Page 46 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Let’s get to unravelling.

Unraveling Reality Of The Betrayed

~NIKOLAI~

The massive dorm suite stretches before us, its opulent grandeur a sharp contrast to the absolute chaos swirling in my mind. Gilded fixtures catch the late afternoon light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dancing patterns across marble floors that probably cost more than some small kingdoms.

Any other time, I might appreciate the extravagance—the way ancient magic hums through the very walls, how each piece of furniture seems crafted not just with skill but with power woven into its very essence.

But right now, all I can focus on is the foreign weight on my chest, the way my center of gravity has shifted, how even my magic feels...different.

My golden aura, usually a constant companion flowing around me like sunlight given form, now moves with altered purpose. It swirls and eddies in unfamiliar patterns, responding to emotional currents I'm only beginning to understand. The change isn't just physical—it's fundamental, as if some core aspect of my being has shifted on an atomic level.

Professor Eternalis's words echo through my mind:

"Year Two reveals truths rather than imposes falsehoods. What appears as transformation may simply be revelation of what always existed beneath convenient facades."

The implications make my head spin.

As a Fae royal, I've spent centuries learning to control every aspect of my presentation. Each gesture, each word, each flicker of power carefully calibrated to project exactly what others expect to see. But this transformation strips away those careful facades, leaving me raw and exposed in ways I never anticipated.

My fingers clench into fists, nails —longer now, more delicate— digging into my palms. The pain helps ground me, but it doesn't silence the storm of questions raging through my thoughts.

If this is about revealing truth, then what truth lies in my current female form? Gabriel's situation makes sense — he's actually Gwenivere, a woman hiding behind carefully crafted glamour to infiltrate an all-male academy. But me? What hidden aspect of myself could possibly explain this transformation?

Unless...

The thought sends a chill down my spine.

In Fae culture, gender has always been more...fluid than in other realms. Our true forms often transcend simple binary classification, though we usually maintain whatever presentation feels most natural. But I've never felt any disconnect with my male form, never questioned my identity in that way.

Have I?

The nagging headache intensifies as I try to sort through centuries of memories, looking for any sign I might have missed.

Any hint that this transformation was more revelation than random magical effect. My mind races through countless court appearances, diplomatic missions, the careful dance of power and presentation that has defined my existence.

Had there been moments, subtle signs that this aspect of myself existed beneath the surface? Times when the strict masculine role of Fae heir felt more like a costume than my true nature?

The questions pile up, each one bringing fresh waves of uncertainty.

A movement catches my eye — Gabriel shifting restlessly near one of the suite's many archways. He looks pale, exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath his eyes and the slight tremor in his hands. The sight of him sends another kind of pain through my chest, remembering how he'd suffered during the trial while we were forced to watch.

While I was forced to watch.

The memory of his pain, his isolation during those moments, claws at my insides. The bond mark pulses beneath my skin, a constant reminder of connections forged and promises made.

Promises that circumstances forced us to break, even if only temporarily.

As a male, it’s so easy to suppress my emotions. To coil them up like a hidden present that must be concealed, knowing that I’ll have to confront its existence in the midst of the night when the world is asleep and I’m wide awake, lost in the tumbling pile of thoughts that would assault me through my insomnia.

As a female, however, everything is far different.Harder to conceal and contain.It’s almost overwhelming to admit, realizing how vulnerable I feel and understanding that the actions I did prior to us being thrown into the trial that locked in Year Two makes me want to puke in disgust.

Disgust in my own behavior.

Lack of interference leading to the implications that unraveled before everyone in that cafeteria.

Despite being a villain in Gwenivere’s eyes, Cassius knew the true implications of our inability to interfere.

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