"Here it is."
The young archer stared at the surprisingly squat and ruined edifice. "Is this really it? The Temple of Styx?"
"Or the Necromanteion, depending who you ask." Melinoé's voice. She appeared nervous, scratching at the join of the metal ring on her arm. The flesh and blood side. "The gateway to the underworld for our pantheon." She tried to smile at him. Tried. "You don't need to worry. We're expected. They won't give us any trouble going in."
Left unspoken, the 'getting out' part.
"Hey," she said, coming close, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her false smile fell. Maybe she sensed his nerves, or maybe acknowledged she shared them. "It isn't too late to change your mind. In fact, this is probably your last chance. If you don't want to do this–"
"No." The word was sincere, determined. "I want to. I know, I don't want to be the kind of person or god or whatever who turns his back on someone who needs help. So..."
She sighed. A much more genuine smile gracing her face. And suddenly she leaned forward, up, and pressed her lips against his cheek. Her scent entered his nose, the memory of it fixing itself into his brain. A fruity aroma he couldn't quite place. "Thank you, Atreus. Really."
"N-No problem," he stammered slightly, proudly walking toward the ruined temple to cover his embarrassment. "Let's go!"
"Atreus, hold on a second–!"
The moment he passed through the fractured doorway, he entered a different realm entirely. Red carpets and undisturbed stonework flanked by pure blue waters. A contrast to the blood red river that flowed far to his left.
A crimson red that precisely matched the fur of the mighty three-headed beast that loomed large over him. Three sets of large and fierce teeth bared in his direction. All at once, the three-headed dog howled three times all at once.
-(-)-
"GOOOOD MORNING ATRE–!"
The less than light smack to his shoulder might have been normal and familiar by now, but it still startled Atreus enough to roll and rise to his feet reaching for his bow.
"Hah! Energetic this morning, are we?! Excellent!" Kratos shouted. "Perhaps we can get in a quick spar before breakfast this morning! Put that energy to good use!"
The boy looked around. They were... On a boat? No, that was right. They were on a boat. The next leg of their journey. No adoration for Kratos to indulge in, just the open water. The god of strength didn't even indulge in a workout of his own, instead leaving Atreus to handle it. Part of his new approach to Atreus' training, not focusing entirely on strength and instead stamina, flexibility, survival in harsh circumstances. The god of strength had even asked for Poseidon's aid in making the waters a challenge. All of it was appreciated but...
The Temple of Styx? He knew that was his eventual destination but even Melinoé said that was still far in the...
Future.
It happened again. It had been more than a year, closer to two since the last time. Since he had a dream like that. One that felt so real that he could still remember the thrum of Thor's thunderous might through his bones. And even now he could still feel the phantom sensation of Melinoé's lips on his cheek, the heady, fruity scent of her proximity even through the salty sea air.
"O-ho?" Kratos uttered with a slight teasing edge. "Did I perhaps introduce a special dream? It would explain the jumpiness, and you are at that age."
"No, it's not–" Well, it was, but not in that way.
But Kratos decided he didn't need to hear any more. "Not to worry! It happens to us all! So! Spar...?" the god asked with hope in his voice.
"I, uh, I think I wanna practice my magic a little if that's okay?"
Kratos sighed, not even attempting to hide his disappointment. "Very well. Then I shall see about doing a little fishing! Don't wear yourself out too early! I expect us to reach Honolulu today!" And with that, he dove into the water.
Well, Atreus thought to himself, if he was going to lose himself in his thoughts anyway, might as well actually practice his magic. "Kráku lið!" An arrow fired skyward became a murder of blue crows, each one then becoming its own missile able to curve and seek its own target to strike multiple times. "Fálki lið!" Again, another, a cast of falcons made of lightning. Creating summons of multiple different creatures at once and guiding them directly was a skill he was actively working toward. He had made progress since he truly fought Kratos for the first time, but there was always more refinement to achieve. In this case, he would guide the two different species in intricate patterns independent of one another. A meditative, concentrative exercise. Letting his mind drift while doing something so mentally taxing would only make it more difficult, but if he intended to use this combination in combat, he needed to be able to do it while distracted.
Prophetic dreams. The giants were capable of that. Were all of them capable of that? He didn't know. There were some who were famous for it, like Groa. And he was the subject of a prophecy of his own, the one that his mother knew about. The destiny he was supposed to follow.
Supposed to. He didn't know if he would, or even could anymore. He had dreamed of Thor once. Come to the house where he and his father lived. A prophetic dream. A part of him knew it. Knew that was what it was. But how could it possibly come to pass if he was literally a world away? Not even a realm away, an actual world away, a different world with a different Odin, a different Thor, a different Kratos, a different World Tree. He didn't know how he got here, which way he came from or how far, so how could he possibly go back to see that prophecy come to pass?
That wasn't even the only question. He had seen two future events. One in which he would see the god of thunder come to do them harm. One in which he would set himself to help Melioné free her brother. Could it be possible only one could come to pass? He didn't know. He had still been young in the dream of Thor, but in the dream of Melioné and the temple he was taller than her. Something that was... Not currently true. So did that mean he would go back to Midgard, face Thor, then return to help Melinoé? Or did it mean his fate had changed? Maybe his supposed prophetic ability wasn't as accurate as an older giant's would be. His journey to Jotunheim had been prophecised, but he had seen all of that, and the giants were gone. Was there anything else? If his dream of Thor didn't happen... Was that even a bad thing?
He sighed, fixing the pattern of the falcons that had gone a little off course. There was the other possibility. That he was getting in his head over nothing, neither were prophetic dreams and were instead just really vivid dreams. And thinking about it, he thought that might have been the best outcome. All this worrying over what he should be doing to fulfil his destiny or whatever else was way more stress than just doing what he thought was the right thing.
"You're getting better," he heard Melinoé again, in the waking world this time. Saw her sitting on the roof of the boat. "They're lasting far longer as well. Think you'll be able to manage three eventually?"
"What are you doing here?"
"You're practicing magic," she noted with a smirk down at him. "I wouldn't be much of a teacher if I didn't watch over your training, would I? So?"
"Three would be a waste," he answered her question grumpily. "I'd be better off learning a new skill than however long it'd take me to learn three at once."
"Well, you'll have plenty of time in the future to work on it if you really care to," she reminded him. "Godly lifespan and all. And animals seem to be your 'thing' when it comes to magic. Any closer to figuring out what you're god of yet? Starting to look like something wilderness-adjacent, like Artemis."
He huffed. "Animals. Communication. Only clues I got so far."
"Am I bothering you? You seem upset."
"No, I, it's not you, it's just..." The boy trailed off, knowing he couldn't exactly tell her about his problem. But... Maybe she could help solve it. "Okay, I'm about to ask something a little weird."
"Oh wow, this ought to be good."
"Can I smell your hair?"
The death goddess sputtered and coughed, breaking into awkward and baffled laughter. "What?" The word barely even escaped through her giggling.
"Look, I... I know it's a little weird but it's really important!" he insisted with a blushing face.
"I have no idea how that could possibly be true," she countered, only to second-guess herself. "Actually, I can think of one way it could be true, but it would mean your idea of important and mine are very different. Though it's very flattering to be so irresistible that you'd outright ask like that."
"What? No! I mean–!"
"Oh, I'm not irresistible?"
"What?! No, of course you are I–! Wait, no, that's not–!" Amid his baffled and increasingly panicked fumbling he managed to see the grin on her face that just barely held in her laughter. "... Forget it! Never mind!" Atreus declared as he turned away to determinedly focus on the birds that were... Not even close to flying the right patterns anymore. He tried to tune out her laughter as he righted them.
"Atreus..." Melinoé leapt over his head and perched herself on the rail of the boat, no longer laughing but still smiling. At least in the glance he allowed himself before his embarrassment got the better of him again. "Why do you want to smell my hair?" She let the question hang, but received no answer. "I promise I won't laugh again."
"I... I can't tell you," he answered. Not out of stubbornness even if he knew she'd think that. "But I promise it's not what you think." That hadn't even crossed his mind when he asked. But for how much he liked the smell and her closeness in his dream, he could see where she got that impression.
"This is important to you?" she asked, and he nodded tightly. "... Alright. Just try not to linger, alright?" She leaned sideways in his direction.
Why did he suddenly feel nervous?
Oh. Right. Because this was super weird and it was all his fault. That was a good reason. But he asked, and she gave him permission.
He still felt trepidation. Not for how weird this was. But for how this would answer his question. If his dreams were just dreams, or if he would be burdened with all of the further questions those dreams raised.
"This isn't a standing offer, Atreus."
"Sorry." He leaned toward her, and took a gentle breath in through his nose, not wanting to make this any more odd than it already was.
And a familiar scent came to his senses.
"... Thanks," he mumbled as he leaned away. "Sorry."
"... Wow," she uttered as she looked at him, the conflicted and uncertain expression on his face. "Here I was, ready to wonder if I should be flattered or not. Now looking at you I'm not sure whether to be insulted." He grimaced in response. "That was a joke, Atreus."
"Uh... Yeah. Funny," he mumbled, not really looking at her.
He heard her shuffle, then felt her arm come over his shoulders. "Why was this so important to you?"
Atreus didn't want to tell her, but so much more of him did. As much as he thought he shouldn't, that the conflict of who he was and where he came from was something he had to understand on his own... He needed help. And one of the few sources of guidance he had in the absence of his father was right there. "I... I had a dream. It wasn't the first time I had a dream like it. It was of the future."
"And in this dream you... Smelled my hair?"
"It was a detail that stuck in my memory." He glanced her way, to see she seemed to be considering him, before she shrugged with an oddly accepting look. "And it was the same. As just now."
"You were trying to find out if it was really prophetic."
He nodded. "But, the other dream I had, it was a long time ago, felt just as real, but now it's looking like it can't happen. So... I don't know what that means."
"Maybe it means your fate changed. Or someone changed it," Melinoé suggested as though it wasn't a slap in the face for everything he had experienced.
"But the one Mother made–!" His quick rebuke died as he realised what he said. He shouldn't have done this! He was saying too much!
And then he felt her hand on his. "Your mother was an oracle?" the death goddess asked gently.
"I... Yeah. I guess." It was too late now. "When she died, she wanted her ashes to be spread from the highest peak in the realms. So Father and I did. We went through so much to do it, but when we finally reached it... There were murals showing every part of our journey. She saw it all, just as it happened. That journey made me who I am, but if it can be wrong then what do I do? What am I supposed to do?"
"Whatever you think is best," Melinoé answered simply. Like it was obvious. "Atreus, you aren't beholden to anything. If her predictions hadn't been there to greet you when you achieved your goal, would you have felt any regret for the actions you took?"
"We're gods! We can do whatever... We... Want..."
"Yeah," he answered in a wooden tone. "A lot of them, actually."
"So it made you feel better about them? Why?"
"Because... It felt like it was supposed to happen. It felt like even though she's gone, she was still guiding us."
"Oh..." There was so much sympathy, empathy, in that one sound. And it was in that moment that Atreus remembered she had lost a mother too. "Atreus, I... I'm sure she would have wanted to if she could. But your actions, your choices, they're always yours. Whether a prophecy comes true or not, the outcome is always due to who you are and what you do."
It hurt to hear. Only made slightly easier for how it seemed to hurt her to say it. "So they don't always come true."
"There are a lot of tales about prophecy. Where those hearing it hurtle toward it without hesitation, eager for their future only to later learn it's a poisoned chalice. Where those hearing it fight with all their might to avoid their determined fate, only for that very same resistance to be the cause of it in the end. Where only by hearing a prophecy can it come to pass. Where only by not hearing a prophecy can it come to pass. But, while there are many more tales about succumbing to prophecy, there are also those that defeat it."
She patted his arm, bringing his eyes to hers. "There are as many powers to discern fate and destiny as there are powers to break it. No divination is infallible. My advice would be to ignore these dreams as much as you can and focus on doing what you believe is right."
He remembered the story she told him. About the history of her family. "I guess you've had a pretty different experience of prophecy than I have, huh?"
"You could certainly say that," she laughed mirthlessly as she stood up and turned to face him. "Did you want the events of that first dream to happen?"
"No..."
"Then if you're feeling optimistic, be glad it won't. Pessimistic? Prepare in case it does. How about the second dream?"
"Uh..." Atreus looked away, scratching, or rather running a finger along his cheek. "Yeah. I think I do."
When his eyes returned to Melinoé, she wore a victorious expression. "Same again. If you're optimistic, be glad it'll happen. Pessimistic? Do your best to see it happen on good terms. No matter what, do what you think is right. The only inescapable fate is death, so live without regrets."
-(-)-
A god made almost entirely of regrets held a weapon in his hands. Familiar, yet unfamiliar. An ornately crafted shaft of metal, shining and glimmering gold, the bladed head tapering to a point so fine as to pierce the thickest hide. A weapon, forged for him. Absent the regret and rage of his blades. Absent the regret and loss he couldn't help but associate with his axe. The Draupnir Spear was a weapon forged only for him, to be wielded in battle that he might save someone, instead of kill as he always did.
Yet. All the same. It was a weapon forged that he might once again kill a god.
"It's a fine spear Brother, no mistake," Mimir quietly said to Kratos, understanding at least a little the solemnity of the moment. "Brok did fine work."
"The dwarves always do," the god responded, referring strictly to the two he knew personally. Dwarves may have collectively held a reputation as greater than ordinary craftsmen, but Kratos only cared for demonstrated results. Brok and Sindri had never failed to deliver. Not a single time. He was grateful. He was even grateful for Brok's sudden epiphany for how they might overcome Heimdall's gift of foresight. The blue dwarf was simply doing what he always did. Facilitating whatever choices Kratos might make. The choices, and the repercussions for those choices, would lie with him and him alone.
He had to wonder. Brok had certainly taken his time with the excursion to create the Draupnir Spear. The foul-mouthed dwarf wasn't one to speak of his own good intentions. He let actions speak. Something Kratos greatly appreciated. And Kratos couldn't decide if the extended journey to forge the weapon wasn't a means of giving Kratos time alone with his thoughts. Time that he desperately needed.
Once again, he was tangled in the threads of prophecy. Worse, through some means that were beyond him, those same threads had been severed. This was not how the giants foresaw events. And while he was glad to not leave his son orphaned, this was far worse. Whatever plan Faye had...
He began to practice with the spear, reliving long forgotten drills with the very first weapon he ever held. Thrusting at a non-existent target.
Whatever plan Faye had, it was no longer feasible. Whatever destiny she had written for 'Loki', it had been unwritten. And so, there were once again only the actions Kratos could take. What Kratos would allow himself to do if it meant rescuing his son. The limitations of such were disappointingly few. The Ghost of Sparta had come to believe, in some small way, he had grown. Changed. Become better. Thanks to guiding Atreus. And thanks to the guidance of Atreus.
He had not. He was still the same fool who could not stop himself. The same fool who slaughtered his way through his kin, sundered the world as a result. The reason had changed, but the outcome...
The outcome would be the same.
"Mimir," he rumbled, returning the spear to his back. "How... Do we find Heimdall?"
"Surprisingly, or not dependin' on your point of view, it's easier said than done. If'n you mean findin' him alone. More'n likely Asgard would be the obvious pick, but you're more likely to run into the drunken lummox Thor before Heimdall. Or for Thor to run into you."
"That does not matter."
"I... Ah..." The head fumbled for words to address the curt response. "Glad to know you're motivated, Brother, but let's not confuse determination with arrogance. Catching the Watchwanker alone is the safest bet of gettin' your boy back safe, aye?"
"... Hm."
Taking that as grudging acceptance, Mimir continued. "So, naturally putting aside leaping headfirst into Asgard and getting the entirety of the Aesir crashing down on your heed... Vanaheim. If'n you're lookin' for the where, what and how of Aesir habits and movements, best to check in on their age-old adversaries and see if we can compare notes."
"... Vanaheim," Kratos repeated. "The realm Freya called home."
"Ah... Aye," the head confirmed. "But as she hasn't been able to leave Midgard since long before I was rooted to a tree, they won't know much at all about your altercations with her or her boy. Honestly they'll be far angrier to see me than you, to the point I might say leave me here."
"You believe you would be that much of a hindrance?"
"Don't get me wrong, Brother. I trust your diplomacy skills about as far as I could throw you. And, lacking arms, that's no' bloody far. But I'm afraid mah reputation precedes me in this case." He paused. "Actually, in most cases. But this one is particularly bad, what with arrangin' a marriage between the leader of the Vanir and the All-Fucker, all to broker a peace that barely even lasted long enough for the bastard to show his true colours. I'm no friend to the Vanir, Kratos."
"Hrm..." Another choice with potential consequences. But he knew the option he had to take, walking straight for the door leading further out to the Realm Between Realms. "You are a friend to me."
"Oh..." the head uttered, overcome with emotion. "That's... Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not sure I'm so fond of it when I might end up on a spike at the end of this!"
"Be ready for our return!" Kratos called out in the moment before passing through. One way or another, by the time they returned, they would have what they needed.
And coming out on the other side... "Forests," Kratos grumbled.
"Aye," Mimir agreed, eyeing the lush and occasionally pointy greenery with much more trepidation for being at waist height. "Forests, jungles, Vanaheim's known for 'em. Oh, and marshes. Eh..." he trailed off, "Geh, definitely marshes now, seems like. Bit muggy innit? Fimbulwinter's doin', mebbe."
"Which way?"
"Ya think I know where anythin' is from some branch o' the World Tree? Just do what you do best, Brother. Wander about, stir up some trouble. I'm sure we'll be able to get some attention sooner rather than later. Though I'd try to avoid killin' anyone human-shaped if I were you. Rampant murder makes for a lacklustre first impression."
"Hrm."
And so Kratos followed the head's advice. Picked a random direction, carving his way through the brush, and through whatever creatures managed to stumble in his way only to decide he was a fight worth picking. A fatal mistake, but beasts were beasts.
And as promised, it was not long at all before Kratos found trouble. Though not exactly the kind he expected. "Mimir," he called quietly, pulling the head from his belt and lifting him to face those the god of war had come across. "Are they Vanir?"
"... No," the head answered, just as quietly as he observed the pale-skinned men and women with black markings over their eyes. "No they're not. I should've expected this. Though maybe not them specifically."
"Answer, Mimir."
"Sorry. Einherjar. Odin's army come Ragnarok, but it looks like he's let them out a bit early."
"... Enemy of the Vanir."
"Unless everything I know about both the Vanir and Aesir has completely changed while I've been out of the loop, aye."
"... Then you were wrong previously." Rampant murder would in fact make a very strong first impression.
In one hand Kratos pulled his axe free, in the other, the spear. With a turn he hurled the axe at the first of the Einherjar he could see. As a member of Odin's elite army it wasn't especially surprising for the warrior to at least somewhat deflect it at the last moment. Only for the thrown spear to run him through. He was given just enough time to see Kratos swinging over to him on his chained blade before the butt of the spear slammed into the ground. The one left in the warrior's gut exploded, leaving him to suffer a painful death.
Leaving Kratos to systematically demolish the warrior's compatriots. One became four. Four became ten. Ten became–
"Brother! This might be gettin' a wee bit out of hand–!"
"RAAAAGH!"
Any further words were lost amidst the sound of Kratos using one woman as a bludgeon before throwing her at a charging man. Then throwing spear after spear in their direction before detonating them all at once. Only to call his axe back to him and chop through another attacking him from behind. A whirling maelstrom of violence that only seemed to grow fiercer the more foes appeared.
"Uh–"
A spearhead pointed at the source of the female voice silenced it before it could even speak a real word. However, the owner of said voice was nowhere to be seen.
"Whoa, easy there–!"
Once again, the spear swung around to find the source, only to find nothing.
"I said easy, beef stack!" the woman said, this time from further away and with a convenient solid object to hide behind. The split second required to aim giving Kratos time to actually see the one talking to him. A dwarf woman. "You point that thing at ever'body tryna say hello?!"
"... You caught me at a tense moment," Kratos said, somewhat lowering the spear but not entirely. "Though I would recommend against appearing at my flank in such moments."
"That means 'sorry'," Mimir supplied.
"Mm," Kratos grunted in agreement.
"I'll take what I can get." She looked at the remains of the Einherjar strewn over what was probably once a fortification. "You, uh, ain't a big fan o' the Aesir, looks like."
"You are correct," Kratos answered. "I do not bear them any particular ill will–"
"Speak for yerself," Mimir interrupted.
"–But they do stand in my way. You know the Vanir?"
"Pfft!" the dwarf woman scoffed. "Might as well ask if I've seen any trees. We're in Vanaheim, Beefsteak. Lot o' Vanir here. But I'm guessin' yer talkin' about the head honchos."
Silently, Kratos wondered why dwarves always spoke so strangely. "I seek those in charge, yes."
"Well lucky fer you, they're mighty keen to find out who's been slaughterin' Einherjar out o' nowhere." She moved behind the tree.
Kratos whirled around with the spear pointed– "Oh!" the dwarf yelped. "Right! You... Said that thing about not poppin' up behind ya! That one's on me! Well, c'mon, this way!"
Observing the bloodbath they were leaving behind as Kratos followed the dwarf, Mimir couldn't help but wonder aloud. "I can't tell if this is going better or worse than I'd hoped."
-(-)-
A/N: This chapter voted for and seen early by my generous supporters on THE GREAT FORBIDDEN P! FEAR THE P! LOVE THE P!