For years, Kratos, the protagonist of the video game series “God of War”, stood for the kind of man many were taught to be: powerful, emotionless, feared. In the early God of War games, he wasn’t a father, a partner, or even a man in any familiar sense—he was rage. Bathed in it. Blinded by it. Controlled by it.
But in 2018’s God of War reboot, a shift begins. Kratos starts a new family and becomes a father again in the truest sense of the term. This time, he tries to be better than the man who raised him, better than the man he once was. And through that struggle, a different kind of story begins to take shape—one that reaches far beyond the affairs of mythology.
While the God of War series is known for its intense violence and graphic imagery, we don’t seek to excuse or glorify that aspect. We acknowledge it as part of the genre, the mythology, and the brutal world these characters inhabit. Our focus, instead, is on the emotional journey—on the subtle evolution of Kratos from Beast to Man. Realised through the bond with his son, Atreus, they break cycles, heal, and redefine masculinity.
God of War isn’t just a story about gods and monsters. It’s about what happens when a man raised on silence chooses to speak, to connect—and to change.
1. The Pattern of Pain: Why Kratos’ Early Self Resonates
In the original trilogy, Kratos was consumed by grief and vengeance. He trusted no one. He expressed only rage. And though he was fictional, the emotional blueprint felt eerily realistic.
For many men, this isn’t myth—it’s memory. Being taught to “toughen up.” To suppress tears. To solve pain with anger. To be “a man”, and do something about it. These aren’t just personal issues; they’re cultural ones.
Research shows that rigid masculine norms—like avoiding emotion, asserting dominance, or self-reliance at all costs—are directly linked with increased depression, substance abuse, and reluctance to seek mental health support (Harris, 2021). The illusion of strength becomes a cage.
Kratos, in his earliest form, is a portrait of what happens when emotional pain goes unchecked. But pain isn’t the end of the story, it’s only a part of it.
2. The Journey Begins: Faye’s Gift and a Father’s Struggle
When Kratos’ wife Faye dies, she leaves behind a final wish: that her ashes be spread from the highest peak in all the realms. It’s a task that forces Kratos and Atreus—his son—into a journey neither of them are ready for.
At first, Kratos keeps Atreus at a distance. He avoids eye contact. He withholds praise. He calls him “boy,” never “son.” It’s clear: Kratos wants to protect, but he doesn’t know how to love without hurting. Psychological trauma is what he’s known most of his life.
And yet, they walk. They fight. They share silence. And slowly, between battles and boat rides, a bond starts to form. Through Atreus, Kratos begins to rediscover gentleness—one strained, awkward step at a time.
For anyone raised by emotionally unavailable fathers—or trying not to become one—this journey is a tear-jerker. And deservedly so!
3. Learning in Real Time: Discipline vs. Control
Atreus doesn’t grow up in a vacuum. He watches Kratos fight, win, and sometimes lash out. So when he ultimately kills out of ego, it isn’t just defiance—it’s reflection.
Kratos: “You killed against my wishes. You lost control.”
Atreus: “Haven’t you been teaching me to kill?”
Kratos: “I have been teaching you to survive!…….So I teach you to kill, yes, but in defense of yourself, never as an indulgence.”
This moment is powerful because it’s messy. It’s a father trying to hold his son to a standard he’s only just learning to live by. It’s what breaking a cycle looks like—unclean, imperfect, but sincerely committed. That’s what it takes to prevent our bonds from turning into toxic relations.
Many fathers will recognize this: the tightrope between guiding and overcorrecting, especially when the script you inherited is violent, distant, or silent.
4. Choosing Peace When You Know War
In Ragnarök, Kratos is faced with another kind of choice: whether to go to war, or to wait. Atreus, now older and more confident, thinks war is inevitable—and winnable. After all, his father has never lost in his eyes.
But Kratos hesitates. He’s seen too much. He knows war means loss—of life, of innocence, of self.
He doesn’t lecture. He leads by living differently.
He delays. He considers. He seeks alliances. He listens to others—even Freya, once an enemy.
His restraint becomes his resilience.
This isn’t weakness. It’s the wisdom of a man who understands that survival means more than winning battles. It means protecting what matters most. Not mindless violence.
Kratos demonstrates how anger is not the answer, it’s only a vehicle for information about ourselves. The God of War, teaches patience in the face of adversity, restraint in the face of calamity, and mindfulness for those moments of anger that blinds us to the consequences of our actions.
5. “Open Your Heart”: The Moment That Changed Everything
The emotional heart of Ragnarök arrives when Atreus begins to repeat his father’s old mantra:
“Close your heart to it… Wars are won by those who are willing to sacrifice everything…”
But Kratos stops him. And then says the words that define the arc of both games:
“You feel their pain because that is who you are. And you must never sacrifice that. Never. Not for anyone. I was wrong, Atreus. I was wrong. Open your heart. Open your heart to their suffering.”
It’s not just a correction. It’s a confession. A father telling his son—and himself—that strength includes empathy. That feeling deeply isn’t failure. It’s the future. It’s the humane way forward for everyone. It’s the best antidote for loneliness.
For every man who’s been taught to harden, this is a beautiful case in favour of emotional softness, empathy, and patience.
6. What Makes a Man
By the end, Kratos walks beside Freya. He listens to Mimir. He allows Atreus to lead. He no longer hides behind discipline or distance.
He admits he was wrong. He expresses pride. He even accepts friendship.
This is healthy masculinity without machismo. It’s presence over power. Connection over control.
We often hear that “being a man” means being stoic, being in charge, never faltering. But what if it meant being honest, adaptable, accountable? What if it meant learning—even after decades of getting it wrong?
That’s the version of manhood Kratos shows us. Not perfect. Human.
Kratos still wields an axe. But the most important battles he fights now are against the patterns that nearly destroyed him.
He fights them daily. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes clumsily. But always with purpose.
And in doing so, he shows men something we don’t often see in the media: that growth is hard—but healing is heroic.
Because the real strength? The kind that leaves a legacy? That comes when you decide:
“Today, we will be better.”
If you need help on this journey of heroic healing, we’re always just a call away!
References
- Conway, S. (2020). Poisonous pantheons: God of War and toxic masculinity. Games and Culture, 15(8), 943–961. https://doi.org/10.1177/1555412019858898 (Original work published 2019)
- Harris, B. (2021). Toxic masculinity: An exploration of traditional masculine norms in relation to mental health outcomes and help-seeking behaviors in college-aged males (Senior thesis). University of South Carolina. https://scholarcommons.sc.edu/senior_theses/431
- Morgan, A. A. (2020). God of War: Masculinity and fatherhood through procedural rhetoric (Master’s thesis). University of the Pacific. https://scholarlycommons.pacific.edu/uop_etds/3703
- Roberts, J. (2024). Resisting toxic masculinity in God of War (Master’s thesis). York St John University. https://ray.yorksj.ac.uk/id/eprint/11430/
- Wingo, J. T. F. (2025). The evolution of masculinity and fatherhood in God of War: Ragnarok. The Kennesaw Journal of Undergraduate Research, 12(1), Article 2. https://digitalcommons.kennesaw.edu/kjur/vol12/iss1/2/