My pathetic excuse for water channeling is barely enough to form a wobbly sphere when I'm secretly dipping my fingers into a smuggled waterskin. The trick has been the only thing keeping me from lectures and remedial classes with Sestra, but I know it won’t be enough for long. It’s already not enough.

The others are advancing so much faster than me that I know it doesn’t even matter how I do in my combat training. By now, most of them could kill me with water magic and I’d be virtually powerless to defend myself. So much for he world-shattering dangerous potential of an unbound.

I'm so completely screwed.

Around me, worried whispers ripple through the classroom of white-uniformed first-year offerings. At least I'm not alone in my panic, though I doubt anyone else has quite as much to fear as I do.

"Before any of you ask—" Sestra's voice cuts through the murmurs, causing Mireen to lower her hand sheepishly beside me. "No. You will not be allowed to know the nature of the trial beforehand, just as you won't be able to know how you'll be tested on Confluence Day or what you’ll face in the Crucible. Learning to prepare for the unknown is part of your training here, so get used to it."

Sestra paces the front of the classroom like a predator sizing up which of us to devour first, her silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun that seems to yank her facial features into an eternal scowl. Her deep blue eyes—the mark of water affinity—scan us with cold calculation.

"A true primal adapts. They overcome. They improvise," she continues, fingers laced behind her back as she prowls. "Our job is to make sure we don't insult the elementals by sending unworthy students into their realm. And make no mistake. If you’re not worthy, the elementals will hunt and kill you for sport on Confluence Day."

From two rows ahead, Beck leans forward, his broad shoulders making him stand out among the class. With his shaggy, sandy blonde hair and easy-going attitude that seem at odds with this place, he tends to draw the wrong kind of attention in class.

"Hold on," he says, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "I heard the real reason you let us kill each other is because there aren't enough elementals to go around. Now we're worried about insulting them, too?"

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees as Sestra's gaze fills with venom. She detests questions almost as much as she despises Beck himself.

"Perhaps you should try using your brain, Beck," she says, each word dripping with icy disdain as she glides toward his desk. "Why would the academy care if there aren't enough elementals to tether the number of students we send?"