Page 1 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Three (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #3)

~GWENIEVERE~

S omething fundamental has changed.

Not just in the room.

Not in our mission.

In me .

The words "King of Spades" hang in the air like a promise and a threat, transforming everything we thought we understood about our journey through Wicked Academy.

The throne beneath me isn't just stone anymore—it's alive .

Pulsing with an ancient power that feels both foreign and intimately familiar. Begging to be acknowledged…used…favored in the depths of my mind.

Memories flood back in violent fragments.

Not gentle recollections, but brutal revelations that crash against the carefully constructed walls of my forgotten past.

I see myself — not as I was, but as I am .

As I always was.

Gabriel Hawthorne.

The name feels like both a revelation and a sentence.

A death sentence to my current existence that questions who I am now versus who I was before lowering upon this seat of absolute power.

The transformation isn't painful.

It's liberation.

Around me, the world shifts.

Not gradually.

Violently .

The stone sanctuary begins to dissolve, reality itself bending and warping as if the very fabric of existence struggles to contain what's happening.

Zeke and Mortimer exchange a look— scholars who have watched this moment approach across lifetimes.

Cassius's shadows become more alive than ever, dancing with a recognition that suggests they've always known this truth.

Atticus stands as a witness, his crimson eyes burning with a mixture of pride, possessiveness, and something raw and uncertain. What I am confident about is his acknowledgment of the fundamental change happening before him.

And Nikki— no, not Nikolai —watches with eyes that have seen too much, understood too deeply. She knows this isn't just a moment of power.

This is a moment of transformation .

The descent begins before we fully comprehend what's happening.

An obsidian throne materializes, carved into what appears to be a cliffside of scorched glass and bone. The heat is immediate, oppressive—a physical force that makes breathing feel like a conscious negotiation with the environment.

But I am untouched.

Unaffected .

Around me, my companions struggle.

Nikki drips with sweat, her body fighting against an atmosphere that seems designed to break her.

Cassius's shadows writhe defensively, trying to create some barrier against the oppressive temperature.

Even Mortimer— ancient, dragon-shifting Mortimer —looks distinctly uncomfortable.

Only Zeke seems relatively unaffected, those extraordinary cat-like eyes scanning our new surroundings with a mixture of awe and recognition.

"This is the Infernal Realm," he whispers, the words carrying the weight of magical essence beyond mere observation. "We've crossed its boundary."

I’m unsure of what that’s supposed to define. What all of this supposed to pertain to, but I’m sure we’re going to unravel it all, piece by piece, like a new found discovery begging to be acknowledged by the world.

Mortimer nods, his scholarly composure barely maintained.

"Very few students ever reach this point," he explains to Nikki, who looks about ready to collapse from the heat. "Year Three isn't spoken about because most never make it this far."

Year Three.

So we’re really about to walk down this rarely endured path…

The heat ripples the air like a malevolent mirage. But I remain centered.

Unscathed by the heat that continues to rise and blister in rebellion.

The obsidian throne feels like an extension of my body, of my very essence.

I can feel the memories pressing against me—fragments of a life I'd forgotten.

A conquest.

A purpose that extends far beyond the trials of Wicked Academy.

Fire bursts from the ground, forming a perfect circle.

Shadow monsters lurk at the edges of our perception, somehow unable to penetrate the barrier we've created. Their forms are indistinct— more suggestion than substance —writhing masses of darkness that speak to horrors beyond comprehension.

My eyes feel hollow.

Changed.

A being of power awakened…always waiting and ready for the moment it would be unleashed.

Deep within, I dare to admit this frightens me.

For I’m certain, this is the beginning of the real trials ahead.

The trials that are desperate to be won by the true Master of these wicked realms.

The scorching world has been waiting for this vital descent.

Awaiting for my return home…