Page 107 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Golden light erupts around her like a solar flare, forming a barrier of pure radiance that makes even my enhanced vision ache. Her hair begins to float upward, each strand illuminated from within as if woven from pure sunlight. The effect is mesmerizing —— beautiful and terrible in equal measure.

Yet she sleeps on, her breathing deep and steady despite the power manifesting around her.

The Headmaster goes completely still.

The kind of stillness that makes their earlier immobility seem dynamic in comparison. It's as if they've stepped outside of time itself, becoming an absence rather than a presence.

The tension that fills the chamber is thick enough to choke on. Even my crown, still hovering above my head, seems to pause in its eternal dance of power. The runes on my skin pulse in warning, responding to the dangerous uncertainty of the moment.

I find myself wondering what expression lurks beneath that lightless hood.Surprise? Anger? Calculation?The not knowing makes it worse somehow, leaving me balancing on a knife's edge of possibility.

Seconds stretch into minutes, each one weighted with the potential for catastrophe.

The golden barrier around Gwenivere continues to pulse, its rhythm matching the steady beat of her heart. The light reflects off the frozen forms of our companions, creating strangeshadows that seem to dance despite the temporal paralysis holding them in place.

My mind races through possibilities, trying to predict the Headmaster's next move. Will they take offense at this display of power that rivals their own? Will they see it as a challenge to their authority? Or perhaps most dangerously —— will they see it as an opportunity?

The silence stretches on, each moment adding another layer to the suffocating tension. The only sound is Gwenivere's soft breathing and the faint hum of power emanating from her protective barrier.

And still, the Headmaster makes no move, says no word.

As if they've become a statue themselves, frozen by something even they didn't expect.

The runes beneath their feet have stopped spreading, frozen mid-pattern like a painting caught between brushstrokes. The very air seems to hold its breath, waiting to see how this impossible moment will resolve.

And through it all, I stand witness, my own power humming beneath my skin, ready but restrained. The crown above my head pulses with familiar weight, a reminder of responsibilities and powers I've spent centuries learning to control.

But control seems a fragile concept in this moment, as we all balance on the edge of something unprecedented.

The Headmaster's hand whips upward with devastating speed, summoning a gale force that should have shredded every thread of clothing from Gwenivere's body.

Instead, runes of darkness burst to life across her skin, swirling with shades of purple and green that form an ethereal armor.

Her uniform begins to disintegrate like paper caught in flame, the fabric turning to ash that drifts upward in elegant spirals. But before the destruction can complete its course, timeitself seems to reverse. The ash reforms into threads, threads weave back into fabric, until her uniform sits pristine and untouched —— as if the assault had never occurred.

But we both saw it.

In that fraction of a second between destruction and restoration, the mark above her heart blazed like a captured star. At first glance, it might appear to be a simple symbol of royalty, but I can't suppress the smirk that forms on my lips.

How fitting that the being who questioned my intelligence now witnesses the depth of my cunning.

The mark is an infinity symbol, perfectly proportioned —— neither too delicate to overlook nor too bold to appear unnatural. What makes it extraordinary are the Eternalis flowers flanking each side, one crafted in pure darkness, the other in blinding light. The sight vanishes quickly beneath the reformed fabric, but the message has been delivered.

The game has changed, and I'm no longer playing by their rules.

The Headmaster's shadowed gaze turns back to me, heavy with unspoken questions.

"I suppose this interaction won't last much longer, will it?"I ask, crossing my arms. I allow my energy to thrum through my voice, deepening it further with a sense of vibrato.

They scoff, the sound rippling through reality.

"You've set yourself up for your own demise."

"When I find something truly fascinating,"I admit,"I tend to claim it. Whether it becomes a blessing or curse is irrelevant."

I let my smile fade, my expression matching the emotionless void they project. But my magic surges, rising to heights I've kept carefully hidden for centuries. Each step I take toward them bends reality until we stand as equals rather than master and subject.

The tension between us shifts from oppressive to electric as we regard each other in silence.

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