Ever since that first day, I felt a confusing kind of connection to him. A pull.

And until recently, all I've ever sensed was him pushing me away from that force.

Tonight, he let me drift just a little bit closer, and I'm terrified by how much I want more of that feeling—that closeness.

I head down the stairs, noting Typhon's unusual quietness but figuring he's just grumpy after a day of posing as a flying fish.

Despite the confusion lingering at the edges of my mind, one thought remains clear in the swirl of emotions the last half hour brought: I've found an ally in the most unexpected place. Someone who understands what I am. Someone who can help me control my powers.

And all I have to do is keep it to myself.

18

"You're outnumbered three-to-one. The enemy has the high ground on this ridgeline here with established fortifications. What's your plan?" Instructor Pilton's voice cuts through the Military Tactics classroom, his single arm gesturing emphatically at the large map pinned to the front wall.

Two days have passed since my meeting with Voss, and I still can't shake the unusual lightness in my chest. The knowledge that the Rector of Confluence knows what I am, understands it, and doesn't want me dead… to call it a relief would be an understatement. Tomorrow evening, I'll meet with him again for my first official mentoring session. With any luck, I might even manifest my power during our meeting.

Considering my unbound manifestation could be absolutely anything, my mind has been constantly wandering with possibilities. Mostly, though, I just hope it’s not something terrible—something like what Lorkan Grace manifested.

I drag my attention back to the map, studying the scenario Pilton has laid out. The classroom is arranged in tiers, with legacies at the front in comfortable chairs, aspirants behind them in decent seating, and until recently, offerings crammed at the back on hard benches. Now that we're all aspirants, the class feels less stratified, though old habits die hard. Most former offerings still cluster toward the back, myself included. Little by little, we’ve mingled with those who started as aspirants, but it’s slow progress. For the most part, cliques and groups of trust already formed before Confluence Day, and we’re still seen as outsiders.

A legacy in the front row—a tall, thin air with white-blonde hair—suggests sacrificing a portion of his forces for a distraction so the rest of the squadron can get behind the enemy for a surprise attack. Pilton immediately launches into a critique of the approach, his bushy eyebrows drawing together as he paces.

"You could solve this tactical problem easily," Typhon notes dryly in my mind. "One ancient water dragon could eliminate their entire force without complex maneuvering."

"Not helpful," I mutter under my breath.