Next day
The village breathed early that morning—
8:19 AM, and the sun yawned behind pale clouds.
Verin walked through the cobbled path,
his steps slow, deliberate, like a monarch who already owns the day.
A villager called out to him,
"Verin! There'll be a meeting this morning,"
And Verin, in that honeyed tone, replied with a smile,
"Of course, uncle. I'll be there."
When they gathered in the town square,
it wasn't the speech that made Verin pause.
It was him.
A stranger stood among them—
but not just any man.
He stood like silence before a storm,
dressed in black-on-black: shirt open at the collar,
pants fitted like shadows tailored to his frame.
He wasn't trying to be beautiful.
He wasn't trying at all.
And yet he wore darkness like it had chosen him.
Verin—pressed white shirt, black tie, glasses glinting—
looked like control in human form.
But when his eyes landed on the boy in black,
a smile tugged at his lips.
Not of kindness.
But of recognition.
When the villager proudly declared,
"He is our king. Verin, the reason we all smile."
Silas simply nodded.
But behind that polite smile, his eyes said:
I know what they don't.
I see the cracks in your porcelain mask.
He extended his hand.
Verin took it.
And Silas introduced himself,
"Good morning. I'm Silas. Twenty-five.
I look forward to… getting along."
The crowd clapped. But Verin—he didn't hear applause.
Only the low hum of a warning bell inside his mind.
Later, the town buzzed.
"He's handsome, but so rude!"
"He told a girl her makeup looked awful—she cried!"
And Verin, overhearing, only smiled and thought to himself
They call him cruel, but don't deny his words.
Is that not the loudest confession of truth?
Someone whispered,
"Thank god Verin's not like him."
Verin turned, smiled his sweetest smile,
But oh… if only they knew.
If only they saw the rot behind the gold.
—
That afternoon, beneath the old sycamore by the market,
Silas returned—this time to buy.
Empty-handed, calm, almost reluctant.
He pointed to carrots, broccoli, onions—
quietly placing each into his basket.
And now, the same mouths that mocked him before
were smiling, making jokes,
as if kindness could erase memory.
He said little.
But his silence rang louder than their noise.
From a distance, Verin watched.
Eyes devouring every move—
not of lust.
Of something worse.
Fascinate.
Like watching a flame not to warm yourself,
but to see what it would consume next.
Then—someone called his name.
A girl in a satin gown too bright for the day.
She giggled, twirled, asked,
"How do I look, Verin?"
He turned, mask fixed.
"Beautiful," he said,
"Like an angel that decided to walk among us."
The villagers laughed; the girl blushed.
Silas glanced over, eyes cool as winter glass.
Scoffed.
Not out of jealousy.
But because he saw it.
Saw the performance.
He paid for his vegetables, murmured a soft excuse,
and walked away—
quietly, sharply, like someone who didn't need to shout to hurt.
And Verin watched him go.
His smile gone,
but his eyes burning.
There you go, stranger.
Walk away now.
I'll follow when the stage is empty.
---
Since the day Silas arrived, the village stopped breathing right.
Or maybe it never did. Maybe it just learned to hold its breath around him.
That morning, they were lighting a girl on fire.
Because she said:
"I don't fear hell—I've already lived in your prayers."
They tied her like kindling.
Called her "witch" the way men name what they can't tame.
The match was ready. The crowd hungry.
Then Silas walked in.
Quiet. Clean. Like a bruise beneath snow.
The girl's eyes snapped to him.
Her eyes spoke more than her mouth could .she whispered "please" , voice already ash.
He looked at her like she wasn't dying fast enough.
And nodded. He went between the girl
And the villagers..
The crowd snarled. Fire cracked louder.
"Why protect a witch?" someone spat.
Silas tilted his head—like a knife deciding where to cut.
" 'Witch' is just a name you give girls who say no."
That was enough to earn him a funeral.
"Hand her over—or burn beside her."
But before the flame could answer—
Verin arrived.
Not rushed. Not righteous. Just there,
like dusk folding over everything you love.
"What's this mess?"
His voice slid through the crowd like warm oil.
The villagers turned to him like sinners to a beautiful god.
Silas didn't move. Didn't blink.
"He's protecting a witch," someone said too eagerly.
Like a child tattling in church.
Verin looked at Silas.
Smiled—slow, dangerous, the kind of smile that ruins people.
"Protecting a witch?"
"How sweet."
Silas spoke like winter.
"You're only calling her a witch because you're afraid of what she knows."
Verin hummed.
"Maybe I am."
"Fear is such a lovely flavor."
He turned to the villagers.
"What crime did she commit, besides breathing?"
"She read."
"She said men weren't gods."
"She laughed in public."
The usual horrors.
Verin nodded solemnly.
"Terrifying. Better set her on fire, then."
Silas didn't flinch.
"Didn't know you feared women so much."
Verin's smile curled.
"I don't fear them."
"I envy them."
The fire crackled. The villagers roared like dogs in heat.
Silas whispered, low and bitter:
"You sleep just fine after this?"
Verin shrugged.
"Sleep's a luxury."
"I prefer to dream."
"Burn them both!" someone screamed.
The girl cried out again—just sound now, no words.
A sob unraveling.
Silas leaned close to her.
"They won't touch you," he whispered.
"They can't."
But Verin stepped closer, eyes shining like oil catching flame.
"So sure of that?"
"You always were arrogant in the prettiest ways."
Silas stood. Tired. Still.
"She's not a witch."
"She is!" the crowd screamed.
"She is!"
They didn't want truth. They wanted fire.
Verin sighed.
Walked up to Silas like he was about to dance with him.
"Step aside."
Silas didn't move.
Verin touched his waist, soft, almost tender.
Turned him like a lover would.
And the girl was alone again.
She burned fast.
Like she was made of paper and prophecy.
Silas didn't move.
His face stayed stone.
But something inside him cracked, quietly. Like the breaking of a vow.
Verin leaned close.
His breath hot at Silas's ear.
"Look at her burn."
"Isn't it beautiful?"
-To be continued -