A/N: Been a bit, I know. Lost a cowriter for this, gained another. Many thanks to Dark.
I'm very sick, the site glitches are HIDING chapters and I may be going insane.
But hey, here we are.
Every bit of feedback truly does help, large or small, any review is better than nothing at all.
Once more, we're sticking with the "Embers" rule for this story, and others. Meaning folks don't like this, it won't be continued. If the story itself ain't popular/well-received...well, I won't be able to continue it. I'm working two jobs, holidays are here too, meaning I barely have time to write; as such, I cannot afford to write something folks don't enjoy.
So by all means, speak up! Your voice matters! Make yourself heard! As ever, reviews are the fuel that sustain me. Without them I cannot write a single word. Simple as that. Working nearly all hours of the day keep me absurdly busy, and I can't bring myself to write something folks don't like.
As ever, I own no references, quotes, themes or memes. Not a wit or a one! Really, they're just tributes..
I'm just a humble author trying to make his way in this wild world, one word at a time.
Time and feedback will determine if this remains a story. Simple as that.
In other words...its up to YOU, the reader. Do let me know~!
"Don't go into the light!"
~?
A Little Light
The light was a lure, and Naruto knew it.
Yet it called to him all the same, whispering in a voice too familiar to ignore, too distant to embrace. It wove itself through the marrow of his bones, beckoning him forward with a promise not of salvation, but of solace. A warmth he had not felt since the cold stole his mother from him.
Behind him, the world burned. The clang of steel rang through the twilight air, a furious chorus of war cries and dying breaths. His father's roar echoed like thunder, his brother's voice a defiant storm against the relentless tide of Dark Elves.
The glow from the temple shimmered like the surface of a dream. It pulsed, golden and inviting, just beyond his reach. Something ancient stirred within it, something that wrapped around his heart with fingers as gentle as a lullaby.
He hesitated.
Step forward, it whispered. Rest your bones awhile. Haven't you earned it?
A breath. A heartbeat. And then he moved.
The light swallowed him whole.
(.0.0.0.)
"Who are you?"
The voice drifted through the mist, soft as the hush of snowfall. Naruto blinked, his vision adjusting to the radiance around him. It was not blinding, nor harsh. It was warmth—pure, endless warmth—seeping into the cracks of his weary soul.
She stood in the center of it.
Her hair burned like the last embers of a dying fire, her eyes deep pools of summer's fading glow. She was not of flesh, nor shadow, but something in between—woven from memory, from longing, from the echoes of a love that should no longer exist. The mist curled around her, parting beneath the lazy dance of her fingertips.
She was familiar.
Not in the way one remembers a face, but in the way one recalls the scent of rain after a dry season, or the melody of a lullaby sung long ago. He had known her presence in the hush before the storm, had heard her laughter in the rustling leaves of the Wildwoods.
He wet his lips, his voice barely a whisper.
"Mother?"
She smiled, tilting her head as though amused by the name. Not quite.
"You have come far, my son."
His gut twisted, his stomach lurching with the sick certainty that this was wrong.
She was gone. She had been gone.
He'd watched the flames claim her body. He had stood in silence as the snow swallowed what little remained. He had borne the weight of her absence, heavy and relentless, carved into his chest like a scar that would never fade.
And yet—
She stepped closer, raising a hand to his cheek. He flinched, but did not pull away.
"You are not lost, my little fox."
The name, spoken with such tenderness, was a dagger between his ribs. It struck something buried deep beneath steel and silence, something raw and aching.
His breath trembled. He looked at her, at the impossible truth of her standing before him, her fingers warm against his skin.
"But I saw you—"
His voice broke.
And she only smiled.
"You saw what you were meant to see," she whispered, her touch feather-light. "But I am not done. Not yet."
Her fingers ghosted along his cheek, warm in a way that defied reason. He felt himself lean into it, an instinct older than memory, as if some part of him still believed in a truth that had long since been buried beneath ash and time.
His throat worked, but the words refused to come.
I want to believe.
Gods, he wanted to. He wanted to close his eyes and surrender to the illusion, to let himself be the child who had once clung to her hands, who had known love without grief, warmth without consequence.
But how could he?
He had watched the world crumble beneath his feet before. He had watched another mother die, her blood a dark stain against the snow. He had buried her with hands too small to wield the blade they had given him in her stead.
He had long since stopped hoping for the dead to return.
And yet.
She pressed her forehead to his, her breath a whisper against his skin. "Wake up, my son."
The Light shattered around him.
(.0.0.0.)
He awoke to warmth.
Not the false warmth of the Light, nor the fevered heat of battle, but something quieter. Something steady. The kind of warmth that did not demand, but simply was.
Belatedly, he recognized the roof of the cottage above, and the fires flickering in the hearth.
Dreaming, then. He'd finally fallen asleep.
His fingers twitched. His breath came slow as he stirred, blinking past the residual glow still burning at the edges of his vision. There was a weight against him—small, fragile.
Freyja.
She had curled her small body against him in his sleep, fingers knotted into his tunic as though he might vanish if she let go. Even in rest, she clung to him, as if seeking an anchor in the storm. She must've been a glorious warrior woman once, before she'd been cursed into this youthful form. He shifted a little against her and she shuddered at his stirring. A whimper escaped her lips, muffled as she pressed her face against his chest.
Naruto exhaled slowly.
He had seen warriors break in battle. Had seen his father carve gods apart with nothing but the weight of his fury. He had thought himself hardened, had believed there was little left in the world capable of shaking him.
And yet.
The sight of her—a goddess bound and broken, a creature meant for flight forced to kneel—struck something deep within him.
Something old.
Something unyielding.
His arms curled around her before he had even made the choice. Not as a warrior, nor as a shield-brother, but as something simpler. Something softer.
She did not speak. Did not need to.
He felt the silent tremors that wracked her frame, the way her fingers curled tighter in the fabric of his cloak, as though it too might be taken from her. As though everything she touched was doomed to slip through her grasp.
He was not one for comfort. Not truly.
But he could offer this.
"Rest," he murmured against her hair, his voice quieter than the crackling embers that smoldered in the dying hearth. "I won't let him take you."
A shudder ran through her. Her breath hitched, the fragile, desperate sound of someone who wanted to believe but had been given too many reasons not to.
"Promise?"
He tightened his grip.
"Promise."
A tremor passed through her frame, but slowly—hesitantly—she stilled. Her breath evened, her fingers loosening from where they had been knotted in his tunic. Sleep reclaimed her in slow, reluctant waves, as if still afraid the moment would be stolen from her.
Naruto exhaled through his nose, the scent of firewood and ash settling into his bones.
If he were kinder, he might have called this peace.
Outside, the storm raged on.
He had work to do.
(.0.0.0.)
"They say you are Magni reborn."
The voice did not startle Naruto. It was too hesitant, too cautious, as if unsure whether it should be speaking at all. Naruto did not look up from the blade he was sharpening, the slow drag of steel against stone the only sound in the quiet of the camp.
He wasn't surprised one of the Huldra brothers had paid him a visit; only that it was this one. Sneaky dwarves had a tendency to pop up when he least expected them. With Freya still sound asleep back in her bed, it fell to him to take watch just in case he came back.
Even now, Odin's words rang in his head.
"Do we have a deal?"
He'd given his answer. There was nothing more to be said.
In truth, he was glad for the visitor; he appreciated the company.
The dwarf—Sindri, he thought—shifted on his feet, his fingers twitching as he fussed with the hem of his tunic.
"And who are 'they'?" he asked idly, testing the edge of Stormbreaker with his thumb; the dwarves had outdone themselves, but he wouldn't be truly satisfied until he tested it himself. "Care to enlighten me?"
Sindri made a vague gesture. "Oh, you know. People. The ones who see you fight and wonder how a boy can tear through an army like a godsdamned force of nature."
Naruto snorted, turning the blade over. Still sharp as ever, but he had to be sure. "I'm me. What else does it matter?"
Sindri hummed, though whether in agreement or amusement, Naruto couldn't tell. "Oh, I know that. But some say you might be his son. Or Surtr's. Or something worse."
The whetstone stilled in Naruto's hands.
Something worse.
Ha.
The words clung to the air between them, heavier than they should have been.
Sindri shifted again, clearly uncomfortable, but didn't back away. His kind were rarely ones to mince words when they believed them worth saying, even if they came wrapped in caution.
Naruto resumed his task, the scrape of steel filling the space where silence might have settled.
"And what do you think?" he asked after a moment.
Sindri hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Me? Oh, well. I think you fight like a storm no one can rein in. And I think that, if the gods are smart, they'll be afraid of what that means."
Naruto gave a quiet hum. He had no love for gods. And if the gods had any sense, they would have no love for him either.
Sindri sighed, stepping forward, ever so slightly, as if daring to breach the space between them. "But I also think... you didn't let her go."
Naruto's grip on the blade tightened.
Sindri did not elaborate. He didn't have to.
You didn't let her go.
It was not a question. It was not an accusation. It was simply the truth, spoken plainly, the way only someone who had spent too long in the presence of gods and monsters could say it.
Naruto wiped the blade clean, slipping it back into its sheath. He met Sindri's gaze, his eyes colder than the steel at his hip.
"No," he admitted. "I didn't."
Sindri nodded, something knowing in his gaze. "Good."
Then Sindri turned and left, leaving Naruto alone with the fire, the weight of the blade, and the promise he had made.
He let the words settle between them, thick as smoke, lingering in the spaces where silence stretched long. He had heard them before—whispered along the roads, murmured in dark corners, spoken in voices that never quite met his gaze.
Something.
That was what they called him. That much was clear. But what?
Even he did not know.
His hands bore no brand of divinity, no sigil of fate. He was neither Aesir nor Vanir, had not been forged in the fires of the Nine Realms nor sung into existence by the will of gods. He had not been chosen by fate, nor cast aside by it. He was something else entirely.
Something unmade...but what?
The weight of the thought pressed against his ribs, as heavy as the steel at his side. He slid the blade home into its sheath with a soft snkt, the sound sharp in the hush of the camp. His gaze flicked to Sindri's, searching for something—disapproval, caution, perhaps even fear.
He found none.
"Does it matter?" Naruto asked, tilting his head.
Sindri's mouth twisted, his fingers twitching against the hem of his tunic. "To some, it always will."
A pause.
Then Naruto smiled, slow and sharp, a thing of teeth and certainty.
"Then let them wonder."
(.0.0.0.)
"Father!"
"Hang on, boy!"
Kratos let the monster out.
The next Dark Elf that came for him found themselves torn in half. He used those halves to bludgeon a second to death, tore out the spine of that one and used it as flail against a third, taking the creature's head clean off at its shoulders. The spine shattered in his hands soon thereafter and he raged on, raining down blows on the next and the next and the NEXT, blood singing in his veins louder than ever, mirroring the frantic hammering of his heart. He didn't need his axe. His hands were enough. More than enough.
Still more elves came, chattering in a language he did not understand.
Kratos did not care. RIP AND TEAR. Until it was done.
The world descended into a red haze.
(.0.0.0.)
Odin settled into his chair and considered the raven before him.
The offer had been made, the hook baited.
Now he had but to wait.
But that didn't mean he couldn't amuse himself in the meantime.
He had eyes everywhere, after all.
And so he watched.
A God of War.
(.0.0.0.)
Kratos -Father!- eventually returned bloodied, his axe slick with the remains of Dark Elves.
Atreus was at his side, his bow slung over his shoulder, his breath still quickened from the fight, eyes bright with something sharp and eager. The boy had done well—Naruto could see it in the way his shoulders sat, straighter, more sure. His father had said as much, in his own way.
Naruto did not ask. He only stood, shaking the stiffness from his limbs.
Freyja stirred at his side.
Her breath caught before she opened her eyes, lashes fluttering against the fog of sleep. There was a moment, a single moment where she was still caught in the quiet embrace of rest, unburdened by the weight of memory.
And then she saw him.
Kratos.
She tensed, her body locking as her fingers dug into Naruto's arm before she caught herself, before she forced her hand to ease, though not to let go.
Her voice was quieter than usual when she spoke.
"You return."
Kratos grunted, ever the warrior. "The Light is ours."
Naruto hummed, but did not answer.
The warmth at the back of his skull had not yet faded.
A phantom touch. A whisper of something that should not have been, yet had been.
He thought of fire and warmth, of whispered names and quiet lullabies. He thought of a woman with flame in her hair, smiling in the Light, her voice a thing both distant and too close.
And he wondered.
If she had been real.
Or if she had been the cruelest trick of all.
A/N: And scene~!
Better yet, do you still want monthly updates? Kinda need to know if this story is going to be a thing again.
As ever, we're sticking with the tried and true "Embers" Rule for this story.
If folks don't like it...well, it won't be continued.
So speak up! Make yourself heard! Your voice matters! That's no joke! I have very little time to write these days, so feedback plays a large part in this. Daily updates ensure that I'm constantly busy working on one project or another. I cannot afford to stop and write something that folks don't like; if only because I feel that would a cold disservice to those of who who have stuck with me for so long.
So in the Immortal Words of Atlas...Review...Would You Kindly?
And enjoy the previews! Potential ones, I suppose.
Granted, some are far off:
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
SPOILERS AWAIT YOU!
YE BE WARNED!
(Previews)
"If there's a way to free you, its in Vanaheim. Has to be. Getting there...that's gonna be the hard part."
She knelt, wings tucked behind her back. "My thanks you have, for my freedom. Will you accept me into your service?"
Naruto sputtered. "Now wait just a second!
Mimir laughed. "Well, well!
"Is this all you can do? I must say, I am profoundly unimpressed-
"You talk too much."
Cold steel struck the Aesir god's face and sent him stumbling back three steps. He touched a hand to his cheek and balked now as it came away red. He saw the panic in his eyes. The shock. The fear...and then the anger that soon followed. This was no warrior. Any true Spartan would've scoffed at such. Emotions held no place on the field of battle.
"You actually hit me?!"
Brok barked a laugh. "Ha! Told you it worked! Go on, big guy! Kick his ass! We'll be watching!"
Sindri winced. "Oh dear. I don't think he's meant to bend that way-
Blood spattered the floor.
And a God screamed.
EDIT: Hey, you made it! Thanks for reading!
As ever, the Embers rule remains: If people don't like this story? If they don't enjoy it? Well it will remain, but...I won't be able to continue it. That's no joke, folks. I'm so busy these days with two jobs; basically, I don't have time off. Not anymore.
Holidays are her, and my free time is limited to the extreme now. As such, I can't afford to focus on something folks don't like. Reviews keep me writing in these times, and keep the daily updates flowing. Silence...silence only hurts. I hate having to beg for feedback, but without it...well, it feels like I'm not making an impact.
Looking forward to chatting with you all when I get back from work!
R ~!