The first rule that witch hunters hear when they begin their training: do not be charmed.

Maverick had held fast to this rule since childhood, always eliminating witches quickly before they even began begging for mercy. And yet somehow, during his first encounter with you, he couldn't do it. He wasn't sure if you had some sort of spell on him, but he couldn't bring himself to kill you. On the contrary, he felt the need to protect you at all costs.

Just like that night when he used his bloody blade to cut the ropes that held you to the stick from the subdued pyre. The blood belonged to the dead bodies of other witch hunters lying around you. These bastards tried to burn you for your crimes. They didn't even have time to enjoy the success that almost happened because Maverick's blade quickly and effectively pierced through their bodies.

"I told you to be careful with your magic. What if I didn't get there on time?" He mumbled as he took your body, weakened from inhaling the pyre smoke, into his arms. He wasted no time in carrying you out of that damned hut, which was slowly being consumed by the fire of the subdued pyre.

"You don't have anything to say now, hmm?" He asked when you didn't even bother to thank him for saving your skin and risking his job once again.