Editors Note:
Thanks to everyone for the wonderful feedback and warm reception we got from our last chapter. We're very happy to be back! And it's very encouraging to see how invested many of you have stayed in this story.
I would like to take a minute to post a trigger warning for the chapters ahead. Many of you have astutely pointed out that Shadow Weaver is not the best supervisor of children. Homer wanted you all to recognize that she will feature largely in the chapters to come, and her mistreatment of Adam will be very reminiscent of how she has historically mistreated Catra and Adora, so please be prepared for this kind of material. We hope you've all stayed safe and happy in the last few months since our hiatus started, and that you continue to do so. Until next time!
Adora had not slept well at all. The morning moon found her tensed atop a stump in the far north-eastern edge of the Whispering Woods, so far back from the front the animals still came close enough to observe her without fear. The woods lacked the abandoned, dangerous feeling of the area closest to the Fright Zone.
Yet dread darkened the trees.
She had nightmares about Catra in the grip of Shadow Weaver's cruel magic. Over and over again, in her dream, Adora watched her suffer. She couldn't move, long fingers held her in place like she was a little girl all over again, feeling the slightest pressure in Shadow Weaver's grasp sending long-buried terror running anew.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's my fault I won't do it again! Leave her alone, you're hurting her! The words wouldn't form and the shrieks that hissed through Catra's clenched teeth chased her into the waking world, covered in a thin layer of sweat.
Since then, each time she'd try to control her breathing and remind herself where she was, a dark whisper pricked her and sent her into another cycle of anxiety.
'Shadow Weaver wants my head!' How would you know if Catra's even still alive?
"Stop it," she growled at herself, "focus!" When they got to Mystacoar she could lose herself in research. Forget the nightmares.
Forget her. That's what you do best.
"Just stop," she breathed.
"Adora?" Bow yawned as he sat up. "You say something?" She checked to make sure Glimmer was asleep and worked up the courage to admit her worries.
Tell him how you abandoned Catra. Tell him what you left her to suffer. Alone.
"Tired," she said, "just tired." Adora squeezed her eyes shut against the stretched-out feeling of exhaustion and for a moment she thought she caught sight of a small black shape, like a crow, observing her from the canopy overhead.
Adam watched from his blanket cocoon as the biggest group of soldiers crowded out of the barracks. There was little chatter so early in the day but he'd enjoyed watching them throughout the two weeks he'd spent sharing their living space.
It had seemed nice at first. Sleeping a few feet from Lonnie and surrounded by people on nearly all sides. The humming noises and metal bangs in the walls had kept him awake the first nights but seeing no one else spring to action had soothed him. He learned by observing them.
And by getting in the way. No-one had hurt him, but a few had yelled quite loudly until Lonnie, if she was there, stepped in. There was a feeling in the air that Adam didn't quite like. If he made too much noise or became the center of attention it crept up his spine. They didn't like him, he understood that, but it was the way they all seemed to fear him that upset him the most.
He hadn't hurt anybody since he'd started living there and he didn't know how to make amends for something he hadn't done. So he'd taken to waiting as all the others woke, bathed, dressed, and wandered off before he began to move around the barracks. As he watched them pass by, he checked off names under his breath.
Chloris, who slept beneath Lonnie's bunk. She was a small, antlered woman with dappled skin like a doe. When no one noticed, except for Adam, she had a softness in her eyes that was almost sad and it vanished the moment anyone approached. Following her was a huge, bald human named Gan. Gan's eyes strayed to the girl in front of him briefly, filled with unspoken feeling. Adam hardly understood them at all.
The way they acted every day told him they were all afraid of each other and somehow at the same time yearned for closeness. It found release in the brief jokes and whispers each shared with a select few or one of their comrades, but Adam sensed, as he sensed it in himself, the unspoken dream that their little barracks could be more than it was now.
It could be a home. A safe place where nothing from the outside could harm you. But for now, even he knew, that was as distant as moons in the sky.
"Force Captain," someone said as they left the room. Adam perked up at the increasingly familiar words. He turned a small smile towards the door but it fell almost at once. Catra looked terrible, even as she offered him a sly grin. Her eyes were dark with sleepless rings, her fur matted, and, try as she might've to hide it, Adam caught the moments a toe or finger would curl suddenly like they'd twitched the day before, when Shadow Weaver had harmed her.
"Morning, booger," she said, "get up. Got a surprise for you."
"Hi, Catra," Adam said, wriggling free of his blankets. Catra's nose scrunched up.
"Ew," she said, miming a toothbrush, "stink-breath. Go clean up." Adam paused and glanced back towards the tiled room at the far end of the barracks. He could still see some people at the sinks. "What? Come on, Adam, don't be a wuss."
"Mmmm." Catra's tired eyes narrowed at him and he scooted to the edge of the bunk. "O-k." Her face relaxed.
"Thanks," she rolled her eyes as he descended the ladder one-handed, his free hand keeping his hood up the whole while, "Ugh, it's just hair, booger, it grows back. Trust me." Adam slipped his feet into either boot with extra slowness, lacing them up slowly, the way he'd been taught. When he'd made bunny ears on either boot he rummaged in the drawer at the foot of the bed and retrieved a small red toothbrush, a little box of floss, and a bland white tube of toothpaste.
"Geez, its like *you're* the one she blasted you with the magic," Catra grumbled to herself, "c'mon Adam, let's go, we're burning moonlight here."
He shuffled to the barracks showers and Haomane, a willowy young man with long, pointed ears, spat out the water he'd been gargling with and slid around him to leave. Two humans, Ulrik and Atiqtalaaq, moved to the far end of the sinks and pretended not to notice. Adam walked to the line of a half-dozen sinks and gripped the slick edge of the steel counter.
He hoisted himself up and sat on a dry spot, turning to look at himself in the long mirror over his shoulder. He seemed small, framed by the six large showers across the room. He snipped off some floss, as Lonnie had taught him to, and began to clean between his teeth. He licked at the coppery taste of blood, flexing his lips at the little pain in his gums.
Top and bottom, twice over. Then he switched out for the toothbrush, barely registering the small, non-smell of the goop he put on the bristles. As he scrubbed, a shower curtain swung open with a clattering of metal rings and a sour-faced human stomped out, still half-asleep.
"Um-mo," Adam said to himself, lips stained white with toothpaste. Marg. Marg wasn't a nice person. The trooper was dressed in a black pants, pulled on after his bath, and all his wiry muscles and tattoos were on display. Adam was strangely entranced by the one on his right bicep, the winged symbol of the 'Fright Zone', of home. It danced as the young man flexed his arms.
"Oh for," he growled, brown eyes catching sight of him, "what are you doing in here?"
"Hi," Adam tried. Marg gave him a gap-toothed snarl and sulked over to the middle sink, glaring into his own reflection. He had short, dark red hair and a tall, wrinkled forehead. He caught Adam staring.
"Get your eyes off me, freak," he snapped, "or I'll pull that hood down around your neck." Adam swallowed a mouthful of foamy spit and hacked loudly.
"S-sorry," he squeaked. What if Marg told Shadow Weaver? Would that count as him being 'bad'? Would she hurt Catra for it? Adam rinsed, collected his things and slipped down to the floor. Barely paying attention as Marq muttered the word 'freak' after him.
As he landed, his boot hit a puddle and he stumbled forward, his hood slipping back. There was a cold breeze around his ears and his face turned pink when he heard Marg exclaim loudly.
"Whoa," he chuckled, "hey, you two see the kid's new haircut? Got ears like a spout-snout." Adam flipped his hood up and hurried from the room, not comprehending the words but understanding the mean laughter. Marg was quiet and sullen most of the time. He never seemed happy about anything.
Catra was perched on the lowest railing of his bunk, tired eyes burning back at the room he'd just left, cat-ears swiveling back into place. She pushed back his hood and stopped him from pulling it back up.
"They'll just keep talking about it if you try to hide," she said, gesturing at the ground, "wait here." Adam stood there glumly flexing his hands against the desire to cover his head once more. His hair was all cut off. Barely brushing the tops of his ears. No bangs. No long strands tickling his arms. He felt so exposed without it.
There was a commotion behind him and he turned in time to see Marg's face slam into the bathroom mirror. He gasped and covered his mouth as Catra hissed something, claws digging lightly into Marg's scalp. Ulrik and Atiqtalaaq hurried into the barracks, eyes wide and mouths clenched tight, to don their black armor before rushing by him into the hall.
Marg came out hunched in the grip of the shorter Catra and was shoved to his knees in front of Adam. Adam's eyes followed the three little lines of blood running down the young man's face, each one beginning at one of the black claws in his hair.
"Marg has something to say to you," Catra grinned at Adam in a way that made him fidget with the bones on his tunic, "don't you, jarhead?"
Catra was mad. She'd been mad at the hair-cutter last night too. The hair-cutter, a middle-aged man with a paunch, a long mustache, and a gold ring in his left earlobe, had argued with her, using words Adam didn't understand. He'd shook his head and kept tapping the little device on his wrist. 'Late'. That was a word he'd used a lot. Then Catra had shoved her little plastic badge in his face and roared at him.
The man was hurrying to apologize when Catra snatched a little black rectangle off the hair-cutter's table and pressed a button on it. She grabbed him by his shirt and cut off half his mustache, screaming in his face the whole time. Adam had hidden under a strange chair with red cushions, terrified he was next. But the hair-cutter, ashen faced and quiet, had simply picked up some scissors and held him still while he clipped off all Adam's hair…or most of it.
He'd been stock still, too scared to protest as Catra paced behind them both.
"Hey!" Adam jumped, realizing belatedly she was yelling at Marg. The trooper looked down and hissed something through his teeth.
"Ah?" Adam asked.
"I said," he trembled out, "I was sorry kid. Didn't mean it." Catra smiled.
"Want a free punch, Adam?" She made fist with her free hand and jabbed the air. Adam shook his head rapidly, perplexed why she'd even suggest he hit someone that wasn't hurting him. That wasn't fair…
"C'mon, kid. He won't thank you for it, you know," Catra said, her smile disappearing, "right, Marg? Remember when old Sergeant Blast used to kick us around at the Academy? And you were the first one to start stumbling during marching maneuvers? We'd cover for you and then when he caught us at it you never stepped forward to take the heat. Remember?" Marg was silent as a corpse. "I remember Marg. We all do."
"Catra," Marg licked his lips, "come on, man, let me go. I did what you wanted."
"What'd you say to me?" A fourth trickle of blood framed his pale face.
"Force Captain," Marg stared past Adam, "ma'am, may I please-" she shoved him to the ground with no pretense of kindness.
"Sure, get lost," she snapped, then gestured to the blood on his face, "but, uh, you got a little something there. Maybe clean yourself up first." Marg crawled to his feet and retreated to the barracks showers. Adam tensed when Catra turned his way, awaiting his own punishment. She gave him another half-there smile and beckoned him over.
"Um?" Adam said as he came closer. She materialized a little purple plastic bottle and pushed it into his hands.
"Ta-dah," she chimed, "I was thinking with your new look you could use some new soap. Won't go through it so quick without all that hair." Adam sniffed at it and found himself smiling. That nice smell. He remembered it from his first night in this strange, scary new place.
Sharper than anything he'd smelled before. A gift from his new friend. Catra had been scary that night as well, but she'd ended up being so nice. The kindest person ever. He liked the smell for that memory.
"There's a smile," Catra sighed, tired eyes looking even sleepier, "finally. Alright. Time to eat. Then we'll walk around a little and then it's time to visit…" she trailed off and Adam's stomach tightened as he remembered Shadow Weaver. Catra saw his face and groaned. "Adam, look. I messed up. Okay? But it's not my fault! Shadow Weaver is just tricky like that. And either way, this isn't going to be forever." Adam's fingers deformed the plastic bottle as they squeezed it. Catra's voice grew rougher. "Listen, this little show *better* not be because you're worried about me, alright? Knock that off. It's nothing I can't take, I went through way more of this kinda treatment before you came along. I don't need sympathy."
"Sorry," Adam mumbled hopefully.
"And quit that too," she snapped, "that 'sorry, sorry, sorry' stuff. Just learn what you can from her and tough it out. Tough?" She flexed an arm. Adam nodded with sullen obedience. "Good. One day we'll get back at her. Trust me." Adam squirmed as Catra's eyes went hollow and angry again. "She has a lot to answer for. Way more than you know."
"O-k," Adam said. He deposited the soap in his drawer and stood up for inspection. Catra looked him over, sniffed the air around him and nodded. He automatically reached for his hood but she stopped him with a look. "O-k."
"You'll thank me for this Adam," Catra sighed, "or… ugh… or at least you'll get it. I hope. Honestly, you gotta understand that I'm helping you right now! That's the deal we have." She cupped her cheek. "Right? Deal?"
"Deal…" Adam nodded, trying not to think about his short hair. Or the dark witch. Or Catra, crumpled on the ground, in horrible pain.
There were at least three-dozen books in front of her. Maybe asking for 'anything with First Ones in the titles' hadn't been a good starting search. She was in a high, spiraling tower of lavender stone. One of the best studies available to the mages of Mystacoar.
She picked up a pink book and read off the title. 'First One Ruins of the Karikoni Islands.'
"Piles," she said, blinking away the exhaustion of her sleepless night, "Yes, No, Maybe." She had a few days to pull this together. Then they'd be heading back to Bright Moon. "Maybe." She placed the book past the little wall of literature, in the middle.
"First Ones: A Poetry Collection by…no." Off to the left went that book. She hovered over the next book and grinned at the familiar title. "Hey there! I remember you form the reference book." 'Princess of Power by George and Lance of the Whispering Woods! Yes." She triumphantly placed it to her right, feeling rejuvenated.
Ten minutes later the 'yes' pile had grown by three books. The 'no' pile had five additions, mostly fiction or, in the case of 'They Came From Beneath!', a 'true account' of someone's abduction by the 'First Ones' and subsequent experimentation. 'Maybe' had grown the most. A full ten books tall.
"It's a start," she said, "better than nothing." She plucked a well-worn, soft-backed book from the pile. The cover featured a woman in angelic white embracing a satyr woman on a battlefield. "Wow, the artist really messed up on those curriases, both of them are barely covered! Hmm. 'The Power of Love: A Tale Of War and Romance.' Romance. That's one I haven't heard before…" she opened to the first page, "please be aware that content in this book may not be suitable for children…must be a really boring one. Research heavy. Let's just…" she flipped a few pages in and read.
She turned red to the roots of her hair after three sentences.
"Oh this.. that… that is NOT how you'd treat a commanding officer!" She read further, feeling her innocent imagination become forever sullied. "No! No no no! That's a no!" She slapped it into the 'No' pile.
A few seconds later she shifted it to 'Maybe'.
"Moving on," she cleared her throat. All thoughts of protocol, shame and 'the swanlike dip of her neck', vanished a moment later when she happened upon a promising title. "Voice of the Ages: Deciphering First Ones Language'. That's a 'yes'. "
It was slow and lonesome work, but by lunchtime she had a place to start. She glanced at the door to her private study and for a moment willed Bow and Glimmer to bustle in, as dedicated as they had been two days ago to drawing her out of her shell. She pushed away the distraction.
Shadow Weaver had always told her to shut out the world when she needed to focus. Be that in the heat of combat or during long hours of training. Perfection required loneliness.
Few people become great, Adora, she'd said, they all have been lonesome. Greatness is a solitary achievement.
A sharp rap on the door made her bang her knee into the table.
"Come in," she said through gritted teeth. It was not, as she hoped, her friends. The tall woman who entered was dressed in humble, but well crafted robes of blue and violet. The gold circlet that orbited her black hair like a planetary ring signaled her high station. The effect was diminished only slightly by the bright pink teapot and cups on the tray in her hands. She offered Adora an exuberant grin.
"What a little scholar Glimmer's made friends with!" Castaspella declared. Adora made to clear a space but a little nod of the Archmage's head had her piles, still neatly in order, floating just below the ceiling in a matter of seconds. Adora gaped at them as Glimmer's aunt made herself comfortable.
"I hope you don't mind I decided to use Darjeeling tea. It's my favorite." She settled the tray between them and, dainty as could be, poured out a long line of musky-sweet-smelling liquid to the very brim of each cup. She gave Adora a fond look. "Glimmer and I used to have tea parties."
"Oh," Adora smiled, awkward as Castaspella was extroverted, "um…I used to have tea in the Horde."
"Wonderful!" Castaspella said. "Perhaps they're not all so bad in the Fright Zone." She laughed at that and Adora forced herself to as well. The Archmage was a good-willed hurricane of a woman. "Well? Don't keep me in suspense. What on Etheria are you researching? When you said you wanted to go right to our library I was quite surprised. I can't figure out what the mighty She-Ra would need from us humble scholars." A twinkle in her eye as she sipped her tea told Adora to laugh politely again.
"Any help, honestly," Adora said, "I'm…still figuring this whole thing out." Castaspella's eyes warmed and she handed Adora the spare cup of tea.
"You're twenty? Twenty-two? One shouldn't ask a lady her age, of course, but I have been trying to figure it out."
"Eighteen, actually."
Castaspella's face changed, she didn't frown or become concerned, as Adora had feared, instead she seemed utterly shocked.
"Why…my dear…so much pressure on someone so young," she pushed the tray of sugar cookies in Adora's direction, "and here you are spending your vacation trying to read up on destiny." She smiled-Castaspella's eyes had laugh-lines that stood out when she did so-and cocked her head. "Eighteen. My goodness. I was still a few years from apprenticeship at eighteen." Adora looked up at the floating books.
"I just need a little help," she said, "just enough to figure out…" Murderer. Tyrant. She shook her head, "…what exactly I should be doing as She-Ra."
"Plenty of old stories about the She-Ra. Heroism. Standing up for what's right. Glorious death in battle …" Castaspella winced, "not that you should be thinking about that!"
"Well," Adora frowned, "that's just it. That's what I trained for…in the Horde." Castaspella gave her a strange look that blossomed into understanding. She didn't force a smile when she realized the implications.
"I see," Castaspella said, "interesting dilemma."
"What if She-Ra…isn't the hero everyone thinks she is. All these books about the First Ones. I've skimmed them but what little everyone knows..." she trailed off, considering words like 'balance' and 'destiny'.
"Gives rise to a hundred hopeful interpretations," Castaspella finished for her, "what we leave others is hardly as clear as we think." Castaspella frowned. "You know, my brother faced exile for joining the Rebellion."
"King Micah," Adora recalled that 'aunt' had a very specific definition, "exiled?"
"He and all the mages who went with him," Castaspella rose and paced the room, her tea forgotten, "that was our way. Mystacoar stays out of Etherian wars. And he simply said 'fine, just watch me win it'." Castaspella begin worrying the moon pendant on her robe.
"But that big statue of him in the hall? Why'd they build it?" Castaspella stared out the window, into the bright autumn day laying gently on Mystacoar.
"He was great," she said, her voice softer, "greatness deserves recognition."
"Greatness," Adora said, "is lonely."
"Hmm," Castaspella snickered, "oh, he wasn't alone, my dear. So many people followed him. He was like a planet drawing moons into his orbit. A hundred heroes, so many of them gone now. I wanted to go to. I was barely out of apprenticeship then and he said…"
Castaspella let the sentence fade away and pursed her lips.
"What?" Adora asked. She realized, distantly, she was praying but she was caught up in the moment. People could be so open outside the Fright Zone. Honest, vulnerable. Each time she'd seen it happen it was like a weight lifting from their shoulders. They seemed stronger, more radiant. The Archmage simply waved a hand and smiled again, big and welcoming.
"Oh, what's this sad talk? You were studying and I interrupted."
"Not making much progress," Adora raced to fix her mistake, berating herself, "um, I could use your help if you wouldn't mind."
"Oh, dear," the Archmage shook her head, "I'm sure there's not much I could say. You are She-Ra, after all and perhaps the greatest authority we have on the subject." She tapped her chin. "However…yes, that could work. Adora," she sat up straighter at being addressed so, "I'm going to have a talk with our chief librarian. I make no promises but I may have some items that could shed a little more light than even the best researchers from our more…removed era."
"Please," Adora said, eyes lighting up, "anything!"
"We'll see," she smiled, "enjoy the tea and the cookies. Glimmer asked me to remind you that dinner is at six-thirty." She smiled, a little less bright than before. "Can't do research on an empty stomach! Try telling any of the young acolytes that though you all…excuse me they all forget sometimes how important a dinner with friends can be."
"Right," Adora said, shifting awkwardly in her seat. Castaspella waved her hand and the books descended like gently falling snow, finding their place around the snacks the Archmage had brought. Adora picked up her first 'yes' pile book and began to read.
Don't freak out. Catra's eyes had squeezed themselves shut a moment ago and she had given up forcing them open. Don't freak out! Her tail was wrapped twice around her thigh, her claws pressed threateningly into her biceps as her arms crossed like a straightjacket over her chest. Just keep it together.
She could still hear those things. Something about how they moved. Like every footstep was a whispering mouth. She cracked one eyelid gently. She caught the barest image of the scene before her. Adam was on a little black stool, dead-center of the chamber, she could faintly catch the scrape of his fingernails digging into the wood.
He's fine. She thought. No lasting damage. Hordak will gut her if she does anything wrong but not him. Adam is the safest person in this room.
Figures circled him, the size of children, linked by small, stick-thin appendages almost like arms. They had red eyeballs that caught the boy in the center of crimson spotlights, lighting up his scrunched, terror-stricken face. He'd sucked in his lips to keep from crying out. He was trembling, that was obvious, but he refused to express his terror.
Brave little guy. She thought fondly. You got this. Shadow Weaver hated weakness of any kind. Fear, she could tolerate, even enjoy if it was sufficiently present. But weakness was another matter. Any tears. A single plea for mercy. Those did nothing but fire her rage to a hellish heat.
The shadows made their round about him in a horrible little chain dance of dark magic. One squat figure passed him by, then it's red eye surged toward her, the glow of its eye piercing through her cracked eyelid as her mind flashed with words.
What? What? What is? What is This? This thing? Strange thing. See you. Let me see you. Catra, Catra is your name. Hello, Catra. May I see? Let me see. See you. See all of you. Into you.
It could see her. Through her clothes. Through her skin. Down past her bones and into the very parts of her that she kept hidden from everyone. Even herself.
She bared her teeth and closed her eyelid tight. A fading burst of thought from the creature expressed disappointment, almost like it was a child being scolded. Magic burned through the air and in her mind, as the shadow finally released, she heard a muffled shriek like an animal being murdered through a concrete wall. She risked a peek.
The shadows had been vaporized by red magic, making her head swim with the lack of any discernible remains. No bodies, obviously, but neither was there smoke or a scorch mark. She was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined it all when Shadow Weaver spoke from near the Black Garnet.
"You may open your eyes now," she said sharply, "you silly child." Which of them she was criticizing did not really matter. Adam's cornflower-blues opened slowly and shot over to Catra first. Catra let him stare into her eyes and calm himself down before she crossed them and stuck out her tongue.
Adam giggled, weakly. He looked beyond tired.
"Catra," Shadow Weaver's voice was low and dangerous, "do not make me regret letting you in here." The mage moved forward, the dim light and Catra's throbbing eyes made her seem as insubstantial. Almost like a ghost.
"So?" she settled against the wall. "What'd you get from that?"
"That is not how this works," Shadow Weaver said, floating towards Adam with her hands clasped behind her back.
"I've been standing here for three hours," Catra huffed, "give me something."
"Oh, you'll get something in a minute, you stupid little girl," Shadow Weaver hissed, turning her lambent eyes on Catra, "if you don't shut your mouth!"
"No," Adam said, his voice was sticky, "no! Catra, shhh!" He glared at Shadow Weaver, fear in his eyes but a challenge boiling there as well. He smacked a fist to his chest, rattling the bones on his tunic. "Adam!" He flexed one tiny arm.
"My," Shadow Weaver crowed, "how fortuitous. You've gained quite a potent ally haven't you, Catra? Very dedicated." Catra's ear flattened and her face burned.
"Adam," she ground out, "Be. Good." Adam settled but his face did not slacken from its hard, ready intensity. Shadow Weaver, pleased, began to fiddle with a steel teapot set up in the corner. There were times Catra hated herself for needing to say something. But it was a tic that she almost couldn't physically control.
"Need me to do that for you again?" Shadow Weaver sighed and moved back to stand in front of Adam.
"Your friend enjoys negative attention," she said to the boy, "be careful not to make her angry. She'll get a taste for it and never leave you in peace." Adam's eyes narrowed in distrust even as he tried to translate her words.
"This child is a very normal ten year old boy," Shadow Weaver announced.
"That is what all the," Catra waved her hand in a circle, "nightmare dance stuff told you? I could've told you that."
"You misunderstand," Shadow Weaver held out one hand, displaying the edges of her fingers. The skin around her fingernails was cracked with little black canyons of dead flesh. "Magic takes its toll, Catra, even on the wielder. Electricity seeks a conduit as magic seeks a tether. Energy is always trying to move."
"Ok?" Catra pushed away from the wall, walking over to stand by the witch, close enough to feel Adam's proximity. It was a comforting closeness that she took courage from. "So your magic gives you some blemishes. Big deal." Shadow Weaver's mask turned her way and Catra's mind flashed briefly to the ruin she glimpsed underneath it once, on a horrible day long ago.
"Adam seems to have suffered no adverse effects from his brushes with electricity. It's as if he were impervious to pain." Catra grinned at the implications. "That pleases you, Catra? Well, then. Let me make you even happier." Her right hand rose, fingers curled inward. Catra had no time to prepare herself before the red magic flared. She threw herself backwards and thought momentarily that she'd at last dodged the accursed spell after years of torment.
Then her eyes slipped right and she saw a tiny body in a purple tunic turned red. She felt an acute sense of failure that nearly floored her then and there. She couldn't spare him even this simple, horrific experience. All she wanted in that moment was to feel Shadow Weaver's hands breaking under her grip because she knew, all too well, Adam would be in agony if she touched him.
Adam turned and looked at her, confused and perhaps a little uncertain, but no less the curious, slightly dumbfounded little boy he always was.
"Um? Catra?" His eyelid twitched involuntarily and he reached a hand up to itch his…teeth. He looked over himself, covered in magic and shivered. He smacked at his hands like they had bugs crawling on them. But there was no sign of pain or binding.
"He's…he's immune to your magic?"
"Not quite," Shadow Weaver spoke over the heavy crackling of her spell, "observe." She extended her fingers like a fly trap opening for new prey. The red magic dispersed, the Black Garnet pulsed weakly, and Adam hopped up from his seat. His arms popped inside his tunic and wormed down to his stomach, rubbing at it. He hummed in the barest discomfort.
"You ok, booger?" Catra asked, her mind still dazed with the events of the previous few minutes. Under the burning desire to know what and how the boy survived was a slowly building sense of triumph.
You were too tough for her to hurt. She thought smugly. The weird little boy had just lived one of her most improbable childhood fantasies. He cocked his head and belched hugely for his tiny body.
"Agh, Adam!" Catra leaned back with a grimace. But it was a smell of ozone, not bad-breath, that hit her nose. And inside the boy's mouth, tiny flares of red snapped like fire-crackers. "Ok. I give up. What? What is all this? He can eat magic?"
"After a fashion," Shadow Weaver was absorbed in thought, one hand hovering under her chin as she regarded the child. "I set the shadows to find that 'well' inside his body. The one that draws energy. I thought it was somewhere by his stomach but…it is his stomach. Metabolizing pure energy. This is a very unique power."
Catra shivered at the keen interest in Shadow Weaver's voice.
"Hear that," she whispered to Adam, "your burps make you special."
"Catra," Adam whispered back, flicking his eyes at the door, "hmmm?"
"No," she shook her head, "not yet, booger."
"Indeed not," Shadow Weaver's voice tilted upwards with interest, "there is a great deal to try now." Behind her the tea-kettle started a thin whistling shriek. "Adam?" The boy flinched like he was about to be smacked, huddling further into himself. "Does this hurt?"
So saying, Shadow Weaver reached out and pinched a bit skin on the back of his left hand.
"Ow!" Adam stole his hand back with a snarl but wilted at a stern look from Shadow Weaver.
"Be careful, little boy," she said, "be very careful." She curled her hand into a claw of crackling magic, washing the boy in another wave of red lightning. As before, Adam seemed uncomfortable but otherwise unharmed. Furthermore, if his anxious wiggling was anything to go by, the binding nature of the magic was ineffective. Shadow Weaver's hand relaxed and the Black Garnet dimmed behind her.
"Great," Catra groused, "you've made your point. The kid's a sink for magical energy." Shadow Weaver snapped her fingers at Adam to get his attention before instructing him to hold out his arm. The skin of his bare forearm seemed pallid in the low light. Alarm bells begin to sound in Catra's head.
"Oh, beyond that," Shadow Weaver's raised the kettle and tipped it forward. She was as relaxed and unceremonious as if she were pouring an afternoon cup of tea even as Catra yelled at the top of her voice. A long line of scalding hot water ran across the boy's bare skin, little whisps of steams ghosting off his arm as it made contact.
"Hey!" He yelled. He sounded indignant and annoyed instead of agonized. The water ran off his arm and soaked his right pant leg at the hip. Dark lines trickled along the gray material of his trousers, causing no more damage to the delicate skin underneath than a lukewarm splash of water.
"You," Catra said after a moment of stunned silence, "are messed up in the head."
"He's unharmed," Shadow Weaver said.
"Hordak said-"
"Do you see any permanent damage on the little beast? No. The magic makes him invincible." She turned to face Catra, the boiling water still in her kettle gave a gravid slosh as it swung near the boy. Adam, on reflex, reached a hand and tried to slap it away.
The bickering pair went silent at the heavy crunch of metal and the loud clang as the kettle bounced. There was a tiny, almost desperate, whistle of steam before it rolled to stop and leaked its contents onto the floor. Shadow Weaver silently flexed her empty hand, her eyes perfect circles of white light. She approached the kettle, using two fingers to hook under the plastic handle and lift it up.
Catra saw what, once, had been a sturdy kettle like the kind Troopers were issued to last them whole campaigns. The shape had been flattened from a round pillar shape to something closer to a rectangle…if a rectangle caved in suddenly at one corner in the shape of a palm and two small fingers.
"I very nearly forgot," Shadow Weaver was unperturbed, Catra gulped to hear outright satisfaction in her voice, "all that terrible strength." Without so much as a glance in Catra's direction Shadow Weaver began to order her out of the room. "Force Captain, make yourself useful and go to the construction site below Comm Tower Three. Retrieve a cinderblock and bring it back here at once."
"No way," Catra snapped, "after that trick with the boiling water? You're gonna drop it on his head or something?"
"I will not engage with you like this," Shadow Weaver said, "simply do as I have asked." She moved to her arcane table and began to scribble something down. She sighed heavily when Catra refused to budge. "Very well. I am planning to test the limits of the boy's strength. How soon does it begin when energy is introduced? When precisely does it expend itself? I'll instruct him to squeeze parts of the stone and, should the magic fail or expire, he won't possibly harm himself."
"That's…reasonable." Catra looked at her askance.
"My life does not revolve around causing you harm, Catra, much as you'd like to pretend it does. I am a scholar and I am working with what," her eyes narrowed at Catra, "and who I have at my disposal. I'd sooner have you go and come back quickly than hunt down some other lackies."
"Lackey," Catra rolled her eyes, "hear that, Adam? That's literally the nicest thing she's ever called me."
"Catra," Shadow Weaver tapped her quill atop the paper as she selected the most appropriate words to write, "leave now. Or this will take all day."
"Keep your mask on," Catra grumbled, "I'm going. I'm going."
"Ca-tra!" Adam called after her, glued to his stool. She fanned out her hand, dropping the fingers on them in rapid succession.
"I'll be back 'soon'," she gestured again, "ok, booger? 'Soon'." The door shut behind her.
"At last," Shadow Weaver straightened up from her black table and turned on Adam. "Even when she's silent she finds a way to be irritating. What possessed me to agree to let her attend these lessons is beyond me." She folded her hands together and towered over him. "Up. Now, boy."
Adam slid off the stool, hands going automatically to the bones on his tunic. Shadow Weaver made a little hissing sound at him like he was a disobedient kitten.
"Tss-tss," she snatched his ear quick as a striking snake, giving the briefest tug, "you will not fidget like that. Am I understood?"
Adam built a small, weak growl in his throat. Shadow Weaver's fingers twisted his ear slightly.
"Ow," he pulled back and she let him go. He bared his teeth.
"Blood of the First Ones," Shadow Weaver eyes wrinkled with disgust, "Truely, you're more animal than child. It doesn't matter. You will listen to me now and you will listen carefully. I am not going to coddle you simply because you were born outside the civilized world. I have no time for that."
Adam glared hard at her and balled up his fists to keep from fidgeting.
"Go there," she pointed at the huge, red rock behind her. Adam crept past her, almost tip-toeing in his boots. His caution diminished the smallest bit when he saw himself reflected in the shimmering red surface of the jewel. It was such a pretty thing.
"Ah," he said. There was a feeling in his belly. The tingly feeling that happened when the red light came and made him invincible. It was weak but it left a numb hunger in his stomach. He kept his hands at his side with an effort.
"This is a runestone," Shadow Weaver was saying, "one of five still extant in the world. It connects directly to the magical heart of this planet, siphoning power out of it like a well. You can feel it, can't you?" Adam could see her reflection behind his own and tried not to look at her searching eyes. "The runestone is old, child, and it has served as a font of power for many, many centuries."
Shadow Weaver dipped a bit of cloth into her scrying basin and captured Adam's hands one after the other to rub them down.
"I will be very unhappy if I see fingerprints left behind," she said, then taking both of his wrists in her cold grasp, pressed his palms to the surface of the stone. It wasn't hot, like he'd expected, but it wasn't cold stone either. It was both at once, like a rock that had been submerged half in a puddle with the top baking in the sunlight.
And the tingle in his stomach became a hum as the energy in the room began to focus on him.
"Something is wrong here," Shadow Weaver said, "it seems you cannot simply leech the magic out of the runestone on contact. That well inside you is still drawing the power…ah. Ah-ha. I understand now." She leaned further down. "Adam. What are those funny little words you say when you use your sword? Catra told me Adora does something similar. A battle-cry or…an activation spell!" Adam trembled at the way her laughter vibrated near his ear.
"To miss something so obvious…Norwyn is laughing in the afterlife I'm certain." Her hands pressed his harder to the stone surface. "Adam, go ahead and say the words. You know what I mean."
"By the Power of-?"
NO
"Ah!"
"What, boy?" Shadow Weaver said impatiently. "What is the matter this time?"
Do not meddle with this thing. It is dangerous.
"Ah," Adam said to the Other One. Where had he been? Why had he left? Why didn't he want Adam to do what Shadow Weaver said?
Trust me. Try to trust me. This stone is magic. And it is alive.
Alive? Adam thought, his reflection's eyes widened in fear. He tried to draw away.
"No no, that is 'bad' little Adam," Shadow Weaver said in his ear, "you remember what happens to Catra when you are bad, yes?"
"Oh," Adam chewed his lip.
She would understand. She says she would always protect you? This is protecting you. Get away. Refuse!
The sound of her muffled screams still rang in the boy's head and troubled his sleep at night. For Catra. This was for Catra.
Adam, do not do this!
"By," he swallowed the words, "by the power of Grayskull!"
It was like a star exploded in his brain. Images rushed into his mind, crowding for space that wasn't open. He saw people with scorpion tails and claws. Hair of white and silver and onyx gray. Warriors fighting and dying in battle. Old rulers filled with regrets. Young heroes driven to adventure. At first he was terrified, hating himself for being so weak, then he felt the power filling his body.
It was gloriously potent. When he used the sword the Other One emerged but…this was different. The aches in his body vanished and with them went any sort of fatigue. He could feel the strength flooding his body, real strength, storming through his veins like a charging army. His eyes glowed sapphire blue in the surface of the magic stone and Shadow Weaver's hands weighed less than air on his wrists.
Wait til he told Catra about-
Hello?
"Eeeeeeep!" Adam squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden, unfamiliar voice. Shadow Weaver released his wrists and backed away.
"What? What is happening now?"
Who are you?
Alive. The stone was alive. The Other One warned him! And he didn't listen! His heart raced in his chest, so fast it was almost impossible to feel one beat become another.
Oh my goodness. The voice was not heavy in his mind, like the Other One's voice was, but light and gentle. Soft. It's alright. I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?
"Um," Adam said. The living presence in the stone drifted away from his mind and hung at a distance. Adam resisted the urge to squint at the red surface before him as if face might appear there.
You're not Shadow Weaver. You're not my tether. Who are you?
"Adam?" Adam said.
Hello, Adam. I am the Black Garnet.
"Black Garnet?" Adam said, finding the words, by magic, coming to him almost effortlessly.
"You've made a connection," Shadow Weaver's voice was suddenly caught somewhere between fascinated and furious, "haven't you! All at once. Not even I could do that…"
Power twitched inside and outside of his body all at once. Drawing from the stone and cycling back into it. Maybe if he took some for himself that would make Shadow Weaver happy…
Adam, by no means would that be a good idea. Shadow Weaver hates people coming near me. She hasn't let anyone do that ever. If she knew you were talking to me…oh. But I haven't talked to anybody in such a long time.
Adam smiled, feeling the relief and warmth of the spirit touching his mind. There was cold, potent loneliness behind its words that he knew very well. He nudged back with his mind and an image flashed to her of a boy alone in a castle, watching the world go by with no one for company.
Yes. The spirit said. It's just awful isn't it? A little crackle energy in his belly made him laugh like he was being tickled. You're so sweet to share that with me, Adam. It's been a very long time since anybody shared a memory with me.
"Mmm," the boy smiled. The spirit's presence came closer.
I don't dare give you any power, Adam. But I can give you something. First, disconnect from me. Send the power back. It won't hurt me. I'm made to store power, Adam.
Adam pouted a little. Then snickered when a spark of energy tickled him again.
Trust me, little one, Shadow Weaver won't care if it was her idea. She hates sharing power. She'll get angry and if she gets angry…
Adam's mind jumped to Catra's pain and then his sorrow, and his anger, began to narrow towards the runestone. His reflection began to glare back at him. A flood of contrition washed over his mind.
I know. The spirit was so heartbroken Adam couldn't be mad. I know how weak I am…but that's not important right now. I can help you. Now…think of a river flowing to the sea. Of a flower under the light. Think of energy moving. You're pulling it in now, just let it wash away. Let the power return.
"Llll-a-la-let," he mumbled softly, so Shadow Weaver wouldn't hear. The power. Return. The energy turned away and began to flow backwards. The absence was gentler than when he'd run out of energy earlier. It wasn't all dried up, more like the tides within him had gone out.
All except for a little ladybug sized jolt that zinged up his spine and settled in his mind.
A story. Do you like stories?
Adam did.
I hope you like it. Thank you, Adam. Remember. Don't tell her I spoke to you.
He mouthed 'o-k' at the runestone and pulled his hands away.
"Well?" Shadow Weaver swept towards him. "Speak, child. Or as best you can, explain what occurred." She circled him once. "There appears to have been no exchange." She pinched his ear and Adam yipped. "I could see the power flowing…some kind of error in the transference? Too much at once? What happened, boy?"
"Um…Ah?" Adam shrugged and shook his head. He really didn't understand most of her words but beneath that genuine confusion there was a secret and where there is a secret there is a crack in the walls of the mind. He gestured wildly and then shrugged again.
Something new and frightening entered Shadow Weaver's eyes. She'd been looking at him like he was a bug most often. Sometimes disgusted, sometimes curious. Her anger was always sharp with annoyance but even that was dismissive.
Now, Adam understood, she was looking at him as a potential foe. Her dead eyes seemed to burn whiter as she leaned forward slightly. A covetousness was betrayed by the way she twisted her hands into claws that clasped him and dragged him away from the Black Garnet.
"Are you lying," outrage made her breathless, "are you *lying* little Adam? You flea. You leech! What's going on inside that empty little head of yours? What did you see? What are you scheming?" Adam's boots scuffed the floor as she lifted him almost off his feet. "That runestone belongs to one person, child. If I even imagine you are telling me lies…"
The door lock bleeped. Shadow Weaver released him and drew back.
"Catra," she snapped at him quietly, then placed a long, pale finger against the front of her mask, "shhhhhhh." A little bolt of red magic burst from her fingertip. "Do you understand me?" Adam nodded rapidly. She nodded at his stool and went back to it. He resisted the urge to run to Catra as she shuffled inside, a huge block of stone resting against her middle.
"Ok," she grunted, "I've got the…the stupid…uf!" She set it down heavily. "Cinderblock. Let's get testing."
"The lesson is over," Shadow Weaver's voice was once more arch and dignified but the madness of her greed still peeked at him from the depths of her eyes. "Both of you get out. We will continue tomorrow."
"What did I get this for?!" Catra indicated the cinderblock.
"I have finished speaking," Shadow Weaver turned and pressed her hands to the Black Garnet, black hair billowing like smoke, "leave now."
"I'm not taking it with me," Catra said. She looked put-off when Shadow Weaver maintained her silence. "Whatever. Hey, booger, let's get moving." Adam knocked the stool over getting off of it and gasped at the clatter of wood on stone.
When they'd safely made it into the hallway, Catra crouched down to him, ears cocking for any sounds.
"Ok," she whispered, "what happened? What'd you do?" She nodded backwards. Adam opened his mouth to speak and then recalled Shadow Weaver's crazed actions. And the way Catra had twitched after she'd been tortured.
He shrugged and looked away.
"Thanks, Adam," Catra huffed, "real helpful."
"Sss-sorry."
"Oh, just stop," Catra said, standing up and beckoning him along, "come on. We've got a few extra hours today, better make use of 'em. Let's get you back to the barracks."
Adam walked after her and wondered at the little jolt of energy-the story-the Black Garnet had gifted. He hoped it was worth the trouble.
Adam, the Other One growled, you must start listening to me. I'm trying to help you. Adam sneered.
"Fah!" He rasped. Some help. Some protector.
Adam-
Go away! Adam thought bitterly. The Other One lingered in his mind, silent and sullen until the distance between the sword and Adam evaporated him completely. Adam regretted it later when Catra left him alone in the barracks with nothing but his thoughts.
"So," Bow snapped the book shut, "I now know the ways First Ones architecture affected the construction of the Nautilus Opera House in Salineas. It's all in the colonnades apparently." Glimmer flipped through another page of 'The Power of Love' and scoffed audibly.
"These enemies-to-lovers books just do not make sense to me," she said, she glanced at Adora, "I mean, like, they're all over each and its two chapters in! Um? Hello, Centurion Jade? You're part of the war machine that destroyed Emma's entire kingdom!"
"Sure," Adora said, absorbed in her work, "an empire from…elsewhere? What's that even mean?" So far the 'Princess of Power' book had given her the most information. Which wasn't saying much. "Where? Where did they come from? Why did they leave? What does She-Ra have to do with it?" The legend of She-Ra carried many titles with it, compiled by the two Whispering Woods scholars across Etherian cultures.
'Ambassador'. 'Warrior'. 'Stranger'.
Tyrant. A voice hissed in her head. Murderer. She rubbed at her forehead, feeling a headache blossoming there. There was something perched at the small window to her left. A black shape with a twinkling red dot in the middle. A crow or a bat.
Wait. Adora looked again and saw nothing. I must need some sleep I must be…
Going crazy. She winced. A heavy weight settled in her gut and she couldn't think about anything for a moment but the brief flashes of memory she had from that horrible night in the Crypto Castle at Dryl.
Red eyes. Red veins. A dark laugh of triumph rattling her teeth as she slipped back from her own body. Sinking. Screaming without making a sound.
If Glimmer hadn't gotten the sword away from me…she peeked fearfully at her oblivious friends. You'd have killed them. She-Ra the Murderer.
"Guys," Adora's voice was thick and she coughed on reflex, "you're not mad at me are you?"
Bow and Glimmer looked up from their books.
"No?" Glimmer said. "About what?" She rolled her eyes. "Adora, we can leave anytime we want. We wanted to come give you a hand." Bow placed a hand on Glimmer's shoulder.
"Although," he said, smiling at Adora and driving some of her fear away, "maybe now would be a good time to call it a day?"
"Yeah," Adora began to back away from the table, "yeah-yeah. Good idea."
"Adora," Glimmer seemed shy all the sudden, "not to pressure you…but maybe you could take a break tomorrow? Just til like noon or something." She fiddled with her hair. "We really want a chance to show you some of the best spots around Mystacoar. Just to hang out?"
"Well," Adora's heart melted a little, "I guess if you want-"
A rapid musical knock at the door made Glimmer cover her face in embarrassment.
"Hello, everyone!" Castaspella entered with a white-robed woman at her shoulder. "Adora, I'm pleased to say I've checked with our archivist and we'd be happy to let you see some of our oldest books."
"Within reason," the archivist interjected, "and under specific circumstances…perhaps-" Castaspella laughed musically.
"This is She-Ra, dear, who better to entrust authentic First Ones books too? Adora," the woman's kind smile lit the room, "we can have them brought out first thing tomorrow."
"Erm," the archivist hummed, "Arch-Mage…please. Some of these texts are ancient."
"Yeah," Glimmer cut-in, "and besides we were going to see-"
First Ones' writing. Authentic First Ones' writing!
"First thing tomorrow!" Adora beamed happily. Glimmer's mouth snapped shut and her face fell.
"Glimmer?" Castaspella asked her. "What was that, dear?"
"Nothing," Glimmer said, "I guess."
Outside, unnoticed, Dark Dream lapped at the deep pool of loneliness in the Princess' mind and grew that much stronger. He crawled down through the air as the night darkened around him, seeking out isolated minds to feed on their fear.
Yes. Adora would be his. Soon. She was a wellspring of self-doubt and secret terrors. He slithered into a hall where the little mage Acolytes were already going to sleep. He found a girl who was staring at a broken night-light. Her mind was forlorn and embarrassed.
Dark Dream crawled next to her ear and began to whisper of things in the dark that were waiting for her to close her eyes. And when she began to weep he hissed that her friends could hear and all thought she was a baby.
When the girl had buried her face in her pillow, muffling angry, confused sobs, Dark Dream drifted away to find another meal.
Author's Note: Look up 'Forefather's Eve' from the Witcher 3 on Youtube for what I like to imagine is Dark Dream's theme music. Thanks for reading!