Page 23 of Academy of the Wicked (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #2)

Truths In The Hidden Passage

~GWENIVERE~

T he hidden passage Zeke revealed stretches before us in mesmerizing curves that defy ordinary architectural principles.

Unlike the straight, predictable corridors of the main academy, this secret pathway twists organically, as if following the natural growth patterns of some enormous organism.

The blue luminescence emanating from the walls casts everything in ethereal glow that transforms even mundane details into objects of otherworldly beauty.

Our footsteps echo with strange hollowness that suggests spaces beyond the visible boundaries – chambers or connecting passageways hidden behind seemingly solid surfaces.

Occasionally, faint whispers reach us – fragments of conversations occurring elsewhere, sound traveling through mysterious acoustic channels that connect disparate parts of the academy's hidden infrastructure.

The further we progress, the more obvious it becomes that these passages aren't merely utilitarian service corridors but a complex network designed with both practical functionality and aesthetic consideration.

Intricate carvings appear at irregular intervals along the walls, their patterns shifting subtly when viewed from different angles, suggesting layers of meaning accessible only to those with proper knowledge or perspective.

As fascinating as these surroundings might be, the question that's been circling my mind since our confrontation with Damien finally demands expression.

"Why did you say Mortimer was calling us earlier when confronting Damien?" I ask, the query emerging more abruptly than intended.

Zeke pauses mid-stride, turning back with an unexpected smile that contains neither embarrassment at being caught in apparent fabrication nor defensive justification.

Instead, his expression carries quiet amusement mingled with something like satisfaction, as if I've finally asked precisely the question he's been waiting for.

Rather than immediately answering, he moves to the nearest wall, slender fingers tracing patterns across its surface with methodical precision that suggests searching for something specific. His movements carry practiced familiarity that confirms extensive experience navigating these hidden pathways.

"Because he was," Zeke finally responds, attention still focused on his careful examination of the seemingly uniform surface. "Mortimer told me he was in the archives already and that I should bring you…though he called you Gwenivere, not Gabriel."

The casual revelation stops me cold, implications rippling outward like a stone dropped in still water. Not only does Zeke apparently know Mortimer well enough to receive direct communications, but our scholarly companion has explicitly acknowledged my true identity to him.

I stare at Zeke's slender form for a long moment, reassessing everything I thought I understood about this strange cat-boy and his place within the academy's complex social ecosystem.

"Zeke," I begin, careful deliberation underlying a seemingly simple question, "you know I'm a girl, don't you?"

He pauses in his methodical exploration of the wall, turning to face me fully.

The blue light emanating from surrounding surfaces illuminates his features from below, casting dramatic shadows that emphasize his unusual bone structure while simultaneously softening his expression into something gentler than his usual academic wariness.

What surprises me most is the unmistakable affection in his gaze – not merely acceptance or tolerance, but genuine warm regard that feels both unearned and strangely familiar.

"I can see your true self since and have been able to since you entered this realm of Wicked Academy," he confirms with simple directness that carries neither judgment nor particular emphasis, as if stating obvious fact requiring no special acknowledgment. "Regardless of what I can see, it shouldn't be detrimental or used against you."

His fingers resume their careful exploration of the wall as he continues speaking, tone conversational despite the significant revelations being casually disclosed.

"Besides, who cares if you're a man or a woman? Gender means nothing in Faerie, especially in Wicked Academy parts."

The statement echoes Professor Valerian's earlier comments about Faerie's unique inclusion of female students, but carries implications extending beyond mere academic policy.

"Can you elaborate on that?" I press, genuinely curious about this apparent contradiction to the rigid gender segregation enforced in the main academy. "Everyone seems to emphasize that here. Why?"

Zeke's exploration halts again as he turns to give me his complete attention, those extraordinary eyes capturing and holding my gaze with unexpected intensity. Whatever he intends to share apparently deserves full focus rather than divided attention.

"The purpose of Year Two is acceptance," he states, voice carrying weight beyond simple explanation. "Without accepting who you're destined to be, you'll always be living in a layer of lies."

He glances down at his own hands, expression shifting to something more contemplative, perhaps even melancholy.

"Materials mean nothing here. Gold that can give us food. Nice accommodations. Privileges to obtain knowledge and power." His gaze rises again to meet mine, intensity returning with renewed purpose. "Who cares about those things if you're not able to embrace who you really are? Not the person you mold to please the world, but embracing who you're meant to be."

The philosophical depth beneath his seemingly simple explanation catches me off-guard. For someone who presents as timid and socially isolated, Zeke demonstrates unexpected wisdom that suggests experiences extending far beyond ordinary student life.

"That makes sense," I acknowledge, processing implications for my own circumstances – Gabriel's form maintained not merely for practical infiltration but perhaps representing deeper avoidance of true self-examination. Then another thought surfaces, concern overriding philosophical contemplation. "But if that's true, why do you starve yourself? Or eat the bare minimum? You deserve proper nutrition and enough sleep, at least."

The sadness that flows across his features in response to this simple expression of concern makes something in my chest tighten painfully. It's not merely sorrow but acceptance of a condition that appears both unjust and unnecessary from an outside perspective.

"This is the punishment I have to serve," he whispers, voice barely audible despite the passage's perfect acoustics, "because I was the sacrifice."

Before I can demand clarification of this cryptic statement, his fingers apparently locate whatever mechanism they've been seeking.

He presses against a seemingly ordinary section of wall, triggering an immediate response as a shimmering barrier materializes before us – the translucent membrane pulsing with opalescent energy that suggests both doorway and warning.

Zeke extends his hand toward me, silent invitation accompanied by expression that promises explanation but indicates immediate priority of crossing this unexpected threshold.

I hesitate, calculating potential risks against pressing need for information he apparently possesses.

"I'll explain, but we need to go through the portal," he urges, glancing behind us with sudden concern. "This side of the tunnel is going to flood. It does that to ensure intruders don't get in or stay in."

As if summoned by his warning, a distant rumbling sound reaches us, followed by the unmistakeable gurgle of approaching water. The passage's defensive mechanisms have apparently activated, threat of imminent flooding transforming theoretical risk assessment into immediate survival requirement.

I nod decisively, grasping his extended hand with firm confidence that belies lingering reservations. His fingers – slender yet surprisingly strong – close around mine with careful pressure that somehow communicates both reassurance and gratitude for trust extended.

Without further hesitation, Zeke pulls me forward into the shimmering barrier.

The sensation defies easy description – not solid resistance to be pushed through nor liquid medium to swim across, but something between states that seems to assess and evaluate before permitting passage.

For a brief, disorienting moment, I feel simultaneously nowhere and everywhere, awareness extending beyond physical form to encompass the entire academy complex in instantaneous comprehension that disappears before my conscious mind can properly register its significance.

Then reality reasserts itself as we emerge into a corridor dramatically different from the secret passage left behind. Where the previous tunnel featured organic curves and cool blue illumination, this hallway presents perfect geometric precision adorned with opulence that would make even royal treasuries appear austere by comparison.

Golden surfaces dominate the space, not merely decorative gilding but what appears to be solid precious metal forming both structural elements and ornamental details with extravagant abundance that defies practical consideration.

Ancient runes in deepest purple shimmer to life as we advance, their activation suggesting recognition systems responding to our presence with approval rather than alarm.

The magical barrier disappears behind us with the subtle whisper of dissipating energy, sealing off the passage and whatever flooding defensive measure Zeke warned about. More significant than this environmental transformation, however, is the change I feel within myself.

Looking down, I realize my appearance has reverted completely to true form – Gabriel's glamour has disappeared entirely, Gwenivere standing in his place without conscious effort to trigger my transformation. The change feels both liberating and alarming, causing unexpected vulnerability in a space previously unknown.

"Is this okay?" I ask, gesture encompassing both transformed appearance and potentially exposed identity.

Zeke's smile widens with genuine pleasure that suggests my concern is entirely unnecessary. He squeezes my hand once more before releasing it, the brief contact carrying reassurance beyond mere words.

"This is the realm that allows us to be what we're most comfortable in being," he explains, his own appearance unchanged despite an environment that apparently strips away disguises and assumed forms. "Your true self is welcome here."

The explanation raises immediate questions regarding his own form, with the persistent thinness and fragility that seems at odds with the apparent freedom this space offers.

"Are you comfortable like that?" I ask, careful to keep judgment from my tone while still expressing genuine concern for his wellbeing.

His smile dims slightly, though doesn't disappear entirely.

"No," he admits simply, honesty offered without defensiveness or self-pity. "But I can't return to my normal form."

"Why not?" The question emerges immediately, curiosity overwhelming caution that might have suggested a more diplomatic approach. "What shifter are you?"

Zeke's hand rises to his neck in seemingly unconscious gesture, fingers tracing an absent pattern against his skin as if seeking something missing – collar, perhaps, or a pendant that should hang there. The movement carries a wistful quality that suggests habitual comfort-seeking rather than deliberate communication.

"I'm simply a cat," he states finally, hand dropping back to his side with conscious effort to cease the searching motion. "I belonged to a prince. Well, that was whom I was going to be assigned to."

His gaze shifts to middle distance, his focus turning inward to memories rather than present surroundings.

"I was originally assigned to a royal family, typical in the realms of Fae," he continues, voice taking on a cadence that suggests recitation of facts rather than emotional narrative despite the deeply personal nature of disclosure. "It wasn't uncommon for cats to be given to those shifters who could use magic. Hybrids, in a sense, but some shifter cultures didn't like calling them that."

His eyes refocus on me, present once more rather than lost in recollection.

"Like Dark Fae can use dark magic," he elaborates, "but they wouldn't label themselves as hybrids."

The explanation triggers immediate connection to a recent encounter, pieces falling into place with satisfying precision.

"Like Raven in Damien's crew?" I suggest, testing my hypothesis against his apparently extensive knowledge of Faerie classifications.

"Sort of," he confirms with a slight nod that suggests partial rather than complete accuracy in my assessment. "Though she has buried secrets."

Curiosity about Raven's true nature surges forward, questions forming about what connection she might represent in an increasingly complex network of relationships surrounding my search for the chalice.

Before I can voice these inquiries, however, Zeke continues his own narrative, focus apparently fixed on completing the explanation he began.

"I was assigned to aid a specific Dark Fae family," he explains, resuming his previous thread without acknowledging my brief tangent into Raven's circumstances. "The family yearned for her to finally accept herself. They sent her to Wicked Academy, which she assumed was punishment, given how Wicked Academy is generally perceived."

His expression softens with what might be fondness or perhaps regret – difficult to distinguish given the subtle nature of his emotional displays.

"She managed to reach here, and with Year Two, there are two paths you can take."

The structure of his statement suggests important revelations approaching – culmination of narrative that explains both his current circumstances and cryptic self-identification as "sacrifice" mentioned earlier.

"Acceptance," I state, recognizing the pattern from his previous explanation about Year Two's fundamental purpose.

Zeke nods, confirmation accompanied by a slight smile that acknowledges my correct interpretation. Then his expression shifts to something more solemn, the final piece of puzzle about to fall into place.

"And sacrifice."

The word hangs between us, heavy with implications not yet fully articulated but clearly significant in understanding both Zeke's circumstances and potentially my own path through Wicked Academy's complex trials.

My mind races to connect disparate pieces of information gathered since entering this golden corridor.

Zeke has revealed himself as a cat shifter assigned to a Dark Fae family, made reference to a female member who entered Wicked Academy, noted his current inability to return to "normal form" despite an environment that supposedly permits true self-expression, and his cryptic designation as "sacrifice" contrasted with "acceptance" as Year Two's apparently divergent paths.

"You were her familiar," I conclude, making an intuitive leap connecting scattered details into coherent narrative. "The Dark Fae student's magical companion, meant to help her navigate academy challenges."

Zeke neither confirms nor denies this assessment, expression remaining carefully neutral despite the personal nature of discussion. His silence prompts me to continue assembling puzzle pieces aloud, testing theories against his reactions rather than waiting for direct confirmation.

"But something went wrong," I suggest, studying his features for minute reactions that might indicate accuracy or error in my reconstruction. "Instead of serving as her familiar, you became a sacrifice…though I don't yet understand what that actually means in practical terms."

His gaze drops momentarily before returning to meet mine with renewed directness that suggests a decision to share information previously withheld.

"Sacrifice means different things depending on context," he explains, voice taking on a quality of academic precision that reminds me unexpectedly of Mortimer's scholarly expositions. "In Year Two specifically, it represents substitution of one being's suffering for another's advancement."

The clinical description carries disturbing implications, the Academy apparently sanctioning what sounds dangerously close to ritualized abuse under academic terminology.

"That's barbaric," I state flatly, moral assessment emerging before diplomatic consideration can soften judgment. "How could such a system possibly be permitted within an educational institution?"

Then again…this is ‘WICKED’ Academy.

The act of dismissing your own comrade that helped you reach this point is rather wicked in nature.

Evil but accepted.

Zeke's expression shifts to something approaching surprised appreciation, as if my immediate rejection of the system's validity represents unexpected response rather than obvious reaction to apparent injustice.

"It's considered voluntary exchange," he clarifies, though his tone suggests personal skepticism regarding this official designation. "The familiar theoretically chooses to accept limitations and hardships that would otherwise fall upon their bonded companion."

"But you said you were assigned," I point out, contradiction immediately apparent between institutional characterization and his personal narrative. "That doesn't sound voluntary. You were appointed to this individual just to help them out in being sent to Wicked Academy to prove something to their family or learn a lesson, or maybe help someone in their family who was ill. I don’t know, but it doesn’t mean this was where you were meant to belong."

An unexpected smile flickers across his features – brief acknowledgment of perception that apparently pleases him despite the uncomfortable subject matter.

"You're correct," he concedes, head tilting slightly in gesture that once again appears unconsciously feline despite his current human form. "The system contains inherent contradictions that official academy policy carefully ignores in favor of maintaining theoretical framework justifying practical outcomes."

All of it sounds like overcomplicated foolishness.

The assessment carries sophisticated understanding of institutional politics that seems incongruous coming from someone previously presenting as a socially isolated student struggling to navigate the academy's complex hierarchy.

"If sacrifice involves substituting your suffering for another's advancement," I reason, following implications to logical conclusion, "does that mean your current state… undernourished, exhausted, unable to access true form…directly benefits someone else within academy?"

Zeke's expression turns guarded, suggesting approach to information he's reluctant to share despite previous openness.

After a brief internal debate visible in minute shifts of expression, he apparently reaches a decision.

"Yes," he confirms simply, elaboration withheld despite obvious complexity underlying his single-word response.

"The Dark Fae student you were assigned to?" I press, unwilling to abandon this line of inquiry despite his evident discomfort.

His hesitation lengthens, internal calculation clearly weighing risks of disclosure against potential benefits of shared understanding.

"Not exactly," he finally offers, compromise between complete withholding and full revelation. "The circumstances... evolved beyond original arrangement. Needless to say, that individual moved on…and they’ve entered Year Three, if not reached the final destination meant for them. They may not even be a part of the academy anymore. They might be graduated and back to the life they were destined for outside these walls. Either way, it no longer has anything to do with me."

Zeke…

It has everything to do with you because now you’re left stranded…alone…as if you didn’t do everything in your power as an entrusted being from a royal heritage to aid one who should have thought of you as a loyal companion.

Not discard you like trash…

Before I can formulate a follow-up question designed to navigate around his evident reluctance, Zeke gestures toward the corridor stretching ahead of us, a deliberate change of topic signaled through both physical movement and verbal redirection.

"We should continue moving," he suggests, tone carrying enough urgency to indicate genuine concern rather than mere conversational evasion. "The Stellarum Archive connection point isn't far, but timing matters for optimal access."

While it’s frustrating to abandon the promising line of inquiry, practical considerations regarding our assignment take precedence over satisfying immediate curiosity. Professor Valerian's task still requires completion within the established timeframe, and whatever secrets Zeke harbors about his "sacrifice" status can potentially be explored after securing the required aerial image.

"Lead on," I concede, shelving temporarily, rather than abandoning questions his partial revelations have inspired. "But this conversation isn't finished."

The appreciative smile he offers in response carries genuine warmth that suggests gratitude for both respecting his boundaries and maintaining interest despite temporary redirection.

"I wouldn't expect otherwise," he acknowledges, resuming progress down the golden corridor with that peculiar grace that somehow conveys both efficiency and elegance in a single movement. "You're too perceptive to be easily distracted from important details."

The compliment, delivered with simple sincerity rather than flattering intention, catches me momentarily off-guard.

Genuine appreciation based on accurate assessment feels rarer than it should within the academy's environment of calculated interactions and strategic relationship management.

As we continue through the corridor, runes activating in sequential patterns that suggest recognition systems tracking our progress, I find attention divided between immediate surroundings and continued contemplation of Zeke's partial revelations.

The concept of "sacrifice" as an institutionalized aspect of Year Two progression raises disturbing questions about the academy's true nature and pedagogical philosophy.

If advancement requires either "acceptance" of true self or "sacrifice" of another being's wellbeing, what does that suggest about fundamental values underlying educational approach?

More immediately concerning is Zeke's apparent role within this system – cat shifter unable to access true form, undernourished despite the Abundance Tree's existence, exhausted yet continuing to function through apparent obligation to an unspecified beneficiary of his suffering.

If that bitch is still apart of the academy, I’m going to hunt her down like wild prey…

Despite the discomfort these revelations inspire, practical problem-solving takes temporary precedence.

Whatever injustices Zeke's circumstances represent can't be addressed without first understanding their complete nature, and immediate focus must remain on successfully completing Professor Valerian's assignment while potentially accessing Stellarum Archive that might contain information regarding the chalice.

The golden corridor gradually transitions to new architectural style that blends precious metals with what appears to be living crystal – transparent structures that somehow maintain structural integrity despite apparent fragility.

The effect creates spaces that seem simultaneously solid and ethereal, boundaries between physical and magical growing increasingly indistinct as we progress deeper into what must be the academy's most privileged areas.

Zeke's movements become more cautious as the environment changes, his advance slowing to permit careful observation before proceeding through particular junctions or past specific markers embedded within crystalline surfaces.

The increased vigilance suggests approaching sections with enhanced security or monitoring systems requiring specialized navigation.

"We're nearing the transition point between maintenance pathways and actual Stellarum Archive territories," he explains, voice lowered despite the apparent absence of other beings in our vicinity. "The Archive itself contains multiple security layers designed to control access based on student classification and faculty authorization."

The information, while useful, prompts immediate question regarding our ability to proceed given neither of us apparently holds special status that would justify unrestricted access to such restricted resources.

"How do we bypass these security measures?" I ask, practical concern outweighing potential ethical objections to circumventing institutional restrictions.

Zeke's smile returns, this time carrying mischievous quality that transforms his features from solemn intensity to almost boyish enthusiasm for momentary adventure.

"We don't bypass them," he clarifies, expression suggesting enjoyment of minor mystery unfolding between us. "We use them. The security systems are designed to keep unauthorized individuals out…but also to welcome those with proper credentials in."

"And we have proper credentials?" I question, skepticism evident despite my attempt to maintain a neutral tone.

Instead of direct response, Zeke reaches into the inner pocket of his pant pocket, extracting what appears to be an ordinary student identification card. Closer examination reveals subtle differences from standard issue – additional runes embedded within a seemingly decorative border, with slightly different coloration to the academy seal pressed into the surface.

"Special access designation," he explains, holding the card where light from surrounding crystal structures catches and enhances its unique features. "Granted to those with certain... arrangements... within academy hierarchy."

“Arrangements, huh?” I toss with a hint of amusement to keep the mood lightened, even after such a heavy conversation.

The careful phrasing suggests institutional acknowledgment of his "sacrifice" status which apparently includes practical compensations alongside obvious hardships – access privileges representing partial payment for whatever suffering his role entails.

"And me?" I prompt, lacking similar credentials despite apparent need to access restricted areas for our current assignment.

"You're with me," he states simply, confidence suggesting this association provides sufficient justification for joint entry. "The Archive recognizes certain relationships, particularly those involving complementary energies. Since we’re doing this assignment together, we’re good."

We round the corner to confront what must be the formal entrance to Stellarum Archive proper – a massive doorway fashioned from what appears to be a single piece of opalescent crystal, its surface etched with constellations that shift and realign in patterns suggesting mathematical precision beyond ordinary astronomical movement.

Zeke approaches without hesitation, identification card extended toward a specific constellation within the door's elaborate design.

The pattern responds immediately, stars brightening momentarily before rearranging themselves into a completely new configuration that somehow suggests welcome rather than mere acknowledgment.

"Place your hand beside mine," he instructs, positioning himself precisely before a specific section of crystalline surface. "The Archive needs to recognize your energy signature alongside mine for joint access authorization."

I comply despite lingering reservations, palm pressed against the cool crystal surface that immediately warms beneath my touch.

Curious sensation follows – gentle examination that feels more like respectful inquiry than invasive scan, consciousness behind a security system apparently possessing awareness beyond mere mechanical function.

Zeke remains perfectly still during this assessment process, expression suggesting familiar experience requiring patience rather than anxiety about potential rejection.

His confidence proves justified as constellation patterns suddenly accelerate their movement, stars tracing luminous pathways across the crystalline surface before coalescing into an elaborate doorway that materializes where a solid barrier previously stood.

Beyond this threshold stretches vista so extraordinary it momentarily suspends all thought of assignments, chalices, or mysterious sacrifices.

The Stellarum Archive reveals itself not as a mere library, but a vast internal landscape that defies ordinary architectural constraints – seemingly infinite space contained within what should be physically impossible dimensions given the academy's external proportions.

Countless shelves extend in all directions, their arrangement suggesting cosmic rather than terrestrial organization principles.

Books and scrolls float freely between fixed collections, some following invisible currents that carry them to new locations while others hover in apparent stasis, awaiting summons from researchers requiring their specific knowledge.

The most impressive feature, however, dominates the center of this impossible space – an enormous crystal dome that appears simultaneously above, below, and surrounding the entire archive. Through its perfectly transparent surface, the academy complex spreads beneath us in breathtaking aerial perspective that provides the precise viewpoint required for Professor Valerian's assignment.

"Welcome to the heart of Wicked Academy," Zeke states quietly, satisfaction evident in his tone as he observes my undisguised wonder at this revelation before us. "The Stellarum Archive…repository of knowledge across realms and catalyst for those worthy of transformation."

The word "catalyst" triggers immediate connection to his earlier self-description – "I'm a catalyst. Just like you." – suggesting deeper significance to this location beyond mere information storage or architectural marvel.

As I absorb overwhelming sensory input of the Archive's impossible dimensions and organization, a single thought crystallizes with perfect clarity amid chaotic impressions: w hatever secrets Wicked Academy harbors regarding both chalice and my own forgotten purpose, answers likely reside somewhere within this extraordinary repository of knowledge stretching infinitely before us.

Zeke steps forward, crossing the threshold with practiced familiarity that suggests frequent visits despite apparent restrictions controlling general access.

His movements carry confidence previous interactions have lacked, as if the Archive represents an environment where his true nature finds acknowledgment that’s denied elsewhere within the academy hierarchy.

"Come," he encourages, hand extended once more in invitation, carrying weight beyond simple guidance. "Mortimer is waiting for us near the observational nexus. From there, we can capture a perfect aerial perspective while accessing information about anything else you may need to acquire."

We cross the threshold with deliberate steps, accepting whatever consequences might follow this advancement into the Archive's sacred territories. The crystalline doorway seals behind us, constellation patterns rearranging themselves into configuration suggesting secure closure rather than permanent barrier.

The weight of the peach from the Abundance Tree presses against my side, a reminder of nourishment freely given amid systems apparently designed to withhold sustenance except as reward for performance or privilege.

The contradiction feels increasingly significant as we advance deeper into the Archive's impossible geography. Zeke's measured steps leading toward whatever revelations await at this observational nexus where Mortimer apparently expects our arrival.

Acceptance or sacrifice.

Two paths through Year Two, neither seemingly straightforward despite apparent simplicity of binary choice.

Whichever path ultimately proves mine, the first step clearly involves following this strange cat-boy deeper into this repository of knowledge that appears to bend reality itself around preservation of information whose value transcends ordinary academic measurement.

No matter the path, I’m not going to allow the past to repeat itself a second time.