"Please. Every time you look at him, it's like watching a starving person stare at a feast. The real question is whether he's with us or just with you."

Before I can respond, Mireen steps in. “Whether or not we can trust Raith, at least we know we have Typhon on our side.” A small smile plays across her lips as she watches the small flying fish that now hovers near my shoulder. "Even if he is... modest in size, assuming he won't risk showing his true form during the Crucible."

"I will show her modest when I consume a small village in front of her eyes."

"You will not."

"No, I will not. But I could, and that is the point."

"I'm not sure yet," I say to Mireen's point about whether Typhon will be able to show his true form. "But I know I'm not going to let any of you die just to preserve the secret about him."

"This is all great," Beck says. "But I'm starving, and the dining hall is going to fill up if we don't get our asses moving soon. So... can we continue this conversation over food?"

We make our way through the tower's winding stone staircase, our earlier lightness now tempered by the news of Malakai's expanding coalition. The dining hall will be packed this time of evening, but none of us have the luxury of skipping meals with the Crucible so close.

"What do we actually know about the Crucible itself?" I ask as we descend. "Beyond the whole 'teams of five' thing?"

"It's a test of survival and combat skills in unknown terrain," Ambrose replies. "From what I've gathered, they drop us somewhere remote and we have to navigate to a specific location while other teams try to eliminate us. I've spoken with upper-year students and consulted texts. The details change every year, but these generalities do seem to stay the same."

"Eliminate as in...?"

"Kill, incapacitate, whatever gets the job done," Ambrose says bluntly.

Beck shrugs as we walk through a long hall lined with tapestries painted in faded oils. Each shows famous battles and primals with huge, impossibly large elementals locked in combat. "I heard there's more at stake than just the winning team getting promoted to legacy status. They apparently use our performance to help decide our assignments and positions after graduation. Fuck up too badly, and you'll wind up getting sent behind enemy lines on a suicide mission or something."

"I doubt that," I say.

"Doubt all you want," Beck says with upturned palms. "I'm only saying what I've heard."

"What you heard from some girl you were sleeping with?" Mireen asks.

"Hey," Beck snaps. "The words spoken over pillows are often the most true."