Page 65 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Outside, Wicked Academy's Year Two domain stretches in breathtaking grandeur — towering spires and elegant archesforming a landscape more akin to art than architecture. The structures seem to glow with subtle inner light despite the darkness, suggesting night still holds sway over this new realm.

Faerie.

The realization settles like a weight in my chest. We're truly in Faerie now, evident in the impossible beauty of the structures and the way even darkness here seems to shimmer with potential magic.

The implications of this transition remain to be seen, but instinct warns that challenges in this realm will differ fundamentally from those we faced in Year One.

Finding the living room empty of occupants, I continue my quiet exploration, eventually making my way to the kitchen. The space is impressive — gleaming countertops and state-of-the-art appliances integrated seamlessly with design elements that whisper ancient magic.

Thirst draws me to the sink, where I fill a glass with water that tastes sweeter and more vibrant than any I've encountered before.

The simple act of drinking feels rejuvenating as if the water itself carries subtle enchantment.

As the glass empties, exhaustion returns in a heavy wave, my shoulders slumping beneath its weight. Perhaps now sleep will come more easily, the immediate needs of my body addressed and the sharp edges of the dream somewhat dulled by wakefulness.

I'm about to return to my room when movement catches the corner of my eye — a slight shift in the ambient light spilling from a partially open door down the hall. Curiosity overrides weariness, drawing me toward the source like a moth to a flame.

Approaching quietly, I peer through the narrow opening, careful not to disturb whoever might be inside. The sight that greets me is so unexpected, so utterly incongruous witheverything I know of its creator, that for a moment I simply stare in disbelief.

Cassius sits perched on a window sill across the room, his head resting against the glass, eyes closed in apparent slumber. But it's not his sleeping form that captures my attention — it's what's happening in the center of the room.

Shadow tendrils extend from his unconscious form, dancing with surprising grace around an easel positioned near the bed. These living extensions of darkness hold brushes that move with deliberate precision across a canvas, each stroke applying pigments that seem to glow with inner light. The brushes themselves appear magical, their tips shimmering with essence that shifts and changes with each application to the painting's surface.

And what a painting it is.

The canvas reveals an image that steals my breath — a portrait divided diagonally, two halves representing starkly different aspects of a single subject.

Me.

One half depicts Gabriel in all his masculine precision, a crown of light adorning his head as he gazes upward, features set in solemn determination. The background behind him glows with warm tones — oranges, reds, and golds that speak of fire and transformation. His stance suggests oath-taking, a sacred pledge made before unnamed witnesses.

The other half shows Gwenivere —my true self— adorned with a crown of flowers unlike any I've seen in the mortal realm. Dark blooms with petals that seem almost metallic, their centers pulsing with subtle luminescence.

This version of me gazes not upward but outward as if seeing beyond normal perception into realms hidden from ordinary sight. The colors surrounding her form trend cooler — midnightblues, deep purples, and silvery greens creating an atmosphere of mystery and potential.

The craftsmanship is breathtaking, far beyond what I would have expected from the stoic Duskwalker prince. Each brushstroke carries precision that speaks of centuries of practice, yet the emotional resonance of the piece suggests something deeper than mere technical skill.

Is this how he sees me?

The question forms unbidden, sending an odd flutter through my chest. This duality captured with such care, such understanding — as if he perceives not just my physical forms but the essence that connects them.

I enter the room with careful steps, mesmerized by the ongoing creation. The shadow tendrils pause momentarily at my presence, seeming to sense the intrusion despite Cassius remaining asleep.

I freeze, holding my breath, worried I've somehow disrupted this unconscious artistry.

Instead of retreating, one tendril detaches from the artistic endeavor, rising upward in a graceful arc before approaching me. It moves with deliberate gentleness, lightly patting my head in greeting before nudging Grim's miniature form in apparent recognition.

My little shadow being on my shoulder offers a muted "Gree!" in response, the sound barely audible yet carrying obvious delight.

The tendril then gestures toward the bed, patting the surface in clear invitation. The movement carries such unexpected hospitality that I find myself smiling despite my exhaustion. Even unconscious, operating through extensions of his shadow self, Cassius manages to surprise me with these glimpses of consideration that contradict his typically aloof demeanor.

Deciding not to fight the invitation, I cross to the bed and settle against its plush surface. I grab a pillow to cuddle against my chest, making myself comfortable as I continue watching the magical creation unfold. The shadow tendrils resume their work, brushes moving in hypnotic patterns across the canvas to add further depth and detail to the already stunning portrait.

The sight is fascinating — not just the painting itself, but the process of its creation. These extensions of Cassius's unconscious mind seem to work with purpose and vision as if accessing artistic skill he keeps carefully hidden during waking hours. I wonder how many other talents and aspects of himself he conceals beneath that carefully maintained stoicism.

The sounds of the brushstrokes carry their own soothing rhythm — soft whispers of bristles against the canvas, occasional clicks as brushes exchange pigments, and the barely perceptible hum of magic infusing each application of color. Combined with the peaceful atmosphere of the room and the comfortable embrace of the bed, the effect is powerfully soporific.

I fight against heavy eyelids, wanting to witness more of this unexpected glimpse into Cassius's hidden depths. But exhaustion proves stronger than curiosity.

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