"The suit is a living thing," Mario almost shouted at us as he paced up and down. "It is capable of changing, adjusting shape and form to any wearer. When one Griidlord passes from a suit and it chooses a new bearer, we see the details of the suit shifting to match the image the new Griidlord holds of themselves, the suit becoming a reflection of the personality of the wearer."

All twelve of us were lined up, hands by our sides, waiting solemnly. The Sword suit stood on its own before us. It’s empty visor seemed to be looking right at me, judging me.

In the stands, Lord Baltazar stood. The Lord Supreme stared at us, his face utterly unreadable.

The public wasn't allowed to witness these early trials. Only a select few were allowed to be present.

Behind Baltazar and the bishop, a small group of high-ranking officials had gathered. Today's events promised to be more interesting than the previous days. Among the newcomers was Baron Richon Darkwater, head of an ancient house, a noble and longstanding power in Boston, but one that had never produced a Griidlord to its shame. Richon kept his eyes focused on Lance, his son and heir, his gaze piercing and measuring.

Mario continued, "For the purpose of the Choosing, the Prophet may deem it necessary that the suit alter its form further so that it might better find one worthy of its wearing."

As Mario spoke, the suit almost seemed to melt. My eyes widened as I watched it happen for the first time. The suit seemed to dissolve, falling away like a sugar cube in hot water. The imposing, solid shape of the suit faded as it turned into a stream of black particles, like living sand. The stream split into two, and the mass of these particles began to pour themselves on top of each other. The others around me inhaled with awe as well. We watched as two new suits started to form, from the boots up. They materialized, as though from nothing. In moments two new suits stood before. They were each half the mass of the suit that had stood before. They were not completely encapsulating as the full suit had been. The new suits were lighter and would leave parts of us uncovered.

The helms of these new suits were half helms rather than full helmets. They would cover the heads of the wearers to about the nose. The lower face would be exposed.

Mario watched our reactions, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Today, you won't waste your time with petty fiends, and today will not end with twelve still clinging to the vain hope that they can become a Griidlord. This will be a contest. You will each match yourself against four of your classmates. As the sun sets, the participant who has been vanquished the most often will be discarded from the running."

My heart beat faster. I knew today could end with my ejection from the Choosing. Part of me yearned to be rejected, for the ordeal to be over, to go home, face my father's disappointment, and then get on with my life, pushing numbers around pages and arranging consignments as my father did.

Mario walked to the center of the arena, where a circle had been marked in the sandy dirt floor by pinning a thick rope into the ground. The circle was large enough, maybe thirty feet across. "If you are driven to the ground or driven from the circle, that means defeat," Mario said. "You will not place hand or foot upon one another. The new suits carry swords that do not cut but project a kinetic field that bludgeons and pushes. The Prophet sees fit to spare you from a more perilous competition on this day."

He turned to us. He looked upon the twelve of us with withering distaste. He said, "Olaf, Katya, you will go first. Go to your suits."

The tension in the arena was thick. The first days of The Choosing were not open to the public. It was during these days that the weakest would be culled from the pack. Today’s fights would only be witnessed by the contestants, the priests, and a select few lords who had insisted on attending.

I, like the others, watched intently. This would be our first chance to get a measure of these two.

Olaf and Katya stepped forward. Olaf’s eyes were fixed, his brow furrowed. There was a weight on him that I recognized. He doubted himself as much as I doubted myself. Katya, on the other hand, walked forward with almost no care at all. She could have just as easily been perusing goods at a market as embarking on a single combat. They approached the suits, turning around and stepping backward into them. The suits seemed to melt around them. The solid shapes of the suits almost seemed liquid as they melted and flowed around their new wearers.

Olaf was a broad-shouldered youth, easily the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve of us. He walked awkwardly in the suit, but less so than he had in the full suit the day before. Katya fared much better. The complete lithe grace of her unsuited for wasn’t evident, but there was an ease to her motions that still awed me.

They took their positions across from each other in the circle. The arena fell silent. The whispers of the lords and contestants died down. There was no sound, save for the occasional screech from the fiends below.

"Come on, nephew, do your house proud!" a voice echoed from the gaggle of nobles clustered in the crowd. Olaf raised his head to look at the source of the voice. I could see his jaw was clenched with tension.

Mario raised his hand. He held a colored cloth. He held it high and then dropped it to indicate the start of the match.

Olaf moved as I would have expected. He planted his feet in a traditional stance, his sword extended towards his opponent. Katya was shocking. She wasted no time with circling or pacing. She flew at him with a swiftness that was hard to fathom. Yes, she was slowed and awkward as she adapted to the suit. But even with that taken into consideration, she was so swift.

Olaf had not expected the attack, either it’s speed nor it’s total aggression. The big fighter was instantly on the back foot, flailing with his sword to deflect Katya’s flurry of blows. I watched how she moved her feet. There was no lack of stumbling there, I could see her feet were not doing exactly what she wanted them to. But she wasn’t walking like a toddler as I had, as most of us did.

Olaf seemed to be aware that he backing further and further toward the edge of the circle. He needed to create space. He lunged at Katya, a dangerous move, exposing himself to counter, leaving his guard down and his footing uncertain. But he was lucky. The sudden swing, ugly and flailing though it might have been, surprised the lither combatant and she darted aside. She lost control of her own footing in doing so, and there was a moment when it seemed like they would both fall.

They gathered themselves and faced each other again. Katya let the moment linger. Maybe she was planning, maybe she was just gathering her strength again. Olaf didn’t take the initiative. He too was stunned from the initial contact. But his passivity was a mistake, I thought. If he let her have the opportunity then it was clear she would seize control of the battle and the outcome would become a foregone conclusion.

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.

Mario wasted no time. "Katya is the victor. Now stand, exit your suits."

Katya showed nothing. She didn’t whoop, cheer, or gloat. She just stood, shoulders heaving as she breathed. Olaf sagged. I watched him. I felt for him. As poorly as he had done, I expected to do no better.

They stepped out of the suits, the metal armor melting away from their forms. The suits remained standing behind them as they exited, the seems closing back up, leaving them as perfect statues, awaiting their next occupants.

The crowd of nobles had fallen silent. Olaf’s eyes darted to them. The uncle who had so vigorously supported him a few minutes ago was silent now.

Mario turned to the remaining contestants. "Lance, Tiberius, step forward."