Page 121 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

He's right. We've defied every statistical probability they likely calculated for our advancement. First surviving the trial that should have eliminated at least two of us, then maintaining bond coherence that should have fractured under stress.

Gwenivere looks genuinely perplexed.

"But what could we have done this time?" she questions, frustration evident in the slight furrow between her brows. "Is it because we're in the Archives? It can't be the Abundance Tree that showed up at lunch..." She pauses, reaching into her pocket. "Which reminds me, I still have a peach."

She extracts what is unmistakably the most extraordinary piece of fruit I've ever witnessed.

Far from an ordinary peach, the object gleams with internal luminescence, golden veins pulsing through its perfect surface like living circuitry.

An ethereal glow emanates from its core, creating the impression of a captured sunrise rather than mere edible matter.

That's no ordinary fruit. It practically radiates ancient power.

"That's one fancy peach," Cassius observes with characteristic understatement.

"Are you going to eat it?" I ask, genuinely curious about her intentions for something that appears more magical artifact than food.

Gwenivere shrugs with a casual nonchalance that belies the object's obvious significance. "I wasn't hungry at the time, but if anyone wants it, we can share."

She has no idea what she's holding.

The abject horror that instantly transforms both Mortimer and Zeke's expressions confirms my suspicion. Their reactions go beyond mere surprise into territory suggesting genuine alarm at what might have been a catastrophic mistake.

"What?" Gwenivere demands, frustration edging into her voice as she glances between their stricken faces. "What did I do wrong now?"

Maybe this is why the Seven have appeared.

The realization forms with disquieting certainty. If that "peach" represents what I suspect — an artifact of significant magical importance rather than mere sustenance - its removal from designated containment might have triggered security protocols beyond standard academy operations.

"That's not a peach," Mortimer states carefully, each word measured as if handling volatile explosives.

"Then what is it?" Gwenivere demands, impatience momentarily overriding the caution any rational being would exercise when confronted with the scholar's evident alarm.

Zeke steps forward, those extraordinary eyes fixed on the glowing object with what appears to be both fascination and dread.

"It's a fragment of the royal essence," he explains, voice dropping to near whisper despite our temporal bubble's supposed security. "The literal heart of what powers the throne."

Fuck.

"And I just...carried it around in my pocket all day?" Gwenivere asks, horror dawning across her features as implications register fully.

My Queen of Spades, accidentally pocketing one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the academy. Of course, she did.

I can't suppress the laugh that bursts forth, earning immediate glares from everyone present. The sheer absurdity of the situation — infiltrating the academy for a healing chalice only to inadvertently steal the throne's power source while thinking it's a piece of fruit - strikes me as cosmically hilarious despite the obvious danger it represents.

"I fail to see the humor in this situation," Mortimer states with an academic precision that only intensifies my inappropriate amusement.

"Of course you don't," I respond, finally regaining control over my reaction. "You haven't spent centuries watching destiny unfold through paths no one could possibly anticipate. The universe has a particular fondness for ironic delivery methods."

Cassius's shadows coil with evident concern.

"How serious is this?" he asks, practical assessment overriding potential philosophical exploration of cosmic coincidence.

Zeke and Mortimer's exchange looks laden with unspoken communication before the cat-boy responds. "The Abundance Tree only offers what someone truly needs," he explains carefully. "That it gave Gwenivere the royal essence suggests she's destined to?—"

"No," Mortimer interrupts with uncharacteristic abruptness. "We can't make that assumption yet."

Interesting. The dragon is deliberately preventing certain conclusions from being verbalized.

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