Substantially Altered or New Paragraphs: (Chaps 1-30 covered as of 7th October)

Chapter 1

I had hoped to find myself in the same boat as my peers. For all twelve of us this was our first time in the suit. I had hoped their struggles would be at least as great as mine. I had worked hard to exceed at this. They had had a head start in life. My childhood had been a bed-ridden existence. It was only in my teens that I had been brought to the training field. The others seemed to have learned to swing a sword before they could talk.

Chapter 2

The others climbed aboard carriages to leave for their homes in the countryside, or were joined by retinues to return to their lodgings. I walked by myself. I was not alone. I had glimpsed Zeb as I descended the steps. He was always there, watching me. Father had invested too much in me, and too many were too displeased by my presence in The Choosing, for me to go unguarded. Zeb disappeared into the shadows. He didn’t creep or leap, the big man in the dark cloak just walked, with a detached ease, and yet something about his movement seemed to lose eyes that tried to follow him.

Even when I couldn’t see him, I knew he was lurking nearby.

***

I continued walking, my mind struggling with the obvious reality that I couldn't compete with the others. I was burdened heavily with thoughts of my father's disappointment. I seethed slightly at his expectations. How could he have expected different? He might have supplied me with the finest tutors that money could buy, but did he think the nobles had done any different with their children? And had they spent their early years confined to bed, attended to by furrow-browed physicians rather than skilled trainers?

Chapter 4

Morningstar looked at me. Again, like Baltazar, he gave me the impression that he was really seeing me. He said, “Your Daddy says you weren’t well as a child.”

I looked away. Morningstar was a hero, I didn’t want to talk about my sickly youth.

He seemed to understand this, his tone was gentle. He said, “Hey, you’re big and strapping now. I don’t mean to stir up bad memories, but it’s relevant. You weren’t well enough to train until you were thirteen?”

I nodded, and said, “Yeah.. thereabouts.

He narrowed his eyes, “And what could keep a lad bound to a bed for his whole childhood, but leave no trace in his teens? I mean it, you look as big and strong as any noble’s son.”

I said, “I don’t know. I saw a lot of doctors. A lot of them. They were always examining my head, looking at my eyes. Father won’t talk about it. He says I should count myself blessed by the Oracle that my malady faded. I think… I think there was a sickness in my brain.”

Morningstar continued to look at me for another few moments. There was silence. Then he spoke again.

Chapter 5

Katya exploded at him again. Olaf was better prepared this time, but even at that, there was a chasm between their abilities. Their movements in the suits would probably have seemed child-like to a spectator who had never worn one. But to me, to all of us, Katya’s display was intimidating. It was as though they were learning to walk for the first time, and Katya had taken a huge headstart.

My mind drifted a moment. It hadn’t been that long ago that I’d had to learn to walk myself. I remembered those days when the malady that plagued my childhood had so suddenly disappeared. I remembered yet another physician, talking to my father, remarking on the miracle that had transpired. I remembered the excitement. But the frustration, as well. My head had plagued me for years, when I regained the ability to leave my bed, to move my body as I wished, there had been such elation to start with. I saw a new life for myself, one I had given up on save for in my wildest dreams. But the excitement faded as I discovered how atrophied my young legs were, how uncoordinated my movements were. The disappearance of the sickness had only been the beginning of new trials.

I watched Katya and Olaf, clumsy as they might be, and felt a bitterness. Five or six years ago I was training myself to simply walk again, while these two would have been learning to dance with a sword. What was Father thinking? How could I hope to compete against a head start like that?

Katya screamed. It was an animal noise, fierce, guttural, loud. She had maneuvered Olaf like a dumb beast, driven him to the edge of the circle. As she bellowed, she swung at him. He managed to bring his sword up to absorb the blow, but the sheer weight of the attack, the momentum of the aggression, drove him back. His stumbling feet shuffled, trying to stay inside the circle. Katya screamed once more, throwing her whole body behind another swing and Olaf’s right foot landed outside the ring.

Chapter 7

Lauren moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The half-helm she wore left her blonde hair flowing freely behind her. The golden stream followed behind her, trailing her movements. The previous day, in the full suit, her beautiful form had still been on display. The full suit had melded itself to her form, swelling where she swelled best, and pinching in where her body curved inward. The half-suit was even more breathtaking. It was lighter, only serving to highlight her curves all the more. Where the suit left spaces, her bare skin winked at me. I found my heart beating faster as I watched her. I couldn’t suppress the longing I felt.

It was a stupid childish desire. She was a lady, a noble. It was only fantasy for me to think of her that way. At the best of times, I would struggle to even form words to her. My life, a childhood as a sickly wastling, then the years of intensity preparing me for this contest, none of them had left time to make friends or talk to girls. They tongue-tied me. But still, I found my thoughts wandering to fantasy.

***

Watching her in that moment, I felt so many feelings. I admired her, how could I not? And I longed for her, but that was no different to what every red-blooded male in the arena must have felt. I was bitter as well. My body was no longer the wasted thing it had been when the headaches vanished and my vision cleared as the sickness left me. I was tall and strong, well-built for the role of a fighter. But by the time I had first picked up a practice sword, Lauren, and her peers, would already have been experts.

Chapter 8

In my mind, it felt as though he was speaking just for me. It penetrated me, how true his words were. I could feel my ego fading as I struggled to deny any of it. But I looked again at Gideon. His anger had cost once already today, but here it was a shield. I would be better served with anger than fear.

As Mario continued his tirade, I clenched my fists. This endless pity I felt for myself would do me good. The excuse of a sickly childhood would not lessen the blows from my opponents. I had one chance, probably one chance in my whole life, to do this.

Looking back, I know what Mario was. He was a bully. He was a small man with an ugly personality. He lifted himself by lowering us. Then though, I didn’t understand it so well. His words streamed on. I tried to find the fire to rise above them.

Chapter 10

Then a shadow fell over me from behind, above me on the steps. My heart lurched at the sudden presence. I remembered the hatred in Olaf’s eyes and I imagined the big man standing above me, consumed by revenge. It was a stupid thought. Zeb lurked nearby. Zeb was always lurking and watching. If a threat had approached me it would have been put down before it even considered me a target.

I turned and found the curious form of Katya looking down at me. She stared openly, inspecting me like a science project. Her ways were strange. I understood people had different customs in her far-flung land, but it was still difficult to reconcile her manners.

Chapter 12

I felt my skin growing cold. There was terror enough and challenge enough in this wihtout the new pressures that weighed down on. I thought of father’s words from the previous night. If I failed today, if I failed any day, it wasn’t just the Choosing that I would lose. I would doom my family.

Again I cursed my father for his madness. How had he ever expected me to compete against these nobles? They had been trained from the moment they could walk. I had been frail wreck in a bed, with no expectation that my life would ever be anything.

***

While I didn’t appreciate the old bastard’s words, I did appreciate his choice. I felt the excitement in me at the prospect of teaming up with Lauren. The idea of being close to her, of talking to her made my chest flutter. But all the same, it brought anxiety itself. What did you say to girls? Father had used me for his ends and had never thought that my life might be better if I’d been able to mix with others my age, make friends, and make mistakes. But to my father, I was only a thing that served a purpose.

Chapter 28 - Has been deleted and written from scratch, includes a conversation with Zeb.

The shadows lengthened as the evening deepened.

I walked alone through the gates of the arena. My mind was occupied—racing, even. Thoughts of Baltazar, his support, his promises, flooded my mind. My father’s intensity... no, not intensity. The only right word was desperation. It weighed on me. The man might not have been a bastion of love. He may, in fact, have been a force that subjugated my life, making it an accessory to his own. But for all the things he was and wasn’t, my father had always been cool. Unflappable.

That veneer was peeling away now. He had extended himself too much. In doing so, he risked everything he had built.

As I approached the arena, I saw movement. Men were carrying tools and lumber, the sounds of construction echoing from within. I could hear the whining of electric motors and the rumbling of engines. They were hard at work on some project for the coming challenge. Order had been elevated. The city, normally miserly with its Flows, had made the Choosing important enough to warrant some expenditure.

Then I saw Katya, and all other thoughts fled from me. Her petite figure loitered near the workmen. She seemed utterly serene. Even from this distance, I could tell there was no tension in her, despite being alone among so many strange men. She leaned against a wall, apart from the world.

"Are you trying to bed her?"

My heart leapt in my chest, and I spun at the sudden noise.

Zeb had appeared, walking alongside me. The man’s feet made no sound. He barely raised an eyebrow at my reaction.

I gathered myself. "You’re too big to move so quietly."

He barely changed his expression, just the hint of a thin smile. Then he narrowed his eyes at me. "Well, are ya?"

Zeb’s accent was strange. He hailed from the far North, where they bred men tough. They had to be tough. Fiends were more common the further north you traveled, and up there, slaying a fiend was a rite of passage, not a once-in-a-lifetime horror like it was for the common man down here.

My cheeks reddened. "We’re training."

Zeb nodded. It was rare for him to speak at all. The man was silence itself. He was constantly around me, watching for my safety, yet I barely knew him.

He said, "She’s a daft one. The daft ones can be the best for bedding, but mind you don’t put a baby in—"

I hissed, "Zeb! Shit! It’s not like that."

He lazily raised another eyebrow and leveled his eyes at me.

"It’s not," I insisted. "We’re training. She’s a competitor. I’m... we..."

Zeb said, "And what about all that marriage talk? Bed the daft ones, lad, don’t marry ’em."

"You heard that?" I said, flustered. "What am I saying, of course you heard everything."

Zeb just nodded, his face placid.

"I don’t know about any of that," I said, stumbling over my words. "It’s just joking around, I think... I’m sure... I think so."

Zeb said, "Well, I’ll be gone again. Just remember what I said."

He turned, not even waiting for a response, his broad back drifting away.

I called after him, "Remember what?"

He turned his head, that faint humor twisting his mouth again. "Don’t put a baby in a daft one."

My cheeks reddened again. Katya was still a ways off. I cringed at the thought that she might have heard that.

As I mounted the steps, she seemed to notice me. I realized that she had truly been distant, as if rising out of a state like sleep. But obviously not sleep, because she had been perfectly aware of my approach, despite all the noise and activity around her.

She said, "You’re ready, then?"

I said, "Uh, yeah, but where will we practice? It’s kind of busy around here."

She smiled and gestured with her hand. "This way, I found a place. I like to go there sometimes to meditate."

Her small frame turned, and she moved that beguiling little body away from me, back down the steps. I followed. Her form may have been small, but she had no problem setting a pace that made my longer legs work to keep up.

We moved around behind the arena. There was a cluster of shrubs and trees there. As we neared, I could see that the center of the cluster was free of foliage, the dense canopy of the little stand preventing any light from entering, smothering other growth.

"In here," she said, smiling oddly, as she always seemed to do.

"In there?" I asked. My mind wandered a little at the thought of entering such a secluded, dark, and private space with her. Just me and her.

"That’s right," she said, eyeing me as though she was examining me for discomfort.

Then she stepped through, and I moved to follow her. Just as I did, I caught sight of Zeb. Zeb was like a living ghost—you didn’t catch sight of him unless he wanted you to. But there he was, standing about twenty yards away. And the bastard was smiling, less thinly than before.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I understood the look. He was letting me see him seeing me—seeing me climbing into a dark, secret place with this exotic beauty.

I pursed my lips as I regarded him.

Then I climbed through the branches into the darkness.

Chapter 31 - Whole chapter replaced.

I should probably call this passage, "Of Knights and Relics."

A word on relics, then. Not an essay, don’t worry—just enough to ensure that this makes sense.

"Relic" was a catch-all term. It referred to wonders that had survived the Fall, treasures from the old world. Relics took many forms. A handgun that could be fired even in the wilds, where the low Order should have rendered it useless. A personal shield, not unlike the SHIELD a Griidlord could pulse to provide protection during battle. Collections of little devices with curious functions, both known and unknown.

The word was also applied at times to items that could still be produced in our era—those that had exceedingly high value, were exceedingly rare, and could still be identified as being made of that same strange technology from before the Fall. The foundries of Pittsburgh could produce power weapons, mostly axes.

A power weapon was reminiscent of the special arms wielded by a Griidlord. They were not exactly the same, certainly not as powerful. But a man with a power sword was worth at least five without one, his blade shearing theirs away and allowing no defense. The truest value of the power weapon was the parity it gave a mortal man when facing a Griidlord. The power weapon negated much of the advantage of a Griidlord’s armor, able to pierce and damage it where steel blades and bullets would bounce off. A single man with a power weapon was still of essentially no concern to a true Griidlord. But a suit might prefer to charge a thousand men with spears than twenty with glowing axes. It was a calculus of risks.

And knights? I was aware of the old meaning of the word. My days of invalidity, those long years that compose most of my early memories, had really one diversion: reading. And read I did, both modern tales and old ones. I had some understanding of what a knight of the old world was supposed to be.

The knights of our day were not so dissimilar. Knights Militant, the sort that served a lord or made up the elite of a city’s army, were almost always mounted. They were armed with power weapons and, very rarely, other more potent relics.

Wildknights were another case altogether. These men and women seemed to serve no master. They were exceedingly rare, to the point of nearly being legend. Each seemed to march to the beat of a different drum, with rumors of madness following them all. But their equipment was normally vastly greater than that of a Knight Militant. A Wildknight could be so heavily equipped with relics and powerful weapons as to nearly rival the status of a low-level Griidlord. They needed to be so equipped because of the value of the relics they possessed. A gun capable of being fired outside of the normally requisite Order levels would cost more than the entire annual economic output of an entire village. If they weren’t equipped enough to be unassailable, their treasures would be taken from them. Sometimes they were taken anyway.

So why the lesson? Why now?

At that moment, I was standing in my half-suit. Not just I, but my other classmates—Lance excluded for his immunity—were gathered in a line outside the arena.

A crowd had gathered. Today was the first day when the Choosing would become a public spectacle, and it seemed the entire city had emptied that morning to watch our event. More than the whole city, perhaps. Many of the spectators appeared to be farmers. I had seen droves of horses and parties on foot streaming to the city in the early moments of the day.

The crowd was in ecstasy. A Choosing was exceedingly rare. A Griidlord’s career could last a season or a century. A man might live his whole life without witnessing a single Choosing, let alone one for the Sword. Another might be able to tell of the dark years when his city hosted three Choosings in his lifetime.

The Choosing meant festivities. It meant feasting, drinking, and whoring for those who cared for it. It meant an excuse to leave the fields untended. But most of all, it was what it was: a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something to tell grandchildren in your twilight years.

The cheering and humming of the crowd filled my ears. With HEARING, I could pick out individual voices if I chose.

But the noise could do nothing to distract me from what lay before me. Before me stretched miles of fields, extending toward the sea. And processions of knights cantered about. They were truly a glory to behold. Their armor shone. Their horses were specimens of the finest breed, adorned with beautiful armors.

Most significantly, power weapons glowed. Swords, lances, axes, maces—every type was borne into the air as the knights wheeled for the crowd. Weapons that could pierce the armor of a full Griidlord. Weapons that could shred the lighter half-suit I wore.

And all those weapons, all those deadly killer men and horses, were there that day for me.

Chapter 39

The feeling of dread, of awaiting judgment, stirred something in me. I had never felt like this with Father. When I disappointed him, I simply ceased to exist in his eyes—my punishment for failures and unwanted behavior had been the withdrawal of anything resembling a father’s love.

But older memories surfaced too, memories that felt more like this sensation of dread. Waiting in our kitchen, that small cluttered little space, never entirely clean. My head leaning against the rough-hewn, rickety kitchen table. Why was I there? What was I dreading?

I had stolen something from a neighbor on the other side of the village. Yes, I had taken apples from the old woman’s tree. And it had disgraced Mother.

That was the same feeling as this one—the dread, the expectation of an unknown wrath. It was Mother who could visit such fear on me...

Such memories came and went for me. Ever since I had been sick, it had been hard to hold on to memories of Mother, good or bad...

I followed Balthazar up a flight of stairs and along a wide hallway. Doors hissed open as he approached, and he swept in with the kind of forceful energy that characterized him. The two descriptors might seem at odds—stoic, stern, impassive—but he was undeniably a being of constant, forceful motion.

Chapter 55

As I buttoned my shirt, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Tonight, I would be Tiberius the young man, not Tiberius the competitor. At least for a little while. And almost for the first time.

I had never done this before. My life could be divided into three segments. My youngest memories, vague and decayed by the illness that would take me. These were nothing but discordant fragments of images of my mother, our little home, the dirtiness and hunger. The years I spent, my limbs held in the grip of neurological illness, barely able to walk from my bed to the bathroom, my only friends had been books. And the last years, the life of a soldier, vainly trying to make up for lost time with an existence that was only training.

I descended the stairs. My stomach was aflutter with excitement and nervousness. I felt such a fool to have such feelings.

Harold noticed me immediately. His keen eyes missed nothing and my current attire was far from my norm.

Chapter 57

I sat up in the large, canopied bed. The events of the night played back in my mind. Snapshots passed through my mind. Lauren's smile, broad and unrestrained. Katya's light but devious laughter. I blushed as I recalled Katya's rude jokes. I blushed deeper as a memory came to me of my hand resting on Lauren's leg, her expression completely unobjecting to the gesture.

For all the desires that ran through me, it was the closeness of the memories that filled my heart. I had no friends. There had been no room for friends in my life.

A memory surfaced. A memory of a time when my limbs had been much shorter, but before they had started to fail me. I could other children running in front of me. Their clothes were dirty and tattered but their faces were bright with laughter. I was running after them, my bare feet tramping the dirt of the street. Their faces were known to me, familiar, but the names were long lost. I had fallen. Another boy had picked me up. His face was right there in my memory, just for a moment. He had a hare lip. But I barely noticed it. I saw his eyes, the way they looked down at me with real concern.

Those times were long gone now.

I dressed quickly

***

"If there's something I should know, Harold, please tell me."

He sighed. I wondered if it relieved him a little to say more.

"There have been some... concerning reports from the areas your father is visiting. The Horde's activity has increased. But your father has taken ample precautions. He is guarded by a small army of the best. He carries his own relics."

The relics that exceeded the budgets of even wealthy lords were available to Father. The man had absolutely no skill with a weapon, but he armored himself with ancient treasures that would make him almost impervious save in the most desperate situations. I too, carried some relics on my person. They were concealed. A pendant that hung beneath my shirt. A belt buckle that had been modified to look plain and normal. The sword I carried at my waist. It was better to conceal the items rather than draw the greedy eyes of those would try to take them from me. But, between my relics, and Zeb, I had little to fear from mugger or assassin.

Of course, during the contests, Zeb held my relics for me. They were not permitted in the arena. The advantage they would bestow on their user would be a capital violation of the sacred rite.

I felt a pang of worry. "And you're sure he's safe?"

***

Addressing observed inconsistencies regarding medication for wound pains.

I was subjected to treatment by a strange piece of equipment. A priest, not a doctor, was the one who managed the item. It must have been a truly rare relic from the time before if one of the priests insisted on its operation. Strange vibrations and warmth spread through my injury as I sat there for an hour. When the treatment was completed the injury was much improved, if not completely healed.

As I sat there, a medic approached. A younger man, his face tired, but kind.

He said, "You'll still have pain after the treatment. Not so bad, not nearly, but it's going to hurt. And it will be weaker for a while."

I nodded, distracted by the sensations of the machine.

The medic held up a vial of pills. He said, "These will help though, I don't know how they'll affect your performance in the arena, but-"

I shook my head, interrupting him. I smiled, thanking him for the thought. I said, "I can't. My trainers warned me against drugs that dull the senses. The suit is directed by my nervous system. Alcohol and other drugs that dull consciousness, are bad. Things that dull the central parts of the nervous system are bad. But painkillers that block nerves from working... There are horror stories of how the connection with the suit has failed Griidlords taking medicines like that."

The medic seemed uncertain. He said, "You'll have substantial pain though. Why don't you take these with you, you can always choose not to take them."

I shook my head, again smiling gratefully for his attention. "No. Thank you, but no. I'll take the pain now. The risks are just... too great.

Chapter 58

My eyes fixed on the orchids as grew nearer to them. Why were they drawing me so?

"The Order field," Baltizar mused, "it's both a blessing and a curse. It keeps us young, but it also ties us to this place. Few are willing to give up the life extension it provides."

"True," I agreed. "But for those who crave immortality, it's a small price to pay."

The flowers... I could see it suddenly. A flower, just like these, on the lapel of Father's jacket. The memory came unbidden, just a snatch of something long degraded by the teeth of the illness that had kept me from living the life of a normal child. I could see Father, standing in the door of our little home. He stood outside, my mother stood inside. She wore a faded pink dress. The dress was so old as to probably have been closer to grey. And father stood in front of her, tall, handsome, confident. His clothes were immaculate and splendid.

And mother was crying...

I looked up with a start, coming back to the moment. Baltizar stared at me, measuring me with his intense gaze.

Chapter 59

Baltizar glanced aside; another aide was standing at the door of the tower. He said, "My time is up. Once again, the duties of management beckon. Let yourself out the side gate and seize your day. The competition resumes tomorrow. Don’t waste the chance now that you know what tomorrow will bring. The guards know who you are; they won't bother you as you go."

I watched Baltizar's back disappearing down the path. I waited for him to be gone, then turned to look back at the red flowers. I visited the fragment of memory that had come back to me. Why was mother crying? Why was she dressed so poorly and he so finely?

AGILITY would be needed for the Tower. But I had none. Would there be time to grow it during the contest? Could I use Katya's meditations to find a way to tap into it before I even entered the arena? I wondered. What a trick that would be.

Chapter 89

We stood before our fort, waiting for the signal to start.

The voice spoke to me during the pause. I had such reservations about it. Joel and Danefer had each spoken warnings of it. But they had been mad. And the voice had never failed to help me. Part of me wondered if I was making a mistake in listening to it. But I wanted to win. I wanted the suit. It would be too foolish of me to ignore it.

The voice said, "I can tell you who to fear. I can tell you who to target. I can feel them, all of them. Most of it won't surprise you."

Go on then, I thought to it.

It said, "Lauren's got a tasty lump of grey matter between her ears, but that over-confident lump put her in an Arrow suit. She was only ever meant to be Sword, I think, but the Arrow is the last thing she should have been given. She'll be a weak point for them."

"The princess should worry you. She's dastardly good and she might be better in the Arrow suit than she would have been in a Sword suit. The others are a mixed bag. Arthur is a good choice for a SHIELD, so be wary of that one. His dear old papa wears the SHIELD for Boston right now. Arthur's no chip off the old block, but there's still an affinity there."

I listened and noted. It could hurt me nothing to hear what the voice had to offer. It all made sense to me anyway.

I would do anything to win the suit. It had started as a duty to honor my family, to please my father. But now it was for me, it was about me.

Chapter 4

An edit to Morningstar’s description of how the suit functions. This is to correct inconsistencies with suit being impaired by Ti’s injuries during the tourney.

Morningstar nodded. "And your trainers told you what you should do."

"Yeah, they told me the suit exaggerates everything I do. It's so strong that it magnifies my movements. I must be smooth like water, gentle like a breeze, just make faint echoes of the real movements I want, but it's not so easy when you're actually in it."

He shook his head, chuckling. "I guess that probably works for a lot of folks, but I don't think that's quite right." He downed his whiskey and stared into the fire. "This might sound strange or stupid, and I don't mean to go correcting those high-priced trainers your daddy got for you, but that's not how I've found it."

I waited, breath bated.

"The suit doesn't give a shit about your movements. The thing is so strong, your body has almost nothing to do with it."

I frowned. "But when I'd moved, it moved."

"Folks'll tell you that you just need to think and the suit will move on its own, that its muscles are doing all the work and youre big lump of grey matter is the engine that drives the whole show. I think... I think that has something to do with it. All that smooth as water, pissing into the wind business, that's a line you'll hear from many Griidlords. That's a business of shutting the mind down a little bit. They do that to distract the mind from actively trying to control the suit. But I've clashed swords with Griidlords like that too and, well, I'm still here."

He smiled wickedly. The wickedness had a charm to it.

He said, "It's more symbiotic than that. It's more holistic. When I move, I move my arm. But I'm feeling the suit. I'm feeling these wonderful metal muscles contract exactly the same as my real muscles. When I get exhausted, the suit gets exhausted. When I get hurt, the suit gets hurt. When adrenaline makes me feel like I can move a mountain, the suit maybe really can!"

"So I should be trying to move my arm? Or I shouldn't be?," I asked, still confused.

"Again, kid, the details are priest business. I don't really know the workings. All I know is that when I do this"—he raised the hand with the crystal tumbler in it, rotating the delicate glass between armored fingers strong enough to crush a man's skull with nearly no effort—"when I do this, I'm not thinking about moving my fingers any more than you would be. I'm not willing the suit to move, I'm not forcing it to react to the movement of my body. We're all moving together, flesh, metal, all obeying the same neurons.."

I looked, transfixed, at the armored hand. At any other time, I would be mesmerized at the chance to be so close to a Griidsuit, but in that moment, I needed to seize the opportunity. I had to understand, to absorb every word he was saying, and hope that it would make the difference in the next round of the Choosing.

Chapter 6

Lance swung again, and I parried awkwardly, but my movements had a bit more flow. I focused on the feeling. I tried to let my mind speak to my body and the suit as though they were one. With each passing moment, my confidence grew a little. I knew I wouldn't win this bout, but I could use it to learn, to adapt.