Chapter 65 – The First Mark of the Nine
Atreus did not feel the mark appear.
That was what frightened him most.
There had been no flash of pain. No surge of light. No searing heat across his skin like the burns left by magic or steel. Instead, it had happened in silence — subtle, deliberate. As though something ancient had simply reached out and remembered where he was supposed to be marked.
He only noticed it because Xenara stopped walking.
Her hand lifted slowly, fingers tightening around her staff, eyes narrowing with unfamiliar uncertainty.
"Don't move," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Kratos' posture shifted instantly. His body became a wall between her and his son, the familiar stance of defense he had taken a thousand times before.
"What is it?" he demanded.
Xenara did not answer immediately.
Her gaze was locked on Atreus — specifically, on the inside of his wrist.
"What?" Atreus asked, his heart beginning to beat faster. "What's on my arm?"
Carefully, slowly, Kratos reached for Atreus' wrist and turned it upward.
There, just beneath the faint veins of his skin, a thin symbol had appeared.
It was not drawn in ink or burned into flesh.
It glowed faintly — a dull gold, alive beneath the skin as if it were part of his blood now. The shape was twisted and sharp, reminiscent of a broken crown with a single line splitting through it.
A Mark.
Old.
Royal.
Forbidden.
Kratos' grip tightened, his jaw hardening as something deeply familiar and deeply hated stirred within his memory.
"Is it dangerous?" Atreus asked carefully.
"Yes," Xenara answered.
"And powerful," she added after a pause.
"What does it mean?" he pressed.
Her eyes met his.
"It is the First Mark of the Nine. A symbol placed on heirs before they even understand what they inherit." She looked at Kratos, her voice grim. "In ancient cycles, it marked those chosen as vessels for something greater than themselves."
"Chosen for what?" Atreus whispered.
"For thrones," she said.
A chill ran through him.
"Or for destruction."
The Still Vein around them reacted faintly, the air trembling as if disturbed by invisible waves. In the distance, shadows stretched and recoiled, as though the realm itself disapproved of the words spoken aloud.
"Atreus," Kratos said, his voice low, controlled, dangerous. "We leave. Now."
He began to guide him back down the restored path, but Atreus hesitated.
The mark pulsed once.
A tiny beat synced perfectly with his heart.
"Why did it appear now?" Atreus protested. "What changed?"
Xenara followed, her steps silent.
"Because the throne acknowledged you," she said. "And the world is beginning to respond."
A strange pressure settled over the realm.
It felt like weather rolling in.
Not wind or storm — something heavier. Older.
Atreus lifted his head slowly.
"Does anyone else know?" he asked.
"Not yet," Xenara murmured. "But the Nine will feel the ripple soon, if they haven't already."
Almost as if summoned by her words, the environment darkened a fraction more. The pale glow that had hovered above the Still Vein dimmed into a dull shadow, and the path beneath them vibrated faintly.
Then came the sound.
Footsteps.
Not theirs.
Not from in front or behind.
But from every direction at once.
Kratos stopped instantly.
"Get behind me."
Atreus did, heart racing, bow appearing in his hand by instinct. Xenara raised her staff.
Figures began to emerge.
Not the faceless watchers from before.
These had shape.
Form.
Presence.
Tall, armored silhouettes stepped from the shadows like walking memories of forgotten soldiers. Their armor looked ancient — etched with symbols warped by time. Their faces were hidden behind featureless masks carved from pale bone-like material.
They did not carry visible weapons.
They did not need them.
They were there for only one purpose.
The one standing at the front spoke.
Its voice echoed as if passing through graves before reaching them.
"The Mark has returned."
Atreus' stomach dropped.
Another stepped forward.
"After all these ages… the blood stirs again."
Kratos gripped the Leviathan Axe.
"You will not claim him," he growled.
The front figure slowly tilted its head.
"He is already claimed."
The air thickened like invisible chains tightening around them.
"What are you?" Atreus demanded.
"We are the First Bound."
A ripple ran through the line of figures, as if the name itself carried weight.
"We were marked before history learned how to remember."
"We were prepared for thrones that were never built."
"And we were abandoned when the Nine grew afraid."
Xenara's voice hardened. "You are echoes of betrayal."
"We are echoes of truth."
They turned their faceless gazes toward Atreus.
"And now… truth wears flesh again."
The mark on his wrist pulsed brighter.
Hotter.
Images flickered through his mind:
People kneeling.
Crowns breaking.
Nine shadows falling to their knees, not in worship, but in desperation.
He staggered slightly.
Kratos caught him, refusing to let him fall.
"Control it," he commanded gently.
"I'm trying," Atreus said, gritting his teeth.
"You don't control it," the Bound corrected.
"You remember it."
The ground beneath them cracked in thin glowing lines similar to the mark on his skin.
Power was leaking into the realm.
Something was awakening.
"You want him to take that throne," Xenara spat. "Just like the Nine once did."
"No," the figure replied.
"We want him to decide if the thrones should still exist at all."
An oppressive silence followed.
That was worse than any threat.
Atreus lifted his chin.
"And if I refuse?" he asked.
A pause.
Then—
"Then the Veins will break on their own."
"And no world will survive the collapse."
The Still Vein's edges began to fracture in response — fine cracks spreading across the darkness, revealing glowing chaos beneath.
Kratos stepped forward, voice deadly calm.
"You will leave him be."
"Or what, Ghost of Sparta?" another mocked.
The temperature seemed to drop.
"You will learn what happens when gods interfere with what belongs to mortals," he replied.
For the first time, several of the Bound faltered.
They knew his reputation.
The first figure raised a long, pale hand.
"This is not an ultimatum," it said.
"It is a warning disguised as mercy."
Slowly, all of them began to step back, melting into shadow once more.
But their voices remained.
"The mark has been seen."
"The Nine will not remain silent."
"And the throne is no longer empty."
One last whisper curled into Atreus' mind as they vanished completely:
Be careful what kind of king the world forces you to become.
The realm fell silent again.
But now, it was a trembling silence.
Like breath held too long.
Kratos turned to his son.
"Show me your eyes."
Atreus met his gaze.
They were still his.
But something deep within them…
Had started to change.
"What if they're right?" he asked quietly. "What if a choice is coming whether I want it or not?"
Kratos placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Then you will not make it alone."
The path ahead slowly re-formed, leading out of the Still Vein and back toward reality.
But they both knew something terrible and great had just begun.
The First Mark was only the beginning.