Page 86 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

A male, his face lined with age, presses his hands against the inside of the slate. His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the noise like a knife.

“My son…I never found him. Please, let me see him again.”

A young man, his eyes hollow and lifeless, stares at me with an expression of quiet resignation.

“We trusted them. They said this place would make us stronger. Instead, it broke us.”

A boy, no older than seven, clutches a tattered doll to his chest. His voice is barely audible, a faint echo in the void.

“I’m scared. I just want to go home.”

Seeing someone so young leaves me feeling eerier, wondering how the hell he got here in Wicked Academy. Was he here visiting one of the students and getting pulled into the trials without realizing it?

My stomach sinks at the mere idea, feeling sad that this little boy's future has been completely ruined for what could have been a simple mistake of innocence.

More voices seek my refuge, yearning to be heard after what could be years of endless solitude.

Their words weigh on me, a heavy burden that threatens to crush me entirely. My body trembles, my knees threatening to give out despite Cassius’s steady hold.

The pressure of the magic is overwhelming, the slate’s resistance nearly insurmountable. The drive to save them is there, the motivation to push every strand of restraint to destroy this prison once and for all couldn’t be more vibrant.

But…

“I can’t…” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Cassius tightens his grip, his voice steady despite the chaos. I feel as though he can’t show weakness.Can’t emphasize a strand of sympathy.Yet, his presence is helping more than I’d dare admit, especially when we’re practically strangers.

“You’re stronger than this, Gabriel,” his praise is barely audible, as though he only wants it to be between us. “You have to be. Look at them.”

His encouragement proves that he not only sees the extent of this situation, but heseesthem.

He sees the world of ether that I’m witnessing behind my closed eyes.

I force myself to focus, to see the faces of the souls once more.

Their eyes…they’re watching me, their hope fragile but undeniable.

They’re counting on me, trusting me to free them from this nightmare.

“You can do this,” Nikolai says like an affirmation, his voice softer now but no less firm. “You’ve already come this far. Don’t let them down.”

Damien growls, his hand gripping my arm tightly.

“You’re not allowed to quit,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “You’ve survived worse. I’m sure you have if you managed to make it to Wicked Academy. Don’t let some ancient piece of shit slate take you down.”

If I wasn’t fighting to destroy this slate, I would have rolled my eyes with his bickering, but behind his approach, I sense the genuine encouragement in its depths.

Their words anchor me, pulling me back from the edge.

This academy is created to test our limits in a world where mercy is never given by accident. So what if I’m the first to give mercy to those who are victims of it?

I grit my teeth, summoning every ounce of strength I have left.

The blood strings blaze brighter, their glow cutting through the darkness as I push forward.

The slate groans, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. The resistance intensifies, the dark energy pushing back with a force that nearly knocks me off my feet.

But I don’t stop.

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