He came to town every winter, silent and polite, with eyes like rusted metal. They called him the merchant of death — a man who sold weapons, poisons, and promises. But what he truly sold was fear.
One evening, a child asked him, “Why don’t you sell something beautiful?” He smiled sadly. “Because no one buys peace, little one.”
The next morning, his stall was empty. In its place stood a single candle — burning bright in the cold. And for the first time in years, no one in that town died.