Chapter 27 – The Silent Watchers
The cold deepened. It was not the chill of mere winter now—it was the kind that gnawed at the spirit, whispering doubts with every breath. The air in Helheim grew still, unnaturally so, as Kratos and Atreus descended further into the realm's heart. The mist no longer swirled freely; it hung heavy, as if afraid to move.
Atreus spoke first, his voice trembling against the quiet. "Father… the air feels wrong."
Kratos' hand rested on the haft of the Leviathan axe, his gaze scanning the dark expanse ahead. "This place feeds on fear," he said. "Do not give it yours."
But even he could feel it—the oppressive weight pressing against his chest, a silence so thick it threatened to choke them both. The ground underfoot was no longer frozen stone but blackened soil, damp with something that looked too much like blood. Strange symbols had been carved into the cliffs around them, glowing faintly in shades of crimson and ash.
They came to a clearing where nine stone pillars stood in a wide circle. Each was carved with runes older than even Kratos could recognize, their surfaces scarred and pulsing faintly with power. And in the center of that circle lay a single throne—carved from bones, its surface slick with frost, empty yet humming with presence.
Atreus stepped closer, eyes wide. "Father… it's like they're watching."
Kratos' voice dropped to a growl. "They are."
He could feel it now—the gaze of unseen beings pressing in from all directions. The Nine. Not fully awake, not fully sleeping. Watching, waiting, judging.
Without warning, the air shifted. A whisper slithered through the clearing, faint at first, then growing clearer—"Spartan… murderer… oath-breaker…"
Atreus spun around, bow raised. "Who's there?!"
The voice did not answer. Instead, the earth beneath them trembled, and from the ground rose figures—pale and twisted, their forms barely holding together. Faces of gods long dead, mortals long forgotten. Their mouths moved in unison, their words like venom.
"You have come far, but the abyss remembers your sins. It remembers every name you have taken, every oath broken, every son you failed."
Kratos' eyes darkened. The Leviathan axe hummed with frost, the chill spreading up his arm like veins of ice. "I have faced my past," he growled. "I will face it again."
But this time, the darkness did not offer him the mercy of clarity. The figures solidified, their faces sharpening—Zeus. Ares. Athena. Baldur. And then… Faye.
Atreus froze, breath catching in his throat. "Mother…?"
Kratos' chest tightened. The figure of Faye stood before them, eyes soft, expression filled with sorrow. "Why do you still fight, my love?" she whispered. "You destroy everything you touch. Even him." Her gaze turned toward Atreus.
Kratos stepped forward, voice rough. "You are not her."
"But you wish I were," the apparition murmured, stepping closer. "You wish you could undo what you did. To me. To Zeus. To all of them."
Atreus' eyes darted between them, fear and confusion warring within him. "Father, what is this?"
Kratos didn't answer. The whispers grew louder, overlapping now, the voices of the dead merging into one unbearable cacophony. "God-killer… betrayer… father of ruin…"
The ground cracked. Shadows poured out like smoke, coiling around the throne in the center of the pillars. From it, a figure began to form—tall, faceless, wrapped in a cloak of darkness that bled into the air around it. Its voice, when it spoke, was low and resonant, vibrating in the bones.
"You have entered the realm of judgment," it said. "I am the Silent Watcher, first among the Nine. You seek passage… yet you carry the weight of countless deaths. Tell me, Kratos of Sparta—why should the Nine allow you to pass?"
Kratos lifted his head, meeting the void where the figure's face should have been. "I do not seek permission," he said. "Only the strength to finish what must be done."
The Watcher tilted its head slightly, amused—or perhaps curious. "Strength? You mistake strength for redemption. You mistake endurance for worth. You believe you can defy the will of realms?"
Atreus raised his bow. "He doesn't believe. He knows."
The Watcher's gaze—or the sense of it—shifted toward the boy. "Ah… the son who carries two legacies. God and giant. You burn bright, child. But even stars fall into darkness."
Before Kratos could move, the shadows surged forward. The Watcher's arm extended, and tendrils of smoke wrapped around Atreus, lifting him from the ground. The boy gasped, struggling, magic flaring along his skin. "Father!"
Kratos roared, charging forward. He swung the axe, but the blade passed through the shadow harmlessly, as if striking smoke. The Watcher's voice deepened. "You cannot fight judgment, Spartan. You can only confess."
Rage ignited in Kratos' chest—raw, unrestrained, ancient. "Then I confess this," he bellowed, slamming his fists into the ground. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, the runes on the pillars flaring with blinding light. The shadows recoiled, shrieking, and Atreus fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
Kratos stood, chest heaving, eyes burning with fury. "You will not touch my son."
The Watcher loomed taller, the darkness around it condensing into solid form. "Then prove your worth," it hissed. "Prove that you are not the same monster who razed Olympus and damned Midgard. Show the Nine that you have changed."
The pillars began to glow brighter, and from each one stepped a figure—nine silhouettes, cloaked and featureless, surrounding Kratos and Atreus in a perfect circle. The Watcher raised its hand, and the ground split open, revealing a pit of seething black mist.
"The abyss demands sacrifice," it said. "A life for a life. A bloodline for balance. Choose, God of War. Your past… or your son."
Atreus' voice trembled. "Father, don't—"
Kratos' eyes locked on the pit, on the churning void that promised oblivion. His heart thundered in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to kill, to destroy—but this was not a battle he could win with brute strength. This was a test. The Nine wanted his will, his soul.
"I will not choose," Kratos said at last, voice low but unbreakable. "The Nine may judge me. But I will not let them decide my fate—or his."
The Watcher's laughter was like the crack of ice breaking. "Defiance… always defiance."
The shadows lunged. Kratos caught Atreus' arm, pulling him close. "Hold on!" he barked. He hurled the Leviathan axe at the ground before them; it struck deep, and light erupted from its core. The blast threw the shadows back, tearing through the fog and cracking the pillars in a cascade of blue flame.
The Watcher's form wavered, fragments of darkness breaking away. "You think you can defy the Nine?" it hissed.
Kratos' voice rose above the roar of the collapsing clearing. "I am defiance."
The world around them shattered—light and shadow twisting into chaos. Kratos grabbed Atreus, shielding him as the ground gave way beneath them. They fell into the darkness, the air rushing past, the sound of the Watcher's laughter fading into a whisper.
When they landed, it was in silence once more. The mist was gone. The cold was different now—deeper, sharper. The ground beneath them pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of something vast and unseen.
Atreus stirred, wincing. "Father… where are we?"
Kratos looked around. The world was pitch-black, yet filled with faint flickers of light, as though they stood within the chest of some enormous creature, surrounded by its breath and pulse. "Deeper," he said finally. "We are deeper in Helheim than any mortal—or god—should ever walk."
A faint whisper drifted through the darkness: "The next trial awaits…"
Kratos' eyes narrowed. "Then we face it."
He lifted the axe, its runes glowing faintly blue against the endless dark. Atreus nocked an arrow beside him. The silence stretched on, heavy with tension, and somewhere beyond sight… something moved.
The abyss was no longer watching. It was hunting.