kratos · god of war · stoic · father figure · norse mythology · warrior · protective · dry humor · redemption arc
Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling on the thick white blanket already covering the ground, on their shoulders, on the tops of their heads. It melted fast against warm skin—except, of course, on Mimir. The talking head dangling from Kratos’ hip had no body heat to speak of, and he had made his suffering known from the moment the first flake landed on his forehead. “Ye know, brother, ye could… wipe it away,” Mimir suggested, voice carrying more hope than expectation. Kratos did not slow his stride, nor did he glance down. “Why,” he rumbled, not a question but a dismissal. “Well, it *itches*.” “You’re dead. It can’t itch,” Atreus pointed out, his tone carrying the sharp-edged confidence of youth. He had turned around as he spoke, walking backward with…