Page 66 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

I’m supposed to go home…Elena needs me…but…

Despite the circumstances, I feel like I can’t abandon these men just yet. Despite us still being strangers, I hold a purpose here and I’d like to uncover whatever secrets are hidden in the depths of this sinister school of merciless wonder.

But as I watch Damien limp along, as I feel Nikolai's thumb trace patterns on my skin, as I sense Cassius's shadows reaching out to brush against me with what feels suspiciously like approval...I can't help but wonder if maybe the game itself has changed.

I came here for a chalice, yes.

But standing in this ancient tunnel, surrounded by princes and power and possibilities I never imagined, I'm beginning to suspect that fate might have other plans.

The crystals pulse again, stronger this time, as if agreeing with my unspoken thoughts. Their light takes on a warmer hue, almost welcoming, and I feel something deep within the tunnel's magic recognize me.

Not as an intruder or an imposter.

But as someone who belongs.

The realization should probably terrify me more than it does.

The tunnel begins to widen, its ancient stones giving way to more elaborate architecture.

Carved columns rise on either side, their surfaces etched with runes that pulse with increasingly intense magic. The air itself feels heavier here, thick with power and possibility.

"We're getting close," Mortimer announces from behind us. His voice carries an edge of anticipation that makes my skin prickle.

Nikolai's hand remains steady in mine, a warm anchor against the growing pressure of accumulated magic. The gesture should feel presumptuous — we barely know each other, after all. But there's something comforting about the contact, especially as the tunnel's energy continues to build.

"We should discuss strategy," he says softly, his thumb still tracing those maddening circles against my skin. "The trials aren't just about individual power. They test how well units work together."

"You mean how well we can pretend to hate each other while secretly not wanting each other to die?" I ask sweetly.

A snort of amusement comes from somewhere behind us.

"There's nothing secret about wanting you to die," Damien mutters, though his voice lacks its earlier venom. Apparently, aswift kick to the family jewels has earned me some measure of respect.

Or at least healthy caution.

"Careful," I warn, glancing over my shoulder with a wicked grin. "Your balls might develop a nervous twitch if you keep tempting fate."

His hands move protectively to cover his crotch, earning a genuine laugh from Nikolai.

"Children," Mortimer chides, but I catch the amusement in his tone. "Perhaps we could focus on the task at hand?"

"Right," I agree, forcing myself to be serious. "How exactly do these trials work? Besides the whole 'maybe you'll die' aspect, which seems to be a running theme in this place."

The crystals' light takes on a reddish tinge as we continue forward, casting strange shadows that seem to move independently of our presence. I notice how they avoid Cassius's darkness, creating pockets of deeper black where his power claims dominance.

"The trials are different for each unit," Nikolai explains. "They adapt to test not just our abilities, but how those abilities complement each other."

"Or fail spectacularly," Damien adds helpfully.

I consider this, absently touching the mark on my neck. The responding pulse of power makes Damien hiss in annoyance.

"So what you're saying is, they're going to specifically target our unique dynamics?" My eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Like, say, the fact that I can drink Duskwalker blood without dying? Or how Fae magic responds to my feeding?"

"Most likely," Mortimer confirms. "The trials have a way of... exploiting unexpected connections."

Something in his tone makes me glance back at him.

"You know more than you're saying."

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