Disclaimer: I do not own God of War or RWBY. Both are properties of Santa Monica studios and RoosterTeeth respectively.

"Grief in the snow
The winter of woe
Has come here to judge and bereave me"
–Gavin Dunne

Young Wolf

Remnant Era:
Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1 – A Wolf Grooming his Fangs

Winter had long since settled when it was time to build the funeral pyre. A small band of townsfolk, led by the pale man that had arrived to the isles many years ago, trekked into the dense forest that lay past the territory of both Grimm and animal alike. They wisely trailed behind him and kept their distance, for the man walked with solemn sadness. His eyes were cold and distant, yet he stared forward past the horizon as if he was looking at something else. The only one that had not stayed behind was the young boy at his side.

"Are you sure this is the correct part of the forest?"

Atreus nodded. "The trees here are thicker and older than near the town."

Kratos said nothing.

He did not know how long it had been since his found his way to this strange place. Only that the world was not one he recognized. The language was different, the people bearing features unfamiliar to him, and the moon a stranger. He was a stranger in a very strange land, yet he found a certain peace in these odd lands. The people gave him the space he needed, so long as he did nothing to interfere with them.

All except for one. A remarkable woman who made him feel something for the first time in ages.

It had only been a few days since her passing. Kratos hadn't spoken much since and hardly ever interacted with the townsfolk, only when necessary. The only reason they had come was because the boy had told the mayor that his mother had requested she be cremated, and her ashes spread across the cliff overlooking the ocean. The portly man had spoken with Kratos before they had left, offering all the aid they could to help him.

He accepted it without a struggle. He didn't have the energy. Were it not for the fact that the boy was here, he would have collapsed and let himself fall to sleep for who knows how long. It was only discipline and sheer force of will that made him continue forward. There were things to do. Now was not the time to let his grief rule him. He was a better man than that.

Atreus stopped. His hand touched one of the trees close to him. "This one looks good." He turned to his father. "Do you…need help?"

Kratos gently pushed him aside, grabbing hold of the ax his wife left behind. "Stay back, boy."

Atreus nodded and stepped away. The pale man gripped his ax with both hands, fingers coiling around the grip. He sucked in a breath, the frigid air invading his lungs. His hands trembled slightly. He reared the ax back, and swung.

The blade cut its way through the bark and into the tree's center. He pulled it back out, and swung again.

And again.

And again.

Each time he swung the ax, a memory played out in his head. The day he first met the woman who had become the second love of his life. The woman who had pushed her way through the violence and ash that made up his existence and pulled out what remained of a good man. The woman who had given him a reason to live. Each time a memory played out, the heavier the ax became and the hotter his chest grew. Something was bubbling up to the surface, rapidly growing in size.

His knuckles turned white as a roar filled with grief and anger ripped from his throat. The final swing cut straight through the tree. It groaned as it tilted, then fell to the ground with an earth-trembling thud. The bird nestled in the trees nearby scattered into the air, startled by the sound. The animals nearby ran off in the opposite direction in fear of being hunted.

Atreus looked at his father with pitiful eyes, wondering what he could do to help ease the pain. He reached to touch him, but a rough hand gripped his shoulder. "Leave him be."

Atreus looked behind him, finding the hag that served as the town's doctor. "But…"

"He's letting out his anger. Let him vent." the hag advised. "Come now. Let's bring the trees back with us. They need to be chopped."

The copper-haired pup looked like he wished to argue, but another look at his father, at his stony face and burning eyes, made him retreat. He nodded and walked over to the fallen tree, a few townsfolk following behind him. They cut away at the twigs and branches before the butcher and blacksmith went over to either end of the tree, hoisting its massive body up onto their shoulder. To help lighten the load, Atreus and a few others went underneath the tree and put it on their shoulders. They trailed back to the town, leaving only their footprints as proof of their presence in the snow.

Behind them, Kratos continued to swing his ax, cutting down another tree that Atreus had pointed out to him.

By the time the tree had been halfway cut apart, Kratos had returned with the second tree hoist over his shoulder. Some of the townsfolk stared in wonder, once again reminded of how strong the man was. He set the tree down next to the one being cut apart and looked about the area. The pyre was being set, logs meant to help light the fire and keep the body steady, all prepared by some of the local housewives.

The only one missing was the boy.

"If you're looking for Atreus, he's inside." Kratos turned, finding a portly man in a pinstripe suit and top hat approaching. The mayor's eyes were red and misty, traces of frost on his mustache and beard. "He's saying his final goodbyes. I never would have thought this day would come. If anything, I believed I'd be the one who would die before anyone else."

Kratos closed his eyes. "As did I."

"Hmph. Cold as always, just like the rest of the isle." The mayor snorted, smile hidden well underneath his bush. He looked at the pale-skinned man in concern. "Will you be alright? Raising the boy by yourself…"

He didn't have an answer to that. He glanced at the small shed where his wife's body lay waiting for him. Ready to leave him behind and join the ghosts. Atreus was well on his path of becoming a budding young man. He was well into the age where he'd become an acceptable recruit for the Spartans, and he was strong. The boy knew how to hunt and defend himself. He had not killed a man yet, but if he wished to pursue the path his mother walked, he would have to soon.

Kratos and his wife spent equal time with Atreus, but compared to her dealing with the boy he didn't have much of a role. All he did was teach him how to fight. How to take hits, how to repel a foe, how to throw a punch, etc. The boy never spoke of his problems to him, that duty belonged to his mother. In truth, he never knew how to interact with the boy. He was afraid he would say one thing, one wrong thing, and he would look at him with contempt.

He had long since forgotten what it meant to be a parent, nor was he ready to become one again. He had unconsciously distanced himself from the boy, treating him like he would a boy coming of age, but like all fathers there was some affection showing through. On the few occasions they had bonded, Kratos had taught the boy his own fighting style when the blacksmith made him his first weapon. Weapons that hauntingly reminded him of the accursed swords hiding underneath the floorboards of his home.

Kratos sighed deeply and shook his head before he stepped away from the mayor, entering the building. It was dark, lit only by the numerous candles surrounding a body wrapped in cloth, decorated in crisp golden leafs and flowers. All collected by the children who his wife took care of when she wasn't busy hunting, doing housework or tending to Atreus. The boy himself was lighting the candles.

"Se, der ser jeg moren min…" Atreus whispered in the language that his mother had taught him. The language of his homeland. "Se, der ser jeg faren min…" He lit the last candle before he rested his head against her body. The last contact he would ever have with her. "Se, der roper de til meg. Se, der roper de til meg. So, der roper de til meg. Se, der roper de til meg. Se, der roper de til meg."

Kratos wondered what sort of expression Atreus was making. Faintly, he could hear the sound of sniffling. Any other Spartan would have scolded him for showing weakness, but Kratos shared in his feelings.

He was not ready to lead a life without her.

"Boy." His voice became tight. Atreus looked up, eyes misty. "It is time."

The copper-haired boy nodded and stepped away, allowing him to approach. His footsteps fell like stones, floorboards creaking. He rested his hand against his wife's body, wondering if this was maybe some sort of practical joke before he closed his eyes. She felt so cold. Colder than the winter that enveloped the isles.

He slipped his burly arms underneath her, gently pulling her up.

"Finn veien hjem. Du er fri." Kratos whispered softly, speaking the same tongue she did, albeit more roughly.

The two walked out of the building. The townsfolk had all gathered, faces somber and wet. All were garbed in fur robes and black attire. Kratos looked at them all, the people who treated him warily and welcomed him as one of their own. The people who had shown him kindness alongside his wife for the first time in a very long time. The old him would have dismissed them entirely, and at first he tried to push them away. Still, they persisted until, like her, they broke through his exterior and found a way through.

They were as much her family as he was hers.

Kratos approached the pyre, Atreus following close behind him. He set her down atop the gathered piles of wooden oak. The boy knelt down, grabbing one of the gathered rocks surrounding the pyre in a ring and took hold of one of the blades on his back, tapping the blade against its surface. After a few tries, the sparks were lit. The wood sizzled and cracked before they produced the flames. He stood up and backed away. Together, the town of Lapis watched the flames grow, slowly but surely wrapping around the corpse of Kratos' wife and the greatest hunter in the town.

Atreus looked up at his father, finding his expression even but no less somber. His eyes were distant, as if staring at the fire reminded him of something. He glanced at his large hands, and after a moment, wrapped his own around them. The action surprised Kratos enough to stare at the boy for a moment, then the stony face softened.

The mayor wept as his tears trailed down his puffy cheeks. At his side, his six-year-old daughter sobbed and cried into his pants leg alongside her brother, older by two years. He produced a flask from the inside of his coat and twisted off the cap, taking a long swig and gulping its contents before pulling it away from his lips.

"Farewell, dearest Faye. May you find peace and return to your family of old, wherever they may be."

Atreus' ears drooped. "Goodbye, mother…"

The town watched the funeral until only the ashes remained. Once the burnt remains of wood had cooled and the ashes were gathered, poured into a leather bag, Faye's last wish was granted as Atreus and Kratos spread them across the wind at the cliff overlooking the sea. The ashes danced through the air, swirling together with the crystal snowflakes that had just begun to form.

As if giving the people of Lapis one last gift…

One Year Later…

The harsh winter had ceased its grip on the isles. The snow had begun to melt and the ice covering the lakes broke apart. Animals that had been hiding away and enduring the cold now sprung freely into the open fields, basking in the warm sunlight. The birds sang songs as they soared across the sky, with nary a cloud above. The sun bestowed a weak warmth upon the people beneath its gaze as they went about their daily lives, from the butcher cleaving open scores of meat to sell and the baker producing fresh loafs of bread.

Atreus, now at the budding age of 17, strode through the streets of Lapis. His hair had grown slightly longer and his eyes sharper. His winter garments had been discarded in favor of a gray short-sleeved jacket over a red tank top and faded pants. Around his wrists were crimson red bracers, with the rotors connecting to his scimitars located in the center of the wrist. A crimson red pauldron also sat on his left shoulder, trailing down his bicep but stopping just short of the elbow.

"Atreus!" the butcher's wife called out upon seeing the copper-haired boy. "Heading off to the Station?"

Atreus nodded. "Don't want to be late, after all."

"Right, right. Well, don't let me keep you. And good luck!"

He smiled and nodded, thanking her for her kind words.

Today was a special day for him, as it was his first real step towards following in the footsteps of his mother.

Today was the day he was heading to Beacon Academy.

In the world of Remnant, monstrous creatures known as the Creatures of Grimm roamed the lands, terrorizing the people and pushing them closer to the brink. In order to combat these monsters, an order of warriors called the "Huntsman" was established – the first line of defense against the things that went bump in the night.

The exact date in which Huntsman first came into being isn't exactly known. If there were, they had been lost following the purge of history caused by the conflicts of Mistral and Mantle during the Great War several decades ago. Only vague remains and scrambled bits of memory remained in those events, and those who could recall their history were scarce, with some having lost their sound minds with age.

There was one thing that was agreed upon by many people in regards to the existence of the Huntsman; they were the sword and shield meant to defend the people against the Grimm. During the Great War, there were nowhere near as many Huntsmen as there were today. As a result, there were a number of casualties. Thus, the creation of the Huntsmen Academies were required, as decreed by the King of Vale following the victory of Vale and Vacuo over Mistral and Mantle.

There were four Academies: Beacon, Atlas, Shade and Haven. Beacon Academy was located in Vale, and was largely considered to be the better academies of the four for numerous reasons.

Atlas Academy, while also a Huntsman Academy, was also a Military Academy. In times of war and in dire straits, Huntsmen were required to aid in the defense of the Kingdom, regardless of allegiance. In essence, they were soldiers. Atlas Academy had merged with its military, thus Huntsman were not just trained to fight Grimm, but were trained to fight as soldiers first and foremost. Disciplined and strong-minded.

Shade Academy was considered the worst of the four, namely on account of where it was situated. Vacuo was a harsh environment to live in, with little in way of government and rules. In fact, the only law that existed on that continent of dust and rock was the academy itself, and even then there were few rules that prevented conflicts and arguments from breaking out. Granted, anyone who could survive there ended up being made of grit, character and capable of facing any form of adversity, they weren't prone to following orders.

Haven Academy was only a step above Shade, having a government and a ruling body to keep the unruly in line, but had two factors working against it. The first was that Mistral was the major center of the criminal underground, so naturally there were more than a few people with shady backgrounds wandering around inside and outside its halls. There was also a frightening amount of people in Haven that could be bought out with money. In short, security could be compromised. The second major point was that Faunus discrimination was incredibly high. In fact, discrimination was supposedly even worse than in Atlas, a feat that wasn't easily achieved. Conflicts didn't occur occasionally, but whenever they did they tended to explode out of proportion and resulted in a boom of negativity, which led to Grimm attacks.

Beacon Academy was considered the best of the four because it not only shared a healthy balance of education and combat training, but was situated in one of the more stable Kingdoms. Granted, there was the occasional crime spree, Faunus hate crime and Grimm attack, but otherwise it was peaceful and allowed students the most opportunities. On top of that, Beacon Academy also functioned as a standard academic institution for those who weren't pursuing a career in fighting monsters.

Typically, there were two ways a person could attend a Huntsman Academy. The first was to have been enrolled in a Combat School for a minimum of three years and graduate with the required grades. After which, they would receive a letter of recommendation from the Headmaster of the Academy to participate in Initiation – the exam to decide whether or not you would stay at the school and train to become a Huntsman or be sent home with your pride wounded. Alternatively, for those who lacked the education of those enrolled in Combat Schools, they could participate in a Practical Exam to see whether or not they had the necessarily skills and academic ability required to enroll before being offered a letter of recommendation.

Atreus was among the latter group. Having participated in the Practical Exam some odd months ago, he had received the letter two weeks ago from the Headmaster of Beacon Academy. To say that the young pup was thrilled would be an understatement, as he practically lived on the stories of heroes thanks to his mother and the housewives of Lapis.

Faye had told him many stories about heroes, and to some extent she herself was very well-regarded. Before she settled in Lapis, she had traveled across the Kingdoms, helping people whenever she could. There were whispers back in the day about a woman carrying an ax with a frigid touch, cutting down bandit and Grimm alike. Kratos himself once told Atreus that she was a fierce warrior, and that was saying a lot since the pup had seen him in action against any Grimm that wandered too close to the town.

He could still vividly recall the time his father had torn a Beowolf's jaw off its person, along with its chest, with naught but his bare hands.

When his thoughts reached Kratos, Atreus couldn't help but smile wryly.

The year of his mother's passing had, admittedly, been a trying one. At times, it seemed as if the man looked cold and uncaring, but the boy knew better. Behind that stony face was a grieving man, though he showed it differently than others. He was not an overly emotional man, aside from the occasional bursts of anger. The two had their tense moments, especially in the weeks following Faye's passing, but Atreus was not a child. Had he been a child, chances were his relationship with his father would have been a work in progress.

It still was, but they were getting there.

Atreus arrived at the Station a good few minutes before the Bullhead was scheduled to arrive. Some people from the isle and outside the town were also present, hailing from other settlements. Neighbors, strangers and familiar faces, the whole lot of them. One face in particular surprised Atreus, for waiting there amid the small gathering of people was his father.

He saw his son arrive shortly after he had come into view. The pup gulped nervously, wondering whether or not Kratos had decided to keep him here. The two stared at each other, a tense silence hanging over them as he approached. As he drew closer, Atreus felt his heart hammer against his chest.

"Father?"

Somehow, Atreus' voice didn't crack from the pressure as Kratos stood over him. Though he was a budding young man, he only came up to his father's broad chest. The tips of his vulpine ears barely made it to his shoulders. A shadow loomed over him while his father stared him down, eyes unreadable.

He had no idea what was going on through his father's head until he finally made another movement. His hand moved behind his back, taking something out from the pouch hanging from his belt and holding something out for his son.

Atreus' eyes widened to the point they threatened to pop from their sockets. In Kratos' hand was a small knife, barely bigger than a silverware knife but possessing an incredibly sharper edge and a smooth leather grip.

It may have seemed like an odd gift to give someone, but to Atreus, it was so much more than that.

"This…is Mother's knife."

"She wished to give it to you, when you came of age." Kratos told him as he put a hand to his shoulder. "It is yours now."

His mouth ran dry. Gently, he took his mother's knife from his father's hand. He stared at it, once again reminded of the loss of his mother. He felt his eyes turn watery, but refused to let a tear spill. He refused to cry, not in front of strangers.

"One day, you will come back here, boy." Kratos told him sternly. "Either with your shield…or on it."

Atreus had no shield, but what his father said was not meant to be taken literally. What he was truly asking was for his son to come back to him, either alive or dead. Supposedly, it was what the people of his homeland told their loved ones when they went off to war.

He offered the pale man a small smile. "I'm not going to war, Father."

"Perhaps." Kratos acknowledged. "But you will be fighting. Both men and monster alike. Do not let your guard down. And remember to reign your temper, lest it get the better of you."

"I haven't been sick in a long time." Atreus argued. "Not since the Huntsman who came by our village unlocked my Aura while you were off hunting."

"Reign. Your. Temper."

He pouted, but shook his head. "Understood, sir." Kratos grunted. He gave Atreus' shoulder a squeeze, then walked past his son. He watched his father's back, slowly vanishing into the horizon before he heard the sound of whirling jets. He looked up and found the Bullhead descending towards the Station.

He looked at the knife in his hand before he slipped it into his jacket, making an idle note to make a small leather sheathe for it after he arrived at Beacon.

"This is it. Beacon Academy, here I come…"

"For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack." –Rudyard Kipling

NOTE: And here we are, with a new entry in the story of Atreus. I'm glad to see that some people have begun taking an interest in this. Granted, nowhere near the level of Something Wicked, but still very good.

That said, I'm sure you all have many questions. For example, why is Faye here on Remnant and not in Midgard? To that, dear reader, I say unto you, "wait and see." I will not give you spoilers so easily, and not so early. As for why Atreus was born a Faunus when both of his parents are not, it was primarily because he was born on Remnant while also referencing his relationship to Fenrir.

For those who do not know Atreus' history, I will not be spoiling you. If you don't mind the spoilers, go look on youtube or his character page on the God of War Wikipedia.

For those who are worried that I will be implementing OCs outside the people of Lapis, rest assured. I will not be including any OCs. Unless, of course, you are referring to nameless mooks whose only role is to be beaten profusely and hilariously by our heroes.

For those wondering what Atreus and Kratos were saying as they were preparing to cremate Faye, they were speaking their lines from that particular scene in the game, but in Norwegian, one of the Scandinavian languages.

Small question for you all, though. Do you want chapters of Young Wolf to be on the same length as the chapters in Something Wicked, or keep them within their shorter length?