The flames of conflict cease, only to welcome a binding cold that locks Atreus in place. The temptation of revenge halts Atreus as he stares blankly at the unconscious Thrud. The child remains under even the merciless Angrboða holds her by the roots of her hair. Nevertheless, the giantess's words continue to entice his darkest wants and desires for vengeance, even after years apart. As his body tremors from the conflicting pull between his new path and his old ways, the Wolf of Midgard makes his steady approach. Each step, slow and drawn out from the internal turmoil, as old memories and pains resurface from his old ally's allure.
The pounding of his heart beats through his body like the repercussions of rumbling drums. The remnant static of Thrúd's seax sparks the same remembrances of thunder from her father's encounter with his own. The longer his twisted thoughts continue to mangle and stack heavier upon his morale-aligned heart, the fiercer the resistance to pull away becomes. Now, planting into the ash and dirt ground, his sights are directed to the duo before him. With an unsteady hand, Atreus lowers himself for easy reach.
However, much to Angrboða's dissatisfaction, she is met with her wrist becoming bound by Atreus's stern grip. Steadily, she's driven to lower the helpless child to the battle-stained floor. The giantess stands, guided forcibly by the ill-tempered Wolf of Midgard, whose eyes burn with yellow, primal fury. She returns his expression with that of saddened dismay.
"No," Atreus demands, hushed, carried with a growl in his voice. As the two intertwine their focus on the other, Angrboða's differentiating countenances gradually shift his. The fire within his racing heart rapidly quells, dwindling the searing color from his pupils, and retracting the animal instinct behind his fangs. "No..."
The giantess can only shake her head, discouraged that she no longer has the solid bond they once had. Sorrow sinks her heart and chest. Her face lowers with a quivering sigh at his denouncing decision. And atop all the distress, the weight of betrayal binds her like chains and shackles.
"After everything they have done," she mutters with an imbalanced tone. "After all the Aesir have taken, you would show them mercy?"
Even after her own deceitful acts, her attempts to tempt him, trick and blind him from a noble path, remorse still bleeds for her. The duo has suffered grave injustice from the moment of their births. Lives have been torn and broken, and freedoms and liberties stripped from them because of their nature and heritage. The Maiden of Sorrow has done many wrongs, even to him, but the one sliver that still holds care yearns to cease her gloom.
"She's just a child," Atreus notes, softly loosening his hold on her.
The giantess yanks herself free of his grasp, and a quivering series of deep breaths emit from her as her back divides them. Anger, frustration, dread, and solemn depression emerges from her. Though Atreus has endured the same loss, his emotional connection towards their Jötunn heritage is a chasm compared to her. Her disdain and resentment towards the Allfather and his Aesir run deep by a river of blood and woe.
"It wouldn't be the first for us," Angrboða distastefully states.
Her crude comment strips his composure as a string yanked from woven sheets. A brief delay of dumbfounded loss withholds him from taking a breath. Such a blunt statement staggers him, driving weakness into his knees from the blatant reminder of his cruel actions.
"Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughter..." Angrboða runs on, pacing around him, gnawing and tearing their secrets from the dark recesses of his sin-riddled memories. "How many did we put down in cold blood to prevent worthy souls from entering Valhalla? How many helpless did we banish to Helheim in an attempt to weaken Odin's legions?"
"Enough!" Atreus demands, his prior anger flourishing out of his heart.
"Was it?" She asks, twisting the meaning of his statement. "Those willing to sacrifice the most are the ones who win wars! After all we had been through, I thought you would understand that! But all this time, you still cling to your father's false teachings of stagnant and reluctance to do what's necessary-"
"My father?" Atreus directs his thoughts on the mention.
His interjection of her rant further ceases her desperate attempt to steer him to her side. Knowing of the mistake in mentioning the God of War, the giantess silences her outrage. Instead, Angrboða stands idle as the ash beneath their heels. Unconsciously, she takes a step back from the Wolf of Midgard and his growing bewilderment. In conjunction with her admission of guilt, Atreus's thoughts interconnect and formulate several questions. In their past, the Last Son of Sparta spoke very little of his father's teachings and disciplines. All the giantess should know is passing comments, simplified answers, and a few passing tales of his history. Yet, the Jotunn's insistence, her temptations, and her remarks on the stubbornness of the Spartan cannot be mere guess or coincidence.
"Exactly how much do you know about him?" Atreus questions, closing the gap steadily. "What could you know of me and my time with him?"
Backed into a corner by her bravado and verbal error, Angrboða can only stand sedentary to his fierce stare. Yet, despite his boldened approach, the giantess does little to shift herself, and her eyes continue to look into his own. Bitter to be outed, a chilled sigh leaves her soft lips, a wordless profession to another of her lies.
"Since the day I began my search for you," she answers softly. "When I first laid eyes upon our peoples' savior, it was the day I called the world serpent while you neared Hel's embrace."
Her frontal confession drowns Atreus's thoughts with scattered thoughts. A shivering gasp leaps from his throat as he tumbles back to his previous place. The duo had met as children as he could recall, after spreading his father's ashes on the same cliffs as his mother. And having been plunged into the deepest heartache. In his shadows of doubt, the giantess had come to him, granting him reprieve and inspiration to push forward. Yet, when she addressed him as a stranger, her overly zealous intrigue of him should have been the most apparent revelation of her true intentions.
"All this time, you've been watching me?" He rhetorically asks. "Since before our first meeting, you knew of me and lied about it?"
"My people, our people had foretold of your coming long before you were born!" She argues with zeal towards his legacy. "Despite all that was protested, I gave up everything to meet you. To see who the Jötnars' champion was and what he was capable of!"
"What am I to you, Angrboða?" He questions with a sharp bark to his tone. Both in his temper and with what heartstrings he can latch onto, his question rattles the giantess. In one of a few cases, Atreus produces a silent, obedient result in his former lover. She can only stare, consumed by a tempest of twisted emotions. "Forget what "our" people have spoken of me! Drop all prophecies, notions of foresight, and the prospect of my fate! Tell me, in your own words, who I am to you..."
The conundrum of his statement sinks the bravado of Angrboða's behavior. A rare moment, even for the Wolf of Midgard, to see the unhidden side of the Maiden of Sorrow. She paces away, descending into a pit of thoughts and emotions in discord. Atreus follows behind, steadily, but also temper-minded to her mental state. The seconds pass patiently, and each one further cements the silence for the two to linger on the subject.
"What you are, is a key to everything," she answers, gentle to rival a whisper. "From every hardship, every traumatic disaster after another that our peopled endured, only Gróa's prophecy of you gave me hope. She would speak of your potential, the great champion of Jotunheim, the avenger of our people. And the only man I'd truly ever love... And who would ever love me..."
Her heart-pouring response riddles Atreus with pity towards her declaration, even momentarily stunning his stoic stance. All he can muster in his idle position is a hardened sigh in remorse for his outburst.
"What you are is everything to me," Angrboða boldly claims. "Your opinion of me and my actions do not deter me, nor will they bring me to shame... For I know, while harsh as I may be, non can deny that results have been made. And you are soaring to your ultimate potential... In one thread of fate, we could have been together, happy after surviving Ragnarök... But that is a story that we're not living in."
"But it can be!" Atreus retorts, denial fueling his resolve. "If you stand with me, we can stop Odin and avenge the giants together..."
Unconsciously, he's already cusping her hands into his own with an anxious yet warming grip. The deceit she inflicted can never be relinquished from his memory, and he'll always carry the scars of her actions. And still, despite the many outcomes of pain and burden, Atreus cannot let go of his past feelings so fruitlessly. The inner child desiring not to be alone again clings to the promise that he can steer her back to his side. Yet, the giantess is unfazed by his pleads, still doubtful of his intentions and methods. Angrboða, discarding her initial, sincere beliefs, steps away just out of arms reach of the Last Son of Sparta.
"I know Odin will die," she claims subtly but boldly. "His fate is sealed... Ragnarök will claim him, and only one of us can accept that."
As their discussion carried their focus away, a calling whistle turns them back to the opposing party in their shared space. Ullr, lifting his still soundless sister in his arms, stares aggravated at the duo, still severely beaten and heavily wounded. He grants them no words or input on their discussion. But a bitter taste in his mouth and mind does pull at his opinion of Atreus for sparing them. His indifferent facial reaction speaks volumes of his flipped understanding of his enemy. The last they see of the God of Winter is him being carried off by the roaming hippogriff that brought them, to begin with. The shrieks of the beast ring in the caverns, echoing into the distance along with the Aesir.
In the wake of their departure, Angrboða has also slipped away from the caverns. Not a hush last word or semblance of a hint she was even there to begin with. Atreus, clouded with dust and devoid of audible ambiance, stands lethargic in isolation at the battle's end. Even with his prize in sight, marching to claim it, the weight of emotional misery continues to drag at his heels. The force of his previous blows from his brass, sharpened knuckles is weighed down by his ill-balanced thoughts. The sensation of victory is stripped from his grasp, replaced with the cold touch of the Niðavellir steel.
From above, where the devastation of Atreus and Sigyn's actions are laid bare as a naked maiden, the sorceress hastily returns. Moira accompanies her, far more winded, fatigue winding her and nearly knocking her prone. What minute period of closure she's given is quickly consumed by chest-tightening dread as she discovers the ravaged mines. The sliver of air she had taken is swiped from her lungs in a painful, knee-dropping exhale.
"Our mine!" The dwarf cries out in shock. "It's a giant shite hole, now!"
At that exact moment, after finishing her heartbroken statement, the battered and bloody Aesir emerges from the depths. Though Sigyn's first instinct drives her to a flinching halt at their presence, she is brought to awe at their condition. Their injuries are so severe that retreat is their only concern, something she never thought the God of Asgard would resort to. More and more, the sorceress is in marveled disbelief that Atreus could win against those revered as unstoppable. However, such a fresh breath of assured air does not persist at the next sight that follows.
Even for her enchanted senses, Sigyn is taken aback by the startling appearance of Angrboða. As though manifesting from the silent air that encapsulates them, the giantess reveals herself without warning. Their first meeting is met with polar unidentical stares and postures. The sorceress is skeptical, taking a step back with her hands held out for an incantation. For the first time in her life, her magical insight is negated, as she's unable to read into this woman's soul. Not mortal, not god, and yet, the giantess's bold stance and fiery eyes command equal authority and fury to rival the Aesir or Vanir alike.
Angrboða is unhindered and unwavering by the blonde maiden's defensive position. The slight curve of her lips hints at her amusement at this girl's estranged perspective of her. The Jotunn eyes her down, her pupils scarily steady as she runs her sight down from neck to toe. Her mere gaze rattles and dwindles Sigyn with a body trembling chill. Yet, all the while, she stands with fortified with pride at being able to do what the sorceress can't.
"I see why he likes you," Angrboða comments with entertained intrigue. "A shame, you're cute, despite your split nature... But I suppose we all have our secrets..."
A flair in Angrboða's eyes ignites a spark of crimson red, intentionally alarming the sorceress who bridges a more significant gap. Nevertheless, Atreus's former ally carries herself with a grace of bravado when approaching Sigyn. At this moment, Moira has now taken notice of the giantess. The dwarf steps back, helplessly observing the two women now stand less than a foot away from each other. A cold shoulder and the denied courtesy of eye contact and full acknowledgment grounds Sigyn in place. But, what truly roots a new terror in her conscious that rivals her fear of the Aesir is a single, nerve-freezing threat.
"If anything happens to Loki, just know, that Odin isn't the only one creative with methods of cruelty," Angrboða whispers coldly into her ear.
Sigyn is locked in place, devoid of courage, as the giantess leaves her to dwell in the threat. Moira shows just as equal discouragement to act, despite not fully hearing the harsh warning. With equivalent proficiency as she had shown when appearing before them, Angrboða is no longer among them. And only the emergence of Atreus from the caverns releases them of their mind-boggled freeze. The breaking of gravel, the grunts of exhaustion, and the ringing of searing steel direct their focus to the successful Wolf of Midgard. He cradles the large chunk of minerals in one hand, unable to lift it with his bird form. Moira profusely claps and laughs in disbelief at their accomplishment, already using her little legs to rush to the boy, amused.
"I'll be damned, color me white and hang me like a flag," Moira says with a slapstick tone. "I concede that you are indeed capable."
No funny quips escape his mouth, not even produced on the forges of his mind at her comment. Instead, he, too, brushes off the statement. In his state, he only glances at the distraught sorceress, who's still shaken from the threat beyond his ears.
"The Drakes are no longer going to dwell in your mines," Atreus answers over her remark.
"Well, at least what's left of it," Moira replies tiresomely. "But, the Aesir, I recognize the son and daughter of Sif... Why did you let them go?" The questioning from the dwarf also turns Sigyn's curiosity to the possible answer. At last, the sorceress steps forward to join their discussion. "Those lot would have pissed on ya corpse if it had been the other way around."
Perhaps the fatigue of his countless endeavors has finally brought him low or out of respect, but whatever the reason is, he lowers himself to eye level with Moira. He still clenches the ore tight but focuses his undying attention on her interest.
"I told you, I'm not like the Allfather," Atreus claims once more.
The dwarf, overcome by his profession of intent, awkwardly scratches her head as she restlessly walks in front of him. His actions, capabilities, prowess, and gradually improving maturity begin to teeter her hardened standpoint. Yet, like a stone attached to a mountain face, Moira is also loyal and headstrong to give way so easily.
"Is this supposed to be the part where my people declare themselves your foot soldiers?" She questions jokingly. "Do ya see our size? I might be able to bend steel wit my thighs, but dwarves are not warriors! We, don't, fight!"
"I'm not asking you to fight," Atreus gently assures. "It would be selfish to assume I had the right to even consider it... All I can hope for, is for you to accept my open hand to be allies. You would not be a pawn in the gods' games but a partner, a friend to whom I would be indebted. Odin's arrogance threatens us all, so why not remind him what the greatest builders and blacksmiths can do? And so, I ask one who can make the most unordinary ingredients into the most extraordinary creations. Are you up for the challenge of making the impossible, possible?"
Though his speech was not enough to sweep her off her feet, it did manage to budge one heel out of place. Still, even the hardy Moira manages to find surprised amusement at his noble gesture. This gesture only encourages her to accept further by offering his literal open hand. Again, she is indecisive about his request, but remains patiently crouched to meet her eye as she ponders. The dwarf takes a few nods as she quietly thinks to herself.
"I can't speak for the entirety of us little folk," Moira confesses. "But I can tell you that some of us will definitely want to repay you for what you've done here... Even if our place of business looks like a gaping arse in the floor now!"
She slams her palm into his wrist, and with both hands, she attempts to exaggeratingly shake his arm. But, her efforts only result in her bouncing herself more than waving his arm. Atreus cannot help but smirk at the funny display, also shaking his head. However, before he can lift himself back to the peak of his height, Moira locks her grip around his wrist.
"For starters, the Huldra Brothers might be able to do something with this." The dwarf rummages through her own bottomless sack on her belt. Several items, bits and piecing of junk, and a single living chicken are all thrown out of her satchel. Sigyn leaps in surprise as the frantic bird runs rampant in hysteria and fear before charging into the forests onward. "Ah! Here we are!"
Cradling tight but unable to fully wrap her small hand around the prize, Moira uncovers her gift to Atreus. A flowing crystal of waving frost glows in her hand, bleeding a chilling mist as she raises it to the Wolf of Midgard. It's ever-moving as it flickers and sparkles like diamonds in the sun. Sigyn squints puzzlingly at the mineral, never before witnessing a deposit of its nature. However, Atreus, whose eyes are drawn and open in amazement, carefully reaches for it. He, too gently, takes it onto his palm, now free of Moira's grasp when standing and keeping the object at his eye level.
"A frozen flame," Atreus mutters, overwhelmed by nostalgia.
"That's right," Moira affirms. "The Huldra Brothers were looking for these beauties a few years back. "Planning another masterpiece," they said, but more optimistic it would be put to better use. Sindri asked if I found one to hold onto it for them... I guess it all comes full circle now."
One would mistake the trembling of Atreus's hands to be caused by the icy crystal, but those tremors so temporarily ripple through his arms and into his chest as he breathes. The moments of his and his father's journey blink in his thought as he stares into the gem. Their shenanigans of looting chests, venturing through dungeons and caves for treasures and trinkets.
"I-I can't thank you enough," he says graciously before placing the material away.
"That ain't all, laddie," Moira adds. "I did a little digging while you were off playing hero. The Huldra Brothers and some odd folk have been squatting at that old fort in Midgard. Well, it don't take much thinking to match that nail with that hole. But, of course, I'd be thinking that's where yall are bunkering down, huh? So I sent some of my builders to remodel the place for ya. The place should put the temples in Alfheim to shame with its immaculate restoration."
"That's incredible..." Atreus compliments her lucrative notion.
"Aye, it is, so straighten your trousers and get a move on!" Moira begins marching away, superb and proud of the abundance of praise. Her overdramatic strut as she shakes and waves herself side to side forces a light giggle from the sorceress. "You two got a long ass walk ahead of ya..." Taking the last word to throw into the wind, the dwarven blacksmith vanishes with the breeze.
While the battle has concluded and the duo has accomplished their goal, all is not aligned. In the absence of the enthusiastic dwarf, an unsettling silence rains down upon them. And while such a disturbance is transparent to one another, each unnerving source is amiss to the opposing viewpoint. The seconds that carry on overgrow the already entangling tension between them. The sorceress can only revert back to the experiences that have transpired since their journey through the mines. Of what was spoken, his secret being thrown to the fires of revelation, and now the strange woman. The more adventures they share, the more she learns about his history. Even the parts prudent to her, and some she ponders if she deserves to know. Eventually, overburdened by the suspenseful discomfort, Sigyn finally steps toward the Wolf of Midgard. Yet, her steps are prudent as one approaches a wild animal.
"Are you alright?" She asks, muffled by her disheartened spirit.
While her safety remains crucial for his sake of mind, the recently transpired events have contorted his moral thinking. A quick skim of his eyes, and without seeing injury, makes the impertinent assumption all is well, if not just tense. A harsh custom that he's grown numb to. Without knowing what occurred in his absence, he endures biting his tongue ever longer of his relations with Angrboða. Though he attempts to pry a simple response from his hassled jaws, the pile of loathing thoughts teeters his resolve. Instead, an exhausted sigh flows from his chest as he quietly marches forward, and with a self-defeated shake of his head, he gives her his reply.
"I don't want to talk about it..."
(Authors Notes)
Hello everyone. We've reached yet another mind-blowing milestone. 100,000 views! I am astonished, and I can truthfully say that I never expected anything I could create would generate such a large amount of popularity! To those who've been here from the beginning and those just joining this adventure, you have my utmost gratitude. I'd also like to thank those for their honest input on my story thus far, especially those who have given feedback since the last update. I'm thrilled that my concepts have pulled your interest and that the current direction of this story is continuing to provide entertainment. I'll most definitely keep on the path I've charted. But I'll be sure to pay homage to the original source in some ways throughout the journey.
On that topic, I have played through Ragnarök, and I was so pleased with how the story and game played out. Of course, it was an emotional rollercoaster at times (but I won't spoil why for those that haven't played it). I had a bunch of good laughs and moments of getting teary eyes or shocked. But, overall, I enjoyed the game very much.
Spoilers
I will say that some elements of the story caught me by surprise. Such as Heimdall being referred to as the "Herald of Ragnarök." It's fitting for the context of the game's story, but in mine, it relates to a different character altogether for alternate reasons. Another one is how Odin is portrayed as a con man, almost similar to a mob boss. As for the actor, Richard Schiff, he was a great choice, bringing a fantastic performance as the Allfather. Whenever he was on screen, I knew I was in for a good time due to his sense of humor, sophisticated presence, and bold authority as a character.
Ryan Hurst as Thor was a pleasant surprise, and he blew my expectations to the heavens. In truth, before he was announced to play the God of Thunder, I was expecting Travis Willingham to be picked for the part. He has the solid build, and has portrayed the Aesir several times in his career. But I'm definitely happy with their pick. However, it did feel a bit strange to me for Santa Monica to try and make Thor a sympathetic character. Especially after all the horrible things we heard him do in the 2018 game. They strongly hint at the reason behind some of his actions in the game, but it's apparent that much of what he did was his own choice.
Mina Sundwall, as Thrúd, did a great job as well. I wasn't expecting the daughter of Thor to be so kind from the get-go, so this was a pleasant surprise as well. This a great example that not all of the Aesir are bad.
I could go on for a while with my analysis, so maybe I'll post a separate review for the game if anyone is interested. But, overall, I was happy to play and see this chapter in the God of War franchise come to a close. And I can't wait to see what the future holds for Kratos, Atreus, and all of the new faces to the franchise.
Well, Happy Ragnarök, everybody! Let's drink!