Open Heart

Anxiety is like holding a boulder above your head; the longer you hold, the heavier it becomes, and if you decide to move even an inch, then it will come crumbling down on your head with no warning. Every living being with some resemblance of awareness will hold this bolder, however, some may find themselves crushed long before another. In the Tower of Babel, one woman has been struggling with this boulder for hours on end, and she finds her legs have nearly given out. A bead of sweat forms on Hepheastus' brow as she cranes her neck down to a weapon on the table before her. The Goddess suddenly sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I can't even focus on my work..." she mutters to herself, another sigh leaving her lips, "...I deserve a break, right?" The woman nods to answer her own question, rounding that stone table and stepping into her sun-lit office. Hephaestus' crimson eyes roam over past works lining the wall, and she steps towards the weapons and armor as she focuses on a single item. Slim fingers slide over cold black metal, and as her hand reaches the leather-wrapped handle, she whispers the words engraved onto a silver plaque below the blade, "Black Breath..." Hephaestus exhales slowly, and her eyes trail to one of the windows behind her desk, "Loki... I really hope you've learned your lesson." The Goddess' eyes linger on the window until she begins to return to the greatsword, but she suddenly snaps back with furrowed brows, "What?..." Hephaestus mutters as she wonders if she is finally losing her mind. But alas, as a figure zips past the window and the woman catches a glimpse of purple blades, she tosses the thought with a sudden dash to the window. A gust of wind ruffles those scarlet locks as Hephaestus shoves her head through the open window, and she jolts as a sudden crash shakes the very foundations of the tower. A moment passes as the Goddess pries her own eyes open, and the sight that meets her gaze causes her eyes to widen, "K-Kratos!?" Hephaestus exclaims, a red tattoo confirming her question. The woman finds a wave of relief calming her mind as she sees Atreus stand from a crater, but that feeling is soon overridden by a mountain of confusion, "Is that... Ottar!?" she exclaims, gasping as those blades, ones that have brought so much inspiration to her take a life with no hesitation, "Oh... Oh no..." Hephaestus finds her body frozen in place, and after a thousand thoughts raid her mind like a small army, the woman rips herself from her position. As if the Goddess has a history of being a track athlete, Hephaestus bursts through the door to her office and reaches that elevator in nearly an instant, her eyes focused on nothing as the army continues to assault her mind, "Kratos... I hope you're ready to say goodbye to the privacy you value so much... the entire city will be looking at you now." --- "Ughhh..." A groan echos through a large living room as a door clicks closed, "...I've never been this tired in my life... Not even after a day in the dungeon," Atreus mutters as his backside plops onto a couch. Sunlight peeks through black curtains, shedding light on pale skin as another soul steps up to the sofa. "Are you alright?" Kratos asks with a raised brow as he settles in the cushions beside his son. Like a snake, Atreus' jaw opens wide as a yawn precedes a nod, "Yeah... I'm just sleepy. Maybe it's because of that mist?... I'm really not sure," he responds, wiping a lazy hand over his face as he finishes speaking. Mimir suddenly hums from a coffee table, "That appears to be the case... I'm not privy to the inner working of magic in this world, but power will always require some form of fuel. I reckon that fuel is your own energy," the Faerie says. Atreus nods, and another yawn flows from the boy. Silence falls, and as the trio simply enjoy each other's presence, the Little Jötun suddenly furrows his brows after meeting his father's lingering gaze, "What? Do I have something on my face?" he asks with a slight chuckle. A scarce commodity suddenly shows its face as the Spartan chuckles. He shakes his head, and those brown eyes drift to Atreus once again, "No... I..." Kratos suddenly pauses, and a sigh flows from the man as he forces the words to form on his lips, "...I missed you, Atreus." Atreus raises his brows as the deep and rough words reach his ears. Those icy blues find themselves glued to the floor, and the only sound heard is a small sniffle. Kratos furrows his eyebrows as he studies his son's reaction, "I..." he finds the words swirling in his mind more of a challenge than the man he has just impaled, "…I apologize for the sudden-" "No, Father!…" Atreus interrupts the Old Spartan with damp eyes, "…I just wasn't expecting that from you. I missed you too, Father… I'm sorry. I knew you were out there looking for me, but I was too focused on myself to even acknowledge that. It's like my mind was blocking me from thinking about you…" the boy unloads his emotions with no bars held, his lips quivering as he takes an unsteady breath. Kratos hums in response, and his eyes drift across the room as he begins to turn the tide on his new adversary, "…Do not blame yourself, Atreus. My own mind has been influenced by some outside force… You seem to have experienced the same," he says. "Really?…" Atreus responds with another wet sniffle, but suddenly, his forehead wrinkles as he darts his vision to the God, "…Who would be strong enough to do that to you though? It makes sense that I would be affected since I'm a kid, and even Mimir is vulnerable to that stuff, but you? I would never imagine," Atreus responds as his shoulders rise slightly. A pause stagnates the air, and Atreus observes a look of pure disgust on his father's face. A long and deep grunt vibrates Kratos' throat, "…Do not assume I am without weakness, Atreus... Many have attempted to take my mind from me, and they nearly succeeded..." he responds with sharp words, "...The culprit of these mind games appears to be the same Freya that took you from me though." "Freya?" Atreus asks with raised brows, "But how? Aren't the gods here basically normal people?" Kratos nods with his fingers interlocked before him, "That is what I had assumed. Though her most powerful child is dead now, and I can think of no others that would be able to accomplish this," he responds with distracted eyes. "Why not ask Eina at the guild? She may be as vexing as a babbling mother, but the woman has helped the two of you immensely so far," Mimir says with a nasal chuckle. "That's true. Maybe we can ask her about the magic too," Atreus bobs his head slightly, and suddenly, the scars littering the boy's face stretch as he raises his brows, "Oh! Father, can you check my status?" Kratos nods, humming low as he cocks his head back, "I will... Though I do know if the numbers will have increased much from one battle," he responds. Atreus returns his own nods, his lips pursing as he begins to mutter a response, "Well, uh... Ottar may have 'trained' me for a few days... Even though it felt more like he was trying to kill me," a nervous chuckle rolls from his lips as he peeks up at his father. The Spartan scoffs in response, "We will see how this training has served you..." Kratos raises a hand in the air and twirls a finger, a gesture that has occurred much more frequently in recent times. The command is followed swiftly, and Atreus sits straight in the cushions, a bony spine poking through the pale skin revealed to Kratos. The Greek God's vision lingers on that tattoo until he reaches towards the table. Mimir is lifted from a stack of parchment, and Kratos retrieves a single sheet. The Faerie is lowered to the stack again, and a grunt suddenly flows from him, "...Reduced to a bloody paperweight," Mimir mutters with nearly inaudible words. "Hmm?" Kratos glances at the head with a raised brow, and a scoffs meets his hum, "Nothing, Brother... Nothing at all." The Spartan furrows his brows as those brown eyes linger on the Faerie, and he soon returns to the tattoo, ignoring the mocking whispers that barely reach his ears. The light show lights up the room as the words and numbers bleed onto the parchment, and Kratos hums in surprise as he reads the numbers, "...I stand to be corrected," he reaches around the boy, and the sheet is taken from his grip. Atreus gazes at the parchment with focused eyes, his lips parting farther from each other with each number read, "...This is good, right?" he mutters with no expectation for an answer, at least for now... [Atreus] [LV 1] [Strength: I 87] [Endurance: H 121] [Dexterity: H 113] [Agility: H 134] [Magic: G299] [Child of Sparta LV 1] [God of Trickery LV 1] [The Last Jötnar LV 1]

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