Page 9 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"The sylph and the shifter were right behind us at the entrance," Nikolai offers, his tone carefully neutral. "They should be along shortly."

True to his prediction, two more forms materialize through a cloud above us – the crystalline sylph who spoke earlier and a broad-shouldered figure whose features seem to flow and change slightly with each passing second.

A shifter, as Nikolai identified.

"And then there were seven," Atticus murmurs, his fingers still wrapped around my forearm in a protective grip.

I notice Cassius tracking that point of contact, his shadows writhing subtly around his shoulders. Nikolai, too, seems fixatedon our connection, his golden gaze narrowing as he takes in Atticus's proximity.

Too bad. They’re wasting energy worrying and acting as if they’re able to feel a sense of jealousy.

Can’t be jealous of someone you see no value in. Surely if I was valuable, they would have interfered.

Valuable enough to put that ego aside and fight to help me in any way he could.

The sylph reaches us first, his translucent body cutting through the air with graceful efficiency. Up close, his features are even more striking – skin like polished glass through which faint blue energy courses, hair flowing in crystalline strands that catch the light from the lava far below.

On first appearance, you’d assume he was a female by default. The only obvious premise that makes it hard to believe otherwise is the fact we’re an “All Boys Institute.”

"Gabriel," he acknowledges with a slight nod. "I am Lysth."

Okay…

I sure can’t be the only one freaked out by this individual’s ability to know who I am. It’s either that or he’s some sort of stalker “girlfriend” keeping me hostage with the premise of this Trial challenge.

The shifter arrives next, his form finally settling into something humanoid, though his features retain an unsettling fluidity, as if his face hasn't quite decided which configuration to hold.

"Mordax," he introduces himself without preamble, voice fluctuating between bass and tenor. "Is this everyone?"

"Seven in total," Mortimer confirms, adjusting his glasses again. "A perfect match for the prophecy's first line."

As much as I want to know how exactly he’s able to predict these things, we have more pressing matters to focus on first.

"So what now?" Nikolai asks, drifting closer to our loose formation. I note that he specifically positions himself between me and Cassius, as if trying to create some buffer between us.

The gesture comes far too late to matter.

"We keep falling and hope for instructions?" Lysth suggests, his crystalline voice tinkling like wind chimes despite the chaos of our descent.

"Or we could examine the objective before us," Mortimer counters, gesturing toward the landscape below. "Look closely at the pattern of those clouds."

Following his direction, I study the toxic purple formations we've been avoiding. From our altitude, a pattern emerges – they're arranged in concentric rings, creating what appears to be a massive target on the volcanic landscape.

At the center, barely visible from our height, stands some kind of structure.

"A landing zone," I murmur, understanding dawning.

"Precisely," Mortimer nods. "And I suspect our challenge is to reach it intact, as a complete team of seven."

"Through poison clouds and volcanic ash," Lysth adds, his crystalline brow furrowing. "Charming."

Atticus's grip on my arm tightens slightly, drawing my attention. His expression remains neutral, but I catch the subtle tension in his jaw, the calculation in his eyes as he assesses our newfound companions.

"We need a formation," he says, addressing the group but keeping his focus on me. "Something that maximizes our collective talents while minimizing exposure to those clouds."

"And what exactly are your talents?" Nikolai asks, his tone carrying just enough edge to make his suspicion clear.

Atticus finally acknowledges him, crimson eyes meeting gold in a clash of ancient powers that makes the air between them almost vibrate with tension.

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