Their venture back to Konunsgard is bleak, with the absence of wonder. Without treading the frozen wastes of Midgard, the cold sleet that buries their thoughts ensures their persistent silence. The extent they relentlessly dwell on their own personal hardships and insecurities, only magnifies their internal isolation. Through the realm of Niðavellir and its enchanting forests and groves, even to the heart of Tyr's temple, the two refrain from speaking other than passing comments and single-word answers. Even to be welcomed by Midgard's state of discord and perpetual black storm clouds is still more illuminating than their spirits.
The tread across the frozen valleys and the grim state of the mortal realm siphon Sigyn's high spirits. Her head is passively directed down to her feet as she walks onward. Atreus is not oblivious to the thin veil of discourse between them and their silence. Yet, his heated and emotionally torn encounter with his former lover leaves him dumbfounded to express his distress. However, he's also unable to fathom that she, too, shared an uncomforting introduction to Angrboða. And while the questions and concerns hang like hooks at the edge of their tongues, they reluctantly refuse to converse.
At last, through the dead woods and beyond the ice-sheeted plains, the two arrive at the dwarven fortress of Konunsgard. Finally, a heart-strung display uplifts their lowered hearts with awe at the sight of splendor. The once rubble-reduced base, now with countless dwarven hands at work, begins to show its previous wonder and flawless architecture from times long passed. Although still not complete, many wooden cranes, scaffolding, and multiple men and women tirelessly hammer, break, and mold the keep into a worthy stronghold. From the peaks of which Signy and Atreus stand, they are mind blown by the handiwork of the dwarves. Even from afar, the splendors of the Niðavellir's people and their craft demonstrate their unmatched craftsmanship.
Upon closer exploration, the cracked and crumbling stone has been smoothed out, remolded, and cleared of debris. The bronze accessory and reinforcing on the walls and archways have been cleaned. It's glistening and is devoid of rust as it shines from the nearby torches and brief peaks of the sun from the cloudy sky. The doorways, furniture, and overall structures have begun to be replaced with fresh, uncrumpling oak to add a sturdy and regal look to the exterior and interior of Konunsgard. Upon entering the citadel, the duo must swerve, leap, and halt multiple times to avoid bumping or jeopardizing the many dwarves working inside. Along with the efficient, hasting pace of the workers, a familiar voice echoes through the halls of the fortress.
"NO, don't touch that!" Sindri shouts out from the deepest parts of the chamber.
As expected, Atreus and Sigyn discover the germaphobic Sindri in a state of turmoiled panic. Several of his kin hassle and hurridly rush around him. Their unsanitary footprints, soot-covered hands, and dust-covered selves sicken the master blacksmith to the core. His visible disgust manifests as nauseous gags and slurring of words as he tries to persistently contain the grim spread across the halls.
"At least wash your hands before switching to different tools!" He projects firmly, following one of the dwarves with haste. "And your boots, wipe them before entering and leaving the rooms!"
"And where the flying fuck is my toothbrush!" From afar, the vulgar Brok waddles with fuming frustration to the exact location.
The unsuspecting statement and what it entails startles his sibling enough to freeze the dwarf in place. And with a cracking, creepily turn of his head and neck, Sindri wide-eyed stares at his cerulean blue brother with elevated pride.
"You have a toothbrush?" Sindri questions with a gasp.
"of-fucking course I do!" Brok replies, appalled by the insinuation. "I ain't no random forest shitter! I gotta keep the pearly white pretty and healthy for dinner with the ladies."
Their drab conversation is cut short as they notice the return of Atreus and Sigyn. While Sindri is briefly lifted from the floor by a startled hop, Brok nods expectingly before the Huldra Brothers approach. Yet, as they stand to his waist, a synchronized frown of concern and frustration is conveyed.
"Atreus!" Sindri calls out, a stern finger already directed at him. "Can you explain why these unsanitary fiends are putting their hands all over my stuff?"
"Also, did you use my toothbrush?" Brok follows up, but is far more level-headed.
"No, I didn't use your toothbrush," Atreus replies with drowsy amusement. "But I will take the blame for the abundance of dwarves lending a helping hand. Sigyn and I cleared out one of their mines, so they wanted to repay us."
Even with the straightforward assurance, Sindri is still distracted by the clutter and the bustling number of people around him. The abrupt, frantic dwarves of Niðavellir continue to rush around the group as they build and restore the surrounding foundation. All the while caring little for invading the germaphobic sibling's personal space. Even Brok, who typically shows little care in other people's business, is passively irritable at the unsuspecting company.
"So, does that mean you actually recruited them?" Sindri asks, thwarted from believing the thought to be true.
"Not quite yet," Atreus answers. "Which reminds me, I got a message for you two..."
Atreus lowers himself to meet their looks of peculiar interest. They brazenly approach with utter confidence of his intentions until they stand within hand reach of him. However, the two are promptly driven back, both in shock and by the minor betrayal, as Atreus lands a gentle slap on the two dwarves. Sindri is mortified, not by the soft assault, but by an unclean hand brushing his face. Brok, flabbergasted, is devoid of words and even motion. His face is frozen as his blue physique, and depending solely on his expression and body language to convey his surprise.
"Moira wanted me to give you her regards," Atreus facetious says.
Though unique to instill fear into the Huldra Brothers, the mere mention of their fellow dwarf induces a drenching of frozen sweat on the siblings. The rattling of Sindri and Brok's very existence is audible by the clanging tremors of their armor and unresting bodies.
"D-did you say Moira?" Brok questions with a scattered pitch.
"Is she coming here?" Sindri chimes in with his own personal uncertainty.
"I'm sure the Huldra Brothers are safe from the terrifying dwarf," Atreus makes light of their teetered courage. By his response, the two briefly mope and scuff, even fumbling at delivering a proper or snarky reply. At the same time, Atreus rummages through his collection of items during their grumpy reactions. "Besides, if it wasn't for Moira, we wouldn't have gotten this."
From his unexplainably deep pouch, Atreus draws out the large stalagmite of Niðavellir steel before them. The ebony and dark silver metal flickers and shines from the numerous light sources around them. The Huldra Brothers cast aside their prior concern and become ecstatic by the successful retrieval of ore. Following after, in an even more startling turn of events, Sindri blindly disregards his phobia to grasp the heavy metal cluster.
"Oof, that's a beauty!" Sindri coughs out, winded by the surprising weight of the ore. Before a handful of seconds can pass, the detail-oriented dwarf halts himself as the realization of his actions quickly sinks in, like a boulder in a pond. His hands immediately tremble as the dirt and grime, and even some Drake blood, is now smothered onto his gloves. "Oh gods, what have I done?" Although he refrains from outright dropping the clump of minerals, he hastily carries it off to the closest surface. Several moist sounds of gagging emit from him from his fast pace stroll. "G-great work! And to top it off, there should be enough here to give you some nifty, and far cleaner upgrades to your equipment."
"While my ass cheeks are clenched with proudness of ya fast work, you could have taken your sweet time with lady Sigyn," Brok teasingly hints with a wink and nudge of his elbow. "There ain't no more of a romantic sight than the realm of eternal night!"
As repeated from the past, Atreus's immediate, bashful discomfort comes like a wave of summer heat. His cheeks fluster at the remark, enough to drive his face into the palm of his hand. Occurring at the identical window of time, Sigyn, who's been passively silent and submissive to make her presence known, also lights up. After the bleak time, one of which many would confuse for hours of lasting, she lets out a light chuckle with cherry pink cheeks.
"And that's where you're wrong," Sindri chimes in with uplifting flair. "Observing the realm of Vaneheim from its mountain peaks is a view that even Odin would be envious of. It's a wonder that makes even gods fall to tears, and mortals would write songs too."
"You shouldn't be sobbin and weepin on a date, dumbass..." Brok replies with a disappointed rattle of his noggin.
"Guys, we're getting off track again..." Atreus mutters, fatigued by their misconception.
The bustling chamber, along with Atreus's bashful discomfort, does pull the dwarves back into the current situation. Even so, Sigyn herself remains subtly entertained by his behavior, and the dwarves' antics despite the change of topic. A quick, sickened clear of his throat, and Sindri miracles himself a clean cloth from his pouch before vigorously scrubbing the filthy ore deposit. During his fury of tidiness, Atreus retrieves the beating heart of the Drake he collected. Even after hours beyond death, the hot organ pulsates and throbs in his clutch.
"Do you think you can make something out of this?" The Wolf of Midgard asks, holding out the heart to the mesmerized Brok.
"I already gots an idea, boy!" The dwarf excitedly answers, slipping on a pair of thick, metal-cased gauntlets before snatching the organ. "While we get to workin, how about you take a gander with the lady at your new digs? I think some of Freya's pigeon friends are here to see you anyhow."
In one of a few rare occasions, Atreus responds with a mimic attempt at one of his father's soft grunts. Having little else to say from both the mental strain of his day, and the longing for some quiet time before his missions continue. The Huldra Brothers don't pay mind to it, already scrambling to one of their forges and rearing to work. As the two parties split, Atreus ventures around Konunsgard in search of the Valkyries that Brok jokingly remarked. Sigyn's festive spirit dwindles as she unconsciously follows behind the Wolf of Midgard. After the consistency of their silence between each other, Atreus finally registers her absence of words.
"You-you've been quiet," Atreus at last acknowledges.
"I-I'm just dozing off," Sigyn coldly answers. "I think a good night's rest would be nice when the time presents itself."
The halls that were once smothered in ancient debris, powder of time, and webs of neglect, have been cleared. Now, a pristine, well-smooth, and refashioned corridor is presented to the duo. Two wood and brass doorways tower at the end of the great hall, flawless and freshly constructed. Feint orange and yellow light bleed from beneath the gates, illuminating the edges to create a warming aura of promise for what lies behind.
"Well, hopefully, an old friend will help clear your head," Atreus remarks with a small grin.
When they reach the gates, he shows no hesitation in shoving them open. Even with his unnatural strength, the doorways do not swing by the force of his hands and, instead, creak loudly into the chamber. What awaits them on the other side is a war room. A large round table resides at its epicenter, delicately carved, and the magnitude of its size could fit well over a dozen people. Several decorations from different realms litter the corridor. Banners representing light and dark elves hang on the walls, woven with smooth milk, white silk, or tattered black cloth. Many vacant spaces remain to add to the fold and the room, leaving the imagination to create multiple possibilities. Above all, in the flesh, bone, and covered head to toe in angelic armor, are three of the Valkyries. Sigrun, above all, stands with them, with a map and battle tactics already forming on a massive chart of Midgard on the table.
"Ah, Atreus, it's good to see you're safe," The Valkyrie Queen comments in winded relief.
Even with all he's seen and experienced, Atreus still finds himself caught off guard by the events around him. Thinking back to when he was a child and the Valkyries were corporeal, an instinct to draw his blades chokes out his other senses. He plants his heels into the floor and clenches his fists for a lethal encounter. However, while he's driven to take a defensive, battle-ready tactic, the blissful and energized Sigyn quells his heated temperament.
"Are those the V-valkyries?" Sigyn asks with childlike wonder and delight in her tone of voice.
Given that they would have the advantage in this encounter, and the many seconds passed for them to make the first move, Atreus eases his automatic defensive state. Sigyn, blinded by otherworldly curiosity, rushes over to the Valkyrie Queen. Sigrun is passively content as this stranger rushes toward her. The other two also take a collective calm stance and observe with just as equal intrigue to see the outcome of this conversation. Yet, stage fright immediately takes root in the Sorceress as she fumbles with her words and staggers her movements and motions.
"H-hello!" Sigyn stutters, trying to be modest but unable to contain her excitement. "Forgive me, but I-I've never m-met or seen a Valkyrie before... I-it's nice to meet you!"
"Be at ease, child," Sigrun calmly assures with her gentle hand on Sigyn's shoulder. "If you're an ally of Atreus, you are one to us as well... Although, I must say, you look familiar..."
"I-I was a prisoner, to Odin..." The Sorceress's over-ecstatic behavior dwindles when recollecting her past experiences. She unconsciously holds her hands together, lowering her stance to a helpless slouch.
"My condolences, child," Sigrun says in a comforting tone. "We've all been wronged by the Allfather, but you are safe with us."
Atreus, having stood inoperative as the conversation unfolded, finally approaches. This time, Sigyn's mental state can no longer be swayed aside because of his own warped thoughts. Whatever issues plague her, he walks beside her to give relief as best he can.
"My friend Sigyn has been dying to meet you all," Atreus informs the Valkyrie Queen, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "She probably has a lot of questions for you and your sisters, if you have the spare time?"
"Of course," Sigrun gently replies with a single nod. "Lady Sigyn, my sisters will answer any questions you have for them."
The prospect of being granted the indulgence to fill her intrigue fills the Sorceress with suppressed glee. Her eyes bounce between Atreus and the Valkyries, silently asking permission from the Wolf of Midgard. With each passing glance, she receives assured nods from both parties. With that, Sigrun's sisters march out of the chamber, followed by the uplifted Sigyn, who already mutters several intensely interested questions upon exiting.
"I'd also imagine you have a fair share of questions yourself, Atreus," Sigyn perceives from his prior behavior.
"How are you and your sisters in physical form?" Atreus asks, devoid of his initial feeling of caution. "The last time you were in mortal form, you weren't so quelled."
"Our queen utilized a great deal of her Vanir magic to conjure us physical forms," Sigrun explains with great appreciation. "Both as a means to help aid in her and your cause, but as well as help us in the case of the Disir's return."
"I had almost forgotten about them..." Atreus recollects the vivid memory of their appearance. Remembering the grim omens they spoke of, and their disdain for him specifically. They, too, knew his fate, yet like soo many, refused to speak of it or bring clarity to his questions. "Has there been any activity on their end since we last encountered them?"
"I'm afraid not," Sigrun answers with concern. "But, I highly doubt we've seen the last of them. It's not like them to just give up... The Disir are as stubborn and convicted as they are ancient and wise. They are one of the World Tree's many protectors and denizens, serving it along with the Nornir who reside beneath its roots."
"The Nornir?" Atreus asks, pondering what their relationship could mean.
Among all of the legends and the Nordic tales his mother had told him, or he'd learned, the Norns were one of the few rarely spoken of. From what he recalls, the Nornir are primordial entities, much like Surtr, Ymir, Sol, and Mani. They are the beings that read the threads of fate, and some even believe they weave it themselves for all mortals and gods alike.
"Could it be possible that we've made enemies with the Norns as well?" Atreus questions, gravely dreading the notion.
"It is unlikely," Sigrun assures in her settling tone. "The Nornir are not warriors, and they never act directly in events, even those orchestrated by the gods..." The longer she speaks, the more the Valkyrie is hesitant with ill confidence to address her following thoughts. Her sentences drag, and even a tremble in her next breath breaches her mask. "Speaking of which... I must ask you about your father..."
The guilt written in Sigrun's tone is unmissable to Atreus's ears. Due to her hospitality and modesty, she's left verbally pain-ridden to have to mention the deceased Ghost of Sparta. Yet, his son shows no sign of being offended or saddened by the rekindled topic. Instead, a sigh of collective thinking and embrace toward the discussion vacates his chest.
"You have my condolences for his passing," Sigrun says apologetically. "But, that day, when he and the God of Thunder clashed, and their unbridled strength shook Midgard, we Valkyries had gathered. We readied ourselves to claim one or the other when the cataclysm of their duel concluded... And yet, when it had, your father's soul was gone. We were not even granted the opportunity to see him pass on... We were curious if, perchance, you knew the reason for this?"
Atreus did not have to think hard about his personal theories. From all that he's experienced on his quest, to the instilled and vivid memory of taking his father's blessing, only a few options could be available. There's concise reasoning that the Aesir would not welcome such an enemy into their halls. And Kratos did not meet the prerequisites to be subjected to Helheim. The gods of his lands were also gone and could not bind him to any other dreadful fate. Wherever he had passed on, he found happiness and redemption. Though he may have been guided by the Light of Alfheim, his destination was not to be shared with the rest of those in the nine realms. The signs after his death, and the visions Atreus received in the elven realm, attest to his long earn peace.
"My father is free," Atreus comments with heartfelt faith. "That's all that matters."
"I see..." Sigrun concedes to his answer with satisfaction. "I believe I've taken enough of your time. Lady Freya should arrive soon. You should get some well-earned rest before your next quest."
With a respectful bow given in equal respect to the other, the two reticently go their separate ways. Sigrun remains in the chamber, looking back to the map on the war table. Atreus's heart aches as he departs from the room, knowing that his adventures will only become more chaotic the further he continues. He's reminded that he can no longer rely on his father's words of wisdom to help shape his course. That brief semblance of loss as he was when he was younger clouds returns to haunt him. Is he doing the right thing, and is this the right path he's on? The Disir, the Nornir, Angrboða, and even his own people have and would show significant variance with his decisions.
The brief stroll through the stronghold's walls steadily levels his doubtful disposition, and the promise of special treatment for his gear from the dwarves is a relieving distraction. And, as to be expected, the further he traverses the inner chambers of the fortress, the hammering of steel ripples through the halls. Before entering where the Huldra Brothers are presumably working, Atreus enters the original throne room that lay ruined and forgotten years ago. And like the rest of Konunsgard, it has also been restored to fresh, pristine quality. Even the throne has been remodeled for Atreus, and decor representing all of the foes he's slain is fashioned on the walls and surroundings. The skulls of Drakes, the scales of the Lindworm as a drape or thick wall banner, armor, and weapons of fallen Asgardians and Einherjar litter the chamber. And still, much space is vacant for future accessories or trophies of Atreus's victories. A differing pull of sensations and emotions perturbs Atreus on how he should feel. While a sense of accomplishment and pride warms him, the weight of an indirect ego boost by this display also hangs from his back. While, in hindsight, there's nothing inherently wrong with glory and receiving praise, the plunders of war should not be a time for it. He nods in appreciation for the sentiment, but resumes his stroll to the dwarves.
His exploration into the side chamber reveals the new workshop of the Huldra Brothers. The setup is nearly identical to Tyr's Temple, but has a broader space to move around and work in. In addition, the forge is a perfect size for the dwarves to produce and supply more work efficiently. Already, they've hammered and amassed an arsenal of blades, hammers, shields, and other assorted instruments of war. Some are similar to the craftsmanship of the elves, but modified and improved with dwarven smithing.
"Ah, Atreus!" Sindri says, far more delighted than before. "Just in the nick of time!"
"Yep, let's get your shit, and make it look pretty for your next beatdown with the ass rear bastards," Brok joins his brother at the workbench to greet Atreus.
Greatly needing to let loose some of the weight he's carried across the realms, he happily obliges to their request. Piece by piece, each one imparting a relieving sensation from removing, Atreus removes his armor and arsenal. Now unburdened from the heavy attire, Atreus stretches to the sky and beyond, each motion letting loose a satisfying crack and pop from his joints. All but his bare chest is covered with cloth or linen. Finally, resting against a wall, the Wolf of Midgard succumbs to fatigue, and slumbers to the hammering and enchanting sparks that ring through the room. Time flies with the orange, blue, and yellow embers flash, illuminate, and flicker through the room. While less than a handful of hours, the brief rest was desperately needed. Eventually, such a display lures the Sorceress, who cautiously enters the room. Though she's briefly allured by the majestic lights, a single glance at the Wolf of Midgard succumbing to a nap draws her closer.
"Waging war takes its toll on everyone," Sindri mutters, taking instant notice of Sigyn's entry. "Everyone losing something to it, even if it's something as minor as needed sleep."
"Yall must have dragged yourselves through the wettest, sloppiest shit to get the little turd this tuckered out," Brok presumes. "What happened out there?"
"Aesir," Sigyn softly claims, approaching their work table. "Ullr and Thrúd intervened at the last second before we got the ore, and Atreus chose to fight them alone..."
The dwarves prematurely postpone finishing Atreus's gear to lend their ears to her retelling of events. The Huldra Brothers glow with parental pride for the Wolf of Midgard, even synching with doubtless nods over the claim.
"That's our boy for ya!" Sindri boasts fondly. "Just like Kratos and him in the older days!"
"Kratos?" Sigyn questions, unfamiliar with the name.
"Yeah, the squirt and his old man were fighting gods when he was only in his little boy trousers," Brok adds, regal towards their accomplishments. "Can't be too gaga and surprised though, when Thor's original cock shot kids are gone cuss of him and his dad. Not to mention the maniac Balder!"
"Good riddance to them all!" Sindri adds, a sigh of relief guiding him back to his work.
Although reminiscing over the passing of the three cruel Aesir uplifts the Huldra Brothers spirits, their cheers make them oblivious to Sigyn's resurfaced disarray. The Sorceress stands stunned, her vocal ability stripped from her as her throat locks in disbelief. The answers to her many questions are transparent as a summer sky, or a clean pond within a few abrupt phrases and indirect clues. All those years ago, in the halls of Valhalla where she was locked away, a tremble of fear struck the Aesir and even their king. Word boomed like thunder cast over the realm, as the story and ripples of a Marked warrior facing Thor echoed through every corner of Asgard. A duel of destroyers so devastating and terrible, that all of Midgard trembled beneath their unrivaled might. This marked warrior, this god killer as they proclaimed, must have been this Kratos. And if so, Atreus, or Loki, was his son seeking revenge against the Aesir for killing him. Her thoughts of revelation are briefly put to rest by the Huldra Brothers sudden call to Atreus.
"Atreus!" Sindri yells, banging his hammer upon an anvil. "Wake up!"
From his friend's call, the Wolf of Midgard awakens with another far-reaching stretch. The hours were few for a fulfilling night's rest, but served enough to alleviate his exhaustion. Unbeknownst to the conversation that unfolded, he glances over to the boggled Sigyn. A slight grin is expressed as he walks passed her, unaware of her mental state.
"If you liked your previous set, you'll love this!" Sindri assures with high praise in his craft. "Clean, smooth, and will give you the edge in your next encounters!"
Unveiled by a thick cotton sheet, the sibling blacksmiths reveal the upgraded armaments and armor in unison. Atreus's new armor is shaded with silver-blue and black coloring. Now layered over several rigid plates for the gauntlets, the boots, and a single shoulder plate. The bladed edges are sharper, refined, and more subtle than the previous iteration. The chest plate now serves as a mantle to shield his upper torso, and waist gear covers just the hips of his body in padded leather plating. Beneath it all is black hide and dense fabric to add comfort and better muffle the metal's sounds. Lastly, his arsenal has also been modified. The original golden coloring has been replaced with the same darker hues and shades as his attire. The Blades of Chaos now sport the design of a snout as the hilts. The crimson gems have been replaced with bright sapphires, and the grips with silver shaded material. The wood that comprises his bow is darker but enforced with the same metal.
"We like to present to you with this one-of-a-kind armor, the "Dusk Stalker!" Sindri presents fondly.
"Puts your last dress to shit shame in both looks and quality," Brok adds. "You'll also be able to sneak around easier or get the jump on your enemies like a wolf fucking up a bunny! And as for the heart you gave me, next time you set off some fires with your arrows, the explosions will coat the area in a liquid fire to keep the heat going longer."
With every motion Atreus makes, and every shift and angle he takes to test and examine his new look, his excitement is undeniable in his face and body language. He makes a few soft jabs to the wind, kicks, and swerves to put the outfit through his own quality test. During so, Sigyn subtly vacates the room without a sound to signify her departure.
"It's better than I could have imagined, Sin," Atreus compliments. "You guys always manage to outdo yourselves. I might as well always expect it."
"Sin?" Sindri asks, temporarily confused before charm takes over. "Did you hear that? I got a nickname!"
"If you call me Rok, I'll hock a loogie at ya," Brok says to Atreus with an amused grin.
The three share a chuckle, even light pats across the shoulders or leg, in Atreus's case. However, the warm moment of humor goes cold as he realizes Sigyn's absence from the room. He would have assumed that speaking with the Valkyries would have lightened her mood. Yet, something else felt amiss when they looked at each other.
"Did Sigyn feel off to either of you?" Atreus asks.
"I didn't think so," Sindri answers, pondering the thought. "She explained what happened to you two in Niðavellir, and how you bested the two children of Sif... We didn't have any worries, especially when we told her how you and Kratos already had "god" fighting experience from years back."
Atreus's heart sinks in distraught over this information. The metaphorical blow to his chest expels the air in his lungs, and momentarily shutters his thoughts. It finally occurs to him that soo much prudent knowledge of him has been exposed to her since their trip to the realm of twilight. From the Aesir, Moira's comments of doubt, and gods only knows what else, Sigyn must know soo much already. He's denied the opportunity to profess himself, and now her troubled demeanor all makes sense.
"Wait," Atreus says before taking a moment to ease his mind and heart. "You told her everything?"
"Well yeah," Brok answers upfront. "Didn't you?"
Before he can ponder anything else, Atreus expeditiously leaves the room to find her amidst the dwarves' answer. Throwing the doors open, the loud bang ushers his exit, and lets his presence be known in the now barren halls. As well as reaching the sluggish Sigyn, who was taking her own leave before the sound drives her focus to him.
"Sigyn, wait!" Atreus cries out in a plea. "I can explain-"
"You don't have to!" Sigyn raises her voice angrily for the first time. "I know everything I need to, Atreus! Or should I call you Loki?"
A puncturing pain halts his heart in the few seconds that follow her rhetorical question. He's never seen her this fuming, eyes squinting with agitation. Even a fiery glow in her eyes accompanies her harsh tone. Her message is clear, even if indirectly, the Sorceress is familiar with his Jotunn title. Yet, their heated dispute is put to postponed rest as the screeches of a bird reflect through the halls. A majestic hawk of vibrant bright wings enters, circling the duo before landing beside Atreus. And with a flash of golden flakes of light, and purple streams of magic, Freya emerges.
"Freya?" Atreus questions, rattled by the short series of events.
"Atreus?" Freya also asks, concerned by his behavior. "Is something wrong?"
"Now, let's just readjust our undergarments and calm the fuck down!" Brok blurts out, with him and his brother both entering the room.
The commotion only boggles the Vanir Goddess further, her attention being directed toward the different members of the group. That is until she sets her sights upon Sigyn, who also locks her gaze on Freya. During this stare-off, the Sorceress submits to the indirect imposition of the Vanir, lowering her stance. The squint in Freya's eyes originates from the semblance of familiarity.
"Look, Freya, this all must seem confusing," Atreus answers, misconstruing her look. "It's hard to explain-"
"I know you," Freya recalls when addressing Sigyn. "Y-you were just a little girl back then, but there's no mistaking it..."
Just as the Goddess recognizes her, so does Sigyn guiltily remember the Vanir from her past. Now, she can no longer look her in the eye, her stance dwindling by the opposing gaze. The longer Freya keeps her eyes directed at the Sorceress, the others now chime in on the odd visual queues.
"Freya, what are you talking about?" Atreus asks, more lost than ever before in thought.
Yet, while he expects a clear answer, he doesn't foresee the Vanir drawing her blade and altering her stance for battle. The dwarves flinch back, forming a broad gap beyond her sword's reach. Even the Wolf of Midgard cannot fathom her sudden shift in etiquette. Sigyn is now paralyzed in fear, bound in place by her emotional distress over her safety being threatened.
"What the Hel?" Atreus asks, baffled.
"I remember you, girl," Freya continues. "How Odin himself took you in, made you his apprentice! He boasted about you, and called you his "Goddess of Victory!"
Every fiber of Atreus's being, down to the smallest tendons in his body, and even the tissue upon him freezes. A chill of dismay coats his flesh, and ripples, conjuring goosebumps at the revelation. Only to intensify and cement his feelings of startling turmoil the longer he ponders what it entails. The strenuous events that have transpired throughout his quest have also only stacked this agitation. He's beginning to think brashly, blind with frustration, contorting his thoughts to form ideas that go against his instincts. This sense of betrayal, though hypocritical on his part, is buried beneath his anger over his concluded notion.
"You're an Aesir..." Atreus deduces with a distastefully angry tone.
"Oh, shit!" Sindri and Brok mutter out, frantically scrounging their bags for a means of self-defense.
In a moment of illogical weakness, Atreus arms himself with his father's blades. He, too, takes his stand beside Freya, the dwarves also huddling close. While Brok possesses a rusty black, ancient sword, his brother grips a random wooden club from his pouch. All the while, despair and sorrow drown Sigyn's heart at this flipped circumstance. Those who showed kindness never before experienced in her life, turned against her with a single phrase. Her eyes already fill with water, as she steadily steps back.
"You better not be the All-fucker in disguise, lady!" Brok calls out.
"Careful, Brok," Sindri warns, putting himself in front of his sibling. "She might stab you if she is!"
"Sigyn, please tell me this isn't true?" Atreus pleads, though still convicted with outrage.
This searing sensation in his chest matches what once burned for Angrboða for his years of suffering. For how she abandoned him in his most vulnerable moment, and now that painful deceit returns, whether real or not. And now, it only hurts more when seeing Sigyn quietly break under the emotional distress of the corner she's been placed in. Tears run like clear streams down her face, teeth clenching in emotional pain and equal sadness.
"I was never his student!" Sigyn despairingly claims. "I was his slave, a tool for his own sick interest! Just another pawn for him to manipulate, and to toy with as he pleased! And even if I was, if I was lying, how are you any better?" The Goddess of Victory's gloomy retaliation destabilizes his resolve of biased hatred toward the Aesir, and the Allfather altogether. "How many secrets are you keeping? How many are you manipulating with your heroic facade, when the name Loki carries the fate of countless innocents for your vendetta, your crusade to avenge your father?"
Her outbursting rant eventually drags the hostile intentions of the other as fire weakens dry oak. And even to the wise Freya, a fragment of perception can see the truth behind Sigyn's claim. That the Wolf of Midgard may deep down seek vengeance for Kratos's demise, and the speech from when they reunited attests to this hidden agenda. Gradual as a dying flame, the group all steadily lowered their armaments. The explosion of traumatic, gut-wrenching cries of confession begins to drench them in her years of collected grief and anguish.
"I thought, after everything I had done for you, that I poured out to you, that you were better," Sigyn regrettably confesses. "But you lie, pretend, and cast me aside just as Odin would have when he was done with me... You're no savior. You only care about yourself... You're no better than the Allfather!"
With eyes hazed with tears, and face soaked from sobbing, Sigyn makes a hasty escape. A surge of emerald green magic shimmers around her, and a wave of watery green ripples through the room. And as they all shield themselves from it, unaffected by the harmless display, the Sorceress vanishes. As before, only a translucent trail is left behind in her quick departure. Freya's gaze widens, amazed by the natural affinity Sigyn has with Seiðr magic. And while the dwarves are also mind-blown by the effect, Atreus shows no such awe.
Her remarks and thorn-sharp outburst are enough to break through the Last Son of Sparta's presumptuous barrier of prejudice. Immediate remorse for his cruel response to her true nature was below him to stoop to. Regardless of whether or not she was keeping secrets, he knew he should have opened up to Sigyn, and even more so to his friends. His anger is directed solely at himself, and he growls disdainfully for his actions. His blades are already sheathed as he shakes his head disappointingly.
"Atreus," Sindri calls to him to offer comfort. "Are you-"
"She's not the enemy," Atreus states, revolting over his comments. "She never was... Gods, what have I done?"
It's not long before the dwarves are also ashamed of their panicked reaction. Brok mopes with a stern frown drooping over his face, even a lip-sealed sigh to accompany his look. Sindri begins to wander, circling around the room and clapping his fingertips lightly.
"Atreus, whatever you're feeling, we need to be cautious," Freya skeptically retorts, reaching over to him.
"You don't know her like I do," Atreus spouts, jerking himself away. "I should have trusted her..."
"Then stop pouting around, kid!" Sindri burst out, stomping his heel firmly. "You gotta go get your girl before she catches the attention of the Aesir!"
Despite the oddity of the gentle, soft-spoken dwarf letting loose his words, Atreus makes haste to find her. Despite Freya trying to stop him, he barges passed her reach, much to her dismay. Marching fast-paced, Brok hurls him a stack of new arrows for his quiver. Florescent-colored feathers decorate them, and even new darker shades of quills are mixed in. As they all watch him chase after her, the Huldra Brothers clap and cheer for encouragement. Yet, the begrudging expression of trust in the Sorceress is painted on the Vanir, making the whole room bleaker. The further he rushes down the hall, the quicker Sigyn's trail begins to disperse, prompting him to go into a sprint. There is much he has to make amends for, and this is his sign that the truth needs to come out. No matter the intent, the pain of secrets is always a heavy toil.
(Authors Notes)
Hello everyone,
I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, it was a long while in the making. I'm back again to answer some questions that I may have missed, thank you for your patience.
Question 1: Will Surtr make an appearance soon?
It may be some time before the primordial graces the text of this story, but I'll be sure to offer plenty of excitement along the way.
Question 2: When any of the Norse gods die, will they have the same effect as the Greek ones did?
Maybe not all of the gods, but if it fits the moment, and they aren't minor deities, it could happen.
That's all for now, thank you for your continued support, and happy late new year. And for those celebrating the Chinese new year, "Kung Hei Fat Choi! 恭喜發財!"