Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
"Go," comes an impression from all four elementals at once, the combined force of their minds making my ears ring.
"What does this mean?" I ask, staring at the mark on my hand. "What am I supposed to do with this? What am I?"
My voice rises with each question, panic edging in as I realize they're about to send me away with nothing but cryptic warnings and a mark I don't understand.
Instead of answering, a door appears in the wall at the side of the room—one that wasn't visible before.
I hesitate, looking back at Nolan's still form. "What about them?" I gesture to the bodies. "They deserve better than to be left here like discarded trash. They had families, hopes, dreams—"
With a small nod, the water elemental gestures, and gentle waters flow from the ground itself, enveloping each body in a cocoon of liquid. The water of each cocoon swirls together, forms a perfect sphere, and then collapses on itself, leaving no sign of the dead.
A gust of wind pushes me toward the door. I struggle against it, feet sliding on the stone floor, but I'm inexorably moved through the doorway, which slides shut behind me with a sound like rumbling stone.
And then I'm alone and in near silence. It's only me and the strange, silvery spiral on the back of my hand.
I lean against the wall, gasping for breath, legs finally giving out as I slide to the floor. My entire body trembles uncontrollably, the delayed shock hitting me like a physical blow now that immediate danger has passed.
I breathe deeply, feeling a newfound appreciation for the sweetness of air filling my body. For the steady beat of my heart. For the simple miracle of still being alive.
In a way, I feel a strange relief. I offered up my sins for judgment, and... they let me walk away. They let me live.
I'm not ready to forgive myself, but maybe it all means there was a reason for me to keep going. Maybe there's some purpose to my life, and I need to keep fighting to find out why the gods didn't let me die back there.
The sound of nearby voices tells me I don't have long alone. I take one more look at the mark on the back of my hand and my stomach sinks. Based on the way the elementals reacted, I'm certain I won't find anyone else with a mark like this out there.
So how the hell am I going to explain it?
And more importantly—what exactly does "unbound" mean?
3
My entire body trembles as I stumble from the trial chamber. The stone hallway stretches before me—too bright, too loud, too everything.
First, I thought I would die when I volunteered myself for selection back in Saltcrest. Then I thought I would die when they told us of the trial we'd face and I began to hear the screams and the sounds of offerings dying in that chamber.
Death keeps staring me in the face and somehow I keep slipping through its grasp. But how much longer can my luck hold? How many more times can I dance with death before it finally claims me?
The dining hall looms ahead, voices spilling out in a chaotic symphony of relief and terror. I pause at the threshold, taking inventory of my own body like it's something alien. Legs, functioning but unsteady. Lungs, burning with each breath. And on the back of my left hand, that impossible silver spiral pulses against my skin, sending waves of pins and needles up my arm. I shove my hand deep into my pocket, fingers curling into a tight fist. Whatever happened in that testing chamber wasn't normal. Until I know more, this secret stays buried.
Inside the high-ceilinged dining hall, survivors cluster in small groups. It's tragically few compared to the hundreds who entered. Their faces bear the same stunned disbelief as mine must, that peculiar feeling of facing death only to find a new lease on life instead.
Many hold up their left hands, studying newly earned affinity marks with reverent awe. Air marks—spiraling white wind patterns that seem to shift and dance when viewed from different angles—dominate the room. Water marks follow close behind, stylized blue waves flowing across skin. I spot only a handful of earthy green mountain symbols, and even fewer fire marks—vibrant crimson flames that seem to pulse with a heartbeat of their own.
Affinity marks.
Everyone in the room now bears something we likely never thought to see on our own skin. The marks of a primal in training. Once we're done dealing with the shock of surviving and the dangers facing us, I imagine many will be exhilarant about our new circumstances.
The chance to become a primal is the chance to become more than just elite. Becoming a primal means securing status for yourself, your family, and your descendants for all of time. It's the highest honor and the greatest power imaginable, and now we're all seemingly on the path of earning it for ourselves.