“Try again,” Alistair ordered.

Tibs closed his eyes and focused on the little of the water he could feel within him surrounding a vast emptiness. He closed his hand on the pommel of the knife at his belt that Alistair had lent him. He did as he’d spent the last two days learning and channeled the essence through his arm to his hand, let it accumulate there; then, as he pulled it out of the sheath and added the flicking motion, he released the essence through the knife as the point lined up with his target.

The blade glittered as the water coated it, but what should have been a jet of water, as Alistair had demonstrated, was little more than a few drops that fell before him. Yet another attempt without the proper result.

His teacher looked more puzzled than angry. “It has to be because you are so young.”

“How old were you?” Tibs asked to mask how out of breath he was. Alistair had already expressed concern with how easily the exercises tired him out.

The man looked at the dummy they used as a target and his gaze became distant. “Sixteen,” he finally said, “is when I did my first dungeon dive, but it was more than a year after that before I graduated. Things didn’t happen this quickly back then, we knew to take our time.” He crouched before Tibs. “Look at me and call the water to your hand.”

He did so, keeping the small pool in his palm. This didn’t tire him out, he could keep the water in his hand for hours—it was the first thing Alistair had him do— it was the moment he let it fall away that he felt it. Not the movement needed in flinging it, just the water no longer being in contact with him.

The man studied Tibs’s eyes. “Still no change, not even a hint of blue. Definitely your age.” His tone became angry. “I told her you were too young.”

He wondered if he should tell Alistair what he’d done, the choice he’d made, instead of choosing Water itself, herself? Maybe it was why his eyes hadn’t changed? With the attention Alistair put on his eyes, Tibs had paid more attention to the other runners, and he’d noticed many of them had either unusual colors, or theirs were more vivid.

Tibs had worked out that those with reddish-brown eyes had earth as their element by sneaking around the tents where training for those with essence happened when Alistair had been called away. Those with air essence had light gray eyes, fire was red and water blue. There were other colors, green, purple, silver, black, and that strange color shifting that Tirania had, but he hadn’t worked out the corresponding elements. Everyone who had an element had eyes that matched it.

Except for him.

Alistair stood. “Alright, let’s call this a day, Tibs. Tomorrow we’ll try something different; clearly, the established methods aren’t working. We’ll start by testing your limits and go from there. So I’ll see you after your regular rogue training.” He pulled the tent flap out for Tibs.

Tibs exited and decided he couldn’t afford to wait for a perfect opportunity. “Is it possible Water isn’t the right element for me, and that’s why it doesn’t want to work?” If he could convince his teacher to take him to the other elements under the pretense of trying to find the right one, it would make things easy for him.

Alistair smiled sadly. “That isn’t how it works, Tibs. If Water had been wrong for you, you wouldn’t have survived your audience. It’s the reason why newly graduated divers are told to think carefully about the element they will pick.” Tibs frowned at him. “Well, we used to tell them that. Now it seems everyone gets rushed through without care for how many we lose.”

“That’s not it. Are divers what you called yourself? We’re runners now.”

The older man smiled, this time in amusement. “Yes, 'dungeon dives' is what we called what we did. The term changes every few decades. But to stay with your element, Water accepted you, so the reason for why you have trouble handling the basics will be something else, most likely your age.”

Or the fact that I didn't pick water. “But, can’t we still check with one of the other elements?” he asked, “Just to be sure?”

Alistair stopped and took Tibs by the shoulders. “Tibs, picking an element isn’t something you do, then change your mind," he said sternly. "Even if I somehow found a way to convince one of the other rogues to take you to their element, they won’t grant you an audience. You made your choice and they will know.”

“So I’m stuck this way?” There had to be a point where Alistair gave in.

The older man’s face softened. “I’m sorry Tirania pressured you into picking an element. I did try to convince you to wait.” He smiled. “But don’t worry, as you grow up and can do more, you’ll see that water is a good element. It’s among the more versatile of them.”

“That’s not it,” he hurried to say, not wanting Alistair to think he’d picked poorly or didn’t want him as his teacher. Alistair cared about what he taught him, unlike the old rogue teaching normal thieving skills. For all that he’d complained when Tirania assigned him to Tibs, Alistair seemed to enjoy his company. “It’s just that if this isn’t working,” he said in one last attempt, “Maybe it’s because water doesn’t think I’m right.” He looked down, focused on his feet and the words ‘Shoes of Silence, Average Quality’ appeared over them.

They no longer surprised him, as they had the first time, and he’d almost stumbled as he left the audience room with Alistair. He’d been tired from almost drowning, and talking with the Water essence, and having made a choice that he already wasn’t certain was the right one; keeping his head up had been a chore. As his eyes stared at his shoes, the words had just appeared and he’d startled. Tibs hadn’t been sure how to respond when Alistair had asked, but the man had been pleased when Tibs told him about the name of the shoes. Now that he had his element, the older rogue said, he’d be able to see some of the magic in the world.

Alistair hadn’t understood why Tibs had been taken aback. Yes, finding out his shoes were magical and that he could see it was a surprise, but it was that he’d understood the words floating there. Tibs didn’t know how to read. Even now he couldn’t make out what the words above the signs on the shop said, but the letters floating over his shoes had meaning to him, and that was amazing.

He couldn’t see names on everything. First, he needed to focus on them, and Alistair told him only magical items had names. But there had to be more to it because no matter how hard he stared at the rogue’s iridescent armor, no name appeared. When Tibs asked why, Alistair simply smiled enigmatically.

“I told you, if water didn’t find you worthy, you wouldn’t have survived.” The rogue’s word snapped Tibs out of his thoughts. They were by the guild building. “Enjoy the rest of your day Tibs, I am hoping our esteemed guild leader will deign to make time for me and that discussion I have promised her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The man entered and Tibs walked away, considering what he’d do. He wasn’t hungry yet, and he didn’t feel like sitting in the mess hall in case he was needed to fill in a team. He looked up. More and more roofs were wooden or tiled, he could climb up and—

“So that’s where you were.”

Tibs jumped and reached for where the practice knife would have been, had he not returned it before they left the tent.

“Good reflex,” Bardik said, “but it helps if you wear a knife, not that reaching for one openly in a town or city is a good idea. It could get you killed faster than whatever caused you to draw it. Also, the belt isn’t where you should keep a knife.”

“You didn’t say anything before,” Tibs replied, looking around. Where had the man come from? This was an open street and there weren’t so many people anymore they were crowded. Tibs would have seen him or felt him approach.

“But you do have an element, right? That’s why you were training with that guy. Show me your eyes.”

Sighing, Tibs looked up at the other rogue. Bardik’s eyes were black, not a dark version of another color. Pure black. Tibs tried to recall if Darkness was one of the elements Tirania had mentioned.

“That doesn’t look right for earth,” the man mused, tilting Tibs head up further. “But I don’t know anything that’s close to that.” He shrugged. “Earth isn’t all that great for a rogue. It makes you tougher and stronger, but do you really need that to break into a building, pick a pocket, walk a roof?” he gave Tibs a knowing smile. “Once you’re powerful enough, you’ll be able to walk through stone walls, but you have a ways to go.”

“It’s water.” Tibs discreetly focused on what Bardik wore, trying to see what, if anything, was magical, but the man took his chin in his fingers again.

“Are you sure?” He searched his eyes the way Tibs had searched empty cupboards for scraps of food.

“Alistair says it’s because of my age.”

Bardik released him. “I’m going to have to take his word for it. I’ve never heard of anyone having an element and not the matching eye color, but you are the youngest person I’ve heard of managing it. Water’s not bad. With some practice you can shape it into a knife and other tools.”

Tibs followed the other rogue, mulling over what he’d said while looking at the man. As far as his eyes told him, everything he wore was mundane.

“But I’m not the youngest to go into a dungeon.”

“No.” The rogue’s expression darkened, but when he spoke he sounded more sad than angry. “About sixty years ago was the last time a dungeon appeared before this one. That was right after a war, so you can see how the kingdoms were strapped for people to send.” He fell silent. When he spoke again, he was angry. “So they sent us children, and the guild fed them to the dungeon.”

Bardik stopped rubbing his left wrist when he noticed Tibs looking, but this time, instead of looking away, Tibs looked at the man expectantly.

“That’s not when I broke the rules and earned me this,” he said. “It should have been, but I was a brand new adventurer and believed every lie the guild fed me.” Tibs continued looking. “That’s all you’re getting and stop looking when I rub it, it’s rude. I’m trying to break the habit, but the damned thing itches.”

“You know you won’t always have it, right?”

“Oh?” Bardik glared at him. “And you’re an expert on them all of a sudden?”

Tibs shrugged. “Alistair had one. He still rubs his wrist. He said he did his tasks, and they removed it.”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t believe everything you’re told,” the man snapped. “You want to practice, or keep filling my head with other things ‘you’ve been told’?”

“You don’t have to be nasty about it,” Tibs mumbled, then spoke up. “I want to practice.”

“This isn’t me being nasty, Tibs.” The man forced out a slow breath. “It’s me being annoyed that someone who’s grown up on the street, and survived to reach your age, still believes what someone in power tells you.”

“So what do you want me to do? Stay away from everyone? Be alone all the time? At least Alistair isn’t going to die on me, like everyone else has in this place.”

“Oh, he can die,” Bardik said with a dark chuckle. “No one’s immune to that. Not even Gammas or Betas.”

“And what are you?”

The man went back to rubbing his wrist. “I was Delta. I’m Zeta now.”

Tibs went over the ranks and realized what that meant. “You can go down?” he exclaimed.

“No, you can’t go down,” Bardik replied, his expression darkening. “You’ve got to be forced down.”

“The guild?” he asked as they reached their usual training ground, the building still at the same level of un-construction.

“You know anyone else with that kind of power?” the rogue asked, handing Tibs a knife; he still didn’t know where it had come from.

“I’m street,” Tibs said, taking the knife. “I don’t know anyone with any kind of power.” He stepped away and turned to face the rogue.

Bardik smiled. “Tibs, when you call yourself that, you should put all the pride you can muster in it.” He took a fighting stance and motioned for the young rogue to come at him.