Father stops walking, turning to look down at us with a smile that holds secrets we're too young to understand. When he speaks, his voice carries the particular patience of a parent translating complex truths into simple words.
"Wicked Academy exists in two ways, my little heir."
He kneels to our level, making his explanation feel special, important.
"Males must go through the realms of the Wicked, working their way through until the final year."
"What happens when they reach the final year?" I ask, already impatient for the complete picture.
His smile deepens, holding knowledge that will take years to understand.
"Through the purity of waters, they will be brought to wear powerful women reside."
Gabriel's analytical mind is already working. "Does that mean girls are in Wicked Academy as well?"
Father shakes his head slowly, deliberately.
"No. They don't call it Wicked Academy."
I frown, confusion making my small face scrunch. "Then what is it called, Daddy?"
The name emerges like prophecy, each syllable carrying weight that will echo through time:
"Deathshire Academy."
Even at six, the name sends shivers down my spine.
Death-shire. Death's home. Death's domain.
"Where the cursed are bonded to those who are crescent marked," Father continues, the words clearly ritual, repeated across generations.
I pout with the particular frustration of a child faced with adult complexity.
"I don't get it."
Father laughs, the sound warm despite the topic's darkness.
"You won't understand until you've gone through the trials of the wicked. But all you need to know is that the unique waters of Wicked Academy hold both death and life."
His hand reaches out, finger trailing through air as if tracing patterns only he can see.
"Death for those unworthy to survive the rise in Wicked Academy. But they encourage life and open gates for the women destined to be hosts of death itself."
The words feel important, so I try to memorize them even though they make no sense.
"Rarely do men discover mates worthy of their loyalty and complete submission," Father continues, speaking more to himself now than to us. "But who knows?"
His eyes sparkle with possibility that makes him look younger, less burdened.
"Maybe a female will be bold enough to go through Wicked Academy instead of Deathshire and turn the tables."
The memory releases me as suddenly as it grabbed me, depositing me back in the present where the whirlpool has strengthened. The boat spins faster now, each rotation bringing me closer to the center where water drops away into nothing.
But the memory has given me what I needed:understanding.
"The water is a gateway," I whisper, pieces clicking together with the particular satisfaction of puzzle solved. "Only for women..."
That's why Gabriel vanished—he can't traverse these waters.Not because he lacks power but because the water itself rejects his nature. These are the waters between academies, the threshold between Wicked and Deathshire.
