After the truth came out, Michael waited for the worst to happen and not because he feared them, at least not in the way people feared monsters but because he had learned something over centuries of watching civilizations burn and rebuild themselves wrong: fear made people inventive. Fear sharpened minds. Fear made witches dangerous.
And witches were not the kind of enemies you wanted. That first night after the ritual, he did not sleep. He sat at the edge of the valley, back pressed against cold stone, rain-dark earth beneath his feet. The fire simmered beneath his skin, restless and aware but held down through sheer discipline. He kept it there deliberately. If they were going to come for him, if spells were going to be drawn and words spoken that could not be taken back, he wanted them to see that he had chosen restraint before violence.
The fire was not a leash, It was a promise he honored.
He tuned his enhanced hearing outward, letting it drift down into the valley where the coven's camp still glowed with low embers and anxious movement. Voices carried easily in the quiet night.
"…that boy is unnatural—"
"…we can't ignore what he is… whatever he is—"
"…but he hasn't done anything wrong to us not once—"
Michael exhaled slowly through his nose when he heard Maelis's voice among them, refusing to bend.
Good.
That would complicate things for them. He leaned his head back against the stone and began doing what he always did best: planning.
He thought of the possible things they might try to do to him. Binding spells were the first to come to mind, probably something designed to pull, twist, siphon magic that didn't fight power, but redirected it until the victim tore themselves apart. Worst case? A collective execution working, messy yes. Effective if performed cleanly.
He catalogued exits.
The ridge behind him, the river cut two miles west. If he burned straight through the treeline, the updraft would blind them for seconds maybe a minute. Enough time to for him to properly vanish.
'If I wanted to,' he thought. All he'd have to do was burn it all and bolt and yet he chose to stay.
Dawn came and met him there instead.
Footsteps crunched softly against gravel behind him.
Michael didn't turn until the staff tapped the ground.
'Here we go.'
Maelis stood behind him alone.
She stopped several paces away, far enough to show respect, close enough to show she wasn't afraid.
"You could have killed us," she said not as an accusation but a fact.
Michael nodded once. "Yes."
"But you didn't."
"No." Silence stretched between them, not heavy or hostile. The kind of quiet that existed when two people chose honesty instead of posturing. Birds began to stir in the trees as dawn spread pale gold across the valley.
Maelis moved closer and lowered herself to the ground beside him. "You burned through a boundary spell," she said eventually.
"Accidentally," Michael replied. Then he shrugged slightly and added, "Mostly."
Her mouth twitched despite herself.
"That kind of accident gets people bound," she said.
"I can imagine."
She studied him the way witches studied storms not with fear, but with calculation.
"You stayed," she said. "You could have run, boy. Why didn't you?"
Michael looked at her then, really looked. At the lines time had carved deeper into her face. At the woman who had taught him how magic listened when spoken to properly.
"I'm tired of running, Maelis," he said quietly.
Something in her expression settled, like a decision finally reaching ground.
"Then," she said, rising slowly, "we talk, my boy."
⸻————-
Michael would later think of it as terms and conditions, and the thought almost made him laugh.
'Immortality comes with fine print, apparently.'
The discussions lasted a few hours.
Long, grinding conversations that circled the same fears again and again. Michael sat through every one of them, hands visible for them to see with a relaxed posture. He listened more than he spoke because speaking made people defensive, and listening made them careless.
Some wanted him gone immediately.
"He's a threat by existing," one elder said.
"He's a weapon waiting to be aimed," another argued.
Michael understood.
Honestly? If their roles were reversed, he might have said the same. 'I'm something they've never seen before,' he thought. 'Not completely a witch, a human or even a…'
He paused.
'Wait.'
His brow furrowed slightly.
'Have werewolves even been born yet?'
He ran the timeline mentally. The curses. The bloodlines.
'…huh, I don't think so.'
That was… mildly unsettling.
"He should be bound," a younger witch cut in, dragging his attention back. Sharp-eyed. Ambitious. Smart enough to be dangerous. "Just temporarily. For safety."
Michael met her gaze calmly.
"I will not allow myself to be bound," he said with a level and unraised voice. "And if that becomes your decision, I will fight you."
The way he said it was quiet, controlled and utterly certain. It sent a ripple through the circle.
Maelis shook her head slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"That idea," she said, "is finished."
Especially once it became clear that his fire did not respect magic the way magic expected to be respected. Michael did not threaten them for he didn't need to.
And that, more than anything, decided his place among them.
The final agreement came slowly.
"You will not rule us," Maelis said. Michael looked at her, then at the circle of elders gathered nearby. Faces wary but no longer hostile. They were curious about him.
"Never wanted to," he replied easily. Then, more seriously, "I came to learn. That's all. I didn't come to own you, lead you, or burn anything I wasn't forced to."
One of the elders snorted softly. "You say that now."
Michael shrugged. "If I wanted to rule, you'd already know." That ended that line of argument quickly.
"You will not teach outsiders what we are," another elder said. Michael tilted his head and responded to her "Wouldn't help them anyway."
That earned a few reluctant huffs of laughter.
Maelis watched him for a long moment before speaking again. "You will stay," she said. "And while you do, you will protect us."
Michael frowned faintly. "From what?"
"Everything," she replied. "Men. Creatures. Witches who think power gives them the right to take."
He considered the valley, the children running between tents, laughter cutting through the air, the way the coven clustered together not by blood alone, but by memory. By shared survival.
"And if I want to leave?" he asked.
"You will leave us unharmed," Maelis said quietly. "And you will not expose us."
Michael let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"I can do that."
And so, he stayed.
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