Page 111 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two
His phrasing triggers a connection that had been forming in my mind since his earlier revelations about cats carrying memories across multiple lives.
"Wait... you can store information...like an encyclopedia of sorts," I suggest, concept solidifying as I articulate it. The peculiar knowledge he's demonstrated throughout our interactions suddenly makes sense if viewed through the lens of a being who accumulates and preserves information across extended lifespans.
He nods, confirmation accompanied by a slight smile that suggests an appreciation for my understanding rather than pride in capability.
"Yes. Me and Mortimer actually," he elaborates the connection between them clarifying with new significance. "Why do you think Mortimer was appointed to the Seven? It wasn't necessarily because of his power in sorcery, because he isn't the strongest in magical combat. It's because of the level ofknowledge he carries from centuries of reading, obtaining, and gathering such knowledge."
The explanation shifts my understanding of Mortimer's position within the academy hierarchy – not merely powerful being assigned arbitrary designation, but specifically selected for information preservation capabilities that complement institutional structure in ways I hadn't previously considered.
"How do the Seven then apply to all of this?" I ask, attempting to integrate this new understanding with existing knowledge regarding the academy's peculiar administrative structure. "Will we get to encounter them?"
"The encounter is inevitable," Zeke confirms, expression suggesting a mixture of anticipation and concern regarding this eventual confrontation. "But I believe that happens in Year Four."
"Like a final boss," I whisper, gaming terminology surfacing from memories that continue fading despite desperate attempts to preserve them. The comparison feels oddly appropriate – progression through increasingly challenging levels leading to an ultimate confrontation that determines success or failure within the system's parameters.
Everything suddenly clicks into place – the trials, the advancing Years, the specific challenges each realm presents – all structured like elaborate games with rules, levels, and final objectives.
The realization sends an unexpected thrill of excitement coursing through me, pieces fitting together with satisfying precision that triggers a smile I can't suppress.
Zeke looks confused by my reaction, head tilting slightly in a familiar feline gesture.
"Why are you smiling?"
"This is the most thrilling challenge I've ever embarked on," I admit, enthusiasm genuine despite the objectively terrifyingimplications of everything we've discovered. "And though I'm struggling to remember all the hobbies I enjoyed, I feel like puzzles and mysteries are probably my favorite."
His confusion transforms to an appreciative smile, recognition lighting those extraordinary eyes with a warmth that feels earned rather than freely given.
"You remind me of my master," he says softly, an unexpected comparison carrying weight that suggests a significant compliment rather than casual observation. "Not the one that discarded me, but long before then."
Curiosity rises at this glimpse into his personal history, previous indication of abandonment is now clarified as subsequent rather than original relationship.
"If you're able to go back to him, would you?" I ask with genuine interest in his answer rather than merely polite conversation.
Zeke nods without hesitation, certainty suggesting a question he's considered extensively rather than the hypothetical newly presented.
"I would return and aim to fulfill my promise of being by his son's side," he states, his response revealing a depth of commitment previously hidden beneath casual demeanor. "Hopefully that son is still alive, and if my service as a familiar is still valid, I'll fulfill the duty of what I promised. For without my original owner, I wouldn't have gotten to witness the good in the world."
The loyalty embedded within this statement strikes me powerfully – commitment maintained despite evident suffering, dedication to promise made seemingly lifetimes ago rather than resentment at circumstances that led to current difficulties.
"So many have treated you poorly, though," I observe, thinking of taunts I've witnessed during our brief time together, evidence of ongoing mistreatment that extends beyond a singleincident. "Discarded and abandoned you when you were worthy of going with them, at their side."
He nods, acknowledging neither dismissing valid observation nor accepting it as a reason for bitterness or abandonment of principles.
"Isn't that what's wickedly beautiful about life?" he responds, a question carrying philosophical depth that catches me by surprise.
I frown, genuine confusion at the perspective that seems to find value in suffering that appears objectively unjust.
Noting my reaction, he elaborates, his expression taking on a teaching quality that transforms his youthful features into something carrying wisdom beyond apparent years.
"The premise of Wicked Academy centers around the wrong, evil, and the born beings who want nothing but sadness and mayhem to plague its enemies," he explains, hands gesturing slightly to emphasize key points. "But no one ever centers their focus on the good these lessons deliver. The raw beauty in being greedy and selfish. How sometimes being evil is born from being so damn good in the world, that everyone took advantage of it."
He pauses, gaze shifting to meet mine directly with an intensity that suggests approaching a crucial point rather than mere philosophical musing.
"You're being kind by attending this school with a hidden purpose, yes?" he asks, though the tone suggests already knowing the answer before I provide it.
I nod slowly, truth requiring no elaborate justification or explanation.
"I'm here to retrieve an artifact that will save my sister."
