The silence lingered. Only the wind rustled through the dry grass, rolling between the stems like water in a too narrow river. Eliot wasn't sure how long they sat there. A minute? Five? Longer? Celia was the one who broke the quiet. "Do you want to know who you are?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "To learn a little truth... About yourself. About them. About us." He didn't answer immediately.
Celia didn't rush. She leaned slightly forward, studying his face from the side. "If you're one of them," she continued, "then I'm sure these past days have terrified you." He flinched. She noticed. "You don't have to say anything," she added gently. "I just know. I can feel it." She pressed her shoulder lightly against his weightless, barely there.
Eliot didn't pull away. He stared ahead, at nothing, where the forest began and the hills beyond everything that had once seemed simple now felt heavier than before. And beside him? A witch. He could hear her breathing. Steady. Warm. Without fear. Celia slowly rested her head on his shoulder.
Her hair brushed his cheek it smelled of something spicy, like dried herbs and mountain mint. She closed her eyes. "Here," she whispered, "they can't reach us." "Who?" he asked—but too quietly. Celia didn't answer. Or didn't hear. Or didn't want to. Night crept in slowly. Stars appeared—few, but bright. For the first time in many days, Eliot felt no fear. Not of sleep. Not of silence. He just sat there, and nothing happened. He just was. And that was enough.
Celia stayed silent, her head on his shoulder. The quiet between them was strangely comforting. Eliot didn't know how long they sat like that. His thoughts drifted slowly. He didn't want to speak, afraid to shatter this fragile stillness. But he finally asked:
"Why can't you... live like normal people?" Celia flinched slightly. Her eyes half-opened, and she glanced at him sidelong. "I mean, you are a witch," he continued, avoiding direct eye contact. "But no one would know if you just... lived quietly. As if you were one of us. No rituals. No secrets. Without... them." She didn't answer. Eliot clenched his fists. "I won't let them hurt you. They wouldn't suspect you if you stayed close to me... if you were with me."
Then he realized how that sounded - like he was luring her to the inquisitors. "Don't misunderstand! I'm not trying to trap you or... turn you in. You can trust me. I... I wouldn't lie." The words came haltingly. His voice cracked. He turned away, hiding how his fingers shook. Celia watched him silently. Then for the first time a flicker of surprise crossed her face. As if his words weren't just unexpected, but impossible.
"You... really mean that?" she whispered. "I..." He wanted to answer, but she was already sitting up, elbows propped, still holding his gaze. "No one's ever said that to me before," she murmured, her voice tired. "Not people. Not those who were once close. Not even other witches. They all said: hide, run, stay silent. But you... want me to stay?" She looked down. A faint blush rose on her cheeks. "You're foolish," she finally said. "Very foolish." But there was no mockery in her voice. No anger. Only warmth. Eliot, unsure how to respond, exhaled quietly. And Celia rested her head on his shoulder again. A little closer this time. "But... thank you," she whispered.
"... Why do you think I'm foolish?" Eliot asked softly. He wasn't offended, just curious. Celia didn't answer right away. She pulled back slightly, studying him as if deciding whether to speak. "Because you want to save a witch," she said calmly. "Without knowing what that means. Without understanding how it might end."
For a moment, she looked away. Sadness tinged her voice. "Because you don't yet know... how real this all is." Eliot frowned. He wanted to argue, but Celia spoke first, her eyes on the sky: "You're one of them. You feel what others don't. Yes? That means you're tied to this place deeper than anyone."
Eliot stayed quiet. Even knowing he was tangled in this mess, he felt calmer. Celia reached out, lightly touching his shoulder as if checking he wouldn't vanish. "There's something in you that's almost gone from this world," she said, softer now. "Something pure. Stubborn... bright. Sometimes naive. But real." She turned toward him. "You might be foolish. But it's the most beautiful foolishness I've ever seen."
Eliot looked down. His face burned. "I just... don't want you to be alone," he admitted. "No one should be alone. Especially not someone like you." Celia sighed, leaning back to gaze at the sky. "If only you knew how rarely I've heard that." A few seconds of silence. A light wind. Crickets sang somewhere beyond the mountain. Then, barely audible, she whispered: "Thank you, Eliot." He startled. Turned to her.
"...For what?" Celia opened her eyes. For a split second, surprise flickered in them as if she hadn't expected him to hear. "I..." She hesitated, glancing away. "Just... for staying beside me." He propped himself up on his elbows, studying her. "Okay... But... I never told you my name. How do you know it?" Celia smiled faintly. "I know." "How?" She didn't answer immediately. Just looked toward the distant valley. "I... heard it. Long before you came here." The wind stirred her hair. Grass swayed. And Eliot said nothing. but his heartbeat grew steadier in his chest.