"Very good."
Alan contentedly hugged his owl close to his chest. Just like the undead cat, its body felt chillingly cold to the touch.
"Hoo, hoo."
But unlike the docile undead cat, this owl didn't seem willing to be held by Alan, and it struggled violently in his arms.
"Don't move."
Alan commanded in a low voice, simultaneously pulling the struggling owl tighter into his embrace. Honestly, holding such a cool little thing during the height of summer was surprisingly comfortable.
After receiving Alan's command, the owl reluctantly quieted down, but a low hooting sound still emanated from deep in its throat. Clearly, it was protesting.
However, the protest was invalid.
Alan shifted his posture and continued holding his owl.
Finally, the owl couldn't take it anymore. Its pitch-black body suddenly dissolved, turning into a shadow that instantly merged into the shadow by Alan's feet, vanishing without a trace. His arms were suddenly empty, leaving behind only a faint, chilling aura.
Alan was stunned for a moment, then looked down at the perfectly ordinary shadow at his feet and excitedly said, "Is this your ability?"
He tentatively issued a command to the shadow: "Come out."
A ripple appeared in the shadow beneath his feet, but the owl did not materialize; only an extremely faint, resistant purring sound was heard.
Alan raised an eyebrow, not getting angry, but instead smiling. "You have personality. Alright, have it your way."
He thought for a moment. "Since that's the case, I should give you a name first. Let me think."
Alan suddenly spotted the completely damp fireworks placed in the corner.
"I'll call you Fireworks."
As soon as he finished speaking, the shadow beneath his feet violently boiled, the blackness surging upward and quickly condensing into its original form. Fireworks' pair of eyes, burning with faint blue flames, were wide open, filled entirely with protest.
"Hoo!"
Unfortunately, the protest was still invalid. Just like that, the name Fireworks was casually decided.
Perhaps because his own blood was mixed into the magic circle, Alan could sense Fireworks' emotions to a certain extent. Although Fireworks acted very resistant toward Alan, the sense of closeness deep within its soul could not be hidden. Simply put, it was tsundere.
Thinking this, Alan picked up Fireworks and rubbed it a few more times. Fireworks let out a short cry, almost indignant with shame, and its feathers looked ready to burst open. It almost immediately gave up struggling, its body dissolving into a dark shadow once more, quickly seeping into Alan's shadow and disappearing even more cleanly than before.
Alan couldn't help but smile. This truly was an interesting child.
After a morning of testing, Alan figured out the rules of Fireworks' ability. What was known was that the undead owl Fireworks could only attach itself to the shadow cast by Alan himself, and could not enter the shadow of any other object. Furthermore, Fireworks could only enter and exit when Alan himself had a shadow. Once in a completely dark environment where light was entirely blocked, the door for entering and exiting the shadow would be closed in both directions. If Fireworks was already inside the shadow, it would remain trapped there.
This ability was very convenient, allowing Alan to carry Fireworks with him at all times. Moreover, according to the emotions conveyed by Fireworks, resting inside the shadow was actually an extremely comfortable experience. Therefore, Alan decided to let Fireworks stay inside his shadow during normal times. Who knew when it might be able to help him out.
During lunchtime, a dessert appeared on the children's home dining table for the first time in a long while—a small slice of chocolate cake for everyone. A sinful mixture of sugar and fat. But Alan didn't dislike it; he could even be described as loving it. This sweet and rich sensation was exactly to his liking.
Scott carefully poked the edge of the cake with his fork, looked up at the nearby caregiver, and casually asked, "Is today a special occasion? To actually have cake."
The caregiver paused, looking equally confused. "To be honest, I'm not sure either. The kitchen prepared it."
It's probably because of Harold, Alan thought. Although he had no proof.
Speaking of which, Harold was very interested in his undead owl, and Alan had promised to show it to him. It would be better to fulfill this promise as soon as possible.
After lunch, Alan went to the reception room and found a black telephone. It seemed no one had used it for a long time, as it was covered in a thin layer of dust. After dialing the number Harold had left him, a long busy signal came through the receiver.
That's slow.
Just as he thought no one would answer, a young, clear girl's voice suddenly rang out. "Hello there?"
Alan froze, slightly suspicious that he had dialed the wrong number.
"Is anyone listening?" The girl's voice carried the characteristic cheerfulness of a child.
"I'm looking for Mr. Green," Alan said cautiously.
"Daddy is busy," the girl said obediently.
It seemed Harold had given him his home phone number, which surprised Alan slightly.
"Could I trouble you to ask Mr. Green to come to the phone?" he asked, softening his voice.
"One moment, please."
Light footsteps were heard on the other end of the receiver, gradually fading away. This was followed by muffled talking; although the specific content was unclear, one of the voices could be recognized as Harold himself.
"Hello?" Harold's voice finally came through the phone.
"It's Alan, Mr. Green," Alan quickly explained. "The problem with the owl has been resolved. Would you like to come and see it?"
"I'll be right over." Harold immediately replied, his tone clearly urgent.
About an hour later, Alan saw Harold at the children's home.
"Where is your owl?" Harold immediately stepped forward upon seeing him.
"In the yard."
Alan walked toward the yard as he spoke. At this time, the yard was empty. He didn't want to expose Fireworks' special ability, so he hadn't let Fireworks stay in his shadow.
Alan led Harold through the corridor.
"So, you cured the bird's illness?" Harold asked with concern.
"No." Alan stopped at the yard entrance and shook his head calmly. "It was dead, but I brought it back to life."
Stepping into the yard, Alan whistled. A black figure leaped down from the eaves, finally landing steadily on Alan's raised arm.
Harold recognized it; this was the same listless owl from yesterday. But now it was far more energetic—perhaps excessively so. Even its eyes seemed to be burning with vitality.
Wait! Its eyes were actually burning!
Harold could clearly see the faint blue flames flickering in the owl's eye sockets. He stared blankly, his throat dry. "This is what you meant by bringing it back to life?"
"It's an undead creature. You can touch it." Alan offered his arm forward. "You'll understand immediately."
Fireworks stood quietly on Alan's forearm, bringing almost no weight—this was also one of its characteristics.