The library smelled of wet earth and old parchment, the kind of smell that sticks to your sleeves like moss. Sonic had been fumbling through a spellbook he didn’t fully understand, muttering incantations that sounded more like frustrated growls than anything magical. Candles flickered along the shelves, their flames bending as if reluctant to illuminate the chaos brewing.

A sudden shimmer ran along the edges of the room, and before Sonic could blink, a figure appeared—tall, shadowed, and impossibly still, like smoke caught in a moonbeam. Shadow’s eyes glimmered like molten twilight, irises shifting in violet and green as he stepped into the dim candlelight. His hair spilled like liquid night, and the curling runes along his arms pulsed faintly with an unspoken warning.

“What…?” Sonic whispered, startled, the book still clutched in his hands.

Shadow tilted his head, regarding Sonic with that uncanny patience only creatures of the hedge possess. Every movement was graceful, deliberate, as if the world slowed around him. And then Sonic, panicked and fumbling, swung the book in a poor attempt at apology.

WHACK.

The edge of the spellbook connected with Shadow’s temple with a soft thunk, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to tilt. Shadow’s eyes blinked once… twice… and then his body crumpled with unnatural silence, landing on the floor like a doll made of smoke and shadow.