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"T he elemental trial will claim some of your lives," Instructor Sestra announces, her voice slicing through the classroom like an executioner's blade.

My stomach twists, sending my breakfast churning in a nauseating swirl. Not because of the "some of you will die" part—that's been hammered into our skulls since day one at Confluence Academy. Death is our constant companion here, trailing us between classes, during training, and hovering at the foot of our beds each night.

No, it's the brand new bit of information. A fucking water trial? Isn't daily life here enough of a damn trial?

My pathetic excuse for water channeling is barely enough to form a wobbly sphere when I'm secretly dipping my fingers into a smuggled waterskin. The trick has been the only thing keeping me from lectures and remedial classes with Sestra, but I know it won’t be enough for long. It’s already not enough.

The others are advancing so much faster than me that I know it doesn’t even matter how I do in my combat training. By now, most of them could kill me with water magic and I’d be virtually powerless to defend myself. So much for he world-shattering dangerous potential of an unbound.

I'm so completely screwed.

Around me, worried whispers ripple through the classroom of white-uniformed first-year offerings. At least I'm not alone in my panic, though I doubt anyone else has quite as much to fear as I do.

"Before any of you ask—" Sestra's voice cuts through the murmurs, causing Mireen to lower her hand sheepishly beside me. "No. You will not be allowed to know the nature of the trial beforehand, just as you won't be able to know how you'll be tested on Confluence Day or what you’ll face in the Crucible. Learning to prepare for the unknown is part of your training here, so get used to it."

Sestra paces the front of the classroom like a predator sizing up which of us to devour first, her silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun that seems to yank her facial features into an eternal scowl. Her deep blue eyes—the mark of water affinity—scan us with cold calculation.

"A true primal adapts. They overcome. They improvise," she continues, fingers laced behind her back as she prowls. "Our job is to make sure we don't insult the elementals by sending unworthy students into their realm. And make no mistake. If you’re not worthy, the elementals will hunt and kill you for sport on Confluence Day."

From two rows ahead, Beck leans forward, his broad shoulders making him stand out among the class. With his shaggy, sandy blonde hair and easy-going attitude that seem at odds with this place, he tends to draw the wrong kind of attention in class.

"Hold on," he says, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "I heard the real reason you let us kill each other is because there aren't enough elementals to go around. Now we're worried about insulting them, too?"

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees as Sestra's gaze fills with venom. She detests questions almost as much as she despises Beck himself.

"Perhaps you should try using your brain, Beck," she says, each word dripping with icy disdain as she glides toward his desk. "Why would the academy care if there aren't enough elementals to tether the number of students we send?"

"Uh," Beck says, clearly struggling as Sestra plants her palms on his desk, leaning into his space until he shrinks back. "Maybe Empire likes a high success rate? With tethering... or something?"

Sestra's nostrils flare as she inhales deeply, then releases a long-suffering sigh that makes Beck wince. "What difference would it make to us if you died here or in the elemental plane? The tri-emperors only concern is that we provide them with fully trained primals each year. They don't care in the slightest what happens to you here or how we produce the human weapons for their war." Her voice drops dangerously. “Have you ever wondered what would happen if the elementals decided we aren't capable of sending them worthy students fit for elemental tethers?"

Beck swallows hard enough that I can see his throat bob from where I'm sitting. He shakes his head, leaning back so far in his seat that he might topple over any second.

I have a strict policy of never speaking unless directly called on in classes—being noticed here is rarely a good thing—but I can't stand watching Beck squirm any longer. I clear my throat, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears as the words tumble out.

"They might start going to Red Kingdom's side, instead?"

The words hang in the air long enough for me to regret them.

Sestra whirls, surprise etched across her face. I've been here five weeks, and this might be the first time I've said more than absolutely necessary in front of the class. Just as I feared, the unwanted attention ripples outward—including to the back edge of the room where Malakai watches me with narrowed eyes, his head tilted in assessment. Both of his student soldiers flank him, still as statues but equally attentive now.

My skin crawls under their scrutiny. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Nessa Thorne..." Sestra glides from Beck's desk—which prompts him to finally breathe again and slump forward with visible relief—and approaches me with measured steps. "You are... correct. Surprisingly," she adds under her breath.

Her eyes hold mine for a terrifyingly long moment, dissecting me like a specimen under glass.

"If only your skills in channeling weren't so dismal, I would say your flash of insight shows some actual potential."

The barb stings, but I keep my face carefully blank. She's not wrong. Next to my classmates, my abilities are pathetically underdeveloped. I’ve learned I have to physically touch water or somebody full of water essence to channel it. Considering I can’t participate in channeling class while submerged in water, it has hardly been an advantage.

Sestra finally turns her attention back to the class, freeing me from her scrutiny. "As Miss Thorne helpfully pointed out, we're not interested in encouraging you to kill one another. Our job is to shape you into weapons. Your job is to be worthy if you survive to Confluence Day. It's to avoid bringing shame on the academy and all the history that has preceded you. It’s to become worthy of the incredible power of a primal."

I exhale slowly, trying to steady my racing pulse.

After class, Mireen grips my shoulders and bulges her eyes dramatically, the crescent scar under her left eye crinkling as she smirks. "Since when are you the one calling out answers?" she asks, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Decided it’s finally time for people to realize how clever you are?”

Ambrose slides up beside her, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up with one finger and crossing his arms. His dark hair is cut so precisely it might have been measured with a ruler.

"Not to take away from your little moment," he says, his voice carrying that blend of arrogance and affection I've come to expect from him, "but was it really that genius of an insight? I was like... two seconds away from coming to the same conclusion myself."

"Of course you were," I mutter, rolling my eyes, but not without a small smile.

"Hey," a deep voice says, and I turn to see Beck's blue eyes—the same shade that all water affinities eventually develop, though mine were this color from birth. "Thanks for saving my ass back there."

"Oh," I say, suddenly awkward under his grateful gaze. "It was nothing. I couldn’t watch her pick on you like that."

"Yeah, well," Beck shrugs with a stack of books clutched in one hand. "I appreciate it all the same. There's enough distrust and scheming going on amongst ourselves as it is. It's nice to see somebody showing a little fucking camaraderie for once."

I share a quick look with Ambrose and Mireen, a silent conversation passing between us.

Can we trust him?

I sense uncertainty from both of them. Lately, we don't know who is working with Malakai and maybe even Serena. There's a dark alliance growing within our affinity and possibly between them. Anybody could be part of it.

And yet... I hate the way fear is making us turn on each other. The fear has been isolating us, driving people into smaller and smaller groups that are easier for Malakai to target. What we need is to show strength and prove we'll still band together despite their reign of fear.

"You could sit with us at the dining hall tonight. If you wanted," I offer, ignoring the slight widening of Ambrose's eyes.

Beck's eyebrow flicks upward. "You're sure?"

"Yeah." I lift my chin slightly. "If you're with Malakai, you can tell him we're not scared."

Ambrose raises a finger. "Uh, on my behalf, please tell Malakai I'm scared shitless and don't want to die. I just want to survive to Confluence Day, tether a badass elemental, and become a primal. We're not all as crazy as Nessa."

"Fuck Malakai," Mireen agrees, planting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. "But… don't directly tell him I said that. Just… that's how I feel. Privately."

Beck's face splits into a grin. "I like it. And I'm not with that asshole. I was friends with Tucker and Volsa."

His expression darkens as he continues. "I'm pretty sure they shoved Tucker off the cliffs the second week here. He liked to go out there to clear his head, and he turned up dead at the bottom of the rocks."

Beck's voice drops lower. "And Malakai just plain murdered Volsa in the sparring ring last week. Accidentally edged his training weapon with razor-sharp water and practically cut her in two." By the time he's finished talking, the amusement is completely gone from his face, replaced by a haunted look I recognize too well. His thick jaw ticks in tune with his anger. "So, yeah. Fuck him."

The words hang between us, heavy with the shared knowledge that surviving in Confluence isn't just about mastering our affinities—it's trying not to join those whose names are now whispered about in past tense.

"We should head to the dining hall," Mireen says, her voice dropping as she notices something over my shoulder. "Before we miss the good food."

The sudden tension in her posture makes my skin prickle.

Beck, who seems oblivious, smiles wide. “I think we’re going to get along really well, Mireen. Getting to the dining room first is…” he trails off as he sees the look on my face.

Malakai has appeared at the end of the corridor, his perfect posture and immaculate uniform making him look like a recruitment poster for Confluence. His blue eyes—already darker than most water affinities—seem to absorb light rather than reflect it. Four of his followers flank him, spreading out to block the hallway.

"Nessa Thorne," he says, voice deep and ominous.

I keep my face carefully blank. "Is there something you needed, Malakai?"

"Hm. I don't know. Maybe you can tell me. From where I'm standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you're trying to collect strays." His gaze slides to Beck, who stiffens beside me. "People might start thinking you're trying to form your own little coalition."

My pulse accelerates, but I force my breathing to remain steady. "People can think whatever they want."

"Your channeling is... interesting, Thorne," Malakai says, smiling in a way that doesn't reach his dark eyes. "Wouldn't you agree, Serena?"

I hadn't even seen her until now. Serena emerges from behind one of Malakai's followers, her raven-black hair gleaming in the late afternoon light that is streaming through the high windows. Unlike Malakai's cold demeanor, Serena radiates heat and barely contained violence—a fire through and through. She even has the deep yellow-red eyes of a fire, now.

Serena steps closer, trailing a finger along the wall that leaves smoke in its wake. "Something is certainly wrong with her. I have no idea what he sees in you," she adds in a whisper only I can hear.

He? Who is she talking about?

"I'm still learning," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "We all have different methods."

"Different," Serena repeats, stopping just a few feet away. "Yes, you certainly are different, aren't you? Maybe we should find out exactly how different. We could open her up. Just a little bit. Find out if the answers are under her skin?"

She extends her hand. The smoke drifting up from her fingers intensifies and the air begins to shimmer with heat. Behind me, I hear Mireen's sharp intake of breath and Ambrose's panicked whisper: "Nessa, let's?—"

"You should all step away from her. Now."

The voice slides through the tension like a sharpened blade. Bastian steps into the corridor from a classroom doorway, his movement so casual it might have been coincidental if not for the perfect timing. His legacy black, silver, and gold stand out amid our whites.

"In your positions, I would be wary of someone you don’t understand," he continues, walking toward us with unhurried confidence. "Not every student is foolish enough to show what they can do. Some are clever enough to keep tricks hidden. To invite underestimation.”

I stare at him in disbelief. What is he doing? He’s trying to convince them I’m secretly dangerous?

Malakai's eyes narrow. "This isn't your concern, legacy."

"Isn't it?" Bastian stops beside me, close enough that I can feel the slight current of air that seems to perpetually surround him. I can see it whipping the fabric of Malakai's uniform against his muscular body.

An ominous whistle of gathering energy fills the hall as the currents of air pick up. It rushes past all of us, buffeting Malakai and his people until they have to squint and raise a hand, covering their faces.

And then the magical wind stops suddenly, the stillness feeling unnatural and dangerous in its wake.

"I've been tasked with observing first-year progress for my father. All first-years." Bastian’s emphasis is subtle but unmistakable.

Serena's hand drops and the shimmer of heat fades, but smoke still curls from her long, elegant fingertips. "Are we supposed to know who your father is, legacy?"

"Someone like you? I imagine you wouldn’t. He sits on the tri-emperor’s inner council. One of their many tasks is monitoring operations here at Confluence Academy. They have the power to intervene in cases that threaten the integrity of the academy. I’ve been asked to keep an inside eye on proceedings here. To monitor."

Malakai’s group takes a collective step backward, expressions going pale.

Bastian's smile is pleasant, as if he's simply sharing information and not stepping between a possibly violent encounter. "Apparently, the tri-emperors have been displeased with some of the more recent graduating classes of primals. They’re seeing increasing amounts of brutality and a lack of cooperation. It’s causing issues on the war front. It's difficult to say, but they may be considering less ideal assignments for students who are reported to be excessively violent." He shrugs as if none of it is too deeply important, but the implication hangs between them.

Malakai and Bastian stare at each other for several heartbeats. Something unspoken passes between them—a history or understanding I'm not privy to. Finally, Malakai inclines his head slightly.

"Nothing here should warrant the attention of the Council," he says, voice soft but edged. "Come, Serena. We'll continue this discussion another time."

As they retreat down the hallway, I notice movement in the shadows of an adjacent corridor. Raith stands there, watching the entire exchange, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword he's been wearing at his hip since we selected our weapons yesterday. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I realize with absolute certainty that had Bastian not intervened, Raith's solution would have involved that blade and significantly more blood.

But also… what the fuck?

One minute, I think he wants to kill me. The next? I'm certain down to my bones that he would've stepped in and slaughtered everyone in this hall to keep me from getting harmed.

Raith gives me an almost imperceptible nod before melting back into the shadows.

"You should be more careful," Bastian says quietly, once Malakai and his followers are out of earshot. "They're looking for weaknesses, and you've given them reason to look harder."

"I didn't ask for your help," I say, though the words lack heat.

"No, you didn't." Something flickers in his eyes—concern, maybe, or calculation. "But I gave it anyway. Don't waste it by being careless. Do you mind giving us a moment?" he asks Ambrose, Beck, and Mireen.

The three of them practically fall over themselves in such a way that it's comical. Mireen's bulged eyes in my direction promise she's planning to ask if I'm sleeping with Bastian later. Ambrose looks like he wants to vomit out of fear from even being spoken to by a legacy. Beck looks like a loyal dog trying to decide if it should bite the much larger animal potentially threatening its friend.

I smile at them. "It's fine. He's not going to hurt me."

I hope.

"We'll wait right over here," Mireen says, taking the others down the hall far enough to give me privacy.

Bastian shows no sign of even noticing the effect he has on people. Instead, he fixes his nearly white eyes on me, face serious. "Were you able to figure out the key?"

"Yes," I said. "I only have a little spare time each day, so it's slow going, but?—"

"Good," he says. "And you've hidden it somewhere safe? Separate from the key?"

I nod. "The book is in my room. The key is here," I say, touching my left breast before I think how odd that must look. The key is folded small and tucked into my bra, but Bastian doesn't know that.

He squints.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "It's just… It's on me. I'm keeping it with me at all times."

"Okay. And Nessa? About the trials this weekend."

This weekend? That's already more information than Sestra gave us. That means I only have three or four days to prepare.

His jaw flexes as if he's trying to decide whether he wants to say something. Finally, he gives my arm a soft squeeze. "Be careful. It's going to be dangerous. There are rumors of a rogue elemental near campus. If you see or sense anything of the sort, you run. Don’t try to fight it. Don’t try to reason with it. Just run."

With that, he walks away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Beck lets out a low whistle as he comes back with the others. "What the hells was that about? And how the hells did you get in the pants of a legacy? I tried that the first week and nearly got myself turned into lava. Totally worth it, but still."

"You tried to fuck a fire? And a legacy, at that?" Mireen asks, mouth hanging open in shock at the sheer stupidity of it.

Beck rubs the back of his neck, grinning crookedly. "I only made my willingness apparent. She… didn’t seem to appreciate my interest.”

"Beck is suicidal. Good to know," Ambrose mutters. "Can we please go eat now, before someone else decides to threaten us in the hallway?"

There's no place in Confluence where the social divides are more obvious than the dining hall. The large space is full of long, wooden tables with bench-style seating, the polished oak surfaces reflecting the golden light from dozens of lanterns hanging from iron chains.

The Academy sets out food of all kinds at regular times. Roasted duck, carved chicken, steaming potatoes, delicious sweets, soft bread with salted butter, and just about anything else I could imagine out for the taking. The abundance still makes me dizzy sometimes.

Across all years and social groups, the students always cluster together by affinity. The colored marks on their hands showing clusters of blue, white, green, or red. Legacies sit with legacies, aspirants with aspirants, and offerings with offerings. Affinity, social status, and class year divide us as clearly as the border markings on a map between warring countries.

I glance upward at the upper years, noting how much less rowdy they seem. How much more hardened. Some are only a year older than us, but the way they carry themselves is a testament to what it takes to survive this place. To how much we’ll all change if we make it through our first year alive.

I look around at my slowly growing group of friends and hope beyond hope that we’ll all make it together. I can’t stand the thought of losing any of them, even our new addition of Beck. I guess the last three years were so fucking lonely in Saltcrest that I’m desperate for connections, now. Hungry for friends. For meaning.

Beck slathers honey and butter on a piece of bread and takes a large bite, closing his eyes in momentary bliss. Mireen, Ambrose, and Beck have been making increasingly outlandish guesses about what the water trial will be as we eat. For my part, I'm shoveling down food as quickly as I can because I want to have as much time as possible to look over the unbound book Bastian gave me last night.

That book feels like my best hope of surviving the trial, especially if anything in there talks about how to make better use of my powers. My marked palm burns slightly beneath its disguise, a constant reminder of how I don't truly belong with any affinity group here. I'm something else. Something different.

And if last night's brief reading of the book is any indication, I'm something dangerous.

It would be the ultimate irony if I sacrificed myself to the selector because I thought Saltcrest and my family would be better off without me, only to wind up unlocking an even more poisonous and dangerous potential by coming here.

The thoughts are sour, and I set down what's left of my food, appetite suddenly vanishing.

But I can't feel sorry for myself. There's no room for that here. I'm too far behind, and I desperately need to learn to improve my channeling skills before the water trial and Confluence Day.

The other students are already beginning to specialize—finding unique magical talents beyond the simple things we practice like creating water orbs. Some can already make intricate shapes or move their magic through the air with speed and velocity.

And me?

I'm not making any progress, and the gap between me and the others is growing by the day. It's only a matter of time before someone notices just how different I am.

"What do you think, Nessa?"

I jerk my eyes up, realizing I'd been staring at my disguised mark as the others talked, my thumb unconsciously rubbing over the altered skin. "Hm?" I say.

Mireen frowns, her red brows drawing together. "About the water trial. What do you think it's going to be?"

"Oh. I don't know. Maybe they'll see which of us can swim fastest." I try to keep my voice light, as though I haven't been calculating my odds of survival and finding them dismally low.

"Yeah, I wish," Beck says, wiping honey from his chin with the back of his hand. "I swim like a fish."

“And fuck like a bear, from what I hear,” Mireen adds with a wiggle of her brows.

They all laugh as the conversation drifts to who is sleeping with who—a regular topic here at Confluence. From what I can gather, most of the first-years here are sleeping around like every day could be their last day on this Earth. Even the occasional story of someone getting killed when they agreed to meet somewhere private for sex hasn't seemed to slow the practice.

Put people in life-or-death situations often enough, and I guess they have to blow off steam somehow.

I find my eyes scanning the room for Raith. He's not hard to find. He's at least half a head taller than the next tallest first-year, his broad back stretching the white uniform across shoulders that seem carved from stone. The other fires all eat quietly with him in the center, occasionally shooting him admiring glances.

My gaze drifts further, and I notice Bastian at the legacy table with the handful of other legacy airs. The legacies make up the smallest number of us, and there are only three other legacy airs in the first-years. Unlike the animated chatter at our table, his face is serious as he barely touches his food. Suddenly, his eyes lift and point straight at me across the large room with unsettling precision. I quickly look back at my plate, a shiver crawling up my spine.

Bastian knows more about me than anyone here, and yet I know next to nothing about him. And if the unbound book says I’m something so dangerous I shouldn’t be allowed to exist, what does it say about Bastian if he’s trying to protect me? Trying to help me?

I make excuses to go straight back to my room after dinner. Ambrose, Beck, and Mireen all insist on walking me to my room because it's not safe to be around campus by ourselves anymore.

As soon as I'm alone again, I pull the unbound book from beneath my bed and decide on a different tactic tonight. I'll decode the first few words of each chapter until I think I've found one that might give me some clues on how to use this affinity to channel better. History lessons and deeper truths can wait until after I survive the water trial.

I pull the folded paper key Bastian gave me from my bra, frowning when I notice it has smeared slightly after a day of sweating and training with it tucked so close. I may have to find a better place to hide it from now on.

I honestly don't know how Bastian had time to decipher the book and create the key from scratch in such a short period. The intelligence required for such a thing is frankly terrifying. On one hand, it’s reassuring to know someone so capable is in my corner. On the other? It’s worrying. Someone that sharp could easily manipulate me. Use me for their own goals.

But there’s nothing to be done about it for now. All I can do is focus on learning more about what I am. Until I know that, I can’t begin to guess what the right path is.

My fingers are clumsy with anticipation as I work through the cipher. It takes nearly half an hour, but I finally spot the word "channeling" in the first sentence of a page about halfway into the book. I spend the next hour lost in the work of decoding the pages, my eyes burning and back aching from hunching over the book.

Finally, the words begin to assemble into something coherent, revealing secrets that just might mean I'll finally be able to make some progress. The relief is like water after a full day in the sun pulling heavy nets of fish.

Progress.

A slow smile spreads over my face as I let that idea sink in.

The pages talk about something I’ve sensed but haven’t known how to do yet. To not just absorb the elemental essence of objects or people I touch, but to draw it inward from the world around me through the air itself. If possible, it could completely change my fortunes here.

I set down the book and start practicing the new techniques until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open.

For the first time since arriving at Confluence, I fall asleep with something that feels dangerously close to hope.