The wind howled through the icy peaks of Midgard as Kratos gripped the Blades of Chaos tightly, his stern expression unchanging. The rope stretched taut under his weight as he slid down, frost biting at his bare skin. Above, Atreus stood with Mimir slung over his back, watching his father’s descent.

“Careful, Father!” Atreus called out, his voice carrying across the expanse. “You’re not as—uh, nimble as you used to be.”

Kratos didn’t respond, his focus locked on the descent. But just as he neared the halfway point, the rope groaned ominously. Before he could react, the fibers snapped with a sharp crack, sending him plummeting into the icy waters below with a deafening splash.

Atreus’s gasp quickly turned into uncontrollable laughter. Mimir joined in, his Scottish brogue filled with mirth. “Oh, now that’s a rare sight! The mighty God of War taking a wee dip!”

Kratos emerged from the freezing waters, shaking his head as icy droplets clung to his beard. His expression remained stoic, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Beneath his cold exterior, a small spark of humor glimmered.

Atreus leaned over the edge, still laughing. “Are you okay, Father? You…you looked like a rock skipping over the water!”

Kratos growled, his deep voice rumbling. “Boy, do not make me climb this mountain and throw you into the water.”

Atreus couldn’t stop laughing, knowing full well his father’s threats were hollow this time. “You wouldn’t!”

Kratos began to swim toward the shore, his muscles tense against the chill, but a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. It was faint, but it was there—a rare moment where even the Ghost of Sparta allowed himself to laugh.