Words have power, and I'm going to keep choosing not to give those particular ideas any more power than they already have.

* * *

"Today," Instructor Blackstone announces to the exhausted water offerings assembled in the training room. The large, circular stone room in the eastern wing of Confluence. Morning sun pours in from every direction through high windows, cutting the space through with buttery shafts that highlight every speck of dust. "You will select your primary combat weapon."

Instructor Blackstone’s scarred face surveys us with the detached interest of a butcher examining a particularly disappointing group of livestock. Racks upon racks of weapons have been brought in, and each instrument of death catches bits of light in a gleaming display.

I'm acutely aware of how many fewer of us there are now. Nearly every day, someone dies. Worst of all, the lion’s share of deaths come within the first-year water affinities. We can all thank Malakai for that. I just wonder how much longer I can continue to exist beneath his notice. How much longer before he and his “elites” decide to crush my skull on the training mat or a darkened hallway somewhere after hours.

Ambrose appears beside me, lips drawn in a tight line. "Weapons! Yay. I was hoping they'd give us a more effective way to kill one another."

"I don't think Malakai and his team need any help," Mireen agrees.

Malakai stands at the edge, eyes hungry as he looks at the weapons. He was already big, but our continued training and hearty meals have him looking even more terrifying by the day. He’s whispering with his two closest elites, Corpus and Titus. Corpus has deep, tanned skin and narrow eyes. He wears his platinum blonde hair in a long ponytail. He's lean and sharp where Malakai is thick and powerful.

His other companion is Titus, who keeps his head shaved, his fists permanently clenched, and always wears a scowl. Like Malakai, Titus is massive, and looks like he could tear me in half with his bare hands.

Malakai's makeshift army has grown over the weeks, but the most concerning is how the majority of its members don't make themselves known. There’s no uniform. No official sign to tell us who might be following his orders.

Naturally, I haven't branched out and made new friends beyond Mireen and Ambrose, because doing so grows riskier by the day.

Blackstone gestures for us to approach the weapons. "Choose wisely. This isn't about what looks impressive or feels powerful in your hand. It's about what will keep you alive in combat. You've been learning about your strengths and weaknesses these past weeks in sparring and training. Choose a weapon that compliments your strengths and avoids your weaknesses."