The private dining room in the tower was another exercise in excess. The walls were adorned with more tapestries, the furniture was dark and polished or bright and gilded. The lighting was soft, bleeding from panels in the walls, set low and moody. The table itself was a masterpiece of polished dark wood, long enough to seat a dozen but set this day for three. The ware on the table would have cost a village’s ransom, fine crystal goblets, solid silver cutlery, fine and exotic bone chinas.

As I took my seat, my stomach gurgled unhappily. I had to be hungry, on some level. I had exerted myself so fiercely that day, burned up everything I had. But the nausea of what weighed on me made me doubt very much that I would be able to eat.

A server placed a bowl of leek and potato soup before me and it convinced me otherwise. My mouth watered at the aroma and it stunned me to discover that an appetite lurked behind my anxiety. Next to the soup stood a glass of perfectly chilled white wine. A fine sheen of condensation coated the surface. I dipped my spoon into the soup and tasted it. My stomach reacted my cramping with hunger and not sickness. A few sips of the wine started to ease my nerves.

Baltazar and the bishop sat opposite each other. They both tasted the soup, but their eyes remained fixed on each other. I understood that I had provoked a confrontation between the two. The priesthood and the government existed in a finely-tuned relationship. I had provoked a discord in that delicate machine.

As the servers retreated the two men put their spoons down.

The Bishop broke the silence first. "Lord Supreme, I respect your desire to preserve the integrity of The Choosing, but there is nothing that can be done. After what we witnessed today, we can't let this boy wear a suit again. The risks to himself, to others, to the city are too great."

Baltizar leaned forward, his gaze intense. "What we witnessed today was a display of affinity with the suit that has never been seen before."

The Bishop shook his head slightly. "Let's not say never seen before. There are accounts running back centuries that might match or exceed what the boy did."

Baltizar’s voice grew firmer. "Activating and successfully using the Footfield during the Choosing."

The Bishop’s expression was stern. "Well, perhaps not that exactly, but similar feats. I fear that the legend growing up around this child exceeds his actual capabilities. He has gained attributes very quickly, but there are also accounts across the lands, across history, of madmen being able to do amazing things with a Griid-suit. But what matters is that mad they remain."

Baltizar’s eyes flashed with anger. "So you would deign to choose for yourself who can enter or remain in the contest? If the priesthood feels a contestant is mad, anyone can be ejected? And what even is to define madness, Your Grace? I think The Choosing exists to allow the Oracle to choose the next Griidlord."

The Bishop paused, considering Baltizar’s words. Then he spoke, his tone unwavering. "The Oracle can't choose this mad boy, that is a given. And if we allow him to remain in the contest, who knows what harm may be done."

Baltizar’s eyes blazed with intensity as he countered, "What you are seeing in Tiberius is not madness but brilliance. You can’t deny him at least the opportunity for the Oracle to choose him. Are you denying that the Oracle hasn’t already blessed him, given how quickly he has gained attributes?"

The Bishop snorted dismissively. "Have I not said already, Lord Supreme, that that may be the result of madness? What more can I possibly add? What more can possibly be said? He must exit the contest."

There was silence for a minute. We all busied ourselves with our soups—me from genuine hunger, and they to occupy their bodies as they thought about what next to say. After a time, the servers returned to the room, scooping up the old dishes and replacing them with platters of sushi and crispy morsels of fried chicken. I was not unaccustomed to delicacies, as my father's chefs were every bit as good as those in the tower. But my father had an aversion to the idea of eating raw fish, so the sushi was a rare treat. I found myself indulging in the food, using it to remove myself from the conversation that was so important, but that I could not really influence.

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

Baltizar resumed, "This could incite riots, revolution. The people are falling in love with this commoner who has done so well. It deepens their loyalty to the institution of Boston that one from their class has been given the chance to become the Sword. Removing him now will reek of conspiracy."

The Bishop countered, "Riots are something I am willing to risk. If he had destroyed the Mystorium with his foolishness today, or managed to wipe out the entire class with his madness, what would become of the city then? Putting down a little revolt is a small matter compared to the riots we would see if we cannot win orbs in the coming season."

Baltizar leaned forward. "And you would throw away one who has the potential to win orbs at a pace that has never been seen."

The Bishop chortled. "Lord Supreme, please, don't let yourself get carried away with the fancies that have so enamored the peasants. He has gained some attributes, it is quite remarkable, but he has not come close to showing the array of skills a real Griidlord needs. He has been slow to learn grace, and his decision-making..."

Baltizar interrupted. "His decision-making has been astonishing, Your Grace. He let his teammate return the fiend's head during the hunt, delegating the task to the one most suited. And we both know how clever he was, using the opportunity to advance his skills with the suit."

The Bishop’s eyes narrowed. "Clever sounds like a synonym for dishonest in that context."

Baltizar stood firm. "He played within the rules and found every advantage for himself. What more could a city want than a Sword who can find every advantage?"

The Bishop’s tone grew colder. "We are not talking about him as the Sword. His odds of exceeding Lance, Gideon, or those two very impressive girls are still very slim."

Baltizar’s expression did not waver. "No, but we are talking about the rules."

The Bishop paused, chewing a piece of oily fish and sour rice. He finally said, "He broke the rules."

Baltizar leaned back, his voice calm but firm. "He most certainly did not."

The Bishop’s eyes gleamed with a steely resolve. "That is why we are here. He broke the unwritten rules of conduct."

Baltizar had to choke himself off, his rage growing, threatening even his cool demeanor. He gathered himself and said, "A pillar of The Choosing is that the rules are explicit, the event is transparent. Noble houses cannot take issue with each other as their children are chosen and rejected if there is no ambiguity. The people cannot feel cheated when the conditions are made completely explicit. Even introducing the vaguest concept of unwritten rules sullies it, threatens an institution that has existed since the Tower first rose."

The Bishop paused, trying to find a response. Baltizar pushed on, "What you are speaking of doing threatens the sanctity of The Choosing. It creates a precedent. If it doesn't cause chaos and downfall in this Choosing, then it may in the next. Once you open the door to officials being able to remove a contestant from The Choosing, the parameters for those choices will become malleable over time. In short order, it won't be the Oracle choosing the next Griidlords—it will be the presiding Bishop or the Lord Supreme."

Baltizar stared at the Bishop as the cleric chewed. Baltizar said, "And if it doesn't come back to bite our asses in our lifetimes, you and I both know that eventually it will bring everything down. Do you want to be remembered as the man who put those events in motion?"

There was silence. The only sound was that of the Bishop chewing slowly, no trace of satisfaction on his face. He swallowed almost painfully.. Then he said, "This is not an event we are willing to discuss. The boy is done. We won't move on this."

Baltizar’s face hardened, and he leaned forward. "This is not just about one boy. This is about the integrity of The Choosing itself. If you remove him now, you will be remembered as the man who undermined the very foundation of our society."

The Bishop's eyes stared blankly.

I had taken too much wine already, I knew that. But the suffering of this experience, the dread for my future, the tension of the moment, begged to be dulled. I sipped again and let it soothe me.

Balthazar held the bishop’s gaze and waited. Then, suddenly, it was there. The bishop’s eyes flickered, doubt peeking through.

Baltizar pounced, "Think about the message you're sending to the people. That they have no place in the decisions that shape their lives. That the Oracle's will can be overridden by the whims of the powerful. Do you want that on your conscience?"

The Bishop set down his utensils and leaned back, staring at Baltizar. For a moment, it seemed as though he was resigning himself to agreeing with the Lord Supreme. But then his face hardened again. He said, "The boy is a danger. We cannot afford to take risks with the Mystorium, with the lives of the people, with the stability of our city. This is not up for debate."