A male student, obviously an upperclassman, was the next volunteer to attempt the crossing. He walked a couple of yards down the trail and grabbed hold of a massive log, rolling it sideways so that was parallel with the river. Then, with a great heave, he turned the log across the waterway, creating a makeshift bridge. The other students shouted their approval as he trudged across, breaking into a run as the wood groaned under his weight.

“That’s Chaz, a gorilla,” Morgan whispered. “He made it through division two and challenged one of the match champions last year, but he lost.” Ember’s eyebrows shot up—she couldn’t imagine someone so strong losing to anyone, or the school condoning a fight where the opponent could end up with his skull crushed.

A few agile students took advantage of Chaz’s work and darted across the log. It slumped lower before cracking in the middle and giving way completely, hitting the rocks with a wet thwack and quickly being swept down the river.

Next, two pisces and one armored insect took a more direct route, struggling across the river itself by swimming in short bursts and grabbing the rocks for support. All three made it to the opposite bank, where Chaz and the flying squirrel hauled them up onto dry land. They lay there, panting and drenched, with torn clothes and an array of shallow cuts speckling their skin.

Hickory congratulated the triumphant students, seemingly unfazed by their minor injuries. Then, he turned and looked expectantly at the others. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, and Ember found herself shuffling out of his field of vision. “Well?” he asked.

“This isn’t fair!” a female student exclaimed, approaching Hickory with her hands on her hips. “You can’t actually expect us to do this on the first day. My advisor didn’t say anything about crossing river rapids!”

One corner of Hickory’s wide mouth twitched. “Let me remind you that this is an elective. If you can’t take this challenge-” croak “-you can still drop this class or swap it for Analysis of Environmental Data, which offers a more written approach. But I do guarantee that if you stick with this class, you will be more prepared for the rest of your four years at the university and for your life as a Linnaean.”

Looking annoyed, the girl turned on her heel and stormed back up the campus walkway, taking a few other students with her. As Hickory watched them go, Ember swore he looked pleased with himself. She glanced at Morgan, not wanting to give up but unsure of how to proceed. Other than the dark scales covering her shoulders and forehead, the other girl had no visible mutations, and certainly nothing that could help them cross the river.

Emboldened—or perhaps intimidated—by the professor’s speech, a handful of students made their attempts. Two were successful, and three had to be hauled out of the water by Hickory, but each one received a shouted congratulations or a pat on the back.

Soon, the class was dwindling in size, with at least half the students on the opposite shore. As Ember scoured the site, growing desperate, she remembered something she’d seen on her first days on campus: a network of insect tunnels, expanding outwards from a cone-shaped mound.

Operating on guesswork alone, she took Morgan by the arm and pulled her behind the trees. “Where are we going?” Morgan whispered as they ran parallel to the river.

“Look for some sort of entrance! An opening or a hatch.”

She nodded, catching on, and together they searched for anything that might lead underground. They could hear Hickory’s exclamations behind them, a reminder that they’d be left behind if they didn’t hurry.

Ember skidded to a stop. One of her footsteps had rang louder than the others, a hollow thwack instead of the usual thump muffled by the forest floor. She retraced her steps, finding a spot where the spongy ground was hard and unyielding. Together, the women brushed leaves from the surface, revealing a small wooden door.

Ember only hesitated for a moment before prying open the latch and lowering herself into the tunnel below. Morgan followed, leaving the door open so that some light would filter through the opening.

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Their feet sunk into the moisture-soaked earth as they padded forward. The tunnel ran steeply downward, eventually leveling off when the darkness grew too thick for Ember to see even a few feet ahead. Still, they pressed on, dragging their hands against the clay and stone walls to keep their bearings.

“Do you think we’re past the river?” Morgan asked softly. Ember said nothing, her mouth stuck shut from the pressure of the hundreds of thousands of gallons of water overhead. She stepped forward again, only to realize that the tunnel branched off in both directions, each one equally dark.

“You need help?” a low voice asked. Ember yelped, whipping around to sense—rather than see—a hunched figure no more than a foot away.

Something shuffled in the darkness, and a moment later a flame flickered into existence, illuminating a ghastly creature with compound eyes and wriggling antennae.

Morgan let out a yelp and stumbled backward as Ember’s mouth dropped open in horror.

The creature made a calming gesture with its hands. “...Linnaean,” it rasped, its mandibles clicking together with a jarring snap.

Ember stuttered something incomprehensible. It wasn’t just that the creature had some features of an insect—its entire head was that of a massive ant’s, hairy and distended like a poorly sewn doll. The rest of its body appeared human, although the dim light made it impossible to be certain.

“Linnaean,” it repeated, taking a few steps away from Ember.

When it didn’t attack, she managed to take a choking breath. “Y-you’re Linnaean?”

The creature nodded and gestured to the ground, where a bucket sat full of maintenance and janitorial supplies. “Fixing.”

Ember slumped against the tunnel wall. “I’m so sorry. You work at the university.”

It nodded again. “Frog… making you cross again?”

“Yeah. Do you know which path we should take?”

“Left. Door coming soon.” It thrust out the lantern. “You take. I can see in the dark.”

Ember thanked the insect-person profusely, grabbing the lantern with one hand and Morgan with the other. They trudged up the left tunnel, and as promised the door soon appeared overhead.

Both girls staggered as they emerged into the fresh air and sunlight. “Let’s hurry,” Ember said, pointing down the river where Hickory’s voice could just barely be heard. They took off at a run, joining the successful group with their skin blackened with dirt and their breath coming in gasps.

“I feel like half my life’s been spent underground,” Morgan said, bending over with her hands on her knees. Their classmates thumped them on the back, offering their compliments and asking where they’d come from.

“Two more!” Hickory yelled from across the water. “Very good! That concludes our first challenge.” He turned and said something to the three unsuccessful students who remained at his side, and they nodded, but his words were lost to the roar of the river.

To Ember’s absolute shock, the professor gathered all three students in his arms, waddled to the edge of the water, and sprung upwards like a coiled spring. His stubby back legs unfurled to one and a half times his body length, propelling him easily across the water. The students yelped and clung to his arms, but he landed carefully only a moment later, depositing them on the opposite shore.

“Well then,” he said, brushing it off as though nothing had happened. The class looked at him agape, and even Chaz looked impressed. Ember found herself running calculations in her head: he must have lifted three times his body weight and jumped at least ten times his body length! How is such a thing possible?

“Let’s talk-” croak “-about this challenge. I am most impressed, and each of you who attempted or successfully completed the crossing will receive full credit. Those who quit will, of course, receive nothing.” The students looked around at each other, smiling, and even those who had hesitated looked happy to be acknowledged by Hickory. “Some of you used your mutations to cross: whether it be increased strength, agility, or a new skill entirely. Others took advantage of Chaz’s tree bridge while it still stood, and although this is valid, I encourage you to consider what you had done if the bridge had not been available.”

“Finally,” he continued, turning his big eyes on Ember and Morgan, “I must recognize these two young women. Judging by their state of dress and their traumatized expressions, I am going to guess that they used the tunnels instead of risking the water. This strategy is worthy of praise, perhaps above the others. Although I might be wrong, both of them seem early in their development-” Ember and Morgan nodded in confirmation “-and this would have put them at a disadvantage. Moreover, even the most impressive mutations—like my own—can be utterly useless in some scenarios. When I encounter saltwater, for example, I must wear a special suit or my skin becomes so dry that I require immediate resuscitation.

“All of this is to say that it is important to use your logic above all else. For many of us, the difference between the Linnaean and his source species is the ability to use advanced reasoning. Don’t forfeit this ability because your mutations make you strong or quick.”

The students nodded, and it was clear that Hickory’s lesson had resonated with many of them. “Come now,” he croaked, gesturing further into the forest, “I still have more to show you.”