The journey continued smoothly as the group moved deeper into Alfheim. For a long while, they did not encounter any enemies, and the only obstacles that stood in their way were the intricate puzzles scattered along their path. Each puzzle, though cleverly designed, was solved with relative ease through their combined intellect and cooperation.
However, the further they traveled toward the center of the platform, and the closer they got to the Light itself, the more violence they began to witness. Across the luminous bridges and floating ruins, they could see the Light Elves being mercilessly slaughtered by the Dark Elves. The sight unsettled Atreus greatly, his eyes constantly drifting toward the ongoing carnage.
Kratos, aware of his son's stares, chose not to respond. He remained focused on their path, pretending not to notice, though the tension between them was almost visible. Freya, who walked at the rear beside Zelos, stayed silent as well. She understood the urge Atreus felt to intervene, yet she also knew that it was not her place to interfere in how Kratos chose to guide his son.
After witnessing yet another brutal execution—where a Light Elf was forced to his knees and beheaded by two Dark Elves without offering even a hint of resistance—Atreus finally snapped.
"He wasn't even fighting back!" Atreus shouted, his voice filled with anger and disbelief. "They just killed him, and you're standing there doing nothing! You never care about anything!" His words were directed at Kratos, but his accusing eyes turned briefly toward Zelos as well.
Zelos, however, did not respond with anger. His stare at Atreus was calm, though it carried a weight of disappointment.
"You could be easily manipulated," Zelos said, his tone low and controlled. "That kind of naive righteousness might feel noble, but one day it will cost you something important. Imagine, for example, that you knew nothing of the Aesir's crimes—nothing of the pain they caused—but you saw them being slaughtered during Ragnarok. If you acted only on what your eyes saw, you might decide to help them. That's the same kind of thinking you are doing now. You do not know the full truth behind what you see, yet you are already judging who holds the moral high ground. The world does not bend to what looks right, Atreus. Things are rarely as simple as you believe."
Atreus froze, unable to find a response. The sting of Zelos's words sank deep, and for the first time, he looked genuinely uncertain.
"I didn't know…" Atreus managed to say quietly.
"That's right," Zelos continued. "You didn't know. But you act as though you understand everything. I don't pretend to know all things either, yet I've seen enough to understand when to trust Father's judgment. His experience runs deeper than both of us combined. You, on the other hand, have barely left our home, yet you already think you know the world."
Zelos's tone softened near the end, but the message was clear. Atreus lowered his gaze, saying nothing further.
Kratos, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally turned toward Zelos. "That is enough, Zelos," he said firmly. "Apologize to your brother. He is still a child."
Zelos looked at Kratos for a moment, then nodded slowly. "If my words were harsh, I will apologize," he said calmly. "But what I said still stands. He needs to learn that not everything is what it appears to be."
Kratos said nothing more, and the group continued their ascent in silence.
Freya, walking beside Zelos, glanced at him with curiosity. The usual lightheartedness in his expression was gone, replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness. His steps were steady, his focus sharp, but his mood was clearly heavier than before.
"I never thought you would snap that easily," Freya said softly, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern. "You seem to be angry about something. Care to share it?"
Zelos took a breath before answering. "It's not something that can be shared easily. It's something that must unfold naturally, in its own time," he said, his tone distant.
Freya frowned, slightly confused. "What does that mean?"
"It means that some truths must be left to reveal themselves. If forced, they lose their purpose," Zelos replied simply.
In truth, the reason for Zelos's outburst was something he could not explain. He already knew that his mother's soul was within the Light of Alfheim.
If they interfered with the Light Elves or altered the balance in any way, they might unknowingly destroy her essence before he could fulfill his plan.
To him, helping the Light Elves meant helping in his mother's disintegration, something he could never allow. Yet he also knew that he could not tell Kratos or Atreus—not until the right time.
'Ignorance is bliss,' Zelos thought as he glanced toward Atreus, who was still quietly walking ahead, lost in his own thoughts.
Zelos's eyes then drifted toward Kratos. Though the Spartan walked with his usual composure, Zelos could sense the weight pressing down on him. It was not the fatigue of battle but the exhaustion of carrying grief and duty at the same time. His father's strength lay not only in his might but in his endurance—his willingness to bear pain in silence to fulfill Faye's final wish.
After several puzzles and turns through the ancient corridors, the group finally reached the heart of Alfheim. The Light stood before them, now freed from the thick roots that had once covered it. Its radiance filled the chamber with a pale brilliance, though to Zelos, it felt distant, hollow even. He knew the truth—the Light Elves could not wield its power without risking their own destruction.
"Step into the Light," Freya said quietly to Kratos. "But be careful not to be swallowed by it. Remember what I told you."
Kratos gave a single nod and pulled out the device Freya had given him earlier—the bifrost key capable of storing the Light's essence.
As Kratos prepared himself, Zelos suddenly felt a pulse run through his arm. Dark markings appeared along his skin, glowing faintly like veins of shadow. He closed his eyes, focusing his energy. The abyss mark began to stir as he sensed the faint signature of what he was searching for—the missing fragment of Brok's soul.
The moment Kratos entered the Light, Zelos began his own work. He muttered an incantation under his breath, the sound low and rhythmic.
Atreus, who had been watching from nearby, finally broke the silence. "What are you doing?" he asked cautiously, perhaps seeking to ease the tension that still lingered between them.
"I'm finishing my task for Brok," Zelos replied, his focus unbroken.
Freya, curious but unaware of the full story, tilted her head slightly. "What task? What happened with the Huldra brothers?"
Without pausing his spell, Zelos began to explain everything that had occurred—the deal he made with Brok, the accident that split the dwarf's soul, and the promise he had made to help restore it. Freya listened carefully, her expression softening as she understood.
"The dwarves truly are a resourceful people," Freya said thoughtfully. "But shouldn't you be heading to the Lake of Souls for that kind of work? As its name suggests, it's where the souls of gods and creatures alike tend to drift."
Zelos shook his head slightly, his hands glowing with faint energy. "Here will do. The realms are connected in more ways than most believe. I have my own method to locate and call forth what I need."
He then began chanting once again, his voice calm and deliberate. His eyes reflected a faint blue hue, the sign of deep magic at work.
Every spell Zelos had mastered concerning the soul traced back to Faye's teachings, though she had never explicitly said that it was giant magic. Still, he could feel the difference—the depth, the complexity—it was unlike anything else.
"Domi reversi," Zelos spoke clearly, releasing the final phrase. The markings along his arm flared for a moment, then faded.
The air shimmered softly as a faint ripple of light spread outward. It was a calling—a bridge for a lost soul to find its way back, purified and restored.
The spell was meant to return Brok's essence to its natural form, ensuring it would not remain trapped as a fragment of the Light itself.