My question remains unanswered as we move across a central courtyard and head toward a corner where I can see the blue water tower looming high above us, its upper reaches lost in the gathering evening mist. Magical water cascades down its exterior in perpetual, glimmering sheets that catch the last rays of sunlight in dazzling prisms.

With nearly two-hundred water affinities, we’re broken into smaller groups and guided to the tower by older students.

"At least we’re in far fewer pieces than I was expecting," Mireen whispers as we climb the spiral staircase of the water tower, her voice muffled by the constant sound of flowing water. One of her eyes is swollen shut, and her once-neat braid is a tangled mess, as if somebody tried to pull it from her scalp. She's limping slightly, favoring her right leg.

"Common room is on the fourth floor landing," explains the student assigned to walk us here, his tone bored as he recites what is clearly a rehearsed speech. "First-year offerings can use the main common area. Aspirants and legacies get access to the private areas. And don't bother the older students. None of them will want anything to do with you, since most of you will be dead after Confluence Day, anyway."

How encouraging. But there's a matter-of-factness in his delivery that says he's only stating a fact, not trying to scare us or show off.

“Surely not everyone here is an asshole?” a girl with deep brown skin asks.

“Assholes?” the older student replies. “Call it what you want. You’re all at the very bottom of the food chain. Stay alive long enough and you’ll get better treatment. But survive a few years here and you’ll learn it’s not worth getting to know the first-years.”

On that cheerful note, we continue climbing.

The water tower has an odd, magical kind of beauty to it. The stones are a deep, oceanic blue that seems to shift with the play of light across their surface. Water trickles down the inside of the walls in carefully channeled paths, filling the space with a sound like fountains and burbling streams. The flowing water brings a pleasant humid quality to the air and a coolness that feels good on my overheated, sweaty body.

All the water reminds me of home—the good parts of home, at least. Of being on the water. Of the days before…

I jerk my thoughts away from the unwelcome memory, focusing instead on the now. On surviving. On finding a way through this madness, one day at a time.