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Kratos rolled his shoulders as the last of the raiders fell away into clouds of dust. In every journey through Valhalla, the first enemies were always the easiest to defeat. He had not struggled much.
He walked up to a familiar panel, the one Faye had painted of him being revered as a god of hope, rather than one of destruction, focussing on the item that was left for him to find beneath it. He knelt, his fingers grazing the object for a moment before picking it up.
“What is it, brother?” Mimir asked from his belt, his curiosity clearly piqued at his silence.
“A laurel wreath.”
“Were those not put around the necks of athletic champions in your homeland?”
“Yes,” Kratos muttered as he rose from the ground, tucking the small object away. “But this one was made to be worn as a crown.”
“Oh? By whom?” Mimir asked.
“Nike. I will speak of this later.”
~Ω~
Kratos buried his axe deep into the cyclops’ eye as he brought it to the ground, finally killing the large beast. He looked around but found no more enemies to fight, so he stepped through the nearby gateway into a representation of Jötunnheim.
“Nike was a goddess of the Greek pantheon, the goddess of victory,” he explained, though he loathed to talk about this part of his past. “When I was given my position as the new god of war by Zeus, she was sent to be my servant and my apprentice.”
“Interesting… I’d never heard of such a goddess within your pantheon before, and I did study its history for quite a while.”
“You would not have heard of her. She was young.”
He was overwhelmed as he spoke of the past.
~Ω~
Kratos circled the massive table in the middle of his chamber. The centre of it was filled with shimmering magic, allowing him to see any battle he wished. His Spartan brothers were currently laying siege to a city.
Their control over the battlefield was ebbing and flowing, the armies trading blows and trying to find an edge. This battle had not been decided yet, but Kratos had faith in his followers, even if he disapproved of some of the tactics they used…
It had been just a few weeks since he had become the god of war. He was not quite used to watching from the sidelines as armies fought, not leading or partaking himself. Of course, he always gave the soldiers of his homeland a divine edge, but he was not actually fighting, and Kratos had to admit that it bothered him.
Behind him, he heard the door to his chambers open. He expected to hear the thumping footsteps of Zeus or the even footfalls of Athena. They were the only Olympians that visited or even spoke to him regularly. All the others kept their distance.
But instead of their familiar gaits, he heard the soft, quick pattering of small feet, which he would not have been surprised to learn came from an overexcited puppy.
Turning to see who had intruded on his peace, he saw a young girl had wormed her way through the gap of the heavy double doors of his chambers.
She was dressed in a long, white robe, the hem dancing around her ankles as she trotted up to him. Placed upon her golden hair was a crown of laurel leaves. She was young, no older than four or five years.
“Hello,” she said once she finally reached him with a wide smile, not at all bothered by his drawn-back attitude.
Kratos wanted to demand a reason for her disturbing him, even for her to get out immediately. Another sentence entirely managed to make its way out of his mouth.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Nike, goddess of victory” the girl told him, a wide smile still on her face. “Lord Zeus send me. He told me I needed to help you, and that I can learn from you.”
Kratos grunted.
Of course the king of the gods would do such a thing. If Kratos was honest with himself, his short time on Olympus had only served to further alienate him from the gods and their supposed right to rule. They had tricked him with a promise to absolve him of his sins, given him an office of metaphysical responsibility as the god of war (which he’d never asked for or wanted), and on Olympus they squabbled like petty children, forcing him to endure their arguments and demands on a daily basis. And now putting him in charge of a child…
He did not want her here. He did not want to deal with such a responsibility (no, risk) again.
He sent her away.
“I can help,” the girl said. Her tone was insistent and enthusiastic, even if it was quite clear she had no idea what he was even doing and what she’d be helping him with.
“You cannot even reach the table,” he told her, having already turned back to the battle playing out.
It was true. The girl was so small that she would not be able to see over the edge of the table, even if she stood up on her toes.
For a moment, there was silence, before he heard the quiet pattering of feet moving away from him. He sighed deeply, certain that he’d soon hear the doors behind him close, but instead he heard the scraping of wood over the marble floor.
Looking over his shoulder, he found the girl tugging at the leg of a chair that stood near the door. It was a slow process, with the girl huffing and puffing as she alternated between pushing and pulling the chair along.
Kratos had to admire the tenacity, even if it was irritating.
She finally reached the table, and clambered onto the chair to see over the top of it. She was out of breath, but the large smile had returned.
Kratos did not want to think of whom that smile reminded him.
“So what are we doing?” she asked.
Picking her up and putting her outside of his chamber after explicit instructions from Zeus would just spark an argument, he told himself. An argument that he really had no time for. He had found a new family in the Spartan army, and he would prefer to watch them fight over being lectured by Zeus.
So he would just ignore her, and hope she got the hint to stay silent.
For a few minutes, that plan worked just fine. Kratos was able to observe the battle and found things were going as expected. Then suddenly—
“The guys with the red on their helmets are definitely winning.”
Kratos frowned.
It was true, the Spartan army had taken control of the battlefield, even if it was subtle. He would not have expected a child this young to pick up on such a thing. Then he remembered what she’d introduced herself as, the goddess of victory. His curiosity was piqued.
“Do you know?” he asked her. “Or do you determine?”
The difference was important to know. The gods often settled their disputes through war between the cities that worshipped them. These wars by proxy were a near constant occurrence and winning or losing had a great impact on one’s reputation. If this girl (child, this was just a child) could decide who’d win such conflicts…
The girl looked abashed at his question, peering up at him through her eyelashes.
“I just… I just get a feeling,” she muttered. Kratos got the idea that even she was not completely certain how her powers worked.
Well, there was no use in pushing away a strategic advantage, Kratos told himself. He was not exactly opposed to the proxy wars that Olympus fought, as he was certain Sparta would be capable of winning them, and when it came to strategy, the gut feelings of a goddess were better than nothing.
Even if said goddess did not even reach his hip.
He let her stay as he watched the Spartan army fight, giving a satisfied nod when they indeed won the battle.
From that day on, she became his apprentice on Mount Olympus.
~Ω~
“You were reminded of Calliope, weren’t you brother?”
Kratos grunted, but he did not argue. Nike’s youth and innocence had tied itself to Calliope in his mind almost instantly, to the point that he’d considered whether Zeus had done it on purpose. A way of binding him to Olympus, keeping him loyal.
“I was… I also feared for her, even if I did not realise it. She was a young child, surrounded by gods far older and more cunning than her. With her powers and the constant proxy wars, it would not have been long before every god on Olympus was vying for her favour. After the gods had mistreated me, I feared what false promises, or threats, could be made against a child who had no way of fighting back.”
Mimir hummed understandingly.
“Quite the conundrum indeed. A power and position of such importance in the hands of a child… I don’t know what Zeus was like in private, but if he was anything like Odin, I too would loath to think of how that could go wrong.”
“Odin preferred his manipulations,” Kratos said darkly. “Zeus was much more straightforward. But they were equals in their capacity for cruelty.”
He still remembered the many other victims of the Olympians, none of whom he’d shown any mercy. Peirithous, Prometheus, Dedalus…
Nike had been an innocent spark of joy surrounded by monsters on all sides.
What chance did she ever have?
~Ω~
Kratos left behind the council chamber full of other gods, a scowl etched onto his face as he went back to his room. The soft footsteps of Nike were not far behind.
“Zeus is mad at you,” she said, as if that had not been extremely obvious the entire time they’d been at the meeting.
He had berated Kratos for constantly showing preferential treatment to the Spartans, especially when they were attacking cities under the protection of the other gods. The god of war did not really care what Zeus thought of his methods, nor what any of the other gods thought about his army pillaging their cities.
Some dirty looks had also been thrown in Nike’s direction. While there was still no proof that she was actively choosing the outcomes of battles, some of the Olympians had already made up their mind. It was why Kratos had told the girl to stay close to him when around the other gods, just in case.
Returning to his chambers, Kratos felt a weight falling off his shoulders. After everything, he had little patience anymore for the demands of the Olympians. Being around them was a chore that he was glad to be done with.
Nike was the only exception.
Every day the girl followed him around like a puppy, soaking up every word he said like a sponge. She looked at him as if he’d hung the moon.
And Kratos, despite his gruff exterior and earlier disinterest, had to admit it was endearing.
Nike was not just that, she was actually helpful in some aspects. Her instinct in strategy and battle odds far exceeded her knowledge, certainly nothing to scoff at.
Kratos found himself… caring for the girl.
He gave her approving glances when she picked up a concept, even occasionally patted her on the head. One night, he’d found himself telling the girl to go to bed as it was late, despite the fact that gods did not need to sleep nearly as often as mortals.
He’d struggled that night, after she left (even though she’d thrown him a curious look), because he had recognised the tone in his voice. That was how he’d told Calliope that it was time for bed, stern yet fond. Having no need to sleep was the only reason there was no horrible routine of nightmares that evening, but the memories remained at the forefront of his mind.
He’d had to accept it though. Nike certainly wasn’t planning on going anywhere, and Kratos couldn’t bear to push her away.
Kratos reached out and forced the magic of the battle-table to douse, so that the bright light no longer illuminated the room. He slouched down onto his throne, feeling exhausted without any desire to rest.
He was surprised to see Nike walking over to him. Usually, she understood when it was time for her to leave. Especially when she was rubbing her eyes the way she was.
“Girl—”
He was cut off by Nike climbing onto the throne beside him, before settling into his lap. Her head tipped down onto his chest as she nuzzled closer. It seemed he was not the only one who’d been tired out by the day.
She was asleep in his lap long before his mind returned to him, and he could even consider telling her to get off, and then he couldn’t bring himself to wake her.
So he was stuck on that chair, with a sleeping child goddess on his lap.
And if he put an arm around her that night to pull her a little closer, than no one would have ever known about it.
~Ω~
Mimir was silent when Kratos finished telling the second part of Nike’s story. The Spartan could practically hear the cogs in the man’s brain turning as he tried to find his words.
He’d never told anyone about Nike before in this level of depth.
He had mentioned her twice, once when telling Faye of his past and once when Atreus and him had been hunting shortly after spreading his mother’s ashes.
“Father, you’ve always hated the gods, and you mentioned before how the gods of your homeland weren't good... but was that true for all of them? There are good gods here, after all. Wasn't there one good god among them?”
“One,” Kratos had reluctantly admitted. “Nike.”
And Atreus, with a perceptiveness that was unusual for someone his age, had immediately picked up on the fact that his father didn’t want to speak about this and had stopped asking questions about it. He’d never brought up Nike again, despite clearly being very curious.
Mimir was much the same now, wanting to let Kratos speak at his own pace while questions were clearly gnawing at him.
And Kratos knew exactly what question he really wanted to ask.
What had happened to Nike in the end?
Kratos had burnt the pantheon to the ground, he had decimated the Greek lands, and had not shown mercy to any of the gods.
Had Nike been different?
Did she end up as collateral damage in his rampage?
Mimir was of course sensitive enough not to ask these questions outright. He knew how much shame and pain Kratos carried for all that had happened in Greece. No, he ended up very gently asking: “What happened next, brother?”
Kratos sighed.
~Ω~
Kratos stalked through the halls of Mount Olympus, leaving behind a trail of blood and rainwater. He had killed Hermes a few minutes prior, and he was on his way to the Flame of Olympus.
A small figure suddenly darted out of one of the rooms and in front of him, and his blades were readied before he saw who it was.
“Kratos!” Nike said, walking up to him as if he hadn’t drawn his blades at all. “Where were you? You didn’t come back from Rhodes, and no one is telling me anything. What’s going on?”
Kratos was rooted to the spot, staring at Nike standing in his path. His mind could not figure out what to see her as, a goddess or a child. He eventually settled on neither, only Nike, who was staring up at him with big, sparkling eyes.
“Go back to your room,” he barked at her before stalking past her.
But he heard her pattering footsteps following from behind.
“What’s happening? I heard Aphrodite say the titans are coming, is that why the mountain is shaking? Are you going to fight them?”
“Leave me!” he shouted.
“But I’m supposed to help you! Zeus said so!”
Curse the loyalty of children…
The chains around his arms had heated up, his unsheathed blades were sizzling, the blood on them evaporating into thin strings of smoke. He was scowling and covered in the entrails of several gods.
And she was too young and innocent to see the monster in front of her. Nike just continued to stare up at him, as if he was her…
Kratos quickly turned and picked up the pint-sized goddess, setting her on a nearby ledge, at the foot of a large statue of Athena.
“You will stay here. I am going to do what I came here to do. You will not follow me. You will stay out of sight if anyone but me approaches. When I am done, I will come fetch you,” he told her, his hands heavy on her shoulders the entire time. He hoped to impart the importance of what he was saying.
When he had fought Persephone, it had meant leaving behind Calliope forever, a choice he has regretted and likely will continue to regret for the rest of his life. He couldn’t bear to do it again.
And Nike, in her eternal loyalty and trust, just nodded and smiled. He saw her kicking her feet as he left to find the Flame of Olympus.
~Ω~
There was a long silence after Kratos finished speaking. Mimir broke it with a soft murmur: “You spared her.”
“I did.”
The next question was obvious, and Kratos knew it was coming long before Mimir actually posed it. After all, despite his promise, Nike wasn’t here.
“But you didn’t go to get her afterwards, did you?”
“It was worse. I did.”
A familiar ache returned to his chest, one that had nothing to do with a recent strike from a warhammer by one of the enemies Valhalla had put forth. He could not save anyone. Even if he did, he was doomed to walk alone forever. He still feared the day he would lose Atreus, Freya, Mimir…
Because that day would come. No one he’d ever allowed himself to love had survived his vicinity.
“You did?” Mimir asked, gently probing for answers.
“When I returned to where I had left her, she was not there. I searched Olympus for her, but could not find her. I… I do not know what happened to her…”
It was a painful thing to admit. No matter how agonising his grief for Calliope and Lysandra, he at least knew they were in the Fields of Elysium, having found some peace in their eternal lives after death.
With Nike, there was no certainty.
One of the gods might have killed her as vengeance against him, she might have died in the destruction brought upon Greece. One of the few gods who’d escaped his rampage, someone like Aphrodite, might have taken her with them when they fled. She might have left of her own volition, wandering the world alone.
He did not know what scenario he feared more. The thought of the Nike dying for his mistakes and sins was definitely a thought he’d ruminated on for far too long.
“I know you don’t look back on your actions in Greece fondly, brother,” Mimir said softly. “But you did right by that girl. You protected her, and from what it sounds like to me, raised her. Whatever might have happened to her… I’m sure she doesn’t blame you. And I’m sure she would not want you to blame yourself.”
For a long time, Kratos might have disputed that point. It was Faye who made him see differently. He could see he had done more for Nike than the other gods would have.
“I believe so too,” he said softly, remembering her affection towards him. “And I hope she has found peace, wherever she is.”