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T he dining hall falls to a hush as I enter with Raith at my side. Hundreds of eyes track our movements across the stone floor, conversations stuttering to silence before erupting into fierce whispers. I can almost feel the speculation rippling through the room like a physical wave, even among the upper-year students who must have caught wind of what was going on.

"Dramatic as always. You would think these humans had never seen someone return from the dead before."

I smile at Typhon's comment. "To be fair, I was missing for days. And Raith's face..."

"Yes, yes. You removed his most of his scars. Quite vain of you, really."

"We both know that was an accident."

Before we can make it halfway across the room, a group of first-year fires approaches us. Cade leads them, his slight frame almost lost among his more muscular companions. When he sees Raith, his face lights up with unmistakable relief.

I know Raith was still keeping in touch with the other fires, but they’re probably happy to see me up and moving. It means Raith won’t be locked away in his room for hours a day anymore.

"Sir," Cade says, the title sounding natural despite the fact that they're all supposedly equals as first-years. The others echo the greeting with similar reverence, standing straighter as Raith's attention falls on them.

"Sir?" I mutter under my breath to Raith, but he ignores my comment.

"Report," Raith says, his voice taking on a tone of quiet authority I've rarely heard.

"No incidents since yesterday," Cade responds promptly. "We've maintained the patrol rotations as you instructed. Tifa and Jenner caught a couple of Malakai's waters trying to access the eastern training rooms, but they backed off when confronted."

Raith nods, his expression giving away nothing, but I can sense his approval. "Good. Any progress with the earths?"

"Two more joined us this morning," says a tall girl with intricate burn scars running down her neck—training accidents, most likely. Fire affinities have access to one of the most deadly forms of magic, but also the most dangerous to learn. Almost all the fires bear some small scars by now.

"Keep building those relationships," Raith instructs. "We need every ally we can get."

"Yes, Sir," they respond in near-unison.

Raith's eyes fall on Cade, softening almost imperceptibly. "How's your neck?"

The boy's hand rises unconsciously to the small cut that has scabbed over and healed from the confrontation a few days back. "Fine, sir."

"And you're not going anywhere alone?"

"No, sir. I've been with Tifa or Jenner at all times, just like you said."

Raith clasps Cade’s shoulder briefly. "Good. Keep it that way." He glances at the others. "All of you, be vigilant. Two more days until the Crucible. Stay in groups, stick to the plan, and remember what we’ve practiced. Anyone who leaves sight of the group for any period of time needs to give the password before they’re trusted again.”

They nod, their expressions solemn yet determined. The respect in their eyes isn't just deference to strength—it's something deeper, something earned. These students look at Raith the way soldiers might look at a general they'd willingly follow into battle.

"Dismissed," Raith says, and they disperse with military precision, though Cade lingers a moment longer.

"The siphon, Sir," he says quietly. "Is it true it was targeting you specifically?"

Raith's expression hardens. "Focus on what you can control, Cade. Let me worry about the rest."

"Yes, sir." Cade’s eyes flick to me, then back to Raith. "We're ready. Whenever you need us."

As Cade rejoins his companions, I notice how the other fires watch Raith—with a mixture of awe and absolute trust. These students would die for him without question.

"Was the 'sir' thing your idea or theirs?" I ask once we're alone again.

"I've given up trying to get them to stop. They started trying to call me captain and commander, so letting them use ‘sir’ was actually a compromise. But it makes them feel better. Thinking I'm more than I am. Thinking somebody is in control and can lead them."

"Sounds like a heavy burden."

He eyes me, almost looking surprised a moment before his expression hardens. "It's nothing I can't handle. Come on. People are staring." He gestures and we head to join the waters.

I notice Veeni glaring at me from where she sits in a small group with Serena and Jira. One of Veeni’s sleeves is pinned up where her arm should be.

“Do not feel guilt, angry human. She delivered you to the wolves. She’s lucky I left her head on her shoulders.”

I pull my eyes away from them and head for my usual spot next to Mireen, who is waving frantically as if I might miss her in the crowd. Raith follows me the whole way, not immediately splitting off to join his fires like he normally does. His hand doesn't quite touch my lower back, but he remains close enough that I can feel his heat, a reassuring presence amid the stares.

"I'll come find you after weapons training," Raith says, voice low enough that only I can hear. His eyes scan the room, assessing threats even in this supposedly safe space. "I’ll find Bastian and tell him we need to talk like you wanted.”

I nod, trying not to think about how his lips looked when he said those words, or how his mouth felt against mine this morning. "Be careful," I say instead.

His smile is small and perfectly private. Just for me. "Always."

He leaves, the crowd parting before him like water around a stone. There’s an unmistakable aura of danger that makes students instinctively clear his path. I notice how the fires watch him go, their postures straightening as if his mere presence reminds them to stay vigilant, to be worthy of the trust he's placed in them.

"Well, well, well," Beck says as I slide onto the bench beside Mireen. "Look who's finally rejoined the land of the living."

"And with quite the escort," Ambrose adds. "I've been tracking the rumors about your absence. Would you like to hear the top three theories currently circulating?"

"I would not," I answer, reaching for a bread roll. My appetite has returned with a vengeance after days of illness, and I pile my plate high with roasted meat and vegetables.

"Too bad," Beck says with a grin. "Some of them are really funny."

"Still not interested," I say through a mouthful of bread.

Brunhild appears, dropping onto the bench beside Beck with enough force to make the table jump. She slaps a hand on the wooden surface, making our plates rattle.

"You come to training after meal," she says, her tone brooking no argument. "I show northern fighting style. Make you strong for Crucible. We focus on unarmed combat and grappling skills."

“Don’t we need to go to weapon’s training after we eat?” I ask. It has been a few days, and our schedules often shift around, but I’m pretty sure I remember that much.

"Is canceled,” Brunhild says, wiping something slick from her fingertips. “Someone accidentally spill cooking oil all over classroom floor. Too slippery to fight."

I stare at her. "Did you do that just so we had time to train together?"

"Brunhild has no control over where oil spills.”

I glance at her boots and see dark stains on them, then grin. "Right. Thanks, Brunhild."

She grunts in acknowledgment before stealing a slice of meat from Beck's plate. He watches her with puppy-like adoration, not even protesting the theft.

"Any news about Malakai's weapon stash?" I ask in a hushed voice, leaning toward Mireen.

Mireen shakes her head slightly. "Not here," she murmurs. "Too many ears."

I nod, understanding. Trust is in short supply these days, especially with the Crucible so close. I scan the dining hall, noting Malakai's contingent seated across the room. His one remaining eye meets mine briefly, his face twisted in a glare like usual. Serena has moved to stand beside him and is whispering something in his ear, her eyes never leaving me. The message couldn't be clearer: I'm their target, and they're not bothering to hide it.

Rumors may have swirled about me being dead, but they see I'm not, now, and I'm sure they'll be folding my death back into their plans as soon as possible.

My gaze shifts to the legacies' table, where Bastian sits surrounded by his peers. When he notices me looking, he gives a nearly imperceptible nod.

The conversation spans everything from class assignments, developments in our elemental training, the latest gossip about a rumor that Sestra and Pilton used to sleep together. The idea is about as believable to me as our table growing legs and running off, but the story is at least an amusing distraction.

After we finish eating, Mireen leans close to my ear. "Meet us in the eastern tower storage room in half an hour. We'll fill you in on everything while Brunhild trains you."

I nod, rising from the table. "I'll see you all there."

"You cannot trust them fully, but they are at least marginally useful," Typhon observes as I navigate through the dining hall.

"They're my friends, Typhon. Not just tools to be used. And I do trust them fully."

"Friendship is merely a form of mutual usefulness with emotional attachment complicating matters unnecessarily."

I smile at his cynicism, even as I feel a whisper of something warmer beneath it—something almost like fondness. The ancient water dragon rarely means what he says, and the tether constantly betrays the softness beneath his cold words.

As I exit the dining hall, I catch sight of Bastian slipping away from his table. He moves with the casual grace of someone accustomed to drawing attention while simultaneously knowing how to vanish when needed. Our eyes meet briefly across the corridor, and I know he wants me to follow.

I hesitate. Raith had been clear that we should approach Bastian together, but this might be my only chance to speak with him alone before the Crucible. After a moment's deliberation, I trail after him, maintaining enough distance to avoid suspicion.

He leads me through a series of corridors and up a narrow stairwell I've never noticed before, eventually emerging onto a small balcony overlooking the northern forests. The view is breathtaking—endless trees stretching to the horizon, their bare branches casting harsh silhouettes.

"We won't have long before someone notices I’m missing," Bastian says without preamble. "What did Voss want?"

I lean against the stone railing, considering how much to share. "Bastian… I still don’t know if I trust you. Not completely.”

"I gave you the book. I helped you disguise your mark. I haven't told anybody what you are. What more do you want?”

I chew my lip. "Yes... well, I think it's still smart to be safe with my trust. You're practically a stranger to me.”

"That doesn't matter. Being your friend would only make things worse for you. I know what you are, and I am motivated to keep you alive. Distrust me if you want, but all you need to do is look at my behavior to see I'm not lying. A word to my father about what you are and you would've been taken from your bed in the night, Nessa. That is something you can trust. You’re here. You’re breathing. You’re still walking this campus freely. Trust that."

His pure white eyes hold mine, and I feel a coldness creep into my bones. I believe him.

"So help me help you,” Bastian says softly. “Tell me what Voss wanted."

I hesitate for several moments. "He knows what I am," I admit finally. "He's been helping me understand my abilities."

Bastian's expression doesn't change, but I sense a subtle tension in his shoulders. "Has he asked you to do anything unusual?"

My heart skips a beat. "Only this morning... he said there's a place he wants to take me. Some sort of ruin that could teach me more about what I am and maybe even improve my abilities."

"A ruin… That sounds dubious, at best.”

"You tell me I can trust you because you could've had me killed, Bastian. I can say the same about Voss."

"Fair enough. But I can tell you this much: powerful members of the council want Voss removed from his position as Rector of Confluence. They’re going to great lengths to discredit him and make his removal possible. They don’t trust him, and you likely shouldn’t either.”

"I don't know anything about the Council. Them not trusting someone hardly?—"

"The Council is the right hand of the tri-emperors, Nessa. Their only purpose is to keep Empire strong. Root out its enemies. Support its allies. Why do you think they're making such a showing with emissaries this year for the Crucible?"

I consider his question a moment. "They hope to see something that gives them cause to remove Voss?"

"Exactly." Bastian runs a hand through his golden hair, a rare display of frustration from someone usually so controlled. "And they’re not leaving it up to chance. They’ve put weights on the scales. Several weights. So I may not know what game Voss is playing with you. All I know is you need to be careful. My advice? Stay away from those ruins.”

I study him, trying to discern his motivations. "Give me something, Bastian. Something to help me believe I can trust you."

He's quiet for several beats before he finally answers. There's an earnest intensity in his eyes. "The history of our world isn't what most would have you believe. When you know the things that have been done. The mistakes that have been made..." he shakes his head, as if dismissing something. "If I play my cards right here, I'll be in a position to change things when I'm a primal. Helping you puts everything I'm trying to become at risk. So if nothing else, ask yourself why I would risk my own future to help you."

I try to think of a response, but none come. I nod my head, deciding I can at least take his warning to heart. Maybe I'll still go to the ruins after the Crucible, but if I do, I'll go knowing it could be some sort of trap. "Thank you," I say. "For the warning. And for the book."

His lips curl into something approaching a smile. "Was it helpful?

"Very. It's helped me understand...certain things."

"Good." He glances toward the door. "We should get back before we're missed. There are eyes everywhere. Be careful, especially with Malakai."

"I know he's dangerous, but?—"

"It's more than that," Bastian interrupts. "I believe somebody powerful is involved with him. They're feeding him information and supplies."

"Why? What would that achieve?"

Bastian's expression darkens. "Chaos. Disruption. An excuse to question the Academy's leadership. My father and the Council are looking for any reason to remove Voss from power. A disaster during the Crucible would give them exactly what they need."

The pieces click together with sickening clarity. "So Malakai's being used as a tool to bring down Voss? But why would he agree to that?"

"Not everyone makes choices freely," Bastian says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "Sometimes, the threat to those we care about can be... persuasive."

Before I can ask more questions, the door to the balcony opens. Bastian steps away from me, his expression shifting to one of cool disdain.

"Watch where you're going next time, Thorne," he says loudly enough for the intruder to hear. "If you spill water on my uniform again, there will be consequences."

I play along, keeping my head bowed slightly. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

The fourth-year air in the doorway looks between us with mild interest before continuing onto the balcony. Bastian brushes past me, his shoulder barely grazing mine. As he does, he whispers so softly I almost miss it:

"Trust Hollow. Whatever else he might be hiding, he genuinely cares for you."

Then he's gone, striding down the corridor with the confident gait of someone who has never questioned his place in the world.

I follow more slowly, mulling over everything Bastian has said from the warning about Voss, the revelation about Malakai, and most surprisingly, his endorsement of Raith. None of it makes complete sense, but all of it feels important.

"He withholds much, but what he shares carries the ring of truth," Typhon observes.

"I thought so, too, even if I wish I believed he was wrong."

I make my way to the eastern tower storage room, where my friends are waiting. The space is cramped, filled with discontinued training equipment and broken furniture, but empty for now, which is all that matters.

Brunhild is demonstrating some kind of grappling technique on Beck, who appears to be enjoying his predicament far too much despite being bent into an anatomically questionable position.

"Ah, Nessa!" Ambrose exclaims when I enter. "Perfect timing. We were just about to begin our weapons sabotage briefing."

"Sabotage?"

Mireen gestures me closer to where she's sketching something on a piece of parchment. "We've mapped out the location of Malakai's weapon cache. There's a guard rotation, but we've identified a twenty-minute window tonight when the room should be unattended."

"What's then? Steal them?"

"Too obvious," Beck says, still trapped in Brunhild's hold. "They'd notice immediately, and we'd just confirm their paranoia about traitors."

"We're going to sabotage them instead," Ambrose explains, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Make subtle alterations that won't be immediately apparent but will render the weapons useless when they're needed most."

"Ollie can rust the metal from the inside," Mireen adds. "Create weak points that will snap under pressure. Typhon could help too, if he's willing."

All eyes turn to where Typhon hovers in his flying fish form. I can practically feel his disdain radiating through our tether.

"They expect the ancient heir to the water throne to engage in petty sabotage?"

"They expect you to help keep us alive during the Crucible," I counter. "Unless you'd prefer I die a quick, ignoble death at the hands of Malakai and his goons."

Typhon huffs a plume of steam. "Fine. I will assist. But I do so under protest."

"He'll help," I tell the others. "Assuming we can pull this off without getting caught."

"That's where I come in," Beck says, finally extricating himself from Brunhild's grip. "I'll create a distraction while you, Mireen, and Ambrose handle the weapons."

"What kind of distraction?"

Beck grins. "Let's just say the eastern courtyard will experience some unexpected flooding tonight.”

"And me?" Brunhild asks, crossing her muscular arms. "What is my role?"

"You're our lookout," Mireen says. "No one would question you wandering the halls at night, and if anyone gets suspicious, well..." She gestures to Brunhild's imposing physique.

Brunhild nods, apparently satisfied. "Good plan. But first, training. Come, small one," she says to me. "I teach you northern fighting style now."

I look questioningly at the others, who make shooing motions. "Go ahead," Mireen says. "We’ll meet in the water tower common room at midnight and head out together. See you then.”

Mireen, Beck, and Ambrose say a quick goodbye, leaving me alone with Brunhild. She stands before me, feet planted wide, a mountain of a woman radiating quiet confidence.

"Northern fighting not like Empire style," she explains. "Empire teaches you to be weapon. To channel, to strike, to kill." She shakes her head disapprovingly. "Northern style teaches you to be survivor. To use enemy's strength against them. To turn disadvantage to advantage."

She demonstrates a stance, her massive frame surprisingly fluid as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "You are small. This is good. Small means quick. Means targets on you are small too. Hard to hit."

For the next hour, she drills me relentlessly in techniques designed to use an opponent's momentum against them. How to break holds, escape grapples, to use leverage, and turn a powerful strike into an opportunity to counterattack. It's exhausting but exhilarating, so different from the rigid forms we're taught in official training.

It reminds me most of the way Raith trained me, and I find I'm already fluent in several techniques she expects to have to drill into me.

"Good," she says finally, nodding with approval as I successfully evade her grasp for the third time in a row. "You learn quick. Smart. Your body remembers even when mind forgets."

I wipe sweat from my brow, breathing hard. "Thank you for teaching me this."

She clasps my shoulder, her grip firm but not painful. "They say unbound saved my ancestors during great flood. Used power to hold back waters, to save children when others had abandoned hope." She pokes me in the chest with one thick finger. "You have good heart. Will use power well."

She dips her chin, eyes suddenly fierce. “And you will always protect Beck, yes?”

The question feels like a threat, and I find myself nodding.

A familiar voice cuts through the room.

"I've been looking for you."

Raith approaches, his expression neutral but his eyes alert, scanning Brunhild with barely concealed suspicion.

"Password?" Brunhild asks.

"Sexy bear," Raith says.

I grin. Sexy Bear? That's really the password they chose for today?

Brunhild nods. "Training finished anyway. She learns well. Quick. Strong for small one." She waves to us both before striding away, leaving me alone with Raith.

"Did I interrupt?" he asks, moving closer.

"No, we were done." I hesitate, then add, "I spoke with Bastian earlier."

A muscle ticks in Raith's jaw. "I thought we agreed to approach him together."

"He found me after lunch. It wasn't planned."

Through the thin tether connecting us, I feel jealousy, anger, and a touch of betrayal. His voice is calm and measured despite the feelings I know he's harboring. "What did he say?"

I relay everything Bastian told me—about Voss, the missing students, Malakai's suspected manipulation. Raith listens in silence, his expression growing darker with each revelation.

"So Bastian's father and the Council wants Voss gone," he summarizes when I finish. "And Malakai's being used to create chaos that will justify his removal. And Bastian agrees that you should stay the fuck away from those ruins."

"That about covers it."

Raith runs a hand through his dark hair, his frustration evident. "And we're supposed to navigate this minefield while surviving the Crucible and hoping there are no more siphons waiting to come for us. Wonderful.”

Despite everything, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "When you put it that way, it sounds almost impossible."

"Almost," he agrees, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. It's just us, standing together against impossible odds.

Then reality reasserts itself as a group of third-year earths and fires enters the room. "Oh," a girl at the front says. She notices we're first years, then jerks her head. "Room's ours, now. Out."

"Come on," Raith says, his voice dropping lower. "We should go somewhere private to discuss this further."

My pulse races at his words, at the memory of his lips on mine this morning, at the promise in his eyes when he spoke of taking his time with me.

"Lead the way," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

We brush past the group of earths and fires who barely seem to notice us.

As we walk back toward the castle, I feel a strange mix of dread and anticipation.

Despite everything dangerous coming our way—or perhaps because of it—I find myself drawn to Raith with a ferocity that should frighten me. In a world where each tomorrow feels uncertain, the promise of tonight, of stolen moments with him, burns brighter than any fear.

"Such longing," Typhon observes with a theatrical sigh. "Is this truly the pinnacle of human existence? Risking all for a few moments of pleasure?"

"It's not just pleasure," I tell him silently. "It's connection. It's not being alone."

"You are never alone, angry human. I am always with you."

His words, grumpy as they are, bring unexpected comfort. "I know, Typhon. And I'm grateful for it."

"As you should be," he huffs, but I feel a swell of warmth through our tether that belies his tone.

The sun begins to set behind the towers of Confluence, casting long shadows across the grounds. In just over a day, the Crucible will begin, and everything will change. But for now, there's tonight. There's Raith. There's a chance, however small, that we might find a moment of peace before the bloodshed that's coming.