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)
I can sense others around me shifting in fear, eyes wide with worry.
I don't feel fear, though. I only feel determination. All the pain I caused... maybe surviving here could somehow fix it. Maybe a primal could return home and make things right for Brissa and my mother. Maybe a primal could earn their forgiveness where I couldn't.
"What if we refuse testing?" someone calls out.
The boy shakes his head. "You will all enter the testing chamber, whether on your feet or... otherwise."
Another nervous murmur ripples through the crowd of offerings.
"Now," he says, chin lifted, "you'll all be taken to the Great Hall of Testing. Within, you'll either discover your affinity... or you'll meet your end. In either case, I suggest you face it with boldness."
Before the guards can lead us away, a voice stops me.
"I wouldn't get too close to that one if I were you."
I turn to see the legacy I'd noticed earlier standing beside me, his uniform pristine, his handsome face set in a friendly expression that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His wavy blonde hair is pushed back neatly from a broad forehead, revealing blue eyes so pale I'd taken them for white at a distance.
"Who?" I ask, instantly wary.
"The scarred volunteer. I'm Bastian," he says, extending a hand. "First-year, just like you."
Except he's not just like me. Everything about him screams privilege and good breeding—from his perfectly styled hair to his confident stance, as if the world has never once failed to deliver exactly what he wanted.
Coldness colors my smile. "I'm Nessa. First-year who is apparently about to be forced to risk my life in a test I didn't consent to."
Bastian offers a tight-lipped nod. "It's frightening. I know."
He doesn't. He can't know.
"Some of us legacies have been asked to help orient offerings these first few days. So, please, let me know if there's anything I can do to help." He sticks his hand out.
"Sure. Get me out of having to take this test." I take his offered hand reluctantly.
His handshake is firm, and as our hands touch, I feel a strange ripple of energy pass between us. He pulls back quickly, eyes sharpening slightly before his smile returns.
An uncomfortable moment passes before he speaks. "My advice is to embrace the opportunity. It's like he said. We're all getting a chance to become something greater than we could have ever imagined. If we succeed here, we'll be critical pieces in the Empire's army, capable of defending thousands by ourselves."
"Eager to become a pawn on somebody's chess board, are you?" I ask.
Bastian offers a surprised, half-cocked smile. "We're all already on the board, Nessa. Better to turn yourself into a key piece instead of an expendable pawn, isn't it?"
I can't help smiling back. He has a point.
Bastian cuts his eyes toward the burned volunteer. "By the way. I meant what I said earlier. Those from the border—even the ones technically on Empire's side… be careful trusting them. Those territories change hands often, and sometimes the ties to Empire are superficial."
"What, do you think he's a spy or something?"
Bastian's expression is cryptic. "I think anyone who volunteers for this place has secrets." His gaze drops to my badge, then back to my face.
I wonder if I'm only a curiosity to him—something to watch with detached interest.
Before either of us can say more, guards shove me and the other offerings forward into the Hall of Testing. I give Bastian one last look, his tall form easily visible over the crowd, until I'm led down a long flight of stairs with the others.
We enter a cavernous chamber, easily large enough to hold all fifteen hundred offerings. Massive pillars carved to resemble intertwined elemental beasts support a ceiling so high it disappears into shadow. A pair of ornate double doors stand at the far end of the room. They're covered in glowing symbols that shift and change as I watch.
Smoke swirls and clings to the ground here. Colored light occasionally shifts from behind the doors, casting long streaks through the smoke that give the room an otherworldly atmosphere.
Beyond the doors, something growls, low and deep.
There's a collective shudder among the offerings, who are all being packed tightly into the room like cattle awaiting slaughter. It's only seconds before the air grows stale with our collective breath and fear.
A handful of guards stand in a semicircle before the doors, their faces impassive as they consult a long scroll.
"I bet I'm air," a girl near me whispers excitedly to her neighbor. "My grandmother could always predict storms before they came. That has to mean something, right?"
"My uncle says I've got water in my blood," another boy responds. "Says I swim better than fish."
All around me, offerings whisper about their suspected affinities, clinging to family stories and coincidences like lifelines. Their words speak of confidence, but their voices betray them—a shakiness and frantic energy that reveals the terror they're trying so desperately to hide.