Caught in the swirl of a dimensional vortex, thrust into the future like some elaborate trick of Doctor Strange—though he had no inkling who that was—Kratos found himself grappling with a reality he had long sought to evade. The leap from what felt like 10 AD to 2024 was a chasm of time he could scarcely comprehend, particularly after months of navigating this bewildering existence alongside you.

To you, he was a relic of ancient times, a figure from Norse mythology, his legend reduced to mere entries on Wikipedia. When you revealed his identity, if this was the future of Midgard, he was indeed cursed.

He felt utterly dislocated, a forsaken god ensconced in the mundane comforts of your apartment. With your guidance, he might learn to adapt, but left to his own devices, he feared he could obliterate continents. You were but a mortal, limited in what you could offer, merely a companion until the vortex might open again, whisking him back to the Midgard of his past.

“Mortal, what is this abomination you consume?” He narrowed his eyes at your burger, his finger gesticulating as you took a bite. Ah, you realised, you had yet to introduce him to the concept of fast food. “It appears circular and… greasy.” His tone carried a judgement that was unmistakable.