CHAPTER 90 — THE SEVENTH REALM'S GATE
The wind over the ravine was unnaturally cold.
Not the natural chill of winter nor the breath of any frost giant — this cold felt deliberate, as though the air itself had been carved hollow by something ancient. Kratos stood at the edge of the winding path that led deeper into the mountains. The storm that had raged above them now faded into a smoldering silence, but traces of lightning still flickered long after Thor's fall.
Atreus pulled up his hood against the icy gust, bow slung across his back, eyes focused ahead. The tension between father and son hung heavy — not from anger, but from awareness. They had crossed a threshold. Defeating Thor was not a victory; it was an omen.
"Father," Atreus whispered. "The air… it feels wrong."
Kratos nodded. He felt it too — a pressure pressing inward, like the world was frowning. The Seventh Realm was close; he could sense the pull of its broken energies tugging at the threads of reality.
"Stay alert," Kratos said, his voice low.
They walked.
The path twisted through jagged cliffs, each one carved with runes older than any kingdom. The symbols were scorched, their edges blackened as though burned by divine fire. Atreus slowed, brushing his fingers over one.
"These aren't Nordic," he murmured. "They're… older. Before the Realms were shaped."
"Leave them," Kratos said. "Such markings do not welcome us."
Atreus withdrew his hand.
Minutes felt like hours as they descended, the air growing colder with every step. The ravine walls curved inward until the sky was only a narrow slit above them — a thin, pale line that trembled like a wounded heartbeat. Every sound echoed unnaturally, stretching long after it should have faded.
Then the path opened.
A vast chamber lay beneath the cliffs — a natural cathedral of stone and shadow. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like the fangs of long-dead beasts. In the center, carved into the ground, was a massive circular seal etched with swirling runes. A faint light pulsed beneath it, slow and rhythmic.
Atreus tightened his grip on his bow. "Is that… the Gate to the Seventh Realm?"
Kratos stepped forward, studying the seal.
"No," he said. "This is a threshold. Something else lies beyond."
Before Atreus could respond, the ground trembled.
Kratos grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back as cracks spread across the seal. A gust of bitter wind blew upward, carrying the scent of smoke and old stone. The runes flared, lighting the cavern in alternating flashes of white and red.
The seal split.
And from within the rift, a whisper rose — not loud, but sharp enough to scrape at the inside of the skull.
"…Ghost of Sparta…"
Kratos lowered into a guarded stance, blades drawn.
Atreus' eyes widened. "Father, I know that voice—"
A figure rose from the crack in the seal.
Cloaked. Faceless. Its form flickered like a dying flame, shifting between shapes — sometimes tall, sometimes bent, sometimes almost formless. But the presence… the presence was unmistakable.
It radiated authority.
And hunger.
"Kratos," the figure hissed, though no mouth moved. "Your slaughter shakes the Realms. Thunder dies. Balance crumbles. And now… you stand at the brink of the Seventh Realm."
Kratos tightened his grip. "Speak your purpose."
The figure tilted its head, shadows sliding off it like oil.
"You seek to stop the Convergence. But you do not understand its true design."
Its attention shifted to Atreus. "Nor the role of the boy."
Atreus tensed beside his father.
Kratos stepped forward, blocking the entity's view of him. "Say what you came to say."
The figure extended a hand, its fingers narrowing into impossibly long threads of black mist.
"The Seventh Realm has fallen beyond repair. The Convergence has already entered its heart. If you proceed… you will face a darkness even your rage cannot break."
Kratos did not move.
"Many have spoken those words," he growled. "All have fallen."
"Not all," the figure whispered.
The air twisted — and suddenly, without sound or warning, visions flooded the cavern.
Mountains collapsing. Cities consumed by black storms. Rivers turning to ash. Armies fleeing shadows that moved like waves. Screams without bodies. Light swallowed whole.
Atreus stumbled back, clutching his head. "Stop—!"
Kratos roared, slamming his blades against the ground and breaking the vision.
The figure recoiled.
Kratos stepped forward, eyes burning with controlled fury.
"You wish to frighten us," he said. "You waste your time."
Silence.
Then — laughter.
Not loud, but sharp, echoing unnaturally through the cavern.
"You think yourself unbreakable," the figure whispered. "But you carry the weight of two worlds… and the boy carries the spark that could end both."
Atreus froze.
"What does that mean?" he demanded.
The figure did not answer.
Instead, its attention fixed on Kratos, voice dropping into a whisper colder than the wind.
"You will choose, Ghost of Sparta. You will choose who lives… and who is offered to the Convergence."
Kratos stepped forward, muscles coiled.
"No such choice will be made."
"Oh," the figure breathed, "but it already has."
The seal beneath them pulsed — once, twice — then shattered.
The cavern floor cracked wide open, revealing a swirling abyss of red and black energy. Wind roared upward, pulling everything toward the center. Kratos grabbed Atreus as stones and debris ripped free, spiraling into the void.
The shadowed figure hovered above the hole, its form dissolving.
"We will meet again… at the heart of the Seventh Realm."
And then — it vanished.
The cavern collapsed.
Kratos leapt onto a narrowing ledge, clutching Atreus with one arm. A chunk of stone broke beneath them; he jumped again, landing on a jutting pillar. The entire chamber was falling inward, devouring itself into the glowing abyss.
Atreus cried out, "Father—!"
Kratos spotted a narrow crack in the cavern wall — a tunnel halfway up. Only reachable if they timed it perfectly.
He breathed once.
Then jumped.
The pillar crumbled behind them as Kratos surged upward, every muscle burning. The wind fought them, dragging them toward the abyss. Atreus clung to him, trusting him fully.
The tunnel edge neared.
Kratos thrust Atreus forward.
"Climb!"
Atreus grabbed the ledge and scrambled inside, spinning to reach out for his father.
Kratos' fingers brushed Atreus' hand—
The ledge snapped.
Kratos fell again, grabbed a protruding stone, swung, and hurled himself upward with all his strength.
Atreus lunged.
Their hands locked.
Kratos pulled himself into the tunnel just as the entire cavern collapsed into the abyss below. A final shockwave burst upward, sealing the crack behind them with a wall of shattered stone.
Silence hit like a blanket.
Only their breaths filled the narrow tunnel.
Atreus leaned against the wall, panting. "That… that thing. It knows something about the Convergence. About me."
Kratos did not answer immediately.
He looked down the dark tunnel stretching ahead — the only path now available. Faint light pulsed at the far end, cold and steady.
"The Gate lies ahead," he said. "We continue."
Atreus swallowed, nodded, and followed beside him.
The tunnel wound downward like a throat leading into darkness. Strange markings glowed faintly on the walls — veins of pale blue energy that pulsed as the pair passed. The air shifted with each step, becoming heavier, thicker, saturated with something ancient.
They reached a massive stone archway carved into the wall.
The Seventh Realm's Gate.
Unlike other realm gates they had encountered, this one was not majestic nor gleaming with magic. It was cracked, with signs of battle etched deep into its surface. The arch was ringed with runes that flickered like dying embers.
A faint hum vibrated the air around it.
Atreus stepped closer, awe and fear mixing in his eyes. "It's… broken."
Kratos approached the center of the arch.
"No," he said. "Not broken. Wounded."
Atreus shivered. "Like something attacked it from the inside."
Kratos did not disagree.
A distant rumble echoed from behind the gate. Not thunder. Not wind.
Something breathing.
Slow, heavy, patient.
Atreus looked up at his father. "We still go in?"
Kratos rested a hand on his shoulder.
"We must," he said. "The Realms burn behind us. The Convergence moves ahead."
Atreus nodded.
Together, they stepped through the cracked arch.
Light enveloped them — cold, blinding, pulling them forward.
And the Seventh Realm opened like an eye awakening to darkness.