God of War (2018): Entry 15 - Tyr’s Vault

We returned to Tyr’s Temple and entered the lower chamber with the sand bowl. As we stepped inside, Atreus glanced around, then casually remarked, “I don’t feel as bad about the elves we killed in Alfheim anymore. I mean... we’re gods. And they were just in the way of god business.”

Mimir's tone turned sharp. “Now, that’s dangerous thinkin’, lad.”

He waited for me to say something. To correct him. But I stayed silent.

Atreus approached the bowl and etched the rune into the sand with confident strokes. As the magic took hold, the floor beneath us began to lower, and the great lift rumbled to life.

As we descended, murals on the surrounding walls came into view, each one a tribute to Tyr. Mimir began to speak, his voice quiet and reverent.

“Now, here was a god worth rememberin’. Tyr may have been the Norse god of war, but unlike most, he fought not for conquest or bloodshed—but for peace. The people loved him for it. He believed in understanding others, in listening. He traveled far across the realms, not to conquer, but to learn. A rare soul among gods…”

I looked at the paintings, Tyr walking among giants, sitting with foreign kings, offering his hand instead of his blade. 

The lift came to a halt with a heavy clang. We stood at the threshold of Tyr’s Vault.

The chamber before us was vast, the air thick with ancient power. And there, at its heart, resting on a raised pedestal, was the Black Rune, the final key to Jotunheim.

But as we stepped forward, the ground trembled. From beneath the platform, three enormous rings rose in unison, encircling the rune in a rotating barrier. The metal groaned as they spun faster, glowing faintly with otherworldly energy.

Mimir squinted. “Those rings... they’re powered by the Winds of Hel.”

I clenched my fists around the Blades of Chaos. We were close. But first, we would have to dismantle whatever challenge Tyr had set in place.

Branching off from the central chamber of Tyr’s Vault were smaller, ornate rooms. Each room filled with treasures and artifacts from across the realms. Gold gleamed in the dim light, and relics of distant cultures sat in reverent display. These were not mere spoils of war. They were offerings, mementos, symbols of peace and understanding gathered during Tyr’s journeys.

As we explored, I caught sight of something that made my steps falter. A piece of Greek pottery, decorated with unmistakable markings. The painted image upon it was clear... it was me. Standing in battle, the Blades of Chaos in hand, fury frozen in time.

Beside it sat a sealed container of wine. I didn’t need to taste it to recognize the scent. It was from my homeland. Memories, sharp as daggers, surged up from the depths of my mind, of Olympus, of what I had done, of what I had lost.

Atreus’s voice cut through the silence.

“Father?”

Startled, I threw the pottery on the ground as I turned to Atreus so he would not see the image of my past. The pottery shattered against the stone floor, fragments scattering like ghosts.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, already walking away.

In one of the adjacent chambers, Atreus discovered a Winds of Hel receptacle, its ghostly spiral shimmering faintly. Now understanding what we needed to do, I stepped back into the central vault and used my Blades to extract the winds from one of the massive spinning rings. The magic writhed like a living thing as I carried it back and embedded it in the receptacle.

The moment it settled, the receptacle transformed. It was replaced by a large wheel. As I turned it, a new passage opened.

Beyond it was a corridor lined with deadly spinning blades, whirring with ancient, well-maintained precision.

I moved with care and speed, slipping through the deadly gaps, my senses sharp. Atreus was able to bypass the danger through a small passage I could not fit through. At the end of the corridor, we entered another sealed chamber. This one held another Winds of Hel receptacle, previously unreachable from the central vault.

As I opened the passage, something unexpected happened. The air shimmered, and realm tears burst into being around us. A horde of draugr spilled forth, their shrieks echoing in the confined space.

Atreus and I fought side by side, striking with precision and fury. We moved as one. His arrows staggering enemies, my blades carving through them. Together, we tore through the horde until the final draugr fell in silence.

With the draugr defeated, I turned to the second ring. The Winds of Hel howled and shimmered around it. I extended the Blades of Chaos and once again captured the ethereal energy. Carrying it to the next sealed receptacle, I embedded the wind, and like before, the mechanism transformed into a wheel.

Turning it revealed yet another passage. This one lined with new dangers. Spike-laden walls shifted in rhythm, ceilings above us descending with deadly intent.

We moved quickly but carefully, weaving through the gauntlet. I took the lead, absorbing the brunt of the threat, while Atreus followed with nimble agility. Eventually, we reached the final sealed chamber. Another Winds of Hel receptacle awaited us.

The moment the winds were placed and the last of the three rings ceased spinning, I turned the final wheel.

But something was wrong.

From the ground below, thick branches burst forth. They glowed faintly with the light of the World Tree. They twisted up and around me, lashing my arms to the mechanism. The platform groaned and began descending slowly into a pool of viscous, dark liquid.

“Father!” Atreus cried out, rushing forward.

On the wall before us, symbols of the moon, sun, and Midgard rearranged themselves, revealing a riddle. It was some sort of puzzle that controlled the mechanism.

“Read it, boy!” I barked, struggling against the branches.

Atreus deciphered the runes aloud, voice steady despite the panic: “The gold wolf eats the sun, the silver wolf eats the moon, and Midgard is between them”

Working quickly, I shouted directions and Atreus worked the levers so the symbols depicted what was described in the riddle. The descent into the liquid slowed... then stopped. But the branches did not loosen. Instead, another threat revealed itself. A hidden ceiling above me began to drop. It was lined with spikes and descending fast.

“You must stop the ceiling!” I roared, still bound to the wheel.

Atreus drew Faye’s knife, his mother’s knife, and with a cry of desperation, jammed it into the chain mechanism. Sparks flew. The knife shattered. The chain halted. The ceiling stopped.

The branches released me.

I staggered forward as Atreus stared at the ruined remains of the only thing he had left from her.

“That was quick thinking” I said, quietly.

But as I turned to lead us onward, Atreus stepped closer, staring at the side of my neck.

“Father... the sigil. The one Freya put on you to hide us from Odin. It's gone.”

The World Tree’s branches rubbed it off during the struggle.

Atreus looked to me, concern growing in his eyes. “What do we do now?”

I met his gaze, resolute.

“We keep going.”

As we stepped into the central chamber, the Black Rune was finally within reach. It was hovering just beyond a shimmering, facemask magical barrier. It pulsed softly with an ancient power, almost as if it were waiting for us.

Atreus instinctively reached for his knife… but his hand met only empty air. He froze, remembering.

I knelt beside him.

Reaching into my pouch, I drew a knife and placed it into his hands, folding mine over his.

“I forged this when you were born,” I said quietly. “From metals of my homeland… and Midgard. I intended to give it to you when you were ready.”

Atreus looked down at the blade, then up at me. “Am I a man now?”

“No,” I replied. “We are more than men. And we must be better. You… must be better than me.”

He looked unsure.

“A weapon is only as good as the one who wields it. Use it with vigilance. Temper it with a disciplined mind. Let it serve, not control.“

He nodded slowly, and with new resolve, he stepped forward and stabbed the magical facemask with his new knife. The barrier shimmered, then vanished.

I stepped forward and grasped the Black Rune.

Immediately, the ground trembled. Stone grated against stone. From either side of the chamber, two sentinel guardians stirred. They were like massive trolls, one wreathed in smoldering embers, the other coated in layers of jagged frost.

“Grendel of the Ashes. Grendel of the Frost,” Mimir muttered grimly. “Wonderful.”

I glanced at the rune stone, it was blank. I tossed it to Atreus as I prepared for the ensuing battle.

The moment his fingers touched it, a glowing golden rune appeared briefly across its surface… then the entire stone dissolved into light.

“Remember it?" I asked.

“I’ve got it,” Atreus said confidently, eyes glowing with understanding.

I turned back to the awakening trolls.

“Good,” I responded, unsheathing my blades. “Now stand back.”

With our upgraded weapons and sharpened coordination, the Grendels fell with far less resistance than expected. Each strike was purposeful, each movement in sync. Where once there had been hesitation, now there was harmony.

When it was over, the chamber fell silent again.

The Black Rune was now ours.

And the path to Jotunheim was one step closer.

We returned to the chamber with the sand bowl and began our ascent back to the temple. As the lift rose, I pulled out the Greek container of wine I had taken from Tyr’s vault.

“This,” I said, examining the aged vessel, “was made near where I was born.”

Handing the vessel to Atreus. “Our first drink together.”

He took it with quiet reverence, sipping the wine as the lift rumbled upward. The silence between us was warm… for a moment.

“Why did you leave your home?” Atreus finally asked. “Was it because of the gods there?”

I said nothing.

“It’s just…” he continued, “you hate gods so much. But not all gods are bad, right? Tyr showed that. He was good. And you… you’re good too. You only killed people who deserved it. Right?”

I hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

But Mimir, ever the voice of inconvenient truth, added, “But then again… who decides who deserves death? Who’s worthy to judge?”

Atreus turned sharply. “We are,” he said with certainty. “We’re gods.”

Mimir sighed. “Aye, and that’s what worries me. You're starting to sound a lot like your dad.”

The lift groaned to a halt as we emerged onto the temple bridge. The wind of the mountaintop greeted us once more.