I study each vessel in turn as I try to steady my breathing. The water vessel makes the most sense, of course. My home was on the coast. I spent half my life on the water, swimming before I could walk, helping my father and brothers with their fishing nets by the time I was six. And I'm almost certain I carry "water affinity markers" as Nolan would have put it.

But those markers could go fuck themselves. They're the reason my father and brothers are dead—their bones long since picked away by fish in Deep Bay. If I might have an affinity for water, I'm not sure I want it. Every day would be a reminder of what I did and what I lost.

I turn away from the water vessel and approach the fire.

The heat intensifies with each step until it's nearly unbearable, like opening an oven door and leaning in. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my back.

I stare into the flames, realizing they, more than any of the other elements, reflect how I feel inside. Fire, brimstone, ash. Those are the images in my mind—the flavor of my current state. I don't know how this test works. I don't even know if I'll only have one chance to prove an affinity before I'm obliterated like Nolan.

Frankly, I can't find it in me to care. Not right now. Not when everything feels so raw that I’m almost ready to embrace the idea of death.

I killed them. It was my fault.

Grief rises in a suffocating wave, threatening to pull me under completely. I don’t fight it, letting it wash over me like the black waters that claimed my family.

I extend my hand, hovering it above the flames, close enough to feel my skin tighten and redden. I'm so tired of carrying this guilt, this burden. If the fire cleanses me, so be it.

I close my eyes, welcoming whatever might come.

But the fire has vanished, as if snuffed out. All that’s left is the feeling of warmth inside my body, pleasant and powerful.

The fire elemental makes a sound like crackling embers, its form pulsing with what feels like alarm. Or maybe that's anger…

When none of them speak or move, I understand that I'm supposed to continue. I let out a long breath, then move to the next basin.

I approach the earth vessel, the scent of rich soil growing stronger. It reminds me of my family's small garden, of my mother teaching me to plant seeds when I was young. A memory from before everything went wrong. Back then, she was still able to look me in the eye without her hatred and disgust showing through.