Page 93 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

I sigh softly, the sound heavy with weariness.

“It’s not sadness,” I say, my voice distant. “Maybe…it’s longing. Longing to know him. To understand him. To find out who he is…and maybe even the others.”

The boy remains silent, watching me with an intensity that feels almost otherworldly. I force myself to keep speaking, the words spilling out like a confession.

“This academy doesn’t feel like what it’s supposed to be,” I murmur. “Who wants to be wicked to one another? To feel like an outcast because of ranks and labels created long before we existed?”

The boy’s gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s a faint flicker of emotion in his eyes—a shadow of understanding.

“Why is this place a sanctuary of menacing repercussion for men,” I continue, my voice growing softer, “but a death sentence for women? I want to find out. I want to know why it’s like this. Hmmm…that’s probably stupid…maybe that’s not the road meant for me.”

I’m so tired…

My words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

The boy doesn’t reply.

Instead, he simply watches me, his expression thoughtful and solemn. The snake behind him thrashes one final time before falling unnaturally still, its hollow eyes fixed on me as if waiting for something.

The weight of my exhaustion finally overtakes me, and my vision begins to blur. The boy’s face fades into the encroaching darkness, his presence lingering like a phantom in my mind.

“It’s a shame you must perish.”

The boy’s voice pierces the silence, soft and lilting, yet dripping with an undertone of finality.

“You intrigue me. I would’ve liked to study you,”his voice thick with an indescribable sense of power;his words carrying an eerie calmness that chills me to the core.“But you’re wrong. Or perhaps…” he pauses, tilting his head as if reconsidering,“perhaps you’re too right for this domain. And that is why you must be eliminated.”

The weight of his statement hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. My eyes flutter open, though every effort feels monumental.

All I see is his shadow, dark and foreboding, yet unmistakably solid against the ephemeral void around us. My gaze shifts downward, catching a glint of something sharp and metallic.

A scythe.

It’s massive, its blade impossibly curved and etched with runes that seem alive, pulsing faintly with dark energy. The boy holds it effortlessly, its length towering above him, and yet it doesn’t diminish him.

If anything, it amplifies the menace he exudes. The blade rises slowly, deliberately, until it’s poised above me like the hand of fate itself.

I can’t help but smirk, the irony of it all hitting me in a way that makes the corners of my cracked lips curl upward.

My voice is barely a rasp, but it carries the faintest edge of humor.

“How… ironic is this?” I whisper. “I should’ve…been cool. Learned…how to use a scythe. Maybe…I could’ve gotten myself…out of death’s grasp.”

A brittle laugh escapes me, broken and faint, but genuine nonetheless.

I’m staring death in the face, yet there’s an odd sense of peace that washes over me. The fear that had once gripped me so tightly has melted away, replaced by a strange acceptance. Disappointment lingers somewhere in the background, but it’s muted now, a dull ache rather than a sharp sting.

As the moments stretch into eternity, I find my thoughts wandering.

I’d always assumed that, in these final seconds, my mind would be flooded with memories of Elena, of our childhood, of the fleeting moments of happiness we shared. But instead, my thoughts drift to the others.

Cassius. Nikolai. Damien. Mortimer.

Their faces flicker in my mind like a gallery of moving portraits, each one etched with the sharp details of curiosity and wonder.

I think about their fates, about whether they’ll make it out of this cursed place alive. Will they survive? Will they escape to continue their lives, their royal statuses intact?

Or will they, too, be swallowed by this relentless void?

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