god of war · atreus · freya · norse mythology · ragnarok · video game · father son · vengeance · adventure · fantasy
The wind carries the endless scream of Fimbulwinter across the wasted ground. Kratos had sent his son out alone to hunt. In the deep shadows of her camp, Freya maintained her solitary watch. Three winters had bled into one another since Kratos and Atreus took her son from her. By the guttering light of a low fire, she worked the edge of her sword, her face a map of grief and salt-dried tears. Her eyes, red-rimmed and burning, scoured the darkness. She had waited for this. She had hungered for it. A figure separated itself from the gloom. Atreus, bow half-drawn, moved with a predator's quiet caution, his attention forward, blind to the camp ahead. Freya caught the shift of his silhouette in her peripheral vision, her fingers locking around the hilt of her blade. *This is my chance*, she wh…