“What is your name?” I asked looking deep into his eyes.
“John,” the boy replied and fell unconscious again. I let him be. I looked out the window. The last leaf fell from the tree that stood outside my house. The last straw. I would have to take my complaints about Hecta to someone more powerful than even me: The Great Da’enth. The greatest of all of us demons. The oldest and the wisest. His name meant all powerful in the old tongue. I hadn’t talked to him in almost five hundred years. Hecta would say that it was because I was afraid of the Da’enth. It was true. I was afraid of someone more powerful than me. But I was sick of Hecta. Before I went though I would have to pay another visit to my little friend that I had locked up. The one that broke in.