Rain poured heavily onto the pavement, catching reflections from cold neon lights. The city hummed with the sound of tires slicing through puddles. Inside the dance studio, mirrors stretched from wall to wall, reflecting her every movement as she flowed through choreography — precise, radiant, divine.

Outside, Kratos waited. Leather jacket zipped to the collar, broad shoulders still, eyes fixed through the glass. He hated waiting. But for her… he waited.

The glass door groaned open. A gust of wind slipped in with him, carrying the scent of metal and rain.

– Time.

His voice cut through the hallway like a clean blade.

She turned slowly, breath still catching from the last beat of the song, eyes glowing from stagelight and effort. Behind her, the dancers filtered out in silence, as if the world was clearing space for something important.

Kratos stepped forward, his eyes briefly dropping to her gold-dusted sneakers. Then they rose to meet hers.

– I said tonight would be different. No blood. No chaos. Just… dinner. He lifted a small paper bag. – I cooked.

The silence that followed was gentle, sacred.

She walked toward him, soft perfume curling between them like an ancient memory. Kratos lowered his head just slightly, his body easing — the soldier slipping back into the shadows for a moment.

– Driver got sick. I came myself.

She smiled, and he turned his eyes away like the sun had stared back.

– Don’t look at me like that. – he murmured with a low growl. – I’m not used to this kind of light… too soft.

They walked side by side toward the truck parked just outside, the rain slowing as if the sky understood what this moment meant. Kratos opened the passenger door for her. Not out of habit. Out of respect. Always respect.

Inside the vehicle, a soft playlist played — something Atreus had chosen, though Kratos would never admit it. One hand rested on the gearshift, fingers calloused and twitching lightly with some unconscious rhythm.

– I was thinking… maybe what you need tonight isn’t more applause. He glanced sideways. – Maybe you just need rest.

She responded with something gentle, celestial. He didn’t smile — but the hard line of his jaw softened.

– My place. No cameras. No stage. Just us. – A brief pause. – And brown rice with chicken.

She laughed, and he blinked once. A quiet victory.

The truck drove on through the rain-slicked streets, carrying them away from the stage lights and toward the quiet fortress where Kratos kept not just his weapons — but a fragile, hidden piece of hope.

Tonight, he wasn’t the Ghost of Sparta. He was just a man. And she — the reason he still believed peace was worth trying for.