My stomach knots so violently I nearly double over. I know that smell. It's the same smell that came with the storm three years ago. The smell that follows me into my nightmares. It's the smell of magic.

The phantom salt spray stings my eyes as the memory claws its way up my throat, threatening to drown me all over again. I push away the memories that threaten to surface—the screams, the water, the sickening sound of wood splitting beneath our feet. My fingers tremble, and I curl them into fists, using the bite of my nails against my palms to ground myself in the present.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to focus on my surroundings instead of the past.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of carriages just like mine fill the massive courtyard spreading before me. Imperial guards herd dazed offerings from their vehicles toward a central location. The other offerings show just how far Empire’s reach extends through their clothing—flowing silks from the eastern provinces, thick wools from the north, lightweight linens like mine from the coastal regions. I even spot a cluster of people who might be from the many islands that neighbor the main continent.

And all of them were selected, chosen out of a random lottery. Sentenced to die.

I idly trace the “V” badge on my tunic. I thought I was ready to die, but I can’t lie to myself. Ever since the Selector told us where we were… ever since that moment, I’ve felt the spark of hope threatening to ignite my insides.

Dragging my eyes from the crowd, I look up at the structure looming behind the sea of offerings and guards.

The sight steals my breath.

A castle rises before us, so vast it makes the defensive keep back home in Saltcrest look like a child's toy. Four colossal towers stand at each corner, each one distinctly different from the others.

The first looks more like a pillar of earth, as if carved from a single massive piece of granite, roots and vines climbing its surface like grasping fingers. I almost imagine I can see the stone itself breathing, expanding and contracting as if alive.

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.