Two more years had quietly passed since then, and Atreus had grown into a capable and strong young person, one who now moved with instinctual precision. His fighting style had developed to the point where he relied almost completely on his instincts, something similar in nature to the Ultra Instincts that Zelos himself had once achieved in the past.
The difference was that Atreus had been guided step by step into this state, while Zelos had forced his way into it, yet the result was still the same—Atreus was no longer just a boy swinging a bow; he was becoming a warrior in his own right.
However, as Atreus grew stronger, Faye, on the other hand, seemed to weaken with each passing month, as though their strengths were somehow connected or balanced against one another. At first, her condition was subtle, nothing more than being short of breath after doing ordinary errands, the kind of thing that seemed minor and manageable.
Zelos would often step in to help her, and for a time, that was enough. But soon the signs became harder to ignore. Her energy faded quickly, she struggled to stay on her feet, and within half a year she was no longer able to stand at all. Eventually, she became bedridden, her breathing so shallow that someone unaware might have mistaken her for already gone.
Zelos poured himself into his craft, developing and experimenting with countless forms of healing magic, desperate to find something that would work. Yet, despite everything, nothing brought her even the slightest improvement. It became clearer to him that this was not an illness of the body, nor was it a simple injury that could be repaired.
Instead, it resembled something spiritual, something akin to what Atreus once suffered when his spirit and his physical form struggled to align with one another. But unlike Atreus, Faye was not in conflict with who she was. She had long accepted her nature as a giantess, and her spirit did not resist it.
'That doesn't even make sense,' Zelos thought in frustration, pacing at her bedside. His mind wrestled with his lack of progress. No matter how much he studied the issue, he felt no closer to the answer, and that gnawed at him deeply.
'If only I had the Essence of Healer… or at the very least the Essence of Mad Doctor, I could fix this. I could save her.' His thoughts circled bitterly as he looked at the frail figure of Faye lying before him. Her strength was almost gone, but her smile never faded. Even as her body weakened, she still looked at him with warmth and calm, which only made the weight on his chest heavier.
"What's wrong, my son?" Faye asked in her usual gentle tone. Even with her shallow voice, there was comfort in it, and it pierced Zelos' heart.
"It's you," Zelos admitted bluntly, his frustration spilling out. "There's something wrong with you, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why." His words came without disguise, but Faye only smiled again, as if she had expected his honesty.
"Hadn't I told you before? Everyone's time comes eventually. Death is not something to fear." Her tone was calm, almost casual, as she tried to ease the burden she knew her son was carrying. With great effort, she tried to raise her hand, but it barely moved. Seeing this, Zelos gently took her hand and placed it against his face. The small gesture was enough to bring another faint smile to her lips.
"Protect your brother and your father," Faye continued softly, her words carrying the weight of a final request. "I know you are strong, stronger than you may even realize, but remember this—do not try to carry every burden by yourself. Ask for help when you need it. That is not weakness, and it is not meant to be borne by you alone." It sounded less like advice and more like her last will, spoken directly to her eldest son.
Afterward, Faye asked to speak with Atreus and Kratos separately, one by one. Zelos respected her wish and stepped out to call them in, finding them both waiting quietly outside the cabin. Atreus went in first, disappearing behind the door, and after a while, Kratos followed. Zelos did not try to overhear what was said inside; he knew this was something personal between them, something Faye wanted to share in private.
When Kratos finally went in, Atreus came back out. The boy's eyes looked empty, like a flicker of light had been extinguished inside them. He simply stared forward, his face calm but drained of the usual spark.
"What are you thinking?" Zelos asked quietly as he approached, studying his brother's expression.
"If even you can't heal Mother," Atreus replied slowly, his voice level but heavy, "do you think there's anyone out there who could?"
"There is no one capable of knowing everything," Zelos answered after a pause. "Those who claim they do are either lying or too foolish to understand their own ignorance." His words did not directly answer Atreus' question, yet they carried the truth as Zelos saw it. Atreus didn't argue or push further.
He only turned to look at Zelos, and for the first time, he saw something he had never seen in his older brother's face before—an expression of helplessness and doubt. Until now, Zelos had always carried himself with certainty, as if he understood the world better than anyone else. But in this moment, even Zelos did not have an answer.
The next day, Kratos, Zelos, and Atreus prepared for the funeral. Faye had passed away quietly in her sleep, her final moments peaceful. What gave them a small measure of comfort, despite the weight in their hearts, was that she had left the world with a smile on her face. She had been surrounded by those she loved, and by those who loved her in return, which was all she ever wanted.
Kratos took it upon himself to wrap Faye's body in cloth, each motion steady and deliberate, as though the ritual itself was the only thing keeping him grounded. Zelos and Atreus assisted in silence, both following his lead, neither speaking unless necessary. The weight of the moment pressed on all of them, but none shed tears openly. It was not that they felt no grief, but that their grief was too deep for words.
When the wrapping was finished, they began cutting down the trees that Faye herself had marked long ago. Kratos had promised her he would use those trees for her funeral, a promise he had thought distant at the time.
He remembered the moment vividly—how he had once told her that the day was far off, that they had much time yet ahead. But now, standing in the forest and striking at the marked trunks with his axe, he realized that what he had believed to be a long time was, in truth, only a fleeting moment. In his eyes, their years together had passed as quickly as a breath.