Olaf let loose another arrow; another draugr down.
Yet no matter how many he managed to kill, two more took its place.
"There are too many!" Biorr yelled.
Alvid cursed from beside Olaf. "We cannot let them breach the gate!"
A deep ominous moan filled the air, drawing their attention. From the river, a monstrous claw hand erupted from the ice and from it crawled out an ogre, its skin cracked leaking lava. The undead creature opened its mouth impossibly wide and let out a ferocious roar.
"Shoot it! Kill it!" someone screamed and Olaf snapped his bow up and took aim at the creature. He shot arrow after arrow but it did nothing to deter the ogre from making a beeline to the gate.
Olaf's body tensed just as the ogre crashed through the gate, breaking the support railing they were standing on. He was thrown off and he hit the ground hard. The strong taste of iron exploded in his mouth and his head throbbed like someone was pounding at it with a hammer. He slammed a hand on the ground and shoved himself up into a sitting position. Despite the pain, he zeroed in on the now open gate.
The ogre was already running around and wherever it went terrified screams followed.
Olaf growled and pushed himself to stand. He staggered over to a fallen Alvid and pulled the jarl up.
"Die later," he grunted and unsheathed his sword just as the first draugr appeared through the gate. "Now, we must fight."
With a shout, Olaf charged at the draugr. Its beady orange eyes locked onto him and Olaf could feel the hatred- the uncontrollable unadulterated need to destroy the living. They may have once been human, may have once experienced love and happiness like any one of them. But all they are now is a monster and they will kill without remorse, without pity.
Even as fear gripped him, Olaf raised his sword and met his death head on.
"Don't worry my children, we will be safe here," Father Tybalt muttered, palming at his cross necklace.
Edith was pretty certain the priest was trying to reassure more to himself than to them.
They were hiding out inside the jarl's house along with the servants. When they spoke they spoke in hushed voices, nobody daring to talk loudly in fear that someone or something might hear them.
Father Tybalt got on his knees and wiped at his forehead. "Come, let us pray, shall we? Yes, yes let us pray. Edith, why don't you lead us in prayer- Edith? Edith!"
Edith ignored him. She refused to do nothing while Leif was still imprisoned out there. She opened the door a crack, letting in the sounds of battle. From her point of view, she could not see any of the fighting. A troop of men rushed by making her jump.
"Hurry! They broke through the gates!" She heard one of the men yell.
Edith's stomach dropped. The draugrs were in the village. Leif is chained. If they found him, he won't be able to protect himself.
She had to do something, and quick!
"You!" She pointed to one of the servants. "Please, I need a- a sort of weapon," she stuttered and wracked her brain thinking what could break through chains. "An- an axe or a hammer of sorts."
The servant looked confused but disappeared and came back with an old, rusty axe. Probably one for cutting off chicken heads. She grabbed it anyways and with a quick thank you she dashed out the door. She didn't think for if she did she would freeze and panic. She just ran head first into the fray of battle. Due to her small form, she easily made her way through dueling opponents, clutching the chicken axe like it was her lifeline.
Something knocked into her from behind and she went stumbling forward, crashing against a man.
"S-sorry," she mumbled automatically despite being in the middle of a battlefield. Her line of sight traveled up to meet the man's face. She shrunk back in horror.
It was one of those things, those draugrs! The demonic creature screeched at her and drew back its sword.
"God, no!" she screamed and raised her arms as if they could save her. Millions of thoughts raced through her mind, mostly about what a huge mistake it is to have come to Midgard and how Leif might die because she couldn't get to him in time. Then, there was one thought, whispering like a gentle breeze, wondering if she will see her parents one last time in heaven.
The killing blow never came. At the last second, a man appeared out of nowhere and sliced off the draugr's arm plus drawing its attention away from her. Edith didn't have time to register who the man was, couldn't even see his face. She wanted to thank him but knew there was no time for that. This was a second chance to save Leif and she wasn't about to pass it up.
The barn came into view and she ran straight at it without stopping. She ran so hard that she crashed against the door and swung it open.
"Leif!" she cried, rushing towards the slave.
"Edith?" Leif said in alarm. "Edith, what are you doing here?"
"What do you mean? I came to get you out!"
Leif looked like he was in pain. "No, no Edith. You shouldn't be here! It's not safe for you- Watch out!" He grabbed her and threw her aside. She landed on a bunch of haystacks and watched Leif dodge a jab from a draugr. The monster swiped at him again but Leif launched forward and roll out out of the way. He stopped behind the creature and wrapped his chains around its neck.
"Edith! Edith, kill it!" he grunted as he struggled to keep the thing still.
Heart pounding, she dashed at them and swung the axe down, cleaving it down the monster's head. She grit her teeth and yanked it out, spraying gooey orange blood all over her. The monster fell to the ground with a thud and did not get back up.
"Good job, Edith," Leif said and chuckled breathlessly. "Maybe next time, don't close your eyes."
He spread his chains on the floor and looked up at her expectantly. Edith glanced at her chicken axe, then to the creature's sword. She abandoned the useless thing and took the sword. It was heavy in her hands but it was better than the axe for sure.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Edith scoffed in disbelief. "Are you?"
"Right, sorry. Continue."
She raised the sword over her head.
Leif flinched. "Don't close your eyes"
"I won't."
By some miracle, the chains broke upon impact. Leif beamed and squished her against his chest. "Yes! Yes! Thank you, Edith, thank you! I am forever in your debt."
"You don't owe me anything," she said, struggling to breath for air.
Leif laughed and grabbed the creature's sword. "Ah you Christians, always doing things out of the goodness in your hearts." He took the shield from the corpse and slipped it securely on his arm. "Stay hidden. I'm going to help out."
"Wait," she said when Leif headed to the door. "I can help you fight!"
"Do you even know how to?" he responded.
She grew quiet and that was answer enough.
"Edith, stay here and stay hidden. Don't make a sound. When this is over and if we're both still alive, I'll come back and get you."
She wanted to say something but stayed silent as Leif closed the barn door.
Useless, she felt so useless. She swore if she got out of this alive, she just might ask Thrud for a few lessons or two.
As ordered, she hid herself behind some haystacks and kept deathly quiet. She didn't know how long she sat there but she passed the time praying.
Her prayers were interrupted when the barn doors swung open violently. She jumped and peeked her head over the haystack. A warrior, badly wounded by the looks of it, came stumbling inside. She tensed when a draugr came in after. The warrior collapsed and stayed down.
He can't move.
Edith's eyes darted around the barn and caught sight of the chicken axe.
Quietly, she crept to it, grabbed it, and made her way behind the creature. It was about to finish the warrior off when she let out a cry and drove the axe into its exposed back.
Unfortunately, this time it didn't kill it.
The draugr groaned and turned around, the axe still deeply secured in its back.
She gulped and backed away. It took a step toward her and she took off.
Edith ran in a random direction, not caring where she was going as long as she put a safe distance between herself and the creature. She chanced a glance back and her panic rose twice-fold. Just as she thought, the thing was following her and catching up fast!
The jarl's house was not far now and as much as she wanted to go inside she couldn't. She would be leading that thing straight to the others.
She almost tripped on her own two feet and happened to catch sight of a dead man, his sword and shield still clutched tightly in his grip. She looked back, saw the draugr coming, and lunged for the dead man. The shield was easy to slip off but the sword was harder. She had to pry his stiff fingers from the handle but she freed it in time to jump into a fighting stance, heaving the shield between her and the draugr. Her arm began to shake from the strain and she prayed to God to give her strength to hold it.
The draugr screeched, paralyzing her. In a blink of an eye, it hit her shield with its sword and the impact made her entire arm vibrate. She cried out in pain and fell flat on her back. Instinctively, she curled her legs to hide under the shield. Tears streamed down her face as the draugr rained down hit after hit with relentless brute force. If she hadn't a shield to protect her, Edith would've been chopped up into pieces by now.
She didn't see an end in sight from this chaos and so when the blows stopped, the first thing she thought was that she was dead. Her eyes shot open and she realized she was still very much alive. It was the draugr who was about to die.
A humongous hairy warrior grabbed the draugr's head and yanked it clean off.. Edith yelped and ducked under her shield. The head of the draugr landed on the ground next to her, causing her to shriek and scramble away.
Edith stumbled to her feet, looking bewildered and frightened. One look at the beast of man and she pointed the sword at him, flashes of that horrific night in her hometown flashing through her mind.
The large man growled defensively. His wild eyes pierced into her own and she was suddenly transported back in time. She was no longer a nun but that little girl who had lost everything and knew only fear.
The growls died down and the man, this beast, went completely still. A deep sorrow etched across his face, a sorrow that can only be caused by a great pain.
Edith snapped out of her trance and felt a twinge of pity for the man. Despite the danger, she lowered her sword and reached out with one hand, a question upon her lips.
The moment was destroyed by a deafening roar.
Across the village's main path, a monstrous animal charged terrifyingly fast... straight towards Leif and Olaf.
The fighting seemed to go on forever and exhaustion was creeping on him like a deadly disease.
It was getting harder and harder to raise his sword but each time he felt the urge to simply give up, Olaf pushed himself to continue block, continue stabbing, continue surviving for that was truly what he was doing; surviving.
This was unlike any of his past battles. Back then, he fought against men, living fearful men. These things, these unholy bastards were incapable of being afraid and they never got tired, never faltered, never stopped. And when they eventually kill him, he too will turn into one of these mindless rage machines, his soul lost for an eternity.
It was all becoming a blur of block, attack, block, that the next sword he deflected caught him by surprise. Not of the sword itself but of the person wielding it.
"You have betrayed the gods," Esben mumbled, hysteria setting in his eyes. "We are being punished because of you! I will not die because of you!" He growled menacingly and swiped at Olaf. "The gods will favor me for killing the traitor. They will make me king!"
Olaf prepared for the shipmaster to attack but was caught off guard when a draugr popped out of nowhere. He barely deflected a strike and cut the creature down just as stinging pain sliced across his side. Olaf pressed a hand to the bleeding wound and bared his teeth at Esben.
"Die traitor," Esben hissed. He drew his sword back, swung, and froze mid-way, his eyes bulging out of his sockets. The tip of a sword erected from the ship master's chest, glinting in the firelight. It slid back through him and Esben's corpse slumped to the floor, revealing Leif the slave.
"Never liked that guy," Leif said breathlessly and stuck out his arm. Olaf took it.
Once he was up on his feet, he gripped Leif's forearm and gave it a squeeze- a wordless thanks. There was no time to talk since new draugrs appeared, forcing them to fight again. Stinging pain flared up each time he moved, making it harder to use his sword, but it was nothing to that deafening roar, one he dreaded to hear.
Men and draugr alike were tossed into the air like rag dolls as the ogre came charging straight at Olaf. His instincts screamed for him to run but he knew it would be pointless. The only thing he can do is stand his ground and fight or die trying.
At the last possible second, the ogre tripped.
Confusion filled Olaf and then he watched in tense surprise as the ogre was dragged by its ankle and left dangling in the air from the fist of a mighty troll.
The troll brought the squirming ogre to his face and snorted, clouds of smoke shooting from his large nostrils. The troll set down his granite totem and snatched the ogre's other leg. Quick and brutal, he tore the ogre apart and flung its body away.
Olaf jerked in surprise as a draugr sailed through the air. He heard the neighing of a horse and like a godsend, Thrud appeared.
Relief flooded him despite there being a troll standing a few feet away. During the entire battle he felt off and now he knew why: no matter where or when, through thick or thin, Thrud's always had his back and it was only natural that they fight together.
"Not dead yet, I see," she greeted with a grin.
"It would take a lot more than a few draugrs to kill me," he said, making her shake her head in amusement.
"Uh, he's with you, right?" Leif asked in alarm, pointing at the troll. Curiously, the troll muttered something while wiping at his hairy nose.
Thrud chuckled and shook her head. "He won't hurt you if that's what you mean," she replied.
Howling filled the night air. For a bizarre moment, Olaf thought that wolves were in the area and his stomach sank at the thought that they were undead wolves. He was (fortunately) proven wrong as a swarm of half naked men and women flooded into the village, brutally clashing against the draugrs. So fierce they fought -and some fought with only their bare hands- that they managed to push the draugr invasion back, giving Olaf and present company enough breather space.
"The úlfheðnar and berserkirs! You brought them here?" Leif exclaimed.
Thrud smirked, "We're fighting draugrs. They just even the odds."
Alvid came running up with a group of men, the jarl looking worse for wear. "Who brought them here?" he yelled.
Thrud raised her chin, "I did. They're here to help."
The jarl cursed, "I have no money to pay them with!"
"That's already been taken care of. Our main concern should be saving the village."
Alvid's face screwed up in anger. "The village is lost! The only thing we can do now is give the people enough time to evacuate. Then we can retreat and join the others and head to the nearest village."
Thrud shook her head, "No, they will only follow us and there will be even more death."
"We will all die if we stay!"
"There is no other way. We have to stop this now."
Olaf observed the battle whilst they argued. Although the number of draugrs were dwindling, the amount of bodies on the floor will be an army for the undead.
"Thrud is right," he announced, drawing everyone's attention. "We have to stop this now. The draugrs are coming from the river. If we are to regain any hold on the battlefield, we must drive them out of the village and fight them there. Thrud, you and the troll make a clear path to the river and take the úlfheðnar and berserkirs with you to slow down their invasion. I will follow closely behind with my company."
Alvid nodded, "I will gather my men then and we'll clear out any remaining draugr left in the village. If all goes well, we will join you at the river."
"Let's do this, shall we?" Thrud nudged her horse and shouted some type of language at the troll who grabbed his totem and followed her. She raised her hammer and a strange feeling overcame Olaf. It was as if he were in a trance, and Thrud was all he could see. The úlfheðnar and berserkirs were drawn to her too like wolves to a bunny, chasing after her as she led them towards the river.
His wife's voice calling his name echoed in his ears.
Olaf's spirits rose at the sound and an intense desire to see her again seized him. Vivid in his mind was her wise eyes, and the many times he lost to her playing chess made him warm with longing.
The draugrs still put fear in his mind but in his heart, strength bloomed.
He will fight to live if only to play chess with her one more time.
The beating gallop of the horse matched in sync with her heartbeat. Prudr felt the animal's fear like it was her own; knew it could smell the dead around them. She urged it to go faster, gifting the horse some of her courage.
She glanced to her left. Her longtime companion, Grendel of the Mist, ran beside her. "Not scared yet, are you?" Her troll speech was a bit rusty but she was sure he understood her. Prudr knew the troll did not like draugrs. He once told her that living men were ugly enough.
Grendel grumbled unhappily.
She flashed a charming grin at him. "Aw, don't be like that. Here, you can eat one of my friends- you can eat Olaf! He was the one with the blonde hair. He's going to be a king."
The troll scrunched up his nose as if he smelt something awful. "His blood reeks."
"That's too bad. How about a drink after this, then?"
"I'll drink you dead, little god," he chuckled as he stomped on a draugr.
Funny!" Prudr exclaimed, spotting a draugr coming up. "That wasn't what happened last time!" She winded her arm back and bared her teeth as she struck the undead square in the chest with her hammer, sending it soaring into the air where Grendel demolished it with his totem. She whooped at the sight, a tinge of battle adrenaline leaking into her veins.
This was surprisingly refreshing.
Hiding your godhood among mortals was all about restraint and patience- admittedly two things she was never good at- and letting go like this felt amazing. It felt like old times.
Damn, it was a miracle she didn't go mad.
They passed through the gates and she could see where the draugrs were coming from. She looked back. The wild men were hot on her trail.
Prudr lifted her hammer and as the horse reared back on its hind legs she yelled, "Kill them all! Make them wish they'd stayed dead!"
The úlfheðnar and berserkirs roared like one giant crazed beast and clashed with the undead. One good thing about these animal warriors: they were too far gone on hallucinogens to process fear. When a regular soldier freezes, petrified at the sight of a walking rotting flesh, the úlfheðnar and berserkirs see it as another enemy, another challenge, or maybe instincts take over to just kill, kill, kill. She didn't really know. She only tried Henbane once, anyways.
Prudr got off the horse and patted its neck, thanking it for its bravery, and sent it away from danger. She turned and jumped into the fray, letting herself get lost in the battle.
By the time Olaf arrived with his men, they had cut the draugr's numbers in half, and when Jarl Alvid appeared the draugr invasion slowed to a trickle. The men and women cheered in victory as the stray few draugrs were slaughtered. Prudr joined in on the brief celebration but her elation dampened. They may have won the battle but the amount of bodies on the floor was a greater loss.
This shouldn't have happened. Lives shouldn't have been lost this way. This wasn't man against man. This was man against evil. And where be the gods whom it was there duty to deal with such evil? Where be the god who has taken the title of 'Protector of Mankind', who has sworn to protect the weak? Prudr couldn't help but bitterly think that if her uncle were alive, he would have came to their aid. He would have been the first person there.
The crying cheers of the crowd faded away.
Hushed, they watched a thick blanket of fog creep from the river. No one dared to move or utter a sound, not even the úlfheðnar and berserkirs. They can all sense it in the air. Something dangerous... something sinister.
"Father!" the voice of a young child cried out from somewhere deep inside the fog.
Jarl Alvid made a sound of surprise and lunged forward only to have Olaf and a few men hold him back. "Aaric!" the jarl screamed, struggling against their hold, "Aaric!"
"Stop, stop!" Olaf grabbed onto the man and shook him. "It is too dangerous to go by yourself. We don't even know what's in there!"
Alvid's face twisted in a mix of fury and despair. "He is my son!"
"Then I will go, with a group of men and we will get your son back."
Prudr was listening intently when she heard someone whisper her name. Her head swiveled around, trying to find the person calling her until she realized the name they had used was her real name.
Pruuuudrrr
Her head snapped in the direction of the fog.
"Why can't we all go?" Leif asked.
Olaf shook his head, "The ice is already badly damaged by the draugrs. All our weight could make the whole thing collapse and we'd all drown."
"None of you are going," Prudr declared, drawing everyone's attention. "I will. Alone." She emphasized the last part. She hated repeating herself. Of course, the only person to disagree would be Olaf.
Her friend grimaced. "No. Not without me."
"You are injured, Olaf." She wasn't blind. She saw the way he winced with each step he took, saw his hand reach for his side, the cloth stained brownish red around the area.
"I will not let you go in by yourself," he whispered harshly and hissed in pain, his hand pressing against his wound. He snapped his head up. "Dammit! You are not a god, Thrud!"
Prudr blinked and gripped his shoulder firmly. "Do you trust me?"
Olaf stared at her intensely and said nothing but she already knew his answer.
"Then have faith in me." She smiled, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. "What is it you Christians do? Pray? Do that for me. Perhaps your god will hear you this time."
A silent acknowledgement passed between them and she let him go. Prudr turned to the jarl.
"I will bring your son back. I swear it."
Alvid nodded.
Prudr tipped her head and turned around.
"May Thor protect you," the jarl said.
She paused mid-step, cocked her head, and for once, decided not to speak her mind.
The crowd parted to let her pass. Confident, she strode towards the river but slowed down when she reached the edge. It felt wrong, this fog. It felt unnatural.
With a sense of foreboding she entered the cloud of mist. Cold like she has never felt before engulfed her. She was freezing to the point she had to clench her teeth to stop them from clattering. Mustering up her strength, she forced herself to continue walking, hammer at the ready in case anything decided to jump her.
She didn't know how far in she was when she decided to call out for the boy. She stilled and strained her ears to hear something, anything, even for the sound of water moving for the boy could have fallen in on accident... or he could be drowning right at this very moment!
"Aaric!" she yelled again, her heart pounding. "Tell me where you are!"
I'm over here.
A swift whisper passed by her ear. It was a child's voice but it sounded off. Either way, Prudr went to where she thought she heard it come from. She breathed in relief when she caught sight of figure barely visible through the mist.
"Is that you, boy?"
The figure whimpered but said nothing.
Prudr gripped her hammer tighter and drew near. The closer she got, the more she could see better. It was definitely someone but it was still hard to see what or who since the person was huddled on the icy floor.
"Aaric?" she whispered.
The person- woman's head rose slowly, her neck cracking loudly. Black soulless eyes paralyzed Prudr to the spot. She was trapped under that cold gaze and for the first time in a long time, fear began worming its way into her heart. She gasped as if she was choking for air and struggled to remain calm. In her panicky state, her mind recalled the jarl's parting words, 'May Thor protect her' and for the briefest of moments, a small part of her expected to see her father come crashing from the sky to rescue his daughter.
But he didn't and she knew he wouldn't. So why did it still hurt?
The soft cries of a child snapped her out of it.
Prudr wrenched her hand from around her neck. The realization that she was choking herself was pushed far back in her mind to focus on the boy, Aaric, who was in the clutches of the woman. The terror reflected in his eyes sparked Prudr into action. She moved forward but froze when the ice underneath the woman and thus Aaric splintered as if something extremely heavy was dropped on it.
Aaric's cries of fear was smothered by a pale hand as the woman glowered at Prudr.
"One more step and you'll be fishing him out of the sea."
Prudr's heart skipped a beat. "He's just a child!"
The woman tilted her head. "This child has died many times already." She brushed her fingers through the boy's hair and peered at Prudr. "So have you. Over and over and... over." The woman wrapped her fingers around the Aaric's neck. "What's one more time?"
"Y-you're her, aren't you?" Prudr stuttered quickly in an attempt to distract the woman. She licked her lips nervously as she eyed the hand loosen from the boy's neck. "You are Hel."
Hel shifted her weight, sending Aaric deeper into her cold clutches. "You should leave, girl," the goddess warned darkly. "Run back home to Asgard and leave Midgard and all its inhabitants to me."
"I won't do that," Prudr stated firmly. "I will not abandon them."
"This is not your fight, child. You are not their protector."
Prudr narrowed her eyes. "Actions speak louder than a simple title, don't you think?"
"You will perish along with them," Hel hissed.
"You say that but you cower behind a child." Prudr pointed her hammer at the goddess. "You have been defeated. It's over. You've lost."
A fierce expression crossed Hel's face. "You think you've defeated me? You can't stop me. You can't stop Ragnarök. Odin knows this and soon, so will you." The ice ruptured from underneath them and Hel went down, taking Aaric with her.
"No!" Prudr lunged at them and landed hard on her stomach, her hand finding Aaric's wrist. With one quick yank, she pulled the boy out of the water and squished him against her chest. The boy was sobbing as Prudr wrapped him in her fur cloak. "Hey kid, it's alright. It's okay. It's over now, she's gone," she reassured him and stood up, carrying him in her arms. She began walking back the way she came.
"Are you really a god?" a quiet meek voice asked from within her cloak.
Prudr glanced down at the boy and raised a brow. "What makes you think that?"
Aaric sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. "The mean lady said you lived in Asgard. That's where the gods live." His face lit up. "That's where Thor lives!"
Prudr was glad to see that the kid was feeling better, despite his newfound affinity for a certain god.
"You like him?"
"Yeah, he's my favorite. He has a hammer that can smash through mountains! He's the strongest of all the gods. I wish I can be like him someday. Then my father can't force me to learn how to read and write because I'll be strong."
Prudr chuckled softly even though a heaviness weighed her down. "Physical strength isn't everything." She poked his chest, right above where the heart should be. "Strength from here, that's where it really matters. That kind of strength will never fail you." She grinned and flicked his nose, making him giggle with delight.
They were nearing the edge of the river and she could see Olaf and the others waiting for them.
She leaned down to whisper into his ear, "Hey kid, no telling nobody, okay? This is just between you and I."
"Don't worry. I swear I won't tell anyone."
"Good." She set him down and nudged him in the direction of Jarl Alvid. "Go on, now. Your father's been worried sick."
"Pa!" Aaric shouted excitedly and ran to his father who in turn rushed to meet his son halfway. Alvid embraced his son in a tight hug, utter relief and joy on his face and Prudr smiled.
She was glad the boy was okay and the father saved from the devastation of losing a child. It was times like this that reminded Prudr that even in this world of cruelty they lived in, there was still love to be found somewhere, no matter how small or insignificant and to someone, that kind of simple love is their world.
Jarl Alvid released his son, though keeping him close under his arm, and marched to her. He stuck out his arm and she grabbed his forearm instinctively.
"Thank you," he said firmly, "You've brought me back my son. How will I ever repay you?"
Prudr smiled softly. "There is no reward for saving another man's child."
Alvid nodded in understanding and freed her arm just as Olaf approached them and clapped her on the shoulder, a wordless way to say he was glad she had returned safe. They were all distracted when the fog shrunk back and dissipate into thin air, leaving no trace that it had ever been there.
"That's it, then. It's over," Leif proclaimed breathlessly, the ex-slave covered in blood and dirt.
"No," Alvid looked around, his face grim. "There is still much to do. We must burn all the bodies and send word that the people who fled can return."
Prudr tightened her lips. "You cannot do that."
The jarl threw her a questioning look. "Why not? It's safe now."
"It is not safe."
A nervous murmur swept through the crowd and the air became ripe with tension.
"What does she mean?" someone voiced.
"Are there more?" another cried out.
"Thrud," Olaf said, worry interlaced in his voice. "What aren't you telling us?"
She could feel everyone's hopes plummet, the strength she had gifted them draining from their hearts and the truth, the truth of Ragnarök will only make things worse.
"It's not over."
Prudr gazed at all the faces present and knew she won't be able to save them all.
"This is only the beginning."
After hours and hours of hunting in the snowy terrain, father and son caught only a pair of twin, white coated hares.
"They'll make for some fine stew," his father commented, stringing them at his waist.
"Again?" Atreus grumbled but stopped when he caught the look his father sent him. He hadn't meant to complain and he did feel bad about it but there was only so many times they can eat rabbit stew before it weathered down on the tongue. He craved variety. He craved warmer weather.
Nighttime was coming fast.
They were on the path home when a thunderstorm caught them by surprise. It came so suddenly that by the time they managed to find some cover underneath the alcove of a rock, they were both soaking wet.
The raindrops echoed in the small concave as they sat in silence waiting for the storm to pass.
Atreus was gazing out at the gloomy landscape when in the distance, multiple strikes of lighting hit the side of a mountain!
"Father!" he shouted and pointed in awe as the sky over there lit up. He has never seen anything like that before and he realized with a slight tinge of fear that this couldn't have been natural.
"Something's angered Thor," he said quietly, just in case the thunder god himself could hear him and strike him down, too.
His father made no comment and when the rain stopped, he got up and tapped Atreus on the shoulder. "Let's go."
As soon as they stepped inside the cabin, they shed their wet outer clothes and huddled by the fire, watching the stew bubble inside an iron pot. Once it was deemed edible, Atreus poured some stew into two bowls and served his father first, then himself.
He took a few bites then sighed. "I miss mom's cooking," he mumbled softly.
No reply. Then-
"So... do I."
Atreus peered at his father. He set the bowl down on his lap, frowning at it.
"I just... I don't understand." His fingers tightened around the spoon. "She was fine. There was nothing wrong with her-"
"We will not talk of this."
Atreus blinked up in surprise. "But I thought-" I thought we could talk about this. About mom.
Kratos stared back with a quiet intensity in his eyes, the fire flickering in their reflection.
Anger swelled in Atreus' chest, making his arms buzz with the need to throw his bowl across the room. But he didn't do any of that. One, because he knew it was wrong and two, he knew his father would make him clean it up afterwards.
So he sulked, unable to take another bite from his stew.
"Atreus-"
"No, I get it," he snapped, looking anywhere but at his dad. "You don't want to talk about it." His father didn't reply and somehow he wasn't satisfied with that response. "You know, I thought things were different. I thought I could talk to you. But, you're not mother. You will never be her."
The seconds those words left his mouth, a stab of guilt hit him. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh. He was just angry and... hurt?
His father didn't say anything so he continued eating in tense if awkward silence.
"Son," he heard his father say, "you can talk to me-"
"Do you hear that?" Atreus got to his feet and stared at the door.
"I hear nothing."
"Something's out there." The feeling of hunger gnawed at his stomach but hadn't he just ate? And it was cold and they were scared. Atreus made to the door and swung it open, ignoring his father's protests.
He saw nothing at first but trees and snow. A soft mewl drew his attention downwards and there, almost buried in the snow, was a tiny wolf pup.
"Father, look!" Atreus exclaimed, picking up the wolf pup and turning to show him.
His father came up behind him and tilted his head, examining the pup with indifference.
"We will not keep it."
"What?" Atreus practically shouted. "Bu-but we can't leave him out here. He'll die."
"Then it dies. It is none of our concern."
Atreus stared at him in shock. "How can you say that? What if it was me shivering in the cold."
Kratos gave him a funny look. "You are my son."
"That's not- what, why can't we keep him? I can train him!"
"It is a wolf, a wild animal. They will never be tamable."
"I won't leave him out here to die."
"You will do as I say. It is just an animal."
Atreus clutched the wolf pup to his chest possessively. "It is not just an animal. He's alive and he's scared. He just wants to survive..." He cradled the pup and it looked up at him with big round eyes. "... just like us."
"Fine," his father said. "Then stay out here with it."
The door slammed shut before Atreus could utter a word. He stood in disbelief for a moment, then tucked the pup underneath his shirt and sat in the snow in defiance. He didn't care. He wasn't going to let his father win.
Kratos grumbled and went back to his seat by the fire.
Disobedient child. He has still much to learn.
Calliope was never this defiant-
Every inch of his body tensed and a cold sick feeling washed over him. His heart pounded underneath his rib cage and he squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth grinding together till it ached. It felt like the world was spinning and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
Breathe.
Her voice filled his mind.
Breathe, Kratos.
He could see her now, her face clear as day.
Just breathe.
"Why is this happening?" he had once asked, delirious and afraid.
"Your anger is all gone."
The first bouts of breathes were always the hardest but it got easier the more he controlled it. It took years of practice to calm his mind, then his body. But the thoughts still lingered and that was something he never had control over.
He sat, staring into the fire, trying to let it consume his mind so he could not think of anything else when his son burst to the forefront of his mind. Steadily, he stood up and went to the door.
Outside, Atreus scrambled to his feet and held his chin high, trying to appear strong when Kratos can see him shaking in the cold night air.
"Get inside."
To his credit, Atreus did not immediately dash into the warm cabin and instead stubbornly stayed in place. "We're keeping him?"
"We will keep it."
"Him. We are keeping him."
Kratos squinted at his son. "We will keep 'him'."
Atreus smiled victoriously and jogged inside, nearly running to the fire. Kratos followed him and sat, eating his stew, watching his son pet the wolf pup and feeding it chunks of cooked meat.
"Do not get too attached. We will only keep him until he is able to fend for himself," he said when he saw his son being too happy with the pup.
"That's fine," his son answered nonchalantly, making Kratos suspicious. "He can help us hunt till then."
Kratos hummed. The thought hadn't crossed his mind but it wasn't all too bad an idea. If, that is, the wolf can be trained to do just that.
"Boy," he called, gaining Atreus' attention. "The wolf is your responsibility now. You will take care of him and train him."
"I understand, Father. I will."
With his stew gone, there was no more food to be had for the pup so the little thing wandered over to Kratos. The animal wiggled its body, whining for any leftovers. Kratos eyed the pup and placed two fingers on its rear.
"Sit," he said, forcing the pup's hind legs down. It sat and he gave it some food.
The second he removed his fingers, the pup got on all fours again, wagging its tail for some more deliciousness.
"Sit," Kratos commanded, this time not reinforcing the action with his fingers. Surprisingly, the pup sat.
He raised a brow. Impressive.
"Have you chosen a name for him?"
Atreus grinned. "Fenrir. He's a wolf from mythology. He eats Odin."
Kratos huffed in amusement. "A fitting name."
"Father, about what I said about you and mother. I'm sorry."
He gazed at his son, a gentleness in his eyes. "I will never be like your mother. No one can ever be the person she was. But know that you can talk to me. Maybe never in the way you did with her. But... I am here. Remember that always."
Atreus smiled a small smile. "Thank you, Father."
The fire was put out and they crawled into their beds to rest for the night.
As per usual, Kratos laid awake, practicing his meditation when he heard something moving to his left. He felt soft fur brush against the side of his face and then a warm body curled around his head, followed by a lick or two.
He was tempted to dump the pup back on Atreus' bed but he couldn't be bothered. It wasn't hurting anyone.
Besides, it kept his bald head warm.