Magnus briefed us this morning, but no amount of preparation could quiet the buzz of nerves now humming through my body.
Elliot is first, bouncing into the circle with all the grace of someone who either doesn’t know she is being watched by twelve solemn professors and a Service agent—or doesn’t care. Shoulder-length blonde hair frames her face in soft waves, the bold streaks of color catching the morning light. It matches the blue in her eyes, now sparkling with anticipation.
Elliot grins and cracks her knuckles. “Here we go,” she says, more to herself than anyone else. Her nails are painted silver, chipped at the edges—short and uneven.
She raises her hands, fingers loose, breath steady.
The air answers immediately.
The leaves inside the suspended current stir faster, swirling in a playful cyclone. The entire column pulses outward with a softwhoomph, and wind rushes toward the dais in a gentle circle, tousling the robes of the seated professors, scattering petals, flipping a few pages.
Elliot, still smiling, looks up at them and gives a little bow—half mockery, half delight. “Well, that wentbreezily, don’t you think?” she says as she rejoins me on the side of the field.
Rozsen is next. She steps into the circle like she owns it—shoulders squared, brown eyes sharp, the air around her already warmer. She raises her hand, palm open toward the flame basin. The focus is absolute. Fire flares instantly, leaping twice its height in a single breath. It twists upward in a tight spiral, burning hotter, brighter, until the white-hot tip arches toward her like it knows her name. The ground beneath her boots cracks faintly from the heat. Rozsen doesn’t flinch, just smirks.
Next is Amelia, who steps into the circle almost apologetically,gaze lowered, hands clasped in front of her. The professors barely look up—until the moment she exhales and touches her fingertips to the ground. There is no flash, no noise. Just a deep, resonant thrum beneath the grass, like something ancient stirring. One of the stones on the platform cracks clean down the center as fine moss blooms along its surface. Amelia looks up, green eyes steady now. The earth listened. She looks relieved.
It’s my turn next. I step into the circle with quiet determination, but tension rides my shoulders. The wind catches my hair as I pass the dais, the flickering elements stationed at the four points waiting—watchful. I draw a breath, steady but sharp, and reach toward the water basin.
And… nothing.
I set my feet and try again.
The surface of the basin remains perfectly, frustratingly, still.
A hush spreads over the dais. I hear the faint scrape of a pen, someone making a note.
My pulse kicks into panic. My hand trembles. I try to recall what it felt like in the lake this summer—how the water moved for me. How I called it back.
Nothing.
I hear a flicker of laughter from a group of second-years watching. Ian turns to whisper something to Nate. Rozsen stiffens where she stands beside Elliot. She steps forward just slightly. Toward me.
I bite my lip and lower my hand.
Maybe everything that’s happened before this means nothing.
Maybe I don’t belong here after all.
My thoughts start to cave inward, fear and doubt spreading, seeping through me—cold and deep. I start to turn away.
But then?—
The basin shifts.
The water moves—slowly, like a shy creature coaxed from its den. It swirls, forming a shape in the air, its lines sweeping and graceful, almost like a mirrored flower unfurling, or a figure twisting beneath waves. It faces me, as if it’s lookingatme.Throughme.
I inhale sharply, turning toward it, raising my left hand once more?—
And the water twitches, like a stone being thrown through it, ripples edging outward.
My pulse quickens.
The water surges upward in a spiraling column, not gentle like Elliot’s air, but fierce and high, sloshing over the basin’s rim and hanging in the air like a suspended wave. Water stretches outward, forming small blades, so thin at their edges that mist bursts outward in a sudden ring, catching light in every droplet. The ground dampens. The temperature drops. It’s beautiful—and completely out of control.
My eyes widen. I don’t move.
I didn’t mean to do that. Not really.
