Page 138 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

Everyone below flinches, hands rising to ears that feel like they might be bleeding. The sound continues, building, feeding on itself until?—

Elena laughs.

The sound cuts through the hellhound's screech like a blade, sharp and mad and absolutely delighted.

"I can't have you fulfill your conquest of being separate," she says, her diseased eyes locked on my sister. "Two heirs? Nope. The Wicked world can't handle that."

She tsks, shaking her head with theatrical disappointment.

"There will be no Year Four," she continues, grin spreading wide enough to split normal faces, "because you won't survive me, the true Queen destined for these lands. The throne was destined for ME!"

The declaration rings with the particular certainty of madness, but also with power that makes the words more than simple ravings. She believes this absolutely, and her belief has weight that reshapes reality around it.

I take a breath I don't need, filling lungs that don't exist with air that isn't there.

This is the moment.

I can no longer stand behind, letting my sister and the men she loves fight alone.

Can no longer be the observer, the passenger, the one who watches but doesn't participate.

My hand opens, revealing something I've kept hidden even from myself.

The artifact none of them know is truly what they're looking for.

It's small, almost insignificant looking.

An artifact no bigger than a child's cup, made from metal that can't decide if it's gold or silver or something else entirely. Symbols cover its surface—not carved butshifting, constantly rewriting themselves in languages that predate speech.

The chalice.

The one Elena seeks.

The one our parents encouraged us to retrieve and protect.

Hidden in the only place of purity that would keep it safe…

Gwenievere’s heart…

"It's time," I whisper, my form solidifying from thought to substance, from possibility to certainty.

I'm not borrowing Gwenievere's body now.

Not manifesting temporarily through borrowed power.

This is me, fully realized, independent for the first time since Elena's curse forced us together.

The chalice pulses in my hand with warmth that has nothing to do with temperature.

It recognizes me—not as bearer but asheir, as one of the two it was created for.

"It's time to reveal Wicked Academy's true destiny," I say louder, my voice carrying across the battlefield with authority that makes even Elena pause.

He knows all eyes are on him, and this is the moment he needs to ignite the final stance against the evil within their family.

No more running away…

The chalice begins to glow, soft at first then brighter, light that isn't light spreading from its surface. The symbols on its surface lock into place, spelling out words in language that everyone suddenly understands despite never learning it:

WHAT WAS UNITED SHALL DIVIDE AND CONQUER.

WHAT WAS STOLEN AND FORBIDDEN SHALL RETURN AND VANQUISH.

WHAT WAS WICKED SHALL REMEMBER AND EMBARK ON THE ROAD TO LOVE.

"Starting," I say, raising the chalice high as power older than the Academy itself begins to wake, "with Death."

TO BE CONTINUED.