Deep midnight, the dormitory.
Candlelight flickered, illuminating Wednesday's pale and focused face. Spread open before her was precisely that tome containing boundless mysteries and dangers, the dark codex.
Enid nervously clutched at the hem of her clothes, her azure eyes unblinkingly fixed on the eerie runes flowing across the page.
"Are you sure this spell is safe, Wednesday?"
Enid's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor.
Wednesday didn't even look up, her slender fingers tracing a particularly complex incantation, her voice cool as ever:
"There is no word for'safe' in the dark codex, only 'cost' and 'result'."
"According to this record, we can project our consciousness to a specific temporal anchor point. The duration depends on our mental strength. Theoretically, it won't interfere with the real timeline. We are merely... observers, or rather, temporary ghostly assistants."
"I just... want to see what Victor was like as a child." Enid's cheeks flushed slightly.
Wednesday's lips curled almost imperceptibly:
"Agreed. Moreover, I am... very interested in his early survival skills training. Are you ready?"
Enid nodded vigorously, took a deep breath, and placed her hand over Wednesday's icy one.
The incantation was murmured softly. The candle flame surged violently and then abruptly went out.
Their consciousnesses were pulled away by an invisible force, plunging into a bizarre and fantastical time tunnel.
Ten years ago, a certain abandoned lumberyard in Transylvania.
A cold wind carrying snowflakes whistled through every crack of the dilapidated wooden cabin.
The young Victor Black huddled beside a dying fire, wrapped in an obviously oversized, grimy adult coat, his teeth chattering from the cold.
His face was dirty, but his eyes shone startlingly bright in the darkness, like a stubborn, disheveled little wolf cub.
"Sss... so hungry..." he muttered softly, clutching his rumbling stomach.
On his shoulder, a mass of black, seemingly living, viscous substance squirmed and emitted a hoarse, low voice: "Wait, kid. I'll get you some 'protein'."
Before the words faded, the black substance shot out of the cabin like an arrow from a bowstring, merging into the night.
Not long after, a brief fluttering and dull thud sounded outside the cabin.
Venom's Tentacle retracted, coiled around a disheveled, deceased Bald Eagle.
"Here, high protein, rich in various trace elements."
A hint of pride tinged Venom's tone as he skillfully used a tentacle to start another fire and propped the poor bird over it to roast, feathers and all.
Little Victor wrinkled his nose, looking at the mass gradually turning charred and black on the fire, emitting a strange odor. His small face was full of distaste:
"Venom, are you sure this thing is edible? It smells like burnt rubber mixed with... uh, bird poop."
"Picky brat! This is a rare delicacy!" Venom retorted indignantly, but still carefully controlled the heat.
However, when Victor reluctantly tore off a piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth, his little face instantly scrunched up, and he spat it out violently.
"Bleh! Bleh! Tough and fishy! Disgusting! Venom, your cooking skills are absolutely the worst in the universe!"
"Brat! Be grateful you have food! Don't waste it!"
Venom, embarrassed and angry, waved a few tentacles threateningly in front of Victor, then opened his mouth wide and took a big bite of the roast meat.
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