Page 69 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

I stand in the front row, my masculine form holding its place among the sea of male students. The glamour feels differentnow, more secure thanks to Mortimer's additional protections, but maintaining it still requires constant attention.

At least the height-induced adrenaline helps with focus.

Already, I can feel my magic stirring beneath my skin, preparing for what seems increasingly likely to be an aerial challenge. The pillars' arrangement practically screams "flying test" — four massive columns of varying heights, each one positioned just far enough apart to make jumping between them a feat of either supreme confidence or absolute insanity.

Or both.

Probably both.

My eyes find Nikolai first, drawn to his position on the second-highest pillar. He stands in the front row, appearing as though he's attending a casual garden party rather than participating in what could very well be a death match. His perfect posture and serene expression suggest complete confidence in his abilities.

Which, given what I've seen of Fae magic, might not be misplaced.

The space around him is notably less crowded than my pillar. Where I'm practically shoulder-to-shoulder with my fellow contestants, Nikolai has enough room to stretch out his arms without the risk of touching anyone. The disparity is striking — a physical representation of the hierarchy at play.

My attention drops to the third pillar, where the contrast becomes even more dramatic.

Cassius occupies the top left corner, his shadows writhing around him like agitated serpents. What catches my attention isn't his presence —commanding as always— but the absolute void of other students anywhere near him. The entire population of his pillar has crowded onto the opposite side, creating a bizarre imbalance that should be comical but instead fills me with unexpected anger.

I knew Duskwalkers faced prejudice, but this is ridiculous.

The sight stirs something protective in me, making the mark on my neck pulse with shared indignation. I have to consciously reign in my emotions, remembering that I'm supposed to be Gabriel right now — collected, controlled, and definitely not ready to kick several hundred asses for displaying such blatant bigotry.

Finally, my gaze drops to the lowest pillar, closest to the ground but still at a height that would make most mortals dizzy. Through the crowd, I spot Damien's distinctive profile, but what surprises me is finding his eyes already fixed on my position.

A frown tugs at my lips as our gazes lock. There's something challenging in the way he stares up at me like he's daring me to look away first. His scowl deepens with each passing second that I maintain eye contact.

So that's how it's going to be.

Instead of breaking first, I flash him my cockiest grin. The kind of smile that says'watch me survive this'with just a hint of'and look fabulous doing it.'

I know I shouldn't antagonize him.

This isn't meant to be a competition between us specifically — the trials will be challenging enough without adding personal vendettas to the mix. But something in me needs to prove a point. To show him, and everyone else, that I belong here just as much as they do.

Even if 'here' happens to be standing on a pillar tall enough to make birds nervous.

The wind picks up again, carrying with it the metallic tang of gathering magic. Other students shift restlessly, their own power beginning to rise in response to the growing tension in the air. The very atmosphere feels charged with anticipation, like the moment before lightning strikes.

From my elevated position, I can see patterns forming in the spaces between pillars — shimmering lines of force that seem to connect the columns in complex geometric shapes. Whatever this trial entails, it's clearly been designed with multiple layers of magical complexity.

Good thing I've always been good at improvising.

My fingers flex unconsciously, magic crackling beneath my skin. The composite nature of my power —part vampire, part witch, with whatever other secrets my blood might hold— feels like both an advantage and liability.

No one quite knows what to expect from me.

Including myself, if I'm being honest.

But as I maintain that challenging eye contact with Damien, feel Nikolai's steady presence, and yearn for Cassius's shadows that feel as though they’re reaching out even across this distance, something settles in my chest.

A certainty that transcends logic or preparation.

I might not know exactly what's coming, but I know this:

I didn't survive drinking Duskwalker blood, manifesting impossible roses, and kicking a vampire prince in the balls just to fail now.

The mark on my neck pulses once, sharp and clear, as if agreeing with my determination. The sensation draws another scowl from Damien, which only makes my grin widen.

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