The fire crackled in the hearth, warming the chilly early spring night. Orange flames danced as Joan Morrow sat by the fireplace, curled up in the thick sofa. She suddenly felt a chill all over—not just from the temperature, but from the hefty history tomes she held in her hands.
Kensington L. Orland was a biologist, so his historical library wasn’t exactly extensive. But the witch hunts—those infamous chapters in European history, and really, in the history of all civilization—were at least somewhat documented. Even these not-so-professional records made Joan Morrow instinctively hug her arms tighter.
For the first time, she found reading truly difficult—because the words before her chronicled humanity’s living cruelty, darkness, madness, violence, ignorance, deceit, greed, and bloodlust. Those centuries were filled with the most deranged tortures, shameless accusations, blind obedience, relentless persecution, and a horror show of creative executions. These real historical events were more spine-chilling than any horror movie, more disturbing than any brutal novel.
Because movies and novels are fake—but these were real.
It’s only when you see these things that you truly realize just how vicious people can be.
“Sophia, what’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” Kensington L. Orland’s instincts kicked in. He set aside everything he was working on, boiled water, and poured a cup of tea. The aroma filled the air as he brought some snacks, pulled up a stool, and sat down in front of Joan Morrow, handing her the teacup: “What’s going on? Why are you suddenly reading this kind of book?”
“I...” Joan Morrow was awash with emotions. Suddenly, flashes of information flickered through her mind—leaders, slogans, young revolutionaries, cattle sheds, struggle sessions, monsters and demons, tall iron hats, public shaming, beatings, looting, burning, persecution. Huge and scattered fragments of memory flashed by like broken frames in an old film—gone in an instant, impossible to grasp, but undeniably real.
Joan Morrow realized this wasn’t her first encounter with humanity’s madness. She sensed she’d lived through a similarly brutal era before—and, just like the witches in those history books, she too had once been singled out by the whole crowd.
But no matter how harsh the times, there was always someone warm and strong by her side. In her mind, she saw a bloodied knife raised high at the village entrance—the powerful arm gripping it, the towering figure who held up the sky—making even the cruelest era feel like a shared struggle, a journey through hardship together.
But now—looking at her life now—Joan Morrow felt lonelier than ever. She was lost, unsure of where she came from. She was disappointed, not knowing how to reclaim the secret treasures of life. After a long, silent moment, she finally found a sliver of warmth in the teacup in her hands and in the gentle eyes of the old professor before her.
At this moment, the old professor finally gained a bit of color—no longer just a nameless extra.
“Professor.” Joan Morrow had a thousand things to say, but it all came down to one question: “Why hunt witches?”
“Well... that’s a complicated question.” Kensington L. Orland knew this student’s mind worked in mysterious ways. He didn’t try to decode her subtext, just massaged his temples and answered matter-of-factly: “Sophia, you’re still a kid, so you might not understand. Honestly, I’m not sure myself—humanities aren’t my strong suit. There are too many subtle reasons behind the witch hunts. But I think, for things to get that crazy, it all boils down to one word.”
“What word?”
“Fear.”
“Fear?” Joan Morrow didn’t get it. “Fear of what? What’s there to be afraid of?”
“Yes, child—fear. It’s a terrifying emotion and can lead to all sorts of shocking consequences.” Kensington L. Orland softened his voice, trying to dilute the bloody taste of history: “It was an age of ignorance. With limited productivity and deliberate manipulation by those in power, people’s understanding of the world was patchy at best. It wasn’t objective, clear, or complete like today. Faced with things beyond their comprehension, they blamed everything on imaginary witches and feared these so-called sources of evil. At the same time, it was a time of high pressure—disease, war, religious persecution, survival crises—so everyone was stressed out. That pressure bred collective neurosis, the unknown bred collective fear, and together it became mass hysteria. The violent side of humanity was unleashed to the max. After all, when people encounter things they can’t understand, or individuals who are different, their first instinct is often fear—and destruction.”
“Humans fear what they don’t understand—and destroy it...” Joan Morrow murmured, repeating his words. Suddenly, Kensington L. Orland started to get it. Compared to everyone else at Cambridge, wasn’t this girl the odd one out?
Looks like this young lady was having some kind of crisis with her social life.
“Sophia, in modern society you really don’t have to worry about this. People’s understanding of the world is way broader now, and tolerance for special talents is at an all-time high. Take me for example—if I’d been doing bioengineering in the Middle Ages, I’d have been skinned alive for witch doctoring. But now? I get to stand in the spotlight and win awards.” Kensington L. Orland shrugged, relaxed: “You don’t need to stress about your gifts. Modern science sees things differently. If something’s unknown, we just figure it out. There’s nothing in this world that humans absolutely can’t understand.”
If you can understand it, you won’t be afraid of it.
That made sense, but Joan Morrow didn’t look much more relaxed. She thought for a moment, then pressed on: “But what if there really are things that human intelligence just can’t decode or understand?”
“If something like that really exists...” Kensington L. Orland didn’t get why she was asking, but after thinking it over, he answered seriously: “Then you’d have to keep that news tightly contained. Only the most rational, wise, and self-controlled people could know about it. Because if it went public, all the confidence built up by modern science would collapse in an instant. Humanity would explode with a collective fear stronger and crazier than any era before—ending up with consequences so disastrous it’d be like self-destruction.”
The topic got heavy.
A brief silence.
“What if...” The girl looked up, eyes shining: “What if a real witch—someone with powers nobody can understand—wants to make friends with regular people?”
“Two options. One, the witch hides herself perfectly, never letting anyone notice she’s different. But that means living in constant fear, and the friends she makes might not be real friends. That kind of friendship could fall apart the moment her secret’s exposed—too fragile to save.”
“And the second option?”
“She never hides her witch identity, faces the world with hope and independence, bold but not self-pitying. If someone can’t accept her, they can just leave—if they dare snitch, she’ll deal with them. But if someone knows she’s a witch and still accepts the biggest unknown, overcomes the biggest fear, and embraces the greatest difference—then that’s a true friend.” Kensington L. Orland thought he sounded pretty cool right now: “If you have a friend like that, they’re a treasure for life.”
Joan Morrow’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if she’d just had an epiphany—like clouds parting to reveal the sun.
Kensington L. Orland’s lips curled into a smile. After all that teacherly wisdom, the vibe was perfect: Girl, you can open up now! I’m the guy who can handle the unknown, conquer fear, and embrace the oddball. Come on, sweetheart, let your teacher move you and spill your secrets in my warm embrace!
But really, what kind of secrets could a little girl have? Pfft, just kid stuff. Come on, let Uncle use that to trick—cough, I mean guide—her toward the righteous path of getting close to her dear uncle!
But Joan Morrow’s expression instantly went flat again—back to poker face, with zero sign of wanting to open up.
“I get it now.” Joan Morrow nodded. “I’m heading home—leaving tomorrow.”
“Well, okay...” All that wishful thinking—just wishful thinking after all...
At the doorway, Joan Morrow hesitated, then turned back: “Thank you—for clearing things up.”
“Huh?” Kensington L. Orland was stunned—she actually thanked him?! For a moment, he felt oddly honored. “Ah, uh, no problem! Talking things out is totally normal. Come by anytime!”
After seeing Sophia off, Kensington L. Orland was left dazed, feeling like she really was different now. He couldn’t say exactly how, but he was definitely feeling pretty pleased. No matter what, it seemed his teacherly dignity had been salvaged a bit. And suddenly, he was actually looking forward to this trip abroad for the experiment!
Alright, time to roll up my sleeves and get to work—tonight I’ll pack everything up, and tomorrow it’s off to chase that Nobel!
But—well—no matter how good the plan, things didn’t go as scheduled the next day. To be precise, he had his suitcase packed, Joan Morrow was all set to meet him, and just as they were about to leave, she suddenly changed her mind.
Because Adam showed up.
"Yo, long time no see." Adam sounded like he’d been through a lifetime: "Some family drama blew up out of nowhere, things got messy, and I just barely escaped. You could say... it was a real brush with death. How’ve you been lately?"
Joan Morrow stared at Adam for a long moment, then suddenly turned and walked off, saying coolly, "Follow me."
"Huh?" Adam was surprised. "Where to?"
"Out."
Without a hint of hesitation, Joan Morrow left Kensington L. Orland behind, taking Adam and heading off campus.