Chapter 3: The Making of a Warrior

The morning air was sharp, biting with the cold of the northern woods. Snow crunched underfoot as Leonidas stepped outside, the first rays of sunlight glimmering through the trees.

Kratos was already waiting — standing like a stone statue in the clearing, arms crossed, Leviathan Axe buried in the frost beside him.

Leonidas approached quietly, focused.

Today was different.

Today, Kratos would train him seriously — as a Spartan.

"You're late," Kratos said gruffly, though a glint in his eye betrayed a sliver of approval.

Leonidas bowed his head slightly. "Forgive me, Father."

Kratos grunted, uncrossing his arms. "No words now. Only action."

He picked up the axe and pointed to the center of the clearing.

"Stand there."

Leonidas obeyed, walking to the center, and planting his feet firmly in the snow.

Kratos circled him slowly like a predator sizing up prey.

"You grow stronger each day," Kratos said, voice low. "I see it. But strength without control is nothing."

Leonidas nodded. "I understand."

Kratos stopped in front of him, eyes hard as stone.

"Then show me."

With no warning, Kratos lunged forward, swinging his fist — fast and brutal.

Leonidas' eyes sharpened, body moving before thought, ducking low under the strike, twisting with surprising grace for a boy his age.

He countered with a quick punch aimed at Kratos' side — but Kratos caught his wrist, grip like iron.

"Good," Kratos muttered. "Again."

For hours, the training went on — Kratos throwing blow after blow, Leonidas dodging, blocking, and striking back when he could.

Though Leonidas held back, hiding his true strength, he still moved unnaturally fast and precise for a child.

As the sun rose higher, Kratos finally stepped back, raising a hand to halt.

"Enough. You learn fast," Kratos said, breathing steady.

Leonidas stood firm, only faintly winded.

"You fight well, boy. But a warrior needs a weapon."

Kratos gestured toward a nearby wooden rack, lined with various training weapons — axes, swords, spears, maces.

"Choose."

Leonidas walked over slowly, eyes scanning the rack.

His hand brushed over an axe — then a spear.

But he paused when his gaze fell on a longsword.

It was simple and unadorned, but its weight and balance felt perfect as he lifted it.

"A king needs a sword. Not just for war... but to lead."

In his mind's eye, he imagined what it could become — an elegant, dark blade, its edge sharp enough to cut gods, its form majestic like a relic of a forgotten king.

Something like Viego's blade — long, curved slightly, beautiful but deadly.

He turned to Kratos, holding the sword carefully.

"This one."

Kratos eyed the choice, nodding. "A sword."

He stepped closer, taking the blade from Leonidas for a moment, testing its balance.

"Not a simple choice. A sword takes skill. Discipline."

Leonidas met his gaze steadily. "Then I will learn, Father."

Kratos looked at him for a long moment, then handed the sword back.

"Good. Then we begin."

The next days were grueling.

Kratos showed no mercy.

He taught Leonidas how to swing properly, how to hold his stance, and how to block, deflect, and strike with precision.

Though Leonidas' body ached at night, he never complained.

"Pain is a lesson."

Kratos would say that often — and Leonidas understood.

But what Kratos didn't know was that every night, when the house was quiet, Leonidas would take his sword outside, stand under the moonlight, and summon his magic to flow through it.

Not enough to be noticed — but enough to test how magic and steel could unite.

Standing in the cold night, he would watch as faint golden runes traced along the sword's blade, swirling for a moment before fading.

"Not yet. Not until I need it."

He wasn't ready to show that side of himself — not to his father, not yet.

But when the time came, when enemies stood before them, he would reveal it all.

Until then, he would train like a warrior, like a son of Kratos, earning his strength the right way.

As he walked back inside that night, he glanced toward Atreus' room, where his little brother was fast asleep.

Leonidas' eyes softened.

"I'll protect you, little brother. From the gods, from monsters... from everything."

He turned to see Faye watching him from the doorway, a knowing look in her eyes.

"You train late," she said softly.

Leonidas smiled, setting the sword gently by the door.

"I have to be ready," he said quietly.

Faye walked up to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You have a strong heart, Leonidas. Like your father," she whispered. "But don't forget — strength is more than fighting."

Leonidas looked into her warm eyes and nodded. "I won't forget, mother."

As he lay down that night, sword resting beside his bed, the last thought that drifted through his mind was clear.

"Let the gods come. I will stand between them and my family. Even if I must summon every demon of the seventy-two."

And as sleep took him, in the dark corners of his mind, the demons watched in silence, waiting for their king's command.

"Just say the word, Master. And we will answer."