Page 62 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Everything.

The word hangs heavy with implication — the mark, the blood issues, the impossible way she fits into our dynamic despite all logic suggesting she shouldn't.

"Agreed," I say, glancing at the roses one final time. They've settled into a steady pulse now, their magic harmonizing with the ambient energy of the room in a way that shouldn't be possible. Much like their inadvertent creator.

Damien rises from his chair, his movements carrying that predatory grace that marks him as royal vampire blood.

"Let's get this over with," he mutters, though there's less bite in his tone now. "Before she manages to transform my room into an entire botanical garden."

The joke, weak as it is, helps break some of the tension. Even Cassius's shadows seem to settle slightly, though they continue to writhe at the edges of his form.

Mortimer pushes off from the desk he'd been leaning against, his movements carrying that eerie fluidity unique to his kind.

"I'll need to make a brief stop in my chambers," he says. "To gather the necessary materials for her protection."

"What exactly are you planning to create?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

His smile turns enigmatic.

"Something that will complement the mark she already bears," he answers cryptically. "While providing its own unique safeguards."

The way he says it makes me wonder if he knows more about the mark's nature than he's revealed.

But before I can press further, he continues.

"The trials will test more than just her combat abilities," he reminds us. "They're designed to push boundaries, to find weaknesses and exploit them mercilessly."

"We know how the trials work," Damien interjects, but Mortimer silences him with a look.

"Do you? Because I don't think any of us truly understand what we're walking into this time." His gaze sweeps across all of us. "We have a hybrid bearing a Duskwalker's mark, capable of surviving his blood, who can manifest Fae magic strong enough to create Rosa Eternalis through a simple feeding."

Put that way, the magnitude of our situation becomes clearer.

"The trials adapt to each unit's unique composition," he continues. "They're designed to challenge not just individual strengths, but how well those strengths work in concert. How will they respond to someone like her?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications none of us are quite ready to face.

"We need to move," Cassius states again, this time with more urgency. His shadows have begun to pulse in time with the roses' magic, creating an unsettling harmony.

"Agreed," Mortimer nods. "I can craft her protection as we walk. It's not ideal, but..." He shrugs elegantly. "We rarely get ideal circumstances in this place."

Isn't that the truth.

"Then let's go," I say, moving toward the door. "Before our newest member decides to start growing an entire enchanted forest in here."

As if in response, one of the roses suddenly blooms larger, its petals spreading to reveal a center that glows with pure Fae magic.

Damien groans.

"Get out," he commands, gesturing sharply at the door. "All of you. And someone better figure out how to remove these things before I get back."

"You love them," I tease, earning another flash of fangs. "They add character to your otherwise depressingly monotone aesthetic."

"Out!"

We file into the hallway, leaving behind a room transformed by impossible flowers and lingering magic. As we move, I catch Mortimer muttering under his breath, his hands already weaving patterns in the air that shimmer with power.

Whatever he's crafting, I hope it's enough.

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