Page 21 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

"What does that mean?" Nikolai demands.

"He's...impatient," I translate, somewhat taken aback by my spirit's unprecedented behavior. In all our years together, it has never interrupted me.

Never shown such clear opinions about anything not directly related to our shared power.

"This is fucking insanity," Damien declares, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair in frustration.

"Indeed it is," Mortimer agrees with unnerving calm. His lips curve into that knowing smile that always makes me wonder just how much death magic has shown him. "Now, pay very close attention."

He raises his hand, fingers poised to snap?—

The tension in the room spirals higher as we wait, each of us caught in the moment before revelation. Dawn paints the windows in shades of amber and rose, marking the precious minutes we have left to make a decision that could alter not just our fates, but the very nature of Wicked Academy itself.

My spirit shifts its hold on our mysterious guest once more, and I catch another flash of her true form — this time it's thecurve of her neck, elegant and vulnerable. The sight sends a jolt of something possessive through my blood that I immediately try to suppress.

But I can't deny the way my power responds to her presence, the way my shadows seem to reach for her even in sleep. How her scent — that impossible mixture of death and life — makes every predatory instinct I possess rise to the surface.

Nikolai's magic fills the air with the scent of crushed herbs and ozone, his anxiety manifesting in tendrils of green light that curl around his fingers like vines.

I dare to acknowledge the tiny buds at the tips of the vines, threatening to bloom into blossoming shades of pink and purple.

Love at first sight maybe?

Damien has gone preternaturally still, every line of his body screaming barely contained violence.

And through it all, Mortimer stands like the eye of a storm, fingertips still poised to unleash whatever death magic he's gathered.

The air around him feels heavy with potential, thick with the promise of revelations we may not be prepared to face.

I find myself holding my breath, watching those pale fingers hover in the air. The anticipation trembles through me, the idea of seeing her in entirety, to see what we’re up against.

Show us who you really are, little intruder.

The first rays of true dawn break through the windows, painting the scene in gold and shadow as Mortimer's fingers begin to move?—

Threads of silk materialize from the air itself, shimmering with otherworldly purpose. They start as whispers of magic, barely visible in the growing light, before taking on rich hues of royal purple and emerald green. The ethereal strands dance through the air with deliberate grace, weaving around the figure in my spirit's arms like a living cocoon.

Layer by layer, mixture of purples and forest green, the magical silk wraps around her form, each band glowing with internal light. The wrapping accelerates until she's completely enshrouded, suspended in a chrysalis of magical energy that pulses in time with the academy's ancient heartbeat.

For a moment, complete silence fills the room.

Even the constant whisper of my shadows falls quiet, as if the very elements themselves are holding their breath in anticipation.

Then...the silk cocoon shatters.

It explodes outward in a cascade of crystalline fragments, each shard catching the dawn’s light and throwing rainbow refractions across the walls before dissolving into sparks of pure magic. The display is both beautiful and terrifying, like watching a star burst into nova.

As the magical shards rain down around us, the truth is finally, irrevocably revealed.

She floats in the air where my spirit once held her, sustained by Mortimer's magic. Her form speaks of contradiction — delicate yet strong, vulnerable yet powerful. Lean muscle hints at a warrior's training, while subtle curves whisper of grace. But it's not her physical form that captures my attention most powerfully.

It's the magic.

Her hair floats around her like a living halo, each strand of pure silver seeming to capture and amplify the dawn’s light. It creates an ethereal effect, as if she's been carved from moonlight and starshine.

The overall effect is that of a renaissance painting brought to life, something too perfect to be real yet undeniably present.

Ancient runes and symbols dance across her skin, glowing with internal fire. They're not just surface decorations — these are powerful sigils of protection and power, some so old theirmeanings have been lost to time. They pulse in harmony with the academy's wards, creating patterns that speak of destiny and ancient purposes.

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