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)
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.