19. Aftermath Revelations
19
AFTERMATH REVELATIONS
~MORTIMER~
R eality snaps back into focus like a rubber band finally finding its anchor point.
The shift is subtle but unmistakable —— a return to the present that carries with it the lingering traces of unimaginable power.
The Headmaster's presence has vanished completely, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of their overwhelming aura. A familiar disappointment settles in my chest, heavy with the weight of centuries of failed attempts to bridge this particular gap.
Too weak again.
Too insignificant to warrant their attention.
A small, sardonic smile tugs at my lips.
"I'll keep trying," I murmur to myself, the words both a promise and a self-deprecating joke. After all, what's another century or two of being ignored when you've already waited so long?
Damien's voice cuts through my momentary self-reflection, sharp with confusion and barely contained frustration.
"Where the fuck did he go?" He spins in place, crimson eyes darting around the chamber. "I saw something…a shadow being, I think? Then I blinked and everything's…like this." His gesture encompasses the room, his movements tight with agitation. "Did something happen?"
Cassius maintains his usual silence, but his shadows writhe with heightened agitation. Beside him, Grim releases a contemplative puff of smoke before gliding forward with ethereal grace. The newly corporeal being hovers just above the ground, pointing to a specific spot with deliberate precision.
Another puff of smoke fills the air, this one carrying notes of cedar and frost.
"The Headmaster was here," Cassius translates quietly, his silver eyes narrowing slightly. "And…left."
"No fucking way," Damien explodes, his fangs flashing as he snarls. "We cannot have just missed this opportunity! Do you have any idea how long we've?——"
He cuts himself off mid-rant, his attention suddenly fixed on Nikolai. The rest of us follow his gaze, and I find myself tilting my head in careful observation.
The change is impossible to miss now that I'm looking for it. Nikolai's hair, usually maintained at a precise length that speaks of careful control, now cascades well past his shoulders in waves of liquid gold. But it's not just his physical appearance that's altered —— his entire energy signature has shifted.
My eyes narrow as I study the ethereal patterns surrounding him. The power emanating from his form burns far brighter than his usual carefully controlled aura, creating intricate webs of golden light that pulse with ancient magic.
The threads of energy weave through the air with purpose, and as I follow their path, I notice something fascinating.
They wrap around Gwenivere's sleeping form, intertwining seamlessly with the protective shadows that Cassius and Grim have maintained since her unexpected arrival and subsequent bonding.
It’s very clear the facade has dropped, which is why we can all see the sleeping female in our midst, but I’m pretty confident it’ll flicker back into place in a few minutes once the Headmaster’s energy has departed.
Regardless, the sight is remarkable —— darkness and light dancing together in perfect harmony, neither seeking to overwhelm the other.
The implications click into place with crystal clarity.
Ah…
"You bonded with her?"
The question emerges softly, colored not with judgment but with genuine intellectual curiosity. As one of the Seven, I've witnessed countless magical phenomena, but this —— this is unprecedented.
Almost delightful to be the first to witness such a phenomenon.
The golden threads of Nikolai's power pulse in response to my inquiry, creating patterns that mirror the mark I glimpsed earlier on Gwenivere's neck.
They weave through Cassius's shadows like old friends greeting each other after a long absence, each tendril of energy finding its perfect complement in the other's power.
It's beautiful in its impossibility —— a harmony that shouldn't exist between such fundamentally different forces. Fae magic, rooted in life and nature, flows seamlessly alongside the death-touched power of a Duskwalker.
The scholar in me itches to document this, to study how such seemingly opposed energies could find not just balance but synergy. The implications for magical theory alone are staggering, to say nothing of the political ramifications.
Multiple bonds were rare enough in ancient times when the boundaries between magical races were more fluid. In our modern era, with its rigid hierarchies and carefully maintained separations of power, they're practically unheard of.
Some say it’s a way of limiting how much power one can have, forbidden connections that would create untouched combinations of myth and truth. I can see why, especially when status and power are so crucial to survive in our unforgiving world. So to witness this, brings newfound fondness to the situation at hand.
Here before me stands proof that such connections are still possible —— if the individuals involved are powerful enough to maintain and accept their fruition.
The air in the chamber feels charged now, heavy with the weight of possibility. The very foundations of what we've accepted as magical law seem to shift and reform around this new reality.
A Fae prince and a Duskwalker prince, sharing a bond with the same mate. A hybrid female who shouldn't have survived beyond sunrise, yet here she sleeps, after a trial that challenged them in various ways, wrapped in the combined protection of powers that should be at war with each other.
The academic portion of my mind is already categorizing the various aspects that require further study: the specific resonance frequencies of their combined auras, the subtle variations in how their powers manifest when working in concert versus opposition, the potential applications for understanding cross-species magical compatibility...
But beneath my scholarly curiosity lurks something deeper —— a growing sense that we're witnessing the beginning of a fundamental change. The kind of shift that reshapes not just individual destinies but the very fabric of our magical society.
The irony doesn't escape me.
After centuries of seeking the Headmaster's attention, of trying to discuss the very possibilities of such magical innovations, here they manifest before me without any intentional orchestration on my part.
Perhaps that's why they finally appeared —— not to acknowledge my theories or validate my research, but because even they couldn't ignore the significance of what's unfolding here.
The power dynamics in the chamber continue to adjust and settle, like instruments finding their place in a complex symphony, yet I can only imagine how my research can shift.
How my studies and calculations can somewhat aim to aid these princes and this new princess who’s fallen into the clutches of the wicked, disguising herself to unlock the true secrets these tainted walls have to offer.
It rejuvenates this sense of bubbling excitement, making me feel like a student who aims to enter a new world of study and discovery.
Damien's laugh cuts through the charged atmosphere — sharp and mocking, yet underlined with genuine disbelief.
"This has to be a joke," he declares, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "There is no fucking way that Nikolai… our Nikolai…who has spent centuries avoiding intimacy with anyone he deemed unworthy of his precious grace, is suddenly BONDED to a fucking hybrid who fell into MY chambers with some bullshit story about a sick sister and a magical chalice!"
His outburst hangs in the air, met with heavy silence.
The only response is the soft sound of Gwenivere's steady breathing and the faint hum of combined magics still weaving through the chamber.
Cassius turns his silver gaze to Nikolai, his expression thoughtful despite his usual stoic demeanor.
"You knew," he says quietly, each word measured and precise. "If you pushed fae magic into her during the trial, and her energy was compatible with your fae ether, it could potentially trigger a bond."
Nikolai shrugs with casual elegance, moving around Gwenivere's sleeping form until he stands behind her. His hands find her hair, gathering the long strands with deliberate care as if the simple act of touching her provides some form of comfort.
"Yes," he admits, his attention focused on the silvery strands sliding through his fingers. "I assumed the potential possibilities and how it could lead to a bond if our energies mixed well enough." His movements remain gentle, almost reverent. "Bonding with a fae isn't easy. You all know the implications."
He pauses, finally lifting his gaze to meet Damien's stunned expression. His hands continue their careful attention to Gwenivere's hair, treating each strand like spun starlight.
"Fae don't bond with another unless their energies are similar, if not potentially higher than the dominating Fae."
The academic in me can't help but interject.
"He's correct," I say, watching the golden threads of Nikolai's power pulse in time with his movements. "For a Fae to match with another being, the chosen partner's energy and talents must outweigh the chosen suitor. It's a fundamental law of Fae magic…one that prevents weaker beings from attempting to forge connections above their station."
"Then," Cassius's voice carries notes of genuine curiosity, "Gwenivere is strong enough in all aspects to match Nikolai? Strong enough to trigger a bond?"
Nikolai's shoulders lift in another elegant shrug.
"That must be the case," he muses, his fingers still weaving through her hair. "If the blood exchange alone was the catalyst, we would have tested that theory with Damien over there.”
Damien's face contorts with horror.
"I would never want to be bonded to a girl," he growls, his fangs flashing in the chamber's dim light.
A low chuckle escapes Nikolai, the sound rich with amusement.
"Yes, we know," he says airily. "Only men and cocks interest you."
"Shut the fuck up!" Damien snarls, his cheeks flushing slightly despite his vampiric nature.
Nikolai merely shrugs again, his attention returning to his self-appointed task. His movements remain precise and tender, each stroke of his fingers through Gwenivere's hair carrying centuries of carefully controlled power.
The sight is fascinating — a being of such immense magical strength, performing such a simple, intimate gesture. The golden light that emanates from him seems to seep into each strand he touches, making her hair shimmer with an otherworldly radiance.
The contrast between his current demeanor and his usual carefully maintained distance is striking. The Nikolai we've known for years would never allow himself such obvious displays of affection, would never let his power flow so freely around another being.
Yet here he stands, practically radiating contentment as he tends to his sleeping mate with all the devotion of a priest at his altar.
The scholar in me catalogs these changes, noting how the very air around him has shifted. His aura, usually kept under strict control, now expands and contracts with each breath — reaching out to twine with Cassius's shadows in patterns that shouldn't be possible.
The implications alone could fill volumes of magical theory texts.
But perhaps more intriguing is how natural it all seems, as if these impossible combinations of power have simply been waiting for the right catalyst to manifest.
I catch Cassius watching them, his silver eyes tracking every movement of Nikolai's hands through Gwenivere's hair. There's no jealousy in his gaze — only a sort of quiet understanding that makes me wonder just how deep this connection between the three of them truly runs.
The shadows around him pulse gently, matching the rhythm of Nikolai's golden light. Even Grim, hovering nearby in his newfound corporeal form, seems content with this arrangement — his usual protective stance relaxed as he observes the scene.
The academic portion of my mind races with questions, theories, and potential experiments that could help us understand this unprecedented situation. But the part of me that has spent centuries studying the darker aspects of magic, the portion that earned me a place among the Seven, recognizes something far more significant.
We're witnessing the birth of something that will be the catalyst for all beings in this wicked space.
I can already think of the secrets that will be forced to come to light with Gwenievere's — or Gabriel’s — attendance, and I encourage it, for we’d be forced to learn, and potentially unlearn, many things.
Something that could either reshape our understanding of magical bonds and cross-species relationships or tear apart the very fabric of our carefully ordered society.
And somehow, I suspect that's exactly what Nikolai intended.
"What did the Headmaster say?" Damien demands, gesturing at Nikolai's transformed appearance. "If you look like this, you must have spoken with them."
Nikolai's hands remain steady in their work as he answers.
"We had a brief conversation," he admits, his tone casual despite the weight of his words. "I affirmed our group's intention to proceed with our official studies at Wicked Academy."
He pauses, gathering the final strands of Gwenivere's hair between his fingers.
Golden threads of magic manifest at his touch, weaving through her silver locks like threads of living light. The strands begin to move of their own accord, braiding themselves into an intricate crown pattern that speaks of both beauty and practicality.
The style, when complete, forms a perfect crown braid with spaces deliberately left for future adornments — flowers or jewels could easily be woven into the elaborate pattern.
A protective style .
I can’t help but note, recognizing the subtle defensive magic he's working into each twist.
"Gwenivere will be joining us," he states simply as if discussing the weather rather than dropping another bombshell into our already complicated situation.
"So the Headmaster knows Gabriel is actually a woman?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.
"I'd assume so," Nikolai replies, adjusting one final strand of hair. "Though they didn't specify whether any of us would face penalties for this deception."
I nod slowly, but my mind races with possibilities.
There's more to this conversation than Nikolai's revealing — that much is certain. But this is Wicked Academy, where every word could be a weapon and every truth might hide a dozen lies.
In a place like this, who can truly say who's friend or foe?
"You're saying they know she's a woman and just…let it be?!" Damien's voice cracks with disbelief.
"They do, and they did," Nikolai confirms, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "Why else would Gwenivere still be alive if that wasn't the case?"
When Damien fails to produce a counter-argument, Nikolai simply says.
"I rest my case." Turning his attention to Cassius, he carries on with, "Could Grim watch her back at our place while we get our schedules and such?"
Grim responds with a puff of smoke, already moving to take Nikolai's position behind Gwenivere.
Cassius nods.
"Sure."
Another puff of smoke from Grim, and in the span of a few blinks, both he and Gwenivere vanish completely.
"Where the fuck did he take her?" Damien demands, his head whipping around as if they might reappear in another corner of the chamber.
"He's a death bringer," Cassius reminds him flatly. "Transportation isn't nearly as complicated for his kind as it is for other paranormals."
“But,” Damien tries to argue but I have to cut him off.
"That's not the point," Nikolai interjects, his golden gaze finding mine. "Mortimer. Are you in with being our professor and guide?"
The question catches me off guard, especially given my obvious failure to maintain consciousness during the Headmaster's visit. He must see the disappointment in my eyes, the weight of yet another missed opportunity.
"The Headmaster is a prick of mercilessness," Nikolai says softly. "They're very aware of their deliberate dismissal of your studies and research. I believe it's a test of loyalty…seeing how long they can string you along before you break, even as lifetime acceptance dangles just out of reach."
He pauses, his next words careful and measured.
"Yes, you may be seen as our pet because of the original implications and punishments thrown your way for your precious research. But they respect the vast knowledge you carry and how it can benefit the academy, even if you can't always be by our side."
The words strike deeper than I'd like to admit, touching on centuries of frustration, hope, and determination. Years of research, of pushing boundaries that others feared to approach, all while being dismissed by the very being whose attention I sought most.
A test of loyalty, indeed.
"I'll solidify my position with your group," I declare, unable to suppress a slight smile. "The new implications are...tempting. And I must admit, I don't mind witnessing your rather unusual challenges. They seem to bring you an inordinate amount of entertainment."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Damien explodes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "This girl has triggered more chaos in forty-eight hours than we've seen in decades, and you're perfectly fine with teaching and guiding her?" His crimson eyes flash dangerously. "She could be a spy. Someone sent to ruin us all. Why are you all falling into such an obvious trap?"
"It isn't a setup," Cassius murmurs, his shadows writhing with barely contained agitation.
"Oh really?" Damien whirls on him, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You're the most stubborn one here. You hate anything outside your carefully controlled routine, anything that threatens your precious solitude. Yet here you are, accepting this girl who literally fell out of nowhere." His lip curls into a sneer. "And you had the nerve to bond with her?"
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect styling in his agitation. Then his expression turns cruel, fangs flashing as he delivers his next barb.
"Was her pussy that good? Got you acting like some drunken sailor who can't break free of his addiction at sea?"
"Damien," I try to interject, keeping my voice level despite the rising tension. "Wicked Academy is about survival above all else. Thanks to Gwenivere, we all survived a trial that's claimed countless lives over the centuries."
"Oh, so that's what this is?" Damien's laugh holds no humor. "We're using the cunt because she's some sort of good luck charm?"
Nikolai sighs, the sound heavy with centuries of patience wearing thin.
"If you're jealous of the attention she's garnered without trying, you can simply admit it. No need to let it affect you so deeply."
The words act like a match to kindling.
Damien stalks forward until he's inches from Nikolai's face, his aura crackling with barely contained fury.
"I'm not fucking jealous of anyone," he snarls, each word sharp enough to draw blood. "This was just a friendship of convenience, wasn't it?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications and unspoken hurt. The raw emotion in his voice betrays deeper wounds than his usual arrogance would suggest — layers of insecurity and fear hidden beneath his carefully maintained facade.
His breathing comes in sharp, angry bursts, his usual perfect composure completely shattered. This close, I can see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his pupils have dilated with more than just rage.
The chamber feels suddenly smaller, charged with centuries of complex dynamics and carefully maintained boundaries now threatening to collapse.
The golden light emanating from Nikolai pulses stronger, responding to the challenge, while Cassius's shadows writhe with increased annoyance.
It isn’t as though this is a new friendship of sorts. They’ve known each other for a very long time, but through my observation and memory, I’m beginning to realize they didn’t share much with one another.
Could you even consider them close on a deeper-rooted level?
I observe them all, noting how their auras interact — Damien's crimson energy flaring wild and uncertain, Nikolai's golden light maintaining its steady rhythm despite the provocation, and Cassius's shadows coiling tighter as if preparing for whatever comes next.
The scene before me speaks volumes about the intricate balance they've maintained all these years. A balance now threatened not just by Gwenivere's presence, but by the changes she's catalyzed in each of them.
Damien's outburst reveals more than just anger at the situation. His accusation of "friendship of convenience" carries echoes of older wounds and deeper fears.
The irony isn't lost on me.
As one of the Seven, I've watched their dynamic evolve over the years and noted the ways they circle each other like planets locked in precise orbits.
Always close, but never quite allowing true connection.
Now Gwenivere's presence has disrupted those orbits, forcing them to confront truths they've spent centuries avoiding. And Damien, perhaps more than the others, seems to be struggling with these changes.
His words about convenience and friendship reveal layers of insecurity that his usual cockiness masks well. The way he emphasizes Gwenivere's impact suggests less jealousy of her specifically and more fear of how she's changing the dynamic he's come to rely on.
How easily she’s been able to bring them on her side while he’s struggling to keep them together.
In their dynamic, most assumed he was the leader, but if he can’t seem to pull them into his circle of favor, it could mean his “leadership” is dwindling.
"So a woman…a hybrid who demonstrates she can be a threat to that sinister, cocky vampire side of yours…shows up and takes what you enjoy using when your needy cock is begging for it," Nikolai murmurs, his voice dangerously soft. "And now you're mad because she shows genuine desire and intrigue for what you've marked as a toy of relief."
The tension pulsing between them is maddening.
I can feel it building like a storm about to break, crackling with the potential for violence.
Cassius sighs heavily, his shadows writhing with multiplying agitation.
"This shouldn't become such a dilemma that breaks us apart," he says, his voice carrying notes of rarely displayed concern. "Sure, the little mouse has proven to be different — not like us tainted fuckers so used to this system of restitution and unsparing solitude — but we don't know where school will take us. Why are we tossing our friendship over..." he pauses, "well, over a girl?"
Nikolai huffs out a laugh entirely devoid of humor.
"This isn't about Gwenivere." His eyes narrow as he meets Damien's gaze, his lips curving into a cunning smirk. "This is about Gabriel, isn't it? Does he drive your cock wild?"
The punch happens so fast even my enhanced senses barely register it. Damien's fist connects with Nikolai's lip in one brutal movement, the impact echoing through the chamber.
My jaw drops as I process what just happened.
Cassius, who had been about to speak, falls silent, his expression shifting from annoyance to something close to horror.
"You did not just punch a Fae," he whispers, the words carrying centuries of understood consequences.
They've fought before, certainly — but Damien has learned each time that physically harming a Fae never ends well.
If there's one universal truth about their kind, it's this:
They hold grudges.
Eternal ones unless gracing their victim forgiveness…
Nikolai's laugh fills the chamber as he wipes blood from his split lip. His tongue darts out to taste the crimson drops, his eyes never leaving Damien's face.
"So my assumption is valid," he concludes, satisfaction dripping from every word.
Damien bites his lip, fury and something else — something closer to fear — warring in his expression.
"If you're going to stand by that newcomer's side, I’m out," he declares, his voice ringing with attempted authority as if he truly believes he can dictate terms in this situation.
Nikolai chuckles, nodding as he gestures toward the door.
"Then see your way out," he hums, blood still trickling from his lip. "Don't hit your head on the way. You won't have a Fae to help heal you from the art of stupidity you seem to continuously excel in."
"Nikolai," Cassius tries to intervene, but Nikolai's raised hand stops him cold.
His eyes flicker with power — raw, ancient energy that sends shivers down my spine. Damien catches it too, his frown deepening as he realizes just how far he's pushed things with his former friend.
Yet I can see the stubborn set of his jaw, the determination to stand his ground even in the face of what is clearly a terrible mistake.
"You need a pureblood vampire in your dynamic," Damien warns, trying to emphasize his own importance. "No other shifter will suffice."
Nikolai leans in close, forcing Damien to look up at his newly revealed height. The power radiating from him gives us all a haunting glimpse of the anger brewing beneath his carefully maintained control.
"As the fates have brought a hybrid for us to bond with and survive the trials plaguing us on the year of our threatening outcast, the fates will align the right strings for us to meet someone to replace you," he whispers into Damien's ear, the words carrying deadly promise before power leaks off his next set of words. "Because at the end of the day, Damien, you ARE replaceable. The Headmaster specifically wanted me to let you know that."
The words land like physical blows.
Learning that the Headmaster had such dismissive words for him only emphasizes how weak they consider him, despite his paranormal heritage.
Damien releases a furious hiss, deliberately shoving against Nikolai as he storms out. The door slams behind him with enough force to shake the chamber's foundations.
In the silence that follows, everything seems to shatter at once — glass, wood, stone, all breaking in a cascade of destruction that makes me flinch. Cassius slowly rises, surveying the damage with his usual stoic expression.
"Should I fix it?" he asks quietly.
"No," Nikolai responds, his voice cold. "Leave it. I need a reminder when I get the bill through carrier owl. Something to recall this sensation of boiling scrutiny for when I enact my vengeance."
Cassius's gaze meets mine, and I can only sigh.
We both know finding a vampire with potential pureblood status to join our unique dynamic is nearly impossible. Damien will easily find another group to accept him, but replacing him?
I can only pray for grace.
The chamber feels emptier now, despite the destruction littering its floor. The golden light emanating from Nikolai pulses with barely contained fury, while Cassius's shadows hum as if needing a moment of mourning what they’ve obviously lost.
And somewhere in the academy, a hybrid sleeps on, unaware of how her presence has already begun reshaping alliances centuries in the making.