Chapter 6: The Choking Realm
Shaken to his bones by the traumatic, invisible force, Atreus's body freezes in place. Cold sweat drips from his head, and his breathing is broken and fast-paced. He still can barely maintain control of his unsteady arms. Even forming simple fists proves to be a challenge at this moment. No matter how hard he tries, the visions inflicted on him won't abandon his mind. It is only the enchanting sight before him that breaks him of his panicked trance.
Across a small pond from him, a hooded figure looks at him. This woman's vibrant amber eyes lock onto his, both startled by the other. Neither one feels threatened but is instead drawn in by a sense of wonder for the other. The tormenting dread in Atreus gradually fades the longer he stares at this blonde-haired maiden. His self-awareness returns, and the nerve-racking shivers cease. Now driven by intrigue, he tries to approach her.
"Hey," he calls out.
The woman flinches at his greetings. Although she does not show to be frightened, her first instinct is to run from him.
"Hey, wait!" he says aloud.
As she dashes off in the opposite direction, a peculiar detail appears. Streams of Emerald light bleed from her white hooded robes. The further she goes, the more her form fades. In the blink of an eye, the woman is gone. All that is left is the streaks of emerald magic glimmering the frozen air. Atreus is frozen in awe by the trick.
"Who was she?" He asks as the chilling winds settle.
Although curiosity clung to him like a hook in his flesh, he ignored the interaction between him and the mysterious maiden. After retrieving the Asgardian helmet, he hurried back to the Temple of Tyr. The Huldra Brothers wait for his return, having unknown interests in the attire of Valhalla's soldiers. While he does wish to arrive as soon as possible, Atreus still finds himself getting distracted by a thought.
Before traversing the long bridge of the temple, he stops himself at a clear reflection of himself. Though the Asgardian metal of the temple has stood for many years, the time has not hindered its shiny quality. When seeing himself in the reflective metals shine, he comes up with an idea. Taking a glance at the Asgardian helmet in hand, and looking back, he decides to put it on.
The pristine craft of it allows him to slip it on with ease. The golden horned helmet weighs nothing when resting on his head. For a moment, he stands, studying his appearance with it on. He takes different fighting poses, stands in different positions and angles. Finally, with arms held open, he personifies the arrogance of the Aesir.
"I am Loki, God of Mischief!" He spouts with pretend hubris. "Kneel to me!"
It takes the Son of Kratos no more than a few seconds to regret his actions. With slight disgust for his appearance and of his performance, he yanks the horned helm off. Shaking his head, he makes his way to the heart of the temple.
When Atreus pries the gates open, he can hear the dwarves at work. The heat from the forge warms his flesh, and the smell of fire and coal relaxes his mind. The clashing of steel and sparks entrance him. Now not so eager to be swift with his delivery, he wanders around the room contently and with nostalgic comfort. Just like when he was a child, Tyr's temple gives him relief, the same kind only found in one's home.
"Welcome back, Atreus," Sindri greets, but remains drawn to his and Brok's work.
As Atreus moves around, he notices two crucial details. The absence of Freya and of the troll's totem piques his interest. Even when closely examining the chamber, there's no trace of either.
"Where's Freya?" He asks.
"Odin's ex said she had to speak with the tree's, or some shit," Brok vulgarly claims.
"She's communing with nature," Sindri clarifies. "The Vanir are very intuned with the elemental spirits. The Gods receive knowledge, warnings, and secrets of whatever realm the spirits reside in."
"I see?" Atreus thinks back to Freya's bond with the animals of the forests. As well as her magics influencing the world around her.
Just as his mind spaces out, he notices a remnant of his past within the room. Broken, but salvageable, the Guardian Shield that his father once possessed rests on the dwarves' workbench. Just a single glance at the armament freezes the Son of Kratos in place. Memories of the Ghost of Sparta battling Thor flash in his head. The sound of thunder bangs in his heart as he thinks back to the cataclysm of that day.
The effort needed to release himself from his heartwrenching trance makes him shake. Thankfully, the Huldra Brothers are too intensely focused on their work to see it. A handful of seconds pass before Atreus can clear away the trauma in his soul.
"Where did you get that?" He asks.
The Huldra Brothers direct their eyes to the Guardian Shield. Their work comes to a halt over what Atreus spots. However, It is Sindri who walks over to the bench and lifts it. Pieces and shards break off by the gentle touch of the dwarf.
"When we went searching for you and Kratos, all those years ago, we were only able to find this in the rubble," Sindri answers.
The dwarf holds the broken bulwark to Atreus. The longer the Last Son of Sparta stares at his father's shield, the more anxious he becomes. Although he begins to reach for it, he cannot bring himself to actually interact with the equipment. His fingers tremble as they hover over it.
"We've been holding onto it for some time," Sindri mentions. "Hoping that perhaps, you or your father would return to claim it... After all, with your mother's axe nowhere to be found, we just knew that you or both you and your father had to be out there somewhere..."
"Speaking of, where did you leave the rest of the axe?" Brok asks, stepping into the conversation.
"It doesn't matter..." Atreus spouts to drop the subject.
The Son of Kratos knows full well where the remnants of his parents' axe are, as well as where he spread his father's ashes. Although he wants to answer truthfully, with a sliver of hope that his mother's blade may be reforged. Another side of him haunts and brings this optimism down. While not believing it impossible, if Faye saw what he had become, would he be worthy of wielding it?
"It was broken beyond repair," looking away from the dwarves' when lying.
For a moment, no one speaks. The air becomes bitter and thin from the harsh tension. Atreus, in sternness, crosses his arms and skulks with his guilty thoughts. Sindri finds this claim to be startling and ultimately shatters his hope of the Leviathan being reborn.
"We once thought the same thing," Sindri comments, glancing at his brother. "That our brotherhood couldn't be fixed, but a kind-hearted boy told us otherwise."
Greatly troubled by this, the dwarves refuse to pester the topic any further. Even with Brok showing agitation with a growling sigh towards it, he still moves on from the discussion. Regret fills Atreus's soul for snapping at them. It instantly weighs on him like a growing boulder on his shoulders.
"Brok, Sindri, I-"
"No need to explain," Brok interjects. "We've built great weapons before, it won't stop now... Speaking of..."
A sudden tether of thoughts draws the Huldra Brothers to their forge. With their large pair of metal tongs, they reach into the scorching heart of their forge. From within, they pull out two searing metal gauntlets. Quickly, the dwarves work to finish their new masterpiece. Hammering away at them, soaking them in oil and water, and tinkering with them by hand when cooled off. After adding leather and fur on the inside, they finish.
"Boy," Brok calls out.
The Huldra Brothers face Atreus, each holding one part of the pair of gauntlets. The size of the bracers is too heavy for one dwarf to carry alone. Like the Guardian shield, they share a similar mechanism to their predecessor. The spiraling nordic symbol of war is branded onto the device, including the dwarves' signature emblem on the other side. The knuckles of the gauntlets are sharpened and have three smaller blades molded to them.
"Try these on," Brok offers.
Together, the two in synch their toss of the gauntlets to Atreus. Not only does the Son of Kratos catch them, but he actually slides his arms into them while in the air. The mechanisms within automatically attach themselves to his forearms. However, the magical chains from his father's blades latch around the bracers in an instant. As a reminder of his pact with them. Atreus pays no mind to this and continues admiring the craftsmanship of them. A look of admiration peeks out of his eyes, impressed by the design and the functions.
"Although we couldn't restore Kratos's shield, we were able to get inspiration from it," Sindri comments.
"We took what was salvageable of the old man's bulwark, and made modifications to best suit your fighting style," Brok adds.
"Although it won't break the strength gap between you and your father, it will add an extra punch to your... Well, punches..." Sindri throws a poorly formed jab when telling his pun.
While Atreus lightly chuckles at the attempt to be funny, Brok squints with irritation at his sibling.
"Don't ever tell a pun, again..." Brok says, slowly shaking his head. "Like the previous shield, it will absorb blunt pressure or force, and if you time it right, you'll be able to redirect it back at the enemy. Amplifying your unarmed hits."
To test the durability and raw power of his gauntlets, Atreus clashes the knuckles of them together. With all his might, he manages to send a burst of wind and ringing of metal across the chamber. The Huldra Brothers are nearly knocked over by the sudden bang. The Last Son of Sparta smiles in awe by the new introduction of his arsenal.
"Incredible," he compliments. "Do you have a name for them?"
After they steady themselves from the glove's impact, Brok and Sindri look to one another with proud grins on their faces. Both crossing their arms boastfully, they look up to an awaiting Atreus.
"Trolls Bane," they answer.
"I like it," Atreus replies.
"That's good because you're going to need them where we're sending you," Sindri says.
"And where's that?"
In the blink of an eye, Brok appears behind the Son of Kratos. The Dwarf's already in possession of the Asgardian Helmet that was needed. Atreus darts his eyes down to him the moment he feels the helmet leave his belt.
"Niflheim, the first realm of the Dwarves," Brok answers while examining the helm. "We need you to get Ivaldi's tools."
"In his workshop?" Atreus asks. "But my father and I searched through that place, we didn't see any smithing tools."
"Of course," Sindri comments. "That's because his equipment isn't in his shop, but beneath it."
"When Ivaldi retaliated against Odin, he delved deep into the world of Niflheim, in search of ancient powers that he could harness for his inventions," Brok mentions.
As he continues on, he begins making adjustments to the helmet. Prying off the overly large horns, hammering at the cap, and grinding and smoothing it. "Which is what inevitably caused the toxic shit storm that drove the dwarves away."
"With no one to get in his way, Odin had some of his soldiers sneak into the realm to uncover Ivaldi's secrets," Sindri continues, assisting his brother as they explain the past. "He had used his magic to enchant his soldiers' armor and helmets to be resistant towards the toxins."
"But he didn't take into consideration the randomly changing maze," Atreus comments, thinking back to his time there before. "So none of his men managed to leave, nor reach Ivaldi's workshop."
With their work nearly complete, the dwarves give a hum in agreement. The two blow on their new piece of hardware and Sindri finishes with a wipe down for sanitary reasons. The germaphobic dwarf now carries what is left of the helm. A slim mouth guard, with small gold cylinders on each side, rests in his palms.
"If we're going to craft the lantern, we'll need Ivaldi's tools," Sindri tells Atreus.
"But the smoke below is much more hazardous," Brok adds. "You'll need this mask if you wish to survive long enough to get them."
Sindri tosses the mask to Atreus, who catches it with a swipe of his hand. When placing it over his jaw, much like Trolls Bane, it latches itself around his skull to fit perfectly. The sound of his voice when inhaling deeply is filtered by the metal mouthpiece. His exhaling releases clean fumes from the cylinders into the air.
"How does it feel?" Sindri asks.
"It'll take me some time to get used to," Atreus replies, breathing slowly and holding onto the mask. "But it's not that bad, I've never felt such clean air in my lungs before."
"Good, do you still have the Bifrost?"
Atreus nods as he begins rummaging through a duffle sack on his belt. Despite the years that have passed, the Bifrost that Kratos once possessed is still intact. In fact, it appears to have been kept in excellent condition and handled with care. The gem within still shines, the metal design is unscratched and without rust. Along with it, Atreus incidentally shows the pair of golden eyes that Mimir once had.
"Are-are those?" Sindri is incapable of finishing his question out of disgust.
"Uh, yeah, sorry," Atreus says while quickly putting both the eyes and Bifrost away. "Mimir wanted me to have them, in case me and my father wanted to return to Jötunheim."
Thankfully, Atreus manages to hide the eyes fast enough to prevent Sindri from hurling. Even so, the dwarf decides to make space between himself and the Son of Kratos to relieve his nausea. Brok, in his brother's absence, walks up to Atreus.
"Alright, boy, there's one more thing you need know," Brok tells him. "While the mask will cleanse the toxins, it won't be permanent. You shouldn't get too sidetracked while in Niflheim, just find his Ivaldi's crap, and get out. The longer you stay, the higher the risk of choking to death and vomiting your intestines are..."
A brief moment of Disturbance freezes Atreus in place. Brok appears all to calm for what he claims may be a fatal risk for the Son of Kratos. A moment passes, with the two awkwardly staring at the other. To break this unsettling tension, Sindri returns.
"Okay, I'm back," he tells them, grasping his stomach in relief. "Is there anything you might need before-"
Worried over what the sibling might add, Atreus holds his hand out to interrupt his sentence. The dwarves watch in silence while Atreus collects his thoughts. The image of such a grotesque death now latches to his mind like barbed wires.
"How will I know when I've found the right equipment?" He softly asks to distract himself from the previous comment.
"They'll be divine looking, impossible to miss," Sindri answers.
"Very flashy, mostly likely having gold accessory, the guy had an ego," Brok adds.
"We won't be able to follow you far into the realm, but you will see us one more time before you get to Ivaldi's Workshop."
The dwarves return to their station and proceed to pack their equipment for the trip. Atreus gives them a nod before making his way to the room of Realm Travel. Given the time that has past, the light bridge has vanished. Even so, Atreus now has the means to remake it. Drawing his bow, he runs his fingers down the string to produce enchanting light. Pulling it back, he prepares a perfectly aligned shot.
"Ljösta," he calls out.
When releasing the strike, the arrow darts like a beam of light. Upon hitting the mark, a flash of light produces the bridge to enter the travel room. Atreus makes his way across the transparent walkway to the gate. Prying its golden gates, the Son of Kratos enters the chamber. The only source of the light flows from the hollow husk of the white oak tree.
When Atreus approaches, he stands over the metal bowl of black and blue water. Though it had been some time since he last used it, the power of the travel room still lives, ready for use. With his Bifrost, Atreus reactivates the chambers magics. The pool bubbled as the gates and towers of each realm emerge before his eyes. The tower of Jötunheim stands out to him the most.
An instant sense of sorrow fills his heart upon a past realization coming to mind. His importance as one of the last Jötnar and how he was meant to be their avenger. He looks to the several tattoos places upon his body, each one meant to symbolize the good nature he swore to follow. The tree of Yggdrasil upon his right pectoral, the several symbols and words inked onto the flesh of his right arm and torso. Each one guiding him, a sign of his desire for redemption.
Brushing away his ill thoughts, he selects the world of Niflheim. The room spirals, flakes of leaves, and snow cyclone around him. Despite how many times he's observed this event, Atreus can't help but feel enchanted by the display. Until at last, the gate to the dwarven realm gives a welcoming glow. To find true peace, he must walk away from his past and follow the light. Unbeknownst to him, he marches headfirst into a destiny that will determine the ultimate fate of the nine realms.