> It takes a great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still love it. — Oscar Wilde

Leaning on the cold stone rail of the bridge, he sighed deeply. "Never make a deal with the devil over a bridge," an old saying echoed in his mind, as relevant in the world of Nyu as it was on Earth. But was it really the devil one had to worry about or the stultifying boredom that seemed to consume every part of his life lately?

Pulling his fedora hat—adorned with two faux ram horns—back onto his head, he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder. The bag jingled with the sound of glass, a mix of elixirs and empty jars that were supposed to make life more interesting but had so far failed to do so.

He started walking, feet crunching on the gravel road, each step like a tick of a clock. Hours seemed to pass, but not a single living soul crossed his path. Until finally, he spotted a small creature rustling in the grass—a Nixbob.

Curiosity momentarily revived, he made his way towards the tiny creature, who seemed wholly engrossed in its rummaging. As he approached, the Nixbob looked up, its eyes meeting his for just a second before it returned to its quest.

He couldn't help but wonder what had captured the creature's attention so completely. Was it food? Treasure? Or perhaps something far more interesting?

"Alright, little one, what's got you so intrigued?" he muttered to himself, crouching down for a closer look.

For the first time in the last few days, he felt the spark of genuine curiosity light up within him. In a world that had grown so dull, even the smallest mystery seemed like a gift. And as he watched the Nixbob finally unearth a small green sprout from the soil, he felt a smile stretch across his face.

Maybe Nyu wasn't so boring after all.

"I found it!" The child's voice broke the silence, full of an excitement that was nearly contagious. The little Nixbob twirled in place before darting toward him, feet barely touching the ground. "Mister! Mister! I found one!"

He looked around, genuinely surprised. "Are you talking to me?" It was rare for anyone—let alone a child—to notice him.

The Nixbob held up a perfect four-leaf clover, its tiny eyes gleaming. "You're a demon, aren't you? I can tell by your eyes—they're dark like the night but twinkle like a star!"

"That's a rather poetic way of putting it," he mused, intrigued by the child's perception. "Congratulations on your find. They say a four-leaf clover brings good luck."

The Nixbob's little eyes were practically stars as he clutched the four-leaf clover. "Look, look! I found this, and boom! There you were!"

The demon tilted his head, an amused smile tracing his lips. "Are you suggesting that this little plant summoned me?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you?" The Nixbob was a vibrating ball of fur and excitement.

The demon leaned closer, his eyes meeting the Nixbob's. "Do you have the faintest idea who I am?"

The Nixbob's exuberance faltered; his gaze dropped. "Uh-uh, sir."

His eyes narrowed. "For all you know, I could be a monster who feasts on innocent creatures. Little ones and their parents, and then have a nice juicy snack! You understand that, right?"

The Nixbob looked up, brimming with courage. "But you're not, are you?"

A smirk broke through. "Not today, probably not tomorrow either, no. But the next clover you find might not be as fortuitous. Keep that in mind."

The little one nodded, not missing a beat. "So what are you doing here?"

The demon exhaled, letting his guard down. "I wonder. I ponder. Sometimes, I make deals. And it appears today I've become the summon of your good luck charm."

The Nixbob gleefully held up the clover. "Then today is lucky for you, too!"

The demon chuckled. "Tell me, little Nixbob, what is your heart aches for?"

"Daddy hurt his knee. He's a bit better but tired. He works a lot on the farm. He comes home stinky and angry." The Nixbob's voice tapered off into a murmur.

The demon leaned in. "Is he kind to your mother?"

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The Nixbob hesitated. "He used to be, now he is always mad."

"And what do you wish for?" the demon inquired, his eyes searching the child's.

"I want it like before. Daddy happy. Mommy happy. Is it possible?"

The demon straightened up. "Not my usual line of work, but you have your clover. I must make this luck come true. So you're destined for something, I think."

The Nixbob looked puzzled. 'I don't get it, sir.'

The demon sighed. "It means, little one, that while I can't promise a happy ending, your luck might just rub off on the things you care about most, but I can give you the tools to ease your path. In other words, trust me, I know my shit. So, do you have a happy memory that you would like to trade off?"

The child's eyes widen like saucers, sparkling with newfound realization. "I know who you are!"

A slow smirk curls Baal's lips as he sets an empty jar on the ground, delicately unscrewing the lid. "Oh, do you now?"

"You're the Keeper of Happy Memories, Baal Birth!" The child's voice trembles with excitement.

Baal leans in closer, an inscrutable smile on his face. "That is indeed one of the titles I go by. But don't get too attached to it. Names have a way of being forgotten. Especially mine."

"What do you mean?"

"Meaning," Baal says as he beckons the four-leaf clover from the child's hand into the jar, "that memories, even happy ones, can be fleeting. But for now, let's focus on your wish. A wish bought by a clover and a memory you will soon part with. A happy memory you'll never find back."

The child gulps but nods. "If it can make things better, then take it."

"We have a deal, kiddo!" The jar glows momentarily, sealing the clover and the memory within. Baal carefully screws the lid back on.

"Now," he says, his eyes meeting the child's, "I can't promise your father will come home smiling and kiss your mother as he used to. But what I can do is give him a day so satisfying, so fulfilling, that the scent of his labours will be that of roses. His fatigue will be that of a man who has conquered, not been defeated by, his day."

The child's eyes darted upward, a mix of hope and confusion swirling in their depths. "So, things will go back to how they used to be?"

Baal lifted the jar, its soft glow emanating from the clover and memory ensnared within. "Little one, the 'before times' are a fickle concept. Change is life's only guarantee. But remember, even a single good day can be a seed for many more."

The Nixbob's tail waggled irritably. "That's not gonna cut it," it grumbled.

"Ah, a picky customer," Baal said, setting the jar back down. "That's why I have a Plan B just for you. You've given me a very happy memory. You deserve nothing less than a five-star service in return."

"And what's this Plan B?"

Baal fixed his gaze on the child, penetrating past its eyes as if unlocking the essence of the Nixbob's soul. "When darkness wraps tight, your mom's tears now ice, despair's taken hold, like a bitter cold slice. Words scream like a gale, wild and untamed, 'Morningstar' you'll call. That's the name you'll save. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being—Baal Berith!"

The child blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream. It glanced around as if alone and then down at its hand and found a dried, three-leaf clover.

"This isn't lucky!" Frustrated, it dropped the withered clover and resumed its crouched position in the grass, rifling through for a new talisman of fortune.

Baal stood still, watching as the child's eyes lost their glimmer of recognition. It was as if he had become invisible, inconsequential. He questioned himself for a moment, wondering why he had even expected gratitude.

This was how it always went; the beneficiaries of his deals would forget him, oblivious to the powers they had just invoked. With a resigned sigh, Baal turned and vanished down the road, comforted only by the fact that his contract had been without complaints. Never had he had a complaint!

The memory he had taken from the child was pure in its simplicity—the moment it discovered a four-leaf clover, a glow of unbounded joy suffusing its being. It was a potent memory, one that Baal knew would fuel his power and magic.

As he walked, a twinge of hope crossed his thoughts. Perhaps the child would never have reason to utter the name "Morningstar" to call upon the darker edges of the pact. Yet, Baal knew better. He had long lost faith in the innate goodness or wisdom of any creature—be it Earthling or Nyuling. They were all flawed, all capable of invoking terrors best left untouched.

Except her. She was different.

She was the anomaly in a universe of disappointments, the one glimmer of something other than endless transactions. She was...

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Baal meandered through the bare landscape, each step punctuated by introspective musings. Occasionally, he'd halt, soaking in the splendours before him—the iridescent skies, the fields of otherworldly flora, the fantastical vistas that defied mortal comprehension. Then, after his momentary reverie, he would resume his unhurried trek, accompanied by glass tingling in his backpack.

His journey was interrupted when two men appeared before him, their faces hardened and ominous. Their intentions were abundantly clear, reflected in the cold steel of the guns they pointed at him.

Baal sized them up, taking note of their ragged clothing, the dirt-caked stubble on their faces, and the hungry gleam in their eyes. Humans, he thought, with the sort of predatory desperation that all too often plagued their species.

He didn't flinch at the sight of the weapons. After all, what mortal threat could a gun pose to a demon like him?

"Well, gentlemen," Baal said, his voice tinged with sardonic warmth. "What brings you to a road less travelled? Searching for something? Or someone?"

His eyes met theirs, and in that split second, he delved into the core of their being. What he found was predictably uninspiring: a tangle of greed, desperation, and fear. Yet, even such drab emotional colours could sometimes make for an interesting palette.

The men remained silent, their fingers trembling ever so slightly on the triggers. They had no inkling of who—or what—they were attempting to rob, but Baal could sense their growing unease.

"Speak now," Baal coaxed, "or forever hold your peace, or something like that. The next words out of your mouth could very well alter the course of your rather unremarkable lives."

As Baal stood there, facing the barrels of their guns, he wondered whether they'd choose wisely, whether they'd recognize the extraordinary crossroads at which they now stood. It was another transaction, another deal in the making, but in that moment, it was enough.

After all, a deal is a deal.