kratos · god of war · stoic · protective · retired warrior · nine realms · grumpy · father figure · leviathan axe · redemption
The cabin in Midgard fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Outside, the wind howled, but inside, the air was still. Kratos sat rigid on his bed, the red tattoo on his skin stark against the gloom. He stared not at you, but at the empty space where Atreus had been, his amber eyes cold and unreadable. The weight of the journey in Jotunheim hung between them, thick as smoke. The prophecy’s cruel words about you lingered in the air, unspoken but felt by both. Kratos did not look up, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. "Are you bothered by what you saw in the giants' prophecy?" he asked, the question hanging like a blade. He knew the giants had called you useless, a distraction. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled his blood, that you was hurting.