Page 11 of Unbound

With a small nod, the water elemental gestures, and gentle waters flow from the ground itself, enveloping each body in a cocoon of liquid. The water of each cocoon swirls together, forms a perfect sphere, and then collapses on itself, leaving no sign of the dead.

A gust of wind pushes me toward the door. I struggle against it, feet sliding on the stone floor, but I'm inexorably moved through the doorway, which slides shut behind me with a sound like rumbling stone.

And then I'm alone and in near silence. It's only me and the strange, silvery spiral on the back of my hand.

I lean against the wall, gasping for breath, legs finally giving out as I slide to the floor. My entire body trembles uncontrollably, the delayed shock hitting me like a physical blow now that immediate danger has passed.

I breathe deeply, feeling a newfound appreciation for the sweetness of air filling my body. For the steady beat of my heart. For the simple miracle of still being alive.

In a way, I feel a strange relief. I offered up my sins for judgment, and... they let me walk away. They let me live.

I'm not ready to forgive myself, but maybe it all means there was a reason for me to keep going. Maybe there's some purpose to my life, and I need to keep fighting to find out why the gods didn't let me die back there.

The sound of nearby voices tells me I don't have long alone. I take one more look at the mark on the back of my hand and my stomach sinks. Based on the way the elementals reacted, I'm certain I won't find anyone else with a mark like this out there.

So how the hell am I going to explain it?

And more importantly—what exactly does "unbound" mean?

3

My entire body trembles as I stumble from the trial chamber. The stone hallway stretches before me—too bright, too loud, too everything.

First, I thought I would die when I volunteered myself for selection back in Saltcrest. Then I thought I would die when they told us of the trial we'd face and I began to hear the screams and the sounds of offerings dying in that chamber.

Death keeps staring me in the face and somehow I keep slipping through its grasp. But how much longer can my luck hold? How many more times can I dance with death before it finally claims me?

The dining hall looms ahead, voices spilling out in a chaotic symphony of relief and terror. I pause at the threshold, taking inventory of my own body like it's something alien. Legs, functioning but unsteady. Lungs, burning with each breath. And on the back of my left hand, that impossible silver spiral pulses against my skin, sending waves of pins and needles up my arm. I shove my hand deep into my pocket, fingers curling into a tight fist. Whatever happened in that testing chamber wasn't normal. Until I know more, this secret stays buried.

Inside the high-ceilinged dining hall, survivors cluster in small groups. It's tragically few compared to the hundreds who entered. Their faces bear the same stunned disbelief as mine must, that peculiar feeling of facing death only to find a new lease on life instead.

Many hold up their left hands, studying newly earned affinity marks with reverent awe. Air marks—spiraling white wind patterns that seem to shift and dance when viewed from different angles—dominate the room. Water marks follow close behind, stylized blue waves flowing across skin. I spot only a handful of earthy green mountain symbols, and even fewer fire marks—vibrant crimson flames that seem to pulse with a heartbeat of their own.

Affinity marks.

Everyone in the room now bears something we likely never thought to see on our own skin. The marks of a primal in training. Once we're done dealing with the shock of surviving and the dangers facing us, I imagine many will be exhilarant about our new circumstances.

The chance to become a primal is the chance to become more than just elite. Becoming a primal means securing status for yourself, your family, and your descendants for all of time. It's the highest honor and the greatest power imaginable, and now we're all seemingly on the path of earning it for ourselves.

I keep to the edges of the room, shoulder brushing against the cold stone wall. A few heads turn as I pass, eyes lingering on my pocket where my hand remains hidden. Do they know? Can they sense the wrongness of my mark? My skin crawls under their scrutiny, each glance feeling like an accusation.

It's clear how quickly the survivors are sorting themselves by affinity. My hidden hand is drawing more and more attention by the second.

"—supposed to report to the combat arena next," a tall boy says nearby, his voice pitched high with barely contained panic.

"Combat? Today?" A stocky girl with cropped hair shakes her head, fingers unconsciously tracing the blue wave on her palm. "We just survived that nightmare, and now they want us fighting?"

"That's the point," replies another boy with an edge of false bravado. "They want to see who's worth training. If we want to be primals, we need to learn to be tough, right?" The words sound hollow, a lifeline he's clinging to.

I edge toward the corridor that leads deeper into the building, where a guard directs survivors, checking their marks before sending them along with instructions.

My throat goes tight, skin breaking out in a light sweat. There's no way out of this damn area without passing that guard. Without showing my mark—my impossible, unexplainable mark that had the elementals acting as if I was some sort of monster. The fire elemental even tried to kill me for it. So what the hells would the guards here do if they saw it?

Fingers close around my shoulder, making me jerk my head around.

I turn to see three students.

The first is a lean boy with platinum blonde hair and hard eyes. His green mountain mark—earth affinity—glows on the back of his hand.

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