During Atreus's time underground, the Huldra Brothers wait patiently for his return. Passing by the time, they hammer away at random assortments of weapons and armor. They remain at the front entrance, not daring to risk themselves with the mist, or what lingers within it. Even with the pounding of steel in their ears, the ambiance is too quiet and serene to feel natural.
"He's been gone for some time," Sindri comments. "Do you think he's alright?"
"The turd and his old man have fought uglier than what's in this here maze," Brok replies, entranced by his work. "Give the pup some time, how much trouble could he possibly cause?"
As if the threads of fate decided to bend to his words, the world quakes around them. A rumble, with enough force to shake the brothers' off their feet, has been invoked. After collapsing, not long after does their temporary work area crumble around them. Even the noises of fleeing beasts and abominations can be heard in the distance. A great disturbance has struck terror in even the mindless dead.
Accompanying the cataclysm is spewing fire and ember glistening smoke. The marvels of the maze combust and shatter before the eyes of the Huldra Brothers. Scraps of dwarven metal, bolts, screws, and animatronic shards fly in all directions. Yet, the tremors cease as quickly and abruptly as they came. The structures of the temple remain intact, and all falls silent in the wake of the quake.
"What was that?" Sindri questions, sickened by laying on the flat, unclean floor.
"Heimdall blowing his horn with his ass, how should I know!" Brok snarls with his comment.
While shaken up by the erupting tremor, Brok and Sindri come to their dwarven senses. The brothers' lookout to the realm, now consumed by chaos. Their jaws hang in awe and dread at what has occurred. Even more so perplexed by the unfathomed reasoning behind it. Brazenly, they approach the edge of the entrance of the maze. Despite how close they stand, the mechanisms of the land have fallen silent. Ivaldi's last great work, reduced to ruin and scrap in a flash.
"Are you sure about that?" Sindri questions.
"By Hárbarðr's frozen nipples, I hope so!" Brok wishfully says.
With no actions to be taken, without endangering themselves, they return to their post. Swiftly, they get to rebuilding their workshop. Only minutes pass before everything settles, and the dwarves return to doing what they do best. However, after some lost time of hammering away and sharpening their blades, another disturbance emerges. The sound of heavy steps and grinding metal approaches them.
Looking into the foggy entrance of the maze, the silhouette of a man appears. Just as the dwarves prepare to mask themselves, the figure's features reak of familiarity. Atreus, bloody, bruised, he marches forward in triumph. Chains over his shoulder and in hand, he hauls his reward behind him. The chest of Ivaldi is also tide to his back, with a dark shade of rope.
"Look at that!" Brok comments with a chuckle. "I told you he'd be fine!"
After leaving the mist, what he drags behind him becomes as apparent as diamonds among coal. Wrapped and bound by the chains of Atreus's blades, is the head of the Lindworm. Its jaw hangs open, broken, and still bleeding all the way through Ivaldi's workshop. The plates on its skull and what's left of its neck remain in pristine condition.
"And he brought a head back with him," Sindri adds, revolted by this sight. Unable to keep back the revulsion, he rushes away from Atreus.
"What's with you and your father dismembering heads?" Brok jokingly asks.
Atreus, weary from his battle and hauling, has no response. Instead, he lets out an amused scuff. The moment he reaches the Huldra brothers, he lowers the chains from his shoulders. A sudden whiff of the aroma around them immediately knocks the wind from the blue dwarf's lungs. Instantly, he creates a broad gap of space between them.
"Gods, you smell as shitty as you look!" He spews in disgust, likely referring to Atreus's wounds. "I thought Thor's ale breath was horrendous!"
"Thankfully, I don't feel as bad as I look," Atreus replies, tiresome. "Have you ever seen a creature like this?"
Maneuvering around Atreus to avoid the Lindworms odor on him, he steadily approaches the decapitated head. The Dwarf examines every part of the skull, from its jaws, scales, and even the craft of its armor. Still, he keeps his distance to avoid the decaying stench, and in case it's head spontaneous moves.
"I think I recognize the craftsmanship," Brok adds. "However, the head it's attached to, I got no fucking idea."
"I see," Atreus says with solicitude. "Do you think you two could make something out of this?"
Atreus knocks on the black steel once more. Sindri, after cleansing his gut, approaches right then. Overhearing the conversation, he, too, studies the shielding. Of course, at a distance to prevent hurling up any other past meals of the day. Even so, the longer his sights rest on the serpent, his gag reflex antagonizes him.
"I think..." Sindri is incapable of finishing a single sentence. "We might be..." Once more, he lets out a noise that embodies pure sickness.
"We might have an idea for it," Brok finishes the statement. "Let's bring this back to Midgard!"
In a moment's notice, the Huldra Brothers rapidly begin packing their things in their endless bags. The dwarves are absent-minded to Atreus's exhausted expression while shoving and throwing their tools into their sacks.
"We can't do it here?" Atreus asks.
"Oh heavens, no," Sindri answers. "Too many beasties here, it's too hard to concentrate."
"Speak for yourself, my lunch is waiting for me back at the temple," Brok comments. "Come one, boy! You need to pack on some muscle anyways!"
In a matter of seconds, their shop is packed. In haste, the Huldra Brothers take their leave, leaving him behind. Atreus stands puzzled but expecting as much from the peculiar duo. Without objection, Atreus pulls the chains back over his shoulders. With one hard push, he drags along the head of the Lindworm. Though the heavy load is not too challenging, the battle before was. The memory lets Atreus's mind wander off along with his feet. His next course of action may be just as impossible as his primary goal.
Back in Midgard, at the temple of Tyr, Freya at last returns. She descends like a glimmering star from the skies, landing right at the entrance. The Goddess is armed, equipped, and ready for whatever battles lie ahead of her. With much time to think, and ponder, she doesn't hesitate to enter. Her hatred towards Kratos may linger, but her desire to rally behind Atreus buries her Vanir fury.
Upon walking inside, what she finds strikes her with intrigue and concern. Both the Huldra Brothers, as well as an injured Atreus, work to pry the armor from the Lindworms skull. The metallic, scaley dense flesh clings to the plates. The Son of Kratos digs his heels into its jaw for support, while shoving the sides of it off. With ropes and curved, sharp bars, Brok and Sindri pull and yank away at the dead skin. Despite having a tether that keeps him far from the gore, the germaphobic dwarf still gags and breaths in disgust.
"Atreus, you can't push like that!" Brok states. "Not like that, either!"
"Then how should I do it?" Atreus questions impatiently.
"Get down and dirty under it, and push at the curved end, so you don't harm it!"
"Oh, I'm gonna hurl..." Sindri whispers, looking away from the deed.
As instructed, Atreus rips and breaks off the clinging skin. With some of the tendons out of his way, he lowers himself beneath the shielding. With one more hard push and pull from the three of them, the shard of armor flings off. The three lower and avoid being hit with the ricochet steel that bounces around them. Finally, it lands and skids toward the Vanir Goddess. She raises her foot to meet it, halting it in its tracks.
"Oh, hey Freya," Atreus greets her, poorly wiping himself off.
"Are you alright?" She questions, switching her focus back and forth between him and the head. "What is that?"
"I'm not sure..."
Just as Atreus makes his way towards her, the Goddess halts him in place with a spell. Her hand glimmers with vibrant blue and white magics, covering his body from neck to toe with enchanting water. After his body is drenched, a flick of her wrist transmutes the liquid into powerful winds. The handful of seconds that transpired has left him and his equipment immaculate. Clean and cleansed from the battles earlier. Without any more stains coating his flesh, his old wounds now show to have healed over.
"That's impressive," he comments in delight.
"My father is the god of the sea," Freya says, shoving the plate back to the dwarves. "I learned some of his tricks..."
Thinking of her family, an instant expression of guilt masks her face. A sigh of lonesomeness breezes from her lips. Although the Huldra Brothers can ignore the turmoil, Atreus spots it with the same ease a hawk can locate its prey.
"So, I heard you had to commune with some of your friends," Atreus mentions, shifting the topic.
"With some spirits," she adds. "Including the Valkyries..."
"What did they have to say?"
"Sadly, they can't bring Mimir's soul out of Helheim. He is too far out of their reach... More importantly, they seek an audience with you."
Thinking back to when he and his father freed them, Atreus was fond and fascinated with their charge. Although they served Odin, their loyalty was not his own to meddle and toy with. Honored, the Son of Kratos nods his head proudly. Having them as allies boost his courage, tenfold.
"That will have to wait," he replies while heading back to the Lindworm's head. "There are a few things that must be done, but I will need their help in the next phase of my plan."
"What plan?" Freya questions following behind.
"I'll explain in a little bit..."
The dwarves finish carving the last piece of armor from the serpent, with considerable ease in comparison to before. The flesh, though messy, was far easier to cut through. Eager to work, the brothers' drag it to their workbench. Of course, Sindri keeps his space, already lightheaded from the few times he's already puked. Just as the Goddess and the Son of Kratos reach the decapitated skull of the Lindworm, Freya's eyes widen. An unsuspecting spark of puzzlement scrambles her previous thoughts, directing her to recognize the beast. Her legs cave, dropping her to one knee to get a closer examination of the creature. Atreus stares just as confused, but for her actions and reasoning behind them.
"A Lindworm..." Freya mutters to herself.
The quiet mention of the name freezes the dwarves in place. Just as they were about to get to work, they jerk their heads in Freya's direction.
"A Lindworm?" Atreus and the dwarves ask simultaneously.
"You know what this thing is?" Atreus questions deeper.
"What it is, is impossible!" Sindri states, walking to them. Brok follows just behind, with an expression of denial matching his brother. "We dwarves have never seen one, but I think we'd know if something like this was in our realm!"
"That's because it didn't come from Niflheim..." Atreus adds. He crosses his arms sternly while thinking back to their encounter. Nothing about it made sense, along with everything that came before it. Every story told to him, every legend spoke before bed, never had such an event occur. The group gathers close to him, intrigued by his suspenseful comment.
"Where did it come from, then?" Freya asks.
"It's hard to say," he replies, beginning to pace the room as he describes the event. "Beneath Ivaldi's workshop, the things I saw and felt trembled my mind and understanding of the world... Before I encountered it, I felt the earth rumble beneath my feet... And a voice, calling out, bringing me to my knees from the power of its words..."
"A voice?" Freya questions.
"An earthquake?" The dwarves alternatively ask.
"Unless your speaking about the workshop combusting, we didn't feel an earthquake," Sindri says in disbelief.
The memory of such raw power weakening his will to fight still lingers in Atreus. A hint of denial beats in his chest along with his heart. Surely, he couldn't have been the only one to sense it.
"How is that possible?" Atreus asks the dwarves'.
"More importantly, the voice that called upon such forces. Do you know who or what it was?" Freya pushes harder on the topic.
The Son of Kratos shivers, as though the call is still locked and whispering inside him. He gently shakes his head, resettling his tense nerves.
"I don't know," he answers. "Whatever it was, just by talking, it tore a rift in the realm... That's how the Lindworm came into Niflheim."
"A rift, to where?" Freya asks.
"To a place, I hope never to find myself standing at..." Thinking of the vision once more rattles Atreus's heart. That version of himself yearned for bloodshed and anarchy, such arrogance, equivalent to when he learned of his godhood. Though the person he saw was him, he would never desire such dreadful chaos voluntarily.
"So much fire, conflict, rage, and death," Atreus mutters. "A battlefield within a golden kingdom..."
"Giant walls?" Freya asks. "A massive crowned tower?"
His head is cleared of anxiousness and is driven to focus on the Vanir Goddess. In silence, he stares disturbed that she can decipher and pick out the key features in the vision. By the cold and unsettling expressions of the dwarves, even they know what she speaks of.
"That is Asgard," Freya answers fearfully. "The empire of war, home of the Aesir, the seat of Odin's legacy... Forged in fire, blood, and the trophies of his conquest..."
"That can't be possible," Sindri states in opposition. "The only place you can find a Lindworm is-"
"Muspelheim... The primordial realm of fire," Freya ominously mentions.
The room is silent at the several oddities of these seemingly unconnected events. Though several suspicions linger on each of their minds like starving leeches, none of them can state those suggestions with certainty. The dwarves' ideas are just nonsensical and jumbled with other theories, creating a deaf mess in their intertwined thinking. Freya, for all of her centuries of knowledge and understanding, can't fathom what's the source of such chaotic magics. The world is imbalanced, and Ragnarök is nearly here.
"War is upon us, and the worlds of Ygdrassil tremble at the impending twilight of the realms," Atreus states. "Whatever's coming, we need to be ready for it!"
"How?" The group asks, still puzzled over the past abnormalities.
A moment of soundless suspense follows as Atreus ponders how to state his plan. Many times, has he spoken about his goals. Each one, more absurd than the previous, and always leaving his friends in disarray. Still, to accomplish the impossible, and stand against Odin, one must take the most drastic actions. With a hushed nod, he turns to his allies with courage behind his words.
"I need to build an army to oppose the Allfather, and Thor," Atreus states.
"An army?" The group questions.
"Yes, as much as I appreciate every one of you. We're no match for Odin and his legion."
"Of course," Freya notes. "But what you're proposing is undeniably reckless and unlikely to come easy."
During Atreus and the Vanir Goddess's conversation, the dwarves decide to slip away. Heading to their worktables to multitask with working at their forge, while engaging in the conversation.
"Many have tried to stand against my ex-husband, most were wiped out by his numbers and raw prowess," Freya mentions. "The only ones who could hold their ground were my people, the Vanir, and the Jötnar. Which has yet to resume..."
"Why is that?" Atreus asks, crossing his arms.
"I'm not sure, whatever the reason, Odin is somehow keeping my people in line. Preventing them from taking any actions against him. Without the way to my realm being open, I can't learn why."
"Not just your realm, lady," Brok chimes in.
Immediately, Atreus and Freya turn to the Huldra Brothers. They approach as the master smiths prepare themselves to hammer away at their new project.
"Odin's locked up the remaining three realms with some kind of powerful magic," Brok mentions. Both he and his brother scrutinize the headpiece of the Lindworm thoroughly. "It's clear the one-eyed shit stain is becoming more paranoid, the closer Ragnarök comes."
"Which we need to unlock anyways," Sindri comments. He's scrubbing away the blood from the black steel repulsively. "The metals we need to forge the Ferryman's Lantern are in Svartalfheim."
"Freya," Atreus calls her. "Can you dispel the curse on the gates?"
The Goddess, overwhelmed by everything around her, is hesitant to reply. Concern clouds her judgment over Atreus's plan, as well as the mysteries surrounding him. Her maternal instincts drive her to stand defiant towards the risks he's taking. Centuries of war have left their mark on her. However, her warrior spirit beckons her to stand valiantly at his side. Confliction pulls at her from both ends, neither side tipping or having the upper hand.
"I-I can try, but," her words are scattered in her broken breath. "Atreus, how do you intend on approaching this solution?"
"I can bet that most people, in all the nine realms, would love the chance to take a shot at Odin if they could," Atreus presumes. "In fact, I know where to start."
Even with his words of confidence, Freya still isn't at ease. Openly challenging Odin with an army could be considered suicide in many eyes. However, just as she's about to push the topic on, an optimistic comment leaves her dismissed.
"Being the son of Laufey the Just, who better to have faith in," Sindri compliments.
Freya looks down at the trusting dwarves'. Even after all they've been through, knowing what's at stake, they blindly follow behind Atreus. Though his intentions are far fetched and challenging fate itself, the Huldra Brothers don't think twice about supporting The Last Son of Sparta.
"You believe he can do it?" Freya asks in awe.
"Why the fuck not?" Brok answers.
"If he's willing to try to do better, why shouldn't we," Sindri responds.
"However..." The two comment together.
Rummaging at last through Ivaldi's treasure, the two study and admire his equipment. A glistening hammer of gold and perfectly clean metal shines in Brok's hand. Tongs, and a whetstone of equal caliber glimmers in Sindri's possession. Even a pair of golden gauntlets bleed with energy. Each object radiates with astonishing amounts of magic.
"If you're going to build an army, you'll need to dawn the right weapons and armor for war," Brok states, relishing Ivaldi's work. "Which we're "the" masters of crafting."
"Let's take a look at your gear, Atreus," Sindri asks.
Ecstatic at the dwarves making long-awaited improvements, the Son of Faye immediately obliges to their request. One by one, Atreus hands over his arsenal, lining them up on the worktable for the dwarves' to work on. As the Huldra Brothers get to work, he and Freya rest on the sides. Before their eyes, enchanting sparks of random colors flurry around the room. The energies from Ivaldi's assortment illuminate the forge and the crafts of the dwarves'. Even the fires of the furnace shift from gold to orange and red flames.
The ease of working with such magically enhanced tools expedites the Huldra Brother's craftsmanship. Within a few minutes, there work is complete. Layed out just as before, a fresh, clean look has been hammered and ground onto Atreus's arsenal. However, just as he's about to reach for them, the dwarves' have one more surprise for him.
"Hold it there, boy," Brok interrupts. "You got to put this on first."
From within the heart of their forge, Sindri and Brok relinquish the now reforged metal of the Lindworm. What they lay bear, is a set of black and crimson armor, fitted perfectly for Atreus. The arm and shoulder plates are layered, with sharp blades at the center of each fragment. The chest armor is lightweight, able to be concealed by the leather vest Atreus already wears. With leather underneath for comfort, but only covering his lower torso. The leg shielding and boots match the arm and shoulder pieces.
Too excited for words, Atreus smiles cheerfully while approaching. Freya stands close but gives him enough space to dress. The only fabric the Son of Kratos removes is his fur vest. Paying tribute to his father, Atreus has his father's symbol of war tattooed to his back. Two wolf-like figures are marked on each side of it, with runes meaning "Just and Mighty" at the center. Among all of the runes and sigils, one other detail stands out to Freya. Scars of claw marks on both sides of his back, but not of any animal.
Before Freya can study the old cuts, Atreus begins arming himself. The rigid armor fits adequately and with ease. The Last Son of Sparta cannot help but admire the detail in the craft.
"We call it "Wyrm Slayer!" Sindri states proudly.
"A nice fire retardant armor, that adds a boost to defense, without harming your speed," Brok notes.
"Along with that, your arsenal is back to its peak state. Nice and sharp, and ready to be shot, thrown, or swung to kill your foes."
"Excellent," Atreus comments. "I can't thank you guys enough." One by one, he re-equips himself. Reapplying Trolls Bane and the chains to his arms, sheathing his blades and bow, and refilling his quiver. All of which, doing so in a hurry. For one, time is of the essence, and two, he's eager to run his weapons through a test run.
"One more thing," Sindri adds. "With your equipment back into tip-top shape, and if you still remember. You might be able to do some of those old tricks you use to do when you were a kid."
"I guess I'll have to give it a try," Atreus says with anticipation.
"I'll look into dispelling Odin's magic," Freya says in high hopes. "What will you do in the meantime?"
"Get some recruits," Atreus states, fastening his weaponry to his gear.
"From where?"
"Alfheim."
His subtle comment ceases all actions in the room. The dwarves' halt in disarray during their work. It's only when Atreus finishes coupling his equipment that he notices the looks of confusion.
"You're going to try to recruit the elves?" The dwarves ask, perturbed.
"I have a history with both the clans," Atreus mentions. "I helped the light elves, and even spoke with the dark elf king years ago." Before he can go on, he stops himself. Silent at the crucial detail of murdering the Dark Elves leader. Choosing not to say so to prevent any other worrying. "Maybe if I'm lucky, they both will hear me out."
"And if not?" Sindri asks.
"You'll find out when I get back."
"Be careful," Freya requests.
To help ease her anxiousness towards his safety, he places a firm yet comforting hand on her shoulder. Leading to the two of them shaking hands once more, like his father and her long ago.
"I will," Atreus replies. "You all do the same, I'll be back as soon as I can."
Onward he goes, heading directly to the travel room. His supplies restocked, weapons enhanced, and with a new set of armor, Atreus is ready. It's been many years since he's seen the elven realm. To this day, the war is most likely still ongoing. Countless, and needless deaths spanning years without reason. To break such a cycle that could fill lakes with blood, will be a challenge only a god could do. A great danger lies ahead, potentially from both ends with him at the center of the war.
Yet, this is only but the peak of his issues. Although not openly mentioned, there is one other reason he wishes to visit the bridge of life and death. To find answers and to hopefully reunite with those who he believes can help him the most. His mother and father, perhaps waiting for him at the light, just like all those years ago. No matter what threats stand in his way, he will claw and break his way to see them again.
However, there's but one other detail that could cause him complications. Upon entering the travel room, a familiar display of magic glimmers around the white tree. Emerald streams of sparkling light float in the air like a thick fragrance. It forms a cloud around him, adding more beauty to the Bifrost chamber. Whoever the mystery woman was from before, she knows how to travel between realms. What makes this all the more peculiar is where this trail of magic leads. Straight to the door of Alfheim.