Page 82 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

The weight of it is suffocating. My breath hitches, and my vision wavers. How are we supposed to fight this? How can we possibly break the slate’s hold when it’s been feeding on souls for years, maybe decades?

“Gabriel?” Nikolai’s voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and clear. “Are you alright?”

I blink, the vision fading slightly as I turn my attention back to him. His expression is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I…” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat.

For a moment, I consider lying, brushing off his concern with some snarky remark. But the truth is too heavy to ignore.

“I don’t think we have enough energy to take out all the slates,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe the biggest one, but… it’s too much. This thing has been collecting souls for years. It’s… haunting.”

The others exchange glances.

Cassius’s shadows ripple uneasily, and even Nikolai’s confident aura seems to dim slightly.

Damien, however, lets out a low growl.

“So what?” he snaps. “We’re just supposed to give up?”

“I didn’t say that,” I bite back, frustration flaring. “I’m just saying we need to be realistic. This isn’t some simple trial we can brute force our way through. If we screw this up, we’re all dead. Or worse.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Cassius asks, his tone calm but pointed.

I close my eyes again, forcing myself to focus. The runes on my wrist pulse faintly, the magic waiting for my command. I take another deep breath, steadying my thoughts.

“We go for the biggest slate,” I say finally. “If we can sever its connection to the souls it’s absorbed, it might destabilize the rest. But…”

“But what?” Damien demands.

“But it’s going to take everything we have,” I admit. “And even then, it might not be enough.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but there’s no hesitation in their auras. Despite everything, they’re ready. Ready to fight, to risk everything for even the slimmest chance of survival.

“Fine,” Nikolai says, his golden aura flaring once more. “But if you’re wrong, Gabriel, I expect an apology before we’re all incinerated.”

I let out a faint laugh, though there’s no real humor in it.

“If we’re incinerated, you’re not getting anything, Nikolai.”

“Pity,” he replies with a smirk.

Despite the tension pulsing around us, having him add a bit of humor in such a dire situation makes me feel a pang of hope.

Grim lets out another puff of smoke, this one darker and more pungent. It feels like approval, though I’m not entirely sure. Either way, it’s enough to steady my nerves.

I take one final breath, letting the runes on my wrist guide me as I prepare for the inevitable.

Please don’t let me down.

I shut my eyes, allowing the darkness to consume my vision once more.

The faint hum of energies surrounding us becomes my focus, the vibrations of life and power thrumming like an orchestra tuning before the performance.

My breathing slows as I concentrate, pushing past the strain and exhaustion gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

Raising my left hand, I let my fingers glide through the air until they find the runes etched into my wrist. They hum beneath my touch, eager to be ignited.

I exhale slowly, channeling my intent into them. With a whispered incantation, the runes blaze to life, their light searing through the shadows around me. The magic burns hot, radiating up my arm as if eager to escape.

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