by J. M. Barlog
“Easy, boy… stay calm,” Kratos whispered, his heart hammering in his chest.
In the midst of their frenzy, the creatures failed to notice Kratos and his son.
The Dark Elves had constructed their hive completely around the Light of Alfheim, to prevent anyone else from reaching it.
“This structure… See the way the tendrils holding the pieces together sag? They are the weak points,” the God of War offered in a hushed voice, though Atreus appeared too frightened to even attempt to identify the weaknesses his father had discovered.
Each irregularly-shaped hive segment was secured to an adjoining piece with a sinewy black tendril. At first glance, the hive itself appeared impenetrable.
“Here,” he pointed, approaching an identified tendril. He then scanned to another near the hive’s outer ring. “Destroy the tendrils, the hive falls apart.”
The swarm of Dark Elves came to life. Atreus avoided them by leaping to a different hive tendril. “Father! This way!”
But Kratos joining him destabilized the tendril and forced it to wobble. Atreus leapt to the next hanging tendril. “Over here!” he said. After moving to the next tendril, Kratos hacked the one he left in two, hoping to weaken the structure and facilitate its collapse.
They climbed precariously from tendril to tendril until they reached a dead end. “Which way now?” Atreus said. They watched as the Dark Elf swarm obliterated all the surrounding light, while whipped into a raucous frenzy of noise and activity, attempting to use the tendrils Kratos hacked apart to converge upon them.
“There’s so many!” Atreus said.
Kratos pushed the pack forward, trying to inch closer to the final tendril.
“A narrow path negates superior numbers. Keep shooting, boy! You will not miss.”
“Okay!”
Then Kratos reached the last pivotal hive tendril holding the pieces together. “They’re coming at us!” Atreus shouted.
Maintaining stable footing, Atreus struck down several Dark Elves by rapidly firing his arrows. His efforts held them at bay while his father chopped at the final tendril.
“Faster, hurry!” Atreus shouted.
Kratos battered as rapidly as he could.
“I cannot hold them all back!” Atreus shouted.
Kratos threw out a hand for a waiting Atreus, who in turn vaulted up into his father’s arms, with Kratos taking one final swipe at the tendril. The hive collapsed around them, caving in upon itself and releasing the Light of Alfheim.
Kratos and Atreus dropped for a second, before the brilliant release of light illuminated the structures and the floors that broke their fall. They crashed in a heap onto a plane of shimmering light, with Atreus landing on his stomach beside the column of light. Kratos landed on his back a short distance away.
The scaffolding that made up the body of the temple was filled in floor by floor with the Light Elves’ magical light structures. Once completed, it revealed a magnificent and ornate light temple. The empyreal Light of Alfheim now stretched far beyond its earlier radius, bathing the surrounding land with revitalizing light.
Panicked, Kratos scrambled to his knees to crawl to his son. In desperation, he examined the lad’s legs and arms, searching for bleeding while feeling for broken bones.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
Dust from the collapsing hive settled around them, forcing Atreus to cough. “I am fine,” Atreus said, struggling to free himself from his father’s arms.
Back on their feet, they realized they were finally within reach of their goal. Atreus dashed toward the intense bluish-white light, in awe of the brilliance before him. He never could have imagined witnessing such an ethereal spectacle in his life. At that moment, he thought about his mother, and how she would have felt if she could see him there.
“It is beautiful. Do you hear it? It is… singing,” Atreus said. “I hear…”
He continued toward the light, mesmerized by its enchanting spell.
“I hear her!” Atreus cried. Excitement rang in his voice. He grew more excited with each passing moment. The smile consuming his face conveyed more than words could ever say.
Fearless, Atreus played his fingers across the light. The surface rippled and shimmered in response. A giddy laugh escaped his lips.
“Do you think she is in there?” he asked.
Atreus risked shoving his whole hand into the light. He had to explore this thing to its fullest. He had to know that his mother’s voice was real—not just his imagination. His expression changed from playful to grim determination. He shoved his hand in further, penetrating the light up to mid-forearm.
A sharp crackle resounded, then a pop like a small explosion. Atreus yelped, his limbs vibrating as if he were being shocked.
Kratos lunged to snare Atreus’ shoulder. Even before he could jerk his son free, Atreus yanked his own arm back violently in response to the pain jolting up it.
“It felt like my hand was on fire,” Atreus said.
Despite the searing pain, the light called him. He obeyed; he had to obey, returning to the shaft to gingerly explore the reaches of the light’s surface.
Kratos also began to examine the light, albeit cautiously, holding his darkened Bifröst crystal in one hand.
“Remain here,” his father ordered.
“But I want…”
“Stay… here…” Kratos reinforced, relinquishing his axe to his son. “Use it only as a last resort.”
“You are giving me your axe?” Atreus could not restrain his excitement. It felt much heavier than he had imagined, and wielding it like his father did was not something Atreus thought he could accomplish easily. He seriously doubted that he would ever attain muscles as formidable as his father’s, or have the strength and stamina necessary to fight the way he did.
“I am allowing you to hold my axe. It is not a gift,” Kratos corrected.
“Still…” Atreus said, his smile fading.
Kratos stabbed his fist holding the Bifröst into the wall of light. It punctured the surface easily, sinking in deep. But it felt like the fires of Hades had seized his arm. He grimaced in agony, pulling his body closer to the light.
A horrendous scream fought to escape his throat. Gritting his teeth to remain silent, he pressed forward. His pain became so great that his scream sought any way to erupt. It was as though a cacophony of voices screamed, and everything around them shuddered the moment the light enveloped him.
“Father!”
The blinding white light completely swallowed Kratos.
Then the bone-jarring pain and the screaming voices abruptly stopped. Kratos felt only peace; a calm he had never experienced in his life before. He had become wrapped in tranquility so all-consuming that he longed to remain within it for the rest of his days.
Pure white light caressed him from all sides. It appeared to Kratos that he had somehow entered the light shaft’s eye.
Overcoming the inertia of fear to take that first tentative step, Kratos strode toward a single point in the distance, which appeared to open and grow closer with each stride. He detected only the sounds of a gentle breeze, his pounding heart, and his controlled breathing. The point ahead developed into a tall, wide doorway, revealing behind it an idyllic landscape of lush grasses covering hills, swaying in the wind beneath a vibrant clear sky. Nestled in the hills he spied a structure—his home. He recognized Atreus standing beside a woman in front of the house; the woman’s identity, however, was a mystery to Kratos. Beyond the hills stood the giant’s fingers of Jötunheim, the realm of the giants.
A soft, melodic female voice sang a lonely but beautiful song that wavered in the air. Kratos knew the unmistakable voice—his dead wife’s. The pouch at his belt began to rise, floating before him. As it drifted away, the pouch unraveled into a ball of pure light to illuminate the path into the darkness.
“Faye?”
Trepidation swelled as something compelled Kratos toward a spectral forest in the distance, a fores
t that seemed so familiar to him. What manner of magic was this? How could he be hearing her voice so clearly, so distinctly? Was it coming from outside him, or was it something that manifested itself only inside his mind? Was he going mad?
The closer he got, the further the forest stretched out before him. The surreal encounter became both peaceful and unsettling. Kratos found himself forced into the forest and toward the doorway. Any effort he expended to stop or move away was met with an unseen force more powerful than he.
With each step, the exchange between his son and his wife grew more distinct. His wife suddenly paused in her singing to calm and reassure the boy. Kratos could see his son pacing inside his house.
“He always leaves,” Atreus moaned, allowing annoyance to show in his voice. Kratos would never have tolerated such behavior. He would have responded immediately and harshly if the boy ever spoke to him that way.
The hovering ball of light sped ahead, shining on the bridge of a sailing vessel floating through a mist. But there were no ocean sounds, as if the vessel were floating above the water.
“I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me. Does not seem to want to.” Atreus’ voice came again. “I am strong, and I am smart. I am not what he thinks I am. I know better.”
The ball burst into a brilliant flash, then darted along a shoreline with Kratos chasing it.
“He does not talk to me. Does not teach me. It should have been him. Do you hear me? Him, not you.”
“No!” Kratos said, with a snap as sharp as a whip.
The light ball darted again, this time leaving Kratos hanging off the side of a mountain, high in the sky.
“Except… I don’t mean that. You know I love him. I just wish he was better. I know he can be,” Atreus said calmly.
The ball flashed once more. This time, Kratos emerged from the trapdoor of his home to see his son standing beside the shrouded body of his wife.
“So if he tries, I will try. But if he does not, please come back. I know you are out there somewhere.”
Kratos stood beside the spectral ball. It stopped moving, simply floating. He reached out to touch it, thinking he might be able to touch his beloved Faye once more.
Drops of water splashing against the stone floor marked time as Atreus stood patiently before the Light of Alfheim, his father’s axe in his hand, wondering what his father was experiencing. The urge to join him permeated his very being. He wanted so badly to know what existed there, yet he knew that if he disobeyed his father, he would suffer dearly. The eerie silence beyond the regular drips soon overwhelmed him. Despite the light shaft at its core, the temple fringes remained dark. Hours passed before he realized it. He pondered what might be keeping his father so long. It should have taken mere moments to enter the light, recharge the Bifröst lantern, and return.
As time dragged on with no sign of his father’s return, Atreus’ attention drifted about the old structure. It had fallen into disrepair over the ages. Seeing only their footprints on the dusted-covered stone, it seemed there were no signs of anyone having entered this place other than them.
Before he knew it, four more hours passed. His stomach rumbled in need. His legs ached. Growing weary of standing, he shifted to sit atop a fallen pillar a dozen paces from where his father had left him. He dared not stray far, for fear his father might return and fail to see him.
What was he experiencing beyond the light wall? His stomach gnawed at him, so he quelled it with a few of the biscuits the witch had provided. He wanted to eat more, yet decided he needed to save some for his father’s return. He would certainly be hungry too.
The deathly still of the temple unnerved him. His bottom growing numb from sitting, with the axe weighting his shoulder, Atreus plopped to his feet to pace before the entrance where his father had disappeared.
Sudden overhead movement snared his attention. He gazed up, spotting a pair of ravens circling, floating effortlessly around the fringes of the light shaft, as if they sought to remain unnoticed. When they determined that Atreus had discovered them, they swirled higher, fluttering out of sight through a jagged crack in the ceiling the width of a tree trunk.
The birds’ presence diverted Atreus’ concern for his father by returning his mother’s words concerning the ravens to the forefront of his mind. What made them so important? Did they possess magical powers she kept secret from him? Were the birds always in Alfheim? Or did they follow them into this place? His interest in the mystery faded into the shadows after a few minutes.
“Where are you?” he muttered to himself, for the first time allowing concern for his father to flood his brain. Surely he would only scout out what existed beyond the light and return quickly to him. Why would he risk leaving Atreus unguarded for such an extended period of time? He knew what dangers existed in this realm. Atreus looked out through the crack in the ceiling. Was night caving in upon him? He couldn’t tell, since the light beyond the temple never changed. He wondered if his father was experiencing night on the other side of the light.
Then a terrifying thought wormed its way into the core of his mind. What if his father were lost, or, worse, trapped inside the light? What if he couldn’t return? Atreus approached the light wall, stopping himself within an arm’s length of penetrating it. He could force himself through it. He could just close his eyes, endure the pain, and throw himself through to join his father. That was if his father remained just on the other side of the light. What if his father was right now seeking a way back to him?
“Father!” he called into the eerie surroundings.
Could his voice even penetrate the light wall? Atreus grew agitated as time wore on and still he could detect no sign of his father’s movements on the other side. For the first time since his father had left, Atreus began to feel the fear that accompanied being alone and vulnerable in this place.
His chest began pounding chaotically. He spun around frantically, lifting up the axe in defense, losing his grip when he thought he detected an errant noise reaching him. The only sound, however, came from the blade clanking on the stone floor.
Was there someone else in this old temple?
“Witch? Is that you?” he said, barely above a whisper.
No, it was fatigue playing upon his mind, he convinced himself. Abandoning his place before the light, he settled cross-legged on the floor nearby, tucking himself behind a fallen pillar.
He ordered himself to remain awake until his father returned. His gaze drifted from the light wall, hoping for a glimpse of movement, to the far reaches of the temple, searching for any signs of imminent danger. He felt his heart racing and his breath quickening.
Was his sickness returning? That was something he definitely could not deal with at the moment. Atreus leaned his head against the axe handle, which he had cradled in his arms.
“He is coming through that wall any time now,” he said to himself as he stared, hoping that saying the words aloud could somehow force it to happen. Moments later, caving in to his exhaustion, he drifted asleep.
He bolted awake, believing he had only slept a few moments.
A slightly brighter light spread throughout the old temple, indicating morning. He had slept the entire night and still his father had yet to return. He pulled himself upright, suffering the aches of having slept in such an awkward position on the ground.
“Father, where are you!” Atreus shouted, this time in anger at the light wall, furious he had been left alone for so long.
He marched directly to the wall, ready to push his way through.
“I am here,” he called, hoping if his father were lost, he could follow the sound of his son’s voice to find his way back.
Then came the shuffling of feet. Atreus froze in panic for an instant, uncertain of what he should do. Terror overtook his face. Then more shuffling, followed by clanking swords.
He had to hide.
Wasting few steps and keeping low to the floor, Atreus slipped away from the light wall, ducking behind fallen pil
lars a dozen strides away. He disappeared from sight a mere instant before a pair of Dark Elves wandered into the open temple.
The way they meandered without purpose left Atreus confident he had gone unnoticed. His terrified heart hammered his chest. He was all alone.
Two more Dark Elves found their way in.
Atreus attempted to swallow—he couldn’t. Breathing became difficult. Acrid bile backed up into his throat. His palms sweated as he gripped the axe handle with both hands.
He feebly convinced himself that, for the moment, he was safe. And as long as they failed to detect his presence, he could remain safe. He dared not try to peek around the edge of the pillar, for fear his movement might snare their attention. He wanted so badly to raise his axe in readiness to attack, but he knew better.
Atreus glanced over to the light wall. What if his father came through at this moment? He would be unarmed against four of them. His father would have at least a few strides before they encountered him.
“Please do not come through now,” Atreus found himself praying. He clamped a hand over his mouth. Had he actually said the words out loud?
Tightening his grip on the axe, he attempted to shift his weight into a battle-ready crouch, so he might be better able to reach his bow if time allowed. Sooner or later, he was going to have to peer around to locate the Dark Elves.
But the temple remained deathly silent. Nothing beyond the pillar moved. Perhaps the Dark Elves had left, convinced there was no one there?
Should he risk a confirming look? Instinct argued against it. His pounding brain urged him to find out if the danger had passed. He would not be able to lower his guard until he had determined it was safe again.
Atreus’ thoughts turned to his mother. When fear seizes you, Atreus, that is the moment you must become fearless. What would she expect of him? Would she want him to rise and fight, or remain hidden until the danger passed?
Slowly, Atreus inched his trembling body forward until he reached the edge of the pillar. Silence was baiting him into a quick peek. First, he used several deep breaths to fire up his courage. Moments later, his courage wilted. He had to know if he was safe. He needed to assess the situation in case his father chose that moment to return. He had to be ready to fight and return the axe to his father’s hands before any of them could reach them. Sizing the distance from his position to the light wall, Atreus determined the number of strides necessary to reach his father, if it came to that.