Chapter 15: The Path to Mastery

Athenor sat on a boulder near the river, staring at his reflection in the water. His breath was steady, but beneath the surface, something burned. The battle with the Seidr-infused troll had been a turning point—his body had moved on instinct, his rage had surged beyond his control, and for the first time, he had felt something foreign yet eerily familiar take hold. The power of a berserker, wild and unrelenting.

But power without control was meaningless.

Athenor clenched his fists, his fingers digging into his palms as he tried to recall the moment he had lost himself. His strength had grown exponentially, yet there was a gap in his awareness—a missing piece that disturbed him. He needed answers.

And there was only one person who could provide them.

Kratos.

The cabin door creaked slightly as Athenor pushed it open. Inside, Kratos sat near the fire, sharpening the Leviathan Axe with slow, deliberate strokes. His presence was imposing as ever, a silent storm contained within flesh and bone.

Athenor stepped forward. "Father."

Kratos did not look up. "You seek something."

Athenor hesitated. He had always chosen his words carefully around Kratos, knowing his father was a man of few, but meaningful, words. "I lost control during my last hunt."

Kratos stopped sharpening the axe. He turned his gaze toward his son, expression unreadable. "Explain."

Athenor took a deep breath. "During the fight, something in me… took over. My mind faded, and all that remained was instinct. Rage. It felt powerful but—" He exhaled. "I don't remember parts of the battle. Only flashes."

Kratos placed the axe down, leaning forward. "And this troubles you?"

Athenor nodded. "I want to control it. Not be controlled by it."

Kratos studied him for a long moment. Then, he stood. "Come."

Athenor followed his father outside, where the evening wind carried the crisp scent of pine. Kratos walked a few paces away from the cabin before turning back to face him.

"Strike me," Kratos commanded.

Athenor blinked. "What?"

Kratos rolled his shoulders, standing firm. "You wish to understand your power? Then fight me."

Athenor hesitated. He had seen his father fight—his strength, his precision. Even now, despite his growth, he knew Kratos was beyond him. But that wasn't the point of this.

Without another word, he lunged forward.

Kratos reacted instantly, sidestepping Athenor's punch with practiced ease. Athenor adjusted, pivoting mid-motion and swinging again, only for his father to deflect the attack with his forearm. The sheer force of the block sent vibrations up Athenor's arm.

"Your strikes are strong," Kratos said, eyes sharp, "but you rely on them too much."

Athenor gritted his teeth and pressed forward, unleashing a flurry of blows. Kratos weaved between them with effortless precision, his movements deceptively simple yet impossibly effective.

Then, without warning, Kratos struck back.

Athenor barely had time to react as his father's fist crashed against his guard, sending him skidding backward. He dug his heels into the dirt, steadying himself.

Kratos straightened. "You are strong. But strength is not control."

Athenor's breathing was heavy, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel it—the simmering rage beneath his skin, clawing to be unleashed.

Kratos narrowed his eyes. "You feel it now, don't you?"

Athenor didn't respond.

Kratos stepped forward. "Rage is a weapon. But if you let it wield you, you will destroy more than just your enemies." His voice was firm, laced with something deeper—experience, perhaps regret.

Athenor clenched his fists. "Then how do you control it?"

Kratos was silent for a moment before speaking. "Discipline."

Athenor frowned. "That's it?"

Kratos gave a slow nod. "To master rage, you must know when to use it. And when to resist it."

Athenor exhaled, staring at his hands. His father made it sound simple, but he knew it was anything but.

Kratos stepped past him. "Control is earned, not given. It will take time. And effort."

Athenor looked up. His father was already walking away.

He tightened his grip. Time and effort, huh?

Then he would train.

No matter how long it took.