Page 100 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

She spins on her heel, her boots clicking against the stone floor as she begins to walk away.

But before she takes more than a few steps, she pauses, her gaze flicking back to me.

“Oh, and the haunting boy beside you, Gabriel. He’s invited as well.”

Confusion prickles at the edges of my mind.

“The…haunting boy?” I echo, frowning.

Everyone turns to look, their gazes following Eternalis’s line of sight.

My jaw drops.

Standing next to me is a figure I hadn’t noticed before.

He’s slim and slender, his frame almost ethereal, cloaked in an aura of shifting shadows and flickering white flames.

The strange combination of light and dark magic dances around him, giving him an almost otherworldly presence. He’s dressed in the academy uniform, its crisp lines and dark fabric tailored perfectly to his form.

The cloak draped over his shoulders, however, is anything but ordinary. It seems alive, the source of the shadows and flames that writhe and twist like living entities.

He meets my gaze with an emotionless expression, his eyes deep voids that seem to pierce through me.

There’s no malice in his stare, but something about it is unnerving, as though he’s seen more than he should.

And then he speaks, his voice low and resonant.

“Mine.”

The single word sends a chill down my spine, the weight of its meaning settling heavily in the air between us.

I stare at him for five long seconds, my mind scrambling to piece together what I’m seeing.

The cloak, the shadows, the flames… everything clicked into place like a puzzle I hadn’t realized I was solving.

“Grim?!”

17

THE WAITING GAME OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT

~NIKOLAI~

The Headmaster's antechamber is a study in contradictions.

Ancient tomes line shelves that seem to defy physics, their spines etched with runes that pulse faintly in the dim light.

The air itself feels heavy with magic, yet there's an underlying stillness that sets my teeth on edge. It's as if the very atmosphere is holding its breath, waiting for something ——or someone—— to break the tension.

Damien paces near the window, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor. Each step is punctuated by a low growl of frustration, his usual grace hampered by obvious discomfort.

He’d never admit that he’s actually nervous. This is a bigger deal than any of us would dare to admit, but he can’t help but let out his frustrations.

"My fucking head," he snarls, pressing his fingers against his temples. "Why are we even here? The great and powerful Headmaster has never deigned to speak with us before, but suddenly we're worthy of their precious time?"

His voice drips with sarcasm, but I catch the undertone of genuine hurt beneath the venom. Being ignored for years by the very being who runs this institution has clearly left its mark.

I don’t blame him for his feelings, but then again, Fae like myself aren’t very emotionally moved by being shunned by those in powerful thrones.

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