Peter Pan's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Peter left the Hatter's cottage before dawn. The prophecy named a child who would end his reign. It did not name which one. But he had a guess. Long ago, before he gave up love, he had fathered twins in the mortal world. A boy and a girl. He needed to know which of them carried the future he had to steal. He would find the boy first. Tinker Bell rode his shoulder, her light dim, watching him the way she had since the trade. He found the boy at a hollow tree, marking bark with a knife. Hansel. Older now, a satchel at his hip, moving like someone who knew every root in the forest. Peter had never seen his son's grown face. It stopped him cold. Hansel looked up and did not startle. "You're on my path," he said. "State your business." "I'm looking for someone," Peter said. He stepped closer, reaching inward for the pull that told him where a future lived in a person. He had used it a thousand times. It always answered. It did not answer now. He stood before his own son and felt nothing to take. Hansel had memories, plans, a task he walked toward every week. But the thread of what he would become was already gone. Someone had cut it. "Your future," Peter said. "It's missing." Hansel did not blink. "Ask my sister. She's the one who kills things." He said it flat, no heat, and let it sit. Then he stepped past Peter and kept walking his line of marked trees. A raven called. Peter turned. A girl stood between two trunks, a carved staff in her hand, a satchel across her chest. Gretel. She had followed the bird, the way she always did. She looked at Peter, then at Hansel's back. "He talks to strangers now," she said. "He didn't used to." Peter reached for her without deciding to. The pull woke. It caught on something bright and unfinished in her, a whole life still bending toward what it would be. She had the future. Not the boy. Her. But she felt him reach. Her staff came up. The carved marks along it lit, one after another, cold blue. "Whatever you are," she said, "you don't touch me." The light flared. It threw Peter back a full step, and the air smelled like frost off a broken mirror. She did not run. She held her ground and waited to see if he would try again. He did not. Not here, not with her armed and ready. He had his answer, and it was worse than not knowing. The heir was his daughter. And his daughter could see him coming. Peter backed into the trees. Tinker Bell rang once, sharp, at his ear. He knew now which future to steal. He also knew it would not be given, and it would not be quick.