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Chapter Text

Jon rubbed his arms and leaned closer to the fireplace, trying not to think about how dark and empty the house felt. His usual roommates, Sasha and Tim, had left for some sort of witches’ gathering for the full moon, leaving him alone. He had gone with them in the past, but with the current viewpoints on magical creatures, it was best he stay far away from anyone who might be tempted to skin him or saw off his horn.

It wasn’t fair, he thought as he huddled by himself on the couch, too stubborn to get up and get a blanket. Just because unicorns were “interwoven with magic in their every fiber,” as the textbooks said, didn’t mean people had to run around stealing it. And yet, that was what the world had come to, with the few remaining unicorns taking human form and hiding out and having to stay home while their friends went to fun magic conventions.

“Not fair,” he repeated out loud, grumbling into the cold, dark air.

“Few things are,” an amicable voice said behind him.

Jon yelped and fell off the couch. He flipped himself over so his back was to the flames, now staring up from the floor at the intruder. He was big, and made even bigger by the massive cloak covering all of him but his face, which was itself covered with a large salt-and-pepper beard and a hat. Still, Jon could tell the stranger was looking down at him with amusement.

“How did you get in here?” Jon demanded.

“I could tell there was someone feeling oh-so very alone in here, and now here I am,” he said cheerfully. There was something wrong about his demeanor.

“Well, get out,” Jon snapped, pushing himself to his feet and brushing off his trousers. “This is my house, and I don’t think you want to see the defense systems I have set up.” Most of which involved shouting for Tim or Sasha, but it wasn’t like he needed to know that.

The man smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. Jon doubted he had ever smiled with warmth. “They left you, didn’t they?” the man said.

Jon suddenly felt very small. “That is none of your concern,” he snapped. “Leave, before I make you regret it.”

The intruder just sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He walked over to the wall opposite the front door, taking in the pictures and knicknacks on the shelves. “This is nice.” He nodded toward a small painting of a rose garden, set alongside a couple dried roses.

Jon frowned. This wasn’t how home invaders were supposed to act. He should be threatening Jon, demanding to be shown his valuables. He shouldn’t be looking around, blandly chatting with Jon as if…

As if Jon were the thing he was interested in.

“You know?” Jon said softly.

The man turned empty eyes back to Jon. “No,” he said, “but my friend does.”

Jon shuddered with a sudden chill. The air was wet, and cold, and the fire behind his legs barely seemed to reach him. “What do you want from me?” he demanded through clacking teeth.

The man sighed, a mix of exasperation and fondness. “Elias has all sorts of ideas. Didn’t mention you’d be so chatty, though. Just sit still.”

Jon jolted backward, watching for the man to lunge and grab him, but there was no movement beyond an eye roll.

“Pleasure talking to you,” the man said with an air of forced geniality.

Then the world went white.

…

Jon was walking on a beach.

At least he thought it was a beach. There was cold sand beneath his socks (why wasn’t he wearing shoes?) and sea salt filled his lungs (he didn’t live anywhere near an ocean, not anymore).

He walked. There was nobody else around, but there had to be someone. He’d just gotten separated from the group, that was it. They were surely looking for him.

“Hello?” he called. His voice echoed back at him, mocking. “Sasha? Tim? M-Melanie?”

No reply but the thundering waves and the empty fog that cloyed around him and made his skin slick. He wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, wishing for his cloak (why wasn’t he wearing it, he always took it when he went outside, where was he). Thoughts seemed to slide past like half-melted ice on a window, till all he could focus on was the fact that he was alone.

They hadn’t left him here, surely? They cared about him. He knew they did. Even if Melanie always yelled at him (and he yelled at her, it was mutual) and Tim always argued that he should stay inside (for his protection, Tim wasn’t being cruel, he wasn’t) and Sasha always asked for little pieces of him for her magic (she was always courteous, she only ever wanted bits of hair or fingernails, she always took no for an answer, she wasn’t malicious) and that cute librarian down the road always went red and looked away from him (Martin probably didn’t even know his name, even though Jon had learned his).

They cared. Jon just had to find them. Then they’d sigh over him and tell him to be more careful and lock him inside and leave him alone for that man to steal him away and—

And Jon walked.

Eventually, he heard a noise. Not the ocean or the pressing emptiness of the fog, but a voice. He didn’t think he recognized it (of course he didn’t, why would anyone come for him?) but it was loud, ringing directly in his ear, though he couldn’t figure out what it was saying.

Then all the fog rushed away, and Jon toppled over with the force of it. He fell to his hands and knees, staring down at a polished hardwood floor. He ran his thumb over it. It felt so warm in comparison to whatever that place had been. It felt real.

“I told you to keep him in one piece, Peter!” a voice snapped above him. Jon flinched back and leaned back into a kneeling position to get a better look. He was in a sitting room, with expensive-looking sofas and glass trinkets on the coffee tables. Off to the left was a roaring fireplace that looked large enough for him to fall into. The heat burned after however long in that cold mist.

The large man from earlier was standing nearby, turned away from Jon. “And he is! Look at him, he’s fine,” he protested.

Another man, closer to Jon’s height and dressed in an expensive suit, gestured to Jon. “He’s so covered in Forsaken, if I didn’t already know what he was I’d never be able to guess!”

Jon’s mind barely glanced over the mention of one of the fourteen classes of magic— it certainly explained the fog, at least— but caught on the second half of the man’s statement.

Known what he was.

Known what he was.

He knew. And if he knew, he was clearly some sort of wizard or warlock, and he just had someone kidnap Jon. He was going to steal his horn and his blood and his skin and Jon would be used in whatever probably evil spells called for unicorn guts.

Jon was going to die.

“There, now,” the man in the suit was crouched in front of Jon, holding a monogrammed handkerchief. EB. Load of good it did Jon to know his murderer’s initials.

He was going to die. He could try to run, but what was the point when they could just snatch him up with the Lonely again? His heart ached and his lungs clogged with feeling. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was eight, when a creature of the Spider had tried to snatch him up. He’d been too young to change to a human form, back then. He’d learned frantically, hoping it could save him. Clearly, it couldn’t.

EB took Jon’s chin in his hand and, ignoring his flinch, began to gently swipe the soft cloth over his face. Oh. Jon was crying.

“There you go,” EB said in a soft voice that was actually surprisingly soothing, given the circumstances. “It’s alright, Jon. You’re alright.”

Jon snorted through his tears. “You’re going— You’re going to kill me,” he gasped. Why was the man acting so friendly? Why was he wiping Jon’s tears and snot away so carefully? Maybe he was just trying to soak it all up, use it later in some complicated potion. He knew there were some out there that called for unicorn tears; Sasha had gathered plenty (with permission) while he was reading a particularly moving tragedy.

“I’m not going to kill you, Jon,” EB reassured him.

Jon hiccuped. “You kidnapped me,” he pointed out. “You know what I am, you know my name. How long have you been following me?”

EB sighed and shifted position. Jon noticed, absently, that his companion had vanished at some point during the proceedings.

“I haven’t been following you, Jon.” He plowed past Jon’s disbelieving snort. “I have a problem that I need assistance with, and my Patron told me where I could find that assistance.”

A warlock, then. And if his Patron was actually giving him information…

“You’re with the Eye,” Jon said.

EB’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I am. Very clever. I chose well, it seems.”

Jon cursed himself for perking up a bit at the praise. This man was going to use him in his evil warlock spells. It wasn’t flattering to be considered a good sacrifice.

EB grabbed under Jon’s arms and pulled him up to stand alongside him. He was taller than Jon, because of course he was.

“Come with me,” he instructed, moved to hold Jon’s upper arm in a loose grip. Jon debated the merits of pulling away and running, but ultimately remembered that he didn’t have a clue where he was. EB probably had wards, too, that would keep Jon firmly on this side of the barrier.

EB (Was it weird to feel bad that he still didn’t know his name? Of course it was, Jon, shut up) guided him toward a staircase spiraling upward, because of course they were in a stupidly tall wizard tower with stupidly tall wizard stairs. They barely got three flights up before Jon was wheezing.

“Do you need us to stop for a moment?” his captor asked lightly.

Jon shot him his best scowl. “No,” he said sharply, before immediately dissolving into coughing. At least if he died right here, he wouldn’t have to see whatever the man would do to him.

But alas, he was not left to pass away in peace. EB grabbed both of Jon’s arms and set him down firmly to sit on the steps, then settled down beside him. He wrapped one arm around Jon’s back, running his hand soothingly up and down. Jon’s breaths slowly settled, but his heart did not. It raced faster with every movement of that hand, fear clogging his arteries as he imagined the hand running across his bones, tearing into his guts, and pulling apart his veins like knotted string.

“All better?” EB murmured condescendingly in Jon’s ear, and he swallowed down his fear before nodding. EB pulled him to his feet, and they set a slower pace. They took more breaks, but they still moved inexorably upward.

After both too long and not nearly long enough, they arrived at the top. They moved down a short hallway, walking right past several doors before stopping at the last one on the left. Jon was practically trembling from fear and the tension in his clenched muscles. EB pushed the door open and gently but firmly pushed Jon inside.

Jon was immediately taken aback. There were no bubbling cauldrons or shelves of animal parts floating in mysterious solutions. Instead, he stood in a simple bedroom. A four-poster in one corner, a window opposite the door, a small wardrobe off to the left. He stumbled, looking back at EB with confusion. Had they taken a wrong turn?

But EB didn’t look as if this were anything less than what he expected. He walked over to the bed, fluffing up the pillows in a way that struck Jon as performative.

“You’ll be staying here for the time being,” EB announced, turning to face Jon with his arms folded behind his back. “There are clothes in the dresser, and a washroom through that door.” He nodded toward a door Jon hadn’t noticed. “Meals will be brought up regularly. I’d advise against wandering; there are all sorts of dangerous artifacts in here, and I’d really rather keep you in good condition. All right?”

Jon’s jaw opened and closed several times before he mustered the strength to speak. “What?”

EB tilted his head slightly. “Was I not clear? I can say it again, if you’d like.”

“N-no, I mean… Why did you bring me here? Why give me a room, why…?”

EB chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I promise that no harm will come to you while you are here. I’ll explain everything, I just have a few things I need to prepare first. For now, I’ll leave you to get settled in.”

He moved for the door, leaving Jon standing in shocked silence. When he reached the doorway, he paused, one hand resting on the frame.

“Oh, and you can call me Elias. No need for this ‘EB’ nonsense.”

And with that, he was out the door with a click of the lock.

And Jon collapsed to the floor like a toy dropped by a careless child.

He had no idea what was going on here. Was Elias being genuine? Was he really not planning to hurt him? But then why bring him here, why keep him here? Was he to be some sort of exotic pet? The thought made him shudder.

And what had that last bit been? How did Elias know what Jon had been calling him in his head? He served the Eye, could he read Jon’s mind? Was that how he knew he wasn’t human?

Jon felt tears building in his eyes, and he made no effort to stop them falling. He’d been bloody kidnapped. If anyone had a right to cry their eyes out, it was him.

He debated for a moment, then moved onto the bed and wrapped himself in a blanket, judging it to be a better place to have a breakdown. Surrounded by warmth and curled in on himself, he let himself cry like he hadn’t cried since Mr. Spider.

And eventually, slowly, he cried himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

“We’re back!” Tim kicked the door open, as his hands were full of novelty bags and gizmos he’d purchased. “And we brought you more weird pens for your collection!”

Sasha shut the door behind them and set her load down on the counter with a loud grunt. “I also managed to get some powdered griffin talons. And they weren’t taken by force! The griffin sold them herself, actually, it was really— Jon?” She glanced around, noticing for the first time that their roommate was nowhere to be seen.

Tim frowned and went deeper into the house, calling for Jon. Usually he waited right at the door for them. Had he fallen asleep? He certainly needed it, but it’s not like he would ever actually get it.

Tim returned with a frown on his face. “He’s not here,” he said.

Sasha did a quick spell to look for life. Just her, Tim, and a spider in the corner. No sign of Jon anywhere.

And what was worse, the room was cold. Far colder than it had any right to be, no matter the season.

Tim muttered a quick incantation. “It reeks of Lonely in here,” he reported.

Sasha bit her lip. They didn’t know anybody who practiced Lonely magic. “Someone must have broken in and…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.

Tim’s face hardened. “They kidnapped Jon. They probably wanted a unicorn’s power.” He clenched his fists. “I am going to burn them into ash.”

Sasha set a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right there with you,” she said. “But first we need to find Jon. I have plenty of hair and nail clippings from him; it won’t be hard to do a locator spell.”

Tim made a worried noise in the back of his throat. “Assuming he’s still alive.”

“He’ll be fine. Jon’s stubborn. I’ll bet he’s irritating his captors into letting him go as we speak.”

That made Tim smile a little, which Sasha took as a victory. “I’ll go grab what we need, and then we can get to finding him. It’ll be okay.”

“Right. You’re right. I’ll clear us a space for the spell.”

Sasha gave him a reassuring smile and set off for her bedroom/workshop. As soon as Tim couldn’t see her, she let herself panic a bit and bit her thumbnail. What if those people hurt Jon? What if he mouthed off to them, or what if they just wanted to saw him apart for scraps? What if he was already—

No. No time to panic. Take a deep breath, and then get the things you need.

She breathed out deeply and turned to look out the window at the empty street. “Oh, Jon, where are you?”

…

Jon was currently crawling out a tower window.

Look, he knew how it sounded, okay? He was currently dozens of stories off the ground, and he hadn’t even had the stamina to go up all the stairs without breaks. What was he thinking, descending the outside of the tower?

For one, he was thinking that there wasn’t any other option. Elias was going to kill him, Jon was sure of that. Or maybe he would keep Jon alive, let him serve as a renewable resource of unicorn nails and blood. Maybe a status symbol. “Hey look, rich posh friends! I’ve got a unicorn! Look, I’ve taught it to roll over.”

Not on Jon’s watch. He tested a new foothold before putting his weight on it. Elias’s pretentiousness had actually come in handy; the side of the tower was so covered in carvings and metal decorations that Jon had no trouble at all finding hand- and footholds. At least ostentatious idiots were good for something.

He tilted his head to see how much further he still had to go and was struck by a wave of dizziness. He clung to the wall, breathing shallowly as the world seemed to bend away from him into infinite sky. Did Elias have wards of Vast magic, or was Jon just reacting badly to what was, admittedly, a very far distance to fall? Either way, he decided it was best to keep his eyes trained to the wall from now on.

He made eye contact with a carved eye right beside his head. It stared him down, judging and cold. He swallowed and looked away from it. Hopefully Elias couldn’t see out of these decorative eyes, or at least wasn’t watching at the moment.

He made his way down the side of the wall, eyes firmly on his hands to avoid catching sight of the ground or making eye contact with the overabundance of eyeball imagery. Seriously, who needed that many eyes? Yes, it was the man’s patron, but did that really have to extend to his decorating taste?

Jon made it further than he thought he would— though still not nearly far enough— before his arms began to ache. He’d never been what one might call “strong.” “Scrawny,” sometimes. “Fragile and light as a baby bird,” once, by Daisy. He’d argued with her at the time, but looking back on it now, she unfortunately had a point. He could see the tremors building in his arms as they clung to the wall. His hands were beginning to cramp, and he could tell that his feet were close behind.

There was no way he was going to make it down the tower.

He might not even be able to make it back up, if he tried.

He had known that this was a very real possibility, but he hadn’t let it stop him. More than anything, he couldn’t stand the thought of just lying down and letting Elias do whatever he wanted. Jon had to at least try, even if the outcome was this.

“Quite a spot of trouble you’ve gotten into.”

Jon flinched at the new voice. It wasn’t one that he recognized. It was older than either of the men he’d met so far, and infinitely more cheerful.

He turned toward the voice as best he could without losing his grip. There was an old man, older than he’d thought possible, sitting in a chair. He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world, least of all the fact that his brittle chair was resting on nothing but empty air. A Vast warlock, then. Of course Elias would have one of them on his side.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” the warlock said with a wave of his wrinkled hand. “I’m just enjoying the show. Tell me, how long do you think you can last before your grip slips? Before the inexorable pull of gravity sucks you down. Maybe it’ll even let you hit the ground.”

Jon couldn’t keep himself from glancing down. All he saw was blue and white and sky.

The man laughed. “I wouldn’t count on it, though.”

Jon jerked his head upright again and scowled. “What do you want?”

The man shrugged. “Don’t mind me. I’m just repaying a favor to old Elias. Imagine my surprise when, after years of ignoring my calls, he pulls out the old magic mirror and begs me to bring back his missing unicorn. It was the highlight of my day, I assure you.”

“I’m not his,” Jon spat. “I’m not.”

The man tilted his head. “No, I suppose not. But he certainly seems to think so.”

“Please.” Jon felt his fingers starting to slip and rushed to adjust his hold. “Please—”

“Simon,” the man supplied with cheer. It felt almost mocking, not of Jon specifically but of the whole situation. Like Jon’s entire fight was just an afternoon’s entertainment.

“Simon,” Jon said, “please. Just let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Simon said with a good-natured sigh. “It pays to be known as a man of my word. I’m sure you understand.”

If Jon’s shoulders weren’t so tense, they’d have slumped. “Right,” he said.

“Oh, don’t look so glum. If it helps, I do hope you beat him anyway. I’d hate for him to cheat his way into immortality. It makes the rest of us look bad.”

The blood drained from Jon’s face. He adjusted his grip again. “What do you mean, immortality?”

Simon looked positively thrilled. “Hasn’t he told you?”

Jon huffed. “He hasn’t told me anything.”

“Well, then I’ll be happy to. He plans to steal your voice and use it to make himself immortal. He’s invented some spell with a minimal blast radius, even.”

Jon was going to be sick. “Blast radius?”

“Yes, I can’t imagine that it’ll end well for anyone within a few hundred kilometers. You included, most likely. But it’s a lot better than his previous attempts. Made a whole new canyon, if I remember right.”

“No.” Jon shook his head. “No, that’s— He can’t.”

“He can,” Simon said, “and he’s going to. But, like I said, I hope he doesn’t. Imagine how awful it would be if just anyone could become immortal. There’d never be anyone new to talk to.” He shuddered. “Dreadful.”

“Dreadful,” Jon repeated, voice numb. He’d imagined all kinds of necromancy and creating evil armies to do Elias’ bidding. He’d imagined being paraded around and hacked apart. But immortality? To take the gift of Death away and become something else? And worse, to do so without care for how it would hurt those around you?

“We can’t let him go through with it,” he said.

“No, you can’t let him go through with it,” Simon said. “I just need to drop you off and get out of the blast zone. So.”

Jon’s hair stood on end. No, that wasn’t quite right— it was starting to lift, to fall upwards as if gravity had reversed. His grip on the wall tugged upward and became painful in a new way.

“Best of luck,” Simon said, and then Jon’s legs tumbled upward and he was falling into the sky.

The wind tore away his scream as it buffeted him upwards, uncaring of the times his body hit the side of the wall. He scrabbled at the surface, but only succeeded in tearing the delicate skin on his hands. He was left with only one thought:

He was going to fall forever.

Then the world turned, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Before he knew it, he was lying on a carpeted floor, limbs spread wide and head scrambled. He closed his eyes again against the building headache.

“Good morning, Jon.”

Ugh. He knew this voice. He cracked his eyes open to see Elias setting a tray of food down on the nightstand of his cell.

“I had hoped that we could resolve any differences in opinion by talking it out, like civilized people,” Elias said.

Jon snorted. “Differences in opinion? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Elias sat on the bed and gave Jon a look of supreme disappointment. “And what would you call it, Jon?”

“I don’t know, maybe a bloody kidnapping?” He hoisted himself into an upward position and ignored the way it made the room spin. He could feel the effects of his little Vast trip wearing off, albeit much slower than he’d like. His hands still stung from scraping against the wall.

Elias just sighed. “I understand this is a bit of an adjustment, but there’s really no need to be so dramatic about it.”

Jon scoffed. “Dramatic? I have been taken from my home by a warlock who intends to kill me and everyone around us because he’s got some insane notion of defying death!”

Elias’ disapproving look changed to a true frown.

Jon wasn’t done. “You’ve locked me at the top of a tower, for gods’ sake. If anything, I think I could stand to be a bit more dramatic!”

Elias stood, making Jon flinch. All his bravado was gone in an instant, and all he could do was clench his fists in his lap to hide the trembling of his hands.

“So Simon told you, then.”

Jon swallowed. His throat was dry. “Yeah. He did.”

“That’s not ideal,” Elias said. “This would have been so much easier for you if you hadn’t pushed.”

“Right, because I’d obviously prefer to go into my death blind.”

Elias exhaled through his nose, quick and sharp. “Very well, then. Since you’re so insistent.” His hand shot out and seized Jon’s arm. He yanked Jon up, leaving his feet scrambling to get beneath him.

Jon tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight. “Let go of me!”

“No, I don’t think so. Better not give you another chance to ruin decades of work for the sake of your own measly life.”

He pulled Jon out of the room and down the hall, toward a wooden door that dwarfed them both. Jon tugged and scratched, but nothing he did could stop this.

He was going through that door. And he was positive that he wouldn’t be coming back out.

Chapter Text

Jon strained against his bonds, protesting loudly into the gag. Elias had deemed that measure necessary after Jon had begun yelling folk songs at the top of his lungs in a fruitless attempt to distract the warlock from his work. Now Elias hummed the same tunes to himself as he measured and poured, clearly mocking Jon’s efforts.

Whatever spell Elias was crafting, it wasn’t ready. Not yet. It needed near-constant attention, stirring and changing heats and adding miniscule measurements that surely had to be made up. But it was horrifyingly real, as was proved to Jon every time Elias read out how much time was left before he needed Jon. Three days. One day. An afternoon.

As the end crept steadily closer, Jon was left with nothing to do but wait. After a while, the terror had drained out of him, leaving him nothing but mind-numbing dread. And boredom. There was only so long one could watch someone measure and stir before they started to lose it.

He considered all the steps that had led him to this point, trying to see if there had been anything he could have done to prevent it. Maybe if he’d been more careful in the first place, not left the house so no one could discover him. But the Eye was literally designed to expose the best-kept secrets, so maybe not. Should he have ignored Tim and Sasha’s warnings, gone with them to the witches’ gathering so he wouldn’t be alone? But no, something worse might have happened to him there.

Jon wished that Tim and Sasha were here. No matter how strong Elias was, surely he couldn’t best two trained magic users? If this were a book, they would come dashing in heroically at the last moment and save him, then one or the other would probably confess their undying love or something. He didn’t really care about that part. He just wanted out.

Neither of them came. Did they even care? Were they glad that they didn’t have to stress and worry over their obnoxious roommate whose only real purpose was to be experimented on?

He knew that was a stupid thing to think. Of course Tim and Sasha cared about him.

But they didn’t come in to save him at the last moment.

Then the last moment came and went.

Elias finally judged the spell to be ready and dipped a knife in its contents, coating the blade. The metal absorbed the liquid like a sponge, taking it into itself until it was practically glowing like a campfire. That much matter wasn’t built to fit into such a small space, and Jon feared what would happen when it was released.

“It’s time,” Elias said. He approached Jon, knife held out to the side as if trying to be as dramatic as he could be. Jon felt his fear returning to him.

Elias untied the gag, and Jon gasped.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t do this.”

Elias gave him a pitying smile. “Don’t worry, Jon. I’ll make good use of your sacrifice. Now, I need you to hold still.”

He raised the knife to Jon’s throat. Jon couldn’t see it, but the angle he held it at made it clear what he was doing.

He was going to cut out Jon’s voice box, and Jon doubted he would be careful about the rest of his throat.

Elias moved the knife, cutting shallow patterns in the topmost layer of Jon’s skin. It was only barely deep enough to earn a faint trickle of blood to further saturate the blade. Then Elias began to chant. “You who watch and know and understand none.”

Jon tried to move, to ruin Elias’s careful carving, but he was frozen. It was all he could do to move his eyes from Elias’s face.

“You who listen and hear and will not comprehend.”

Jon closed his eyes, tuning out the continued chanting and the bite of the knife. He hadn’t done this in years, not since he’d nearly been taken by a giant spider. That had been enough to put him off his true form for a long time, so long that he barely remembered what it looked like. But if there was ever a time to try, it was now. He reached inside himself, past the curls of magic energy that made him up, into the very core of himself.

His metaphorical fingers fumbled it.

Once.

Twice.

And they snagged it on the third time. Just as the blade began to dig deeper, Jon opened his eyes.

His real eyes.

His first eyes.

The ropes holding Jon snapped as his form rapidly filled out, unable to bear the strain of his expanding bulk. Elias stumbled back and fell over, barely keeping his grip on the knife. His eyes were wide as he took in Jon’s form.

He didn’t look like the unicorns in children’s stories, all pure as snow and looking like a rolled-up paper horn was glued to a horse. He was big, bigger than the average horse, and dappled gray and deep green like moss. His horn was as long as a human torso and looked to be carved from wickedly sharp stone, his hooves wide as Elias’s head and partially obscured by long feathering.

His eyes flicked about the room and he snorted. Being in this form felt wrong. He hadn’t done this since he was a child. But at the same time, it felt almost comfortable. Safe, like a well-loved blanket. Like it didn’t fit quite right, but he could make it fit him again. The idea made his heart soar.

Elias had gotten to his feet while Jon was distracted, and now he blocked the door.

“Come now, Jon,” he said. “What did you honestly think that was going to change? It’s too late to uncharge the dagger. The only way this doesn't explode is if it cuts something deep to the veins.”

Jon pawed at the ground, uncertain.

Elias advanced slowly. “If this breaks, it takes out both of us, and about three nearby towns. And that’s if we’re lucky. Do you really want to be the cause of so many deaths?”

“No,” Jon said, the words awkward around his equine mouth, “just yours.”

And Jon charged, head down. He felt his horn connect, and heard Elias scream. The blade fell from stunned fingers. In an instant Jon was person-shaped again, and he dove to catch the blade before it could hit the ground. For once in his life, he succeeded at an athletic endeavor. He actually managed to grab the blade! He clutched it to his chest, heaving deep breaths of relief, and looked up from the floor.

Elias held both hands to his head, covering the eye that Jon’s horn had just plowed through. Jon could see the hole in the back of his head, could feel the man’s gore dripping down his own. But that wasn’t enough to kill him, not with the powers Elias’s patron gifted him.

Jon reached up and plunged the dagger into Elias’s leg, causing the man to scream with a hundred voices. The dagger’s light rushed out and into his veins, making them glow a dull, sickly orange. He crumpled to the ground, twitching but otherwise unable to move as orange sparks crept across his bloodied skin.

Jon pulled the knife out with a sickening noise, checked that the power in it had faded, and then plunged it into Elias’s heart.

Jon left the body on the floor. He didn’t think anyone would investigate Elias’s death, and he didn’t really want to have to hide any evidence.

He just wanted to go home.

He shifted again on his way out the door, finding his unicorn form could go far faster than his human one. It was stronger, too. He only had to stop on the stairs twice!

He barrelled out the door, following the faintest trail of magic back to his friends. Soon, he’d catch up with them, and they would hug him and cry over him and delight in his true form with him.

But for now, he just ran, and let his blood and tears of joy fly into the air behind him, with nothing to catch them but the wind.