Face my Fears
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Kratos forced himself to stare ahead at the horizon as he told Atreus the full breadth of his past in Greece. He told him everything. How Deimos's kidnapping had fueled his drive to become the greatest warrior Sparta had ever seen. The cruel training he underwent in the Agoge—the only bright spots being his mother and Atreus of Sparta, both taken from him far too soon. How he met Lysandra, found love, and had Calliope, the greatest joy he had ever felt at the time. How he led his men to a massacre and begged for Ares to save him from the Barbarian King Alrik in exchange for servitude. How he grew crueler and colder with every campaign under Ares, fueling his own ego and bloodlust. How he lost himself to that bloodlust and killed his wife and child with his own two hands, and then had their ashes bound to his skin as an eternal mark of his sins.
Atreus's breath hitched at that, but Kratos ignored it. He couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.
He continued his tale, the services he performed for the gods as a means for atonement and penance. How he lost himself to base pursuits of lust and rage in an attempt to drown out his own guilt and self-loathing, especially he had to leave Calliope in Elysium, having broken her heart once more. How he grew crueler and crueler with each passing day, uncaring of the innocents he harmed so long as he accomplished what he desired. How he slayed Ares for a chance to be free of his sins, only to be saddled with the title of God of War. How he found and lost his mother and Deimos in short order after thinking them both dead. How he then led Sparta in brutal, cruel campaigns to conquer all of Greece, giving Zeus an excuse to act on his fears of the prophecy of the 'Marked Warrior', and all the chaos and destruction that followed.
When he finished, Kratos found himself short of breath, his throat dry and heart hammering in his chest. He…He was shaking. He must look like quite the sight. What his son must now think of him now! If he were smart—and he was—Atreus would want nothing to do with him anymore. Would flee before Kratos had a chance to ruin him as he had so many others. Before he could once again ki—
Kratos jolted as a weight latched onto his chest. He looked down to see his son—he was so big now—hugging him fiercely, tears flowing down his cheeks. Kratos worked his mouth multiple times before breathing out a near-silent, "What is this?"
Atreus sniffed and looked up at him with a watery smile. "You just, you looked like you needed a hug." Kratos blinked down at Atreus, before slowly, carefully, reciprocating the hug. His knees grew weak, and he slid down against a rock, holding onto Atreus like a lifeline.
Kratos let out a shaky breath, and almost laughed. Freya and Mimir had been right, of course. Atreus…His son was good to his core. Even in the face the monster his father had once been—had always feared he would become again—he loved him still. He did not know how long they stayed seated like that. Ultimately, he did not care. But eventually, Atreus's choppy breaths evened, and his eyes dried until only tearstains lined his cheeks. Kratos loosened his grip, and Atreus pulled back to sit across from him—but still, they held onto each other.
"Father I—" Atreus began, only to fall short with a painful frown. "I can't even begin to imagine how horrible that was. To live through it all."
"It is my hope that you never will," Kratos solemnly swore.
"And for you to tell me." His son shook his head. "I can see how much it weighed down on you." His eyes shone with the unasked question, 'But why now?'
Kratos cleared his throat. "Ever since we spread your mother's ashes, I have wanted to tell you of my past. To be open and honest with you. But I have always been afraid of…of what you would think of me." He looked down at his lap. "I normally have a tight control on these feelings—I have grown adept at ignoring it—but there have been…changes. You know of my journey through the remnants of Valhalla?"
"Yeah." Atreus nodded with a slight frown. "Tyr wanted to help you with your past, right? You never elaborated—well, I didn't want you to. It all seemed so…personal."
"He did." Kratos sighed and looked back up at his son. "It helped tremendously to get me to come to terms with my past sins." He could never thank Tyr enough, if he was being honest. "But…they were still my sins. I had been content for none to know but Tyr and Mimir, yet you were always at the back of my mind. You deserved the truth, yet I would always hesitate."
"You wanted to tell me outside our home," Atreus said, slowly coming to the realization. "Before we went to Svartalfheim. We were talking about…Sally." His son took a deep breath. "Oh! She…she reminded you of Calliope, didn't she? Like Pandora did?"
"She did, in a different way." Kratos replied. Physically, and mentally, Sally and Calliope were nothing alike. But seeing her care for Mr. Bubbles, and him lovingly protect her in turn, was like staring at a reflection of him and his daughter. A monster, loved by a child that deserved better than he could ever give her. "Traversing the Lyngbakr's dreams solidified my desire to speak the truth to you. The feel of the Dream…it brought to mind some memories of my past in Greece." He sighed. "And speaking with Freya and Mimir strengthened my resolve."
"So…Freya, Tyr, and Mimir all know about this?" He shook his head. "Not that that's a problem, or anything! I mean, you're free to tell whoever you want, and I completely understand why you didn't tell me before now."
Kratos smiled and raised a hand to Atreus's cheek to calm him. "I only told Freya that I killed Lysandra and Calliope. Mimir and Tyr know of the event, but they do not know that I personally did the deed." Mimir hadn't, at least—though given their last conversation, he no doubt came to the correct conclusion. Tyr might know, but if he did, he kept his peace.
Atreus hesitated. "Did…Did Mother know?"
Kratos was silent for a moment. Then, he said, "I told her that I had a wife and child before her, but nothing more. Perhaps, with the Jotnar's gift of foresight, she was aware. I do not know." He shook his head. "If she did, then that makes the love we shared even more remarkable."
Atreus leaned into Kratos's palm for a moment, before pulling away and rising to his feet. He offered his hand, which Kratos gratefully accepted. "Well"—he wiped his face with his sleeve—"that honestly explains a lot. Almost everything, really!"
"There is still more to tell," Kratos said. He had barely spoken of Orkos, for one. "And if ever you wish to speak more of my past, do not hesitate to ask."
"I appreciate that." Atreus led them back down. "Nothing comes to mind right now." He crossed his arms with a bashful frown. "Except…"
"Speak your mind," Kratos said, gently.
"Do you…Do you think they would have liked me and Mother?"
Kratos slowed a touch, his voice coming out with a slight tremble. "They…They would have loved you both." He cleared his throat. "Although, I dread the results of Lysandra and your mother meeting."
Atreus grimaced. "Yeah, I guess that would be awkward. I mean, can you even have two wives at the same time?"
"Not that." Kratos stared wistfully into the sky. "Your mother and Lysandra shared a fierceness that would not tolerate my own foolishness. Were they to combine forces, I would be forced into submission."
"…Oh wow, you're not kidding."
Kratos chuckled. "I wish I was." Atreus joined in his laughter, and they went down towards Tyr's temple. It was there, however, that they parted.
Atreus let out a breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, Father, but I do need some time to really process everything, you know?"
"I understand," Kratos said with a raised hand. "It is a lot."
"Do you…want me to keep it to myself?"
Kratos hummed, truly considering the question. After a moment, he said, "You are a grown man, Atreus—or at least near enough. I cannot control what you do or say." He looked down at his hands. "However, I would ask that you keep Lysandra and Calliope between us."
His son shook his head with a frown. "I would never." He then burst forward and wrapped his arms around Kratos. He did not hesitate to hug him back. "Thanks for telling me." He gulped. "I…I love you, Father."
Kratos took a deep breath. "I…I love you too, Atreus." The words felt strange as they crawled up his throat—he was certain, to his quiet shame, that it was the first time he had ever said the words aloud to his son. Yet, it felt good all the same.
Atreus squeezed tighter at his words, before pulling back. He turned away, surreptitiously rubbing his eyes. "Hey, uh, don't expect me back home tonight." He cleared his throat. "I'm not staying away or anything, but I'm probably going to spend the night in Vanaheim. I'd planned on spending a few hours working with the Jotnar which honestly shouldn't take all that long, even with all the time we spent here." He chuckled. "But considering the fact that we just left them there for Freya to deal with, I think I'm going to have to spend a fair bit of time smoothing things over."
Kratos blinked. He'd almost forgotten about that. "I shall help you."
But Atreus shook his head. "No. You…You take a break, Father. Please. I know it wasn't easy to tell me everything." Kratos was grateful for his son's sense of empathy, truly. But he did not want to fall back into the habit of leaving others to deal with the consequences of his actions.
"Father," Atreus said, stopping him before he could speak. "I'm serious."
Kratos grunted. "Very well. But if need be, direct Freya's ire to me."
"Don't think I'm gonna have any trouble doing that." Atreus smiled at him, before shifting shape into a bird and diving off the side of the mountain. Kratos followed his shape until it vanished into the mists below, feeling better than he had in…centuries.
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Despite his son's worries, Kratos did not feel drained. Well, terribly drained. He did feel the lingering sadness that his memories of Greece always carried, but more than anything, he was filled with frustration towards himself. That he'd waited so long to tell Atreus of his past. So much pain and worry where there did not need to be.
So, rather than stew on those frustrations, Kratos did what he did best. Channel it into something productive. To that end, he travelled to the grounds that the Midgardians had claimed as a special area to celebrate Ragnarök. He considered stopping at Skjöldr's village to speak with Sora, but ultimately decided against it. Kratos was to wound up still, something Sora's empathic abilities would no doubt pick up. And he didn't want to distract him from his efforts in cooking with the Midgardians.
When he arrived at the grounds, all movement stopped. People stared at him in awe, and they were so distracted that two men hoisting up a log onto a roof hadn't noticed their grip slacken until log's rope slipped from their grasps.
Kratos darted forward in an instant, easily catching it before it could crash to the ground. He stared up at mortal pair. "Do not allow yourself to be distracted, lest injury occur." They were lucky no one had been close enough to actually risk injury, otherwise he would have had much harsher words for them.
"Of course, my lord!" the pair chorused, and quickly worked to lift the log onto the roof. As if a spell had been lifted, the people around him returned to their tasks. They all snuck glances—of course they would, Kratos's appearances were rare—but worked diligently all the same.
An older man—a little older than fifty years old, perhaps—walked up to Kratos and bowed awkwardly. "Greetings, Lord Kratos," he said hesitantly, "I'm Uller. I'm in charge of all the construction being done. It's an honor for you to visit." The polite words clashed with his rough tone.
"There is no need for ceremony," Kratos replied. "I simply wish to observe the progress you have made and offer my services."
Uller's face shifted into one of shock, then gratitude. "O-Oh! Well, that's awful kind o' you, but I'm afraid we've got everything pretty much wrapped up here. Still got some finishing touches to do on the buildings, but there's not much else until we start moving things over for the celebrations." He shrugged. "Small stuff, though. Goods to trade, pots and pans for the cooks, all the stuff we need for the games. Nothing we'd need to ask you for, really."
Kratos grunted. "Games?" he repeated.
Uller scratched his chin. "Yeah, games. You know, Knattleikr, Glima, Finnbogi, axe-throwing. Hnefatafl, and various dice and card games if you're not the physical kind o' fella. You know, fun stuff." Kratos inclined his head in acknowledgement. He knew these events, though he had never partaken in them. He had observed them being played in Vanaheim and Midgard, however, and Dwarves and Elves had their own versions suited for their physiques.
It reminded him of the Olympics in Greece—and it had been ages since he'd ever thought of those. He'd only participated in one as a soldier of Sparta, so long ago. Before he'd married Lysandra. He dominated the Javelin throwing and Pankration competitions, he recalled with some fondness.
The memories got him thinking. After a moment of silence—during which Uller fidgeted and began sweating—Kratos asked, "Would it be amenable for me to introduce other competitions?"
Uller goggled. "Other—Well, we'd be honored, o' course!" He coughed into his hand. "At least, I think so. But Lord Skjöldr's the one that's really in charge o' all this. Should probably talk with him."
Kratos nodded. "Did he say when he would return from Vanaheim?"
"He said he wants to be back before sundown." Uller shook his head. "But he and the others probably won't be back until tomorrow." Kratos let out an amused huff—he had been traveling to Vanaheim a lot, lately. He should convince Freya to allow a Mystic Gateway into the palace—his personal room, perhaps.
Kratos bid Uller goodbye and began a slow trek back home, thoughts of the Olympics and its games on his mind.
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Upon returning home, Kratos took the wolves on a hunt. Svanna, as Atreus had said, resisted the excursion, and it was only Speki's repeated nipping on her tail that forced her forward. Her sour mood was almost amusing, and a welcome distraction from recent events.
When he returned home—the wolves fed, if tired—the sun was just beginning to dip over the horizon, and he wasn't terribly surprised to lights within his home. Same with the pleasant smell wafting from it.
He opened the door, and there was Sora, bent over and stirring the cooking pot.
"Hey Kratos!" the young man said with a wave. "I've got a stew going, just give me a bit." Kratos nodded and removed his axe and the Blade of Chaos before sitting down at the table. "You get those olive and cherry seeds planted?"
"I did." Kratos allowed himself a smile. "With Freya's magic they shall bear fruit within a week's time."
"Just in time for the festival, huh?" Kratos nodded. He noted that Sora stared a little heavily at him—nothing concerning, merely questioning. But the look vanished as quickly as it appeared, so Kratos let it be.
"And you?" he asked as Sora added various spices to the soup. "How was cooking with the Midgardians?"
"Oh, it was amazing!" Sora spread his arm's wide, some soup flying out at the spoon's movements. "They've got all these herbs that I've never even heard of, and the ways they prepare their meats is different than what I learned." He delved more into the exchanges of cooking knowledge between him and the Midgardians. He learned more from them, he admitted—they simply didn't have the ingredients to replicate most of the dishes he knew—but they were impressed by his efficiency in the kitchen.
Kratos grunted with amusement. "You are quite taken with cooking," he noted.
Sora stilled for a moment, staring down at the pot with a wistful smile. "Ah, well…I guess it's just something different, you know? After Destiny Islands fell, there wasn't a lot of room for fun. I got some enjoyment visiting Pooh Bear and everyone in the Hundred Acre Woods, but something was always going on that I needed to fix with them, so it wasn't entirely relaxing." Kratos had no idea who this 'Pooh Bear' was, and was glad Mimir was not there, otherwise he would have forced the conversation to diverge.
"Last time I visited Atlantica, Donald, Goofy, and I joined Ariel and her family in a play. And I was really excited!" Sora took a deep breath. "There were no Heartless or Nobodies causing trouble, no crisis I needed to help solve. It was just a time to relax in the middle of all the chaos and have fun with a good friend." He frowned. "And then Ariel and King Triton had this huge fight, and Ariel made a deal with Ursula—for some reason I still don't understand. She tried to kill us and enslave their World!" He rubbed his brow. "Not to mention I have no idea how she came back to life."
Kratos left him to stew and grumble to himself about resurrecting foes. After a moment, Sora calmed, a small smile worming its way onto his face. "But cooking? The only drama I had to worry about was Uncle Scrooge yelling at me to hurry up and not indulge Little Chef in experiments during the dinner rush."
"It is good to have an outlet," Kratos replied.
"And what about you?" Sora asked. "What do you do for fun?" Sora held up a hand before Kratos could speak. "And don't say training or fighting."
Kratos huffed and rolled his eyes. Although, truthfully speaking, there was little he did for 'fun' outside of training, which he did genuinely enjoy. Except…
"I walk." Sora arched a brow. Kratos elaborated. "There will be times where I simply venture out into the surrounding woods or another Realm to…observe nature." It was something Faye had dragged him into doing before she grew sick. At the time, Kratos considered it beneath him, and indulged only for her sake. But after Ragnarök—after Atreus had left for the first time—and the initial upheaval of reconstruction passed, Kratos went on a walk like Faye would have once forced him to join. If only to change his routine for a day. And, despite his internal grumblings, it was…enlightening. There was a freedom to the Realms that hadn't existed even before Faye's passing. An earnest sense of growth that had no doubt been stifled by Odin's tyrannical rule.
He felt closer to Faye, during those walks.
Sora smiled. "Well, if you ever want to go on a walk, don't let me stop you." He shrugged. "And if you ever want company, I'm here." Kratos nodded in thanks, and they spent the rest of their time in comfortable silence.
A silence that was broken by the excited barking of the wolves, just as Sora began to serve the stew. They tensed at the sudden noise, but Kratos—and then Sora—relaxed when the wolves did nothing more than yip and bark. There were no aggressive growls or fearful whimpers.
Then, a knock on the door.
Kratos went to open it, and let out a grunt at the sight of Tyr.
"Kratos, Sora," the Asgardian God of War nodded at both of them. "May I come in?"
Kratos stepped aside. "We were just about to eat."
"Ah!" Tyr smiled, his golden Bifrost eyes shining in delight. "Mimir has heaped a great deal of praise upon your food, Sora. And he can't even eat it!"
Sora snorted and set another bowl before sitting down himself. "Hope it doesn't disappoint." Tyr sat beside him, and Kratos took a seat opposite both of them.
Upon taking his first spoonful, Tyr let out a pleased hum. "This is excellent!"
Sora sent him a bashful grin. "Thanks." He stirred his bowl with his spoon. "I learned this specific meal from the people down at the village. Just messed around with the proportion of herbs they said to use. Bring out the flavor of the meat a bit more, downplay the carrots."
"To good effect," Kratos added. As they ate, Kratos noted they Tyr kept stealing glances at him. He waited until they had finished before narrowing his eyes at his fellow God of War. "Speak."
Tyr held up his hands. "I mean no offence, my friend. I am merely…noticing a change in your posture. There's a certain lightness to you that I only glimpsed following your trials in Valhalla."
Sora perked up. "Oh, good. I didn't want to bring it up myself. But yeah, Kratos. You feel…at peace, I guess."
Kratos let out a huff. Outside of Mimir, he should have expected that Tyr, the man who helped him come to peace with many of his past actions. And, as he suspected, Sora, a Keyblade Wielder of great empathic ability, would be able to look at him and notice the shift in his entire being.
"You are correct," he eventually said. He looked down at his hands. "I…I had a conversation that has been long overdue." Tyr and Sora smiled indulgently at him, but neither pressed him to explain himself.
Tyr chuckled. "Well, as much as it pains me, I will have to put something of a damper on that good mood." He propped his chin in his left hand. "Freya is royally pissed at you."
Kratos arched a brow. "Is it regarding the Jotnar?"
"It is regarding the Jotnar," Tyr said with a nod. At Sora's inquisitive hum, he elaborated. "Atreus journeyed with a number of Jotnar to Vanaheim to assist with Mimir's efforts to heal the Lyngbakr—which I have numerous questions about." He levelled Kratos an amused glare. "And Kratos disappears with Atreus for hours, leaving Freya to juggle both them, and the Midgardian leaders that came to visit."
Kratos shifted in his seat. "It was not my intention to—"
"There's no need to explain yourself." Tyr gently cut him off. "While Freya is, and I can't emphasize this enough, royally pissed, she recognizes that you wouldn't simply leave with Atreus if it wasn't important." He sniffed. "Though I would apologize sooner rather than later. Leave her to stew long enough, and she may try and wring your neck when next you meet."
"She has never been able to before," Kratos replied off-handedly. Both Tyr and Sora chuckled at that. "Is that the reason you came?" Kratos asked Tyr. "To inform me of something I had already inferred."
"No." Tyr sighed "Did you know that the Midgardians are the only ones that actually celebrate it?"
"Somewhat." Kratos crossed his arms. "I am aware that there are no such celebrations in Vanaheim—openly celebrating Asgard's destruction would be in poor taste, considering all the refugees. And the majority of the soul-displaced Giants do not remember enough of their past to warrant true jubilations. But I know nothing of Svartalfheim or Alfheim."
Tyr nodded. "The dwarves hold private celebrations among family and their closer friends, but nothing grand. For all their relief at Asgard's destruction, they spent too many years under its yoke. They are still healing, and overt recollection may stoke some…unsavory emotions." He sighed. "The elves, on the other hand, care little for Asgard's destruction. Instead, they mourn the loss of Freyr. It's beneficial, in some ways—every year it brings the Light and Dark Elves closer together. But it is a very somber time for them all." He smiled wanly. "The only ones to openly celebrate the fall of Asgard are the Midgardians—for good reason, considering what Odin tried to make them do."
Kratos grunted. "You are wrong about the Midgardians."
Tyr leaned back with a frown. "Oh?"
"They do not celebrate Asgard's fall, or even Ragnarök itself." He shook his head. "The celebrate the fact that they survived."
"That's right," Sora added. "I was asking around about the festival—why they were building a separate ground instead of just celebrating in each village, or all going to one of the bigger ones. Dagny—the head chef of Skjöldr's village—told me that it's because Skjöldr and the other leaders got together one day a few months ago, and it just sunk in that, despite all odds, they were alive. Even after Dragur and other monsters went wild and Odin tried to trick them into dying for him, they returned to Midgard and were able to rebuild." He gestured to Tyr. "That's what they're celebrating."
Tyr frowned. "I see. I never realized, and it certainly didn't come up during the talks today" Then, he smiled at Kratos. "They celebrate Hope." Kratos let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. In hindsight, it was obvious. Unbidden, he recalled Pandora, and the message she tried to impart to him, that had taken so long to sink in.
"The main reason I came," Tyr said, "was to get your opinion on, and possibly support, on the Midgardians opening their doors to the other Realms." He smiled. "And given what I have just been told, I am all the more eager!"
"If I present the idea, they may be amenable." Kratos furrowed his brow. "But it would take work, and if all the races are to come, we must accommodate them." He shrugged. "And the Jotnar, but all of them save for Atreus, Angrboda, and Gryla are animals—though Gryla is truly a giant. It will be easy enough to accommodate them." Most of them would probably just eat grass.
"Yes." Tyr hummed. "Certainly, whatever buildings exist will need to be reworked for the Elves alone. But if we convince the Midgardians, Freya would no doubt be willing to send over some Vanir skilled with magic to do the heavy lifting."
"Ooh! You get people to bring over traditional dishes from their homes!" Sora exclaimed.
Tyr laughed. "Yes! Nothing soothes over nerves quite like a fully belly!" Kratos allowed himself a small smile as they spoke further of the ways to bring the races together to share the Hope the Midgardians held after Ragnarök. The shadows of the setting sun danced in the corner of his eyes, and he saw a specter of Pandora wave at him. She looked proud.
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As the excitement of the conversation dwindled down, Kratos brought up an idea that had been floating in the back of his mind. "I wish to introduce some sports from Greece to the Realms," he said.
Sora and Tyr both looked at him. "What kind of sports?" the former asked.
"To start, the Javelin throw and Shotput. They would be the easiest to introduce in such short notice."
Sora was still confused, but Tyr hummed in understanding. "You speak of the Olympics."
Kratos nodded. "You have been to one?"
"Yes. Ages ago, following your destruction of Olympus." Tyr smiled softly. "It was the first one the mortals had hosted, after they rebuilt. Everyone was nervous, but they bore Hope in their hearts. It was beautiful." He nodded. "I think introducing them to the Realms is an excellent idea, my friend."
Sora jumped in his seat. "Oh, hey! You guys should host a tournament."
"A tournament?"
"Yeah, you know?" Sora threw a few punches in the air. "Compete against opponents. Work your up the brackets. Prove your strength for all to see!"
The idea of a tournament got Kratos's blood pumping—and he could see Tyr was also interested in the idea. Yet, he let out a sigh. "It might not be the best idea, Sora."
"I concur," Tyr said. "While, yes, there is a certain glory and nobility in proving your strength and might through combat, to have people fight each other to earn a prize with the backdrop of Ragnarök is…"—he trailed off, before settling on the word—"bad."
"Then just don't give out a prize," Sora stated. "It can just be for fun."
"That's no different than a tavern brawl," Tyr noted. "While I can see your intent—if there is no grand prize, theoretically only those interested in the joy of the fight would enter—there must still be some form of structure. Something to work towards."
Sora rubbed his chin in thought. Then, slowly, he turned to Kratos with a grin.
"What?" Kratos asked.
"I think we've got our prize right here," Sora replied.
Kratos and Tyr blinked. The latter said, "Do you mean to offer Kratos's hand in marriage?"
"Wha—no!" Sora gestured to Kratos. "The prize can be a fight with Kratos!" At their stares, he continued. "Think about it. How many times will people be able to fight against a God of War?"
"If anyone wishes to test their mettle against my own, they are welcome to ask," Kratos replied.
Sora dismissed him with a wave. "Sure. But think about it. Kratos, the God of War, the General of Ragnarök, is hosting a tournament to determine who is worthy to cross blades with him. All entrants welcome, but only the strongest will shine above the rest!"
There was an earnest inflection in Sora's voice that gave Kratos pause—an eagerness that he wholeheartedly recognized. A quick glance at Tyr revealed that he noticed it as well.
"Sora," Tyr began. "If you want to fight Kratos, all you have to do is ask."
The young man blushed and looked down at his hands. "Yeah but…tournaments," he whined.
Kratos chuckled. "You have partaken in your fair share, I assume?"
"I've won every tournament I've ever entered, thank you very much!" Sora replied. "They're just…you can forget about things, you know?" He shifted in his seat, and suddenly looked so much younger. "All the stress and worries chained around your Heart, they all melt away, and all that's left is the fight."
Kratos's previous amusement gave way to a sort of melancholy. It was easy to forget, he mused, that Sora was a child. A powerful child, but one stuck in lands far from his own, with the tiniest hope of returning to them.
Tyr sighed and laid a hand on Sora's shoulder in sympathy. "I cannot speak for the chances of a tournament, but if you wish for a fight, I am free right now."
Sora blinked. "Really?"
"Of course!" Tyr smiled. "I would love to test my might against a fabled Keyblade Master."
"Not a Master," Sora replied off-hand, his excitement mounting. "But yeah, I'd love to!"
"You may use the backyard," Kratos said as he rose to his feet. "I shall referee."
Sora shot to his feet and bolted out the door. "What are we waiting for?!" he exclaimed as he left them in the dust.
"That was kind of you," Kratos remarked as he collected his axe and blades.
"He is akin you and I, my friend," Tyr said gently. "Let him, as he desires, forget about his worries. The fight shall occupy his body, while the mind works out the rest."
Kratos eyed him as he led them outside. "That you are eager to test yourself against the Keyblade's might has nothing to do with it?"
"…It can be two things." Tyr muttered bashfully.
Kratos snorted in response.
"And what of you, my friend?" Tyr asked, gently. "Do you need to occupy your body?" He drew back when Kratos turned on him. "I mean no offense."
Kratos let out a breath. "There is no offense." He shook his head. "Later, perhaps. Let Sora be our focus." Tyr nodded and followed him out to the backyard. The moon shone brightly overhead, providing more than enough illumination for the coming duel.
Sora was already at the other end, performing light stretches. "How do you want to do this?" he asked aloud.
Tyr took his place opposite Sora and summoned his spear and shield into his hands. "Let's consider the first few minutes something of a warmup and go from there."
"Warmup, huh?" Sora grinned and held out his right hand. White light and shimmering snowflakes swirled in front of him. When the light faded, Sora held a Keyblade Kratos had yet to see. It looked like it was made of ice—the shaft almost looked like a kind of building or tower—and the blade was a large, sharp snowflake. The token was some kind some snowman, at the end of a frozen vine covered in ice droplets.
Tyr eyed the Keyblade appreciatively. "None of the stories spoke of how beautiful Keyblades could be."
Sora's grin shrank a touch. "You should see Kairi's. It's covered in colorful flowers, and she just looks beautiful with it in her hands." Tyr shifted his gaze over to Kratos, who slowly shook his head. If they started to delve into Sora's lover, and the circumstances keeping them apart, this entire fight would be an exercise in futility.
Thankfully, Sora tore himself from his own melancholy. He shook his head, and fixed Tyr a cocky grin. "Ready when you are!" he proclaimed as he settled into his battle stance.
Tyr tilted his head the strange crouch—Kratos himself had seen nothing like it before meeting Sora either, to be fair. But he settled into his own battle stance soon enough, his shield magically shifting to his back as he held his spear in both hands. "On your mark, Kratos," he said, not taking his eyes off Sora.
Kratos nodded and walked over to the edge of his yard. Sora and Tyr both took steady breaths, focused on nothing but each other. When Kratos reached his position, he drew up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. "Begin!" he declared.
And they were off!
Sora moved first, darting forward with a horizontal slash. Tyr stepped back, and then thrust his spear forward like lightning. Sora leapt back and held his Keyblade before him to block the strike. The weapons collided in a shower of sparks, but despite the force of the blow, Sora held on, and more. After he regained he footing, Sora darted forward, a flash of light in his wake. He diverted Tyr's spear and shoved his weapon upward. Tyr tilted back and was able to avoid the weapon. He did not, however, avoid the ray of light that appeared parallel to the Keyblade's movements, and let out a startled cry. Sora smirked in triumph, and even when Tyr recovered in an instant and landed a solid kick to his stomach—forcing him back—it did not waver.
"First hit's mi~ine!" Sora teased.
"So it is," Tyr acknowledged. "That magic you struck me with is quite unlike any I've seen before."
"It's light magic," Sora replied simply, before dashing forward once more. This time, Tyr kept his attacks quick and light, not engaging long enough to give Sora the chance to get in close when he struck true. Not that Sora did not try, darting in and out like a snake, the teeth of his Keyblade nipping at Tyr's arms and body at every opportunity.
It was a deadly dance, and one Kratos found himself privileged to witness. He had fought against Tyr many times, both within Valhalla—before Hræsvelgr saw fit to tear it apart to create something new—and after. He knew the calm ferocity held within the god's genial frame. It was Sora that was of the most interest, however. He had, of course, observed him in combat, trained with him, and even sparred against him—albeit with wooden weapons.
But it was one thing to see him bowl through dozens of lesser foes, or face giant monsters, and another to witness him duel an intelligent opponent. To see that chaos Kratos knew he could wreak focused and controlled on a singular entity. Especially with the rays of light that augmented most of his attacks and obfuscate his reach.
That gave Tyr the most trouble, Kratos could see. While a Keyblade was not the longest weapon—certainly shorter than a spear—the light magic Sora wielded more than closed that gap. And yet, there was a smile on Tyr's face, an earnest joy in his strikes. Rather than frustration, he felt nothing but admiration for this new form of combat that currently troubled him.
Of course, he was a God of War for a reason.
Tyr weaved through Sora's blows, before summoning his shield from his back to his left hand. Sora moved quickly, bringing his Keyblade down in a sharp diagonal slash, but Tyr caught the attack, and shoved the Keyblade aside, leaving Sora open for a swift stab to the gut. At least, that was the plan, but Sora, white sparks coming to life from his feet, whirled around Tyr at dizzying speeds, even for a god. Tyr had just enough time to widen his eyes in shock before Sora landed two solid blows against his back, and with his final slash sending Tyr sprawling forward with a wave of light.
Still, Tyr kept his footing—though he had to plant his spear on the ground—and looked back at Sora. "Very impressive!" he said sincerely. "I thought I had you there." He picked his spear up from the ground. "If you are not yourself a master of the Keyblade, I shudder to think of the power one might wield." A shudder of anticipation, Kratos suspected. Not that he could blame the man.
Sora grinned. "Well, it's really just a title. But I think it's about time we stop warming up, yeah?" As he said that, however, he did turn to Kratos.
Slowly, Kratos nodded. "So long as you do not damage my home."
"Alright!" Sora exclaimed and spun in the air. Snowflakes formed around him as he came to a stop and held his Keyblade high above him as his clothes flashed white. It expanded into multiple pieces, before the swirling snowflakes collected in front of it, and merged with the deconstructed Keyblade as it coalesced over Sora's arms. As the light dimmed, Sora's furs had been dyed green, the runes for the word 'Blitz' printed on his arms and legs, with a large purple flame printed on his back. The pieces of his Keyblade solidified over his arms, forming a pair of gauntleted claws.
Tyr's delight, if at all possible, rose to new heights. "It can transform?!" he cried in glee. As he did, he dismissed his spear and shield, and summoned two curved swords—Egyptian Khopeshes—while his hands slowly gained a golden glow. Sora merely grinned, before darting forward into the fray once more.
Tyr leapt backwards. A wise move, as Sora drew his right arm back, the gauntlet on his arm growing at least triple in size as he slashed upwards, blue-tinged light and sharp ice crystals following in its wake. Sora flipped in the air and brought both claws downward in swift slashes. But Tyr caught the strikes in the curve of his blades, and twisted his blades such that Sora was sent spinning in the air before a swift slash sent him crashing into the ground.
Sora landed with a harsh grunt, but quickly sprung up with a spinning slash, deterring Tyr's follow-up stomp. Instead, Tyr drew his arms together, and spectrum of blue and purple light spread out from his body and covered the ground around him in a wide circle.
Sora dashed away but was still caught up in the knockback of the magical explosion. Still, he righted himself in the air, and landed with ease on all four limbs. "I didn't know we were using magic!" Sora shouted, before dashing forward once more. This time, he was careful, never devoting both his arms to a single attack. Tyr would still catch his blows, but Sora was now able to twist free to avoid—most—brutal counterattacks, and Tyr had finally gotten the pattern of Sora's magically augmented attacks down able to—mostly—dodge them.
And then, Sora changed things up.
As was his favored tactic, Sora dashed forward as close to Tyr as possible. But instead of slashing at him, he held his arms to his side, clawed gauntlets flowing green as they expanded in size. "Wind!" Sora cried, as he summoned a miniature, green tornado centered on himself. Tyr leapt away, covering his face to keep the dust and debris from striking his eyes, just as Sora was lifted into the air, the glowing blue of Flowmotion covering his body. Sora's gauntlets shimmered, and reformed into the original Keyblade as Sora darted downward and landed a solid blow against Tyr's shoulder, before flipping backward with another slash landing on his torso.
Sora glided backwards, his weapon transforming back into gauntlets, as Tyr recovered. With a sharp, joyous laugh, Sora spun in place, his gauntlets glowing and enlarging as a blizzard whirled around him. Two small chunks of ice grew in size, before shaping into shoes—no, literal ice skates—that slipped over Sora's boots. His gauntlets shrank, changing into a pair of bracelets with large, segmented blades jutting out from their tops.
Tyr let out a giddy giggle, and the glow on his hands spread down to his elbows, and the tattoo on his forehead began to glow as well.
At that moment, a sense of foreboding began to pool in Kratos's gut. Sora pawed the ground like a bull, the ground freezing and cracking with each moment. Tyr's grip was so tight on his blades that they were shaking, the earth splintering under his feet. At the same moment the pair rocketed towards each other—kicking up chunks of earth in their wake—Kratos raced forward.
He used his shield to block Sora's spinning strike and summoned his axe to block Tyr's blades. The force of both blows sent shockwaves down his body, but he held firm. "Enough!" he bellowed. He shoved them both away, recalled his shield, and sheathed his axe. "I said to bring no damage to my home," he admonished the pair, glaring at the lines of upturned earth behind them.
Their battle-frenzy died at that, both God of War and Keyblade Wielder becoming suitably embarrassed.
"I am terribly sorry," Tyr said demurely.
"Whoops, my bad," Sora said with a nervous chuckle.
Kratos huffed. "Lucky for you both I stepped in before any serious damage could occur."
"Oh?" Sora eyed Kratos with interest. "Feel like stepping into the ring?"
Kratos considered the question. Certainly, he was eager to test his might against Sora's—especially after this showing. A thought wormed its way through his head, however. And so, with a grunt of amusement, he said, "If you wish to face me, Sora, you will have to earn the right at the celebrations."
Sora blinked, before his lips spread into a wide, eager smile. "Better get ready to lose then!" he crowed. "Ooh, Tyr! You should join up too!"
"I think the prospect of facing two Gods of War would deter even the most eager of competitors," Tyr replied. "Present company excluded." He turned to Kratos with a grin. "Though I would be happy to help organize the event."
Kratos nodded in thanks, and for the first time in a long while, found himself looking forward to joining a party.
/+/+/+/+/
A/N: Listen, the Valhalla DLC is amazing, but I'm not making it its own arc. Instead, I hope you enjoyed the fight Sora had with Tyr.