[After so long being chained to the Sword, being able to be unconscious is very close to heaven. Kratos expended enough mana that most of his usual angelic advantages have given way to human needs; save for the breathing, which is, by now, a matter of habit not to do.

[But eventually even his weary body has to give up on sleep. It just takes a bit of time, and a few false starts; he stirs a few times, never quite waking. For him it's a warm and painless respite, needed as much for his mana and mind as his body. His mind has to get accustomed to the lack of pain. His mana has to grow accustomed to the change in his surroundings.

[No worlds grinding him between them. They're a distant thunder, something he feels only because of long intimacy, but for all that a background noise which fades behind other, newer mana signatures.

[And one very, very old one. Unknowingly in sleep, Kratos has stirred only to gravitate toward Yuan, as if Yuan is the bedrock of his current existence. When he finally stirs again, fighting the warmth of sleep for the novel new state of painlessness and a soft bed, Yuan is the first thing he sees.

[Which produces a fine crinkle in his brow, and a few extra blinks. Is he ... is he even awake?

[What happened to your HAIR? This as a fuzzy, bewildered not-quite-thought, existing more in shades of bemusement than as an actual question.]