[The fact that Yuan looks very close to lost at the mere thought of trying to figure that out is enough to make Kratos's mind ring with a wordless, sympathetic sorrow. He sighs, rueful, acknowledging, and reaches out with his spare hand to tug the corner of Yuan's tunic; the most he can reach from here.]

Come rest, Yuan. We've ... got time. We've got plenty of it, now. Put it down.

[It. The worlds. The responsibility. The guilt. The grief. Time to put it down, if only for a few hours.]