Thank you asherisawkward and oxblooddraws for beta reading and giving me feedback : ). Thank you conejo-sama for fixing the chapter's grammar issues : ), i know it was a long chapter for you three hahaha, but I totally appreciate it 3

Important to read! Just so no one is confused o.o. So, the following two chapters are going to be loads of flashbacks from Silas's point of view. Originally, i was going to do all in one chapter but decided against it cause it would have been way too long of a chapter. So, i decided to split it in two, or maybe three, depending on the flow of those chapters

Thank you guys for the comments/reviews/kudos 3!

And congrats peeps for hitting the 400 page mark : ), yah... the story is at that point, omg... so much x.x

Chapter 29

The sun was blaring down on a seventeen-year-old Silas, even though it was the afternoon. His linen shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealed sinewy forearms glistening with a thin sheen of sweat while his hands gripped on the reins.

The brown breeches that were faded in color from the frequent use clung to his legs, the tautness of his muscles pronounced with each step he took. He walked behind his horse, Betsy, guiding her through the field while she pulled along the plow, its blade glinting in the sunlight. The rhythmic sound of soil being overturned filled the air, punctuated by the steady hoofbeats of his horse as she powered through the land.

The heat had been too unbearable for him for the past couple hours and after a few more steps, he finally maneuvered his horse to come to a halt. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath heavy from exhaustion.

He could stop for now and continue the following day, but he had nothing else to do that wasn't so boring later. The exertion from his current task helped him to keep his mind focused on something, preventing him from feeling as though the world was just trying to swallow him whole.

Silas sighed, wiping his face with his shirt, and was about to pull Betsy to continue till he caught something from the corner of his eye.

He glanced to the side to notice someone standing near the end of the field, a figure observing him from a distance. His dark brown eyes squinted against the glare to see if it was someone who he knew.

Silas couldn't help but feel a knot of unease tighten in his gut when he recognized the figure. There, standing motionless, diligently jotting down on a journal in hand, was no other than Philip Wittebane, the protégé of the Minister, a young man around his age and already a fearsome witch hunter.

But… what was Philip doing there? After all, there was no reason for him to be in the fields…

Their eyes locked, and in that instant, Silas sensed a chilling indifference emanating from the young witch hunter. The way Philip held himself, his gaze void of warmth or emotion, always gave most of the townspeople an unsettling impression. Philip always looked like someone who had no soul, or so it appeared in Silas's eyes. Especially the way Philip would stand next to the Minister without a care in the world while they hung people for their alleged witchcraft.

Philip's relentless dedication to purging evil, just like Alexander, was sometimes a topic brought up by people in town. Of course, the gossip was nothing close to being a good thing. At first, those who held those pursuits were respected years ago, but now it has made people maintain a cautious distance. People had grown afraid of possibly becoming the next target, accused of practicing witchcraft. The relentless determination of the witch hunters now appeared bordering on obsession to a few, casting doubt on the legitimacy of those branded as witches.

And there were even rumors that Philip was most likely a witch as well, which, if Silas believed in such things, well, it probably wouldn't be a surprise since Philip was always peculiar since he was a child, wearing that strange mask majority of the time.

Truth be told, Silas didn't believe in witches or in magic, and he thought it was a huge possibility that people were just accusing innocent people to death. And those who called themselves witch hunters were just crazy; for crying out loud, Philip had even fabricated a story about how a witch took his brother through a portal to the depths of hell instead of admitting that his brother just left him to live in another town! Now, if that didn't sound insane, Silas wasn't sure what would.

Now, as Silas wiped off the sweat on his face, he couldn't help but grow worried of possibly being the next accused witch since Philip was there. He imagined Philip was most likely jotting down what, in his delusional mind, Silas was doing to be considered a witch.

Silas tried to steady his mind, to go back to work, to distract himself, but he couldn't shake the anxiety and frustration that was building up within him. Also, the feeling of being under scrutiny, his every move judged by Philip's aloof gaze, was something he didn't appreciate.

While most people didn't bother Silas, either treating him with respect or minding their own business, there were always those few individuals who exuded a superiority that grated on his nerves. These individuals strutted around with an air of grandeur, looking upon others with disdain. Although he had never spoken to Philip before, Silas believed him to be one of those insufferable people. But he told himself to just ignore Philip. He assured himself there was nothing to worry about. All he was doing was plowing the land, just like his father had instructed him to do. He was doing nothing out of the ordinary, but… damn it, he couldn't help but feel suffocated by Philip's stare. And the sun that was drying him up like a withered raisin only made his foul mood worse.

With an annoyed sigh, he dropped his rails and made his way towards Philip, who noticed him coming. Silas felt himself grow more aggravated by how Philip was now looking at him with half-lidded eyes tinged with boredom, with an air of condescension.

"Can I help you?" Silas inquired once he was standing face to face with Philip. He was just a half inch taller than Philip, but his sturdy build towered over Philip's slight frame, giving him a sense of satisfaction in the physical difference between them.

But Philip showed no signs of intimidation. He met Silas's gaze with a calm demeanor, momentarily hiding his writing utensil and journal behind his back. "No, I don't require anything from you," he responded simply, leaving them standing in an awkward silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

"Now, go along and continue whatever you were doing," Philip added dismissively, fueling Silas's irritation. A glare made its way upon Silas's face.

Yeah… Philip was definitely one of those people…

Oh, how he despised when people talked to him in such a tone. Usually, if people dared talk to him that way, he would just walk away to avoid wasting any of his time with them and breaking a few of their bones. But this time, he couldn't just stroll away. He couldn't continue plowing the land with Philip just standing there.

"What were you writing there…?" Silas asked with a weary voice, to at least try to ease the concerns that lingered in the back of his mind.

Philip simply raised an eyebrow, as if feigning innocence. Which gave Silas the urge to just grab Philip and throw him into the freshly plowed soil to smear the young man's cotton shirt and perfectly tailored trousers.

Alright, fine… he wasn't the most patient guy around.

"In your journal," Silas clarified with annoyance. "You were writing something down while you were watching me work. So, what were you writing?"

"I believe that's none of your concern," Philip said.

Of course, Silas should have expected that was the way Philip would respond to him. And he had a feeling he wasn't going to receive any honest answers from Philip if he asked nicely.

And yes, Silas believed he was being polite right now.

Driven by frustration, Silas swiftly grabbed Philip's shoulder and forced him to turn, snagging the journal from his grip. Philip freed himself from Silas's grip, clearly annoyed, but then he looked unfazed when he nonchalantly adjusted his jacket. Silas opened the journal, his gaze falling upon the writing that, regrettably, appeared as just a jumbled mess to him.

Of course, he couldn't make out what it said; he couldn't read.

"You honestly are a buffoon, aren't you?" Philip chuckled calmly, once again eliciting a glare from Silas.

"What did you just call me?" Silas retorted.

"A buffoon," Philip repeated, slowly this time, as if talking to a child. "I don't understand why you bother to look at it. I'm aware you're illiterate. I heard you're a simpleton, just like your father."

Silas stared at Philip as the demeaning words slowly processed in his head.

Now, there were people who mocked him for his inability to read or write. Sometimes those same people would question his intelligence, but usually people weren't so direct about it. Yes, neither he nor his father could read or write, but he managed to learn how to speak properly through listening to his more educated friends. And even though he wasn't fond of his father, hearing someone insult him felt like a blow to his stomach.

"Take that back…" Silas growled at Philip, taking a threatening step closer to him.

Philip simply stood tall, his blue eyes narrowing at Silas, before his chin tilted up like the arrogant man he was.

"No," Philip simply responded.

Well, Silas really tried to be patient and civil, but he didn't think even God would blame him for what he was about to do next. Without a word, Silas closed the distance between them, and his fingers curled tightly around the collar of Philip's shirt. Philip, surprised by Silas's sudden aggression, struggled to free himself.

"Release me this instant, you insolent man!" Philip demanded, his voice laced with disgust and anger. Silas's grip remained firm, and he dragged Philip towards the edge of the forest, where the nearby river ran.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Philip snapped, struggling with increasing desperation as he tried to loosen Silas's grip, but failed to do so.

The sound of rushing water grew louder as Silas approached the riverbank. He then stopped and fixed his gaze on Philip with such intensity that made it Philip stop in his struggle but still have the nerve to glare back.

Without a second more, Silas threw Philip into the icy river, watching as the water swallowed him whole. Silas stood there at the riverbank, watching as Philip emerged from the water, coughing and sputtering. The shock on Philip's face quickly transformed into a fierce anger.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Philip gasped between coughs. His ponytail was now wet, clinging to his neck, strands of the dark hair plastered against his skin.

"No one… insults my father like that, do you hear me?" Silas's words carried a simmering anger. Suddenly, an amusing thought crossed his mind as he watched Philip, now partially submerged in the river, wipe the water from his face.

He chuckled. "And look, you aren't floating. I guess you aren't a witch, after all."

"You'll pay for this," Philip snarled at Silas who had just turned his back to him. "You can't just-"

Before Philip could finish his sentence, Silas tuned him out, walking away with Philip's journal in hand, leaving the spluttering young man behind.

Silas rested his eyes under the shade of an oak tree. His arms were comfortably positioned behind his head as he enjoyed the gentle breeze brushing past him and the gentle symphony of the rustling leaves from the forest.

He began to drift to sleep, just as he planned after long hours of work. His breathing slowed, and his mind was momentarily freed from the world around him.

Unfortunately, the peaceful slumber he was looking forward to all afternoon was cut off by the rhythmic crunches of footsteps coming closer, causing Silas to stir. He opened his eyes, blinking away the remnant of sleep, and found himself face to face with Philip, who was standing before him with his usual air of boredom and condescension.

Silas's muscles tensed as he sat up. He hadn't seen Philip since the one incident a week ago. When he returned home that day, he had grown worried that he somehow got a target on his back and expected to find people standing outside of his home with torches and pitchforks, demanding for his head. He was even ready to leave town if he had to, with a couple of bags packed by the side of his bed. But when there was no sign of a mob for the past few days, he thought maybe he somehow scared the witch hunter away instead and taught him a lesson to not mess with him.

But now, with Philip standing there, he should have known he wasn't so lucky after all.

"It's about time you returned what belongs to me," Philip said, his voice dripping with indifference as he broke the silence. "Hand over my journal."

"Why should I give it back to you?" Silas retorted.

Of course, he still had that journal hidden under his pillow. He had thought about throwing it into the river the day after he had dumped Philip there, but he had been curious to see what terrible things Philip wrote about him.

"Because it's important to me and I would like it back," Philip responded calmly.

Silas blinked, not expecting such a response from Philip. But the young man's offense to his father still annoyed him.

"I'll hand it back after you apologize for what you said to me and about my father," he said.

Philip stared at him, eyes growing cold before he gave him the same response from the other day. "No."

"Then you're not getting it back," Silas said before he got up and walked away. Though he was frustrated that Philip ruined his nap, he would rather be anywhere else than be near him.

Silas was sitting with his friend Jordan by the riverbank. He had asked Jordan to meet with him and read Philip's journal for him as he was growing paranoid about knowing what Philip had written about him. Jordan, of course, was excited to see what was inside the journal of one of the town's witch hunters, especially one that belonged to the infamous Philip Wittebane. Jordan thought maybe the journal contained some of Philip's personal dark secrets. When Jordan began to read the journal, he had a huge grin on his face, but it slowly dropped into a frown after skimming through a few pages.

"Well?" Silas asked, waiting patiently enough until Jordan was halfway through the journal.

Jordan sighed; his disappointment was apparent in his voice as he flipped to another page. "I hate to break it to you, my friend, but this journal is just a collection of boring descriptions of everyday tasks and occupations," he revealed. "The first few pages are about handling animals. Some of them talk about carpentry, others about field work. There's nothing interesting here."

Silas frowned, running a hand through his short brown hair. "Are you sure?" he asked. "He was definitely writing something down about me while I was working days ago."

Jordan flipped to the last entry in the journal and took a moment to read through what Philip had written. "Looks like he just wrote a detailed description of how to plow with a horse. He described the horse's movements, the way they drag the plow while someone is guiding the animal."

Silas felt silent for a moment, his brows knitted together from a mix of frustration and confusion. "So… there isn't really anything about me? Nothing… about me doing something peculiar?"

Jordan closed the journal and handed it to Silas. "I guess not," he sighed. "The entries are just a collection of instructional manuals. To tell you the truth, it's very underwhelming."

Silas stared down at the journal and couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt that was now creeping into his heart.

Great, he was feeling bad for Philip, from all people. He had judged the young man for writing malicious things about him in the journal, as if to set him up to be the next accused witch. But instead, Philip had just studied him while he worked.

Maybe throwing Philip into the river was uncalled for…

Then again, he and his father were insulted, and Philip refused to apologize not just once, but twice.

Now Silas wondered why Philip claimed the journal was important to him.

He groaned, his conscience telling him he should return the journal and should have never confronted Philip in the first place. He should have just continued plowing his family's land, just like he was supposed to do.

Silas spotted Philip sitting behind the church, writing something down in another journal.

Unlike the previous times, Philip was wearing a simple long sleeve shirt, but he still had his long hair tied down in a ponytail.

Truth be told, it was rather peculiar for a boy to have such long hair. But… for some reason, it just fit Philip.

As Silas approached him, Philip's piercing gaze met his, instantly tensing up just like he did the other day. Philip held his journal protectively against his chest, and it was then that Silas noticed the wooden splint wrapped around Philip's left hand.

"I'm not in a mood for you," Philip said coldly. "Now, leave me be."

"What happened to your hand?" Silas couldn't help but ask.

Philip's defensive mask momentarily faltered, replaced by eyes that widened, revealing a flicker of confusion. It was as if he wasn't used to anyone asking him such a question. The vulnerable look on his face pulled something within Silas, completely catching him off guard. Silas never expected to witness such emotion from Philip, though it didn't last long as the defiant glint returned in Philip's eyes.

"What do you want, Silas?" Philip asked, taking Silas by surprise again.

So, Philip knew his name?

Now, the town was small, but he never imagined Philip would bother learning the name of someone he considered a 'simpleton'.

Silas pulled out the journal he had taken from Philip from his bag before extending it to Philip. Philip frowned and stared at it suspiciously, as if expecting it to have horse shit inside or something.

"I apologize for taking your journal from you," Silas said. "I should have never done that."

Philip regarded Silas with a mix of confusion and hesitation, slowly rising to his feet before swiftly accepting the journal back. He flipped through the pages, checking for any sign of damage or ruined writing. At least, that's what Silas assumed.

"Are you not going to apologize for tossing me into the river as well?" Philip smoothly inquired, closing the journal and holding it alongside the other under his left arm.

"Are you going to apologize for what you said to me and about my father?" Silas shot back.

Philip narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

Silas rolled his eyes.

"But I'm serious, Philip. I shouldn't have assumed you were writing terrible things about me," he said.

"Pardon me?"

"I thought you were writing terrible things about me in that journal," Silas repeated.

Philip paused for a moment, the condescending look back in his eyes. "Why would I do that?" Philip drawled.

Silas wanted to tell Philip it was because he was a complete lunatic, but of course, he refrained from uttering such a statement. Nor was he going to tell Philip how terrible of a human being he was.

Instead, Silas posed a question that had been plaguing his mind for the past few days. "Why do you write instruction manuals about people's tasks and jobs?"

Philip's lips tightened, as if he was reluctant to respond, but eventually he spoke. "They aren't instructional manuals. They are simply observations."

"Observations for what?"

This time, Philip remained silent.

"Because if you're trying to learn how to do those kinds of jobs, simply watching someone working is nothing to actually doing it yourself," Silas remarked.

Philip scoffed at Silas' comment. "They don't seem so challenging to me."

Silas frowned, growing annoyed with Philip. "Oh, really?"

Philip gave him his bored, condescending look again. "If a simpleton like you can do it, then why can't I?"

Silas had the urge to throw Philip back into the river, but instead, Silas had an idea. "Very well, oh great witch hunter," he retorted with irritation. "If you have nothing to do tomorrow at sunrise, come to my house, and let's see if you can plow the land on the other side of our property. Prove to me it's not so hard for you."

Philip stared at Silas, saying nothing for some time, as if contemplating the challenge.

Silas was expecting Philip to decline.

"Fine," Philip eventually replied simply, making Silas blink with surprise. "I will arrive first thing tomorrow," he declared as he walked past Silas, "and prove that I am not as inept as you."

Silas felt his eye twitch at Philip's remark but reminded himself that he would soon be the one with the last laugh when he watches Philip fail so miserably the following day.

Silas stepped out in the soft light of the rising sun, his eyes adjusting to the gentle glow of the dawn. As he emerged from his home, he scanned the open field and saw Philip standing there, dressed in simple trousers and a brown dress shirt.

Silas sighed. He had hoped Philip wouldn't show up. He started to think that Philip was either stubborn or a fool.

"I'm here," Philip announced, his voice carrying a hint of nonchalance.

Silas hesitated for a moment when his gaze landed on Philip's left hand, still encased in a wooden splint. "Yes, I can see that…" He had completely forgotten about Philip's injured hand.

Well, now he felt guilty for not taking into consideration Philip's injured state. He was starting to believe he was the terrible human being between the two of them.

"Philip, I'm sorry. This was a bad idea," he said, his brow furrowed, making Philip stare at him without emotion. "I forgot about your hand. We should call this off."

Philip now gazed at him with confusion, looking down at his hand before frowning. "It's fine," Philip replied curtly, his tone hinting a touch of annoyance. "It will be no problem for me."

Silas shook his head. With a physique like Philip's, he was definitely going to need both hands since guiding the horse was physically demanding. Of course, there was a high chance Philip would end up injuring his hand more, and if that happened, Silas was going to feel worse with the guilt lingering in his heart.

"It's not fine," Silas said. "Let me think of something else that doesn't require both hands."

But Philip merely waved off Silas' concern. "There's no need. I'm here now, so let's stop wasting time and get started."

Silas wanted to argue with Philip on this, but Philip's nonchalant look just gave him the impression that the young man truly believed he was some sort of god that could do anything.

Fine. If something bad happened, it wouldn't be his fault. He had warned Philip, after all…

And that was how both found themselves in the field, with his horse harnessed properly and a plow attached securely to her.

"Alright," Silas said as he gripped the reins in his hands. "Well, I guess show me what you can do, since you already watched me do this the other day."

Silas glanced over at Philip and noticed him looking at his horse without any sort of emotion. He wondered if Philip had ever been near a horse before. Maybe Philip was too busy to engage with farm animals while he was playing the Minister's favorite. He also wondered if Philip was afraid of horses like his dad's friend, Cassidy, which he couldn't help but find amusing.

"You know, Philip. You can touch her if you want. I promise Obedience won't bite," Silas said with a teasing voice.

Philip's expression remained unchanged as he replied, "I'd rather not."

"Why not?" Silas asked curiously. "Are you afraid of her or something?"

Philip did not respond.

Silas grunted with a chuckle. "I never thought a witch hunter would be afraid of a horse."

Philip's eyes narrowed at him. "I'm not afraid," he said, his voice steady.

Silas raised an eyebrow. "Prove it then," he challenged. "Go ahead and touch her. Show me you're not afraid of dear old Obedience."

Philip made no move to prove himself. Silas sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes. He couldn't understand why Philip was too prideful to admit he was afraid of a horse.

Well, Silas wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily and would at least get some more amusement out of this.

Without hesitation, Silas reached out and grabbed Philip's uninjured hand, ignoring his struggle to break free. Determined to prove a point, Silas guided Philip's hand to the side of the horse, forcing him to make contact with her.

Silas wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe a shriek from Philip? Now that would be a sight to see. But instead, as Philip's hand touched the horse's warm hide, Philip's tense posture relaxed, and after a moment Philip's eyes grew soft, a tender sort of longing in his bright blue eyes as he stared at Obedience.

Something tugged in Silas' chest as he watched a soft smile tug at the corners of Philip's lips. The grip he had on Philip's hand grew tighter as he felt something warm in his chest, a feeling he had never felt before.

But just as the foreign feeling appeared, he instantly released Philip's hand, taking a step back with a sort of panic, and quickly gathered himself when he found Philip staring at him with an eyebrow raised.

"So, I guess you were not afraid of horses after all," Silas said after clearing his throat.

Philip observed him for a moment. "I adore horses," he admitted.

Silas blinked, not expecting the response. "Really?"

Philip glanced at Obedience and caressed her side ever so softly.

"It has been quite some time since I've touched one," Philip said before his voice grew slightly quiet. "They're rather beautiful creatures, don't you agree?"

Silas didn't respond, just staring as if someone else took Philip's place, which honestly, it felt that way. But the moment didn't last long as Philip pulled away from Obedience and his aloofness returned.

"Well, I suppose we shouldn't waste any more time," Philip said as he extended his hand towards Silas, silently requesting the reins. Silas hesitated for a moment, still unsure if the whole thing was a good idea, especially after he had seen how happy Philip was petting Obedience, but eventually he handed the reins over to Philip.

"Alright, I guess show me what you've got," Silas said, stepping aside to let Philip stand where he needed to. Philip held the reins with his right hand and moved.

Silas observed with surprise as Philip skillfully guided the horse forward, the plow slicing through the earth in a neat and deliberate manner. He expected to be mad at how successful Philip was at controlling the horse, keeping her in a straight line. After all, he was supposed to be proving Philip right, but to his confusion, he wasn't even a slight irritated with the outcome. Maybe it was the fact Philip's brows furrowed in complete focus on the horse instead of giving him an arrogant smirk that made Silas mad.

After an hour passed, Silas noticed the strain on Philip's face. It became apparent that the weight of the reins and the effort required to maneuver the horse with only one hand was taking its toll. Sweat began to gather on Philip's forehead, his legs stumbled a bit, and the precision he had gradually faded as his right arm shook. Obedience, for some reason, was trying to divert off course, too.

Silas watched intently, following beside him with growing concern. He wanted to ask Philip if he was alright, if he needed help, but Philip's clenched jaw and determined look kept him quiet.

Philip attempted to use his left hand to assist his right to regain stability, but the strain proved too much, and his grip slipped, causing him to lose balance and slip, almost falling face-first into the ground.

Reacting swiftly, Silas lunged forward, and with a firm grip on the back of Philip's shirt, he pulled him upright and steadied him on his feet. He instinctively reached out, grabbed Philip's arm for support, and laid a hand gently on the small of his back. Philip's breath came in ragged gasps from pushing himself too much and, from what Silas assumed, the near fall he had just experienced. Silas could feel the rapid rhythm of Philip's heartbeat beneath his palm.

He barely noticed that his own heartbeat was racing too, and he was unsure why.

Philip looked frustrated and attempted to pull away, but Silas's hand kept him in place.

"Are you okay?" Silas asked, genuinely concerned that Philip hurt his hand further than it already was, which seemed to catch Philip off guard.

The anger on Philip's face was replaced by surprise as he glanced at Silas. Then Philip stared at him with a mix of emotions that Silas couldn't pinpoint before his gaze hardened.

Silas wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he swore he felt Philip lean closer to his touch.

"I'm fine," Philip responded, but he failed to hide the strain in his voice. He pulled free from Silas's grip.

Silas took a moment to observe Philip, as if his brain was having a hard time taking in everything that just happened before he went after Obedience, who had continued to move forward without anyone guiding her. He managed to grab the reins and stop her in her tracks.

He stood there silently, trying to gather his thoughts. He was completely confused as to why he didn't let Philip hit the ground, why he didn't feel the urge to taunt or at least tease him. It just didn't make sense. And strangely, Silas had the profound need to make Philip feel better.

"Honestly, I hate to admit it, but you did well, Philip." His words hung in the air, carried by the gentle breeze. He turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Philip's reaction and that the frustration on the young man's face would disappear, maybe see that soft smile on Philip's face again, but to his disappointment, he saw Philip a short distance away, walking off, his back turned to Silas.

And Silas did nothing but watch him go while he felt a heavy void in his chest.

During a late dinner, Silas, his father, and his mother sat together as they ate their chicken soup and bread.

His father's rough voice broke the silence. "I saw you talking with that boy, Philip Wittebane, behind the church. I was waiting for you to say something about it, but you never did. You better not be involved in any sort of trouble."

Silas let out a sigh and had to hold back from rolling his eyes as he submerged his bread into the soup, just the way he loved it.

"I'm not in any sort of trouble," Silas replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "So, stop worrying."

His father always assumed the worst of him. It always looked like his father was unable to let go of the mischievous adventures he had as a child, which involved his cousins as well. Sure, he had caused a fair share of trouble in the past that caused his parents problems, but that was a long time ago.

"What were you two talking about?" his mother chimed in.

Silas restrained himself from showing his irritation, feeling the weight of his parents' questioning. Why did they have to pry into every detail? Ironically, he found himself doing the same with others at times, particularly with Philip and his injured hand.

"I found his journal that he had dropped, and I was returning it to him," Silas lied after a moment, taking a spoonful of soup to fill his mouth, hoping his parents would divert the conversation.

A flicker of concern and fear lingered in his mother's eyes. "Do be careful, Silas," she said. "That boy is… quite peculiar."

His father grunted in agreement. "That's one way to put it."

Silas frowned but said nothing, doing his best to distract himself as he ate.

"I honestly can't understand why the Minister took him in after… everything that has happened," Silas's mother said. "There is no doubt that he is a witch himself."

Silas could feel a surge of anger pulsating through his veins, fueled by multiple reasons. Two stood out, though. Firstly, he couldn't stand that his parents were foolish enough to believe in that witch nonsense. Secondly, accusing Philip of being a witch just because he was different was unfair.

He didn't notice his left hand clutched his leg, digging his nails hard to hold back from snapping at his parents.

"That boy is dangerous, I tell you," his father said.

Silas couldn't help but recall the soft look Philip had when he caressed Obedience, that tiny smile making its way to his lips.

"Oh yes, a true menace, that horse lover. Clearly, a threat to us all," Silas said sarcastically, the words slipping from his lips without him realizing until it was too late. Which was a grave mistake. His father despised it when he talked back.

"What did you just say?" His father growled at him, slowly rising from his seat. Silas's mother hurriedly attempted to calm him down by reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his father's arm, but Silas knew it was futile. He quickly excused himself from the dinner table and made his way out of the house.

The cool night air greeted him as he walked away from the chaos that erupted inside his house. He could hear things being thrown and his father's violent screams demanding him to come back.

As he walked, his mind kept returning to Philip. He could still feel the warmth lingering on his hands where he held on to him.

Silas wasn't sure what was happening to him, but maybe his parents had a good point. Maybe he should stay away from that witch hunter…

Silas stood near the well, the rope tightly gripped in his hands as he slowly pulled up the bucket filled with water. It was a quiet day, with only the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance.

As the bucket emerged from the well, he secured it and lift it over the edge.

"Silas."

Silas found himself startled when a voice called out from behind him, causing him to almost lose his grip on the bucket. He turned around quickly, his heart racing. There, standing with a bored look on his face, was Philip.

Silas let out a breath, his initial fright turning into annoyance.

"Philip, you shouldn't be sneaking up on people like that," Silas said, setting the bucket on the ground. He felt something in the pit of his stomach, as though butterflies were wandering around in there, when Philip looked at him.

"I need to talk to you about something," Philip said. "Actually, I want to offer a proposal to you."

"A proposal?" He hadn't seen Philip for a few weeks now and the last time he saw him, Philip didn't seem so happy with him, even though it wasn't his fault. And now suddenly Philip wanted to make some sort of random deal? "Can it wait?" he asked. "As you can see, I'm busy."

Philip's gaze wandered to the bucket filled with water. "Ah, the daily chores. Can't say I envy you," he said before his attention returned to Silas. "I promise, this will benefit you."

Silas sighed, unable to bring himself to say no to the young man for some reason.

"Alright, what is it?" he asked.

"I need you to help me find something I need in the forest, and possibly by or in the river," Philip said, which was the vaguest thing Silas had ever heard.

"What… are you looking for?" Silas asked, expecting maybe some rare bug or plant.

"I will only tell you if you agree to help me," Philip said. "And if you promise not to tell anyone."

Silas frowned, though his curiosity piqued.

Philip wanted him to keep a secret. Was it maybe gold that Philip was looking for?

"And what do I get out of this?" Silas asked.

"I'll teach you how to read and write," Philip said, taking Silas by surprise.

Silas narrowed his eyes at Philip, feeling the familiar anger he had for the young man slip back into his heart.

"Are you mocking me?" Silas asked with a warning tone.

Philip watched him with his usual aloofness. "I am not," he responded.

Silas turned his back to Philip and tied a second bucket to gather more water.

"I know you had trouble learning when you were a child," Philip said. "Just like your father, you stopped attending school at an early age and instead worked in your family's land."

Silas lowered the second bucket into the well, trying his best not to yell at Philip to leave him alone. He just couldn't stand people poking at his inability to read or write. At least, he believed Philip was taunting him. Also, how did Philip know about his difficult time learning as a child?

"And you think after all these years, I'll somehow finally learn?" Silas asked sarcastically.

"Why not?" Philip asked calmly. "Things will be different, Silas. After all, you never had a teacher like me."

Silas felt his heart grip at Philip's response. Even though Philip still spoke as if he was superior, it didn't anger him this time. And he sounded confident that he could teach him how to read and write.

Silas didn't respond, trying to decide if he should accept the deal or not. He was leaning towards accepting it, even though he felt Philip would fail on his end, but… for some reason he wanted to still agree to help Philip.

"I will take your silence as a yes," Philip spoke up, and continued when Silas didn't argue. "Now, promise me you won't say anything about what we're looking for."

Silas sighed. "Fine, I promise."

"Alright. Tomorrow evening let's meet up where you rudely tossed me into the river, and we'll get started from there," Philip said before he started to walk away.

Silas frowned, turning on his heel to watch Philip's retreating form.

"Wait, you still haven't told me what we're looking for out there," Silas called out with annoyance.

"I will tell you tomorrow," Philip said over his shoulder before he left Silas standing there with more questions running through his head.

Silas groaned while he returned to his task, pulling the second bucket out of the well after it was filled with water.

He didn't understand why he was engaging with Philip so much out of the blue.

Well… maybe it was his fault for confronting the young man in the first place. After all, Philip had been minding his own business.

The situation was strange, truth be told. As Silas grew older, he did his best not to associate with others that much anymore. Everyone had grown rather dull, just like life. He came to terms that life was meant to be boring and that he needed to focus on the 'important' things in life. His goals were to get better at growing barley and other crops, find himself a lovely woman and have a kid or two with her, and have a family in a nice house just like everyone else.

Because that's what someone like him was supposed to do. Get married and have a family. It was what was expected from him.

Yet… the more he thought about it, the more he dreaded to be like others, and the more excited he got with meeting Philip the next day.

Just a heads up, i post this story first in archive of our own and i also include awesome fan art done by readers as well there starting in chapter 15 I think (since that's when I started getting them) : ).

Peeps also engage in archive of our own more or in in tumblr. if you want to follow me in tumblr and ask questions you can do so. u can find me as chiconisroc in tumbrl and nisrocchico in archive of our own

or if you want you can leave a comment in this website too : ) or pm me