Five days had passed since Billy began his journey to the Promised Village, and everything had gone with an eerie smoothness, as though fate itself had conspired—temporarily—to aid him. But that night, a faint moan fractured the wall of silence. The child—that ragged, human wreck—was making sounds, faint echoes, as if retrieving fragments of her scattered self.
Billy lunged toward her like a predator catching the scent of prey rising from the ashes of life. Her vocal cords—once presumed dead—began to tremble, whispering as if struggling to sculpt the shape of a voice anew. Nothing she uttered made sense; the sound resembled the whimpering of a wounded animal. He let her writhe in her agony and broken sounds, then returned to his rest. There was nothing to be done. He possessed some curative draughts, but he had no intention of wasting them, not while she seemed to be healing on her own. Besides, he was in no rush.
The following day, the moaning persisted—a sorrowful note repeating in an endless, discordant melody. Billy ignored it and pressed onward to the promised village, determined not to let the voice of weakness derail his path.
Two days later, he reached the village's walls. By then, her cries had intensified into something closer to the howl of a broken creature. He made plans. He couldn't risk being exposed. Her body, by then, had mostly restored itself, and he thought he could pass her off as his daughter—or his slave. But the sound she made might rouse suspicion, and he couldn't afford that. She had no identity; even slaves had documentation. If discovered, she might be deported. Worse still, if they uncovered her immortality, it would be a far greater problem. So—
He raised his heavy hand and struck her across the head, rendering her unconscious to silence her before the guards took notice. The plan worked. He reached the gate and handed over his papers. His anxiety masked well. The ruse succeeded. He entered the village like a merchant stepping into a shrine of profit. Naturally, his first stop was an inn near the village center. He fooled the innkeeper with the same trick. The next day, he began roaming the markets—buying, selling, deceiving—and most importantly, gathering whispers about anyone who might be interested in an immortal demon.
Two months passed.
By then, the girl's body had regained its full human form, though her vocal cords remained active in bizarre ways. She would emit odd sounds—some like songs, others like an infant's cry. But speech remained beyond her grasp.
Billy didn't care. Silence, at times, was a blessing. He fed her voraciously, as if fattening a sacred cow before ritual slaughter. She devoured the food with ravenous hunger, as if making up for centuries of famine.
One day, while striking a deal in a nearby village, Billy caught sight of Shaal—the man who had never forgotten the girl, nor her curse. Shaal pursued him insistently, demanding a conversation despite Billy's visible disdain. At last, he relented. They entered a tavern soaked in the stench of alcohol.
Billy ordered the most expensive drink available. Then, turning to Shaal with a cold smile, he said:
"Don't worry… tonight's on me."
Shaal remained silent. Fury leapt in his eyes, simmering like a dormant volcano on the brink of awakening.
Billy, attempting to break the ice, said, "I've been with her two months now, and nothing's happened. In fact, things are going exceptionally well… I believe I'm on the cusp of a fortune."
When the drinks arrived, Billy took a sip and added, "You're my friend, Shaal. I don't want to lose you over old wives' tales and superstitions."
Shaal's expression darkened. His face drained of color. His eyes flared with a raw, unfiltered rage, and a heavy silence overtook the tavern—as if everyone sensed a shadow blooming in the air.
In a voice sharp as a blade, Shaal said, "You walking slab of arrogance. Even if nothing has happened yet, it will. She's cursed—a heap of disjointed flesh stitched back together by hands unknown! The universe has screamed every warning at you, but you, as always, are blinded by your greed. This deal will drag you into the abyss… and if I stay by your side, it'll be my end as well. You won't find another fool to share in this profitable madness."
Billy replied with cold mockery, "I don't understand—what madness? And why are you worried anything might happen to you? I'm the one dealing with her. If there's a curse, it's mine to bear. What does it have to do with you?"
Shaal clenched his glass until it shattered in his hand, then roared, "I was there, Billy—there when we found her beneath the tree. I don't know what kind of evil we awakened, or what curse we disturbed, but it touched me too, just as it touched you. And now you plan to exploit this… thing for a pile of gold? That's insanity!"
Billy laughed—a laugh devoid of life—and said, "She doesn't die. She doesn't feel pain like she should. She's an inexhaustible treasure. Perhaps… this is better for her than being left as prey for forest beasts. Besides, she's not even human. I feel no pity. There's no need to fear any curse, Shaal. The only cursed one here is that wretched girl… that leftover life."
Shaal exploded into a manic laugh, part disbelief, part disgust. "You think you're a merchant of demons? Who in their right mind would buy such a thing? No one—"
Billy cut him off with lethal calm: "You're wrong. There are thousands teetering on the edge of madness—those who seek ultimate knowledge, power, immortality. I know one. He'd pay a fortune for the secret of that girl. And if that fails, I can sell her as a sexual novelty. The bloodthirsty, the psychotic—they're real. An immortal child? They'll fight over her. Or I could sell her to cultists for summoning, or to hunters desperate to dissect her. The possibilities are endless, Shaal. All it takes… is a little imagination."
Shaal's face turned pale. He whispered, as though his soul was crumbling between his lips, "You damned thing… she's not the demon. You are. You need cleansing, Billy. The shadows have devoured you… and soon, you'll—"
Billy looked down on him with disdain and said, "No, you need cleansing—from your dying world. But if you change your mind… I won't be hard to find."
He turned to leave the table, but Shaal stopped him suddenly:
"Wait… how did you know she would regenerate?"
Billy paused, then answered, "When you told me she'd been charred, I saw her skin. It wasn't burned. No one else could've healed her. It was obvious."
Then he leaned in and asked with curiosity, "But I have two questions for you. First—why didn't you tell the other merchants that day?"
Shaal replied with quiet sorrow, "If I had told them Billy came with a demon… some of them might've died from fear on the spot."
Billy chuckled. "A wise answer. And my second question—how did you know she regenerated? I never told you anything."
Shaal replied in a weary voice, "I deduced it. If she were still just a lump of meat, you wouldn't have kept her. You know nothing of medicine, and I doubt you'd risk bringing her to a real healer—either out of fear they'd discover the truth or out of greed. So, she had to heal herself."
Billy smiled. "How clever you are, my friend..."
And with that, they parted ways.
Billy returned to his shelter and found the girl devouring raw meat like a savage beast. He snatched it from her hands and prepared it properly, then give it to her again