*Brook*

The wind tastes like ash, carrying the smoke from the Ambrosian’s attack. They’re assembled behind the Oceanan soldiers, shooting their magic at us with wild abandon. I stand at the back of the Altinnian line, feet planted wide, arms raised, water already swirling at my fingertips. I never received the same training as River, was never taught to be as graceful or powerful as the Oceanan soldiers, but my magic listens to me, and that’s all I can ask of it for now.

I pull from the well inside me, deeper than I’ve ever gone before, and send a blast of water arcing through the air. It catches two...