Page 103 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

The statement echoes Professor Valerian's earlier comments about Faerie's unique inclusion of female students, but carries implications extending beyond mere academic policy.

"Can you elaborate on that?" I press, genuinely curious about this apparent contradiction to the rigid gender segregation enforced in the main academy. "Everyone seems to emphasize that here. Why?"

Zeke's exploration halts again as he turns to give me his complete attention, those extraordinary eyes capturing and holding my gaze with unexpected intensity. Whatever he intends to share apparently deserves full focus rather than divided attention.

"The purpose of Year Two is acceptance," he states, voice carrying weight beyond simple explanation. "Without accepting who you're destined to be, you'll always be living in a layer of lies."

He glances down at his own hands, expression shifting to something more contemplative, perhaps even melancholy.

"Materials mean nothing here. Gold that can give us food. Nice accommodations. Privileges to obtain knowledge and power." His gaze rises again to meet mine, intensity returning with renewed purpose. "Who cares about those things if you're not able to embrace who you really are? Not the person you mold to please the world, but embracing who you're meant to be."

The philosophical depth beneath his seemingly simple explanation catches me off-guard. For someone who presents as timid and socially isolated, Zeke demonstrates unexpected wisdom that suggests experiences extending far beyond ordinary student life.

"That makes sense," I acknowledge, processing implications for my own circumstances – Gabriel's form maintained not merely for practical infiltration but perhaps representing deeper avoidance of true self-examination. Then another thought surfaces, concern overriding philosophical contemplation. "But if that's true, why do you starve yourself? Or eat the bare minimum? You deserve proper nutrition and enough sleep, at least."

The sadness that flows across his features in response to this simple expression of concern makes something in my chest tighten painfully. It's not merely sorrow but acceptance of acondition that appears both unjust and unnecessary from an outside perspective.

"This is the punishment I have to serve," he whispers, voice barely audible despite the passage's perfect acoustics, "because I was the sacrifice."

Before I can demand clarification of this cryptic statement, his fingers apparently locate whatever mechanism they've been seeking.

He presses against a seemingly ordinary section of wall, triggering an immediate response as a shimmering barrier materializes before us – the translucent membrane pulsing with opalescent energy that suggests both doorway and warning.

Zeke extends his hand toward me, silent invitation accompanied by expression that promises explanation but indicates immediate priority of crossing this unexpected threshold.

I hesitate, calculating potential risks against pressing need for information he apparently possesses.

"I'll explain, but we need to go through the portal," he urges, glancing behind us with sudden concern. "This side of the tunnel is going to flood. It does that to ensure intruders don't get in or stay in."

As if summoned by his warning, a distant rumbling sound reaches us, followed by the unmistakeable gurgle of approaching water. The passage's defensive mechanisms have apparently activated, threat of imminent flooding transforming theoretical risk assessment into immediate survival requirement.

I nod decisively, grasping his extended hand with firm confidence that belies lingering reservations. His fingers –slender yet surprisingly strong– close around mine with careful pressure that somehow communicates both reassurance and gratitude for trust extended.

Without further hesitation, Zeke pulls me forward into the shimmering barrier.

The sensation defies easy description – not solid resistance to be pushed through nor liquid medium to swim across, but something between states that seems to assess and evaluate before permitting passage.

For a brief, disorienting moment, I feel simultaneously nowhere and everywhere, awareness extending beyond physical form to encompass the entire academy complex in instantaneous comprehension that disappears before my conscious mind can properly register its significance.

Then reality reasserts itself as we emerge into a corridor dramatically different from the secret passage left behind. Where the previous tunnel featured organic curves and cool blue illumination, this hallway presents perfect geometric precision adorned with opulence that would make even royal treasuries appear austere by comparison.

Golden surfaces dominate the space, not merely decorative gilding but what appears to be solid precious metal forming both structural elements and ornamental details with extravagant abundance that defies practical consideration.

Ancient runes in deepest purple shimmer to life as we advance, their activation suggesting recognition systems responding to our presence with approval rather than alarm.

The magical barrier disappears behind us with the subtle whisper of dissipating energy, sealing off the passage and whatever flooding defensive measure Zeke warned about. More significant than this environmental transformation, however, is the change I feel within myself.

Looking down, I realize my appearance has reverted completely to true form – Gabriel's glamour has disappeared entirely, Gwenivere standing in his place without conscious effort to trigger my transformation. The change feels bothliberating and alarming, causing unexpected vulnerability in a space previously unknown.

"Is this okay?" I ask, gesture encompassing both transformed appearance and potentially exposed identity.

Zeke's smile widens with genuine pleasure that suggests my concern is entirely unnecessary. He squeezes my hand once more before releasing it, the brief contact carrying reassurance beyond mere words.

"This is the realm that allows us to be what we're most comfortable in being," he explains, his own appearance unchanged despite an environment that apparently strips away disguises and assumed forms. "Your true self is welcome here."

The explanation raises immediate questions regarding his own form, with the persistent thinness and fragility that seems at odds with the apparent freedom this space offers.

"Are you comfortable like that?" I ask, careful to keep judgment from my tone while still expressing genuine concern for his wellbeing.

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