At Dusk, I Will Think of You
God of War and all associated characters and interpretations are property of Sony Santa Monica. Kingdom Hearts and all associated characters are property of Disney and Square Enix.
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True to her word, Freya left as soon as the hour had passed. She of course told him that he was free to stay in the palace as long as he desired, but all Kratos wanted to do was find Mimir and determine what his friend wanted to do going forward. Thus, after looking over the olive and cherry sprouts one last time, he entered the palace.
The excitement from when he'd entered had risen with the sun, and people were bustling and cleaning with fervor. This did not strike Kratos as normal, but he was not curious enough to stop anyone performing their duties.
It didn't take long to find the archives, and when he did, he wasn't surprised to find Mimir propped up on a pillow at the edge of a table, a stick held in his mouth as he used it to flip through a book. Olrun was close by, and half-a-dozen young Aesir and Vanir scribes were scattered throughout the room, wholly absorbed in their reading.
Mimir noticed him first and spat out the stick. "Ah, Kratos!" he called. "Come to lend a hand?" Olrun merely nodded in greeting before returning to her task. The young scribes in the room all jolted and did their best to not appear as if they were staring at him. Kratos paid them no mind.
He walked over to Mimir. "Have you made any progress?"
"We've just started," his friend deadpanned. "I'm good, but not that good." Mimir sniffed. "But enough about me. Is that earthy scent clinging to your body a sign of success?"
"Yes." Kratos allowed himself a small smile. "The seeds have sprouted. Freya believes that they shall bloom and bear fruit shortly, with her assistance."
"Ah, I'm happy for you, Brother! Nothing like a little slice of home to lift your spirits, eh?" Kratos did not respond, thoughts of home bringing…dark thoughts. Something must have shown in his face, however, because Mimir clicked his tongue and said, "Olrun, can you hold down the fort?"
"Of course," she said without looking up. Nodding at her, Kratos picked up Mimir and exited the room. They traveled through the winding halls until Kratos found the room Freya had designated as his permanent guest room.
Upon entering, he placed Mimir on the nightstand. His friend hummed. "Alright then, Brother, what's on your mind?"
Kratos grunted and looked down at his body. "I have been…thinking of my past." He had to stop himself from tracing the red tattoo on his ash-white bicep. It had been so long since he'd received both marks of his failures, he sometimes forgot he bore them.
"Finally going to tell Atreus, then?" Kratos scowled. "Oh, come off it! There's only one you ever get that terrified gleam in your eyes, and no matter what it is, it always links back to your son. Besides, there's only one reason you'd get so worked up where both your past and Atreus are concerned." Krato's scowl deepened. "Am I wrong?"
Kratos let loose the beginnings of a growl, but quickly deflated, and sat on the bed. "…You are not." He took a deep breath. "Mimir, do you know why I gained the moniker 'The Ghost of Sparta'?"
"Well, I imagine it had to do both with the bloody swathes you would carve through battlefields, as well as your pale visage."
"And do you know why I have such pale skin?"
"…You mean you weren't born with it?" Mimir asked breathlessly. He gained a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Doubt anyone would want to gain or earn such a thing, so it has to be some kind of curse. But then—" he sucked in a breath and grew silent.
Kratos grunted. "What have you concluded?"
"I…am deliberately not coming to any conclusions."
"I want you to."
Mimir frowned. "Kratos, you've told me a lot of your warmongering past over the last few years. Terrible things that supplement your already bloody reputation. And yet this is the first I've ever that not being your natural skin tone. Now, I can't say why such a tale has not spread, but if you haven't said anything of it, then it must be related to something…terrible." He took a deep breath. "And I'm not about to force you to say it for my own curiosity. Especially, considering the start of this conversation. If it's something you feel Atreus needs to know, he should know before me."
Kratos let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I see. Thank you, Mimir." He rested his hands on his knees. "I…I need to tell Atreus of my past. In full. But I am…afraid."
"Of what he might think of you?" Kratos didn't answer. Mimir frowned. "Well…yours certainly isn't a pleasant history. But the gods of these Realms aren't exactly cuddly bunnies. We've committed our fair share of atrocities, some of which Atreus witnessed himself—the aftermaths, at least." He clicked his tongue. "Course, it would mean something different, coming from you."
Kratos sighed and leaned forward. "I just…I can keep all this to myself, forever. If I do not tell him, he will never know."
"Well, if he ever sticks around Greece he might—"
"He will never know," Kratos repeated forcefully. He'd made sure all hints of his past were destroyed, all those ages ago.
Mimir was silent for a moment, then he said, "As luck—if you can call it that—would have it, I'm in something of a similar predicament."
"Your desire for atonement?" Kratos replied, recalling their brief conversation in Svartalfheim that led to their coming to Vanaheim.
"Aye." Mimir frowned deeply. "I can't understate the sheer amount of people I've hurt, Brother. And the worst thing is, if I keep my mouth shut, no one will know how responsible for that hurt I am. Oh, sure, people know that I was once Odin's advisor, but as many cruelties I helped him refine, I proposed in the first place!" He snorted bitterly. "And I was still helping the bastard the first few decades after he trapped me in that tree in hopes that he would free me. Those I could certainly keep quiet on, and no one would be the wiser. But I just…I can't keep silent anymore."
"Is that a good idea?" Kratos asked, solemn. "Dredging up the past in an effort to lighten your own burden?"
"That's certainly the rub, isn't it? However, I think the truth, at the end of it all, is worth whatever pain it brings." He grunted. "But that's just me."
Kratos hummed lowly. He took a deep breath, and said, "Thank you, as always, for your counsel."
"Well, not like you keep me around for my looks." Kratos chuckled, stood up, and grabbed Mimir. They exited the room and walked back to the archives.
Now, Kratos noticed, the previous bustle had calmed, but there was still a nervous energy in the air. He asked Mimir if he knew why.
"Not a wit," his friend replied. "But I did hear the young scribes Olrun pulled in to assist us whisper that they were glad to be away from the coming meetings." He clicked his tongue. "Ah, do you think the elves are coming by?"
"Or the Midgardians," Kratos remarked.
"True. Let's find out!" he exclaimed as they neared the archives. As Kratos opened the door, he called out, "Olrun, my dear, a question!" The young scribes all jerked at his voice, but the woman in questioned merely looked up from her book with an arched brow. "What's got everyone so busy?"
"Hm? Oh!" She briefly looked up from the book. "Some Midgardian leaders are visiting."
"Ah, part of those reparations Atreus brought up with Lady Freya."
'Uh-huh, yeah, sure," Olrun said, engrossed in her book. Kratos arched a brow at the uncustomary rudeness from the academic Shield-Maiden.
Mimir simply chuckled. "Oh, I have missed working with you, Olrun! Kratos, put me down on the pillow, and could you please prop up the third book in the pile at the edge of the table?" Kratos did so, setting up some book on Vanir architecture, and popped a stick in Mimir's mouth before leaving them.
Now, he had nothing to do for the rest of the day. It was not terribly unusual, but he did feel a certain…restlessness. He attributed it to the newfound freedom of movement Flowmotion provided him. Even when he possessed the Boots of Hermes and Icarus's wings, he did not have such capabilities.
He paused and stared out a window into Vanaheim's Wilds. There were a lot of winding trees, which would certainly provide more challenging paths than the comparatively column-like trees that populated Midgard. Yet, he wasn't one to simply go out into the wilderness for its own sake, even with the excuse to train…Sigrún had mentioned sending forces into the Wilds looking for Seiðr practitioners.
With a nod, Kratos wound through the palace, a goal in mind.
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Sigrún had been grateful for the offer of assistance and directed him to a small group of Seiðr practitioners an hour west of Vanaland. An hour walking, that is. After confirming the location, Kratos leapt out a nearby window, and leapt through the trees using Flowmotion. He heard the shocked proclamations burst past her—and Gunnr's, who was assisting Sigrún—lips, but paid them no heed. Though, in hindsight, the rumormongering it developed might annoy Freya.
He travelled much slower than he had done through the Lyngbakr's Dream, simply making large leaps through the trees. Nothing too complicated like Sora had done. That would come later. Still, he blazed through the Wilds, and quickly found the ruins the Seiðr practitioners had claimed for their own uses.
He stared down at them from the treetops and pulled the Leviathan axe from his back. Vaguely, he felt as if something was wrong, but dismissed it as easily as it arose. Calling upon Flowmotion, he leapt high into the air, and at the apex of his jump, let loose a mighty roar, and slammed his axe into the ground, bisecting one unlucky soul in two. Glowing blue icicles burst out around him—smaller than the purple ones that had formed in the Dream, but no less effective as they gored through five more before they vanished into mist. Still, there were dozens of opponents left.
He summoned his shield to block two blasts of magic. He shifted his stance when blocking the second one, and his shield's innate properties absorbed the force of the projectile. He pulled his arm back, and with a gruff shout, shot his shield arm forward, his own magical projectile rocketing forward and blasting the two ranged foes apart.
Countless centuries of experience had given Kratos an innate sense for his surroundings, instincts from birth that had evolved through constant battle. As such, Kratos spun around and hopped back to avoid an axe swing to his back and hurled his axe into his attacker.
As he was surrounded, he realized what was wrong. He was alone. For years now, he had rarely, if ever, gone into battle alone. Before Atreus had been born, Faye was constantly at his side. After her death, Atreus and Mimir—the latter especially—were constantly at his side. And after Ragnarök, he could count on Freya, Sigrún and her shield maidens, Thrúd, and even Birgir and the odd Midgardian warrior on occasion.
It was a…strange realization.
Still, he was no less effective a combatant.
He unsheathed his Blades of Chaos, and with a defiant roar, leapt into the fray.
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Truly, Flowmotion was an incredible gift, Kratos thought to himself as he leapt off a branch and summoned a tornado of blue-tinted fire centered on himself. The swirling flames easily burnt his remaining foes to cinders, and all that remained was their charred corpses.
Indeed, between it and the olives and cherries, he owed Sora a debt that may never truly be repaid. If anything, he needed to ensure that the young man returned home. Which meant that he would have to battle Sinmara for access to the Spark of the World.
Kratos let out a breath as he stared down at the Blades of Chaos. Unbidden, they lit up, their Primordial Fire greedily licking the air. As always, though useful, they were a nuisance. He didn't think that the fire Surtr had transferred into them would stay. Without that, perhaps they could have avoided their altercation with Snimara, and Sora would have been able to return to his home—or at least begin the first leg of that journey—immediately. Of course, without him, the Lyngbakr would not have been healed, and that one Seiðr witch would have successfully transformed into a dragon, and who knows how much destruction she would have wrought.
Though at the young man's expense, one could not deny that he had proven to be a positive force for the Realms.
After ensuring that he had slain all the Seiðr practitioners, and destroyed their foul tools and effigies, Kratos began the trek back to Vanaland. While his use of Flowmotion was still nowhere near the instinctive mastery he possessed within the Dream, he could tell he was getting better with each attempt. He wasted fewer movements, and each leap was quicker than the last. He returned to the capital city of Vanaheim quicker than when he'd left it. Sigrún hadn't even finished her work by the time he leapt through her window.
Her wings flapped twice as she leant back in instinctive surprise. "That was fast, General, even for you," she said. "Of course, that strange energy you possess was of great help, no doubt."
"What was that?" Gunnr, the Valkyrie's former Mistress of War, now one of Freya's 'humble' Shield Maidens, asked. "It was almost as if you were flying."
Kratos grunted. "It is a technique called 'Flowmotion'. It is a traversal method Sora taught Atreus and me. It is very useful."
"High praise, coming from you," Sigrún teased. She arched a brow. "It is possible for him to teach others?"
"Unlikely," Kratos replied. "The method to learn it is specific, and not something that he would perform on a whim." And even then, Kratos and Atreus were only able to learn it so quickly thanks to the Dream Eaters. Without them, who knew how long it would have taken.
"Pity," Gunnr replied. "It looks fun. Is it?" Kratos grunted, neither confirming nor denying her question.
He turned to Sigrún. "Are there any more locations that need to be cleared?"
"Not within a day's travel of the city—with wings, mind you. Although considering what you've just demonstrated…" She hummed in contemplation, before shaking her head. "No, you've more than helped for now, General."
"Very well." Kratos nodded. "Should you require my assistance, you need only ask." Sigrún and Gunnr nodded back, and Kratos left the room. And now he was back with nothing to do. Except return to Midgard and ruminate on the issue of revealing the full breadth of his past to Atreus.
He stopped beside a painting of some scenic waterfall and let out a sigh. Mimir was right, of course. It would be better to tell Atreus himself; he was as close to a man grown, and it would come better from Kratos's own lips than anyone else's. And yet, his heart trembled at the mere idea of doing so. He almost laughed—the first time he let fear rule his heart, it led to his ruin. And after…How much time and warmth had he lost with Atreus during his youth because of his fears of failing as a father? How much anguish had he caused Atreus due to fear of his death during Ragnarök and refusing to acknowledge it? He needed to tell Atreus, he resolved. When and how, however, was another question still.
He continued on his way and heard a clamor from outside a nearby window. Nothing dire, but enough to stoke even his near apathetic curiosity. He looked out the window and arched a brow at the sight of his son directing a small gaggle of various animals through the streets to the palace. Atreus had been successful in his endeavor, it would seem. Very successful.
Kratos wound through the palace and left through the main doors just as Atreus and his retinue arrived. His son spoke with a Shield Maiden—Göndul—who sent another guard into the palace, no doubt to inform Freya.
As he walked closer, he caught the end of their conversation. "You picked the worst time for this," the shield-maiden bluntly stated. "Her majesty is expecting the Midgardians to arrive, and now we have the Jotun to contend with." She nodded at a nearby deer. "No offense." The Giant huffed, before bending down to eat some grass.
"Yeah, probably should have come alone first," Atreus admitted bashfully. He perked up upon seeing Kratos. "Father!" he called out as Göndul turned and bowed. The various animals eyed him briefly, before returning to their previous motions. "Freya plant those trees yet?"
"She has," Kratos replied. "With any luck, they shall bear fruit soon." He cast his gaze to the animals. "All of these Giants once studied Lyngbakr?"
"Oh no, only three of them. But when I asked if they would be willing to come to Vanaheim, a bunch more started clamoring to join." Atreus shrugged. "Couldn't exactly tell them no." He easily could have, but such compassion was his nature.
At first, Kratos wanted to simply nod and return home first. But he stopped himself. He recent conversations with Freya and Mimir swirled in his mind, as well as his personal promise to tell Atreus the truth echoing in his thoughts. If he left it alone now, how long would he wait? For all that he was a man of action, frank emotional conversation was not in his nature.
With a nod, he clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Come. We…We must speak."
Atreus blinked. "Wha—now?" He gestured to the Giants. "I mean, I'm always open to talk, but—"
"It cannot wait," Kratos solemnly declared. The quiet urgency in his voice was like a bolt of lightning, concern leaking through Atreus's features as he quietly nodded.
Kratos turned to Göndul, who huffed. "Freya's gonna be pissed, but I won't keep you. Well, even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't."
"Mimir will know what to do," Kratos replied, and led his son away from the palace.
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They were silent all through the streets to the Mystic Gateway outside the city. Atreus only broke it when he saw the Realm Kratos had keyed in. "Jotunheim?" he said with a snort. "I guess we all have to start communicating better, could have saved myself a trip." Kratos huffed in amusement and opened the gateway. When they exited the void, Atreus arched a brow.
"The base of the Fingers?" he said. "Why are we here?"
Kratos sighed as he lifted his head up and up to stare at the peak of the mountain. "I…This conversation will be easier up there, where we spread your mother's ashes." Faye had always given him strength, and he would need all the strength he could muster. "And climbing it will be good Flowmotion practice," he added as an afterthought. His first statement scared Atreus, he knew, but all he did was nod and leap onto the mountain, Kratos following seconds after.
"So!" Atreus called out after they'd climbed up halfway. "How's Flowmotion treating you?"
"Well!" Kratos shouted back. "It has already proven effective in combat outside of the Dream."
"Same—well, I haven't had to fight anything yet." Atreus chuckled. "The Giants were all transfixed when I first showed it off. Managed to beg them off by promising to introduce them to Sora."
"I had a similar conversation with Sigrún, and Olrun wishes to speak with him regarding Dreams and traversing them."
Atreus snickered. "He's gonna be so busy." He launched off a rocky outcrop, and his form shifted into a hawk. He flapped his wings, and a tremendous gust of air propelled him forward. Kratos grunted and summoned a Draupnir spear. After charging it, he aimed the spear downward and released the collected wind. He caught up seconds later.
"What's this?" Atreus asked after he changed back to his normal form. "You caught up so quickly! Afraid I might leave you behind."
"It is foolish to be afraid of something that shall not happen."
"Oh, now it's on!" Atreus shouted and changed shape and burst upwards once more. Kratos grunted in amusement and unsheathed his Blades of Chaos. The blades lit up, tinted blue with Flowmotion, and he threw them the left blade into an outcrop above him. He yanked on the chain and soared upward. He then did the same with the other blade, and easily overtook his son.
"Hey, no fair!" Atreus exclaimed. "I can't do my thing so many times in a row!"
Kratos laughed. "I do not recall raising a son that spouted excuses!" Atreus groaned, and shifted shape into a deer, bounding up the mountain as if it were a flat plain. Unfortunately, Kratos's lead was too vast, and he reached the top first—just before the stone murals they'd found all those years ago.
Atreus let out a snort before changing back to his normal form. "Can't believe I lost! I even started before you!"
"Let this be a lesson," Kratos said with a wry smirk. "No matter the advantage, a possible defeat is never far behind."
"Yeah, yeah," Atreus groused, but he was unable to mask his good mood. "Don't have to sound so smug about it." Kratos snorted and led them forward.
As they walked, he asked, "Why did you not transform into Dream Eaters?"
"I can't," Atreus said with a shrug. "I'm hoping it's just a matter of mastery, but it's more likely it's just something I can't do in the real world."
"So long as you are clever, the results will be the same," Kratos replied.
"No regular animal can curl into a spiked ball." He crossed his arms with a hum. "Well, I guess there are hedgehogs, but they're tiny."
"Can you combine the features of different animals? Add a hedgehog's spines to an ox's bulk, perhaps?"
"Nah. I can halt a transformation midway to give myself things like claws or fur—I mean, it's weird, but I can do it—but I can't transform into two things at once. It's just not possible." Atreus paused and looked down at his hands. "But maybe with Flowmotion…"
"Later," Kratos gently cut in. "We are almost there." Atreus blinked, staring up at the prophetic murals in mild shock.
"Oh! I remember that walk taking longer."
"You were smaller, then" Kratos said as he reached up and traced the image of Faye. He turned to his right and walked over to a section of wall covered by a fraying cloth. He pulled it down, and revealed the mural of Atreus holding his dying body that he'd found when they first came here.
Atreus stepped up beside him with a sigh. "…I still don't know if I would have preferred to know about this or not."
"Such knowledge would have weighed heavily upon your soul," Kratos said with a shake of his head. "You would question your every action, wondering if you were working to subvert the future, or merely hastening its arrival."
"…Or we could have, you know, worked through it together?" his son supplied with a soft, hesitant smile.
Kratos returned the smile. "Perhaps we could have." His lips curled into a frown, however, as he turned towards the exit to the peak. "Come." They climbed the rest of the way in silence.
The last time they had climbed the peak, they had found nothing more than the corpses of Giants in the distance. Now, they had been cleared, freeing the crags and valleys of Jotunheim for all to see. Unbidden, Kratos recalled a conversation he once had with Angrboda, who he helped move the corpses, where he asked why none of the Jotun she'd placed in animal bodies wanted to return to their original bodies. She had listed a host of variables—the time and effort needed to restore the bodies to pristine conditions, the task of matching all the souls to the right bodies, and a other reasons Kratos did not bother to recall—and added that, at the end of the day, the Giants were all happy with their current arrangements. Most of them barely remembered their lives prior to stuffing their souls in marbles to begin with, so forcing them into their old, bipedal forms would have been more trouble than it was worth.
Kratos had to suppress a growl—he was really out of sorts, if he allowed his mind to wander like that.
Atreus leaned against the cliff face and took a deep breath. "How often do you think Mother looked down on Jotunheim from here?"
"Often enough, for her to request that we spread her ashes here." While Kratos knew that Faye had, on some level, simply wanted to force him and Atreus out into the Realms, he believed that she did have a genuine fondness for this location.
"…I'm ready whenever you are," Atreus said after a moment.
Kratos swallowed a lump in his throat—he'd almost forgotten why he wanted to come here. He forced himself to look out at the horizon—if he turned to his son, he would lose his nerve.
He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled breath, his heart leaping up to his throat. He clenched his fists, and took several steadying breaths, but still his heart seized in fear. That realization, however, lit a fire in his soul. He had let fear hold him back for far too long.
With one final breath, Kratos spoke. "In Greece, back when I was simply a soldier of Sparta, I had a family. My wife, Lysandra, and our daughter, Calliope."
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