Beast Empire

A Life for Truth

The evening air hung thick with resin and the gentle hum of night insects as Ethan slipped into the forest. His father had left for his evening hunt, and his mother was absorbed in grinding moonpetal seeds by lamplight. The cottage felt too small tonight, filled with the weight of questions that had been building in his chest for months.

At fourteen, the doubts had grown too strong to ignore. Six years of wearing the glove without incident had given him confidence, but it had also planted seeds of hope that perhaps his curse had finally weakened. Perhaps he was finally free.

He walked deeper beneath the towering black spears of the Ashspires, drawn by an irresistible need for solitude and answers. The creatures of Kyros stirred at his approach, sensing his familiar presence.

Glowmice scattered in curious arcs around his boots, their green bellies pulsing like earthbound stars. A pair of fawncats padded behind him at a respectful distance, tails raised, eyes bright with familiar devotion. From the branches above, a cloudy moth drifted down with lazy grace and settled on his shoulder.

Any other night, their company would have brought him joy. Tonight, terror shot through his chest like a blade.

"No," he whispered, gently brushing the moth away. "Not tonight. Stay back."

The creatures tilted their heads in confusion. Their bond with him was ancient and instinctive. They trusted him completely. But something in his tense posture made them pause. When Shimmer, his beloved crystal-scaled drake, fluttered down to her usual perch on his shoulder, Ethan carefully guided her to a nearby branch instead.

"Please," he said, his voice strained. "Just for tonight."

Sensing the storm raging within him, the creatures reluctantly melted back into shadow. One by one they disappeared into undergrowth and branches until he stood alone in the gathering dusk.

He walked deeper, past familiar landmarks into a grove where a single young sapling stood apart from the others, sprouting alone between moss-covered stones. Evening light slanted through the canopy in golden shafts, painting the slender tree in fragile radiance. Here his steps slowed, and his heartbeat became thunder in his ears.

This time would be different. This time he had prepared himself, steeled his resolve. He would test his power on only one life, this single sapling, and then he would know the truth.

His fingers trembled as they worked beneath the leather edge at his wrist. The glove clung stubbornly, as if reluctant to release its hold, but finally came free with a soft whisper. His bare skin gleamed pale in the dying light: five ordinary fingers, smooth knuckles, nothing visibly monstrous.

He knelt before the sapling, barely taller than himself, its trunk supple as a reed, its young leaves shivering in the evening breeze. For a long moment he simply looked at it, this small life that would answer his desperate question.

His hand trembled slightly as he raised it. The tree's leaves caught the last golden light, and he found himself hesitating. Six years of questions had led to this moment, but now that it was here, doubt crept in.

He pulled his hand back and stared at the glove. What if this was wrong? What if he was making a terrible mistake?

Almost without thinking, he wrapped his arms around the slender trunk, pressing his cheek against the smooth bark. The tree was warm from the day's sunlight, and he could feel its quiet life through the leather of his glove: steady, peaceful, innocent.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the sapling, his voice muffled against its bark. "I don't want to hurt you. I just... I need to know if I can ever be normal. If I can ever touch the world without bringing death." He tightened his embrace, as if the tree might somehow understand and forgive what was about to happen. "Please don't hate me for this."

He stayed like that for a long moment, holding the tree like a friend, feeling its gentle presence. Then, with a shaking breath, he pulled back and began working the glove from his hand.

"Forgive me," he whispered one last time, his voice quiet but steady. "I need to know if I'm finally free."

He pressed his bare palm gently against the smooth bark, feeling the slight warmth of life beneath his touch.

The tree convulsed.

Life fled instantly, as if drawn into some hungry void within his flesh. Vibrant green dulled to ash grey. Leaves withered and curled like dying fingers. The slender trunk blanched, cracked with sharp sounds like breaking bones, and sagged under its own weight. Within heartbeats, the sapling became nothing but brittle remains.

Ethan immediately pulled his hand back, horror and despair warring in his chest. Six years of hope crumbled like the tree's blackened leaves. He had been so careful, so controlled and still the power remained as deadly as ever.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the desiccated corpse, touching its fallen leaves gently with his right hand. "Thank you for the answer, even though it wasn't the one I hoped for."

With shaking hands, he worked the glove back onto his cursed hand. The familiar weight felt heavier than ever, weighted with the knowledge that it would never come off again.

He knelt beside the withered sapling, overwhelmed by grief and self-loathing. Nothing had changed. He was still the same monster he'd always been, still carrying death in his touch. His father's promises, his own desperate hopes, all of it had been delusion.

What he didn't know was that eyes had witnessed everything from the darkness between trees.

Three village hunters had entered the forest that evening, tracking deer along familiar paths. Gareth the blacksmith, Aldric the carpenter, and young Willem the baker's son had been close enough to see the tree wither and die beneath the boy's touch.

For a long moment they stood paralyzed, hearts hammering, unable to draw breath. Then Gareth spat into the dirt and spoke the word that would damn them all:

"Witchcraft."

"Worse than witchcraft," muttered Aldric, his weathered face grey with fear. "The horn-boy commands death itself."

Willem, barely older than Ethan, stumbled backward with wide eyes. "We have to tell everyone. They need to know what lives among us."

They didn't linger to see more. Terror lent wings to their feet as they crashed through undergrowth, branches whipping their faces in their haste to escape. They reached the village while Ethan still knelt in the grove, and their tale spread like wildfire through every cottage and workshop.

By the time Ethan had composed himself enough to begin the walk home, forces had already been set in motion that would change everything.

He walked slowly through the forest, dreading his return to the cottage where his parents waited. How could he tell them that their faith in his eventual freedom had been misplaced? How could he admit that he had broken his sacred promise and removed the glove?

The glove felt heavier than ever on his hand, weighted with the knowledge that it would never come off again. He was what he had always been: a monster wearing the disguise of a boy, and now he would have to live with that truth forever.

As he drew closer to home, he noticed an orange glow through the trees. His heart lifted slightly. Perhaps his father had returned early from his hunt and built a large fire. Or maybe his mother had lit extra lanterns to work on her healing preparations.

But as the light grew brighter and fiercer, painting the Ashspire trunks in hellish radiance, a cold dread began to settle in his stomach.

The acrid smell of burning thatch reached his nostrils.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

He broke into a desperate run, crashing through undergrowth without regard for stealth or safety. The glow became a roar of flame, and terror seized his heart as he realized what he was seeing.

Fire. Their home was on fire.