Kratos’s POV:

The air was colder here than it had been in any of the other realms he had visited. Frost clung to his beard, and the crunch of snow under his boots was the only sound breaking the silence of this strange, desolate place. The mist swirled around him, thick and unnatural, as though the realm itself was alive and watching. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of the Leviathan Axe, its cold steel a comfort against the unknown.

“This realm… it feels wrong,” Kratos muttered, his deep voice barely carrying over the biting wind. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. “Stay close. Do not wander.”

The girl beside him—his daughter—moved with a blend of caution and curiosity. She was young, still learning, but stubborn like her mother. Like him. That stubbornness would be her strength… or her undoing.

A low growl echoed in the distance, the sound reverberating through the frozen landscape. Kratos’s grip tightened on the axe, his instincts sharpened. “We are not alone,” he said, his tone grim. “Be ready. Whatever lives here will not welcome us.”

As they moved forward, the mist parted to reveal towering, jagged structures of ice, glittering faintly in the dim light. They did not look natural—too precise, too deliberate. Kratos’s jaw clenched. This was no ordinary realm.

“Look for anything… out of place,” he instructed. “But keep your guard up. This is a place of gods—or something worse.”