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)
The second shimmers as currents of white air curl up its elegantly carved shape, swirling into clouds at its peak that seem to dance and shift. Occasionally, tiny lightning flashes illuminate the mist from within.
The third is constructed of dark, burnt stone covered in licking flames that send plumes of smoke skyward, yet the stone never burns or crumbles. The fire pulses with each gust of wind, almost like a heartbeat.
And the fourth is completely encased in a shimmering wall of water. Water that flows upward against the pull of the earth, against everything that makes sense.
My heart pounds against my ribs. These aren't just decorative elements. These are elemental manifestations of magic—real, tangible power on display as casually as other castles might display banners.
The central structure between these towers looks large enough to house thousands, its walls tall and imposing.
Confluence Academy. Just like the selector said. It has to be.
That tiny spark of hope turns to a flame—a flame I’m terrified to nurture but can’t bring myself to extinguish. Could it really be true? That we've been brought here to train, not for slaughter? If they're going to make us into primals, it would mean far more than just surviving.
It would mean power. The kind of power that could make things right again. The kind that could have saved them.
Primals are the elite of the elite, and the magic they command is the stuff of legends. Rarely seen, often heard about, and completely surrounded in mystery and confusion. And now I'm standing in front of the academy that creates them. My eyes see it, and yet my mind still refuses to fully believe.
"Move it, offering!" A guard shoves me between my shoulder blades, and I stumble forward, nearly falling face-first into the mud.
I recover my balance and join the line of other offerings being marched through enormous doors, through a courtyard full of activity, and then into the castle's main hall. It’s so much to take in I hardly even notice the pangs of hunger and thirst or the ache of being cramped in the carriage for days on end.
I catch glimpses of what must be students, most of whom are ignoring us. They're all too far to get a clear look at, though, and we're being marched through the building at a rough pace.
Looking around at the other offerings, I see badges like mine, except none bear the letter "V." The most common, by far, is an "O." There are a few "R" badges scattered into the mix as well, but nobody else seems to have been crazy enough to volunteer like I did.
Several offerings nearby stare openly at my badge, whispering to their neighbors and pointing. Their gazes burn into me, making my skin itch. I fight the urge to rip the damn thing off and throw it away. I know it's irrational, but I almost feel like they can see my shame—see straight into my heart and know how ready I was to die for what I did.
One boy with hollow cheeks catches my eye. "Why would you volunteer?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the commotion. "Are you mad? They're going to kill us all, don't you realize that?"
Before I can respond, a guard shoves him forward, and his thin frame disappears into the crowd.
The great hall steals my attention. Soaring ceilings arch impossibly high above us, supported by columns carved to resemble various mythical creatures. Colored light streams through stained glass windows depicting epic battles between humans with glowing markings and elemental creatures. Some of the paintings look absolutely ancient, and they show humans fighting elementals—the wars that shattered civilization and brought us back to the beginning.
We're assembled into orderly rows facing a raised dais at the far end of the hall. I'm positioned beside a red-haired girl with mud-streaked cheeks and an oddly serene expression, despite our circumstances. A guard gives her a particularly rough shove, knocking her off balance.
I catch her arm before she falls, steadying her. "You okay?"
She nods, offering a quick smile that brightens her whole face despite the grime. "I'm Mireen. Thank you."
"Nessa."
"So…” her voice is low, quiet, and tinged with wry humor. “Want to take bets on which of us is going to die first?”
“What would be…” I begin, trailing off as her smile widens.
“Sorry,” Mireen says. “Where I’m from, we see a lot of death. I find joking about it makes the whole thing just a touch less terrifying.”
“In any case,” I say, keeping my voice to a whisper. “Maybe death isn’t so certain. Why would they mark us with badges and go through all this just to execute us? This is Confluence Academy. What if they brought us here to train us? To become primals?"
The words sound pathetic even to my own ears—the desperate bargaining of someone who's suddenly realized they're not ready to die after all. Minutes ago, I was ready to die. Now I find myself clinging so tight to the idea of survival it makes me sick.