Page 63 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Hold on. I'll find the chalice. I'll save you.

I promise.

The thought follows me through the gathering shadows, a mantra against forgetting, against failure, against the growing certainty that something essential remains just beyond my understanding.

The darkness thickens, becoming almost tangible, pressing against me from all sides. For one disorienting moment, I feel suspended between worlds --- neither fully in the dream nor fully awake, caught in the liminal space where reality's rules lose their hold.

Then, with jarring suddenness, the darkness shatters.

I bolt upright with a gasp, my consciousness hurled back into my physical body with force that leaves me disoriented. Sweat coats my skin, plastering fabric against my trembling form as I struggle to orient myself in this sudden return to wakefulness.

Elena. The barrier. The wilting flowers.

The dream images remain vivid, refusing to fade like ordinary nightmares. Each detail stands out with unnatural clarity, as if witnessed with all senses rather than merely imagined.

My heartbeat thunders in my chest, each pulse sending blood rushing in my ears with deafening force. I draw in deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the panic still coursing through my system.

Remember what you've forgotten.

The words echo in my mind, carrying Elena's voice with perfect fidelity.

But what has been forgotten? What purpose beyond finding the chalice could possibly matter when my sister's life hangs in the balance?

I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to force clarity through physical pressure. The gesture does nothing to organize my chaotic thoughts or silence the questions multiplying with each passing second.

Discover the legend. Unravel the different realms. Cut through the illusion.

Cryptic instructions that feel simultaneously vital and impossible to interpret. The frustration of it tightens my chest, making each breath a conscious effort.

The room around me slowly comes into focus as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Unfamiliar surroundings register gradually —this isn't Damien's chambers where I first arrived, nor the shared space I'd briefly occupied with Cassius and Nikolai.

Where am I again?

It takes a long moment for things to come back to me, the trials that lead to us walking into Year Two, and the various challenges that ended up being victorious enough for us to arrive at the gates of this new found part of Wicked Academy.

In Faerie no less…

This must be our new accommodations in Year Two, though my racing mind can't recall how I got here or when I lost consciousness. The last clear memory I have is of the trial's conclusion, of Year One completion, of transformations and revelations that seemed impossible to process through exhaustion's heavy fog.

What happened after that?

The question forms just as I become aware of another presence in the room — the subtle shift in air currents that speaks of someone breathing nearby. I tense instinctively, handmoving toward the knife I habitually keep beneath my pillow, only to find empty space where the weapon should be.

Defenseless in unknown territory.

The thought sends fresh adrenaline coursing through my system, sharpening senses already heightened by dream-panic. I scan the darkness, seeking the source of that subtle presence while keeping my own breathing carefully controlled.

There.

A shadow darker than the surrounding gloom is positioned near the room's far wall. Not moving, not threatening, but undeniably present and watching.

Who...?

I tense, muscles coiling in preparation for whatever confrontation might come. In this unfamiliar territory, I'm acutely aware of my vulnerability — no weapons close at hand, no clear escape routes memorized.

Just me and my magic against whatever waits in the darkness.

Before I can gather my power to strike, the shadow moves — not toward me as I feared, but upward. It detaches from the wall, hovering midair like a fragment of night-given independence from its greater whole.

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