Page 136 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

"If you're royalty, how do you know? Given the circumstances you've described..."

A smirk tugs at my lips as I meet his gaze.

"That's my secret," I say, enjoying the way his eyes narrow slightly. "But I simply know I am."

Mortimer and Cassius look to Nikolai, clearly expecting him to challenge my claim. Instead, he smirks and crosses his arms, leaning back against the kitchen island with casual grace.

"Well," he says, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of arrogance and charm, "it doesn't matter, seeing as she's my mate. She's royalty in my book regardless."

I cringe exaggeratedly, my nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Eww," I say, giving him my best sneer. "How romantic."

His chuckle fills the kitchen, rich and genuine, making the bond mark above my heart pulse with warmth.

"There's another reason for the discernment and cruelty between students," Mortimer interjects, his scholarly tone returning. "It contributes significantly to the point system."

I frown, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug.

"Point system?" The words taste bitter on my tongue, reminiscent of childhood games where the rules always seemed designed to ensure certain players could never win. "What's that all about?"

Mortimer rises from his seat with fluid grace, his movements precise as he crosses to a nearby drawer. He retrieves what looks like an oversized tablet, though its surface gleams with an otherworldly sheen that suggests it's far more than mere technology.

Magic ripples from his fingers as he waves his hand over the surface, igniting essence that coalesces into a complex chart.

The display spans four distinct sections, each labeled Year 1 through 4, and color-coded in ways that seem to pulse with their own inner light.

Year 1 catches my eye first, its mixture of green, purple, and blue creating an almost hypnotic swirl. The colors dance and merge like oil on water, beautiful yet somehow unsettling.

Year 2's section glows with golden undertones that remind me of Nikolai's aura, though there's something harder about these hues, less warm and more... competitive.

Year 3 blazes with striking red that seem to burn into my retinas, the shade mimicking the shade of blood that glows with luminosity.

Year 4 presents a vibrant blend of purple, blue, and pink that shouldn't work together yet somehow creates a mesmerizing display that gives me a vibe of rebirth.

Mortimer's finger hovers over Year 1, and the section expands to fill the entire board. The colors shift and swirl before settling into a more focused display —— a line graph that spikes dramatically upward before plummeting below a glowing red line that pulses like a living flame.

I feel rather than see Nikolai move to sit beside me, his presence warm and solid against my right side. Cassius slides off his stool to claim the seat on my left, his shadows curling around us all in a protective shroud.

The three of us face Mortimer as he positions the board, its display casting ethereal lights across his features. The moment feels heavy with significance as if we're about to learn something that will fundamentally change our understanding of this place.

My fingers tighten around my coffee mug, seeking warmth and comfort in its familiar weight. The bond marks pulse gently, responding to my unease with waves of reassurance —— Cassius's cool shadows and Nikolai's golden warmth working in harmony to steady my nerves.

Why do I even feel nervous when I know nothing about this?

The room falls silent while we listen for the soft hum of magic emanating from the board.

Mortimer adjusts his glasses, his pale eyes reflecting the dancing colors of the display. His expression carries that particular mix of academic fascination and grim acceptance that I'm beginning to associate with discussions of Wicked Academy's darker aspects.

The red line continues to pulse, drawing my attention like a beacon. Something about its rhythm feels wrong, almost predatory, as if it's not just a visual representation but a living thing waiting to devour the unwary.

"Before I explain," Mortimer says carefully, his voice cutting through the tension, "you need to understand that this system has been in place since the academy's founding. It's not just about measuring progress or ranking students." He pauses, his gaze meeting mine with unexpected intensity. "It's about survival in its most fundamental form."

A chill runs down my spine despite the warmth pressed against either side of me. The way he says 'survival' carries weight, suggesting consequences far beyond simple academic failure.

Nikolai shifts slightly beside me, his golden aura flaring protectively.

"Perhaps we should start with the basics," he suggests, his tone carefully neutral. "Before we dive into the more... complicated aspects."

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