The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls of their home. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, but inside, warmth still lingered in the cabin.
Deimos sat at the table, sharpening his axe with slow, methodical strokes. Each scrape of the whetstone against the blade echoed in his ears, grounding him in the present.
Across from him, Atreus sat with an open book, enthusiastically retelling a story from the old myths, his voice lively and full of wonder. He still had the innocence that Deimos had long since abandoned.
Kratos stood near the door, arms crossed, silent as ever.
But Deimos' focus wasn't on the story. It was on her.
Faye.
She looked tired.
Her once-radiant skin had lost its glow, her movements slower, weaker. Though she still carried herself with quiet grace, there was a fragility now, one that hadn't been there before.
Deimos knew what this meant. The signs were undeniable.
Her time was running out.
He had always known this was coming. He had prepared himself for it. But knowing was different from witnessing it firsthand. A cold weight settled in his chest, frustration burning beneath it. For all his power, for all his strength—he could not stop this.
His grip on the whetstone tightened.
[System Update]
[Ding! Your Integration has increased!]
→ Peak Hercules Integration: 35%
→ Strength Increased!
→ Endurance Increased!
→ New Passive Skill Acquired → Unyielding Will
Deimos barely reacted to the notification. His body felt stronger, his stamina nearly limitless.
And yet, it still wasn't enough.
No matter how powerful he became, he could not punch his way through fate.
The fire burned low in the hearth, its once-roaring flames reduced to embers. The cabin, which had always been filled with warmth and life, now felt still—too still.
Deimos sat beside the bed, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees. His body, honed through relentless training, felt useless in this moment.
Because strength couldn't change what was about to happen.
Faye lay before him, her breathing shallow. Atreus sat on the other side, clutching her hand, his brows furrowed in confusion and quiet fear. He wasn't ready to understand what was happening. He wasn't ready to let go.
Kratos stood near the door, silent. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes.
Faye's tired eyes found Deimos'. She smiled.
"My boys..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it still held the warmth that had always comforted them.
Atreus gripped her hand tighter. "You're going to be okay, right?" His voice wavered, desperate. "You have to be okay."
Faye's gaze softened. "Atreus... my sweet child..." She brushed her fingers against his cheek. "You and your brother will be strong. I know it."
Atreus shook his head violently, his grip tightening. "No… you'll get better. You have to! We still need you—I still need you!" His voice cracked, desperation seeping into his words.
Deimos exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment before speaking. "She's not going to make it, Atreus." His voice was steady, but it took everything in him to keep it that way.
Atreus turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. "You don't know that! Maybe if we—"
"Enough." Kratos' deep voice rumbled through the room. "She is tired. Let her speak."
Atreus bit his lip, shoulders shaking, but said nothing.
Faye let out a weak chuckle. "So strong, my Deimos… but strength is not just for battle. It's for guiding, for knowing when to hold on… and when to let go."
Deimos stiffened.
Faye's frail hand moved, brushing against his clenched fists. "It is okay to grieve, my son. Even the strongest warriors weep."
Deimos wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her he wasn't weak. That he had prepared for this, accepted it.
But now, looking at her, the weight in his chest became unbearable.
His mother was dying.
And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Atreus was crying now, silent tears running down his face. He wiped them away angrily, as if ashamed of them.
Faye's breathing became labored, her voice softer. "You must take care of each other."
She looked at Kratos. He met her gaze, the storm in his eyes hidden beneath an iron mask.
"You will all be alright," she murmured.
And then, with one final exhale—
Faye closed her eyes.
The room fell into silence.
Atreus let out a choked sob. "M-Mom?" He shook her gently. "Mom?"
No response.
She was gone.
Deimos stared at her still form, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. His muscles tensed, his jaw clenched.
His vision blurred, and for the first time in a long time, Deimos felt small.
Kratos moved first, stepping forward and gently pulling Atreus away. The boy resisted at first, but then buried his face into their father's chest, his sobs muffled against Kratos' armor.
Deimos did not cry.
He simply stared at his mother's face, burning it into his memory forever.
His fists trembled.
Strength meant nothing.
Not against this.
Not against death.
He had fought against the world, against himself—but no matter how strong he became, he still couldn't save her.
And that realization cut deeper than any blade.