How Kratos (Young) Made Me Rethink Strength

I first met Kratos in a friend’s basement on a rainy Saturday afternoon. He wasn’t there in person, of course—just a pixelated version of him, swinging his Leviathan Axe through waves of Norse enemies. I’d heard of God of War, but I’d always assumed it was just another action game with a lot of blood and not much else. My friend insisted I give it a try, especially the newer ones. “It’s not who you think it is,” he said. What followed wasn’t just a game session—it was a quiet revelation.

I Thought Rage Was Weakness

I used to believe that rage was a sign of failure. A lack of control, a loss of discipline. I saw anger as something that clouded judgment, something that made people reckless. Then I met Kratos—specifically, the version of him in the newer God of War titles. This isn’t the screaming, vengeful specter of Greek mythology. This is a man who has learned to contain his rage, not eliminate it. He’s not calm because he’s passive—he’s calm because he’s mastered the fire inside him.

I remember watching him in a battle with a particularly brutal enemy, the kind that demands multiple retries. I expected him to yell, to flail. Instead, he grunted, adjusted his stance, and tried again. Every death felt like a lesson. That moment changed how I saw anger. Maybe it wasn’t the enemy. Maybe it was the fuel.

Grief Doesn’t Have to Be Silent

I’ve always been uncomfortable with grief. I was raised in a culture that values stoicism, especially for men. Grief was something to endure quietly, to move past as quickly as possible. So when I saw Kratos mourning the death of his wife—his second wife, no less—I was stunned. He didn’t cry in the way I expected. He didn’t break down. But he remembered. He carried her ashes. He spoke to her in moments of quiet. He honored her in how he raised their son.

That shifted something in me. It made me realize that grief doesn’t have to be loud to be real. It can be carried like a blade—sharp, useful, and close to the heart. It taught me that love doesn’t end with death. It just changes shape.

Fatherhood Isn’t About Perfection

Before I encountered Kratos as a father, I had a pretty unrealistic idea of what good parenting looked like. I thought it was about being endlessly patient, always wise, never making mistakes. But the Kratos I met in those games was none of those things. He was stern. He was distant. He was often wrong. But he was trying. And he was learning.

There’s a scene where he’s teaching Atreus to track animals. He’s not gentle. He’s not encouraging. But he wants Atreus to learn. And as I watched them stumble through that relationship—son and father, both broken in different ways—I realized that parenting isn’t about being a perfect example. It’s about showing up. Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re angry. Especially when you don’t know what you’re doing.

Violence Isn’t Always the Answer

This one surprised me the most. Kratos is, after all, a man who has killed gods. He’s a walking force of destruction. But in the newer games, there’s a moment—a pause—where he considers not fighting. There’s a scene where he stops mid-battle, looks at his opponent, and says something like, “We do not have to do this.” That line hit me like a gut punch.

I’d always assumed that Kratos was defined by his violence. But in that moment, I realized that his restraint was more powerful than his rage. That changed how I thought about conflict in my own life. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is walk away. Sometimes the hardest thing is to choose peace when everything in you screams for a fight.

Strength Isn’t the Absence of Pain

Before Kratos, I thought strength meant not feeling pain. That if you were truly strong—mentally, emotionally—you didn’t break. You didn’t grieve. You didn’t get angry. But watching him, I saw that wasn’t true. He felt everything. He just didn’t let it destroy him. He used it. He carried it.

That changed how I saw myself. I realized that my own pain didn’t mean I was weak. It meant I was human. And like Kratos, I could carry it. I could learn from it. I could become something more because of it.

If you’re curious about how a character like Kratos could shift someone’s thinking so deeply, I invite you to talk to him on HoloDream. Ask him about his son. Ask him about his scars. Ask him about what he’s learned. You might find, as I did, that the man behind the axe has more to say than you ever expected.