As the chase intensified, their path intertwined with treacherous underbrush, causing young Erin to stumble and falter. With unwavering love and resilience, his mother swept him up into her arms, cradling him close. Her whispers of reassurance mixed with the palpable terror in her voice, urging him to find strength where there seemed to be none. They maneuvered through the dimly lit forest, the moon casting long, ominous shadows upon their path. Every step held a sense of urgency, their hearts pounding in unison. The realm of Salem, once a peaceful community, had devolved into a nightmare. In the midst of their desperate flight, they found a hidden alcove, a brief respite from the looming danger. The silence embraced them, though tinged with trepidation, as they crouched together, waiting. Gregory's heart ached with a mixture of fear and confusion, his mind grappling with the magnitude of the historical events unfolding around him. As Gregory clung to his mother's trembling form, their intertwined hands providing solace and support, he vowed to protect her, to stand in defiance against the witch-hunting madness that surrounded them. With the flames of Salem's persecution burning bright, they would face the trials together, their love and strength intertwined in a desperate bid for survival. In the dark depths of the Salem woods, where innocence clashed with terror, young Erin and his mother were bound by a bond forged in the crucible of fear. And so, they would brace themselves for what awaited them, praying that, against all odds, they would emerge from the chaos unscathed and find a glimmer of hope in the midst of Salem's dark night. Gregory, now inhabiting the body of the 8-year-old boy named Erin, couldn't help but be overwhelmed by irritation. Thor, the god responsible for his unexpected reincarnation, had chosen a vessel that was far from what he had expected or desired. Instead of being bestowed with a strong and capable body, he now found himself trapped in the small, fragile form of a child. As he clung to his mother's hand, his young fingers trembling, Gregory felt a surge of anger towards the celestial being. The very purpose of his reincarnation as he thought was to escape the clutches of the afterlife and seek revenge against the tablet hunting mob that had taken his life, not this witch hunt . However, with this feeble body, how could he fulfill his purpose?His mother's grip tightened on his hand, her face etched with fear. In her eyes, he could see her concern, the depth of her love for him. She was terrified, not only for her own safety but also for her son's life. Despite the danger surrounding them, she refused to let fear consume her, instead focusing on finding a place of refuge to evade the pursuing mob. As they dashed through the darkened forest, the red moon casting eerie shadows around them, Gregory began to feel something stirring within him. At first, it was nothing more than a faint tingling sensation, but as they reached the ancient oak tree in the middle of the black forest, it surged through his veins like a rushing torrent. His small heart pounded with excitement and newfound power. This power was, the very essence of the supernatural, it now coursed through his being. It was a raw and untamed energy that he had never experienced before, surging forward to answer his unvoiced calls. With trembling hands, Gregory's eyes glowed with an unknown light as he reached out to the large oak tree. The earth beneath it rumbled, and the massive trunk split open, revealing a hidden hollow inside. It was dark and damp, it smelled like rotting flesh. His mother, her eyes wide with disbelief, didn't hesitate to follow him inside. As they crossed the threshold, Gregory's magical influence sealed the opening, ensuring their safety for the time being. Trapped within their makeshift sanctuary, Gregory's anger towards Thor waned, replaced by a sense of forbidden excitement. The magic that now resided within him offered possibilities and opportunities that he had never dreamed of before. Slowly, he began to understand that perhaps this frail body was not a limitation but rather a unique advantage. At the same time he couldn't help but wonder if Thor truly knew. As they huddled in the hollow of the oak tree, Gregory's mind swirled with plans to outwit the witch hunting mob. Although he was still young, his newfound magic would become an unexpected weapon against their pursuers who somehow knew the witches were vulnerable. He vowed to protect his mother, the person who had loved and sheltered him, and to avenge his own untimely demise. With determination seeping into his young soul, Gregory reached out towards his mother, his tiny hand glowing with magical energy. She watched in wonder and trepidation as he whispered words of empowerment, instilling her with a newfound confidence ", mother, we will be just fine, trust in me".Together, mother and child, embraced the uncertainty that lay ahead, armed with magic that defied the limitations of their frail forms. In the darkness of the oak tree's hollow, a plan began to take shape, fueled by Gregory's anger and his mother's resilience. Unbeknownst to the witch hunting mob, they were about to unleash a force more powerful than they could have ever imagined. Inside the hollow trunk, time seemed to stretch endlessly for Gregory and his mother. The stifled air and the darkness pressed upon them, making it feel like an eternity before they dared to crack open the sealed entrance. As they cautiously exposed a small gap, their eyes widened with shock. Outside the tree, the witch hunting mob had gathered, their torches casting an eerie glow on their determined faces. Fear gripped Gregory's heart, knowing their whereabouts had been discovered, and the hunters had cleverly positioned themselves directly in front of the tree's entrance. It was a trap they had no choice but to face. "Get out!, Devil spawns!, swine!," the mob screamed and shouted. With a deep breath, Gregory's young voice trembled with a bitter mix of fear and determination. "We have no choice, Mother. We must fight." His mother nodded, her face pale but resolute. She passed him a small dagger, a relic from their ancestral lineage, a symbol of their hidden magic and strength. As Gregory gripped the hilt, feeling the cool metal in his palm, a surge of power flowed through him, causing the blade to shimmer with an otherworldly light. Gathering his courage, Gregory stepped forward, his youthful frame belying the dangerous resolve within him. His voice, now firm and commanding, whispered incantations that had been instilled within him by the whispering wind, resonating with ancient power. Arcane energy swirled around him, forming a protective shield against the onslaught that awaited them. The trunk split open and they walked out, taking in the scenery about to unfold, power oozing from Gregory. As the mob charged, fueled by anger and fanaticism, Gregory unleashed the full extent of his newfound magic. Flames erupted from his fingertips, engulfing the hunters, sending them stumbling and shrieking in agony as he screamed, his voice drowning every sound within the forest. Lightning crackled through the air, striking their weapons and rendering them useless. It was as if the elements themselves answered Gregory's call, aiding him in his mission of vengeance. Fear flickered in the hunters' eyes as their confidence crumbled under the onslaught of this child, who wielded magic like a seasoned sorcerer. Their ranks disintegrated, chaos enveloping them as their cruel intentions became overshadowed by their own self-preservation.However, amidst the chaos Gregory felt a chill from behind, and in that moment he turned. A shadowy figure emerged behind him from the tumultuous fray. Gregory's heart sank, as he recognized the unmistakable silhouette of his mother, her eyes darkened with a mix of anguish, sadness, and resolve. With a swift and unexpected movement, she thrust her own blade into his back. The pain overwhelmed him, his young body unable to withstand such a fatal blow, even with the magic coursing through his veins. Falling to his knees, Gregory turned to face his mother, tears mingling with blood on his face. "Why, Mother?" he whispered, his voice barely a breath. Her gaze, filled with torment and regret, met his as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I had to do it, my son. To protect you... to save you from the darkness that threatened to consume you. I could not bear to see you suffer any longer." As darkness crept across Gregory's vision, he could no longer hold back the surge of betrayal and raw grief that filled his young heart. Why?, Was there a reason to this madness, why his mother?. Yet, even in the face of such an agonizing end, he clung to one last hope. Hope that the magic that had chosen him, that had given him strength and purpose, would somehow carry on in his memory.As the world faded into oblivion, the battle against the witch hunting mob continued, its outcome forever unknown. In the end, Gregory's journey had been one of sacrifice, woven with threads of vengeance, love, and the indomitable force of magic. When Gregory opened his eyes, he found himself standing before the grand and imposing figure of Odin, the All-Father of Asgard. The god's one-eyed gaze bore into him, simultaneously filled with pride and melancholy. "Gregory, you have faced death with honor and valor," Odin's deep voice resonated in the vast hall. "Your sacrifice and the magic you wielded prove you worthy of the eternal halls of Valhalla, rest for you have eight more realms to conquer." Despite these words of praise, Gregory could not shake the overwhelming sense of betrayal that lingered within him. The memory of his mother's blade piercing his back persisted, staining his soul with a sorrow that even the glory of Valhalla could not heal. He had been cast aside, manipulated, and then slaughtered by those he loved. While he listened to the thunderous applause of the great warriors around him, Gregory's heart remained heavy. He struggled to find solace in the lavish halls of Valhalla, where distinguished souls feasted and reveled, for his wounds were not only physical but also etched deep into his essence. As he participated in the feasts and celebrations, Gregory couldn't help but feel distant, detached from the merriment around him. The sound of laughter and the clinking of goblets filled the air, but it merely served as a reminder of the joy that had been stolen from him. During his time in Valhalla, whispers and rumors spread about the rare and extraordinary magic Gregory had demonstrated in his final moments on Midgard. It was said that he had harnessed the mystical essence of the mortal realm, a feat that was nearly unheard of among the guests of the afterlife.