Page 6 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

Atticus turns to Zeke, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"You're not even in the running for her attention."

Zeke merely raises an eyebrow.

"I don't care about competition. I'm just interested in survival."

I try not to smirk, a bit amused by Zeke’s response which I’m sure they weren’t expecting.

Mortimer's scholarly throat-clearing cuts through their tension.

"We should move. What's behind us isn't merely dangerous—it'shunting."

Shadow demons materialize as if on cue—living darkness that moves with predatory intelligence. They surge forward like a living tide of destruction.

Guess we should move for our own sake of survival.

Nikki's voice emerges, a thread of vulnerability cutting through her strength.

"Where are we going?"

Atticus helps her up, his movements a complex mix of protection and urgency.

I turn and begin walking, knowing exactly where we were going because it was the designation that begged for my return.

"The Gates of my academy," I announce.

Trials Of Flame And Glass

~CASSIUS~

The taste of his defiance still burns on my lips—sweet venom mixed with ancient fury that makes my shadows writhe with barely contained hunger.

Gabriel walks ahead of us, his stride carrying the unconscious authority of someone who's always belonged here, in this realm of fire and forgotten nightmares. The way he moves through the oppressive heat, completely untouched while the rest of us struggle, sends conflicting waves of pride and concern through my system.

My Little Mouse has become hauntingly untouchable…

Not lost to me—never that—but transformed into something the academy never anticipated. The bond mark at my neck pulses with each step she takes, a constant reminder that whatever Gabriel or Gwenivere has become, she remains fundamentallymine.

I realize it doesn’t matter if her true, rooted gender is male and the objective was to be a female who infiltrated the academy for his personal motives, or if this has been the underlying root to this rollercoaster of a journey.

None of it matters in my mind.

"The terrain is shifting," Mortimer observes, his scholarly tone strained against the environmental assault. Sweat beads across his forehead despite whatever draconic resistance he possesses. "These aren't natural formations."

He's right.

The obsidian landscape rearranges itself with deliberate intent, paths appearing and disappearing like a living maze designed to test or trap. Rivers of lava carve new channels through the scorched earth, creating barriers that force us to adjust our route every few steps.

The very ground beneath our feet feelsaware, responding to our presence with malevolent intelligence.

Nikki stumbles again, her body trembling with the effort of remaining upright.

The Fae princess—because that's what she truly is beneath all the forced disguises—looks like she's being systematically destroyed by this realm. Her usual grace has been replaced by desperate determination, each breath a visible struggle against air that seems designed to reject her very existence.

"Here," Zeke murmurs, expanding his frost barrier to encompass her more fully. The magical ice crystallizes in intricate patterns that would be beautiful if they weren't literally the only thing keeping her from combusting. "The realm is specifically targeting Fae magic. It's...personal. I’m intrigued by its hidden irony against your kind."

The way he says 'personal' makes my shadows coil tighter.