Page 40 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

The first ring –crafted of what appears to be living shadow somehow solidified into tangible form– floats toward Cassius. Its band shifts and flows like his own abilities, never settling into a fixed shape yet maintaining coherent structure.

The second ring –pure golden light condensed into physical manifestation– rises to Nikolai. Intricate Fae symbols decorate its surface, suggesting royal authority beyond mere Academy advancement.

The third ring –crimson metal veined with patterns reminiscent of blood vessels– gravitates toward Atticus. The pureblood symbolism is unmistakable, acknowledging heritage he's kept carefully concealed until recent events forced revelation.

The pendant –obsidian inlaid with dual symbols representing both witch and vampire lineages– hovers before me. The hybrid recognition feels simultaneously validating andexposing, Academy bureaucracy acknowledging my true nature despite previous deception.

The key remains on the pedestal, awaiting its intended owner. This must be Mortimer's token, I realize – recognition of advancement he's earned but cannot currently claim.

My attention shifts to the pendant hovering before me.

With careful deliberation, I wrap my fingers around it, the cool metal warming instantly at my touch. I close my eyes, centering myself as energy transfers between the object and my magical essence – an exchange that feels almost ceremonial in its significance.

The transfer isn't entirely smooth. Something foreign lingers within me – a remnant of whatever Mortimer's kiss initiated during our displaced conversation. The energy signature feels weakened but undeniably present, like an echo persisting long after the original sound has faded.

When I open my eyes, disorientation strikes immediately.

The obsidian chamber has vanished, along with its pedestal and floating tokens. Instead, we stand before a massive golden gate unlike anything I've encountered at Wicked Academy thus far.

The structure towers at least twenty feet high, its surface adorned with intricate vines of deep purple that weave elaborate patterns across the metallic backdrop. Roses blossom at various intervals along these vines, alternating between vibrant crimson and an unsettling ivory-green that seems almost luminescent in certain light.

I glance down, discovering my form has fully reverted to Gwenivere rather than Gabriel.

No glamour hides my feminine features, though my attire has transformed to match our new circumstances. A leather-like uniform replaces my tattered trial garments – fitted jacket withhigh collar, form-fitting pants with strategic reinforcement at knees and thighs, boots designed for both combat and long wear.

The outfit feels simultaneously practical and ceremonial, as if designed specifically for whatever challenges await beyond these ornate gates.

The pendant remains in my hand, its weight comforting against my palm. I'm positioned between Cassius and Nikolai, their presence steady on either side. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms Atticus stands directly behind me, his crimson eyes scanning our surroundings with tactical assessment.

"Where are we?" I murmur, watching as the gates begin to separate with a deep resonant hum that vibrates through the ground beneath our feet.

"The threshold to Year Two, I'd guess," Atticus responds, moving slightly closer to my back. "Let's go through together, just in case something else decides to test us. Stay close."

His protectiveness would be touching if not for our recent experiences with unexpected betrayal and corruption. After Lysth's deception, caution seems the only reasonable approach.

"Where's Mortimer?" I ask, suddenly aware of the dragon scholar's continued absence. The key meant for him no longer rests on any pedestal, yet he himself remains missing from our group.

"Behind you," comes a familiar scholarly voice.

We turn as one, my bond mates shifting protectively around me despite the recognized voice.

Mortimer stands several paces back, looking remarkably composed given recent events. The key dangles from a chain around his neck, confirmation of his official advancement alongside us.

What captures our collective attention, however, is his complete and utter nakedness.

My jaw drops involuntarily as I take in the unexpected sight. The scholarly "pet dragon" who typically presents as a mild-mannered academic with wire-rimmed glasses stands before us completely nude – and stunningly built.

My eyes track downward without conscious permission, cataloging details my brain struggles to process. Where I expected perhaps the soft physique of someone dedicated to books rather than physical training, Mortimer possesses not a six-pack but what appears to be an eight-pack of perfectly defined abdominal muscles.

His chest and arms display similarly impressive definition, suggesting power carefully concealed beneath academic robes.

My gaze continues its inevitable journey downward, reaching the part of his anatomy that causes my entire face to flood with heat.

I must resemble a ripe tomato as blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Long?"

The word escapes me in a strangled squeak, my vocabulary apparently reduced to single-syllable observations in the face of such unexpected revelation.

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