As they pass through the gate to Niðavellir, Atreus and Sigyn stumble into a stagnant chamber of dust and smut, left in absence. Though the stone and metal remain ageless and unrusted, the coating of debris powder rests atop all surfaces. Many ages have come and gone since this room has been utilized, as to be expected. Although Atreus finds difficulty in clearing the dense fog, Sigyn shows no such hindrance. Unlike Freya, who occasionally relies on a vocal component, Sigyn can call upon her magic without much action or thought.
With a sway of her hands and arms, the cloud splits before them, restoring the room to its shimmering glory. By her command, ripples of ember orange and ruby red course through the foundation of the temple. The barren halls now glimmer clean and clear from the desecration of time. Even the braziers burn with kindling flames anew to illuminate the room.
"And here I thought Freya was the only gifted spell crafter," he comments in regards to her natural affinity. "How long have you been using seiðr magic?"
"Since I was a child," she replies, keeping the casual pace with him. "I always had ties to the weave of magic, not just Vanir. I was always one with nature and the energies that coursed through the Realms... And you? I've seen you do some extraordinary things."
A brief pause takes hold of Atreus's throat, rendering him silent as he pries the exit from the temple open. The events of uncovering his heritage carry with him, even to his adult years. What could he have accomplished? What could he have learned all those years ago? Most importantly, to him, what events could he have changed, had he known the prowess he has now?
"Truth be told, I didn't know my true nature until it was too late," he replies.
A dense fog illuminated by an unseen light awaits them beyond the doorway. A bridge of gold and stone extends into the endless mist, obscuring what lies beyond it. Yet, just as Sigyn and Atreus are about to venture forth, the veil gradually lifts. Each passing second, triggered by their presence, the fog dwindles out of sight. In its absence, the awestruck display that presents itself stills them at the brink of the crossing.
The sky above heralds countless stars and cosmic bodies. Galaxies, gases, shooting stars, and glowing moons of different shades reside in the heavens above. The cosmos, endless yet appears close enough to extend a hand towards and grasp it. But above all else, left in unending darkness, the ecosystem has evolved to produce its own light. The forests beyond the bridge hold bioluminescent trees, roots, and wildlife of varied species. Even the lake surrounding the temple radiates a sapphire blue with glimmering flakes of cyan flickering in the ripples. With its shroud of vast shadow, the realm of darkness lives in unison with otherworldly light beyond wonder and imagination. This land holds a beauty that not even their dreams could produce, filling them with child-like bliss.
"The realm of eternal night..." Sigyn comments in wondrous awe. "Niðavellir... It's beautiful..."
The eyes of the sorceress have never yielded such inspiring radiance. Her times of grave struggle, and her ventures to claim her freedom, have at last merited rewards. In this ever-so-temporary moment of mesmerizing focus, nothing could pull her attention away. The brilliance of her bliss is enough to steer Atreus's eyes away from the marvel of Svartalfheim. Her smile of glee unconsciously pulls a tamer level of delight from his heart. Yet, the phenomenal view of the realm is not what courses warmth through his heart and veins.
"Indeed," he remarks vaguely. "But with a world like this, who knows what dangers we might find."
"I'm confident that we'll manage," she replies, graciously pressing onward. "You said it yourself. We need to be hopeful."
The face of danger doesn't sway the sorceress from striding into the realm of twilight. Her courage, instead, all the more motivates Atreus to follow beside her. His grin of amusement warms and tethers him to Sigyn as they move forward. Traveling side to side, with their eyes drawn to the wonder of Svartalfheim, they make their way across the bridge of Asgardian steel. Whatever they may face beyond the trees of luminescence, they will do so together. As they do so, their discussion carries with them.
"What did you mean by true nature?" She questions with a curious squint.
"You've already figured out that I'm not mortal," he clarifies. "Whatever you'd prefer to call me, my heritage has deep roots from both my mother and father's side. The powers, my gifts, and my arsenal are all attributed to them."
"Were they both gods? Vanir or Aesir?" She askes. His explanation only stirs her focus to him further.
Atreus can't help but chuckle at the assumption, having the similarities never crossed his mind. Given what he's bared witness of his Greek lineage, the two pantheons share prowess in warfare. Though his knowledge of the Gods of Olympus is limited, he comprehends their nature all too well. His father's bias nature makes sense given what he had endured from the other deities.
"Neither..." He replies with a stalling tone. "My father haled from a land far from these realms. And my mother was a self-exile to her people, giving up her freedom for their safety... So, you can imagine that-"
"You feel like an outcast," she abruptly responds, riddled in guilt. "That you feel split between two different worlds, never feeling like you belong with either one..."
Perhaps some sense of distance and isolation does obscure itself in his heart. Enough so to send a ripple of chilling familiarity coursing through his skin. But, these are feelings that he no longer grasps in his soul. Instead, his understanding grants him detection of Sigyn's mental state. Those same shivers radiate from her deeply disturbed spirit enough to cause uncertainty, her words, an extension of her internal conflict.
"We're all different in our own way," he says with acceptance. "Mortal, or god, none of us are perfect. We're all unique. That's not something to discourage or resent but to appreciate. My father desired me to be different from him, to be better... And hopefully, I can make his wish come true..."
As their conversation carries, Sigyn finds ease in his motivations and encouragement. All around them, the bioluminescence of Svartalfheim treads with them in brilliance. Mushrooms shift from vibrant blues to magentas and purples when grazing them, and the grass ripples with emerald and topaz lights as they step through the brush. Their lifting emotions indirectly shift the very foundation of the forest.
"I have faith that you can," she replies in soft appreciation.
Yet, their travels across the realm soon revealed to have even greater wonder. Unknowingly, they have stepped upon a dwarven mechanism, long buried in the dirt beneath them. In seconds, they find themselves lifted from the ground by a platform of dwarvish steel. Surrounding them are railings of identical materials, which spring forth upon elevation. Not only are they taken from the illuminating forest, but over the edge of a cliff. However, just as the native race has proven numerously before, they are notorious for building the impossible.
Instead of plummeting to the depths of the mountainside, they soar fruitlessly in the air. Before them, the view of the whole realm stretches further than eyes could ever witness. As vast as the stars above, the glow of Svartaflheim mirrors the cosmos above in majesty and glow. Sigyn, overjoyed by the exquisite beauty, leans on the railings to take in the awestruck sight. Atreus, acting on obliviousness, also approaches the edge of the elevator. However, when doing so, he stands over Sigyn, his arms places at each side of her. The sorceress stands, pressed against his firm torso while they look out to the lunar horizon. Her heart skips a beat, initially unsettled by the enclosed space she's indirectly placed. Yet, the seconds that follow fill her with a warming sensation of shelter and security.
Atreus remains absent-minded to her content, blankly mesmerized by what lies beneath and beyond their reach. How was this form of flight and machinery achieved? Though the grand display is impossible to ignore, the temptation of intrigue pulls Atreus away.
"String?" Atreus says, jaw hanging in disbelief.
Loki's comment also draws the sorceress's eyes in the direction of his gaze. A part of this design is four wooden beams at each corner of the floor, but what it holds onto is the most baffling detail of the ride. A shimmering string of gold is all that elevates and guides the platform across the valley of twilight. Atreus can't help but play and strum the sparkling cord. The slightest touch is enough to release a wave of golden dust in all directions, surging tremors through their ride through the sky.
"That's impossible..." Sigyn comments in gentle denial.
"And impossibility is the main ingredient of every dwarven invention," Atreus notes, speaking on extensive experience with the Huldra Brothers.
Though their sightseeing has blown their imagination beyond vast limits, this cruise quickly is met with grave concern. Potent like an odor of death, the stench of sulfur and smoke invades their nostrils. The smell's raw puissance is enough to knock the wind from Sigyn's lungs briefly. But Atreus is all too familiar with the scent and has no want for its presence here. Onward in the direction of this elevator's course, fresh fumes and columns of ember and smog rise. Tensions rise along with the embers, something amiss that even Atreus can sense from a mile away.
"What's happening?" Sigyn questions, observing the same flames ahead.
"I'm not sure," Atreus answers, the Blades of Chaos bursting with wild blue flames in his grasp. "But there's no doubt we're in for trouble..."
The moment the platform touches down into the charred soil, Sigyn and Atreus race towards the blaze. What was a stroll of majesty and beauty has become a race of time against a wild flame. Only by coincidence, or the cruel game of Fate, would there be problems during their visit. In their hearts, the knowledge of danger awaiting them is apparent. But, together, they rush in, ready for whatever lies in the forests of secrecy. The seconds fly just as the distance closed between them and the pinnacle source of the fires.
Through blind urgency, they arrive at the sight of burnt rubble. A set of wooden structures reside before Atreus and Sigyn. Several of which are already shrivel and are piles of charred timber. Those that remain have a simplistic look to them, and stand constructed using materials, not of this realm. As though this was only to serve as temporary means of rest and shelter. Yet, this small colony is deserted and barren. No bodies linger among the charcoal and embers, and no evidence of how the fires began. For the moment, whatever occurred has quickly passed on and has abandoned this location.
"There's no one here," Sigyn notes, treading with caution when examining the location.
"Thankfully, dwarves know a few tricks to keep themselves out of harm's way," Atreus comments, still keen on his surroundings.
"Do you think the Aesir and their soldiers had something to do to this?" Though confident before, the mental image of another of Odin's armies invading this realm sunders her motivations.
In this moment of pondering, Atreus succumbs to the voices of this land. A rumbling disturbance invades his mind, searing pain into his skull as it enforces knowledge into him. Similar to his experiences in Alfheim, the spirits of this land plea to him in numerous tones and pitches. None of which any mortal being could ever hope to count or guess accurately. But to the Wolf of Midgard, he can decipher their shrieks and outcries.
"Atreus?" Sigyn directs her focus to him, rushing to his side. "What's wrong?"
In an equal time that it came, the psychic attack ceases. But, Atreus holds on to the severity of the spiritual warning. Unconcious in his skeptic mindset, Atreus's bow already rests in his grasp and has an arrow pulled along the string. Sparks fly from his cord and bolt, zapping and coursing around his fingers.
"We're not alone..." He whispers, calling out the enemy.
Rippling in the air like a summer heatwave, a growl of pure primal anger reaches them. The sound of such rivals wild flames and crumbling charred oak. From one of the smoldering huts, a creature of black scales and cindered bones prowls from the blaze. A beast with ebony fangs, claws, sharper than spears, and scorching fire that bleeds from its crimson eyes and reptilian jaw presents itself. It skulks like a wolf but stands at equal size to a stallion. This is a drake. Despite their experiences, Atreus and Sigyn have never set their eyes on such a nightmarish animal. Even the simplest mind can deduce that this beast has no place in Niðavellir. But, what wasn't to be in consideration, is this being their only enemy.
As the fiery beast steers their attention to itself, Atreus and Sigyn quickly learn that they've fallen into a trap. Stalking them from all corners, two more of these drakes lurk on the outskirts of the village. The three reptilian hounds synch in their menacing grumbles of infernal fury. Each step their scorching claws take to them, the slower their crawl becomes in the heat of the hunt. Yet, regardless of their intimidating tactic, Atreus and Sigyn hold their ground on the brink of potential danger.
But, as the tension reaches the peak of discomfort, the beasts simultaneously charge them from all corners. A roar erupts from their jaws as they all leap toward the duo. However, Sigyn proves versatile and perceptive in the heat of their ambush. A surge of white and blue dances and bleeds from her arms in the form of torrent winds. Slamming her palms into the earth, the sorceress unleashes a concussive wave of energy in all directions. Though it only hinders the creatures briefly, the denied preemptive assault shifts the upper hand to Atreus.
"Þruma!" Atreus calls out as bolts of electricity fly from his bow.
In a blink, with a yellow flash, his arrows meet their mark into one of the devil hounds' chests. The beast trembles back, just as the others regain their vigor, blindly rushing once more. However, this time, they both dart and hone in on the sorceress, learning from their hunting error. Yet again, Sigyn proves capable in a battle. Driven by an enchanted instinct within herself, she vanishes from their taloned reach. Instead of clawing into the maiden, they merely strike at the emerald green trail left behind. The minor distraction prompts the Last Son of Sparta to land the needed critical blows.
Invoking the runic magic of his seax, he hurls the sigil blade towards the fiery hounds. A violent torrent of wind erupts from the glistening silver and thrashes the landscape around them. The flames from the neighboring chaos briefly carry in the gusts before dissipating. Even the hellish beasts are glided off and divided from the others. But, this act only stalls their inevitable charge toward the sorceress while the previously wounded Drake stampedes to his location. Leaping forward, airborne in an attempt to pounce and slams its searing jaws onto him, Atreus unfolds the bulwarks of Trolls Bane. In that split moment, both his gauntlets and the hound's canines meet, the grinding of metal ringing in the air.
Loki, bound in place by the vying for dominance, struggles to find an opening to counter strike. The creature reaches for his most vital areas with its jagged claws, causing several scrapes in the assault. Though the chance is slim, Atreus takes brazen action to gain the upper hand on his foe. With his hand held open, the runic seax darts back to his grip. In his carelessness, he receives a slash across his torso, but in that second of injury, he can now strike back tenfold. Utilizing a built-up swing of his arm, he rams the blade into the jaws of the Drake. The first puncture causes a pain-gurgling roar to erupt from the beast. The Wolf of Midgard keeps its mouth open as he, in rapid succession, stabs it in its mouth, gradually reaching closer to its cranium. Finally, yanking it down to the floor and slamming the blade with all his might and weight into its skull. A final groan, the breath of death leaving its throat.
Sigyn presses on, keeping the two hounds at bay, whether by her enchanted agility or manipulating the terrain to halt their path with her sacred magic. The forest itself beckoned by her call warps by her hand. Roots grow in their course, branches swing and hurl toward the galloping beasts, and even flurries of dirt and leaves blind them. Still, no matter what tricks and tactics she warps and plays, the Drakes do not relent to the chase. Any fortifications she produces, they tear through effortlessly, and any deterrents only stall them temporarily. Till at last, Atreus rejoins the fray.
With the element of surprise, the Last Son of Sparta envelopes the chains from his father's blades around the throat of an infernal reptile. Through the beast's momentum and angle when pulling at the tether, Atreus hurls the creature across the field. Shattering past wood, stone, and gravel, the hound plummets into the charred pavement. Yet, upon crashing down, Sigyn from afar sprouts a rigid pillar of smooth stone from the earth. Tearing clear into and past the Drake's torso, the canine wails in agony before succumbing to the devastating wound.
"Good work," Atreus compliments Sigyn while catching his breath.
"I told you I could hold my own," she replies. "But, wait..."
A shutter of grievous wonder takes her as something has gone amiss. Her gaze darts in all directions, but no matter where she sets her sights, a crucial detail eludes her. It's not long that Atreus can also discern the troubling sensation.
"Wheres the last one?" Sigyn questions in bafflement.
Her pondering statement alone appears as a trigger for severity, with the final beast making its move. Unsuspecting, Atreus is brought to the ground by a savage tackle from the fiery lizard. Several searing slashes are inflicted to his back and arms as now he stands pinned beneath the creature's weight and jaws. The two struggle to overcome the other but instead result in a stalemate. Due in part to Loki stressing to ensure he doesn't recklessly harm himself further. He digs his iron grip into the Drake's upper and bottom mouth, yet still burning from its inferno breath. Although Sigyn intervenes, summoning roots from the ground to entangle the monster in an attempt to free her comrade. This alone is not enough. And should she try to harm it, she could injure Atreus in the crossfire.
Till alas, a forbidden force exerts itself from Atreus's veins. A brief flash of flames and crimson static surge from his skin, the veins in his body swell and blacken as the Rage of Sparta takes control. In that instant of unbridled fury, he drives the beast back and rushes to his feet. Yet, even as he now topples the creature and the Spartan might subside, his anger is not swayed. Not until the beast's jaws shatter out of place, and its neck crumbles and snaps under the weight of his wrath. The savage action of his jerks and pulls gives him his resolution. The dangling skull of the hound as he holds its lifeless corpse is what finally settles the flames in his mind. As sudden as it came, the curse carried from his father fades away.
His hands tremble as he lets loose his hold on the fallen enemy. The guilt of losing control causes him instant shivers and tremors through his body. The breath of his lungs is scattered as he exhales, appalled. In his time of self-rejection, Sigyn approaches, filled more with concern for his safety than bewildered by what she witnessed.
"A-Atreus?" She calls his name, cautious when stepping closer. "What was that?"
His tongue is withheld to answer as he continues to dwell on what came over him. Each step Sigyn takes to lessen the gap between them is gradually hastened, self-assured that her safety isn't at risk.
"That force, I've never felt anything like it," she comments. "That is a power not of these realms... What was it?"
Though forceful, Atreus shakes away this gut-wrenching disturbance from his heart to put his mind back on the situation at hand. Yet, the sensation of failure dwells on him like over heavy chainmail upon his soul. Even with his muscles tensed to the limit, his fists tremor at his sides.
"It is a burden..." Atreus mutters, sighing to alleviate the tension. "One passed down from my father... I'm sorry you had to see it..."
"It's alright," she says in a faint, calming tone. "But, are you-"
"I recognize you!" A female voice calls out during their discussion.
Atreus and Sigyn hone their sights to the source of the one speaking out among the ruins. Before them, however, is the company of multiple people. The natives of Svartalfheim, the dwarves, steadily present themselves, their visages fading into reality and out of the realm between realms. Several of which are the denizens the Wolf of Midgard lead to salvation along with Brok and Sindri. Yet, while hope shimmers in some of their eyes, most show great distrust or disdain from their expressions. A mix of emotions radiates from the crowd of dwarves, crashing into the duo like a violent wave. Sigyn is baffled by the negativity from them, but Atreus stands ill confident. Despite what the masses had witnessed, the Last Son of Sparta suspects his efforts to win them over are only just beginning.
(Authors Note)
I hope you all are having a great day, and a nice summer overall. I'd like to take this time to thank you all again for reading and showing your support, as the number of followers rises, it fills me with pride that I'm providing something you all enjoy. As well as answer a few questions that I wasn't able to send replies to in the comments. I would answer them there, but I don't want to fill the feed with my own thoughts and answers. Rest assured, any further questions will be answered as quickly as possible, without spoiling too much of the future.
Where are the wolves (Sköll and Hati), and why did they sway to Angrboða?
As to where they are right now, is uncertain, but they are still in Midgard. Now as to why they were submissive can be for several reasons, out of respect, courtesy, or maybe even out of fear. After all, Angrboða is a lot more than just a pretty face, which will be shown in later chapters.
Is it possible for Atreus to inherit another of Kratos's past weapons? Most of them, probably not, because Zeus destroyed them. I did try to make Atreus's arsenal unique to him but have some reference to his father's previous armaments. Such as Trolls Bane (his gauntlets) were a homage to Hercules' (Heracles) gauntlets from the third game. But, it's possible down the line that he could gain more that are similar or even the real deal. Only time will tell.
Which I have to keep thanking you all for being patient with how often I post new chapters, and apologize at the same time. I don't really have any excuses as to why, I just like to make sure that every chapter I post is great. The last thing I want is to throw something out there that is poorly written and with barely any effort invested into it. But regardless, it means the world for you all to stick with me on this digital adventure. I wish you all the best!