The cries of a newborn echoed through the small wooden hut, a sound that should have been a celebration of life. Instead, silence followed. The midwife froze, her hands trembling as she handed the baby to its mother. For a moment, the room stood still, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The mother, pale and drenched in sweat, stared at the tiny bundle in her arms and gasped.
"What… what is this?" she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief and horror.
The baby's face, though not deformed, was shockingly unattractive. His features were uneven, his skin unusually pale, and his expression seemed perpetually dour. The midwife took a cautious step back, clutching her chest as if warding off an evil spirit.
"This cannot be," the mother muttered, her voice breaking. "This is not my child. This… thing… cannot come from me."
The midwife hesitated, glancing between the mother and the child. "The gods must…" she began but stopped herself. What words could justify such an appearance? In a land where beauty was a divine blessing, this child seemed to embody a curse.
"Take it away," the mother said, her face twisting in revulsion. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her hands pushed the baby away. "I can't look at it. Please, just take it away."
The midwife reluctantly obeyed, wrapping the baby tightly in a worn blanket. She stepped outside into the cold night air, her heart heavy with pity. The village elder, summoned earlier by the commotion, awaited her. His expression darkened when he saw the child.
"What has happened here?" he asked gravely.
The midwife revealed the baby, and the elder's face turned grim. "This is a bad omen," he said. "Such unattractiveness… it is unheard of. The gods must have turned their backs on this child."
"What will you do with him?" the midwife asked. Her voice was faint, as if she feared the answer.
The elder's gaze lingered on the baby for a long moment. "We will leave him at the edge of the forest," he said at last. "If the gods wish for him to live, they will send a sign. If not, then it is not for us to interfere."
The midwife hesitated but knew better than to argue. In this village, tradition and superstition guided every decision. As she made her way to the forest's edge, the baby's cries grew weaker, as though he sensed the fate awaiting him.
Finally, she laid him on a patch of moss beneath a towering oak tree. "Forgive us," she whispered, her voice cracking. "May the gods have mercy on your soul."
She turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the distance. Alone under the stars, the baby's cries filled the night, carrying a sorrow that seemed far too profound for one so young. Yet, the forest did not remain silent. A faint rustling stirred the leaves, and shadows moved among the trees. Something had heard his cries.
The creature that emerged from the darkness was neither wholly beast nor man. Its eyes gleamed with a strange light, and its fur shimmered like silver under the moonlight. It approached the infant with cautious steps, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air. For a moment, it stood over the child, its head tilted in curiosity. Then, with a low growl, it scooped the baby into its powerful arms and disappeared into the woods.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The forest, vast and untamed, became Goryo's cradle. The creature, which the villagers feared and called the Silver Warden, took the child as its own. Though its form was monstrous, it cared for Goryo with a tenderness that no human had shown. It fed him, sheltered him, and kept him safe from the predators that roamed the woods.
As Goryo grew, so too did his awareness of his surroundings. The forest was his home, but he felt the weight of his isolation. He would often catch glimpses of his reflection in the still waters of a pond, and each time, he recoiled. His face, plain yet inexplicably unappealing, was a constant reminder of his difference. The Silver Warden, sensing his distress, would nuzzle him softly, as if to assure him that he was loved.
Despite the Silver Warden's care, Goryo's heart yearned for answers. Why had his mother abandoned him? Why did his face inspire fear and disgust? And what was the curse that seemed to hang over him like a shadow? These questions haunted him, pushing him to venture farther from the forest's heart.
One day, while exploring the outskirts of the woods, Goryo stumbled upon a group of children playing near the village. Their laughter rang out, a sound so foreign to him that it stopped him in his tracks. He watched them from the cover of the trees, his heart aching with a longing he couldn't name. But as he stepped closer, a branch snapped under his foot. The children turned, their eyes widening in terror as they saw him.
"Monster!" one of them screamed, and they all fled, leaving behind their toys and laughter.
Goryo froze, the word echoing in his mind. Monster. It was the first time he'd heard a voice other than the Silver Warden's growls or the rustle of the forest. He touched his face, his fingers tracing the features that marked him as different. Tears welled in his eyes, but he did not cry. Instead, he turned and ran back into the forest, his heart heavy with a pain he could not name.
That night, as he lay curled in the Silver Warden's protective embrace, Goryo made a silent vow. He would find the answers to his questions, no matter the cost. He would uncover the truth of his curse and confront the gods who had forsaken him. And if the world could not accept him as he was, he would make it see him for more than his face.
Thus began Goryo's journey, a path fraught with danger, discovery, and the faint hope of redemption. The forest had sheltered him, but the world beyond it awaited—a world that would challenge him in ways he could not yet imagine. But for now, under the silver glow of the moon, he dreamed of a day when he would no longer be defined by the curse of his visage.