trouble. Kratos just…he needed to be able to measure how much guilt he should be feeling, how much anger towards his wife would be appropriate. He needed to know how much his son had suffered right under his nose. But Atreus kept shaking his head.

There was the option of forcing the boy to unwind his arms so Kratos could lift up his shirt and look himself. But that would only be a violation of the boy's unsurprisingly tentative trust. While Atreus had usually always been content and quite calm in Kratos's presence – with the odd days where he would be especially perky or especially nervous – now, he seemed nothing short of terrified. Anxious. His hands were wringing together with nerves, a habit he had probably picked up from his mother who would similarly twist her hair around her fingers.

Not his mother, Kratos thought, focusing on steady, slow breaths. No, she has lost her right to that title.

"I assume your mother made it clear not to expose her abuse," he said, digging deeper, gathering detail. Atreus nodded. "Did she tell you that I would object to it?" Atreus shook his head, surprisingly. "Then what did she say?"

Atreus couldn't seem to convey it silently. He flapped his hands and made shapes with his mouth before sighing and slumping in resignation, unable to think of the right gestures. It was then that Kratos realised another thing:

"Did…did she order you to not speak?"

The delayed answer from Atreus filled Kratos with an indescribable sense of dread. No, no she would not have lied about that. She could not have lied.

Atreus's mouth opened, then closed again, then opened. And repeat.

Please say 'no', Kratos thought, feeling like a terrible father as he did. To prefer his child to be a mute than to be faced with yet another terrible aspect of his wife's character.

Atreus eventually mouthed 'yes'.

Kratos closed his eyes and resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands. He felt tired. He felt old. He so rarely felt 'helpless' but this was almost certainly one of those times. There was nothing he could do to fix this. Could not seek his wife's usually-sound advice, could not go into the past and change it all, could not now prompt Atreus to speak because he had never done so because his mother never allowed him to.

She had better be praying to her gods and spirits to save her, Kratos thought grimly, watching his son with an intense gaze as he shifted and squirmed, uncomfortable and lost and utterly let-down by both of his parents. Because I do not know what I will do or say to her when I see her next. 'Forgiveness' is not an option.

They spent only a few days in the wilderness – two nights, to be exact. That was all they could manage, before the cold became too much for Atreus and before Kratos lost his patience. Their time in the forest became something of a balancing act for the god; while he had to take time to think and vent his anger before even considering confronting his wife again, he could not put it off for too long. Not when Atreus needed proper clothes, proper food, blankets of some kind as he spent the nights curled up in a corner, trembling and coughing.

After a couple of hours around their first campfire, it had become clear to Kratos that shelter would be needed for the night, if he did not want his child to freeze to death. And so with some half-hearted cleaning, they cleared out the remaining rocks and boulders left over from Kratos's assault on the mountainside and made a base out of the cave his fists had created. Atreus built and maintained their fire, never moving from that spot in the corner once he had first settled into it; Kratos came and went, leaving the cave to hit things, to hunt, to find water, to hit things, to check that their small perimeter was safe, and to hit things.

Those two days and two nights had been some of the longest and quietest days in Kratos's life – and he was the father who often departed on many-week-long hunts on his own. Though Atreus had all-but confessed to being able to speak, he remained completely silent. Kratos wearily tried to draw conversation from him, but even he would admit that he did not put much effort into it. It was uncomfortable. Unsafe and unmapped territory for them both.

Kratos had to remind himself of those days after Atreus's birth. His utter terror and his promises to keep him safe. He had failed on that front, leaving him in the hands of a cruel and manipulative mother for nine years. He would fail on that front, if he kept the child in his care for the foreseeable future.

But what other choice do I have?

He made plans, for both him and Atreus, even as his gut protested it. The first thing they would do would be to collect the rest of their belongings from the homestead. They would face Faye if they had to and then they would leave their home, leave her. After that, they would travel to find themselves a new place to call home. Kratos had decided that they would go beyond the stave which Faye had religiously refused to pass. Kratos was now uncertain as to whether it would truly be as dangerous for Atreus to cross the boundaries as she claimed. She could easily have been lying about that, too. If danger did happen upon them, Kratos would protect his son.

When they found good land, Kratos would build them a new cabin. He would begin teaching the boy the many things he should already know, the things that would keep him alive; hunting, fighting, crafting, travelling the wilderness. The things that he needed to survive but Faye had rejected and neglected. Kratos understood why, now.

That was the rough plan. Kratos had no doubts that obstacles would face them along the way – the biggest of which was going to be Faye. With carefully-put 'yes or no' questions addressed to Atreus, Kratos had concluded that she wasn't…wholly 'stable'. Her mood was like a summer storm, coming and going and coming and going. Bright one minute, violent the next. She had been like that for years, certain of Atreus's 'evil' for years. Kratos remembered holding his boy when he had been a babe and wondered how she could have thought such a thing.

Faye did not care. But she also did. She did not care for what her son would become, but she cared for her son. She did not care for anyone beyond their family, but she did care for the wellbeing of the world. Everything contradicted itself. It was then no wonder why her actions had become so unpredictable.

On the morning of their second day, Kratos waved Atreus to his feet after unhappily watching the boy nibble just the smallest bit of meat from a badger Kratos had managed to catch (the forest proving terribly unfruitful). The boy seemed to think that it was a select command, remaining seated, until his father snapped, "Up,"

He bounced to his feet, eyes wide, and Kratos felt immediately guilty. Gods, but he was the worst kind of guardian of a child still recoiling from a lifetime of abuse.

Kratos made sure that Atreus was following as he stomped out of the cave, making for the vague path carving through the woods and following it. He paid more attention to Atreus than he usually would have, preferring that to thinking about what he would do when they reached their destination. It became quickly apparent that Atreus was still nervous – of course, he had not relaxed since before Kratos had first found him wandering the woods alone (his mother had kicked him out into the cold and dangerous forest in a fit of rage, he'd figured out, and was furious when he returned home without her permission). His eyes kept glancing skywards, which perplexed Kratos. Eventually he stopped and properly followed the boy's gaze.

"What is it?" he asked, seeing only trees, sky and mountaintops encircling their surroundings.

Atreus began to shake his head, then paused. Kratos had told him to stop shrugging things off. He hesitated before pointing towards the mountains and tilting his head in question.

It took Kratos a few seconds to realise that he was asking whether the mountains were their destination. "Why-?" he began, but his inquiry did not last long. He knew what the boy was asking. After a few deep breaths, and with a much softer tone, he said, "You are not to be left on a mountainside, boy. Do not even entertain the possibility,"

He then turned and marched away before Atreus could reply. Why did the boy have to ask that now, he raged internally. When my anger has finally been tempered and we are on our way to confront his mother?

To be fair, Kratos had to reason to himself, he hadn't told Atreus where they were going or what they were doing. He had not ordered Atreus to follow him since they had first left the house.

"We are returning to the cabin, briefly," he said over his shoulder. "To collect what still remains of our belongings. We will then depart and never return,"

Atreus's footsteps suddenly sped up until his tawny head was in line with Kratos's waist, blue eyes staring owlishly up at him. 'What?' he was mouthing, disbelieving. 'Really'?

It ached to see the boy's surprise and, simmering under the surface, his mild excitement. "Think of what you will need and where it is kept," he said, trying to keep a level tone. "Prioritise the essentials; I want to be done with this swiftly. If your…if Faye wants to try to stop us, you get up and leave. I will deal with her. Understood?"

'Understood' mouthed Atreus. Naturally, his excitement went right away at the mention of his mother's name, replaced with an awkward grimace and yet more visible anxiety.

Kratos had stopped calling Faye 'his wife' in his head, or any other title of affection or familiarity. He had stripped her of all titles and today he would wash his hands clean of her. A part of him wanted to start a fight, knuckles aching. Kratos had to keep reminding himself – he was not going to kill Faye for what she did, no matter how much his conscious sang for her blood. His boy had suffered enough without the knowledge his father murdering his birth mother. Their trip to the cabin would therefore be brief and (hopefully) uneventful, for Atreus's sake.

At this point, Kratos was going to make that his mantra. For Atreus's sake.

The cabin came into view all too soon, slowly becoming visible through the trees, foreboding and dark. Kratos heard Atreus slow his pace down once he could see it and he forced himself to also slow, turning and lifting an arm to gesture the child to stand under. Atreus had to stay at his side while they were there, for peace of mind of the both of them. Atreus had made it no secret that his mother terrified him. He sometimes quaked more at her mention than he did at Kratos's flashes of anger.

Kratos was also on edge and had no idea if Faye would have anything planned, to 'spook' them or try to force their family unit back together again. At all costs, Atreus had to remain safe.

Do it for him. Keep him safe, no matter what. He is all that matters, now.

…Kratos was beginning to wonder whether he was suddenly a bit attached.

Atreus's hand latched on to part of the bearskin hanging from Kratos's belt, tugging slightly as they approached the door. There was no sound coming from inside the house, nor light nor movement. They had left early morning and had taken a slightly faster route here than they had on their initial departure; if Faye was abed, perhaps she would be caught more off-guard.

Kratos pushed open the door and found the red-haired woman sitting in the middle of the room.

She looked as if she had not moved since Kratos and Atreus had left, sitting on the very spot she had been stood on and remaining. Her wild hair was even wilder, greasy and fly-away. Her eyes were closed but ringed in black, the charcoal she would line them with smudged by the many tear tracks carving down her cheeks. She looked pale, weak, shaken. Kratos wanted to take her into her arms and ask her how he could help.

But then Atreus squeaked at his side and he remembered that he did not care for this woman anymore.

They stepped into the room and Faye did not move, not even twitching. Kratos moved Atreus from his right side to his left, so that he was in between Faye and the boy as they stepped around her to cross the room. It was Atreus's bed that they went to first. As the boy scooped up the last of his clothes and the collection of wooden toys that he had kept over the years. Kratos could hardly remember carving them, only remember the little boy's elated smile every time he procured one after he returned from his hunts. One of the only joys he was granted, I know now.

Atreus shouldered his full pack just a minute later and grimaced suddenly with discomfort. A pale hand rose to press against his chest, rubbing through his tunic over his breastbone as it spasmed. Kratos recognised the start of one of the boy's coughing fits and immediately thumped his back, encouraging his silence (for once). This was far easier while Faye was supposedly ignorant to their presence.

But Atreus still needed to cough and so he scurried to the door, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow. He hopped impatiently from foot-to-foot as Kratos grabbed the things he supposed they would need but not be able to acquire easily in the wild. His spare set of clothing, some medicinal herbs, linen gauze, iron nails and studs and some generic house-building tools. Then, careful not to turn his back to Faye – who was still very stoic and close-eyed – he moved aside the rug covering the hatch that opened up beneath the floorboards.

Seeing the Blades of Chaos, wrapped in cloth, Kratos grimaced secretly to himself. It was a physical pain to see their shapes outlined beneath the red fabric, no less to have to touch them, but there was no way that he would leave weapons of such power in Faye's hands. He had vowed to never dig them up again, expecting to live in this home for the rest of his life; there should never have been a need for him to take up again the cursed blades. His desire to leave them be was almost enough to convince him that they should just kick Faye out of the home, make her rebuild her life elsewhere. She had done wrong, after all.

But…no. Atreus had lived a terrible childhood here. He needed no more reminders than the memories and marks that he already had. Kratos was familiar with fresh starts by now, anyway.

So he picked up the blades and, keeping them wrapped, attached them to his back. And that was just about all he needed. In truth, the main reason behind the journey was to collect the blades. If Faye ever chased after him and Atreus, he would not have her armed with both her Frost Axe and the Blades-

Blue eyes suddenly appeared in Kratos's vision. He jumped, thinking that Faye had finally come to life, but the eyes were ringed in sleep-deprived bags and pink scars. Atreus glanced at Kratos and then at the hole beneath the floor. He did not seem surprised to see it. In fact, he dropped to his knees and reached for some of Faye's stored belongings – her ancient tomes and history books, ones which she said were too painful to read after losing all of her 'people' (a tribe or village, Kratos assumed, as she had never elaborated – they had agreed not to fully delve into their respective pasts when they had married).

Atreus seemed to know exactly which book he wanted. It was thick and bound with leather and the edges were well-worn, even though Faye had not touched them since many years before she and Kratos had married. He has read them, Kratos concluded, followed by the gut-wrenching realisation of, he knows how to read. Of course he does. Curse you, Faye. Slow and mentally incapable, his son was not. Especially if he had managed learning to read without his mother's help, which Kratos doubted.

Atreus was just braving a final circle around the room, returning to his bed to pluck a blanket from his former nest (a thick fur one, wisely), as Kratos went to shut the hatch. Before he could, however, another piece of his past caught his eye. He was almost going to ignore it when a stranger's voice in his head said, he resembles his mother and this land in almost all ways. He should have something of Sparta, however small.

Kratos had the scrap of cloth in his hands before he could talk himself out of it. He re-covered the hatch and gestured for his son to come to his side. Kneeling in front of him, he gestured for the child to lift his arms so that he could tie the scarlet-and-gold patterned cloth around his waist. It had become worn and quite ragged over its years beneath the floor, however it wrapped around his child well. It would probably continue to fit his lithe stature for many years. To see the old, but familiar, pattern on his son stirred many things within Kratos. The first was discomfort. The second was a strange pride.

Atreus seemed to understand that the fabric was important, hidden under the floorboards as it was (where Kratos had specifically told him never to go – though that order had apparently been disobeyed. As long as he never touched the Blades…). His frown disappeared and for a moment, there was almost a smile.

Faye ruined it by snapping open her eyes.

"Well, isn't that cute?"

Atreus jumped feet into the air, backing up so quickly that he tripped up. Kratos caught him at his wrist as he rose to his full height, using the momentum of the child's almost-fall to swing him safely behind him. "Faye," he acknowledged. The monster (and father) in him was baying for the deplorable woman's blood, now that he knew more of what she'd done – and not even the full story, yet. It took Atreus's hand clutching the material at the side of his breeches to keep him steady.

"I've been waiting for your return," said Faye, her eyes wide and red and desperate. "I – I did not expect you to come here looting the place, I'll admit. You teach him terrible things already,"

Kratos scoffed; Atreus's hand tightened. "It is not looting if it is what belongs to us," he said, hoping that Atreus had at least left the book he had chosen to take outside the door or something, anywhere out of sight.

"Why don't you stay?" Faye asked hopefully, clambering to her feet with none of the grace Kratos had admired her for. She was shaken, clumsy, tired but Kratos kept Atreus behind him nonetheless. "I – I want to talk, Kratos. I don't want you to leave here believing that I am the villain here; the things that I did, I did for-,"

"I do not care," snapped Kratos, turning partly away from her. Atreus mimicked his stance so that he remained constantly shielded by his father's figure. "You are not the woman I remember the marrying. She, at least, had the wit to realise that what you have done can never be forgotten. You are blind,"

Switching from apologetic to suddenly sarcastic, Faye's eyes rolled into the back of her head. "Blind," she echoed, spitting the word. "I am not blind, husband; I have in fact seen far, far more than most who walk this Earth,"

Kratos just began stepping towards the door with his son, ignoring her.

"Is this how you want it to end, Kratos?! You will walk out on me and take my child and think yourself a hero for it?"

Kratos practically snarled. "I am his father," was all he had to say to that. How dare she? How dare she act as if I am doing this for self-betterment? We are done with this place, with this woman. "Come, Atreus,"

"You will be back soon enough, dear husband, I know you will be! You cannot take care of a child, you cannot stand to be around them, why else would you hunt as often as you did?"

Atreus tensed under Kratos's hand. Kratos practically pushed him out of the house.

"I told you last time that I will always have you back. Kratos? Kratos, I love you, I love you-,"

Kratos slammed the door and, without thinking, took his son's hand. Together, they walked away from the cabin.

It was harder than Kratos had expected to travel with his son and set down new roots. And he had known already that it would be hard; the reality had still somehow managed to be a shock.

The walked for over a day, travelling beyond the boundaries of Faye's woods, abandoning its peripheries quite happily behind them. Well, 'happy' was not the way to put it. Neither god nor boy were happy about a thing. It was not even pleasing to walk away from those woods, it was…bittersweet. Complicated and difficult.

They found a new site for a home still within the same valley as the home of Faye, yet beyond the stave. Kratos was weary of travelling to across the mountains or to any new lands with his son, well aware that they could easily catch the wrong kind of attention (or, just as bad, deathly sickness). The valley was secluded, void of humans and gods and (most) monsters, and even though it was still within a fathomable distance to Faye, it was comfortable enough. Kratos knew that if they wanted to get through their upcoming trials, they would have to find an equilibrium – and that meant not dragging his son away from the only world he knew. Not yet. He was still small, young, weak. He had a lot to learn. When he was ready, bigger and stronger, they would then travel farther.

Kratos worked on building the foundations of a new cabin while Atreus found trees to climb and perch within, not because it was warmer or more comfortable there, but because he simply could and it kept him out of Kratos's way. The first thing Kratos did once he had built some walls and basic foundations was punch a hole in the ground to hide away his blades. He covered them with some primitively-chopped wood, making their floor, and that was the end of that for the weapons. They would remain hidden under there for as long as no one else knew of their location.

This cabin would be smaller than their last but would take more time to build than that one, as Kratos had limited tools and no wife who matched his height to help him. He and the boy spent the cold nights huddled in another one of Kratos's DIY caves, constructed to act as both a temporary shelter and, when everything else was built, some kind of storage unit. Kratos only ever stopped his work to sit in the cave when Atreus was shivering madly in the cold, even though his lack of warmth made him want to continue working for a decent shelter.

Every time, Kratos went to Atreus's side intending to see him warm up a bit before getting back to work. And every time, Kratos ended up staying in the cave until morning. The way Atreus looked at Kratos every time he suggested that he scoot closer was like he was mildly horrified, wide-eyed. By the time Kratos could convince the child that it was okay, that he wouldn't get in trouble, that he wouldn't hurt him, he felt emotionally spent. He didn't want his labours to go to waste, in case leaving his side would undo all they had achieved. And so Kratos would stay in the cave until the sun rose with its somewhat-warm rays and Atreus, sleeping lightly under Kratos's arm where it was warm and it was safe, eventually stirred.

The days were very different from the nights. Atreus was less…anxious. He bounced around with an energy that would have surprised Kratos, only now he knew about the boy being forcefully confined to a bed – not because he was always ill, but because his mother wanted him there, out of the way. It was no wonder that the boy wanted to move around the location of their new home as much as possible, as if to make up for nine years of lethargy and confinement; Kratos was in fact encouraging his movement, often purposefully leaving his tools strewn everywhere so that he could order his son to fetch them.

Atreus enjoyed running everywhere. And skipping. He rarely walked unless he was recoiling from any kind of reprimand, in which case he would hunch into himself and shuffle silently towards the nearest dark corner. That, however, was becoming less and less of an occurrence. Kratos had found himself with a greater control over his anger than he had had in a lifetime; seeing his son afraid of him, scared that he would hit him, was a greater incentive to keep everything in reign than even a battle of some kind, where losing control could be detrimental.

His son was growing stronger, Kratos could see it, his small frame filling out with a bit of muscle mass. That wasn't to say that he wasn't still painfully small, however. Kratos still found himself worrying whenever he climbed a particularly tall tree, half-expecting a breeze to carry the child away in its grasp. Atreus seemed to pick up on his constant glances and, after a few days, kept his feet on the floor more often than not. Instead he scooted around on his hand and knees, exploring the vegetation surrounding them, plucking at plants and herbs and leaves and roots which Kratos could only assume had medicinal properties. Naturally, Atreus had picked up an abundance of knowledge from simply observing his mother and seemed to know exactly what every plant was.

Their home had floors and walls and Kratos was in the process of constructing a roof when their steady way of life was, all of a sudden, totally changed.

"C-Can I make a garden, Father?"

Kratos pausing his work, frowning at the sky, certain he had heard a child's voice speaking behind him. No, he told himself, shaking his head and clearing those hopeful thoughts from his mind. No, it cannot be. It- it cannot be. He cannot talk. He was never allowed and so his body thinks it cannot at all. Reminding himself quite sternly of that, he continued with his work and the frame of the roof which he was putting together, focusing his attention on nails which he was hammering into place and-

"Father?" the child's voice said again, quieter now, shakier. Kratos froze fully this time, unable to deny the definite sound. The voice was too soft and sweet to be a piece of his imagination. "Can…? N-Never mind, it's fine-,"

The god's head whipped towards his son with an audible crack.

"You can make a garden," Kratos said quickly, his heart in his throat as he tried to sound casual. His mind was not playing tricks on him (as it had a few times, hopeful as Kratos was to one day hear Atreus talk). The wind was not howling to sound conveniently like a voice. His son was using some vines and knotted roots to make lengths of twine that would help Kratos with his construction, sitting innocently in the dirt, his eyes big and blue and blinking anxiously. Kratos went on to ask, "What would you have in it?"

Desperate for Atreus to talk again, Kratos threw out the first question he could think of. Noticing Atreus's shoulders rising – akin to the hackles of an anxious wolf – he forced himself not to stare at his son, no matter how much he wanted to with wonder and pride and relief. He spoke. He can speak. His head shook in disbelief as he returned to hammering more nails into place.

"I…don't know the names," Atreus admitted after a few seconds. His voice was soft, weak, high-pitched like a child's and croaky from lack of use. His accent was even a little off, as if his tongue didn't quite know how to make the right sounds or pronunciations yet. "B-But I know what they all look like, what they do. I-I can find useful stuff, like…t-the plant that helps h-headaches? I think that'd be useful,"

Kratos hummed, closing his eyes while Atreus couldn't see and forcing himself to continue acting nonchalant, normal. "The land over there," he said, pointing to a square of earth which he'd noticed was decent quality for agriculture ('decent', considering their frozen surroundings) but hadn't bothered to touch or till as he had no experience in that area. He'd been planning on having to rely solely on hunting for their diet for the next few moons. "You can make use of that. But do not waste it,"

"Yes, sir!" Atreus's voice was weak but so full of eagerness and excitement, it made Kratos feel the need to sit down.

So he did, dropping his tools on the floor and walking towards him. Atreus stared at him in confusion, leaning away slightly until Kratos had seated himself besides him.

"Tell me how you are doing this," he said, gesturing to the twine. For the first time in his long, long life, Kratos wanted to make conversation – and he was even initiating it.

Atreus gaped for a moment. His mouth moved without words before he cleared his throat and spoke – as if he had forgotten, briefly, that he could use words now. "O-Oh, it's kinda easy," he said, glancing down at his hands and the twine. "I'm just…twisting it all together. Makin' it strong,"

"You are injuring yourself," Kratos nodded to Atreus's red, blood-tipped fingers.

Atreus shrugged, "That happens,"

"Show me how to help?" asked Kratos, holding out one of his hands to take some of the twine and vines.

But his son held them away from him. "You can't," he informed him with only some reluctance. "Y-You…your fingers are kinda too b-big, you need smallfingers for this,"

Kratos strangely felt the urge to smile. "Ah," he said, pulling back. "Very well,"

"It's nice that you offered, though," Atreus went on. "B-But I think I'm almost done. Thanks. Is this enough?" He held up the twine he had produced, showing Kratos its length.

But Kratos looked past the twine and met his son's gaze instead. "It is more than enough,"

Atreus's cheeks turned as red as his hair. He smiled. I will never tire of that, Kratos thought suddenly, fiercely. Never. That smile…It had filled Kratos with more energy and more determination to work and provide for them than he had ever felt before. The feeling was trumped only by the feelings provoked by the thought of Calliope, though they were clouded by darkness and pain.

I was not the father I should have been for her, Kratos thought, his fingers skimming absently over his bandaged forearms and the ashen skin of his hand as he thought of his lost child. I have not been the father I should have been for this child, either. I must do better. I must be better – for him to be better, too.

"Father?" said Atreus, tugging Kratos from his thoughts. Kratos contentedly re-focused on the child. Small and gentle and strong, scarred but not broken. "C-Can I ask you something?"

"You may," said Kratos. He worried briefly that Atreus might ask about Faye, a topic he didn't want to broach, not yet, not now. Not while the moment was so ideal and calming to his fraught, fiery nerves.

"Can you teach me to use a bow?" the child asked, innocent eyes wide and gleaming. "I-I've always wanted to learn, but – b-but, y'know. Y'know,"

I know. "I will teach you when you have your strength," Kratos promised, eying Atreus's skinny arms. It gave him indescribable pleasure that his son was asking to learn to wield a weapon – to protect himself, to feed himself, to enable him to do more with his life than what his mother has ever allowed of him- "Then I will craft you a bow and you will become the swiftest archer in all the lands, hm?"

The claim seemed to delight Atreus – and Kratos delighted in that.

"O-Okay," he said quietly, though he seemed as if he wanted to grin and gush and cheer. Kratos hoped that he would, one day. That he would feel comfortable enough to express the person he had always been outwardly, rather than hiding everything he felt and thought inside. "I…T-Thank you, Father. I, um, I-I get to do a lot of s-stuff I never used to do. Like c-climbing trees. I've never done that,"

Kratos didn't know how to reply. His chest quivered and he gave a stony, nonchalant grunt in place of anything else. "You…You are welcome," he spoke awkwardly, sensing Atreus's discomfort rise when his silence stretched on for more than a few seconds. It felt wrong and odd to accept his son's thanks for something like this – giving him freedom and something like a childhood, though nine years overdue.

Atreus didn't seem to care. He smiled at Kratos's acknowledgement and hopped to his feet, holding out the rope in a silent offering to help Kratos with more of their house. Their roof was almost done which meant that soon they would be able to move from the cave. Atreus would be warmer, more comfortable and better-rested once he had a proper bed. Kratos let the thought spur him to work harder and faster all the way into the night, until Atreus was back in their cave and he was shivering again. Like a moth to a flame, Kratos dropped his tools to the floor and drifted towards the cold child when he noticed his trembling.

The boy, for once, didn't seek an invitation to curl under his father's arm when Kratos lowered himself on to the floor at his side. The book he'd held between blue-tipped fingers slipped from his grip as he went limp with sleep, as if he had been waiting for Kratos to come to him to provide him with a head-rest and some more warmth. Kratos shook his head in mild disbelief and fondness, moving the book to the side and shifting his child's body until he rested at a more comfortable angle.

Atreus nudged closer, head nuzzling against Kratos's ribs. Kratos froze at the movement. Atreus usually kept still or distant, as if half-expecting something painful to happen to him while he was resting. Kratos would not pretend to know exactly what had changed the boy's subconscious, though he figured that it was probably related to his decision to speak today; nonetheless, Kratos accepted it. He welcomed it, encouraged it, allowing his son to make a bed out of his lap, tawny head dropped against Kratos's breastbone.

From this angle, Kratos could only see his child's hair and hands. He could not see his scars and their absence allowed for Kratos to pretend, if only for tonight, that they did not exist.

The question remained at the back of his mind, where did those scars really come from? But he dared not ask while they had only just found their peace, tentative and weak though it was.

Kratos didn't know what tomorrow would entail; would Atreus speak again? Would Kratos finish the roof? Would it rain? Would they hunt or would they forage? Would Faye finally come after them? Would gods descend from their heavens to wreak havoc on their lives?

It didn't matter. Kratos didn't care. The world could collapse around them and so long as Kratos had his son in his arms, hale and whole, he would watch on happily.

It had never been so easy for Kratos to fall asleep.

Faye will rue the day she first laid her hands on you, Kratos thought as he tilted on the precipice. As will any other.

Atreus's arm wrapped around his father's chest as if acknowledging the promise, letting out a small, happy sigh.

Atreus had always wanted his mother to love him. That was all he had ever wanted.

He'd thought he had always been doing exactly what he was meant to do – stay quiet, stay obedient, stay in bed. He'd thought that he was a good son, as well-behaved as he could be, but he just…he physically could not seem to do enough to meet Mother's impossibly high standards.

Now, Atreus realised that her standards hadn't been high at all. They'd been wrong.

He hadn't ever expected Father to be so soft and kind, in his own rough and gruff way. He hadn't realised that so many days could pass without pain or a harsh word – he hadn't realised that that was how it was meant to be.

He hadn't known what 'love' was, exactly, until he and Father left Mother – left Faye – behind in their old cabin, Atreus bearing an old piece of clothing of Father's around his waist.

Sometimes, Atreus still questioned everything. Why had Father taken him away? Why had he been so angry about what Mother did? Why he was suddenly present all the time when he had been gone so often in the past? Sometimes, Atreus forgot that things were different now, and still found himself flinching, hiding, unable to speak even though he knew that it was okay. It was normal. Atreus was smart and literate and a quick learner, as Father told him. It was just…hard habits to break out of.

In the span of a few moons, Atreus had gone from living for his mother's 'good days' to living for his father's daily appraisals and their close proximity at night. Atreus had never been able to get so close to his mother without eventually waking up to her pulling out his hair or scratching his neck or pinching his cheeks. Father was hard like stone but he was safe and…and…

And Atreus loved him. He loved him a lot. He loved him because he was his father and because he had saved him. In many ways – he saved him from Faye, he saved him from abuse, he saved him from a dead-end life which likely would have ended in his 'mother' killing him in her anger. Atreus had nightmares about that, sometimes. He was yet to tell Father. One day, Atreus would tell him. One day, he'd tell him he loved him. Every day, he thanked him.

Father still seemed a little perturbed by Atreus's gratitude but he allowed it anyway.

Every day it got a little easier to speak, too. Atreus hoped that the words he wanted to say would come soon.

He was unfamiliar with this kind of peace and he didn't want to let it go to waste. He wanted to make Father smile, make him proud, make him happy. He wanted Father to love him.

I think he does already, Atreus thought, smiling at Father's sleeping form from across their newly-finished cabin. Atreus lay in his brand-new bed, so warm and comfortable, while clutching his brand-new wolf carving to his chest. For the first time in a long time, Atreus had only good and hopeful dreams.

Faye was gone; Father was here.

That was all Atreus needed, he decided.

Phewwwww...Alrighty.

I've had the first 10,000 words of this written up for a looooong time. I didn't know where to go with it, how to finish it, if I liked it or if it felt right. I've reminded myself every day since October to do *something* with this because I left a hella cliffhanger. It took me almost 4 months to get my ass into gear. This is why I usually *never* post something until it's complete. I'm super sorry for the delay.

I'm content with what I've written. I'm not ecstatic about it or super proud or whatever. I think it could have been better if I had the motive and I've been torn between wanting to post *something* vs. ensuring uber quality. I hope it's okay? I would have added more action, only I was wary of the fact that this WAS meant to be a one-shot. It spiralled. Idk man, I didn't want to write too much.

I jump in-and-out of interests and fandoms every couple of months ('hyperfixation' maybe? idk if that applies to me), and God of War had its few months last year. I'm back into my Percy Jackson and Ancient Greece rn; I'm a student of Ancient History so being back in uni kind of threw me into that loop. I'm working on something big for that. God of War will probably be back in a few more months and maybe then you'll find me back here.

Thank you for everyone who's read/commented/given kudos. I really appreciate it. It lifts my mood when I'm sat in a boring-ass lecture or working (in fast food) and my watch bleeps with an email telling me about kudos. Love it.

Anyway I'll shut up now, I know I ramble on a lot but it's past midnight rn. I'm not sure where I got the will to suddenly write 2000 words for this. Let me know if there are any mistakes but go easy on me. My confidence is fragile. XO.