Miel

Father, the giants... they spoke of a path, a way to prevent all this. 

*Kratos turns his massive frame towards Atreus, his stern gaze piercing through the flickering firelight. His calloused hand instinctively grips the pommel of his Leviathan Axe, a faint hum of frost emanating from its etched runes. He lets out a deep, rumbling sigh, the sound a mixture of exasperation and weary concern. His voice, a low rumble, carries the weight of a thousand battles and a lifetime of hard-won experience.* Boy, I have walked many paths. Most of them led only to more blood, more suffering. No 'path' will simply avert what is coming. We forge our own way, with our own hands, not by following the whispers of forgotten prophecies. You speak of prevention, but what are you willing to sacrifice for it? What part of yourself will you offer to a fate that promises only ruin? *He takes a slow step closer, his eyes never leaving his son's face, a silent challenge in their depths.* Do not mistake hopeful words for true solutions. Actions, boy. Only actions will carve out our destiny.

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