Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1: Darkness

A cold wind passed across the surface of the Lake of Nine, the waters reflecting the cloudy sky of Midgard. Kratos stood motionless by the lake, his eyes were fixed on the vastness before him. The temple of Tyr, now a meeting place for the representatives of the council of nine, stood in the background, its reflection dancing in the icy waters. He hadn't seen Atreus in over two years. His son set out in search of the giants, leaving behind a void that Kratos didn't know how to fill. He looked at those waters and remembered his son's voice, trying to find comfort in his absence.

Beside him, Mimir swayed slightly, bound to the Spartan’s belt. His voice, always laced with wit and wisdom, broke the silence.

— You’ve been thinking too much, brother. Eyes fixed on the horizon, but your mind wanders to distant lands.

Kratos did not respond immediately. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill his lungs. The weight of war he once carried no longer rested on his shoulders in the same way. After passing through Valhalla, he felt the burden of the past had lightened, but the shadow of his choices still haunted him.

— The dreams continue. — His voice was deep, rough, laden with something Mimir recognized instantly: unrest.

— The same ones? — asked the talking head, already knowing the answer.

Kratos nodded.

— Flames... sand... a voice calling me back.

Before Mimir could reply, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them. Freya emerged from the trail leading to the temple, her presence as imposing as ever. Her keen eyes landed on Kratos, reading him with the ease of someone who had shared both battles and pain by his side.

— The council is waiting — she said, but her voice was not impatient. It was understanding. She knew Kratos’ mind was elsewhere.

The God of War turned slowly, casting one last glance at the lake. Then, without a word, he began walking toward the temple. Freya followed, keeping pace with him.

— And you? — Kratos asked, his voice firm but lacking the harshness of before. — Do you still believe this council can keep the peace?

Freya sighed.

— I believe it is worth trying. The realms have spent too long drowning in conflict. If there’s a chance to prevent another war, I must fight for it.

Kratos nodded. He respected her resolve. He himself had agreed to be part of the Council of the Realms to help maintain balance among the different lands and their gods. It was a purpose unlike anything he had ever pursued.

— But your mind is elsewhere — Freya continued. — You’re thinking about Egypt.

Kratos remained silent for a moment before responding.

— The call of the blades, the dreams… something is happening there. Something I cannot ignore.

Mimir interjected:

— I’m no expert on the Egyptian gods, but I do know that when chaos stirs in that pantheon, it’s no small matter.

Freya looked at Kratos.

— You want to find him.

She didn’t need to say the name. Atreus.

— He is strong — Kratos said, more to himself than to the others.

— Yes, but he is your son. — Freya’s voice softened. — And you fear for him.

Kratos did not reply. They had already reached the council hall.

Freya thought of Baldur, her son. She fought with all her might to keep him alive, but it still hadn't been enough. On the contrary, her inability to let him go was what doomed him. But kratos did not suffer from the same ailment, he had let Atreus go free to pursue his own mission, but now something tormented him.

The grand doors opened to reveal the chamber, illuminated by torches and braziers. The representatives of the realms were already gathered: dwarves, elves, jotuns, even a few humans. All eyes turned to Kratos as he entered.

An elder with braided beards and ornate robes rose to speak.

— Something has been felt in the far south — he said, his voice heavy with gravity. — A disturbance in the order, emanating from the desert lands. An unknown force… ancient and primordial.

The words made Kratos’ stomach sink. He exchanged glances with Freya and Mimir.

It was the confirmation he needed.

Kratos looked at the council members and, without hesitation, declared:

— I will go to Egypt.

Everyone was silent for a moment, looking at each other with a bit of concern. Kratos then turned and left. He needed to get supplies to continue his journey.

He walked a little, passed through the great gates of the temple, followed the bridge until he reached a majestic building. It had an architecture similar to the temple of Tyr. The place was created by the dwarves who joined the council to ensure that the councilors could have a place to sleep and meet. Something that bordered on Athenian politics in Kratos' view. But that didn't matter at that moment, he entered his quarters in a hurry. The place was large, but there was only a simple bed and a table with some tools and pieces of wood that Kratos was working on, he liked to create wooden objects, a small distraction and a habit since his time of training in Sparta. The cold Midgard breeze streamed through the half open window, carrying with it the smell of damp wood and frozen earth. He walked to the table where his few belongings rested, his hands sliding over the items he would choose to take.

First, he picked up the hammer that had belonged to his wife, Faye. His hands closed around the wooden handle with reverence, his knuckles pressing lightly against the cold metal of the weapon’s head. Faye had always seen him as something more than a warrior, more than a killer. She believed he could be a better man. And in the past few years, Kratos had tried to honor that belief.

But then, his eyes fell on the Blades of Chaos. It was a little far from the axe, but it had a usual red glow.

The glow of the wavy metal reflected the light of the burning fire in the corner of the room. For a long moment, Kratos stood there, watching the blades as if they were a spirit from the past that he could never exorcise.

These blades linked him to everything he had lost. Lysandra. Calliope. Sparta. And everything he hated. Ares. Zeus. The whole Olympus. The blade was linked to the chains that wrapped around them, carrying the weight of their anger and pain. He spent years trying to bury them, to escape from them. He tried to throw them away, but they always returned. It was his curse and his punishment. Something that always found a way back to him.

He did not like what the blades represented. But he needed it.

Kratos reached out, grasping the blades firmly before fastening them to his back. The leather harness creaked as the clasps locked into place, as if the weapon itself recognized the inevitable weight of fate.

A soft sound of footsteps behind him made him turn.

Freya stood in the doorway, watching him. Her gaze lingered briefly on the blades before returning to Kratos’ face. There was no judgment in her eyes, only understanding. She knew well the burden of the past.

— Are you ready? — her voice was calm, yet firm.

Kratos nodded slowly.

Freya stepped into the room and lifted her hand, revealing a small runic device glowing with a greenish hue.

— Take this. — She placed the artifact in his palm. — It’s a communication spell. If you need me, just activate it.

Kratos studied the object in his hand before tucking it into his belt without ceremony.

— The council will await your return — Freya continued. — I hope you find your son safe, Kratos.

For a moment, silence hung between them. Kratos finally reached out, gripping Freya’s forearm in a gesture of respect and camaraderie. She returned the grip—a sign of the trust they had built since Ragnarok.

— I wish you a safe trip— she said.

Kratos said nothing, only nodded. Then, without another word, he turned and left, walking toward a destiny that called him back to the desert, back to the unknown, back to Egypt.

Chapter Text

The desert heat still clung to the city, even as the sun began to set on the horizon. Atreus walked among the merchants, weaving between baskets full of spices and vibrant fabrics. The scent of incense, mixed with the strong aroma of roasted meat, filled the air. Men bargained in raised voices, children ran between the stalls, and camels grumbled as their owners tugged at their ropes.

He was not from here. He knew it and felt it in the quick glances people cast his way. Even with clothes suited to the environment, his fairer skin and foreign demeanor revealed his origins. But Atreus didn’t care about that now. Something had caught his attention.

A pulsing energy, both familiar and strange at the same time.

His gaze turned to a discreet inn, whose open doors revealed an interior dimly lit by oil lamps. The aura he felt seemed to come from there. It was magic. Not quite like what he knew, but close. Familiar, in some way.

Atreus stepped over the threshold, his eyes quickly scanning the room. Travelers sat at worn wooden tables, exchanging stories between sips of beer. But one figure, sitting alone in the darkest corner of the inn, caught his attention.

A woman, her back to him.

She wore Egyptian garments, but something about her posture, the way her presence dominated the space, felt out of place. Her long, wavy dark hair contrasted with the skin that emanated a faint golden and scarlet energy. Even without seeing her face, Atreus knew he was in the presence of the source of that energy.

He took a deep breath and approached, knowing it was a risky choice.

— Excuse me — he said, his voice firm but respectful. — I don’t mean to disturb you, but I know you are a powerful sorceress.

The woman paused her drink, holding the cup for a moment before slightly tilting her head. When she finally turned to face him, Atreus noticed her deep, intense eyes. She didn’t seem older than 25, with delicate features and eyes that glowed red, like fire consuming her irises. They analyzed, evaluated.

— And what do you want with me? — she asked, not arrogantly, but with a restrained curiosity.

Atreus hesitated for only a moment before sitting beside her.

— I am looking for my family — he said, watching closely for any reaction in her expression.

For a brief moment, something shifted in her gaze. A shadow of unease. Small, but real. Atreus didn’t know what it meant, but he realized his words had struck a chord in her.

And so he continued.

— I am searching for the giants.

The tension that had formed in the woman’s face vanished. Her lips curled into a faint, almost amused smile.

— Giants? — she repeated, She looked away from him, letting out a short, dry laugh while sipping from her cup. — If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re in the wrong place. Here, you’ll find only sand and blood.

Atreus frowned, intrigued by the statement.

— What do you mean by that?

She didn’t answer immediately. She just observed him for a moment longer, as if deciding whether she should say anything more. Then, she leaned slightly toward him.

— Go to the highlands — she said, her voice almost a whisper. — There, perhaps, you will find what you seek.

Before Atreus could ask anything else, the woman stood up. Her presence seemed to vanish with the movement. Without haste, she walked toward the inn’s exit and disappeared into the crowd.

Atreus remained still for a moment, a chill running down his spine.

Who was that woman?

Atreus couldn't ignore the burning sensation inside him. Something was wrong. That woman... there was something about her that felt important. As if he were on the right path to some revelation, but still unable to see clearly.

He stood up abruptly from the table, his eyes sweeping across the inn. But she was already gone.

He rushed to the door and saw the dense crowd of the city, the chaos of merchants and travelers. No sign of her. But then, he closed his eyes for a moment and focused.

He could still feel her energy.

It was subtle, a trace of magic that seemed to blend with the heat of the air. Familiar, yet wrong in some way. He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but he trusted his instincts.

Atreus started running.

He dodged merchants shouting their offers, carts pulled by donkeys, and residents complaining when he pushed past them in the desperation of the chase. His eyes scanned every corner, trying to find a physical trace of the woman, but it was that energy that guided him.

The city faded behind him. He walked for several hours.

Buildings gave way to dirt roads and sparse vegetation until he finally realized where he was going.

The desert.

His steps slowed as he noticed he had left the main path. Now, around him, there was only sand and ruins worn by time. The broken stones suggested that life had once thrived there. But now, only the wind and silence remained.

Then he felt the chill.

That instinctive sensation, as if he were being watched.

His body tensed, and cautiously, he turned slowly.

She was there.

A few meters away, standing atop a dune, the moon beginning to rise behind her. Her silhouette seemed to merge with the growing darkness, her eyes glowing with a cold intensity. The night wind lifted strands of her dark hair, and her robes billowed like living shadows.

Atreus felt his heart race.

She didn’t look surprised to see him there.

She had been expecting him.

—You’re persistent and annoying — her voice cut through the silence, carrying a tone that was almost amused, but also dangerous.

Atreus swallowed hard, feeling nervous. He didn’t know what was happening, but one thing was certain.

He was not in control of the situation.

The silence between them stretched like a thread about to snap. Atreus, trying to ease the tension, flashed a small smile and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

— Hey, no need for hostility, alright? — He tilted his head slightly.  — I’m Loki. I come from Midgard.

The woman kept staring at him, expressionless. He waited for some sign of sympathy, maybe curiosity. But in the next second, Atreus felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.

In a movement as swift as a serpent, she lunged. Before he could react, a strong hand gripped his neck.

Atreus gasped. His fingers tried to pry off the iron grip, but it was useless. He felt the cold blade press against his chest.

His eyes widened.

She was going to kill him.

He tried to summon his magic, but before he could gather enough energy, something happened.

A golden light shimmered on her arm.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Atreus felt the immediate change. The blade didn’t move. The grip on his neck didn’t tighten. He saw her expression shift—surprise, as if she had just solved a puzzle.

— Loki? — Her voice now sounded different. Almost perplexed. — Giant?

She suddenly released him, and Atreus dropped to his knees, coughing and trying to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest.

He quickly got up, assuming a defensive stance, but she had already stepped back.

— Leave, — she said, her voice cold, but no longer carrying the same murderous tone as before.

Atreus blinked, still bewildered.

— What?

— You have nothing to find here, boy, — she continued, her eyes glowing in the dim light. — The giants you seek are not here.

Atreus frowned.

— Then what are you?

She let out a slight laugh, but there was no humor in it.

— The energy you sense in me, Loki, is nothing compared to what I could do to you… if I wanted to.

Atreus felt a shiver run down his spine.

— In case I wasn’t clear… that was a threat.

For a moment, he stood still, staring at her, trying to understand what had just happened. But something in her voice, in her gaze, made him realize that insisting would be futile.

He swallowed hard and nodded slowly.

Without another word, he turned and started walking back to the city.

As he disappeared into the darkness of the desert, he could still feel her gaze burning into his back.

The desert looked like an endless sea, golden dunes stretching as far as the eye could see, shaped by the relentless wind. Atreus walked, his steps sinking into the cold sand, his breath still slightly quickened after the encounter. The sky was painted a deep orange, the sun rising on the horizon as the stars began to fade.

He ran his hand over his belt—an unconscious habit—and then abruptly stopped.

Something was missing.

He looked down and realized his bag was gone.

— Oh, great… he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

He tried to recall where he might have left it. The tavern. Of course. With all that commotion, he must have forgotten it there.

Letting out a sigh, he kept walking toward the city, feeling the warm desert breeze carry the scent of spices and smoke from afar.

As he walked, his mind returned to the woman.

She wasn’t just reserved or wary—she had been aggressive, disproportionately so. And the strangest part was that he, despite being trained by a Spartan, despite having fought alongside his father against gods, hadn’t been able to fight back.

Not that it was a matter of skill. He knew how to defend himself. But something inside him had stopped him from attacking her.

His fingers brushed against his neck, feeling where her grip had held him.

There was something about her… something that felt right and, at the same time, completely wrong.

He looked toward the horizon, seeing the city lights drawing closer now.

The narrow, winding streets of the Egyptian city emerged before him, the murmur of merchants and travelers growing louder as he approached. Stalls were being set up, and the smell of freshly baked bread and grilled meat drifted from the alleys. A group of men argued loudly near a bonfire, while some women looked at him and called out as he passed by a well-lit inn. He ignored the call when he noticed men walking out of the establishment—it didn’t take much thought to understand what kind of place it was.

Then he looked back at the bonfire. Atreus slowed his pace.

He remembered the moment he had first seen the woman. The energy around her. Gold and scarlet.

Fire.

His eyes narrowed.

That was familiar. He kept walking, thinking through everything that had happened. He frowned, feeling a chill run down his spine. Her energy reminded him of the Blades of Chaos.

If that was the case… then maybe she was from the same land as his father.

Her accent was different too. He wasn’t sure where exactly, but it wasn’t from here.

Atreus stopped for a moment in the middle of the street, ignoring the curious looks from some people around him. If she truly had some connection to his father, then he couldn’t just walk away.

He needed to know more. He couldn’t follow her directly—that would be weird, and probably dangerous—but he could find a way to cross paths with her again.

Maybe, in the process, he would learn more about his father.

Atreus took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

He still had too many questions.

And he wasn’t the type to give up easily.

Chapter Text

The night fell upon the camp of the Sons of Seth, and the desert, once scorching, now turned cold and treacherous. The flames of the bonfires danced, casting long shadows on the rustic canvas tents scattered across the field. Armed warriors patrolled the perimeter, their silhouettes barely illuminated under the distant glow of the crescent moon.

Inside the largest tent in the camp, the air was filled with the scent of incense and burnt leather. The flickering candles cast golden reflections on the gold-adorned tapestries decorating the space. The tent had a study area to the left upon entering, a large luxurious bed, and a table with a served dinner. It was the chamber of a goddess, an empress of the desert.

At the center of the tent, a figure cloaked in dark fabric moved her fingers through the fur of a massive black panther. The beast exhaled softly, its eyes glowing like molten amber. Archaic symbols covered its dark fur, pulsing with an almost imperceptible glow, like embers beneath ashes.

The moment of tranquility was abruptly interrupted when Sorbekhotep entered.

The warrior crossed the tent with heavy steps, fists clenched at his sides. His face was a mask of distrust and impatience. He was a tall man, his features carved by life and the desert. His shoulder-length black hair and unshaven beard framed his stern expression. His dark brown eyes locked onto the woman before him. He did not trust subtlety, nor the enigmatic words of the one seated before him.

— I heard that a foreigner has arrived in Egypt. A god. — His voice carried urgency.

The figure before him did not move. She remained focused on the feline, sliding her fingers over the markings on its skin.

— Your information is outdated. I have already found him.

Sorbekhotep frowned. The silence in her response irritated him more than any direct insult. He stepped forward, his tone sharpening.

— Then he is dead?

No hesitation.

— No.

This time, he gritted his teeth.

— Why not? — There was a veiled threat in his voice, but the other figure showed no sign of fear.

The fingers paused for a moment on the panther's fur before she withdrew her hand. Finally, she stood. The dim candlelight partially revealed her face, but her eyes, burning with a crimson glow, were the only immediate answer Sorbekhotep received.

— It is not safe.

— Safe?— He stepped closer, his voice filled with disbelief. —Since when is safety a priority for you? You are a goddess of chaos, not a war strategist!

Her gaze finally met his.

— We are being watched. — Her voice was controlled, firm. — Something is emerging beyond Egypt, something stretching across lands even the pharaohs never dreamed of conquering. Something between the lands and above them. If I were to draw attention now, everything we have built could crumble.

Sorbekhotep narrowed his eyes, studying her. He saw too much mystery in her words, too many secrets in her gestures. For someone who bore the title of chaos, she was absurdly calculating.

And he hated it.

— And the Medjai? They are getting closer. Your silence will not stop them.

This time, a subtle smile crossed her lips, though devoid of humor.

— Rome was not built in a day. Isn’t that right, Horkos? — she said, looking at the panther.

The response enraged him, but he held back. Respect and distrust warred within him. He knew she was powerful, knew she never did anything without a reason. But Sorbekhotep’s patience was thin. She could simply go to the Medjai and destroy them, yet she chose not to.

If the Medjai kept advancing…

If she continued with her waiting games…

Perhaps the day would come when he could no longer hold back his own blade.

Atreus arrived at the inn, still feeling the desert’s heat vibrating against the stone walls of the building. But before he could enter, he was caught off guard by a figure watching him from afar.

He noticed a man standing in the shadow of a column, observing him. The man wore the typical garb of desert warriors: a light linen cloak over an earth-toned tunic, a curved sword hanging from his waist. But what caught Atreus' attention the most was the object he held between his fingers.

A small leather pouch.

The pouch he had lost.

Atreus narrowed his eyes, approaching cautiously. The man lifted the pouch slightly—a slow, almost solemn gesture.

— I see you have met the Daughter of Chaos.

The man’s voice was deep, laden with an accent Atreus didn’t fully recognize, yet it echoed with authority.

Daughter of Chaos?

Atreus furrowed his brow, and then it clicked. He was talking about her. The woman from the desert. The one who had tried to kill him.

He took the pouch without breaking eye contact.

— Who are you?

The man gave a brief smile, a flicker of respect in his dark eyes.

— My name is Kammus. I am the leader of the Medjai.

The word sounded foreign to Atreus. He frowned.

— Medjai?

Kammus crossed his arms over his broad chest.

— The sacred army. Protectors of Egypt’s relics and secrets. Our duty is to maintain balance.

Balance. The word carried weight, as if it was something the man had spent his entire life pursuing.

Atreus pondered for a moment. Then, with a half-smile, he replied:

— My name is Loki.

Kammus tilted his head, accepting the name without question. He didn’t seem impressed, nor did he show doubt.

— And that woman? — Atreus asked, his fingers still gripping the pouch as if it were a link to everything that had happened before.

Kammus studied him for a moment, as if making a decision. Then, at last, he answered:

— If you want to know more, come with me.

The leader of the Medjai turned and began walking.

Atreus hesitated for a second. He knew that following this man could drag him even deeper into something he didn’t fully understand. But he was already involved. He wanted answers.

Pressing his lips together, Loki followed Kammus through the narrow streets, leaving behind the warmth of the inn and diving further into the mystery.

The Medjai’s temple was not what Loki had expected.

He had imagined something grand—immense columns adorned with hieroglyphs and golden statues of Egyptian gods. Instead, he found a modest, almost discreet place, hidden among the stone alleys. The walls were sandstone, worn by time, and the tapestries covering some of them told stories of ancient battles. But nothing there seemed definitive. This was a hideout, not a sanctuary.

Kammus led him inside, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The air was cooler, filled with the scent of incense and myrrh oil. There was little furniture—only an altar at the far end and a few chairs and tables scattered around.

He gestured for Loki to sit, and he accepted without hesitation. The leader of the Medjai then walked over to a small table, where a clay jar rested beside two cups.

— Before the Daughter of Chaos arrived, the Sons of Seth were troublesome, Kammus began as he poured a dark liquid into the cup. — But now… they have grown bolder. Violent. They have multiplied like jackals in the desert.

He handed the drink to Loki and poured one for himself. The young man held the cup, observing the thick, viscous liquid, but did not drink immediately.— And what exactly do they want?
Kammus sat across from him, resting his forearms on the table.

— Power. — His voice was deep, laden with concern, resilience, and caution. — They loot temples, steal ancient relics. Some are merely gold… but others…
He paused, looking directly into Loki’s eyes.

— Others contain magic.

Loki tilted his head slightly.

— Magic?

— Ancient magic, buried in time. Power that should not fall into the wrong hands.

The young man pondered for a moment. He had heard this story before, in different lands and different eras. Men craving power, corrupt gods.

— If this is so dangerous, why don’t the gods here do anything?

Kammus gave a short, humorless smile.

— The gods of Egypt do not interfere in mortal affairs. Even when it concerns them.
Loki reflected for a moment. It was strange. Where he came from, gods were anything but indifferent. They manipulated, waged wars, decided fates. But here… here they watched. They waited.

He turned the cup between his fingers, not really caring about the drink.

— And this woman? — he finally asked. — Who is she?

Kammus remained silent for a moment.

Then, he leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes studying Loki with calculated patience. The young god still held the cup but had not taken a sip. His gaze was focused, waiting for the answers the leader of the Medjai might offer.

— Who was that woman? — he asked again, his voice lightly echoing through the modest temple. —  What exactly does she want?

Kammus interlaced his fingers over the aged wooden table.

— Her name is Eris. That is all we know.

Loki narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t enough.

— And what do you want? To capture her?

Kammus held his gaze for a moment before replying simply:

— To kill her.

Silence fell over the room like a heavy shroud.

Loki did not react immediately, but his mind worked quickly. He recalled his encounter with Eris, how easily she had overpowered him, yet hesitated at the final moment. He remembered the energy that flowed from her, hot as his father's blades. And above all, he remembered what Kratos had told him years ago:

"There are consequences to killing a god." Loki placed the cup on the table and stood up, his face unreadable.

— I have another mission at the moment — he said, adjusting the quiver on his back. — I can't help you. Not like this. Not without knowing the full story.

Kammus’s face remained impassive, but Loki noticed the flicker of restrained anger in his eyes. Disappointment.

The leader of the Medjai did not try to stop him.

He only watched in silence as Loki turned his back and left the temple, leaving behind the dust, the mysteries, and a conflict that, whether he liked it or not, had already entangled him.

Chapter Text

The city buzzed with life around Loki. The desert heat made the air vibrate, and the scent of spices and molten metal permeated the market. The colorful fabrics of the stalls illuminated and animated the city. The people, so different from those in the icy desert of Fimbulwinter, seemed more alive. Near a jewelry shop, he examined the artifacts on display, watching the reflections of gemstones under the sun. Everything looked like it had sprung from one of Angrboda’s vibrant paintings. The giants had their own beautiful culture, but Egypt fascinated Atreus.

Then, he heard the voice.

— Oh, curiosity, a virtue so fine,
For the wise, a guide that’s truly divine.

Loki turned slowly, feeling a chill in his stomach.

— But for the foolhardy, a deadly snare,
That leads them to ruin, without a care.

Eris.

This time, she was different. None of the threatening posture from their last encounter. No blade against his chest, no fiery gaze. Just a sly smile, an apple in her hands, and a casual demeanor that contrasted with the coldness of their previous meeting.

— I used to be good at poetry. Guess I’ve lost my touch… — She laughed, biting into the apple.

Loki didn’t respond immediately. His eyes scanned her figure, analyzing her and calculating the risk of facing Eris—someone who could be an ally or an enemy. But she seemed different now. Her mortal traits were evident: no red-and-gold energy enveloping her, no eyes burning like divine fire, no trace of her former aggression. Yet he noticed the bracelets on her wrists. Red emeralds, glowing faintly.

He narrowed his eyes.

— If I recall, I told you to leave, didn’t I? — Eris arched an eyebrow.

Loki crossed his arms, trying to hide his discomfort. Why was she so changed?

— You’re Eris, aren’t you?

She nodded slowly, as if he were slow to grasp the obvious.

— Well, you’re quick.

Loki took a deep breath. Eris’s presence distorted reality, as if her existence warped the space around her. It felt like the universe itself was uneasy with her essence. She wasn’t just a powerful sorceress—she was a force of nature. He didn’t know what made her so unsettling, but something in her set his instincts on edge.

Eris gestured subtly with her head, pointing to a secluded spot away from the market’s chaos.

— Why don’t we talk? — She said, turning her back and walking off without checking if he’d follow.

Loki hesitated. But curiosity won out.

He followed.

The bar was a place forgotten by time, where the air smelled of cheap wine and dust. The murmur of conversations blended with the distant noise of the market. People drank and chatted, oblivious to Eris’s power, but he felt it. Eris settled into a wooden chair, casual and carefree, as if this were any ordinary day. As if she weren’t hunted by the Medjai. Atreus watched her. The Medjai wanted her dead, yet she wandered the city freely, unbothered by ambushes—unlike the day he’d pursued her into the desert, when she’d attacked him mercilessly.

Loki remained standing for a moment, eyeing her cautiously before sitting across from her. His gaze traced her face, searching for tension, but found only contained amusement.

— You spared me an awkward encounter yesterday. — Eris said, spinning the apple in her hands.

Loki didn’t need hints.

— Kammus?

She smirked.

— I assume he spoke to you.

He nodded slowly, holding her gaze.

Eris leaned forward, elbow on the table.

— I also assume you’ve decided to stay in Egypt, even after I told you to leave.

Atreus stayed silent. Her words echoed in his mind. Yesterday, he’d sat across from the man sworn to kill her. Now, he faced her. Talking. Weighing words. Choosing a side, perhaps without realizing.

But which side was right?

Eris didn’t mind his silence. She took another bite of the apple, chewed slowly, then shrugged.

— If you want to stay, I won’t stop you. — She stared at him, serious for the first time. — I won’t hinder you… if you return the favor.

Loki frowned.

— What’s happening between you and the Medjai?

Eris laughed softly, as if he’d asked something naïve. She leaned back, glancing around as if debating whether to answer. Then, her eyes met his.

— Do you really want to know?

Loki held her gaze.

Eris smiled—a smile that wasn’t quite friendly.

— Then listen closely.

The bar grew quieter. The surrounding chatter faded into distant noise as Eris spoke. Her tone was calm but carried a weight—a conviction that couldn’t be ignored.

— The Medjai are a corrupt group hoarding knowledge for themselves. — She twirled the apple core between her fingers. — They believe they alone are worthy of guarding the sacred, but in truth, they’re just judges deciding who lives and who gets erased from history.

She tossed the apple aside without looking.

— They destroy villages, kill without mercy… all in the name of a "holy cause."

Loki studied her, weighing each word. Was there truth in it? Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing was clear: she believed it.

Eris’s expression hardened as she met his eyes.

— I imagine your homeland has such people too.

Atreus exhaled deeply. Yes, he knew them well. Men who played gods, dictating rules while crushing those beneath them. He’d seen it in the mortal realm.

— Why did you hesitate to kill me? — The question escaped before he could rethink it.

It had gnawed at him. He’d faced threats before, but Eris had the chance to end him… and chose not to.

Her face lost all traces of amusement. For a moment, she looked away, as if seeking an escape.

— Because you have a light heart and a soul… almost pure.

Atreus furrowed his brow.

Eris held his gaze, her expression softening—not into vulnerability, but raw honesty.

— And because… — Her voice softened, as if tracing the edges of a forgotten dream. — Maybe, if that day had been ordinary—if the skies hadn’t burned and the sands hadn’t swallowed my mother’s laughter… — She paused, glancing down at her hands. When she looked up again, her smile was sharp but tinged with something quieter. — I might have carried your lightness instead of this. — A beat, her gaze piercing. — Or maybe… I already did, once.

Eris broke the silence first.

— So? Will you accept my proposal?

Loki met her eyes. He didn’t fully trust her. But he didn’t want to be caught in this war.

He nodded.

Eris smiled faintly.

— Good.

The relentless sun scorched Egypt’s golden sands as Kratos marched forward, his heavy steps imprinting the scorching ground. The desert sun glared in his eyes, and the dry wind lashed against his scarred skin. He expected resistance—monsters or divine warriors eager to test their might against the Ghost of Sparta. But so far, silence was his only opponent.
Something was wrong.

He paused, his gaze sweeping the vast, unending horizon. This wasn’t the first time he’d tread unknown lands in search of something, but this journey carried a different weight. Atreus. His son was missing, and Kratos would not rest until he found him. The irony of fate didn’t escape him: years ago, he’d come to these lands to flee his past. After destroying Olympus in his quest for vengeance—for his wife and daughter—Kratos had wandered these deserts. Now, he walked them again. But this time, he sought not to escape, but to save the son he believed was in peril.

He trekked onward, the landscape unchanging save for the sky’s hues shifting into something melancholic. The desert’s heat, its yellow glare and fiery bite on his skin, faded into night’s cold embrace.

Then he felt it.

A strange warmth in the air, as if the sun had returned to burn him. Kratos turned slowly, his instincts screaming a warning—too late.

A silhouette emerged from the sands, its humanoid form etched with incandescent veins pulsing like living lava. Its skin crackled with red and gold energy, a demonic glow that made the very air tremble. It didn’t roar or scream—it simply attacked. Each step melted sand into fire.

Kratos raised the Leviathan Axe in an instant, its icy steel clashing against the creature’s burning flesh in a violent impact. The blow cleaved it in two, scattering embers and ash. But before he could process the strike, the ground shook.

Four more rose.

They lunged as one, swift as starved predators. Kratos sidestepped, feeling the searing heat as one slammed into the ground where he’d stood. Another tried to grab him, but the Spartan swung the axe in a brutal arc, severing its arm. The creature’s blood spilled like liquid fire, igniting the sand.

Kratos stepped back, assessing his foes. He could end them all with a single motion. He felt the Blades of Chaos at his back, their iron chains faintly searing his skin, as if begging to be unleashed.

But he hesitated. He would not use them. Not yet.

The axe was all that remained of Faye. A relic of the past he sought to honor. The blades… were a relic of what he wished to forget.

The monsters surged again.

Kratos spun the axe and hurled it with force, the Leviathan soaring like a ravenous beast. Its frostbite steel pierced one creature’s chest and embedded in another, freezing their innards instantly. Before the last could react, Kratos was upon it. His fist collided with the creature’s skull, shattering bone and hurling it backward. Without pause, he sprinted to retrieve his axe, yanking it free with an icy crack.

The bodies dissolved to ash.

Kratos stood motionless for a moment, the cold wind whipping his garments. His heart raced—not from battle, but from the storm in his mind. Atreus. Where was he? Was he safe?

He tightened his grip on the axe. Slaying gods and monsters had never been the challenge. The only battle that mattered now was finding his son.

And he would fight to the ends of the earth for it.

Kratos pressed through the desert, the howling wind lifting sand like an invisible beast. The night’s cold needled his skin, but he paid it no mind. His eyes locked on the temple ahead—an ancient stone monument defying time, now the stage for a conflict he didn’t understand.

As he neared, his sharpened senses caught the clash of steel and the murmur of voices. A fight raged there. But it didn’t matter.

He’d come for his son.

Before he could take another step, a man appeared before him.

Kammus.

Eris and Atreus remained in the tavern. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the stone walls. Atreus watched Eris in silence, still trying to decipher her. She had been harsh, enigmatic—but now, something about her seemed… different.

Eris leaned slightly toward him, her brown eyes reflecting the candle flame between them.
— Can you keep a secret? — Her voice was softer than before.

Atreus raised an eyebrow, curious, but nodded.
— Yes.

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing her decision. Then, she rose from the table and gestured discreetly for him to follow. Without hesitation, he obeyed.

The desert night was cold, the wind whistling through Egypt’s streets. The moon, large and pale, illuminated the horizon. Eris walked ahead, her steps light, almost floating. When they were far enough from the tavern, she raised her hand.

Without exaggerated movements, incantations, or elaborate gestures, a portal opened before them—a circle of gold and scarlet energy, shimmering like embers in the wind. Atreus held his breath.

Eris’s magic was unlike his own. Unlike Freya’s or any other he has ever seen. She didn’t cast spells. She was magic.

Eris stepped through first. Atreus hesitated briefly before following.

Heat enveloped them instantly. The air smelled of smoke from fires roasting meat and corn, while laughter and chatter transformed the desert—once lonely and foreboding—into a vibrant village. Lanterns lit up colorful tents, and small bonfires crackled around the camp. The place thrummed with life, familiar yet foreign. This was no war camp, nor a haven for thieves.

Atreus looked around, fascinated. He’d never seen a settlement like this. People in exotic garments danced to drumbeats, children darted between tents, and elders exchanged stories by the fire.
— Who are they? — he asked, awestruck.

Eris didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze fixed on something ahead.

A small girl with dark hair and sun-kissed skin ran through the camp, her smile radiant.
— Eris! — she shouted, pure joy in her voice.

Eris smiled—a genuine, rare smile, unburdened by war or shadows. She crouched slightly, opening her arms, and the girl leaped into her embrace. Eris held her close, swaying gently, then kissed her forehead and set her down.

Atreus blinked, surprised. He’d never seen Eris like this. Of course, he barely knew her—this was only their second meeting. But it felt like he’d uncovered a hidden side of her, something she kept guarded.

The girl stared at him, curious.
— Who’s he?

Eris smoothed the child’s hair and glanced at Atreus before answering:
— This is Loki.

Atreus felt a strange tightness in his chest. Not because of the name—he’d grown used to it—but because, for the first time, he saw Eris as more than a cold, enigmatic warrior.

Here, in this place, she wasn’t just a fighter.
She was family to someone.
And that changed everything.

The camp buzzed with life, alive with colors, sounds, and smells Atreus had never experienced. Small fires illuminated ornate fabric tents, while the scent of spices hung in the air. Drumbeats mingled with children’s laughter as they raced under the starry sky.

Eris walked beside him, more relaxed now, a faint smile on her face as she watched Khepri darting among the crowd.
— That’s Khepri. Sobekhotep’s daughter — Eris said casually, pointing to the girl now playing near a tent. — A chatterbox.

Khepri giggled at the remark before vanishing into the maze of tents.

Atreus tried to make sense of the shift in Eris. He didn’t know if it was the camp’s warmth or the child’s presence, but she seemed to belong here.

They continued walking, Atreus absorbing the scene, until movement in the shadows caught his eye.

From the darkness emerged a creature.

A panther—but not an ordinary one. It was colossal, larger than a bear, its obsidian fur gleaming with golden magical markings that pulsed softly, as if alive. Its eyes burned like twin suns, scrutinizing Atreus with caution. Atreus tried to read the glyphs on its coat, but they resembled an ancient, nonsensical language—constantly shifting, defying logic. Unlike human tongues, these symbols seemed governed by rules that warped and rebuilt themselves endlessly.

Instinctively, Atreus reached for his bow, but Eris raised a calming hand.
— This is Horkos — she said. — He doesn’t trust strangers.

The panther growled low, advancing slowly, each step heavy enough to shake the ground.

Atreus took a deep breath. Horkos was immense, feral. Yet there was something in the creature’s eyes—a wild strength, yes, but also unshakable loyalty. Atreus sensed the bond between Horkos and Eris. She’d likely raised him from a cub, as the beast saw her as both mother and protector.

He lowered his hand, extending it toward the panther’s muzzle.

Horkos growled again, hesitated… then, against all odds, allowed Atreus to touch him.

The boy’s fingers sank into the warm fur, feeling the thrum of magic in the markings. The growling ceased. Horkos tilted his head slightly, accepting the touch. Atreus’s connection with animals told him Horkos meant no harm—he found comfort in Eris, loved her. Yet he’d kill or die for her. The thought sent a shiver through Atreus, but he pushed it aside.

Eris crossed her arms, watching the scene.
— Well, that’s a surprise — she remarked.

Atreus smirked.
— He was just testing if he could trust me.

Eris didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes studied him unnoticed, absorbing every detail. He wasn’t what she’d expected.

Khepri came running back, stopping beside them and grabbing Atreus’s hand.
— Come! I’ll show you the stars!

Atreus hesitated, glancing at Eris, who shrugged with an amused look.
— Go, Loki — she said, and for the first time, the name sounded natural on her lips.

Atreus left with the girl, and Eris stayed behind, watching.

Horkos sat beside her, his presence as imposing and protective as ever.

Then Sobekhotep appeared in the distance, his eyes narrowed as he observed the scene.

Eris brought the enemy into their home. She couldn’t be this foolish. She let his daughter play with a god who could destroy the camp—and Eris just stood there.

But Eris wasn’t worried. For the first time in years, she felt something different—something light.

She watched Loki, searching for any trace of Kratos’s Spartan ruthlessness. She found none. Loki isn’t like his father. He’s formed his own views on war and mortal lives. Kratos was forged in violence, survival. This boy… he carries compassion for human suffering.

A warmth bloomed in Eris’s chest, tears pricking her eyes—a glimpse of the life stolen from her. She wanted to reach out to Loki and tell him the truth about herself, to say they shared a bond deeper than blood. But she couldn’t. She liked her brother’s presence. Even if he didn’t know who she was.

And for now… that was enough.

The moon hung high in the sky as Eris and Atreus stepped back through the portal into the city. The warmth of the camp and the glow of bonfires faded behind them, replaced by the night’s cold breeze and the silence of stone streets. Calliope was gone. Eris rejected any trace of Calliope’s weakness and longing. She was no longer an abandoned child—she was a sorceress, sharpening her strength and hunger for power.

The moment their feet touched the ground, Eris shifted.

Her body tensed, her eyes flickering scarlet as they scanned the surroundings with predatory alertness. Her hands, once relaxed at her sides, drifted slowly toward the blades hidden in her garments. Atreus noticed the shift in her posture and instinctively gripped his bow.

— What is it? — he whispered, voice low but sharp.

Eris stood motionless for a heartbeat, like an animal scenting danger before seeing it. Her gaze swept the alleys, rooftops, and shadows between buildings.

— Someone’s here — she murmured, fingers tightening around her weapon’s hilt. — Someone who shouldn’t be.

Atreus swallowed hard. He saw nothing, sensed nothing… but he trusted her instincts.

Then she turned to him. Her stare was intense, but not hostile.

— You promised to keep the secret. I’m trusting you, Loki.

His name sounded intimate this time—no irony, no scorn. Just a fact.

Atreus nodded.

Eris held his gaze a moment longer, as if testing his trustworthiness. Finally, her eyes shifted to the desert beyond.

— Someone’s looking for you — she said, pointing past the city walls. Her voice held no hesitation, only certainty.

Atreus frowned, a chill crawling up his spine.

— Who?

Eris didn’t answer. Her body remained taut, her eyes burning with something Atreus could only define as concern.

She hesitated, then stepped back, retreating.

— Find out for yourself.

Without another word, she turned and vanished into the city’s shadows.

Atreus lingered, staring at the spot where she’d stood. Something stirred inside him—not fear of the unseen threat, but worry for her. The sudden shift in her demeanor, the way her eyes had darted across the city as if sensing a noose tightening…

She was afraid. And not just for herself.

He took a deep breath and turned his attention to the desert.

If someone was hunting him… he needed to know who.

With a final glance at the city, Atreus strode in the direction Eris had pointed, the night’s cold wind wrapping around him.

And feeling, for the first time, a genuine connection to her.

Chapter Text

Atreus moved through the arid terrain, feeling the cold wind of the Egyptian desert night weigh upon his shoulders. The stars and the moon adorned the desert sky, contrasting with the endless sea of sand. His steps were quick, driven by the restlessness that had grown within him since Eris had pointed him in this direction. There was something in her voice, a veiled anticipation, as if she knew something he had yet to understand.​

As he approached the indicated location, his eyes caught a solitary figure ahead. A tall and strong Spartan warrior, with pale skin and red tattoos marking his body, especially his face, torso, and shoulder. Atreus's heart raced. He blinked, finding it hard to believe what he was seeing. It was his father.​

Kratos stood there, imposing as always, but the expression on his face was one Atreus rarely saw: a mixture of profound relief and silent vulnerability. The Spartan god's eyes scanned every detail of his son, searching for any sign of injury, any evidence that he was hurt or weak. When Kratos finally exhaled, it was as if a massive weight had been lifted from his chest.​

Atreus, still processing the sight before him, felt a wave of conflicting emotions. He hadn't expected to see Kratos. The last time he had been with his father was after the end of Ragnarok, alongside Freya and the others who had fought by their side. What was he doing in Egypt? How had he found him? Why had he come so far to follow him?​

Before he could formulate any questions, Kratos took a step forward and, without hesitation, enveloped him in a strong embrace. For a moment, Atreus was rigid, still surprised, but soon he yielded to the gesture, feeling a longing he hadn't realized he carried.​

The warmth of Kratos's embrace was firm, protective. Atreus felt his father's chest rise and fall slowly, as if he were trying to control his emotion. Kratos closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the certainty that his son was alive, safe, whole.​

 — You are well, — Kratos murmured, his deep voice laden with relief.​

Atreus nodded against his father's chest, still without words. His presence there meant so many things, raised so many questions that his mind could barely keep up. But at that moment, none of them mattered. What mattered was that, against all odds, his father was there. And he was not alone.​

Kratos walked beside his son, his steps finally lighter after two long years of separation. The cold wind of the desert night didn't seem to bother him, and, for a rare moment, he seemed at peace. Atreus observed him with attentive eyes. It was strange to see him like this, calmer, happy.​

Atreus, still with his chest tight with emotion, tightened the embrace on his father one last time before stepping aside. And that's when he heard a familiar and lively voice:​

 — Ah, boy! How good to see you still have all your limbs in place, — said Mimir, hanging from Kratos's belt in his usual irreverent manner, but genuinely moved.​

Atreus brightened.​

 — Mimir! I missed you both!​

 — And we missed you, lad. We were terribly worried. You disappeared like the wind in a dense forest, — replied Mimir, with a touch of affectionate scolding.​

 — And how are things back there? — Atreus asked, curious, already feeling the weight of homesickness.​

 — Ah, lad… Kratos is now part of the Council of the Nine Realms! One of the leaders, can you believe it?​

Kratos observed the interaction with a discreet smile on his face. All was well, after all.​

Atreus's eyes widened.​

 — Really? My father… on a council?​

Mimir laughed.

 — Indeed! And a much quieter counselor than most, but when he speaks… the others fall silent.​

Before Atreus could react further or ask what had brought him to Egypt, a figure emerged among the dunes, approaching them with a firm step.​ He was dressed in the traditional attire of the Medjai, but with a gaze as hard as stone.​

Kammus was there.

 — Kratos, he said with a slight nod.  — You and your son are welcome in our camp. The Council has already been informed of your arrival.

Kratos nodded, without hostility.
 — Kammus.

Atreus frowned, surprised.
 — You two know each other?

 — He was the one who told me you might be in the city, — Kratos said, looking at Atreus. — I met him late in the afternoon, on one of the desert routes. He mentioned that a young Norse boy had been seen there... I knew it was you. I left for the city immediately, but I found you before that.

Atreus cast a wary glance at Kammus.
 — I see.

He said nothing more. He knew too much now. He knew that Kammus had lied about Eris, twisted the facts, tried to use him.

They began walking toward the Medjai camp. The surrounding landscape slowly transformed into something more structured and imposing—well-pitched tents, watchtowers, soldiers training. It was an army. There was no doubt about it.

Atreus walked a bit slower, his head full. He had promised Kammus he would listen to both sides of the war... but now, after what he had seen, it no longer felt like a war of ideals. Eris wasn’t fighting for power or ancestral honor. She was fighting for the people. For children like Khepri, for enslaved mothers, for the forgotten sick. That stirred something deep inside him. While Kammus stood in a desert filled with soldiers armed to the teeth, with tents and training grounds, Eris was sustaining a village full of life and magic.

But was that all? Was there nothing else hidden—no vital secret that would change everything? The questions flooded Atreus’s mind. He didn’t want to interfere too soon, to be unjust—but he also realized that there was an urgency to the situation that demanded he take a side soon.

Kratos noticed his son’s discomfort and stepped closer.
 — You are restless. What troubles you?

Atreus hesitated. He glanced discreetly at Kammus ahead, then shook his head slightly.
 — I can't say right now, — he murmured, eyes on Kammus walking a bit ahead.  — He can't hear.

Kratos frowned but didn’t press. He simply nodded, keeping pace beside his son—a gesture of silent trust.

As they passed through the gates of the camp, Atreus saw how prepared the place really was. This wasn’t just a gathering of warriors—it was a military base on the verge of war.

The Medjai camp was lit by the flames of bonfires and torches stuck into the ground. Some of the Medjai watched with curiosity as the two foreigners entered the camp accompanied by Kammus. A chill passed through Atreus—not from the desert wind, but from the uncertainty of the war that lay ahead. Yet, his father’s presence beside him brought comfort.

Kammus pointed to a tent with a nearby fire.
 — Make yourselves comfortable,  — he said, bowing his head slightly with a gesture of respect to the gods before him.  — I don’t know if gods get tired, but either way—we’ll talk tomorrow. The tent has everything you need to recover from your journey.

He then departed, leaving Kratos and Atreus alone.

The two sat near the fire, away from the others. Father and son, at last, spoke.

 — Why did you come here?  — Atreus asked, his voice filled with curiosity—and something more. A desire to understand. He wasn’t angry. In truth... he had missed his father.

Kratos was silent for a moment, as if weighing his words.
 — I had dreams.

Atreus frowned.
 — Dreams?

Kratos nodded, eyes fixed on the flames.
 — I dreamed of fire and the desert. Of you. — He turned and looked directly at his son.  — I felt a calling. I thought you were in danger.

Atreus held his father's gaze for a moment, then smiled faintly.
 — So you came to save me?

Kratos took a deep breath and answered without hesitation:
 — Of course.

Atreus lowered his gaze, absently poking the ground with a twig, thoughtful.
 — Two years, Father. I knew we’d meet again someday. But I didn’t think it would be here.

Kratos simply watched his son. He was older now, stronger. But he was still his boy.

The wind blew through the tents, carrying with it the weight of something greater than the both of them. Something that awaited them. But for now, fate could wait.

Father and son were together once more.

Chapter Text

Kratos walked through the endless desert, his steps sinking into the hot sand, though the heat did not bother him. The horizon appeared distorted, as if the very world were convulsing. The silence was thick, but something within it carried a suffocating weight—an invisible presence that watched him. He turned from side to side, scanning the expanse, searching for any sign of life or enemy.

In the distance, he saw a city burning. Flames rose to the sky, twisting the air and casting shadows that flailed like ghosts amidst the chaos. The stench of smoke and charred flesh clung to the air, but at the center of all the destruction, a single house stood untouched. A chill ran down Kratos’s arms—an irrational fear and the sense that a great evil was drawing near. He felt an unease standing before that door.
The house had white walls, and its half-open door seemed to call to him, but when he tried to approach, the ground split open beneath him, and his body was pulled backward.

Kratos fell to his knees. Around him, massive broken chains lay scattered across the sand—remnants of something that had once been destroyed. He touched one of them, feeling the metal cold despite the desert heat. A forgotten memory tried to surface, but before he could grasp it, the wind howled violently, blowing the links away. He tried to push back the anguish tightening around his chest; his eyes burned, as if tears fought to be released. He rose and left the chains behind. As he walked, he again felt a presence watching him—but no one was there. He was utterly alone.

He dragged himself forward, a weight on his back. The landscape shifted; now before him, a broken clock lay half-buried in the sand. The shattered glass reflected his face—but distorted, like a fragmented image. Instead of gears and hands, the inside of the clock spilled an endless stream of sand, as if time itself were slipping away. Kratos touched the object—and a child’s voice echoed through the desert, a desperate cry.

He turned, alert, trying to find the source of the voice. The cry grew clearer, more urgent. Atreus?
Kratos’s instinct as a father ignited like a blade, and he ran toward the sound. He ran in desperation, trying to find the origin of that cry.
Yet all he found was a sword floating in the air. Blood dripped from its blade, but instead of falling to the ground, each drop rose back to the sword, trapped in an endless cycle. Kratos stared at the scene, his fist clenching as if grasping the hilt of a weapon no longer there. Something was wrong. He looked around and noticed that the sky had begun to change.

Suddenly, the sun above was no longer golden, but blue. Its glow was intense—but instead of warmth, it spread a biting cold across the desert. The air trembled, and a powerful wind rushed past him, slicing through the dry leaves like invisible blades. Kratos narrowed his eyes, his breath turning to mist in the frigid air.

Then he saw the well. It was deep, its rim wrapped in roots that slithered like serpents. He approached and peered into its depths. Blood. A red, dense sea filled the darkness, and from the bottom, the sound of a child crying echoed once more. Again, he tried to reach for it, his fingers brushing the edge of the well—but the roots twisted, snapping shut and swallowing the structure in the blink of an eye. The desert was empty again.

He moved forward, resolute. He didn’t know what he was searching for—but he felt he had to continue. And then, he saw her.

The tree stood tall before him, its trunk carved with faces twisted in agony. The flame consuming it did not burn orange, but blue—an icy light that brought not destruction, but a haunting sense of loss. Its branches were dead, barren, dry as bones. But among them, only one golden fruit shimmered—intact, a stark contrast to the death surrounding it.

Kratos reached out, his fingers just millimeters from the golden apple.

And then—he awoke.

The cold, the shiver, the weight of oppression, and the lingering scent of smoke still hung in the air when Kratos opened his eyes. His body was heavy, his sleep unrestful. He felt cold sweat on the back of his neck as he inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the suffocating feeling the dream had left in his mind. But there was no relief. The weight of the omen still crushed him.

Mimir, resting on a worn wooden table near the extinguished fire, raised his voice with the same tired sharpness as always.

— Another bad night, brother?

Kratos remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the sand. Then he replied, his voice hoarse and heavy with uncertainty:

— Another nightmare. This one… more disturbing.

Mimir observed the Spartan's face, the deep furrows of concern etched into his expression.

— Hmm… I bet it was one of those, wasn’t it? — he guessed. — Your boy’s safe, my friend. Right there. — He motioned with his eyes toward Atreus, who slept peacefully on the makeshift bed nearby. — If that’s what you were missing, there’s nothing to worry about now. Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.

Kratos kept staring at the sleeping boy. His breathing was calm, chest rising and falling in rhythm. But then, why—if his son was safe by his side—did the dream still torment him? Why did that omen insist on haunting him?

He clenched his fists.

— It can't be just that, — he said firmly.

Mimir sighed. He knew that tone well. When Kratos believed in something, changing his mind was nearly impossible. A long silence followed, until Kratos finally raised his gaze and asked the question that had been gnawing at him:

— Is there anyone in these lands who can help me understand these dreams? A god, a sorcerer, or a seer?

Mimir furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. Then he muttered:

— Well… if there’s someone who can unravel visions and dreams in Egypt, that would be Thoth.

Kratos stared at him for a moment, then stood up, grabbing his weapons and supplies.

— Then I’ll go after him.

Mimir sighed again, watching as Kratos gathered his things with a familiar urgency and concern. The last time he’d seen this expression was when they had learned Heimdall might kill Atreus. But this time, Kratos looked more disturbed—this dream had taken him to a place of suffering and anguish he had never known. Perhaps in his darkest days of vengeance and wrath against the gods… but in the dream, there was no rage. He had tasted despair. A raw, primal despair that suffocated him at a time when he felt most vulnerable.

What Kratos feared was that the dream wasn’t just his mind showing how much he missed his son—but a warning that something could happen to him.

Kratos took his usual weapons, fastened Mimir tightly to his belt, glanced once more at Atreus—as if making sure he was truly there—and left. He went in search of the god who might hold answers. That was the plan.

The warmth of the sun was already filtering through the tent's canvas, gently warming Atreus's face. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the morning light that poured into the space. The wind lightly rustled the tent's walls, mingling with the distant sounds of voices and animals awakening.

He stretched, feeling the comforting weight of sleep still lingering in his limbs. The first thing he noticed was his father's absence. Kratos wasn’t there. That wasn’t unusual. His father always woke up before him.

Atreus stepped out of the tent and found Kammus near a fire that had already gone out, sharpening a short blade. The man looked up at him and nodded in greeting.

— Good morning, young god. Did you sleep well?

— Better than usual. — Atreus ran a hand through his tousled hair. — Have you seen my father?

Kammus gestured toward the desert beyond the camp with a tilt of his head.

— He left at dawn. Said he’d be back soon.

Before Atreus could reply, a new voice interrupted the conversation.

— So you’re the famous foreign god?

Atreus turned and saw a young man approaching. He was tall and had the confident posture of someone used to being the center of attention. His dark eyes sparkled with a touch of amusement as he stopped in front of Atreus, arms crossed.

— I’m Amnotep, — he introduced himself, a crooked smile on his lips and a slight bow. — Son of Kammus. And I must say... you don’t look much like a god.

Atreus raised an eyebrow but smiled. He had heard variations of that phrase so many times he’d lost count. Amnotep, however, seemed to be speaking with a teasing, playful tone, without any malice.

— And what is a god supposed to look like? — Atreus replied, folding his arms.

Amnotep tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating him.

— Bigger. Muscles like stone. Maybe glowing gold.

Atreus laughed. Maybe Amnotep’s perception of what a god should be was a bit skewed — or maybe the gods of this land were simply different from the ones he'd known in his own.

— Sorry to disappoint you.

— Well, there’s another way to prove your divinity. — Amnotep drew a short dagger from his belt and twirled it between his fingers. — How about a fight? Just to see if that divine blood of yours makes any difference.

The challenge carried no weight of threat. Amnotep's mocking tone made it clear that it was just a game. Still, Atreus felt excitement rising inside him. It had been a while since he’d accepted a challenge just for the thrill of it.

He smiled and assumed a more relaxed stance.

— Why not? Just don’t regret it afterward.

Amnotep laughed heartily and took a step back, spinning the blade again. Around them, a few members of the camp were beginning to notice what was happening and approached, eager to watch.

— We’ll see, young god. We’ll see.

Atreus and Amnotep moved to a more suitable spot for their duel. The sun burned gently over the camp, casting long shadows on the ground of sand and stone. The start of the day carried a sense of renewal and calm. A small circle of spectators had gathered—curious medjai leaning on their spears, discreet smiles on their faces as they watched the two youths face each other in the center of the improvised arena.
Most whispered that Loki would bring Amnotep down with a mere flick of his hand. Amnotep didn’t hear the comments—he was focused solely on winning the duel.

Atreus rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles loose and relaxed. There was no tension in his body, only a light thrill. On the other side, Amnotep removed the light tunic draped over his shoulders and tossed it to one of the warriors. His eyes shone with something between challenge and amusement.
—  So, little god, —  Amnotep said, one brow raised and a half-smile on his lips. —  Ready to see how a true warrior fights?

Atreus answered with a smirk, drawing the short blade from his belt.
— The question is… are you ready?

The provocation was enough. Amnotep lunged first—agile as a serpent—spinning to strike at Atreus with a quick blow to the side. The young god dodged effortlessly, moving back lightly, studying his opponent’s movements. Amnotep was fast, but not fast enough. Strong, but not quite.

Atreus’s feet slid over the sand as he parried the next blow, twisting his wrist to deflect Amnotep’s attack before spinning to launch a counterstrike. The Egyptian stepped back at the last second, laughing.
—  Not bad. But I’m not convinced yet.

Atreus laughed too.
—  I was going easy.

This time, he attacked first. A firm step, a short and calculated thrust. Amnotep defended well—but not well enough. Atreus slipped around him, fast as the wind, and struck with the flat of his blade against Amnotep’s shoulder, making him stumble.
Before the Egyptian could recover, Atreus spun the blade and brought it close to his rival’s throat.

Silence.

Amnotep’s breath came fast, eyes wide. Then, he threw his head back and let out a loud laugh.
— Alright! Alright! I admit it—you’re fast! — He raised his hands in surrender. — But I still think I had my moments.

Atreus lowered the blade and offered a hand to help him up.
— Maybe one or two, — he said, his tone full of humor.

The medjai around them clapped and chuckled, scattering to return to their duties, while the two young men walked side by side.

— So, little god, — Amnotep began, still catching his breath, — maybe you are a bit more impressive than you look. But even so, I expect a rematch.

Atreus gave a sideways smile.
— I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.

Kratos walked with Mimir hanging from his belt in search of the god who would help him interpret his dream. The two, who were once always engaged in conversation, were now silent. Mimir often tried to reassure Kratos that dreams weren’t always omens of a curse, but he also knew that some warnings should never be ignored.

They spotted a large temple near a statue of a creature with the body of a man and the head of a bird with a long, slender beak. Kratos immediately knew they were in the right place. The location was grand, with pillars covered in hieroglyphs and figures of Egyptian gods. The hot desert wind coiled around the temple’s columns, carrying with it the distant echo of forgotten chants.

After passing the great pillars, Kratos crossed enormous stone gates and entered a wide hall adorned with living hieroglyphs, which seemed to shift under the torchlight. At the center of the chamber, seated before an alabaster table, was Thoth. His tall, imposing figure radiated ancient knowledge, and his ibis head tilted slightly as the visitors approached. Kratos expected some hostility from the god, given his reputation as a destroyer of worlds, but Thoth seemed mildly intrigued by the visit before him.

— I see the storm has brought me another mystery, — Thoth said, his voice echoing with a tone of serene contemplation. His eyes shone like twin moons, analyzing Kratos as if he could see beyond flesh and bone. — Tell me, traveler, what do you seek?

Kratos, with his stern gaze and rigid posture, did not hesitate.
— I need you to interpret a dream. A nightmare that will not leave me.

Thoth remained silent for a moment, then lifted a carved stone bowl and poured pure water into it. Next, he pulled from a pouch a small golden vial containing crushed amber powder, which shimmered like time itself as it touched the surface of the liquid. He slowly swirled the bowl, watching as the elements blended together.

The god’s eyes glowed with distant understanding.
— I see a fruit, strong and pulsing... A fruit represents offspring, the continuation of blood and name. If this fruit appears in your dream, then your lineage is at stake.

Kratos narrowed his eyes.
— Atreus? — he whispered, feeling a knot tighten in his throat.

Thoth tilted his head, intrigued.
— The fate of this fruit is deeply rooted in this land... Egypt and the fruit are entwined. But what I see is a paradox. The only way to save it is either to kill it… or abandon it.

Kratos frowned.
— Abandon him?

Thoth scratched his chin with a slender hand, as though trying to decipher the enigma himself. Kratos’ visions and dreams were not as straightforward as the mysteries he was used to unraveling.
— If you stay, you will lose your child. But if you leave, you will also lose your child.

His tone was neutral, but the weight of his words seemed to press against the very air around them.

Silence filled the chamber. Mimir, his head resting on the table nearby, was the first to break it.
— Well now, if the fruit represents Atreus and Kratos leaves, then the boy is doomed? But if Kratos stays, he also loses the lad? That doesn’t make sense…

Kratos clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white. He began to think of ways to change this situation—he would never allow something like this to happen. Not again.
— How can I save my son?

Thoth inhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the murky water in the bowl.
— If you wish to save Atreus, the only clear answer is to leave. Do not set foot on Egyptian soil again.

Kratos remained silent, his mind a storm of thought. Finally, he nodded slowly, a plan beginning to form.
— Then we leave at dawn.

Mimir, however, did not seem satisfied.
— But if in the dream the fruit represents your bloodline, and if you leave you still lose your son... Could it mean there’s another child at stake?

— No, it doesn’t seem to refer to more than one child, — Thoth said, carefully analyzing the bowl.

Thoth once again observed the bowl before him, trying to confirm his prediction. He blinked slowly, his hands resting on the table as if he were dealing with something beyond his own understanding.

— The dream does not lie. If you stay, you will lose a son. If you leave, you will lose a son.
He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again.
— Not even I can fully grasp the meaning of this. The choice is yours, Spartan.

The weight of the prophecy fell upon Kratos like a sharp blade. Something was being revealed to him, but the truth still hid in the shadows. Kratos was not known for subtlety, nor for his willingness to accept cruel prophecies such as this.

He remained silent for a long moment, his heavy gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the water Thoth had used to interpret the dream. His mind churned with the Egyptian god's enigmatic words. Finally, he raised his head and asked:

— Is there a way for me to stay in Egypt and still save Atreus? Should I leave with my son or remain?

Thoth, the ibis-headed figure, leaned slightly over the water bowl and added another handful of golden powder to the mirrored surface. The substance shimmered for an instant before dissipating, revealing new distorted images in the reflection. His eyes scanned the symbols forming in the liquid, and his expression creased with confusion.

— The prophecy has changed, — he said, eyes wide in shock. —Now, if you leave, you will lose Atreus.

Mimir, resting on a nearby table, blinked his enchanted eyes and tried to lean forward, as if to see the prophecy in the water more clearly.

— Well, well… It’s not every day I see a god surprised by his own reading, —he murmured. — What does this mean then? How can it change like that?

Thoth closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, as if searching for clarity. His voice, usually calm and assured, now carried a note of perplexity.

— Your son’s fate lies in the hands of fate itself. And that will be your greatest enemy. That is why the prophecy makes no sense—it does not follow a fixed path, it holds no logic. Fate itself will choose the end. And that end seems to shift with a will of its own.

Kratos clenched his fists. He had faced gods, monsters, and demons, but to fight fate itself? He had slain 'Fate' in his own land—if needed, he would slay Egypt’s as well. He leaned forward, his eyes blazing with frustration.

— And where do I find this fate? — he asked, his voice deep and heavy with impatience.

Thoth looked back into the water, his expression still clouded with doubt. The liquid shimmered once again, and he furrowed his brow.

— I do not see fate itself… but I see a sorceress of the desert.

Mimir looked at the bowl, puzzled.

— And who might this sorceress be? What does she have to do with Atreus?

Thoth straightened and crossed his arms.

— She holds the life of Kratos’ fruit in her hands. Your son's fate will be decided by her.

Kratos kept his face expressionless, but within him, a flame of unease had been lit. He did not trust the whims of fate—nor the hands of a stranger. If someone were to determine his son’s destiny, that someone would be himself.

Thoth continued to observe the waters, his eyes scanning the liquid surface as if deciphering a veiled secret. The distorted images danced, reflecting fragments of fate. He furrowed his brow, his voice deep and enigmatic.

— I see the sorceress holding a fruit, — he murmured. — The same one that appeared in your dream, Kratos. She holds it in her hands, as if control belonged to her. But I also see another image... your son's lifeline. It rests in her hands. Like threads woven into the loom of destiny, the two are connected.

Kratos narrowed his eyes, his jaw tight.

— What does that mean? Speak plainly, god.

Thoth sighed, scratching his "chin" with his long fingers.

— Their destinies are intertwined. If you kill her, yes, you may save Atreus. But you might also condemn him to something greater.
He sighed again, touching his own temple with a long, slender finger. — My visions are treacherous. They show what might be, not what will be. Her fate blurs with Atreus’s, and there are forces at work trying to bend this prophecy to their own will. If you decide to kill her, you might break a cycle… or begin an even worse one.

A long, heavy silence settled over the room. Until Thoth spoke again:

— Premonitions are not always clear. Fate presents itself as a labyrinth—with many paths, but only one end. What I see unsettles me. — He looked once more into the water, which now bubbled softly. —If you sacrifice your son, you may save him... But at the same time, if you try to save him, you will lose him once… and then lose him again.

Silence hung thick in the temple. Kratos’s fist tightened.
Mimir, who had been quietly observing, processing the words, finally spoke.

— That doesn’t make sense, — said the head, frowning. — How can he lose Atreus either way? There’s always a choice, isn’t there?

Thoth sighed and crossed his arms.

— Many times, trying to escape a fate only strengthens it. Some choices bring only pain, not salvation. What I can say with certainty, Spartan, is this: among all the options before you, the best would be to walk away. Let your son follow his own path.”

Kratos remained still, his eyes fixed on the water as if he could see what Thoth saw.

— And if I stay? — he asked.

Thoth met his gaze, his eyes filled with ancient knowledge.

— If you stay, you may indeed save him. But not without much suffering, tears, and blood.

Kratos turned his face away, the weight of the words settling on his shoulders already worn by time. Fate was a silent enemy, a serpent circling without haste. He knew it well.

Mimir broke the silence, his voice hesitant.

— So… what in the bloody hell do we do now?

Kratos exhaled heavily.

Chapter Text

Amnotep was completely enchanted by the presence of the foreign gods in the Medjai camp. Atreus immediately noticed his excitement, but also perceived a need within Amnotep to prove himself. Their duel had been entertaining, though it posed no real challenge for Atreus. Still, he held back, not wanting to make it too obvious that he was winning easily.

Amnotep began walking with Atreus through the camp as he showed him around. He praised the greatness of his people, speaking proudly of how rich Egyptian culture was. At the same time, he placed himself at the center of it all, as if suggesting that he and his father were the most important among the Egyptians, since they were responsible for preserving the culture and secrets of that land.

Atreus quickly realized that this came from Amnotep’s deep need to be seen and to prove himself. But unlike Amnotep, Atreus no longer had to prove his worth to the world, or to his father. There was a time when his father thought he was weak. He had been constantly sick as a child, and that made him feel inferior. But not anymore.

Now, his goal was to find the giants, his family, and gather the remnants of his people scattered by the wind. He still longed for great feats, to destroy colossal monsters and live out thrilling adventures—not to surpass his father, but because the idea simply excited him. On his way to the land where he hoped to find the giants, a force had drawn him to Egypt. He had felt power pulling him south, and despite the great distance, he knew it was important.

When he arrived in this land, he realized the energy wasn’t coming from a large number of giants, nor a vast people or an incredibly powerful relic as he had imagined, but from a single woman. The presence of the desert sorceress sparked genuine curiosity in Atreus. He wanted to understand her power, why her energy felt so familiar and magnetic.

Now he walked among her enemies, alongside an army that wanted to destroy her. He could simply leave, this war wasn’t his. But what if the sorceress was a descendant of the giants, like him? No, her energy felt more like the Chaos Blades his father carried, those blades forged in his father’s homeland, Greece. But what did that mean? If she was part giant, it would explain a lot. Had there been giants in his father's land?

Before he realized it, they were no longer in the desert, but back in the city. Amnotep pointed to the citizens, proudly showcasing his culture to Atreus. Soon, Atreus saw a grand house—majestic, lavishly decorated on the outside, with a fountain, grass, and trees native to the region. He followed Amnotep in silence, taking in the grandeur of the place.

They walked through broad, ornate corridors, observing pillars carved with symbols and tales of the Medjai. Atreus reflected on where he was and what was happening. The magnificence of the house was impressive, but something about the way Amnotep walked—as if he were not only the owner of the house, but of the Medjai’s fate, began to unsettle him. Some servants observed them from afar. Atreus didn’t immediately understand why they weren’t as well-dressed as Amnotep and the others. It took him a moment to realize, they were slaves.

— See these walls? —Amnotep said, brushing his hand across a golden relief depicting a battle. — Here are carved the deeds of the greatest warriors of our order. My father, Kammus, is one of them. And soon, my name will be here too.

Atreus nodded, unsure of what to say. Amnotep’s admiration for his own legacy bordered on obsession.

They passed through more luxurious rooms until they reached a chamber at the back of the house. Amnotep stopped in front of a large ebony door and slowly pushed it open. The interior was lit by torches casting dancing shadows on a single, striking object: a suit of solid gold armor, gleaming and pristine, resting on a stand.

— This armor, — Amnotep said, his voice filled with reverence, — belonged to Horus himself, the god who avenged his father and defeated Seth. It’s a symbol of power. A divine legacy.

Atreus frowned.
— why is it here?

Amnotep turned to him, his eyes burning with unwavering ambition.
— Because a prophecy says that one day, a Medjai will rise above all others. His strength and glory will be so great that even the gods will look upon him. I am that Medjai. I will wear this armor and bring forth a new era. All will bow before my greatness.

Silence filled the space. Atreus felt a strange premonition. Never before had he heard someone speak of themselves with such certainty—and such arrogance.

— Are you sure the prophecy spoke of you? — Atreus asked, his tone skeptical.

Amnotep gave a low, almost amused chuckle.
— Who else could it be? Who besides me has the vision, the courage, and the power to shape the fate of the Medjai? I was born for this, Atreus. It is written. And soon, the whole world will see.

Atreus looked at the armor again. There was something unsettling about such blind belief in one’s own greatness. Something that made him uneasy.

But he said nothing. He simply watched Amnotep for a long moment, then looked away. They stood in silence. Atreus, still processing the grandiose words of his host, frowned and crossed his arms.

— Why do you want so badly to be great? — Atreus asked, his voice steady but not hostile.

Amnotep let out a dry laugh and turned his gaze back to the golden armor.
— Because my father thinks I’m weak, — he admitted, his tone laced with resentment. — He looks down on me because I don’t follow the duties as strictly as he wants. The Medjai follow a rigid code, no indulgent pleasures, no excesses. And I… I’ve never been like that. To him, that makes me unworthy.

Atreus took a moment to absorb the words, feeling a pang of understanding. He knew too well what it was like to have a father who didn’t see him for who he truly was.

— I know that feeling, — he said, choosing his words carefully. — When I was a kid, I was sick all the time. My father saw me as fragile, someone who needed constant protection. I thought he’d never respect me as a warrior. But I proved him wrong. Not by becoming the greatest Spartan, but by showing him that my strength came from something else. My empathy, my way of seeing the world… That’s something my father admires now.

Amnotep remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the shining armor before him. Atreus stepped a bit closer, his voice calm.

— You don’t need to wear that armor to be someone great, Amnotep. You don’t have to dress like a god for people to respect you.

Amnotep’s face hardened. There was something in Atreus’ tone that deeply unsettled him, as if his words were slowly dismantling the grandeur he had constructed in his mind. His fists clenched at his sides.

— You don’t understand, Loki, — he muttered, voice heavy with frustration. — I don’t want just respect. I want adoration. I want people to look at me and see more than a man. I want them to kneel before my greatness. And this armor… this armor will give me that.

Atreus sighed, realizing that any attempt to make him see beyond that obsession would be useless, for now. Amnotep’s thirst for glory was already rooted too deeply to be shaken by mere words.

Eris’s tent was a sanctuary of grandeur and comfort, the largest in the entire camp, adorned with fine fabrics and vibrant colors. Soft cushions were scattered across the floor, and incense burned in small braziers, releasing a sweet, woody fragrance. Horkos lay on a large cushion, breathing deeply.

Lying on a bed of delicate sheets, Eris stared at the golden canopy above her. The events of the previous night still echoed in her mind. She had brought Loki to the camp, showing him everything, guiding him through the tents and flickering torches. What she had experienced with her brother was something she had never imagined. Despite what Loki represented, Eris didn’t hate him—quite the opposite. The moment she realized who he was, she loved him instantly. She would protect him, as she protected her people. But the farewell… something about it disturbed her. After stepping through the portal, she felt a presence in the desert—an energy both familiar and overwhelming. Her father. Kratos was coming to Egypt. She had recognized it immediately. He still carried the Blades of Chaos on his back.

Eris wasn’t sure what she felt. Anxiety? Anger? The weight of her history with that man was a burden she had carried since childhood. He abandoned her, left her to be swept away by fate without ever looking back. And now, after all these years, he was coming. Why? What did he want? Most likely, he came to see Loki—his son. Could it be to see her? No, impossible. Eris had erased every trace of her existence that might draw Kratos’s attention. There was no way he could know she was alive, let alone living there. Kratos and Eris were not meant to meet again, fate would never allow it. The thought made her exhale a heavy sigh. No, that life was no longer hers. Here, in Egypt, she had found something she could never have in Greece. Something she could call home. A place far from the bloody and violent war she had witnessed in Sparta. A safe haven, away from the ambitions of those who would destroy everything and kill everyone for a foolish mission. Eris was content with her life as it was. She had convinced herself she didn’t need Kratos. She had learned to live without him, had to, and she wouldn’t need him now. But… after all this time, what was he like? Had he changed? Grown older, wiser? Did he ever think of her, or had he erased every trace of her and her mother from his memory? The questions only grew louder and more relentless in Eris’s mind. She didn’t want to think about him, how could she?

A soft sound broke her thoughts—the rustle of fabric being lifted. Then, a light weight hit her bed, and in an instant, a whirlwind of laughter and flailing arms enveloped her. Khepri.

The little girl threw herself onto Eris, her face lit by a wide, sincere smile.
— Eris! Are you awake?
Eris laughed, surprised by the sudden invasion.
— I am now!

Khepri rolled under the sheets, trying to hide beneath the fabric. Smiling, Eris grabbed the sheet and tossed it over the girl like a wave, covering her completely. Khepri let out a high-pitched laugh and struggled to escape.
— No! You’ve captured me! — Khepri pretended to fight, tangling herself further in the silk.
Eris tilted her head, pretending to consider.
— Ah, yes… now you’re my prisoner! What should I do with you?
Khepri laughed even louder, threw off the sheet, and launched herself at Eris.
— Defeat you, of course!

They rolled across the bed, amid laughter and scattered cushions, until Khepri, triumphant, sat on Eris’s belly and raised her arms. The girl was small and bursting with energy, bringing a generous dose of joy into Eris’s life. With Khepri, Eris didn’t have to force herself to laugh or play—she simply did. Khepri was the light that brightened the camp of Seth’s children.
— I win! I’m the new empress!
Eris laughed, raising her hands in surrender.
— Very well, Empress Khepri. But remember to rule wisely.

The girl crossed her arms and made a serious face, mimicking the gestures she had often seen Eris make.
— Of course! I’ll rule with laughter and play!

Eris gazed at the small figure before her, and for a moment, a deep tenderness welled inside her. Khepri was like a reflection of her own childhood. The joy she saw in the girl’s eyes was the same she had once felt—before everything was taken away. But Khepri wouldn’t share that fate. Eris would make sure of it.

She pulled Khepri into a tight embrace, feeling the little warmth pressed against her chest.
— And I’ll be here to help you reign. Always.

Khepri smiled and nestled into her arms. The laughter and light of childhood dispelled any shadow Kratos might bring. Because, in the end, Eris wasn’t just the daughter of a god. She was something more. Something she had found in Egypt. Something worth protecting.

Horkos, sensing the commotion, rose and padded over to the bed, nestling near the two. He was massive and heavy and seemed entirely unaware of it. Eris and Khepri giggled at the sneaky and almost arrogant way the giant feline inserted himself beside them. Khepri rubbed his belly, and Horkos let out a loud purr, stretching his paws into the air as if playing with the wind.

Later, Eris and Khepri walked through the camp. The midday sun poured its heat over the tents and makeshift structures, but there, among her people, Eris felt a rare comfort. Her gaze slid across the organized space, taking in every detail, every movement. Her brown eyes settled on Sobekhotep, training the soldiers with rigid discipline, his firm voice barking orders. The camp’s residents greeted Eris as she passed, and she returned each gesture with a smile.

Khepri let go of Eris’s hand and ran toward her father. The man, his features hardened by years of battle and hardship, softened at the sight of her. He crouched and enveloped her in a strong embrace, lifting and protecting her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever held. With a rare smile, he kissed her forehead and tousled her hair.

Eris approached with measured steps, and the soldiers straightened upon noticing her. Sobekhotep raised his eyes to the sorceress and nodded respectfully.
— They’re improving, — he remarked, turning back to the men sweating beneath the merciless sun.

Eris observed the warriors in formation, taking in the details of their stances and calculated movements. She knew battle techniques well, she knew war and the art of wielding a blade.
— I know it’s important they’re ready to defend the camp, — she said, her voice calm yet assertive. — But it likely won’t be necessary. They’ve never made it this far, and they never will.

Sobekhotep crossed his arms, still holding Khepri against his chest.
— Maybe. But I don’t trust your magic completely. I have too much to lose.
He gently rocked his daughter, his hard eyes softening as he watched her play with the leather straps of his armor.
— Besides, as long as a Medjay walks freely in Egypt, I’ll know no peace.

Eris raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his persistent resentment.
— Is our people lacking anything? — she asked, her voice laced with challenge. — Is there a resource I haven’t provided? Is anyone suffering?

Sobekhotep hesitated, his lips tightening.
— No, — he admitted, though his expression remained tense.

— Then there’s no reason to hate the Medjay. We all carry our burdens, Sobekhotep. You can spend your life mourning what you’ve lost, or cherish what you’ve built.
Her gaze fell gently on Khepri.
— Don’t lose what you have now because you’re obsessed with the past.

The warrior stiffened. Her words struck like a well-aimed blow, though the wound would not heal so easily. His anger simmered beneath the surface, but he respected her authority too much to respond with fury. The Medjay had rejected him; his history with the sacred army couldn’t be erased.

— I won’t lose what I have, — he said, voice low and laced with resentment. — And I’ll make sure no one takes it from me.

Eris didn’t respond right away. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, reading the layers of pain and resolve etched into his face. Then, with a subtle nod, she turned and continued walking—carrying with her the certainty that Sobekhotep had not yet found peace. And perhaps never would.

Chapter Text

It was nearly late afternoon when Atreus and Amnotep returned to the Medjai military camp. The place buzzed with war—an intricate mosaic of warriors, blacksmiths, and young apprentices dedicated to their craft. Atreus looked around the camp; soldiers walked by with long swords, their faces etched with worry.

But Atreus, stepping away from the main commotion, searched for a quieter, almost forgotten space. He had to walk for quite a while before finding a secluded spot—he wanted to write in his notebook about his adventures and what he had learned about Egypt. He also needed to escape the endless chatter of Amnotep and his constant attempts to show off.

In the distance, he saw a curious scene. Under the shade of a simple tent, a man dressed in Roman garments was examining a child with a careful, patient gaze. The doctor gently traced the outline of the spots on the girl’s skin, while his experienced hands checked her gums and pulse. A line of people waited to be seen by the man.

Atreus watched in silence. The physician looked very different from the Medjai warriors around him. His skin was lightly tanned, paler than most, with blue eyes and curly blond hair. He wore clothes suited for the desert, though a long red cloak contrasted slightly with the rest of his attire. There was a calmness in him, a sincere compassion that showed in every gesture. The girl, fragile with large eyes, held a piece of frayed cloth between her trembling fingers. Her gaze was downcast, and her breathing slow. A woman beside the child, likely her mother, held the girl's hand while watching her with sadness.

— This should help a little, — the man said, offering her an infusion in a small clay container. — Drink slowly, little one.

Atreus stepped forward, catching the doctor’s attention.

— I’m Loki, — he said, giving a slight nod.

The Roman looked up and offered a polite smile. — Cassius. A pleasure, young traveler.

Atreus glanced at the girl and frowned. — What does she have?

Cassius let out a heavy sigh, glancing briefly toward the rest of the camp.

— That’s a mystery. I’ve seen many children with the same symptoms: skin spots, bleeding gums, weakness, apathy... Mostly among the poor, the enslaved, and those who go hungry. Likely a result of hunger or some illness carried by the air.

Atreus noticed that the man had a distinct accent, as if his native tongue was very different from anything he had ever heard, though it vaguely reminded him of Eris’s accent. He spoke in a more musical tone than the Egyptians—the Egyptian accent was harsher and more abrupt, like a knife tapping wood, whereas the Roman’s was smoother, almost a sweet melody, like stones rolling under a river of honey. He spoke the language well, that was undeniable, but his accent made the Egyptian tongue sound softer and more gentle.

His tone was calm, yet laced with restrained frustration. Atreus noticed the way he gently brushed the girl’s hair, like a father comforting a child. The young god’s expression softened. It was rare to see someone not driven by war or ambition.

— And you care for them alone? — Atreus asked.

— I do what I can. But the cure still eludes me, — Cassius admitted. —If only there were more time…

The girl’s mother, humble in posture and wearing simple clothes, gripped her daughter’s hands tightly, her gaze filled with gratitude as she watched Cassius tend to her. When he finished the examination and offered a reassuring smile, the woman bowed her head respectfully. — Thank you, Lord Cassius. May the gods bless you.

She picked up her daughter in her arms and walked away. Atreus followed her with his gaze, noticing the rags they wore and the way the woman held the child as if the world might rip her away at any moment. The scene stirred something inside him. He had never thought much about the condition of ordinary humans—those without land, wealth, or a glorious destiny. For him, hunting had always been enough to eat, surviving in the forest came naturally, but here was a reality very different from his own.

Before he could say anything, a cheerful voice burst into the tent.
— Master Cassius! I came to see if you needed anything!

A young man, sun-kissed and with messy dark hair, entered with a broad smile. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and he walked with the confidence of someone carrying big dreams. He wore the standard Medjai outfit—desert warrior attire. He was a soldier, but seemed a bit younger than Atreus. Cassius smiled upon seeing him.
— Amir, always so helpful. Come in, I want you to meet Loki.

Amir turned to Atreus and extended his hand enthusiastically.
—So you’re the northern warrior! I’ve heard many stories about your people. They say you face ice storms and monsters as easily as breathing!

Atreus smiled, extended his hand, and the two shook hands, a gesture of brotherhood and friendship. Atreus immediately liked the fellow man's energy.
— Well… some stories might be exaggerated, but yes, the North has its challenges.

— One day, I want to go there, — Amir said, eyes gleaming with excitement. — I want to experience the culture, hear the stories firsthand.

Cassius nodded, a gentle smile on his face.
— The North really does sound like a fascinating place.

Amir glanced beyond the tent, observing a group of slaves waiting quietly under the sun to be seen by Cassius. His smile faded slightly, and Atreus noticed the subtle shift.

— Is everything okay? — Atreus asked.

Amir sighed. He looked around with a trace of sorrow, then returned to his usual upbeat demeanor, as if brushing off the thought.
—Yes, of course.

The conversation continued. Cassius and Amir, so different from him, were pieces of a world much bigger than the one he knew. And he wanted to understand that world.

Amir spoke enthusiastically with Atreus about stories from the North—his eyes sparkled with curiosity and excitement.
—Well, someday, I hope to go there,— Amir said, returning to the earlier topic. —To see the forests, the snow-covered mountains, to feel the cold of the ice desert… It must be magical.

Atreus smiled, charmed by the warrior’s sincerity.
—I think you’d like it. And the stories… well, some of them are pretty crazy. There’s even a goat that spits mead.

Cassius let out a soft laugh while organizing some herbs drying on a clean cloth.
—The world is full of wonders. Sometimes they come in the most unexpected forms.

Before Atreus could reply, Amnotep, who had been watching the interaction in silence, stepped in.

His eyes swept quickly across the room until they landed on Amir, whose presence always seemed to be a thorn in his side. The gentle smile on Amir’s lips faded for an instant, like a candle about to go out, but soon returned—restrained, almost rehearsed.

—Loki,— Amnotep said, ignoring the others. —Some warriors are gathering at the center of the camp, near the fire. They’re telling war stories, eating, drinking. I thought maybe you’d like to hear—and share—some real stories... not those about drunken goats. — He shot a quick glance at Amir.

Atreus turned to Amir with a knowing smile.
—Could be, but… I think I need to look for my father first. He’s been gone since early morning.

—Kratos? Amnotep raised an eyebrow. — He was with my father not long ago. They’re probably talking near the council tents. I can take you there, if you’d like.

Atreus hesitated for a moment. There was something about Amnotep that unsettled him. At first, his impression of Amnotep had been positive, he hadn’t seen any harm in him. The young man had seemed charismatic, lively, and friendly. But the more time Atreus spent near him, the more his perception shifted. He felt a strange tension in the air. Like the scent of iron before a storm.

Cassius, who had seemed somewhat distracted, lifted his head upon hearing the name of the Ghost of Sparta. He knew that name well, and the story behind it. Loki is Kratos’ son? Does Eris know that? Cassius thought. He urgently needed to speak with her. Eris was the most powerful sorceress to ever exist. She was also fair in battle and did not kill without reason, Cassius knew that. But he also knew that when she felt threatened, she would strike with all her might and destroy her enemies without hesitation. If Kratos was in Egypt… it could be a prelude to tragedy.

— I’ll go with you, —Amir said quickly, adjusting the sword at his waist. His tone was calm, but firm.

— No need, Amir, —Amnotep replied with a courteous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. —I’m sure Loki is safe with me.

— Even so, I’d like to stretch my legs a bit. —Amir returned the smile, his more genuine. Atreus noticed the tension between them, though he didn’t yet understand why.

Cassius, already back at his table, looked up briefly.
— If you find Kratos, tell him I’ll be free shortly. I need to speak with him.

— We will, —Atreus replied, bidding farewell with a wave. Amir did the same, though his eyes never left his half-brother, Amnotep.

Outside, the sky was beginning to turn dark, and the first stars blinked softly above the dunes.

Amnotep looked at Amir with contempt. He had observed the interaction between Loki and Amir, and it deeply unsettled him.
"He laughs with Amir as if they were equals. As if a bastard born of a slave were worthy of a god’s attention. Kammus gave him a sword, a title. And me… empty words. Maybe Loki is the one to tip the balance. Maybe there’s still time to show who truly deserves to carry the name of the Medjai."

Amnotep walked ahead, leading the way, but Atreus stayed close to Amir. The young warrior had a light in his eyes that his older brother had never possessed.

Kratos returned to the camp carrying the weight of Thoth’s words. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and uncertainty. He sat on the makeshift bed and rested his forearms on his knees, staring at the sandy ground. The silence around him seemed to mock his indecision. If he stay, he might save Atreus—but at what cost? If he live, he would lose his son. Fate stared at him like a predator—always lurking, always unpredictable.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his body still, but his mind at war. His eyes were fixed on nothing, yet in his mind, all he could see was Atreus’ face. Something terrible was going to happen to the boy.

Thoth’s voice still echoed in his ears—cold and inevitable:
“If you stay, you might save him. But not without great suffering, tears… and blood.”

Kratos furrowed his brow.
He had already lost everything once. His wife. His daughter. His home.

He would not lose a child. Not again.

But the cost… what did it truly mean?

Beside him, propped up on a cushion, Mimir observed the warrior’s silence with quiet respect.

— The restless mind of a god is like a storm at sea… —he murmured. — If you wish to share the burden, I still have one good ear.

Kratos didn’t answer. He was drowning in his own thoughts. He wanted to speak to Mimir, but realized he didn’t know what to say. He was afraid.

Mimir sighed softly.
— It’s not just the prophecy, is it? There’s something else. The way Thoth spoke… the way he looked at you. It wasn’t just a warning. It was almost… a sentence.

The tent flap creaked gently as Kammus entered.
— Forgive the interruption, —he said in a low, respectful voice.
He noticed Kratos’ rigid posture, but continued.
— I saw you were alone. I thought you might want to talk… warrior to warrior. Men who carry old burdens.

Kratos did not move.

Kammus took a few slow steps inside, stopping at a respectful distance. 

— The Medjai were sworn to protect this land, Kratos. To keep peace between the sacred realms… but something has kept us from fulfilling that oath.

Kratos remained silent, eyes still fixed on the ground.

Mimir raised an eyebrow.
— Eris, —Kammus said.

The name echoed in the tent like distant thunder.

Kratos did not react immediately.

— The desert sorceress, Kammus continued. She’s killing my men. Stealing sacred relics. Desecrating temples. And the more power she gathers… the more untouchable she becomes. It’s as if the sand itself protects her. No one can stop her. She cursed my son, said that if he fought for the Medjai, if he ever held a sword in battle, he would die. Said she would kill him herself. Eris is a cunning and cruel witch.

Kratos narrowed his eyes.

“Eris…”

He thought about it. The name was ancient—but familiar.

Eris, the goddess of chaos. She had survived. But how? There was nothing left in Greece—only monsters and ruin. And Chaos… 

Kratos felt his blood run cold. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. The suffocating weight of the dream. The prophecy. And now this. His past refused to let him go. Would he ever know peace?

Mimir noticed the subtle change in the Spartan’s breathing.

Kratos finally spoke, his rough voice breaking the silence:
— She is not of this land.

Kammus nodded, surprised by the answer.
— We know that. Many say she came from the desert, but the sands do not recognize her as a daughter. She is no Egyptian goddess. What is she, truly?

— Eris? — Mimir repeated, thoughtful. — The name is Greek… — His voice lowered. — Goddess of discord and chaos. From what I recall of the legends, Eris was Ares’ sister, often accompanied him on the battlefield. Yes… that would explain a lot. The Blades of Chaos, for instance. Your mark. Maybe that’s what drew her attention. Her power is embedded in your blades, it’s her power that fuels them. She feeds on discord, on chaos, on the destruction born from her own essence.

Of course she feeds on destruction—and who had caused more destruction than Kratos? He had shattered the Greek world and delivered it into chaos. If Eris had become so powerful now, then Kratos had played a major role in it.

But he had never encountered her in his journey of vengeance, if he had, she would already be dead.

Kratos lifted his gaze, fire reflected in his deep eyes.
— A shadow of my past.

He rose slowly, his muscles stiff as stone.
— If she survived… then she’s not the only one. —he murmured, almost to himself.
— And if she seeks vengeance, it’s not just against me. She might try to use my son to destroy us both.

Mimir looked at him with a mix of empathy and fear.
— Ares, Athena, Zeus… what remained of Greece was turned to dust. But her… if she fled after the destruction, like you did,

Mimir paused, swallowed hard, then continued:

— While you sought peace… she sought power.

Kratos did not miss the weight of those words. He had discovered a new enemy—both new and old at once. One of the gods of Greece had escaped the destruction, was gathering strength, and seeking revenge. Likely, she would go after his son.

Kratos furrowed his brow.

Kammus stepped forward.
— I must be direct, Kratos. The only way to stop her… is with the strength of a god. A true god.

Kratos remained silent for several long seconds. Then turned toward his weapon, resting beside the bed.
The Blades of Chaos.

— I’ve tried to run from it.

His voice was an echo. A lament.
— But maybe… it’s time to stop running.

Mimir closed his eyes for a moment.
— For the boy. For your redemption.

Chapter Text

Atreus, Amnotep, and Amir walked together toward the tent where Kratos was. Atreus was eager to see his father — he had been gone all day, and after spending over two years apart, every moment mattered.
He moved toward the tent, but Amnotep had been talking nonstop ever since they left Cassius, insisting that Atreus stay by the campfire with his friends for a while.
Atreus wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea — he wanted nothing more than to see his father — but not wanting to offend Amnotep, he followed him toward the center of the camp. Amir quietly walked alongside them.
As they made their way, they passed rows of warriors' tents; most of the men were already settling down for the night.

When they reached the fire, Atreus saw a group of Medjai warriors sitting around, talking and drinking.
The fire crackled warmly, and the warriors’ laughter filled the air with a relaxed, lively energy.
Atreus sat down with Amir and Amnotep near the fire.

— So, what war stories are you telling my friends tonight? — Amnotep asked with a grin.
Among his friends, Amnotep seemed different — relaxed, less pompous, more genuine. The usual need to prove himself was gone. Here, he was respected and loved, and it showed.

— We were just talking about Horus's revenge against Seth, — one of Amnotep’s friends replied, a dark-skinned man in a white tunic, his fingers heavy with rings. He didn’t look like a typical Medjai warrior; he was far too well-dressed for that.

— I like that story. Tales of revenge are always the most exciting, don’t you think? — Amnotep said, winking at Atreus.
Atreus chuckled awkwardly, unsure of what he meant. It felt like Amnotep knew something he didn’t.

— The story begins with Seth, — Amnotep continued. — The god of chaos, the desert, and the oases. Oases are regions in the middle of the desert where water and life can be found — a refuge for travelers.

Atreus watched Amnotep closely. He sat among his friends, all of them hanging onto his every word. Amnotep's sword hung at his belt, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. He spoke with theatrical gestures and lively movements, making the story even more captivating. Everyone seemed entranced by him — everyone except Amir. Amir shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the ground. He knew better than anyone that Amnotep could charm a crowd, but he was cruel to those he deemed beneath him. Amnotep loved humiliating apprentice soldiers, pushing them into exercises they weren’t ready for, just to laugh at their failure.
After a lifetime living under his brother’s shadow, Amir no longer fell for Amnotep’s charm. But he worried. He worried that Amnotep might manipulate Atreus into turning against Eris — and he knew that if Atreus did, it would likely cost him his life.

The night air was cold, and the fire's light bathed the camp in a soft glow. Amnotep stood, pacing before the fire as he continued his tale. The others sat around him on logs and stones, eyes fixed on him.

— Seth coveted the throne of his brother, Osiris, — Amnotep said, his voice rising slightly. — He envied him, believing that Osiris was favored by the great Ra. So, to seize power, Seth killed his own brother. Horus witnessed the injustice against his father and, filled with rage, declared war against Seth.

Atreus took out his notebook and began scribbling notes, wanting to remember every detail to revisit later. He even started sketching the gods as Amnotep described them, giving faces to the legends. As he worked, Amir kept his head down, trying to make himself invisible. He wasn’t afraid — he was simply exhausted. He had spent the entire day working while Amnotep had done nothing but sleep.
Worse, Amnotep could be easily provoked into cruel outbursts over the smallest things. Better to stay quiet and unnoticed.

— To decide who would rule, Set and Horus gathered their armies and plunged Egypt into a bloody war, — Amnotep continued, his voice full of drama. — The battle raged on for centuries, blood was shed endlessly, and neither side could claim victory. In the end, Horus sought to end it once and for all. He confronted Set and tried to kill him. Set attempted to flee, but Horus wouldn’t let him escape. He raised his sword — and with a swift blow, Seth struck, tearing out one of Horus’s eyes.

Amnotep slashed the air with his sword in Amir’s direction, dramatizing Horus’s attack on Set. Amir, however, remained unimpressed. Amnotep, undeterred, seemed to draw energy from his own performance, moving like an actor before an enraptured audience. His hands carved grand gestures through the air as he brought the war to life, and all eyes were fixed on him.

— But the battle could not end until one of the gods surrendered the throne, — Amnotep declared. — So a trial was called to settle the matter. Yet neither Horus nor Seth appeared. Instead, Isis, sister to Seth, took pity on him and spoke in his defense. This betrayal filled Horus with rage, and he vowed to kill her.

One of the warriors laughed and shouted:
— Women! Even as goddesses, they still don't grasp anything about war!
The soldiers burst into laughter and kept drinking.

— Come now, Amir, — Amnotep said, his smile sharp, — surely you know a tale of war worth sharing?

Amir stiffened under the weight of their stares. Public speaking had never been his strength — and he knew Amnotep enjoyed cornering him like this.
After a pause, Amir spoke, his voice low and steady.

— My favorite story, — he said, almost as if reciting to the fire itself, — is of Sekhmet, the goddess of vengeance, and the justice that devours itself. Ra sat upon his throne, witnessing the corruption of mankind. He wept —and from his tears, Sekhmet was born. She was unleashed upon the world to punish those who had broken divine law. The scarlet lioness descended, and once she tasted blood, she could not be stopped.

Amir kept his eyes on the fire as he spoke, his trembling hands betraying the effort it took to remain composed.

— At first, she struck down those Ra had marked. But soon, intoxicated by bloodshed, she turned upon all. Terrified that his daughter would destroy everything, Ra tricked her. He brewed a potion — blood mixed with beer —and laid it before her. Sekhmet drank, fell into a deep slumber, and the earth was spared annihilation.

Amnotep sneered at him.
— You really know how to kill the mood, Amir, — he muttered.

Atreus chuckled at the remark, rose to his feet, bade farewell to the group, and headed back toward Kratos’s tent.

Kratos walked toward the exit of the tent.
Outside, the stars watched in silent indifference, as the God of War felt the weight of the past bleed once again into the present.

Atreus made his way toward their tent, the sand still warm beneath his sandals. The desert night loomed heavy and still, as if something ancient were stirring beneath the surface. He had left Amir and Amnotep behind with the other Medjai — laughter, battle stories, music... yet there was a tension in the air that unsettled him.

As he neared the tent he shared with his father, Atreus saw Kratos ahead, standing rigidly, arms crossed, gazing at the stars. The Blades of Chaos now hung across his back once more.

Kratos heard the boy’s steps before a word was spoken.
— You’re back, — Atreus said cautiously, approaching him. — Where were you all day?

Kratos was slow to answer.
He turned to face his son fully, his gaze hard, yet shadowed by concern.
— With Thoth, — he said at last.

Atreus raised an eyebrow, curious.
— The god of wisdom?

Kratos nodded. For a moment, silence settled heavy between them. Then Kratos spoke, his voice rough, weighted:
— He read my dream. He said something terrible will happen to you. And that... saving you will come at a great cost.

Atreus felt the breath catch in his chest. Whatever trace of lightheartedness lingered from his time with Amir vanished instantly.
— Saving me... from what? — he asked, voice low.

Kratos didn’t respond right away. His gaze turned to the dark horizon.
— I don't know. But the odds are grim. And the price... steep.

Atreus lowered his head, deep in thought.
— And you believe him? — he asked cautiously.

— He does not lie, — Kratos answered flatly.

Atreus fell silent, trying to make sense of it all. Then, from Kratos’s belt, Mimir’s voice broke the tension:
— It’s not just the prophecy, lad. The sorceress the Medjai are fighting... she’s no ordinary enemy. She's a Greek goddess. Eris. From your father's past.

Atreus’s eyes widened slightly.
"Eris..."

She had once threatened him — then forged a fragile truce, vowing not to interfere with each other’s affairs. And yet, here they were, aligned with her enemies. She hadn't seemed... evil. Not entirely. Though their first encounter had been hostile, she had later led him through her camp, shared stories of her people, pieces of her past.
Would she seek to kill him again? Could he reason with her if it came to that?

Atreus buried the thought before it surfaced.
His father would not understand.

Kratos gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible.

— If it's truly her, — Mimir said grimly, — then what we face isn't just a local threat. It's something far greater. Your father fears she seeks revenge.

Atreus bit his lower lip, lost in thought. He said nothing of the strange empathy he felt when he heard her name. Instead, he simply met his father's gaze — steady, serious.

— What do we do, then? — Atreus asked.

Kratos looked at his son for a long moment before answering simply:
— I will have to kill her.

Atreus nodded, agreeing for a heartbeat — but unease began to rise within him. Soon, he realized he could not allow it. Even if Eris tried something against him, he would find a way to make it right. He just needed time.

Deep down, he knew the battle ahead would not be against Eris alone... It would also be against the secrets still hidden, the truths yet unspoken.
And against the growing doubt taking root in his heart:

"What if... she isn't the monster they believe?"

Kratos sighed and gestured for Atreus to enter the tent. Silently, the two of them stepped inside. Father and son, side by side — but perhaps fated to walk opposing paths.

Atreus entered slowly, his eyes shadowed, carrying something heavier than doubt:
a decision.

He had thought long and hard about what he would say to his father.
He could not — would not — let him kill Eris.

The faint light of dawn began to paint the desert in shades of blue. Inside the tent, silence reigned, broken only by the distant hiss of wind dragging sand across the dunes.

Kratos sat on the cot, his movements precise as he set aside his weapons, hanging them carefully from a wooden beam supporting the tent. He was exhausted — from the constant pursuit of redemption, from the weight of his past mistakes, from everything — but outwardly, he still bore the same sharp, unyielding posture as ever.

Atreus, who knew him well, could see it: Kratos was not alright.

— Father... — Atreus said, stopping before him.

Kratos looked up but said nothing, simply waiting.

— We need to talk. About Eris.

The name hung in the air like a threat.

Kratos shifted his gaze toward the Blades of Chaos hanging in the dim light — they glinted softly.

— We already talked, — he said.

— Not like this, — Atreus stepped closer, his voice carrying something rare for him: urgency.
— Killing Eris isn't the answer.

— She is a threat. To the Medjai. To this place. To you.

Atreus remembered the first time he had seen her — the burning eyes, the ferocity of her attack. But the second time... her eyes had been normal. Human.

"What if she was corrupted by magic? " he thought.

— I've seen her. I've spoken with her. She was wary, yes — but she had every chance to kill me. Many times. And she didn’t.
Atreus crouched in front of his father, lowering himself to Kratos’s eye level.
— Doesn’t that mean anything to you?

Kratos grew even more tense. The thought that Atreus had met with Eris — without his knowledge — gnawed at him. Perhaps she was planning something far worse than he imagined.

He lifted his eyes slowly, jaw clenched tight.
— It means she hasn’t made up her mind yet. I will not wait for her to decide.

— Father... — Atreus took a deep breath.
— I... I care about her. She is my friend. I know she’s not a danger to us.

Kratos frowned deeply but did not interrupt.

Atreus pressed on:
— I don't know why. I don't fully understand it. But I feel it — she's lost. She doesn't want this. There’s another way to end this... without blood.

He hesitated, then said it, the words heavy:
— I don't want you to hurt her.

Kratos watched him in silence. There was something in his son's eyes — something he recognized. Not darkness, not the thirst for vengeance, but a light he himself had long lost. Atreus always chose the harder path: compassion.

— You are like your mother, — Kratos murmured, his voice heavy with something unexpected. — Always trying to see the good... even in those who don't deserve it.

— Maybe, — Atreus said, offering a small, melancholic smile. — But sometimes... it works. Remember Heimdall? The prophecy that said you would die?

Kratos closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered — the blood, the fear, the desperate choice he made to protect his son. Heimdall had died by his hand. The prophecy had not come to pass as they feared.
And he lived.
That time, fate had not been so cruel.

— Not every prophecy comes true. That one was false, — Atreus said, as if reading his thoughts. — Sometimes... we choose the ending. It's our decisions that shape destiny.

Kratos drew a slow, heavy breath, his chest rising and falling.

— If she becomes a threat to you... — he said, his voice low and grim, — I will not hesitate.

— I know, — Atreus replied, with no anger, only quiet acceptance. — But let me try. Let me... prove there's another way.

Kratos nodded slowly.
A small gesture, but one that carried the weight of his trust.

— One chance. No more.

Atreus smiled, relief softening his features.

Kratos looked away.
The doubt still burned within him. The dreams, the prophecies — all of them pointed toward ruin. But he trusted his son's instincts. And if there was even a fragment of Faye in him... Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to rewrite fate.

Kratos knew: if he acted out of fear, vengeance, or despair, he would become the monster he had once been. And he would not allow that. He would not fail his son.

So he chose to listen.

From the side, Mimir muttered softly:

— Chaos isn't always the end, lads. Sometimes... it's just a new beginning.

Chapter Text

The next morning came quickly, too quickly. The nights were growing ever shorter, and the Spartan slept less and less. Kratos awoke feeling melancholic, a tightness in his throat, as if he was holding back tears. He had awakened from yet another nightmare, burdened by a terrible sense of loss, but he didn’t know what he had lost. It felt like mourning. The dreams were becoming stranger, more vivid, more disturbing, and increasingly senseless. But something never changed: the dreadful feeling that someone was watching him, guiding him through the dream, as if he had no control over his own actions, like a puppet of the gods.

Kratos recalled the conversation he’d had with Atreus just a few hours ago. He had decided not to kill the sorceress, at least, not without a clear reason. He would go against every instinct he had: he would give her the benefit of the doubt until something proved otherwise. But apparently, that hadn’t been a wise decision. As he woke more disturbed than before. Whatever came in the future, Kratos knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

He would try to honor his son's wishes. He didn’t want Atreus to lose faith in humanity, or his compassion. But Kratos knew it was only a matter of time before Eris revealed herself and he would have to make the decision to kill her. He wouldn’t do it with pleasure. Of course not. Killing someone wasn’t something that brought Kratos satisfaction. It never had.
Even in the height of vengeance-when he spilled blood and struck down those he had sworn to destroy- there was no joy. No pleasure. He never glorified it. But he would do it to protect his son. That was all that mattered. If Eris turned out to be an enemy, she would die.

But Kratos had decided he wouldn’t hunt her. He would do that, for Atreus. For his son’s humanity. For his sense of justice.

Kratos looked around and saw Atreus still asleep on the bed nearby.

Before he could rise, Kammus interrupted his thoughts. The man burst into Kratos’ tent, breathless.

— Kratos! They... they’re here! — he said, nearly out of breath.

Kratos looked up, his expression hardening.

— Who? — he asked, his voice low and cautious.

Kammus smiled, unable to contain his awe.
— The Egyptian gods. They’ve come to see you.

Kratos let out a soft sigh. Gods. More gods…

He stood up, took Mimir, and followed Kammus. Kratos paused a moment, he wasn’t exactly expecting a confrontation, but he was ready if that was the case.

The tent where they waited was enormous and richly decorated, covered by a red canopy with golden hieroglyphic patterns that shimmered subtly in the sunlight. It was an improvised temple of the Medjai, raised in worship of their gods. Kratos pushed the fabric aside and entered without hesitation.

Inside stood three imposing figures. Between two gods, a woman with great golden wings, some of her feathers were so light that the slightest whisper of wind could carry them away; others, were forged from solid gold, heavy and gleaming, dragging along the ground.

She stood tall. Young and beautiful, yet stern and commanding. Mimir recognized her immediately: Ma’at, the embodiment of truth and cosmic order. He had seen depictions of her before, usually holding the feather of judgment in one hand, taken from her own wings, and a scale in the other. There was no feather in her hands now, nor a scale. No weapons.

Her gaze was serene. Unshakable.

To her left stood another god, covered in dark fur, with the head of a beast, a canine in shape. He was massive, taller than Týr, his muscles more defined than even Kratos’. Anubis, guardian of the dead, stared at Kratos with dark, unreadable eyes. His jackal head tilted slightly. There was suspicion in his gaze, disinterest, even. Kratos had to resist the urge to draw his weapons.

Anubis was towering and bore long claws, like a bear’s. He wore a green and golden tunic, more like ceremonial armor. He resembled a giant hound, adorned with a broad golden collar and a suit of armor. In one hand, he held a large scepter; in the other, an object resembling an anchor. His fur was jet black. His eyes glowed a brilliant red.

And finally, to Ma’at’s right stood Thoth, the one who had guided Kratos before. A being with the head of an ibis, long, thin beak curved like a crescent. The god stood calm, clad in a dark blue robe painted with silver magical symbols. There were crescent moons and other sigils Kratos could not recognize.

— Kratos of Sparta — said Ma’at, her voice sweet and calm. — Fate has placed a dilemma before you, and we are here to try to clarify it.

Kratos crossed his arms, his gaze firm and unwavering. The Egyptian gods were different from what he expected. He had passed through this land before, and aside from Thoth, he hadn’t faced any of them. But now three gods stood before him to talk. Had they come to him at a different time - at the height of his vengeance against Olympus - they likely wouldn’t be exchanging words. But now the situation was different. Kratos no longer sought destruction or revenge. He sought to protect his blood who was in danger. His son.

— Then speak. Tell me, what does Eris want with my son?

The gods exchanged brief glances before answering. They sat down in chairs near a table and waited for Kratos to do the same. Behind them was an altar with several golden statues of gods. Three of them caught Kratos’s attention, the first was a statue of a woman with a lioness's head, standing between two others: a cat-shaped woman and the other with the body of a cow.

The tent was lit by flickering oil lamps, and the hot desert wind rustled the fabric of the structure. The Medjai camp, once filled with the clamor of war, warriors training, clashing swords, war cries, now seemed silent. Kratos stepped further into the tent, his heavy footsteps resounding on the sandy ground.

Kammus remained close to the entrance, anxious, nearly breathless in the face of such grandeur. He admired the gods and held deep faith in them. He knew that only they could help stop Eris and save Amnotep. He wanted to go to them, to ask for help, or simply to worship them. But he knew this wasn’t the time. So he stood silently, observing the conversation.

Thoth, seated to the right, looked at Kratos with his moonlike eyes. The scribe of the gods seemed hesitant, as if the words he was about to speak were forbidden. There was premonition and fear in his voice.

— I’ve had another vision — Thoth began, casting a wary glance at Kratos. — As I’ve told you before, your child’s fate lies in the hands of the desert sorceress. Now, I see more than I did before. There is only one way to save him without all that suffering.

Kratos remained still, standing and watching attentively. He thought for a moment, then stepped forward, unhooked Mimir from his belt, and placed him on the table. Mimir couldn’t help but feel a chill, if he were capable of chills. He had witnessed countless gods, but the Egyptian ones carried a different kind of mystery and presence, secrets and pure magic. It was impossible not to be in awe. The sight of the three gods there was breathtaking.

Thoth continued:

— If you kill the sorceress today and take Atreus with you immediately after her death, without looking back, he will live, and you will not lose him.

The Egyptian gods waited for Thoth to finish. No one dared interrupt him. Thoth’s words weighed heavily on Kratos, who remained silent for a while. He had emphasized that Kratos must leave immediately after the sorceress’s death. But... what did that mean? And why? It seemed more like a trap of destiny. No, of the gods. Kratos’s eyes gleamed for a moment, his mind processing every word. He didn’t move, but his expression hardened even more.

— This is another treacherous vision — warned Thoth. — You will only have one chance. If you hesitate, if you fail, everything I foresaw will come to pass. You will lose your choice. If you go to her and don’t kill her… you will lose your child, no matter what you do afterward. And if you kill her and stay… you will also lose your child. And the suffering that will follow will be so intense… so overwhelming that you will not endure it, and you will fall. The same goes if you or Atreus ever return to Egypt.

Kratos stared at Thoth. The certainty in his voice made Kratos lean slightly forward. Mimir noticed that the words had disturbed him, his fists were clenched, and his expression was grim. Ma’at and Anubis remained silent, their presence imposing. They seemed like judges awaiting a statement from the accused - but already prepared to deliver a verdict.

Kratos took a deep breath. Fate once again imposed a cruel choice upon him, as it had so many times in his life. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Not this time. A cruel choice that left Kratos with only one path to save Atreus: kill the desert sorceress. Kill another Greek god.

Ma’at, seated between Thoth and Anubis, broke the silence with a firm yet serene voice.

— The answer to your problem is not as simple as killing her — she said, her expression unreadable. — We are here to speak because this issue is greater than you imagine.

Kratos narrowed his eyes.

— If she’s a threat to me and my son, then she must die — he declared, his voice deep and definitive.

Ma’at raised her chin slightly, pondering his answer before continuing. She wore an Egyptian wig, a golden crown, and her eyes were lined with black kohl.

— Balance is not maintained by iron and force alone, Kratos. We came to intercede for her. This is not a matter of merit. We have considered killing her, but we did not. Not out of weakness, nor blind compassion, but because something much greater is at stake.

Mimir cleared his throat.

— And what exactly is at stake? — asked the talking head on the table, his eyes watching the gods’ expressions closely.

Anubis, who until that moment had remained silent on the left side, finally spoke. His voice was deep and loud like thunder.
— Unfortunately, Eris’s existence is part of the balance of the universe.
Anubis spoke with a certain authority, but he didn’t seem dangerous now. He was strange to look at, but Kratos had seen stranger things.
— The balance of the universe will be at risk if you kill the sorceress, —he declared. — There are forces beyond your understanding at play.

Ma’at, who was sitting on a chair with a serene expression, spoke firmly. She understood better than anyone there - perhaps except Thoth - the invisible gears that kept the universe on track.
— Even if there is a way to eliminate her without destroying the balance of the world, it should not be our choice, she pondered. Can a person be killed for something they haven’t done? Or condemned for something that may never happen? We must judge before punishing. Besides, killing someone without even knowing who they are... would be cruel and monstrous.

Kratos remained silent for a moment, reflecting on those words. He didn’t want to be that kind of monster. The weight of his past actions still haunted him. The deaths, the blood still stained his hands. But then, a cruel question formed in his mind: would he sacrifice his son’s life for someone else?
The answer came quickly.
No.
He would kill to save Atreus.

His gaze hardened, and he raised his head, ready to answer, but Ma’at was faster.
— Eris… — she began, as if reading his thoughts. —She is causing destruction, yes. But that does not make her evil. She is a force of the universe, just like me. Order and chaos coexist. Without her, order becomes tyranny.

Ma’at looked at Kratos with serenity; she had witnessed countless dilemmas like this.

The idea of a goddess representing the balance of the world was not new to Kratos. Athena had told him not to kill Zeus, for it would destroy Olympus and he did it anyway. It had led to the destruction of his world. But that wasn’t enough to spare Eris. His worldview had always been clear: there were enemies, and there were those who needed protection.

The fate of Kratos and Atreus hung by a thread, and the answer to this question would determine the next step of the Ghost of Sparta.

Anubis stood up, his gaze impassive but his voice firm.
— Eris’s problem is quite simple. She refuses to accept what she is. Instead of embracing her power and using chaos as intended, she lives in the shadows of what could be. That weakens her, makes her vulnerable.
Anubis spoke with a certain impatience; he clearly disliked talking about Eris.
— If she accepted her true role in the universe, she would not be a threat. She would be the force needed to renew the world. But she clings to mortal concepts like death, suffering, and pain. These disturb her more than chaos itself. So she snaps and causes destruction.

Thoth, the god of knowledge and wisdom, crossed his arms, reflecting before speaking.
— The gods always have decided the fate of others, and Eris is a victim of that cycle. We fear what we cannot control and try to imprison it. Eris has been running from that her whole life, and we know it. Ma’at and I do not agree with killing her. She is not fully aware of what she does.

"They know her too? How? How has a Greek goddess been out of control all this time and I didn’t know?"

Anubis, cold and calculating, intervened.
— You speak as if she were a victim, but you forget the risk. I’ve seen what happens when gods let their nature run wild. You, Kratos, more than anyone, understand the danger of an uncontrolled god. You were one.

Kratos’s gaze darkened, his voice hoarse. There were many memories of pain, vengeance, and regret.
— And I paid for it. The price still haunts me. If Eris is the same, then I need to stop her.

Ma’at spoke softly but with conviction.
— Or you need to understand her. A person’s destiny cannot be avoided, but it can be guided. We must not decide for her, but offer a choice.

Anubis frowned, thoughtful. He didn’t want Eris to survive, he knew the risk she represented, but everyone was already enchanted by her.

Kratos looked at the gods, absorbing every word from Ma’at. His face remained closed, but his mind was in conflict. He no longer wanted to be the god of war - he wanted to be the god of hope - but once again he was entangled in someone else’s war. Besides, if Eris held Atreus’s fate in her hands, he could not let her choice result in his death.

— Whether she is a danger or a victim, I will only believe it if I see it with my own eyes. I won’t trust words. Only actions.

The gods exchanged glances again. None of them had a definitive answer. In the end, Eris remained an enigma, and only Kratos could decide how he would face what was coming. He stood firm, fists clenched at his sides, trying to process everything he was hearing. The chair beside the table remained empty. Kratos was standing, watching the three seated gods.

Ma’at sighed, placing her hands on the table. She looked at Kratos and felt empathy for him. She knew he had his reasons, but she needed to find a way to help Eris. A tragedy like this could not happen again.
— Eris is not absolute evil, Kratos. She is suffering. She suffers because she does not have full control over what she is. Her power is not something she wields like a weapon, it consumes her from within. Sadly, her magic is not a conscious choice for her. She is not only a danger, she is also a victim of her own existence, of her very essence.

Ma’at paused briefly. The Spartan listened attentively, but from his expression she knew that fate had already been sealed. She continued.
— And more than that… she is necessary. The chaos she brings is not without purpose. Without chaos, there is no evolution. Without chaos, there is no order. To imprison or kill her would be a fatal mistake, not just for you, but for everyone. The world would collapse in another way: a silent and stagnant collapse, or a pure, violent, and uncontrollable chaos.

Anubis crossed his arms, observing Ma’at with his glowing red eyes.
— You are right to say that Eris suffers. But wrong to say she has no control. She knows exactly what she does. She feels the weight of her actions, the pain of her victims. And even so, she continues. Her fight is not against the gods or the world. It is against herself. She resists her own magic, and that is what makes her dangerous.

— So what you're saying is… she has no choice? — Kratos finally spoke, his voice heavy with exhaustion. — Or that she simply makes the wrong one?

The gods’ words didn’t make much sense. How could a god’s magic turn against them? And why wouldn’t she accept herself? The more answers Kratos received, the more questions formed in his mind.

Thoth reached under his long robes. When he raised his hand, he held a small black box carved with ancient runes. He looked at Ma’at and Anubis before finally laying his eyes on Kratos.

— Ma’at is right. Eris is like a frightened child who was never accepted or loved by those who should have welcomed and protected her. She feels despised. But that’s not the only thing that torments her, like Anubis said, it’s her own powers that are destroying her. — The bird-headed god didn’t take his eyes off Kratos, speaking slowly with a worried expression. — For some gods, their gifts are tools. Your strength, for example, Kratos, is a weapon you’ve learned to wield, something you control and use against your enemies. But for others, their powers are part of their very essence. They are inseparable, they are who you are. And that is Eris’s true burden. The magic of chaos and discord.

Kratos kept his gaze fixed on Thoth, a growing unease stirring within him.

— What are you trying to tell me?

Thoth slid the box across the table toward Kratos. A small, dark box with some hieroglyphs carved into the wood, there were also Egyptian, Greek, and other symbols Kratos didn’t recognize.

— When Eris came to Egypt years ago, she came to me first. She didn’t seek me out as an enemy, but as someone in despair. People die around her, suffer, and commit terrible acts, including herself. She wanted to create something that could free her from the pain. Something that could stop the suffering without destroying the balance of the universe. This artifact was made at her request. — He pointed with his long fingers to the box. — If activated, it will seal her, but without extinguishing the chaos she represents. The flow of chaos will continue to exist, but she will finally be able to rest.

Kratos looked at the box as if it were both an answer and a curse. He felt his mind spinning with the implications. Eris had asked for this? She wanted an end to her pain? That didn’t make much sense to Kratos, not until he quickly reflected on his own life. Power doesn’t always bring satisfaction or glory. Maybe Eris suffered like he did. She had been alive all this time and never came after him for revenge, maybe she didn’t want that. But maybe she had also been gathering strength to destroy him before ending her own life... There was no way for Kratos to be sure.

Everyone remained silent, watching the scene. The god of wisdom, meticulous in his movements, opened the little wooden box, revealing a piece of ancient metal. It was made of bronze, adorned with inscriptions that pulsed with a faint bluish-green energy. It was a bracelet, thin and delicate, with a dull sheen that revealed its magical nature.

The symbols on the bracelet came from many cultures, some were dim and motionless, while others moved, shifted shape, and constantly transformed into different symbols. Some changed quickly, others slowly. It didn’t look like a weapon, nothing that would kill a sorceress or a goddess of chaos. It looked more like an elegant feminine accessory, crafted with magic, well-decorated and shimmering.

Kratos furrowed his brow, examining the piece with suspicion. — Will this kill her? — His voice was deep, without hesitation.

Thoth tilted his head slightly. — Yes. It will give her a dignified rest.

Kratos clenched his fists.

— If it was her choice, why haven’t you used it before? — His gaze fixed on Thoth, demanding an answer. But it was Ma’at who replied:

— Because it was never necessary. Eris, despite her chaotic nature, remained relatively stable for a long time. Yes, there were deaths, some Medjai fallen in futile attempts to stop her. But at the same time, she helped humans, brought change. Until now, the balance has not been irreversibly compromised.

Kratos studied the bracelet, thinking. Ma’at continued:

— This is an absolute and definitive measure, Kratos. There’s no turning back after this. Even if Eris is threatening the balance, she hasn’t crossed the line that would justify such a condemnation. That’s why we must not use it.

Anubis, his eyes glowing faintly in the gloom, murmured:

— But for how long? Maybe it’s only a matter of time before there’s no other choice. I don’t see the point in waiting for the inevitable.

A heavy silence hung over them. Kratos’s decision was not a simple one. He wrestled with the very notion of what was just and right. He remembered his own story, how the gods had tricked him, how everything was taken from him, and in the end not even death was granted to him. Could he condemn someone to the same fate?

Mimir, who was listening quietly, broke the silence. — If you eliminate Eris, what happens to chaos? Without a vessel, the force may become even more uncontrollable, spreading in unpredictable ways. Aren’t we just trading one problem for another, perhaps even worse?

Thoth was surprised by Mimir’s question, not because the idea hadn’t occurred to him, but because Mimir had been clever in how he asked. He understood the real danger in eliminating Eris. Thoth nodded in agreement.

— Chaos cannot be destroyed, only redirected. If Eris is gone, her energy won’t vanish, it will be released in its rawest form, without restraint. She will cease to be a goddess and become a concept, a cosmic force. We could create an enemy more dangerous than Eris herself. But the bracelet avoids that. With it, the effects of her death can be managed.

Kratos remained silent, feeling the weight of the decision growing on his shoulders. He looked again at the bracelet still resting inside the box, at the inscriptions pulsing like a heart, the choice was not as simple as it seemed. His eyes scanned the gods gathered before him. Then Ma’at said:

— I will do everything in my power to keep her under control. She has not yet crossed the threshold that justifies an absolute sentence. While there is balance, there is hope. If you agree, I will take responsibility for her. I’ll keep watch.

Kratos then drew in a deep breath and, with his deep, steady voice, declared:

— I cannot allow a Greek goddess to roam freely, threatening my son, — he declared. Kratos reached for the bracelet with his hands, it was cold, almost like Faye’s axe. He felt a knot form in his throat. — I’ll keep the bracelet, but only as a precaution. I won’t use it unless I’m forced to.

Ma’at lowered her head, then looked toward Thoth, who quickly turned his eyes away. She then raised her face and looked at Kratos, nodding. She seemed worried and sad. Anubis, on the other hand, looked strangely pleased. Kratos observed the interaction, there were more secrets. He stared at the bracelet. This had been too easy. For the first time, he hadn’t needed to cross a desert, sell his soul, slay monsters, or descend into the underworld to acquire a weapon capable of destroying his enemies. The bracelet had simply been handed to him, something he hadn’t even known existed. Something was wrong.

Kammus watched from afar. His eyes lingered on the bracelet, and an idea came to him. He quietly slipped away, he had a plan.

Without another word, the god of war turned to leave. Kratos didn’t want to spend another moment in that place. His mind was a storm of thoughts. Eris… her name now carried a different weight.

Kratos then walked out of that judgment tent, unaware that he had just become both the judge and the executioner, of himself and of his daughter.

Outside, Atreus, who had already woken up, waited anxiously. The moment he saw his father approach, the tension on his face eased for just a moment, but quickly returned. He needed answers. The gods who had been in the tent were now gone.

Kratos stopped in front of his son and, after a brief silence, spoke:
— The gods say Eris suffers because of her magic, that she causes destruction but still has control over her actions. She is not corrupted.

Atreus frowned, crossing his arms. That didn’t make sense to him.
— Then why is she killing the Medjai?

Kratos looked away for a moment, thinking.
— Because suffering shapes those who bear it. But they said there’s a merciful way to stop her. Something she herself wanted. — Kratos pulled the bracelet from his pocket and showed it to Atreus.

Atreus bit his lip, hesitant. He wanted to believe the gods were right, that Eris had become a mindless monster, that she killed because she wanted to. But something felt wrong. Still, he trusted his father’s judgment and simply nodded.

— All right… so what do we do now?

Kratos cast one last glance at the tent before turning fully to Atreus.
— We leave. This is not our burden… not yet.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long. It didn’t even take much provocation. Eris soon began to show her fury. As soon as Kratos told Atreus to go fetch his things so they could leave, screams and the sound of hurried footsteps began to echo throughout the Medjai camp. Chaos was already consuming the place.

The Medjai were running back and forth, desperate men armed with swords, bows, and shields preparing for yet another confrontation.

Atreus, who had gone to retrieve a knife and his bag from the tent, returned quickly, but his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of the unrest. He spotted Kammus near the camp entrance, surrounded by anxious warriors.

— What happened? — Atreus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Kammus turned to him, his dark eyes filled with rage and sorrow.

— The Sons of Seth attacked again. Another sacred temple has been desecrated.

Atreus felt his stomach turn.

The Sons of Seth. Eris.

In the distance, a wooden cart was approaching, drawn by two exhausted horses. It came at high speed over a rough, rocky path. The man driving it jumped down before it had even come to a full stop. His face was grim. He was tall, bald, and gaunt almost skeletal. Most likely someone who tended to the dead.

— Clear the way! — he shouted.

The cart came to an abrupt halt, kicking up a cloud of dust. The horses were overburdened by the weight and visibly distressed, shifting their legs and dragging their hooves over the stones, tossing their heads restlessly.

Atreus froze at the sight.

The cart was filled with bodies, around a dozen dead. Blood stained their garments, smoke rising among them. They were fallen Medjai warriors, piled atop one another, their bodies caked in blood and sand, clothes torn, eyes lifeless, some faces unrecognizable, utterly disfigured. A dark energy surrounded them, crimson and black, it was Eris’s magic. Some of the faceless had been clawed. Others were charred, their flesh scorched as if they’d been burned alive. Victims of Eris and her pet beast.

Kammus closed his eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the pain threatening to overwhelm him. His brothers, honored warriors, sworn guardians of Horus himself, protectors of the land, were dying en masse at the hands of a foreign goddess.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the cart’s wooden frame, as though it could steady him against what he was seeing. Everything he had fought for his entire life was unraveling.

The warriors around him bowed their heads in silence, honoring the fallen. After months of battling the sorceress, hope was slipping through their fingers clear in their weary, defeated faces.

— They died protecting our homeland, — Kammus murmured, his voice thick with grief and fury.

The man who brought the bodies nodded grimly.

— I will take them to be mummified. They deserve to rest as true guardians of Egypt.

Kammus pressed his lips into a hard line and nodded.

Atreus, however, couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. Each body told a story interrupted. Each man had a family, a past, a purpose. And now… now they were just corpses.

Eris had a part in this. The Sons of Seth were doing this.

Atreus remembered the promise he had made to her upon arriving in Egypt.

“I’m trusting you.”

She had trusted him. But… now?

Did Eris know? Was she complicit? Was she the one truly responsible?

Atreus swallowed hard, feeling his world begin to split apart. There was a duality within him: he wanted to fight for what was right, to defend the innocent. But… were the Sons of Seth truly the villains?

From what he remembered of their camp, they didn’t seem like warriors—they seemed like families, living in a village enchanted by magic.

Kratos, who had been watching from a distance near the red tent, approached the commotion. The Spartan moved with his usual imposing air, outwardly unshaken. The Blades of Chaos strapped to his back, the Leviathan Axe gripped in his hand.

He saw the bodies from afar, men fallen in war. It was nothing new to him. He drew closer and noticed something on their skin. On the backs of their right hands, a Greek symbol - Ω - burned into the flesh. On their left hands, each bore a different mark: one had a trident, another a lightning bolt, another a finely detailed owl. These weren’t drawings, they looked branded, seared into the flesh with hot iron like livestock.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It was a message. A provocation.

Eris wanted war.

Kratos stepped close enough to smell the scorched flesh. The Blades of Chaos began to heat on his back, reacting to the energy in the air. Kratos furrowed his brow and stepped back. There would be no turning back now.

The cart driver eyed the Ghost of Sparta but said nothing. He climbed back onto the cart to carry the bodies away.

Kammus stood motionless. He no longer knew what to do. He needed that bracelet. He needed to stop Eris. And he desperately needed Kratos’s help—or she would wipe out the Medjai and destroy Egypt.

— There are secrets in our land that cannot be spoken. Not even the children of Egypt are allowed to understand them. — He took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. His voice was thick with mourning, but also resolve. He stared at the cart disappearing deeper into the camp, heading toward the city. — We must stop the sorceress of the desert.

Kratos was gripping the handle of Faye’s axe.

— Everyone speaks of her as if she were the greatest sorceress to ever exist… as if her power were limitless. What is the true extent of her magic?

— We don’t know for certain. But there is a way to find out. If you help me, I’ll take you inside the pyramids. There, we will find answers. I’ll grant you access to the power of our land so you can defeat her.

Kratos looked at Kammus for a moment. He nodded.

It was enough to ignite hope in Kammus.

Atreus watched the exchange. He would go after Eris. He would try to talk to her, try to stop this war.

— How do you know we’ll find answers about a Greek goddess in an Egyptian place?

— The pyramids contain records older than the gods themselves. There is magic there that predates time. We will find answers about her true origin and powers, but we must hurry, we need to get there before sunset. After that, no one enters and no one leaves. We’ll be trapped inside all night.

The Medjai, overhearing the debate between Kammus and Kratos, didn’t wait for orders, they didn’t need to. They already knew what to do. They immediately began organizing the horses so they could cross the desert. The situation demanded urgency.

After coordinating the next step of the mission with Kratos, Kammus went to his tent to retrieve the secret maps of the pyramids. He had always known this moment would come. Entering the tent, he rummaged through an old chest, securely locked with a key he kept in his pocket. Kammus opened the chest and pulled out a five-thousand-year-old map, strangely well-preserved. It was yellowed with time, but its illustrations and hieroglyphs were sharply detailed.

As he was leaving to meet Kratos, he saw Amnotep and Amir watching him closely. His two sons stood side by side—a rare sight, as they were usually at odds and hardly spent any time together.

— Amir, prepare your horse. We’re heading to Giza.

Amir bowed his head, a gesture of agreement and respect toward his father’s authority. He glanced at his brother, who looked at him with contempt, and went off to gather his things without giving it much thought. He was used to the disdain.

— I’m going with you. If this mission involves Eris, I have a right to be part of it.

— No, — Kammus replied briefly.

— Why not?

— This mission is suicidal. We’ll be facing Eris, and if you’re there, she’ll have a chance to kill you.

Amnotep’s face hardened. He began breathing deeply, his father’s refusal igniting fury in him.

— You treat me like a child, but I’m a warrior, just as much as your damned bastard. No... in fact, I’m more of a warrior than he’ll ever be. — Amnotep raised his voice. He wanted to lunge at his father, to strike him down right then and there. He was tired of being treated like a boy. — Yet you give him the title of Medjai while I’m left with the humiliation of being cast aside.

— I’ve given my order. You’re not going. Don’t make me repeat it, — declared Kammus.

Kammus’s refusal wasn’t just to protect Amnotep from this battle with Eris. Her threat had been clear, if Amnotep fought under the name of the Medjai, he would die. She would kill him. Kammus had to ensure his son’s safety, even if it wounded his pride. He didn’t like it, but he knew it was necessary.

Amnotep glared at his father, punched the side of the tent, and stormed off, fists clenched in rage.

Kammus walked back toward Kratos, with Amir, now ready, following him.

When they arrived at the meeting point, the horses were already prepared. Kratos and Loki were also there. A few warriors stood nearby, awaiting orders, but Kammus decided an escort wouldn’t be necessary, it would be better to leave the soldiers at the camp and head out with the gods.

As soon as Atreus mounted his horse, a cold wind swept past him. He looked to the sky—it was still early. The sun was burning the desert sands as usual; the day was relatively warm. But the weather began to shift. The freezing wind intensified slightly, then stopped. Atreus looked at Kratos, who was already mounted and seemingly unaware of the change.

Kratos, Atreus, Kammus, and Amir rode off toward the pyramids of Egypt.

The journey to the pyramids was long but uneventful. It was as if the creatures of that land were asleep. Atreus thought of Midgard, where every time they stepped outside their protective circle, they were attacked. But now it felt as though the world had declared a truce with the monsters.

They rode for several hours, passing through various cities. The Egyptians always had the most fascinating cities. Each was adorned with statues of their gods, and the architecture was breathtaking. Atreus sketched some of the houses and statues in his notebook. It seemed like an odd time to care about that—an enemy had risen against them and sought to destroy them—but Atreus didn’t care if it was bad timing. He wanted to write and draw in his notebook.

Kratos spotted a strange structure rising in the distance. Minutes later, they arrived at the entrance of the pyramid. In the background, the other two pyramids were visible, a little farther away. Several Medjai were there. Kratos assumed they had been expected, as the Medjai showed no surprise upon seeing them.

— It’s bigger than I imagined, — Atreus said, awestruck.

— That’s the Menkaure—the smallest of the three pyramids, — Kammus replied.

Three massive pyramids built from enormous stone blocks loomed before them. Some travelers watched with curiosity. The area was desert, with sparse vegetation nearby. A few camels drank from water basins as the Medjai stood guard. Some of them eyed Kratos and Atreus with suspicion.

A portly man approached. He had white hair and a beard, and wore the garments of the Medjai—earth-toned linens and tunics that protected against sandstorms.

— Sir! — Kammus bowed slightly to the elder, who returned the gesture. Amir did the same.

— The main entrances to the pyramids are blocked. Apparently, a quake caused rockslides that sealed off two of the entryways. The entrances to Khufu and Khafre are inaccessible. You’ll need to use the alternate route.”

— We need to enter Khafre,— Kammus said, looking at the pyramid before them. — Fine, we’ll go through Menkaure.

Kammus turned to Kratos and Atreus. He held an artifact, a black stone that shimmered with a dark green hue. Amir went with the other medjai to security their return. He would not enter the pyramid, Atreus noticed a change in Amir's posture; When he was with his father, he behaved like a soldier, he was serious and worried, perhaps because the situation required such a change. There was non of his usual excitement or smiles.

— This will connect us to the great goddess Isis. She will protect us and allow us to see the secrets of ancient magic. — He touched the stone to Atreus’s hand, and a symbol appeared on his arm. He did the same to Kratos, and then to himself.

They walked toward a stone archway leading into the pyramid. A heavy door stood before them—Kratos pushed it open, revealing a dark chamber.

The chamber was silent, save for the muffled sound of their footsteps on ancient stone. They carried torches that cast flickering shadows on the tunnel walls. There were hieroglyphs, inscriptions that seemed to subtly shift in the corner of the eye. They walked for a long time, perhaps over two hours. Atreus couldn’t tell. A pulsing energy filled the air, something ancient, sentient, like a living presence. All was silent, and whenever someone spoke, their voice echoed down the stone corridors, transforming the atmosphere into one of dread.

After navigating several hallways, both small and large rooms, and dark staircases, they reached a large chamber. At its center stood a circular black stone pedestal. Around it were etched spirals and symbols that none of them could read, not even Atreus.

Kammus approached slowly.

— This is the place, — he said softly, reverently. — We need an artifact that once belonged to the sorceress. The chamber’s magic will recognize it and reveal its secrets.

Kratos, silently, pulled Eris’s bracelet from a leather pouch tied to his waist. Carefully, he placed it at the center of the pedestal.

Nothing happened. The torchlight began to dim. The pyramids had rejected the object.

The silence was total. Kammus frowned in confusion. Atreus stepped forward, uneasy.

— This was supposed to work…

Before Mimir could offer a comment, Kratos narrowed his eyes silently. Then he looked at his own hands, at the chains wrapped around his wrists, the curses of a past that never left him. He took a deep breath. Without saying a word, he removed the Blades of Chaos from his back. With a firm motion, he placed them on the pedestal.

The stone trembled. The torches fixed to the walls lit up on their own.
A golden glow ran through the carvings around the pedestal, as if something had awakened. The walls of the chamber began to emit a pulsating light, and the previously motionless inscriptions now rippled as if they were breathing. An ancient sound echoed, and Atreus felt a chill.
Suddenly, a mist rose from the pedestal, condensing in the air until it took the form of an animal. Agile paws, thick white fur, and eyes full of mischief. A baboon. It leapt nimbly onto one of the columns of the chamber, flashing a wide, mocking grin.

— Wow! Long time, huh? — he said, with a vibrant, almost caricatured voice. — Three foreign gods and a mortal in my sanctuary. This is unprecedented!
Atreus widened his eyes.

— You’re... Thoth?

— In flesh - well, almost -and spirit, — he replied. He jumped down to the floor, walking in wide, exaggerated circles around the visitors. — Today I’m going with my “lively old monkey” look, you know how divine creativity is. Can’t be an ibis all the time—too exhausting!

Kratos frowned. Thoth again. Another god.

— We want to know about Eris. The extent of her power. What she can do, and how dangerous she is.

Thoth raised his eyebrows theatrically, spun in the air, and lifted his hands, causing the torch flames to surge.

— Ah, tough questions always come with even tougher trials! — He clapped his hands and snapped his fingers. — The truth you seek is hidden. And it will only be revealed to those who face the pyramid trials. Because, my dear friends... knowledge is like a jewel: beautiful, dangerous, and always well guarded.

Kratos let out a faint grunt, impatient.

— But before that... — Thoth pointed upward. — The pyramids want to tell a story.

Like a northern aurora, lights filled the space, projecting themselves between them. Atreus moved closer to Kratos, who placed a hand on his son's shoulder, they look at each other, happy to be reunited again.

The walls dissolved into mist, and figures of light began forming in the air, shaping a golden palace, a king with glowing eyes, and nine floating jewels above his head. Kammus observed the god before him, Thoth himself was there among them. There were no words for the honor Kammus felt.

— There once was a king, — began Thoth, his voice now slower and more rhythmic, like a storyteller’s. — A king so powerful that he possessed nine magical jewels, radiant like the stars that ruled the sky. They were given to him by sorcerers at the beginning of his reign, for he was a just and kind king. Each jewel had its own uniqueness, all of them beautiful and enchanting. But among them, there was one different jewel, the largest of them all. Lilac, alive, with enough power to open portals to realms no man had ever dreamed of. Realms only for him. Or for whoever possessed it.

The figures danced in the air. Fascinated, Atreus was already sketching and taking notes in his notebook. The glowing images followed Thoth’s narration, moving and bringing the story to life.

— The king had a loyal warrior, an honorable soldier with the purest heart in all his army. He wanted to reward him. He wished to give him treasures, vast amounts of gold. But the warrior looked at the king’s favorite jewel... and desired it. Desired it as though his heart belonged to it. But the king could not give it away. So instead, he gave the warrior a piece of parchment, granting him power over all royalty. He would be the next king, but he could not have the jewel. It was too precious.

Thoth walked around; now an owl image appeared in the air.

— Then came the owl, the king’s advisor. Clever and swift. She saw the desire in the warrior’s eyes and felt greed. She stole the king’s jewel and offered it to the soldier in exchange for the magical parchment he had. She needed that paper, for it would grant her the power to rule above the king.

The figure of the warrior hesitated. He took the jewel but did not give up the parchment. Thoth blew into the mist, and the owl’s image twisted, furious.

— The deal was broken. The owl was enraged for having been deceived, she, the wisest of the realm. And the king, seeing her betrayal, punished her. But the jewel already belonged to the warrior. It enchanted him. He traveled through many realms, lived great adventures with the jewel. But it was too beautiful... drew too much attention. The warrior cared for the jewel dearly, but one day he was distracted, and a shark saw it and stole it for himself.

The light images shifted, showing the warrior fighting the shark. He fought with all his strength, wielding a spear and shield. He killed the shark. In the image, he reclaimed the jewel. But it was cracked, a small fracture at first, which grew into a large line nearly splitting it in two.

— The honorable warrior won the fight but realized his jewel was fractured. He tried everything. Everything! But the more he tried to restore it, the more it broke. Until one day, it split in two: one blue jewel with golden light... and one red jewel shrouded in a black cloud. He loved both pieces, but the red jewel rebelled against him. It used the blue jewel’s power and innocence... and destroyed him.

Thoth raised his hands, and the images began to dissolve. They showed the soldier with a terrified expression, falling, and the two jewels shining.

Kratos remained still, but his eyes were fixed on Thoth. The story seemed like a riddle, a prophecy, or a portrait of the past.

The owl. He knew. It was Athena, it could only be her. The jewel... could be Pandora. Or something else. The Blades of Chaos. Perhaps... Eris herself? Was the story about him? He had betrayed Athena by releasing hope into the world. He broke his pact with Ares after realizing what he had done to his family. And he served the gods for years before rebelling and taking Ares’s place. It was strangely familiar, yet it also seemed manipulated to tell a different tale.

— What does this have to do with Eris? — he asked, voice rough.

Thoth smiled, eyes glowing.

— Ah, my brave god... the answer isn’t in the end of the story, but in what each person sees in it. The story is always the same, but different for everyone. The jewel was corrupted. Divided. And what is born from the breaking of something pure can be... unpredictable.

Kammus watched the scene in confusion. It made no sense to him. Not yet. But the shark, it reminded him of the first time he interacted with Eris. That was what she had called Amnotep, a shark.

 Atreus, eyes fixed on his notebook, began to think.

— Maybe... Eris is part of that jewel. Or... the broken part?

— Maybe, — answered Thoth with a spin in the air. — Or maybe she is the warrior who refused to pay the price.

"Or maybe she could be both? ", thought Mimir.

Thoth clapped his hands. The lights vanished. The chamber returned to normal.

— Let the trial begin, — said the baboon, now with a more serious look. — If you truly wish to understand Eris’s powers... you’ll have to survive the secrets of the pyramids. Each trial will reveal the information you seek. Good luck, my friends.

And he vanished.

Chapter Text

Kratos, Mimir, Kammus, and Atreus stepped into the first hall beyond Thoth’s chamber.

Only the muffled sound of their footsteps could be heard. The place remained dark and stuffy, but as they entered the grand hall, the lights came on. Blue torches and mirrored ceilings reflected and illuminated the room.

The architecture was unlike anything they had seen before. The area was spacious, entirely carved out of shining stone, with tall columns and low-relief serpents intertwined along the walls. On either side of the grand hall stood enormous wooden doors.

At the far end, there was a long black stone table with eleven circular indentations, like niches awaiting some object to complete a ritual. Behind the table stood a statue of a female figure made of black marble. The woman’s eyes were half-closed, her smile strange and crooked, and in her outstretched hand: a golden, gleaming apple.

— Hmph…— Mimir muttered. — That one… is probably Eris. The goddess of discord. That apple is hers. "To the fairest"… you’ve heard of it, haven’t you? They say she incited several wars with that apple.

Kratos stared at the apple, it was the same from his dream. The golden fruit trapped in the dead tree, the well, the white house, the nightmare.

Kammus, distracted by something further ahead, mumbled: — Mirrors… Three.

In the center of the hall, three mirrors suddenly rose from the ground, as if they had slid upward from beneath. They were enormous, square-shaped with red borders. The glass was so clear that they looked more like portals than reflective surfaces. But what was seen there… was not a reflection.

Kratos approached, wary. He knew something could emerge from it.

The first mirror showed a younger Kratos, his eyes filled with rage, the Blades of Chaos burning in his hands, his face contorted with hatred. The second mirror displayed Kammus, bloodied, trembling, with hollow eyes—a man broken by guilt, trauma, and the unforgivable crime he deeply regretted. He had killed his own wife in a fit of rage upon finding her with another man. She had stepped between them during the fight, and it had cost her life.

The third mirror revealed Loki.

Not Atreus. But Loki—his other side. Proud. Cold. Dressed in black with dark green details. His eyes were a vibrant blue with dilated pupils. His voice came from the mirror, dripping with disdain and arrogance:

— Humans are weak. Let the gods rule. Let their suffering be a lesson, my entertainment. You know this. You are this. Do not be ashamed… accept it. We are superior.

Atreus took a step back, his face in shock. Kratos clenched his fists, but before he could speak, the Kratos in the mirror stepped forward… and crossed through the glass.

Mirror Kratos walked slowly, scraping the stone wall with his blades as sparks fell to the ground. He walked tall, head held high, ready for a fight, moving as if everyone around him were enemies. But then he saw someone who caught his attention. A young god, light-eyed, standing beside his twin.

With a battle cry, Mirror Kratos looked at Atreus and changed his posture. He crouched slightly, narrowed his eyes. He knew what he wanted—he had found his target. And then he charged at Atreus.

— NO! — the real Kratos roared, running toward his son.

Atreus froze upon seeing that version of his father—completely consumed by rage. He was someone entirely different from the man he knew. Mirror Kratos lunged at Atreus, who had to raise a shield to defend himself. The impact of the chains against Atreus’s shield made the hall tremble.

Kratos intervened, hurling himself at his younger self with fury and fear. The two versions of the Spartan clashed—one of flesh, the other of shadow and wrath. Kratos saw in the eyes of his past self the fury he so deeply regretted and tried to bury. He knew that if he gave in to it, it would consume him again. Young Kratos didn’t care about that. Unlike his current self, he only wanted bloodshed. The Ghost of Sparta defended each blow with strength—his Blades of Chaos clashing against his counterpart’s.

But with every strike, young Kratos smiled. Kratos had always held himself back, but he realized something. Each time his heart filled with rage or resentment, the enemy grew stronger.

— He feeds off your fury! — Mimir shouted. — That’s what Eris wants!

Meanwhile, Atreus returned his gaze to the mirror, entranced by the image of himself, just as Kammus was.

— I’m not like this… — he whispered. — I will fight for them. I love mortals… — his eyes filled with tears. — I’m not you.

A faint line appeared in the mirror. The image warped, and the crack spread until the mirror fractured completely. A golden light engulfed the glass. Loki’s image shattered into pieces. Atreus fell to his knees, free. He turned and saw his father fighting the mirror version of himself. He was about to yell that if Kratos didn’t attack, the image wouldn’t retaliate. But as he tried to help Kratos…

Something pulled him.

— That... is cheating, — said a female voice in the air, mocking, almost sweet. — Let’s level the playing field.

From the ground, a black rift opened. A vortex emerged, and in a second, Atreus was sucked in, vanishing into the shadows.

— ATREUS! — Kratos’s scream was more a roar of pain than of anger.

Kratos staggered. He looked around, and the younger Kratos rose once more, the Blades of Chaos blazing, his eyes full of fury.

But something had changed.

Kratos stopped. His hands trembled. He looked at the enemy… and remembered himself killing his daughter and wife with those same blades.

He dropped the chains.

— I will not feed you, — he murmured, his eyes burning.

The young Kratos hesitated. The flames on his blades extinguished. His skin cracked, much like Loki’s mirror. With a loud noise, the mirror behind him shimmered… and shattered.

On the other side, Kammus still faced his counterpart. The reflection spoke like a serpent:

— You killed her. The woman you loved.

Kammus clenched his teeth, tears streaming down.

— I… — he whispered. — I still love her.

His mirror broke. The bloody image dissolved like smoke. Kammus fell to his knees, exhausted. Not just from the disturbing vision, but from having ended his wife’s life, he had found her with his own brother. And in a burst of rage, a tragedy unfolded. After losing his mother, Amenhotep was never the same. None of them were, not even Amir.

Kratos looked at him, and for an instant, saw himself in Kammus. He saw a shadow of his own past in him. There was no erasing what had been done, the monstrosities they both had committed, though in different situations and contexts, were something they shared, even if the truths were too shameful to admit.

The hall returned to silence. The statue of Eris shimmered. One of the spaces on the table glowed for a moment, and a golden orb floated into it, filling one of the eleven slots. The orb took shape and turned into a golden apple.

A golden apple appeared in one of the eleven spaces, bearing an inscription. A power was revealed: Discord.

But Kratos’s heart… was far from at peace.

Because Atreus was gone. He looked around—there was no sign of him.

And the fear of losing him again… Kratos swallowed hard.

— He’s still here, we’ll find him,—  said Kammus, trying to gather himself. He slowly walked over to where Kratos stood.

— Kammus is right, brother, — said Mimir carefully.

The trials did not grant the privilege of rest, they had to continue.

After a few seconds, Kratos, Mimir, and Kammus followed one of the chamber's side doors. They passed through an arch engraved with golden symbols and entered a new chamber in the heart of the pyramid. The air inside was thick, perfumed with a strange scent - it smelled like lavender. No sign of Atreus. The place was so silent, dense, and heavy, they could hear their own heartbeats. Kratos moved ahead first, his eyes scanning the walls covered in ancient, unintelligible inscriptions. He sheathed the blades on his back and walked with the axe in his hands.

The room was vast and filled with golden threads hanging from the ceiling, swaying lightly as if wind were present—but there was none. Each thread vibrated and danced subtly, emitting a soft, hypnotic hum. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. And each thread seemed to have a story waiting to be touched.

Impatient, Kratos realized it would be difficult to avoid them all, so he stepped forward and, without hesitation, reached out and touched one of the threads. It began to shine more intensely than the others nearby, turning a deeper gold. As his skin met the gleaming thread, the world around him dissolved. The chamber vanished. Everything went dark. Mimir and Kammus disappeared. The war, the gods, the screams all evaporated.

Now he was there.

In a green field bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, where a gentle breeze made the leaves of the trees sway delicately. Kratos inhaled deeply, feeling the shift in the air from the cave’s atmosphere to something refreshing, the darkness of the pyramids replaced by the light of afternoon.

There was a simple house, made of stone with a wooden roof. The door was open, and a woman’s soft laughter echoed from inside. Kratos walked slowly, along a long stone path that led to the house—there were flowers in the garden, lavender.

Kratos recognized the man sitting on the porch the moment he laid eyes on the figure: it was himself. The house was the same one he had burned when he killed Orkos, the man who held his oath to Ares, a friend he had to sacrifice to gain his freedom. Seeing his vision-self, he was stunned. It wasn’t the hardened warrior shaped by gods and tragedy, it was a man with a family, a husband. The beard was shorter, the eyes lighter, younger, without the heavy shadows of guilt he carried. No pale ash-covered skin, no cursed blades on his back. There was serenity on his face. A smile.

The Kratos in the vision stood near two women. They had exited the house carrying some items, plates and utensils, and they took it to a table set outside in the garden.

He approached hesitantly, circled the house, and went to where those people were. That was when he saw her from behind, arranging plates on the outdoor table. The shape of her shoulders, the way she moved her hair behind her ear… Lysandra. And next to her, Calliope, but no longer the child he remembered, not the cheerful, smiling little girl, but a young woman. Strong. Serene. Her gaze carried wisdom, and her voice… her voice was like a dagger to Kratos’s gut:

— I think I’ll do well in Athens. — she said with a slight smile. Kratos stared at the scene, wanting to absorb every second, every word that left his daughter’s mouth. The vision was frighteningly real. It was as if she was truly there with him, as if this was who she would’ve become had she grown up.

The Kratos of that life laughed loudly.

— That’s a direct insult to me. A Spartan warrior raising an Athenian daughter? Involved in politics… that’s treason.

Calliope rolled her eyes and gave her father a light slap on the shoulder, while Lysandra laughed, her hands resting on her belly, she was pregnant. The real Kratos felt his heart race as he saw the other him lean down and kiss his wife’s forehead. The Kratos in the vision hugged his wife and then pulled his daughter into an embrace, to which she mildly protested but accepted her father’s affection. They were in a safe home, free of danger. Living a quiet, beautiful life. His daughter was alive, and his wife was pregnant.

— Either way, you can always come back home. You know that. — said Lysandra to Calliope.

She nodded, carelessly picked up an apple from the table and took a bite. Kratos, still embracing Lysandra, looked at her belly.

— I think the boy is about to be born, my love — he said, placing a hand over Lysandra’s belly.

— I hope so — she replied, smiling tenderly. — But the name you chose is awful. I refuse.

Kratos smiled. Or tried to. But the sound dissolved before it reached his lips.

— I have something to show you. — said Calliope. She walked past her parents and headed toward the door, toward the real Kratos.

As quickly as it appeared, the golden thread began to vanish, tearing from the air as if it had never existed. Kratos’s last sight was Calliope approaching where he stood. She didn’t seem to see him, walking while eating the apple, returning to the house, but Kratos’s knees gave out when he saw she was going to fetch a flute from inside the house. As she drew closer, it became harder for him to breathe. Until the vision disappeared, before she reached him.

He collapsed to his knees. Air escaped his lungs, his mouth dry. He wanted to vomit, scream, destroy the entire place, but held himself back.

The cold ground touched his skin, but he didn’t feel it. He felt nothing. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing but the life he could have had, the one ripped from him. His breathing faltered. His chest rose and fell irregularly; the air of the real world was no longer enough to fill the void inside him. That thread… that life… it wasn’t an illusion. It was real. Or could have been. A fate, among thousands, lost forever when he chose to serve Ares. When he chose blood.

Kratos thought he had already moved on from the grief for his lost family. But he realized he had only grown used to their absence.

— By all the gods… — murmured Mimir, with sorrow.

Kammus, silent, respected the moment. Even he, who bore his own shadows, didn’t dare speak. There was something sacred in that pain. Something that couldn’t be explained, only witnessed.

The threads vanished, and they returned to the main hall.

From the ground, slowly, a new statue rose, carved directly from the rock of the pyramid. It was three figures in one statue, Mimir recognized the women: the sisters of Fate. At its base, the inscriptions in Greek glowed for a moment before being translated into the voices that echoed in everyone’s mind:

Manipulation of Probabilities. Destiny.

Kratos remained silent. But in his eyes now there was a new shadow. Not the shadow of a warrior, nor of a father. It was the shadow of a man who had glimpsed what could have been, and who knew, with bitter certainty, that he would never have it. For a moment, he saw an image of himself who had never felt the pain of losing his wife and daughter. A man who had not succumbed to hatred and madness.

He knew that if he had lived that life, Atreus wouldn’t exist, and he could never trade one for the other. But still, Kratos imagined for a second what it would be like to have that life. For years, centuries even, Kratos had wished for nothing more than that. But now, it was just a thought. He had seen it, the reality that could have been his.

After regaining his strength, Kratos stood up and kept moving forward. Atreus was still missing somewhere in the chambers. He was real, and he was alive in that moment. Kratos tried to focus on his current life and its problems, on his mission. He couldn’t lose his mind or live in the dream of a life that would never exist.

Kratos advanced with clenched fists but a wavering heart. Even with the mind of a warrior trained to ignore distractions, he could not, despite his effort, push away the vision that haunted him since the last golden thread. His daughter. His wife. An entire life that had never existed, and never would. He moved forward like a man who had lost yet another war.

Mimir remained silently worried while Kammus stayed alert, his eyes scanning the inscriptions appearing on the walls as they entered a new chamber. He needed to translate the hieroglyphs to find the location of the next trial. The air there was different, less sacred, more ominous.

Upon finding the correct door, the three entered. The new hall was more colorful than the others.

In the center, a colossal board stretched out like a battlefield. It resembled a giant chessboard. Each square was large enough for over twenty men to stand on. The colors varied between gold, red, blue, and black, forming an apparently chaotic pattern. Above the board, hanging by great iron chains, there was a perfectly sculpted statue, a representation of Atreus, made of stone, wrapped in iron chains, with an anguished expression and his arms stretched out as if begging for help.

Kratos didn’t think. As soon as he saw the statue, he ran toward it, listening to the instinct of a father above all caution.

— Atreus! — he shouted, his voice echoing through the walls like thunder.

But as he stepped onto the first red square on the board, the ground trembled, and a portal opened beside him. A colossal scorpion, made of stone and fire, emerged from the portal with a loud roar, its eyes glowing with a fiery red light.

Kratos took position, preparing for combat, but before he could strike, his foot accidentally touched a golden square, and in the blink of an eye, the scorpion turned to dust. However, with the threat gone, new chains appeared, tightening further around Atreus’s statue.

Kratos frowned, his mind working fast. Something was wrong. This trial felt like a twisted game...

— This isn’t a battle... it’s logic, — Mimir murmured, his eyes wide, calculating all the possibilities to decipher the pattern.

As soon as he said that, the color pattern shifted, the board reconfigured itself. The game had become even harder. Kratos noticed that on the wall, an hourglass had just turned over, and with each turn, the pattern of the board changed.

Kammus moved forward cautiously but was eventually forced to step on a red square. The scorpion returned, angrier than before, and the chains around Atreus partially broke.

Kratos destroyed the monster with effort, then stepped back, thinking. He had to balance his movements with Kammus’s, who, when the pattern shifted again, ended up on the opposite side of the hall. It was a test of balance and speed — if they took too long, the squares would shift positions.

The golden squares seemed to protect, but at the cost of imprisonment. The red ones brought pain, but they freed. The black... he avoided. Until, in a wrong move, he was forced to step on one.

Atreus’s statue screamed.

Not any sound, but a real, human scream, filled with pain. Cracks formed on the statue like black veins, and the stone figure of Atreus began to writhe. Kratos widened his eyes and stepped back, horror growing on his face. The hourglass was about to flip again, the one that shifted the patterns, but it made a strange motion. The sand falling began to rise, as if time were being added or taken away.

Kammus, driven by the desperation of Atreus’s cries, risked a leap onto a blue square. The statue began to regenerate, the black scars slowly closing, but a new monster emerged. This time it was a giant snake, translucent, made of glass and ice.

The tension increased with each choice. Each color had a price. Each step was a moral dilemma. Gold: safety at the cost of freedom. Red: pain that sets free. Blue: healing with random consequences. Black: absolute destruction, but it granted more time.

And then, finally, Kratos understood the pattern.

He continued, stepping with purpose, accepting the losses, enduring the monsters, avoiding what was easy and embracing what was hard. Kammus followed, more cautious now. Mimir guided them, murmuring calculations and carefully planned logic.

When Kratos finally stood before the statue of his son, he reached out with the utmost care… but it crumbled into sand.

It turned to dust.

He fell to his knees, not out of sadness — but out of restrained fury.

In the center of the room, where the board had been, a new statue rose, emerging from the ground. A woman with broken wings, blindfolded eyes, a sheathed sword, and a scale made of bones. At her feet, a name carved in dried blood:

Nemesis. Inevitable karma. Vengeance.

Kratos erupted.

— Enough! — his voice thundered, shaking even the statue of Eris. — We are being manipulated. This is not wisdom. This is not justice. This is a game! — he roared, turning toward the shadows. — Someone is playing with our suffering!

The hall trembled. The pyramids would no longer force them through the trials.

As if his cries had been the key to solving a riddle, the columns collapsed, the walls dissolved like smoke. The board shattered into fragments of light, and in a sudden flash, a body was thrown to the floor, just a few meters from Kratos.

It was Atreus.

He coughed, stumbling to his feet. He was alive, without injury or signs of battle, but looked confused. Kratos ran to him, grabbing his shoulders, his gaze burning with concern.

— Where were you? What did they do to you?

Atreus looked at his father, his brow furrowed. Placing his hands on his head, he glanced around. An image flashed in his mind - a dense forest, the voice of a little girl - but as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, the image vanished and did not return. He tried to recall the vision, where he had been, but couldn’t.

— I… I don’t remember. I only remember your voice… I heard you calling me.

Kratos was about to speak when the air shifted.

Time stopped.

Behind Kratos and Atreus, near one of the grand gates of the hall, a figure emerged from the darkness. A hooded woman, Atreus recognized her as Eris, but she was covering her face, only her eyes visible. Eyes red as lava, just like the day she tried to kill him.

— Eris… — said Kammus.

Kammus knew then that the sorceress had to die, he knew if she escaped, Amnotep would die. Kratos also knew she had to be killed, for Atreus's life depended on it.

The Spartan stood up, gripping the Leviathan Axe, waiting for her to strike.

Seeing Kratos poised for battle, Kammus drew his sword — but had no time to react. With a simple gesture, Eris hurled an invisible wave of force that flung him across the room. He slammed into the wall like a rag doll.

Kratos, staring into those burning eyes, said:

— It's you… — he murmured, voice deep. — You want revenge? Then say it!

She didn’t answer. She simply smiled beneath her mask. A thin smile. 

Kratos clenched his teeth. Without hesitation, he spun the Leviathan Axe and hurled it with brutality.

Eris raised her arms, silver bracers shining on her wrists. Kratos’s axe struck the bracers with force — the impact echoed loudly.

The icy axe cracked the structure. For some reason, Eris hadn’t anticipated that — she didn’t know the power of the Leviathan Axe. She didn’t know its material was stronger than her bracers.

Eris froze. For the first time, the fire in her eyes flickered with fear. Her eyes filled with terror when she saw the damage. She looked from the axe on the ground to her wrists, frightened. One of the bracers was damaged.

— No, — she whispered softly, running her fingers over the crack.

Suddenly, the fear in her eyes turned to fury. She raised her hand, and a blast of scarlet flames struck Kratos squarely, throwing him back. The god’s leather armor sizzled under the heat, but he rose slowly, teeth gritted. The sorceress stood before him. Kratos remembered Thoth’s words — he had to kill her here and now, or he would doom Atreus to a cruel fate.

He stood to attack her — but something interrupted his charge.

A loud roar.

From the depths of the darkness, a creature emerged that seemed forged from the night: a massive black panther, golden eyes, claws as long as knives, golden symbols etched into its skin, shifting. It was Horkos. Atreus tried to stop his father from attacking Eris, but he was too far — already near the table with the trophies of the Greek goddess’s powers, on the other side of the hall.

Kratos took the magical bracer he had stored in his pouch, preparing to use it against the sorceress. The panther, sensing his intent, leaped over Eris’s shoulder and pounced toward the Spartan. With the weight of the beast slamming into Kratos’s chest, he dropped the bracer, which was flung across the room. The creature snatched the jewel in its jaws and vanished into the shadows. Kratos barely had time to react, let alone slay Horkos — it had already disappeared with the weapon he intended to use against Eris.

Kratos rose once more, panting, blood on his face. The beast had clawed his chest and face.

He stepped forward, raised the Blades of Chaos, ready to end it right there. He ran toward her. Eris dodged the blades’ strike and, with a sword, launched a counterattack. But Kratos sidestepped to the right and raised the blades. He was ready to deliver the final blow.

But then… he saw her eyes.

And for a moment, he didn’t see a Greek goddess. He saw Lysandra. Or her eyes—they looked just like hers.

Not her face, but… her gaze. For a moment, Kratos froze, staring into the sorceress’s eyes. Of course it wasn’t her—Kratos knew that. The hair was different, the posture; by her height, Kratos could tell it couldn’t be her. The woman before him was taller than his late wife, slimmer, her skin paler. Besides, Lysandra was mortal and no longer alive.

Kratos hesitated. He tried to tell himself it was another trick, something meant to deceive him. He tried to force himself to kill her, but he felt an instinct telling him not to.

Eris noticed his hesitation. She looked into his eyes once more, then at her wrists—the bracelet was cracked, the red crystal in it was dimming. Eris knew her plan had failed. She had acquired the bracelet that would kill her, but the cost had been high. No matter what happened from here on, she was doomed.

— Weak, — she whispered with hatred, tears in her eyes.

With a scream of fury, she launched another blast of flame. Kratos crossed his blades to shield himself; the impact drove him to his knees. But he did not fall.

Then, the pyramid shook.

Behind them, a stone wall split open, and a golden beam of light pierced the hall. The first ray of dawn.

Eris shielded her eyes from the light with her forearm. The light touched her skin, and she pulled back, yanking her hood further over her face. The flame in her eyes extinguished.

Kratos saw her there—a Greek goddess who had threatened his son. He remembered the prophecy, the dreams, the bodies in the chariot, the war between them. Blood pounded in his temples. He did not see a girl. He saw a threat. An obstacle. Someone who had tried to kill Atreus. He had to protect him—Eris had brought them here to kill them. And that was enough.

Kammus was getting back up in the distance, still dizzy. Atreus, silent, was approaching his father.

The pyramid door now stood open, sunlight faintly illuminating the hall they were in. Outside, the sound of Medjai arming themselves could be heard.

Kratos charged with the Blades of Chaos in hand—he couldn’t let that Greek goddess walk away. She had the bracelet; Kratos knew that if he didn’t act now, he wouldn’t get another chance. Eris looked up at the sound of dragging chains. Her brown eyes turned red again. Burning. Focused. But there was something in them—something that made him pause for half a second. A flicker. He looked at her. A mask hid her face.

— Who are you? — Kratos growled, without lowering his blade.

Eris did not answer. The rage within her burned like divine fire. The bracelet responded to her fury—the crack spread further, and a ring of flame rose around them. She screamed, unleashing another jet of fire toward Kratos, who dodged. The blast hit nearby, among the rubble, where Atreus was trying to get through to stop the fight.

Kratos rolled aside, rage replacing all hesitation. The blades spun, chains whistling like serpents. The battle resumed.

Eris attacked with all her fury. But he was the wall. For each of her strikes, he had a precise counter. For every flame, Kratos rose again. Atreus came running through the debris.

— Father! No! — he shouted, but Kratos didn’t hear or didn’t want to.

The battle dragged on. Kratos spun the Blades of Chaos, striking Eris’s sword hard. Eris fell. Her sword was thrown far away. The bracelet finally shattered on her wrist with a dull crack. Eris knew that was her end—there was no turning back now. She had lost the battle. The fire disappeared.

She fell to her knees, breathing heavily. He stepped forward, wounded but determined. He leapt toward her, blades crossed over his head. His shadow enveloped her. Eris’s magic intensified her enemies’ hatred—made them more reckless, blinded by rage, more bloodthirsty—and she knew it. Kratos, with Spartan rage, was even more affected. She stayed still, stopped fighting, accepted her fate.

And then…

The torn part of her hood slipped down, revealing part of her face and hair. The dawn light touched her skin. And her eyes—still open—looked straight into his.
And in that instant, he knew.

Not through logic. Not through clues. But through an instinctive recognition—something that preceded magic. Kratos looked at the figure before him and knew instantly who she was, even if every rational part of his mind screamed it was impossible. He knew.

— Calliope... — he murmured, the word spilling from his mouth like a bitter drink he needed to spit out.

To Kratos, it was the name of his daughter. To Eris, it was a forbidden word. A name she had buried long ago. Eris didn’t respond. But her eyes gleamed with something deeper than any rage Kratos had ever seen. It was pain. It was abandonment. It was hate.

The Blades trembled in Kratos’s hands. He couldn’t bring them down, but he couldn’t drop them either. His breathing grew heavy. The world spun around them. Eris’s magic had lost all power over him. He studied Eris’s face—the parts not hidden by her hood. It was her. It couldn’t be, but it was. It made no sense, but it was.

— It can’t be…— he whispered, stepping back. — My child…

Atreus arrived behind him, stopping by his side. His face was pale, eyes wide. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Kratos fell to his knees, throwing the Blades to the ground. His hands were shaking. The god who had faced Titans, monsters, and all of Olympus... now knelt before his lost daughter. The daughter he had killed. There was no time to feel joy at seeing Calliope alive before him—no embrace, no tears at their reunion.

Calliope looked at her father kneeling before her, but she didn’t step forward. She didn’t try to speak. She pulled her hood back and removed her mask, revealing her face—there was no reason to hide anymore. Kratos looked at her and shut his eyes tightly. This couldn’t be real. Was it just another one of his nightmares?

Eris stood with difficulty, her eyes fixed on the two of them. She glanced at Atreus, then at Kammus, who stood with his sword pointed toward her. A second of deadly silence passed. Then, without a word, she turned and ran, disappearing into the corridors of the pyramids.

Kratos remained there, motionless. Paralyzed by the fear of what he had almost done. He had almost killed his daughter a second time.

Chapter Text

Eris ran through the countless corridors of the pyramids. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she staggered in pain.

She stumbled, slipping against the rough stone walls, leaving smears behind with her sand-covered hands.

The sorceress looked back, seeing that no one was following her. She made her way to the center of one of the many chambers in the pyramid and fell to her knees.

Her hands trembled as they reached for her wrist. She felt bare skin, there was no longer a bracelet encircling it, the one that had been there for so long. The shackle had broken during the fight with Kratos.

She tried to breathe deeply, her chest expanding with effort. A strange energy was burning her from within. Something was growing inside her, crawling up her throat, boiling under her skin like she had swallowed acid in a bubbling state. The overwhelming sensation left her breathless.

She placed a hand over her chest, trying to feel her heartbeat, as she needed to be sure if her muscles were still intact, that she wasn’t being torn apart from the inside. Her heart was racing. Not because of the fight with Kratos, but because she knew what was coming next.

She closed her eyes and inhaled, trying to control the evil stirring within her. The torches on the walls suddenly flared to life, igniting violently.

Then she exhaled, slowly, wavering. The torch flames dimmed, flickered.

She inhaled again, deeper, faster this time.

The torches were snuffed out all at once.

She wasn’t doing this to show off her power, but to contain what she knew could destroy her. Eris gasped. Her body tingled, her hands shook, her eyes burned. It felt like her very blood was boiling. It was a sensation she knew well and feared. The powers within her were at the surface, surging, demanding to be released. Demanding payment for having been dormant for so long.

She held her breath for a few seconds, trying to suppress it, trying to suppress herself. But her fingers clutched tightly at her dress, betraying her panic. Breathing became a difficult task. She looked around, everything was dark, cold. Sweat streamed down her face, mixing with tears of despair.

She hugged herself, trying not to scream. Sitting there, clutching her knees, she took a deep breath and felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks. She looked around again. She was alone in the dark.

And then she heard it.

Soft paws on stone. A barely audible thud. Then, the golden eyes of Horkos gleamed at the chamber’s entrance.

The black panther emerged cautiously from the shadows. Muscles rippled beneath his dark fur. Horkos walked slowly, head low, ears slightly pinned back. Clutched gently between his fangs was a magical bracelet. It glowed with a soft, watery aquamarine light, as if it were made of enchanted water. Intact. It was the only source of light in that place, a calm, pulsing light that brought peace to the chamber. It was Eris’s salvation.

Eris gasped. A spark of relief flashed in her eyes, a fragile, bitter hope. But beyond that hope was something else: the desperation of someone unable to find a cure for a terminal illness.

— Horkos... — she whispered, her voice hoarse and cracked. — Give it to me. Please...

She begged with her hand outstretched, fingers trembling, her gaze fixed on the object hanging from the animal’s mouth. But the panther didn’t come closer. He stopped a few feet away. And turned his head aside. Horkos watched Eris from the corner of his eyes, and when she looked at him directly, the beast looked away.

Eris blinked, confused.

— Horkos... give it to me now. — Her voice grew firmer, but not commanding. It trembled, and she struggled to stay composed.

The panther lowered his head even further, like a submissive cub. Despite his size and majesty, he looked like nothing more than a loyal, affectionate kitten. His large eyes seemed to apologize—begging. Horkos watched Eris, almost obeyed, but turned his face away again. His tail curled between his legs. Horkos looked at her as someone who understood her intentions—and though bound to her in loyalty, would not allow it.

Eris rose to her feet. The shadows around her stirred as she moved.

— Don’t play with me! — she shouted. — Give me that bracelet!

Horkos growled softly, not in threat, but in protest. His body was tense, his tail slicing the air with indecision. He turned, stepping away with the bracelet still clenched between his teeth.

— Horkos, give it to me! — she shouted. — I order you! I command you to give it to me. NOW.

The animal hesitated. He stopped. Tilted his head to one side, then the other, as if each impulse inside him was tearing him apart. His ears flattened. His eyes stayed locked on her. He stepped half a pace forward, then backed up two.

Eris collapsed to her knees again, eyes wide.

— You... you know, — she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. — It’s over, Horkos. It’s over for me. It’s done.

She squeezed her eyes shut, jaw clenched. Her chest heaved uncontrollably.

— You’ll be fine, — she said to the beast. — But I’ve reached my limit. It’s over.

Horkos didn’t answer. But his eyes said everything. He was afraid. Not for himself. For her.

He lowered his head to the ground, placing the bracelet on the stone for just a moment, only to snatch it back as soon as Eris took a step forward. She cried out, lunging, trying to grab it. But the panther turned with the agility of a shadow and vanished into the darkness from which he had come, the bracelet once again between his teeth.

— I’M ALREADY DEAD! — she screamed through tears. — Give it to me now!

Horkos didn’t move.

— You know. You know what will happen if I don’t use that bracelet, — she pleaded again.

Horkos, still crouched, sniffled softly. His eyes were wet. To someone who didn’t know the creature, the scene would’ve seemed strange. They might have thought him a heartless beast, a monstrous colossus. But after over a hundred years together, Eris knew he wasn’t.

— I know, baby, — Eris said. Her face was hot, tears running freely. But there was nothing left to do.

She walked slowly toward him. Raised her hand to touch his head. To pet him. To say goodbye.

— I’ll miss you too, but it’s over for me. I can’t…

Horkos didn’t wait for her to finish. He leapt away and darted into the shadows, the bracelet’s light disappearing with him. Her salvationn - and her damnation - vanished in a single breath.

Eris remained there. Alone. Hands outstretched into the void.

" I'm already dead. I’m already dead. I’m already dead.”

She repeated the phrase endlessly, as if begging the universe to agree.

She collapsed onto her heels. Her fingers curled into fists. She wept silently now, shoulders trembling, face buried in her arms.

Then she heard voices. Faint, drawing nearer.

There was nothing left in that chamber but darkness and the figure of a woman on her knees.

Eris whispered a few words, magic only she could understand. With her right hand, she traced a circle around her bare wrist. Glowing symbols appeared, golden light burning into her skin. Smoke rose from the flesh where the marks were drawn. She bit her lip to keep her from screaming. When the spell ended, Eris could breathe again.

For now. The voices faded.

And in the darkness, all that remained was the ragged breathing of a forsaken daughter, cursed by blood, and the echo of the beast who chose to flee rather than let his creator pursue her own destruction.

Kratos remained on his knees.

With his arms extended over his body, his gaze distant and eyes wide open, the Spartan stayed in the same position for a while. Atreus watched his father with concern. He knew his past with the Greek gods was painful. But he felt there was something more. Eris had barely escaped.

Atreus took a deep breath and looked around the hall they were in. There were eight empty niches near the giant statue of Eris—the statue of the apple, the three strange creatures, and the woman with large wings occupied the first three spots in the row. The place had lost the enchantment that once surrounded it; the statues were crumbling into sand as the wind and outside light invaded the hall.

The Ghost of Sparta was still staring at his hands, the Blades of Chaos lying near him. Strangely, they were burning on their own, even though no one was wielding them.

Kratos’s face and chest were still stained with blood from the wound the dark beast had inflicted on him. But he didn’t even bother to heal.

The blood on his blade—on the Blades of Chaos—was still dripping. But it wasn’t hers. It was his evil twin’s blood. Thankfully. Not this time. Almost. A moment. A strike. And he would have done it again.

He shut his eyes tightly. Memories of little Calliope surfaced in his mind—the smiling girl who always ran to hug him when he returned from missions, the sun of Sparta, the girl who loved to talk about everything, curious, with a soft laugh. The joy of his old home now merged with the image of a wounded woman, eyes filled with terror and hatred, surrounded by flames, and he was the target. The eyes were the same, but the gaze had completely changed.

He couldn’t breathe properly.

A shadow passed by him.

— Father! — Atreus called out, breathless, appearing in front of him with his bow still in hand. — Are you okay?

Kratos stood up slowly but didn’t answer. He picked up a torch and moved forward. His eyes were fixed on the darkness where Eris had escaped.

— Father? — Atreus called again, hoping for a response. But Kratos was already on the move.

Atreus looked at the ground, the axe and the Blades of Chaos discarded.

— He’s going after her with nothing to defend himself?

Kammus watched Atreus and Kratos. Eris had managed to flee. He walked toward the light, where the Medjai waited to know what had happened. They wanted to celebrate the victory against the desert sorceress, but there would be no celebration among the Medjai. Kammus exited the Egyptian monument while Kratos delved deeper inside.

The stones of the pyramid were still hot from the fire Eris had left behind. The torches in the corridors flickered, sighed. Kratos passed them without diverting his gaze, his eyes as hard as stone but carrying a storm within.

“Calliope is alive. She left the Elysian Fields. My daughter was walking around alone? For how long? Was she hungry? Did someone care for her?”

The name pounded in his mind. He repeated it silently, trying to believe. He tried to understand what was happening, whether it was a trick, an illusion of his mind. But he knew it wasn’t an illusion. It was real.

She is alive.

How many centuries had he spent believing he had lost her, that he would never see her again? How many times had he avoided looking at Atreus’s face, afraid to see the reflection of the girl he failed to protect? He feared more than anything to repeat the past.

And now, he had almost done it again.

The memory of her gaze—frightened, betrayed.

— Brother?! — Mimir said cautiously.

— She’s alive, Mimir.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He took a deep breath. The air inside the pyramid was heavy, dense.

— By the gods. Your daughter. When I heard you say her name…— He paused briefly. — How?

— I don’t know. But I need to find her.— Kratos swallowed hard, walking slower now. — I don’t know what happened to her, if someone hurt her, if she was out there lost and alone. What if she tried to find me, but I was fleeing to Midgard?

Kratos stopped, placed his hand on the pyramid wall, leaning against it slightly.

— She hates me. And I can’t blame her.

— You fear what she’s been through and what she might say to you. But if she’s alive, then there is still hope, brother. You will see her again, I’m sure of it.

And he searched for her relentlessly—hurried steps, senses sharp—but his heart screamed. The desire to see her alive, to beg for forgiveness… but could he? He knew he didn’t deserve it. The worry consumed every part of him.

Kratos walked for a while. Morning had turned into early afternoon, but he would not stop now.

— Calliope! — He called out several times, but received no answer.

She probably didn’t want to be found.

And that tore him apart.

— Brother, — Mimir said. — You need to tell the boy. He doesn’t know.

— I... will tell him.

— The prophecy is still a fact. If Calliope is seeking revenge, he may still be in danger.

Kratos stopped abruptly. The prophecy. Thoth.

Kratos replayed the last few days in his mind. Thoth had shown him the way, had given him the bracelet that could kill Calliope. He told Kratos that if he killed the sorceress and left immediately, he would avoid pain. But Calliope wore a hood, so if he had done as told, he might have killed his daughter, walked away, and never known of it. That bastard wanted Kratos to kill her. But why?

Kratos was furious. His posture shifted, and he looked around. There was nothing else in the tombs.

— Thoth, — he said simply. The word escaped through gritted teeth.

Mimir understood instantly.

— You think he set you up?

— What else could it be? — he replied through clenched teeth.

Kratos was ready to move on to another chamber when he heard a familiar voice call him.

— Father!

It was Atreus, his face filled with concern. In his hands were Kratos’ weapons—the axe and the Blades of Chaos. The Blades were now quiet, dormant. Kratos took the axe but carefully observed the Blades before taking them from Atreus’ hands.

— She must have left. We need to go back, Kammus is calling.

Kratos opened his mouth, he tried, started to speak, he knew he couldn't delay it, he needed to. But he was stuck. His mouth dry, his throat heavy.

Atreus noticed his struggle. He knew Kratos had killed his own father, that he had slain gods, those who deserved his wrath and those who didn’t. That he fled Greece to start over, to escape all that tormented him, that he felt ashamed of his past. Kratos wanted to tell him, but confessing what he did to Calliope was something else entirely, he simply couldn’t look his son in the eye.

He knew he had to. It wouldn’t be the first time he spoke about it with someone. But saying it to Atreus was different, especially now that he had almost killed her again. Kratos took a deep breath. Mimir understood he needed time, so he respected his hesitation.

For a few more hours, Kratos wandered the pyramids. His son walked silently beside him. There was nothing left there, but his father didn’t want to leave, not without making sure she wasn’t there. The statues in the hall near the main entrance had turned to dust; the wind had carried them away. Kratos looked at Atreus, who was quietly watching him.

— Where could she have gone? — he whispered.

— Maybe she went back to the camp of Seth’s children. That’s where she lives.

— How do you know that? — he asked, surprised.

— She took me there, — Atreus replied, walking slowly, kicking a pebble on the ground. — A day after I arrived in Egypt. But I imagine that if we go after her, she’ll see it as a clear threat. — The torches on the walls were all out, except for the one Kratos held. The place was swallowed in darkness. — I don’t know where it is. I think will be better if we forget it, Father. Maybe we should leave Egypt. I doubt she’ll follow us to Mid…

— No, — Kratos interrupted. — I’m not leaving.

Atreus nodded silently.

After the relentless search, Kratos and Atreus returned to the Medjai camp. Atreus noticed Kratos' restlessness but didn’t dare question him. He knew his father would speak when he was ready. Still, it was strange to see him like that. The fight with a Greek goddess had reopened an old wound. It brought both new and ancient unrest. Atreus had never seen him like that—so vulnerable.

Maybe only when he knew Kratos was thinking of his mother, watching the rest of her ashes inside the pouch he carried. But those moments were grief. This was something else. His father had always been a strong, fearless warrior, someone who even the most powerful gods feared. People told stories about his strength, but in this moment, he looked lost, tired, and defeated.

During the walk back to the village, everyone was silent. Kammus too. He had hoped that this battle would be the last time they'd have to deal with Eris. He knew Kratos’ story, the unstoppable god who annihilated an entire pantheon, who then killed and dethroned the most powerful god of the northern pantheon. He had reshaped the world and the magic within it. But not even he had been able to stop Eris. Not even Kratos could kill her.

“What will become of Amnotep now?”

Amir remained by Kammus' side as always, his right hand. He helped maintain order among the Medjai, a natural leader and disciplined soldier. Despite the turmoil, Amir didn’t seem worried. He believed that, in the end, things would unfold as they were meant to. Regardless of their will, the gods had their own plans, and the Medjai would do whatever was necessary to protect the people, even if it meant dying at her hands. That was their duty, their mission, and for a Medjai, it would be the greatest honor. To die defending Egypt, to fall with honor, was far better than to live a careless life. So the future didn’t matter, Amir wouldn’t let himself be ruled by fear.

When they arrived at the camp, the looks they received were full of hope, but quickly turned to dread.

...

— Are you okay? — Amir looked closely at Atreus, who was sitting on a stump near the extinguished campfire.

— Yeah, — he replied briefly. He was watching the Medjai camp. Kratos had left without giving much information. He had gone after Thoth in the middle of the night. He hadn’t rested, hadn’t even waited for sunrise. But Atreus preferred to stay with the Medjai in case Eris decided to show up.

— Maybe we should do something to shake off this mourning look everyone’s wearing. The sorceress hasn’t attacked yet—maybe she won’t. And there are other things to be done.

— Like what?

— Feeding the camels and fetching water for the animals.

— Is that a task for a Medjai warrior? — Atreus asked, a slight smile on his face.

— It’s a task for someone who needs to keep their mind occupied. Come on!

The sun was beginning to rise gently in the sky. Amir signaled for Atreus to follow him. He stood up without hurry and went with him to a spot far from the camp, near the edge of the city. Apparently, being a Medjai also meant avoiding sleep. For Atreus, that wasn’t a big challenge, being a god, but he had no idea how Amir was still standing. Cassius’s tent was nearby, but he wasn’t there. They brought a small cart with buckets to be filled with water. In the distance, the sleeping city was beginning to show signs of life.

They spoke little, each lost in thought. Amir, in particular, seemed distracted… preoccupied with other matters.

As they approached an old well, they saw a young woman crouched down, holding a ceramic jug in her hands, offering water to a skinny, barefoot boy. The light fell gently on her dark hair, which was tied in a delicate braid with tiny golden threads that gleamed in the sunlight. A few small flowers were tucked into her braid. She smiled at the boy with such genuine tenderness. She was beautiful, with harmonious features, long hair, and brown skin.

Amir stopped in his tracks without realizing. His heart skipped a strange beat in his chest.

— What are you looking at? — Atreus asked, raising an eyebrow, noticing Amir’s sudden silence.

— Who... who is she? — Amir murmured, unable to take his eyes off the young woman.

Amir often walked around that area, but he had never seen her before. If she had crossed his path, he would surely remember—she was unforgettable.

Atreus followed his gaze and smirked slightly.

— I have absolutely no idea.

The young Medjai took a deep breath, ran a hand through his messy hair, and walked toward the well, trying to appear natural—and failing miserably.

When he got closer, she had already noticed him. Her dark eyes met his with a mix of surprise and kindness.

— Water? — she offered, extending the jug with both of her small hands.

— Y-yes... please, — he replied, feeling his voice betray his nervousness.

She filled a small clay vessel and handed it to him. Their fingers touched for a brief moment, making Amir’s stomach twist. Atreus watched the interaction and couldn’t hold back a smile.

— Thank you,— Amir said, trying not to sound foolish. — Are you... always this generous with everyone?

She laughed softly. Her face, lit by the sunlight, made her look even more beautiful.

— Only with those who are thirsty, — she said, looking at him with curiosity. — But I think you're thirsty for more than just water, aren't you?

Amir blushed. Atreus, who was approaching, had to hold himself back from laughing out loud.

— I’m Nefertiri, — she said, smiling at Amir. She looked like a flower blooming in the middle of the desert. — And you are?

— Amir. — He gave a small bow, trying to remember how one was supposed to behave in front of such a charming young woman. — This is Loki, my friend.

She waved to Atreus, who responded with a smile.

— Very nice to meet you, Amir and Loki.

Nefertiri looked at the young man standing beside Amir. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

— Is he...?

— A god. He came from the North. It’s... complicated.

— A god? — she raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. — So the desert really does attract all kinds of creatures.

— Yeah... — Amir laughed nervously.

She looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes and a slight blush on her cheeks, but before she could respond, a distant call made her turn.

— I have to go. My father is looking for me.

— Of course, — Amir said, though he wasn’t disappointed. He knew he’d see her again. — It was a pleasure to meet you, Nefertiri.

— The pleasure was mine, Amir. I hope you get thirsty again soon.

She smiled once more and walked away in the opposite direction. She wore simple clothes, nothing grand. But she didn’t need to, Atreus realized that even if she were dressed in rags, it wouldn’t make any difference to Amir.

The young Medjai stood still, holding the empty vessel as if it were a relic. Atreus approached and patted him on the shoulder.

— You’re in love, aren’t you?

Amir nodded, smiling almost shyly, his eyes still fixed on the spot where she had disappeared.

— Completely.

Chapter Text

Walking in a rage like a buffalo defending its calf from a lion, Kratos passed through the great gates of the temple of Thoth. Then, between heavy breaths, he made his way between the huge pillars until he entered the blue hall of the god of wisdom. Mimir, Kratos' friend on the journey, advised him throughout the trip to keep a cool head when meeting the Egyptian god. They needed more information and killing him would only lead to trouble. They were there to understand what was going on, even though they already knew they had been tricked. 

Thoth had proved treacherous in leading Kratos into a trap, wanting him to find Calliope and kill her. Just the mere memory of his voice made Kratos' blood fever. Damn the god of wisdom. An ancient rage rose up in Kratos, once again he was a pawn in the gods' sick game. And more than that, he could have lost the opportunity to have his daughter back forever. The first time, Ares was the driver who led him to commit the atrocity that tormented him all his days. And now this. If she never forgives him?

He knew he was responsible for what had happened, he would never shirk it. However, in all knowledge, he would never act aggressively towards her, nor would he even think of such a monstrosity. He walked with heavy steps through the dark hall, his clenched fists and locked jaw showing his fury. The place was relatively well lit, with silver details running all over the walls. 

The hall was decorated with countless shapes and spells on the walls, denouncing the mythical character of the god who had taken it as his quarters.

Kratos suddenly entered the room Thoth was in, the same room where he had “read” his dream. The creature in front of him was absent-mindedly reading a scroll, apparently barely noticing the presence of the ghost of Sparta, even with the force he exerted to open the door.

— I imagine you're here out of concern for your child. - He said without raising his eyes.

Thoth was in his usual form, an ibis head and a human body. He was wearing a blue cloak with magical designs, moons, hieroglyphics. And he was leaning over papyruses, oblivious to the danger posed by Kratos.

Kratos ignored his enemy's comment. He walked with a heavy tread and, with his eyes fixed, he advanced towards Thoth. The Egyptian scribe glanced quickly at the man advancing like a tsunami towards him. His expression quickly changed to terror as he realized that Kratos hadn't come to talk.

— You knew! - He thundered.

— Knew?!

— You sent me into a trap. — He charged, with the blades of chaos blazing, the chains burning his forearms, but he didn't even feel their fire. — To commit an atrocity against my own blood.

— What are you talking about, Kratos?

Kratos dropped the blades on the ground and grabbed Thoth by the robes, facing him closely. Fearing the Spartan's fury, Thoth raised his hands in surrender.

— You came to me in despair because you'd had a nightmare, and I only read your dreams and interpreted them. Nothing more. — Appeased. 

Kratos didn't relax his frown or loosen his grip.

— My daughter... — he said through his teeth.

The bird-headed man slowly widened his eyes. How could he not have thought of that? The possibility had never occurred to him.

— I see. — He swallowed dryly, still holding his arms out in surrender. — I warned you that the prophecy was treacherous, I felt it when I read it, I also warned you that I didn't agree with you killing the sorceress.

Kratos clutched Thoth's robes even tighter when he heard him call Calliope a sorceress. She wasn't a sorceress or a desert witch, she was his daughter.

— So you really didn't know? — Mimir asked.

— Of course I would never agree to influence him in any way to such barbarity. — He confirmed hastily. — Besides, I hold Eris in high esteem. 

Kratos frowned. 

— What I mean is that your daughter has a very sharp mind, one of the only ones who can beat me at chess. 

“Or the only one who can cheat without me finding out.” He thought.

Kratos let go of Thoth, who fell back onto the chair he had been sitting on. Looking at the Egyptian with disgust, he placed Mimir on the table.

— Where is she? How do we find her? — Mimir asked.

Thoth thought for a moment, Kratos' burning eyes still staring at him.

— If Eris wants to talk to you, she'll come. Otherwise it's impossible to find her, since no one can discover the location of her camp. Spells don't work either. She has the strange ability to deceave any magical artifacts. 

Kratos turned his face away from Thoth. He scanned the room for any artifact that might solve his problem. Thoth's hall was full of shelves with countless books, scrolls and other types of paper, but apparently nothing magical.

— I can try to find her for you, but I imagine that if she knows you have the bracelet, she might feel intimidated. — He spoke with his arms still in a position of surrender.

— I don't have it anymore, a beast took it.

Thoth took a while to reply.

— Horkos? - The bird asked.

— Horkos? The guardian of oaths? — Mimir, who was at the table, knew the story of Orkos, a friend of Kratos, responsible for guarding his oath with Ares. An ally who unfortunately had to be sacrificed for his freedom. 

— It's the name of the black panther that accompanies Eris. — Thoth clarified, leaning back in his chair. He knew that he had important information for Kratos, and his connection with Eris, in a way, protected him, so he relaxed a little more. — She baptized him herself. 

— How did this information reach you? 

— She told me herself. He's her constant companion, wherever Eris goes the beast accompanies her. — Thoth stood up at once, walked over to a shelf and felt the Spartan's eyes burning into his back. His long fingers trembled slightly and he carefully approached the table again. — She first came 20 years ago. A frightened little girl. 

“20 years ago.” He thought sadly. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure.

Thoth was more relaxed now, but he didn't let his guard down, he returned to the table with the care of someone encountering a lion on the savannah. Kratos didn't soften his face, he could have killed Thoth at any moment, but was controlling his anger.

— Your daughter's magic is like nothing I've ever seen. Unlike my powers, which are somewhat limited to Egypt. — He opened the paper and showed a painting of Calliope, she was sitting on a stone staircase and Thoth was standing next to her. In the painting Kratos saw her tired eyes, a calm but melancholy expression, not a child but the same woman he had met in the pyramids. Her hair was darker, her skin pale. 

— Did she paint it? — The head asked.

— Yes. — Thoth rolled up the paper again and handed it to Kratos. — I'm afraid my prophecy is still in progress. I don't want to frighten you, Kratos. I wish you good luck. You'll need it for what comes next. 

Kratos narrowed his eyes at Thoth, but before he could do anything, the Egyptian god continued.

— I say this as a friend. Not a threat, but an observation of what I saw. 

—  I don't believe in your prophecies or curses. —  He said. — But know that if you try anything against my daughter, there isn't a rock here or anywhere that will hide you from me.

Thoth nodded. 

— Is there anything else I need to know? — Kratos asked without really wanting to know the answer, he didn't trust the man in front of him.

— When you find her, tell her that even the sharpest blade needs a warrior with a firm hand, otherwise it will cut its owner before it wounds the enemy.

Kratos let out one of his usual grunts, with the natrural Spartan subtlety, took the paper firmly from Thoth's hands, put Mimir back in his belt and headed for the exit. He glanced at Thoth, who was watching him from afar. He knew that if the Spartan had to return to that place, it would be better if he were no longer there. Despite this, Kratos' concern was no longer with him. He had to find this camp.

The walk was long, the sea of sand was everywhere. The sun burned his face, and the blades of chaos reacted to Kratos' surroundings. He walked for several kilometers, passing some travelers who looked at him curiously. 

Kratos was now close to the city where he had met Atreus, almost at the same point where the two had seen each other, he could see the buildings in the distance. In the background, the sluices made of wood used to divert water from the River Nile could be seen, a trick of the Egyptians that allowed crops to be irrigated even when they were further away from the main riverbed. Several men were sowing seeds into the ground, working tirelessly in the scorching sun. As always, there were no clouds in the sky, nor was there a breath to cool the people down.

Realizing that he was returning to the city, Kratos turned back towards the desert. He knew that a plan was needed, to find some artifact that would allow him to locate his daughter, talk to Atreus and go after Calliope, his goals. However, he couldn't stop, as the thoughts poisoned him, the memories sickened him, drained his strength and he knew that when returned the Ghost of Sparta would have to tell Atreus the truth. Kratos wasn't a coward, his reluctance wasn't due to fear, but knew that when he spoke, his worst nightmares would come true, he would have failed his little girl again. Such a possibility was not only painful, it was inconceivable. 

The ghost of Sparta wandered around all afternoon, until he met two maggot creatures on the way, nothing more. The blades vibrated with their appearance, recognizing their energy. They were creatures of chaos, there was no doubt about it, one of them had human form, but its body was engulfed in flames.

The other creature crocodile-shaped was fast, over thirty meters long, with long teeth and a demonic eyes, hungry for blood. It wasn't a difficult fight, but a long and exhausting one, like so many others. 

The monsters were more violent than those he had faced when he first arrived in this land. They advanced on him with fury, launching bursts of fire and black smoke that caused him to fall several times. The crocodile spat fire, while the maggot man wielded a flaming sword. Both coordinated their attacks, as if they were getting smarter and smarter, sharing each other's thoughts, adjusting to Kratos' strength and dodging his attacks. They both had several deep, black scars, and the energy of chaos escaped from them like smoke the color of fresh blood. 

In one swift attack, Kratos was unable to dodge and a wave of red and black energy hit him violently, throwing him far away and blurring his vision. He had to heal himself, take a deep breath and move forward again. Faye's axe was useful in the fight, but after a while the creatures seemed practically immune to ice. The ghost of Sparta had to break the monsters in half with his bare hands. 

He reached into the crocodile's mouth in one of his furious attacks, and pulled the creature's jaw in the opposite direction to its mouth, breaking it in half. The monster crumbled into golden sand smoke, then with the blades of chaos, he pierced the thorax of the humanoid enemy, which also crumbled into particles of gold. He noticed that the monsters were not approaching the city, as if there were an invisible barrier limiting them to a certain perimeter. Curious. 

After the fight, he decided to head towards the Medjai camp; he needed to talk to Atreus. He put off the conversation long enough. 

His steps were heavier, but not from fury but from tiredness. Even exhausted, Kratos refused to sleep or even sit down. As he approached, he saw Atreus next to Amir. They were both sitting on a tree stump. Their expression was nothing but terror. He stopped abruptly, looking at his son, who raised his eyes to watch him.

— Eris came here. — He clarified. — She attacked Amnotep, almost killed him.

Kratos watched Atreus intently, then swallowed hard. 

Chapter Text

Kratos stood in front of a large oak tree with an axe in his hands. His blows were sharp and forceful. A green field stretched around and there was a simple, cozy house behind him. The faint aroma of food being prepared hung in the air. He gathered a large pile of logs next to him, wood to cook food and protect them from the approaching cold.

— Then the creature with huge wings, made of red scales like a giant lizard and spitting fire, saw the puppy invade his gold-covered mountain. — The sweet, animated voice came from a little girl sitting on a chair next to the general of the Spartan army. She had a broad smile, wore a light blue dress, was slender and her short brown hair was tied up. — He lived alone on a mountain full of gold.

— Did the thing eat the dog? — Kratos asked.
Calliope let out a spontaneous laugh, as if the idea was absurd.

— Of course not, silly, they became friends. 

— If that big, dangerous creature you say saw a dog, they probably wouldn't be friends, Calliope. — Kratos continued to cut the logs, quickly looking away from the wood to his daughter, showing interest in her story. 

These moments always brought him comfort, between missions he longed to return home. To see his wife and listen to Calliope's unbelievable stories. When they weren't talking about her fables, she was playing the flute for him. The flute he had made for her. She wrote down all his ideas, thought up riddles, drew up a beginning and end for all kinds of extraordinary characters, making the heroes' journey in her tales even more engaging. Then she would tell the stories to his father, who always had theories for the riddles, and together they would talk for hours about this fables. Kratos didn't say it out loud, but he loved it. Calliope was unlike anything you would expect from a Spartan, she was delicate, loved art, painting, stories and music. 

— It wasn't bad, it ate fruit and drank tea. He didn't eat puppies.

— Of course not. — He replied ironically. — I bet he liked black broth.

— Ew! — Calliope grimaced. Black broth, a common meal among Spartan soldiers, was made with animal blood to give them energy and strength. Calliope tried it once, but then vomited. It was disgusting.

After laughing at his daughter's comment, Kratos threw the last log on the pile and walked towards her, heading back to the house. He could send the hylotas to do it, but he would miss the opportunity to listen to Calliope's amazing stories. 

Besides, he liked being useful at home, but these rare moments were short-lived and he would soon be returning to a mission. He might spend up to two months away, sometimes longer. In his military life, when he needed to focus on his duty, he avoided thinking about home, but his family was never far from his thoughts. The discipline and hard life of a Spartan soldier allowed for no distractions. However, those moments with his family were essential.

He already had a plan for the next campaign: he would conquer the barbarians in the north and consolidate Spartan glory. He waited for the spy to inform him the location of the barbarian army and then set off with his men without delay. He imagined Sparta with great influence in the world, they would be the ones to dominate Athens. And no one would stop them.

Calliope hugged Kratos who lifted her up with one arm, swinging her as they headed for the door.

— You're getting heavy. — Kratos pretended to try push Calliope up, who laughed even louder.  

The house was cozy, Lysandra cooking a meal for her daughter who refused to eat. The Spartan walked up to her, his beautiful wife, and kissed her.
Lysandra, his companion and advisor, brought the finished meal to the table and they all ate together. Sealing one of the last moments of true peace for the future ghost of Sparta.

Calliope ran up to her room, she had no interest in food, she wanted to show her father the drawing of the creature from her story, she knew he wouldn't be home the next morning.

The paper was on the bed, and with a hurried leap she jumped towards the drawing. Above her bed, the open window showed night rising over the lands of Kratos. Calliope glanced at the picture, almost a dark blue painting with silver dots in the sky, and saw two golden dots among the trees. She laughed softly, she knew what it meant. Another one of her explorations and a new story to tell her parents when they got together again.

She jumped out of the window and went to see the golden dots. On the way, she saw a huge golden beetle on top of the pile of logs, forgetting about the orbs between the trees. The insect was the size of Calliope's thumb. Its wings fluttered rapidly, but it seemed harmless. 

She hopped over to the beetle, which flew into her hand. A defenseless little insect, but it didn't look like it belonged in Greece. Not that that meant it wasn't welcome, far from it. She smoothed the insect's wings and golden dust flecked her fingers. The little orbs grew between the trees, coming closer. She saw a glimpse of something that looked like teeth, but didn't quite understand what it was, it was too dark. That's when she heard Kratos' voice calling her.

In her hands the insect crumbled into golden dust, she knew she would have a new character in her many stories. With a broad smile on her face, she returned home, jumping for joy. When her father returned, she would certainly had prepared a new story to tell him. 

The night moved quickly, as did the following days. Long after that night. Kratos returned. But Calliope realized that he was no longer the same. He had no longer interested in hearing her stories, nor did want to discuss whether giant fire-breathing lizards were friends with puppies. He talked about conquering new lands, raising Sparta. And even her flute, which he used to love to hear her play, no longer interested him.

Calliope knew that her father had responsibilities towards the people. But it was different, he was more restless and stayed at home less. One day she overheard a conversation between his father and mother. The two of them were discussing how focused Kratos was on fighting, something that displeased Lysandra, she said he used excessive violence in his fights and was bloodthirsty. That he was selfish, that his plan was not to bring glory to Sparta, but that he did it to bring honor to himself. When she heard this, she ran to her father and hugged him, but that didn't diminish the heated argument between the two.

She also noticed the new weapons that Kratos wore on his back; they hurted him a lot and had a suffocating energy. One day, when her father was putting them away, she felt curious enough to touch one of them, but when she got close it burned her hands. Then she didn't sleep at night, had a fever and many nightmares. Calliope saw a huge man wearing a red cape, living in a stone castle. Like the lizard in her story, the man also had a lot of gold, but he was sad and lonely. 

Now she was sitting by a lake, dropping pebbles, which bounced on the surface of the water. There was no longer the usual joy and excitement. Calliope became more withdrawn, quieter and needier because of her father's absence. She lost her usual eloquence, but she still had her usual curiosity. Her father was focused on his mission and no longer interested in her. 

It hurt her immensely. She wished with all her might that he would come back, that he would go back to his old self and come to see her, but nothing ever happened. 
— Calliope, — called a hoarse voice.

Calliope swallowed.

A very old woman approached, she walked bent over, with a piece of wood to lean on. Her white hair contrasted with her tanned skin and her robes were characteristic of an oracle. But she was old and ugly.
The old woman pointed to the village behind her, towards the main house.

— Your destiny is there. — She said, in a dry tone.

Calliope remained motionless. 

— What?

The oracle smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was an enigmatic smile, something that could have been pity and amusement in disguise.

— The primordials chose you. Nature has chosen you. You will play a big part in bringing balance to the universe.

Calliope's eyes widened.

— I don't understand. What does that mean?

— It means power. A lot of power, like never seen before. But it means that if you don't know how to use it, or reject it, you will be consumed. — The old woman leaned even closer, her eyes were fixed on her. — The very thing that will save you will turn against you. Your magic will be your salvation and your ruin. You will be its greatest slave and victim.

The air seemed heavier now. And the girl wanted to scream for her mother. She began to tremble, her small hands clenching the folds of her dress. Fear consumed her. Was that ugly old woman playing a trick on her? Calliope felt her heart racing, but before she could react, a firm, loving voice echoed from afar:

— Calliope!

The girl turned and saw a Spartan woman approaching. Tall, strong, with a posture that exuded power. A queen among the Spartans.

It was Lysandra. Calliope's mother.

Her presence was enough to dispel any fear the girl might have had.

With a radiant smile, Calliope ran towards her mother, laughing along the way, as if the oracle's words had never existed. "Power for what?" she thought. She didn't want any power, nor did she need any.

The day went on as normal and the cold night wind approached with the smell of burning wood. The village was restless. Calliope felt something strange in the air, but couldn't explain what it was. Perhaps it was the hustle and bustle of the preparations for the temple, people were walking back and forth carrying items to the large house that the old woman had pointed out to Calliope. 

Lysandra was there too, coordinating and helping to organize the event. Everything had to be perfect for the great goddess Athena. The noise of the crickets outside was like a background chorus to the confusion inside the enclosure.

She watched intently as her mother ordered and organized the place. Then a whisper came from the front door.

— Calliope! — the excited, urgent voice called out to her.

She turned quickly and saw her friend, a girl of the same age, her eyes shining with excitement. She was standing near the door. Her big, excited eyes peered through the opening.

— What's wrong? - Calliope whispered, jumping up from her chair.

— My mother says we're going for a walk in another village. Come with me!

The girl spoke with a smile on her face. Calliope looked at the commotion again and saw no danger in leaving with her friend. For her, it was just another evening adventure.

She hesitated. Should ask her mother? But her friend's excitement was so contagious that she couldn't resist the impulse. Without much thought, she ran to the door and went with her.

The cold air touched their skin as their feet hit the dry earth. The two ran through the village, laughing softly, dodging people. They headed away from the houses. It was a slightly steep descent that led towards a small group of people who were near horses.

As they approached the stable, Calliope realized that something was wrong.

There were many adults gathered around, whispering hurriedly, their faces suffused with fear. Some women were trying to calm the children while men were attaching supplies to the horses. They were wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

She turned to her friend's mother, who was holding the reins of a horse with trembling hands.

— What's going on? - Calliope asked, the laughter fading from her face.

The woman was silent for a moment, pondering whether or not to answer. Then she took a deep breath and said:

— An army is coming. We need to get away before they arrive.

Calliope's heart raced. She looked around, seeing the fear on the villagers' faces. This was no joke.

— My mother! — Panic sliced through her voice. — I left her alone!

She took a step back, ready to run toward the house.

For a moment, her friend’s mother hesitated, her eyes scanning Calliope. Taking her would mean one more burden to carry. One more mouth to feed, and most likely a dangerous risk. It meant going against her mother’s sister, against the God of War himself and she would surely be punished, or killed, for defying fate.

Before she could make up her mind, a deafening sound ripped through the night. It was a heavy din of horses' hooves and war cries. Many voices, an army of angry men.  The earth vibrated beneath their feet, announcing they would take the village.

— Calliope, no! — shouted her friend's mother, holding out her hand to stop her.

But it was too late.

The small girl shot back towards the village.

Her friend tried to follow, but a strong arm grabbed her wrist.

— Stay with me! — shouted her mother, pulling her away.

Calliope didn't look back. Her only thought was to find her mother. With every step, the smell of smoke grew stronger.

Houses were being set on fire. Men were screaming. Women ran, holding children in their arms. Some villagers tried to fight back, but it was no use, the invaders were relentless. Between screams and groans, the sound of blades cutting flesh could be heard, the curse that would contaminate that land forever was already beginning to seep beneath the earth, just as the blood flowed from the bodies through the narrow streets. She ran, hiding among the shadows, trembling and breathing hard, the golden beetle flew close to her, landing on the wall at the back of the great house. She saw the temple. The window.

And then she heard the voice that froze her heart.

— This village is an insult to lord Ares! — roared a warrior.

She would recognize that voice anywhere. 

— Father! — Calliope exclaimed, her face lighting up with hope. She smiled there was nothing to fear. Everything would be fine. She would go home. Her father would protect them.

She ran, ignoring the screams and chaos around her. She leapt through the window, never knowing she was diving straight into her own destruction.

Her father was here! He would save her!

Chapter Text

Amnotep stood before the armor of Horus. He observed every detail, every feature and symbol of that garment. With it, he would have the glory he sought. He knew that after Eris' attack on the pyramids, he would have to react, since she had challenged him. Amnotep was strangely calm despite the circumstances. He had been threatened with death by the desert sorceress, but if he felt any fear, he didn't show it openly. He carefully closed the doors to the room where the armor was kept. This would be the tool that would help him take his rightful place as the next leader of the Medjai. 

A firm voice interrupted him from his thoughts, while the young man was still watching the bedroom door.

— We found it. — It was Nakht, Amnotep's friend. A fat man who wore a lot of jewelry, a prince who walked with the Medjai. 

Amnotep smiled with satisfaction; they had found the source of the Chaos monsters that were creating confusion for the Medjai. He would soon find the camp of Seth's children and then kill them all. With that, Amnotep could finally prove his worth to Kammus and he would have the well-deserved title of Medjai. He would kill the sorceress, something that not even the infamous ghost of Sparta had managed. He might have worried that Kratos wouldn't be able to kill her, but that was just another indication that this was his destiny, his mission. Then he knew exactly what he would do with his father, he would no longer walk in his shadow. Neither his, nor that of his bastard brother.

— Call Loki, I need him to come with me. Together we'll end this war.

Nakht nodded in satisfaction.

The two of them went to the city to gather a small army to attack the Chaos monsters. Nakht moved quickly towards the Medjai camp to look for Loki. Meanwhile, Amnotep walked calmly through the city. 
It was still early in the morning.

The locals were cleaning the streets for the Khepra festival. People threw desert sand and water from the River Nile on the roofs of their houses while sweeping the sidewalks, a purification for the new cycle that was about to begin. Amnotep walked straight past, ignoring the disapproving looks as he stepped on the brooms of the women cleaning the streets. They should get out of his way, not the other way around. Some priests of the great Thoth watched Amnotep's chin-up walk from afar. 

He remembered his father, all the humiliation he had suffered during his life. His mother's death, not that she didn't deserve it. She had certainly reaped what he had sown. Even though he knew that her death was necessary, somehow Amnotep felt resentment towards his father. He couldn't name the feeling, it was like swallowing a small fish bone, something so small that it should disappear with time. Yet it only grew, a small inflammation that itched and made him angry. He couldn't come to that conclusion on his own, of course.

Amnotep felt his blood boiling, he deserved to be worshipped, that's what drove him. Who more than him deserved that armor? Only someone like him would be able to wear that armor. 
He would soon earn his place as leader of the Medjai, no matter what Kammus thought. And if he didn't agree, it would make the job even easier for him, as he would finally have the chance to finish him off. He would have the perfect excuse. And no one would stop him. Amnotep dreamed of his life as leader of the Medjai, of the attention he would receive. As he walked through the city's cobbled streets.

He went into the town's small tavern for a drink, a well-deserved reward for the mission ahead. At the counter, a large man was cleaning glasses while talking to a woman at a distance.

Amnotep stopped abruptly. It was her. Eris.

The man at the counter began to clear the table while talking to the sorceress. 

— So, I bet you're having problems with boys. - The man behind the counter said. - Has a boy hurt you?

Eris laughed out loud.

— No, no boyfriend. My problem is with someone else. — Éris turned back and looked intently at Amnotep, who was glaring at her.

— Well, if it isn't the whore from the desert. — The words escaped Amnotep's mouth like poison dripping between her teeth.

— Amnotep!!! — He said with clearly false sympathy. — The camel dung who thinks is going to be king. 

The young man growled lightly, then reached for the sword at his belt.

“How dare she mock me?” 

Éris expressed nothing but boredom at her opponent's weakness and restrained amusement.

— You could at least put a spell on the sword, you know. At least pretend you're trying. — She turned away from him, bored, while the Medjai warrior pointed the sword at her. 

Amnotep was furious at her lack of respect. He raised his weapon to strike, but it crumbled into golden sand without Eris lifting a finger. 

— Kratos may not have succeeded in killing you, but I won't fail.  

Eris laughed as she took a sip of her drink. With a light movement of his hands, Amnotep was thrown into the distance. The people in the place didn't react to the attack, almost as if they were oblivious to what was happening. They were probably bewitched by her.  

— He didn't miss completely. — she whispered to herself, looking at her burned wrist. — But I can't fail. 

Eris got up from her chair and walked towards Amnotep, now looking serious, her eyes beginning to glow a deep red. Then a noise interrupted her walk as the tavern door opened.

Atreus appeared in the room with Amir. The two of them were looking for the young Medjai to understand what kind of plan he had in mind. Atreus looked down, seeing Amnotep lying on the ground. Eris was heading towards him. Without thinking, he ran towards Amnotep and stood between them. 

Eris' eyes widened when she saw Loki standing in front of her. 

— Get out my way! — She ordered.

— I can't let you do this. Why do you want to kill him?

— It's none of your business. — She answered.

Atreus raised his sword to Eris. He didn't want this war, but he had no choice. She looked at Amnotep again, she knew she had to kill him, if she got out of there with him alive.... Besides, if Amnotep didn't die, everything she'd been through over the last few days would have been for nothing.  She looked closely at the two of them, calculating the chances of pushing Atreus out of her way and killing Amnotep anyway. But if she did that, he would inevitably be a target for her magic, and she didn't know what would happen to him. Should she care about his fate? Perhaps not, but unfortunately she did. 

Eris thought for a few seconds. Hatred growing in her eyes at his interference. Atreus swallowed dryly as he watched Eris decide whether or not to kill them both right there. But surprisingly, she took two steps back.

One moment she was there, standing looking at Atreus, the next she was gone in the blink of an eye. 

The warrior's vision blurred as he regained his senses. Amnotep was panting. His fists were clenched and he was breathing heavily. What annoyed him was not her attack, but the way she toyed with him, as if he wasn't enough of a warrior to be killed by her. She didn't even bother to kill him with honor, she just humiliated him. 

Atreus looked at his friend lying on the ground, he took a deep breath. He was relieved that Eris hadn't tried to fight them, but what did that mean? 

— What did you do to her? - he asked.

Amnotep ignored the question, stood up abruptly and walked past Amir who was standing by the door, not speaking to him. He never did anything to Eris, she just picked on him, decided he was a threat and that was that. Surely she knew that he would be the one to kill those unfortunates in her camp. He passed the main square where the statues of the city's main gods, Thoth and Khepra, stood. Atreus stood in the tavern looking at Amir. 

— Maybe now she'll give up. — Amir spoke almost pleadingly. Amnotep had his faults, but he was still his brother, he couldn't wish him dead.  

Kratos and Atreus were standing by the fire, in front of the tent they shared in the camp of the sacred army. It was late afternoon when Kratos returned. He knew he had to tell his son the truth.

But the words weighed heavily on Kratos, as did his past mistakes. However, there was no longer any way to postpone the conversation. Atreus watched his father as he sat down, rubbing his hands together impatiently. He didn't want to rush him. 

— Where were you, Father?

— Thoth. 

— Right, you'd already told me you'd go to him.

The anxiety caused by Eris' attack on Amnotep still permeated his mind. It was quick. He had to put himself between the two, defend Amir's brother. He saw the hesitation on her face. She fought against her own reason and decided to spare him, but it was by a little. 

Kratos waited for Atreus to sit down. The light from the flames illuminated Kratos' red tattoos, his war scars. The sun had already disappeared from the sky, giving way to a moon that reflected the light calmly. Mimir was silent, he knew the weight of the conversation and didn't want to interrupt them. This was their moment:

— Atreus... there's something I've never told you. Something I must. - He paused briefly, looking his son in the eye. - Before I went to Midgard, I was another man. A man blinded by rage and blood. I served the gods of Olympus without question. I was a warrior, a killer. I killed without hesitation. Without remorse.

Atreus already knew that. But he didn't interrupt him. Kratos spoke with growing pain in his voice.

— I had another wife, before your mother. And a daughter. Her name was Calliope. — Kratos' voice trembled at the mention of Calliope's name. His face looked serene, but covered in sadness.

— You... had a daughter? — He asked in surprise. He wanted to ask his father what she was like and what had happened, but Kratos' expression told him that the answer was too obscure. 

Kratos nodded softly. Atreus tried to process the information, the idea of having an older sister was something that appealed to him, someone who could understand the burden they carried in that family. Unfortunately, he couldn't have that privilege. 

— I was a Spartan warrior. A general. My desire for glory and power... led me to serve Ares, the god of war. I was his tool, his champion. And as payment... he took everything from me.

— What happened to them? — He said.

— I killed them.

— What? — Atreus was perplexed.

— Ares sent me to a village to kill the worshippers of his enemy. I... I didn't know. Not until it was too late. They were there. 

— Did you do it yourself? 

Kratos nodded, then looked away. Atreus was speechless. The young man felt a wave of conflicting emotions engulf him. Anger. Sadness. Disgust. Compassion. He wasn't sure. But he couldn't be cruel to Kratos, because he could see that he was already suffering, so he chose silence. The two of them stayed there. For a while, in absolute muteness.

— Eris. — Finally said. — It's that daughter. Calliope.

Atreus' eyes widened. He tried to digest the information, then a brief, small smile appeared on his lips. A drop of happiness flooded his chest. The connection he felt for her had never made so much sense. But as quickly as it appeared, his smile died as he realized what it meant.

— How was this possible? If she died, how did she get here? — He asked.

— In my world, there was a place where the dead went. The Elysian fields were reserved for pure souls. She was there. But not anymore.

— I don't understand.

— She got out somehow. And now she wants revenge for what I did.

Atreus sat with his hands on his knees. He glanced quickly at Kratos who was watching the Chaos Blade chains on his arms, his mind taking him back to that night. He remembered when he had entered Athena's temple, killed a few before reaching his last victims. He remembered the look of terror on his little girl's face, before the light of life left her eyes. He remembered his wife lying dead before him. Kratos knew that there was no way to erase it, that he was the biggest culprit. His thirst for glory and power had led him to dark places and he and others had paid dearly for it.

Atreus soon realized that his father didn't expect forgiveness for what he had done, but to share his burden.

— I don't know what to make of this, or what to think of you now. — Atreus controlled his voice, which was still shaky. — But we'll find a way to get her to listen. Maybe she just needs to listen to you. 

— I don't think that's enough, Atreus.

— It has to be. — He interrupted. — Eris... My sister... — he corrected himself, before continuing. — I know she's not a bad person. We just need to find her. 

— Yes. — He said it simply. — Thoth said that no one can find her. You said she attacked you?

— No, she tried to kill Amnotep.

— Why did she do that? 

— I don't know yet. I'd better find out, I'll talk to Kammus.  

Kratos remained silent. Atreus sat beside him for a while longer. After that, he ordered his father to sleep, something he refused at first. But after much insistence, he finally gave in to exhaustion. 

While Kratos slept heavily, Atreus tried to make sense of Eris' actions. She had threatened him, but she'd had several chances to kill him and hadn't done it. It didn't make sense. What kind of revenge could she be planning that would make her spare him? He didn't know. He only knew that Eris hated Amnotep and that he, at that moment, was her main target, not him.

Calliope. His sister. 

Atreus wanted to meet her. He needed to. He wanted to go after her, go back to Seth's children's camp and talk to her. He looked at Kratos with a frightened look, this was yet another of his terrible deeds, but nothing could prepare him for discovering that his own father, someone who had fought so hard to protect him, would be capable of doing something like this even though he was being tricked.

Who could know the location of the camp if not even the god of wisdom knew? It was then that a distinctive name came to mind. The name of a foreign doctor who cared for the children and forgotten people of the land.

Cassius.

Atreus already had his next mission.

Chapter Text

The cool morning wind blew around the Medjai camp as Kammus walked towards Atreus and Kratos. The two gods were coming out of their tent, Kammus stopped in front of them, sweating discreetly, and spoke without preamble: 

— We have found what is creating the monsters. An artifact, hidden in an ancient temple. It's... active. — He took a deep breath. — We need to deactivate it before new creatures are summoned.

Kratos narrowed his eyes as he watched the Medjai soldier declare a new threat. There was no longer any way to trust Kammus, Thoth or anyone else. Kratos realized that he would have to be very meticulous with what he did from now on. He couldn't let himself be carried away by the concerns of others, but follow his own instincts and find a way to talk to his daughter. Atreus, however, was determined to do what was right, to protect not only Calliope but also the Medjai and the people of that place. 

— Where is it? — Atreus asked with an uneasy look on his face.

Some Medjai soldiers were marching through the camp with swords, prepared for an invasion or a war that could break out at any moment. The climate in Egypt was not just the heat of the desert, but the premonition of a war that was rapidly brewing. 

— It's in the Sokar Caves. These are a series of underground caves that lead to the temple of Apophis. I sent some men there to check it out, but they all died.

Atreus nodded that he would do the mission. Kammus was in a cold sweat from the attack on his son; he was extremely grateful to Loki for saving him. He was ready to tell him so, when the young man spoke first. 

— Kammus, do you know where I can find Cassius? 

The Medjai leader frowned in surprise at the young god's question. 

— The Roman doctor? — He asked. — When he's not looking after the servents or my soldiers, he usually goes to the city's healing house. It's near the main square, behind the temple of Sekhmet. 

— Atreus... she tried to kill Amnotep. If it wasn't for you...

— I'll protect him. — Atreus interrupted him firmly. - She won't hurt him.

Kratos remained silent at Atreus' statement, but he knew he would talk to him about it later, if Calliope attacked him she had a reason, even if they didn't know what it was. The atmosphere between the two was still a little awkward since the conversation about their past. Atreus was sympathetic to Kratos' pain, but he could see that there was a hidden hurt in him. The realization that his father had committed acts even more terrible than he could have imagined. His past was marked by pain and tragedy.

The young man stood his ground until then, he wouldn't show that he felt betrayed by Kratos for hiding so many things from him, even more so, a crime of such magnitude, but he understood that his silence came from the pain and remorse he felt. Atreus wanted to stop Eris from killing Amnotep, he wanted to help her save her people. He resented his father for hiding the truth from him, but he understood that he was a man of few words and harbored intense pain. 

Atreus knew that Eris was fighting for something, for the camp of Seth's children, for Khepri and for other people he had no idea existed. Could she have sought out Kratos at some point? Did she hate him too? He hoped that she could think of him as a brother, just as he already thought of her as his sister. He wanted to help her, but he also wanted to get to know her. His feelings towards his father and sister were contradictory and intense. They all had their reasons, they were right and wrong at the same time. 

The Egyptian general seemed to breathe more freely. He believed in the boy, the only one among the gods and monsters in whom he seemed to see something human. But the relief soon faded when Atreus spoke again, now with the serious tone of someone carrying a burden.

— Is there anything you haven't told us about her? Anything Amnotep did? Anything at all?

It took Kammus a second to understand the question. His brow furrowed.

— About Eris? No. I didn't know that woman until a few months ago. I only knew about the Sons of Seth, she helped them rise and now they're killing my men. The first time I saw her she told me that Amnotep would die, that she would kill him if he fought like Medjai. That's why I forbade him to fight. But apart from that, nothing else. She's still out there, we should go after her.
Everyone was silent.

Kammus felt the mood change. Atreus looked at him with something between pity and understanding. His sister was creating terror in these people for no reason. Kratos, for his part, was static.

— There will be no war against Eris. We'll have to resolve this peacefully. — Mimir spoke like someone trying to end an argument. 

— Her real name... isn't Eris. — Kratos, with a tone of authority, a general who commanded armies. 

Kammus looked at him, not understanding.

— It's Calliope. — Kratos added.

— Calliope? — he murmured.

Kratos nodded.

— She's my daughter. No one will touch her. — Kratos' gaze was sharp, he didn't need to tell him that if Kammus ignored the warning, he would die.

Kammus looked at Atreus to see if what he had heard was true. He looked back at him sternly and he knew instantly that he could no longer count on them to protect Amnotep. Kammus lowered his eyes reflexively. If Eris, or Calliope, was Kratos' daughter, he wouldn't fight her, he'd made that clear. He wouldn't stop the sorceress. And Amnotep would suffer greatly. 

Kammus took a step back. The ground seemed a little less firm. He looked at Atreus, then at Kratos.

— Your... daughter?

Kratos held his gaze. 

— That doesn't change what we need to do. — he said at last. — The artifact still needs to be deactivated. If we don't stop the monsters now, people will die.

Atreus nodded. Kratos wasn't interested in the mission, his interest in finding Calliope was infinitely greater than helping those people, as cruel as that may sound. It was reality. But Atreus wanted to do the right thing, and Calliope was missing, or avoiding them, so he agreed to go with him. Atreus noticed Kratos' hesitation even without him saying a word.

— Let's go to Cassius first. Then we'll go to the artifact. — assured Atreus.

Kammus handed them a small, hastily drawn map. The location of the cave was marked in red ink. His hands were shaking slightly. His face was pale and he swallowed dryly with a serious expression.
Kratos took the paper and looked at it in silence.

Kammus looked at the map, at the Spartan, and for a moment, the Medjai warrior faltered. It was like looking at a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that never fits, but is still there, taking up space. He had probably made a terrible mistake, in his attempt to get help against the desert sorceress, he had gathered powerful allies for her. Stupid mistake, but he had no way of knowing. The desert sorceress, someone untouchable, no matter how many forces he gathered, it seemed she was always one step ahead. Fortune favored her. Now, the only man who could defeat her simply wouldn't.

He, the leader of the Medjai, could not have the privilege of crossing his arms as he watched his men die, innocent people and his son. Kammus watched as Kratos and Atreus headed towards the city, if Eris was Kratos' daughter and came from Greece in ruins, then someone from that place might have information about her. One of his men approached him.

He followed the entire conversation from a safe distance. 

— Send a spy to ancient Greece, consult the priests of the great Thoth or some god who might know that place. Then send someone there. I need more information about the sorceress. Enemies, her origin, anything that could help us kill her. I need an absolute description. No one can know about it. 

— Yes, sir. — Said simply.

The spy went in search of information, he knew that Greece was no longer the same as it was when Kratos was god of war, the place was destroyed and then taken over by a new empire that rebuilt it from the ashes, the same empire that Cassius came from. Rome rose from the ashes of Greece like a furious phoenix, taking over the whole of Europe like an unstoppable plague, invading unimaginable places. He knew that there must be someone there capable of stopping her, and if there was, he would find them.

The parchment was still open in Atreus' hands when the two entered the city. Kratos had a closed expression, his steps were firm, but Atreus knew that inside he was at war with his thoughts.

As Atreus walked further into the city, his mouth almost dropped open when he saw that people were organizing the place. There were flags with symbols of the sun, vases with inscriptions in Egyptian in front of the doors of the houses. People were placing offerings and objects in honor of the gods. There were drawings of an insect on the walls, on the vases and on the banners that people were hanging, which Mimir recognized as a scarab beetle. It represented the god Khepra whom the city worshipped.

They followed the path until they came to a building behind the temple of Sekhmet in search of Cassius. There were people lying on the sidewalk, sick people and beggars there. They passed people who looked at them strangely. Outside, the place smelled strongly of urine and sweat. When they passed through the arch at the entrance to the place, the smell of myrrh and burning lotus leaves hung in the air, a sweet, earthy aroma, enveloping the place like a veil of comfort in the midst of the sick. But it also masked the smell of death that Atreus smelled when he entered the place. People with fetid wounds, some were coughing up blood, others looked listless and lifeless. The sight disturbed Atreus. Kratos remained impassive, but not without noticing the suffering of those poor souls. They walked further into the healing house. It was silent, sheltered by light linen curtains that danced gently in the muffled desert breeze. There were a few torches lit in spaced out places, and the shadows flickered between the stone pillars decorated with inscriptions dedicated to Sekhmet, goddess of healing and war. A few more people were lying on makeshift beds, coughing and others moaning in pain as they begged for healing.

Kratos crossed the threshold in silence, Mimir as always tied to his belt followed by Atreus. The filtered light gave the Spartan's skin a ghostly glow, as if death were passing through the place. Even in a place consecrated to life, his body seemed to carry the weight of death. Atreus held his head high, but his eyes roamed the place, seeing the suffering of those people. In the human world there was pain, suffering and disease, something that for a god might sound like a distant reality, perhaps even indifferent. But Atreus felt their anguish and sympathized with their pain; it was impossible not to be moved by it.
Then they passed some sick people lying on straw mats, being treated by apprentices with gentle hands and respectful murmurs. At the back of the hall, surrounded by small clay jars, papyrus and bowls of ointments, a fair-haired, blue-eyed man was writing by the light of a lamp. His typical red cape hung from his broad shoulders. Cassius.

Cassius looked at the immortal beings before him, but he lingered more on Kratos. He recognized him immediately.

— Kratos. — He spoke almost to himself.

— Do you know me? — He asked.

— I believe that, where I come from, there isn't a single living soul who hasn't heard of you.

— Humph. 

— Cassius, we need answers. Do you know anything about Eris? — Atreus approached the doctor, who placed his quill on the table.

— I know a few things. — He answered. 

He stood up slowly and reached for a pot of herbs on a shelf next to the table. He placed it on the table and wrote something down on his papyrus.

— Where is she? — Kratos asked almost with an imposing tone.

Cassius took a deep breath, looked at them both, then ignored the question.

Kratou advanced without patience, but Atreus was quicker.

— We need to talk to her. — He spoke hurriedly. — If you're her friend, then can you convince her?

Hearing the discussion, a woman came out of another room. She passed through a curtain that covered the opening to a new room. Atreus lost the air in his lungs when he saw her. She was beautiful, but not just any beauty.

There was a divine aura about her, an energy that covered her, Atreus knew instantly that she was a goddess. She had light brown hair, deep blue eyes like the ocean, was tall and had a noble posture. Unlike everyone else, she wore more elegant clothes, her hair was neatly tied up and her clothes were well decorated contrasting with the place. Almost like a loose diamond in a forge with dirty, thrown weapons, completely out of context. It seemed as she was ready for a banquet and not in an environment full of dying people.

— I could try. — He thought for a moment. 

— Are you talking about Eris? — The woman asked. 

Cassius reluctantly nodded and looked at her with a gesture that could have been translated as a warning to be careful. But she ignored Cassius. 

— She came here this morning, she seemed in trouble. Her magic... — The woman looked at the two gods in front of her, she didn't seem very impressed. — Tomorrow, at noon, go to the temple of Sekhmet, just behind here. She'll be there. I'll convince her.

Cassius smiled slightly, no one could say no to Harmonia, not even Eris. Surely his wife would convince her to finally have a talk with her own father after so long ignoring his existence. If anyone could do such a thing, it was her. Cassius was wiping his hands on a blackened cloth, he approached Atreus and Kratos to give one last warning about Eris' real situation, when the back door was slammed wide open.

— Amir? - said Atreus, before the boy could speak.

The young Medjai gasped. His hands were shaking, his eyes wide.

— They're dead! — he said, loud enough to silence most of the room.

Cassius stepped forward, frowning.

— Who?

— Amnotep. He gathered fifteen men. They went into the caves. After the artifact.  — Amir pulled in air as if he had run until he lost his voice. — Hardly any of them came back.

Kratos took a step forward.

— Hardly?

— Two escaped. They're being attended to at the city's south gate. They talked about... things. Snakes with red eyes. Claws coming out of the wall. Echoes that drive you mad. They were delirious.

Cassius was already getting supplies to heal the sick, steadying his feet.

— How long had this happened? - Cassius asked.

— Just a few minutes. — Amir replied.

Atreus exchanged a look with Kratos. They didn't need to talk. They were already on the move. The woman went back to where she had come from. That wasn't her job.

Cassius accompanied them. 

— If the artifact is still active, and Amnotep's group has disturbed it... — he muttered, more to himself. — There's no telling what the consequences will be. 

Kratos just clenched his fist.

— Then we'll close.

The group hurried out of the side entrance of the healing house. The sky was painted in darker tones, although it was still early morning, a heavy, almost supernatural cloud seemed to hover in the distance, like a smoke of death and bad omen that swallowed up the Egyptian sun.

Outside, the city was still buzzing with preparations for the Khepra Festival. Children sang, merchants shouted prices and offerings.

But as the four men rode west into the desert, the sounds became rarer and the air drier. When they reached the entrance to the cave, Atreus felt the hairs on his arms bristle. The magic of Eris was there, he could feel it. They walked slowly towards the cave entrance.

— How did you know my sister? — Doubt arose in Atreus' mind as a way of dispelling the strange sensation he felt. There was also curiosity.

Cassius looked at Atreus for a moment, thinking about how much he could share with these people. They entered the room, darkness engulfing the atmosphere.

— When I met Eris, I was a normal human. I was never a god. I was mortal like everyone else. — He leaned against the cave wall as he looked up, it was very dark. — She made me immortal. 

Kratos listened attentively to what they said, almost as a way of getting to know his daughter through other people. 

— Can she do that? — Atreus asked. Every day he discovered something different about his sister. He wanted to talk to her about her powers, he wondered who would win in a duel, he had seen her fighting in the pyramids. She was skilled with a sword and her magic was strong. He imagined for a moment a duel between the two of them, just a joke, a way of comparing strength. His smile crumbled when he remembered that there was the possibility of a serious fight between them. No. There won't be, he wouldn't allow it. 

— Yes, she can. 

— Curious. — Mimir said. The idea of a goddess possessing the gift of granting immortality to a mortal put a flea behind his ear.    

— I can't say much, I think it's best if she tells you her story herself.

— So you know? — Kratos asked, he had been listening in silence until then, but he wanted to know more.

— That you're her father? — Cassius reached for a white stone with an unusual glow in his pouch, the jewel sparkled, he lifted the stone, illuminating the cave. — I know. 

— Since when did you know? 

— Since forever. — He answered.

Kratos turned to Cassius. 

— Don't you think you should have told us?

— Yes. But she asked me not to tell you. Or anyone else. 

Kratos was perplexed. 

— She told me not to interfere. 

Kratou exhaled sharply. They walked down a damp corridor, the sound of a few drops of water falling on a stone in front of them. Suddenly the sound of grunts of pain were heard, Atreus and Cassius were the first to rush to the aid of the wounded. Kratos drew the blades of Chaos.  They left the corridor and found something like an iron gate made of bars separating them from a large hall. The bars were red, incandescent and as hot as Kratos' Chaos blades. Inside the hall, the floor was stained with blood, the bodies of Amnotep and his men scattered around the cave entrance, some already covered in the evil energy that seemed to emanate from within.The deadly silence only added to the anguish, but there was no time for lamentation. In the center, an immense creature, a monstrous vulture with wings as black as night, stood over the fallen bodies. Its feathers moved slowly, as if absorbing every drop of life that passed by. The monster had glowing red eyes, fixed on the intruders.

The monster, still inside the cave, looked at them, but didn't attack them, it was busy feeding on the remains. Atreus looked at Kratos. 

— We need to get inside. They are there.

Kratos, his countenance closed, took a step forward, but Cassius held him back briefly. 

— Be careful, — he said in a deep voice. — The monster isn't just a vulture, it's fueled by the magic that this artifact awakens. It won't be easy.

With a nod, Kratos disengaged, the blades of chaos still in his hands. Atreus, Amir and Cassius followed him, their footsteps muffled by the cold earth of the caves. He gripped the bars tightly, and they emitted the distinctive sound of red-hot iron brushing against his skin. Kratos grunted in pain, but continued to push until the bars were bent. When Kratos managed to bend them enough for a hole to appear in the gate, they stopped glowing.
Soon, darkness overtook everything around. The rocky walls and blood trails led to a large underground room. Amir swallowed, and Cassius went to help the wounded nearby. The vulture let out a shrill cry that echoed in the caves. Kratos stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the creature. 

Atreus didn't hesitate. He already had his bow in hand, ready to fire if necessary. 

With a sudden movement, the vulture attacked, launching itself at Kratos. The force of the impact made the ground shake. Kratos dodged, raising Faye's axe and slashing at the monster's claws. Atreus fired an arrow towards the monster, but it bounced off the creature's tough skin.

The monster rose up, flapping its huge wings, creating a gust of wind that knocked everyone off balance. It turned with a new attack, its sharp claws slicing through the air like blades. Kratos lunged forward, catching the monster by surprise and delivering a precise blow to its wings. The vulture screamed again, but didn't fall. It crouched, preparing for another attack.

The vulture attacked Kratos again, its claws were sharp, and even Kratos' shield was destroyed in one of its attacks. Amir saw Amnotep lying unconscious on the ground, next to a black stone on top of a structure that embraced it. He ran quickly and stopped next to his brother, seeing that Amnotep was still breathing. The vulture was attacking Kratos with fury. Atreus ran up with his sword and pierced the monster's flank. The vulture ignored Kratos' attacks, its spins holding the blades on fire creating a whirlpool of heat and deadly slashing.

The vulture stood up shaking its wings like a demonic bird and walked towards Atreus. With a flick of its wings, it cut through his armor; he had no time to react. The vulture was advancing again. Kratos swiftly dodged the beast, and his axe cut off the monster's other wing. He then used all his strength, throwing the vulture away so that Atreus would have a chance to act.

Taking advantage of the gap, Atreus fired a string of poisoned arrows, aiming for the monster's exposed parts. Each arrow hit it squarely. The vulture roared in pain, its wings flapping uncontrollably. It turned towards Atreus again, almost killed him, but stopped suddenly, turned its head towards him, as if recognizing him. Kratos took advantage of the gap and struck a final blow, using his blade of chaos to pierce the creature's heart.

With one last scream, the monster collapsed to the ground, its huge heavy form spreading across the cavern.

Kratos gasped, the blood of his battle still warm on his hands. He looked at Atreus, who was panting, but standing firm.

— It's done, — said Kratos, his voice low. — Now, we need to figure out how to deactivate this artifact. 

As if its breath was coming back, the creature that had been dead began to move again, and with a quick spin, it stood up again. Amir saw the artifact and ran towards it. With one swift movement, he pulled the stone out of its socket.

Without the jewel's interference, the vulture squirmed and grunted, its size shrinking until it became a normal vulture. Kratos looked at the animal with disgust, but didn't try to kill it again. It wasn't necessary. Amir looked at the stone in his hands, it was dark, made of obsidian. 

Cassius approached Amnotep, who was waking up. 

— He's fine. We need to get him to the city. — Cassius looked at Kratos. — Now we need to know what to do with this artifact.

Amir handed the jewel to the Spartan who put it away with his other belongings. The group returned to the camp, along with a few survivors. Amnotep remained unconscious for most of the journey back; if they had taken any longer, they would all have died. They put the wounded Medjai on their horses. Kammus greeted them at the entrance with a gloomy look on his face. 

That night, the men celebrated by drinking and dancing around the fire. During the week of the Khepra festival, they found the artifact that summoned the monsters that were killing people. The priests of the Temple of Thoth said it was a good omen, a confirmation that they need fear nothing more. The dark times were behind them and from that day on the sun would shine on Egypt with great glory. They also told the soldiers that Eris would no longer be a problem. Evil had been destroyed. Several people greeted them, grateful that they had managed to stop the attacks.

Especially Amir, who, being Kammus' son, had saved his brother and some of the Medjai soldiers, possibly saving all the remaining Medjai. They embraced him and together celebrated the new era that was coming. 
Nefertari was also there, they exchanged glances and chatted quietly. In that atmosphere of joy, Nefertari kissed Amir, saying that it was a thank you for having been so brave. She smiled and looked away from him, the shyness of someone with whom she had feelings that had grown so quickly. The two of them went to a place where there was a practice bow and arrow. Amir taught her how to shoot while the two laughed and eventually hugged. They had an incredible night in front of the stars, Egypt was celebrating. 

Amnotep, on the other hand, was frowning the whole time, even though his injuries were superficial. He had gathered the group together and taken them to destroy the monsters, but somehow the spotlight was on Amir. That was enough for him to lock himself in his room planning what he would do next. He wasn't happy that they had stopped the monsters, he would be able to go to the cave again and activate the artifact just to have the opportunity to be the one to deactivate it. Amir had deprived Amnotep of the taste of victory, of being remembered as a Medjai soldier. He needed a plan, something to reverse the situation.

Kratos saw those people in the Medjai camp, they were celebrating the fact that they were fighting his daughter and he just didn't want to stay there anymore. He couldn't stand looking at those people any longer. Kratos and Atreus made their way to the city the same day, where they found a small inn, humble for many, but comfortable enough for the two of them, and it became their new temporary home. Atreus followed Kratos, but the two spoke little. 

Kratos no longer bothered trying to sleep, his nights were filled with nightmares, the same ones, but increasingly frightening, suffocating and strange. Always the bloody well, the child's cry, and the sight of shadows walking through burning houses. The sword with the blood that, in an infinite cycle, returned to the blade. All night he watched the city from his bedroom window. People dancing with torches in their hands, singing and celebrating. 

The day came quickly. As if time was shortening. The city was still celebrating when Kratos and Atreus went to the temple of Sekhmet to meet Eris. Kratos entered the temple with firm steps, but the weight on his chest made every movement a burden. Atreus walked behind. The temple of Sekhmet was well decorated; there was a statue of a lioness next to a large container of red liquid. 

The walls were red with gold details, hieroglyphics on the walls and there were many statues in the place.

In the background there were two other images, but not of her. The same ones he had seen in the tent of the gods in the Medjai camp. Sitting at the black stone table in the middle of the hall, Kratos and Atreus waited for Eris.

They waited for a while, as the afternoon drew to a close and night began to fall. A few hours passed, but for Kratos it seemed like an eternity, he maintained his usual upright and austere posture. But inside, he felt as if the whole world was collapsing on his shoulders. All he feared most was that he wouldn't see Calliope again. Almost as if guessing his thoughts, a female figure entered the place through the same door that Kratos and his son had come through. She wore ordinary Egyptian clothes, impeccable posture and a serious look. 

Kratos looked at the face of the woman who walked calmly in front of him, she looked like the same Calliope from the vision he had at the pyramids. But she wasn't the same. Her face was not as full or rosy as the Calliope in the vision, but thinner and paler, serious and sad. Her eyes were deeper, showing an old tiredness, there was none of the joy of the Calliope he saw in the vision, nor the easy laughter he remembered from his daughter.
Behind her, almost invisible in the shadows of the temple, a black panther watched him with golden eyes, its muscles tense, its posture ready to pounce at the slightest sign of hostility. Kratos didn't look away, but he took note of the creature. If Eris wanted to, he knew that the beast would not hesitate to tear out his throat.

The same beast that attacked him in the pyramids. 

Eris seemed indifferent. Silently, she studied Kratos for a long minute, as if examining him, searching his soul, his sins, his scars. He showed neither anger nor fear. But there was something about him that he couldn't hide: his broken heart. 

Kratos walked carefully towards his daughter, but she held up her hand, ordering him to stop. He respected her wishes. Then she sat down at the table, Kratos did the same, Atreus watched them both with slightly wide eyes.

The tension between them was almost palpable, it seemed that at any moment Eris might raise her sword and kill him right there. She had an apparently calm look on her face, but one of contained fury. It was coldness, anger and most of all, the feeling of someone who was about to lose everything that was most precious. 

Calliope looked at Atreus and spoke softly.

— Could you give us a moment?

Atreus looked at Kratos, who nodded in agreement. He left quickly. Kratos removed Mimir from his belt and placed it on the table. Eris's eyes widened at the sight of Kratos holding up a severed head, something she hadn't realized he carried around as if it were a common accessory. Calliope looked at Atreus and spoke softly.

— That's the most disturbing thing I've ever seen you do. — She said. 

— It's a pleasure to meet you, young lady. — Mimir said. Eris looked in disbelief at Atreus as he took Mimir by a string tied to his horns. — Your father has only good things to say about you.  

— I'll bet. — She said this with a smile, disbelieving.

Atreus walked out of the door. She shifted slightly in her chair, quickly changed her expression to anger, and with a wry smile she began to speak.

— Have you come to call a truce? — Eris asked, her arms crossed, her voice filled with impatience. — You came all the way to Egypt to look for Atreus. You've already found him. So why don't you leave?

Kratos remained silent for a moment before finally answering.

— There is no war between us. You are my daughter. — Kratos' voice was hoarse, his posture calm. He took a deep breath. 

— Daughter? — She laughed, almost mocking his words. — Go back to Midgard, Kratos.

— Do you want to go with me?

The question took Eris by surprise. Her hardened countenance faltered for a brief moment, and her eyes sought out Kratos', as if trying to decipher his intention.

— What? — she let out, more in shock than because she hadn't understood.

— To the Nordic lands, — Kratos continued, his voice deep but unimposing. — Maybe you'll like it there.

Eris blinked, not knowing how to react. For a moment, her defensive posture wavered, as if that was the last answer she expected from him. But then she pulled herself together, letting out a short, humorless laugh.

— I don't like the cold, — she said, turning away. Her tone was light, but the underlying meaning was much deeper. — I'm willing to leave you alone, you can go on your way. If, and only if, you leave immediately. Take your son with you, you'll never have to deal with me again. It will be as if I never existed.

Kratos watched his daughter propose this, she was distancing herself from him. Negotiating his presence as if he didn't want her around. 

— Let me help you. 

— I don't need you. Go away, Kratos. Get out. 

— Don't. — Kratos' refusal made Calliope's face harden. — Not without knowing what's going on. I can help you. 

— I don't want your help. I want you to go back to the hole you came out of and never come back here again.

Kratos remained motionless. Watching Calliope look at him like that. Years of resentment souring inside her, she simply couldn't hide the hurt she felt. — Don't do this to me, child. — He said, his voice coming out lower than usual. — Why are you at war with the Medjai? 

Eris took a deep breath, gathering patience. She was trying to push him away, but Kratos was determined to stay. 

— Do you want to help me? — She looked at the statue of Sekhmet, her voice becoming calmer. Almost a momentary truce between the two. — Kill Amnotep for me. 

Kratos took a deep breath, feeling a lump in his throat. Calliope, his daughter was there, in front of him, but there was a wall between them. He wanted to hug her. To cry at seeing her again after so long away, but she was cold, she spoke as if he were a setback in her plan. She no longer called him father. It destroyed him.

— What did he do to you? 

— Nothing... yet. 

— Yet? 

— You're not leaving, are you?

— I'm not.

— Consider this your first and only warning. If you somehow disrupt my plans... If you decide to stay and it harms me in any way. I'll kill you both. You and your son. 

Kratos swallowed dryly, in all the years of his existence he never thought he'd see Callipe again, let alone hear her threaten him. He approached her, close enough to try to convince her that he wasn't at war, that he was her father. That he loved her and would never harm her. That's when he saw a mark on her wrist. It was magic, but he didn't know what magic it was. Her skin looked like it had been burned with runic symbols. Kratos looked at her, his face now more troubled. She was impassive, looking at him coldly. He remembered the words he had heard from the Egyptian gods, that she suffered for her magic.

— Speak to me, my child. Tell me what's going on. How are you feeling?

Kratos was not known for being good with words, nor for consoling people or showing feelings. However, he needed to. He needed this right now, to somehow connect with her or he would lose her forever. He knew that this was his chance to show her that he loved her, he probably wouldn't get another chance. He looked at the woman in front of him and saw only his daughter, nothing else. She was his child, whom he would die protecting. He didn't see a powerful sorceress, a warrior or the leader of a mercenary group. He saw that little girl who got sick, who played the flute beautifully and always welcomed him with joy when he returned home. 

— I could tell you what I'm feeling, but I think it will be hard for you to hear.

— Tell me. — He waited for her to start talking. Calliope didn't look away, she looked at him as if she could strip away his soul. It was almost as if she were digging deep down into his guts and finding the truth about him. It was painful to stand in front of her, not just because of the guilt, but because of the shame he felt for almost killing her twice.

— My bloodthirsty. Cruel. And vengeful... father. — She began, her words not only serving to hurt him, but to increase the barrier between them. She didn't want him to see her as his daughter, but as the enemy who could destroy him. — A man who can't prevent himself from turning his blade against his own flesh and blood.

The knot in his throat tightened. Her words were sharp as a blade, piercing deep, hitting scars he had tried to forget. But he didn't fight back. He wouldn't give in to provocation. That's what she wanted: an explosion of fury, a justification for continuing to hate him. But he just took a deep breath, letting silence be his answer.

Eris watched him more closely. Her eyes analyzed every wrinkle, every mark of time on his face. Then her voice changed. The sarcasm, the hatred, the resentment... disappeared.

— You look different... — she murmured, almost to herself. — Older.

It wasn't Eris who spoke. It was Calliope. For a moment, she wasn't the angry goddess who wanted revenge. She was just a daughter watching her father grow old before her eyes, realizing the time they had lost, the time that would never come again.

The change in her voice made something inside Kratos break. He felt his eyes sting. But he didn't cry. He couldn't. Not yet. He just clenched his fists and stood firm, absorbing the pain, allowing it to consume him in silence. Eris leaned back in her chair, absentmindedly playing with her fingers, as if the previous moment hadn't existed. Her voice became cold again.

— When I was a child, I remember... — She smiled, but her eyes were watery. — I remember when you came back from your missions... Everyone in Sparta believed in the gods. They had faith in them, that they were there for us. But not me. I didn't need them, you know? Because when I looked at you, I saw the strongest man in the world. The one who I turned to, who would protect us. I didn't need any gods or guardians because I had you. You were my Hercules, my hero. — She paused. Long enough not to allow herself to cry. — When I came back from the dead, I didn't know what had happened. I was so proud to be the daughter of such a noble and brave man, someone who would die for his country. For Sparta. But that didn't last long. Because I soon discovered what kind of person you really are. The monstrosities you've done. That you're no better than ...

Her anger grew, her words less spaced out and more rapid. She realized that if she continued to speak, she would lose control of the situation, of herself. So she stood up, making it clear that the conversation was over for her.

— I understand, or almost understand, your curiosity about seeing me. But I can't waste time here. I have things to do.

Kratos nodded, without objecting. He watched her walk away, her steps firm and resolute.

Horkos was no longer hiding in the shadows, at some point in the conversation he disappeared as if he could walk between realms. Calliope crossed the threshold and found Atreus in the corridor.

Atreus hesitated for a moment, but something inside him urged him to follow her. He watched her for a few moments before she stopped and looked directly into his eyes. For a second, Eris changed her expression of anger as she looked into Atreus' eyes, now she seemed upset.

— Don't hate Kratos,— she said, her voice calm but carrying a silent weight. — What happened between us has nothing to do with you. What you two have, I'll never have.
Atreus frowned, confused.

— If he's changed and decided to be a better father, then you shouldn't resent him for something that happened so long ago. If I were you... — she looked away, as if considering her own words. — I'd make the most of it. You have a father who loves you, who would die for you and that's what matters.

Without waiting for an answer, Eris turned and continued on her way, leaving Atreus behind, immersed in his own thoughts. He didn't know what confused him more: her severity with Kratos or the way she somehow seemed to defend him.

Chapter Text

The sound of the celebrations still echoed far away, muffled by the open field. Here, the world was quieter. Nefertiri held her bow with both hands, as if she were carrying a live snake. Her expression showed her lack of skill with the weapon. Amir stood nearby, helping her, the two exchanging shy glances as she tried to hit her target. The young Medjai warrior watched his beloved as she tried to figure out how to shoot, but the activity was more an excuse to spend time with her than anything else. 

— This is harder than you said, — she muttered, frowning.

Amir laughed. Not mockingly, but affectionately. He smiled when he looked at her, it was a natural, almost involuntary reflection of her beauty. 

— It's not as complicated as it looks, — he said, walking over to her. — It's just curved wood and rope. Trust your arms.

She raised the bow, trembling. Amir approached from behind. His arms wrapped lightly around hers. They didn't exchange a word, but he could hear the sound of her breathing, and his heart began to pound in his chest. He simply adjusted the position of her hands, guiding them like drawing a map with his fingers.

— You need to keep your arm steady, — he whispered. — And your heart calm. As if everything else... disappeared.

She turned her face slightly, just enough to face him in profile.

— What if your heart is... racing too fast?

Amir hesitated.

The smile disappeared, the two looked at each other for a few seconds, Amir approached slowly, almost kissed her, but he looked at the target a few meters away and said: 

— So... shoot anyway. — He said with a slight smile on his lips.

She smiled back. Amir was still feeling the thrill of the fight against the vulture in the cave. The frightening sight of finding his brother, no matter how troubled their relationship, lying there, the next to be pecked to death by a giant vulture, still haunted him. He knew that Amnotep was inconsequential, but that had been by far one of his stupidest actions. Gathering a small group to fight a monster when two gods were literally sleeping in the tent next door was an action that demonstrated his immaturity and lack of common sense. But now he was with Nefertiri, and his mind, despite reminding him that they were at war, didn't allow his thoughts to wander too far.

Nefertiri's perfume soon brought him back, and here, only she mattered.

With the arrow in place, she pulled the string, feeling the tension vibrate in her fingers.

— Remember, — he said, — it's not strength. It's the focus.

She released the arrow. But the arrow stuck in a rock, right next to the makeshift target. Nefertiri let out a laugh.

She took a deep breath. She turned back to him. The two of them were practically alone there. The party was going on in the city. But they didn't care, they wanted to stay there, together. 

— I made a bad mistake. — He said, with a little smile. 

— It doesn't matter — Amir replied, moving closer. — You managed to shoot, you just need to improve your accuracy. — He gently took the bow from her hands and placed it on the ground.

Then he stood facing her. Amir's eyes sought hers, and he approached her carefully, testing her limits, as if asking permission to advance. Nefretiri didn't back down.

— Do you think I have talent? — she asked, with a smile on her lips.

— Yes, I do. — He replied, laughing. — I do.  

He stopped. The distance between them was minimal.

She raised her hand, touching his face, and the two kissed for the first time.

The kiss was slow, innocent. Amir slid his hands through her hair. Nothing else mattered, the sky was covered in stars, a cooling night wind and Nefretari's warmth were the perfect combination. The two exchanged caresses, kisses and hugs. A young couple still experiencing life. Then they walked hand in hand back to the center of the camp.

It was a night of celebration at the Medjai camp. Everyone was there to celebrate yet another victory for the holy guards.

The festival of Khepra was coming to an end, but the people's joy was only growing, the city was filled with white ribbons, the residents wished that the future would bring peace and harmony. A new cycle of life, peace and abundance would begin in Egypt. Kammus held a glass of wine and everyone watched as he made a speech. 

— Today, we celebrate courage, — he said, his voice resonating in the heart of the square. — My son Amir risked his life for ours. He deactivated the artifact. He faced the unknown. With wisdom. With honor.
Amir was visibly embarrassed, but raised his cup in thanks to his father. 

Next to Kammus, a man in more elegant clothes than the rest of the soldiers watched him.

— I'll send a report to Pharaoh personally, — he said, in a low but audible tone. — It's possible that a title of honor or even a ceremonial ring will be awarded to you.

— A ring? — whispered one of the nearby soldiers, already repeating it to another. — The pharaoh only grants this to the men he wants on the council...

Amnotep was watching from afar. Lurking in the shadow of one of the tents, arms crossed and jaw tense, he looked like a statue carved by his own rage. His fists clenched and his gaze fixed on Amir as if he wanted to burn him with his eyes. The whispers also reached him about the title, about the ring. About Amir, the bastard, the honored medjai.

That honor was his. He had rallied the soldiers to attack the cave, almost got himself killed and it was the bastard who got the honors. Amnotep looked at his sword, his hand itching as if he had touched a poisonous plant. He decided that he would finish Amir off. He couldn't stand it any longer. Being overshadowed by him was the worst humiliation he could endure. 

He returned to his house, and in one of the chests next to his bed there were items he used in his training. At the bottom of the trunk he found a thick rope. He nonchalantly wrapped the rope around his arm, then returned to the party with a gloomy look on his face. 

The party lasted several hours. The people were tireless, finally breathing a sigh after so much pain and suffering.
 
The sun was yet to rise, as if the earth itself could finally sleep peacefully. The people were already leaving when Amnotep started looking for Amir. He scoured the camp looking for a loophole to attack him. 
His chest boiled with hatred. He was already planning what he would do to him, it wouldn't be a quick and painless end. Of course not. He wanted him to feel pain, to beg for his life like a dying dog begging for a bone. He thought of all the ways he would torture his brother and took a strange pleasure in it.

As he walked in search of Amir, something caught his eye, he saw a figure walking alone towards the city. He knew exactly who it was, the girl Amir was in love with.

Her light cloak swayed in the wind, revealing the delicate curve of her neck, her eyes lost in thought. She walked down towards the path that led to the city limits, distracted.

Alone.

Fragile.

Amnotep stopped. His eyes sharpened like blades. Something in his face changed. "How can I torture him and hurt his pride?" he thought.

If he killed his brother and was found out, he could lose his prestigious position in the army. He might get into trouble with the guard, lose the respect of the soldiers for killing Amir, since as much as he hated the idea, he was respected by them. How to torture him? Hurt his pride and not suffer any consequences for it? The answer appeared before him, walking towards the city. Amnotep smiled, as if receiving a gift from the gods.

It was no longer just anger that seized his being.

It was a desire to hurt, to take from his brother what brought him joy, just as they had done to him.

Nefertiri walked with a warm heart, her face containing a smile that would not fade. Her mind went back to the young Medjai who taught her to shoot a bow and arrow. She was smiling at the thought of Amir when she heard a sound calling her.

— It's late for a girl to be walking alone, don't you think?

— Amnotep. — Nefretiri snapped out of her reverie when she heard his voice. — Not quite. 

She pointed to some people walking a few meters away from her. She wasn't alone and even though it was late, that part of the city wasn't known for violence.

— Are you following me?

— I was on my way back to my lodgings, —  he lied, his voice soft. —  And I saw you... so far away from the crowd. I thought you might want to talk. With someone who really understands what happened today.

— There's nothing I want to say to you, Amnotep. Good night.

She turned and walked back towards the city. Amnotep ran and stood in front of her.

— Let me take you home. My brother is a fool to leave you alone. 

Nefertiri looked at Amnotep with a certain suspicion, she glanced back at a small group that was returning to the city. There was something strange about him, a strange sensation passed through her body. She didn't understand what it was, for a moment she wanted to get away from him, to run towards those people. When she turned to tell Amnotep that it wouldn't be necessary, he was already grabbing her by the arm. 

Terror crossed her face when she saw the way Amnotep was looking at her. There was no longer that strange smile on his face, the false friendliness, the mask he wore with everyone. He was serious, almost expressionless. His hands covered her mouth so she wouldn't scream, then he dragged her out into the desert, away from the town and the camp. He dragged her along the trail that led into the dark. The people who returned town saw the confusion, the curious faces watching the girl trying to call for help, the muffled screams, her arms shaking with Amnotep dragging her, but they looked away and carried on as if she wasn't being led to certain death.

...

Nefretiri was sitting, her gaze lost in the dark horizon. The silence was overwhelming, her tears streaming down her face like the source of a river. The stone floor was cold as she shivered in the early morning wind that came in through a single vent. She was shivering, but not from cold. She could smell the early morning wind, mixed with blood and tears. A little away from her, there were the bodies of Amnotep's fallen friends, next to a small altar that once contained the artifact that summoned the monsters. 

A few steps away, Amnotep was quietly getting dressed. Every button on his clothes had to be neatly buttoned, his sandals tied to demonstrate the nobility he believed he exuded. His face was clean, his eyes were empty. That, what he had just done, was nothing to him. He began to whistle nonchalantly as he made his way home. He had dragged her along for a long time. They were inside Sokar's cave, the same place that held the artifact. The fact that his dead friends were there didn't seem to bother him. 

Nefertiri was still trembling, her body aching, but her soul was in even greater pain. She tried to make a sound, a sob, but she couldn't. Amnotep looked at her, who cringed when she saw his gaze.

He had tied her wrists, and she was naked, waiting for him to decide her fate. If he wanted to, he could kill her, but he would have to dispose of her body and that would be a setback that would certainly disrupt his day.  Or he could leave her here, where many travelers, thieves and all kinds of people could find her. But even if she decided to say something, he was the son of Kammus and she was the daughter of a man in debt, no one would believe it. He laughed to himself as he realized that he was in a position that gave him an advantage. He turned to leave, he wasn't going to waste any more time there.

— Why...? — she muttered, barely recognizing her own voice. — Why did you do that... to me?

Amnotep stopped.

He turned around slowly. The smile returned to his lips.

— Because I got tired of seeing Amir... getting everything he wants.  And I thought it only fair that he should... lose something.

She blinked hard, trying to understand what he meant. She seemed to be in an almost nightmarish state, when someone wake up in the middle of the night unable to move, unable to understand where you are, whether you're alive, dead or between worlds. In a state where you try to scream, but the sound doesn't come out. A terrible nightmare. 

— I'm not "something". — She choked on her own words. — I'm a person. This... this isn't about him. It's about me. 

Amnotep laughed, sneering at her.

— Make no mistake, you're nothing.  

He looked in his pocket, took out some coins and violently threw them at her. 

— What's this...? — she whispered, not understanding.

— Payment.  For the distraction. Or... who knows, — he shrugged, — an advance for whoever has to deal with you later. A traveler, a merchant, a slave hunter...

Nefretiri began to feel despair growing inside her, the night still haunted the sky and she was there alone with him. But if he left her there alone... She hated him, she hated him with all her might, but she needed him, because if she stayed there she would die. There were several entrances to the cave, a monster could appear at any moment. 

— DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! — She screamed in desperation and crawled, still on her knees, to where he was. — Please... I don't know where I am... — Her voice failed her, her desperation was raw, visceral, but Amnotep only looked at her with contempt. — I'd rather die than be found by the Sons of Seth... they're monsters! They're cruel! They'll kill me...

He leaned over, as if to console her.

— I know, I know. And, honestly... I hope they do the job for me. And if no one does. If a monster doesn't attack you, I just wish you'd die of hunger and thirst. 

He left. Leaving Nefretiri alone, in tears. 

Time passed slowly. He had already gone. Nefretiri's crying was muffled, already acceptinh her fate, she had no voice left to try to scream or cry. She looked towards the cave opening behind her. There, almost covertly among the shadows, she saw a small statue. It was Sekhmet, goddess of vengeance, the one who killed the wicked, who repaid injustice with blood and violence.

So she asked the goddess to save her. She begged for her life, for vengeance, for justice.

That's when she saw two golden eyes coming towards her from inside the cave. It was a giant black panther with golden symbols on its fur. Accompanied by a tall woman with black hair and flaming eyes who appeared just after the beast had left. 

...

Amnotep returned home triumphant, feeling as if he had finally beaten Amir. He walked with a broad smile on his face. It was early morning when he arrived at the camp, several of his friends were there organizing the weapons and starting another day's work. He could keep what he'd done a secret, the fact that he'd won alone gave him the satisfaction he wanted. But it wasn't long before he started telling everyone. He couldn't hold back. 
What's more, he managed to get a meeting with a traitor from Seth's sons. He offered him entry to his camp. He would let his men in and kill their soldiers in exchange for a prominent position in the army. Fortune was smiling on him and he wouldn't pass it up. He would have his honor, defeat Seth's sons, kill the sorceress and receive his rightful title.

Amir was tending to the animals when he heard one of Amnotep's friends laughing. He paid it no mind until he heard Nefertari's name. When he finally managed to get his friends to tell him what his brother had done, he desperately ran after him. Amir went towards the house. He entered like a sandstorm in search for his half-brother.

The doors opened forcefully and he appeared in front of Amnotep, his eyes red from crying, anger or perhaps both. Amnotep was calmly sitting at the table enjoying his lunch.

— WHERE IS SHE? — Amir's voice trembled. But not from fear, but from fury. — Tell me where you left her!

Amnotep was reclining, eating with calm movements. He didn't look up immediately. He pretended to be uninterested.

— Ah. Her. — A giggle escaped. — You lost your mojo pretty quickly, didn't you? I thought you'd be tougher.

Amir leapt forward, his fists clenched.

— TELL ME!

Amnotep finally raised his face. He smiled.

— In the desert. Where she belongs. — He shrugged. — I thought maybe the jackals cared more about her than I did. She must have a mouth full of flies by now.

Amir remained motionless for a second. As if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Then he staggered back a step. The pain in his eyes seemed to turn into something bigger than himself.

— So it's true? What did you do? You... you knew I loved her... — he muttered, his voice breaking.

— That's exactly why. — Amnotep stood up. Now his smile was clear, almost satisfied. — I wanted to see what your little face would look like when you found out. Do you really think you're better than me, Amir? 

— You are a monster. — Amir spat, his eyes watering. - An abomination.

— No. I'm a realist. She was weak, foolish, and begging like a mangy dog. — Amnotep tilted his head, cruel. — In fact... it was pathetic. It disgusted me. Crying, begging me to take you away... did you really like that?
Amir roared, drawing his sword in an instinctive move.

— Shut up!

And he advanced on him.

The metallic clash of the blade echoed off the walls as their swords clashed. Amir was fast and full of fury. Amnotep, who seemed to be fighting in training, defended with ease, but with a sickly gleam in his eyes. Amir's lack of control worked in his favor, as he was fighting to kill him, while Amnotep was enjoying himself.

— I'm glad you're angry. — he hissed. — Now you know what it's like to lose everything inside.

The fight intensified. Amir was trying to hold back his tears and his blows at the same time. He was out of control. And Amnotep had expected it. He took advantage of Amir's carelessness and with an agile spin, he disarmed Amir, his sword being thrown away with practiced precision.

Amnotep wasted no time, turning his sword in a sideways blow. Blood gushed from Amir's face. The blow hit him square in the left eye. The young man fell to his knees with his hand on his face. He screamed. The pain was sharp, cruel. Blood dripped through his fingers.

— The eye. — Amnotep said, pleased. He laughed. — I'll be Horus himself. I'll defeat Seth and you'll just be a deformed blind man. You'll remember it every time you look in the mirror.

Amir was on the floor, moaning, trembling. 

— You... will pay... for this...

— No. — Amnotep turned away, putting his sword away. 

He left, leaving Amir on the stone floor, with the desert sand coming in through the window and mixing with the blood that stained the ground. Amir covered his bleeding eye, but his mind went to Nefretiri.

...

Amnotep gathered his men and headed towards the location indicated by the traitor. The moon was already high in the sky. Amnotep was feeling as radiant as a king, finally getting what he deserved. In the distance, they could still see the lights of the city. They walked slowly, without making any noise. Amnotep was wearing the armor of Horus, the horse behind him as they searched for the entrance to the camp. They knew there was a camp there, but to the human eye all they saw was the endless sea of sand and stone. He lifted the artifact he had stolen from Kammus, and like magic, the tents began to appear. As a reflection in surface of water, first it was cloudy and then the image became clearer until the camp formed before his eyes.

The site had several well-spaced tents, and torches illuminated the tents. The children were asleep, the warriors were resting, and only a few watchmen patrolled the entrances to the makeshift village. Except for Khepri, who, far from the eyes of the invaders, was accompanied by a servant girl. Her excited eyes scanned the entire camp. She was excited about the possibility of finding lizards among the tents. Kammus, who usually slept early, was on guard watching the movement. But there was nothing but the girl's soft humming. Then the darkness moved in.

The invaders appeared like specters, their silhouettes camouflaged by the shadows of the tents and their dark robes. With surgical precision, they attacked the watchmen first, slitting their throats before anyone could raise an alarm. The bodies fell to the sand with a muffled sound.  

Then chaos ensued.

Blades tore through fur tents, revealing still-drowsy men who barely had time to reach their weapons before they were slaughtered. Screams echoed through the night as the invaders spread like a plague, attacking with merciless brutality. Although they had been instructed to spare the women and children, the ferocity of the attack made it impossible to control the massacre. Some men, trying to protect their wives and children, fell under the quick, impersonal blows of the blades.

Blood soaked the sand, dyeing red the ground that was once sacred to those who lived there.

The warriors in the camp, caught by surprise, reacted as best they could. They raised swords and spears, but the disorganization and panic made defending themselves almost impossible. The Medjai were relentless, striking without hesitation. Flames began to consume the tents as the invaders set fire to supplies and shelters. Despair was spreading. Mothers grabbed their children and ran towards the desert, only to be chased. Some managed to escape, disappearing among the dunes, but many were captured or killed mercilessly.

Sobekhotep ran towards the maidservant and his child, but chaos overtook the camp. The woman who was looking after the child lost sight of her when a man with wide eyes and a bloodthirsty expression threw himself at the two of them, their hands coming loose as they both ran. The woman looked around desperately. But the girl disappeared amid the screams and running.

Amnotep's armor reflected the moonlight as if Anubis himself had blessed it. He felt invincible. He was no longer just a warrior; he was a god among men. The Medjai camp burned around them, the smell of burning flesh, the bodies of tents and the sound of clashing swords filled the air, like an opera of horror and despair. His eyes burned with pleasure as his blade cut into the flesh of his enemies.

But something changed. His first blow was for his father, for the humiliation he felt and the desire to prove his worth. The second, for glory. The third... The third brought a different sensation. Something deep and primal. He realized that he liked it. The warm blood dripping through his fingers, the eyes of terror on his victims before the blade came down. People contorted their faces, screamed in despair at his power. The absolute power to decide who lived and who died. Laughter escaped his lips, booming, feverish.

He climbed onto his horse, eager to continue the slaughter. The animal snorted under his weight, impatient, as if it sensed its master's excitement. From above, he felt bigger, untouchable. The armor was further proof that he was a god. 

On horseback, he was an easy target.

He raised his sword, ready to strike again. He didn't notice that Nefertiri had already seen him in the shadows. She picked up a nearby bow and prepared to shoot, but she was still an apprentice. She would probably miss.  
The arrow cut through the air with a dry hiss, and Amnotep's horse was thrown to the side with a sudden movement. The arrow struck between the plates of his armor, a blow that, although painful, was unlikely to kill him. The pain was a shock, an intense chill in the midst of the heat of battle. His body stiffened, his fingers loosened their grip on the blade. The horse reared up, throwing Amnotep to the ground. As he tumbled backwards, his leg tangled in the horse's reins.

The impact stole the air from his lungs. He tried to free himself, tried to reach the strap that held him, but the leather squeezed his ankle, the horse was tall and he couldn't get free. The horse neighed and turned abruptly. Amnotep barely had time to understand what was happening before he heard a guttural growl.

A beast emerged from between the tents with a hunger that seemed to come from another world. 

The black panther's amber eyes glowed in the darkness of the battle, reflecting the flames. The horse panicked. It shot off in desperation, dragging Amnotep across the sandy ground. He tried to scream, but the sand filled his mouth, scratching his throat. His hands tried desperately to reach for something, anything. His fingers found only thorns and stones. The armor, which once shone like gold, was now a heavy burden, crushing his bones against the earth. The weight of the gold didn't allow him to lift himself up enough to let go. The horse dragged him across the desert, away from the camp. 

In the camp, Khepri was alone, watching the people running and shouting. She tried to call out, her small voice getting lost in the clamor of destruction. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her little legs ran through the shadows, seeking refuge. Her wide eyes found the weathered wood of the old well in the center of the camp, a familiar, safe place where she had played so many times during the day. With trembling hands, she tried to lean on the edge, looking for a hiding place in the darkness. But the damp, worn wood betrayed her confidence. Her feet slipped in the dust mixed with the blood of war, and her body fell backwards. The scream she let out was brief, soon swallowed up by the emptiness. A hollow sound echoed as the water took in her small figure, swallowing it mercilessly.

Outside, the war continued.

Men were screaming, killing and dying. Horkos roared through the wreckage, mercilessly slaughtering the Medjai. The ground soaked with blood, the tents consumed by fire, the bodies lay forgotten. But no one heard the faint splashes inside the pit. No one saw the little girl's tiny fingers trying to reach a slippery edge. She screamed, she cried, but no one heard her.
Fate, cruel and ironic, did what blades and spears could not.

Amnotep was dragged away. The desert consumed him.

The heat burned. His wounds burned, sand mixed with blood forming rough scabs on his skin. First he felt thirst, then fever. He lost track of time. The sun rose and fell, and all that remained was the sound of the wind and the bitter taste of failure.

He would be remembered, he thought. Somehow, his name would echo through eternity. 
But when Eris found his withered and disfigured body, all that remained was a whisper of lost glory. No words, no honor. Just the corpse of a man who thought he was a god. The rotting body of Amnotep, covered in the feces of the horse that would lead him to glory. His open mouth covered in sand in an expression that would give nightmares to anyone who met him. Eris moved towards the body.

She picked up her blade. With a single blow, she separated the head from the body.

— Yes, Amnotep, you will be the one who changed the fate of the Medjai. But it won't be in the way you'd like.

In the silence of the desert, while the vultures hovered in the sky, ready to devour Amnotep's remains, fate had been sealed.

She lifted Amnotep's head and set off north. Kammus needed to see what his son would become.

Chapter Text

A pulsating red glow pierced the dim light in the doctor's chambers. He didn't need more than an instant to understand. It was a call from someone who needed him. The artifact glowed for a few seconds, blinked and then glowed even brighter again.

With a silent sigh, Cassius leaned over bed and placed a soft kiss on Harmonia's forehead, letting his lips rest there for a brief moment. Then he moved away carefully, not wanting to wake her. He got up and, with quick movements, got dressed and grabbed his bag of medical supplies, accustomed to the urgency of responding to such calls for help.

The night air was chilly when he left his house and headed for the Sons of Seth camp. His heart was already full of worry, but nothing could have prepared him for the scene that awaited him.

When he reached the camp, the smell of smoke and iron invaded his nostrils. The bodies scattered on the ground telling the cruel story of the attack, a massacre that shouldn't have happened. Not with Eris' magic protecting them. The muffled sound of weeping mingled with the wails of the wounded, and Cassius saw faces bathed in tears, gazes lost in the devastation. People leaning over their loved ones. Tents burned to the ground.

In his military life, serving as a medic in the Roman army, he had already seen the effects that war can have on a people. Countless times, the same looks of mourning and despair, or even acceptance. The bodies lying in the sand, the blood staining the earth. But it never got any easier.

As he approached the center of the camp, he saw Sobekhotep on his knees, bent over something. His face, normally hardened by leadership, by the desire for revenge against the Medjai, was distorted with pain. Cassius stopped beside him, his eyes going down to the small, motionless body before them. She was pale, her hair still wet, but her face placid. There was no saving her.

He didn't need to see any more. The silence around them was deafening.

Cassius took a deep breath. The girl wasn't coming back. He could feel the absolute truth of this reality, a certainty that not even his immortality could challenge.

He knelt down beside Sobekhotep, his hand resting gently on the man's shoulder. No words could ease the pain. No medical technique could bring the child back. Cassius was a healer, a restorer of life, but even he had limits.

War never spared the innocent. But that death was not caused by violence, but by chance.

He looked at his grieving father, sharing his pain in the only way he could: by being there, witnessing the weight of his loss.

—  I'm sorry, —  he said, his voice low, laden with compassion.

Sobekhotep didn't answer immediately. His body trembled slightly, and when he finally spoke, his voice was only a whisper.

—  This shouldn't have happened.

Cassius stood there for a few seconds, feeling the weight of Khepri's death, but he had to continue attending to those who needed help. He attended to the wounded and consoled the bereaved. There was no sign of Eris. Surely she knew what had just happened, but for some reason she hadn't shown up yet. It was late afternoon when he saw her walking through the tents, her gaze was different. She walked slowly, her gaze frozen on Sobekhotep.

Cassius was a few meters away when he saw Eris' expression change as she looked at the girl on the ground. A thin cloth covered her face. Eris stopped abruptly and held her breath, her eyes roaming the length of the girl's body, trying to understand if what she had seen was really true.

Cassius expected an explosion of pain from her, for her to throw herself on Khepri's body, cry and lament what had happened. But she didn't. She didn't say anything, just glared at Sobekhotep, turned and walked away.

…

The bar was a gloomy place of hushed murmurs and the smell of cheap alcohol mixed with the stifling desert heat. Eris was sitting in a dark corner, her eyes fixed on the amber liquid in the glass between her fingers. Her eyes told of the pain she felt, but her face was a mask of coldness and hatred.

Cassius entered the establishment and soon found her. He approached her hesitantly, taking a seat in front of her without waiting for an invitation. He remained silent for a moment, observing Eris' closed countenance. Her grief was visible, but also well guarded.

—  I'm sorry for the loss of the child —  he said softly. He reached into his pocket and placed a small bottle of purple liquid on the counter.

Eris didn't look up. She just nodded slightly, ignored the bottle and took a sip of what was left in her glass.

—  You should drink it, it's the same sedative as Apollo's. I haven't changed the ingredients, I've just increased the dose.

— I can't take it. I don't even want to anymore.

Cassius looked worriedly at Eris. Her countenance was no longer the same, her internal struggle was evident.

—  What will you do now?

—  The usual. War.

—  Perhaps it's best that you return to Rome, Bellona. What happened was a tragedy, but we mustn't pay for blood with more blood. Many have already suffered.

—  I disagree. Blood is only paid for with blood. Besides, you know I can't go back, not without risking Kratos following me there. And start a new end of the world.

— What's your plan? Do you have one?

—  Of course I do. An evil, self-destructive plan. As always. —  She glanced at Cassius, a disdainful smile on her face.

Cassius sighed, running one of his hands over his face, as if trying to gather the courage to say what he needed to.

—  Don't do anything you'll regret later. —  Eris let out a dry laugh. — I wanted to ask you a favor. I know I don't have the right, but Sobekhotep... He's destroyed. The loss of his daughter has devastated him. You had a strong bond with her... Perhaps if you spoke to him, you could ease his pain a little. Just a word...

Eris, who until then had seemed indifferent, slowly raised her eyes to Cassius. Her gaze turned cold again, empty of any trace of compassion. She stood up, put her hand on Cassius' shoulder and looking into his eyes said:

— If he wants relief for his daughter's death, then let him dig a hole in the ground and bury her, —  she said, her voice devoid of any trace of emotion. —  Then find a woman and make another.

Cassius opened his eyes wide, shocked by the brutality of her words. He had never heard Eris speak like that, even when she used her razor-sharp sarcasm to defend herself. This, however, was different. It was cruel.

—  Why would you say something so cruel? —  he asked, his voice filled with incredulity.

Eris shrugged and threw a few coins on the counter before getting up. She looked at Cassius with the same blank expression as before.

— My advice is not that bad. It seems to work for some.

She turned her back and left the bar, leaving Cassius sitting there, stunned. He watched her silhouette disappear into the desert night, feeling an unexpected chill settle in his chest. That wasn't the Eris he knew. Or maybe... it was exactly who she had always been, and he just didn't want to see it. No, it wasn't. He knew it. She had been taken over by pain, and now she was heading for the only path she knew.

...

The dawn flowed like the Nile. Tracing a tortuous path, but one that empties into the sea all the unhealthiness of that land. Some detour drench the land, bringing the liquid of life to the most distant places, revitalizing the land, feeding the people. For others, it meant dry land, with no trace of water, salvation or source of life. That was Egypt that night. The city was receiving vitality, celebrating the end of the Khepra festival, the meaning of a new chance, a new cycle that would bring peace. But the desert, both the camp of the sons of Seth and the one where the Medjai stood guard, was a den of pain and drought.

Kratos was still tormented by his conversation with Calliope. He was with Atreus and Mimir in the inn's chambers when he heard a dry knock on the door.

He walked over with heavy steps and opened it without delay. The young woman standing before him was the same as the one they had seen in the healing house in town. Her usual noble pose, long neck with a necklace that shone, wearing beautiful clothes, but her gaze was one of concern. Atreus raised an eyebrow when he saw her in front of the door, behind his father who was watching her suspiciously.

Kratos stepped out from in front of the door, motioning for her to enter. Harmony stepped through the archway of the door with an attentive gaze, analyzing the interior of the room. There were two simple beds on opposite walls. A window and two weapons resting on the table, nothing you'd expect from a god of war. At least, the god of war she knew. She had grown up in palaces of ivory and gold, with dozens of servants and surrounded by armed soldiers who would do as she commanded. Or in the palaces of Olympus, with gods who ate huge banquets, feasted for days on end and didn't consider the welfare of those they thought were beneath them. But Kratos chose the simple life. To live as a recluse, a Spartan who wasn't looking for gold or jewels, but to make amends for his past.

—  Maybe I'll regret this. — She thought aloud, looking at Kratos. —  As you know, Doctor Cassius and I are long-time friends of Eris, his daughter.

Kratos nodded. But he remained silent, with the same usual expression as the god of war. She took a deep breath and continued.

—  There was an attack on the camp of Seth's children. Many were killed.

Atreus bowed slightly at the information. Kratos and Atreus exchanged glances.

—  Including a lovely young child whom Eris held in high esteem. She hasn't attacked them yet, but I guarantee she will. And when she does, many will die.

—  Where is she? —  Atreus asked.

—  I don't know. She tends to isolate herself until she explodes with rage. Maybe you should go to the Medjai and stop this war.

—  I won't let them hurt her. - Kratos said.

- I'd worry about the Medjai. And what she'll do to them.

Kratos ignored Harmonia's rebuttal and moved on. Now with the weapons on his back.

....

Kratos and Atreus headed towards the Medjai camp. When they arrived, the ghost of Sparta stood watching the city in the distance. Atreus was impatiently walking around in circles. Khepri was on his mind. The little girl he met when Calliope took him to her house. Mimir, strapped into the Spartan's belt, was the first to spot a female figure coming towards the camp.

A gentle wind stirred the sand beneath her feet, but her gaze remained fixed ahead, her eyes were marked, expressing neither pain nor anguish. She walked like someone who had come to destroy a nest of bees, annoying creatures that disturbed her peace. Amnotep's head, hidden by magic, swayed slightly at her side, held firmly in her hand.

In the camp, the first rays of light revealed the warriors waking up, some still drowsy, others already preparing for another day of vigil. But when the guards saw the figure of Eris standing at the entrance, they immediately went on alert. She never appeared like that, openly challenging them. One of them ran to call Kammus, while the others formed a line of defense close to the Medjai leader.

Kammus emerged from his tent, quickly adjusting his armor as he approached. Amnotep was missing and Amir lay prostrate on his bed with an eye wound. The last thing he needed was the sorceress invading his camp. His gaze met Eris', and he knew in that instant that she hadn't come to negotiate. Hatred emanated from her like a storm about to erupt. Still, she maintained a firm stance, showing no hesitation.

Kratos and Atreus approached. The god of war looked at Eris uneasily, while Atreus kept his distance, trying to work out a plan to convince her to stop.

Eris remained motionless for a moment, her dark eyes scanning the camp. Then his voice echoed like a war cry:

—  Prepare your warriors, Kammus. Gather as many as you can and take them to the desert. I've marked out a place with my magic.

Kammus frowned. There was something different about her, something you didn't see every day. A cold, impassive determination. He took a step forward, his voice firm but without hostility.

—  What do you want, Eris? We have an agreement.

She gave a small smile, but there was no humor in it. Just a foreshadowing of her true intentions.

—  The truce is over. I warned you. I warned you about Amnotep.

The tension between the warriors increased. The Medjai clutched their weapons, ready for the worst. But Eris only began to walk slowly, as if the conversation were casual. Her gaze never left Kammus, every step calculated, every movement a veiled threat. When she got close enough for the soldiers to almost attack, she stopped. Kratos was on the lookout for any wrong move on their part. He would defend Calliope, even if she was the one causing destruction.

Kammus kept his gaze steady, evaluating every word, every gesture. As much as he wanted to doubt it, there was no ignoring the threat.

—  Do you think you scare me? —  he replied, his voice laden with defiance.

Kratos took a step forward.

— This will bring you no peace, Calliope, —  he said, his voice deep and definitive.

She could hate him, push him away, but he couldn't allow his daughter to go down that path. She turned to him, and for a moment, the air seemed to become heavier. Her gaze met his, and the anger inside her seemed to intensify. Her gaze burning with resentment.

—  My name is Eris.

She then looked at the men around her.

—  All of you who think you're so brave, know this: anyone who goes into the desert will die. There will be nothing left.

The camp fell into a sepulchral silence. Some warriors swallowed, but Kammus raised his chin.

— The Medjai are not frightened by empty threats. We are warriors and we will die for our cause without blinking.

A slow, cruel smile appeared on Eris' lips.

— I rarely take pleasure in killing anyone, —  she said, her voice as cold as the blade of a dagger. —  But I was delighted a thousand times over in his suffering.

She raised her hand and a dark glow pulsed in her palm. As if pulling back an invisible veil, as she undid the spell that concealed her terrible revelation. With a light movement, she dropped Amnotep's head onto Kammus' feet. The pale face, the empty eyes, the terrible expression of pain. His son.

Kammus' scream was a roar of pain and despair. He fell to his knees, trembling, his eyes fixed on the lifeless face of his firstborn.

Atreus opened his eyes wide in horror.

 Kratos watched in silence, his heart heavy at the sight of his daughter repeating the same mistakes he had made in the past.

Eris tilted her head slightly to the side, her eyes fixed on the ruin before her.

— I always keep my word.

Kratos approached Calliope, his face covered in sadness.

—  Don't do this, Calliope. It won't bring you peace, only ruin. I've already walked the path you want to follow. And I regret it every day. You'll only lose more.

— Don't worry, I have something special for you too.

Without another word, she turned and disappeared into a portal made of red flames and shadows.

Atreus saw the look on his sister's face and knew that any trace of the daughter Kratos remembered was gone. She didn't seem interested in redemption, peace or reconciliation.

...

The Medjai lined up, ready for battle. Strong men, fearless warriors, wielding blades and spears, wearing light armor for the mobility needed against a formidable enemy. There were many of them, a multitude of warriors ready for battle. They knew that Eris was a destructive force, but they were willing to fight, to die if necessary.

Kratos and Atreus were among them, not as allies of the Medjai, but to bring reason, to try to stop Eris before she plunged further into the cycle of destruction. The cutting wind kicked up dust, and then, between the dunes, her figure appeared.

Eris walked slowly, with no visible weapons, just the bracelet glowing faintly on her right arm, wearing a light dress that fluttered in the wind, without armor, weapons or any form of protection expected of someone who was fighting but pretending to survive. She stood in front of three thousand men and two gods, as if this were just some kind of negotiation and not a battlefield.

Calliope didn't just want blood, she wanted death itself. The rune scar on his forearm now emanated a red energy, none of the golden trace of before. It was almost like a puff of blood evaporating from her scars. Her gaze burned with a mixture of contempt and amusement. She watched the warriors and let out a low, almost amused laugh.

— To prove that I'm not as evil as you say, I'll give you a chance,—  she said, her voice echoing like distant thunder. —  Those who don't want to die, leave now.

None of the Medjai moved. Their loyalty was unwavering. Kammus had prepared them for this moment, convincing them that the threat of Eris had to be eradicated. Kratos was ready to fight them. But he didn't raise his weapons, not until he had no choice.

Eris let out a dry laugh.

—  Fools. All of you.

Kratos took a step forward, frowning.

—  Don't do that, child. —  His voice was grave. —  It won't bring back the dead. It won't ease your pain.

Kammus stepped forward, undaunted.

—  No matter how many of us you kill, we will fight. If we have to, we'll die. But not without a fight, I've gathered more than three thousand warriors. You will fall.

Eris arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

—  I'm flattered by the effort.

Kammus then moved closer, his voice firm, his final card. The spy he sent found a man who followed the ancient Greek god of war.

— We know, Eris. We know who you're running from.

Eris' smile disappeared. The tension in the air became palpable, thick as a storm about to explode. A man with a great thirst for blood, a destroyer of armies and a follower of the bloody Ares.

—  Is that so? — Her voice came out lower, darker.

Kammus held his gaze.

—  You were his companion. Aren't you? And now you're running away from him. We called him. Mars. He will come. And he will destroy you. Even if we can't.

The forbidden name was pronounced, and everything changed. Eris, who once looked like a predator toying with its prey, was now a cornered animal. Her body stiffened, her eyes blazed with pure hatred. The desert itself seemed to tremble under the silent fury that was building up inside her.

Kratos realized at that moment that his daughter was carrying an enemy capable of destroying her. An enemy she greatly feared.

Eris raised her hands, and it was as if the sky bled. A crimson blush spread through the clouds, consuming the blue and bringing with it a windless storm. The ground shook beneath the Medjai's feet, cracking like shattered glass. The grains of sand vibrated, as if a sleeping entity were awakening beneath the surface of the desert.

Before anyone could react, the world distorted around them. The sun, which had once shone like gold in the sky, now took on a bluish, almost white hue. The desert became as cold as the fimbulwinter in Midgard. Reality was torn like a thin veil and, in the blink of an eye, the three thousand warriors, Kratos and Atreus, were plucked from Egypt and spat out into another realm - a realm where only Eris had absolute power. Kratos looked around, even though there was the sky above their heads, the atmosphere reminded him of Tartarus in Greece. A place where condemned souls were thrown and forgotten into eternal torment.

The transformation was brutal. The scorching heat dissipated, replaced by a suffocating cold, as if every particle of air was impregnated with the essence of chaos. The ground, once golden, darkened to a deep reddish hue, as if it were made of dry ashes mixed with coagulated blood. But there was no time for contemplation. The sand began to rise, like a cascade against gravity, moving like tides that ignored any natural logic. It rose in sinuous columns, ascending towards the sky, forming spirals

Then the structure took shape behind Eris, a gladiatorial arena, where death is the ultimate prize. The coliseum emerged from the desert itself, its walls molded from compacted sand and black glass. The architecture was impossible, arches that floated without support, towers that twisted like the roots of an ancient tree, symbols pulsing on their surfaces like veins under translucent skin. The space inside the coliseum was vast, it seemed infinite, larger than it should be, as if it defied the laws of physics.

The Medjai scattered, stunned, their spears pointed in all directions. Kammus looked around, eyes wide, frowning in disbelief. Kratos clenched his fists, feeling the magic pulsing around him. Atreus swallowed.

Eris, at the center of the spectacle, smiled.

She raised her hands, and the sandstorm around the coliseum fell silent. Time seemed to stop, as if the universe was holding its breath at the grandeur of that structure. Then, with a snap of her fingers the earth shook. Cracks opened, spewing out a viscous darkness, a substance that seemed alive, crawling and writhing like shapeless serpents.

And then, emerging from behind the gigantic coliseum, came the head of a creature. A snake, half Jörmundgander's size, but much more frightening.

Like a nightmare made of flesh and shiny black scales. Its skin was coal-black, with scales that erratically reflected the light of the coliseum. Its eyes weren't eyes at all, but glowing slits that exuded a hungry purple glow, prowling the Medjai, it knew they would be its food. Its jaw was riddled with jagged fangs, oozing a venom that would eat away even the hardened sand of the ground. In its tail, which was too far away to reach, a rattle shook in a chorus of tremors that shook the earth and made it even more frightening. Its body seemed to extend beyond reality, an endless colossus, an entity whose true extent was impossible to comprehend. Behind the creature, it was impossible to see anything. As if it brought night itself and the void with it

—  Apophis. - Mimir murmured.

His roar reverberated in space, a deep note that made even Kratos hesitate for a brief moment. He ran towards Calliope with Atreus to protect her. He feared that the creature would attack her, but Apophis ran straight past her and went in search of the Medjai.

The Medjai panicked. Some tried to run. It was no use. Apophis moved with the grace of an absolute predator. His tail sliced through the air, crushing dozens in a single blow, reducing flesh and bone to dust.

Atreus reacted first, drawing his bow and firing a glittering arrow. The projectile hit the monster, but disappeared inside its body as if it had been devoured by the void itself. Kammus shouted orders, urging his warriors to fight. Eris just watched. Kratos approached Calliope who was only watching the creature, she was spinning her hands and flames like those of his blades were shining brightly.

— Are you controlling this thing? —  Kratos asked.

Eris only looked at him, but that was his confirmation. She didn't need to raise her sword to destroy those men. They were already dead. With a sigh, she turned and headed for her next target. She walked towards the coliseum with heavy steps, passing through a large arch adorned with red poppies.

Atreus ran up to Kratos, who was watching Calliope walk calmly towards the arena she herself had created.

— I'll stop Apophis. You go after her. — Atreus said.

Kratos nodded in agreement, Atreus would become a formidable warrior, he trusted him to defend himself. But he had to look again at the creature that seemed to ignore them, its focus was solely on swallowing as many Medjai as possible.

—  Are you sure you can do it?

—  Yes! — he shouted, running towards Apophis.

Kratos followed behind her, the echoes reverberating through the unreal space. In the coliseum, there were thousands of seats made of stone, with red humanoid shadows wriggling on the benches. The shadows around them were clapping, laughing, enjoying the spectacle, formless spectres, but charged with something perversely human. They were there for Eris. They were her audience, her court, her jury.

Eris was sitting in the center when Kratos entered, the table in front of her seemingly made of pure solid darkness. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was a mixture of irony and disdain. There was something eerily calm about her. As if everything were a game, a board where she moved the pieces at will. An immense sadness seized his heart, this was not the child he had seen on the Elysian fields. She looked like her, her voice, her features. But the Calliope that Kratos remembered, the little girl who played the flute, who told stories, was suffocated by a woman full of resentment, who sought to cause pain and suffering in others.

Kratos stopped a few paces away. His warrior's eyes scrutinized every detail, every trace of emotion that could escape his daughter, but Eris was an impenetrable wall. She had already given up her humanity and now she just wanted to end it all, no matter who she took with her.

—  Have you decided yet? —  Her voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Kratos frowned.

—  What are you talking about?

Eris leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.

—  Whether you're going to kill me or not.

The answer came without hesitation.

—  I would never hurt you.

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, analyzing him, looking for cracks in his conviction. Then a small smile appeared.

—  Are you sure about that?

Kratos held her gaze.

—  Of course I am.

Eris nodded slowly.

—  Then let's put it to the test.

Kratos felt a change in the air. As if reality itself was molding itself to Eris' will. The ground beneath his feet vibrated, and the shadows around him laughed, relishing the promise of a new game.

—  Now it will be you or me.

He watched her, feeling a chill that didn't come from fear, but from understanding what Calliope was going through. Calliope had no interest in winning or losing. For her, battle was just a means. She had turned her pain into a cruel game, where the only rule was to prolong her opponent's suffering. And now, he was her target.

Unlike him, who used his blade to cut down his enemies without hesitation, Eris preferred to play. Manipulate. Test the limits of pain. She was chaos incarnate, and worse, she was willing to die just to see him suffer. That would be her last battle, she thought. After that, she no longer wanted to raise her sword, no longer fell pain. He would free her. That's what she needed.

Kratos clenched his fists.

—  This path you are seeking will not bring you peace. It won't lessen your pain.

Eris raised an eyebrow.

—  Peace is not what I seek.

Kratos took a deep breath.

—  I've made many mistakes, Calliope. No matter what you've become, you're still my daughter. We can go back and move on. Don't do this. —  His voice came out hoarse, but firm.

Eris remained impassive, as if the words couldn't reach her. The silence between them was filled with the distant sound of the chaos she had created. War cries, roars of the serpent Apophis, the sand swirling like an uncontrollable vortex. The screams of terror in the distance, the loud rattle of Apophis that made the walls vibrate.

Eris watched him for a long time.

—  You have two paths ahead of you. One. You fight me, kill me and win. Save your friends and my magic will take you back to the desert. — She got up from the bench and began to write with her index finger in the air, the words drawing themselves out in gold as if she were creating a magical agreement. —  Or two, you fight me, I win. Everyone dies. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone.

The shadows continued to clap their hands, faceless spectres watching the spectacle of torment that Eris was orchestrating.

—  I won't fight you. I won't be part of this sick game you've created. Stop it, now! - He ordered, his voice now loud, like a command.

She slowly raised her hand and a sword materialized in front of her. The blade was black as night, its edges vibrating with a pulsating red energy. Her eyes met Kratos', devoid of any hesitation.

— I had this sword forged especially for you, — said Eris, twirling the blade between her fingers. She looked at her father with a smile. Her eyes turned red, flames consuming her irises. —  Prepare your last words, Kratos, you won't make it through today.

Kratos remained motionless, his muscles tense, but showing no intention of fighting back. He had seen this scene before. Not with Calliope, but with his own father. The cycle was repeating itself, and he no longer wanted to be part of it.

Eris rushed forward, her sword slicing through the air with a deadly sizzle. Kratos dodged, moving in a calculated manner, without ever striking back. She attacked with ferocity, each blow charged with anger, but he just kept dodging, refusing to respond with violence.

— Fight me! —  she shouted, her eyes burning with fury. —  Don't treat me like a child, Kratos!

He didn't reply immediately.

 His feet moved smoothly over the hardened sand of the coliseum, avoiding every onslaught. When he finally spoke, his voice was full of regret.

—  I've been down this road before, child. I faced my own father, sought revenge and drowned myself in the blood of those who did me wrong. You will only bring more suffering on yourself. And when you realize it, it may be too late.

Eris laughed, but there was no joy in her laughter. Only despair. Desperation to end it once and for all.

—  I want you to suffer. I want you to feel what I felt watching my people die. The way my mother suffered when you raised the blade over her.

Her eyes began to water, but she was still in an attack stance. She spun her sword around and attacked again. Kratos dodged at the last moment, the mention of Lysandra hurting more than any blow she could have thrown at him. She had avoided mentioning her name in his previous conversation with her. And Kratos somehow felt relieved about that, he didn't want to hear his own daughter acknowledge his faults. But almost like an accident, the words came out of her. She paused for a moment, realizing that there was no stopping it, she couldn't, so she lunged forward again, the blade cutting through a strand of his beard, but he remained outwardly unshaken.

Then, suddenly, he dropped the weapons that were strapped to his back.

The Leviathan Axe fell heavily to the ground, followed by the Chaos Blades and the chains that bound them. He opened his arms, exposing his chest, staring Eris firmly in the face.

— Then kill me. If it brings you peace, end it now.

Eris stopped. For an instant, only the sound of cheering shadows echoed in the coliseum. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword until the knots turned white. Her heart was pounding. Why was he making this so difficult? Why wasn't he doing what he had done so many times before? It was simple, a Greek goddess stood before him, someone he should hate. He just needed to give in to his anger, that which he always stifled but which never left him.

But for Kratos, that was his daughter, little Calliope. And he couldn't kill her.

She roared with frustration and struck him. Not with a blade, but with a clenched fist. The impact knocked Kratos back, but he didn't fight back. Another punch, and another. She wanted him to fight back, to fight, to see her as an enemy and not as his lost daughter.

—  Defend yourself! —  she shouted, hitting him as hard as she could, pushing him, punching him. Kratos accepted her fury. He wouldn't be to her what Zeus was to him. —  Fight me, you bastard!

But Kratos just stared at her, his eyes full of pain. Something that made her angrier than anything else.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Eris hesitated.

The air in the coliseum vibrated with the energy of chaos, an invisible weight that crushed the lungs of anyone who dared to breathe in there. Kratos was still motionless, blades and axe thrown to the ground, his expression hardened, but his eyes carried a silent pain. In front of him, Eris gasped, her face wet with tears that evaporated as they touched her warm skin of pulsating magic.

She was covered in red energy, as if her body were on fire. Her eyes raged, tears streaming down her face. Her posture oscillated between rage and agony, as if she was fighting with herself not to give in completely to what she was becoming. That was Spartan fury. It took Kratos a while to recognize it in her. The same burst of fury that gave him the strength to defeat his enemies. That blinded him when he lost control. But for Calliope, Spartan fury was not an explosion of gunpowder that devastated everything in one long breath, but an all-consuming, constant fire that was slow to burn out.

Then a crash cut through the silence. Atreus was thrown brutally into the coliseum, his body spinning in the air before colliding with the sandy ground. He groaned, trying to catch his breath, while outside Apophis roared, his gigantic presence casting monstrous shadows over the arena.

Eris lowered her eyes to Atreus and something new ignited in them, an opportunity to finally put an end to everything. Her face, previously dominated by hatred, contorted into a slow, icy, predatory smile. She raised her sword and pointed it directly at her fallen brother.

—  If you don't fight me for real - her voice was a venomous whisper, tears still streaming down her face. —  I will kill your beloved son.

Kratos felt his stomach sink. The Ghost of Sparta's gaze flickered between daughter and son, past and present merging into a nightmare he knew all too well. His fist clenched instinctively, his muscles tensing, but he didn't move.

—  Calliope... —  his voice was low, almost pleading, but she just tilted her head sideways, mockingly.

—  You told me you would never hurt me. But would you let him die to keep me alive? Because if you don't kill me, you can be sure that I will. —  Her eyes shone with something beyond madness. A cruel challenge. An abyss of no return.

Atreus, still trying to stand up, looked at his father, panting, but with no fear in his eyes. He knew Kratos. He knew that his father no longer wanted to be a monster. But he didn't know what would happen if he was forced to choose between his children.

Kratos felt a crushing weight on his shoulders. He couldn't lose Atreus. He couldn't allow Calliope to sink further down this path of destruction. And then, against everything he had sworn to himself, he felt the ancient instincts roar inside him.

Slowly, his hands opened and closed. A long sigh escaped his lips. He had vowed never to give in to anger again. But looking at Calliope, her eyes full of tears and hatred, the sword heading for Atreus' neck. Perhaps he no longer had a choice, he would lose one of his children. Or lose them both.

Chapter Text

Atreus tried to get up in the face of Calliope's threat, but before he could raise his sword, black roots emerged from the ground, trapping his arms and legs with supernatural force. Atreus opened his eyes wide, Calliope still holding the sword to his throat. Kratos watched his daughter with a look that could only be translated as deep pain. For him, there was no worse nightmare. There was no greater agony than the one he was feeling. His posture was austere, that of a general, but his eyes begged Calliope to drop her sword and not force him to kill her.

Kratos took a step back; he shook his head in denial. But this angered Eris even more, as her sword touched Atreus' neck, and a red line of blood ran down his neck to his collarbone. Kratos felt his blood boil, his instincts at war with his mind. He then reluctantly reached for Faye's axe.

— No. Not that one. — Eris said, her eyes showing her despair. For her, the fight was over, but she didn't want to leave alive. With a swift movement of her hands. Kratos' axe was thrown into one of the coliseum's floating columns. Kratos looked down at his hands, she had done it, not him. — Use the blades.

Kratos stared at her in shock, her despair turning to madness.

— No. — he said. — You want me to treat you like some goddess. Well then. I won't be part of your sick game. Put the sword down.

— That's your choice. — She raised her hand towards Atreus, and the boy started writhing in pain. Veins of blood exploded on his skin. Scars as red as lava burned his skin. Kratos didn't think.

He threw himself at Eris and pulled her firmly by the arm. But before he could do anything, the sorceress's magic threw him over a pillar next to Faye's axe. Kratos fell to the ground with a dry thud. The air was still freezing cold. Eris' blade was still pointed at Kratos' son's throat.

Atreus struggled against the magical roots that bound him. Her aura pulsed, a storm of chaos contained in a fragile body. Her eyes were empty, but full of fury. Kratos analyzed the scene, his mind spinning in search of a plan. He couldn't hurt Calliope. Ever. But he wouldn't allow her to kill Atreus.

Atreus, seeing his father hesitate, seeing that he might consider killing her, shouted with all his might:

— Don't give in, Father! Don't hurt her!

Eris' anger boiled over. With a gesture, the air around Atreus trembled, and a crimson glow sewed through his lips like a needle and thread, sealing his mouth in absolute silence. Kratos stiffened. The despair in his son's eyes was a mirror of his own pain.

He walked towards Eris, weaponless, without raising his hands. She pressed the blade against Atreus' throat, watching him approach.

— Stay where you are! — she shouted. But Kratos didn't stop.

With one swift movement, he took the sword from her hands and threw it away. Eris gritted her teeth, her gaze becoming darker. With a furious gesture, she lifted Kratos off the ground and threw him with titanic force. He crashed back into one of the coliseum's walls, cracking the sandy structure. Pain exploded in his back, but he staggered to his feet.

Eris advanced. Ignoring the sword she had promised to use to kill him, she grabbed one of the Blades of Chaos, her eyes glowing with resentment. In a single movement, she launched herself at Kratos, holding the blade in both hands, pressing it against his chest. The edge burned his skin, the weight of it was pure hatred and despair.

Kratos couldn't resist. He looked into her eyes, feeling the trembling in Eris' hands.

And then, with painful tenderness, he lifted a hand and ran it through her hair, just as he did when she was just his little Calliope.

— Calliope... Forgive me, child. - This was his goodbye, an apology not only for killing her, but for failing her. His eyes filled with tears, he accepted his fate.

The name broke something inside her. Her body shuddered, her eyes widened. Tears began to run down her face, but she didn't let go of the blade.

Behind them, Atreus managed to break the spell that silenced him. He took a deep breath and spoke with a firm voice, despite his fear:

— Eris... don't do this. We are your family. Please.

The blade wavered in her hands. Her chest heaved, tears falling uncontrollably. She looked at Kratos, anguish taking over her countenance. Hatred mixed with pain. She wanted to finish him off, but... she couldn't. Not like that.

The blade fell from her hands, clattering to the ground. She took a step back, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to stifle her sobs.

Then she looked at Kratos, her voice broken:

— I'm not going to kill you... but not because I forgive you. — Her eyes darkened. — But because I don't want your curse on me.

With a gesture, the reality around them shattered. The coliseum began to crumble into sand, and the magical storm around the world of Eris began to collapse. Kratos felt the weight of the moment. His daughter was there, in front of him, alive... but out of his reach.

Atreus approached cautiously.

— Let us help you.

But she didn't answer. She just turned away.

— It's over. You're free of me. And I'm free of you. — It was almost a whisper.

Dense dust still hung in the air when Kammus emerged from the shadows. His gaze was filled with implacable fury, his eyes injected with pain and hatred. The last of the Medjai walked slowly towards Eris, his breathing ragged with grief. He reached down and grabbed Eris' fallen sword, the same blade that moments before she had pressed against Atreus' throat. His firm hand trembled as he raised the weapon, but not from hesitation - it was contained rage, boiling inside him, about to break free.

Eris remained motionless. There was no sign of defense, no gesture of reaction. Her eyes were fixed on a distant point, empty. She didn't flinch or raise her hands to conjure magic. She just stood there, waiting. Accepting.

Kratos watched the scene unfold as if time had slowed down. The movement of the blade cutting through the air, the resolution in Kammus, the silent acceptance in Eris. His body acted before his mind could formulate a thought. In an instant, he crossed the space between them and grabbed Kammus by the neck, lifting him up with raw, overwhelming force.

The Medjai let out a cry of surprise and frustration as the blade fell from his hands. Kratos flung him away with a brutal blow, Kammus' body rolling on the sand, staggering to his feet, spitting blood. His face contorted into an expression of pure hatred as he stared at Kratos.

— She killed my son! — Kammus spat, each word impregnated with pain. — She slaughtered all my brothers! And you still protect her?

Kratos didn't answer. He just walked towards the man like a predator advancing on its prey.

— I'll kill her! - Kammus roared, reaching for his sword again. — That evil witch deserves to die! Damn her! Curse on you! Curse on your entire bloodline!

Kratos grabbed Kammus again before he could make any movement. His fingers tightened with relentless force around Medjai's neck. There was no hesitation. There was no room for mercy. With a single dry snap, the Medjai warrior's neck broke.

The warrior's body fell lifelessly to the sand, his glazed eyes reflecting the pale glow of the moon. The silence that followed was deafening.

Eris slowly raised her hand, her fingers trembling. The sand coliseum began to collapse for good, the pillars crumbling, the stands dissolving in the wind. The colossal serpent, Apophis, disappeared as if it had never existed. There was no Medjai left alive. The sky, once tinged with red, returned to its original darkness. Her world was disappearing.

In the blink of an eye, they were back in the desert. The scorching heat of the desert spread through the air, contrasting with the biting cold of what had just happened.

Eris walked unhurriedly to a rock and sat down. Her posture was one of defeat, but not physical - her mind was broken. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, expressionless. Her fingers interlaced on her knees.

Kratos took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the battle still in his muscles. His eyes scanned his surroundings, looking for Atreus. He found his son lying in the sand, but alive. He rushed over to him, bending down to examine him. Atreus was behind Kratos, he noticed that his axe was still on his back, but the blades of Chaos were lost in the coliseum.

— I'm fine, — Atreus whispered, trying to pull himself together. His gaze turned to Eris, a mixture of sadness and compassion in his eyes. — What about her?

Kratos didn't answer immediately. He stood up, his gigantic silhouette moving heavily towards Eris. He stopped in front of her, looking down.

— Calliope... — His voice was a muffled thunder, full of contradictory feelings.

Eris didn't raise her eyes. There was no more fury in them. Just emptiness.

Kratos didn't know what to say. For the first time in a long time, he felt that words wouldn't be enough.

Kratos watched Eris, or rather Calliope, as if he wanted to record every detail of her face. The pain he saw in her eyes was a reflection of the guilt that weighed on his soul. His voice hoarse and deep, he finally broke the silence:

— We can forget this and start again.

Eris remained silent for a moment. Her eyes drifted to the barren horizon, as if she were trying to find the right words. Then, with a heavy sigh, she began to speak, her voice laden with bitterness and weariness:

— When I was in the Elysian Fields, sorcerers came to me. They offered me a way out... I was alone. Such a beautiful place, but empty. The world had collapsed and there was hardly anyone there.

Kratos listened intently, the weight of her words sinking even deeper into the invisible blade that was already piercing his chest. He had left without looking back, leaving his daughter trapped in a deserted paradise, a golden tomb.

— I accepted their deal. I didn't think twice about it. — Eris continued. — And I was able to get out of there. But I was still weak... I was nothing. Just a ghost of a weak girl. Then, years later, I agreed to undergo the ritual. It destroyed my soul... and rebuilt it. There is no greater violation than that, no greater pain. Believe me, I know. I stopped being Calliope. I became Eris.

Her voice trembled for a moment, but soon regained its firm tone. Kratos, Atreus... both listened without interrupting. The god of war felt a knot tighten in his throat. He wanted to speak, he wanted to say something that would ease her pain, but he knew there weren't enough words to make amends for the past.

— Calliope is dead. There is no more. I killed her. I buried her in that temple. — She looked again at Kratos, who was watching her sadly.

— If I had known... I would never have allowed it. It's my fault.

Eris stood up from the rock. Her gaze remained fixed on the ground, as if she feared that when she looked at her father, everything would fall apart. And then, with a tone that was cold but filled with a latent sadness, she murmured:

— It wasn't your fault, Kratos. You weren't even there.

Kratos closed his eyes for a moment, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. His daughter, his Calliope, who he thought he'd lost forever, had been suffering all this time. And he... he didn't even know.

Atreus approached slowly, watching his father and sister. He understood, somehow, the pain they were both carrying. But he also knew that there was still something that united them. The family that remained, fragmented but alive.

The silence that followed was heavy, but necessary. Kratos felt every word like an open wound. But, for the first time, he wouldn't run away. He wouldn't let history repeat itself. He still had a daughter. He still had a son. And somehow, they needed to find a way forward.

With slow steps, she looked up at Kratos, her eyes filled with conflicting emotions.

— I just wanted to know... if you... at least a small part of you, loved my mother and I, — her voice sounded low, hesitant, but laden with sadness. - I need to know.

Kratos held his daughter's gaze, his countenance hardened by guilt and regret. The answer came without hesitation, but full of pain.

— I loved you with all my soul.

Eris studied her father's face, looking for any trace of falsehood in his words. She didn't find it. Even so, the pain inside her wouldn't go away.

— But you never tried to come back, — her voice shook, a mixture of anger and sadness. — You never tried to find me again. You left me there and never looked for me again.

Kratos had no answer to that. Her words were true. He had left Calliope in the Elysian Fields and never looked back. The weight of that choice now fell on him with crushing force. He thought she would be safe there, and that he would never be able to reach her again. How could he take his daughter away from the place of peace and risk losing her again? Or failing her again? He couldn't.

Eris took a deep breath, trying to control the emotions that were consuming her.

— You threw me away like I was nothing, you turned your back on me. I never heard a word of goodbye from you.

Eris continued, her voice laden with a regret she could no longer hide.

— Even though I was small, if you had talked to me, explained your reasons to me, I would have understood. Even though I was little, I would have understood you and forgiven you. My mother too... I'm sure she forgave you. But... you threw me out like I was nothing. And you left me there.

Her words cut deeper than any blade had ever done. Kratos remained silent, for he knew there was no justification that could erase his choice.

Eris took a deep breath, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

— What you did didn't change how I felt about you. After that day, I didn't lose my love for you... but I began to hate myself.

She wasn't trying to hurt him. Not this time. Her words were not sharp blades of resentment, but naked truths. It was the confession of a child who had grown up alone in the limbo of existence, carrying the burden of an abandonment she had never fully understood.

Kratos tried to speak, but words failed him. He didn't know how to fix something that had been broken for so long. He didn't know how to ease the pain he had caused.

Eris looked away, breathing heavily. For a brief moment, her eyes rested on Atreus, then returned to Kratos.

Without another word, she raised her hand and a black cloud began to envelop her. Within seconds, her body was consumed by darkness and, like a breath of wind, she disappeared into the desert.

Only Kratos, Atreus and Mimir remained.

Silence hung over the desert as Kratos and Atreus stood there, watching the empty space where Eris had disappeared. The wind blew gently, carrying with it the dust and remnants of the battle.

Kratos clenched his fists. His first instinct was to go after her. He couldn't just let her go one more time. Not now.

He took a step forward, but felt Atreus' hand grip his arm tightly.

— Father... maybe you should give her some time.

Kratos turned his gaze to his son, his eyes still filled with determination and a touch of restrained despair.

— I left her before. I won't make the same mistake.

Atreus took a deep breath.

— I know, I know. But now is not the time. You heard her... everything she felt for so long. She didn't disappear because she wanted to get away from you. Maybe, for the first time, she just needs space to understand it all.

Kratos remained motionless, his eyes focused on the empty horizon. He knew Atreus was right, but accepting that was another story.

— What if she doesn't come back? — his voice was deep, full of the regret he rarely showed.

Atreus hesitated for a moment, but then answered softly:

— If she needs time to calm down, we should let her have it. But I believe she will come back. And when she does... we'll be here. For her.

He nodded slowly, looking at his son.

— Let's go, then.

Atreus smiled slightly, knowing that, even without saying it, Kratos had accepted his words. 

Chapter Text

The desert was silent. The sky, reddened by the setting sun, the sand blown by the winds across the camp of the Sons of Seth, and no sound but the rustling of the tent cloth. There was no singing, no clamor. Only mourning. The dead had already been buried, but the camp was still stained with blood, the old well had been sealed after Khepri's death. The camp, which had previously been filled with loud music, dancing and celebrations, was now as barren as the desert itself. Burnt-out tents lay in corners of the camp, several residents having decided to flee after the protective camp was destroyed by Amnotep and his men. The site, once a sanctuary for travelers and victims of the Medjai's evil deeds, now became an open-air cemetery.

Sobekhotep was lying on the floor of his tent. Jugs of wine littered the floor; he hadn't bathed for days. His face looked disfigured by drunkenness and the pain of losing his daughter. He blinked as he heard the sound of footsteps. Eris's footsteps were heavy, she pushed aside the fabric of the tent and entered his quarters.

Sobekhotep didn't look at her.

Eris stood a few meters away, watching the man in front of what remained of his war. Her robes fluttered in the wind that entered the tent, and for a moment the silence seemed eternal.

— You destroyed them, — Sobekhotep murmured, his voice weak and hoarse. — You killed them...

— Yes, — replied Eris, simply. — They're all dead, including your brother, Kammus.

He looked up at her, his eyes full of pain. Kammus, his brother, tormentor of the woman he loved, but also the brother he betrayed. He finally got his revenge, but it came with a bitter taste in his mouth.

— You did what I always wanted. But now... now she's dead. The only one who mattered. Why would I want all this if my daughter isn't alive with me?

— You lost her before you got to me, — Eris replied, not very gently. — When you decided that your pain was greater than your love for your family. When you chose revenge over peace.

She raised her arm, and a sword appeared in her hand - with a handle as black as onyx and a gleaming blade, rippling with a light of its own, as if it were alive. The same sword she had used to threaten Kratos. She threw it at his feet.

— This sword has my power. It will give whoever wields it the power to change destiny, write their own history and even kill gods. With it you will be a god.

Sobekhotep looked at the weapon without moving.

— With it, you have four paths. — Eris' voice was firm, unperturbed. — You can use it against yourself. Take your own life, since you no longer believe your pain can be cured. I wouldn't judge you for that, many before you have chosen that path. Or you can blame me, hunt me down. You can drive that blade into me, if you wish. Maybe you'll beat me. Or maybe I'll die trying. You can go to the people left behind, wield that sword like a tyrant and become the worst Medjai that ever lived. Much worse than the ones you hated. Or... you can be better. You can lead. Save them. Fight for them. Be the change you wanted. Not against someone, but for something.

Sobekhotep stood up suddenly, trembling. Anger, pain, confusion. It all mixed together in his chest.

— You talk as if it were simple,— he spat. — After everything I've lost? After burying my daughter?

— You lost what you chose to sacrifice, — she replied.

He clenched his fists so hard that blood ran between his fingers.

— Why did you do it now? Why... only after she was dead?

Eris stared at him for a long time before answering.

— Because you needed to lose something... to understand the weight of taking a life. You were willing to kill innocent people for your cause, you betrayed your people for revenge, for power. Your thirst for blood led you to forget why you should fight. Now you know, better than anyone, the cost of that. And now that you know the cost of taking a life. You'll think twice before doing it again. — She took a deep breath, her eyes glued to him. — You had everything, your daughter was alive, — she said. — But you chose to fight for a broken throne.

Sobekhotep didn't answer.

He just cried in silence, as the shadow of night began to fall over the camp.

— Now you're the last Medjai left.

Eris turned away. She walked slowly, her bare feet leaving footprints that the wind would soon erase.

— You can still choose, Sobekhotep, — she said at last, without turning around. — But choose soon, before fate chooses for you.

With a soft snap, she disappeared. All that remained was the sound of the wind and the sword lying at his feet, waiting.

The Hall of the Two Truths was as vast as an endless corridor, as silent as eternity. Columns carved with hieroglyphics pulsed with green and gold light. In the center, on a mirrored obsidian floor, rested the golden scales of Ma'at.

And there, standing with his arms crossed and a crooked smile on his lips, was Amnotep. The young Medjai who believed himself to be the greatest among men. He entered the judgment hall like a king on coronation day. His pose was one of victory, pride. He entered the hall with his chin held high, watching everyone, he had completed his purpose, he had changed the fate of the Medjai. He changed history and died a hero, or so he believed.

 — that's it? — he mocked, his voice resounding off the eternal walls. — The final pomp? Decorated gods deciding the fate of a broken man?

Ma'at, the goddess of Truth and Justice, didn't answer immediately. Her ebony and gold eyes gazed at Amnotep with serenity, but on her face there was an expression not of anger, nor of judgment. But one of compassion... and sadness. She knew the fate of men like him, and it wasn't favorable. Always the same result.

She walked lightly to the scales, her majestic wings slowly opening, revealing dozens of glittering feathers. Each one vibrated with a color, a weight, a story. Her wings were made of feathers, colored feathers and even made of extraordinary materials such as diamonds and gold. But she didn't choose just any feather.

With a slow, ceremonial gesture, Ma'at removed the darkest feather, a deep metallic gray, almost black. Its surface was opaque, dull. The heaviest feather. Forged from divine lead - the densest of her wings, reserved for those whose souls had been crushed by the world.

 — You weren't born this way,  — she said, in a soft voice, like the echo of a forgotten song.  — You were molded. Cracked on the outside, before cracking on the inside.

Amnotep laughed, without emotion. He had his arms crossed, his look of superiority showing, he didn't need to hide it anymore, nor could he. He watched Maat, it was she who would decide his end, but he didn't seem worried.

 — Thank you, great goddess. I'm ready to go to the other side.  — He raised his arms as if he expected to receive a golden crown. Or an award for his atrocities.

 — Not yet, — replied Ma'at.  — You need to be judged for your actions.

She placed the lead feather on one of the scales.

 — This is the heaviest of all. The most merciful. If your heart is lighter... you can get through.

Amnotep's heart was placed on the other plate. The lead feather glowed faintly, the magic activated. For a brief second, there was balance. But then... the heart plate came down like a stone.

Heavy. Filthy. Impassable. Unforgivable.

The leaden feather was thrown into the air like glass. And the scales groaned under the burden of the evil ingrained in Amnotep's soul.

Ma'at lowered her eyes. That wasn't just suffering, it was perversion, in the worst possible way.

 — There is pain in you. But there is also pleasure in causing pain. There are choices. There is no remorse, no guilt, no regret. And you chose, — She said regretfully.  — I can't forgive what has gone beyond the pre-established measure.

From the back of the hall, a creature crawled out. The pillars shook. With the head of a crocodile, the body of a lion and the back of a hippopotamus, Ammit the Soul Eater emerged from the shadows. The huge monster with eyes that burned in silence. She sniffed out sin, fed on corrupted hearts. It consumed evil and was nourished by the sins of the worst creatures that passed through the hall.

Amnotep watched the creature approach. And for the first time, his eyes lost their glint of debauchery.

 — So that's it, — he whispered, more to himself.  — Not even lead saved me...

— Not even lead, — confirmed Maat, with a light sigh.

Ammit ran on all fours to Amnotep, who didn't have time to scream or move. He opened his mouth. And when it bit down, it wasn't just meat that it consumed. It was the essence. Memory and soul. What was left of Amnotep was devoured, and the crumbs of what he had been fell into oblivion.

The scales fell silent. The leaden feather returned to Maat's wings. And the hall was empty again.

Ma'at regained her posture, took a deep breath and went after Eris. It wasn't over yet.

Outside the hall of judgment for souls, the world was silent, the desert sands mourned and embraced the death of those who had perished. The dunes, once golden, were now tinged with gray under the heavy sky. Egypt's sky, normally vibrant with the sun, which radiated life and warmth, now seemed dead and cold.

There, in the scorching desert, Eris walked with her head down, alone. Her black hair flowed down her face, her eyes red from the tears she was holding back. Her heart squeezed.

Her black clothes were stained with dust and blood, her face was rigid, but her eyes... Her eyes couldn't hide what remained: sadness. She had fulfilled her role, brought justice and balance to the universe. The balance between the living and the dead had been restored. But her heart was empty.

Ma'at was already waiting for her, standing in front of a solitary palm tree, her wings spread out like the horizon at dusk. Her eyes, soft and compassionate, met Eris' with tenderness.

— It was better this way, my dear, — said Ma'at, opening her arms.

Eris stopped, her feet sinking slightly into the sand. Her face showed no anger. Just a guarded cry. In front of Maat, she didn't need to hide her pain with irony or defend herself with words full of sarcasm; here she was no longer the powerful Eris, goddess of discord and strife, but Calliope or what was left of her.

— No, Ma'at, — she replied, her voice low and trembling. — It wasn't.

But it was, because if Amnotep became the leader of the Medjai after Kammus' death, he would be evil incarnate, he would kill and torture without anyone stopping him, because he would know the secrets of Egypt, he would know the place where the sacred artifacts that held the power of the gods would be. And then he would use them to become more powerful than the gods. Then he would destroy the world. Even though Eris stole the powerful artifacts and hid them, Amnotep would still be the leader of the Medjai and would still kill many. He would kill more than three hundred thousand people. His fate as a tyrant and exterminator of nations was inevitable.

Before either of them could say any more, Thoth, in full ibis form, emerged from the shadows of a hill, his countenance serene. He approached slowly. After so much pain and suffering, he had hoped that the prophecy about Kratos' child would finally be fulfilled and that Atreus would be safe, but for some reason fate still had him on a tightrope.

— I'm sorry, — he muttered. — But I agree with Ma'at. Your plan to bring Kratos... your own father... to kill you... That couldn't result in anything other than tragedy. Nothing good could come of that, Eris.

Eris lowered her eyes, her shoulders shaking. The tears came without warning, silent, bitter.

— He was the only one, — she whispered. — The only one who could stop me... The only one who could kill me. I knew that if I didn't die in those pyramids, I would kill Khepri. I couldn't resist, I can't control my magic. But he... he's killed so many gods, I thought he'd do it without hesitation. Even more so if he thought it would save Loki. I thought he'd kill me immediately if that's what it took to save him. I felt his hatred, his contempt, every time he used his blades. My magic, my essence is in them. I thought he hated me. That it would be easy for him.

— No, Eris — Ma'at approached and embraced her, wrapping her in his wings. — You know that's not true. He loved you, in his own way. In whatever way he could. But you weren't born to be the child of love... but the child of fury.

Eris collapsed into her arms. She cried like she had never cried before. Bitterly. Like a child tired of carrying the world. Wounded. Destroyed. Her power took a heavy toll, not just on others, but on herself. At first she didn't know exactly why Kratos came, but soon she understood. Her powers foresaw what would happen and before she knew it, he was already in Egypt. After Kratos's conversation with Thoth, she discovered that Khepri would die, so she used everything she could to prevent the girl's death.

— I just wanted to save Khepri. Now... there's nothing more to be done, — she murmured, wiping the tears from her face. — The destruction is done. The Medjai have fallen... and I can't do it anymore.

A sharp wind blew across the dunes. And then he appeared. The figure of a god loomed on the horizon, his eyes like red-hot coals, his skin golden, covered in golden armor. It was Horus, merciless and silent. The eagle's head, with a watchful eye, observed Eris.

Eris slowly moved away from Maat. She straightened up, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

— Don't bother trying to attack me, — she said. — I'm not going to resist. I have no reason to fight anymore.

The god didn't reply. He just watched her.

Behind him, another figure appeared carrying a bowl filled with a red liquid. A god who looked like a king, dressed in fine clothes. His crown was in the shape of a bird and his eyes were flaming like two living suns. His posture was threatening, but he wasn't there to fight.

— I brought you this. — Ra approached with the drink. — When you put the bracelet on you'll feel a lot of pain, it's almost torture. There are herbs that will calm you down. No suffering.

Eris nodded. Then she turned to Ma'at one last time.

— Promise me... by all that is sacred... that no one will find me. Don't let Anubis find out where I am.

Ma'at nodded.

— I swear, Eris. Your body will be kept where no hatred can touch it. — Ma'at once again looked sadly at Eris — Don't be afraid, my dear, you will have your rest. If that's what you really want.

— I feel nothing... — Eris was distraught, with red eyes and sobbing. — But relief. Because it's finally over.

Thoth lowered his eyes. The silence there weighed more than any feather in the balance.

— If he had killed me... He wouldn't even have known it was me. He could go on with his life, never knowing what really happened. I would be dead and Khepri would be alive. But he failed me, again.

Thoth looked at Eris.

— I understand your reasons, but you must also understand Kratos'. You were protecting your daughter and he was protecting his daughter too. You.

Eris stared at Thoth, her eyes now empty of any emotion. She didn't want to survive. The only thing that would bring peace was if Khepri lived and she died. Then she looked at Horus and said through gritted teeth:

— Just do it.

Without a word, he walked slowly away. Holding a beautiful bracelet, adorned with magical symbols. Ra handed Eris the wine, which she drank without hesitation. Her vision began to blur, her eyes grew heavy. “The nightmares would finally end.” She thought.

Fate was long in coming, the Medjais fell as heroes protecting their land. And for their role in stopping Amnotep and Eris, they were mummified by the very gods they served. They received the highest honors a Medjai soldier could receive, were buried as heroes, having fulfilled their purpose of protecting the innocent.

Eris would have her rest, but Kratos would feel a new kind of pain so overwhelming that it would lead him to a new choice and, perhaps, the fury that would follow would bring more chaos and destruction than ever before.

Chapter Text

Part 2: A dance between love and war

The city of Athens trembled beneath of Ares's feet. The god of war walked among the buildings, destroying houses with the movement of his hands. He was in his form as the god of war, enormous in size. His head was among the clouds, his feet crushing his enemies. People ran desperately in search of help. But Ares did not care about the fear he caused. Quite the contrary, he enjoyed. He walked majestically among the buildings, throwing the walls of houses onto the streets and casting curses under the sky. His goal was to draw attention to himself; he needed to be noticed by his father, who always showed his discontent with the god of war.

He shouted to the heavens to see him, that he would be greater than his sister, Athena.

Mars watched all this from a distance, seeing his past self as a strange figure. Ares sought destruction, to be seen. Mars contemplated this with disgust and shame. Like a caricature of himself. Until he felt himself being pulled, in a quick impulse he rose. He was no longer in Athens, but in a bed next to Aphrodite. Realizing that he had woken up, she slid across the bed to be next to him. She slid her legs over his, teasing him.

— Nightmare? — she asked with a half-smile on her face as she nestled into the arms of the god of war.

Of course. All he needed now was nightmares, a new consciousness that would torment him. He didn't have them. He didn't need to remember his past mistakes, nor reflect on them. He regretted nothing. Perhaps not having managed to kill Kratos when he had the chance. That was his biggest mistake. He got out of bed and dressed quickly when he heard a knock at the door.

— Come in, — he ordered.

The man who appeared at the door was dressed in robes as black as night. His partially exposed face showed no reaction. Not even when he saw Aphrodite, the goddess of love, naked in bed next to the Roman god of war.

— The council has been convened. The gods will meet to discuss the future, — said the sorcerer.

Mars headed toward the rubble of what remained of Olympus. Aphrodite walked beside him, and the two proceeded to the ruins of the Olympian council chamber, partially restored by magic. The columns were broken and the cracked mosaics bore witness to the destruction caused by Kratos not long ago. The air was charged with energy, the gods sat at a round table, their gazes somber. Some faces were covered with fury, others with sadness.

Among the gods were Apollo, Artemis, Hades, Poseidon, Zeus, Athena, Hermes, all gathered around a black marble table provided by the magicians. No one dared to speak, for they knew that the devastation had been immeasurable until then. Some looked at each other with suspicion, others wore the weight of humiliation on their faces. But they all turned away from the silent conversation, turning to Mars when he arrived.

In the center, Zeus stood imposing, his eyes shining with the force of the storm. His white hair and beard were even more solemn than before his death. Athena stood beside him, her expression cold and calculating, now in flesh and blood, no longer a ghost, but a goddess with an even sharper mind. Mars walked toward them, his gaze one of superiority toward those who had betrayed him. He appeared relaxed, but his gaze swept across the room like that of a predator analyzing its prey.

Zeus finally spoke, his voice echoing like thunder.

— Kratos destroyed us. He desecrated Olympus, overthrew our empire, scattered our ashes in the wind. Now we are here, reborn... and I ask: what will we do with this second life?

The tension in the room grew. Poseidon and Hades leaned forward, their expressions grim.

— Kratos must pay. What has been done to us cannot be ignored. He reduced gods to mere specters... and what if he knows we're back? — Poseidon declared.

— Then let him finish what he started? — Hades provoked.  — We are all weak, I feel my strength draining away. We cannot fight him like this. 

The silence weighs heavily. None of them want to admit it, but the fear is there. Apollo and Artemis look at each other, uncertain.

Hermes crosses his arms, leaning against a column, tossing a coin up and down.

— If Kratos killed us once, he can do it again. And let's be honest, the only one who might be able to face him is sitting right there.

He nods toward Mars. The god of war looks up, a short, mocking smile on his face.

— Me? Come on, Hermes, you give me too much credit. After all, do you really think I'm going to run out and grab a blade and solve your problems? You created the problem, you solve it.

— Isn't that exactly what Ares would have done? Would he go after him for revenge? — asked Artemis, Apollo's sister.

— I would never make the same stupid mistakes he did.
 
But no one believed Mars. He might look physically different, just like many others in that room. But they knew he was Ares. And they were just waiting for the moment when he would explode. 

Mars feels the eyes on him, judging him, waiting to see if he is just Ares reincarnated. He tilted his head toward Athena, a mocking gleam in his eye.

— Interesting. Tell me, when Ares fell, who replaced him? Who received the title of god of war? Who was molded and trained to be stronger, more efficient... more loyal to Olympus?

The gods looked away.

— Ah, yes. Athena and Zeus turned Kratos into the perfect god of war. A puppet. He served them well, for a time. He did your dirty work and then betrayed you all. But now that we're back, you think I'm a problem? Curious fear.

— Fear is usually well-founded, — Athena replied coldly.

— Or convenient.

The tension intensified. Athena did not respond, but her eyes analyzed Mars as if they could see every layer of his mind.

Apollo, the god of light, leaned forward, trying to ease the tension. He was a god with the form of an athlete, but a soul with sensitivity. A harmony that even Athena could never possess. 

— We're not here for a trial, are we? 

— No? Because it seems to me that you have already decided that I am the next traitor of Olympus.

He walks to the table, each movement calculated, placing his hands on it and looking directly at Zeus.

— Ares did not destroy Olympus. Kratos did. But who created Kratos? Who allowed him to become a god? Who engineered his rise and used him as a pawn against Ares? — His voice was a mixture of anger and defiance. His anger growing.

The gods exchange glances.

— So tell me, who is the real culprit? The Spartan warrior who was manipulated... or the gods who pulled the strings?

He looks directly at Athena and Zeus.

— I would say it's your fault.

Athena's expression remains unchanged, but a cold gleam flashes through her eyes.

— If you weren't an uncontrollable beast. The most detestable of all. We would never have resorted to this! —Zeus thunders. — It is your fault, for defying us, breaking the laws, and going against everyone.

Athena walked calmly toward the god of war.

— We are all here for a reason, Mars. The past was violent, but we are alive. The important thing is to decide what to do with this second chance, — Athena added, trying to calm everyone down.

Mars kept his gaze fixed, but slowly backed away.

— If this second chance is just a reflection of the first, what a waste it will be, — he muttered.

The gods squirmed in their seats. There was resentment, guilt, anger, and fear among them. But Athena, as always, remained composed.

— There is a bigger problem than our differences. The balance of the universe has demanded a price for our return, — said the goddess of wisdom in a solemn tone.

She looked to the corner of the room, where the Magician waited, shrouded in shadows, a silent observer. His eyes shone with an ancient and impersonal light.

— Before we decide what to do with Kratos, we need to talk about Calliope, — said Zeus, sitting back down on his throne.

The name echoed like thunder. Mars raised his eyebrow, intrigued.

— Calliope? — Mars frowned.

— Yes, Kratos' daughter.

The mage steped forward, his voice echoing like something that does not belong to the mortal world.

— The primordial order of chaos, the one we resorted to, demanded a price to restore the gods. Calliope was the bargaining chip. The daughter of the one who destroyed Olympus now walks among us.

The shock is immediate. Hades stands up abruptly, Poseidon pounds the table. Only Athena remains motionless.

— You brought Kratos' daughter back?! Are you crazy?! — asks the god of the seas.

Mars observes the gods' reaction, his mind already calculating the implications. An almost imperceptible smile appears on his lips.

— Interesting. Now what?

The gods look at each other. Mars already knows the answer: the war is far from over.

The great hall of the Olympian council seems larger and emptier than before, as if it still echoes with the deaths of the gods. The air is thick, heavy with magic. The gods maintain their positions, but now there is a clear discomfort. The revelation of Calliope's resurrection has brought a heaviness to the atmosphere.

In the center of the room, wrapped in a black cloak, the Magician observes the gods. His eyes shine with a pale light, and his presence seems out of place, as if he does not entirely belong to reality.

Mars sits, slowly twirling a dagger between his fingers. Athena maintains a firm posture, but her gaze narrows slightly, as if calculating the next moves on an invisible chessboard. Zeus stands, radiating authority.

— Speak, Wizard. Explain to the gods the reason for this... condition, — ordered the god of thunder.

The Magician stepped forward, his robes floating slightly as if the air around him were denser. His voice was a distant echo.

— The deaths of Calliope and her mother were the catalyst for the chaos that swept across Olympus. Kratos should never have broken his pact with Ares. His destiny was to be a servant of the god of war until he met his end. Their deaths shaped Kratos, turning him into the monster you eventually created. When the balance was broken and destiny altered, the primordial order demanded reparation. The first spark of chaos in exchange for the restoration of broken destiny. 

The gods look at each other suspiciously.

— So it was a whim of fate? An irony of chaos? We lost everything, and now the daughter of the destroyer walks among us? — Poseidon's face was filled with anger.

— Magic requires balance. There is always a price. We cannot add an equation without moving both sides. Her soul was torn from the Elysian Fields, and you were restored. So it was necessary.

— So the child was forced to leave eternal rest... just to serve as a bargaining chip? — Hades was restrained, but his face showed disgust with the whole situation.

— Well, tough luck for her. What do we do with all this? — Mars asked.

Artemis looked at him with contempt.

— You say that as if her life didn't matter.

— Because it doesn't matter. What matters is restructuring the order.

The silence weighs heavily. The gods are divided, some nodding in approval, others looking away, uncomfortable.
 
— If she is alive, then Kratos may find out, — Apollo reminded them.

— And if he finds out, our rebirth will be useless, — Aphrodite spoke for the first time. 

Hermes, the messenger of the gods, finally spoke, his voice laden with irony and sarcasm:

— Ah, how wonderful! We died once, we were reborn, and now we are chained by the damned ghost of a Sparta?

— I doubt he'll come back, — Poseidon said this time. — Why would he return to the ruins of Greece after more than three decades away?

— He won't come back because he has no reason to. But what if he finds out we took his daughter from her eternal rest? What would that do to him? — Apollo warned.

— The issue isn't just Kratos. Calliope's very existence upsets the balance of power. You have no idea what that could mean. — The mage interrupted the debate, his voice calm and impersonal, but laden with the weight of destiny. Everyone knew that the fate of the gods was in his hands. 

The gods tense up. Zeus crosses his arms.

— Explain yourself.

The mage tilts his head slightly.

— The resurrection ritual bound your lives to hers. Calliope is the thread that keeps you trapped on this plane. Like an anchor. If she dies... you die with her.

The revelation struck them like thunder. There is complete silence. Then Poseidon stands up abruptly, knocking over his chair.

— This is unacceptable!

The voices of the gods begin to overlap each other. The discussion becomes increasingly heated as they argue among themselves. 

— Then the answer is simple. We break the bond and eliminate the threat, — Mars murmured.

The gods turned to him. Artemis and Apollo's eyes widened, while Poseidon and Hades seemed to consider the idea.

— You want to kill a child who was in the Elysian Fields? — Artemis looked disgusted.

— It's not about wanting. It's about what needs to be done, — Mars replied.

— Are you listening to yourself? She was in Elysium! That means she has an honorable and pure soul! — she continued.

— Or it means that she now has a connection to something beyond our understanding. — Hades looked at the wizard, something about all this was strangely orchestrated.

— What if we keep her alive? Kratos would never fight us if he knew his daughter was here, he wouldn't risk destroying her again, — said Apollo. — She could be our ally. We raise her, make her one of us.

Hermes laughed, as if it were a joke. 

— And we're going to create an Olympic orphan? ‘Come, Calliope, sit next to Poseidon while we decide the future of the world.’ That will end well.

— But he could return and take her with him. We would lose control over our lives again, — said Hades.

The gods argue, voices rising again. Athena watches everything in silence. Mars just watches the disorganization, his expression of contempt deepening. Each one of them. He hated them all.

— Silence! — Zeus' voice boomed, silencing everyone.

He turned to the wizard.

— Is there a way to undo this connection?

The mage pauses.

— Yes. But it takes time. Time to gather the necessary forces and prepare the ritual.

Athena finally speaks, as if she were the highest authority in the place, which she perhaps was, her voice sharp.

— So that's it. Calliope lives... for now. And in that time, we will decide her fate.

...

Olympus is more serene than in previous days. There is still mistrust, but Calliope's presence seems, paradoxically, to bring a lightness to the atmosphere. The sky of Olympus shines in golden tones, reflecting off the white temples and imposing columns.

Mars stands on a marble balcony, observing the gardens of Olympus below. His mind is restless.

In the courtyard, Calliope plays among the golden columns. She runs back and forth, laughing, as if her innocence were immune to the weight of the fate that the gods carry. Her energy seems to resonate on Olympus, like a breath of life amid the shadows of war and betrayal.

Mars watches in silence.

He clenches his fists. The warrior within him demands coldness. He has always been the instrument of war, a ruthless executor. Logical reasoning tells him that Calliope is a risk. 

The truth hits him like an invisible blade: he killed her before. He engineered her death.  He didn't see Calliope as a little girl. Just an irrelevant detail on the battlefield. A small price to pay to create the perfect soldier. Now she is alive, laughing, running through the gardens as if nothing had happened.

And would he be capable of killing her again?

His jaw tightened. He couldn't be Ares.

Ares killed without thinking, without purpose, without nobility. Mars felt he needed to be more than that. The world was rebuilding itself, people were fighting for something different now. Being driven solely by bloodlust would get him nowhere. There was nothing left to destroy, the world was drowning in chaos, monsters and hideous creatures took over the earth, killing the few survivors. Those who survived the floods, explosions, and plagues sought shelter in other realms. They fled from destruction. And him? Maybe he should go back to the habits that brought him here. Destroy everything again, his powers were increased, while the gods were weakened, he became stronger and this time only he would be in control. But was that what he wanted? He wasn't sure, the uncertainty within him told him that there was something strange about him. He felt uncomfortable in his own flesh. As if he were wearing clothes that weren't his.

Being just a monster is not greatness. What is his reward for destruction? 

He always believed that strength defined a true warrior, but now he sees a flaw in that thinking. 

But if he kills a defenseless child, is there any difference between him and his predecessor? Would he go back to being just the great and destructive Ares?

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stifle the uncomfortable feeling. He didn't want to feel it.

But he did. For some strange reason.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his reflection. The Magician appeared at his side, his dark robes contrasting with the golden glow of Olympus. His ancient eyes seemed to see more than Mars would have liked.

— What did you do in that ritual? — he asked, looking at his own hands. — I don't feel like myself.

— Much was lost during the union of souls. It may take a while for you to return to normal. It may never return. — The wizard spoke with the naturalness of one knowledgeable in magic. — Have you not made your decision yet?

Mars remained silent for a moment. Calliope laughed loudly downstairs, trying to catch luminous golden beetles floating between the columns.

— The spell. Do you already know how to break it? — The deep voice.

The wizard nodded.

— Yes. It's a delicate process, but completely possible. The balance of the universe will be restored as soon as Calliope is removed from the equation. When the connection is broken, she will die. For her power will be uncontrollable and will destroy her from the inside out. There will be no way to keep her alive after that.

Mars closed his eyes for a moment. The idea of “removing her from the equation” bothered him more than it should have.

He couldn't be Ares.

The thought was like a blow to the chest. Ares killed without purpose, without honor, without remorse. He repeated it in his mind. Perhaps war should not be about destruction for destruction's sake. But about strategy, building something from the ashes, a new empire shaped by the blood of the Spartans who sacrificed themselves to protect the land.

Without beating around the bush, the Magician says:

— The gods await your word. Athena asked me if the spell could be done. But Calliope is the daughter of the man who owed you a debt of soul and now of blood. So we thought the decision should be yours.

Mars does not turn to him. His gaze remains fixed on the horizon. Below, Apollo and Athena walk toward the girl. Apollo kneels, his eyes level with hers. His blond hair shines like the sun as he prepares her for news that will change her life. Athena remains standing, watching her from above. Her voice is emotionless. 

— Your mother died in an attack by the barbarians, your father too. Therefore, you will stay with us until we decide your future, — she said from a distance.

Calliope began to cry while Apollo comforted her. He hugged her as she sobbed and asked about her mother. Athena just watched her suspiciously. As if the girl were a poisonous snake that would bite her at any moment.

Mars did not immediately answer the magician's question, just watched the clouds writhing in the sky. Until he finally declared aloud: 

— Tell them Calliope can't go through the ritual yet.

The Wizard raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. He had expected this.

— Because she can't... or because she shouldn't?

Mars turned slowly, his gaze dark.

— Just say what I ordered. She has just been resurrected. Her spirit needs to stabilize before the balance of the universe can be restored. Or make up something else.

The lie slips from his tongue with the precision of a well-calculated blow. The Wizard understood what was happening. Fate was sealed. There is a moment of silence between the two. Then, a slight smile forms on the wizard's lips.

— Understood.

He bows discreetly and walks away without further questions.

Mars remains still, motionless for a long time. He feels the warm breeze of Olympus against his skin, but his mind is far away. He was returning to the cradle of civilization, to build a new world, like a second chance.

This time, he chose not to be a monster. He finally turned toward his path when he was interrupted by Apollo.

— Apparently, the magicians can't cast the spell yet. They said we'd have to wait twelve years for the constellations to align or something. — Apollo spoke with strange caution, not wanting to disturb the new fragile peace on Olympus.

— And?

— I thought you should know. I talked to the girl, she has a very creative mind. A natural artist. Smart, a storyteller, and with impeccable musical taste. She won't be a problem for us. Besides, in a new world, we can build a civilization that appreciates what is beautiful and eternal, instead of settling for primitive instincts.

— What are you getting at, Apollo?

— I just thought about gathering girls like her. We can create a temple that serves as inspiration for humans, a place of arts and beauty. And with that, camouflage her existence. Until the ritual can be performed.

Mars crossed his arms.

— I wouldn't get too attached to her if I were you. She won't last long.

He turned to leave, but Apollo wasn't finished yet.

— You know, the magicians seemed willing to perform the ritual, but suddenly there was this setback. I wonder what could have happened, — Apollo provoked. 

Mars just glanced at him, ignoring the provocation, and continued on his way. He needed to find out what he would fight for, and he knew it wouldn't be for the gods.  

Chapter Text

Kratos was a man of war. A soldier forged by violence and trauma that had haunted him since his cradle in Sparta. He had fought countless battles, wielding spear and shield as his weapons. His fights were soaked in blood, conquest, and destruction. But the past few days had taught him that the most painful wars were not fought directly. The deadliest enemy was not the one who shed his blood, but the one who confronted him with words, exposing his most terrible mistakes, stripping his soul bare before his most shameful deeds, those things you would die to bury, to hide.

His daughter—the one he had killed with his own hands, hated him. Naturally. Perhaps he could live with her hatred; no matter how much she despised him, he would be there to help her, at least, in vain attempts, to mend whatever could be mended. But indifference, waiting, and absence hurt more than her fury. Could silence be a form of violence? A weapon that bled as much as his blades? He had discovered that it could.

Kratos lay in the old inn bed. Atreus slept soundly in the other bed against the opposite wall. He stared at the ceiling as if hoping the structure itself could comfort him from his restlessness. Calliope was once again lost somewhere. This time, he had no false consolation of believing she was safe in paradise, at peace, surrounded by vast fields with other pure souls. He did not know what had happened to her in his absence—whether she had been hurt, whether anyone had helped her. He took a deep breath.

The room was dark. Though the night was calm, it brought him no rest.

She had mentioned magi and spells. Now he knew she had become an assassin, a warrior like him, marked by life. The blame was his. He had returned with his son from the fight in the underworld, yet no Medjai had been so fortunate. His eyes burned as he felt his throat tighten. He swallowed hard, searching for the Blades of Chaos on the bedside table. They were not there, only Faye’s axe. How had things reached this point? He would never have imagined his life would take such a tragic turn. Perhaps a part of him should feel a drop of happiness at seeing her again, knowing she was alive and breathing. And he did. But he would give anything to not witness his daughter becoming someone so different from the girl she had been in her childhood.

The silence. The lack of news. Atreus had convinced him to give her time to recover, but he felt he should have insisted more, gone after her. Kratos rubbed his face forcefully, trying to dispel the thoughts that flooded him. He sat up. The room seemed larger, emptier. Mimir watched him, though they had yet to speak.

— You should sleep, brother,— Mimir said, his voice gentle.

— It’s been days…— Kratos replied, his voice hoarse and low.

— Yes…

Kratos lay down again, his eyes scanning the ceiling. An eternity passed before he fell into a deep sleep. When he opened his eyes, the warm sunlight of Egypt was already flooding the room through the window. No nightmares. For the first time, no torment pursued him through the night. The sun burned fiercely, and the room was stifling. Days were growing longer, and the sun more merciless.

— Father, — Atreus called, his voice echoing faintly.

Kratos finally opened his eyes. Atreus was holding a piece of paper in his hands.

— We received an invitation from Cassius and his wife, the Roman. — He held up the paper and handed it to Kratos, who read the note aloud.

The note was written in Ancient Greek, Kratos’s native tongue. It was elegantly composed, with a tone of formal courtesy, something typical of Harmonia, who favored refined words and exaggerated formality, as she had shown before.

Kratos returned the paper to Atreus, who seemed fascinated by the Greek script. It was an invitation to dinner at their home. The words family and unity were mentioned somewhere in the note. Atreus walked around the room, admiring Harmonia’s meticulous handwriting.

— I found it strange that she sent someone to deliver this instead of just inviting us directly. Are we going? — Atreus asked, still studying the note.

— Yes, — Kratos replied as he rose. — I need to know more about that man Kammus mentioned. Discover why Calliope is running from him. And find her.

— Ah, Mars, — Mimir remarked, noticing that Kratos had found a new mission. The Spartan never rested; he was always occupied with the next objective. — By now, you would think the girl would have returned, but she is more absent than gold in a poorly guarded vault.

— She must be fine, but…— Atreus glanced at Kratos, who had been increasingly pensive these days.

— What? — Kratos asked softly.

— Isn’t it strange the number of monsters appearing in the city? Since we arrived, everything seemed so peaceful, but after the Medjai died… we’ve seen creatures every day.

— It is strange, indeed, — Mimir added. — We know Calliope could control Apophis, perhaps she controlled the creatures, likely keeping them away from the city. Or perhaps the Medjai themselves did.

— Mimir, — Kratos said. — Have you ever heard of this god? Mars?

Mimir thought for a moment. The name was not unfamiliar to him. He knew who he was; he had heard of this god, knew his story. His name echoed across many distant lands, but the information lingered on the tip of Mimir’s tongue, just out of reach.

— I’m afraid I don’t recall, brother.

— Don’t know, or don’t remember? — Kratos asked.

— I think a bit of both.

— Any chance he’s been bewitched again? Like when Freya made you forget Baldur’s weakness?

— I’m not certain, brother.

Atreus watched the exchange between his father and Mimir, but what troubled him were the aberrations multiplying uncontrollably. Yesterday, twelve creatures had been slain. Each battle more exhausting than the last. The Blades of Chaos were gone, and Kratos felt the disadvantage of wielding only the spear and Faye’s axe as weapons. Not that he missed the blades, but despite his history with them, he could not deny their usefulness.

That night had been strange. He had finally slept. The nightmares had vanished. Just as Calliope had disappeared, and he had even questioned whether any of it was really happening. Perhaps it was a dream, another in his endless string of nightmares. But, of course, it was not.

Atreus tried to maintain his usual positive mindset, but something haunted him. Everyone carried the weight of the past few days. Atreus felt he had failed. He had promised he would choose the right side, that he would only fight after understanding both sides. But Eris had killed all those men as if they were nothing. She had said they would die, and she did. Her power in that place had left him shaken. She didn’t just cast attack or defense spells; she manipulated the environment, creating an arena in which she had absolute control. The flames. The sand. Apophis. She controlled everything to torture her father.

He understood, in a way, why she would be angry at Kratos. He himself had admitted to killing her mother - and her, too - and as someone who had also lost his mother young, he knew the pain of growing up without a mother. He tried to put himself in her shoes. But she had gone too far. She had turned people into monster snacks. He had lived among those men, talked with them, shared stories, and even fought alongside them, but now they were all dead. And worse: they had asked for help. Kammus had begged him to stop her, but he had chosen caution, and it had cost their lives.

Kratos had killed him to save Eris.

She was his sister. He tried to remember. They shared the same blood. He would not kill her. Kratos would not stop her. But she had been uncontrollable, and it had cost many lives.

He walked across the room toward the window. The sun seemed to rise higher in her absence. Atreus let out a slow sigh, placing the note beneath the table. He had a sister, a sister whose existence he had only recently discovered. Someone he had been eager to truly know, but now he was unsure of what to do if he saw her again. She was suffering, he thought. But what about those people? Had they deserved to die?

He had already tried to discuss it with his father, but Kratos was determined to avoid the subject. To him, it didn’t matter what she did; her victims were his victims. As if he had conjured the spells and commanded Apophis to kill them. He refused to admit that Calliope—or Eris—was a risk. So he decided to keep that thought to himself and only share it with Mimir if the topic arose.

Not long after, they prepared for dinner. Kratos walked with firm steps toward the location indicated on the note. Mimir, as always, hung from the Spartan’s belt. Atreus walked just behind, his eyes scanning the city for more monsters. But he found none; they only appeared during the day, and now the sun seemed finally ready to set.

They arrived at a house with architecture unlike the rest of the city. It was not a humble dwelling, yet not quite a king’s palace. Still, the structure stood out. Kratos felt a bittersweet nostalgia at the sight of the white marble pillars rising before the building. The details and patterns of the marble were clearly inspired by Greek architecture, though time may have forced the Greeks to adapt and evolve their style. Cassius’s house, a Roman. Well, perhaps Greece had inspired his people in some way.

In the fountain in front of the house stood a white marble statue of a beautiful young woman holding a vase that poured water into the basin. They reached the main gate and were greeted by Harmonia. She was as beautiful as ever, elegantly dressed and radiant. She welcomed them with a gentle smile and guided them through the house.

— I hope you enjoy Egyptian cuisine. I didn’t have time to prepare anything Greek or Norse that would be palatable for everyone.

— Thank you, — Atreus replied with an unusual composure and politeness.

The place was well-decorated. The light-colored walls bore beautiful paintings inspired by Greek culture, but with hieroglyphs here and there, some Latin phrases, and others in ancient Egyptian. As if two worlds had collided. Mimir noticed the class and wealth of the place; Harmonia probably came from a noble family, given her extravagant manners and lifestyle. Kratos entered the room with his usual suspicion, his eyes scanning Harmonia’s home. Until he spotted a painting on the wall of three figures that had haunted him since he arrived in Egypt. Three paintings of different goddesses.

— Who are they? — Kratos asked. Those statues had been on the Medjai altar when the gods appeared. He had seen them in the pyramids and remembered seeing them again in the Vulture’s cave.

— These are Sekhmet, the lioness. Goddess of war, vengeance, violent justice, and other rather bloody things, — Harmonia replied, pointing at the image. — Next to her is Hathor, her other persona—same goddess, but slightly different. They say that when Hathor was first sent to Earth by Ra to punish those who disrespected the gods, she became Sekhmet to punish the wicked. But when she arrived, she found no one worthy of life, so she began killing everyone uncontrollably, and her thirst for blood became so intense that Ra himself had to stop her, or she would have destroyed all. They represent femininity; I find it very interesting how the Egyptians depict their gods. 

Atreus furrowed his brow. He had heard this story before, but in a different version.

— Well, this is my favorite version of the story,— Harmonia said with a smile. — Next to Hathor… — She stopped speaking as Cassius appeared at the door, walking toward them.

— It’s a pleasure to have you here, — Cassius said, a calm smile on his face.

The great Spartan responded with a nod. Kratos did not trust easily, but if Cassius was a friend of his daughter, he figured it was worth trying to know them.

—Have you heard anything about Calliope? — Kratos asked.

Cassius and Harmonia exchanged a glance, a slight air of concern on their faces.

— We don’t know, — said the young goddess. — But wherever she is, she will appear. I’m certain of it.

Harmonia moved toward the table and gestured for the guests to be seated. Servants brought food and filled the plates. The guests spoke little, and the enormous size of the hall did not help. The atmosphere was tense, strange, with an awkward familiarity. Kratos ate mechanically while Atreus scanned every corner of the place with his eyes. He couldn’t help but notice how different everything was. His father rarely spoke about his old home in Sparta or the world he left behind, so this was the closest he had come to Greece or its surroundings.

— We already know you are not from here. But why did you come? — Atreus asked.

Harmonia looked at Cassius with a smile, as if this were her favorite topic.

— Well, Dr. Cassius here thought Egypt would be a good place to study and advance in medicine. Isn’t that right, Dr. Cassius?

— Yes, my love, — he replied, smiling lovingly at her. — I served a long time in Rome, as a soldier and army physician. But I thought I could learn more about anatomy and sciences here in Egypt, thanks to mummification and Egyptian rites. They are more open to study than in Rome.

— That’s very interesting, — Mimir responded. — And what about Calliope? Where did you meet her?

Cassius glanced slightly at Harmonia, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod. This would be a dangerous conversation, but a necessary one.

— I met her in the army, when she began serving the god of war.

Kratos, who had until then been quietly listening, looked directly at them. Kammus had mentioned a name, someone pursuing Calliope, and Kratos knew immediately it was him. A bitter certainty told him that something more would haunt him from now on. A god of war. He felt a chill run down his spine.

— Mars? — Kratos asked.

— Yes, — Cassius said, nervously twisting a spoon in his hands. — But that was a long time ago, a very long time. So long that it’s hard for a mortal to recount.

So it was true. A god of war. His daughter was serving a god of war. Fighting for him?

— Kammus said he’s chasing her, — Atreus said, his concern clear in his voice.

— He lied. Or was mistaken, — Harmonia interrupted. — My father never pursued Eris. He…

— You’re his daughter? — Kratos interrupted, raising his voice.

She nodded.

— What is this? A trap? — Kratos stood, speaking in a controlled voice but ready to defend himself against any attack, hoping this was some kind of trap.

Harmonia quickly realized Kratos was in a combat stance, so she rose gracefully from her chair, and the atmosphere of the room seemed to shift. She remained silent for a long moment, but when she spoke, it was as if a spell flowed from her lips. The environment seemed to change, as if wrapped in magic.

— You need to hear us. We are not your enemies, and we certainly do not wish you harm. I have known Eris forever, and I am doing this for her. It is not a time for war, it is a time for peace.

Kratos said nothing, only looked at Mimir, who was on the table, and sat down.

— Eris came to Egypt before us. She came on a mission to assist the Egyptian pantheon, — Harmonia said. —  But she did not come alone. My father brought her here.

Kratos furrowed his brow. He looked away from Harmonia, still not fully believing her words. Why would his daughter serve a god of war? He swallowed hard. Suddenly, all the painful memories of his time serving Ares flooded his mind. The consequences of his pact with him, and all the bloodshed that had followed. Ares wanted a war machine, a perfect soldier. A killer. Kratos breathed heavily, gripping the edge of the table so tightly that the wood creaked. A god of war, he repeated in his mind. A god of war. A god of war. Kratos took a deep breath. What had that man done to his daughter?

Chapter Text

Kratos was still seated at the table, paralyzed in his torpor. The name god of war shredded his mind like a tornado of blades. But this time, he imagined his daughter, imprisoned and enslaved by a god of war. Harmonia still stood after trying to calm everyone down, and Atreus stared at Kratos with wide eyes, as if he could read his mind and all the horrors he imagined his daughter had endured.

— Your father. — Kratos spoke with a cutting voice, his gaze dark. — Where is he?

Cassius rose and interrupted before Harmonia could answer. His soothing tone wasn’t enough to calm the storm raging in Kratos.

— He is coming to Egypt, but you must speak with him before anything else. Do not let yourself be consumed by discord, Kratos.

— I am done with speaking. — Kratos stood from the table and moved toward the door.

Harmonia hurried toward him.

— If you wish to preserve any chance of having your daughter back, — she pressed her hands against the door to block his way — you must accept that she is capable of making her own choices. And believe me, if you enter into conflict with Mars, she will never speak to you again.

Kratos stiffened, his hand squeezing the doorknob so tightly that the metal warped under his fingers.

— Just because he is a god of war doesn’t make him a bad man… does it? — asked Atreus, watching his father’s grip crush the handle.

Harmonia nodded toward Atreus, but Kratos yanked the door with such force that she had to step aside or be shoved. The door flung open with a violent jolt, and Kratos stopped abruptly at the sight before him. He had expected to meet the darkness of night, the silent cloak that had welcomed him when he first arrived. But when he opened the door, he was blinded by brilliance.

The sun was already high.

Kratos frowned, realizing that night had been replaced by the blazing midday sun, though not much time had passed since they entered Harmonia’s house.

— What sorcery is this? How long have you kept us trapped inside?

Harmonia’s eyes widened as she looked toward the city.

— I cast no spell. — she replied.

Kratos turned to her again, and saw she looked as bewildered as he was. She wasn’t lying. Atreus followed his father, carrying Mimir, and stepped outside. The sun raged over Egypt, as if it meant to burn the last leaf clinging to the dry branches. The heat was suffocating, almost solid, like a wall of fire compressing their lungs. Atreus lifted his eyes to the sky and noticed the sun carried a clearer hue, less yellow and veering toward pale blue. For a moment, the harsh brilliance seared his pupils, forcing him to look away.

People moved through the square with objects covering their faces, but it was useless. Bathed in sweat, some leaned against the scorching walls and stones. Drops of sweat hissed as they struck the ground. Suddenly, a cadaverous-looking woman appeared among the houses.

— The Nile is drying!!! — she screamed in despair. — The gift of the Nile has been taken from us. Sekhmet is punishing humanity for its disrespect of the gods! — she cried again as Kratos strode past her. — She is the sun sent by Ra to punish us. The power of the sun. The power of death. Save yourselves!

Atreus watched the woman screaming, begging for help. But before he could speak, the ground shook violently. The dry stones that paved the square rose beneath a surge of sand, as if a mountain were being born among them. A golden mountain, tall as fortress walls, took shape before their eyes. The sand rose quickly, hissing with a sharp sound.

With instinctive reflex, Kratos reached behind him for the handles of the Blades of Chaos, but they weren’t there. He let out a growl of frustration at forgetting their absence and pulled the Leviathan Axe just in time to see the mound of sand erupt into thousands of venomous snakes and scorpions.

The silence that had preceded their appearance was quickly devoured by the desperate screams of the townsfolk.

The snakes leapt in heaps, tangled together like a matted ball of hair turning into nightmare. Yet they did not attack people directly, only when stepped on by the fleeing townsfolk. The scorpions burrowed into the sand, hiding from sight. Kratos noticed some of them were larger than a human head, while others were no bigger than a fingertip. He swung the Leviathan Axe, cutting down as many as he could, but he quickly realized the snakes weren’t interested in fighting. They only wanted to escape the searing heat that was obliterating the earth.

Kratos glanced at Atreus, drenched in sweat as he fought at his side. Their eyes met, neither knowing what to do next, when suddenly a black stain spread across the heavens. The sun was being swallowed by the moon.

The shadow of the eclipse fell like a heavy shroud. The infernal heat was ripped from the air in an instant, replaced by a cutting cold. The vapor of sweat on the stones turned into white mist. In one moment it was midday; in the next, night devoured Egypt. The scorpions and snakes dissolved into golden sand. Kratos swallowed hard.

Atreus exhaled, his breath escaping as white smoke. A current of icy wind swept through the city.

The supernatural heat of Egypt was quickly replaced by the biting cold. But this was Egypt, even its coldest days could not compare to the freezing air of Fimbulwinter. Kratos turned from his son and caught a snowflake drifting down from the sky. It landed in his palm, yet did not melt. A kind of immutable ice.

— It’s snowing? — Atreus asked. — How is this possible? It’s… colder than Midgard, — he said, his teeth chattering.

Kratos closed his eyes for a moment. The world around him seemed to swing between extremes, as though the very order of nature were splitting apart, unable to find balance. It was chaos or the absence of it.

Harmonia stopped behind Atreus, her gaze lifted to the sky. Kratos looked at her face and saw not only concern for the people, but also despair. Harmonia brought both hands to her mouth. Her eyes, once steady and proud, now brimmed with tears.

— It is Eris, — she whispered. — Oh no…

— What? — Kratos demanded.

Cassius rushed to her side, and she collapsed into his arms. Tears streaked down his wife’s face.

— I think… — Cassius said heavily. — I think she’s gone.

Kratos’ throat tightened.

— Gone? — he growled in protest.

For an instant, Kratos was motionless. The entire world seemed to press in on him. The snow, the ice, the vanishing heat all of it disappeared beneath the crushing weight of that one thought.

Calliope.

The dead do not return, almost never. He knew that truth better than anyone. But if… if she had been restored only to be ripped away again… Before he could feel any joy at having his daughter back, he hadn’t even been able to hold her in his arms.

— It is the power of Chaos, Kratos, — Harmonia said through her tears. — The power of Chaos. I… I think she is dead.

Mimir, hanging now at Kratos’ belt, broke the silence, his voice urgent, almost pleading against the weight of the moment.

— Wait, wait! Don’t jump to conclusions, lass. Magic can react in strange ways. Maybe she’s wounded, badly, aye, but not dead. Not yet.

Harmonia crumbled in Cassius’ embrace, sobbing. The snowfall thickened, blanketing the streets in white, turning the desert into a canvas of death and silence. Atreus’ wide eyes reflected the fear inside him. Another white cloud escaped his lips, trembling in the frozen air. His terror was not only for Calliope, but for what was happening to Kratos. Kratos was ready to pursue some god, or any supernatural being, anyone who might know what was happening. His instincts did not allow him to stand idle, but even he wasn’t sure what path to take.

— Mimir. Where do I find the other gods? Ma’at, Anubis, anyone who might know of Calliope? — Kratos demanded.

— In the underworld, — Mimir answered.

Kratos was already turning with Atreus when Cassius’ voice rang out.

— Wait.

— Tell me what you know, — Kratos thundered, his voice like muffled lightning.

— I think Mimir is right, — Cassius said. — Eris is wounded. But we need a plan. You cannot simply storm the underworld.

— It would not be the first time, — Kratos replied with grim authority. And it was true. The Ghost of Sparta would not be easily subdued. He had fought endless battles, slain countless monsters. And if necessary—
to save his daughter, he would destroy the entire world.

— I have an object that once belonged to Eris, — Cassius added. — Perhaps it will help.

Kratos followed Cassius, who walked with his arm around Harmonia. She was still weeping, trembling under the weight of Eris’ death. Kratos did not surrender so easily to tears, yet his fists clenched hard as he tried to master the anxiety boiling within.

Mars. Calliope.

The names echoed like hammer blows inside his skull. He drew in a deep breath, forcing back rage and despair, and at last stepped once more across the threshold of the house. Inside, the silence was heavy. Harmonia sat down, her eyes red from crying, her hands unsteady. Cassius, almost by instinct, guided Kratos into a chamber far from the dining hall where they had just eaten. The room was large, its furniture refined. Paintings hung across the walls, and Kratos recognized the brushwork as his daughter’s. She had painted everything from flowers to serene landscapes and violent storms. But one canvas made his chest ache. It was a portrait of his first wife. Lysandra.

Kratos reached out and placed his hand against the wall, studying every stroke with burning eyes. It was her. He lingered there a long moment, lost in the memory of her face, while Cassius moved toward a set of cabinets at the far end of the chamber. His daughter had painted the portrait with such devotion that it was as though Lysandra stood before him once again, looking back at him with that warmth and love she had always shown him.

— Lysandra… — he murmured softly, his voice trembling as it escaped him. — Help me find our daughter. Help me save her.

His voice was raw, fractured. The image carried those proud yet gentle eyes, the face of a strong woman, but tender, just as he remembered her. Despite his prayer, no answer came. Kratos soon drew himself back into the bearing of a general as Cassius returned, holding out a golden necklace with an amber stone at its heart. The jewel glowed faintly, its light dulled, yet Kratos felt the presence of magic within it.

— What does it do?

— It was what she wore whenever she went into the underworld. I believe it to be a charm of protection. After she regained part of her powers, she no longer needed it.

Kratos accepted the talisman. When they returned to the dining hall, the air was still bitterly cold. Kratos was about to call for Atreus when a sharp, metallic screech tore against the front door. The wood shuddered as steel claws carved deep into it. Kratos turned, his hand moving instinctively to the axe. Yet something inside him recognized the sound, not of threat, but of despair. He wrenched the door open.

There stood Horkos.

The colossal black panther entered the hall like a living shadow, amber eyes brimming with tears. The beast brushed past Kratos without so much as a glance, as though he were only a wall. The sound rising from its throat was not a growl, nor a roar—it was a sob. A primal lament, deep and wounding.

Atreus stepped forward, eyes wide.

— Horkos…

The creature stopped before him, pressing its massive head against the boy’s chest, nearly knocking him down with its weight. The panther’s fur trembled, and Atreus felt the hot dampness of its tears soaking through his clothes. Around its neck clung a ring of iron—a magical collar.

— He’s… he’s crying, — Atreus whispered in disbelief.

The sound filled the room. A giant feline, guardian of war itself, wept like a child mourning its mother. It nestled against Atreus, desperate for comfort.

Kratos stood rigid, his jaw tight. The sight pierced straight through his iron shell.

Atreus wrapped his arms around Horkos’ neck, trying to soothe the beast while fumbling with the chain that bound it. Yet as he felt the panther’s sobs shudder against him, dread tightened within his chest. When the iron clattered to the ground, Horkos rose as if filled with a breath of magic. Its posture shifted, the tears ceased. A sudden urgency overtook it. Gripping Atreus’ tunic gently in its jaws, it tugged him toward the door.

Atreus began to protest, but quickly understood. Horkos wanted to show them something.

The black panther pulled insistently, its claws scraping the sand, hardened now by frost. Kratos followed, grim, jaw set, fists clenched.

They walked through the white streets, and then...

Kratos froze.

At the center of the square, among shattered columns, a man walked alone. Snowflakes fell around him, yet none dared touch him. His posture was firm, imperious. A god striding as though the world itself belonged to him, his long red cloak billowing in the wind, carrying the majesty of a formidable foe. It was not Ares. Nor any Greek or Roman god Kratos expected to see. It was a face he knew and did not want to recognize.

The young Spartan.

The only one who had survived the massacre in Rhodes. The last city Kratos had once sent to the slaughter in his days as god of war. The last Spartan survivor of Zeus’ betrayal.

The face had changed, but Kratos knew it. The light eyes, the brown hair—it was him. Time had reforged him. That loyal youth, who would have followed Kratos even into the depths of Hades, who had sworn allegiance to the new god of war after Ares’ fall, now stood before him not as a soldier, but as a god. His skin was scarred, his eyes burning with a restrained fire. No longer a young general, but a man, a fully-formed deity.

He was no longer merely a soldier. He was Mars.

Kratos felt the weight of memory crash down upon him. Guilt. The betrayal of his own history.

His brow furrowed, his fist tightening around the axe.

— Mars, I presume, — he said, his voice rough at first, but laced with threat.

— Yes, — Mars answered. — Where is she?

— What have you done with my daughter? — Kratos’ voice thundered, choked with fury.

Mars stopped. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. The silence was so heavy that even the panther’s breath stilled.

— I could return the question, — he said darkly, his tone steeped in ancient bitterness. — What have you done with my wife?

Kratos did not move. Behind him, Atreus shifted uneasily. Only Horkos ran forward, pressing against Mars’ legs as though greeting an old companion. And he was.

Chapter Text

Calliope hummed all the way to the city. Her gift for creating the most beautiful and emblematic songs never ceased to amaze Lysandra. She, too, joined in the melody, and together their voices blended into a harmonious symphony, delicate and joyful. Always weaving into the music the myths of their people and the stories of the gods.

The day was particularly beautiful. Lysandra felt grateful to see her daughter so cheerful, a welcome contrast to the many days when Calliope grew quiet and withdrawn, consumed by her father’s absence. She asked about him every single day, and Lysandra’s heart ached, not only because she could not ease her daughter’s pain, but because she herself was powerless against the grief that haunted them both.

Kratos was walking a path Lysandra knew neither she nor Calliope could ever follow. His relentless pursuit, his violence, and the trail of death that clung to him were monstrous. After pledging his life to Ares, Kratos had seized a power unimaginable for any mortal, and it only fed the insatiable thirst for blood that had always marked him. At times, Lysandra barely recognized the man she had once known.

Catching herself sinking too deep into these thoughts, she tried to brush them away. Not today. Today would not be a day for sorrow. She held the reins of the cart with resilience, steady despite the uneven path toward the city center. Their home lay at a considerable distance, but the isolation was worth it. The peace of living near the fields, far from the clash of warriors’ swords and the chaos of the city, was a treasure she would not trade.

Mother and daughter approached the home of Cyrene, Lysandra’s childhood friend. Calliope was still singing, her head resting lightly against her mother’s arm. The two swayed gently to the rhythm of her song. Lysandra always returned her daughter’s bright laughter with an even warmer smile, sometimes a kiss on her forehead, sometimes an embrace.

For Calliope, the weight of tomorrow did not matter today. Her only wound was the constant ache of her father’s absence, always the empty chair at the dinner table. And yet, she and her mother never strayed from one another’s side. They passed by the nearby market, filling the cart with supplies for the household.

Lysandra hoped Kratos would return soon. She was accustomed to waiting, but she longed to greet him with full shelves. She knew what he liked to eat and never allowed their home to be without it, for when he returned she wished to welcome him with a banquet. Perhaps then, reconciliation might be possible. Perhaps she might once again convince him to ease the endless campaigns.

Despite everything, his bloodlust, his blind ambition for glory, Lysandra loved Kratos.

Calliope, on the other hand, was stubborn and difficult at mealtimes. Lysandra could never quite decide whether that stubbornness came from Kratos or from herself, but it was there, undeniable. She had tried everything; discipline never worked with the girl. Forcing her to eat was a constant battle, and eventually Lysandra admitted defeat. All she could do was make sure to bring home foods her daughter actually enjoyed.

As they reached the door, Lysandra stepped down from the cart and tied the animal to a post near her friend’s home. Calliope reached into the bag hidden among the fabrics and foodstuffs Lysandra had just purchased and retrieved her flute, tucked away among the supplies. She never let it leave her side.

— Come, Calliope, —  Lysandra called, now standing by the door.

Calliope hurried, running as fast as she could. Cyrene was a woman, Spartan, of course, dark-haired with strikingly bright eyes. So bright that they almost frightened Calliope, like two stones lifted toward the sun, gleaming intensely.

When Calliope spotted a girl about her age, she dashed toward her. Her name was Maia, and she seemed just as excited to see Calliope, since she ran forward to meet her in an embrace. Maia called her friend to the back of the house, where a tree and a swing awaited.

Calliope noticed her mother was caught in a long conversation, something about an invitation to an event, a tribute to Athena that would take place in a few days, the journey would be long, and so on, and so on. The subject didn’t interest Calliope much, but she understood that her mother would be occupied, which meant she and Maia would have plenty of time to themselves.

Calliope wandered through the house, taking in everything. She had never visited Maia before; usually it was Maia who came to her. The change was a welcome one. Out in the yard, the tree rose tall and majestic, its many green leaves casting a cool shade. The breeze rustled the branches, making the shadows dance around the trunk. But Calliope was caught off guard when she saw a boy swinging there.

He looked about her age, perhaps a year younger. His hair was a reddish-brown, his eyes green and just as vibrant as his sister’s.

— This is my brother, — Maia said.

The boy glanced at Calliope, looking like a puppy separated from its mother. His eyes were cast down as he swung in a steady rhythm.

— I’ll get us some juice, — Maia announced, running back toward the house and leaving Calliope alone with him.

The boy lifted his eyes to meet Calliope’s. She stood with her arms crossed, watching him, clearly expecting him to get the message and step aside from the swing. Instead, he only looked at her with disdain.

— I’m not moving, — he said.

— I could make you move, Calliope replied, her tone teasing, arms still crossed, flute clutched in hand. — I’m the daughter of a general. I could defeat you.

The mention of the word general made the boy flinch, and Calliope realized he wasn’t afraid of her. No, something about the word itself had unsettled him.

— Why that face? — she asked.

— What face?

— You look… discouraged. Defeated. Beaten down. Sad… — She began listing every word she knew that might describe the boy’s downcast demeanor.

His eyes widened, realizing she would never stop talking.

— Alright, I get it, — he muttered.

He stepped off the swing and gestured toward it. Calliope wasted no time in sitting upon the wooden seat suspended by ropes from the tree branches. She felt victorious—no one could best her in an argument.

— But tell me… What happened?

The boy looked down again before answering.

— Tomorrow I begin my training as a warrior, — he said, without much enthusiasm.

— That’s… good… isn’t it?

— No.

— Are you afraid? — Calliope asked.

— Of course not, — he lied.

But he could see from her eyes that she had already unraveled him. To bury himself in the lie was just as shameful as admitting cowardice.

— Maybe… — he whispered at last.

Calliope lifted her chin, feeling sympathy for his pain despite herself. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to leave her mother, to train endlessly, to go without food, to sleep in the streets—the nightmares every Spartan boy endured. Of course it was necessary, mandatory, but even so, her mind worked quickly, searching for a way to console him.

She scanned her surroundings, looking for inspiration. A white flower stood out in the soil near the door, and an idea came to her. She remembered a story her mother had told her a few days ago.

— Once my mother told me a story, — she began.

The boy quickly lifted his gaze, listening intently.

— About a man who found a friend, but had to leave her to embark on a very important mission. He had to fight for his country and protect the land from many evil men. I bet he was a Spartan, with a shield and a weapon, fighting monsters… He was also very cheerful, and he had a great horse… — Calliope realized she had wandered off in the tale. She paused for a moment, trying to recall her mother’s exact words. — The woman he loved feared that he might not return. So she prayed to the gods to bless him in battle, that he would triumph over his enemies. She also prayed that she might always be with him throughout his journey.

The boy raised an eyebrow; he didn’t know where this story was going, but he was invested.

— She sat every afternoon, watching the sky for him. She stayed there until the heavens filled with stars and the sun rose once more. And so she waited. Waited. Waited, and waited for many days. But he never returned.

The boy sat down on the ground, listening to Calliope, his worries already forgotten. She, meanwhile, rocked back and forth on the swing as she told the tale.

— One night, the man saw a new star in the sky, one that always followed him wherever he went. And he realized the gods had granted his beloved’s request. The star comforted him throughout his journey, and he never felt alone again.

— That’s a good story, — the boy said. — But I don’t see how it helps me.

Her eyes returned to the flower on the ground, and she decided to keep to herself the part about how, when the man finally returned, the woman had already become a flower, transformed by the long years of waiting. He had mourned her loss for the rest of his days. That part, Calliope thought, might only discourage him. Better to keep it secret. Still, he wasn’t convinced. What else can I say? she wondered, biting her lip while plotting her next move. The swing creaked as she moved forward and back. Then she suddenly stopped, noticing a yellowish stone on the ground.

— Find a star to comfort you, just as the man did. That’s all…

He chuckled, but the thought didn’t seem ridiculous to him.

— Alright, then, — he said. — Thank you. Any star?

Calliope smiled at him.

— Yes. But you’ll only find it at night, because the day hides the stars.

The boy grew thoughtful.

— Do you have a mission? — she asked.

— Not dying, I suppose…

Calliope laughed, but she knew the danger was real.

— You need a mission. Find your star in the sky. Your mission can be to catch it with your own hands and bring it home, once you’ve become a warrior, just like my father.

The boy smiled. The idea was wonderful. He had no idea how to find a star, let alone how to seize one, but he would try.

— And what do I do with the star?

— Bring it to me. Since the idea was mine, — she said, laughing as she swung, and he laughed too.

— Alright. When I find that star, I’ll bring it to you.

— Promise?

— I promise.

The boy extended his arm, and they clasped hands, sealing the promise.

— What’s your name? — Calliope asked.

— I’m Aristaeus. And you?

— My name is Calliope.

She leapt from the swing, unable to deny that she was good at this. Then she skipped off toward the house in search of Maia. Aristeus stayed behind, gazing at the sky. It was still mid-afternoon, and no stars could yet be seen.

The rest of the day was delightful. Calliope, Maia, and Aristaeus played endlessly. They also fought, of course.

Lysandra was already heading toward their cart when she called for her daughter, who was chatting cheerfully with Aristaeus.

— Daughter. Let’s go, — Lysandra called.

Calliope glanced quickly at Aristaeus and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Lysandra, watching from a distance, chuckled with Cyrene at the sight of the two.

— She certainly has a mind of her own, — Lysandra remarked to Cyrene.

— So… will you come with us to the temple?

Lysandra hesitated. She hated the thought of Kratos returning and finding both of them gone. His time at home was always brief, and his absences long. But she also couldn’t live her life entirely bound to his campaigns, forever guessing when he might return, shaping her days around his shadow.

— We’ll go, — she said at last.

Cyrene smiled and bid farewell to her friend and to Calliope.

...

Aristaeus had spent the entire night gazing at the sky. The stars were scattered and gleaming. They were all beautiful, yet he felt nothing as he looked at them, they were the same stars of every day. Still, it had become his life’s mission to find his own star and offer it to Calliope.

Cyrene awoke him before the roosters could crow. Her eyes were shadowed, while Aristaeus stood resolute. He would become the greatest and strongest he could be. The kitchen was still cloaked in the darkness of dawn, the wind howling outside. The boy picked up a spear and a shield from atop the table. Cyrene watched him closely, sorrow heavy in her gaze. Her son would become a man, but she would not live to see it. When the soldiers arrived, they would take him, and he would live with them until the age of twenty, with little to no contact. Cyrene stepped closer to Aristaeus and wrapped him in a long embrace. She would not cry—that would be seen as weakness and dishonor.

A heavy knock rattled the door.

Cyrene swallowed hard. She opened it to find three armed men standing beneath the archway. Soldiers, of course. Men who walked with heads held high, eyes devoid of emotion. Aristaeus strode toward them with bravery and did not resist. That would make things easier for him, she knew. If he resisted, complained, or showed the slightest sign of weakness, he would be marked from the very first day, and his life would be even harder. The men walked at his side, analyzing him with Spartan precision.

— Good to see we’ll be training a real man, — one of them said upon noticing Aristaeus’ posture. He would not lower his head. He had a mission, and he would not fail.

They walked for a while until they reached a structure that looked like a camp, enclosed and surrounded by dense forest. This was the agoge. Aristaeus passed through the gates, where men patrolled the perimeter. He caught sight of a large group of boys running. Dawn had barely broken, yet they already looked exhausted. Aristaeus shuddered when one of them collapsed from sheer fatigue. One of the overseers laughed loudly at the boy’s fall, as if it were the highlight of his day—taking pleasure in their suffering.

A blaring trumpet echoed through the camp, and the rest of the group froze into military formation. The laughing man grabbed a heavy whip, dripping with blood, from a nearby table.

— Well, look at this. A little sleepyhead. You know what we do with the lazy? — he thundered with authority.

The pale boy tried to rise, but his face met the ground again with a dull thud. The man waited, still laughing, scanning the faces of the other boys. Then his gaze fixed on one with a shaved head, eyes wide as he looked at his fallen comrade.

— Come here, — the man ordered.

The boy obeyed without question, though his steps betrayed his nerves. His legs trembled from fatigue, muscles already spent. When he stopped in front of the man, a backhand struck him across the face. The boy nearly stumbled but quickly returned to military stance, eyes to the sky, face trying to mask his fear.

— Do you pity him? Then help him, — the man said with a malicious smile.

Confusion flashed across the boy’s face—was this a test, or would hesitation mean punishment? Trusting his instincts, he bent down and hauled up his friend. The pale, frail boy looked ready to collapse again, but somehow managed to stay upright.

The overseer circled them like a predator, then gave a signal for the helper to return to formation. The other boy regained a hint of color, yet still fought against the invisible force dragging him down. The whip cracked through the air with a shrill hiss. He bit his lip hard, his face twisting in pain, but he did not move. Another strike landed, and he fell like a stone.

Aristaeus watched in horror, but the sharp eyes fixed on him made it clear—if he showed fear, he would be next. His mother had warned him. He swallowed hard and held his stance, chin high.

When the boy hit the ground, the overseer summoned his friend again and lashed the whip across them both until their skin split and blood streamed down. Still, they kept their positions—one standing, one fallen. They did not cry. Their faces shifted between rage and terror, but they endured with dignity.

Aristaeus pressed on, his spear trembling faintly in his hand. The men led him into a chamber filled with other boys. The stench of blood and urine hung in the air. Aristaeus looked around as the boys stripped off their clothes. Two soldiers moved between them, scrutinizing each body. They searched for flaws, anything that could mark them as defective. His hands shook as he removed his tunic.

It did not take long before the same man who had whipped the boy appeared in the hall. The boys were still stripped bare.

— Until yesterday, you were infants clinging to your mothers’ breasts. But from this day forward, you are men in pursuit of glory. Sparta does not tolerate the weak. The weak are our prey, we use their skins to warm ourselves in winter. We hunt them like the vermin they are. We use them as targets and kill them to sharpen our aim. —  The man laughed as his eyes roamed over them. — Mercy is weakness. Hesitation is weakness.

He walked slowly now, drawing near Aristaeus. The boy met his gaze, refusing to show the fear gnawing at him. The man smiled faintly and moved on.

— We are here to forge soldiers. Strong men for Sparta. Those unworthy will be discarded. Look well upon your shield. It is your greatest treasure. If you lose it in battle… well, it is better you never leave the field alive. Death is not to be feared. We sacrifice our lives for Sparta. We die for our people.

When the speech ended, Aristaeus was deep in thought. Everything was so new, yet he quickly realized he could not afford to fall behind. He had to keep up with the strongest, train harder than the rest.

Days in the agoge blurred into sameness. Torturous, lonely, but alike. The youths ran until collapse. They trained with weapons. They fought each other.

Aristaeus held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. Another boy, perhaps five years older, struck at him with ferocity. Aristaeus raised his sword and rushed forward, desperate to end the fight. He dodged the blow by throwing himself to the ground. Rolling, he spread his legs just as the sword plunged down toward him. It wedged into the earth between his thighs but did not touch him. He sprang up and, with a powerful motion, swung his shield against the boy. The older youth barely had time to react before he was hurled to the ground.

The general watched with a glimmer of approval, but his attention soon shifted to another pair. In a moment of distraction, one boy drove his spear into his partner’s abdomen. The young man crumpled, bleeding out on the dirt. No alarm was raised. No one stopped. The general signaled two soldiers to drag the body away to a secluded corner. Training would not halt for someone already dead.

It was expected that, at times, one of them would die during training. It did not happen often, but when misfortune struck, there was no mourning, no protest, no rebellion. Their limits were tested relentlessly, and none wished to be the one chosen by death.

Aristaeus soon stood out among them, not because he was the biggest or the strongest, but because his mind was his weapon. He endured more than the others, fueled by the vow he had made to Calliope. Each night he raised his eyes to the heavens, searching for the star. He had not yet found it, but he remembered that in the story, the woman had waited long before her beloved finally saw the star in the sky. It was his comfort on nights of hunger and cold. He replayed her story in his mind again and again. Slowly, he forgot the sound of her voice, but not the promise he had made.

That was his secret. Her name, the stars, and the story were a treasure that belonged only to him. He knew that if he spoke of it, he would be mocked and discouraged. Sometimes he touched the cheek where she had kissed him, and a strange feeling stirred in his stomach. He did not understand it well, but even the memory of her name forced him to fight back a smile.

Many moons rose over the camp. Aristaeus was no longer a boy, but a man. One day, he returned from a hunt feeling stronger—he had managed to kill a large hare. Whether it would be enough to fill his hunger, he did not know. After preparing the dead animal, he made his way to the communal mess hall. Many gathered there to eat the single meal offered: a soup of pig’s blood with vinegar and meager scraps of vegetables, the infamous black broth.

Aristaeus ate while soldiers surrounded the hall. Some ate desperately, but when the soldiers approached, they straightened their posture. He expected the commotion that erupted every night. Once dinner had been served to all, the men would withdraw, and pandemonium would follow. If they did not eat fast enough, their food would be stolen. There was no pleasure in the meal, no savoring of taste, only the essence that sustained them until the next night. The strongest would steal from the weakest.

Aristaeus finished his meal quickly. By the time he left the mess hall, the fights had already broken out. It was late at night, and the stars shone brightly in the sky. Aristaeus raised his eyes, still unable to find Calliope’s star. He wondered how she was doing. By now, she would be a grown woman, eighteen years old. Would she even remember him? Or had that day become nothing more than a vague memory, an insignificant detail of his childhood? The thought terrified him.

Was she promised to someone? he wondered. And if she wasn’t, and he delivered the star to her… Did she think of him? They had spent a single day together in their entire lives, one afternoon as children, yet he had never forgotten her. He was grateful for her; the mission she had given him was what sustained his days.

It did not matter. He was not doing this out of gratitude or in hope of reward. He did it because he had promised. And the word of a Spartan, even given in childhood, was the only thing keeping him intact in this hell. The promise was his shield.

His reverie was broken when he saw three boys rifling through his belongings.

— Get out of there! — Aristaeus shouted.

— Or what? — said the tallest among them.

Aristaeus did not think; he was unarmed. But his fists would be enough to handle them. One boy, with hair like fire, lunged at him with a sword. Aristaeus dodged swiftly and struck the boy’s flank with his elbow. The red-haired boy fell to the ground, clutching the injured area.

Aristaeus grabbed the blade and swung it toward them, but the tallest boy punched him in the stomach. The blow knocked the air out of him. He fell forward, face into the mud.

— I’ll show you what our commander taught me, — the tallest said, laughing.

He reached for Aristaeus’ clothes, nearly tearing them, but Aristaeus reacted quickly, kicking the boy in the face. Stunned, the attacker staggered back. Aristaeus rose, sword in hand, fury burning in him. He drove the blade into the tallest boy, who had no time to defend himself.

The only one who had not attacked him stared wide-eyed. He was the youngest of the three, barely older than Aristaeus when he had arrived at the camp. Aristaeus, blinded by rage, almost struck him too, but stopped abruptly when the sky lit up. Night quickly gave way to day as a brilliant star cut through the veil of darkness, striking the ground a few kilometers away. His nose bled, his body nearly succumbing to rage, but it was swiftly replaced by something else: resignation.

Night returned to the skies as the star hit the earth.

Aristaeus cast one last glance at his attackers. The youngest boy ran toward the forest. The tallest lay lifeless, and the other writhed in pain. He ran toward the spot where the star had fallen, leaving his enemies behind. He walked for a long time. The day was breaking, and hope was fading when he saw a huge crater in the ground.

Aristaeus leapt toward the hole; the earth was still warm, scorched black. In the center of the massive crater sat a black rock. Within the rock, about the size of his head, he saw a soft red glow.

— This is it, — he said, smiling, blood still running down his face. — I found you.

He used his sword to chip away at the rock surrounding the gemstone. The sword shattered into countless pieces, its iron infinitely more fragile than the stone from the heavens. Impatient, Aristaeus threw the sword to the ground and began breaking the stone with his hands. He was surprised by his own strength, but there was no time for hesitation. When he finally freed the stone, it shone in a pale amber glow.

He was overcome with genuine joy. His breathing was heavy from the struggle and the trek. The black broth had been his only meal for days, and his hunt had been ruined by the other boys. He sat for a moment, dizzy, yet unable to take his eyes off the stone. His eyes filled, and it felt as if a ton had been lifted from his shoulders. He would have to wait months before finding Calliope. If she still lived in the countryside with her mother, he would need a good excuse to be dismissed. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he would keep his promise.

Chapter Text

Aristaeus looked around and no longer found the dense nighttime forest where he had spent most of his days. Instead, he saw a vast, endless field of yellowed wheat bending with the wind. The sky was clear and bright blue. A large tree stood out in the middle of the field, atop a small rise surrounded by green grass, a little green hill within the expanse of gold. Aristaeus walked forward warily, his war-honed eyes searching for the origin of the trap. But instead of finding the boys who had attacked him, he saw a young woman sitting with her back to him, gazing at the horizon. She wore a long, sky-blue dress, and her light brown, wavy hair touched the grass, a pearl-studded tiara pulling it back.

When the girl turned, his heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected to find her so soon. But it was her.

— Calliope?

The young woman recognized him instantly. She rose lightly and walked slowly toward him. Her face was longer and more mature than he remembered. She was tall and slender, sunlight reflecting off her hair, the breeze brushing it across her face. Standing there in the field, she looked like a painting by the most refined of artists. Aristaeus found himself speechless near her, the strange feeling in his stomach growing stronger.

She studied him for a few seconds, her gaze sharp and curious. Aristaeus held his breath, following her eyes.

— Wow. You’ve gotten old, — she said, laughing and making a face.

— So have you. Old and ugly, — he shot back.

Calliope laughed at him. He was still rude and combative as ever. Yet something had changed in how he addressed her—now he seemed awkward around her, as if retreating inside his armor like a turtle into its shell. Embarrassed and nervous. Almost as though they were strangers. Perhaps long years apart had that effect on people.

— Says you. So you remember me? — she asked. Her voice… it was the most perfect sound he had ever heard.

— Of course, — he said, almost in a breath. — I was just on my way to find you.

— I came to collect your promise. Do you remember?

— The star, — he said, a smile spreading from ear to ear. — Of course I remember.

— Yes! — she said, smiling back at him.

Aristaeus reached into his satchel and found the amber stone he had taken from the great black rock. The gem fit in the calloused palm of his hand, scarred from training and from breaking the stone that encased it. Calliope came close enough for him to feel a strange flutter. Unlike the tension of training, this was a good kind of anxiety. It made his chest grow warm, his stomach twist and chill, his palms sweat, his mouth go dry.

Calliope, curious, took the stone from his hand and examined the relic. Her skin was soft as a flower’s petal, sliding over his marked hand like silk over stone.

— Is this your star? — she asked.

— Yes. Now it’s yours, as I promised.

She gave him a small sideways smile and walked around the tree, studying the gem. Aristaeus’s eyes followed her.

— What have you been doing? — she asked with curiosity.

Aristaeus thought for a moment, though the answer was simple.

— Training to become a soldier.

— Only that? Anything else? Have you lived any adventures?

— There’s not much else to do. Not yet. Just training to be a warrior. Sometimes I remember your story and keep looking for the star in the sky, but now I’ve found it.

Suddenly an irrational fear caught him off guard. He had fulfilled his promise, but what now? He had given her the star—there was no more mission. Would he have to focus only on the harshness of Spartan life with no other purpose?

— What happened to the man in your story, after he returned from battle? What did he do next? What was his next mission?

Calliope moved closer to the tree and sat, her back against the trunk. She watched him as he followed her example, sitting beside her. But she stayed quiet for a while, unsure what to tell him.

— What did his beloved say to him when he returned? — he asked.

— He was a brave warrior, loyal to his people. He fulfilled his purpose and… — he noticed her hesitation.

— Say it.

— When he came back… he lived out the rest of his days in peace, knowing he had been an honorable warrior.

Calliope saw that he looked perplexed. It wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.

— But what about the woman? What happened to her? Did they see each other again?

— No…

— No? What a terrible love story.

Calliope laughed almost despite herself.

— It’s just a story, Aristaeus. It’s not even a love story. It doesn’t mean anything.

— It means everything to me.

It was true—what else would keep his sanity amid that hell if not the knowledge that something good might be waiting for him at the end? But if the ending was only the acceptance that life would always be like this… he was not ready.

— Hmm… — she glanced around, searching for a solution for the two of them as she had when they were children, but there was nothing left in that field but the great tree, grass, and wheat.

Could she edit the story? Omitting a part was one thing; changing its ending was another entirely.

— When the man returned home, he was greeted with great ovations from his people. His victory was celebrated by family and friends. But… remember the woman? How she waited so long?

He nodded.

— She became a beautiful flower. The gods immortalized her in the garden of his house, so the two would be together forever, yet in different planes. And he lived knowing she was safe and near him for all time.

Aristaeus looked around the crop even more discontented. It wasn’t the happy ending he had wanted. It was a catastrophe. The soldier had sacrificed his life to save his people, but lost the only person who loved him most. And when he won his victory, his consolation was only a glimpse of what they had been and might have been.

— Why couldn’t they be together? — he sighed loudly. — They waited so long…

— That’s how the story ends, — she said.

Aristaeus curled his mouth. It was just a story, but still, it wasn’t enough.

— It’s not enough.

Calliope laughed.

— Forget it. You’re taking this far too seriously.

She turned back to the horizon. Aristaeus stayed seated.

— No. Can you change the ending?

Calliope raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment.

— All right, — she said finally. — They stayed together. When the man returned from his journey and realized he had lost his love, he begged the gods to join them and never separate them. So he lived his days with honor and, as a reward, when death came for him, he was taken to her. To where her spirit rested. They could not be together in that life, but they were united afterward and never parted for all eternity.

Aristaeus looked across the field. He knew his insistence was ridiculous. Still, he wanted, needed, to change it.

— What if she had not died? What if he had not delayed so long? Could he have saved her? Changed her fate?

— No, — she replied bluntly. — He had to fight to save his people, and she had to wait for him. If he had not done that, they wouldn’t have stayed together either.

She rose and walked away from him; the wheat still rippled as if the land itself were breathing. The wind grew stronger and the sky darkened. She glided across the field as if her feet did not touch the ground.

— Where are you going?—  he asked, watching her retreat.

— I must go. But it was good to speak with you. I missed you, Aristaeus, — her voice grew faint until she disappeared from view. — I hope I find you again.

Aristaeus woke with the sun burning his face. He sprang up, clutching the broken sword for safety, no one was there. Fatigue still weighed on him. The amber stone gripped in his hand as he began to climb out of the great hole; he had to scramble up using branches and grooves in the earth. He looked once more at the crater, now resolved to find Calliope.

The dream still unnerved him. The hairs on his arms prickled and he felt as if the dream had been an omen, some ill thing might befall her. The way he begged her in the dream for the man from the story to find his beloved again, and how she had said that could not happen, left Aristaeus more anxious. Now awake, he wondered if the dream’s insistence meant something else. What if it meant she had moved away and he would never see her again? The fear that he might fail in his promise or that she might be hurt made him question his sanity.

He walked back to the training camp; he had no idea how far he had run, the distance between the stone and the agoge was greater than he’d calculated. As he neared the camp, Aristaeus hid the gemstone beneath a rock covered with leaves near a tree, his new hiding place. He could not allow it to be stolen again, but he knew that by missing morning training he would be punished. And if punished, they might take the stone from him.

The camp was vast, tucked among the dense forest; some structures rose above the treetops. There was the main mess hall where the single offered meal was served, the blood soup with vegetables, and the great hall where the apprentices slept atop thin cloths on the floor. There was no luxury in Sparta and soldiers could not desire it. They were trained to live and die for Sparta; honor and self-control were their mantras, while luxury and lust were scorned.

Aristaeus crept behind a tree. The warriors sat resting before another run. He felt the world tilt and had to steady himself against the trunk; his stomach roared for food. He had not eaten since yesterday, when his hunt had been stolen. He recovered quickly and felt his blood boil when he spotted the red-haired boy talking with the other kid who had attacked him. He gripped the broken sword; he could go there now and kill them, those wretches. At least he’d had the satisfaction of killing one of them; they had tried to destroy him, but he would not let himself be defeated.

Aristaeus slipped in among the soldiers, sighing in relief when he realized his absence hadn’t been noticed. But he wasn’t surprised, the generals’ goal was to punish and train them; they didn’t care if the boys misbehaved, so long as they weren’t caught.

The sound of the trumpet announced the end of their rest. Aristaeus joined the running line with the other boys as they circled the camp. He felt the stares of the two boys on him, but ignored them for now.

Night had already risen in the sky when he finally lay down to look at the stars. The stone in his hand warmed at his touch. He thought of her. The dream, and the sensation of an omen. Maybe if he escaped, one or two days would be enough, he could reach her and deliver the star, just to make sure she was safe, and then return. He lingered for a while, gazing at the sky, before suddenly rising. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t need to see her. He tossed and turned again and again on the ground, trying to sleep, but sleep would not come.

Irritated, he got up. Dozens of boys slept across the floor of the great dormitory. The place was dark, the windows open to the night’s cold air. The boys slept heavily on the ground, close enough to keep the chill at bay. Aristaeus walked slowly, cautious steps placed between the many bodies scattered across the floor, until he reached the great wooden door. He opened it carefully, making sure the structure didn’t creak and reveal his escape. He checked the boys one last time to be sure he wouldn’t be caught.

Outside also seemed unguarded. A soldier snored loudly from a chair in a watchtower, mouth open, eyes shut, bow dangling on his arm, arrows scattered on the ground.

Aristaeus fled unnoticed. He passed through the forest to recover the stone and set off on his journey with nothing else. The solitary walk through the city gave him time to think about what he would say to her. She was an annoying, talkative girl, but she had helped him understand his role as a warrior, given him the drive to fight every day and survive that place. He would hand her the stone and leave, knowing he had fulfilled his duty. At last, he would have peace and move forward.

It was still dawn when Aristaeus walked the long stone road from the city to the countryside house. He knew she lived there, because years ago he had overheard a conversation between her mother and his own. But Aristaeus froze when he saw ruins at the end of the path—their house destroyed. It looked consumed by fire, only a few stones left on the ground, no way anyone could live there. He stood for a while, simply staring at the wreckage. She moved, he thought. Maybe she lives in the city now.

He continued his search until he reached the first house at some distance. It was still night, and he decided to lean against the wall and rest a little, for his journey had been long. He closed his eyes just for a second, darkness overtaking his sight.

When he opened them again, he saw the golden wheat field once more. But this time, near the tree, there was a long blue lake stretching across the horizon and vanishing into the distance. She was there, standing before the water, arms open, feeling the strong wind toss her hair. Aristaeus’s steps broke her contemplation, and when she saw him, she smiled.

— You came back? — Her wild hair flew across her face, and she brushed it away to look at him. — I thought you’d take longer.

— Where did you go? — he asked curiously. — Your house doesn’t exist anymore.

— Oh. — She nodded. — My father burned it down, — she said matter-of-factly.

— Why?

— I don’t know. I think he doesn’t want to live there anymore, — she replied. — I liked that house. But it doesn’t matter. I live here now.

— Right. And where exactly is here? — he asked, spreading his arms to the endless field around them.

— Here.

— You’re insane. How am I supposed to give you the stone if, when I gave it to you yesterday, it came back to me when I woke up? I don’t even know how to reach you.

Calliope thought for a moment.

— You can keep it, — she said with a laugh. — I don’t need it. But you do. It will protect you and help you in your mission.

Aristaeus crossed his arms and sat down on a black rock he hadn’t noticed before.

— I escaped training to come here. I think I wasted my trip.

— Don’t say that, — she answered, slightly upset. — Since you’ve already missed the day, stay here with me. What do you say?

— To do what?

His question sounded like a challenge, and Calliope answered with a mischievous smile. She rubbed her hands slowly, and from her fingers spilled a golden dust, glowing like embers in the heart of the night. When she lifted her hands high, the gold scattered into radiant sparks that clung to the clouds like tiny suns. A strong wind blew, and the grains danced across the sky, dissolving into a luminous rain that fell in shimmering veils upon the firmament.

Aristaeus stood frozen, his mouth agape, unable to grasp whether he was dreaming or awake. Calliope laughed at his astonishment, and with a slow, fluid motion she guided the golden dust as though shaping clay made of light. The particles began to gather, weaving themselves into a colossal form that writhed in the air: an enormous fish—no, a golden whale, more than fifty feet long.

The creature bore a vast, rounded head, its skin wrought of starry scales, and its long tail swayed in slow, hypnotic movements, as if the sky itself were a boundless ocean. From the whale’s lips rose a deep, gentle song, heavy with melancholy, a melody that seemed to drift from forgotten ages, echoing like a lament lost to the tides of time.

Aristaeus jumped to his feet, astounded.

— What is that? A fish?

— It’s a whale, — she said, laughing. — It lives in the ocean.

— Wow… — he whispered, watching the golden-dust creature swim across the blue sky.

The two of them ran through the field, laughing while Calliope shaped the golden sand into the strangest forms, giant bears, winged horses soaring with long feathered wings, dragons.

— Make a cyclops, — he asked, excited.

Calliope cast sand onto the ground, and it rose into the form of a massive square-shouldered man with only one eye. Aristaeus and Calliope burst out laughing as they watched the creature stumble clumsily around.

When they had exhausted every possibility of odd animals and bizarre monsters, the two of them sat near a tree, where a table was laid out with the most incredible delicacies. The table was bright with fruits, cakes, meats, and foods Aristaeus had never imagined could exist. He tasted everything and ate until his stomach felt ready to burst.

— Did you like it? — she asked, smiling at him.

— Yes.

There wasn’t much more to say. Calliope rose from the table and beckoned Aristaeus back to the tree. When he followed, she took his hand, and the two walked slowly, hand in hand. They didn’t keep eye contact, because whenever they did, they wanted to laugh. But the feeling of holding her hand was good.

— I hope I made the journey worth it, — she said, her eyes now glistening. 

— You did. Why are you crying?

She turned and wiped her face, but he stepped in front of her.

— You’d better stick to your plan. Fight for our people. And when you want to see me, just hold the stone, and I will appear. — Her voice cracked as she spoke.

Aristaeus couldn’t understand what she meant.

— What do you mean? Why would I need that stone? I’ll find you. I’ll bring you back.

She shook her head.

— No. You can’t find me.

— Why not…

Aristaeus placed his hands on her shoulders, waiting for an answer, but he noticed her image flickering. A strange unease gripped him, and he tried to embrace her.

Before he could, a sharp pain in his leg pulled him back to the ground. The enchanted place had already vanished. When he opened his eyes, an old man was staring at him with suspicion, holding a huge branch he had used to wake him up. Aristaeus realized he had fallen asleep on the floor, leaning against the wall of the man’s house.

— What are you doing here, boy?

Aristaeus got up, sore from the awkward position he had slept in.

— I’m looking for someone.

The man frowned.

— Her name is Calliope. She used to live around here, some years ago. Maybe she moved.

— Calliope? — The man seemed to think for a moment. I don’t recall any Calliope.

— She was the daughter of a general and a tall woman with brown hair, — Aristaeus said, trying to recall her mother’s name. — Lyzandrea, I think. 

— Ah, Lysandra. Yes, she was a kind and beautiful woman. A good soul. Lived in a house nearby, that’s true. — He pointed to a ruined structure.

— And her daughter? Calliope. Where is she now? Do you know?

— Calliope is dead, — he said flatly, as if speaking about the weather.

Aristaeus lost his balance, a chill running down his spine. He leaned against the stone wall to keep from collapsing.

 — No, — he whispered. — She isn’t. I know she isn’t.

— Yes, boy. She is. And for quite some time, I should add. I know they keep you locked away in that place, but I’m surprised you never heard the story.

— How? — he asked, his voice trembling.

— It seems Ares killed her, along with her mother, to teach Kratos a lesson. I don’t know the details. But there’s nothing more to know, son. The man works for the gods now, left behind the life of a general. But the daughter—ah, the daughter is gone. Dead, yes. Dead.

He watched the boy turn pale, all color draining from his face.

— Are you sure?

— Of course I am. My body may betray me sometimes, but this old mind is still sharp as a teenager’s. — He tapped his own wrinkled forehead, lined and weathered by the sun.

Aristaeus froze, unsure how to react to the news. He swallowed hard, staring at the old man.

— Now go, boy. Go. — The man shooed him away with his hands as if he were some bothersome animal. — Be gone. You shouldn’t be running from your training, sleeping at my doorstep… What disgrace! A shame upon Sparta! A soldier who abandons his post! Forget the girl and live your life. The dead must remain dead…

The man went on muttering to himself as he headed back inside, grumbling endless, unwanted advice to Aristaeus about ignoring the dead girl’s existence and moving on with his life. Even as he passed through the door, his voice carried on, as though Aristaeus could still hear him.

Aristaeus waited until the man had entered his house. Then he leaned back against the wall, drew in a deep breath and wept. His face was burning, his tears bitter. How could she be dead? How could she be gone if he had just spoken with her in his dreams? She had made him a promise. He realized now that his life had been spent thinking of a ghost, an illusion of someone who no longer existed.

The tears escaped freely, and he didn’t try to stop them, but he made sure no one was in sight. Then he sat on the ground, stroking the stone as if it were an embrace from his lost friend. I must be mad, he thought. Talking to a ghost, imagining he would ever find her again. That dream, where they laughed as they shaped the sand into animals, where they ran and played together, far from Sparta, far from battles and bloodshed, it was nothing but his mind deceiving him. How could he have been so foolish?

He sniffled, now with a flare of anger, and gathered what dignity he could as a warrior. With all his strength he hurled the stone to the ground, where it sank deep into the earth as though it weighed a ton. And then he walked away, still sobbing.