Chapter Text
For the two weeks Atreus had been home, Kratos had already observed so many new things.
The way he’d grown wiser, the way his heart had opened more than ever. Atreus was the spitting image of Faye, and it warmed his heart to see that the young man shared her valiance and bravery. Atreus had a few new markings along his skin, scars and ink of the sort, and his hair had gotten lighter with more sun. His son could even turn into quite a few different animals now.
However, with all the new habits and characteristics, there was one thing that worried Kratos. Atreus’ ability to hear, to listen.
The first time Kratos held concern for this was on their first boat ride in Alfheim, when Atreus was brought to his knees in pain with his hands clutched over his ears. He said the voices were angry, were upset.
As many godly powers do with age, this ability had only heightened. On occasion, Kratos would notice a flick of Atreus’ eyes or head in a different direction, as if he’d heard someone speak nearby. In the silence of a moment, he’d hear Atreus mutter quietly to himself, or perhaps something- someone. Whenever Kratos asked, his son would brush it off using a variety of excuses.
Kratos knew how noise could sting, just as much as silence, and he knew Atreus would try his best to help anyone he could. However, voices can be demanding, and Kratos worried his son would wear himself thin, trying to solve every problem he could. This concern eventually shifted towards other memories in his mind.
Kratos had been debating whether or not to tell Atreus of his old family. Of Lysandra and Calliope, even of Deimos should he ask. Atreus was old enough to know, and perhaps he even deserved to know. Kratos had wanted to tell him before he left, but figured it was too much to pile on for the journey ahead.
It was an early morning, the sun on the horizon as the father and son walked through the dimly lit grounds of Midgard. A hunt for deer, Kratos had said. In reality, it was a feeble excuse to bring about meaningful talk, a feeble excuse to explain what had happened, as well as a simple and easy way to spend time with his son.
Kratos murmured, the deepened voice breaking the silence of the dawn. Maybe just for him. “What do you know of my past, Atreus? What do you remember?” He knew the question was sudden, maybe a little broad and general, but he had to begin somewhere.
If Atreus was caught off guard by the question, he did a good job of hiding it. He simply kicked a rock as they continued along the trail, contemplating for a moment. “I remember that you’re from Greece,” He began.
“I know you’ve killed Gods before, and I know you killed your own father. I know that you’re the Ghost of Sparta.” Atreus listed before pausing. “I know that you were the Ghost of Sparta,” He corrected with a quieted voice.
Kratos did not audibly reply for a few moments. They continued the walk. Soon, they spotted a herd of deer, about 3 or 4. They were grazing along a riverside, unaware of the two men slowly crouching on the other side, managing to take shelter from behind a rock to blend into their surroundings.
Atreus took an arrow, lining it with his bow and pulling back the string. He’d perfected this stance long ago, and it showed. His elbow tipped backwards, arm straightened as he set up the shot. However, even as he had it perfectly aimed towards one of the deer's neck, he paused. Halted.
Kratos simply observed how Atreus loosened his hold on the bow, how he lowered his arms and let out a sigh Kratos was all too familiar with. “While we’re on the topic of your past,” Atreus mumbled, eyes dragging upwards from the floor to meet those of his father.
“I’ve found some things scattered around the realms,” Atreus explained, descending from his knelt stance to lean back on his feet. “I’ve come across stories, pottery, painted stoned slabs. Things that talk about you, that mention your life in Greece.”
“I saw one that mentioned the Ghost of Sparta making a deal with a God named Aries.” Atreus said, tentatively as though he was worried a freeze or flight response would trigger in his father.
Kratos’ jaw clenched, though not of anger. He was troubled by his past, troubled by what it had meant for him. What it had meant for his first wife, for his daughter. He was worried what it would mean to Atreus.
“What do you want to know?” Kratos asked, trying to keep the normalcy to his tone. Atreus had only gotten better at detecting emotions, and would surely detect the emotion in Kratos’ voice. What emotion, or emotions, he struggled to pinpoint exactly. Perhaps fear, concern, weariness, shame.
Atreus looked at his father for a moment, silence hanging thick. Neither of them wanted to cross a line they couldn’t return from.
“Who is Calliope?”
“… Calliope was my daughter whom I had with my first wife, Lysandra, in Greece.” Kratos knew the memories would hurt, he knew they did. But he never got used to it. “I worked for Aries, a violent God, and he tricked me into destroying a village. I did not know my own wife and daughter were present until their blood stained my hands.”
“Calliope and Lysandra,” Atreus hummed softly to himself, as if testing the sound of the names through his lips. “Pretty names. What happened after that?”
”A priestess had warned me before I massacred the village. I did not listen, and in punishment, she embedded their ashes into my skin. I vowed vengeance against Aries, and that eventually led to the downfall of the Pantheon.“ He spoke slowly, quietly with timed pauses and hesitance.
Atreus nodded, “and that’s when you killed your father,” he murmured quietly.
Kratos could only grunt in response, his wistful gaze turning downward to the dirt beneath his feet. “I regret the things I’ve done, Atreus. They haunted me, and I could not let go. But in Valhalla, I was confronted, and I had to accept what I had done, accept my changes, and move on.”
Atreus listened carefully and watched his fathers body language. Open, yet reminiscent. He thought about how to respond carefully. “It’s cool to know I have a half sister. What was she like?”
Kratos didn’t know how to take Atreus’ reaction. He expected more shock, maybe even bewilderment. However, Atreus had been gone for 4 years. He’d learned Aries name, that of Calliopes as well. Perhaps he’d heard all of this before, and just wanted to hear it from his father himself.
So, he simply rolled back his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Coincidentally enough, Calliope had asked him about having a sibling many, many years ago. “Calliope was a sweet child. She would sit on the same grassy area beneath a tree, and play the flute I’d carved for her. I used to know her melody, every single note.” He said, pain lacing his otherwise monotone.
“I was not as present as I should’ve been for her. For Lysandra. For you. I was worried that by knowing me, by knowing who I used to be, I would send you down a path of torment and spiral. I didn’t wish that for you. But, now I know better, and I apologize.”
“Father…” Atreus began, “Your past doesn’t make me think any differently of you. You’re still my dad, and you’ve changed. That’s all I care about. You regret your past actions, but you’ve started anew. I forgive you, even if I didn’t find fault to begin with.”
“... you are much like your mother,” He murmured, catching his voice in his throat. “I am grateful for your forgiveness, Atreus. I am proud of you, and I am proud of the man you’ve become. I meant what I said. Loki has gone. But Atreus has stayed. Atreus will stay.”
The two shared a warm silence, an understanding that need not be spoken. A father and son on the exact same wavelength.
“I have noticed some… new habits of yours, Atreus.” Kratos murmured softly. “They raise concern, and I have been meaning to ask you about them.”
“New habits. I don’t understand,” He mumbled.
“As you know, growing into adulthood affects your godhood and your powers. You will gain new ones, and the preexisting will only enhance. How are you faring with your cross-species communication?"
“Oh, that. Uhm- I hear a lot more. From a lot farther. It’s loud, really loud a lot of the time. But, I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve adapted to focus on just one voice instead of all of them.”
“Is there any way to silence the voices?”
“Probably,” Atreus replied, halfheartedly picking up a rock and tossing it between his hands. He never could sit still for long. “But, even with the noise, I don’t think I want to silence them. I want to be able to hear. To help.”
Kratos nodded quietly, thoughtfully. “I understand. Just look out for yourself. Do not be so consumed in your compassion that you forget yourself.”
Atreus tossed the rock aside, looking up to meet his fathers eyes. “I won’t, father. I promise.”
Atreus was growing. He had grown. Soon, he’d be a full fledged adult. He’d be married, perhaps have children. He’ll find his way in life, maybe even find out what his mother wanted for him all those years ago. Kratos had helped him as much as he could, and he could only trust his son from here.
Whatever would happen, whatever may take place, Kratos knows one thing for sure. He loves his son, and he will cherish every single moment he has with him.