Callum returned home only when the sky was fully dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. The cold clung to his clothes as he pushed the door open.
Inside, the warm glow of firelight filled the small house.
His mother stood by the table, sorting vegetables and dried herbs for dinner. Without turning around, she spoke in a tired but familiar tone.
"You're late. Have you washed your hands ?"
There was no answer.
A strange silence settled behind her.
Frowning, she turned around. And froze.
Callum stood just inside the doorway, his shoulders stiff. Behind him were two men dressed in black, their dark cloaks blending into the shadows of the room.
Their skin was pale, unnaturally so, and both wore thin, unsettling smiles that never reached their eyes. Something about them felt wrong, familiar in the worst possible way, like a bad memory she couldn't quite place.
Callum broke the silence.
"They're… they're my new friends," he said, gesturing toward them.
Her heart lurched.
"Callum," she said sharply, forcing her voice to stay steady. "Come here. Now."
Callum hesitated. "But—"
"NOW."
The shout cracked through the room like a whip. Callum flinched and quickly moved to her side, shrinking a little under her glare.
One of the men chuckled softly.
"There's no need to be alarmed," he said calmly.
As he spoke, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a circular metallic object. It was smooth, etched with faint symbols, and pulsed softly with a dull red light, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.
He began to walk around the room, holding the device out in front of him.
As it passed over the walls, the table, the hearth, nothing changed. The red glow remained steady.
He stepped closer to Callum's mother.
She stiffened, holding her breath as the device hovered near her.
No reaction.
The man then moved to Callum, who watched with confused eyes as the object passed over him.
Still nothing.
The man's smile widened.
"Well then," he said pleasantly. "It seems we truly have nothing to worry about here."
"Who are you ?" Callum's mother demanded, her voice tight. "And what are you doing in my house ?"
The second man spoke this time, his voice lower, smoother.
"Your son invited us."
Her head snapped toward Callum. The fury in her eyes made him visibly shrink, his shoulders curling inward.
The two men calmly pulled over a pair of wooden stools and sat down as if they belonged there.
"We are… uncoverers of the truth," the first man said lightly. "Those who ensure the world remains as it should be."
Her brow furrowed. "And what truth would that be ?"
The second man leaned forward slightly, his smile fading into something darker.
"That someone in this village is challenging the natural order of things."
She swallowed. "How could anyone do that ?"
The man's eyes locked onto hers.
"Witchcraft."
The word sent a chill down her spine.
Everyone knew stories of witches and wizards. In some kingdoms they were hunted like vermin. In others, they were praised as scholars, healers, and sages. But everywhere, magic carried fear, fear of the unknown, fear of what couldn't be controlled.
The first man continued, his tone almost gentle.
"According to your son, someone here has been seen using magic. We are simply here to ensure that this individual does not harm anyone."
Callum stood silent between them, his chest tight, his earlier anger twisting into something far more dangerous.
Callum burst out before anyone could stop him.
"It's Merlin !" he shouted, his voice sharp and frantic. "It's that freak ! He does impossible things !"
"Callum !" his mother snapped, reaching for him, but it was too late.
He kept going, words tumbling over each other.
"He stopped my stick in midair," Callum said quickly, twisting the memory so it painted him as the victim.
"I wasn't even trying to hurt him, and he just, he froze it ! Like the air itself obeyed him !"
The room went still.
One of the men straightened, his unsettling smile fading into a cold, serious line.
"Merlin," he repeated slowly. "And who would that be ?"
Before Callum could answer, his mother spoke, her voice firm despite the fear tightening her chest.
"No one," she said. "There is no one by that name worth mentioning."
She remembered her husband's face when he had spoken of Merlin's father. The fear. The certainty. Whatever these men were, she knew, deep in her bones, that giving them a name was dangerous.
The second man studied her for a long moment. Then he stood.
He began to walk slowly across the room as he spoke, his voice growing louder, more theatrical, filling the space like a sermon meant to frighten rather than teach.
"Witches and wizards," he said, spreading his arms, "are a blight upon the natural order. They bend the world for their perverse desires. One moment, they smile at their neighbors…"
He turned sharply.
"...and the next, they decide to kill them with a glance."
Callum's breath hitched.
"They summon demons," the man continued, his voice dripping with dread, "enslave minds, twist thoughts, and command wicked spirits. They drag innocent souls screaming into damnation while hiding behind kind faces and helpful deeds."
He stopped directly in front of Callum's mother.
The fire crackled softly.
Slowly, the man's smile vanished.
What replaced it was something far worse, cold, hollow, and deeply disturbing.
He leaned in just slightly.
"Now," he said quietly, each word heavy with threat "who is Merlin ?"