He is the Devil!

Vesteria Town

The sun had sunk behind the hills, and night crept in like a whisper. Warm lanterns flickered to life along the cobbled streets, chasing shadows into corners.

"We don't have enough salt," the cook muttered, frowning at the nearly empty sack in the cart.

The trader stroked his beard, eyes lingering on the remaining goods. "That's all there is in the market."

"We've spent over five hours here, and that's all the salt you have?" The cook's voice rose, laced with frustration. "It won't be enough. You're paid handsomely—we expect full delivery for the gold."

The trader's eyes narrowed. "You'll have to come back tomorrow for the rest."

"Then you tell the king to wait?"

Ezra's voice cut through the tension. He stood behind the cook, gaze fixed on the paltry sacks.

"Ezra, go back to the carriage. Let me handle this," the cook snapped without turning.

Ezra hesitated, then gave the trader a long, silent look before walking away.

As he passed, he caught the trader's grumble under his breath: "That boy has no respect."

He sat in the carriage, pouting, eyes fixed on the street ahead. People moved past, chatting as they made their way home from the market, their baskets swinging and voices carried in the night.

Then he spotted them, the three boys, kicking a ball down the street, their laughter ringing out loud.

A woman's voice cut through the air.

"You three will be whipped!"

"Go inside and sleep! It's too late for all this noise."

"Sorry!" they shouted in unison, giggling as they kept on playing.

The ball rolled ahead, and they chased it, vanishing into a side street where Ezra could no longer see them.

Behind him, the cook and the trader argued on, voices rising and falling. Neither of them noticed when Ezra quietly slipped out of the carriage and followed the path the boys had taken.

"I've had enough disappointment for one day," the cook said coolly. "I'll return for the rest of the salt in the morning—and for the delay, you're adding five more to the thirty."

The trader's eyes widened. "Madam, you ask for too much and offer too little. If you want five extra sacks, you'll have to pay for them."

She smiled, but it was a smile without warmth. "Then I'll return with the palace guards, and we'll see whose words carry weight. Goodnight, monsieur."

She turned and strode to the carriage, ignoring the trader's protesting voice. But as she opened the carriage door, her chest tightened—Ezra was nowhere in sight.

"Ezra?" she called.

She hurried to the coachman, who sat slouched with his head resting against the side of the seat, eyes closed.

She tapped his shoulder. "Have you seen Ezra?"

He rubbed his eyes with a yawn. "Isn't the boy in the carriage?"

She glared at him. "Well, go and check."

The coachman shuffled over, peered inside—then his eyes flew wide open, the sleep vanishing from his face. "But... he was here, madam."

"Well, he's not now. Search the area!"

"Yes, madam!" he called, already running into the street.

Just as she was about to set off in search of him herself, the trader stepped beside her.

"Is something wrong, madam?"

"Yes," she said tightly. "Ezra's gone missing."

"Shall I look around? This place isn't safe at night."

She folded her arms, eyes sharp as blades. "Stay here—and make sure not a single sack of salt disappears."

Before he could respond, she turned and dashed into the street, calling out, "Ezra! Ezra!"

•••••••••••••

The children kept kicking their ball, laughter echoing through the empty street. Ezra ran toward them, eyes bright.

"Hey! May I join you?"

They stopped and turned.

"No," one of the boys snapped, his voice sharp in the stillness.

It echoed through the quiet space they'd wandered into.

Lanterns flickered overhead, casting shaky light. The houses nearby were closed tight—no open windows, no curious onlookers.

"You're from the royal class," one of the boys said, narrowing his eyes at Ezra's shirt.

Though all of them wore worn clothes, Ezra stood out. His were clean, and stitched on the front was the small flag lionhead of Vesteria.

"I didn't come to mock you," Ezra said, keeping his tone calm. "I only wanted to ask a few questions."

He thought of the princess, how carefully she listened. He wanted to impress her—maybe this could be his way.

The third boy scoffed. "What questions does a palace boy need to ask?"

The first boy rolled his eyes. "Let's just ignore him and play."

And so they did, kicking their ball excitedly and ignoring him.

"Wait," Ezra called after them, chasing them.

The street they were entering grew darker—less light and more quiet, "wait, don't go that way. You talked about the devil with fangs and claws."

They halted. One of them stepped forward, his eyes wide. "You heard?"

"Yes. That is why I'm here—to ask you questions," Ezra said.

Eventually, the three boys came closer, and Ezra asked, "Is it true?"

"Well," one of them whispered, "we saw the devil, and he looked scary."

"Why didn't you report it to the town lords or the elders?" Ezra asked.

The third boy, who now held the ball, shrugged. "No one believes us."

"Well, I do. So you have to show me where you saw this devil," said Ezra.

The boys' eyes lit up. They looked at one another excitedly, ready to show him. One even held his hand....

Then there was a roar!

They all stiffened and looked toward the dark side, each holding the other's hand.

The one who held Ezra whispered, "He is here. The Devil."

Ezra whispered back, his voice trembling, "Will he hurt us?"

One of them was shaking now.

The boy said again, "I don't know. The last time, he never got close."

The one shaking yelled, "Well, he might now! Which is why we have to run!"

They all turned back the way they came and began running. But each time the light flickered, it only sank fear deeper into their bones.

Suddenly, a man in a long robe appeared in front of them. And when he raised his head and showed his teeth, they all staggered back.

The frantic one pointed at him and shouted, "It's him! He is the Devil!"