Page 109 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Walls of dark purple energy materialize around us, humming with a protective resonance that suggests both containment and privacy shield against potential eavesdropping. The spell's sophistication exceeds what a typical student should command, further evidence that Zeke's capabilities extend far beyond what his apparent status might suggest.

"You'll begin to forget," he states once the shield settles into a stable configuration, words carrying the weight of prophecy rather than mere prediction.

I frown, confusion evident enough that he sighs before elaborating further.

"Time moves differently here in Faerie, yes?" he prompts, waiting for my acknowledging nod before continuing. "With this time shift, in real life – where you stem from – time moves faster. You've already spent two days here, which in the realm world could easily be two weeks or maybe even two months."

"Two weeks to two months?!" Horror floods through me at implications for Elena, whose deteriorating condition represents a constant race against time I hadn't realized accelerated so dramatically. Even a conservative estimate suggests she's suffered a significant decline during what felt like mere hours to me within Faerie's altered temporal flow.

Zeke nods slowly, expression conveying sympathy without false reassurance that would diminish the seriousness of the situation.

"The more days that pass," he continues, "the more time will begin to move into the real reality outside of Faerie."

"The more I'll forget," I whisper, realization crystallizing with terrible clarity. Memories already difficult to access will continue fading until what –or who– I was before the academy ceases to exist within conscious recollection.

The implications expand beyond personal tragedy as mental connections form between this revelation and earlier observations about the academy's student population.

"That means everyone here...or the majority of them," I begin, thoughts racing ahead of my ability to articulate them coherently, "they've been here acting like students, gathering money, getting food, doing challenges, building a foundation in Faerie Wicked... but beyond... beyond the academy... they're..."

"Long gone, Gwenivere," Zeke confirms, voice gentle but unflinching in delivering devastating truth. "Their physical bodies died months, years, or even centuries ago in the outside world while their essences remain trapped here, cycling through the academy's systems with no possibility of a return to realities that no longer exist for them."

The enormity of this revelation staggers me – not merely a cruel educational system but an elaborate soul trap disguised as a prestigious institution, capturing those who enter while erasing connections that might inspire escape attempts.

The multilayered deception suddenly clarifies with horrifying precision:thefirst level forcing physical survival that culls weaker participants, second level allows false normalcy while memories fade and outside time accelerates, ensuring no viable existence remains beyond the academy's boundaries by the time the student realizes their predicament.

"The first surrounded about survival, one you had to fight for," I articulate aloud, organizing understanding into a coherent structure. "But now, in this layer of the Wicked, you areallowed to survive, only for the sacrifice of who you are, what you were... and you'll never grasp who you'll become, because you're trapped in this time loop until your real self dies above, so you have nowhere to return to."

It sounds like a true nightmare. A horror movie you’d see in the plain of fiction and not true reality that us paranormals are experiencing in real time.

"Then most of these students are already dead," I whisper, implication unavoidable once the logic chain completes itself.

Zeke nods slowly, confirmation carrying neither pleasure in revealing hidden knowledge nor particular sorrow at its content – just acknowledgment of reality as it exists rather than as we might wish it to be.

"Their souls are trapped here," he confirms, "and that is the true punishment laid upon them because the throne is left empty."

The reference to the empty throne connects immediately to Professor Valerian's earlier lecture regarding the missing heir and subsequent punishment inflicted upon Faerie realms. What appeared as mere historical context suddenly reveals itself as central to the academy's true purpose and current corrupted state.

"How can we fill the throne?" I ask, my mind already racing toward a potential solution rather than dwelling on the horror of the revealed situation. "Can I find someone worthy to sit upon it and release these students and souls?"

Zeke studies me for an extended moment, assessment in his extraordinary eyes suggesting evaluation of both the question's validity and my capacity to utilize the answer should it be provided. Whatever he sees apparently satisfies his criteria, as he reaches for the specific book from a nearby stack – an ancient volume bound in the material that shifts between midnight blue and deepest purple depending on how light strikes its surface.

Opening it with careful movements that suggest familiarity with delicate pages, he turns to a specific section before rotating the book to face me. The illustration revealed seems to move even within the confines of two-dimensional representation – an elaborate throne room depicted in stylized yet somehow living art that conveys essence beyond mere visual representation.

The central figure sits upon the ornate throne, crown hovering above their head rather than resting directly upon it. Magic surrounds this central figure in swirling patterns that suggest both protection and emanation – power flowing inward and outward simultaneously in a perfect symbiotic exchange.

At the throne's foot sits a smaller figure clearly representing a feline entity, its position suggesting both independence and alliance rather than mere subservience. Background reveals a massive draconic presence, wings extended in a protective posture that encompasses the entire scene within their span.

Beside the throne stands a figure in the attitude of service yet carrying dignity that belies mere servant status – right hand to a ruler, position suggesting both an advisory capacity and executive authority to implement sovereign decisions.

Below these central figures kneel two warriors, postures indicating absolute loyalty while weapons suggest a capacity for enforcing royal will when diplomatic approaches fail.

The entire composition conveys a balanced power structure rather than a mere hierarchy – each position is essential to overall stability, with no single element capable of maintaining the system without others' complementary contributions.

"This needs to be done," Zeke explains, finger-tracing relationship lines between figures with practiced precision. "This is the true balance that has to transpire to release students of this realm into an afterlife while sending those who are stuck in a cycled loop into Year Three."

I study the illustration with renewed attention, understanding its significance extends beyond the mere historical records to a blueprint for potential resolution to the academy's corrupted state. The correspondences between depicted roles and individuals I know begin forming with surprising clarity.

"A cat," I begin, finger indicating a feline figure at the throne's base, then lifting to meet Zeke's gaze directly. "A familiar... that's why there's magic around the throne. That’s like you."

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