Page 11 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"We should link up more securely," Atticus suggests. "Form a chain that won't break no matter how much turbulence we encounter."

The idea of physically connecting with Nikolai and Cassius, of touching the men who betrayed my trust so thoroughly, makes my stomach clench.

But survival takes precedence over personal feelings…at least for now.

"Agreed," Mortimer says. "I suggest a formation with Lysth at the forepoint, followed by myself, then Gabriel and his...friend." He hesitates over what to call Atticus,clearly sensing there's more to our relationship than mere “acquaintance”.

"Atticus," he supplies smoothly. "And I stay with Gabriel."

"Of course," Mortimer acknowledges with a slight nod. "Then Nikolai, Cassius, and Mordax as anchor, since his adaptable form can best handle the rear position's turbulence."

The arrangement seems logical enough, though I note how it deliberately separates me from direct contact with either Nikolai or Cassius.

Thank goodness…

Maybe it’s cowardly, even as a male, but the idea of being touched by them in the most simplistic gesture gives me the “ick”.

Whether Mortimer did this out of consideration for the tension between us or some other calculation, I'm grateful.

Lysth doesn't wait for further discussion, adjusting his descent to take point position. His crystalline body catches the red light from below, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows that dance across his surface.

Despite the dire circumstances, the effect is breathtaking.

Mortimer positions himself behind him, reaching back to offer his hand to me.

I take it after only a moment's hesitation, my other hand still firmly gripped by Atticus. The chain forms rapidly – Nikolai behind Atticus, then Cassius, with Mordax taking the rear position as suggested.

Connected this way, we begin adjusting our descent, aiming for the center of the concentric cloud rings. Lysth calls back information about thinner sections, guiding our human chain through the treacherous aerial obstacle course.

Another purple cloud approaches, this one thicker than previous formations.

I draw a deep breath, preparing for the burning sensation that follows. Cassius's shadows stretch forward just before impact, creating a thin barrier that partially shields us from the worst effects.

Even with this protection, the passage through the poison is agonizing. My lungs burn with the effort of holding my breath, skin prickling despite the shadow shield. The runes activate again, their protective magic flowing across my body in waves of ancient power.

We emerge gasping, the chain momentarily stretching as each of us reacts to the painful transition. But our grips hold, keeping us connected through the turbulence.

"The center structure," Lysth calls back, his voice carrying easily despite our speed. "I can see it more clearly now – some kind of platform floating above the lava."

"Our destination, presumably," Mortimer notes. "Though how we're meant to land without becoming smears on its surface remains an open question."

"Maybe that's part of the challenge," Nikolai suggests, gold eyes scanning the approaching landscape. "Finding a way to slow our descent before impact."

"Or maybe they just want to see which of us survives the landing," Atticus says darkly. "Two will fall, remember?"

The grim reminder of the prophecy silences us momentarily.

Seven will rise, but two won't continue beyond this challenge. The question of who those two might be hangs unspoken between us, adding another layer of tension to our precarious alliance.

As we continue our controlled plummet toward the central platform, I can't help wondering how this temporary team will fare once we're on solid ground again.

Atticus clearly has no intention of playing nice with the princes who failed to protect me. Nikolai and Cassius seemequally wary of this newcomer who holds my hand with such familiar confidence.

We plunge through another cloud, this one a sickly yellow-green unlike the purple formations we've encountered so far. The difference becomes immediately apparent as microscopic assailants materialize on our skin.

Fire ants.

Not the ordinary terrestrial variety, but magical constructs that materialize from the mist itself. They skitter across exposed skin with merciless efficiency, tiny mandibles sinking into flesh with burning precision.

---