Chapter 5 There might only be one good thing about life at Confluence Academy, and it's a wonderful invention known as a 'shower.' My body is a map of pain from my first two weeks at Confluence Academy. Every muscle screams in protest as I sink deeper into the steaming pool, hoping the hot water might erase the memory of Serena slamming me into a wall so hard this morning that I tasted blood. My tongue probes the inside of my cheek, still tender. I'm lucky I didn't chip a tooth. All I did was look at her when I was leaving the dining room after breakfast. She's apparently still pissed she didn't get a chance to challenge me herself and beat me senseless that first day. Thankfully, Raith Hollow has kept his distance from me. He's apparently too busy excelling in every single subject and attracting followers like some kind of budding commander of the fire affinities. I close my eyes and try to let these thoughts dissolve in the heat. It has become a daily ritual for me. I sink into the waters that remind me of home-of when home still felt like home-and I try to forget about the dangers and politics of this place for just a few moments. The floating clouds overhead shift and churn with magic, releasing a gentle rainfall that patters against the surface of the pool. Steam rises in thick clouds around me, giving the illusion of privacy as other first-year waters strip off bloodied training clothes and descend into the communal bath. I got over undressing in front of other guys pretty quickly, because these showers feel like the only thing keeping me standing most days. That, and it already seems like nearly everybody is sleeping around as much and as often as they can here. Prudishness is for those who don't face death every day, I guess. We spar every morning, physically beating one another into submission after drilling forms with the instructors. On good days, nobody even ends up dead when the matches are over. After sparring, it's straight to weight training and endurance. Endless lifting, pulling, jumping, running, and sweating. There's a brief break to stuff food in our faces for breakfast in the grand dining hall, then it's on to academics. We're taught field medicine, survival skills, battlefield tactics, history, and, most of all, information about the elemental plane and the magical creatures we're going to risk our lives to tether. I already know things like how to stint a broken bone with nothing but branches and weeds, edible and poisonous plants, and historical facts that never would've mattered to a girl like me from a fishing town-things like how the empire is ruled by three, two women and one man, based on a tradition that started with a pair of triplets eight hundred years ago. Our lessons on elementals are my favorite, though. The other classes make my brain feel like it's aching from information overload, but I find I can't learn enough about elementals and the elemental plane to satisfy my curiosity. I already know, for example, how rare it is for second generation and older elementals to tether to humans. The young elementals, which are under a hundred years of age, can only take one form and tend to look like beasts from our world. Older elementals can take more forms. Some of the oldest, like the ones I saw during the elemental trial, can even take humanoid forms. Last but not least, there's channeling class, where we're divided by affinity and taught how to harness the essence needed to craft magical spells. Unfortunately for me, none of the methods we're learning seem to work for me. Being 'unbound' must mean I channel magic differently, but I can't exactly ask someone for tips and tricks, so I've been utterly failing and drawing the anger of our channeling instructor every day. If I wasn't so exhausted, I might just be giddy with excitement at the thought of learning to use magic. As it is, I'm too beaten and tired to really care. Survival has a way of pushing wonder to the back burner. Because beneath the classes, the new information, the sore muscles, and the daily grind, there's a constant heartbeat of violence here. Eight students have already died during sparring, not counting the death on the first day. I've heard whispers of two more dying between classes, murdered by other first-year offerings, no doubt. So I've been doing my best to keep my eyes low and avoid notice, especially from people like Raith and Serena. 'Can't we just skip class?' Mireen groans from beside me, her copper hair plastered to her scalp. 'I wish,' I say, closing my eyes and sinking deeper until the water laps at my chin. But we both know missing classes or training sessions brings remedial assignments. From what I've heard, the remedial assignments are always many times worse than the original class. '-another? Elements... At this rate, there won't be any of us left by Confluence Day.' The surprise in the girl's voice catches my attention, and I strain my ears to hear the conversation. Through the shifting curtains of steam, I spot three figures-two girls and a guy who stand near the center of the pool, heads close as they speak in hushed voices. The girls aren't even bothering to sink low enough to cover their bare breasts. Mireen follows my eyes, grinning conspiratorially. 'I heard the three of them sleep together every night.' I raise an eyebrow. 'All three?' Mireen shrugs. 'Sounds kind of fun, right?" Part of me envies their confidence. Mostly, though, I just can't understand them. I'm too exhausted to even think about sex at the end of my days here. Maybe the release would be nice, but it's hardly on the top of my priority list. One thing is painfully clear already, though. The only thing the people in charge care about is that we show up to our classes and training on time. Between classes, first-year offerings are apparently free to fuck or kill amongst ourselves as much as we like. 'Yeah,' the guy says, his voice barely carrying over the patter of the magical rain. 'I think we should form some kind of team. I'm pretty sure I heard that Malakai guy and a few of his friends talking about something similar.' 'A team?' one of the girls asks. 'For what?' 'To protect ourselves,' the guy hisses, glancing around nervously. The steam is thick enough that we can only see them because of a torch behind, casting their figures in silhouettes. I don't think they realize we're in earshot. 'Malakai has killed the last two people he sparred with," the guy continues. "And today, one of his buddies did the same. They're obviously trying to thin us out. We need to watch each other's backs.' My stomach turns. I'd witnessed one of those 'accidents' myself yesterday-a sparring match that ended with a first-year water offering on the ground, gurgling as blood filled his lungs. The instructors had simply shaken their heads and called for someone to remove the body, as if they were asking for someone to clean up a spilled drink. I turn to Mireen and see the tight set of her jaw. She's listening now, too, her eyes sharp despite the languid posture she maintains. 'Am I crazy, or is that not a terrible idea?' I whisper, keeping my voice low enough that it won't carry across the water. 'Forming teams, I mean.' 'I don't know,' she admits, her voice equally quiet. A droplet of water slides down her temple. 'But I don't like where an idea like that leads.' 'I know. Forming teams sounds a lot like declaring war.' Mireen chews her lip. 'We can at least watch each other's backs, even if we don't want to get involved, right?' 'Right.' The part I don't say is how it won't matter if the rest of us decide to treat this like a war. All that matters is if one group of people does. If this Malakai guy is forging alliances, then he already declared war. The only question for us is whether we want to become participants or victims. Her fingers tighten around mine beneath the water, and I feel the familiar, terrifying pull starting deep in my core. I jerk my hand away like I've been burned, splashing water between us. Mireen gives me a confused look, but I make a show of wincing. 'Sorry. I think I may have tweaked something in my hand sparring yesterday. Still tender.' The last thing I need is to draw power from the one person who might actually have my back in this place. I'm still waiting for Bastian to bring that book and maybe reveal some answers about what the hell being unbound means. After our shower, I change into a fresh offering uniform. We were all given matching white uniforms that make us stand out like sore thumbs. The older students all wear black with gold bars on their shoulders-one for each year they've survived in the academy. I check the back of my left hand discreetly as I button my sleeve, making sure the disguise is holding. The silver threads beneath the false blue wave pattern shift slightly, as if responding to my attention. Thankfully, nobody ever looks too closely at the mark, or they would probably suspect something was wrong with it. Our academic classes rotate throughout the week, and today is Military Tactics. I join a group of other first-year offerings heading from the showers. The other affinities have some kind of bathing facilities, too, but I've heard the water showers are the envy of every affinity. The annoyed looks we get from other affinities as we emerge with wet hair add credence to the rumors. We walk in a loose group of white-uniformed offerings through the halls of Confluence. I feel like sheep waiting for slaughter. I keep my eyes forward, focusing on where I'm going and not making eye contact with any passing upper-year students or even the first-year aspirants and legacies. The corridors are wide and high-ceilinged, crafted from ancient stone that seems to absorb sound in a way that makes our footsteps echo ominously. Arcane symbols are carved into the walls at regular intervals, glowing faintly with stored power. Most areas of the castle are, at least, well-lit and beautiful. A beautiful place to die with the sunlight on my face. How wonderful. The castle is large, but relatively simple to navigate. It's a three-story rectangle with one affinity tower at each corner and a large, central courtyard in the middle. Each section of the rectangle houses a different style of class or training. The northern section is for academics. The eastern section is dedicated to physical training, which is where we spar and exercise. The southern section is for channeling. The western section is the only one we haven't used yet, and my best guess is because it has to do with elemental tethers. Every inch of this place is full of tapestries and relics that make it feel ancient, as if it has been standing since before time itself. The ghost of centuries of other primals in training feels like a thick presence everywhere I go, as if the screams of the dead and their blood lingers even now, reaching for us. Military Tactics is the only class where first-year offerings, aspirants, and legacies all mix. It's a large lecture-hall style room and has more than enough space for every single first-year to sit at once. Legacies sit at the very front of the room in comfortable, cushioned chairs. Aspirants sit behind the legacies with a better view of the maps and chalkboards at the front of the class. Offerings form a sea of white behind the smaller, black uniforms. A sea, maybe, but it's a thinning sea. Only two weeks have passed and the room already feels noticeably less full. How many of us will be left by Confluence Day? How many of us will come back from the elemental plane at all? I take a seat near the very back with Mireen, and we're joined by a dark-skinned boy with wire-framed glasses, intelligent eyes, and a freshly split lip. 'You okay, Ambrose?' I ask as he sits. He idly touches his lip, then shrugs. 'You should see the other guy.' 'Should we?' Mireen asks, leaning past me to smirk at him. 'No, actually. He's completely untouched. I didn't even land a punch.' He adjusts his glasses, which sit slightly crooked across his nose. 'Just another day of getting my ass handed to me in sparring.' "Join the club," I say. We all chuckle, but our laughter is cut short by the appearance of the fire offerings. Raith walks at the front, and the others follow him in a tight group. The white offering uniform does absolutely nothing to hide the way his rows upon rows of muscles move beneath the fabric, fluid and powerful like some ancient predator. His scarred face and neck only add to the impression of barely contained danger. I force my eyes away, trying and failing to ignore the way my body reacts to him. Skin flushed hot. A light sweat. Pounding heart. A pool of heat gathering in my lower belly. He sits right behind the aspirants, and the other fires file in on either side of him, leaving an empty seat to his right and left, as if out of deference. The dynamic within the water offerings is chaotic, with small packs of wolves and a larger group of-for lack of a better word-sheep. The fires are a much smaller group, and they've already fallen into a military-like organization, with Raith as the apparent high commander. The airs, as far as I can tell, get along better as a whole. If nothing else, fewer of them have died in training and I don't see as much open hostility. The earths keep to themselves, but the aura of general suspicion around airs and fires means people generally don't make an effort to get to know them. Then again, everybody is too busy trying to stay alive to worry much about making friends. 'Can you believe that guy?' Ambrose asks. Like everybody else in white, he's watching Raith. 'Asshole,' I say, as if agreeing with Ambrose's unspoken assessment. 'Asshole,' Mireen agrees. She tucks a strand of copper hair behind her ear. 'Very, very hot. But yes, an asshole.' I snort and shake my head, trying not to stare at the way Raith's broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist or how his hands-large enough to crush a throat without effort-are casually propped on the desk before him. Looking at Raith has a way of bringing my mind straight to sex. To making me think that maybe a little nightly release wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, or how even if I'm sore as all hells, the right guy could still make it worth the effort. I'd blame my thoughts on the tension of knowing any of us could die at any moment, but that wouldn't explain why it's specifically him that triggers this response. In some ways, I think it's how he wears scars on the outside that feel like a reflection of my inner self. Scarred. Broken. Both of us volunteered for this, and I wonder if that means there's some kind of twisted kinship between us. I tear my attention away, cheeks burning, and focus on the front of the classroom just as Instructor Pilton storms in, practically jogging down the steps until he's at the front, where he slams down a briefcase full of maps. Instructor Pilton, like all in the north and eastern wings, isn't actually a primal. He's in his sixties with an explosion of gray hair and wild, tangled brows. His right arm is gone at the elbow, and the offering who asked about it on the first day got hit in the head with a piece of chalk. In what I'm coming to see as 'the usual,' he spreads out his maps and begins going through historical battles and quizzing us on tactics and strategy. There's no introduction or preamble. He just launches straight into the topic. Before he gets too deep, Mireen nudges me and points to something at the edge of the room. "Look!" she whispers. I follow her finger and see a small gray rat scurrying along the wall. "He's a little survivor. Just like us," Mireen says. "So godsdamned cute. I wish we were allowed pets here..." "You want a pet rat?" I ask with a sideways smile. "I'll would take what I can get, Nessa." Mireen's expression is wistful as she watches the rat slip between a crevice in the stones and disappear. 'Now,' Pilton says half an hour later as he whacks a large map with a thin, wooden pointing stick. 'Empire had intelligence reporting that Red Kingdom had already moved this deep.' He jabs a point several miles in from the border at the time. 'If you were given two primals and a thousand soldiers to handle the threat, where would you start?' Questions are lobbed around the room. 'How many primals does Red Kingdom have?' 'Two,' Pilton answers, his voice carrying easily through the space. 'They have the same number of primals, but twice as many soldiers.' A few students complain about the impossible task. Their voices rise in a chorus of protests about the unfair odds. Bastian sits at the front, his golden hair making him visible even at this distance. He leans forward, his voice loud and clear. Attack their logistics,' he says. 'They're already miles into enemy territory. Cut off their supply lines and wait to engage until they're weakened from hunger.' 'Good,' Instructor Pilton says, tapping his pointing stick against his palm. 'Your enemy outnumbers you, so find a clever edge to gain an advantage. This is a wise line of thought.' Raith's deep voice surprises me, rumbling through the classroom like distant thunder. 'Nerra River is a mile south of the enemy's position. Prepare an ambush. Destroy the bridge when the primals are on it. Use the element of surprise to slaughter them before they know what has hit them.' Pilton raises his eyebrows, nodding. 'Ah. Good. The fifth element, if you will. Surprise. While Bastian's idea is less direct risk, we must also consider the enemy will steal and pillage whatever we deprive them of by destroying logistics. They'll take a toll in blood before they are weakened enough for the advantage to hold. Raith's plan has the advantage of nearly immediately dealing with the problem, rather than letting enemies continue to ravage our lands and claim lives. Very good.' I roll my eyes at Mireen, who bites back a smile. In every class I share with Raith, he excels. Even our instructors already seem to be favoring him. We haven't shared the sparring ring since the first day, but I can see him easily enough dominating his opponents. He's the most skilled first-year offering in the sparring ring, the strongest in the weight room, and when he decides to speak up in class, he always earns the approval of our instructors. In truth, part of me is just annoyed I can't dare try to show him up in our academic classes. But trying to flex my brain and prove how smart I am would only draw attention. Attention, I've decided, is something I must avoid at all costs. Attention means questions. It means scrutiny. And scrutiny would likely mean exposing my unbound mark. 'What do you think Pilton would say if I suggested talking to them?' I whisper to Mireen and Ambrose. If the situation Pilton described was real, I'd honestly just want to know why they were in our territory. Chances are, it would be on orders from their leadership, and there could be a way to negotiate. Maybe they just need supplies or some information. Compared to thousands of lives, it seems like a much better option. 'Talking to them?' Ambrose asks, eyebrows raised high above the rims of his glasses. 'I think he might throw chalk at your head if you suggest that,' Mireen says, nudging me with her elbow. Instructor Pilton is currently ripping apart Serena's idea about attacking them head on 'for the glory of Empire.' 'The enemy is not human!' Ambrose mocks in a whispered impression of Pilton. 'They're violent, bloodthirsty animals. Would you⁠-' A piece of chalk bounces off Ambrose's forehead, stopping him mid-sentence. He adjusts his glasses, blinking in surprise. 'If you have something to add to this discussion, offering,' Pilton says, his voice deadly calm, 'I invite you to stand and share it with the rest of us.' Ambrose pales. 'No, sir. Sorry, sir.' Pilton snorts and turns back to the map, but not before his eyes flicker briefly to me. I drop my gaze to my notes, suddenly very interested in the sketch I've made of troop formations. I feel someone watching me and glance up to find Raith turned in his seat, eyes boring into mine. His expression is unreadable, but there's something assessing in his gaze that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I hold his stare for a heartbeat, or two, before he turns back to the front, leaving me feeling undressed by his eyes, measured me for a coffin, or both. Charming. When class is over, legacies rise first to leave. Aspirants follow, and then finally the offerings head out. 'Think Instructor Sestra is going to go any easier on you today?' Mireen asks as we head toward the southern wing of campus where channeling class is held. 'Doubt it.' The thought of channeling class makes my stomach clench with dread. Two weeks of trying and I still haven't been able to produce even a drop of water. Ambrose nudges me from my other side. 'Have you tried... not being terrible at magic, Nessa? I imagine that would really work wonders with the woman.' 'Oh, yeah? That's a genius idea. I can't believe I didn't think of it.' I shove him back, but there's no real force behind it. We're passing through the courtyard when I see Serena and a pair of fire affinities huddled in the shade of a tree with Malakai and what must be his 'team.' I slow my pace and then stop to stare. 'What do you think that's about?' Ambrose runs his tongue over his teeth. 'Well, Serena doesn't appear to be stabbing anyone. That rules out my best guesses.' 'You think Malakai is trying to make some kind of cross-affinity alliance? Is that a thing?' I ask. Mireen shakes her head, blue eyes catching the mid-afternoon sun streaming into the courtyard. 'If it's not, I think they're trying to make it one.' I study their body language, trying to pick up clues. Malakai is a mountain of muscle, carved like a statue meant to represent some hero from the stories. But the cruel turn of his features keeps him from being handsome. And his eyes... there's something missing in them. An emptiness, like there's nothing behind them but an empty pit of hatred dark enough to match his black hair. He stands with his back straight, gesturing with controlled precision while Serena leans in, arms crossed but attentive. There's no friendly camaraderie between them-this is clearly transactional. One of Malakai's water allies keeps glancing nervously around the courtyard, as if worried they'll be seen. 'Why would waters care about teaming up with fires?' I ask. 'It's not going to help Serena if there are more water elementals to go around on Confluence Day, right? It's fucked up, but I at least understand why Malakai wants to...' 'Brutally murder fellow water offerings?' Ambrose offers. 'Yes. It's totally understandable. As long as you're a heartless psychopath, of course.' 'She's right,' Mireen says. 'Helping Malakai kill us shouldn't benefit her at all. It's suspicious as hell.' 'What is?' A deep voice asks from behind, making all three of us jump. I'm surprised to see Raith, of all people, standing behind us. He somehow looks bigger every time I see him. I'm reminded once again how unfairly attractive he is despite the burn scars on the left side of his face and body. Being this close to him... it makes my lungs feel tighter, like I have to work for every breath. I do my best not to let it show, but I'm pretty sure I'm failing miserably. 'Nothing,' I say, acutely aware of the way my pulse has quickened. 'Right.' Raith's big hands are in his pockets, but the orange glow of his affinity mark is visible through the thin fabric. 'Nothing. That does sound very suspicious.' Instead of walking around us, he walks right through our group, bumping me with his big, stupid shoulder. I stumble back, and my fingers instinctively grasp his forearm to steady myself. The connection is immediate and terrifying. Power surges from him into me, hot and visceral, like liquid fire flowing up my arm. I snatch my hand back, but not before I see his eyes narrow in... is that suspicion, like he's confirming something? He takes a step back, eyes darting to my left hand where my disguised water mark shifts and twists, faint threads of silver hidden within the blue. I quickly tuck my hands behind my back, swallowing hard. Mireen and Ambrose are looking at us both like we're crazy. I brace for him to ask questions I don't want to answer, especially in front of Mireen and Ambrose. Instead, his expression settles back to a controlled neutral. He obviously felt what happened, and between me channeling fire during our sparring match two weeks ago, he has to suspect... something. But what? I decide to change the subject. "We were wondering what Serena's doing talking to Malakai." His attention thankfully shifts to where she's talking with him and his water affinities. "That's a good fucking question." His features harden and his fists clench before he turns from us, stalking toward the group. I stifle a laugh when Serena sees Raith coming and practically runs away, disappearing into a hallway off the courtyard. 'Did you guys see that?' I ask, grateful for the distraction. 'The scary guy nearly knocking you to your face with a shoulder check and then you guys eye fucked for a few awkward seconds?' Ambrose asks. 'Definitely saw it.' 'No. Whatever Serena and Malakai were talking about, she didn't want to include Raith in it.' 'I thought he was their leader, or whatever?' Mireen asks. 'Me too. Maybe it's not as simple as it looks.' We've already lingered too long in the courtyard, though, and I don't need to give Instructor Sestra more reasons to hate me, like showing up late to class. I give Serena's retreating form one last look, then shake my head and hurry toward the southern wing, trying to ignore the lingering warmth where the power I took from Raith still fills me. Whatever is happening between Serena, Malakai, and the others, I'll have to figure it out later. Right now, I have to survive channeling class without revealing that I'm a fraud. 'You'll all need to do better than this,' Sestra's voice cuts through the dark and dusty classroom. I'm with a group of other first-year water offerings, and our task is to conjure a ball of water above our palms and hold it. The room is filled with long tables and various containers of water. True water affinities are like vessels, apparently, constantly filling with water essence that allows them to channel water from nothing or interact with existing sources of water. Most students can already manipulate water to produce floating balls of liquid that hover and shift above their hands. The more talented can even conjure water from thin air in smaller quantities. Everybody but me is progressing each day. I still can't even get the containers of water to move, let alone draw it to my palm and shape it. 'It seems some of you likely needn't even worry about Confluence Day,' she says, lips curling down at the corners as she watches me struggle. 'As I seriously doubt you'll survive to see it. And if you do, your poor grasp of elemental magic will mean no elemental would even consider tethering you.' Confluence Day. Everything here at school revolves around it, and we're told multiple times a day how fast approaching it is. We're told we'll be tested and assessed by the elementals of our affinity, but nothing more than that. Most often, we're reminded how many of us will die before the day even comes. Sometimes, on cheerful days, we're reminded that many of us will also die during Confluence day. At some point, the constant threat of a horrible death loses a little bit of its sting. All I can do is wake up each day, struggle, and do my best to survive. The real challenge is not letting my fear for the people I've grown to care about petrify me. Mireen, and even Ambrose. I worry more about something happening to them, and most of my motivation to improve is driven by wanting to be able to protect them. I stare at my palm where the disguised water mark ripples faintly beneath my skin. My fingers tremble with effort as I try to coax even the smallest drop of water to rise. Nothing happens. The silver threads hidden beneath the blue wave pattern seem to mock me-a constant reminder that I'm an impostor. Sweat beads on my forehead with effort, but nothing I try seems to work. Sestra's instructions are all for true water affinities, not... whatever I am. Unbound. The word the elementals used still echoes in my mind at night. It's like trying to force a key into the wrong lock-I have power, I can feel it churning all around me like a storm-tossed sea, but I can't access it through the methods she teaches. I can't find out how to bring it into myself. Every failed attempt is another risk. What if my mark shifts during class? What if the silver shows through while everyone is watching? I clench my fist, forcing the panic down. I can't afford to show weakness. Not here. And I also can't afford to experiment with my powers for risk of showing what I really am. I'm stuck between two impossible choices, stagnating in a place where stagnation is as good as a death sentence. Until we survive Confluence Day and tether an elemental, we're hardly more than trash here. Somehow, I've got to find a way to at least make it until then. How the hell I'm going to tether an elemental when I don't even have a normal affinity, though, is beyond me. 'Will channeling get easier once we tether an elemental?' a girl beside me asks, almost as if her own struggles have brought her mind to the same place as mine. Her forehead is beaded with sweat as a sphere of clear water above her palm shudders and finally collapses with a splash. Sestra drifts through the room, severe features always making her seem to calculate and judge. She has skin so light it's nearly white, with shockingly blue eyes and markings that signal her status as a primal. Even though she's tethered to an elemental, I've never actually seen it. Apparently, that's rather common, as elementals can choose to reveal themselves or not to mortals. 'Will it be easier to perform a simple magical trick when you've tethered an elemental?' she asks, voice deceptively sweet. 'No. Because if you can't even do this, no elemental will deem you worthy of the primal tether.' 'What happens if we don't tether an elemental on Confluence Day?' Mireen asks. Unlike me, Mireen has already shown a talent for channeling, which means Sestra hates her less than the rest of us. Otherwise, I doubt she'd even answer the question. 'You'll be trapped in the elemental plane. The rift between worlds opens briefly once each year. The only way back is with the tether of an elemental. To put it quite simply, tether or die.' For just a moment, something seems to drift behind Sestra's eyes-a shadow of memory or perhaps grief-and her fingers absently trace one of the blue markings on her forearm. Then it's gone, replaced by her usual stern expression as her eyes sweep over the class. 'Which is one reason I push you all so hard. The elemental plane shows no mercy to the unprepared.' "Tether or die, huh?" Mireen whispers. "If I get stuck on the elemental plane, I'm going to find the cutest elemental and befriend it. We'll go on adventures together. It'll be great. Who says I have to die?" "If there are any giant rat elementals, I'm sure you'll be in paradise." There's a sound of rushing water to my right. I look up suddenly, along with the rest of the class. Malakai has conjured a long, twisting line of water that sprouts from his palm and has started whipping from side to side as it grows like some kind of tentacle. 'Cut off that spell,' Sestra commands, her voice sharp with warning. 'Spheres, Malakai. Spheres are the assignment, not⁠-' Malakai's eyes slide to the guy beside him-a burly East Coaster named Lorne. For a split second, I see the calculation and malice in Malakai's eyes. Oh shit. I'm standing before I know it, eyes wide and heart hammering in my chest. Malakai is pretending he can't control the spell, even as I see the water sharpening into a blade-like shape. I make it three long steps toward him, but I'm not fast enough. One moment, the blade of water is whipping left and right. The next, Lorne is gripping his throat. Blood trickles between his fingers as he stands, his chair scraping on stone and falling sideways. The sound echoes through the suddenly silent room. There are gasps and a few screams as Lorne falls to his knees, eyes bulging. A gurgling sound escapes his throat as he tries to breathe through the blood. He reaches out, fingers grasping at the air, before collapsing face-first onto the stone floor. A pool of crimson spreads beneath him, inching across the floor toward my boots. I freeze, unable to look away from the growing stain. My heart hammers in my ears, drowning out the chaos around me. I've seen death here, but the casual cruelty of this murder makes bile rise in my throat. Malakai is barely attempting to look shocked or remorseful. He makes a few half-hearted excuses about how it was an accident, but his eyes scan the room, watching our reactions. When they land on me, I see a flicker of something predatory, and I quickly look away. The whole ordeal only takes moments. Lorne is dead. The body is taken away, and class resumes, as if there isn't a pool of drying blood on the floor in the center of the room we're all supposed to pretend we don't notice. Everyone is afraid to show fear here. Afraid to look weak. To look like a target. An unpleasant blooming of shame rises up in me. Yes, I stood. Yes, I took steps toward the chaos. But what did I do after it was all said and done? I looked away from Malakai, afraid of being next. We all did, and I feel a sudden, burning hatred for this place and what it's turning us all into. I slowly take my seat again, eyes on my disguised mark. The only indication Primal Sestra gives of noticing or caring about the 'accidental' murder is the slightest tightening around the corner of her mouth. 'Let this be a lesson,' Sestra says after a moment. 'In battle and war, you will be expected to continue performing your task, even when faced with horror. Show me how you can all press on in the face of adversity.' My stomach churns as I stare at the dark stain spreading across the stone. Just minutes ago, Lorne was alive-breathing, thinking, hoping to survive this place like the rest of us. Now he's gone, hauled away like refuse, and we're all expected to continue practicing water manipulation as if nothing happened. I look around at my classmates. Some are pale, hands trembling as they try to focus on their water spheres. Others have already adapted, eyes forward, determined to be among those who survive. But it's the third group that chills me-the ones watching Malakai with something like curiosity and even admiration in their eyes. He's showing them another way to excel here. Why compete with your peers when you can simply eliminate them? Brutality and cold-blooded murder win out. Those who strike first have the advantage, and Malakai is putting together a team of killers just like himself. People who will kill us, even if it only marginally increases their odds of becoming a primal or getting a better assignment after graduation. I force my eyes back to my own hands, trying to ignore the metallic scent of blood still hanging in the air. Suddenly, my inability to channel seems like the least of my problems. The casual brutality makes me think of home-of my own guilt, my own bloody hands-and I push the memory away. I can't afford to drown in the past when death lurks so close in the present. This place is a powder keg, and Malakai is already playing with fire. But as I stare at the crusting blood that someone will eventually be ordered to clean, a darker thought takes root. If I can't learn to channel soon, I'll be next. Easy prey. A simple way for someone else to improve their chances. And if I get myself killed, Mireen and Ambrose will be on their own. Alone in this place where allies are hard to come by and trust is a luxury few can afford. I flex my hand, concentrating harder, desperation lending strength to my efforts. Still nothing. Across the room, Malakai catches my eye and smiles. It's not a friendly smile-it's the kind of smile a predator gives its next meal. I need to learn how to channel. I need to figure out what 'unbound' means. I need allies. There's certainly no escaping Confluence Academy. Not alive, anyway. We've all been told the only way we leave here is as a full primal after five years of training or in a coffin. And despite everything, despite the danger and the horror and the lies I'm living...I'm not ready to die. Not yet. Not here. I close my eyes, pushing away all thoughts of Malakai, of blood, of failure. I reach down deep inside myself, searching for that well of power I know is there. And for just a moment-brief as a heartbeat-I feel something respond. I feel the latent water essence in the air drifting toward me, tentatively and slowly, but it's there. A single drop of water rises from my palm, conjured from thin air.