[The tug on his hair gains another almost-laugh which dissolves into a half-sob. Four thousand years isn't long enough to fix most things, anyway. And too long, at once. He feels so old. Like a ruin. Not even elves are meant to live this long.

[Peace. When's the last time any of them had it? When's the last time Yuan had to remind Kratos of it? Kratos honestly can't think of any time, for the last. Yuan has always been the one who pushes; Kratos is the one who waits. That reassurance coming from Yuan of all people is both frightening and indescribably soothing. Frightening, for the idea that Yuan has changed enough to grasp it; that he's left Kratos behind to find it.

[That he's come back to bring it to Kratos. Out of Niflheim itself. What did he do, to deserve that?

[You already saved me from Niflheim. Not all of that place is bound within the pages of the book.

[It is enough. Kratos's grip doesn't loosen, but moment by moment, the tears wind down and the present agony in his mind scars over. Like as not it'll be torn afresh again, in the future, by something or other -- it's too deep a wound not to be made fresh. But Yuan's still here. And Lloyd is still outside the door, waiting.

[Being human. It's just about time for him to try, at that.]