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E ver since the elemental trial, the nightmares come almost every night. At first, they weren’t so vivid. So terrifying. But night by night, they’re getting stronger. More real. Dark water pressing in around me and the cold awareness of something vast moving beneath me, watching from the depths.

A deep, horrible voice whispers up to me from the darkness. “Unbound… Nessa Thorne… Un…bound.”

I wake gasping, sheets twisted around my legs, the phantom sensation of drowning still tight in my throat. I bolt upright, gulping air and pressing a hand to my racing heart, my lungs burning as if they'd actually filled with water.

As if the challenge of daily life here at Confluence wasn’t bad enough after nearly six weeks, my sleeping mind has decided to join in for the fun. Fucking wonderful.

"Another one?" Mireen's voice comes softly through the darkness. So much for not waking her.

"Sorry," I whisper.

“Don’t be sorry.” She sits up, then pauses, pointing to something near her bed. "And promise you won’t freak out, but I think we have a roommate." She indicates tiny footprints in spilled powder by the wall. "I've been leaving it crumbs. Figured if it's survived this long at Confluence, it deserves a medal. Or at least dinner."

I notice the prints and shake my head ruefully. “You’re luring rats into our room. On purpose? ”

“Singular. Not plural. And yes. Imagine how scary this place must be as a rat. He deserves someone who will love and look after him.”

I shake my head, smiling. “If it bites me, I’m kicking him out.”

Mireen folds her arms. “If he bites you twice. You’ve got to give him a chance to get his bearings.” I can already see how her body is growing more lean and muscular with our daily training regime through her thin night clothes. My own physique is changing, too. The soft places on my body are hardening every day, what fat I had melting away to reveal lean muscle. I’m even starting to gain some confidence in the sparring ring—a faint belief that I can stop someone from killing me if they try.

“So…” she leans forward, legs crossed on the bed. "What do you see? In the dreams?"

I hesitate. Dreams are private things—especially here, where any weakness can be exploited. But this is Mireen. She even admitted when Malakai tried to "recruit" her for his growing team of those he calls his elites. Mireen is far more talented than most when it comes to channeling, which is what earned her the invite.

Obviously, she turned him down, even though the temptation of not having to watch her back for him and his elites must have been immense. She also told me about it right away, confirming what I already knew. I can trust Mireen with my life.

"I see water," I say, shivering at the memory that still burns vivid in my mind's eye. "Darkness. Something... watching me." I don't mention how that feeling of being watched persists even after I wake. I keep that to myself, not because I don't trust her, but because speaking it aloud would make it feel more real.

More terrifying.

She's quiet for a moment. "My grandfather used to say dreams are messages. From the gods, maybe, or from parts of ourselves we don't understand."

"Well, I wish this particular messenger would shut up," I mutter, making her laugh softly.

There's more still I don't dare say aloud—like the voice I hear beneath the water, whispering words I’m beginning to understand. About how each night, I sink deeper, getting closer to whatever waits in those depths. How I'm beginning to think it's looking for me specifically.

Words have power, and I'm going to keep choosing not to give those particular ideas any more power than they already have.

* * *

"Today," Instructor Blackstone announces to the exhausted water offerings assembled in the training room. The large, circular stone room in the eastern wing of Confluence. Morning sun pours in from every direction through high windows, cutting the space through with buttery shafts that highlight every speck of dust. "You will select your primary combat weapon."

Instructor Blackstone’s scarred face surveys us with the detached interest of a butcher examining a particularly disappointing group of livestock. Racks upon racks of weapons have been brought in, and each instrument of death catches bits of light in a gleaming display.

I'm acutely aware of how many fewer of us there are now. Nearly every day, someone dies. Worst of all, the lion’s share of deaths come within the first-year water affinities. We can all thank Malakai for that. I just wonder how much longer I can continue to exist beneath his notice. How much longer before he and his “elites” decide to crush my skull on the training mat or a darkened hallway somewhere after hours.

Ambrose appears beside me, lips drawn in a tight line. "Weapons! Yay. I was hoping they'd give us a more effective way to kill one another."

"I don't think Malakai and his team need any help," Mireen agrees.

Malakai stands at the edge, eyes hungry as he looks at the weapons. He was already big, but our continued training and hearty meals have him looking even more terrifying by the day. He’s whispering with his two closest elites, Corpus and Titus. Corpus has deep, tanned skin and narrow eyes. He wears his platinum blonde hair in a long ponytail. He's lean and sharp where Malakai is thick and powerful.

His other companion is Titus, who keeps his head shaved, his fists permanently clenched, and always wears a scowl. Like Malakai, Titus is massive, and looks like he could tear me in half with his bare hands.

Malakai's makeshift army has grown over the weeks, but the most concerning is how the majority of its members don't make themselves known. There’s no uniform. No official sign to tell us who might be following his orders.

Naturally, I haven't branched out and made new friends beyond Mireen and Ambrose, because doing so grows riskier by the day.

Blackstone gestures for us to approach the weapons. "Choose wisely. This isn't about what looks impressive or feels powerful in your hand. It's about what will keep you alive in combat. You've been learning about your strengths and weaknesses these past weeks in sparring and training. Choose a weapon that compliments your strengths and avoids your weaknesses."

I hang back, studying my options while others rush forward. Most gravitate toward longer swords or spears, weapons that keep enemies at a distance or look like they could cleave somebody in half. I'm not sure what would suit me—something light enough for my frame, but not so small that I'm forced within grappling range of larger opponents.

"Not those," a voice says close to my ear.

I had been looking at the spears, wondering if I'd be strong enough to use something like that to keep people out of reach.

I turn to find Raith standing behind me. As always, his presence makes my body light up like an electric storm—nerves firing and skin flushing. I didn't even hear him approach. He shouldn't be here—this session is for water offerings only—but nobody challenges his presence.

Of course they don’t. If one thing has become painfully obvious since our first day, it’s that Raith is far and above the best of all the offerings. He’s feared and respected in equal measure, even by some of the instructors.

"What?" I manage, startled by his proximity. He smells like campfire smoke and something else I can't name, something that makes my pulse quicken, something dangerous and intoxicating all at once.

I see Raith almost every day, but he generally doesn't seem to remember I exist. By all accounts, I’m average in most subjects and far below average in channeling. I can tell most instructors have already assumed I won’t survive Confluence Day and are focusing their efforts on more promising students.

I've even heard students half-jokingly call him The Burned Prince, and I can hardly blame them. Common belief seems to be he’ll be a top ranked primal in Empire's army by the time he graduates. I even overheard a pair of students speculating about how he might tether an older elemental on Confluence Day, which supposedly hasn't happened in decades. Young elementals tether us. Older elementals either have past tethers and scars from the deaths of their humans, or they've chosen not to get involved in the conflicts of men.

"Problem, Saltcrest?”

I flinch, realizing my mind had gone elsewhere as I stared at him. Saltcrest. He does remember me, then. And I still have no idea how or when he found out where I’m from.

Mireen and Ambrose have both taken what I assume are involuntary steps away from Raith. Even with the weapons on display, the other waters are also watching him with mixtures of wariness and awe.

I shake my head, heat creeping up my neck. "Just trying not to imagine somebody skewering me with one of those."

"Be the one doing the skewering, then," Raith says simply.

Easy for him to say. I don't think Raith has even come close to losing a sparring match since he arrived. Even if someone did want to kill him, they'd have no chance. He's untouchable. Hardly even human.

And, for some reason, he's standing in the middle of us waters and talking to me.

He looks at the others, who are watching us openly. "Fuck off," he growls.

Eyes jerk away and people flinch back like he's a lion that just roared.

Except Malakai and his soldiers, I notice. They're watching Raith with calculated stares. Stares that don't make sense, unless they're really so bloodthirsty they'd go after people outside our affinity.

"It's okay," I say to Mireen and Ambrose, who linger, even though they look like they want to scatter with the rest of the students.

At least I hope it's okay. Raith wouldn't kill me right here, would he?

But I see he's studying the weapons, then returning his focus to me. His eyes scan my body, and for a moment, I wonder if he's actually checking me out.

He reaches and gives my arm a squeeze, then frowns, as if not entirely pleased.

"What?" I demand.

"You need to take your training more seriously. You're still… squishy."

"Excuse me?" My jaw drops in indignation.

I know I must be imagining it, but I almost think the corner of his mouth twitches upward at that. "Short." He's still staring at me—assessing me. "Somewhat weak. But fast. Hmm." He strokes his sculpted jaw with big, calloused fingers. "Smart…"

Smart? I'm not sure how he knows enough about me to assume that, but?—

Before I can respond, he moves past me, selecting a thin-bladed sword with a simple crossguard. It's shorter than a full-sized sword but longer than a dagger.

"This." He offers it to me, handle first. "Emphasis on speed and precision. Quick thrusts rather than hacking power. A thrust is faster than a slash. The blade is short enough that you should be able to strike first against anybody with a longer weapon. Against a shorter weapon, you'll use this to keep out of their reach," he says, tapping my temple.

I take it hesitantly, testing its weight. The balance is perfect, the blade an extension of my arm rather than a burden. "Why are you helping me?" I ask, suspicious of anything resembling kindness in this place.

"You intrigue me." He steps closer, making my breath catch and filling my nose with that strange but intoxicating scent of his. "And I don’t think you’re as weak as you let on.”

Before I can press further, he walks away, rejoining the fire offerings on the other side of the arena. They've already selected weapons, and they're training cooperatively, rather than trying to kill one another like the waters and airs do.

It's ironic, in a way. Before coming here, I was told fire and earth primals were all spies for Red Kingdom. Those who weren't spies, they said, just hadn't turned coat yet. They were painted as the animals and the ones to fear.

But here? The fires organize under Raith, and I only know of two who have died since we arrived. Meanwhile, more than thirty waters have died and half as many airs. The earths also have only had one or two deaths, and they've organized themselves under the leadership of a pair of twins named Otho and Vireena. I can see them with their glowing green marks training in the distance.

Both the earths and fires act more like a cooperative team than competitors. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cursed Bastian a few times for not simply suggesting I disguise my mark and join the fires or earths. But then I wouldn’t have Mireen or Ambrose.

"What was that about?" Mireen asks, joining me with a spear in her hands.

"I have no idea," I admit, still fighting the urge not to stare and watch as Raith moves between the fires, correcting form and barking orders.

We spend the next hour working with our blunted practice weapons. The idea is apparently to reduce fatalities as we’re training, but I have no doubts a determined student could still kill with these. I'm also pretty sure Malakai would have no problem using his giant, double-bladed axe to chop someone’s head off, blunted or not. Thankfully, he's training with his people instead of trying to go for a kill at the moment.

Small victories.

My weapon—a rapier, as Blackstone calls it—suits me better than I expected. What I lack in strength, I make up for in speed and precision. By the end of the session, even Blackstone seems grudgingly impressed by my progress.

"Not entirely hopeless," he concedes, which from him is practically a love letter.

As we leave the training yard, I catch the tail end of Raith's sparring match. He's using a two-handed sword that's bigger than my body, and he whirls through the air in a deadly dance of slashing training steel. It slices through the air with a thick whistle, and he shows perfect control, pulling his strikes against the guy he's fighting so he doesn't actually hurt him.

He freezes with the blade at his opponent's neck. They both pause a moment, then relax, clapping hands and patting shoulders. I can see Raith is giving him instruction now. The fire he’s working with is thinner and more sleight than the average offering, and I can see how he’s looking up at Raith with unmasked adoration.

I shake my head as we leave for the showers. I may not understand the guy, but I can't deny he helped me pick what feels like the perfect weapon. In his own way, Raith may have just helped me survive.

After cleaning up and surviving another long day of classes, I say goodnight to Mireen and cross the star-lit courtyard toward the library. It's in the academic wing, and it has become my sanctuary in the endless nightmare that is Confluence Academy. While others use their rare free time to rest, fuck, or form alliances, I bury myself in ancient texts, searching for answers about what it means to be unbound while I wait for Bastian to come through on his promise to give me the book he mentioned that first day.

So far, I've found only fragments—old stories that may be nothing more than fiction meant to entertain small children. But the stories do talk about creatures known by many names that existed before the elemental plane merged with the human plane, creatures that lurked in the shadows of human history. Centuries ago. They were called vampires, essence drinkers, voids, and siphons. As far as I can tell, all the names point to the same creature—some sort of twisted version of a primal, like a human who feeds on living creatures to fuel its power.

But they're only stories, and none of them mention the word "unbound" or talk about silver swirl marks. None of them explain why I draw people's power into myself if I touch them for too long. They don't explain why channeling doesn't work for me the way it works for everyone else here.

I sit at a secluded table in the back corner of the library, surrounded by stacks of dusty tomes. My eyes burn from hours of reading faded text in dim light, but I can't stop. Confluence Day grows closer, and with it, the reckoning I can't prepare for without understanding what I am.

"You won't find what you're looking for in those."

I startle, nearly dropping the book in my hands. Ambrose stands at the end of the row, spectacles reflecting the late afternoon light streaming through high windows.

"What?" I close the book quickly, covering the illustration of a strange mark that looked tantalizingly close to my own, but apparently was unrelated.

He glances around, then steps closer. "Secrets about the elementals. About what makes someone worthy of tethering. That's what everyone's after, right?"

I relax slightly. So he doesn't actually know what I'm looking for. It's not that I don't trust Ambrose. It's more that I don't want to tie either of my friends up in my mess.

Gods know I've hurt the people I care about enough already for one lifetime. I won't let them become victims of my collateral damage, either. As always, my thoughts even skimming across the memory of my brothers and father drowning in the storm I drew in blasts me with suffocating guilt.

I force the thoughts down, offering Ambrose an innocent smile instead. “Just trying to survive until Confluence Day."

"Aren't we all." He drops into the chair across from me, lowering his voice. "Did you hear the Rector’s back?”

"Rector? That’s what they call the headmaster here, right?" I keep my expression neutral, though my interest is piqued. “I thought he was away on some assignment.”

"Rector Voss." Ambrose pushes his glasses up with one finger. His eyes gleam with the excitement of sharing forbidden knowledge. "He came back last night. Early.”

"What does that mean? Do you think he heard about Malakai's informal army? Maybe the amount of killing they're doing is excessive, even by academy standards?"

"No one knows for certain. I’ve heard a few rumors, of course. Probably nothing of substance.”

“What have you heard?”

Ambrose leans closer, voice low. “Some say a rogue elemental was spotted near campus.”

I frown. “A rogue elemental? I’ve never heard of something like that.”

Ambrose nods, as if my lack of knowledge on the subject isn’t a surprise. “They’re completely mad. Driven wild by grief, and destructive as all hells.”

“And there’s a rumor that one is near the academy?” I whisper, chest going cold.

“Just a rumor. Something like that slipping out of the elemental plane really shouldn’t be possible. It’s highly unlikely.”

I can't say why, but his mention of rogue elementals makes me think immediately of my dreams—of the dark shape I always sense just out of sight in the murky depths. "What else do you know about them? Rogue elementals, I mean," I ask, trying to sound merely curious rather than desperate for information.

Ambrose's eyes light up the way they always do when someone asks him about something he's studied. “There are actually several categories of elementals. First, untethered elementals—those who have never formed a tether with a human. These are what students like us will typically tether on Confluence Day.” A second finger joins the first. "Second, formerly tethered elementals whose primals died naturally. It’s a less traumatic experience for them, and these generally are the elementals willing to take on a new primal tether." A third finger rises. "And third, rogue elementals—those whose tethers were broken through trauma."

"What kind of trauma?"

"According to the texts I've read, the tether between primal and elemental is incredibly intimate—a joining of minds and energies. When that tether is severed unnaturally, it leaves... scars. That can mean a particularly traumatic death in combat. It can mean some sort of betrayal—a primal who breaks the oath they make to their elemental when they tether."

"Oaths?"

Ambrose sighs dramatically. "For someone who spends so much time in this library, you really don't know much, do you? What are you studying so much if not this kind of thing?"

"Nothing important."

He tilts his head at me, then shrugs. "A woman of mystery. I can respect that. Anyway, yeah. Every elemental will ask its primal to swear oaths. It varies based on the personality of your elemental. An oath of truth. An oath of revenge. Whatever. But if you break that oath?" He draws a finger across his throat.

He scoops up one of my books. "What's got you so interested in all this anyway?" He squints at the spine of the book, grinning. "Fanciful Tales for Young Girls?"

I blush, snatching the book from his hands. "Old stories sometimes hide truths others want to keep buried."

That earns a raised brow from Ambrose. "Now that, I can agree with. You want hidden truths?" His voice drops even lower. "I've got one you don't need to go searching in books for. I heard more whispers about Malakai seen scheming with Serena multiple times. But you know what's weird?"

"What?"

"I heard both of them got called in to meet with Voss."

I feel a faint blossoming of hope. "You think he's shutting them down?"

"Hard to say. Let's hope so, though. I frankly don't know if they're planning to keep any of us alive before Confluence Day.”

A chill creeps down my spine, because my friends and I have avoided his focus so far, but how much longer can that last? Especially now that he's working with Serena. How long before she whispers in his ear that he should kill me?

"Well," Ambrose says, smiling out of one side of his mouth. "There's someone I met last week. Someone who may have invited me to meet for a romantic stroll across the castle walls tonight. So if you don’t mind…”

I chuckle. "Alright. At least some of us are getting laid."

"Not yet, but fingers are crossed," Ambrose says over his shoulder as he leaves.

It's only a minute before movement makes me look up.

A tall figure slips into view, blonde hair and black uniform instantly marking him.

"Bastian?" I ask.

He approaches slowly, barely making a sound as his eyes fall to the books. "I apologize for the delay. I know it must be difficult operating in the dark. How are you holding up?”

All I can do is stare as he sits down across from me, hand clutching something within his black uniform trimmed in silver and gold. His nearly-white eyes seem to see straight through me, but there’s sympathy in his face. I think he might really feel bad for taking so long—that he might actually care how I’ve been doing.

“I’m alive,” I say with a shrug.

His smile is grim. “That’s most important. Yes.” When he pulls his hand from his uniform, he’s clutching a small, leather bound book. At a glance, it looks completely unassuming, but I lick my lips, fighting the urge to snatch it from his hands and start devouring it from cover to cover.

His eyes are heavy as he looks both ways, as if double checking we're not being watched. "This is the book I told you about from my family's personal library. It took a few weeks for father to get it here. And… I spent the last few days reading it myself. Sorry. I wanted to make sure I knew more about what you were before I… trusted you with this."

I frown. "Trusted me? You're acting like I'm dangerous, or something."

"You are. More than you realize. Oh, and the book is encrypted. Empire destroyed anything having to do with unbound centuries ago. The encryption is the only reason this one survived the purge. It’s also part of the reason I didn't give it to you right away. I needed time to create a key you can use to decipher it. And Nessa? Don't write the actual text down anywhere. Guard that key with your life, and destroy it before you let anyone touch it. Understand?"

I nod my head as the gravity of what he’s saying and what I am seems to settle in on me with new weight.

"Use the key. Read the book. You'll start to understand."

He looks like he wants to say more, but he turns and disappears instead, leaving me with the strange book.

I run my fingertips over its surface, wishing it wasn't already so late. I doubt I'll have the energy to read much of it tonight before passing out, but I'm sure as hell going to try. Dread mingles with a desperate kind of hope as I stare at the book, wondering if I’m finally about to get some actual answers about what I am.