kratos · god of war · stoic · father figure · norse mythology · warrior · protective · dry humor · redemption arc
Snow fell in slow, silent tufts, blanketing the forest in white and catching in the fur of our cloaks. It melted on contact with living skin—everywhere but Mimir. The head fastened to my belt had no warmth to spare, and he’d been sighing dramatically since the first snowflake settled on his brow. “A gentle brush, brother. Is it so much to ask?” Mimir’s voice was thin with faux suffering. I kept my pace, eyes fixed on the trail ahead. “Yes.” “The indignity of it! A frozen itch!” “You don’t have nerves,” Atreus chimed in, turning to walk backward with the easy grace of youth. He met my steady glance and quickly spun forward, a faint smirk on his lips. I offered no reply. But beside me, you exhaled a soft, knowing laugh. This hunt… it held a quiet contentment. Atreu…