Wednesday:Shadowbound

The Headmistress's office at Nevermore Academy exuded an air of antiquity and secrets, like a mausoleum that hadn't decided which century it preferred. The high-backed chair where Adrian sat was unforgiving beneath him, its wooden arms carved into curving shapes that seemed almost to grasp at his elbows. Above, a chandelier dripped with black crystals, casting fractured shadows across the ceiling, while the walls closed in like silent witnesses, heavy with the weight of conversations long past.

Adrian's gaze drifted to a portrait of a young woman whose austere beauty matched the room's severity. The eyes in the painting seemed to follow him, as if aware of his presence—no, his intrusion. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the chair's armrest, a faint irritation tugging at the edge of his patience.

Fester was at his side, rocking back and forth on his heels, whistling an off-key tune that clashed with the somber ambiance. He was a man whose every movement seemed deliberately unrefined, a deliberate defiance against the stately quiet that clung to the office like dust. "Cheer up, kid," Fester said, flashing a grin that gleamed with mischief. "We've dealt with trickier situations than a school enrollment. Headmistresses love me." He winked. "I'm charming."

Adrian offered Fester a sidelong glance that could have chilled boiling water. "Try not to charm us into another detention before I've even been admitted."

Before Fester could reply with one of his usual flippant quips, the door swung open, and Headmistress Weems strode in, her presence sweeping through the room like a cold breeze. Tall and statuesque, she carried herself with an air of authority that seemed more a matter of habit than necessity. Her eyes—blue and piercing—assessed them both with the kind of curiosity one might show a peculiar exhibit at a museum.

"Mr. Corvus," she began, settling into the high-backed leather chair behind her desk with a graceful sweep of her hand. "It's not every day that we consider enrolling a student under… such extraordinary circumstances." Her gaze lingered on Adrian, as if searching for something beneath his composed exterior.

Adrian met her stare with a calm that bordered on indifference. "Extraordinary," he repeated. "Is that the term we're using?"

"Unusual, then," Weems corrected, her voice smooth as polished marble. "You're arriving in the middle of the term, accompanied by Mr. Addams of all people, and claiming lineage to someone… dear to this academy." There was a subtle catch in her voice as she said it, an almost imperceptible tremor. "Seraphine was my friend," she added, her tone softening, though her gaze did not.

"Best friends, if I recall," Fester interjected with a flourish, his grin widening. "Quite the history, you and Seraphine." He took a step closer to the desk, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "You thought Adrian died with the rest of them, didn't you?"

Weems's mask of composure slipped for the briefest of moments. Her expression tightened, eyes darkening with a sudden depth of grief and disbelief. "I was told there were no survivors," she murmured, a distant look clouding her gaze, as if trying to piece together the fragments of a memory that had been shattered and buried.

Adrian's jaw clenched ever so slightly. He leaned forward, his voice low, edged with something like bitterness. "It's amazing what people will overlook when it's convenient." He felt the words slip out like poison from a wound, unbidden but undeniable.

Before the conversation could descend any further into the past, the shadows in the room seemed to breathe—thickening and shifting as though restless. Adrian felt an electric current ripple up his spine, the darkness curling toward him like an old acquaintance. The sensation was impossible to ignore, a magnetic pull, deep and insistent. It was as though the shadows themselves were whispering his name, beckoning him away from this place of perfumed grief and perfunctory regrets.

"I need a moment," he said abruptly, rising from the chair. His voice cut through the air with a finality that left no room for argument. "Fester can handle the paperwork."

Weems opened her mouth to speak, but Fester cut in with a cheerful wave, as if diffusing a situation that had grown too serious for his liking. "Now, now, Larissa," he said, his voice carrying that familiar blend of irreverence and charm, "no need to get all grim about it. I'll handle the boring bits. Adrian's always had a way of knowing when it's time to… slip out." His grin widened as though he were letting Weems in on a secret joke, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—just the slightest hint that he understood more than he let on.

Weems's jaw tightened, her gaze snapping to Fester with a flash of irritation, as if he'd broken the unspoken rules of the room. "This is not a matter to be dismissed with one of your casual deflections, Fester," she said, her voice cool and measured, like a finely honed blade. She turned back to Adrian, fixing him with a stare that was equal parts stern and searching, as if she were trying to peel back the layers of his calm facade to see what lay beneath. "Mr. Corvus, you may leave for now," she continued, each word clipped with precision, "but this conversation is far from over. I expect to have your full attention when we resume."

Adrian met her gaze with an indifference that bordered on disdain, the faintest curl at the edge of his lips suggesting amusement. "Naturally, Headmistress," he replied, his tone smooth yet carrying a subtle edge, as if acknowledging the weight of her authority while simultaneously dismissing it. "I wouldn't dream of leaving anything unresolved."

Weems held his gaze for a moment longer, the air between them taut with unspoken words, before giving a curt nod. "See that you don't," she said, though there was a faint tremor in her voice that hinted at something deeper—perhaps frustration, or a trace of doubt.

As Adrian turned to go, Fester gave a small, approving nod, his grin widening as though he'd just won a minor victory. "Good lad," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, and then added, with a sidelong glance at Weems, "You know, Larissa, sometimes the shadows just call to him. Who are we to keep him from answering?"

Weems's expression didn't soften, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps resignation or a reluctant acceptance—as she regarded Fester. "Let's hope, for all our sakes," she said quietly, "that the shadows don't swallow him whole."

Adrian was already moving, the shadows unfolding around him as he stepped through the doorway, disappearing into the corridor. The darkness greeted him like an old friend, the cold air sharp against his skin. He let himself fall into the familiar weightlessness, his senses twisting as the world blurred into streaks of grey and black, and then solidified once more.

//=//

He emerged in the forest, where the night stretched on endlessly, a black canvas of whispering pines and twisted roots. The moon hung like a reluctant voyeur, half-concealed behind thick clouds, spilling pale light that barely touched the ground. The darkness here felt alive—ancient and untamed, as though it had a mind of its own. Adrian's breath misted in the air, the cold biting at his face, but he ignored it. There was something else—something feral—just beyond the tree line.

A low, rumbling growl drifted through the silence, sending a shiver through the underbrush. It was a sound laced with hunger, but also confusion, like a creature that had been disturbed from a deep, restless slumber. Adrian felt his pulse quicken, a slow, deliberate beat that echoed in his ears. His hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger, the weight familiar and reassuring.

The Hyde lunged from the shadows with a snarl, its massive frame twisting through the air, a blur of matted fur and sinew. Its eyes burned a sickly yellow, full of rage and a kind of primal madness. It reeked of something damp and ancient, a foulness that seemed to seep into the very ground beneath it.

Adrian sidestepped the attack with an almost lazy grace, his expression betraying nothing but cold calculation. "I hope you're better at killing than you are at introductions," he said dryly, his voice barely a murmur against the wind. The Hyde roared in response, its claws tearing into the earth as it spun to face him again.

Adrian's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Good," he whispered to himself. "I was starting to get bored."

The Hyde lunged again, but this time Adrian was already moving, a flicker in the darkness, there and gone before the beast's claws could find him. The night seemed to shift around him, bending to his will as the shadows thickened like ink, swallowing him up only to spit him out a few paces away, where his dagger flashed out to meet the Hyde's exposed side. The blade sank in deep, biting through flesh and muscle. The Hyde roared, a sound that tore through the stillness like a jagged knife, but Adrian was already gone, slipping back into the darkness.

The Hyde twisted, its eyes burning with a wild, desperate rage as it searched for him. It lashed out at the shadows, its claws raking the air in furious sweeps, but found nothing but darkness and cold. Its breaths came in ragged bursts, steam curling from its nostrils as its chest heaved with effort. It smelled the iron tang of its own blood, felt the chill of the night sinking deeper into its wounds, and for the first time, a hint of something close to fear flickered in its yellow eyes.

Adrian's voice drifted out of the blackness, low and taunting. "Is that all you've got, beast?" His tone was as cold as the night itself, and as unyielding. "I expected more from you...."

The Hyde's ears twitched toward the sound, its muscles coiling as it prepared to spring. But Adrian wasn't where the voice had come from—he was behind the creature, his movements almost impossibly silent. With a swift flick of his wrist, the shadows rippled and solidified, coalescing into a blade that curved like a crescent moon, its edge dark as midnight and glinting with a wicked hunger. He slashed out in a blur, the blade biting deep into the Hyde's shoulder. It was only a heartbeat before the shadows dissolved again, leaving nothing but a fresh wound and a few wisps of darkness curling in the air.

The Hyde staggered, its growl rumbling into a snarl as it whipped around, lashing out in blind fury. "You—" it snarled, voice barely more than a guttural rasp. But its words were swallowed by the night, lost in the blackness that clung to Adrian like a living thing. He moved with a fluidity that seemed inhuman, like smoke given form, each step carrying him out of the Hyde's reach just as quickly as it closed in.

"That's the spirit," Adrian whispered, as though they were old friends sharing a private joke. His eyes gleamed with a cruel amusement, reflecting the moonlight in brief, spectral flashes. "But you'll have to do better if you want to survive."

The Hyde bared its fangs and charged, muscles bunching under its matted fur as it threw its full weight into the attack. The earth trembled beneath its stride, claws gouging deep into the soil as it closed the distance. But as it bore down on him, Adrian simply raised his hand, and the shadows around his feet surged upward, swallowing him whole.

For an instant, the Hyde was left lunging at empty air. Then Adrian emerged from the darkness above, descending like a vengeful spirit. His shadow-forged blade took the form of a long spear, which he drove down toward the creature's back. The Hyde twisted at the last second, the spear slicing a deep furrow across its ribs instead of piercing its spine. It roared in frustration, wheeling around with a swipe that nearly caught Adrian's shoulder.

He landed lightly, his boots barely making a sound against the forest floor, and allowed the spear to dissolve back into the darkness. He could see the wild look in the Hyde's eyes now, a dawning recognition that it was not simply fighting a man—it was fighting the night itself, a darkness that seemed to know its every move, every breath. Adrian's movements weren't just fast; they were unpredictable, his form dissolving and reappearing in places that defied reason. It was as though the forest itself had turned against the Hyde, conspiring with Adrian to confuse and entrap it.

Adrian's laughter drifted through the trees, soft and cold. "Come now, you must be tired already," he mocked, his voice echoing from every shadow. "But I'm not quite finished playing."

The Hyde's fury surged anew, muscles rippling as it drew itself up to its full height, towering over Adrian. It lunged with a speed that belied its bulk, one massive claw sweeping toward Adrian's throat. This time, the strike was close—too close. Adrian twisted aside at the last possible moment, feeling the wind of the blow as it ruffled his coat. In retaliation, the shadows around his arm surged outward, solidifying into a gauntlet with wicked, spiked knuckles. He drove his fist into the Hyde's jaw with a force that sent the beast stumbling back, its head snapping to the side.

Before the creature could recover, Adrian summoned a dozen tendrils of shadow that wrapped around its limbs, binding it in place. The Hyde thrashed against the bonds, a frantic, animalistic panic rising in its chest. It clawed and bit at the darkness, but the shadows only tightened, dragging it down to one knee.

Adrian stepped closer, his silhouette a stark figure against the pale glow of the moon. His eyes gleamed with an almost predatory light as he watched the beast struggle. "You feel it, don't you?" he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "The fear. The realization that you're not the only monster in this forest."

The Hyde let out a guttural growl, but it was laced with something else now—desperation. With a surge of frenzied strength, it tore one arm free from the shadows and lashed out, swiping at Adrian's chest. The strike connected, raking across his coat and leaving a trail of torn fabric. Adrian stumbled back, his expression darkening with a mix of irritation and something else—anticipation.

"Good," he said, straightening. "You still have some fight left in you."

The shadows at his feet erupted into a whirlwind, swirling around him and forming a new weapon—a massive, double-edged scythe. Its blade curved like a crescent of black glass, shimmering with a spectral light. He spun it in his hands, the weapon's weight an extension of his will, then swung it in a wide, arcing slash aimed to cleave the Hyde in two.

But the creature, with a desperate burst of speed, sprang backward, narrowly escaping the lethal edge. It vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving nothing but a trail of blood and broken branches. Adrian's scythe cut through empty space, the force of the swing disturbing the stillness, before dissolving into wisps of darkness once more.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant echo of the Hyde's retreating growls. Adrian stood there, the night settling around him like a shroud, and sighed as though disappointed. "They always run," he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. "No one ever stays to finish the dance."

He turned his gaze toward the path where the Hyde had fled, his eyes narrowing as the shadows whispered at his ear, their voices filled with secrets and promises of vengeance. "Run then," he said softly, almost to himself. "But remember, the darkness is patient. It will find you again."

Adrian took a breath, the cold air stinging his lungs, the metallic tang of blood hanging in the air. But as the Hyde's stench faded, a different sensation wormed its way into his consciousness—something subtle, like the brush of a cobweb on the back of his neck. There was a pull, faint at first, but then stronger, a persistent tug at the edge of his awareness. Adrian's instincts tightened like a drawn bowstring.

His eyes narrowed. It wasn't fear. He didn't have much use for fear—at least, not his own. But this was… unsettling, and he'd learned long ago that it was wise to heed the small disturbances. The shadows around him seemed to shift, restless, as though they could sense it too. It was almost as if the night was trying to tell him something. Or maybe warn him.

He stilled, stretching his senses into the dark, letting the quiet seep into him. Then, faintly, voices carried through the trees, distant and disjointed. He turned toward the sound, the movement sharp and deliberate, like a wolf catching a scent.

There. Through the tangled black branches, a clearing bathed in thin moonlight. Two figures stood within it, stark against the pale glow. One was a boy, his hands trembling, eyes wide and glassy like a frightened animal. The sweat glistened on his brow, catching the light, and Adrian thought he looked rather like a wax doll left too close to the fire. And in front of him was a girl, dark braids framing her face like a crown of thorns. Her expression was a picture of defiance, all cold eyes and clenched jaw. The kind of look that said she was too stubborn to be scared, though perhaps she should have been.

Adrian's lip curled. Children, he thought. Always meddling with things they don't understand. He was just about to turn away, write it off as some foolish display of theatrics, when the boy's voice—thin and trembling, though laced with a hint of something more desperate—reached his ears.

"Goodbye, Wednesday," the boy said, and his hands rose. The air around the girl seemed to shiver, bending under an unseen pressure. It wrapped around her, lifting her from the ground, her feet dangling as the force tightened, squeezing the breath from her chest.

Adrian's pulse quickened—not with alarm, but with a kind of dark curiosity. Power, raw and reckless, crackled through the air. He could feel it, pulling at the edges of the night like a loose thread. It was sloppy work, but there was strength in it, strength that could easily spiral out of control.

"Fools," Adrian muttered, the word slipping through clenched teeth. "Playing with fire and not even smart enough to know when they're about to get burned." He didn't particularly care for interfering, but there was something about this—about the way the shadows seemed to pull him toward that clearing—that told him it was worth his time.

The darkness around him moved like a living thing, and Adrian let himself slip into it, as one steps through a doorway into a familiar room. In an instant, the world folded, the shadows wrapping around him and drawing him forward. He reappeared at the edge of the clearing, his form solidifying from the night as if he'd been there all along.

"Am I interrupting?" Adrian asked, his tone a venomous calm, as though the situation was nothing more than a bothersome inconvenience.