Page 10 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Survival," he answers simply. "I'm very good at surviving things that should kill me."

The loaded statement hangs in the air between us all, charged with implications none of them could possibly understand. None except me, who knows exactly what Atticus survived.

What he sacrificed, what he became in the process.

"Well," Mortimer interrupts the tense silence, ever the pragmatist, "survival skills will certainly prove valuable in our current predicament."

Another purple cloud approaches below, larger than the previous ones. We all inhale simultaneously, holding our breath as we plunge through the toxic mist. The burning sensation returns, less surprising but no less painful than before.

I feel the runes activate again, magical protection flaring beneath my skin.

When we emerge, gasping collectively, Atticus hasn't released his hold on me, but his other hand now grips Mordax's shoulder, keeping our group connected. Nikolai has linked arms with Lysth, who in turn grasps Mortimer's hand.

Only Cassius remains unanchored, his shadows serving as tendrils that reach toward our loosely formed chain without quite making contact.

"Dragon…" Nikolai states, which I can only assume he’s addressing Mortimer, "can you still transform mid-air?"

The casual revelation of Mortimer's true nature startles both Lysth and Mordax, their expressions shifting to wary respect. I'd almost forgotten that most students aren't aware of the "pet" dragon in their midst.

I wasn’t much different, but the idea of seeing him in dragon form does ignite a hint of thrumming excitement.

"Theoretically," Mortimer replies, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Though the resulting size change would create significant aerodynamic challenges in our current formation."

"Translation: I'd crush you all," I take the honors to translate, which encourages a thin smile to form on his lips. "What about partial transformation?" I suggest. "Just wings?"

Mortimer considers this, his expression thoughtful.

"Possible, though maintaining stability with seven passengers would be...complicated."

"We don't need to fly," Atticus interjects. "We just need to control our descent and navigate those cloud rings to reach the center."

His strategy makes sense – flying would make us a larger target in a possibly hostile environment. Better to maintain our current trajectory while adjusting our course toward the central target.

"Duskwalker," Atticus addresses Cassius directly for the first time, his tone neutral but commanding. "Your shadows, can they form a barrier against the poison?"

Cassius stares at him for a long moment, silver eyes unreadable. I can feel the tension radiating from him, not just from being addressed by a stranger, but from witnessing my connection with said stranger.

"Temporarily," Cassius finally answers, his voice carrying that familiar cool detachment. "Though sustaining it around seven people would drain me quickly."

"Then we use it strategically," Atticus decides. "Only when absolutely necessary, for the thickest cloud layers."

The authoritative way he takes charge should probably irritate the others, especially Nikolai and Cassius, who are accustomed to leading rather than following. To my surprise, neither argues.

Perhaps they sense what I already know – Atticus possesses the kind of hard-earned survival instinct that can't be taught in royal courts or academic settings.

He learned it fighting for his life in prison, among the most dangerous paranormal criminals in existence. Learned it by transforming from victim to victor through sheer force of will.

"The sylph's natural composition should provide some resistance to the toxins," Mortimer observes, nodding toward Lysth. "Perhaps he could scout ahead, identify the clearest path through the cloud rings."

Lysth nods, his crystalline features shifting to something more aerodynamic. "I can manage that. The poison stings but doesn't penetrate my outer layers."

"And the shifter?" Nikolai asks, eyeing Mordax with professional assessment.

Mordax's features ripple slightly, skin hardening into something scale-like.

"I can adapt to most environmental hazards, given sufficient time to shift my cellular structure."

"Which leaves the rest of us vulnerable," I summarize, looking down at the approaching cloud rings. "We'll need to coordinate our breaths, move quickly through the toxic zones."

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