GhostZero

One year ago, this book started as a handful of Sonadow one shots—small moments, quiet thoughts, messy emotions, and scenes I never expected to grow into something this big. And now, here we are. During its anniversary month, with 195 parts 9 (on Wattpad, at least), 190,925 readers across three platforms, and even fanart brought to life by you, this chapter marks the end of the one shots.

To everyone who read even a single chapter—thank you. To those who stayed for dozens, who commented, who voted, who shared ideas, who created fanart for scenes I once only saw in my head—thank you more than words can say. You turned these stories into something alive.

This isn’t goodbye to writing. This isn’t goodbye to Sonadow.

It’s simply the end of this chapter.

The one shots have reached their natural conclusion, and it felt right to let them rest here—complete, loved, and remembered. But stories don’t really end, do they? They just change shape.

So for now, let this be a soft farewell to the one shots… and a promise that there’s more ahead.

What comes next is something I’ve been quietly building toward for a while. I still have so many Sonic stories I want to tell—but instead of short moments and standalone scenes, I’m ready to let them grow into something bigger. Longer plots. Deeper arcs. Full novels where the emotions have room to breathe and the characters can change, stumble, and find each other in new ways.

To everyone who’s been here over the past year—whether you found this book on day one or just recently—thank you. Thank you for reading, for leaving comments, for sharing your excitement, for creating fanart, and for reminding me why I love writing in the first place. Every view, every message, every bit of support mattered more than you probably realize.

This book exists because of you. I kept going because of you.

So while this is the end of the one shots, it’s not the end of the journey. I hope you’ll stick around for what comes next, because I’m not done telling stories yet—not by a long shot.

You all have known me for quite some time now. I'm that one girl who writes for a pretend living while I have an actual job I go to. And because the anniversary of this little book has come around, it got me thinking...

What do I want to be remembered for?

Obviously, I want to be rich and famous with lots of puppies and kitties and a super big pool with a Jacuzzi, but that's a conversation for another day. I've spent the past 20 years of my life building up to something great...and that just happens to be writing about two little hedgehogs. Life is funny sometimes.

I first got into Sonic in the first place after I watched the first live action film. I had seen Boom before but never truly got into it. I found it interesting but not enough to obsess over it. But once I saw the trailer for the third movie and saw that Shadow was going to be in it, I just about lost my marbles.

That's when I truly got into Sonic, from just that trailer. After that, I started...well, writing. I wasn't new to writing in general, I mean, I've been writing since I was a little tiny child. But when it came to the Sonic universe, I felt like I wanted to contribute something useful and meaningful and impactful. Something that someone would read and it would make them think and wonder and relate to.

Thus, Shadow's Birthday was written.

It was a short one, a little dip of the toe into the Sonic world for the first time. Before, I was a Dragon Ball writer and a decent one at that. But I wanted to branch out and see what Sonic the Hedgehog could offer me, and boy am I glad I did it. It's brought me sooo many friends that I now call my best friends. People who are weird, like me, and who eat up my writings daily. I am so happy to have met them and to be able to call them my weird Sonic friends.

I never thought I'd get so popular that literal fanart would be made of my one shots and novels but here we are. A full year has passed, but it feels like it was so short, huh? Like we just met. Like I just created this account and sat down and started writing about a hedgehog taking another hedgehog out on his birthday while he complained about it. Then wrote another one because everyone liked the first one. Then kept going because I was asked to. Then wrote novels about the same hedgehogs and a journey across dimensions. Then wrote another novel about mental health and the journey to recovery. Then wrote another novel about the loss of a loved one and the start of another. Then more and more and more.

I don't want to be remembered for writing Sonadow one shots. I want to be remembered for making people smile. I don't want to be remembered for writing a one shot where Shadow is a cat and Sonic is clueless. I want to be remembered for making people laugh. I don't want to be remembered for writing a story where Shadow dies and Sonic can't let go. I want to be remembered for making people cry with joy and sadness in the same breath. I don't want to be remembered for writing that smut one shot about who is the top or bottom. I want to be remembered for making people blush and giggle and cringe all at once. I don't want to be remembered as that one author on Wattpad. I want to be remembered as a best friend. I want to be remembered as someone who made you feel something—anything—when maybe you thought you couldn't anymore. Someone whose words sat with you in the quiet moments, or gave you a reason to laugh when the world felt too heavy. Someone who created a place where you could escape, even if it was just for five minutes on a lunch break or a late night when you couldn't sleep.

Because that's what writing has always been for me: an escape, a lifeline, a little corner of the universe where I can pour myself out and hope someone finds a piece of themselves in the mess.

And if that means it's through two little hedgehogs who fall in love, fight, heal, and grow together, then so be it. If that's the bridge that connected me to you, then I'm grateful for it—because it means the words worked. It means the stories reached someone. It means, in a small way, I've done what I set out to do.

I write not for myself, but for everyone. All the little humans behind the phones and computers. All the souls who scroll through endless pages just looking for something that makes their heart beat a little faster, or their chest ache in that oddly comforting way. I write for the ones who feel too much, and for the ones who think they don't feel enough. For the ones who see themselves in a blue blur who never stops running, or in a black hedgehog who's still learning what it means to love and be loved.

Because at the end of the day, stories aren't just words on a screen—they're pieces of us, scattered across the internet, waiting for someone to pick them up and say, "Hey... I get it." And if even one person has ever felt seen through my writing, then that's more than enough for me. Fame fades, likes disappear, algorithms change—but the feeling of connection, of being understood by a total stranger through a handful of words? That's forever.

So, to everyone who's ever read my work, left a comment, sent a message, or just silently smiled behind their screen: thank you. You've made this journey worth every late night, every rewrite, every bit of doubt and chaos. You've made me believe that maybe words really can change the world—one little story at a time.

(I'm slowly and slowly entering my poet era)

The great hall of Camelot gleamed with a thousand candles, their light dancing across polished armor and fine silks. Music swelled from the minstrels' gallery as nobles twirled across the marble floor in elaborate formations. King Arthur stood at the edge of the festivities, emerald eyes scanning the crowd with barely concealed restlessness.

His gaze caught upon a figure pressed against a shadowed column—the dark knight Lancelot, whose crimson eyes fixed determinedly upon the floor as though he might will himself into the very stone.

Arthur's lips curved into a grin most mischievous. He crossed the hall with purpose, his royal cape billowing behind him.

"Sir Lancelot," Arthur announced, appearing before the knight with sudden cheer. "Wherefore dost thou lurk in shadows like some manner of specter? 'Tis a celebration!"

Lancelot's eyes narrowed. "I am quite content here, Your Majesty. Surely thou hast countless others more worthy of thy attention."

"Worthy?" Arthur laughed, the sound bright and teasing. "I seek not worthy, good knight. I seek entertainment, and thou art decidedly the most interesting soul present."

"I am a knight, not a jester."

"Then prove thy knightly graces upon the dance floor." Arthur extended his gloved hand, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Or dost thou fear a simple waltz?"

Lancelot's expression hardened. "I fear nothing. I simply possess no desire to—"

"Excellent!" Arthur seized the dark knight's hand before he could finish his protest. "Then thou shalt have no objection."

"Sire—" Lancelot found himself pulled into the swirl of dancers, his objections drowned by violins. Arthur's hand settled at his waist with confident familiarity as they fell into the rhythm.

"This is most improper," Lancelot growled, though his steps matched Arthur's with practiced precision.

"Improper? We are both knights, are we not? Brothers in arms?" Arthur's eyes sparkled with barely suppressed mirth. "What impropriety exists in a dance betwixt comrades?"

"The impropriety lies in thy complete disregard for my wishes, as is thy custom."

"My custom?" Arthur spun them smoothly past a cluster of courtiers. "I recall 'twas thee who disregarded orders at the Battle of Greystone Pass and charged ahead alone."

"That was a tactical decision."

"Ah, so when thou dost ignore me, 'tis tactics. When I insist upon a dance, 'tis tyranny?" Arthur's grin widened. "Pray tell, Sir Knight, what manner of logic is this?"

Lancelot's jaw tightened, though the faintest hint of color touched his dark cheeks. "The logic of a king who knows not when to cease his pestering."

"Pestering? Thou wound me most grievously." Arthur placed his free hand over his heart in mock anguish, nearly missing a step. "And here I believed I was rescuing thee from a most dreadful fate—standing alone whilst others make merry."

"I prefer solitude."

"A falsehood if ever I heard one." Arthur leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "I have seen thee with the squires during training. Thou art not so averse to company as thou dost protest."

"Children are different," Lancelot muttered. "They possess not the artifice of courtiers."

"Ah." Arthur's expression softened slightly, though his smile remained. "So 'tis not the company thou dost dislike, but the pretense."

"Thy words, not mine."

"Yet thou dost not deny them." Arthur guided them through a turn, their movements synchronized despite Lancelot's continued resistance. "Tell me true, Lancelot—dost thou find this so very terrible?"

Lancelot was silent for a long moment, his crimson eyes fixed somewhere past Arthur's shoulder. "Thou art insufferable."

"That is not an answer."

"'Tis the only answer thou shalt receive."

Arthur laughed again, warm and genuine. "Then I shall take it as confirmation that thou art enjoying thyself despite thy protestations."

"Thy arrogance knows no bounds, sire."

"'Tis not arrogance if I speak truth." Arthur's thumb traced an absent circle against Lancelot's hand. "Admit it—thou wouldst be miserable still standing in the corner, watching others dance whilst thou dost brood."

"I do not brood."

"Oh? What dost thou call it then?"

"...Strategic observation."

Arthur's laughter rang clear above the music. "Strategic observation! Oh, that is rich. Pray tell, what strategies hast thou gleaned from watching Lady Guinevere step upon Lord Percival's toes thrice in succession?"

Despite himself, Lancelot's lips twitched. "That perhaps Sir Percival should invest in sturdier footwear."

"There!" Arthur exclaimed triumphantly. "Thou dost possess humor beneath all that stoic posturing."

"'Twas merely an observation."

"A jesting observation. I shall mark this day in the royal chronicles—Sir Lancelot made a jest."

"If thou dost dare—"

"What? Wilt thou challenge thy king to a duel?" Arthur's eyes danced with mischief. "Here, in the midst of the dance floor? How very scandalous."

"Thou art impossible," Lancelot said, but there was less bite in his tone now.

"So thou hast mentioned. Multiple times. This very evening, in fact." Arthur spun them past the dias where nobles watched with interested eyes. "Yet still thou dost dance with me."

"Only because thou didst not provide adequate opportunity for refusal."

"Lancelot, my dear knight, thou art the fastest swordsman in all of Camelot. If thou truly wished to escape, thou wouldst have done so by now."

The dark knight fell silent, his expression unreadable. The music swelled around them, and Arthur waited, patient for once.

"Perhaps," Lancelot finally admitted, his voice low, "the company is... tolerable."

"Tolerable!" Arthur's face lit with delight. "High praise indeed from one so sparing with compliments."

"Do not let it inflate thy already considerable ego."

"Too late, I fear. 'Tis already floating near the rafters."

Lancelot shook his head, but Arthur caught the ghost of a smile. "Thou art truly mad, sire."

"Aye," Arthur agreed cheerfully, pulling Lancelot closer as the music built toward its crescendo. "But the world is an oyster to the decorated madman, is it not? And I have claimed the rarest pearl in all the hall for this dance."

"Flowery words suit thee not."

"Dost thou prefer plain speech then?" Arthur's voice softened, his emerald eyes earnest. "Then plainly I shall say this—I am glad thou art here, Lancelot. Even if I had to drag thee from the shadows to prove it."

For a moment, Lancelot's carefully maintained walls crumbled, revealing something vulnerable beneath. "Thou art a fool," he whispered, but his hand tightened imperceptibly in Arthur's grasp.

"Thy fool, it would seem."

"I said no such thing."

"Thy silence speaks volumes, good knight."

The music reached its final notes, and they slowed to stillness, standing closer than propriety demanded in the center of the floor. Around them, other couples broke apart with bows and curtsies, but Arthur made no move to release his knight.

"Another dance?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Lancelot's eyes narrowed, but there was warmth hidden in their crimson depths. "Thou dost push thy fortune, sire."

"Is that a yes?"

"'Tis a... perhaps."

Arthur's face split into a brilliant grin. "Then I shall take it as such." He bowed with exaggerated flourish. "What say thee, Sir Lancelot? Shall we scandalize the court further?"

Lancelot glanced at the watching nobles, then back at his king. A genuine smile—small but unmistakable—crossed his features. "I suppose one more dance would not be entirely objectionable."

"Not entirely objectionable! Truly, thy enthusiasm overwhelms me."

"Cease thy theatrics and lead, or I shall return to my corner."

"As my knight commands." Arthur took Lancelot's hand once more as the musicians struck up a new melody. "Though I must warn thee—I intend to monopolize thy entire evening."

"Of course thou dost." But Lancelot fell into step without further protest, and if his expression seemed less guarded than before, neither of them remarked upon it.

They danced through three more songs, their banter flowing as smoothly as their movements, until the candles burned lower and the crowd began to thin. And though Lancelot would never admit it aloud, when Arthur finally—reluctantly—released him with a promise to repeat this "most enjoyable torture" at the next ball, the dark knight found the shadows far less appealing than they had been before.

Perhaps, he mused while watching his king bid goodnight to the remaining guests with irrepressible cheer, perhaps there were worse fates than being dragged into the light by a decorated madman who called himself king.

The flowers bent beneath an impossible wind, their petals luminescent against the eternal twilight. Shadow sat among them, his hands resting on his knees, watching the stars wheel overhead in patterns that almost made sense.

"They're beautiful tonight," Maria said beside him, her voice soft as always. She wore the blue dress she'd loved, the one that matched the Earth below the ARK. "Don't you think?"

Shadow didn't answer immediately. He never did. Words felt heavy here, like trying to speak underwater. "Yes," he finally said.

She smiled and plucked a white flower, twirling it between her fingers. The petals scattered light like diamonds. "I used to count them, you know. The stars. I never got very far before I lost track." She laughed, and it was wind chimes. "I wasn't very good at it."

"You were good at everything," Shadow said, and meant it.

"Oh, Shadow." She leaned against his shoulder, warm despite the cool breeze that carried the scent of jasmine and something else he couldn't name. "You always say the sweetest things. But we both know I was terrible at puzzles. Remember that cube Grandfather gave me?"

He did. She'd spent hours twisting it, determined, until her hands cramped. "You never gave up."

"No," she agreed quietly. "I suppose I didn't."

They sat in silence, watching constellations far above. Shadow recognized none of them. The silence stretched, comfortable and soft all at once.

"Do you ever wonder," Maria asked, "what it would have been like? If things were different?"

"Every day."

"I think about it too." She lifted the flower to her nose, though Shadow knew she couldn't really smell anything anymore. Could she? "I think about running. Just running through fields like this, without getting tired. Racing you, maybe. Though you'd probably win."

"I'd let you win."

She elbowed him gently. "That's cheating."

"It's not cheating if it makes you happy."

Maria was quiet for a long moment, and when Shadow looked at her, there was something ancient in her young eyes. "Shadow... you know you can't stay here forever, right?"

"I know."

"Do you?"

He looked away, back to the stars that refused to hold still. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay." She—when had her hair turned blue? The flower in his hand was different now, gold instead of white, and there was laughter in his voice. "Okay, Mr. Grumpy. We don't have to talk about the heavy stuff."

Shadow blinked. The field was the same. The stars were the same. But the presence beside him had shifted, like reality had stumbled and caught itself.

"You should see your face right now," Sonic said, grinning that infuriating grin. "What, did I sprout a second head or something?"

"You—" Shadow started, then stopped. What was he going to say? "No."

"Good, 'cause that'd be weird. Though it might make eating chili dogs more efficient." Sonic stretched out in the flowers, hands behind his head. "Man, this place is pretty sweet. You been holding out on me, Shadow? Got a secret flower dimension you escape to?"

"It's not—" Shadow frowned. "How did you get here?"

"Same way anyone gets anywhere, I guess. One foot in front of the other. Metaphorically speaking." Sonic plucked a flower—when had they turned blue?—and blew on it like a dandelion. The petals scattered into stars. "Whoa. That's new."

Shadow watched the petals drift upward, becoming part of the sky. "Nothing here makes sense."

"Does anything ever really make sense?" Sonic asked, and there was something older in his voice for just a moment. "I mean, think about it. We run around collecting rings that disappear. There's floating platforms in the middle of nowhere. I've been through time, space, fought literal gods... and you're worried about flower physics?"

Despite himself, Shadow felt his mouth twitch. Almost a smile. "When you put it that way."

"There ya go! See, you can relax." Sonic sat up, crossing his legs. "So what are we doing? Stargazing? Soul-searching? Avoiding our feelings like emotionally constipated hedgehogs?"

"All of the above."

Sonic laughed, bright and clear. "Fair enough. Though I gotta say, if we're avoiding feelings, maybe pick somewhere less romantic than a flower field under the stars. Mixed signals, dude."

"It's not—" Shadow stopped. Was it? He didn't remember choosing to be here. He just... was. "I don't know why this place."

"Maybe 'cause it's peaceful," Sonic suggested, his voice softer now. "You deserve some peace, Shadow. You know that, right?"

Shadow looked at him—really looked. The green eyes caught starlight, reflecting it back like they contained entire worlds. "Do I?"

"Yeah. You do." Sonic bumped their shoulders together. "You've been through enough, buddy. You've saved the world how many times? You've faced your past, made your choices. You get to rest sometimes."

"Rest feels like giving up."

"Nah." Sonic shook his head. "Rest is what makes you strong enough to keep going. Trust me, I know. Even I stop running sometimes." He paused. "Not often. But sometimes."

They sat together as the sky slowly shifted through colors that had no names—violet bleeding into silver, silver melting into gold. Time moved strangely here. Shadow wasn't sure if they'd been sitting for minutes or hours or years.

"Do you remember," Shadow asked, surprising himself, "when we first met?"

"When you kicked my butt on Prison Island? Yeah, good times." Sonic grinned. "You were so intense. All 'I'm the ultimate lifeform' and brooding everywhere."

"I was not brooding."

"You were absolutely brooding. You had the brooding market cornered." Sonic's eyes danced with mischief. "I mean, I respected it. Takes commitment to brood that hard."

"I hate you."

"No you don't." Sonic said it so simply, so certainly, that Shadow couldn't argue. "You know what I remember? I remember thinking, 'This guy's fast. This guy's dangerous. This guy's...' and I couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't put my finger on it."

"And now?"

Sonic looked at him, really looked, and the humor faded into something raw and real. "Now I think, 'This guy's carrying the weight of the world, and he won't let anyone help him hold it.' And that makes me sad. And angry. And... I don't know. Other stuff."

"Other stuff," Shadow repeated.

"Yeah. Other stuff." Sonic lay back again, and Shadow found himself doing the same, their shoulders touching. "The kind of stuff that's hard to put into words. The kind of stuff that feels too big for my chest sometimes, you know?"

Shadow did know. He knew exactly.

Above them, the stars continued their dance, swirling in patterns that almost—almost—spelled out something important. Something Shadow needed to remember. But every time he got close to understanding, it slipped away like water through his fingers.

"You know what's weird?" Sonic said suddenly, breaking the contemplative silence. "I just realized we've saved the world together, like, a dozen times, and I don't think I've ever seen you eat."

Shadow frowned. "What?"

"Seriously! Do you eat? Are you solar-powered? Do you photosynthesize?" Sonic turned his head to look at him, grin returning. "Wait, is that why you stand on buildings dramatically? You're just charging up?"

Despite himself, Shadow felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "I eat."

"Yeah? What's your favorite food? And don't say 'coffee' because that's a drink and you know it."

"I don't have a—" Shadow paused. Did he have a favorite food? The memory felt distant, obscured by frost. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't. That's what makes it fun." Sonic stretched his arms over his head. "See, that's your problem. Everything's gotta be life or death, save the world, intense brooding session. Sometimes things just... are. Like flowers. Or bad jokes. Or—oh! I got one. What do you call a hedgehog who's bad at hiding?"

"I don't care."

"Pointless."

Sonic wheezed with laughter. "C'mon, that one's kinda good!"

"It was abysmal."

"But you almost smiled. I saw it. The corner of your mouth did a thing." Sonic poked his shoulder. "Come on, give me a real one. I'm working hard here."

Shadow turned his head to look at him fully, at the way starlight caught in green eyes, at the genuine warmth beneath the jokes. Something in his chest—mechanical, rhythmic—skipped. "Why do you care?"

"About making you smile?" Sonic's expression softened. "Because I've seen what you look like when you're happy, Shadow. It's rare, but it's... it's worth it. Like finding a chaos emerald in a haystack. Super rare, super valuable."

"That's a terrible metaphor."

"Yeah, well, I'm working with what I've got." Sonic reached up, like he was trying to touch the stars. "Besides, someone's gotta balance out all your doom and gloom. Universal law or something."

They lay there in comfortable quiet for a moment. Shadow noticed the flowers around them were breathing—expanding and contracting in a slow, steady rhythm. In, out. In, out. Like lungs. Like machinery.

"Hey Shadow?"

"If you could go anywhere—and I mean anywhere—where would you go?"

Shadow considered this. Images flickered through his mind—the ARK, Earth, battlefields, laboratories with glass walls and humming equipment. "I don't know. Somewhere... quiet."

"Like here?"

"Maybe."

Sonic rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. "You ever think about just... stopping? Not like giving up stopping, but just. Existing for a while without a mission?"

"No." The answer came automatically. Then, quieter: "I don't know how."

"Yeah." Sonic's voice was understanding, lacking its usual energy. "I get that. The stopping is the hardest part, isn't it? When you've been moving so long, standing still feels wrong. Like you're forgetting something important."

Shadow's eyes tracked across the sky. The constellations were forming shapes now—mathematical, precise. Formulas he half-remembered. "Do you ever feel like you're dreaming?"

"All the time. Sometimes I'll be running and think, 'this can't be real. This is too fast, too perfect.' But then I hit a wall or trip over a rock and—" Sonic laughed. "Yeah, definitely real."

The flowers shifted colors—blue to white to blue again. Shadow watched them ripple like water, like liquid nitrogen, like something cold and preserving.

"Remember when you brought me flowers?" a voice said, and Shadow blinked.

He turned his head. The blonde hair caught starlight differently now, softer. The blue dress rustled in the perpetual breeze.

"Maria," he said, and his voice sounded far away.

"You never could remember which ones I liked." She smiled that gentle smile. "You'd bring me whatever the scientists were growing in the observation deck. Sometimes they weren't even real flowers—do you remember? Once you brought me a silk one from the storage bay."

Shadow did remember. Or did he? The memory felt layered, like looking through frosted glass. "You kept it anyway."

"Of course I did. You brought it for me." She reached over and straightened his quills with familiar affection. "You know what I was thinking about? Homework."

Shadow's brow furrowed. "Homework?"

"You were terrible at it." Maria laughed. "Grandfather would assign you those theoretical exercises, remember? Physics problems, ethical scenarios. You'd sit there for hours, staring at the papers."

"I completed them."

"Eventually! After I practically did half of them for you." She nudged him playfully. "You'd rather have been training. Or reading those old Earth books about knights and heroes. Anything but calculus."

Shadow felt something uncomfortable shift in his chest—embarrassment, fondness, something else. "The calculations weren't practical."

"That's exactly what you said then!" Maria's eyes sparkled. "You told Grandfather that you didn't need to show your work because you could 'just know' the answer. He was so frustrated."

"I could just know it."

"That wasn't the point, silly." She lay back, mimicking his position. "The point was learning to explain. To teach others. To..." She trailed off, her expression growing distant. "To leave something behind, I suppose."

The air around them felt thicker suddenly. Heavier. Shadow noticed the stars were moving slower now, their rotation grinding like gears that needed oil.

"Maria—"

"It's strange," she continued, her voice dreamlike, "how clearly I can remember the ARK sometimes. The white walls. The hum of the generators—they ran constantly, didn't they? That low vibration you could feel in your bones if you stood still long enough."

Shadow listened to his own breathing. Steady. Mechanical. Too regular.

"And the observation windows," Maria went on, her gaze fixed on the sky above them. "How cold they'd get. You could touch them and the frost would form under your fingers, spreading out in patterns like... like these flowers, almost."

She reached out and touched a white blossom. Frost spread from her fingertips, crystallizing the petals.

"You'd stand there for hours, looking down at Earth. I used to wonder what you were thinking about. You never said." She turned to look at him. "What were you thinking about, Shadow?"

"You," he said honestly. "Making it better for you."

Her smile was sad now, edged with something that looked like goodbye. "You always wanted to fix everything. But some things can't be fixed, Shadow. Some things just... are."

"I know that now."

"Do you?" She sat up, and her form seemed less solid somehow, like she was made of memory. "Or are you still trying? Still fighting? Still refusing to rest?"

Shadow sat up too. Around them, the field was beginning to fade at the edges, dissolving into a white void that felt familiar and terrible all at once. "I don't understand."

Maria laughed then—really laughed, the sound bright and clear as bells. "Oh, Shadow. You're doing it right now. Even here, you're trying so hard to understand, to figure it out, to solve the puzzle." She shook her head fondly. "You never could just... be."

"I—"

"Shhh." She lay back down in the grass, and as she did, the white void retreated like a tide pulling back. The flowers bloomed fuller, their colors deepening. "Just for a moment. Stop trying."

Shadow hesitated, sitting there while she gazed up at the stars with that peaceful expression he'd seen so many times through reinforced glass and across sterile rooms.

"Lay down," she said softly. "Please?"

He did, lowering himself beside her. The grass was soft beneath him—softer than it should be, like it was made of something gentler than earth. 

Maria began to hum.

It was a melody without a name, one she'd made up during long nights on the ARK when sleep wouldn't come and the stars beyond the windows seemed too far away. Shadow had heard it a hundred times, a thousand, through walls and doors and the space between waking and dreaming.

He felt his eyes growing heavy.

"That's it," Maria whispered, still humming. "You can rest now, Shadow. You've earned it."

"But—"

"No buts. Just rest."

The humming continued, wrapping around him like a blanket, like the low thrum of generators, like the steady beep of monitors measuring things he couldn't name. Shadow's breathing slowed, matching the rhythm. In, out. In, out.

The stars above were blurring now, their light stretching into long streams that looked almost like... like readouts. Like data scrolling across screens.

Maria's voice was fading, growing distant, but the humming remained. It was mechanical now, regular, the sound of machines keeping time.

The laboratory hummed with the soft whir of machinery, sterile and cold as always. Maria Robotnik sat in her wheelchair near the observation window, her thin hands folded in her lap, pale fingers intertwined nervously. Grandfather had been so secretive lately, disappearing into the restricted labs for days at a time, emerging with dark circles under his eyes but a spark of something fierce and hopeful in his gaze.

Hope. It was a dangerous thing aboard the ARK.

"Maria, my dear," Professor Gerald Robotnik's voice crackled through the intercom, warm despite the metallic distortion. "I have something to show you. Something very important."

Her heart fluttered—whether from excitement or the ever-present weakness in her chest, she couldn't tell. "What is it, Grandfather?"

"Patience, child. I'm bringing him to you now."

*Him?*

The laboratory doors hissed open, and Gerald emerged, his white coat pristine despite his exhaustion. But Maria's blue eyes weren't drawn to her grandfather. They were fixed on the small, covered container he carried so carefully in both hands, as if he held the entire universe between his palms.

"Grandfather?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Gerald's weathered face softened into the gentlest smile she'd seen in months. He approached slowly, reverently, and knelt beside her wheelchair. "Maria, my sweet girl. You've been so brave, so patient through all of this. Through every test, every treatment, every disappointment." His voice caught. "This... this is my promise to you. Project Shadow. The Ultimate Lifeform."

He carefully pulled back the soft cloth covering the container.

Maria's breath stopped.

Inside, curled up on a bed of temperature-regulated gel, was the tiniest hedgehog she had ever seen. His fur was pitch black with striking crimson stripes, still fuzzy with newborn softness. His little chest rose and fell with sleep, tiny paws curled against his muzzle. He couldn't have been larger than both her hands put together.

"Oh..." The sound escaped her lips like a prayer.

"I remembered," Gerald said softly, "how you used to read those books about hedgehogs. How you'd watch documentaries about them and tell me about their habits. So when I designed him, when I gave him form..." He gestured to the sleeping creature. "I chose something that might make you smile."

Maria's hands trembled as they rose to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with tears that had nothing to do with pain for once. "He's... Grandfather, he's *perfect*."

The tiny hedgehog stirred, a small squeak emanating from him as he stretched. Then slowly, impossibly, his eyes opened—crimson red, bright and aware in a way that seemed far too intelligent for something so small and new.

Those eyes found Maria immediately.

"Hi," she breathed, her voice breaking. "Hi there, little one."

Shadow blinked up at her. His tiny ears twitched, and he made another soft sound, almost questioning.

That was it. That was the moment Maria's composure shattered entirely.

"GRANDFATHER HE'S SO SMALL!" she squeaked, her hands flapping in excitement before pressing against her cheeks. "Look at his little FACE! Look at his tiny ears! Oh my stars, are those his HANDS?!" She leaned forward as much as her weak body would allow, her face radiating pure, unbridled joy. "He has little fingers! LITTLE FINGERS!"

Gerald chuckled, relief washing over his features. "Would you like to hold him?"

"YES! Yes, please, oh please!" Maria's usual grace had evaporated completely. She held out her hands, shaking with anticipation. "Can he breathe regular air? Is he warm enough? Does he need—"

"He's perfectly stable," Gerald assured her, gently lifting the tiny hedgehog from his container. "He's more resilient than he looks. Much more."

The moment Shadow was placed in Maria's palms, she made a sound that could only be described as a keysmash made audible—a squeal of pure, concentrated cuteness overload. "He's WARM! Grandfather, he's so warm and soft and—oh! OH! He's looking at me!"

Shadow tilted his tiny head, studying the girl who held him with such careful reverence. Something in her eyes—something bright and kind and genuine—made his little chest feel strange. Safe. *Home.*

"You're Shadow," Maria whispered, her voice finally steadying as tears rolled down her cheeks. Happy tears. Healing tears. "You're Shadow, and you're absolutely wonderful."

The tiny hedgehog reached up with one impossibly small hand and touched her thumb. The gesture was clumsy, uncertain, but unmistakably deliberate.

Maria looked at her grandfather, eyes shining. "He's going to save me?"

Gerald nodded, his own eyes misty. "His genetic structure holds the key to curing NIDS. But more than that, Maria..." He reached out to gently stroke Shadow's head with one finger. "I created him to be your friend. Your protector. Someone who will never let you face the darkness alone."

"Then we'll save each other," Maria decided, bringing Shadow close to her heart. The tiny hedgehog curled against her, his rapid heartbeat synchronizing with her slower one. "Won't we, Shadow?"

A tiny, contented chirp was her answer.

***

Shadow had grown. Not much—he was still small enough to fit in Maria's lap, still young enough that his crimson eyes held more curiosity than understanding—but he'd grown nonetheless. His black fur had lost some of its newborn fuzz, sleek now with those distinctive red stripes that made him look like a little comet. His legs were still a bit too long for his body, giving him an awkward, gangly appearance when he tried to run down the ARK's corridors.

He was also, Maria had discovered with endless delight, extremely intelligent and extremely stubborn.

"Shadow, no," Maria said for the third time that morning, gently pulling the small hedgehog away from the lab console. "Those are Grandfather's important buttons."

Shadow's ears drooped, but his red eyes remained fixed on the blinking lights. His tiny hand reached out again, fascinated by the colors.

"I know they're shiny," Maria conceded, scooping him up. "But if you press the wrong one, you might eject something into space. Like... I don't know, the cafeteria."

Shadow chirped—he still couldn't quite talk yet, though Gerald insisted it was only a matter of time—and nuzzled against her shoulder. Maria's heart melted, as it did approximately seventy times a day.

"Maria." Gerald's voice cut through the moment, and something in his tone made her turn sharply.

Her grandfather stood in the doorway of his private lab, and his face... his face was different. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped a data pad, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Grandfather?" Maria's voice was small. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, child." Gerald's voice cracked. "Everything... everything is right."

He crossed the room in swift strides, falling to his knees beside her wheelchair. Shadow squeaked in alarm at the sudden movement, but Gerald was already pulling up holographic displays, medical readouts that Maria had seen a thousand times—the markers of her disease, the charts that usually made doctors look at her with such pity.

"The latest synthesis from Shadow's genetic material," Gerald breathed, his fingers flying across the display. "The antibodies, the regenerative properties—Maria, we tested it on the tissue samples. The NIDS markers are gone. Gone. Not suppressed, not dormant—completely eradicated."

Maria stared at the charts, her brain struggling to process the words. "But... the other treatments..."

"Were temporary. Incomplete." Gerald looked up at her, and there were tears streaming down his weathered face. "This is different. This is it, Maria. Shadow's biological structure has given us the cure. The actual, permanent cure."

The laboratory seemed to tilt. Shadow, sensing something momentous, made a soft concerned sound and patted Maria's cheek with his small hand.

"You mean..." Maria couldn't even finish the sentence.

"We begin treatment tomorrow," Gerald said firmly. "And if the projections are correct—and they are, I've checked them seventeen times—within six weeks, you'll be completely free of NIDS."

The data pad slipped from Gerald's fingers, clattering to the floor.

Maria burst into tears.

Shadow, utterly baffled by this development, looked between the crying girl and the crying old man with his ears pinned back in distress. He made an uncertain trill, pawing at Maria's face as if he could physically wipe away the tears.

"Happy tears!" Maria sobbed, pulling Shadow close and clutching him to her heart. "These are happy tears, Shadow! You did it! You saved me!"

Shadow blinked. He had no idea what he'd done, but Maria was making the water-from-eyes thing, and that usually meant sad. Except she was smiling? This was very confusing. He licked her cheek tentatively. That usually helped.

Maria laughed through her sobs, holding him out to look at his bewildered little face. "You're a hero, Shadow! You're my hero!"

Shadow tilted his head, ears perking up. That sounded good? He chirped proudly, even though he didn't know why.

The celebration that night was the largest gathering the ARK had seen in years.

Scientists who normally buried themselves in their work emerged from their labs. Engineers, medical staff, security personnel—everyone who had watched Maria grow up aboard the space colony, everyone who had witnessed her slow decline, everyone who had prayed for this moment—they all came.

The observation deck had been transformed. Someone had brought streamers. Someone else had smuggled what appeared to be an entire cake from Earth. Music played from someone's portable speaker, and for the first time in ARK's history, the cold sterile corridors rang with laughter and celebration.

Shadow sat in Maria's lap, his red eyes enormous as he stared at the chaos around him.

There were so many people. So much noise. Someone had just popped something that made a loud bang and released colorful paper into the air, and Shadow was reasonably certain they were under attack.

"It's okay," Maria whispered, sensing his tension. Her hand stroked gently down his back. "They're just happy. They're celebrating you."

A scientist Shadow vaguely recognized—the one who always smelled like coffee—approached with a wide smile. "The guest of honor! May I?" She held out her hands.

"He's a bit overwhelmed," Maria said apologetically. "It's a lot of people."

"Of course, of course!" The scientist knelt down instead, addressing Shadow directly. "Thank you, little one. You've given us all a miracle today."

Shadow stared at her. He had no idea what she was saying, but her face was leaking water like Maria's had earlier. He looked up at Maria for guidance.

Maria beamed at him. "You made everyone happy, Shadow."

Shadow's ears perked up at that. Happy was good. Maria happy was very good.

More people approached throughout the evening—a blur of faces and voices, all saying words like "miracle" and "genius" and "hope." Shadow understood none of it. He simply pressed closer to Maria, his safe person, his favorite person, and watched with wide confused eyes as the humans did their strange celebrating ritual.

At one point, someone tried to hand him a piece of cake. Shadow sniffed it suspiciously, then took the tiniest, most tentative lick. His eyes went huge.

"Oh no," Maria giggled. "We've discovered sugar."

Shadow's tiny hands grabbed for the cake with newfound enthusiasm.

Later, when the celebration had died down and the observation deck had been cleared, Maria sat by the massive window overlooking Earth. Shadow was curled in her lap, exhausted from the evening's excitement, his little chest rising and falling with sleep.

Gerald approached quietly, settling into the chair beside them. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Maria admitted. "But good. Really, really good." She looked down at Shadow, her fingers gently tracing the red stripes along his quills. "Grandfather, I was so scared. For so long, I was so scared."

"I know, child."

"And now..." She laughed softly, the sound watery. "Now I get to live. I get to grow up. I get to see Earth someday, really see it, not just through a window." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I get to watch Shadow grow up too."

Gerald reached over to squeeze her shoulder. "You both have your whole lives ahead of you now."

Shadow stirred, making a sleepy sound and shifting closer to Maria's warmth. Even in sleep, he seemed to gravitate toward her, as if pulled by invisible strings.

"He doesn't understand, does he?" Maria asked quietly. "He doesn't know what he did."

"He's still very young," Gerald confirmed. "In developmental terms, he's approximately equivalent to a two-year-old, despite his rapid growth rate. He likely won't understand the full significance for some time."

Maria smiled down at the tiny hedgehog, her eyes soft. "That's okay. I'll explain it to him when he's older. I'll tell him exactly what he means to me." She bent down to press a gentle kiss to the top of Shadow's head. "Right now, I just want him to know he's loved."

The tent stakes went into the ground with a satisfying thunk as Sonic hammered them in with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary.

"I still can't believe you actually said yes," Sonic grinned, looking over at Shadow, who was meticulously arranging their supplies with military precision. "The Ultimate Lifeform, camping. Never thought I'd see the day."

Shadow didn't look up from organizing their food stores into neat rows. "You asked me seventeen times, hedgehog. I agreed so you would stop appearing outside my window at two in the morning."

"That was one time—"

"Seventeen times."

"Okay, maybe a few times." Sonic zipped over to Shadow's side, peering at the obsessively neat arrangement. "You know we're just gonna eat all that stuff, right? You don't have to make it look like a military bunker."

Shadow finally straightened up, fixing Sonic with that trademark crimson-eyed stare. "Organization prevents waste. Besides, someone needs to ensure we don't attract bears because of your carelessness."

"Please," Sonic waved a hand dismissively, "what's a bear gonna do? I'm the fastest thing alive, and you're... well, you." He plopped down on a log near their fire pit, grinning mischievously. "Though I guess bears aren't the only thing we might need to worry about out here."

Shadow's ear twitched. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing~" Sonic's grin widened. "Just that these woods are supposedly super haunted. Like, mega haunted. Ghosts everywhere, according to the ranger." He leaned forward, wiggling his fingers dramatically. "OooOOooh, spoooooky~"

The look Shadow gave him could have frozen lava. "You're joking."

"Nope! Apparently some old mining camp tragedy, lost souls wandering the forest, the whole deal." Sonic was practically vibrating with excitement now. "Don't tell me the big bad Ultimate Lifeform is scared of a few ghosts?"

Shadow crossed his arms, his expression shifting to something dangerous. "I'm not scared of anything."

"Really? 'Cause you seem a little tense there, Shads."

"Don't call me that." Shadow's eye twitched slightly. "And for your information, I don't believe in ghosts. Dead is dead. There's no scientific basis for—"

"Yeah, yeah, very rational of you," Sonic interrupted, hopping to his feet. "But you gotta admit, it'd be pretty cool if we actually found one! A real ghost! Can you imagine? We could—"

"No."

"—finally prove they exist and—"

"Absolutely not."

"—maybe communicate with the spirit world and—"

"Sonic." Shadow's voice dropped to that particular tone that usually preceded chaos spears. "We are not 'ghost hunting.' We are camping. There will be no ghosts because ghosts do not exist."

Sonic snickered, circling around Shadow with his hands clasped behind his head. "Man, you really are freaked out about this! What happened to 'I'm not scared of anything'?"

"I'm not scared," Shadow bit out, "I'm simply being realistic. Unlike certain blue idiots who apparently believe every campfire tale they hear."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Sonic's smirk was absolutely insufferable now. "This wouldn't have anything to do with you being scared of things that go bump in the night, would it?"

Shadow's quills bristled. "I am the thing that goes bump in the night."

"Then why are you so—"

"I'm not scared!" Shadow snapped, then seemed to forcibly calm himself. A beat of silence passed before he added, much quieter, "I simply prefer threats I can punch."

Sonic blinked. "What?"

Shadow turned away, suddenly very interested in adjusting a tent rope that was already perfectly taut. "Nothing."

"Oh no, no no no." Sonic was in front of him in a flash, that knowing grin spreading across his face. "You prefer threats you can punch? Shadow, buddy, pal—are you telling me you don't like ghosts because you can't hit them?"

"I didn't say that."

"You basically just said that!"

"I said no such thing." Shadow moved to step around him, but Sonic matched his movement.

"Dude, that's hilarious! The Ultimate Lifeform, defeated by incorporeal enemies!"

Shadow's eyes flashed dangerously. "You want to talk about fear, hedgehog? Let's discuss the Halloween Incident."

Sonic's grin faltered. "Oh come on, that was one time—"

"The haunted house tour," Shadow continued, a dark satisfaction entering his voice. "Last week. You insisted we go, despite my objections."

"Okay, but in my defense—"

"The gentleman in the mask who jumped out from the shadows."

Sonic winced. "Look, that was an accident—"

"I broke his nose."

"You pulverized his nose, there's a difference!"

Shadow actually smirked now, a rare and terrifying sight. "As I recall, you were the one who pushed me ahead of you, saying 'go on, tough guy, you're not scared, are you?' And then he jumped out, and instinct took over."

"Instinct," Sonic repeated flatly. "Shadow, you chaos-speared the fake cobwebs the other day on someone's lawn when we went for a walk. The inanimate fake cobwebs."

"They startled me."

"They were COBWEBS!"

"They moved suspiciously."

"THERE WAS A FAN! A REGULAR FAN!" Sonic was laughing now despite himself, the memory apparently too ridiculous even for his teasing. "Oh man, and the way you just stood there afterwards, looking at your hand like you couldn't believe what you'd done—"

"The employee should not have jumped out at me with no warning," Shadow said defensively. "That's a tactical error on his part."

"He was trying to do his job!"

"He startled me!"

"Everything startled you! You were jumping at shadows—literally!" Sonic doubled over, howling with laughter. "And then—oh Chaos—and then you tried to pay for the guy's medical bills in cash, and you pulled out like, a huge wad of hundreds, and the poor kid was just standing there with tissues up his nose—"

"I was attempting to be responsible," Shadow muttered, but there was the faintest hint of embarrassment coloring his muzzle now.

"You were attempting to flee the crime scene!" Sonic wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh man, Rouge didn't let you live that down for months!"

Shadow's expression darkened at the mention of Rouge's merciless teasing. "Which is precisely why we are never speaking of it again."

"Too late, it's already legendary!" Sonic grinned, finally composing himself. "But seriously, dude, that's why you don't like spooky stuff? Because you might accidentally deck someone?"

Shadow was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "I'm... programmed for combat. Sudden movement in the dark, unexpected contact—my response is immediate and often excessive." He glanced at Sonic with something that might have been chagrin. "I don't particularly enjoy losing control like that."

"Aww, Shadow." Sonic's grin softened into something more genuine. "You know, if it makes you feel better, I thought it was pretty funny. And that actor guy was fine! He even said his Halloween was 'authentically scary' now."

"After he stopped bleeding."

"Details, details!" Sonic waved it off. "But for real—no haunted houses today, I promise. Just regular camping. S'mores, campfire stories, looking at stars. Super chill."

Shadow studied him suspiciously. "You promise you're not going to try to manufacture a 'ghost encounter' by jumping out at me in a sheet?"

"I like my face un-punched, thanks."

"Smart hedgehog."

"Besides," Sonic stretched his arms above his head, looking up at the darkening sky through the trees, "I really do hope we see a ghost out here. How cool would that be? Actual proof of the supernatural! We could—"

"Sonic."

"What?"

"The probability of encountering an actual ghost is so infinitesimally small as to be effectively zero," Shadow said flatly. "Dead entities do not remain in the mortal plane. Consciousness requires biological processes. There is no mechanism by which—"

"Wow, you really are scared."

Shadow's eye twitched again. "I am not—"

A branch snapped somewhere in the darkness beyond their camp.

Both hedgehogs froze.

"...that was probably a squirrel," Sonic said, but his voice had lost some of its confidence.

"Undoubtedly," Shadow agreed, his hand already glowing faintly with chaos energy.

Another crack, closer this time.

"A really big squirrel," Sonic added.

"An enormous squirrel."

"Maybe we should—"

"If you say 'investigate,' I'm leaving you here."

Sonic grinned despite the tension. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it in that haunted house next to that employee's dignity."

Before Sonic could respond, something pale and white drifted between the trees at the edge of their campfire's light.

Both hedgehogs stared.

"Sonic," Shadow said very quietly, "tell me you see that too."

"Oh, I see it."

"And you're going to tell me it's not what it appears to be."

"I mean... probably not?"

The white shape drifted closer, hovering just beyond the ring of firelight, translucent and ethereal.

Shadow's hand began to glow brighter. "I can't punch that."

"You're gonna try though, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

The shape moved forward, and—

A plastic grocery bag, caught on a branch, fluttered gently in the breeze.

Both hedgehogs exhaled.

"So," Sonic said after a moment, "that was—"

"We don't speak of this."

***

The fire crackled pleasantly as darkness fully settled over their campsite. Sonic had a hot dog speared on a stick, rotating it carefully over the flames while Shadow sat across from him, holding a marshmallow directly in the fire with the patience of someone defusing a bomb.

"Dude, you're supposed to toast it, not cremate it," Sonic observed, watching Shadow's marshmallow burst into flames.

Shadow didn't even blink, just pulled the flaming marshmallow out and blew on it until the fire died, leaving behind a charred black husk. "It's caramelized."

"It's carbonized. There's a difference."

"I like it this way." Shadow bit into the blackened marshmallow with a definitive crunch.

Sonic made a face. "You're a monster. An actual monster. Not even a ghost—just a regular monster who eats burnt marshmallows."

"Your hot dog is on fire."

"WHAT—" Sonic yanked his stick back, frantically blowing on his now-flaming dinner. "Aw man! I was watching you commit crimes against campfire food and forgot about mine!"

"Tragic," Shadow said flatly, already preparing another marshmallow with the same intentional destructiveness.

Once they'd both settled with their questionable food choices—Sonic's slightly charred hot dog and Shadow's third cremated marshmallow—Sonic leaned back against his log with that particular gleam in his eye that Shadow had learned to distrust.

"So," Sonic began, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "did I mention what the ranger told me about these woods?"

Shadow paused mid-bite. "No."

"Oh man, it's a great story." Sonic set down his hot dog, rubbing his hands together. "See, back in 1952, there was this mining camp right around here. Small operation, just a dozen guys looking for gold."

"Sonic—"

"One night, in the middle of winter, this massive storm rolled in. Cut them off completely from civilization." Sonic's voice dropped lower, the firelight casting dancing shadows across his face. "They ran out of food after two weeks. Then three. Then four."

"I know where this is going," Shadow muttered, but he didn't look away.

"The foreman started acting weird. Talking to himself. Laughing at nothing. The other miners got spooked, but they were trapped by the snow, nowhere to go." Sonic paused for effect. "Then one night, they woke up and the foreman was gone. And so was one of the miners."

Despite himself, Shadow leaned forward slightly. "And?"

"They found the foreman three days later, wandering the woods, covered in blood, mumbling about 'the hunger' and 'the eyes in the dark.'" Sonic's grin was wolfish now. "They never found the missing miner. Just his pickaxe... and strange marks in the trees. Marks that looked like—"

A log in the fire popped loudly, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness.

Both hedgehogs jumped.

"—marks that looked like claw marks," Sonic finished, trying to recover his composure. "And they say on cold nights, you can still hear the foreman, wandering these woods, looking for... well. You know."

"That's the worst ghost story I've ever heard," Shadow said after a moment. "The internal logic alone—"

"Oh come on! It was creepy!"

"It was derivative. Every camping story involves miners or lumberjacks meeting tragic ends. Where's the originality?" Shadow crossed his arms. "And the timeline makes no sense. If they were trapped for weeks without food, they'd be too weak to—"

"You're overthinking the ghost story, Shadow."

"I'm applying basic reasoning to your poorly constructed narrative."

Sonic huffed. "Fine, Mr. Literary Critic. You think you could do better?"

"Easily. A proper horror story requires atmosphere, plausibility within its own established rules, and—" Shadow stopped abruptly, his ears swiveling. "Did you hear that?"

Sonic's grin returned. "Hear what?"

"That sound. In the trees." Shadow's eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness beyond their fire. "Something's moving out there."

"Probably just the wind," Sonic said, but he was listening now too.

A long, low creak echoed through the forest—wood on wood, like something old and heavy shifting in the darkness.

"That's not wind," Shadow said quietly.

"Okay, that's definitely not wind," Sonic agreed, standing up. His earlier playfulness had shifted to genuine curiosity. "Want to check it out?"

Shadow looked at him like he'd suggested jumping into a volcano. "Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on! Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it with my common sense, apparently, since I agreed to come camping with you." But Shadow was standing too, his body tense and ready. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. Stay close, don't wander off, and for Chaos's sake, don't split up like idiots in horror movies."

"Who are you and what have you done with Shadow the Hedgehog?" Sonic teased, but he grabbed a flashlight from his bag. "Never thought I'd hear you suggest we investigate weird noises in the dark."

"I'm not suggesting—you're going to do it anyway, and I refuse to let you get eaten by whatever's out there and have Rouge blame me." Shadow's hands glowed with chaos energy, providing their own source of light. "Besides, I'm curious now. That sound was too consistent to be natural."

They ventured beyond the safety of their campfire, flashlight and chaos energy pushing back the darkness. The forest was different at night—shadows stretched and twisted into unfamiliar shapes, and every snap of a twig seemed amplified in the silence.

"So this is fun, right?" Sonic said, his voice a bit too loud. "Adventuring, exploring, solving mysteries—"

"If you're trying to convince yourself you're not nervous, it's not working."

"I'm not nervous! I'm excited! This is exciting!"

Another creak echoed through the trees, closer now. They both froze.

"Okay, maybe a little nervous," Sonic admitted.

They pushed forward, weaving between trees until they came to a small clearing. In the center stood what looked like an old mining structure—a wooden frame for a long-collapsed shaft, half-swallowed by moss and time.

"Huh," Sonic said. "Guess my story wasn't so far-fetched after all."

"There are old mining operations all over these mountains," Shadow said, but he was studying the structure carefully. "It doesn't mean—"

The wooden frame groaned again, swaying slightly in a breeze that didn't seem to reach where they were standing.

"That's... weird, right?" Sonic asked. "That's objectively weird?"

"It's old wood settling," Shadow said, but he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Probably unstable. We should go back."

"In a minute." Sonic took a step closer, shining his flashlight over the structure. "Look at those marks on the wood—do those look like claw marks to you?"

They did, actually. Deep gouges running along the frame, four parallel lines that looked disturbingly deliberate.

"Could be a bear," Shadow offered.

"Could be," Sonic agreed, but his voice had lost its usual confidence.

They continued deeper into the woods, their lights cutting through the darkness as they navigated around trees and over fallen logs. The old mining structure disappeared behind them, swallowed by the forest.

"I'm serious, Sonic," Shadow said, his voice low and dangerous. "If this is some elaborate setup where you jump out at me from behind a tree wearing a sheet, I will bury you in this forest and no one will ever find your body."

Sonic laughed, but it came out a bit more nervous than he intended. "Dude, I'm right here with you! How would I even—okay, yeah, I'm fast, but not 'run ahead and set up a prank while you're watching me' fast."

"Hmm." Shadow didn't sound entirely convinced, his eyes scanning the darkness with tactical precision.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, leaves crunching under their feet. The forest sounds seemed normal—crickets, the occasional rustle of small animals, wind through the branches.

"See?" Shadow finally said, stopping in a small clearing. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing unusual except old mining equipment and native wildlife." He turned to face Sonic, crossing his arms. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic!"

"You are always dramatic. Every Halloween, you convince yourself that ghosts exist, that this year will be the year you finally see one, and every year it's just—" Shadow gestured vaguely at the empty forest around them, "—this. Trees. Darkness. Your overactive imagination."

"Hey!" Sonic protested, stepping closer with his flashlight pointed at Shadow's unimpressed face. "Ghosts totally exist! Just because we haven't seen one doesn't mean they're not out there! The absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence!"

"That's not how the scientific method works."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Science! Maybe ghosts don't show up for people who burn marshmallows on purpose!"

"That's the most ridiculous correlation I've ever—"

A sound cut through their argument—distant at first, but growing closer. A rhythmic scraping, like metal dragging across stone, followed by a low, hollow moan that seemed to echo through the trees.

Both hedgehogs froze.

"That's the wind," Shadow said, but his hands were already glowing.

"That's not the wind," Sonic whispered, his earlier bravado evaporating.

The scraping came again, closer now, accompanied by that same unsettling moan. It sounded almost like words, but too distorted to make out.

"Okay, new plan," Sonic said quickly, his voice going up an octave. "We go back to camp, we pack up, we leave, we never speak of this camping trip again, we—"

Another moan, and this time they could see movement in the darkness beyond their lights—something pale, something moving with an unnatural, jerky gait.

"Shadow?" Sonic said, his voice very small.

"Yes?"

"I'm gonna stand behind you now."

"That's probably—"

Sonic was already behind him, gripping Shadow's shoulders, using the darker hedgehog as a living shield. "You're the Ultimate Lifeform! You go first!"

"Your bravery is inspiring," Shadow said dryly, but he didn't shake Sonic off. His eyes were locked on the approaching shape, chaos energy crackling around his fists. "Stay close. Don't run."

"Why would I run? Running is for people who AREN'T hiding behind their friend!"

"I'm not your friend."

"You're my best friend and I love you, now WHAT IS THAT THING?!"

Shadow took a deliberate step forward, Sonic's hands still death-gripping his shoulders as they moved in an awkward tandem.

"If you're going to use me as a shield, at least try not to strangle me," Shadow muttered.

"Sorry, sorry—wait, no, not sorry! There's something OUT THERE!"

The shape lurched closer, that pale form seeming to float between the trees, and the moaning grew louder, more distorted. Shadow's chaos energy flared brighter, casting sharp shadows that made everything look even more sinister.

"Show yourself," Shadow commanded, his voice carrying that edge of danger that usually made enemies reconsider their life choices.

The shape kept coming, moving faster now, weaving between trees with surprising agility for something that had been shambling moments before.

"Shadow, maybe we should—"

"Stand your ground."

"Standing! I'm standing! Behind you! Very far behind you!"

The thing burst through a cluster of bushes, something small and fast and—

"SURPRISE!"

A tiny burgundy-colored chihuahua-like creature exploded into their light with way too much enthusiasm, arms spread wide, the biggest grin on his face.

Sonic shrieked—actually shrieked—a sound that would haunt Shadow's memory for years. His grip on Shadow's shoulders became somehow even tighter, nearly pulling them both backward.

Shadow's fist stopped inches from the creature's face, chaos energy dissipating at the last possible second. He stood there, frozen in an attack stance, staring at the small being who was now hovering excitedly in place with fairy-like wings.

"Sonic! I found you! This is great! I've been looking everywhere!"

"CHIP?!" Sonic finally released Shadow, stumbling forward with one hand over his chest. "CHIP! WHAT THE—YOU NEARLY GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK!"

The little creature—Chip, apparently—giggled, completely unbothered by the fact that he'd almost been chaos-blasted into orbit. "Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! Well, okay, maybe a little. Your face was so funny!"

Shadow slowly lowered his fist, looking between Sonic and this... thing. "Explain. Now."

"Oh! Right!" Chip flew over to Shadow, looking up at him with enormous, innocent eyes. "I'm Chip! Light Gaia! Well, fragment of Light Gaia technically, but that's a whole thing. You must be Shadow! Sonic's told me about you!"

Shadow's eye twitched. "Light... Gaia."

"Yep!"

"A god."

"Fragment of one!"

"Nearly got punched."

"Would've been a GREAT story though!"

Sonic was still catching his breath, bent over with his hands on his knees. "Chip—buddy—pal—HOW ARE YOU EVEN HERE? You went back to the planet! You're supposed to be, like, in the earth's core or whatever! Sleeping! Resting! Not jumping out at people in the middle of the night in creepy forests!"

Chip's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, replaced by something almost sheepish. "Well, I woke up for a bit. You know, just checking on things. Making sure the planet's okay, sensing for any Dark Gaia activity, the usual." He kicked at the air. "And I sensed you were nearby and I thought—hey! I should say hi! Sonic's my best friend!"

"I'm going back to camp," Shadow announced flatly, turning on his heel.

"Wait, Shadow—" Sonic started.

"No. I agreed to camping. I agreed to your ghost stories. I agreed to investigating strange noises." Shadow's voice was perfectly level, which somehow made it more threatening. "I did not agree to deities jumping out of bushes. I'm done. I'm going back to the tent, and I'm going to sleep, and when I wake up, this will all have been a bizarre dream."

"But—"

"Goodnight, Sonic." Shadow was already walking away, his form disappearing into the darkness with only the faint glow of chaos energy marking his path.

Chip tilted his head, looking in the direction Shadow had gone, then back at Sonic with those big, innocent brown eyes.

"So," Chip said quietly, almost carefully, "is that your boyfriend?"

Sonic woke up on a park bench with a pigeon sitting on his head.

"Morning, buddy," he mumbled, gently shooing the bird away. His white wings were tucked awkwardly beneath him, still as powerless as they'd been yesterday. He stretched, yawned, and immediately regretted sleeping on a bench when his back made several concerning popping sounds.

"Okay, new plan," he said to himself. "Find Hot Topic, fix the wing situation, get back to Heaven, and maybe grab some Earth breakfast first because that hot dog stand smelled AMAZING—"

"Stop. Talking."

Sonic yelped and fell off the bench. Shadow was standing three feet away, looking like he hadn't slept at all. His black wings were immaculately groomed despite the circumstances, and his arms were crossed in what Sonic was beginning to recognize as his default setting.

"Dude! Personal space! Also, good morning? No? Not a morning person? Yeah, you seem like a night person. Very broody—"

"I have been standing here for three hours," Shadow interrupted, his voice dangerously calm, "waiting for you to wake up so we could FIX THIS."

"Three hours? Man, you could've just woken me up."

"I tried. You sleep like the dead. Ironically."

Sonic grinned, scrambling to his feet. "Well, I'm up now! Ready to—wait, why are people walking through you?"

Shadow glanced down at himself, then at the jogger who had just passed directly through his body without noticing. "I made myself invisible to mortals. Obviously. We can't walk around with wings."

"Oh! Right! Smart!" Sonic concentrated, feeling for that little bit of divine power that controlled perception. To his relief, it still worked—he shimmered and faded from mortal view. "Okay, cool. So we're invisible. Now what?"

"NOW," Shadow said, stepping uncomfortably close, "you are going to tell me EXACTLY how to reverse what you did to us."

"What I did? I'm pretty sure this was a team effort—"

Shadow's eye twitched.

"Okay, okay!" Sonic held up his hands. "Look, the collision messed with our abilities, right? So I'm thinking—"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"—HEY. Rude. I'm thinking that we need to, like, recharge our batteries. Build up enough spiritual energy to blast through whatever's blocking us from our realms."

Shadow's eyes narrowed. "And how do we do that?"

Sonic's grin turned sheepish. "Well, uh, for me it would be... good deeds? Maybe? Helping people, spreading joy, granting blessings, that whole thing. Holy spirit energy, you know?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Good deeds," Shadow repeated, his voice flat.

"Yeah! Like, help some people, build up that positive energy, and boom! Wings work again!"

"Good. Deeds."

"You're really hung up on this."

Shadow's wings flared out, every feather standing on end despite being non-functional. "I am a DEMON. I don't DO good deeds. I do the OPPOSITE of good deeds. That's literally my job description!"

"Well what else do you suggest?!" Sonic threw his hands up. "You got any better ideas, Mr. Darkness and Despair?"

Shadow opened his mouth. Closed it. His wings folded back against his back with a soft rustle of black feathers.

"Fine," he ground out. "But I'm not DOING them. You do your ridiculous good deeds, build up your angel energy or whatever, and you'll generate enough power for both of us to break through."

"Oh, so I do all the work while you just stand there looking moody?"

"Yes."

"You know what? Fine. Watch and learn, demon boy. I'll show you how a real hero operates." Sonic cracked his knuckles, his white wings perking up with enthusiasm despite their lack of function. "Time to spread some joy!"

Shadow looked like he was already regretting every decision that led to this moment.

The first target was easy: an old lady struggling with grocery bags.

"Okay, see her?" Sonic whispered, pointing. They were both still invisible to mortal eyes, standing on the sidewalk as people passed through them. "Classic good deed opportunity. I'm gonna give her a little boost of angelic luck."

"Fascinating," Shadow said in a tone that meant the opposite.

Sonic jogged over to the old lady and concentrated. A soft golden glow emanated from his hand as he gently touched her shoulder. "There we go! Blessing of fortune, health, and—"

The old lady suddenly smiled, her step becoming lighter. One of her bags that had been tearing repaired itself. A twenty-dollar bill fluttered down from seemingly nowhere and landed at her feet.

"YES!" Sonic pumped his fist. "See that? That's how it's done! I am BACK, baby! Did you feel that? I think I felt a tingle in my wings!"

He turned around to find Shadow already walking away.

Sonic jogged to catch up. "Hey! Weren't you watching? That was pretty good, right?"

"Riveting."

"You know, a little encouragement wouldn't kill you—"

Sonic stopped. Something felt... off. He turned around.

The old lady had dropped her twenty-dollar bill down a storm drain. The repaired bag had split again, worse than before. And she'd just stepped in something unpleasant.

"What the—"

He saw Shadow's hand lowering, a faint red glow fading from his fingertips.

"DUDE!" Sonic ran back over. "Did you just CURSE that nice old lady?!"

"You—she—the bag—" Sonic gestured wildly. "I FELT my wings tingle! We were making progress! Why would you—"

"I'm a demon, angel. It's what I do." Shadow's expression was carefully neutral, but there was the tiniest hint of smugness around his eyes. "Perhaps you should try... harder."

Sonic's eye twitched. "Oh, it's gonna be like that?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Fine. FINE. Watch this."

A kid's ice cream cone fell off the stick.

Sonic blessed it with a new, better ice cream—double scoop, extra sprinkles.

Shadow walked by and the entire thing melted in three seconds.

A man's car wouldn't start.

Sonic gave it a holy tune-up.

Shadow gave it a demonic curse that made the radio only play polka music.

Someone found a wallet and was about to return it.

Sonic blessed them with good karma and a feeling of righteousness.

Shadow cursed them with an itchy tag on their shirt that wouldn't stop bothering them until they questioned all their life choices.

"STOP IT!" Sonic finally shouted, spinning to face Shadow in the middle of an invisible-to-mortals standoff in front of a coffee shop. "Every single good deed! You're right there, undoing it like—like—"

"Like a cat knocking things off a table?" Shadow suggested, his tone innocent. "How odd. Perhaps your blessings simply aren't strong enough."

"My blessings are FINE! You're just being a petty, spiteful, edgy little—" Sonic took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. I'm calm. I'm a beacon of peace and light. I'm not gonna let you get to me."

"Good."

"I'm just gonna do BIGGER good deeds. So big you can't undo them."

Shadow's expression suggested he was accepting a challenge. "By all means. Try."

Sonic's wings ruffled with determination. "Oh, you're gonna regret that."

"Doubtful."

They stared at each other, angel and demon, white wings and black wings, good and evil, locked in the most ridiculous cold war the mortal realm had ever not-witnessed.

A jogger passed through both of them.

"This is stupid," Sonic muttered.

"Yes," Shadow agreed.

"We should be working together."

"Absolutely not."

"You're impossible."

"And yet, here we are." Shadow turned away, his black wings trailing shadows despite the morning sun. "Do your worst, angel. I'll be right behind you."

Sonic watched him go, then looked down at his own white wings. They'd definitely tingled during that first blessing. Which meant it WAS working. Which meant Shadow was actively sabotaging their only way home.

"Why?" Sonic called out. "Why are you making this harder?"

Shadow paused. Didn't turn around. "Because you made a mistake that trapped us here. If I have to suffer, angel, then so do you."

Then he walked away, leaving Sonic standing alone on the sidewalk, invisible to the world, with only his pride and his powerless wings for company.

"Okay," Sonic said to himself. "New plan. Operation: Out-Good-Deed the Demon. This is fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine."

His wings drooped slightly.

"I'm totally not fine."

***

Day two of being stranded on Earth, and Sonic had a strategy.

"Okay," he muttered to himself, standing invisible in the middle of a busy downtown intersection. "Speed is my thing. So I'm gonna speedrun these good deeds. Hit as many as possible before Edgelord McGrumpy can sabotage them."

His white wings tingled with anticipation—they'd been doing that more frequently since yesterday, which meant the energy WAS building up. Slowly. Very slowly. But still.

"Time to be a hero," Sonic grinned.

He zipped to a woman about to miss her bus—blessed her with swift feet. She made it with seconds to spare.

Darted to a kid who dropped his lunch money—manifested a five-dollar bill in his pocket.

Flew to a street musician whose guitar string broke—holy repair job, plus the next person to walk by dropped a twenty in his case.

Zoomed to a dog walker whose leash broke—divine knot tying, crisis averted.

"Yes! YES!" Sonic could feel it now, that warm golden energy building in his chest, spreading to his wings. They weren't functional yet, but they were definitely less dead than before. "I am on FIRE! Metaphorically! The good kind of fire!"

He was so focused on his good deed speedrun that he didn't notice Shadow watching from a rooftop across the street, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

After his twentieth consecutive good deed (helping a lost tourist find their hotel), Sonic finally took a break, panting despite not technically needing to breathe. His wings were glowing faintly, and he felt more like his old self than he had since the crash.

That's when Shadow dropped from the sky and landed in front of him. Well, dropped and then awkwardly stumbled because his wings still didn't work, but he tried to make it look intentional.

"Oh, hey!" Sonic wiped his forehead. "Miss me already?"

"You're wasting your time," Shadow said flatly.

"What? No way! Look!" Sonic spread his wings, and they actually generated a small breeze. "See that? That's progress! I'm maybe... fifteen percent charged? Twenty? Point is, it's working!"

Shadow's eye twitched. "At this rate, it will take weeks."

"Well, maybe if SOMEONE wasn't spending all his time undoing my work—"

"I wasn't."

Sonic blinked. "Wait, what?"

"I said," Shadow repeated with exaggerated patience, "I wasn't undoing your work. I've been occupied elsewhere."

"Doing what?"

Shadow's expression darkened. "What I'm SUPPOSED to be doing. My actual job. Collecting the soul I was assigned before you ruined everything."

"Oh." Sonic felt a small pang of something that might have been guilt. "Did you... get him?"

"No. Because without my full demonic powers, I can't access the mortal's soul contract. I can't even sense where he is anymore." Shadow's wings rustled with agitation. "I've wasted two days because of you."

They stood in silence for a moment, the invisible angel and demon, surrounded by oblivious humans going about their day.

Sonic rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, man... I know you're mad—"

"Mad doesn't begin to cover it."

"—but maybe instead of just... I don't know, lurking around being angry... you could help? Like, actually help?"

Shadow's laugh was bitter. "Help with your good deeds? I'm a demon, angel. In case you forgot."

"No, no! Not GOOD good deeds. Just... neutral ones? Or like—" Sonic snapped his fingers. "Go corrupt some people! That's demon stuff, right? Bratty kids, corrupt cops, sleazy lawyers—there's gotta be some low-hanging fruit that would power YOU up!"

Shadow stared at him. "You want me to go corrupt children."

"Not like, RUIN them! Just... you know... give them bad luck? Make them step on LEGOs? Whatever demons do!" Sonic gestured wildly. "Point is, if we BOTH charge up our respective power sources, we'll get out of here twice as fast!"

"Finally, you say something intelligent."

"Was that a compliment? I'm gonna count that as a compliment."

Shadow was already turning away, his black wings catching the afternoon light. "Don't follow me. Don't speak to me. Just do your pathetic good deeds and stay out of my way."

"Aw, you're gonna miss me!"

"I'm going to miss peace and quiet."

"Same thing!"

Shadow didn't dignify that with a response. He simply stalked off, melting into the invisible spaces between mortals, leaving only the faintest trail of shadows in his wake.

Sonic watched him go, then looked down at his own slightly-glowing wings. "Okay. He's doing demon stuff. I'm doing angel stuff. This is... actually a plan. We made a plan! Together! Kind of!"

A pigeon landed beside him again.

"We're basically a team now," Sonic told the bird.

***

Four hours later, Sonic was feeling great.

He'd helped thirty more people, prevented two minor accidents, reunited a kid with their lost dog, and inspired a street artist to create something beautiful. His wings were now glowing consistently—maybe thirty percent charged?—and he could almost feel the connection to Heaven trying to reestablish itself.

He was invisible, perched on a fountain in the park, admiring his handiwork when Shadow materialized next to him.

Sonic nearly fell into the water. "DUDE! Warning next time!"

Shadow looked... tired. And annoyed. More annoyed than usual, which was saying something.

"Rough day?" Sonic asked, trying not to sound too cheerful about his own success.

"I cursed forty-seven people," Shadow said flatly. "Gave misfortune to three corrupt businessmen, bad luck to two bratty children who were tormenting a cat, and nightmares to a predatory loan shark."

"And?"

"And nothing." Shadow's wings drooped slightly—the first time Sonic had seen them do anything other than bristle with aggression. "I feel nothing. No charge. No power. Nothing."

Sonic's ears perked up. "Wait, seriously? But you did demon stuff! That should work!"

"Apparently not." Shadow sat down on the edge of the fountain with uncharacteristic heaviness. "Your plan was useless."

"Hey now, it was a good plan! Maybe you just need to—I don't know—be MORE evil?"

Shadow gave him a look that could have curdled milk. "I'm plenty evil, thank you."

"Are you though?" Sonic tilted his head. "I mean, giving bad luck to corrupt people and animal abusers isn't really EVIL evil. That's kind of... justice? In a weird way?"

"I'm not having a moral crisis with an angel."

"I'm just saying! Maybe the universe is like—" Sonic made vague hand gestures "—'oh, Shadow's being too lawful neutral, that's not proper demon behavior!'"

Shadow stood up abruptly. "I am leaving now."

"Wait, wait!" Sonic hopped in front of him. "Okay, hear me out. What if... what if you tried doing a good deed?"

The silence was profound.

"No," Shadow finally said.

"Come on! Just one! What if YOUR powers need good energy too? What if the collision mixed up our spiritual wiring or something?"

"Absolutely not."

"What if it works?"

"It won't."

"But what if it DOES?"

Shadow's wings flared. "I would rather spend eternity in this miserable realm than debase myself with acts of—of—" he spat the word like poison "—kindness."

Sonic grinned. "So you're scared."

"I am NOT—" Shadow caught himself, taking a deep breath. "I am not scared. I am principled."

"Principled. Right. Definitely not scared of doing one tiny nice thing."

"Angel, I am warning you—"

"Buck buck buck," Sonic made chicken noises.

Shadow's eye twitched violently. "Fine. FINE. One good deed. One. And when it fails spectacularly, you will never speak of this again."

"Deal!" Sonic looked around eagerly. "Okay, okay, what should we—oh! See that guy?" He pointed to a man sitting on a bench, head in his hands, clearly having a bad day. "Perfect target. Just... I don't know, give him some good vibes?"

Shadow looked at the man like he was being asked to defuse a bomb. "Good... vibes."

"Yeah! Like, happy thoughts! Hope! Luck! That stuff!"

"I hate this already."

"You got this, big guy!" Sonic gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder that was immediately shrugged off.

Shadow approached the sad man with all the enthusiasm of someone walking to their execution. His black wings were rigid with tension. He reached out one hand, fingers trembling slightly.

"Just... happiness," Shadow muttered to himself. "Simple. Pathetic. Meaningless happiness."

His hand began to glow—but wrong. The light was sickly, caught between red and gold, flickering uncertainly. Shadow's face contorted with concentration.

Then he gagged.

Actually, physically gagged.

"I can't—" Shadow pulled his hand back, the glow dissipating. "It's like trying to—to swallow glass—"

He tried again. Got his hand within inches of the man's shoulder. The glow returned, slightly more golden this time.

Shadow's whole body shuddered. He made a sound like he was being strangled.

"You okay?" Sonic asked, genuinely concerned now.

"IT'S SO—" Shadow gagged again, harder this time. "—SO DISGUSTINGLY—"

He managed to touch the man's shoulder for exactly half a second before yanking his hand away like he'd been burned. A tiny spark of golden light transferred.

The man on the bench suddenly smiled, sat up straighter, and pulled out his phone to call someone, looking hopeful.

"You did it!" Sonic cheered. "Shadow, you—"

Shadow was bent over, hands on his knees, making retching sounds. His black wings were trembling. "Never. Again."

"But it worked!"

"I DON'T CARE." Shadow straightened up, looking genuinely nauseous. "That was the most revolting, degrading, spiritually violating experience of my entire existence. I would rather be dissolved in holy water than do that again."

"Was it really that bad?"

"It felt like—" Shadow struggled for words "—like being forced to smile at strangers. And MEAN it. I think I need to go curse someone just to feel clean again."

Sonic couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "Oh man, your FACE—"

"Not. Funny."

"It was a little funny!"

"I will end you."

"You did a good deed! Shadow the Demon did a GOOD DEED!" Sonic was practically cackling now, his white wings fluttering with delight. "This is the best day ever!"

Shadow stalked away, his black wings dragging slightly behind him in what could only be described as utter defeat. "I'm going to go ruin someone's life. Maybe several lives. I need to remember who I am."

"Aw, you're not that bad!"

"YES I AM."

"See you tomorrow?" Sonic called after him.

Shadow didn't answer, but Sonic could have sworn he saw the demon's wings twitch in what might have been reluctant acknowledgment.

Sonic looked down at his own wings, now glowing a solid thirty percent. Then at the happy man on the bench. Then in the direction Shadow had disappeared.

"We're totally gonna be friends," Sonic said to no one in particular.

A familiar pigeon landed beside him again.

Perhaps Sonic is sick/injured/going through a grieving process himself, possibly isolating himself similarly to Shadow’s coping method, and Shadow unexpectedly visits Sonic.

Whether his reason is to find the cause of Sonic suddenly not being around or cheer him up/take care of him is up to you! I just think it’d be an interesting turn of tables if Sonic was the one isolating and Shadow doing the visiting. This idea for a prompt was inspired by your representation of how rare Sonic brings up his own past, having the conversation over as quickly as it starts.

Just food for thought! Love your writing style

Sonic the Hedgehog had exactly three things going for him: he was fast, he was charming, and his wings were absolutely gorgeous. The last part wasn't vanity—it was just facts. Pure white feathers that caught the celestial light just right, each one perfectly aligned. He preened them now as he stood before the Heavenly Council, flashing his trademark grin.

"So let me get this straight," Sonic said, tapping his foot at supersonic speed (a nervous habit that made the clouds beneath his feet vibrate). "You want me to go to Earth and—what was it again?"

The head angel, a ancient being whose name had too many vowels for Sonic to bother remembering, sighed deeply. "Deliver a message of hope to humanity. Inspire them. Remind them of the light within their souls."

"Right, right, light, souls, got it." Sonic gave a thumbs up. "Easy. In and out. Twenty-minute adventure."

"Sonic, you must take this seriously. The last time we sent you on a mission, you—"

"Hey, that guy's cat did get out of the tree, didn't he?" Sonic's wings ruffled defensively. "Not my fault the tree didn't survive the process. I'm fast, not delicate."

The council exchanged glances that suggested they were already regretting this decision.

"Just... try not to cause any interdimensional incidents this time," another angel pleaded.

Sonic was already stretching, his white wings spreading wide. "Relax! What's the worst that could happen?"

Meanwhile, several dimensions below, Shadow the Hedgehog was having an equally frustrating conversation.

"No."

"Shadow—"

"I said no."

The demon lord before him—all horns and fire and dramatic flair—growled in frustration. "This isn't a request. There's a soul we need collected. Standard retrieval operation."

Shadow's black wings twitched with irritation, the dark feathers catching the hellfire's glow like oil on water. "Send someone else. I have better things to do than chase down one pathetic mortal soul."

"The soul in question is a lawyer who found a loophole in his contract. A loophole, Shadow. He's making us look incompetent."

That got Shadow's attention. He hated incompetence. Almost as much as he hated assignments, inefficiency, and being told what to do.

"Fine," Shadow bit out. "But this is the last time. I'm not your errand boy."

"You say that every time."

"And yet you keep giving me errands." Shadow stood, his crimson eyes flashing. His black wings spread wide, each feather sharp enough to cut through reality itself. "I'll retrieve your soul. Then I want three months off. Minimum."

"Done."

Shadow should have known it was too easy. But he was already focused on the task, calculating trajectories and portal coordinates. He'd get this done quickly and efficiently, because that's what he did. Unlike certain angels, he actually took his job seriously.

***

Sonic burst through the dimensional barrier between Heaven and Earth like it was tissue paper, leaving a trail of sparkles and the faint scent of ozone. His white wings caught the updraft, and he whooped with joy.

"Now THIS is what I'm talking about!" he shouted to no one in particular. "Feel that mortal realm air! Smells like... is that pizza? Oh man, Earth rules!"

He was so busy enjoying the flight that he didn't notice he was off course. The coordinate crystal the angels had given him was in his pocket, completely ignored, because Sonic the Hedgehog didn't need directions. He had instincts.

His instincts, at this particular moment, were telling him to do a loop-de-loop.

Shadow emerged from his own portal with perfect precision, exactly three hundred meters above the designated coordinates. His black wings cut through the air as he calculated the fastest route to his target.

Then he smelled it.

Something sickeningly sweet. Like cotton candy and misplaced optimism.

An angel.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Shadow muttered. Angels meant paperwork. Angels meant complications. Angels meant—

They saw each other at the exact same moment.

Sonic, upside down at the apex of his loop-de-loop, grinned. "Whoa! Hey there, Hot Topic! Nice wings!"

Shadow's eyes widened in horror. "MOVE!"

"What?"

They collided with the force of a celestial freight train.

White feathers and black feathers exploded in every direction. There was a sound like reality briefly glitching, a flash of light and darkness simultaneously, and both hedgehogs went spiraling toward Earth in a tangle of limbs and wings and indignant shouting.

"GET YOUR FEATHERS OUT OF MY FACE!"

"STOP PUNCHING ME!"

"I'M NOT PUNCHING YOU, MY WINGS ARE JUST THAT POWERFUL!"

"THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!"

They hit a cloud bank, which did absolutely nothing to slow their descent. Then another cloud. Then a flock of very startled geese.

Somewhere in the chaos, there was a crackling sound—like two divine GPS systems shorting out simultaneously. The coordinate crystal in Sonic's pocket shattered. The tracker on Shadow's wrist sparked and died.

"Oh, that's not good," Sonic managed.

"WHAT did you break?!" Shadow snarled.

"ME?! You're the one who—LOOK OUT FOR THAT BUILDING!"

They smashed through a billboard (ironically advertising life insurance), separated mid-air, and crashed into opposite ends of a parking lot. The impact left two hedgehog-shaped craters and one very confused parking attendant.

Sonic sat up groggily, spitting out asphalt and feathers. His wings felt wrong—heavy and unresponsive. He tried to summon his celestial energy to heal them and fly back up.

Nothing happened.

"Oh. Oh no." He looked at his wings. They were still there, still white and fluffy, but completely powerless. "Nonononono—"

Across the parking lot, Shadow was coming to the same horrifying realization. His black wings were intact but utterly useless. He tried to open a portal back to Hell.

The air fizzled weakly and gave him what was essentially a dimensional middle finger.

"No," Shadow said flatly. "Absolutely not."

He stood up, brushed himself off with as much dignity as possible, and marched across the parking lot toward the source of all his problems: the blue idiot with the dopey grin who was now poking at his own wings like they were broken appliances.

"YOU," Shadow snarled.

Sonic looked up, and despite everything, his first instinct was to flash a winning smile. "Hey! So, uh, funny story—"

"Funny? FUNNY?!" Shadow grabbed Sonic by the front of his shirt, his red eyes blazing. "Do you have ANY idea what you've done?!"

"Okay, first of all, personal space," Sonic said, holding up his hands. "Second of all, technically you flew into me. I was in the middle of a very important loop-de-loop."

"A LOOP-DE-LOOP?!" Shadow shook him. "I was on a MISSION! A DIRECT ORDER FROM THE DEMON LORD!"

"Yeah? Well I was on a mission from the Heavenly Council! So maybe YOU should have watched where YOU were going, edge lord!"

They were nose to nose now, fangs bared, wings puffed up in aggressive displays despite being completely non-functional.

The parking attendant slowly raised his phone and started recording.

Shadow noticed his audience and immediately dropped Sonic, smoothing down his wings with forced calm. "This conversation is not over."

"Aw, come on!" Sonic scrambled to his feet, his white wings drooping. "Look, I'm sure we can figure this out. I mean, how hard can it be? We just need to..." He pulled out the shattered remains of his coordinate crystal. "Oh. Uh. Do you have yours?"

Shadow looked at his sparking, dead wrist tracker. Then back at Sonic. His eye twitched.

"I'm going to kill you."

"See, that's probably why you're a demon. Very negative attitude." Sonic backed away slowly. "What if instead of murder, we tried, I don't know, working together?"

"I would rather spend eternity in the mortal realm."

"Great! Because that's exactly what's about to happen unless we fix this!" Sonic gestured wildly at his useless wings. "I can't fly! You can't fly! We're stuck here! So unless you want to spend the rest of your miserable afterlife walking everywhere like some kind of chump, maybe we could—"

"Fine."

Sonic blinked. "Wait, really?"

"We find a way to repair our connection to our respective realms. Then we never speak of this again, and I never have to see your insufferable face." Shadow turned away, his black wings folding tightly against his back. "But make no mistake, angel. This is YOUR fault, and you WILL fix it."

"Hey, I'm the fastest thing alive! Or dead? Undead? Whatever!" Sonic jogged up beside him, grinning despite the situation. "Point is, speed's kind of my thing. We'll have this figured out before you can say 'lighten up.'"

Shadow's wings bristled. "I do not need to 'lighten up.'"

"See, the fact that you put that in air quotes kind of proves my point."

"I will leave you here."

"No you won't! You need me!" Sonic threw an arm around Shadow's shoulders, which was immediately shrugged off with extreme prejudice. "Come on, Shadow—that IS your name, right? Very on-brand—we're gonna be best friends by the end of this!"

Shadow stopped walking. Turned slowly. And gave Sonic a look that could have curdled holy water.

"My name is Shadow the Hedgehog. I am a demon of the highest order. I have collected ten thousand souls and ended twice as many lives. I do not have 'friends.' I have targets and obstacles." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Guess which one you are."

Sonic's grin never wavered. "The target's usually the fun one, right?"

Shadow made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan and stalked away, his black wings leaving small trails of shadows in the afternoon sun.

Sonic watched him go, then looked down at his own white wings. "Well," he said to himself, "this is gonna be interesting."

He took off after the demon at his signature supersonic speed—

—and immediately tripped over his own powerless wings, faceplanting into the asphalt.

From somewhere ahead, he heard Shadow's voice: "Pathetic."

"I'm fine! Totally fine! Very fast and fine!" Sonic called out, scrambling back to his feet.

"Come on, Shadow! Please?"

Shadow didn't even look up from his book, one ear flicking in annoyance as Sonic bounced around his apartment like a hyperactive pinball. "No."

"But it's Halloween! And this haunted house is supposed to be amazing!" Sonic clasped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "They have live actors, special effects, the works! Rouge said it's the scariest one in the city!"

"Then take Rouge." Shadow turned the page deliberately, his crimson eyes scanning the text with practiced disinterest.

"She's working a heist—I mean, she's busy." Sonic circled around the couch, trying to catch Shadow's gaze. "And Amy's doing that Halloween party thing with Cream, Tails is handing out candy at his workshop, Knuckles refuses to leave the Master Emerald even for Halloween..." He counted on his fingers. "You're literally my last option!"

"How flattering," Shadow deadpanned.

"Shadow, please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a chili dog on top?"

"The answer is no, hedgehog. I have no interest in paying money to be jumped at by teenagers in cheap costumes."

Sonic deflated slightly, his ears drooping. He walked around to stand directly in front of Shadow, and when the black hedgehog finally looked up with an irritated glare, Sonic deployed his secret weapon.

The eyes.

Those impossibly wide, emerald green puppy dog eyes, complete with a slight quiver of his bottom lip.

Shadow's eye twitched. "Don't you dare—"

Sonic somehow made his eyes even bigger, more pathetically hopeful.

"That's not going to work on me."

A soft, sad little whimper escaped Sonic's throat.

Shadow stared at him for a long moment, his expression stony. Then he let out a long, suffering sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, snapping his book shut with more force than necessary. "Fine. Fine. But if this is a waste of my time—"

"YES!" Sonic punched the air triumphantly, all traces of sadness vanishing instantly. "You won't regret this! Well, you might regret it a little, but it'll be fun! Come on, come on, we gotta go before the line gets too long!"

Before Shadow could change his mind, Sonic grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him toward the door.

The "Nightmare Manor" loomed before them, all gothic architecture and strategic fog machines. Strobe lights flickered in the windows, and distant screams echoed from within. The line stretched around the block, filled with excited groups of friends and couples clutching each other nervously.

"See? This is going to be great!" Sonic grinned, bouncing on his heels as they waited.

Shadow crossed his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "I've faced actual nightmares. Literal gods of destruction. What's a haunted house going to do to me?"

"That's the spirit! Sort of." Sonic elbowed him playfully. "Just try to have fun, okay?"

After twenty minutes, they finally reached the entrance. A ghoulish attendant in tattered clothes handed them a waiver.

Shadow's eyebrow raised. "A waiver?"

"Standard stuff!" Sonic said quickly, scribbling his signature. "Just says you won't sue if you get too scared or whatever."

Shadow read through it with growing suspicion, his eyes lingering on phrases like "intense physical contact," "extreme startle scares," and "not responsible for injuries sustained." He signed it anyway, shooting Sonic a look that clearly said, This better be worth it.

The heavy door creaked open, and they stepped into darkness.

The first room was a decrepit hallway, wallpaper peeling, with portraits whose eyes seemed to follow them. Eerie music played from hidden speakers. Sonic crept forward, his grin never faltering even as something skittered in the shadows.

Shadow walked beside him, hands at his sides, looking like he was taking a casual stroll through the park.

A figure in a white nightgown suddenly dropped from the ceiling with a bloodcurdling shriek.

Sonic yelped and jumped back, laughing. "Oh man, that got me!"

Shadow hadn't even flinched.

They continued through a series of rooms: a mad scientist's laboratory where "corpses" sat up on tables, a cemetery where hands reached up from the ground, a butcher's room with disturbingly realistic props. Each time, actors would leap out, scream, or chase them a few feet.

Sonic would laugh, sometimes grab Shadow's arm, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Shadow remained utterly unaffected, his expression bored.

"Dude, are you even trying to be scared?" Sonic asked as they entered what appeared to be a dark basement, lit only by a single flickering bulb.

"This is childish," Shadow replied flatly.

"Oh come on, you gotta admit that chainsaw guy was pretty—"

A door slammed behind them, plunging them into complete darkness. Sonic felt Shadow tense slightly beside him—finally, a reaction!

Then came the sound of heavy breathing, too close, moving through the dark. Sonic's eyes hadn't adjusted yet, but he could sense something moving toward them.

Suddenly, a figure lunged directly at Shadow from the darkness, close enough to touch, releasing a guttural roar.

And that's when Sonic learned something new about Shadow the Hedgehog.

Shadow didn't scream.

Shadow didn't jump.

Shadow didn't shout.

Shadow's instincts, honed by years of combat and survival, kicked in instantly and automatically.

Shadow punched.

There was a meaty THWACK followed by a pained "OOF!" and the sound of someone hitting the floor hard.

The lights flickered on—emergency lighting—and revealed a young actor in zombie makeup sprawled on the ground, clutching his face, his mask askew.

"Oh... oh no," Sonic breathed.

Shadow blinked, slowly lowering his fist, realization dawning on his face. "I... didn't mean..."

"MY NOSE!" the actor wailed. "He broke my freaking nose!"

Within seconds, two staff members rushed in, followed by what appeared to be a manager. The haunted house lights came fully on, ruining the ambiance entirely as other patrons were quickly ushered out.

"I'm so sorry," Sonic said frantically as a staff member helped the injured actor to his feet, blood dripping from his nose. "He's got, uh, really good reflexes?"

Shadow looked genuinely uncomfortable, a rare expression for him. "It was instinctual. You... jumped at me in the dark."

"That's literally my job, man!" the actor said, his voice nasally as he pinched his nose.

The manager, a tired-looking woman in her forties, approached with a clipboard and an expression that said this was not the first time this had happened. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the attraction."

"Understood," Shadow said stiffly.

"And we'll need your information for the incident report. Tyler here will need medical attention, and—"

"I'll cover all medical expenses," Shadow interrupted, pulling out a wallet. "And any wages he loses. Compensation for pain and suffering."

Sonic stared at him, a bit surprised at how quickly Shadow was taking responsibility.

After an extremely awkward twenty minutes of paperwork, apologies, and exchanging information, Sonic and Shadow found themselves back outside in the cool October air, the sounds of the haunted house continuing without them.

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then Sonic started to snicker.

"This isn't funny," Shadow grumbled.

"You punched a haunted house actor!" Sonic wheezed, the snickers turning into full laughter. "Oh man, oh man, I can't—" He doubled over, holding his stomach.

"He jumped at me in complete darkness. What did he expect?" Shadow crossed his arms defensively, but there was the tiniest hint of embarrassment in his eyes.

"Most people scream, Shadow! Maybe run! You went full combat mode on a teenager in a zombie costume!" Sonic wiped tears from his eyes. "This is the best Halloween ever."

"We're banned from the haunted house."

"Worth it!" Sonic grinned up at him, and despite everything, there was no judgment in those green eyes—just amusement and affection. "Come on, Mr. I-Punch-My-Problems. Let's get chili dogs. You're buying since you assaulted our entertainment."

Shadow huffed, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "This is why I don't go out."

"And yet you came with me anyway," Sonic said, bumping his shoulder against Shadow's as they started walking. "Because you couldn't resist these baby greens."

"I'm regretting that decision."

"No you're not."

Shadow glanced at Sonic—at his bright smile, the way the streetlights caught in his eyes, the easy confidence in his stride even after they'd been kicked out of a Halloween attraction—and felt something warm settle in his chest.

"...No," he admitted quietly. "I'm not."

Sonic's grin somehow got even brighter. He reached out and grabbed Shadow's hand, interlacing their fingers. "Happy Halloween, Shadow."

King Arthur was having what could only be described as one of those days. The kind where inspiration struck like lightning and common sense fled like a startled deer. He sat in his study, quill poised over a piece of parchment, when suddenly he slammed his hand down on the desk with such enthusiasm that his inkwell jumped.

"That's it!" he declared to the empty room. "I shall attend the Midsummer Ball!"

This declaration might have been perfectly reasonable coming from any other king. Arthur, however, had spent the last three such balls hiding in his chambers, claiming urgent matters of state that mysteriously resolved themselves the morning after each celebration.

But today was different. Today, Arthur felt bold. Today, Arthur felt... sociable.

"And I know exactly who shall be my partner," he continued, grinning as he strode from his study with the kind of purposeful energy that usually meant trouble for someone.

That someone, as fate would have it, was Sir Lancelot.

Arthur found his most trusted knight in the training grounds, methodically dismantling a practice dummy with his sword. Each strike was precise, controlled, deadly—everything Arthur found absolutely mesmerizing about the dark hedgehog.

"Lancelot!" Arthur called out cheerfully, causing said knight to pause mid-swing.

Lancelot turned, lowering his sword. "My liege? You seem... unusually enthusiastic today."

"Indeed I am!" Arthur beamed, clasping his hands behind his back. "I've made a decision. I shall be attending the Midsummer Ball this year."

"That's... wonderful, Sire. I'm sure the court will be delighted." Lancelot began to turn back to his training, but Arthur's next words stopped him cold.

"And you shall be my partner."

The silence that followed was so profound that even the birds seemed to pause their chirping. Lancelot's sword arm went completely slack, the weapon nearly slipping from his grasp.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My dance partner," Arthur clarified helpfully, as if this explained everything. "For the ball. You and I shall dance together."

Lancelot stared at his king as if Arthur had suddenly announced his intention to take up dragon racing as a hobby. "Sire, I... no."

Arthur blinked. "No?"

"Absolutely not." Lancelot set his sword aside and crossed his arms. "I don't dance."

Arthur scoffed—actually scoffed—with such dramatic flair that it would have made a court jester proud. "Nonsense! Everyone can dance."

"I cannot."

"Cannot, or will not?"

"Both."

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. "Details. I shall teach you."

"You shall do no such thing." Lancelot's voice held that particular tone he used when he was trying to be reasonable about something completely unreasonable. "Sire, I am a knight. Knights do not... prance about in elaborate choreography."

"Prance?" Arthur looked genuinely offended. "My dear Lancelot, dancing is an art form! It's graceful, elegant, sophisticated—"

"It's prancing."

"—and I happen to be quite accomplished at it."

Lancelot pinched the bridge of his nose. "My liege, surely there are plenty of eligible ladies who would be honored to—"

"I don't want to dance with eligible ladies," Arthur interrupted, stepping closer. "I want to dance with you."

The way Arthur said it—simple, direct, with that slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth—made something flutter uncomfortably in Lancelot's chest. He quickly squashed the feeling.

"I would only embarrass you," Lancelot said firmly. "I have the grace of a boulder rolling down a mountain."

Arthur laughed, the sound bright and delighted. "Have you seen yourself fight? You move like poetry in motion! Dancing is simply fighting without the sharp objects."

"That is the worst description of dancing I have ever heard."

"But accurate!" Arthur was warming to his theme now, gesturing enthusiastically. "Think about it—reading your opponent, anticipating their moves, maintaining perfect balance and timing..."

"In dancing, your 'opponent' isn't trying to kill you."

"Clearly you've never been to a proper court ball."

Despite himself, Lancelot felt his mouth twitch slightly. Arthur noticed immediately and pounced on this tiny crack in his knight's resolve.

"Aha! I saw that! You almost smiled!"

"I did not."

"You absolutely did. Which means you're already weakening. Come now, Lancelot, what's the worst that could happen?"

"I could step on your feet, knock you over, cause a diplomatic incident, start a war—"

"All excellent reasons to practice beforehand," Arthur said smoothly. "Which is why we shall begin immediately."

Before Lancelot could protest, Arthur had grabbed his arm and was steering him toward the castle with surprising determination.

"Sire, this is highly irregular—"

"So is a king who hides from his own balls for three consecutive years, yet here we are."

Lancelot dug his heels in. "Arthur, I'm serious. I cannot dance. I have never danced. I don't even know how to begin dancing."

Arthur stopped and turned to face him, expression softening slightly. "Then it's settled. I shall teach you, starting with the basics. Trust me, my dear knight. When have I ever led you astray?"

Lancelot stared at him incredulously. "Shall I list them chronologically or by severity?"

"Chronologically would take too long, and severity is subjective." Arthur tugged on his arm again. "Come. The day is young, the ballroom is empty, and I happen to know exactly where the court musician keeps his practice instruments."

As they walked, Lancelot muttered under his breath, "I'm going to regret this."

Arthur's grin could have powered the castle for a week. "Undoubtedly. But think of the stories we'll have to tell."

"Assuming we survive them."

"My dear Lancelot," Arthur said, squeezing his arm gently, "where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it in my other armor," Lancelot replied dryly, but he didn't pull away from Arthur's grip.

The castle's grand ballroom was a sight to behold—soaring ceilings, gleaming marble floors, and tall windows that let in streams of afternoon sunlight. It was also, Lancelot noted with growing dread, completely empty save for themselves.

"Perfect!" Arthur declared, releasing Lancelot's arm to spread his own wide, spinning in a small circle. "No audience for your inevitable stumbling. Aren't I thoughtful?"

"Incredibly," Lancelot muttered, eyeing the polished floor as if it were a dragon waiting to devour him. "Perhaps we should reconsider—"

But Arthur was already bustling about, producing a small hand-crank music box from seemingly nowhere. "Now, we'll start with something simple. A basic waltz. Three-four time, very straightforward."

He began cranking the music box, and a gentle, lilting melody filled the vast space. Arthur hummed along as he set it on a nearby table, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Right then!" Arthur turned back to Lancelot, who had remained frozen near the doorway. "First, we establish the frame."

"The what now?"

"The frame! The foundation of all good dancing." Arthur approached, hands extended. "Give me your hands."

Lancelot stared at Arthur's outstretched hands as if they might bite him. "Sire, perhaps we should start with... I don't know, walking? Walking seems like a reasonable prerequisite to dancing."

"Nonsense! You walk perfectly well. Now, hands."

Reluctantly, Lancelot extended his own hands. The moment Arthur's fingers closed around them, warm and sure, Lancelot's brain seemed to short-circuit slightly.

"Excellent," Arthur murmured, adjusting Lancelot's right hand to rest on his shoulder while placing his own left hand on Lancelot's waist. "Now, I'll lead, so you just need to—"

"Why are you so close?" Lancelot interrupted, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Arthur blinked up at him innocently. "This is how dancing works, my dear knight. We can hardly waltz from opposite sides of the room."

"We could try," Lancelot suggested weakly.

"Just follow my lead," Arthur said, beginning to move. "Step back on your right foot— no, your other right foot—"

"I know which foot is my right foot!"

"Do you? Because you're currently stepping on my left foot."

Lancelot immediately jerked backward as if he'd been burned. "I'm sorry! I told you this was a terrible idea—"

"Lancelot." Arthur caught his hands again before he could flee entirely. "It's quite all right. Look at me."

Against his better judgment, Lancelot met Arthur's eyes. They were bright with amusement, yes, but also surprisingly gentle.

"It was one foot," Arthur said reasonably. "I have two of them, and they're both quite sturdy. I've survived far worse than a knight's boot."

"But—"

"No buts. Well, except for the ones we're waggling as we dance. Now, shall we try again?"

Lancelot looked deeply skeptical. "What if I step on you again?"

"Then I shall heroically endure it and probably compose a ballad about my suffering later."

"That's not helping."

Arthur's grin turned softer, more coaxing. "Trust me?"

And that, Lancelot realized, was entirely unfair. Because Arthur knew—had to know—that Lancelot would do almost anything when asked like that.

"Fine," Lancelot sighed. "But when this ends in disaster, I'm blaming you entirely."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

They resumed their positions, and this time Arthur moved more slowly, telegraphing each step. "Back, side, together," he murmured, guiding Lancelot through the basic box step. "Forward, side, together."

To Lancelot's amazement, he managed several complete repetitions without incident. The music box played its gentle melody, Arthur hummed along under his breath, and for a moment, it almost seemed like this might actually work.

Then Lancelot caught sight of their reflection in one of the tall windows.

"Do I really look that ridiculous?" he asked, stopping mid-step.

Arthur followed his gaze to their reflection—Arthur looking perfectly at ease, Lancelot stiff as a board and staring at their feet with intense concentration.

"You look like someone who's trying very hard not to trip," Arthur said diplomatically.

"So...ridiculous."

"Focused," Arthur corrected. "Perhaps a bit too focused. Lancelot, look at me, not at our feet."

"But how will I know where to step if I'm not watching—"

"You'll feel it. Dancing isn't about thinking your way through every movement. It's about trusting your partner and letting the music guide you."

Lancelot gave him a deeply dubious look. "That sounds like mystical nonsense."

"Try it anyway."

Reluctantly, Lancelot raised his head, meeting Arthur's eyes again. Arthur smiled and began to move once more, this time without calling out the steps.

For about thirty seconds, it was almost magical. They moved together, Arthur leading confidently while Lancelot followed with growing confidence. The music swirled around them, and Lancelot found himself beginning to understand what Arthur meant about trusting—

And then he stepped directly on Arthur's right foot with enough force to make the king wince.

"Right!" Lancelot said immediately, dropping Arthur's hands and stepping backward. "That's quite enough of that. Clearly, I'm not suited for—"

"Lancelot, stop." Arthur's voice was firm but not unkind. He reached out, catching Lancelot's hands before he could retreat further. "You're not giving up after one misstep."

"Two missteps," Lancelot corrected. "And I could have seriously injured you just then."

"My feet have survived battles, Lancelot. They can survive a dance lesson."

Arthur stepped closer, bringing their joined hands up between them. His thumbs brushed gently over Lancelot's knuckles, and something in his expression made Lancelot's protests die in his throat.

"You're overthinking this," Arthur said quietly. "I've seen you face down dragons without flinching, yet a simple waltz has you terrified. Why?"

Lancelot stared down at their joined hands, Arthur's warm and steady against his own slightly trembling ones. "Because," he said finally, "dragons don't care if I embarrass myself. Dragons don't... matter the way you do."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it, and Lancelot felt his face grow warm. Arthur's hands tightened around his.

"Lancelot," Arthur said softly, and there was something in his voice that made Lancelot look up despite himself. "You could never embarrass me. Do you truly think I care about a few stepped-on toes?"

"You should," Lancelot muttered. "They're royal toes."

Arthur laughed, bright and delighted. "They're just toes, my dear knight. And they're honored to be stepped on by you."

"That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Very little about this makes sense," Arthur admitted, tugging gently on Lancelot's hands. "But humor me anyway? Just a bit longer?"

Lancelot studied Arthur's face—the hopeful smile, the patient eyes, the way he waited without pushing for an answer—and felt his resolve crumble completely.

"If I break your foot, you're not allowed to compose any ballads about it," he said finally.

Arthur's smile could have outshone the sun. "Deal. Now, shall we try once more? And this time, I promise to keep my feet out of your way."

"That's not how dancing works."

"Then we'll make it work our way."

They resumed their positions, and this time something felt different. Perhaps it was Arthur's patient reassurance, or perhaps Lancelot was simply too emotionally wrung out to maintain his rigid panic, but as they began to move again, he found himself actually following Arthur's lead rather than fighting it.

"There," Arthur murmured approvingly as they completed a full rotation without incident. "You see? You're a natural."

"I stepped on you twice in the span of five minutes," Lancelot pointed out, though his voice lacked its earlier edge of mortification.

"Ancient history," Arthur said airily, guiding him through another turn. "Besides, you're improving remarkably quickly for someone who claims to have no sense of rhythm."

"I never said I had no sense of rhythm. I said I don't dance."

"Well, you're dancing now."

And he was, Lancelot realized with some surprise. They were actually dancing—moving together in time to the gentle melody, Arthur leading confidently while Lancelot followed with growing ease. It was... not entirely terrible.

In fact, it was almost pleasant.

The thought made him flush slightly, the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. He was grateful for his helmet, which hid the worst of his embarrassment from Arthur's observant eyes.

Or so he thought.

"You're getting warm," Arthur observed, his voice taking on a tone of casual concern. "Perhaps we should—"

"I'm fine," Lancelot said quickly. Too quickly.

Arthur's knowing smile suggested he wasn't fooled in the slightest. "Of course you are. But humor me?"

Before Lancelot could ask what he meant, Arthur's left hand left his waist to reach up toward his helmet. Lancelot's entire body went rigid.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping," Arthur said simply, his fingers finding the fastenings of Lancelot's helmet with practiced ease. "You'll overheat in this stuffy thing, and I refuse to have my dance partner collapse from heat exhaustion."

"Arthur, no—" Lancelot tried to step back, but Arthur's right hand still held his firmly, keeping him in place.

"Trust me," Arthur said softly, and there was something in his voice that made Lancelot's protests die in his throat.

With careful, deliberate movements, Arthur lifted the helmet away.

Lancelot's dark fur was slightly mussed from the confines of the helmet, and yes, his cheeks were definitely flushed with a warm pink that had nothing to do with exertion. But what struck Arthur most was how different Lancelot looked without the barrier of his helmet—younger somehow, more vulnerable, and utterly beautiful in the afternoon light streaming through the windows.

"Better?" Arthur asked, though his voice came out slightly rougher than intended.

Lancelot's eyes were wide, almost startled, as if he'd been caught without his armor in more ways than one. "I... yes. Better."

Arthur set the helmet aside on a nearby chair, then returned to position with Lancelot. But this time, when his left hand came to rest on Lancelot's waist, his right hand rose to cup Lancelot's cheek briefly—just a gentle touch, there and gone again.

"You're blushing," Arthur observed with quiet delight.

"I am not," Lancelot said automatically, even as his flush deepened.

"You absolutely are. It's rather charming, actually."

"Arthur..." Lancelot's voice held a warning note, but it lacked any real heat.

"What? I'm simply stating facts. You have lovely coloring when you blush. Very becoming."

Lancelot made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "Are we going to dance, or are you going to spend the afternoon cataloguing my embarrassment?"

"Can't I do both?"

But Arthur did resume their dance, and without the helmet's weight and restriction, Lancelot found himself moving even more freely. The flush in his cheeks remained, but he seemed less self-conscious about it now, more willing to meet Arthur's eyes and hold his gaze.

"This is actually..." Lancelot began, then stopped himself.

"Actually what?"

"Nothing."

"Lancelot."

A pause. Then, quietly: "Actually rather nice."

Arthur's smile was radiant. "High praise indeed from someone who was ready to flee the kingdom rather than attempt a simple waltz."

"I wasn't going to flee the kingdom," Lancelot protested.

"You were mentally calculating the distance to the border. I could see it in your eyes."

"...It's not that far, actually."

Arthur laughed, spinning them both in a wider circle that made Lancelot's eyes go momentarily wide with surprise—but he didn't stumble, didn't miss a step, just followed Arthur's lead with growing confidence.

"See?" Arthur said as they settled back into the gentler rhythm. "You're practically a natural. By the time of the actual ball, you'll be the envy of every dancer in attendance."

The mention of the ball brought reality crashing back, and some of Lancelot's newfound confidence faltered. "Arthur, about the ball—"

"No second thoughts," Arthur said firmly, his grip on Lancelot's hand tightening slightly. "You promised."

"I agreed to let you teach me to dance. I never promised to actually attend the ball."

"Semantics."

"Important distinctions."

Arthur spun them again, this time dipping Lancelot slightly at the end in a move that was probably far too advanced for a first lesson but was undeniably impressive. Lancelot's startled gasp turned into something that might have been laughter.

"Still want to back out?" Arthur asked as he drew Lancelot upright again.

Lancelot stared at him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, looking thoroughly disheveled and utterly enchanting. "You're playing dirty."

"I'm playing to win."

"And what exactly are you trying to win?"

Arthur's expression grew serious, tender in a way that made Lancelot's breath catch. "One evening," he said quietly. "One perfect evening where I get to dance with the person I most want to dance with, consequences be damned."

The music box wound down, the melody growing slower and more distant, but neither of them moved to restart it. They stood there in the afternoon sunlight, still holding each other, still swaying slightly to a rhythm only they could hear.

"Arthur," Lancelot said softly.

"Yes?"

"I'm still going to step on your feet at the actual ball."

The calendar on the wall showed October 12th, and Sonic could barely contain his excitement as he bounced around Shadow's apartment, a whirlwind of blue energy and Halloween enthusiasm.

"Shadow! Shadow, Shadow, Shadow!" Sonic practically vibrated as he held up two costume catalogs. "Look at all these options! We could go as superheroes—wait, we already ARE superheroes. Okay, what about classic monsters? Or—ooh!—matching costumes! Like salt and pepper shakers, or peanut butter and jelly!"

Shadow sat on his couch, arms crossed, one eye cracked open in what could only be described as restrained suffering. "No."

"Come on!" Sonic zoomed over, draping himself dramatically across the back of the couch. "It's Halloween! The one night a year where everyone dresses up and gets free candy! How can you not be excited?"

"Because I am not a child, and I have dignity," Shadow replied flatly.

Sonic rolled his eyes and vaulted over the couch to land beside him. "You're such a buzzkill. Don't you want to do something fun for once?"

"My idea of fun doesn't involve wearing ridiculous outfits and begging strangers for processed sugar."

"Aw, but Shadow..." Sonic leaned closer, putting on his best pleading expression, complete with wide green eyes that had gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count. "Please? For me?"

Shadow's resolve wavered for exactly half a second before he steeled himself. "The most I'll do is tag along while you go trick-or-treating. I'll watch. From a distance. In my normal attire."

"That's so boring!" Sonic flopped back against the cushions with an exaggerated groan. "You're going to be the only person on the street not dressed up. People are going to think you're a chaperone or something."

"Good. That's accurate."

"Shadow, please!" Sonic sat up again, clasping his hands together. "Just one costume! You don't even have to go all out. We could get you like, a witch hat or something simple—"

"No."

"Devil horns?"

"Absolutely not."

"Cat ears?"

Shadow shot him a withering glare. "I will wear a Halloween costume when pigs fly, Sonic. And since that's impossible, this conversation is over."

Sonic's pleading expression froze. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—the kind of grin that Shadow had learned to associate with either brilliance or disaster, and sometimes both.

***

A few days later, Sonic practically skipped into Tails's workshop, humming a tune that was suspiciously cheerful even by his standards.

"Morning, Tails!" he called out, hopping up onto a workbench with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. "Beautiful day, isn't it? Love what you've done with the place. Is that a new wrench? It really brings out the ambiance."

Tails looked up from the engine he was tinkering with, one eyebrow raised. His twin tails swished behind him in amusement. "Okay, what do you want?"

"What? Me? Want something?" Sonic pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Can't a guy just visit his best buddy and compliment his excellent workshop organization?"

"You reorganized my tools last week and I'm still finding screwdrivers in weird places." Tails set down his wrench and crossed his arms, though he was smiling. "You also only get this nice when you need something big. So, spill."

Sonic's innocent expression lasted about three more seconds before he broke into a sheepish grin. "Okay, okay, you got me. But buddy, this is important. Like, relationship-defining important."

"Relationship-defining?" Tails's eyes widened. "Wait, are you and Shadow finally—"

"No! I mean—maybe? That's not the point!" Sonic's ears flattened slightly as he waved his hands. "The point is, I need you to achieve the impossible."

Tails pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. "The impossible? Sonic, I've built interdimensional portals and time-space GPS systems. You're going to have to be more specific."

Sonic leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with determination. "I need you to make a pig fly before Halloween night."

There was a long pause. A wrench fell somewhere in the background with a distant clang.

"I'm sorry," Tails said slowly. "Did you just say... make a pig fly?"

"Yep!"

"An actual pig?"

"That's right!"

"Flying?"

"Through the air and everything!"

Tails stared at him. "Sonic, I'm going to need some context here."

Sonic hopped off the workbench and began pacing excitedly. "Okay, so you know how Shadow never wants to do anything fun? Well, I was trying to get him to wear a costume for Halloween—just a costume, Tails, is that really too much to ask?—and he said he'd only wear one when pigs fly."

"Ah." Understanding dawned on Tails's face, followed immediately by a grin. "And you're taking that literally."

"Exactly!" Sonic pointed at him triumphantly. "He made it a condition! Those were his exact words! So if I can make a pig fly, he HAS to dress up with me for Halloween. It's a matter of honor now."

Tails rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his mechanical mind already working through possibilities. "Well, technically, there are several ways we could approach this. We could build a jetpack small enough for a pig, or maybe a anti-gravity harness, or—" He paused, noticing Sonic's increasingly excited bouncing. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Tails, I have never been more serious about anything in my life." Sonic grabbed his friend's shoulders. "I need to see Shadow in a costume. Preferably something cute. Or cool. Or both! Can you imagine Shadow in like, a vampire cape? Or a superhero outfit? Or—oh man—what if we could get him to dress up as a ghost? He'd be so annoyed, it would be perfect!"

"You know this is all just an excuse to spend Halloween with him, right?" Tails said with a knowing smile.

Sonic's ears turned slightly pink. "Is it working?"

"On me? Yes, you've convinced me. This is too good to pass up." Tails turned to his computer and started pulling up schematics. "Okay, so we've got nineteen days until Halloween. That's doable. First question: Do you have access to an actual pig?"

Sonic's confident expression faltered. "Uh... I was hoping you'd have an idea about that part?"

Tails sighed, but he was grinning. "Of course you were. Okay, I might know a farmer outside the city who owes me a favor after I fixed his irrigation system. We'll need to make this temporary and completely safe for the animal, obviously."

"Obviously! I'm not a monster, Tails. Just a guy trying to get his crush to wear a costume."

"You just admitted it's a crush."

"I—shut up—we're building a flying pig!"

***

The next day, Sonic stood in Tails's workshop, hands on his hips, staring at their newest collaborator with a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

"Tails," Sonic said slowly. "When you said you'd get us a pig... why did we get stuck with the fattest pig in the entire country?"

The pig in question—a massive spotted sow that Tails had diplomatically introduced as "Miss Penelope"—sat contentedly in the middle of the workshop floor, taking up approximately twice the space Sonic had anticipated. She snorted happily, completely oblivious to her role in hedgehog romantic machinations.

"She's not fat, she's... substantial," Tails said, though he was eyeing Miss Penelope with a slight frown. "Besides, Farmer Henderson said she was the gentlest one. Apparently she loves attention and won't panic easily. That's important for what we're about to do."

"Gentle is great, but Tails, she's HUGE!" Sonic gestured wildly. "How are we supposed to make her fly? We'd need like, a rocket engine or something!"

"Well, not a rocket engine, but..." Tails was already moving around the pig with a measuring tape, muttering calculations under his breath. He held up the tape along her width, then her length, jotting down notes. "Okay, so she's about 250 pounds, give or take. That's definitely more than I was hoping for, but not impossible."

Sonic rushed over to close and lock the workshop door, then checked the windows for good measure. "We cannot let anyone see this. Can you imagine if word got out? 'Sonic the Hedgehog and Miles Prower: Pig Launchers.' That's not the headline I want."

"Technically we're not launching her, we're giving her controlled flight capabilities." Tails pulled out his tablet and started sketching rapidly. "Okay, so with her weight, we'll need to account for lift, thrust, stability... We can't just strap jets to her, that would be terrifying for everyone involved."

Miss Penelope oinked and nuzzled against Sonic's leg, nearly knocking him over.

"Yeah, yeah, you're very cute," Sonic grumbled, scratching behind her ear despite himself. "But you're supposed to be helping me win a bet, not being adorable." He looked back at Tails. "So what's the plan, genius?"

Tails was already pulling parts from various shelves, his twin tails spinning with excitement. "I'm thinking a harness system with miniature anti-gravity generators—I've been working on scaling down the tech from the Tornado. We'll position them at key points to distribute the lift evenly, so she feels like she's floating rather than being pulled."

"How long will that take to build?"

"For a prototype? Give me a few hours." Tails laid out several small cylindrical devices on his workbench. "These are the base generators. I just need to calibrate them for her specific weight distribution and build a comfortable harness that won't dig in or scare her."

Sonic watched as Tails began assembling the first prototype, his hands moving with practiced precision. "You know, sometimes I forget you're literally a genius."

"Only sometimes?" Tails grinned without looking up. "Hey, can you keep Miss Penelope calm and maybe give her some of those apple slices I brought? We need her to associate this place with positive things."

Sonic grabbed the bag of apple slices and settled down next to the pig, feeding her pieces while Tails worked. Miss Penelope munched happily, occasionally snorting with contentment.

"So," Tails said as he soldered a connection, "have you thought about what happens after the pig flies? Like, what costume you're going to make Shadow wear?"

Sonic's face lit up. "Oh, I have a LIST. But I'm thinking we start with something classic. Maybe a vampire? Or—oh! What if we did a couples costume?"

"A couples costume." Tails repeated, his tone flat with amusement. "For you and Shadow. The guy you insist is just your friend."

"Rivals can do couples costumes! It's ironic!"

"Sonic, you literally engineered an elaborate scheme involving agricultural animals and advanced technology just to spend Halloween with him."

"Your point?"

Tails just laughed and held up the first prototype harness. "Alright, let's see if we can get this fitted. Miss Penelope, you ready to make history?"

The pig oinked enthusiastically, though whether she understood the question or just wanted more apples remained unclear.

***

Two weeks later, Sonic lay sprawled dramatically on the workshop floor, one arm flung over his eyes like a Victorian maiden in distress.

"I give up," he declared to the ceiling. "It's over. Shadow wins. I'll just have to accept a lifetime of lonely, costume-less Halloweens."

Nearby, Tails collapsed onto his rolling chair with a defeated groan, his twin tails drooping. "I've tried everything. EVERYTHING. Anti-gravity generators, propulsion systems, wing attachments, hover platforms..." He gestured weakly at the graveyard of failed prototypes scattered around the workshop. "Nothing works right."

The evidence of their struggles was everywhere. Scorch marks on the walls from Prototype 3, which had sent Miss Penelope rocketing into the ceiling (she'd been fine, just annoyed). Dented floor panels from Prototype 7's catastrophic landing. And there, in the corner, the crumpled remains of Prototype 11, which had spun the poor pig around like a rotisserie chicken until Sonic had frantically hit the emergency stop.

Miss Penelope, for her part, seemed entirely unbothered by their failures. She snuffled around the workshop floor, her snout working overtime as she searched for something.

"The worst part," Sonic continued his dramatic monologue, "is that Shadow's going to KNOW. He's going to know I tried and failed, and he's going to give me that look. You know the one. The 'I told you so' look with the tiny smirk that he thinks he's hiding but totally isn't."

"We've only got two days until Halloween," Tails mumbled, his face now pressed against his workbench. "Two days. I've built a dimensional portal in less time, but apparently making a pig fly is beyond me."

Miss Penelope's snuffling grew more insistent. She'd found something interesting near Sonic's leg—the bag of apple slices they'd hidden earlier for motivation snacks.

"I should just tell Shadow the truth," Sonic sighed. "That I'm a failure who can't even accomplish basic farm animal aviation."

"Basic farm animal aviation," Tails repeated hollowly. "That's not even a real field of study and I still failed at it."

Miss Penelope had gotten the bag open and was happily chomping away, her curly tail wiggling with joy.

"Penelope, no! Those are—" Tails pushed himself up and his twin tails suddenly whirred to life, lifting him into the air as he flew over toward the pig. "We need those for—"

He stopped mid-flight, hovering above Miss Penelope as she continued her apple feast.

Sonic lifted his arm slightly from his eyes. "Tails? You okay, buddy? You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The 'I just had a terrible idea' look."

"I don't have a—" Tails turned to look at him, still hovering in the air, and Sonic could see the exact moment the terrible idea fully formed.

Sonic sat bolt upright, his own eyes widening. "Tails. Tails, you GENIUS. You absolute GENIUS!"

"I didn't say anything!"

"You don't have to!" Sonic scrambled to his feet, pointing excitedly between Tails and Miss Penelope. "You can fly! You can just... hold her! Carry her! It's perfect! It's simple! It's the best, most genius idea yet!"

Tails dropped back to the ground, his expression shifting rapidly from realization to horror. "Sonic, no. No, no, no. There is absolutely no way—"

"Tails, yes!"

"She weighs 250 pounds! I can't carry—"

"But you could try!" Sonic was already in front of him, hands clasped together, eyes wide and pleading. "Please? Please, please, please? You're my only hope! My last chance! Shadow's going to wear a costume, Tails! A COSTUME!"

"Sonic, be reasonable—"

"I'll buy you all the mint candy you want for a month!"

"That's not—"

"Two months!"

"Sonic—"

"I'll stop reorganizing your tools!"

Tails hesitated. "Really?"

"Well, I'll try really hard to stop," Sonic amended, then doubled down on the puppy dog eyes, making them even bigger and more pitiful. His bottom lip even trembled a little.

Tails looked at Sonic's pleading face. Then at Miss Penelope, who was still happily munching apples, completely oblivious to the conversation about her aerial future. Then back at Sonic.

"This is a terrible idea," Tails said.

Sonic's expression brightened hopefully.

"She's way too heavy for—"

"But you'll try?" Sonic interrupted, his voice climbing with excitement.

Tails looked at Miss Penelope again. The pig snorted contentedly. He whimpered, a small defeated sound escaping his throat.

"Fine," he finally said, his shoulders slumping. "FINE. I'll try. But if I throw out my back, you're explaining to Shadow why you need him to carry me to the hospital."

"YES!" Sonic pumped his fist in the air. "Tails, you're the best! The absolute best! I take back every time I said you were the second coolest person I know!"

"I was second?"

"Focus, buddy! We've got a pig to teach how to fly!" Sonic grabbed Tails's shoulders and shook him excitedly. "This is going to work. I can feel it. Shadow's going to be in a costume, and it's going to be AMAZING."

Tails just groaned and looked at his twin tails with a mixture of affection and betrayal. "Why did I have to be born with the ability to fly?" he muttered. "Why couldn't I just be a normal fox with normal limitations?"

Miss Penelope oinked, as if encouraging him.

"Don't you start," Tails told her, but there was resignation in his voice now. "Alright, Sonic. Let's figure out how to do this without both of us ending up in traction."

***

The next day, Sonic practically vibrated with excitement as he used the key Shadow had given him (and subsequently told him was only for emergencies, which Sonic interpreted loosely) to let himself into Shadow's apartment.

Shadow sat on his couch, a book in his hands, the picture of peace and quiet. He didn't even look up. "Go away, Sonic."

"Shadow! Buddy! Pal! Dark and brooding counterpart of mine!" Sonic vaulted over the back of the couch, landing beside him with enough force to make Shadow's book jostle.

"That wasn't a request." Shadow turned a page deliberately. "I'm reading."

"That's great! Love that for you! But we need to talk costumes!" Sonic pulled out his phone, scrolling rapidly. "So I was thinking we could go classic—vampires are always cool. Or maybe we could do a hero and villain thing? Ooh, or what about astronauts? No, wait—pirates! Pirates are awesome!"

Shadow finally looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "I already told you. I'm not dressing up."

"See, that's where you're wrong!" Sonic's grin was absolutely triumphant. "Because you made a promise, remember? You said you'd wear a costume when pigs fly!"

"Yes. An impossibility. Which was the point." Shadow returned to his book. "Nice try, hedgehog, but—"

"Oh, but Shadow," Sonic interrupted, his grin somehow getting even wider. "That's where you're wrong. See, I'm a hedgehog of my word. And when someone sets a condition, I meet it." He pulled out his phone. "Hey Tails! We're ready!"

"Sonic, what are you—" Shadow started, but stopped as the sound of strained whirring filled the air outside the window.

The window was open, and through it came a sight that Shadow would later insist was a stress-induced hallucination.

Tails flew in, his twin tails spinning at maximum speed, his face red with effort. His arms were wrapped around Miss Penelope's substantial middle, and every muscle in his small frame was visibly shaking with strain.

"Nnnngh—can't—hold—much—longer—" Tails grunted, his voice strained and pitched higher than normal. He was barely clearing the window sill, Miss Penelope's trotters dangling in the air as she looked around with mild curiosity.

"Just—a little—more—" Tails's tails were practically a blur, the whirring sound reaching a fever pitch. Sweat dripped down his forehead. His arms trembled violently.

He managed to get fully into the room, hovering about three feet off the ground, holding a 250-pound pig in the air through sheer determination and probably a concerning amount of adrenaline.

Sonic threw his arms out wide, his expression absolutely radiant. "Ta-da!"

Shadow's book slipped from his hands.

For a long moment, the Ultimate Lifeform—who had faced world-ending threats, alien invasions, and timeline-altering chaos—simply stared. His mouth opened slightly. Then closed. Then opened again.

"That's—" he started.

"A flying pig!" Sonic finished gleefully. "An actual, real, genuine flying pig! Well, technically Tails is making her fly, but the pig is definitely in the air, which counts!"

"I—" Shadow tried again.

"A deal's a deal, Shadow!" Sonic was practically bouncing. "Pigs are flying! Right now! In your living room!"

Miss Penelope chose that moment to oink happily, as if agreeing.

"Please—" Tails wheezed, his tails starting to sputter. "Please tell me—we got the—the point across—because I cannot—"

"You can set her down, buddy!" Sonic called out.

Tails immediately dropped the last foot to the floor with Miss Penelope, then collapsed beside her, gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon. "Never—again—" he panted. "Never—doing that—again—"

Miss Penelope, unbothered, began sniffing around Shadow's immaculate apartment with interest.

Shadow continued to stare, his eye twitching slightly. He looked at the pig. Then at Tails, who was sprawled on his floor. Then at Sonic, who was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

"You..." Shadow's voice was very quiet, very measured. "You made a pig fly."

"Technically Tails made her fly, but yes! Yes I did!" Sonic clasped his hands together. "So! About those costumes! I'm thinking we go with a classic combo. What do you say to vampire and werewolf? Or maybe—"

"You made a pig fly," Shadow repeated, his tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and what might have been grudging respect. "You actually... for a costume... you enlisted a mechanical genius and somehow acquired a farm animal, just to..."

"Just to get you to dress up for Halloween with me? Yes!" Sonic beamed. "So what do you say? Deal's a deal, right?"

Shadow opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came out.

"I'll take that stunned silence as a yes!" Sonic grabbed Shadow's arm with both hands, already pulling him toward the door. "Tails! You're in charge of Penelope! Make sure she doesn't eat anything expensive!"

"Wait—what—" Tails lifted his head weakly from the floor. "Sonic, I can barely move—"