The central structure between these towers looks large enough to house thousands, its walls tall and imposing.

Confluence Academy. Just like the selector said. It has to be.

That tiny spark of hope turns to a flame—a flame I’m terrified to nurture but can’t bring myself to extinguish. Could it really be true? That we've been brought here to train, not for slaughter? If they're going to make us into primals, it would mean far more than just surviving.

It would mean power. The kind of power that could make things right again. The kind that could have saved them.

Primals are the elite of the elite, and the magic they command is the stuff of legends. Rarely seen, often heard about, and completely surrounded in mystery and confusion. And now I'm standing in front of the academy that creates them. My eyes see it, and yet my mind still refuses to fully believe.

"Move it, offering!" A guard shoves me between my shoulder blades, and I stumble forward, nearly falling face-first into the mud.

I recover my balance and join the line of other offerings being marched through enormous doors, through a courtyard full of activity, and then into the castle's main hall. It’s so much to take in I hardly even notice the pangs of hunger and thirst or the ache of being cramped in the carriage for days on end.

I catch glimpses of what must be students, most of whom are ignoring us. They're all too far to get a clear look at, though, and we're being marched through the building at a rough pace.

Looking around at the other offerings, I see badges like mine, except none bear the letter "V." The most common, by far, is an "O." There are a few "R" badges scattered into the mix as well, but nobody else seems to have been crazy enough to volunteer like I did.

Several offerings nearby stare openly at my badge, whispering to their neighbors and pointing. Their gazes burn into me, making my skin itch. I fight the urge to rip the damn thing off and throw it away. I know it's irrational, but I almost feel like they can see my shame—see straight into my heart and know how ready I was to die for what I did.

One boy with hollow cheeks catches my eye. "Why would you volunteer?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the commotion. "Are you mad? They're going to kill us all, don't you realize that?"

Before I can respond, a guard shoves him forward, and his thin frame disappears into the crowd.