ILan

At the farthest point of the mountains, somewhere among the towering cliffs and forests that were shrouded in mist on most days, there was a cave that the villagers had avoided for years.

They said a demon lived there.

No one had ever seen him, but that did nothing to lessen the villagers’ fear. The stories passed from generation to generation, and each time, something was added to them; one person said the demon came out of the cave at night, another claimed to have heard his footsteps among the trees, and some believed that anyone who went near the cave would never return.

But the truth was much simpler.

An old demon lived in that cave with his young son, Ilan.

Ilan had small horns on his head and had spent his entire life inside that cave. To him, the world was only as large as the cave’s stone walls: a small fire, the sound of rain, the smell of wet earth, and a sky he could see only through the mouth of the cave.

He had never seen the village up close.

He had never seen the sea.

He had never ridden a train.

He did not even know what the laughter of other children sounded like.

His father always told him:

“Do not leave the cave, Ilan.”

And Ilan asked every time:

“Why?”

His father would remain silent for a while, then say:

“People are dangerous.”

“All of them?”

His father stared into the fire.

“No. But people are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

Ilan would ask:

“Then let them understand it.”

His father gave a bitter smile.

“I wish it were that simple.”

Ilan did not understand what he meant.

To him, humans were only a word; something unknown and distant, just like the sea and the city.

Until one rainy night, he heard the sound of someone crying in the forest.

Ilan woke up.

His father was asleep.

The crying came again.

Ilan stood beside the mouth of the cave for a long time. He knew he was not supposed to go outside, but this time he could not stop himself.

He took one step.

Then another.

Rain settled on his face.

For the first time, he saw the sky above him without a stone ceiling.

A little farther ahead, he saw a girl sitting beside a tree and crying.

When the girl looked up, her eyes met Ilan’s.

They both stood still for a few moments.

The girl slowly stepped backward.

“What... are you?”

Ilan touched his horns.

“A demon.”

The girl was frightened.

But Ilan also took a step backward.

The girl asked in surprise:

“Why are you afraid of me?”

Ilan said:

“Because you’re human.”

The girl looked at him for a few moments.

Then she said:

“I’m afraid of you too.”

Ilan lowered his head.

The girl continued:

“Because you’re a demon.”

They were silent for a few seconds.

Then they both laughed.

A short, simple laugh.

But to Ilan, that laughter was like a door opening after being closed all his life.

He walked with the girl until they were near the village.

Before leaving, the girl turned and said:

“I’ll come tomorrow.”

Ilan asked:

“Really?”

The girl smiled.

“Yes.”

She came back the next day.

She had an apple in her hand.

“For you.”

Ilan took the apple.

“Why?”

“Because you helped me last night.”

From that day on, their meetings began.

The girl told him about school, the books she read, the busy streets, and trains that rushed past the houses.

Ilan told her about the mountains, the rain, and nights when the moon entered through the mouth of the cave and fell across the stones.

The girl told him about the sea.

Ilan asked:

“Is it really that big?”

“Very big.”

“Bigger than the mountains?”

The girl laughed.

“Much bigger.”

Ilan was silent for a while.

“I wish I could see it.”

“You can,” the girl said.

Ilan smiled.

“My father says people won’t accept me.”

The girl said:

“Maybe not all people are the same.”

Ilan asked:

“Maybe the city?”

The girl shrugged.

“Maybe the city.”

But their secret did not remain hidden forever.

One day, one of the villagers saw the girl returning from the forest.

Then another person did.

Soon, everyone knew.

The story began again.

“The girl has become friends with a demon.”

“The demon has deceived her.”

“Maybe he wants to enter the village.”

No one asked the girl what Ilan had done.

No one asked Ilan why he had safely brought the girl home.

They were simply afraid of something they did not understand.

That night, the sound of bells rose from below the mountain.

Ilan’s father realized that he could no longer hide him in the cave.

He prepared a small bag: some clothes, a little money, and the address of a building in the city.

Ilan asked:

“What are these?”

His father said:

“You have to go.”

Ilan laughed.

“Where?”

“The city.”

The smile disappeared from Ilan’s face.

“You’re coming too?”

His father was silent.

Ilan understood his answer.

“I’m not going without you.”

His father embraced him.

“If you stay, you may never get another chance to leave.”

Ilan cried.

His father placed a hand on his head.

“All these years, I tried to hide you from the world.”

His voice trembled.

“But perhaps the world should not be only something we fear.”

Then he said quietly:

“Sometimes loving someone means letting them go away from you, even when you want to hold on to them.”

In the morning, Ilan left the cave.

After walking a few steps, he turned around.

His father was still standing in front of the cave.

Ilan said:

“I’ll come back.”

His father smiled.

“I know.”

Ilan walked on.

And for the first time, he left the mountain behind.

The city was larger than he had imagined.

Cars, lights, tall buildings, and people who passed one another without even looking at each other.

Ilan hid his horns beneath a hat.

Among all those people, for a while he felt that perhaps he could disappear.

But he soon realized that being lost was different from hiding.

He walked for hours until he finally found the address on the paper.

An old building with a simple sign.

The door was half open.

He opened it.

A middle-aged woman was sitting behind a desk.

When she saw Ilan, she remained still for a few moments.

“What’s your name?”

“Ilan.”

The woman slowly exhaled.

“You finally came.”

Ilan stepped forward.

“You know me?”

The woman did not answer.

She simply took an old box from a shelf.

Inside the box were photographs and papers that had remained untouched for years.

Ilan picked up one of the photographs.

He saw his father.

Younger than he remembered.

Standing beside a human woman.

Ilan stared at the photograph.

“Is this... my mother?”

The woman lowered her head.

“Yes.”

Ilan ran his finger over the image of his mother.

All these years, he had never had a picture of her.

But something about the photograph was strange.

In the corner of the picture stood a little girl.

The same girl.

Ilan raised his head.

The girl was looking at the photograph too.

“Why am I here?”

No one answered.

Ilan turned the photograph over.

On the back, in old handwriting, was written:

“If Ilan ever returns, do not let him hear the truth from someone else.”

Ilan quietly asked:

“What truth?”

Silence.

The inn door opened.

A nosy photographer walked in.

The middle-aged woman shouted:

“You again, you nosy photographer...”

She turned to Ilan and said:

“Quick, put your hat on before you get into trouble...”

It seemed it was already too late.

The flash burned the back of Ilan’s neck, bright as the summer noon sun.

Frightened, Ilan turned toward the light, and another flash struck his face and burned the tips of his horns.

He stood frozen.

The middle-aged woman tried everything, but she could not get the camera away from the photographer.

The photographer happily pushed the woman backward toward the desk and exclaimed:

“See? I told you demons exist!”

Then he ran out of the inn like lightning.

A few days later, Ilan’s photograph spread throughout the city.

In newspapers and magazines.

First one photograph.

Then several more.

Then the newspaper headlines appeared in huge letters:

“THE FOREST DEMON HAS RETURNED TO THE CITY.”

“UNKNOWN CREATURE.”

“POTENTIAL THREAT.”

“DEMON IN THE CITY.”

Ilan stood behind the window.

A crowd had gathered below the building.

He looked down at the street.

He saw the same fear he had seen years ago in the village.

Only this time, the people were wearing city clothes.

Ilan slowly removed his hat.

His horns appeared beneath the streetlights.

The crowd fell silent.

No one stepped forward.

No one stepped back.

Thousands of eyes simply stared at him.

The girl stood beside him.

She said nothing.

Neither did Ilan.

In the distance, the sound of a train could be heard.

Ilan took one step.

Then another.

And disappeared into the crowd.

That night, the room was empty.

The old box still lay on the table.

The photograph was open.

Ilan’s father.

His mother.

A child between them.

And in the corner of the picture, a little girl.

The window was half open.

A gentle wind blew.

A piece of paper hidden beneath the photograph slipped slightly into view.

Only one word could be seen:

“Ilan...”

The wind returned.

The paper slid beneath the photograph.

The window slowly closed.

And everything remained in silence.