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The labyrinth is large, expected for a domain intended for a lack of comprehension to a mere mortal, it’d be an insult as to underestimate it’s might; Kratos has finally realised, albeit however why should he dwell on needless thoughts when he finally has what he needs: the girl.
Just like Calliope; though would it be demeaning as to presume her another, to offend them both? It does not matter.
It does not matter.
“You are silent.” Pandora mentions before peering up at him, a crack of fire in the air; sudden chatter to ward off nervousness? A ploy for long-gone companionship in him?
“That is usual.” Kratos responds as he looks down at her, literally speaking; it’s easier to see her faces not consisting of hatred. A surprising fact almost, everyone else reasonably has kept him away from them, like the plague he is. Killer of his wife and daughter, slaughterer of thousands, murderer of his mother and the girls father and he’s also off to destroy Olympus. It’s no wonder.
“Say something, will you?” She asks, fidgeting with her fingers; typical self soothing mechanism; Calliope would do that, bittersweet memories tinged by bloody violence and the scent of black, ugly smoke. Kratos shove those thoughts away deep into his mind. Continue the war.
“Remain focused, child.” Blunt however it is meant to be, increased attachment to Pandora would drive him off task. Besides, what good is attachment if all it creates is ruin?
“Again, I am not a child!” She replies, frustration seeping through finely veiled optimism before she continues on, taking a big breath before putting her hands to her chest. “I was just wondering. You know? I have not spoke to another kind to me in years.”
Kind, that is a word never spoken of him and never should. She certainly will not be assuming him kindred soon; the beliefs of a naive girl.…
“Why do you see me as… kind?” Kratos glances away from Pandora, staring into the darkness with the only source of light being the decapitated head of Helios, a sin as for Pandora’s aware. Does she assume him better than a god? Foolish.
“I will say, you are not a generous soul but you- you… you saved me.” Pandora admits as she smiles afterwards, gazing up at him softly as they walk.
“I saved you for my own means, girl. You are aware of that.” Kratos looks at her with a frown, fists clenched but not at her, more aimed at himself.
Pandora’s face falls before she looks down dourly, a hint of awareness coursing through her. She opens her lips once more however. “I do know that, Kratos however you did rescue me.” Despite her assurance, her icy blue eyes are still gleaming towards the stone cold floor, throwing her hands onto her arms before glancing back at Kratos once again. “And for that I trust you…”
Kratos tenses at this, stopping dead in his tracks. Once again she has exclaimed her trust for him despite how he is supposed to be the perpetrator of her demise by the flame. His fists tighten before glaring Pandora’s way.
“As I said before, you should not.” Why trust him? What he has proven to her apart from freeing her from one prison just to die? How he’s murdered thousands all in the name of himself, what has proved himself worthy to trust
“Well, you seemed furious for my sake when Zeus attacked me earlier…” Pandora holds her arms to her stomach before crossing them tightly. “And I think you care?”
He does. Kratos would say, though again; she wouldn’t trust him if she knew of what he did to her father. Caring is futile, she’ll be bought to blue fire anyhow. He isn’t attaching himself to a girl who just happens to be like his daughter, a key for a box to murder a god.
“It does not matter what I think of you. Our task remains still, kill Zeus.” Kratos walks further away from Pandora, much needed distance between them.
Pandora’s arms falls, weariness from prior encounters and Kratos’ response; a more solemn appearance adorned onto soft features. “You are right.” She glances away from him, reverting back to looking at the floor as she begins to stumble. “I should not worry about this, I will be gone by the end of all of this anyway.”
“Yes…” Kratos mutters, biting his lip. Is he going to kill yet another child? Despite how that led him into a vicious cycle? The ashes on his skin? “You will.”
“I mean… what else do I have to live for? My father imprisoned, I am hated by the gods and just a key, not even a child nor woman…” The bags under Pandora’s eyes appear almost like a plague, features of her expected to be much more joyous are instead more tired, sullen even by a tiny bit.
“Close your heart to it. Our concerns lay elsewhere.” Kratos advises before stopping, he turns to Pandora for the final time. “You know that.”
“And that I do…” Pandora responds, finely veiled insecurity seeping through. “I suppose it was just nice to think of that.”
Do not stray from reality, child. Kratos holds back, the conversations over; no worth continuing it and distracting the both of them.
They both continue travelling through the labyrinth, prepared for the beasts that’ll approach their way.
The world is dull, wandering across forests and deserts just for anything; anything that can salvage Kratos or perhaps he deserves it.
He’s away from Greece, his homeland and has been for years, how many though he cannot count. Decades? Centuries? It no longer matters.
Travelling through an old, abandoned structure, perhaps created when he was a child; it almost reminds him of the bog of the forgotten, an almost fleeting memory. Long vines and scattered weeds, a rancid smell of dirt and grime.
It is what he deserves.
He travels further within it, prepared for violence, more stains on his tarnished arms but all he finds is a structure: a girl kneeling down with hair braided upward and decorated with a hairband coated in symbols, all which he doesn’t recognise. A long tunic and dressed in jewellery, in her palms spread outwards is what resembles a flame. The flame almost reaching to her gentle expression of peace or something on the subject of tranquility.
All Kratos can see however in the flame is brunette hair streaked with blonde, a black hairband and a two-piece outfit, white and blue. Blue eyes and freckles decorating a young face. A girl who he had known long ago. Pandora.
Sacrificed all to wreak havoc, she had wished to do it anyhow. The blame shouldn’t be placed entirely onto him, the fallen god; yet remembering how intently she spoke about hope, called upon enemies for him, exclaimed her thanks to him for rescuing her from the labyrinth: Kratos can only feel a sense of regret, solemness, turmoil and despair all in one.
Killed by him letting go, dead due to the rage that consumed him ravenously. If he had just… If he had put a lid on his emotions for once, if he had just ignored Zeus’ remarks then she could have still been around.
Kratos looks upon the statue of a foreign woman, drowned in memories he raises his fists high, and with a single, almost sloppy swing the statue is destroyed.
His wrists don’t feel the pain, the blades made sure of that long ago. A mild benefit of the cruelty of the god of war Ares, is it not?
The statue demolished, only crumbled remain and large fragments, the flame is intact however.
Kratos then collapses to the floor, the sheer hopelessness not even enabling him to walk. It’s too much...
A coward’s words, one who cannot even reap the crops he sowed.
“Pandora…” A shortly-lived whisper, guttural strangely so.
She trusted him.
She trusted him and in the end he let her go.
Kratos can now only look at the statue which he destroyed. Pandora is gone.
Pandora is gone and he is eternally guilty.
Did he truly believe vengeance would be his remedy?
Kratos rises up from dirty floors, both his fists and legs aching before standing limp, he chooses to leave the derelict structure, off to traverse elsewhere.
The memories are too painful otherwise.