Essence of the Unlimited Potential IN GOD OF WAR 2018

Eirik crouched behind a boulder, his sharp eyes fixed on the glowing forge ahead. Brok and Sindri—the Huldra brothers—were hard at work, their hammers ringing against metal as sparks flew into the air. The dwarves bickered constantly, their voices carrying over the clang of steel.

"That's not how you temper it, you idiot!" Brok barked, snatching a glowing blade from Sindri's hands. "You'll ruin the edge!"

"Oh, and you're the expert now?" Sindri shot back, wiping soot from his face. "Last time I checked, I was the one who forged Mjölnir!"

"Aye, and look how that turned out!" Brok retorted, gesturing wildly. "You're lucky Thor didn't flatten you like a pancake!"

Eirik stifled a laugh, his curiosity piqued. He'd heard stories about the dwarves—their legendary craftsmanship, their feuds, their role in shaping the weapons of gods. But seeing them in person was something else entirely.

He watched as Brok plunged the blade into a barrel of water, steam hissing into the air. Sindri muttered under his breath, adjusting a complex array of gears and levers on a nearby contraption. Eirik's eyes darted between them, absorbing every detail—the way Brok's muscles flexed as he worked, the precision of Sindri's movements, the intricate runes etched into their tools.

He didn't need to interact with them. He didn't need to ask questions. Simply observing was enough.

Later that day, Eirik returned to the stream, his mind buzzing with what he'd seen. Freya was already there, her back to him as she knelt by the water. She didn't turn as he approached, but he knew she was aware of his presence.

"You're late," she said, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.

"Got distracted," Eirik replied, plopping down beside her. He didn't elaborate, and Freya didn't press.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the gentle rush of the stream. Eirik picked up a smooth stone, turning it over in his hands. He thought about the dwarves—their skill, their passion, their endless bickering. He wondered if Freya had ever met them and if she knew the stories behind their creations.

But he didn't ask. He'd learned that some questions were better left unspoken.

Freya glanced at him, her gaze thoughtful. "You're quiet today."

Eirik shrugged. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Stuff," he said vaguely, skipping the stone across the water. It bounced four times before sinking.

Freya raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

"Not as good as yours," Eirik admitted, grinning.

Freya's lips twitched, but she didn't smile. Instead, she looked out over the water, her expression distant. "You remind me of someone," she said softly.

Eirik tilted his head. "Who?"

Freya hesitated, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

Eirik didn't push. He knew better than to pry into her past. Instead, he leaned back on his hands, watching the clouds drift by. "Do you think people can change, Freya?"

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Eirik said, his tone casual. "I just wonder if someone who's done bad things can ever be good again. Or if someone who's lost everything can find something new."

Freya's breath hitched, but she quickly masked her reaction. "You ask a lot of questions, Eirik."

"I'm just curious," he said, grinning.

Freya studied him for a moment, then turned back to the stream. "Curiosity can be dangerous."

"So can boredom," Eirik countered, tossing another stone.

Freya didn't respond, but Eirik noticed the way her shoulders relaxed, just a little.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Eirik stood, brushing dirt off his tunic. "I should go," he said. "My mother doesn't like it when I'm late."

Freya nodded, her gaze still fixed on the water. "Be careful, Eirik."

"Always am," he said, grinning as he darted off into the trees.

The Return Home

Eirik slipped into the cabin just as Faye turned from the hearth, her arms crossed. "You're late," she said, her tone sharp but her eyes curious.

"Sorry, Mother," Eirik said, panting. "I lost track of time."

Faye studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Wash up. Dinner's almost ready."

Eirik nodded, relief flooding him as he hurried to the water basin. Atreus looked up from his bow, smirking. "What were you doing? Chasing squirrels again?"

"Maybe," Eirik said, splashing water on his face. "Or maybe I was fighting a troll. You'll never know."

Atreus rolled his eyes. "You're such a liar."

Eirik grinned, but his mind was already elsewhere—on the forge, on the stream, and on the mysteries he'd yet to uncover.

Freya stood alone on the cliff, the wind tugging at her cloak. Eirik's words echoed in her mind. "Do you think people can change?"

She didn't know why his questions unsettled her so much. She didn't know why she kept coming back. But as she looked out over the valley, she felt something she hadn't felt in years—a flicker of hope.