Page 95 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

His gaze remains steady, those remarkable eyes carrying depths I hadn't noticed previously – an old soul looking through a young face, an experience beyond his apparent years.

"Then most people are part of the problem," he states with quiet certainty. “Didn’t stop you from leaving a message for those dudes in class earlier to not bug those you interact with.”

The conviction in his voice suggests personal experience with being on the receiving end of cruelty no one bothered to challenge.

Combined with earlier taunts about the "homeless street cat" and his evident lack of social connections, a concerning picture continues to develop, but the fact he does acknowledge my prior warning to those douches emphasizes that he’s a lot more observant than one would give him credit for.

"You're hungry," he observes unexpectedly, changing subject with casual precision that feels deliberate rather than random. "But you don't want to enter the cafeteria."

The accurate assessment of my state catches me off-guard, my stomach choosing that moment to rumble in confirmation.

Great…

"I know somewhere else we can get food," he continues, eyes brightening with something approaching enthusiasm. "If you don't mind walking a little further."

I hesitate, weighing my desire to rejoin the others against genuine curiosity about this strange boy and what he might reveal about Faerie Academy's inner workings.

The decision crystallizes more quickly than expected.

"Lead the way," I instruct, gesture encompassing the corridor ahead.

Zeke's smile transforms his entire face, momentary joy erasing the habitual wariness that seems etched into his features. The effect is startling in its beauty, like sunshine breaking through persistent storm clouds.

As he guides us through an increasingly complex network of hallways, I study his movements more carefully, noting the subtle grace that defines his every gesture. There's an unmistakable feline quality to his locomotion – precise footfalls that make virtually no sound against marble floors, perfect balance maintained even when turning sharp corners, constant awareness of surroundings that manifests in slight adjustments to avoid collision before other students even register his presence.

His earlier courage in facing Damien seems increasingly remarkable given his evident physical disadvantages. Whatever paranormal classification he belongs to doesn't appear to grant obvious defensive capabilities, making his protection all more meaningful for its potential cost.

We pass through an archway I hadn't noticed previously, the marble transitioning to what appears to be living wood – an enormous tree hollowed and shaped through magic rather than tools, its interior polished to glass-like smoothness while maintaining organic patterns that speak of centuries of growth.

"We're almost there," Zeke assures me, pace quickening with evident anticipation.

The passageway opens into a circular chamber that takes my breath away with unexpected beauty. Enormous skylights form a natural dome overhead, crystal facets directing sunlight into a rainbow array that dances across curved walls. The space feels simultaneously ancient and timeless, power humming through living wood with gentle persistence that suggests a deep connection to Faerie's fundamental essence.

What truly captures my attention, however, is the enormous tree growing in the chamber's center. Unlike the passageway's architectural adaptation, this specimen remains fully alive, its massive trunk wider than three students standing shoulder-to-shoulder, branches extending upward to form a cathedral-like canopy that brushes against the crystal skylights.

Most remarkable are the fruits hanging from its lower branches – not a single type, but dozens of different varieties growing from the same tree in biological impossibility that could only exist through magical intervention. Apples and pears dangle beside exotic specimens I don't immediately recognize, each one perfect in form and vibrant with color that suggests peak ripeness.

"The Abundance Tree," Zeke explains, voice carrying a reverent quality that suggests personal significance beyond mere appreciation. "It's one of the last in Faerie that still produces without restriction."

He approaches the massive trunk with familiar confidence, reaching up to place his palm against rough bark in gesture that seems almost ritualistic. For a brief moment, I swear the entire tree shivers in response, branches swaying despite the absence of breeze within the enclosed chamber.

"We can take what we need," he continues, reaching up to pluck a perfect golden apple from a nearby branch. "But only what we'll actually eat. The tree knows if you're being greedy."

He offers the apple to me with a simple gesture that carries unexpected weight – sharing not just food but a secret place clearly significant to him. I accept with matching solemnity, our fingers brushing briefly in exchange.

The fruit feels unusually warm against my palm as if containing internal sunlight rather than merely reflecting external illumination. When I bite into crisp flesh, the flavor explodes across my tongue with an intensity that borders on overwhelming – sweetness perfectly balanced with tartness, complexity suggesting a dozen subtle notes beneath primary taste.

"This is incredible," I admit between appreciative bites, watching as Zeke selects a small cluster of purple berries for himself. The portion seems inadequate given his evident thinness, but he consumes them with evident enjoyment, each one savored rather than merely eaten.

"The tree provides exactly what your body needs most," he explains, confirming my observation about his minimal selection. "I don't require much physical sustenance."

The statement carries implications I file away for further consideration, another clue to his unusual nature. Instead of pressing directly, I opt for an adjacent approach.

"How did you know about the Nachtlied markings?" I ask, selecting a pear that practically glows with internal light. "That's not common knowledge."

Zeke's expression shifts minutely, caution returning to features that had momentarily relaxed in this sanctuary.

"I observe," he answers after a brief hesitation. "And remember things others don't notice."

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