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T he water channeling exam is every bit the disaster I anticipated. Twenty students stand in a circle around a large basin filled with water. Sestra watches us with her perpetually disappointed expression, making notes on a parchment as we take turns attempting to manipulate the water.

Exams at Confluence supposedly contribute to some kind of evaluation score we’re not allowed to see. If we survive to graduation, our evaluation score will be a large factor in deciding where we wind up in the hierarchy of primals.

The channeling classroom smells wet and musky from repeated spells splashing and misting water in every direction. Morning sunlight cuts through the arched windows, lighting faces that are both eager and nervous. I count myself among the nervous.

"An unbound with an ancient elemental does not get nervous. She gets ready. She prepares for battle. To prove herself. To excel," Typhon growls.

"Yeah, well, tough shit, Typhon. This unbound gets nervous. Especially when she's about to take a test she knows she's going to fail."

We've known some kind of test was coming for days now, but we weren't told any details about what we'd be asked to do or when it would take place. Not that extra time would have helped me much. The other water affinities are naturally growing in power as their tethers strengthen.

Mireen, predictably, excels. Channeling has always been a strength of hers, even before tethering Ollie. But the relatively small water otter also seems to have a gift for channeling, making Mireen one of the strongest channelers in our affinity. She forms perfect, complex shapes from the water when it's her turn—spirals, cubes, even a miniature version of Confluence's castle that earns approving nods from the other students.

Beck does well enough, managing to create a decently sized wave that splashes several students, earning him a sharp reprimand from Sestra but appreciative laughs from others.

Ambrose performs exactly as Sestra instructs without the extra flair of Mireen.

Even Brunhild manages to complete the task successfully.

Then it's my turn.

I step forward, aware of every eye on me. The whispers have already started—they always do when I'm called to demonstrate my abilities. Malakai's supporters watch with barely concealed contempt.

"Thorne," Sestra says, her voice clipped. "Show us a basic water control exercise. Level three."

Level three. The instructors rate elemental control exercises on a scale of one to ten—one being the simplest manipulation, ten being mastery-level complexity. Level three is considered basic for most first-years by this point in the term, but it's already beyond what I've managed to convincingly fake.

"I suggest cheating," Typhon says through our tether. "Touch one of your classmates, steal their power, and perform a level ten water spell just to close their fleshy, flat-toothed mouths."

"I'm not going to cheat. I'm just... going to give it a shot."

"Bah. It's only cheating if you get caught."

"That's... not true. And I thought you were supposed to be some kind of elemental nobility of impeccable ethics?"

"I am effective. There's a difference. If morals or ethics got in the way of what I needed to do, I would simply eat them."

With a sigh, I close my eyes and reach for the water with my senses. There's essence in the bowl of water, in the moisture in the air, and even... I can feel a kind of mental expanding as I strain to find more water essence to pull inward. For the first time, I feel it in my classmates and Sestra, too. I feel the water in their bodies.

That's new.

I gently draw it all in toward myself, watching everyone carefully for reaction. I don't want them to be hurt, but I know what I'm doing isn't sucking the water from their bodies. I'm just... collecting the magical counterpart water attracts over time.

Each drop fills me with potential. Too much potential. The realization slams into me too late. I need to vent this energy before it comes rushing out of me on its own and out of control.

I try to focus on the task, creating and shaping a modest quantity of water as Sestra expects. But it's hopeless. I'm filled with overwhelming power, not control.

There are no delicate designs or details to prove I'm the master of the water. Instead, the entire basin surges upward in a massive wave that hovers precariously for a split second before crashing down, soaking half the class—including Sestra.

I let out a gasping breath and wipe water from my face. "Sorry," I wince as students sputter and curse all around the room. "I… lost concentration."

Sestra's expression could curdle milk. With a flick of her wrist, she draws the water from every student in the room at once, except for me. She snaps her fingers and the collected water seems to vanish, splitting in a million tiny droplets to rejoin the air in the room. "Pathetic."

"I know, I'm sorry—" I press my soaked hair out of my face and wipe water from my eyes.

"This is the third time you've failed a basic channeling exercise in the last week, Thorne. Your elemental must be questioning its choice." She makes a harsh note on her parchment. "Another failure.”

Humiliation burns through me as I step back into the circle. Mireen squeezes my shoulder sympathetically, while Beck offers a supportive grimace. Across the circle, Malakai watches with a satisfied smirk that makes me wish I had left him back in Mirror Lake for Typhon to devour when he was still mad.

"I could still eat him," Typhon notes from the corner of the room. "It's not too late."

"We talked about eating people."

Typhon sighs. "You were the one who brought it up this time."

"Just because you listen to all my thoughts, it doesn't mean each one is intended for you."

Typhon's annoyance is plain through the tether. Steam billows out of his large nostrils as he coils his body in a circle and lays down, blue eyes glaring up at me.

"Don't let them see they get to you," Ambrose whispers, his eyes knowing behind his glasses as he watches Malakai and his allies. "That's what they want."

He's right, of course. I force my expression into neutrality as the next student takes their turn. But inside, frustration simmers. If only I could show what I'm truly capable of—summon Typhon in his true form, bend all four elements to my will. The looks on their faces would be worth it.

Almost worth it, anyway. I'd have a few moments of satisfaction before Empire higher-ups were breathing down my neck. Some might want to steal me away and turn me into their personal weapons. More likely, I'd wind up dead before any of that happened.

By the time the class ends, my mood has plummeted to new depths.

"Sestra's blind," Mireen mutters as we leave the classroom. "She acts like you're not improving."

"Am I?" I ask, guilt gnawing at me. My friends don't understand the real reason I'm "struggling." They don't realize I may not be able to form pretty pillars of water, but I can already weave water and fire together to make jets of steam thanks to what I learned from Bastian’s unbound book and Voss’ lessons. But none of those talents are going to get me through Sestra's class, so I'm stuck letting my friends think I'm falling behind.

Another lie in a growing collection.

"Of course you're getting better." She links her arm through mine as we walk down the corridor. Ahead of us, Beck and Ambrose argue good-naturedly about lunch options. "Everyone progresses at different rates. And honestly, who cares about perfect water columns when the Crucible is all about survival? And you've got Oceanus the flying fish," she adds with a wink. "And the most deadly first year promising to watch your back, along with a legacy I'm pretty sure has a massive crush on you. And us."

"Sestra cares," I mutter, even though I know she's right. I also don't even bother arguing with her about Raith and Bastian because I know it's a lost cause. My continued failure in channeling class is getting to me. "She's determined to make me look like I don't belong here. If there wasn't already a target on my back, she's painting one herself. It's like she's trying to make sure people think I'm weak. Easy prey."

"Sestra is a bitter old woman," Mireen says with surprising venom. "Don't let her get to you."

I grin, because I know Sestra lavishes Mireen with praise and the two of them seem to get along better than most. I still appreciate Mireen trying to cheer me up, though, so I don't make a point of mentioning it.

We enter the dining hall, its soaring ceiling a masterpiece of architectural wonder. Massive crystal chandeliers hover without visible support, casting rainbow-flecked light across the stone floors polished to a mirror shine. Around us, students from all years take seats and dig into heaping plates of steaming food, their colored markings denoting their affinities—the blue spirals of water, the amber flames of fire, the emerald mountain patterns of earth, and the silvery wisps of air.

I find my eyes lingering on the first-year legacies, who sit in small groups, divided by affinity. Most days, I hardly even see the legacies except at meal times. They’re all busy with special classes and assignments, some of which even take them beyond the walls of Confluence. Since they’ve been training their whole lives for this, first-year legacies are already far beyond the rest of us. Most of them will wind up being our generals and commanders if we survive to graduation.

It's hard to believe five of us might get promoted to legacies if we win the Crucible. But I'm hardly worried about that. I just want the people I care about to survive it.

Despite my mood, I still marvel at the beauty of Confluence sometimes. For all its dangers, the castle itself is breathtaking. And even if I hate to admit it, I've come to find a kind of happiness here in my daily routines. The endless weapons training leaves me bruised and sore, the exercises only make it worse, and then it's hours of academic classes, channeling practice, and working with our elementals to strengthen our tethers and learning to fight together with them.

I enjoy the education and the challenge. I’ve learned so much in such a short period of time. I love the friends I’ve made, the feeling of getting stronger every day, and the sense that I’m capable of protecting the people I care about more and more with each step I take. And… well, it's hardly worth pretending I don't enjoy thinking about what might happen with Raith. Gods know I dream about it constantly.

We join Beck and Ambrose at our usual table, where platters of steaming food already wait.

"So," Beck says around a mouthful of roasted meat, "I saw you royally fail, but I didn't get to hear what Sestra's said to you when she chewed you out before class ended.”

"Beck!" Mireen hisses, kicking him under the table.

"What? We all saw it." He shrugs unapologetically. "I'm just asking for details."

"Nothing new, really," I reply, tearing my bread into small pieces. "Just how I’m a total failure, an embarrassment to the academy, and probably going to wind up as a bloodstain during the Crucible.”

"Harsh,” Beck says, biting a huge piece out of bread, hardly chewing, then swallowing. “Did you suggest she go fuck herself? What do you have to lose at this point, right? It’s not like she could be even more shitty to you. And I doubt she could fail you any harder than she already has.”

"That's terrible advice," Ambrose interjects, adjusting his glasses. "Antagonizing instructors before the Crucible is strategically unsound."

"Everything is 'strategically unsound' with you," Beck complains. “Using the restroom without making sure there’s enough wiping tissue would be strategically unsound.”

Mireen narrows her eyes. “Yes… it would, Beck.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. Sometimes you’ve got to live your life. See what happens.”

Ambrose ignores him, turning to me instead. "Speaking of strategically unsound... we should start practicing with Brunhild. If she's going to be our fifth, we need to make sure we work well together."

I nod, even though my mind swims with responsibilities already. Training sessions with Raith. Time I want to devote to still pouring over the Unbound book, looking for anything I might have missed. Finding a way to slip outside the castle and practice flying with Typhon. All this on top of our usual duties here.

"I'll let her know," Beck says. "You guys free tonight? I could see if she can meet us."

"Not tonight," I say quietly as I think of my plans to meet with Raith for more training.

Mireen tilts her head. "Right. She’s probably wanting to practice some channeling to catch up with Sestra.”

"Right," I say, suppressing a twinge of guilt because that’s not at all what I’m planning.

"Tomorrow, then," Mireen says. "Instructor Pilton is off doing gods-know-what with that group of legacies this week. We can use the time we'd normally be in Military Tactics class to practice with Brunhild."

"Sounds good," Beck says. "I'll pass the word on."

The conversation shifts to more Crucible preparation, but my mind wanders. I can't stop thinking about what Raith and I overheard yesterday at the quarry—Bastian's concern that this year's Crucible would be a bloodbath, his father's dismissal of those concerns, the mention of "burned out marks" and a siphon possibly hunting students. The revelation that Bastian, of all people, seemed genuinely worried about our safety.

I can't even remember when the last time Bastian directly spoke with me was. He was there to break up the fight a few days ago, but he hasn't been checking in with me anymore. I wonder if he's conflicted about keeping me a secret from his father. It certainly sounded like his father would have wanted to know he was helping an unbound develop her powers by handing over old secret family books.

But why is he protecting me, too?

"Earth to Nessa," Beck says, waving his hand in front of my face. "You still with us?"

"Sorry, just thinking about... everything." I hesitate, torn between wanting to warn my friends and needing to keep Raith's confidence. "The Crucible is going to be more dangerous than usual this year."

"How do you know that?" Mireen asks, frowning.

I know I'm already keeping more secrets than I'd like from my friends, but everything new I learn just feels like it would put them in more danger. Still, I can give them the information without admitting where it actually came from. "Raith heard some older students talking. They said the number of alliances Malakai and Serena are forming is really unusual. And the fact that they're recruiting across affinities isn't normal. They're worried the Crucible is going to be more like a war than a bunch of small skirmishes. Like Malakai's people are going to go hunting for us and only worry about finishing the Crucible after we're all dead."

"Fuck," Beck breathes. "That's grim." Then he scoops a huge mouthful of soup into his mouth and belches loudly.

"We stick together," Mireen says. "As long as we're together, we'll be okay, right?"

"Technically not true," Ambrose says. "If we're ambushed by fifty of Malakai's people, it won't really matter if we're together. We'll still be dead. Just… dead together."

I grin. "I think she was trying to make us feel better, Ambrose. Not speaking literally."

"Oh," Ambrose says. "Right. Together. We can all die together, like Mireen said."

I think about telling them more of what I've learned—about the siphons or even finally coming clean about what I am. More and more, I think I'll have to tell them before long or I'll burst. I know they'll all understand, too, which only makes it harder to keep the secrets.

Not yet, though. I think I’ll know when the time is right. When it feels like it’s more dangerous to keep them in the dark than tell them the truth. And I have an intuition that time is coming faster than I realize.

"Raith and I went to the quarry yesterday," I say instead, immediately regretting the admission when three pairs of eyes snap to me. "Just... reconnaissance. For the Crucible."

"You left campus?" Mireen asks, eyes wide before she smiles and then whacks my arm. "You dog. Got tired of fucking in your bed?"

"We were trying to scout," I say defensively.

"Scouting," Beck adds with a knowing look. "What was your scouting report on the contents of his pants? Find any fire serpents?"

"You guys are unbelievable." I want to be annoyed with them, but find myself laughing a little. Before coming here, I would've thought it was impossible to make jokes and be light when your life was under threat at all times. Now, though? Now I see it's the exact opposite.

If we didn't find ways to occasionally pretend everything was normal, we'd all have lost our minds by now.

"Well," Ambrose says slowly. "If nothing else, I think we can say for absolute certain now that Raith isn't planning on killing Nessa any time soon. One could've argued he was worried about being caught if he did it on school grounds. You went outside the walls with him. Alone. And you're still alive. Reckless, but alive."

Mireen nods. "I hate to say it, but I agree. I think we can trust him for now."

I look down at my stew, suddenly fascinated by a floating carrot. "He's... not what everyone thinks."

"You would know," Mireen tucks a loose coppery-colored hair that falls from her braid, blue eyes locked on me. "The two of you spend quite a bit of time 'training.'"

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "He's good with blades."

"Oh, yeah," Beck says with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "He shows you how good he is at sheathing his sword a time or two, does he?"

My cheeks burn. "It's not like that. I've told you all millions of times."

"Your blush says otherwise," he teases.

"I do admire him," I admit, hoping a scrap of truth will throw them off the scent. "And he's obviously handsome. But he's not remotely interested in me, so it's pointless. Even if I did want there to be more between us, that's never going to happen."

"Right," Beck drawls, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm just friends with Brunhild."

"That's different," I protest. "You two are actually?—"

"Screwing like rabbits?" he supplies helpfully. "Yes, we are. And loving every minute of it."

"Too much information," Ambrose mutters, returning to his book. His eyes flick briefly to the next table where Serena's group sits, and I notice Beck's laughter quiets just a bit as his eyes follow Ambrose's.

Sometimes, the constant pulse of danger beating beneath everything seeps through and then I realize it's never really gone. It's like a faint ringing in the ears. You can ignore it for a time. Forget it entirely, even. But once you remember to listen, you realize it was there all along.

"Well,” Beck sighs and starts gathering his things. “Time for elemental history. Another fascinating lecture on how the Empire saved civilization from chaos and barbarism."

"Actually," Ambrose says, "I'm quite looking forward to it. Some of the things we're taught here are highly exclusive, you know. Things you would have to pay a great deal of money to learn on the outside. Things you'd probably have to know very particular groups of people to know. We should all feel privileged to?—"

Beck interrupts Ambrose by chucking a piece of bread at his face. Before it can hit, Arakon materializes in a blue flash and raises his wing, deflecting the bread. The water bird is gone again in an instant, leaving only a misty smear of blue sparks that fade to nothing.

"That's cheating," Beck says. "I would've got that straight in your mouth."

"Well, you didn't," Ambrose says, standing straighter. "And you should stop trying so hard to get things in my mouth. People will start to wonder."

The two of them fall into good-natured bickering and teasing as we gather our things and head for the lecture hall.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of classes and training. Combat theory with Instructor Vail, where we study ancient battle strategies of primal warfare. Physical conditioning, where Beck breaks his previous record lifting a water-enhanced weight system, beaming with pride as Instructor Thorn marks his progress in the ledger. Elemental history, which focuses on how there used to be more continents on our world before the elemental civil war completely destroyed them, leaving all of humanity on the single large landmass. There are, of course, outlying islands, but dangerous rogue elementals make traveling that far across the oceans too dangerous for any but the most desperate to make the journey.

Beck found the lesson boring enough to fall asleep, snoring so loudly that Ambrose had to elbow him awake several times.

Through it all, I'm only half-present, my mind constantly returning to the revelations at the quarry and tonight's training session with Raith. I've felt like things between us have been changing lately. But I'm worried he feels it too, and the Raith I know will pull away before anything becomes serious. He'll pull back at the last moment, and if I let myself hope we might become something, I'll be left with a broken heart.

So I do my best to just… not think about it. Because I've tried and failed too many times to convince myself I don't want him.

I do, though. Gods, I want him.

The truth of it burns under my skin like fire. It's far too strong to deny, so all I can do is manage periods of time where I force myself to think about other topics.

And maybe, just maybe, if I avoid thinking about him often enough I'll forget how I feel.

"Avoiding the blade at your throat only makes it slice deeper," Typhon notes.

"Raith isn't a blade at my throat, though."

"No. A blade at your heart, perhaps."

* * *

Raith’s advice about paying attention helps me slip outside the castle walls for a bit of practice with Typhon. I stand in a grassy field with him, mostly shielded by trees if anyone cared to look out from the walls. He waits in front of me, larger now than he was when we returned from Confluence day by quite a bit. His shoulder is high above my head, and if he extends his long neck and wings, he’s simply breathtaking. Absolutely massive.

I put my hands on my hips, staring up at him. “So… Raith thinks I should learn to ride and fight from your back.”

“You would likely be in more danger on my back than on the ground. I’ll have to hold back with you riding me.”

“I still think Raith is right. We should practice fighting together. Who knows when we’ll need it?”

“Very well.” Typhon’s eyes glow, and I feel a sudden cold against my back. I look over my shoulder and see I’m rising off the ground, lifted by a dragon’s paw of pure water. I’m dropped unceremoniously on Typhon’s back, soaking and annoyed.

“Really?” I ask him. “I could’ve climbed you.”

“And wounded our collective dignity.”

“You’re right. Me looking like a drowned rat on your back is far more dignified.”

Blue magic flares and a saddle appears just below his shoulders. It’s the same kind he used on Confluence Day to help me stay on his back. I shimmy into it, feeling as the watery magic grips me tight, holding me in place.

“I would advise you to hold on, but it will not matter. My magic will keep you in place.”

“I can at least ? —”

Typhon flaps his wings. Hard.

My stomach lurches and my vision darkens as we explode upward. I make no sound for several seconds, and then I throw my hands in the air and shout with pure exhilaration and joy. “Holy fuck!”

I look around, watching the trees grow small and Confluence Academy shift from the huge fortress I know it as to a small, gray dot in a green expanse. Typhon keeps flapping his wings, climbing higher until cool white clouds brush against my skin.

I stare in awe, holding my hand out and letting it slice through the clouds as we soar.

“I always thought they would… feel like something. I can’t even tell I’m touching clouds.”

There’s a faint pulse of amusement and pride from Typhon.

I lean down, hugging his neck and feeling the cool slick of his scales beneath my palms. “Thank you, Typhon,” I say aloud. “This is… special.”

“It still brings me joy, too. I am glad we could share it.”

I smile, letting the wind whip across my face as he holds his wings wide, opting to glide and drift, banking gently left and right as the winds carry us.

“Next time, I’ll do some actual practice. This time… I just want to enjoy it.”

“Very well, angry human.”

By the time I return to my room, my cheeks are chafed from wind and cold, but my heart feels full. I’m still smiling as I change into fresh training clothes for my session with Raith, automatically checking my door is still locked—a habit I picked up after hearing about people disappearing from their rooms in broad daylight. I braid my hair tight, telling myself it's only practical, not because I want to look good for him. Wanting things is dangerous here.

Dangerous or not. I know I do want him to notice me—to see me as more than a vulnerability or something to protect.

When I'm not trying to keep him from my mind, I yearn for him to really see me. To see me as a woman. To want me even a fraction as much as I want him. And gods, I know it's in him somewhere. I felt it both times we kissed.

There's no lack of attraction between us, but Raith has done a masterful job of building barriers to keep us apart all the same. And maybe I'm hoping if I look good enough tonight, I can break through a few of them.

I know it's foolish. Our lives are on the line every day. I should only care about training and getting stronger. Wasting time on things like sex is just asking to be killed because I'm not ready when the time comes.

But it's not just sex. It's this feeling, too… like he walks around with so much hurt and pain that it's crushing him. And I feel like the only way he'll ever be able to heal is if he lets someone in. And, yeah… maybe I hope that someone is me.

"Your constant wistful thoughts about mating and courtship distract your mind for far longer than a few hours of rutting would. May I offer a suggestion?"

"No."

"My suggestion," Typhon continues anyway. "Is to bare your flesh to him. My history with your kind has shown the effectiveness of this strategy. Male humans seem particularly fascinated with the milk glands. You could consider presenting them. It would be a subtle sign of your interest."

I grin as I finish fixing my hair in the mirror. "Typhon... lifting my tunic and flashing Raith would hardly be subtle."

"Perhaps you would be wise to take my advice. I am centuries old, angry human. I've navigated more relationships than you could even begin to count."

"You mean you've been through more breakups than I can count? If you're as old as you say and still single, then you're the last one I should be taking relationship advice from."

"Damn you."

I laugh aloud, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Typhon. No offense meant. Well, okay, that's a lie. But I'm sorry if I offended you more than intended."

There's a flicker of amusement through the tether as Typhon watches me from the corner of the room.

As I'm about to leave, I notice something on my desk that wasn't there before. My pulse jumps—my room was locked. But somebody had to get in while I was gone.

The thought makes my skin crawl, but I move to the desk and look at the object.

It's a small, curved dagger with a handle wrapped in red leather. Beside it lies a note in elegant, slanting handwriting:

"For protection. Keep this on you at all times. Bring it tonight and I'll show you how to use it."

Raith snuck into my room? I shouldn't be surprised, but the idea that he could let himself in here any time he likes feels strangely… exciting. He even locked my door again behind him, probably making sure he's the only one slipping into my space uninvited.

I put the thought from my mind and pick up the dagger, testing its weight.

It's perfectly balanced, the blade wickedly sharp. This is no training weapon with its dulled edges—this is the real thing, deadly and beautiful. My breath catches as I realize what this means. First-years aren't allowed real weapons; they're restricted to the blunted training versions until second year. Raith must have risked serious punishment to acquire this for me, though I still have no idea how he managed it.

"Quite thoughtful of the fire human," Typhon observes. "Perhaps he's not entirely useless after all."

"High praise coming from you," I murmur, turning the blade over in my hand.

I run my fingertip over the finely made weapon and trying to ignore the blossoming of warmth and appreciation I feel for Raith. Feeling for him is dangerous, but the damn man keeps making me do it all the same.

And where the hells did he get something like this? I plan to ask him tonight, even though I'm almost certain he's not going to tell me.

Fucking Raith…

I slide the dagger into my boot and feel how snugly it fits against my ankle. The weight is comforting as I head toward the room where I'll meet him to train.

The castle is busy as groups of first-years travel around, mostly five in number. It's obvious that everyone is using as much of their time to train for the Crucible as possible, and I feel like I'm watching the preparations for a bloody war. The upper-years look just as preoccupied and tense. Part of me wonders what they're going to face, but most of me doesn't even want to know.

I find the room where I usually meet with Raith and push open the door.

He's standing in the center of the room, eyes heavy as the shadows fall strangely on his face.

"Nessa," he says, voice slightly flat. Great. When we first started training together, his voice had that kind of lifeless quality, as if he was making absolutely sure I knew we were only together for business. Is he trying to push me away again?

"Hey. I got the dagger," I say as I step inside and close the door behind me. "Where the hells did you get something like this, anyway?"

"Come closer."

Of course he won't tell me. Frowning, I approach him.

"Angry human... something is wrong."

"You hid it well," Raith says. He starts to pace and circle me like we're sparring, but his blade is still sheathed on his back.

"What are you talking about?"

"Not quite well enough, we're afraid. We have had to strike out a few times. Destroy those who suspected."

We? What the hell is he talking about?

"Raith... you're scaring me."

He smiles, and the unnatural shape of it makes my blood go cold. Raith hardly ever smiles, and when he does... it doesn't look like that.

"Show me how well he has trained you, Nessa." With a whisper of steel, Raith draws his sword from his back and holds it toward me. The metal still vibrates as he levels the blade between my eyes, ringing in my ears.

"How well who has trained me…” I ask slowly, mind putting the pieces together, terrifying piece after terrifying piece.

“Raith Hollow,” it says, pulling the sword back, gripping it with both hands, and moving toward me.