Son of War

Revelations and Riddles

He woke up. It was an interesting dream.

"Wake up Atreus." Atreus and Mimir woke up.

"That was the most perfect thing after a century brother," said Mimir. He got a chuckle from Kratos.

"What now brother?"

"We will eat something, then practice." They went to the Big House. Everyone was looking at them weirdly. Especially Ares' table. "Mind your own business," said Kratos, but it was childish. He put down his weapons and started to eat. "You have increased the number of foods on the menu. When I was a Spartan I had nothing."

"Who the heck you children are looking at!" said another voice, shouting. It was Dionysus.

"Dionysus," said Kratos. "Indeed I am. And you..."

"I am Kratos. God of War."

"Congrats, you've really done a great job there by killing father, he deserved it."

After breakfast, we rose from the table, leaving our meal untouched beneath the watchful, unnerving gazes fixated on us. Striding toward the practice area, Atreus wasted no time, drawing his bow and sending arrows sailing toward the wooden mannequins.

"Good aim, boy," Kratos commended, his voice carrying the weight of authority and affection intertwined. His typically stoic expression held a subtle warmth, a nod to his paternal pride in Atreus' skill.

"Thanks, Father!" Atreus replied, a smile breaking through his focused concentration.

Mimir, following behind, observed with a chuckle, "Seems like the lad's got some real talent there, Kratos. The boy's making progress."

Kratos merely grunted in response, a hint of approval laced within the curt sound. His behavior, though softened by their recent transformation, still held the air of a seasoned warrior, tempered by newfound parental responsibilities.

In the midst of Atreus practicing his archery skills, Mimir delved into the intricate incantations of protective and healing spells, muttering ancient words under his breath. His gnarled fingers traced intricate patterns in the air, weaving a web of ethereal energy that shimmered with a faint blue glow.

Closing his eyes, Kratos allowed the subtle vibrations of energy to permeate his being. His breathing slowed as he channeled the essence of storms and electricity, drawing upon the very essence of the skies themselves. A distant rumble echoed, the air crackling with an electric charge that made the hairs on their skin stand on end.

With deliberate precision, Kratos conjured the storm within his mind, a tempest gathering strength amidst the tranquil campgrounds. The air grew heavy, pregnant with anticipation, as dark clouds coalesced overhead, swirling with an ominous, yet captivating, energy.

The atmosphere shifted, the very fabric of reality seeming to quiver as Kratos navigated the currents of his divine heritage. The air tasted of ozone, a metallic tang that signaled the imminent release of power. Sparks danced on his fingertips, a testament to the raw, untamed forces he commanded.

Mimir and Atreus, sensing the gravity of the moment, ceased their activities. They watched in awe and reverence as Kratos manipulated the elements, sculpting the very essence of the storm. The magical energy that emanated from him was palpable, a tangible presence that seemed to envelop the entire training grounds in a cocoon of crackling power.

It was a symphony of nature's fury, orchestrated by the indomitable will of Kratos. The thunder rumbled in response to his command, lightning crackled with a blinding intensity, illuminating the darkened skies in a dazzling display of raw power.