by J. M. Barlog
Atreus eased forward just enough to gain a glimpse of the open temple. Nothing presented out of the ordinary. He allowed a small smile.
They were gone.
Atreus slid his head back, allowing a moment for his anxiety to calm. He was safe. Cradling the axe, he waited. His father had to return. His father had to come back to him. He couldn’t face his life without a mother and a father.
Then, a change in the light reflecting off the wall stole his attention. His father was returning. It had to be.
Without thinking, Atreus burst from his hiding place behind the pillar. He was going to be safe. But before he could take that first step toward the light wall, Dark Elves emerged from a shadowy corner of the temple. They saw him. Atreus squared his shoulders, braced for their attack.
They formed up to charge, first two, then two more. Atreus had no time to think.
“Father!” he screamed with all his strength, releasing the axe handle to take up his bow and the first arrow from his quiver.
The ball of light remained elusively beyond Kratos’ reach. “Faye, do not go!” he uttered in a breathless voice.
Seeing this vision of his wife crumpled his heart. He had exiled her from his mind to focus on what needed to be done and to care for his son. He buried his grief so deep inside that it could find no path to worm its way into his head. Now it gushed into his brain like an arterial bleed, taking over every corner of his being.
“I miss you so,” he muttered, wishing that wherever she was, she could hear him. He extended his arm further, hoping to touch her, to make any kind of contact with her. He had never realized how much she meant to him, despite the fact that he was a god, and, as such, immune to the frailties of the human condition.
Did she exist in this new realm he was in? Was there a chance he could speak to her, if only for a moment? She never once turned her head in his direction. She never once acknowledged him standing so near to her.
Kratos yelled when a hand broke the plane of the light to snatch him from behind. In a jarring blur, he left the light against his will.
* * *
Landing on his back, Kratos stared up at the dilapidated ceiling of the old temple. He was back. He pushed up quickly from the ground, blinking away the blinding brightness.
“No! No, what have you done? Why did you do that?” Kratos spat, angry and disoriented. Why had he been forced to endure that moment from a past he needed to let go? Why did he have to face the darkness of what was, rather than the light of what should have been?
Atreus stood a few steps away, rising from where Kratos had tumbled to the ground. He scrambled to find his axe. Still struggling to shake off the pain he had just endured, the God of War prepared to fire back with anger of his own.
“I saved you! You were trapped in there. I waited and waited, but you never came out. So I pulled you out,” Atreus barked.
He removed an arrow from a fallen Dark Elf for emphasis. Then he began coughing.
His coughing escalated quickly into choking, choking on his own rage. He dropped to a knee in an attempt to recover.
Kratos knelt beside him. Had the boy’s sickness returned? “Son, I was only gone a few moments.”
“No, you were not. You have been gone a long, long time,” Atreus wheezed.
Once Kratos adjusted to the dim temple light, he surveyed the space. What he observed forced him to accept that he had been gone longer than the few moments he experienced in the light.
Slaughtered Dark Elves littered the surrounding floor, some from Atreus’ arrows, others decapitated by his axe. A pile of coarsely dismembered body parts strewed the floor a few paces from where Kratos had come through the light. It appeared that a bloody heap marked where Atreus had been forced to stand his ground and fight for his very life.
Atreus stared at Kratos, hurt but mostly disgusted. His blood-splattered jerkin and breeks were ripped in places. He wiped the blood from around his mouth, coughing and gasping for air.
“Where is my axe?”
“Your axe?” An edge of disappointment seeped into Atreus’ voice. Of all the things he expected from his father at that moment, concern for his axe was the least of them. Dead elves scattered the temple. Was he proud of his son? Atreus brimmed with pride over what he had done. He had proved himself, surviving an onslaught by himself. He had fought with the same ferocity as his father. In his mind, he was no longer a child. He was a man; no, he was a warrior, like his father. Was his father concerned that his son might have taken a life-threatening injury that could end his life? Or that Kratos might have lost his son, along with his wife? No, he sought the comfort of his weapon first.
Silently, Atreus indicated the doorway through which they had entered. On the far wall, his axe was stuck deep into a Dark Elf’s chest.
Determined not to yield to his sickness, Atreus returned to his feet, swayed until he caught his balance, then trudged about the room to retrieve his arrows from the corpses.
“I did not know what I was supposed to do. You left me here. Again. Why do you not care?” the lad said, fighting back tears. He had to bury his emotion. A warrior never cries, ever.
“I… That is impossible,” Kratos muttered, shaking his head.
Atreus’ cough subsided, though anger still smoldered beneath the surface.
“What is impossible?” Atreus shot back.
“I was only away from you for a short time.”
“We need to go before more come,” he said impatiently. “I hope you got what we needed.” Bitterness remained in his words.
Kratos stared at the now glowing Bifröst crystal.
“Yes,” he said, with a regret-laden voice and heart. He realized at that moment that something was indeed watching over them. His son had survived.
Kratos yanked the axe from the Dark Elf, allowing it to slump to the floor.
“You could have told me the axe only returns for you!” Atreus said.
He stomped over to an inactive light bridge crystal, pointing to it.
“Look! There’s our exit, but there’s no light to make a bridge. We’re trapped. And the witch’s bowstring is useless.”
Kratos considered his son’s words before removing the glowing Bifröst from his belt.
“Your bow,” he commanded.
Seeing the brilliant light emanating from the Bifröst, Atreus quickly unslung his bow. “Hold it out toward me.”
As Atreus extended the bow across his hands, Kratos slowly ran the Bifröst over the string. As he did, Bifröst light saturated the bowstring, giving it a glow of its own.
Kratos returned the Bifröst to his belt while Atreus examined the glowing string.
Standing beside the bridge crystal, Atreus readied a now glowing Bifröst arrow.
“On my mark, fire your arrow into the stone,” Kratos commanded.
The Bifröst arrow struck the bridge crystal, illuminating it to create a light bridge. “It worked!” Atreus shouted.
“Now we can make our way back.”
Walking up the right-hand path, they discovered a fallen column blocking their way.
“That way’s blocked,” Atreus griped. They diverted to an ornate doorway leading out of the temple. When Kratos pushed open the enormous oak doors, a parade of Light Elves waiting outside pushed past them, reclaiming their temple. Atreus turned about to stare in silent awe while they floated majestically by. But as he tracked them, his look landed on his father. His wonder turned to a scowl.
They began their walk across the main light bridge without speaking. As they reached the middle of the bridge to return to the travel room, the horned Dark Elf raced past them, stopping to hover.
“And the one with the horns is back. What does he want now?” Atreus said. After what he had endured, his fear for the creature had diminished. If a fight was what this creature wanted, then a fight to the death it would get.
As if in response to the boy’s question, the Dark Elf released a guttural screech before disappearing into an ope
n trench beside the bridge.
“I hate that thing,” Atreus said.
“It will be back.”
They braced for the worst.
Seeing the horned Dark Elf king coming back at them, Kratos charged without flinching, slashing back and forth to drive the Dark Elf rearward. The elf fought back using its spear. When Kratos realized the elf could defend itself against him, he changed tactics, using his axe as a diversion while he reached across to snare the spear, which he plunged into its chest.
Struggling to breathe at Kratos’ feet, the Dark Elf gazed at Atreus when he joined his father. The creature stared up with sadness and disappointment. Blood spurted from its mouth when it attempted to speak.
“You… grave… mistake. Oppressors… will… enslave… all.”
The Dark Elf ceased breathing.
It took a long moment for the words to sink in.
“No. That cannot be!” Atreus said. “What did we do?”
Kratos dismissed the Dark Elf’s words. What happened in this realm had nothing to do with them or their quest.
All around them, Alfheim had undergone a dramatic transformation while they were inside the temple. The Light of Alfheim now shed glorious light upon the realm, restoring the vegetation to their verdant lives.
“So…” Atreus started.
The simple syllable sucked Kratos out of his thoughts to face his son.
“Was she in the light?” he said.
“Was who in the light? The witch?” Kratos said, attempting to divert him, though he knew exactly what Atreus wanted to know.
“You know who!” Atreus said, sparks of anger in his voice.
The moment demanded a decision. Lie to his son? Or face the difficulties sure to arise from the truth?
“No. She was not there,” Kratos offered at last, in a voice that trailed off. A part of him felt angry and disappointed for dodging the truth. Another part consoled himself for it. A pang contracted through his insides, constricting his heart like a giant snake.
Atreus’ stare never wavered from his father’s.
“Mind your tongue, boy. Until our journey is over, one of us must remain focused. Do not mistake my silence for a lack of grief. Mourn how you wish; leave me to mourn on my own.”
Returning to the dome array and the travel room with the now fully-powered Bifröst, Kratos placed it in the power receptacle while Atreus drew the rune for Midgard, which allowed them to align the realm travel bridge to Midgard and leave Alfheim behind.
The moment they exited the travel room they encountered Brok, hammering behind a shopfront.
“Brok! We just came back from another realm, and we met your brother. Wait… not in that order,” Atreus said, racing ahead to join the little blue man.
Brok ceased hammering, then he wiped his brow with his sleeve, while at the same time leveling a suspicious look at them.
“You did not let that seed-sop put hand to your blade, did you? You do know he lost his talent, right? Just up and left him one day, tried taking me down with him. Did he botch up our girl?”
Kratos handed over his Leviathan axe. “Quite the opposite,” Kratos said.
With a squint, Brok appraised Sindri’s handiwork with a quick, disapproving once-over before taking up his hammer.
“Hmm, well, even a blind pig farts up a truffle every now and again. But you know what really counts?” He smashed the hammer down once on the cheek of the blade. “Consistency. And I got that comin’ outta alla my parts.”
Once he had finished working on it, Brok returned the axe, with Kratos carefully inspecting the little blue man’s work. “What did you do?”
“It is better now, trust me.”
Kratos only grunted at the dwarf.
“See how that treats you. And don’t be letting that spit-fister of a brother of mine lay hands on it again.”
“I promise nothing.”
* * *
“Do you remember the way back to the Black Breath?” Kratos asked to test his son’s memory, while they walked along a trodden path away from Brok and the realm travel temple.
“Of course. We need to cross the bridge to the Vanaheim tower.”
They jogged the length of the bridge, with Atreus pointing out the statue of Thor in the distance.
“Look. We rowed past that statue of Thor earlier, when we left the witch’s cave,” he said.
“And what direction is that?”
“It is midmorning, the sun is over there, soooo…” Atreus said, thinking. “That is south… southwest?”
“Excellent.”
They came off the bridge to make their way back through the foothills. “Well, at least the curse is gone,” Atreus said.
Getting through the hills without encountering any draugr, they climbed back into the gondola for the ride up to the Black Breath.
“Do you… do you think I could carry her now?” Atreus asked.
“No,” Kratos replied too sharply, too quickly. He made it seem as though he never even considered his son’s request. A fear dwelled deep inside of him that his son would lose what remained of his wife.
“But—”
“I said no,” Kratos said calmly.
The lad grew sullen; inside he was angry and disappointed. He hoped holding her might rekindle her image in his mind. He found it troubling that he was slowly forgetting what she looked like.
Atreus wallowed in his thoughts as they rode the gondola, reaching the path shrouded with the black fog.
“There’s the Black Breath again. What do we do now?” Atreus said.
“See if that witch was right.”
As they approached the Black Breath, Kratos activated the Bifröst. Nothing happened. They drew closer; still nothing.
“She was wrong,” Atreus muttered. All the danger they had been through turned out to be for nothing.
A snarl grew on Kratos’ face. Was their journey to Alfheim nothing more than a ruse by the witch to get them to do her bidding? Either of them could have been killed by those Dark Elves, and for what? Kratos scolded himself for listening to the witch in the first place. If that hag’s quest was to serve them up to the Dark Elves, then she had failed miserably in her quest. However, there could be no dwelling on their latest failure. They would just have to find another way to get through the Black Breath.
Then the fog reacted. Reluctantly, it retreated as if angered, curling back as they moved through it, revealing a path littered with the skeletal remains of those who had foolishly underestimated the evil of the magic. Then the Black Breath succumbed, dissipating entirely.
“She was right!” Atreus said.
Smileless, Kratos looped the Bifröst onto his belt. “Come. We finish this.”
Continuing up the path, Atreus noticed stone steps leading to the mouth of a cave blocked by fallen boulders.
“What do we do now?” Atreus said.
“We climb.”
After surveying their latest challenge for a few moments, Kratos leapt to a long crack in the rock, with Atreus following a few feet behind.
“You know, Mother said the giants used to visit the Midgard mountains before they disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“I guess they just up and left one day. No one knows why.”
“Perhaps they returned to their home.”
“To Jötunheim? Maybe… I wonder if the face in the mountain was a tribute to an important giant?”
Finally reaching the face carved in the side of the mountain, they approached the entrance.
“The mouth—we made it!”
Inside, more Black Breath oozed toward them. But they dispelled it handily using the light, which enabled them to proceed to a large plank door deep within the cave, that had a diamond-shaped plaque in the center depicting a mountain in the shape of a hand.
“That emblem matches the one on the door to Jötunheim in Týr’s temple. The giants did come here,” Atreus said.
Beyond the door, they moved through a
mountain tunnel, a small amount of glimmering light guiding them ahead. As they neared the tunnel’s end, a silhouette bloomed into view.
“Is that… a deer?” Atreus asked.
The tunnel opened into a vaulted room bisected by a jagged chasm falling into a pit. Across the void, a tall statue of a stag with a man’s body, seated on a throne and clutching a scepter, stared back at them. On its side a lever jutted out into the middle of a semicircular dais, with a sand bowl at the center. It was bookended by two pedestals, one empty, the other holding a fist-sized light crystal.
“Look at him. I don’t remember any stories about a giant with a deer head. I wonder who he is?” Atreus said.
Atreus ventured near the chasm’s ledge, causing loose gravel to sprinkle into the black hole.
“No way across, but there is a sand bowl. Want me to read this one?” Atreus said.
“Read it.”
“‘No yoked beast, nor fearful thrall, nor rooted tree doth know my call.’”
Kratos pulled the lever, to no response from anything in the chamber. “The floor, boy,” he said, indicating that maybe the seemingly random markings on the floor would provide a clue to unlocking the lever’s use.
“Those marks don’t mean anything to me. Maybe something is missing,” Atreus replied. Atreus thought for a moment, scanning the expanse for any sign of a solution. “Maybe it requires a second light crystal.”
“Seek it out,” his father commanded.
Atreus searched quickly about the space, delving into every crack where a light crystal might fit.
“I’ve looked all over,” he said, after searching for a long time in silence. “No crystals anywhere.”
Then Atreus turned his gaze upward. “How do you think that got up there?” he asked.
Using his axe, Kratos broke the second hanging crystal loose from the ceiling of the chamber.