Zoltraak: Ragnarok- Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Kratos:

He woke the next morning to an unfamiliar sky, in an unfamiliar land, with tongues he did not recognize and scents that spoke of food, but were equally unfamiliar.

The ancient God peeled his eyes open, casting his gaze towards the place where he knew the campfire to have been last night. It was still present, however much reduced, the boy - Stark - carefully tending it as he prepared breakfast. More stew, likely remaining from last night. 

The girl was already awake, beginning to sort out camp.

The small one, however, was still asleep.

As was his son. “Atreus,” he called, making his son groan as he began to stir. “Wake up. We make ready for the day.”

Atreus peeled himself free of the bedding he’d been given, a warm quilted “bag” sewn together to envelop the body.

He didn’t understand. Such a thing, its fabrication would cost a small fortune, and yet these travelers were of seemingly humble means, not nobility. Their clothing was of finer make than he would expect as well.

What was this place?

Pulling himself free of what Atreus said was called a “sleeping bag”, the boy yawned widely 

“Go to the stream,” Kratos commanded. “Wash. We will leave soon, no doubt.”

Atreus nodded, folding the sleeping bag with clumsy, unfamiliar motions before setting it down on a stone.

The travelers didn’t have any Kratos’ size, and so he’d slept on the ground, the grass sufficient bedding for one night. 

He saw the girl, and the boy, Fern and Stark, speaking quietly over the fire. Fern was speaking firmly, demanding something. Stark seemed hesitant, but Kratos could see the boy would relent soon enough. The girl was the one that held command between the two of them.

And the small one was still asleep.

“I think they’ve decided something brother,” Mimir’s voice brought Kratos’ attention back towards Fern and Stark, the latter of which was approaching with fistfuls of… bandages?”

“Uhhh, hey, Mr. Kratos, Mr. Mimir, sirs. Ummm.” The boy didn't stutter, but he was clearly nervous.

He held out his hands with the bandages in his grasp. 

“Look, we really cant walk into a city with a head dangling in plain view, so we kind of have to cover him up. We’re pretty sure he won't like being in a sack, but maybe this might help?”

Kratos didn’t understand a single word.

Even so. He could deduce what the boy was asking..

He stared at the boy. 

The boy stared back, nervously.

“Brother, I think he-”

“Hn,” Kratos interrupted the head.

Stark looked increasingly nervous as Kratos stared him down.

“You’re enjoying makin the poor boy squirm, aren’t you?” Mimir accused.

“Hn.”

—

They did not leave as the sun rose.

In fact; they did not leave until nearly noon.

Why?

Because the small one, simply refused to wake up.

Kratos, for many years, had bemoaned the fact that his son would not wake up in a timely manner most days.

But Atreus was downright energetic in the mornings in comparison to the small one, Frieren.

Perhaps it was something about her species. She was not human. Perhaps her species were nocturnal. 

Mimir was at his hip, wrapped in a layer of bandages. Kratos had made certain to at least leave him with one eye partially exposed so he could see. If anyone looked too closely, they’d likely still be able to tell it was a head, but at a glance, or at a distance, it was more a bundle of white cloth.

They were headed towards a place, a city, or a fortress or a town that Atreus had understood was called “Granat”.

The roads were like those of the countryside from his homeland: packed dirt, beaten down by years of foot traffic, carts, horses and livestock. 

But everything else was unfamiliar. The scents on the wind, the trees, the clothing. None of it spoke of Greece. 

Wherever they were, they were far from his homeland; something he was grateful for. 

The small one, Frieren, took up the lead, Stark and Fern behind her, speaking with Atreus, pointing out things on the road and naming them for his son to quicken his grasp of the language. 

Trees, stones, clouds, birds; simple things, as far as he could tell. Knowing his son, Atreus would grasp the language soon. A week. Perhaps less.

As they climbed up the cleft of the hill however, they came upon an obstacle.

A merchant (or at least Kratos assumed he was a merchant) judging by the cart and the collection of wares in the back of it. 

He was small, almost the size of the pale one, Frieren. But his clothes, like Fern’s, Starks and hers, seemed of fine make, with well done stitching and material that was not sack or toughened hide. 

He was not the obstacle. The landslide just in front of the man, on the other hand, was. 

The man greeted them, but startled when he saw Kratos himself, staring wide eyed at the much taller Spartan. 

Their three companions began to speak, discussing something quickly before Fern and Frieren marched towards the wall of mud and dirt.

Staves appeared in their hands, and soon, the stones began to float, carried up and off the road one at a time by the two.

“Woah-”

“What’s happening?” Mimir whispered at his son’s proclamation; subtly, Kratos turned, just enough so that the head might catch a glimpse from his periphery.

“Oh- they have magic do they? Fascinating.”

Magic.

Humans who could use magic were rare. Let alone using it so seamlessly. Was Fern perhaps not as human as her appearance suggested?

Soon however, something even more interesting occurred. 

“Atreus.”

It was Frieren who called his son, catching the boy’s attention.

The pale elf gestured for him to come closer.

Kratos resisted the urge to warn the boy to be careful. He didn’t sense hostility from the small woman, but one could never be sure.

“Mistress?”

The Girl, Fern, looked unsure, and that did not reassure him at all.

But the small one’s expression didn’t shift.  “Surely you can sense the Mana in him. It moves so oddly.”

Oh how Kratos wished he could understand. “Yes, of course, but he doesn’t seem trained at all-”

“And yet he uses it, even when he’s doing something as simple as speaking. I’d like to know if he could learn our way of magic.”

Atreus finally reached the elf. His son did not seem concerned. In fact, he actually looked almost eager. 

“Why?”

“Because that would show that we might learn his.”

—

The merchant offered them his cart as transport, in recompense for their aid in clearing the road. 

“Its not like the magic from the Giants, or Freja’s even- it seems… simpler, but like, you can use it more?”

“Its applications are broader,” he surmised for the boy.

“Exactly!” Atreus gushed. “I think they use their staves to focus the magic. I never saw Freja or Sindri or Brok or any Giants use something like that, but do you think I can get a staff while we’re here?!”

“Perhaps,” he rumbled. “But do not be taken in by false promises. We do not know their intentions as of yet. Nothing is done freely.”

“I think they want me to teach them my magic. Giant magic.”

Kratos narrowed his eyes at that. He was not pleased at the thought of these strangers exploiting his son for Jotuun Magic. 

But even so, Atreus did not share his concern; the boy’s excitement was plain to see, even for the blind. 

“I think I’m really starting to get a hang of the language, too-” he said. “I think we should be able to talk in just a few more day-” His son paused, staring wide eyed at something ‘behind’ his father.

Kratos raised a brow, turning as they crested the hill, seeing-

A city. 

Its walls were broad and stout, many homes protected within its envelope. He did not see a keep; which meant that this had been constructed as a city first, fortification second, much like Athens and Sparta. 

He didn’t understand what had caught his son’s attention until he realized, very suddenly, that this was the first city his son had ever seen with his own eyes. 

Likely, he didn’t know this many people could exist in one place. 

“Brother-” Mimir urged quietly.

Kratos didn’t need to be told specifics.

He picked up the head, grasping it like he would a water horn, before he lifted him up, placing him on the edge of the cart before turning around himself to inspect the passerbys. 

“Oh- look at that,” the head whispered. “I daresay I’ve never seen this place, or even heard of its like. I hope Atreus is right that he can learn to speak with our friends soon, because I’ve a right mind to ask them so many questions.”

“No doubt they would like the same,” he answered, then placed the head back down before anyone grew suspicious.

Unknown to any of the travelers though, their approach, however quiet was noticed-

—

“Is something the matter, Lord Lügner?”

Calmly, the demon known to the humans as Lügner, turned his gaze away from the window.

The lord of Granat glared at him, eyes narrowed in that ever present suspicion.

Lügner kept his thoughts hidden, features placid and voice calm as he answered. “Not at all, lord Granat.”

The man’s gaze narrowed before he stood up. “Very well- Then we’ll adjourn for today.”

Lügner stood up as the Graft turned to take his leave, offering a polite bow. “Very well, until tomorrow then.”

The Graft didn’t answer, opening the door and stepping out. His guards did not turn their backs at all, stepping past the door and shutting it before they properly followed their lord, leaving Lügner, Linie and Draht in the now vacated study. 

Linie, the smallest among them, was the first to speak. “Lord Lügner-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I sense it too; that odd Mana.”

“What do we do?” Draht asked. 

“Tonight, quietly, you-” he nodded towards the smaller, pink haired female- “Linie, will contact lady Aura. Draht-” he turned to the other, blond haired male demon- “you will search unseen through this town for the source. Do not engage; merely find out what it is and return to me.”

“Why didn’t we sense it before?” Draht groused. 

“Must you truly ask?” Lügner shook his head. “The barrier. It must have shielded, whatever this is, from our senses.”

His subordinate sneered, no doubt irritated at his own lack of deduction. Lügner paid it no mind. 

“Regardless, now it’s here and we must know more. You have your objectives. Make ready to see them through.”