A young man made his way through the Wildwoods’ winding paths. He had lanky limbs, auburn hair styled in a mohawk he’d adorned since his youth, and icy blue eyes. He had scars across his left cheek and eye. It had been four years since Atreus left after Ragnarök, to find the remaining Jötunar. He was about 6’0 now, and was 18 years old. It felt like just yesterday he’d bid father goodbye. He was trekking towards the Stave, hoping that when he returned to the cabin, Father would be there.