Page 105 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

I've spent too long learning to control this power to let it slip now, even in the presence of one who might understand its burden.

The chamber trembles as the Headmaster's power resonates, their voice cutting through reality itself as they speak my true name.

"Crown Prince Nikolious Luminaris Starweaver, Heir to the Eternal Throne of the Summer Court."

Each syllable pulses with magic, the sound both beautiful and terrible —— like crystal bells shattering in slow motion.

The name I've buried beneath centuries of careful facades rings through the chamber, forcing more of my power to the surface.

"Your restraint remains... impressive,"they observe, their tone carrying notes of genuine appreciation."How many years have you played at being a mere student? And yet your hold on such vast power hasn't wavered."

They turn toward Cassius first, head tilting as they study Grim's frozen form. The being's cloak ripples with impossible movement, the fabric seeming to exist in multiple dimensions at once.

It's not silk, not velvet, not any material that has a name in mortal tongues. The closest description might be solidified starlight woven with shadow, but even that feels inadequate.

The hood that obscures their features defies logic, consuming light rather than merely blocking it. It's as if that small space contains a void, an absence so complete that even my enhanced vision can't penetrate its depths.

When they speak again, their voice resonates at a frequency that makes my bones vibrate. It's neither masculine nor feminine, neither young nor old —— a sound that exists outside such mundane classifications.

"Your power grows stronger by the day,"they observe, though the words carry an edge of challenge."Though perhaps you've noticed…few would sense my arrival at all, frozen in time as they are. Yet here you stand, still conscious, still fighting my pull."

Their attention shifts to Grim, and a low chuckle echoes through the chamber. The sound sends ripples through reality itself, like stones dropped in a still pond.

"The pet. New edition unlocked?"

I meet their question with deliberate silence, earning another of those reality-bending chuckles.

Despite the androgynous quality of their voice, there's something distinctly masculine in their need to demonstrate such overwhelming power. It reminds me of countless court performances I've witnessed —— males peacocking their abilities like rare plumage.

"Intriguing,"they continue, moving closer to examine Grim."How this creature bonds itself to the Duskwalker, yet its existence transcends to a higher plane of power."Their hooded face turns toward Gwenivere's sleeping form."Connected specifically to her neck."

Her…

They know.

They see who she really is…

They pause, and though I can't see their face, I feel the weight of their gaze.

"Why?"

I frown, acutely aware of how exposed this conversation leaves me. The fact that even Mortimer ——one of the Seven—— is frozen in time speaks volumes about the sheer magnitude of power being wielded. My own godlike energy probably serves as the only buffer keeping me conscious.

"You can see for yourself," I reply carefully, hoping his acknowledgment of Gwenivere’s femininity is forgotten just as fast as it was brought up. "Why do you need me to spell it out?"

Another chuckle, this one sharper.

"Always so stubborn, young prince. Making things difficult even for those far more powerful than your pitiful Fae rankings."

The attempt at gaslighting is so obvious it's almost amusing. I offer a measured smile in response.

"Why request our presence, freeze my companions, only to play these games?"

They move like smoke on the water, drifting to hover near Damien's frozen form. The motion is deliberately unsettling —— too smooth and perfect as if they're merely choosing to interact with space and time rather than being bound by it.

"Initially, I had no intention of granting you an audience,"they admit, studying Damien with what feels like amused disdain."Your dynamic is rather...odd. A Duskwalker with Lord potential, yet so comfortable in his emotional void that it may take another century for him to progress down that path."

They gesture dismissively at Damien.

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