Six years later
At fourteen, Ethan had grown tall and lean like a young tree reaching for sunlight. His shoulders had broadened with the promise of the man he would become, and his face had lost the soft roundness of childhood. The horn that had once seemed so alien now curved gracefully from his left temple like polished ivory, catching light in ways that made it almost beautiful rather than fearsome. His orange hair had darkened to a deep copper that fell in waves, often arranged to partially shadow the horn when he wished to draw less attention.
The boy who had once cowered from his own shadow now walked with cautious confidence through the village paths and forest trails alike. His step was sure, his back straight, and though the villagers still whispered and pointed, he no longer let their fear reduce him to a trembling child. He had learned to carry himself with quiet dignity, even when mothers pulled their children closer and fathers made warding signs as he passed.
The change had come slowly, built on a foundation of trust and a single conversation that had altered the course of his young life.
The beasts of Kyros loved him again. Glowmice danced in spirals around his ankles, their soft green light painting patterns in the grass. Cloud moths settled on his shoulders like living jewels, their silver wings catching moonlight as they rode with him through the forest. Shimmer, his beloved crystal-scaled drake, had long since forgiven his past cruelty and returned to her favorite perch on his left shoulder, humming her wordless songs that seemed to calm even his darkest moods.
Fawncats padded beside him on silent paws, and even the more cautious creatures of the tree, bound with their silver fur and knowing eyes, the harmony birds whose songs could mend broken hearts, approached him with the old trust. He had become their friend again, their protector, the horn-boy who spoke their language without words.
But the humans... the humans remained distant.
In the market square, conversations died when he approached. Vendors served him with nervous efficiency, careful not to let their fingers brush his gloved hand when exchanging coins. Children watched him with fascination from behind their mothers' skirts, whispering questions that earned them a sharp scolding.
"Why does he have a horn, Mama?"
"Hush, child. Don't stare."
"But the glowmice like him. "
"That's exactly why you must stay away."
Ethan had learned to pretend he didn't hear these exchanges, to keep his expression neutral and his movements careful. He understood their fear, even if it stung. After all, he carried the same fear within himself, the knowledge of what lay beneath the black leather that never left his hand.
It was not long after the incident when Ethan was barely nine years old and still flinching away from every living thing that approached him. The months following that terrible night had been the darkest of his young life. He sat alone by the Crystalclear Lake more often than not, staring at his reflection in the still water, a boy with haunted eyes and a gloved hand pressed protectively against his chest.
The lake had become his sanctuary, a place where he could sit without fear of hurting anything. The water was deep and clear, fed by underground springs that kept it pure and cold even in summer's heat. Ancient willows drooped their branches into the shallows, creating curtains of green that made the space feel secret and safe.
Marlin found him there on one of those grey afternoons when autumn rain threatened and the air hung heavy with unspoken sorrows. His father settled beside him on the smooth stones that lined the bank, his presence steady and reassuring as always.
"How are you, son?" Marlin asked quietly, his voice carrying all the love and worry that had been building for months.
"I'm fine," Ethan replied automatically, though they both knew it was the furthest thing from the truth. His voice had grown small since the incident, barely above a whisper most days.
Marlin studied the boy's reflection in the dark water so young, so burdened with fear he shouldn't have to carry. The face that looked back was gaunt from poor appetite, marked by sleepless nights and waking terrors. After a long moment of watching his son suffer in silence, Marlin made a decision that would change everything.
"Ethan," he said carefully, his words measured and deliberate, "You don't have to worry about hurting someone or something as long as you wear that glove. You will not harm anyone."
Ethan's head turned sharply, hope flickering in his dull eyes for the first time in weeks. "How can you be so sure?"
The desperate edge in his son's voice nearly broke Marlin's heart. He met those pleading eyes and chose his words with infinite care. "Because that glove was made by a very powerful being."
Ethan stared down at the black leather that had become both protection and prison, his fingers tracing the familiar runes that decorated its surface. "What do you mean?"
"Do you remember the Vasuki story I told you when you were small?" Marlin asked, his voice taking on the same reverent tone he used for the old tales.
"Yes," Ethan whispered, the memory stirring of firelight and his father's deep voice spinning stories of the great sky serpent.
Marlin's expression grew distant, as if he were seeing something far beyond the lake's still surface. "The being who made your glove is so powerful that even Vasuki, the great serpent who could coil around mountains, whose scales shone with starlight would seem like a child compared to an adult when standing before them. That's how mighty this creator is, and you, my son, are precious to them. Protected by their work."
Ethan's fingers traced the familiar runes on the leather with newfound wonder. The grooves seemed deeper somehow, the patterns more complex than he had ever noticed. "Is that really true?"
"Yes, it's true," Marlin said with absolute conviction. "So don't worry, you will not hurt anyone as long as you wear the glove. It was crafted specifically for you, to contain what needs containing and protect what needs protecting."
The relief that flooded through Ethan was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds after weeks of rain. For the first time in months, he could breathe without fear, could imagine touching the world again without bringing death.
"How much longer will this curse stick with me?" he asked, and for the first time, the question carried hope rather than despair.
Marlin's hand settled on his shoulder, warm and strong and impossibly reassuring. "Trust me, son. Soon you will be free from it. And remember it's not a curse, boy. It's protection."
He stood then, brushing dust from his clothes with casual grace. "Should we go into the forest to check on some of the beasts? It's been too long since we've visited them properly."
And for the first time since that terrible night when he'd learned what his bare hand could do, Ethan had truly smiled and said yes.
The transformation hadn't happened overnight, but gradually, like ice melting in spring, Ethan began to trust in the glove's power. The creatures of Kyros, with their infinite capacity for forgiveness and their ability to sense the change in his heart, welcomed him back into their midst with joy that brought tears to his eyes.
Slowly, carefully, he rebuilt the connections that fear had severed. He learned to laugh again when the glowmice performed their elaborate dances. He found peace in the gentle weight of cloud moths settling on his shoulders. He discovered that Shimmer had grown during their separation, her crystal scales now reflecting rainbow patterns when sunlight touched them just right.
The forest became his true home once more, the place where he could be fully himself without fear or pretense. Under the cathedral arches of the Ashspires, surrounded by creatures who loved him unconditionally, Ethan found something approaching happiness.
But the questions never truly left him.
Every morning, the same ritual had begun. Ethan would wake as dawn painted the sky in shades of pearl and gold, and examine his gloved hand in the early light, always hoping that today would be different. That today he would feel some change, some sign that his protection was no longer needed.
Is it gone today? He would wonder, flexing his fingers within the familiar leather. Can I finally be normal? Can I finally be free?
He would study the runes carved into the glove's surface, searching for some alteration in their pattern, some sign that the power they contained was weakening. He would press his hand against his chest and strain to feel whether the deadly force still slumbered beneath the leather barrier.
The past year had been consumed entirely by this pattern of cautious hope and inevitable disappointment. Each morning brought the same desperate wish, and each morning the glove remained exactly as it had always been unchanged and unchanging, as much a part of him as his horn or his heartbeat.
His parents watched this daily routine with careful eyes and missed nothing. They knew what he was hoping for, understood the questions that burned inside him like coals in a banked fire. But they still said nothing about when or how his freedom might come. "Soon," Marlin had promised that day by the lake years ago, but soon had stretched endlessly forward without definition or deadline.
Lila would catch him examining the glove and her expression would grow distant and sad. Marlin would see him flexing his fingers experimentally and his jaw would tighten with unspoken worry. They both carried secrets that weighed heavily on their shoulders, and Ethan's growing curiosity only added to their burden.
The whispers in the village had grown more frequent as well. His horn was impossible to hide now, curved and prominent enough that even his longest hair couldn't completely conceal it. People spoke of omens and curses, of unnatural children who brought misfortune to their families. Some suggested he should be sent away before his strangeness infected others.
But others defended him. The healer's boy, they said. Lila's son, who had never harmed a soul and whose gentleness with beasts was a gift to be treasured rather than feared. The arguments created divisions that ran like cracks through the small community, turning neighbor against neighbor in ways that made Ethan's chest tight with guilt.
On this particular evening, Ethan made a decision that would shatter six years of careful restraint.
His parents were occupied with their evening tasks. Lila sat at her workbench grinding moonpetal seeds for tomorrow's healing salves, her movements rhythmic and meditative. Marlin was gone hunting like his usual routine.
Neither was paying attention to their son, who sat by the window pretending to read but actually consumed by the thoughts that had been building pressure in his mind for years.
His curiosity, dormant for so long after that first terrible experiment, had awakened with a vengeance when he turned thirteen. Every day brought new questions, new desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he was finally free from whatever force made his bare skin deadly. Today, that hope has grown too strong to ignore, too insistent to deny.
Maybe the curse has finally weakened, he thought, his fingers unconsciously flexing within the glove. Maybe Marlin was right, and my freedom is close. What if I just... checked? Just once more?
The rational part of his mind whispered warnings of his promise to his mother, sworn with tears and terror in the aftermath of discovery. The memory of the dead tree, mighty and ancient, reduced to grey ash by his touch. The lifeless eyes of the horned rabbit, bright with curiosity one moment and dulled by death the next. The terror that had filled his parents' faces that night six years ago when they realized what he had done.
But the desperate, hopeful part of him was louder now, fed by years of wondering and waiting and longing to be normal.
Just a small test. Just to see if anything has changed. Surely after all this time, surely the protection has done its work and made me safe...
As evening shadows lengthened and his parents settled deeper into their nightly routines, Ethan made his choice. The decision crystallized in his mind with sudden, absolute clarity. He would slip into the forest, find a quiet place where no one could see, and finally test whether his curse had lifted.
For the first time in six years, he was going to break his promise to his mother.
And somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the hope and excitement and desperate longing for normalcy, a small voice whispered that this was a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life.