Note: I'm starting fresh with only a bare idea of what the plot is going to be, a name for a character, and that's it. As a result, this will likely be ROUGH.  That's why it's on an alt account.

"Jacoby, you don't have to do this," his brother said.

Jacoby gazed beyond his older brother, out to the vast testing plane that stretched for hundreds of miles to the north and east. The plane was littered with bumps, no doubt the calcified remains of previous Sovereign candidates from centuries ago.

It was almost guaranteed that his body would join them.

His older brother, Ken, placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know things are bad, but no one has the right to ask you to commit suicide."

Offended, Jacoby refocused on his brother. "Are you saying you don't think I have a chance?"

Ken turned to face the crowd of other Sovereign candidates. Most were speaking with their family members or exchanging last-minute tips with trainers. Like Jacoby, they had devoted their entire lives to the hope that the old man of water would finally do the best thing he could for the world and just die already, leaving an opening for a new Sovereign—the one person who could wield elemental magic and take care of them all.

Jacoby didn't want to die. While he had fantasized about the gifts and luxuries that came with being Sovereign, including palaces and unlimited food, he knew it wasn't enough to justify risking his life for the chance to rule. No, the reason he was doing this boiled down to one simple thought:

We can't afford another Sovereign like the last one.

Looking around at his competitors, Jacoby saw people who were well-fed, happy, and excited at the thought of becoming the most important and powerful person in the world. They would oversee everything, responsible for all the magic.

But Jacoby's city-state hadn't seen rain in over fifteen years.

They were a people of fire, accustomed to going without and digging deep for moisture from aquifers, as well as capturing morning and evening fog from the salt sea. But fifteen years was too much, and the last Sovereign, who had control over water, had failed them.

Jacoby looked at his brother and felt his resolve firm. "The next Sovereign will be one of fire," he promised.

Ken smiled, but his expression was sad. Deep in his heart, Jacoby knew that his brother was planning to mourn his younger sibling's death.

Well, I'll just have to prove him wrong. I'll have to prove them all wrong.

The rich kids, particularly those dressed in the blue and green which marked them as affiliated to the water element, had been training all their lives to become Sovereigns.

Jacoby had trained as well… in his own way. He hoped it would be enough.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and heads turned towards a stage that had been set up almost a quarter mile away. The crowd was so thick between here and there that the people looked like a field of wheat.

“If you're sure about this,” Ken said, squeezing Jacoby's shoulder as if he was afraid to let him go.

But Jacoby was no child. He was sixteen years old, having just celebrated his entrance into adulthood last summer.

Though Ken might have wanted to hold him back, he had no authority.

“I'm sure,” Jacoby turned and smiled at his brother. “I'll see you on the other side.”

Tears formed in Ken's eyes, but he kept them back for Jacoby's sake.

“I'll see you on the other side,” Jacoby repeated. He didn't want the last moments he saw of his brother to be him mourning his passing. So, determinedly, he turned away.

***

The crowd parted to allow family members and trainers to leave the Sovereign candidates who then gathered closer to the stage. Many were already jostling for a prime position at the front, but Jacoby knew better than to risk being crushed against the stage. It was said over three hundred were lost in a crowd crush three Sovereigns ago.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Despite his near constant childhood hunger, Jacoby stood taller than most. That wasn’[t unusual: Some of the men among them were built like brick houses. The young women in the crowd were also well-built, though he wondered about the few tiny ladies and what tricks they might have up their sleeves.

His thoughts were interrupted as the head judge, dressed in tattered clothing that fluttered in the wind, took the stage.

The judge did not have access to mana, a privilege reserved for the reigning Sovereign, but he clearly had a strong connection to his chosen element. His practiced voice boomed out over the candidates, driving away Jacoby's previous thoughts.

"Welcome, everyone, to the official Sovereign trials," the speaker announced, "and I thank you in advance for your probable sacrifice. As you know, only the strongest, worthiest, and most blessed by the world herself may be the one to call themselves Sovereign at the end of these trials."

He continued, "The first and most famous stage is, of course, the journey. You will line up in orderly lines and a judge will record your name, birthplace, and age. I repeat again, because the records always state that there are a few who try to bypass the rules—the minimum age is sixteen years old. Anyone less than sixteen will be immediately disqualified. To try to qualify when you are not eligible is a high felony and you will carry the mark of shame branded on your forehead for the rest of your life. Do not test us in this."

"Most of you who do qualify, please present yourselves and prepare to receive your mana. You will take this journey to bond with your mana and your element. Those who survive will go on to the secondary stage of the trial," the speaker continued.

As he spoke, Jacoby cast a glance to the barren flats of the journey stage, wondering what challenges lay ahead in this grueling process.

It wasn't just the environment you had to fight against, but also your own competitors.

He doubted that one-tenth of the people standing there would be alive at the end. His eye caught on some people who looked incredibly young, and he doubted they were even fifteen.

Will I have to kill some of these kids? he asked himself. But he already knew the answer: yes.

Only one person could be Sovereign, and all other competitors would be eliminated. This was something he had always known - it was the legend of the Sovereign himself, the last man standing. The one that the world itself celebrated and blessed with all comforts and power.

I will have to kill people, Jacoby said to himself, but I'm doing it for a righteous cause.

He didn't know why he suddenly felt a little unsure about it and did his best to push down that feeling as an unimportant weakness.

The judge continued, "Take tonight to bond with your mana. The journey will officially open tomorrow at sunrise."

The judge gestured to the side where at least six more men and women in various colored robes waited with a sparkling substance in a box beside them. Each represented a different element: Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Lightning, Metal, Death

These judges were part of the Sovereign's Council, and as some said, the actual power in the world. Jacoby could believe it: He could easily imagine the Sovereign foisting all work off to other people.

He was supposed to feel grateful or lucky to be receiving magic directly from the hands of some of the world's most powerful people. But all he could do as he got in line was stare at the judges and think, “Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you train him? Why didn't you advise him? Why didn't any of you ever tell him no? Or kick him out of his bed and tell him to do his damn job?”

The line crawled along slowly. Though there were seven lines in total, each one moved at the pace of a snail. It seemed that the judges went through an arduous process of verifying age, even though the vast majority of the candidates were adults. There were even some out-and-out senior citizens with hard eyes and wrinkled faces.

Jacoby couldn't understand what they were doing here, or why they thought they had a chance at all. But maybe, like him, they simply didn't have anything to lose.

The line crawled forward, and there was no sympathy or care for the candidates' general comfort. If anybody needed to use the bathroom, the closest facilities were back at the village, meaning that they would have to step out of their place in line and then return to the back of the line again.

The same went for simple water. Jacoby saw two people faint from the heat.

The fainters were simply left to the side, with no one offering any aid. One roused on their own and walked off, staggering, towards the village. The other one simply didn't.

Jacoby tried not to look, but couldn't help himself. Already, the message was given that there would be no kindness, no succor here. Already, the candidates were on their own.

This is wrong, he thought, but again, pushed that weak, unworthy thought away.

He had to toughen up. He always knew that this would be the fight of his life. He didn't know why he was having any pause at all. Others weren't.

He saw some of the tougher men and women shove and push their way to the front, likely thinking that any extra hours with their mana gift would give them the edge. Jacoby didn't think so, or else he would be pushing and shoving too. He saw several fights break out, and one person was stabbed.

They, too, were given no help and were forced to make the journey back to the village on their own two feet with their own strength.

“This is how it is," he said. Luckily, his line was fairly peaceful. It helped that Jacoby stood a head over of the few people in front or behind him.

He was a little on the thin side, but he had his own knife tucked in his waistband, and nobody with sense wanted to mess with him.

Jacoby was used to arid, hot conditions, but even his lips felt parched. He had brought his own water skin, of course, but after seeing some robberies, he only drank from it quickly and covertly.

Finally, after three and a half hours of waiting in the blazing sun, he reached the front of the line.

The judge, the same one who had made the speech, the man of air and wind, imperiously gestured him forward.

It was time he received his mana.