Tharon was strict. That much can be said about my training. He was pushing me past my limits to see what I could and could not do. But he was testing how far he could push me until I snapped. He would stop me at all costs if I posed any threat by going into a frenzy. The first time I showed hints of a frenzy, he held a dagger to my heart. At any moment, he could have plunged it deep inside and ended my life there. But in his eyes, he wanted to believe that I could resist the urges within.

I bit my tongue off to stop myself. Tharon was more than surprised to see how far I was willing to go in preventing myself from attacking him out of primal instincts. Of course, we had to stop training if I did that and allowed my body to regenerate before resuming. The stout but old man kept the appearance of someone still in their prime. However, it wasn't enough to keep me from hearing the deep coughs and fits he had. Being at the age of two-hundred fifty-two years, he lived past the normal expectancy of a human. But any moment, he would take a turn, and his death would be rapid.

"I may be old, but don't think I won't shut you down if you act out of turn!" His voice was loud. My strong hearing wouldn't stop ringing after he finished speaking. It was his way of drilling it into my head, making sure if I ever remembered his words, a slight ringing in my skull would be the reminder.

As a young, starving boy, I could eat food like anyone else. For once, I would not be starving like a wild animal barely surviving off scraps of trash and rotting pieces of filth. But after the joys of eating food began to grow stale, the true hunger inside would always be lurking. Tharon could tell if something was happening inside me. Every time, a dagger near my heart. Making sure I knew the punishment. Despite the cold shoulder of my condition, he still smiled at me. He didn't see me as a monster. In fact, he saw me as a child who needed to be saved.

I didn't realize it at the time, but he started to care for me like a son. He never talked much about his life other than his past hunts and encounters as wisdom and knowledge to fight those creatures he did. However, none of his skills in the various weapons he had in his home would call to me. A sword always felt too awkward. The spear too long and flimsy in my hands. Axe too wide of a swing. Bows would break from my uncontrolled strength. Everything I used proved to give me issues. For a few years of my training, I studied and did basic training to get myself in shape.

Using my bare hands to fight and defend, I got pretty good at being a brawler. That was my last resort. I didn't have anything that proved to be effective in killing anything. One day, when I was fifteen, I snuck into his chambers to see what kind of stuff he had. I still was just a curious child. I found his chest and opened it.

Looking inside was an old white coat, too big for me at the time. Next to the coat were some pictures that buried a pair of gloves that had some old design for where the fingers go. I looked at the photos to see Tharon standing with a boy no older than me who wore the same gloves that I had found.

In other pictures and paintings, that kid had become a man. On the back of one of the photos said, "My little Westler, my pride and joy." This was his son, a son who grew into a man. The next few photos showed Westler with a woman who was pregnant. I continued to search, but the sound of the door opening rumbled into the room.

"What are you doing in my room!" Tharon charged at me. I froze up and put my hands up to defend myself. Tharon grabbed my wrists, tossed me to the side, and closed the chest in a fit. Sweat poured down his face, and he began to breathe heavily until a violent cough made him spew blood.

"Master Tharon!" I went to rush to his side, but he put his hand up to stop me. I looked up to him and didn't wish to see him suffer or upset him. I wanted to apologize, but the words never came out of my quivering lips. Tharon took a minute to recover. He noticed I still had the weird gloves still in my hands.

Tharon looked at me for a moment and then to the gloves. Something about seeing me with them; he felt a soft shock in his body before sitting on his bed. Lighting a lantern in the room to fill the darkness. "My apologies, Rys... I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It isn't a problem, Master Tharon! It's my fault! I shouldn't have snuck into your room and pried into your life!" I felt hot and cold at the same time. My body didn't know how to respond. "Just... Are these your sons?" I couldn't help but ask; my curiosity was intrigued.

"They are. They were the weapons he used to slay monsters and beasts."

"I've never seen these before. All of the things you taught me, gloves like these never appeared in them."

"That's because... It is a weapon...or I should say a talent that has been lost. My son was the first to master and perfect it and the last. I was the one who developed them, but he found the passion to make use of them. These gloves... Strand Holders, as he called them, hold magical wires made of Moonrock and Magisteel ore. The wires or 'Strands' within them are nearly endless if the right bearer can use them to their full potential. The amount of times I cut myself using them, scars layered over scars, I could never be delicate and thorough enough to avoid injury."

"Why do you have them then? Shouldn't your son have them?"

His face saddened for a moment before he cleared his throat. "He's dead." A cold silence filled the room. I looked on with wide eyes. I grabbed the remaining pictures which had Whistler holding a small girl, smiles across their faces. Tharon grabbed my hands and took the pictures away from me.

"How did he die?" I asked calmly and slowly.

"I killed him." The voice was dead of any emotion. A deep wound reopened; Tharon seemed like the decaying old man he should have been at his current age.

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"How did-"

"Enough of the questions... Leave me alone..." There was no anger in his voice, just sadness. I could feel my own chest well up from the distance, and sorrow held deep. I softly nodded and left his room. Before closing his door, I turned to spot a single tear falling down his cheek. The man who showed nothing but energy had turned to sorrow, if it was for the moment. I felt sorry for making him feel this way.

Several days went by with Tharon locked in his room. I continued to do my daily training and studying. After the fifth day, Tharon finally came out of his room. I didn't speak a word until he looked at me with piercing eyes.

"Let me see your hands." I didn't question him or protest. I simply did as he asked. He gripped my hands tightly and looked at them with a frustrated look. "I've been looking after you for years, but nothing has been done to develop your skills fully. You have great survival skills, but you rely too heavily on your blood to provide you with power. Becoming a Hunter means more than catching and killing your target. The art must be sophisticated and refined. Allowing you to continue to draw from your power is going to hinder your efforts in the future."

"But... I haven't been able to properly use any of the styles or Hunter weapons you've taught me. I'm a failure to your teachings." His grip tightened, and a fury burned deep behind his eyes.

"None of my students were failures! It is my fault as the Master and teacher that you haven't found success in your training. My years are starting to bite me. My eyes and ears are failing. Sooner or later, I won't be able to run or walk, let alone protect you or anyone from monsters."

"Then...how?"

"Rys...my boy..."

"Yes, Master?"

"I failed my son. I failed him as a father and master; I let him and his child...my granddaughter, down because I let him take a hunt that proved too much for his age and experience. But if there is something I can learn from my mistakes... I can at least make sure his legacy lives on."

Tharon turned to enter his room. Bashing through the door, he carried his chest and laid it on the table.

"I had a lot to think about these past five days after thinking about my son... He took charge, and he made me proud to be his father. Even if it takes years, even if you hate me, I'll make you a Hunter." Reaching into the chest, he pulls out the same gloves I saw before, the Strand Holders. Placing them on the table, he lets out a pained sigh. "This is the last resort I am willing to go... Please...take them, put them on."

"Isn't this your son's? I couldn't possibly-"

"I can't keep letting my heartbreak from his passing; I should be happy that I was able to see him at his happiest. He would have wanted me to give them to his daughter, but she would never see me after his death. So, if his legacy as the master of those gloves needs to live on... I am more than willing to let you have them... If you can conquer them, that is."

Speechless, my hands trembled while looking at them. Using these gloves would mean I am prepared for what they bring. Tharon gave the choice solely to me and me alone. Not to disappoint him, I lifted them from the table, slowly putting them on over my hands.

At first, I felt nothing but a slight tingle of discomfort. They were heavy as the boundless strands were stored within the gloves. I turned to Tharon to speak, but there was a clicking sound, then a tight feeling wrapped around my hands and fingers. The gloves had spooled the strands of wires around the joints and the main muscles of my hands. My arms tensed up, and the feeling became harder to adjust.

"Ease into it; the wires will rip your flesh if you can't focus." Tharon kept coaching and guiding me on how they function and operate. Straining, I moved my fingers around to release some of the pressure. Instantly, I felt a deep pain pierce my fingers, blood spilling from the cuts. I grinded my teeth in reaction, the blood seeped through the strands and drizzled to the floor. Tharon shouted at me to keep focus, get use to how they work before making any sudden motions or movements.

"Damn it! Come on!" The crimson color of my eyes flared a vibrant red, the stages of a frenzy occurring. With no care for my well-being, I knew I would regenerate despite the pain I would endure; I clenched my hands tight. Strands spooled out of the gloves, running along my entire hands at intense speeds. The skin and muscles on them were torn off as pieces of my flesh stuck on the wires, and large sprouts of blood exploded from my hands.

"Rys!" Tharon attempted to stop me, but I backed away from him.

"Master No! I can...take it! Don't worry!" A long stream of strands stretched out and touched the floor. A single scrape from the wire cut the wooden tiles with ease. Seeing how it worked firsthand, I pulled my fingers back to retract the strand back into the glove. It ripped through my bone and caused even more damage. Yet, I started to understand this item. A single thought appeared in my mind.

What did Westler have to do to control such a self-destructive device? Tharon said he was a genius who was delicate to avoid hurting himself. Being delicate wasn't how he did it. Otherwise, his hands would be the same as mine. No, he only made it look delicate. In fact, he learned how to control the strands so that they wouldn't cut himself. The wires are magical and respond only when worn. That is because the strands must properly and tightly connect to all the critical joints and muscles in the hand to be able to use these gloves potential fully. It is the design Master had thought up, but fundamentally, he couldn't comprehend the intense control one must have with one's own body to pull off such a feat.

Westler had subconsciously adapted to them because of his ability to understand how his body worked. He studied and ingrained muscle memory to control the strands without them harming him. So, to control them, I must control how my body guides the wires.

"Master...I'll show you...how amazing your son really was!" Tharon looked at me, surprised. Through the pain I endured, a large grin appeared on my face. Using my heightened senses, I listened to the strain on my joints, muscles, and even the bones in my hands that the wires dug into. Slightly moving each joint and muscle to hear and feel the strand moving. Figuring out the hardest part would make the rest child's play.

My fingers bent and flexed, my joints turned, and my muscles expanded; I quickly understood how it worked. The blood-soaked strands wrapped around my fingers, sliding past each joint with ease; as I clenched my hands to spool several strands out from the glove, I turned and swiped at a chair. The wood splinters off the chair and falls over, cut in half. I quickly eased my muscles and joints enough to retract the strands without letting them drag my joints back and cutting into them.

After a couple of minutes of repeating the same thing, the wires fully retract into the glove. Sweat covered my entire body; the intense pain I felt had begun to numb as my regenerative abilities started to activate...

"Your son could do this without my enhanced physical abilities... He truly was a genus like you said..." Facing Tharon, he stood watching in awe. I slowly removed the gloves and placed them on the table; the wounds on my hands had already closed, and the tissue had been completely replaced.

"You...did it. The only time I saw that kind of display... Was when Westler put them on the first time... You say he was a genius...truly?"

"I don't think I could have done this without being me... He really did it on his own pure tenacity and abilities."

Before I could finish speaking, Tharon wrapped his arms around me, withheld the tears in his eyes. He didn't say anything except a few words... "Thank you..."