The man chuckled, stepping forward until his shadowy face slid into the dim light. His teeth gleamed too white against the gloom, sharp in a way that made Dawn instinctively cling tighter to her brother's sleeve.
"Hello, kids," he said in a voice dripping with mockery, each syllable drawn out like a taunt. His grin widened unnaturally. "Do you want some candy?"
"Hehehehe…" His laughter echoed, low and sinister.
Above, the owl suddenly flapped its wings once and screeched. Its voice was disturbingly clear, not like a bird at all but like a man caught inside its throat:
"Predator… predator…"
The man's face twitched. "Shut it! Who is predator?" he snapped, glaring at the bird.
Dusk and Dawn froze, eyes wide. They had never in their lives seen a talking owl. The alley felt colder now, its shadows pressing closer, as though the stones themselves were leaning in to listen.
The stranger caught himself and quickly smoothed his tone. "Don't be afraid, kids… I just want to talk." His grin softened, but the sharpness never left his eyes.
Dusk didn't answer. His instincts screamed not to trust this man.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly, coughed, and tried again. "You can call me Mr. Lock. And that—" he tilted his chin toward the owl perched on his shoulder "—is Mr. Hoot."
"Predator… predator…" the owl croaked again, its head swiveling a full one-eighty.
Dawn squeaked and buried her face against Dusk's arm.
Dusk swallowed and blurted, "A-are you… an evil witch?"
"Huh?" Lock blinked, then threw his head back in laughter. "Not evil. And not a witch. Only girls were called witches, long ago. Boys were called wizards. Old, dusty words. Today, we call ourselves sorcerers." His voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. "The church doesn't like that word."
He spread his hands suddenly and clapped. With the sound, dozens of shimmering butterflies burst into existence, wings made of colored light. They flitted around the children in glowing swirls, casting sparkles against the damp stone walls.
Dawn gasped. She reached out a trembling hand and touched one. It broke apart in a spray of golden dust, like sunlight slipping through her fingers.
Dusk tightened his jaw but didn't step away. His eyes, though, stayed fixed on Lock's hands.
"The world is vast, children," Lock said softly, watching them both. "The church tells lies. It cages people, keeps them small. Don't be like them. Don't be frogs trapped at the bottom of a well."
He crouched down suddenly, lowering himself onto the dirty ground without care for the filth. His eyes gleamed with a teacher's strange joy.
"Teacher mode! Teacher mode!" Mr. Hoot declared.
"Shut it," Lock muttered, smacking the air in the bird's direction.
Then he looked at the siblings. His voice turned rhythmic, almost like a storyteller's chant:
"There was once a frog born in the depth of a well. Since the day of its birth, it lived there. All it knew was the circle of stone above its head. Each day, it looked up and saw the patch of blue. It said proudly: 'This is the sky. The sky is only this big.'"
Lock leaned forward, eyes boring into Dusk. "But was it true? Was the sky really that small? No. The frog was ignorant. It had never seen the sea, the mountains, the horizon stretching endless. It lived and died believing the sky was no more than a hole."
Dawn tilted her head in confusion. "But… we don't live in a well. We live in a house."
Lock barked a laugh, wiping a fleck of spit from his lip. "Children…" His voice softened again. "The world is larger than your house, larger than Ram City, larger even than the cathedral itself. One day, if you wish to rise, you must climb out of the well."
The siblings exchanged glances, clearly lost.
Lock sighed and stood, brushing dust from his coat. "Enough stories. Let's get to business." His tone sharpened. "Little Dusk, I want you to search your house. Something old. Anything—book, paper, plant, object. Something left behind by that witch who got burned."
Dusk hesitated. His gut twisted. "Why don't you look for it yourself?"
Lock's smile faltered. "Because the church might still watch that place. Rare, but possible. And I've no wish to end up on a stake with flames licking my feet." His voice dripped bitterness.
Dusk clenched Dawn's hand. "I don't think I can…"
Lock's eyes narrowed. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a gleaming coin, rose-gold in color, etched with the profile of a serene woman's face. The metal seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the dim alley.
"As long as you bring me something," he said, voice lilting, "I'll give you two Dianes."
"Deal!" Dusk blurted before fear could silence him. If Lock changed his mind, he might lose the deal.
Lock chuckled, flicking the coin. It spun through the air, landing with a soft chime in Dusk's palm.
"One Diane now. One after."
Dawn's eyes widened, shining with awe. She and Dusk touched the coin together before handing it back uncertainly.
"We can't use this," Dusk muttered. "They won't change it at the market. Can you pay in Thales or Fins instead?"
Lock stared at him blankly. Then he burst into wheezing laughter, holding his side. "Children! Truly…" He wiped his eyes. "Fine. Keep it. I'll give the next payment in Fins."
Dawn clutched the coin, hugging it to her chest like treasure.
Lock's voice dropped lower, velvet turning to steel. "Remember this — you already made a deal with me. That makes you my partner. And partners don't whisper to the church. If you do…" His eyes gleamed like a blade catching light. "…I'll just vanish into shadows. But as an accomplice, even children aren't beyond church's punishment."
The words sent a shiver racing down Dusk's spine.
Lock turned and strode deeper into the alley, Mr. Hoot hopping back to his shoulder. As the shadows swallowed him, the owl's head swiveled all the way around. Its amber eyes locked on the children, unblinking.
"Predator… predator…" it croaked once more, voice guttural and wrong.
Dawn trembled but whispered, "That talking owl is cute."
Dusk's lips twitched. Against all reason, he nodded.
Still, long after Lock and Hoot vanished into the dark, the damp air of the alley clung to them. And in the silence, Dusk wondered if the frog in the well had ever been happy— before it learned the truth.