Page 108 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two
"You can't possibly be stuck here forever," I counter, the very concept violating the fundamental sense of justice that persists despite witnessing countless examples of the academy's casual cruelty. "There must be some condition, some accomplishmentor time limit that releases you from whatever obligation keeps you bound here."
His smile carries sadness so profound it creates a physical ache in my chest just witnessing it – ancient sorrow contained within youthful features, a contradiction that somehow perfectly encapsulates everything mysterious about this strange cat-boy who sees through disguises and navigates hidden pathways with practiced ease.
"Yes, as of now, I'll be stuck because I'm the sacrifice," he confirms, shoulders lifting in a slight shrug that suggests acceptance rather than resignation. "It's no different for Mortimer."
The unexpected comparison catches me completely off-guard, the connection between my scholarly dragon companion and Zeke's circumstances represents a puzzle piece I hadn't considered fitting into the emerging picture.
"What do you mean?" I ask, mentally retrieving everything I know about our academic companion – his evident age and knowledge, position among the Seven, and designation as "pet" that always triggered uncomfortable associations despite his apparent acceptance of the role.
Zeke sets aside the book he'd been holding, giving me his complete attention as if explaining a complex concept requiring full concentration from both parties.
"Why would a scholar of his attributes and knowledge be stuck at an academy for centuries?" he asks, the question clearly rhetorical yet demanding consideration of implications I'd somehow overlooked despite constant proximity to the ancient dragon shifter. "Someone with his power and wisdom could command respect in any paranormal community, yet he remains here, bound to students who casually refer to him as 'pet' despite his obvious superiority in both age and knowledge."
The assessment strikes uncomfortably close to observations I've occasionally entertained but dismissed as mere cultural differences between dragon hierarchies and other paranormal societies. Hearing them articulated aloud forces reconsideration of assumptions I'd allowed to persist without proper examination.
"But I met him at the beginning of Year One," I argue, remembering our first encounters when Mortimer presented himself as a scholarly companion assigned to Cassius and Nikolai. "He's their 'pet' – though I've never liked that designation. Wouldn't he accompany them when they unlock Year Three?"
Zeke's expression shifts to gentle disagreement, head slowly shaking as if correcting a misunderstanding made through no fault of my own but requiring adjustment nevertheless.
"Shifters like cats and dragons aren't meant to be students at Wicked Academy," he explains, voice taking on a teaching cadence that reminds me unexpectedly of Mortimer himself when sharing particularly important knowledge. "We are accomplices. Beings who are brought in."
The use of "we" confirms the suspicion that whatever classification Zeke belongs to shares fundamental characteristics with dragon shifters despite obvious physical differences.
"Mortimer may not remember, especially when he was appointed to be one of the Seven," Zeke continues, this revelation landing with particular force, giving implications of memory manipulation affecting a being of Mortimer's evident power and age.
"Wait," I interrupt, connections forming with increasing clarity as I organize scattered information into a coherent narrative. "So you're saying Mortimer, being a dragon shifter, may have also been appointed to a royal family and brought intoWicked Academy as a challenge, only to be left behind by his owner or master, and then he's just been... stuck?"
Zeke nods, confirmation carrying neither triumph at my understanding nor sorrow at the situation's inherent tragedy – just simple acknowledgment of truth finally recognized.
"How can you be so sure?" I press, unwilling to accept such a devastating conclusion without absolute certainty, particularly given Mortimer's evident contentment with current circumstances that would seem incongruous with trapped or abandoned status.
Zeke's expression shifts to something more ancient than his apparent age should allow, wisdom behind those remarkable eyes suddenly undisguised by youthful appearance that typically contains it.
"Cats are beings of knowledge who have nine lives, Gwenivere," he explains, his voice carrying resonance that seems to vibrate at a frequency just beyond ordinary hearing. "We carry the memories of many, watching and observing, collecting what we deem important."
His gaze grows distant, focusing on something I cannot see –memories perhaps, or connections between events separated by time yet linked through patterns only his unique perception can recognize.
"I remember Mortimer," he continues, present once more rather than lost in whatever mental landscape momentarily claimed his attention. "But he probably doesn't remember me from before he ascended into his role as one of the Seven."
The implications send a chill through me despite the Archive's perfectly regulated temperature. For a being as ancient and powerful as Mortimer to have memories simply removed or blocked suggests institutional control far beyond what I'd previously attributed to the academy's administration.
"Why would they take his memories?" I ask, then pause as personal realization surfaces alongside the theoretical question. "Since I arrived, I can't remember much of my childhood. During class today, I tried, but it felt like hitting a blank wall."
The admission emerges without a conscious decision to share such vulnerability, words forming before strategic consideration can evaluate the wisdom of revealing this weakness. Something about Zeke's presence seems to bypass usual caution, encouraging honesty that might otherwise remain carefully guarded.
His response carries neither surprise nor dismissal, instead conveying the understanding that suggests my experience represents an expected pattern rather than a concerning anomaly.
"This is what truly makes Wicked Academy 'wicked,'" he states, lowering the book in his grasp to ensure my complete attention to what follows. His expression suggests importance beyond ordinary explanation – fundamental truth about the institution that changes everything once understood.
"Year One is meant to kill the unworthy," he begins, the assessment so blunt it momentarily startles despite obvious accuracy given the trial's explicit goal of eliminating weaker students. "Those who don't have the level of survival needed to move onward. That's why the trial ended with needing to kill two individuals – to prove that no matter what aspect of life, sacrifice in realms of life and death is necessary to create balance."
The explanation aligns with the observed reality of our trial's conclusion, though the coldness of institutional design still disturbs us despite having directly participated in its execution.
"Then it moves onto Year Two," he continues, hands gesturing to encompass our current surroundings within Stellarum Archive. "Knowledge and attributes. You strive fornormalcy, to attend the academy like any other paranormal elite would, but do you know what's going to happen?"
I slowly shake my head, unwilling to interrupt what clearly builds toward the revelation of significant importance.
Whatever follows seems to require security beyond ordinary conversation, as Zeke glances around the room with sudden wariness before snapping his fingers in a precise gesture that triggers an immediate magical response.
