The danger of Asgard has been thwarted, but not without leaving their mark behind. The tall grass and blooming flowers are torn from their roots or smashed into the dirt. Dozens of deep footprints from soldiers and the troll are embedded in the trails and meadow. Whatever wasn't damaged by the Asgardians is stained in blood and littered with metal and corpses.
Atreus, still full of fury, stands in the ruined garden. His heavy breathing can be confused with primal growls and snarls. The change from wolf to man still lingers in his briefly golden eyes. As each passing second fades into the past, so does his internal anger. As he stays frozen in the discarded battlefield, Freya approaches. The uneasy look in her gaze resembles that of despair.
"Did you- just call yourself Loki?" She questions, hesitant to approach him.
The soft tone in her voice is enough to quell him. With one cooling sigh, he turns back to her. Now only an expression of fatigue lingers on him. He can barely keep his eyes open while directing himself to her. His stare of drained, mental absence negates him from focus. Able to acknowledge this, Freya reluctantly approaches him. She lays her gentle palm onto his cheek and with the other on his shoulder. His answer will have to wait.
After some time of recuperating, Atreus makes his way back to Tyr's Temple. Freya, out of concern, accompanies him through Midgard. The two are very quiet during the tread. The Goddess thinks hard on who Atreus claims to be, knowing the legacy of the name. Atreus makes small talk here and there but doesn't receive a meaningful response. He, too, can tell something upsets her but does not wish to pry.
As the two finally reach the temple, Atreus swings the doors open, with Freya's help. While holding the entrance open, he carries with him the massive totem of the troll he slew. Although he uses both arms, he is not strained from the heavy load. Now near the forge where the Huldra Brothers work, he carefully places the pillar down.
"Brok, Sindri! Atreus shouts out, unable to see them.
Once more, Freya recognizes those names. She looks to him, stunned by the mention.
"The Huldra Brothers?" She asks in slight aggravation.
"Yeah, they've been good friends of mine since I was a kid," he mentions. "But usually they're here, I can't imagine where they could have run off to?"
Unwilling to heed out his words, Freya marches past him. While rapidly rubbing the palms of her hands, her golden magic pours from them.
"Gløggr!" She shouts with a wave of her fingers.
By this small gesture, an echo of yellow energy ripples through the air from her palms. The metallic surroundings reflect the mystic powers into every corner and crevis of the chamber. Freya's magic dances and breezes by the two of them, letting loose a chime melody. As they do, Brok and Sindri suddenly appear. The two stand frozen as their glamour has been compromised. Atreus looks down at them in mild confusion, while the Goddess has disdain in her eyes.
"Do you think she can see us?" Sindri whispers, frozen with one leg in the air.
"As long as we don't look at her, we can pretend she's not there," Brok replies, also posing in a half step.
"You two!" She calls out in aggravation.
In a panic, the Huldra Brothers drop to their knees. With arms held high, they graciously and fearfully bow to her.
"Goddess Freya!" They preach, repeating the same motion.
Their attempts to sate her disgust prove useless, as she continues to stare down at them angrily. Atreus stands idle, unable to wrap his mind around what is transpiring. He glances back and forth between them rapidly, his eyebrow raised in worry.
"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," she says with disdain. "Do you know how many have perished by your "greatest creation"? How many lives were ruined by that cursed hammer?"
A spine-tingling shiver rushes up the brothers' spines simultaneously. They cease their gestures of worship and freeze when looking up to the Goddess. Sensing the hostility, Atreus intervenes.
"Hold on, let's calm down," he says, stepping in between them. "Freya, they're my friends. There's no need to be hostile."
Her menacing gaze now pierces his soul in retaliation. Even he's alarmed by this sudden shift of anger. He steps away but holds his hand out in hopes of calming her.
"They're the ones who created Mjölnir," she spouts aggressively. "Helped build the weapons of Asgard that are now being used to cause suffering across the nine realms!"
"I know..."
In the blink of an eye, her fury turns to puzzlement. Every fiber of her body is absolutely still at this revelation. Right as the Goddess ceases her anger, the Huldra Brothers calm themselves as well. They stand, stepping steadily close to Atreus for protection.
"I know they made a mistake," Atreus admits. "But, that was a long time ago, and they've been trying to make amends ever since... If it weren't for them, I might not even be here."
Although it's just a sliver, a soft glimmer begins to take hold in her eyes. Her frown loosens, and even her breathing becomes softer. However, it is only a few seconds after that her fury reignites in her gaze.
"The mistletoe arrows," she recalls from when Atreus was a child. Memories flash in her mind, all appearing in order and eventually revisiting the moment of her son's death. Her focus steers toward the Huldra Brothers once more. With her glare set on them, the two submit and lower themselves more. "You were the ones who gave it to him."
As she uncovers the secret behind the source of the arrows, a thought sparks in Atreus's mind. He, too, looks down at them, but with a look that spells out his bewilderment. Sindri and Brok both swap glances between the gods in front of them.
"Now hold on, sister," Brok defends himself, cautiously rising to his feet. "I don't know anything about any mistletoes. That would probably be his fuck up!" The blue dwarf's finger instinctively targets his rattled sibling.
"Excuse you, you bl-blue toad!" Sindri quickly stands in stuttering defiance. "I was trying to be helpful to them. They saved me! I had to reward them somehow."
"By giving them the very thing that would remove Balder's immortality and draw the forces of Asgard to us?"
With the truth blurted into the air, the room becomes absent of sound. Atreus and Freya, with eyes fully open and unsteady, are devoid of words to say. It takes no time at all for the dwarven brothers to notice their silence. They lock eyes with the gods as the quiet atmosphere sinks into their very souls.
"You knew Balder's weakness the whole time?" Atreus asks, already suspecting it before. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Well..." Sindri is hesitant to answer. A memory of when he met Kratos and Atreus pops into the germaphobic dwarf's mind. Blood and violence reeked off the Ghost of Sparda like a repulsive odor. However, there was also another person that was on his mind at that moment.
"Don't you go silent on us!" Brok says, stepping in between Sindri and Atreus. "There were only a handful of people who knew of Balder's curse and how to lift it. If anything happened to Balder, you knew that Odin would send someone to fetch for us! So, what the Hel were you thinking?"
"It's what Faye would have wanted..." Sindri replies.
His hushed comment renders the chamber speechless. However, it's the son of Faye that's impacted the worst. An immediate sensation of heartache befalls Atreus. It had been years since he heard her name and even thought of her. But his body trembles at the mention of his mother. Even after so many years, her death on top of Kratos's still plagues his psyche. Freya can detect the turmoil in his heart.
"Even if it risked my life, I owed it to her to help her family," Sindri comments. "We owed it to her!" He looks to his brother, holding back the assertive tone in his words.
Brok's unresponsive behavior shows that he agrees. After the two come to a quiet understanding, they acknowledge the distress in Atreus. At the same time, when all eyes are on him, does he internalize his emotional struggle.
"How did you know about Balder's curse?" He asks, releasing a breath of dread.
Just as the Huldra Brothers prepare themselves to answer, Freya steps forward.
"When I learned of my son's fate, I searched for any method that could put him out of harm's way," Freya answers. "I learned that the dwarves had magics that could preserve their creations."
"Indeed," Sindri adds. "The crafting skills of dwarves is unmatched. No matter how much time has passed nor how often our tools and weapons are used, they never get worn down or rust. Some near unbreakable."
The Goddess's aggression ceases as the conversation carries on. She even approaches them as she continues with the story.
"So, I came to the greatest smiths of their species," Freya says. "I thought that maybe they could use their magic for my son."
"But such enchantments had never been put on anything organic," Brok enters the discussion. "No way in Hel, could we guess what would happen, so we refused to pass on the technique. Plus, we dwarves like to keep our secrets to ourselves. It's one of the reasons why Odin despises our kind."
Although Freya shows disappointment in the reasoning, it's quickly dissolved by understanding. She shakes her head, trying to get the thoughts of her son out of her mind. She wanders around the chamber to collect composure to focus on the issue at hand.
"It doesn't matter," she tells them. "What matters now is the problem that lies in front of us... Ragnarök..."
The mention of Ragnarök sends a chill similar to Fimbulwinter through their flesh and bones. Brok's body shakes as he brushes his arms for warmth.
"Atreus, why are you claiming to be Loki?" She asks, distraught over the name.
"Loki?" The Huldra Brothers question with the same tone in synch.
Even with all of the pressure from such attention, Atreus remains calm. At the same time, a small revelation has come to mind. Not once has he revealed that his mother referred to him as such.
"Because I am Loki," he answers. "It was the name my mother wanted for me and even addressed me by it to her people."
Disbelief is painted over their faces at this startling news. Freya lightly shakes her head in denial, not wanting to believe Atreus's involvement in Ragnarök. Even the Huldra Brothers look to each other with worry. Yet, the two look more regrettably willing to accept it. Witnessing the reaction of the group, Atreus can't help but think he's being left out. Are they keeping secrets from him?
"Is there something I should know?" He asks, trying to hold back his frustration.
"You don't know?" Freya asks, becoming more puzzled.
"Know what?" At this point, the ambiance of mystery starts to weigh on Atreus's patience. "What are you all hiding from me?"
"We're not hiding anything from you. It's just-"
Before things can escalate, the Huldra Brothers step into the conversation. Their immediate intervention relieves a majority of Atreus's stress.
"The name Loki is not one that should just be thrown around," Sindri comments.
"Damn straight!" Brok speaks out. "Odin's hoarded the majority of information about Ragnarök, but what is known is that the "God of Mischief" plays a crucial role in it all."
"God of Mischief?" Several mixed feelings emerge from hearing the title. Atreus can't help but feel embarrassed by it. Unable to wrap his mind around it, he scratches his head while pondering.
"Perhaps not the most intimidating thing to hear, but the potential chaos that comes with it makes all the gods shit themselves," Brok claims.
"I don't care what fate has in store for me," Atreus replies. "I'll have no part in it!"
Atreus's determination to change his fate reminds the Huldra Brothers of his goal. Although they won't admit it, they still can't see it being possible. Not wanting to invoke outrage in Freya, Brok, and Sindri fall quiet.
"Then what are you going to do?" The Goddess asks.
"Succeed where my father failed," he replies. "But first, I need Mimir's help. Freya, what did you mean when you mentioned the "Ferryman's Lantern"?"
"The Lantern?" Sindri and Brok ask, having similar knowledge of the object.
For a moment, Freya stands quietly while collecting her thoughts. The Huldra Brothers do the same, though they appear to have more trouble conceiving the information. Separate hums emit from the three as their thoughts race. The Son of Kratos switches his focus between each one, with a dumbfounded expression overtaking him.
"Long ago, there was once a man," Freya begins telling a tale. "His name was Hárbarðr, or as others referred to him as "Greybeard." He was a ferryman who guided lost souls to Helheim. No one knew for certain if he was an Aesir or Vanir god, or something else. What was known is that he had existed as long as Helheim did."
"And he was a big horndog," Brok blurts out.
Everyone in the room instinctively stares at the blue dwarf. Each one of them has a puzzled and slightly disgusted look. Oblivious to the crudeness of his statement, Brok glances rapidly at each person in the chamber.
"You knew him?" Freya questions.
"Yeah..." The blue dwarf's past flashes in his mind. One such event appears that he'll never forget. "I lost my head a while back, and I met up with him afterward..."
"You seem somewhat mentally stable..."
"No, I mean, I literally lost my head... I decapitated myself by accident, and he thought that shit was hilarious. We shared a few pints while having a very vulgar and fun chat about life, sex, and other relatable topics. After that, he decided to bring me back. In exchange, I did him a few favors."
Sindri can't help but bury his face into his gloved palm in disappointment. A regrettable sigh vacates his bearded lips as he thinks back to the absurdity of that day.
"Did you meet him?" Atreus asks the embarrassed dwarf.
"No, but that would explain why Brok took up boat making for a time," Sindri replies.
"Interesting," Atreus comments, ignoring Sindri's troubled appearance. "So, this Greybeard could bring back the dead, as well as take them to Helheim?"
"Yes, with his lantern," Freya clarifies. "An artifact as old as him. It was said to burn so brightly that all darkness near it would be purged. No dead soul could ignore it, nor run from its alluring flame."
The reminiscence of the lantern's power rattles Brok once more. Such a sight is unforgettable to any who looks upon it. This time, he and Sindri both decide to stand near their forge for warming comfort.
"To have such control over the dead, he must have been powerful," Atreus comments.
"Indeed," Freya confirms. "During the genocide of the giants in Midgard, Thor entered Helheim to slay the supposed Jötnar that lived there. The Ferryman fearlessly confronted the Aesir, and demanded he leaves. Despite the God of Thunder's words, his status, and prowess, Greybeard showed little care and was even brave enough to spout insults at him."
"Did they fight?" Atreus questions, showing a keen interest in the story. His arms are firmly crossed while coming closer to Freya.
"No one knows the full extent of what transpired that day," she tells him. "All I can say is that the outcome ultimately lead to Thor being banished. Cursed to never enter the realm, not even in death will he be given entry. The only fate for his soul is the void, nothingness."
"He overpowered Thor?"
"Perhaps not overpowered, but with whatever magics he could muster, was able to gain the upper hand... Even so, it came at a price..." A troubling look befalls Freya's face. Dejection fills her eyes as the final detail comes to light in her mind. "Thor was able to shatter the lantern, and not long after their dispute, did Hárbarðr vanish. Leaving the dead to wander aimlessly."
As the end of her story is told, the same distressing feeling spreads to Atreus. A long exhale leaves his stress riddled body as he leans near the closest wall. For what felt like minutes, no one in the room can find the right words to fill the sound deprived chamber. Even the Huldra Brothers have nothing to add to the situation. Atreus, resting his back on the troll's totem that he dragged in, rubs his eyes tiresomely.
"So what you're telling me is that not only is the lantern unobtainable, but its wielder is also gone?" He attempts to summarize.
Freya, full of guilt for lowering his spirits, cannot bring herself to answer. She, too, lets out a cold breath of shame. Amid their silence and desolate thoughts, Brok thinks hard. His eyes squint, and his frown is tight as he delves deep into his thoughts. If left for too long, he might turn purple from the intense focus.
"Maybe not," he comments while lifting his head. All eyes turn to him, confused but still stuck in a semi gloomy state. "Lady, you were able to bring the head back to life, right?" Brok directs his stained coal finger to her.
"Yes, but I needed a head or a body to do so," she replies, slightly insulted by the dwarf's tone.
"That's a poor excuse..."
"Excuse me?" Her mood returns to aggression at Brok's comment.
The Huldra Brothers take a step back at her sudden shift in attitude. Even Atreus lifts himself up with concern for their safety. He stands close by to ensure nothing goes wrong.
"Hey, cool it," Brok frantically suggests with his hands shaking and waving. "What I meant is that your spells don't solely need a corpse."
"What do you mean?" Freya questions, gradually calming.
"Every spell can be altered into an enchantment. That's how us dwarves prefer to use them."
"That way, it's easier to apply them to our creations," Sindri chimes into the topic. "Whether it be our tools, our weapons-"
"Or anything we forge, such as a lantern," Brok finishes.
Slowly and surely, both Atreus and Freya pick up on the same wavelength as the dwarven brothers. Their fascination and intrigue towards their hints draw them to form a tighter group. Now they stand together as the topic presses on.
"And let me tell you, I got a pretty damn good look at Greybeards nightlight," Brok jokingly states. "I've got the thing memorizes as clear as Mimir's shiny bald head!"
"Are you saying that you can remake it?" Atreus questions, hesitant to be hopeful.
"Maybe not an exact replica, but a variant is possible."
"It won't be as powerful as the original, but with the right materials and enchantments, it should be enough to hold at least one soul," Sindri adds.
Though the chance is slim, it is more fulfilling than an empty promise. The Son of Kratos cannot help but smile at the sliver of hope presented to him. Even Freya is speechless at how well the dwarves' plan is. However, looking upon Atreus's high spirits returning, she too shows a light smirk.
"Which means we have a chance at dragging Mimir's bald ass out of Helheim!" Brok preaches. Quickly realizing how ecstatic he's behaving, he quickly tones down his excitement. Coughing away his enthusiastic attitude, he crosses his arms and frowns. "Not a big deal for the Huldra Brothers, of course..."
"You're fine with creating something that's not a weapon?" Sindri sarcastically asks, hinting back to the past.
"Oh, don't give me that crap, it won't be my first time... Besides-" The blue dwarf glances up at an uplifted Atreus but quickly looks away. Finding his warm aura, both comforting and unsettling. "The kid wants it, not me!"
"Then we have a path to go off of," Atreus says in relief. "What do I need to get?"
The eagerness in Atreus leaves Freya puzzled, rendering her speechless at his sudden resolve. Part of her is still conflicted with how much the Son of Kratos has changed over the years. The question of what he's endured all this time rambles in her thoughts. Though he does not take much after his father, a piece of the Ghost of Sparta lingers in him. Something that she also finds just as unsettling.
"Well, for starters, what the fuck is that thing you dragged in here?" Brok asks, pointing to the tree thick pillar in the chamber.
"A troll tried to kill me," Atreus says, leaving out the detail of him starting the fight. "I was hoping you guys could make something out of it."
"You do know that trolls are almost extinct, right?" Sindri asks.
"He started it..."
Though the dwarves can see through his partial lie, neither one tries to discourage his actions. Neither one can resist the craftsmanship of the trolls' weapon. This being made of metal and black stone, unlike anything that they have seen been used before. The refined sigils carved into it. It does not take them long to study the quality of the pillar.
"I believe you, and I have the same idea," Sindri comments when looking at his brother.
"Damn straight," Brok agrees, holding out a hand to shake with.
As to be expected, Sindri is unable to bring himself to grasp Brok's bare palm. Even with gloves, the thought of the gesture begins to already sicken him. Before he can pull back, his sibling forces the shake. Sindri gags and shakes his head uncontrollably. Even so, now committed, he continues.
"I-I can do this," he tells himself in disgust.
Brok initially found amusement over his brother's sickening attitude. Yet, it does not take him long to get irritable by it. He releases his grasp and moves to his forge. Sindri remains back, resting himself on the table to quell himself of his distaste.
"Would you mind bringing the totem closer," he asks.
Atreus nods eagerly before rushing over to the troll's weapon. In the same way as before, he lifts the front half onto his shoulder. They all watch as he drags it over to the corner of the workshop. A look of fascination is shared between the three as they observe. He drops it down, rumbling the temple around them.
"You've grown so much," Freya comments.
"Time and the oncoming end of the world will do that to you," he replies jokingly. "Which is why we need your help..." He approaches her, stretching his sore limbs that still ache from the battle before. "The only way we're going to make it through this is together." Like his father, he extends a hand of truce. Wishing to make amends for a better future.
Freya is silent over his speech. Though there is truth in his words, there are also complications along with it. To fight against the Aesir again and endanger herself and those around her weighs heavily on her thoughts. As well as working with those she once had harsh prejudice against. What is to come from Atreus's goal? Is it truly for justice, or is it for revenge? What kind of darkness and chaos lie in store for them in the final days? The one thing that stands out among her ill thoughts is her one past mistake. There can be no peace with Asgard. Only their defeat will bring serenity back to the realms.
"Though I still have anger in my heart, I will confine it for you," she tells him. The two grasp arms and lightly shake.
"When this is all over, I hope you'll find peace," he replies.
With their alliance forged, the Huldra Brothers get to work on dismantling the totem. They hammer away at its metal and chisel at its thick stone. The sudden commotion draws Freya and Atreus's focus.
"While we work on the schematics and prints for the spells and design, we'll need you to obtain an Asgardian helmet," Sindri tells him.
"Why so specific with the headwear?" Atreus asks.
"It'll make sense once you make it back."
"Then, consider it done."
Atreus takes his leave, making his way towards the exit of the temple with haste. An exultant wave of emotions flows through him now that he has a chance of reaching his goals. He now has a path to set himself on. Though danger awaits him, the price for his hardships may just pay for more than anything he has sacrificed. Perhaps he may find some semblance of redemption for his past failings.
"Don't kill each other while I'm gone," he spouts humorously.
"Tell that to the lady with the big ass sword!" Brok shouts, hinting at Freya. "Which could have been made better."
A few miles out from Tyr's temple, the Son of Kratos continues to search for any lingering bodies or Asgardians around. The land has fallen quiet by the uproar of Ragnarök. Most denizens are hiding from either the soldiers or by any terror brought upon by the twilight event. Or Atreus may have overdone it with his scare tactic and struck fear in more than just Valhalla's armies. Even so, this brings the Last Son of Sparta relief to know things will be more harmonious. Even if only temporary.
To his luck, and to reignite his skepticism, he finds a lone corpse of an Asgardian scout. The damage done to the body makes it hard to make an accurate guess. Not only are there teeth and claw marks shred into it, but also magical properties. Its flesh looks drained of any natural fluids, with a purple ooze bleeding from the wounds instead of blood. The toxic liquid makes it clear to Atreus that this kill was recent, and the attacker could still be near.
Just as he is about to draw his blades, a sound from his past quells his nerves. Soothing, but with melancholy following behind it.
"Singing?" He questions in minor disbelief.
This voice is familiar, unmistakable. The closer it gets, the more Atreus can make out who it is. However, its lingering presence soon begins to affect him. Along with the song came sounds and voices that played along with the tune. With every second that it remains is another second that pain builds in his mind and heart. He groans as his history returns to plague his spirit. The anguishing sensation drops him to one knee as he digs his fingers into his skull. The clashing of blades, roars of hatred and wrath, and even helpless screams burst in his mind.
Is this not what you wanted, revenge?
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Atreus screams with enough force to awake all of Midgard.
Standing once more, the singing ceases, the sounds and agonizing affliction disperse with it. No one is near. Only the noises of fleeing wildlife surround The Son of Kratos. Unintentionally, Atreus realizes that his arms sizzle and steam from his brief outburst. His arms tremble by the gift passed down to him by his father. A part of him becomes weak for just tapping into the cursed power. Even to this day, he can barely control the Rage of Sparta. To which he refuses to rely on. Fearful that he may be tempted to go blind with it, just as his father did before him.