God of War (2018) - Entry 12: Facing the Past
Wasting no time, I lift him into my arms and carry him to the boat, rowing as fast as I can. The world around me feels different now, charged with an ominous tension. Odin’s gaze is upon us. Mimir confirms my fear—there’s no doubt the All-Father is watching.
Desperate for answers, I demand to know what’s happening to Atreus. Mimir theorizes that his sickness stems from an internal conflict—his godly nature battling against his belief that he is mortal.
We reach the dock at Freya’s cove, and I carry Atreus to the lift. As we ascend, I hear the distant sound of a horn—someone is calling the World Serpent. I pace restlessly, the lift feeling unbearably slow.
Finally, at the top, I feel Atreus’s fever worsening. I move faster.
Reaching Freya’s door, I pound against it, my voice raw with urgency. I call out for her, pleading for help. At first, she responds dismissively, telling me to leave, still bitter from our last encounter.
But the moment I say, “The boy is ill,” she emerges immediately.
One look at him, and she understands. She rushes us inside and hastely begins concocting medicines.
She confirms Mimir’s suspicions—this illness is the result of his nature being kept from him. And in that moment, I realize the truth.
This is my fault.
By hiding who he truly is, by refusing to tell him about his godhood, I have caused his suffering—all because I wanted to keep my past buried.
I turn to Freya, my voice resolute. “I will do whatever it takes to save him.”
She tells me there is only one way—we must retrieve the heart of the Bridge Keeper, a powerful entity who guards Helheim, the realm of the dead.
But there is a problem.
Helheim is a frozen wasteland. No fire—not even magic—can burn there.
The Leviathan Axe will be useless.
I know now what I must do.
I turn to Freya. “I must go home.”
Freya offers me her boat and hands me the travel rune to Helheim. She promises to watch over Atreus, giving me a mother’s word that she will keep him safe.
Before leaving, I pause. And begin to apologize about our last meeting.
But she only shakes her head. “You were not wrong to distrust a god.”
As I step outside, I notice the sky darkening—lightning crackles in the distance.
I turn to Mimir. “I need a moment.”
I walk to the boat in silence, the weight of what I must do pressing down on me. I cannot run from my past any longer.
As the boat drifts down the river, I sit in quiet reflection—every choice, every moment, has led me here.
When we reach the dock by my home, I step out and make my way up the familiar worn path—the same one I walked when I carried the last tree for Faye’s pyre.
As I reach the backyard, I find it overrun with Hel-Reavers, twisted remnants of the dead, lurking in my absence.
They have picked the wrong place to settle.
I unleash everything through my fists on them—my anger, my guilt, my grief.
When the last enemy falls, the world grows quiet again.
I step into the house.
Kneeling before a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards, I reach for the place where I sealed away my past—the place where I buried what I swore never to wield again.
The Blades of Chaos.
Wrapped in an old, worn blanket, untouched since the day I left them behind.
As I open the blanket, the air around me thickens, heavy with the weight of old sins.
Then, from the shadows of my past, she appears.
Athena.
Draped in flowing robes, she materializes in the doorway, her presence as suffocating as ever. Her voice drips with condescension.
“There is nowhere you can hide, Spartan.”
I clench my jaw, refusing to meet her gaze. I will not give her the satisfaction.
Silently, I wrap the chains of the Blades of Chaos around my forearms, just as I did long ago. The memory of their cursed bond sears through me.
The blades ignite, their glow casting flickering shadows against the cabin walls. Their power is unchanged—menacing, relentless.
Athena speaks again, her words cutting deeper than any blade.
“You will always be a monster.”
At last, I respond—a quiet, final acknowledgment.
“I know. But I am your monster no longer.”
I rise to my feet, the Blades burning with fury, and step outside into the frozen night.
The world is coated in ice, but the Blades of Chaos burn in defiance.
Hordes of Draugr swarm the yard. I meet them head-on.
The Blades move instinctively, their fluid, brutal dance contrasting with the measured power of the Leviathan Axe. This is a different kind of battle.
I wield these weapons not as a slave to my past, but as a father fighting for his son.
When the last Draugr falls, the night is still once more.
Mimir, ever observant, breaks the silence.
“Aye, these’ll do nicely in Helheim.”
Conveniently, a mystic gateway stands in my own backyard, leading us back to Tyr’s Temple.
As we drift through the Realm Between Realms, Mimir prods gently.
“Anything you want to get off your chest, brother?”
I say nothing.
“Ach, suit yerself. I’ve kept secrets of gods and kings alike.”
Still, I say nothing.
He comments knowingly. “So… you are Greek. Hearing ye mention Athena confirmed it.”
I remain silent as the gateway opens, returning us to Tyr’s Temple.
As soon as I enter the temple, I head toward the travel room, but Brok rushes over, sniffing the air. He mutters about smelling foreign magic before his eyes land on the blades. His usual gruffness fades for a moment as he takes in the craftsmanship, a rare look of awe crossing his face. He doesn’t say much, but it’s clear he understands their significance.
Then, he asks about Atreus. I tell him the boy has fallen ill—that it’s my fault—and that I’m headed to Helheim to set things right. Brok doesn’t pry, sensing the weight of what I carry. Instead, he offers to come along, saying he might be able to help with the blades.
I refuse. His place is in his shop—that is help enough.
With purpose in my stride, I made my way to the travel room and set our path for Helheim. Just before the temple doors opened, Mimir spoke up, his voice laced with unease. “What we’re about to do is madness. Not even Odin himself can withstand the cold in this forsaken realm.”
Without a word, I opened the doors—and stepped into Hel.
