Roommate Badboy - Wicked Academy

31

Jason's fingers traced the worn edges of a volume as he scanned the endless rows of books, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The shelves stretched endlessly, filled with texts that whispered of forgotten knowledge, yet none of them held the answers he needed.

"There has to be something here," he muttered, flipping through another book, its brittle pages crumbling at the edges. His eyes darted across the symbols and cryptic inscriptions, searching for a thread, anything that could unravel the truth about Johnson.

He let out a slow, frustrated sigh and snapped the book shut. "This is useless." His voice was edged with barely contained irritation as he shoved the book back onto the shelf. "If there's anything about Johnson, it's either buried too deep or not here at all."

Stella was nearby, flipping through books as she searched for anything useful. She could feel the tension radiating off Jason, his need for control slipping with every dead end they faced.

Jason ran a hand through his hair, his fingers clenching briefly before he turned to her. "We're going to meet the survivors," he decided. His voice was firm, final. "Someone has to know something."

Stella met his gaze, hesitating for only a moment before giving a small nod. But before she could say a word, Jason's hand closed around hers, firm, certain, and with a silent determination, he pulled her with him, leading her out without looking back.

They stepped out of the sanctuary of the Spell Protector's room, and the world crashed back in. The eerie stillness of the parallel world wrapped around them, pressing against their senses. Ruins stretched out like the ribs of a dying beast, hollow and broken. The air carried an unnatural weight, thick with the whispers of something unseen.

Jason's grip tightened around Stella instinctively as they moved forward.

The ground shifted beneath their feet as they made their way toward the survivors' camp, the terrain unstable and unpredictable. Despite the unsettling tremors underfoot, Jason's grip on Stella never wavered. His gaze was fixed ahead, but his thoughts repeatedly circled back to those words, don't look around, stay focused. The weight of the world seemed to press against them. His hold on her was constant, protective, guiding her forward through the disorienting path.

As they approached the survivors' camp, Jason's eyes swept across the area, searching for any sign of a familiar face among the group.

Then, a familiar figure stepped into view.

Aria's expression softened the moment she saw them, her usual stoic demeanor giving way to a warm, welcoming smile. She stood near the entrance, her presence a quiet reassurance amidst the uncertainty.

Jason wasted no time. His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the camp like a sudden storm.

"Johnson Quinton." He locked eyes with Aria, his gaze unwavering. "What do you know about him?"

Aria's eyes narrowed slightly, her posture shifting. "Why are you asking about him?"

Jason's jaw tightened. "Because we need to know."

Something flickered across Aria's face, hesitation, uncertainty. She glanced over her shoulder, as if checking for listening ears, then took a small step closer.

"I don't know much," she admitted. "But there's an old clan."

Jason's patience was thinning. "What kind of clan?"

Aria exhaled slowly, as if weighing the cost of her words. "Some refer to them as a clan, while others speak of them as more of a cult," she said carefully. "A group of magicians who don't follow the same rules as the rest of us. No one really knows how many of them exist."