Page 13 of Academy of the Wicked (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #2)

The transformation from proud Fae prince to this vulnerable female form seems to have stripped away layers of carefully maintained aristocratic control.

"That they're forcing me to experience this just to understand Gwenivere's perspective? What makes her so special to the academy?"

The question carries more weight than perhaps even Nikki realizes.

As one of the Seven, I've witnessed countless students pass through these halls, but none have ever triggered such dramatic changes in the academy's fundamental nature.

Atticus's laugh fills the room, rich with dark amusement and ancient power that makes the very foundations of our new living space vibrate in response. The sound carries harmonics that shouldn't exist in our realm — notes that speak of powers older than recorded history.

"It's far more than that, honestly," he says, watching Nikki with predatory satisfaction. "But that particular information is yours to discover. I'll give you a hint…these Faerie realm libraries should carry the answers regarding Gwenivere's...unique position in Wicked Academy's eyes."

The casual mention of Faerie libraries catches my scholarly attention.

Those archives are notoriously difficult to access, their knowledge protected by layers of magic that predate most modern paranormal societies. For Atticus to suggest they hold answers about Gwenivere implies connections far deeper than any of us suspected.

"You could just tell us!" Nikki protests, frustration evident in her voice.

The demand comes out higher-pitched than intended, another reminder of her altered state.

Atticus laughs again, the sound so enriched with power that the very walls tremble.

I exchange a wary look with Cassius, both of us sensing the dangerous undercurrents in that seemingly casual amusement. His shadows writhe with obvious unease, responding to powers that even Duskwalker abilities find disturbing.

"You'll never learn with such a childish mindset," Atticus chides, studying Nikki with something between disappointment and dark amusement. "I must admit, you weren't what I initially expected when I observed you. Wouldn't have been my first choice to allow near my Queen of Spades, but I suppose fate must see something in you worth preserving, given you've survived the challenges thus far."

The dismissive assessment of a Fae prince's worth would normally warrant immediate retaliation, but we all remain still, aware that normal hierarchies mean nothing in the face of what Atticus represents.

"You speak as if you orchestrated all of this," I observe carefully, academic curiosity warring with survival instinct. The implications of such long-term manipulation stagger the mind…how many events that seemed random might have been carefully arranged pieces in his grand design?

He shrugs, the gesture carrying centuries of casual power.

"Perhaps I didn't expect your lot to disbelieve her about the chalice. But then again," his gaze fixes on me with unsettling intensity, "even you, dragon scholar, don't know the true history of Wicked Academy and the tragic foundation that requires it remain male-only."

The statement hits like a physical blow. I've spent centuries studying this institution's history, yet something in his tone suggests depths I've never even suspected existed.

What tragedy could be powerful enough to enforce such rigid gender restrictions in an age of evolving magical society?

"What do you mean by that?" Cassius asks, his shadows coiling tighter with evident unease.

Even his Duskwalker nature, so attuned to darkness and hidden truths, seems disturbed by the implications.

Atticus exaggerates a yawn, stretching with feline grace that does nothing to disguise the predator beneath.

"I must depart…this particular manifestation rather taxes the body. Besides," his lips curve into that predatory smile, "I'm satisfied with my initial vengeance."

"Initial vengeance?" Nikki repeats, voice barely above a whisper. The fear in her tone speaks volumes — she who has faced countless court intrigues and magical challenges now trembles before this being of ancient power.

In a blur of movement that even my enhanced perception struggles to track, Atticus appears inches from Nikki's face. His smile turns diabolical, crimson eyes burning with ancient malice that makes the very air seem to darken.

"Consider this a mere taste of humiliation," he whispers, each word carrying deadly promise. "I'll allow Gwenivere to intervene if she wishes, but your suffering will barely scratch the surface. You'll learn exactly what happens to those who dare play games with my Queen on this grand chessboard."

The way he frames it — as a game of cosmic proportions —sends chills down my spine.

How many moves ahead has he planned? How many seemingly random events have been carefully orchestrated pieces in his strategy?

"My life isn't a game," Nikki manages to say, though her golden aura flickers with obvious fear.

The proud Fae prince who once commanded court attention with mere presence now seems small, vulnerable in ways that transcend physical transformation.

Atticus's grin widens impossibly.

"It becomes one the moment you believe you can harm what's mine. Let the events that come show you how a real man protects what he cherishes."

He pulls back, chuckling softly before snapping his fingers.

Another wave of steaming tea materializes, drenching Nikki completely. This time the liquid somehow bypasses her Fae barriers—a feat that should be impossible given the fundamental nature of Fae protection magic.

The pained hiss that escapes her as she leaps to her feet, dancing around as though her very clothes burn, carries none of her usual royal dignity. The sight would be almost comical if not for the deadly serious implications of Atticus's display of power.

"Strip those clothes off!" I call out, recognizing the dangerous heat of the liquid. Ancient magic often carries unexpected properties — who knows what enchantments might be woven into that seemingly simple tea?

Just before Nikki can comply, Cassius curses and throws his hands out, shadows surging forward with unprecedented purpose.

Instead of their usual formless mass, they coalesce into a solid figure — an older, more substantial version of Grim who moves with shocking speed to catch Atticus as he suddenly crumples toward the floor.

The transformation is jarring — one moment he stood as an avatar of ancient power, the next he appears almost vulnerable, caught in Grim's shadowy embrace. The sight sends chills down my spine, reminding me that even beings of myth have their limitations.

But what truly captures my attention is how Grim has manifested.

This isn't the miniature companion we've known, nor even the battle form we witnessed during the trial. This version seems older somehow, more refined — as if Cassius's shadows have tapped into some deeper understanding of what Grim truly represents.

The room falls silent except for Nikki's pained breathing, now completely naked as the burning soaked clothes lay in a pile that's visibly melting.

The steady drip of enchanted tea creates an almost hypnotic rhythm against our marble floors, each drop carrying traces of magic that shouldn't be possible even for ancient blood to conjure.

We all watch as Grim carefully supports Atticus, the scene carrying weight that feels significant beyond mere physical assistance. The shadowy being's manifestation in this more substantial form suggests depths to our understanding of Duskwalker abilities that even centuries of scholarly research haven't revealed.

What game are we really playing here?

I find myself wondering, looking between these beings of immense power—all somehow connected to a hybrid witch who sleeps unaware in the next room. The pieces are moving on a board far larger than any of us initially imagined, guided by hands that might have been arranging this particular game for centuries.

And more importantly, what happens when Gwenivere wakes to find everything has changed?

When she discovers that her presence here might be part of some grand design orchestrated by powers far older than any of us suspected existed?

My gaze drifts to Nikki, taking in the defeat evident in her posture despite her attempts to maintain dignity.

Her fists are clenched at her sides, shoulders rigid with tension that speaks of pride warring with humiliation. Golden hair, still dripping with enchanted tea, cascades down her back in waves that catch the room's light despite their sodden state.

Something in my chest tightens at the sight.

Perhaps it's because I've never particularly cared for Nikolai's usual arrogance— the way Fae royalty tends to look down on scholars who prefer books to court politics. Their pride often matches that of Duskwalkers, though the latter tend toward cold detachment rather than active disdain.

But now, watching Nikki struggle to maintain composure while clearly fighting back tears that make her eyes gleam with suspicious brightness, I feel an unexpected surge of sympathy. This transformation has stripped away more than just physical form — it's exposed vulnerabilities that centuries of careful control usually keep hidden.

Rising to my feet, I summon one of my usual cloaks with a careful gesture. The fabric materializes at my fingertips, heavy with protective enchantments woven into its very threads. I cross the space between us with measured steps, noting how she doesn't acknowledge my approach.

The cloak settles over her shoulders with careful precision, providing coverage that speaks more of respect than mere modesty. She doesn't look up, gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor as if eye contact might somehow make this situation more real.

I accept her silence, understanding that sometimes pride needs space to bend without breaking.

Returning to my previous position, I decide to take the lead in addressing the more pressing concerns raised by recent events. The scholar in me recognizes patterns that need examining, implications that could affect all our survival moving forward.

"During the purification attempt used on me," I begin carefully, choosing words that might redirect attention from Nikki's current state, "you didn't actually eliminate the dark corruption fully. Instead, it was simply shifted to a more suitable target."

Cassius frowns, his shadows coiling with obvious concern while Grim easily maneuvers Atticus's unconscious form onto a lounge chair deeper in our living space. The way the shadowy being handles the ancient vampire speaks of familiarity that raises fresh questions about their connection.

For another night of confrontation.

"Are you suggesting the corruption is in Gwenivere?" Cassius asks, turning his attention fully to me. The protective edge in his tone betrays depths of feeling that his usual stoic demeanor rarely reveals.

"I believe so," I confirm, noting how Nikki's head lifts slightly at this revelation. Despite her apparent determination to remain uninvolved, her interest in anything concerning Gwenivere proves too strong to ignore. "However, I'm against attempting its removal."

"Why?" Cassius's confusion is evident, his shadows writhing with increased agitation.

I take a moment to organize my thoughts, aware that what I'm about to reveal could change everything we think we understand about our situation.

"When I accessed Gwenivere's internal magical structure and genetic makeup during the trial, I noticed something extraordinary. The corruption didn't register as foreign matter. In fact, it responded more like something returning to its natural habitat."

The implications of this hang heavy in the air between us.

Cassius's frown deepens as he processes what this might mean.

"You're suggesting the corruption...belonged in Gwenivere?" he asks slowly, each word careful and measured.

"Essentially, yes…at least if we step away from viewing corruption through the lens of good and evil," I explain, falling naturally into my role as educator. "It's similar to how many societies view darkness itself as inherently malevolent, when in reality it's simply another aspect of elemental existence. A necessary part of the natural order."

Cassius nods slowly, his expression thoughtful.

As a Duskwalker, he understands better than most how power others consider "dark" can serve essential purposes.

"If that's the case," he says carefully, "does this mean her elemental corruption is complete?"

A smile tugs at my lips, genuine appreciation for his quick understanding warming my scholarly heart.

"Excellent observation and deduction," I praise, noting how his shadows seem to preen slightly at the recognition. "But no. By my calculations, there are still two pieces missing."

It would make sense by a long shot, if the rooted reason for Gwenivere’s arrival stems not from her own accord, but a calling to come to this place with the premise of obtaining a chalice that holds more than just a remedy for her sister’s illness.

Wicked Academy had to have summoned Gwenivere for a reason, and it seems like our group will be the key players in figuring out why.

"Which suggests the trials leading to Years Three and Four might involve acquiring them," I continue, watching understanding dawn in Cassius’ silver eyes. "This could explain why the academy seems so invested in Gwenivere's progress, why certain allowances are being made regarding her presence here."

The sound of fabric shifting draws my attention back to Nikki, who has finally lifted her head fully. The cloak rustles softly as she adjusts it, her expression carrying something beyond mere curiosity now.

"You're suggesting this is all planned?" she asks, voice rough but steady. "That these trials, these...transformations...are part of some greater design?"

I consider her question carefully, aware that we're treading into territories that challenge everything we thought we knew about Wicked Academy's purpose.

"I believe," I say slowly, "that we're witnessing the unfolding of something far older than this institution's current iteration. Something that perhaps explains why an all-male academy would risk everything to accommodate a female student, especially when it’s obvious they know of Gwenivere’s true nature. Professor Eternalis’ easy acceptance of Gwenivere’s entrance and shift into Gabriel proves that they’re aware of both identities since nothing was done to interfere with our arrival and continuation in attendance."

Acknowledging that emphasizes that there’s a bigger play here that we have no control over. We’re mere puppets at this rate.

"What if the corruption isn't just corruption," Cassius concludes, pieces clicking into place. "It's power…ancient power…seeking to reconstitute itself through her."

Would make some sort of sense, but the same underlying question lies.

Why?

What purpose does this “ancient” power or entity have for Gwenivere?

She’s not a being who’s lived centuries in our world, and though we’ve come to acknowledge that she holds some sort of royalty status with her connection to Atticus, whose of royalty as an ancient Pureblood reborn, it’s still not enough to justify any of this.

Not the extent of our survival thus far.

"Precisely," I confirm, pleased by how quickly they're grasping these complex concepts. "The question is, what happens when all pieces are reunited? What changes when corruption becomes completion?"

"And why does it have to be her?" Nikki asks softly, something vulnerable entering her tone. "Of all people, why Gwenivere?"

The question carries weight beyond mere curiosity.

"Perhaps," I suggest gently, "that's what the Faerie libraries might reveal. If Atticus directed us there, the answers must be significant enough to warrant investigation."

"The answers about her true nature," Cassius murmurs, his shadows stretching thoughtfully. "About why she draws ancient blood and corruption alike."

"About why the academy itself seems to bend its own rules to accommodate her presence," I add, watching realization dawn on their faces. "Though I suspect what we find might challenge everything we think we understand about this institution's true purpose."

The silence that follows feels heavy with possibility and trepidation alike.

We all look toward the bedroom where Gwenivere sleeps, unaware that her very nature might be key to mysteries older than Wicked Academy itself.

What dreams visit her now?

I can only wonder.

What ancient power stirs beneath her skin, waiting to be completed?

The questions pile up like ancient tomes in a forbidden library, each one promising answers that might reshape our understanding of everything we thought we knew.

But for now, all we can do is wait—wait for her to wake, wait for the next trial, wait to see what changes completion might bring to the woman who's somehow become central to all our fates.

"Our priority," Cassius states, his voice carrying that quiet authority that makes others listen despite its lack of force, "should be researching the chalice Gwenivere originally sought. As we gain access to the library and archives, we need to understand their significance. Perhaps it's connected to all of this…or maybe there's more to her sister's salvation than we initially assumed."

The mention of Gwenivere's original mission strikes me as particularly relevant.

In all the chaos of trials and transformations, we'd somehow let that crucial detail fade into the background.

A hybrid witch infiltrating an all-male academy to save her dying sister — it had seemed straightforward at first, but now...

"Agreed," I say with a weary sigh, settling back into my chair.

Crossing one leg over the other, I retrieve my abandoned tea. The liquid has gone cold, but I drink it anyway, mentally noting the waste of perfectly good Earl Grey currently seeping into our marble floors.

Enough has been spilled and wasted for one evening.

The scholarly part of my mind is already cataloging research approaches —which sections of the library might yield relevant information, which archived documents might need careful examination.

If the chalice truly connects to whatever ancient power seeks completion through Gwenivere, we'll need to be thorough in our investigation.

"You should all head to bed," I announce, suddenly aware of the exhaustion evident in everyone's posture.

These revelations can wait for fresher minds and clearer heads.

"Grim, would you mind taking Atticus to the room next to the master suite? Given his... protective nature regarding Gwenivere, it seems prudent to keep them in proximity. Just in case she needs him when she wakes."

"Greee," he responds with the soft sound carrying notes of understanding that make me wonder just how much of Atticus's nature it entwined in this entity that seemingly mixed between Cassius's shadows and Atticus’ influence.

The careful way it handles the ancient vampire's unconscious form speaks of familiarity that predates its connection to Cassius.

Atticus is an underdog that none of us expected to enter our orbit, which essentially completes our group and gives us an advantage. It would be good to learn just how powerful he is before the next trial.

Nikki leaves without a word, but the slam of her door echoes through our new living space with enough force to make the wards ripple.

The sound carries all the frustration and humiliation she's too proud to voice —a “princess” brought low, forced to experience vulnerability.

Cassius sighs, taking a step toward the hallway before I stop him.

"Don't," I advise quietly. "Comfort isn't what she needs right now."

"I know," he admits, shadows coiling closer to his form. "Though I can't help feeling some sympathy. This transformation...it's more than just physical change. You probably wouldn’t get it but…"

“I understand,” I admit. They may act like I’m simply a pet that follows orders because of implications, but I hide immense knowledge they don’t need to know I’ve acquired over the many years of being their undermining “dog”.

"This is an environment that shows pity to no one," I remind him, though I keep my tone gentle. The reminder feels necessary, especially given what awaits us. "And now that we're in Faerie, that truth will only become more apparent. Their realm has always been crueler than most care to acknowledge."

My thoughts drift to the various texts I've studied about Faerie society — the carefully maintained facades of perfection hiding centuries of calculated manipulation and power plays.

Nikki's current form might be the academy's doing, but the lessons it forces her to learn feel distinctly Fae in nature.

"The Academy of the Wicked will only continue to test us," I continue, watching understanding settle in Cassius's silver eyes. "We must be resilient, now more than ever."

"Agreed," he says simply, turning toward his own room. "I'll retire for the night."

"This is the most you've talked," I observe, unable to resist pointing out this departure from his usual taciturn nature.

The changes affecting us all seem to run deeper than mere physical transformation.

Growth I didn’t expect from each of us.

He pauses in the doorway, something vulnerable entering his expression.

"I'm tired," he admits quietly, "of following the path of nature's stereotypes. I don't need to be quiet…to be silent. I won't break cycles if I continue to let myself fall for their projections." His shadows writhe with obvious emotion as he adds, "And I certainly don't want to hurt my Little Mouse again."

The nickname carries such tenderness that it almost feels intrusive to witness. This isn't the cold, heartless, detached Duskwalker prince who first entered Wicked Academy.

This is someone learning to embrace parts of himself long suppressed by societal expectations and careful control.

I hide my growing smirk behind another sip of cold tea as Cassius departs down the hall, his shadows trailing behind him like living memories of who he used to be.

"So he does love her," I whisper to myself, though I'm certain Duskwalker hearing catches the words. The realization feels significant—not just for what it reveals about Cassius, but for what it suggests about the nature of their bond.

It’s blossoming and will only further heighten as we continue this vast journey into the wickedly unknown.

My smile widens as I contemplate the implications.

Love among paranormal beings tends toward the possessive, the controlling.

Yet here we have a Duskwalker prince learning to be gentle, a Fae royal experiencing vulnerability, and an ancient vampire who channels his possessive nature into protection rather than dominance.

All because of one hybrid witch who crashed into their lives with determination and defiance.

The thought sparks something wistful in my chest — a hope that someday I too might experience that kind of transformative connection. That somewhere in all my centuries of study and observation, I might find someone worth breaking stereotypes for.

An old dragon shifter like me can only hope.

The room feels emptier now, though traces of recent events linger in the air like an echo of ancient power. My wards pulse steadily, maintaining the protective bubble around our new living space while simultaneously monitoring for any lingering effects of Atticus's display of force.

Tomorrow will bring fresh challenges — classes to attend, research to begin, dynamics to navigate. We'll need to balance academic requirements with investigation into the chalice, Gwenivere's true nature, and whatever grand design Atticus serves through his careful manipulations.

But for now, in this quiet moment between revelations and responsibilities, I allow myself to simply appreciate the complexity of what we're witnessing. Bonds forming and breaking, natures transforming, ancient powers stirring beneath the surface of what we thought we understood.

The tea leaves at the bottom of my cup form an interesting pattern — one that reminds me of the corruption we failed to fully purify.

Or perhaps, the corruption we helped guide home.

The distinction feels important, though its full significance remains to be seen.

Rising from my chair, I cast one final look toward the bedroom where Gwenivere sleeps.

Whatever power stirs within her, whatever destiny Atticus has foreseen, she remains at the center of all these changes. Her presence here has triggered transformations far beyond physical form — touching hearts long thought frozen, awakening abilities long kept dormant.

Perhaps , it teaches all of us that true strength lies not in maintaining control but in knowing when to let it crack just enough to let light shine through the shadows.

The thought feels appropriately poetic as I prepare for whatever dreams await.

Tomorrow will bring its own revelations, challenges, and opportunities for growth and understanding.

For now, the academy settles into temporary quiet, though ancient powers stir beneath its carefully maintained facade.

And somewhere in the Faerie libraries, answers await those brave enough — or desperate enough — to seek them out.

Welcome to Year Two indeed.