Long ago, a hunter was prowling through a forest, seeking his prey. On a moonlit night, a cry, low and weak, reached his ears.

He followed the sound, moving deeper into the forest.

His movement was steady, his progress uninterrupted.

Upon arrival he paused. Hidden from view, he watched the scene.

Wolves were around a newborn. Hesitant. Starving.

Without thinking, the hunter acted—his hands quick with purpose.

With one beautiful shot of his longbow, he dispatched the alpha, scattering the rest with one good spear throw and hurling shouts of the most barbaric kind.

The Hunter calmed, approached the small thing. He knelt for closer inspection.

The infant looked inhuman, it was in the cold and it was all alone.

It will be a mercy, the Hunter thought.

His arms outstretched, holding a rock above the newborn, he froze.

There was no fear in the newborn's malformed eyes, only curiosity.

He threw the rock to the side, took the thing for his camping spot, not a half-hour walk away.

Soon they were both near a fire, burning fierce against the cold night.

The Hunter sat, the newborn in his arms, both richly cloth-wrapped for warmth.

The Hunter fell asleep.

In the morning the child was gone, and a demon sat before the Hunter.

The Hunter moved with haste for his spear, grabbed it, stood, his shoulder blades a coiled snake ready to strike.

Unbothered, the Demon casually waved his hand. ''Were I to wish for your end, it would have come while you were dreaming of your late father.''

The Hunter hesitated, spear still lifted, his grip on it still strong.

The Demon smiled, morning light dancing across his fair face. ''For saving my son I bring you a gift. Choose: the most beautiful woman in the world, or all the power in the world.''

The morning's whispers still echoing the Hunter's mind, his wits not yet fully about him. ''Be on your way you wicked creature, or feel the cold steel upon your heart. If you even have one that is.''

The Demon stood. ''As you wish.'' Casually he turned his back on the Hunter, leaving for the forest's depths.

''Wait!''

The Demon turned. ''Yes?''

''What is the price?''

''The price is that you have to choose one and have only one.''

He lowered his spear.

Of course, the choice was easy for the Hunter, for he knew that with power he would have all the women he wanted. He would have everything he wanted.

But then doubt started creeping in.

She can't be that beautiful, the Hunter thought. Doubt, doubt infected his mind, spreading like ink in clear water. And so he said, he said to the demon, ''Show me, show me the woman.''

The demon obliged, and then the Hunter saw her.

She was walking near an endless lake, tall and graceful—only the wind and the sun on her. He could almost touch her.

''I want both. Give me both.''

The Demon laughed.

''No,'' the Demon whispered sweet. ''You have to choose.''

The hunter was hesitant. Quiet for a long while. And then, with all the might of his sundered mind, with everything, he pushed for his lips to move, and finally they did, ''Power...Give me power.''

A simple move of the Demon's hand, and the wish was granted.

***

His destrier was with many scars. The noble beast was twenty hands at the withers, bred for battle, drawn to noise, taught to bite and trample with impunity. An unstoppable force, it carried the Hunter toward the imposing castle gates.

He was let through with practiced ease by the soldiers stationed there.

He rode deeper inside the castle: a storm and patches of thrown earth. Ire about him like black clouds.

After a deep bow, his page took the rains, taking the warhorse to the stables. The youth was dwarfed by the beast.

The Hunter's path soon took him to a great feasting hall.

''A bastard daughter of the King!'' the Hunter shouted, ''This is an insult to my house. The King spat in my face.''

''My lord, if I may...'' the Castellan hesitated.

The Hunter rolled his eyes. ''Yes, yes, speak direct.''

''The King's son was always a sickly child, and his bastard daughter was always his favorite.''

''Nevertheless, it is an insult,'' the Hunter's voice echoed the feasting hall.

''They say she is...quite pleasing to the eye, my lord.''

The Hunter sat at one of his many long tables. ''Yes, there is that. At the very least, there is that.

''Write to the King that I am most humbled by the offer and that I...accept.''

''At once, my lord.''

The Hunter lifted his hand, pausing the Castellan. ''However, I would most humbly beseech his majesty for the Northern Citadel as part of the dowry.''

''My lord, only members of the royal house ever resided there.''

''Yes, and is his bastard daughter not of his royal blood?''

The Castellan bowed his head in recognition.

''Be very careful how you phrase the letter, though. Make me sound humble, loyal.''

''Yes, my lord.''

''And make arrangements, Castellan. My golden armor is to be sent to the Prince, my main sword to the King, and nine chests of gold for the Bastard Daughter. The items are to arrive days before the letter. Go.''

The Castellan bowed deeply to the Hunter. ''As you wish, my lord.''

***

The Hunter, an old man now, was lying on his deathbed, in a chamber grand and adorned. Befitting his person and station.

The Demon has taken the form of a handsome young man.

''They say that long ago, I saved your son. Yes, I recognize your eyes. Why are you here?'' The Hunter asked meekly. ''Some hidden price for me to pay?''

''You paid long ago.'' Standing straight before the bed, the Demon's hands were casually clasped behind him.

''I should have chosen the woman. It was the right choice,'' said the Hunter.

''There was no right choice,'' the Demon said, his voice silver.

A feeble exhale was the only retort given by the old Hunter.

''Were you to have chosen the woman, you would have spent most of your days away from her, pursuing riches. Such is the way of your kind. Its curse and its greatness. To never know true peace.''

''You tricked me,'' said the Hunter.

The Demon smiled. ''Tricked you?

''You became powerful, rich. You had everything, everything. And for decades of your long life of gold, of women, and of wine, you never stopped searching for the woman. You knew many, yet loved none.

''Almost every night you dreamed of her. The woman by the lake.

''And you never found her. The woman with no name.

''There is...a good reason for that,'' the Demon smiled weakly.

The Hunter's brow furrowed. ''She never existed!?'' he snarled. ''You vile creature,'' the Hunter coughed and rasped, spittle flying from his mouth.

The chamber's crackling fire reflected against the Demon's eyes. ''Oh, no. She existed. She died young. While giving birth to a child of a man she never loved.''

Claws of an old eagle, the Hunter's fingers dug themselves deep into the velvet bedspread, his breath was concentrated deeply on his nose—his eyes more tired than angry.

He looked to the side. He wanted to cry, but couldn't.

''Your dying breath is soon upon us,'' said the Demon.

''Her eyes were perfect,'' the Hunter managed a whisper.

The Demon could no longer hear the Hunter's heartbeat.

A little boy stood in the chamber doorway, watching the scene, about to enter the room with the Hunter and the Demon.

''Who are you?'' the boy asked, still standing in the doorway.

''A friend of your grandfather's, Your Royal Highness. He is sleeping,'' the Demon smiled sheepishly.

The Demon knelt before the boy, ''Would you like an apple or a sugarplum?'' left and right palms both up and at opposite ends, holding the items. ''Choose.''

The boy held a slightly crude wooden carving of a young woman—clutched it strongly in his small fingers. ''I think it's time for you to leave now, sir.''

''As you wish, Your Royal Highness.''

The Demon stood up and left.

The little boy approached the bed. ''Grandpa, wake up. Wake up, grandpa. I made this for you.''