The man departed in silence, leaving Kratos kneeling on the earth. But Kratos did not register his absence. His mind was still stuck at the surreal sight of his family standing before him, once again. The spectre of his wife and daughter was unlike any other he'd seen before. It wasn't a cruel mockery proposed by flimsy illusions, nor was it a lingering melancholy offered by fleeting visions. This felt real. Even though they were lacking in physical presence, the warmth radiated by their spiritual presence felt... real.
A moment passed before Kratos stirred, shaking off the strange trance that had gripped him. He found himself alone on the plateau, now spoiled by a growing mound of ash. Rising and brushing the grit from his clothes, Kratos followed the path the ashen figure had taken, descending to the back of the plateau where the spring gurgled forth.
He arrived at a tranquil pool, larger than a pond yet smaller than a lake. The water possessed an extraordinary clarity, allowing an unobstructed view of the pebbled bottom and the occasional darting fish. Even the bubbling spring that fed the pool failed to disturb its glassy surface.
At the pool's centre, the ashen man stood immersed up to his chest. He scooped water into his hands, gently rubbing the ash from his skin. It dissolved into the water, leaving no trace. Kratos watched, captivated, as the white coating vanished, revealing smooth, dark skin beneath. The ashen crust on the man's hair sloughed off, unveiling thick, night-black locks. As the water cascaded down his body, it revealed a physique of lean, corded muscle. Kratos, observing with a warrior's eye, saw not an ounce of excess flesh, only power honed and refined.
A sudden hiss shattered the stillness, sending a shiver down Kratos's spine. From the depths of the surrounding forest, a colossal serpent emerged, its body as thick as a tree trunk. It glided with sinuous grace towards the pool, sliding over the water without creating a single ripple.
As Kratos opened his mouth to shout a warning, the man extended his arm towards the approaching serpent. The snake, impossibly, began to shrink. From its monstrous size, it dwindled to the length of a king cobra, slithering up the man's outstretched arm and coiling around his neck. The serpent's body concealed a faint, bluish-purple mark that marred the otherwise flawless skin of the man's throat.
The man lingered in the pool for a few more minutes, completing his ritual cleansing. He then emerged, water streaming from his body, and collected his trident and drum. Without a single glance in Kratos' direction, he departed with a purposeful stride.
"Wait!" Kratos called out. But the man remained oblivious and continued his journey without pause.
Kratos' patience snapped. He surged forward, intent on confronting the man, but slammed into an invisible barrier. It tingled with a familiar energy. He glanced at Ganesh, who stood with palms outstretched with a shimmering mandala of geometric shapes swirling around his arm. Frustration surged through Kratos. He hammered against the barrier, but it held firm. It yielded only slightly as it moved forward along with the man's steady advance.
At this juncture, Kratos had two options. Two choices warred within him: brute force or reluctant compliance. He could shatter the barrier – he had the strength – but experience had taught him that such actions often carried a steep price. So, biting back the irritation surging from within, Kratos let out a long breath of air and matched the measured pace set by the invisible wall.
The man passed through the archway and paused before a massive bull, its form half-hidden in the shadows. A silent exchange passed between them – a nod, a rumble – before the bull lumbered to its feet and vanished into the dense undergrowth.
"F-Father," Murugan stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The man's gaze swept past Murugan, settling on Ganesh. Kratos thought he detected a flicker of displeasure in the man's eyes, though the reason remained obscure. Ganesh, in turn, recoiled and the invisible barrier around Kratos dissolved altogether.
Without a word, the man brushed past the two boys and continued his journey following the winding course of the river.
"Are you insane?!" Murugan shrieked, his voice cracking with panic. "Why did you go and disturb him?"
"I did nothing," Kratos growled, his voice low and menacing.
"Father wasn't due for at least another hour," Ganesh muttered, his brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"
"I waited," Kratos replied, his tone clipped.
"Well," Ganesh said with a hesitant sigh, "at least he didn't seem angry. Perhaps we're safe?"
"Are we?" Murugan echoed, his voice filled with doubt.
The boys' hushed whispers and anxious glances set Kratos's teeth on edge.
"Why did you interfere?" Kratos demanded, fixing Ganesh with a fierce glare.
"You were about to grab Father and shake him for answers," Ganesh replied, a nervous laugh escaping him. "I prevented you from doing something rash... and potentially fatal."
"I cannot die," Kratos emphasised, his hand resting on the haft of his axe. Then, with a growl, he said, "I came for answers, for a solution. You claim that man forged this weapon. He possesses what I seek, and I will have it."
He stalked after the man, following the river's course. And as he actively fought against the confounding treeline he thought to himself, 'Even if I die, he will be doing me a favour.'
___
Once Kratos emerged from the forest's edge he swept his gaze along the landscape. The man he'd been following had vanished. It made no sense! Kratos had moved swiftly through the treacherous jungle, and he was certain that the distance between them hadn't been great.
Yet, there was no sign of him. It was as if he had melted into the very air itself.
"Father has his own ways," Ganesh wheezed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The boys had followed Kratos and the stout, elephant-headed Ganesh was clearly struggling to keep up with his leaner, more agile brother. "He doesn't need to follow the river like we do. He's likely home already. Come!"
Once again, Kratos was led by the boys through the vast plains towards the sole habitable structure in the sea of green. It was a simple courtyard dwelling made of wood with clay tiles, large enough for a family of four. The house was a rambling structure of smooth walls and gently sloping roofs. Several wings extended from a central courtyard, creating a sense of intimacy and enclosure. The architecture was simple yet elegant, with clean lines and a harmonious balance between the built environment and the world around. Large windows framed views of the surrounding landscape, blurring the boundaries between indoors and out. The overall impression was one of understated beauty and quiet comfort, a place where life unfolded at a slower, more deliberate pace.
It was like a small world of its own, and enclosing this was a large fence of wood and thatch. The land between the fence and the dwelling was blanketed with a well-maintained garden sprawling with a myriad of plants, vegetables and fruits.
The boys pushed open the fence door and followed the cobblestone path that led straight towards the house's entrance. Along the way, Kratos noticed the massive bull from earlier, now peacefully grazing on the weed that marred the bounteous garden. As they approached the steps leading into the home, the boys halted abruptly. Kratos paused with them and followed their gaze to the top of the steps, where a large feline lay curled, half-asleep. It had a vibrant and lustrous orange coat, with white highlights near its belly. What really set it apart were the irregular black stripes that were all over its coat, giving it the appearance of a miniaturised tiger.
Disturbed by their approach, it blinked open heavy-lidded eyes.
Ganesh rummaged in a pouch at his side and produced a fish of astonishing size. With a grin, he tossed it towards the cat. The creature rose and effortlessly snatched the fish – which seemed almost as large as itself – after which it padded away with its prize.
"You're kindness makes her lazy, brother," Murugan chided.
"I don't feed Dawon *that* often," Ganesh protested.
"She doesn't hunt because she knows that you will eventually feed her. Look at the heft she's gained-"
"Murugan! It's rude to comment on a lady's figure." A woman's voice, sweet and melodic, interrupted the boys' bickering. "I thought I raised you to be more considerate."
"Mother!" Murugan cried excitedly even before turning to face the source of the voice. He spun around and rushed towards the woman. On the other hand, Ganesh bowed his head respectfully and greeted, "Mother."
The woman embraced the boy with one arm and ruffled his hair. With her other arm, she lifted a straw basket filled with vegetables and tucked it under her shoulder.
And at first glance, Kratos was mesmerised once again. Her features were warm and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the corners with a hint of amusement. Her dark hair, streaked with a thin highlight of silver, was pulled back from her face revealing high cheekbones and a kind smile. She wore a simple sari - the attire commonly worn by women in these lands - and its colour was a muted eggshell white complementing her warm brown skin.
She radiated a sense of mature serenity. And Kratos admitted that she was beautiful. This wasn't in a way that commanded attention. This beauty it felt... inviting, stable, mellow. Just like how he felt when he absorbed the well-tended garden.
"And who might this be?" The woman asked as she scrutinised Kratos. Her expression had sobered into a blank and calculating gaze. Right as one of the boys was about to introduce him, Kratos noticed the woman's expression sour significantly. It was a momentary flash of immense displeasure, but it was caught by Kratos who was still struggling from averting his own gaze from her mien. He followed her eyes and noticed that they were on the axe, indicating evident familiarity.
"This is-"
"He is not welcome here," the woman declared as she moved past Kratos while dragging the two boys in with her.
Though right as she reached the top of the stairs, another voice resonated from within the house, "He is our guest. He will be joining us for lunch."
It was a steely baritone voice that Kratos assumed belonged to the man from earlier. It was soft but carried great authority and strength.
The woman closed her eyes in acceptance and entered her home, not deigning to welcome Kratos. But it seemed that the man's words weren't being contested since the boys led him in immediately.
___
What ensued after was an awkward staredown between Kratos and the man as they sat opposite each other, cross-legged, and on the floor. A banana leaf lay clean before them as they awaited being served.
When he first sat down, Kratos cut straight to the chase and placed his inquiry before the axe's creator.
"This axe-"
"My name is Shiva," the man interrupted calmly.
Kratos' eyes twitched as he caught the smile on the man's face. "I am Kratos."
"Nice to meet you, Kratos," Shiva continued. He then gestured to the boy sitting next to him and said, "I believe you've already met my youngest son, Murugan."
At that moment, the eldest stepped out of the kitchen carrying a bucket of rice. As he placed it beside them, the man gestured to the boy and added, "And my... eldest, Ganesh."
At the mention of the older lad, Kratos could sense a hint of apprehension in the man's otherwise monotone voice.
"And you have also met my wife, Parvathy," the man continued. "Welcome to my home - welcome to Kailash."
With the introductions out of the way, Kratos proceeded to place his query. But once again, he was interrupted by the arrival of the woman, Parvathy, who carried with her two more buckets of curry and lentils.
She beelined towards her husband and served him first. She then served the youngest before arriving before Kratos. She dumped a sizeable serving of food on his leaf before dragging the buckets towards her eldest.
The boy performed a familiar series of gestures - prayers to the Annapurneshwari - before digging into the buckets excitedly. Kratos was enamoured by the elation the boy was exuding as he poured the curry and the lentil stew into the bucket of rice. The kid then used both hands and trunk in a flurry of motion to scoop up rice, curry, and lentils, shaped them into bite-sized balls and popped them into his mouth with remarkable dexterity. Once one appendage was free of a food ball, it would dig into the bucket and form another, creating a hyper-efficient queue that delivered food into his already agape mouth.
And surprisingly, the boy's gluttony did not detract from the amusing sight. Kratos let out a faint chuckle before turning his attention to his own plate. The food, while simple and plainly vegetarian, looked sumptuous and appealing. The inviting and fragrant aroma of spices rising from the curry and lentil stew made his mouth water. Without wasting another moment, Kratos dug into the food, subconsciously mirroring the elephant-headed boy's enthusiasm.
From the very first bite, Kratos was captivated by the titillating flavours and textures. Each fluffy grain of rice danced on his tongue, filling his taste buds with the light sweetness of starch, which was further enhanced by the richness of the clarified butter - or ghee - that coated each grain of rice evenly. This, in turn, gave way for the spices in the curry to execute a gallant charge washing him first with a wave of heat. His stunned palate was then assaulted by a complex interplay of earthy, pungent and tangy notes as the symphony of spices left their mark. The lentil stew, while less assertive, provided a welcome grounding element, its creamy texture and subtle flavours complementing the boldness of the other dishes. And it filled in the stark gap in proteins in the offerings, which was a welcome addition for Kratos.
Kratos lost himself in the flavours, unaware of the passage of time. After what seemed like a flash, his fingers, stained with turmeric and fragrant oils, scraped the banana leaf clean. He hadn't realised how ravenous he was until the last morsel disappeared, leaving him with a lingering warmth in his belly and a conflicting sense of deep satisfaction and regret. He could confidently say that he had never felt this degree of saturation in his entire life, this left him deeply satisfied. He could also confidently say that he had never tasted vegetarian food so delicious in his entire life either, which left him regretful because he didn't know if he would get to taste this food again.
But it was at that moment Kratos realised that he was the last to finish his meal. Even the little glutton had finished his buckets before Kratos. Suppressing a tinge of embarrassment, Kratos coughed and spoke directly to the man seated before him. He spoke rapidly, ensuring that no one else distracted or interrupted them and derailed the conversation.
"This axe," Kratos began as he placed the axe between them. "It seems to have made me immortal."
"As it should," Shiva responded with an affirming nod. He picked the axe up and observed it casually. "'I require a weapon that will assist me in achieving my purpose,' is what Rama said. He proved himself, and so I obliged by crafting this axe for him."
"That was his wish, not mine," Kratos responded with a fretful growl. "Its purpose was to assist Rama, not ME. Why is it affecting me?!"
"A weapon is a warrior's most intimate companion," Shiva expressed. "In many ways, it grows along with the warrior as one becomes proficient with the other. Having accompanied Rama for many millennia, this axe has gained a will of its own. It has likes, dislikes, quirks and behaviours that raise it above the level of your common hatchet - it is sentient, in a way."
After a short pause, he finally declared, "And it seems to have chosen you as its wielder. Looks like you impressed it more than Rama."
"What? Why?" Kratos snapped. "I do not wish to be its wielder. Take it back!"
The room chilled after Kratos' outburst. Even the crickets that evoked faint chirps in the background went silent. Shiva's calm expression turned dour as his gaze bore down on Kratos. "Why?"
"What do you mean, 'Why?' This axe was not my wish, it was Rama's. I do not want this to accompany me anymore," Kratos repeated firmly.
"I understand the unfortunate situation you are in. But why must I take it back?" Shiva responded. "I offered what was asked of me, and I did so to the best of my ability. That is the extent of my responsibility."
Kratos was about to retort in kind, but the sentences he'd formed halted at the tip of his tongue. He hesitated because he knew that Shiva was right. Why was it the man's responsibility to absolve Kratos of this burden? If that were the case, then the first person who should be hanged after a war is the army's blacksmith.
Therefore, Kratos altered his approach. He asked, "How do I untether myself from this accursed axe?"
The man, in turn, smiled and said, "You want an answer. What do I get in return?"
"What do you want?" Kratos retorted curtly.
"What is the value of the answer to you?" Shiva rebutted.
And so, Kratos calmed himself and asked, "I just want these nightmares to stop. They do not belong to me. And I am sure that they were not a part of your boon to Rama."
"That is a reasonable request," Shiva responded. Yet before Kratos could let out a breath of relief, the man added, "But that isn't something I can do. Because it wasn't I who cursed it as such."
The man looked towards the door leading into the living room of the courtyard dwelling, hinting to Kratos that he would have to ask the woman for aid here.
"H-How-" Kratos wanted to ask the man what he was supposed to do, but the man had disappeared... once again. He jerked his head towards the two lads and was met with a defeated shrug.
A growl of frustration ripped from Kratos' throat. He surged to his feet, the endless back-and-forth pushing him to the edge. He'd endured a gruelling journey, sleepless nights, and now this frustrating game of cat and mouse. He was weary of being shunted from one person to the next. To him, this felt akin to the mindless fetch-quests the Greek gods sent him on.
As he reached the doorway, Kratos saw the woman sitting on the veranda, her hands busy with needle and thread. The large cat dozed peacefully at her feet, its ears twitching as Kratos approached.
He held up the axe, the suppressed rage within him threatening to erupt. The last vestiges of his control clung to him like a frayed rope, barely preventing him from unleashing the fury that simmered beneath the surface.
"Please," Kratos rasped, the word a struggle to force past his clenched teeth. "Remove the curse."
The woman didn't look up and kept her attention focused on sewing. Her indifference fueled Kratos's growing impatience. Just as he was about to explode, she finally lifted her gaze and met his eyes with unwavering intensity.
"Why?" she asked in a soft yet firm voice.
After searching through his rather limited vocabulary for the right set of words to formulate an answer that wouldn't end up antagonising the woman, Kratos finally responded with, "Because it was not meant for me."
A faint, almost mocking smile touched her lips. "The man in your nightmares," she began in a low tone, "he did terrible things, didn't he?"
"In another world, under different circumstances," she continued, leaning forward as her eyes bore into his, "could you see yourself doing those things?"
Kratos felt her gaze pierce through him as it dissected his thoughts and memories like a sharp knife through an onion. "No," she murmured, "you've already done worse, haven't you?"
"I see it in your eyes," she said as her voice grew colder. "The unbridled rage. The capacity for senseless destruction." Her words held a chilling sense of familiarity as if she was intimated with the kind of man she was describing.
"Men like you don't change," she stated with a hint of disdain creeping into her voice. "Men like you don't care about the consequences of their actions. Selfish, arrogant, destructive. That is what you are. That is what you will always be."
She shook her head. And with a hardened expression, she said, "You are wrong. The curse may not have been intended for you, but you are deserving of it."
"So you refuse?" Kratos growled as his control over his emotions slipped.
"If I do," she challenged, her eyes locking with his, "what will you do?"
In that instant, the world seemed to shift. Kratos felt himself shrinking, or perhaps she was growing. The aura of serenity that had surrounded her shattered and replaced itself with a wave of raw power that pressed down on him, stealing his breath.
The transformation was swift and terrifying. The woman seemed to rise, becoming larger than life. Her tranquil eyes blazed with fury. The needle in her hand morphed into a wickedly sharp sword with its blade thrumming with bloodlust. Her simple sari shifted, becoming a crimson war garment with plates of gleaming armour forming around her. The placid cat at her feet erupted into a monstrous tiger, its claws and teeth elongated into deadly weapons.
The transformation was momentary. Kratos' instincts took over and he took a step back, preparing himself for an imminent attack. But deep down, he knew that resistance was futile. Never in his life had his instincts warned him of certain demise. Not even the subconscious assurance of his immortality could stop a cold sweat from trickling down his back. But the moment he created distance, the pressure dissipated and the war goddess adorned in battle armour and deadly weapons of war mounted atop a ferocious tiger swiftly turned into a graceful housewife garbed simply and sewing a piece of cloth while a normal (if not slightly enlarged) house cat lay by her feet.
Kratos staggered at the abruptness of the transformation, but he was immediately caught from behind.
"We'll be showing our guest around, Mother," Ganesh's voice declared respectfully. And as the woman returned a faint hum of assertion, Kratos felt himself getting whisked away.
___
"You're a troublesome fellow, you know that?" Ganesh grumbled with his gaze fixed on the hollow-eyed man slumped against a tree. The man's vacant stare seemed lost in the distance. The spirit and vitality that had animated him upon his arrival at the mountain was replaced by a chilling apathy. He was a husk. He appeared depleted. The faint glimmer of hope that drove him forward was extinguished.
Ganesh sighed as a wave of sympathy washed over him. He couldn't help it. He was a sucker for helpless and powerless things. He lacked the decisiveness of his father and the steadfastness of his mother. He was weak to pleas of the bent and broken.
In truth, Ganesh understood men like Kratos; driven, relentless, and prone to violence when their desires were thwarted. But now with all his paths blocked, Kratos was adrift and defeated.
It was the classic paradox of the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. The outcome, however, wasn't necessarily annihilation. One or the other would yield. An unstoppable force that could be stopped was no longer unstoppable. An immovable object that could be moved was no longer immovable. Both lost their defining essence, their very reason for being. And such a loss could shatter the spirit, leaving one hollow and lost.
If Ganesh hadn't interfered earlier, he was certain that the man would have resorted to violence. The man clearly lacked the sense of self-preservation of a mentally sane person. And he looked like he had nothing to lose. He was the unstoppable force. But Ganesh also knew that his mother wasn't one to budge. Not even his father, the man with an unbending will, could shake her. It was because of this very steadfastness that Ganesh was alive right now, even if he wasn't whole.
But in their confrontation, Kratos was the one to yield first. And that too before the first drop of blood was shed. This action was not lost on the man. It was also why he was in this state right now.
As he remained in thought, Ganesh's gaze drifted towards his brother who was engrossed in spear practice. The lad was the embodiment of capriciousness; nothing could keep him still for more than a few minutes. If he wasn't soaring through the skies on his peacock, he was honing his combat skills by sparring against others. Such was his nature.
And when it came to spear-wielding, Murugan was unmatched. A prodigy, they called him. He'd sparred with and defeated countless warriors in both Svarga and Patala, leaving a trail of humbled opponents in his wake. Until today, that is.
At that moment, something struck Ganesh's attention. He narrowed his eyes and focused on his brother's movements. Something was amiss. While it wasn't unusual for Murugan to practice solo by envisioning opponents and countering their attacks through a visualisation technique, there was a distinct difference today.
His usual effortless grace was marred by a hint of frustration. His attacks, though swift and precise, lacked their characteristic fluidity. Ganesh could discern that Murugan's movements were geared towards an opponent wielding a shorter, cleaving weapon. He realised with a jolt that he wasn't battling a generic sparring partner; he was facing a specific foe. In his mind's eye, he could immediately make out an imaginary figure wielding an axe. It was Kratos!
Murugan lunged, parried, and thrust, but his spear was met with resistance with each movement. His flow was constantly getting interrupted and his attacks were being countered effortlessly. At one point, he stumbled as his spear got knocked aside by an imaginary blow. A cry of frustration escaped his lips as he regained his footing and re-positioned himself.
Disbelief washed over Ganesh. Murugan, the hitherto undefeated warrior, was locked in a battle against his own imagination, and he was losing!
The surprise quickly gave way to a dawning realisation. Ganesh's eyes darted between the defeated Murugan and the despondent Kratos, and a plan started to take shape in his mind. Slowly, a satisfied smile peeked through his trunk.
'Perhaps', he mused, 'it was possible to solve both their problems with a single solution.'