Yale And The Pantheon

The devil awaits you, my child, and I am the devil, said the scary lady. Yale woke up in a panic and scrambled out of bed.

“Mom, I had a bad dream.”

“The same one, my love?” his mother asked, her voice gentle.

Yale nodded, and his mother embraced him, pressing a kiss to his head to reassure him that it was just a dream. But even she couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes.

She tucked Yale back into bed and went to her chambers. The tears came despite her best efforts to hold them back. She was frightened, and she had no idea what to expect. These weren’t normal dreams Yale was having. These were nightmares. The longer they persisted, the more dangerous they became. The next morning, she hoped, would provide the answers they desperately needed.

Morning came, and everything appeared to be completely normal. No signs of darkness, no hint of the terror that had plagued Yale’s dreams. Even Yale himself seemed to have forgotten about his nightmare. It was strange, though. The sun was unusually bright and hot for winter. It was odd—extremely odd. Yet, Kyla decided to enjoy the warmth the gods were providing, especially on such a bitterly cold day.

She sipped her herbal tea on the balcony, closing her eyes to savor its taste. But then, an unexpected chill washed over her, interrupting her moment of peace. She wished she had never opened her eyes.

What she saw made her blood run cold: a thick fog, dark as pitch, swirling around her. The howling of wolves echoed in the distance, birds scattered in terror, and crows screamed in agony.

“Yale!” Kyla screamed, panic rising in her chest. “Run! Yale, run!”

“Mother, I hear them, please come with me! They’re fast, they’re huge, and—”

“I said run!” Kyla ordered, her voice desperate.

The boy, terror-stricken, bolted into the woods, leaving behind everything he knew. Seconds later, the sounds of clashing swords and blood splattering against walls reached his ears.

“Mother!” Yale cried, his voice filled with dread.

“Go, child, run free!” his mother whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos.

Yale hesitated, but only for a moment. Those few seconds were more than enough for the giants—he thought they were giants, at least—to catch up with him. Two massive hands seized him by the arms and threw him over their shoulders. Squirming was useless. They were too strong, too big, too heavy. Their footsteps shook the earth beneath him, and the nearby lakes splashed violently as they stomped.