Chapter 13 – A Day of Dread and Doughnuts

Morning mist still hugged the rooftops when Alfred stepped into Silvervale’s market square, bamboo practice sword slung over one shoulder and a small cloth bag of coins at his belt.

Stalls lined the cobbles in cheerful rows: red apples piled like rubies, ribbons fluttering from spools, wheels of cheese stacked higher than a child’s head. Colors burst in every direction—yet every crafter, farmer, and peddler froze the instant Alfred’s boot touched the first stone.

A brewer halted mid‑pour, golden ale slopping onto his boots. A chicken merchant tried to stuff a full‑grown hen into his satchel. Even the stray dogs stopped barking.

Alfred raised a hand in greeting.

“Beautiful morning! (Maybe I fit in today.)”

Ten feet away, Granny Lottie—widow, jam specialist, sharpest tongue in town—grabbed her grand‑daughter’s sleeve.

“Keep back, child. (One wrong look and the ground might open.)”

Young Milo the woodcutter peeked from behind an oak barrel.

“Did you see his shadow? (It’s longer than a wagon!)”

Milo’s friend Fenn gulped.

“Shadows get longer the closer you stand to the underworld. (Or so the priest says.)”

Alfred approached a bread stall. The baker’s hat trembled like a frightened soufflé.

Alfred smiled, pointing at a tray of sugar‑glazed rings.

“I’ll take three doughnuts, please. (Finally, something simple.)”

The baker’s voice cracked.

“Th‑th‑three? (Ring of power trifecta!)”

He shoved an entire dozen into a paper sack and slid it across the counter with shaking hands.

“No charge. (Payment would bind my soul!)”

Alfred blinked.

“Thank you, but I insist on paying. (Fair trade keeps friends.)”

He placed two silver coins on the counter. They clinked like funeral bells in the hush.

The baker gasped.

“Silver? (The tribute of conquerors!)”

He fainted behind the stall, hat flopping to the floor.

Alfred stared, bewildered.

“Maybe he stayed up baking all night. (Poor guy.)”

Luna drifted above the scene, wings scattering faint motes of light.

“The rumors are rising quicker than bread! (Delicious chaos.)”

A cluster of merchants near the well huddled in frantic discussion.

Merchant A tugged his beard.

“See how he wields that stick? (Hidden blade inside!)”

Merchant B shivered.

“He buys doughnuts shaped like portals. (Symbolic doom snacks!)”

Merchant C wiped sweat away.

“We must start a relocation sale. (Flee while we can!)”

On the other side of the square, three armored city guards argued about duty rosters.

Guard One swallowed.

“You go talk to him.”

Guard Two shook his head.

“I spoke last time. (He thanked me—terrifying courtesy.)”

Guard Three took off his helmet.

“We draw straws. (Or hope the wizard arrives.)”

Alfred bit into a doughnut, sugar dusting his chin.

A little boy named Kip, too young to fear properly, darted forward with wide eyes.

“Are you the Night‑shady hero?”

Alfred knelt.

“I’m Alfred. (Night‑shady?)”

Kip’s mother shrieked and yanked the child back.

“He knelt! (Prepare the ground to quake!)”

Alfred stood quickly, dusting sugar from his trousers.

“Sorry, ma’am. (Maybe kneeling is rude here.)”

Luna perched on a signpost like a sparkly gargoyle.

“Stage fright at maximum. (Encore, please.)”

In the alley behind the silk seller, town gossip Maire whispered to her best friend Lin.

Maire’s eyes darted.

“First he conquered goblins with a glance.”

Lin nodded.

“Now he buys lethal pastries. (Coated in powdered peril.)”

Maire added a dramatic hand wave.

“Soon he’ll summon storms from teacups.”

Lin gasped.

“I drink tea!”

Maire slapped a hand over Lin’s mouth.

“Not today, you don’t.”

Near the fountain, Father Alder adjusted his white collar.

Father Alder cleared his throat.

“I should greet this young man. (Holy water optional.)”

He stepped forward with trembling resolve.

Alfred smiled, noticing the priest’s approach.

Alfred bowed politely.

“Good morning, Father. (Politeness never hurts.)”

Father Alder raised a shaking hand in blessing.

“Peace be upon you. (And upon all trembling hearts.)”

Alfred extended the bag of doughnuts.

“Would you like one?”

Father Alder stared at the doughnuts as if they were ticking bombs.

Father Alder whispered.

“Sweet temptation… delivered by a shadow prince… (Divine test!)”

He took a doughnut, whispered a prayer into the glaze, and ate it in one bite to prove faith.

From every corner, citizens watched the priest’s fate. When he failed to burst into flames, a murmur rippled through the crowd.

The blacksmith hefted a hammer.

“Maybe he isn’t here to enslave us. (Maybe.)”

The florist peeked over rose baskets.

“His smile did not wilt my dahlias. (Encouraging.)”

Confidence crept back like reluctant sunlight.

Alfred finished his third doughnut and wiped his lips. Sugar sparkled on his fingers.

Alfred turned to Luna.

“I’d like to buy ribbon for Seraphina’s sword hilt. (Thank‑you gift.)”

Luna’s eyes twinkled.

“Let’s choose crimson. (Blood‑red rumor fuel!)”

They approached the ribbon stall. The vendor’s hands fluttered toward every red spool in stock.

Ribbon Vendor gulped.

“C‑crimson thread from royal looms. (Please don’t loom doom.)”

Alfred selected a modest roll.

“This length is perfect. (Matches her gloves.)”

He set exact coinage on the counter.

Ribbon Vendor stared.

“Precise payment. (Ritual precision!)”

He hurriedly added two extra spools of gold ribbon, “complimentary,” and bowed until his forehead thudded against the table.

Alfred leaned to Luna.

“Are discounts customary?”

Luna shrugged.

“Customary when customers can level cities. (Level of confusion: high.)”

Across the square, Granny Lottie rallied two neighbors.

Granny Lottie wagged a jam‑stained spoon.

“We must discern his true nature. (And maybe sell jam.)”

Neighbor One wrung her hands.

“He eats sugar. (Symbol of dark energy?)”

Granny Lottie cackled.

“Sugar powers grandmothers too.”

She hobbled over and thrust a jar of blackberry preserve at Alfred.

Granny Lottie beamed.

“Gift for a hero.”

Alfred accepted the jar with a small bow.

“Thank you kindly. (Breakfast solved.)”

Granny Lottie winked at her neighbors.

“He used manners! (Civilized doom is still doom.)”

As noon bells rang, the Mayor emerged in full regalia—purple sash, feathered hat, important moustache.

Mayor cleared his throat.

“Citizens of Silvervale! This… distinguished guest… shall enjoy our hospitality!”

He flashed Alfred a watery smile.

“Would sir like a guided tour? (Of every exit from town.)”

Alfred nodded appreciatively.

“A tour would be lovely. (History lesson!)”

The Mayor exhaled.

“Right this way.” (Right out the gates if possible.)

The procession moved past the fountain. Children trailed behind, whispering daring bets on whether Alfred’s reflection showed horns.

At the library steps, Scribe Penbow clutched parchment and pen.

Penbow pushed his spectacles.

“Permission to chronicle your steps, sir?”

Alfred shrugged.

“Sure. (Happy to help record keeping.)”

Penbow scribbled furiously.

“He grants access to his prophecy trail!”

Meanwhile, the apothecary peeked through window shutters. He dropped a vial when Alfred glanced his direction.

Apothecary whispered.

“His gaze curdled my potions. (Documented evidence!)”

Luna flitted overhead, a living comet of mischief.

Luna sighed contentedly.

“The tapestry grows richer. (One day and they’ve woven capes of dread.)”

Alfred strolled beside the Mayor, enjoying architectural trivia. In his wake, elders crossed themselves, children played “Nightshade tag,” and merchants silently adjusted prices based on perceived end‑of‑world inflation.

By evening, every tavern table buzzed with fresh tales.

Fisherman claimed.

“He asked for ribbon, but I heard him whisper sanguine bindings.”

Seamstress countered.

“Ribbon? No—he purchased veils of sacrifice.”

Fisherman shrugged.

“Either way, my boat set sail itself when he walked past.”

At the far end of town, storytellers rehearsed a ballad titled The Gentle Scourge. It told of a hero whose kindness cracked mountains and whose laughter stitched dragon wings. Audience members trembled with excitement, misunderstanding, and a small dash of admiration.

Back at the inn, Alfred unrolled the crimson ribbon across the table.

Alfred smiled.

“Tomorrow I’ll train harder. (And maybe figure out currency conversions.)”

Luna perched on the sugar jar, swinging her legs.

“Tomorrow the town will either worship or evacuate. (Maybe both.)”

Alfred yawned, stretching arms stiff from a day of handshakes avoided and gifts accepted.

Alfred whispered.

“I think they’re warming up to me. (Progress!)”

Luna’s giggle rang like silver bells.

“They’re definitely warming. (In feverish panic!)”

Stars blinked alive above Silvervale as townsfolk barricaded shutters—some out of fear, some out of habit, and a brave few because the night breeze was chilly.

In every household, one sentence fluttered on anxious lips:

“Did you see what he did with a doughnut?”

A sentence destined to grow, twist, and blossom into a legend far sweeter—and far scarier—than any truth Alfred could imagine.