August

In those days, people lived in fear of demons—hellish creatures that tempted mortals to sin. Only priests, using holy water and silver, could destroy them. Despite their extermination, their numbers did not increase: by the age of fifteen, a demon already looked like a grown man.

Augustus, a thirty-year-old high priest and orphan, was the small village's best hope. He was respected and revered, and once a month he performed a ritual of blessing the surrounding area to protect the houses from evil spirits. One such evening, returning to the church after a long round, he sensed something was wrong. In the main hall, amid the dying candles, an ominous silence reigned, permeated with an alien aura.

Approaching the far corner with the candlestick, Augustus froze: there, pressed against the wall, a small demon of about six years old was trembling. The priest turned cold, clutching the silver cross tightly in his hand. His voice, accustomed to prayer, sounded cold and threatening:

• What the hell are you doing here?

(You are a little demon who lost his parents and in despair hid in the first building he came across - a church.)