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)
Our lessons on elementals are my favorite, though.
The other classes make my brain feel like it's aching from information overload, but I find I can't learn enough about elementals and the elemental plane to satisfy my curiosity. I already know, for example, how rare it is for second generation and older elementals to tether to humans. The young elementals, which are under a hundred years of age, can only take one form and tend to look like beasts from our world. Older elementals can take more forms. Some of the oldest, like the ones I saw during the elemental trial, can even take humanoid forms.
Last but not least, there's channeling class, where we're divided by affinity and taught how to harness the essence needed to craft magical spells. Unfortunately for me, none of the methods we're learning seem to work for me. Being "unbound" must mean I channel magic differently, but I can't exactly ask someone for tips and tricks, so I've been utterly failing and drawing the anger of our channeling instructor every day.
If I wasn't so exhausted, I might just be giddy with excitement at the thought of learning to use magic. As it is, I'm too beaten and tired to really care. Survival has a way of pushing wonder to the back burner. Because beneath the classes, the new information, the sore muscles, and the daily grind, there's a constant heartbeat of violence here.
Eight students have already died during sparring, not counting the death on the first day. I've heard whispers of two more dying between classes, murdered by other first-year offerings, no doubt. So I've been doing my best to keep my eyes low and avoid notice, especially from people like Raith and Serena.
"Can't we just skip class?" Mireen groans from beside me, her copper hair plastered to her scalp.
"I wish," I say, closing my eyes and sinking deeper until the water laps at my chin. But we both know missing classes or training sessions brings remedial assignments. From what I've heard, the remedial assignments are always many times worse than the original class.
"—another? Elements... At this rate, there won't be any of us left by Confluence Day."
The surprise in the girl's voice catches my attention, and I strain my ears to hear the conversation. Through the shifting curtains of steam, I spot three figures—two girls and a guy who stand near the center of the pool, heads close as they speak in hushed voices. The girls aren't even bothering to sink low enough to cover their bare breasts.
Mireen follows my eyes, grinning conspiratorially. "I heard the three of them sleep together every night."
I raise an eyebrow. "All three?"
Mireen shrugs. "Sounds kind of fun, right?”
Part of me envies their confidence. Mostly, though, I just can't understand them. I'm too exhausted to even think about sex at the end of my days here. Maybe the release would be nice, but it's hardly on the top of my priority list. One thing is painfully clear already, though. The only thing the people in charge care about is that we show up to our classes and training on time. Between classes, first-year offerings are apparently free to fuck or kill amongst ourselves as much as we like.
"Yeah," the guy says, his voice barely carrying over the patter of the magical rain. "I think we should form some kind of team. I'm pretty sure I heard that Malakai guy and a few of his friends talking about something similar."
"A team?" one of the girls asks. "For what?"
"To protect ourselves," the guy hisses, glancing around nervously. The steam is thick enough that we can only see them because of a torch behind, casting their figures in silhouettes. I don’t think they realize we’re in earshot.
"Malakai has killed the last two people he sparred with,” the guy continues. “And today, one of his buddies did the same. They're obviously trying to thin us out. We need to watch each other's backs."
My stomach turns. I'd witnessed one of those "accidents" myself yesterday—a sparring match that ended with a first-year water offering on the ground, gurgling as blood filled his lungs. The instructors had simply shaken their heads and called for someone to remove the body, as if they were asking for someone to clean up a spilled drink.
I turn to Mireen and see the tight set of her jaw. She's listening now, too, her eyes sharp despite the languid posture she maintains.
"Am I crazy, or is that not a terrible idea?" I whisper, keeping my voice low enough that it won't carry across the water. "Forming teams, I mean."
"I don't know," she admits, her voice equally quiet. A droplet of water slides down her temple. "But I don't like where an idea like that leads."
"I know. Forming teams sounds a lot like declaring war."