Zoltraak: Ragnarok- Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

“Mimir, any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue laddie,” answered the head with its bejeweled eyes from his place on Kratos’ belt. “There are tales that speak of travelers that move through Ygdrassil getting lost. The World Tree is vast: only Ratatoskr might know it completely from root to branch.”

Atreus sighed. “Sorry father,” the boy said somewhat dejectedly. It had been a long time since he felt he let his father down. 

“Do not be sorry.” Be better were the words his father didn’t say. “It was unforeseen, and the fault lies with no one.” Standing to his full height from where he’d been kneeling to examine the ground, Kratos grunted. “Mimir, do you believe we’re still in Midgard? Or is this one of the other realms?”

“Oh, Midgard for sure,” Mimir answered. “If I were to venture a guess, perhaps the Celtic Isles… or, do they go by ‘Saxons’ now? Or, Mayhaps the Germanic lands. The climate seems as though it fits.”

Atreus took a moment to look at his surroundings: it was unlike anywhere on Midgard he’d ever seen, but still, speaking of climate... “It's actually… really nice, like before Fimbulwinter; I’d never even think it was Fimbulwinter if I lived here.”

“Aye, that is odd,” Mimir murmured. “Very curious about where this is.”

“We will find answers later,” his father grunted. “For now: food, shelter. Everything else is secondary.”

“Yes father,” Atreus nodded. “Should I hunt or-?”

“Go,” the God of War answered, nodding in return. A Hunt would do his son good; he was not blind to the boy’s melancholy or guilt. It had been his suggestion, though they both wished it, to revisit the Tallest peak of the realms. It was… The anniversary… of Faye’s passing. 

He should not have allowed sentiment to rule him; but what was done was done, lamenting over it would not solve their problems. 

He turned to the East, and Atreus to the North. He went in the direction of where he could hear water, Atreus, went in the direction of deer. 

—

He did not like this.

Travelers were a thing he’d met only infrequently since his seclusion deep in the woods. Faye had never begrudged him his privacy, his need for separation.

But travelers did come by every now and again, it was inevitable. Merchant caravans, passing through to greater holds, simple passersby, or wanderers. They did not stay long. Often, they did not survive long. 

But these travelers; he did not recognize their kind.

Their clothes were finely made, and their skin of fair complexion, missing the rugged scars and wear of life brought about by the depths of the forest. 

The red headed boy held an axe. Perhaps he was a warrior, or fancied himself as such at any rate.

The make of the axe though… he did not recognize its design. Long hafted, and the head was broad and thick. Made for reach and powerful full bodied blows. Not for killing men… but monsters. 

The girl was dressed as a scholar of some kind. The Nordic had no scholars to speak of, not like Greece, and Greece had not held female scholars. They were priestesses, or acolytes to physicians. 

But women could learn. Faye had been kinder, smarter than he, and Freja was a woman of knowledge in her own right. 

What it told him however, is that they were nowhere near home, or Greece.

But it was the one at the center that was most curious. Pale, small, clothing of fine make and a traveling case whose make he also did not recognize. 

Her ears however: long and pointed, and her eyes were of a different shape. She was not human. 

He fought the urge to draw his axe. Atreus would not approve, and it might not yet be necessary. 

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“Father-” Atreus began somewhat hesitantly, eyes darting between him and the newcomers, never quite turning his back on them. Good. “I don't think they speak our tongue.”

“Can’t tell what he’s saying either-” The red clad boy began

“What is that? Is that Gaelic?” Mimir muttered behind him.

The girl looked in askance at Kratos, then leaned as if to look somewhere past him. “Is there someone else behind him? I just heard a voice and didn’t see either of them speak.”

“Yeah I didn’t recognize the sound of the voice either,” the boy confirmed. “But I don't see anyone.”

“Let me have a looksee brother-” Mimir demanded.

Kratos allowed himself to grunt. In his experience, most did not react well to heads dangling from a rope, but more likely than not they’d see before long.

Reaching behind him, he grasped the braid of rope, and pulled Mimir free. 

The reactions were instantaneous and Kratos would admit (however privately) amusing. 

The girl recoiled in horror-

The boy screamed louder than she did. 

“Eeek! What the hell! Why does he have a Head!?”

Atreus immediately began to try and intercede, holding his hands up as if to calm them like he’d calm beasts. “Woah, easy its ok. It’s just Mimir.”

“Not sure how much that’s gonna help laddie.” The head chuckled.

“IS IT TALKING!?”

The pale and small one's eyes went wide, in the way Sindri or Brok’s eyes would widen in wonder when they beheld the Blades of Chaos for the first time. 

She stepped forward, hand to her chin. “Fascinating.” It was a scholar’s interest she had; that much he could see. “I’ve never quite seen magic like this before.”

The girl still recoiled, one hand over her mouth but she spoke up. ”It… almost feels like a nature manipulation spell, mistress.”

The small pale one nodded. “Quite right. But is it the true person, or is it merely some macabre utility item?”

“Am I the only one still freaking out at the fact that he’s carrying around a severed head!?”

“E-eet, Mimir.”

Kratos’ eyes snapped over to his son, who’s speech was halting and hesitant, but the words were not Nordic.

Similarly, the three turned their sights onto Atreus.

“Is he…” The girl’s features scrunched. “Trying to speak our language? Does he know it?”

“I think he’s learning it.”

Now the boy looked at the pale one. “What like, right now? How?”

“He’s listening.”

“I think they like me, brother,” Mimir crooned with a laugh.

Kratos grunted.

—

The travelers invited them to share their fire, and their food.

If Kratos were to guess, it was at the pale one’s insistence. 

There was stew bubbling in their pot. Hare, potatoes, and some other vegetable, long, thin and orange. He did not recognize it. Leaves and spices mixed in. What place had they entered that spices, things reserved for kings, were given so freely?

“By the realms, that smells good. If I still had a stomach to eat, ohhhh-”

“You could still try some, maybe,” Atreus offered, smiling softly as he watched. “You don't have a stomach, but you can still taste, right?”

“Nay laddie, it’d be a waste of good food, and we don't know if our hosts have the means for such extravagance. I wouldn’t want to insult them by bein’ wasteful- Oh, hallo miss!”

The pale one knelt beside Mimir, examining him. She reached with her small hands, grasping him by horn and cheek to lift him up. 

“Mistress!” The girl sounded like she was protesting. “Have you asked for permission first!? That might be incredibly rude!”

She seemed more curious than anything, and Mimir was not protesting. Even so, Kratos would not let his friend be… handled. Reaching over, he grasped the braid of rope, pulling Mimir free from her grasp. 

“Don’t think there’s any harm in it brother, just don't think they’ve seen a talking head before.”

Kratos grunted and set Mimir down beside him, glancing at the pale one, who still stared, fascinated by the bodiless skull. 

“I wish we could communicate.” Her chin rested atop her hands. “I would love to read one of their grimoires.”

Kratos looked to his son. “Can you understand them better?”

His boys' features scrunched up. “I… think they want to read Mimir a book? Or… maybe have Mimir read them a book.”

“Well-” If Mimir had a chest, Kratos had little doubt it’d be puffed up. The head was almost preening. “-I was known to be a great orator of tales and stories. It seems our new friends have good taste!”

Stew was served a short while later.

Their hosts served them on wooden plates, with wooden utensils. They ate from the same, but the serving tasted as good as it smelled, and Atreus’ noise of surprised joy was further evidence of how good it was.

The young girl looked at Mimir, and then to Kratos in question.

“I think the young miss wants to know if I’ll partake. I’d shake my head,  but I might fall over, brother.”

Kratos met the girl's eyes, shaking his head slowly, and the young girl offered a nod in return before heading off to eat her own serving.

He was content to eat in silence, but their companions spoke and so, Atreus spoke with him. 

“Father.”

“Hm?” He grunted. 

His son hesitated, just for a bit. “Maybe we should go with them?” He hastily began to add. “Y-you know, err, they seem friendly and they know the realm here. Maybe they can help.”

Kratos was ready to say no, out of reflex more than anything, but then- 

“Brother,” Mimir whispered. “Brother, it might be a good idea. The lad has barely interacted with anyone his own age, just us old fogeys. Lad might make some friends. That’s important, too.”

That, made Kratos pause. Because yes. It was important.

Kratos did not call many friend.  Mimir. Brok, Sindri. And that was it. But as Mimir said, none were his son’s age. None could be his peer. Not really. 

“Broth-”

“Enough,” he interrupted the head. “We will ask,” he nodded. “If they agree, we will go.”

“Yes!” His son smiled. And that made the choice so much easier. He looked to the three who were engrossed in their own conversation; his boy swallowed, seemingly chewing on the new, foreign words. “Go.”

The single word brought the conversation short, all eyes returning to his son, who gestured with his spoon. 

“We…” He gesticulated towards himself, Kratos and Mimir, then pointed to the three. “Go.”

They looked at his boy oddly, and Atreus repeated the gesture. 

“Uhhh. I think he’s asking to come with us?” The red clad boy said, looking to the small, pale one. 

“I think you’re right,” the small one nodded. 

“They might be in trouble,” the girl said. “Maybe they need help?”

“Could have something to do with the head they’re carrying around. Maybe its a curse?” 

“We’ll find out,” the small one stated, her voice oh so soft. “I have a feeling we’ll be communicating properly before long.” Then she looked towards Atreus, nodding once again. “You can come with us.”

And his son’s answering smile was almost a new sun dawning in the night.

The boy scooted forward a bit, closer to the fire, and then gestured at himself, palm against his chest. “Atreus.” He recognized his son's name, but with foreign vowels, off pronunciation. 

He did it again. “Atreus.”

“I think that’s his name,” the boy said, then held out his hand. “Stark.”

“Shake his hand laddie, that’s a common custom to greet people with,” Mimir quickly advised. 

His son did so, leaning forward to grasp at the red clad boy’s hand. “Stark,” he repeated, and the red boy nodded with a smile. 

“That’s right, my name’s Stark.” He paused, gesturing to the girl. “Come on, your turn.”

The young lady bowed her head politely, though she did not offer her hand to shake. Was it simple distance, or an exception to the custom for women? Athenians had been the same. “Fern,” she ennunciated clearly, also smiling at Atreus. “My name is Fern.”

His son nodded, looking expectantly at the pale one now.

“My name is Frieren,” the small one said, turning her placid eyes towards Mimir. “Mimir.” Then to Atreus. “Atreus.”

And finally, she looked to him. 

“Father, I-”

“Kratos,” he intoned. He could grasp the meaning of silence and a pointed stare.

The pale one, Frieren nodded. “Kratos,” she repeated, before returning her attention to her bowl of stew.

“So, they’ll be joining us? At least til Granat then?” The boy asked.

Again the pale one nodded. “At least til then.”