Page 22 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

The shadows build faster, responding to the mantra. I need to hide. Need to contain this before it spreads further. I'm only a threat now. Only destruction wrapped in flesh that isn't even truly mine.

"You're a guardian to protect the most precious thing that was left for our rise."

Gabriel's voice echoes inside my skull, carrying truths I don't want to acknowledge.

"Our true birthright, threatened by those who dare wish to enter its glorious walls."

"I can't hurt them," I whimper to the voice, to myself, to anyone who might listen. "I need to protect them."

"They're not worthy of such."His response is immediate.

Certain.

"They are!"The declaration tears from me with enough force to crack my shadow cocoon."They care! They?—"

The world shifts.

One moment I'm surrounded by my own desperate barriers. The next, I'm back in the box—but changed. Larger. The shadows that were outside now line the interior, creating a space that exists between consciousness and dream.

Gabriel stands before me, no longer smirking.

His expression carries something I didn't expect:sympathy.

"Fine." He sighs like a parent indulging a child's tantrum. "If they love you, let them enter. Let them get a glimpse of our agony."

He claps once, the sound reverberating through our shared space.

The shadows reshape themselves, forming structures from nothing. Two thrones rise from the darkness—identical in design but opposite in nature. One burns with internal fire, the other swallows light.

He moves to the flame throne with casual grace, settling into it as if coming home. The fire doesn't burn him—it welcomes him, wreathing his form in coronation.

"Sit," he says, gesturing to its twin. Not a command but an invitation. "Unless you prefer to let your Guardian aspect rampage unchecked?"

I hesitate.

Every instinct screams warning. But what choice remains?

My friends are dying. The realm is breaking. And I'm the cause of it all.

The shadow throne feels cold as I approach. Not temperature but essence—a chill that goes deeper than flesh.

I lower myself carefully, half-expecting attack or trap.

Instead, the shadowsrecognizeme. They rise like loyal pets, wrapping around my limbs with disturbing affection. Each tendril whispers secrets I don't want to hear, promises I never asked for.

"There," Gabriel says softly. "Now we can do this properly."

"Do what?" But even as I ask, I feel the change beginning. The shadows aren't just embracing me—they're integrating. Becoming part of me as I become part of them.

"Show them, of course." His smile is sad. Knowing. "Show them what their precious Gwenivere really is. What we were born to be before Elena's jealousy split us apart."

"I don't understand?—"

"You will."

My eyes roll back as the shadows complete their work. But it's not unconsciousness that takes me.

It's something worse.