"The boy is not well. Not stable." Elena sighed.

"And you think to tell me this now?" Her husband replied with a shake of his head, his words booming off the stone walls of his cramped office. "After the die was cast and the move was played? Now, after weeks of training, you get cold feet and realize he is defective?"

"I did not say he was defective."

"What else am I to take from your words?" Dar pressed. "If you are so concerned, then speak plainly."

"Mistress Elena is mistaken-"

A quick, snarled response from the governor shut down ZEKE's attempts to interject. "I did not give you leave to speak. You will speak when asked, or not at all."

"Dar." Elena chided her husband's tone, though only just. His mood was bad enough without pressing him on his behavior toward ZEKE. Instead, she turned her attention to an incantation. The artificial lights in the room's corners flickered like flames caught in a gale wind, ambient reality and magic twisting and distorting until the magic snapped back into place.

Her arcane workings had produced a nearly two-foot-wide orb of ink darkness. The orb swirled and shifted, then resolved into a monochrome depiction of the courtyard. One figure danced there, dark steel singing through preordained patterns. A lunging thrust toward the ankle that pivoted into a vertical block, directly into a shoulder charge. A horizontal cut into a pommel strike and a brutal front kick before the momentum reversed for an upward slash. Alarion pummeled the empty air through half a dozen complicated routines, then reset to the courtyard's center and began anew.

"He has been at it for sixteen hours," Elena explained. "The first two he spends with the Ordinates in remedial education. The next two are in the Void Arena, where he subjects himself to whatever new poison, disease, or arcane affliction Ezekiel has dug up from the archive, because we have long since run out of the most obvious ones. Then another four hours of sparring with Ezekiel or your equerry-"

"How well does he do?" Dar interjected without looking up from the mesmerizing routine of violence.

Elena glanced at ZEKE, who seemed poised to respond. "Well enough. Obviously, they still have to hold back, but my understanding is that he is making steady progress. Ezekiel could expand on your question."

Dar grunted in reply, gesturing to the arcane display. "And this is his evening? Working endlessly through repetition of the Eleventh Rite, until what? He gets tired?"

"Until he is utterly exhausted. Or until he completes his quest." Elena corrected. "The first few nights, the goal was to perform an error-free first form, once. Then twice, then ten times. Most of those did not keep him up much later than dusk. Then he moved on to the second and so forth. He has been stuck on a full completion of the Rite for over a week now."

"And that is your concern? That he has struck a plateau?" Dar asked, though one look at his wife's face told him he'd missed the mark. "Then your concern is what? That he remains stubborn? Was it not you who told me this was his flaw?"

"No!" Elena protested. "But also yes. That single-mindedness rises above the level of a mere flaw. He willingly subjected himself to abuse to train his skill. That should be proof enough of my concern. But beyond that, there is an… emptiness to him. I do not know how to explain it. He has been here for six weeks, and I know him no better than when we arrived. Alarion pursues his education with zeal I have never seen, but if you were to ask him, I am not sure he could tell you why. He is frightened at the idea of abandonment, and I worry he is driving himself to insane lengths to stave off that fear. Something about him is fundamentally broken and must be addressed before it festers."

Dar sighed. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the Steelborn. "You disagree?"

ZEKE said nothing.

This time, the sigh was more profound. "You may speak."

"Most gracious, my Lord Governor." The Steelborn replied without a hint of rebuke in his tone or posture. "I respectfully dissent from Mistress Elena's views. The boy is not broken; he is a savant. A naturally gifted Awakened."

"He has an aptitude of two hundred and thirty-eight," The governor replied dryly. "Did you think my wife was somehow unaware of this?"

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"My apologies. I am being misunderstood," ZEKE replied diplomatically. "His aptitude is not the gift I am speaking of."

"Will one of you speak plainly?"

"Again, Apologies. Consider how the boy was found," ZEKE proposed.

Dar thought back to a report he'd read weeks earlier. "He assaulted some scavengers."

"He killed one of the scavengers." The Steelborn corrected. "He was provoked by their entry into his territory, but even then, few are willing to jump so immediately to violence. I saw similar behavior when I confronted him on arrival. Or when he faced your wife's fictitious dragon. He does not seek violence, but when it arrives, he's willing to escalate instantly in a way that would put even a seasoned soldier to shame."

Dar glanced at Elena with a frown. "And you say that she is wrong? What you are describing sounds like a matter of serious concern."

"It is only the base level of it," Ezekiel explained. "Consider how he took to the sword so readily. I have served the House of Hunger for centuries, and no pupil has ever adopted a weapon so quic-"

"His aptitude is absurdly high," Dar reminded him.

"Aptitude enhances retention of ability. It does not give innate ability. Alarion was able to strike two wounding blows on a foe far superior to him with a weapon he had barely learned to lift, let alone properly wield. Most would struggle to swing the weapon at all."

The governor cocked his head. "I thought the spell tailored itself to the boy."

"That is what we told him," Elena replied. "Which it does, technically. But as his classes are a bottom-tier survivor class, and an odd luck advancement, it drastically outclassed him in pure physicality."

"It was supposed to dissuade him from adopting an improper style by proving far too difficult. Present him with a poor match, then give him the solution we wanted him to take. Neither of us imagined him defeating it," Ezekiel explained. "And it goes beyond even that. He discovered an inventive method to use the weapon gifted to him by his questing power and saw a Skill Circuit with his survival power that I had never even conceived of. He is gifted beyond his mere Aptitude."

"So you think he is ill in the mind." Dar gestured first to his wife, then to ZEKE. "And you think he is gifted."

"The two are not exclusive. Most high Aptitude awakened display eccentric behavior. Look at the Raven. Or Ruin, for that matter." ZEKE lifted a hand to forestall the governor's clear irritation as he clarified. "Broadly, yes. There is some reflection of his trauma, I am sure, but I believe this is his nature."

"Thank you for the clarification." Dar's tone conveyed anything but gratitude. "Wife, what would you suggest?"

"That we give him time. Mandate that he pause, catch his breath. Perhaps we could bring him under observation…" Elena trailed off as Ezekiel shook his head beside her. "Something you wish to add?"

"Your idea is flawed. He will n-"

"That metal skull of yours is flawed," Elena shot back hastily, "he needs to recover."

"And we have no time to let him," Dar interjected before the argument could continue. "Even if your tactic was best, and I suspect your tin man seems to have a better sense of the boy than you do, we do not have the time to give him leave. I received word this morning that a magistrate has been appointed, meaning that a demand for cause will not be far behind."

Elena winced. "So soon?"

"We knew this would be a risk." The governor replied with conviction he did not feel. "Our timeline is measured in months, not a year or more, as we might have hoped. We cannot afford to have the boy stand idle, even to his benefit."

"We also cannot afford for him to burn out entirely."

"If I may." Two sets of angry eyes turned toward a metal man who pushed through the argument, unperturbed. "A compromise. An opportunity to put my thesis to the test. Escalate his training, send him for a subjugation."

"Ezekiel," came Elena's all too familiar refrain, her voice dripping with dismay.

"You realize he is of even less use dead?" Dar observed, reading the expressionless face, before he added, "You intend to send Sierra to accompany him?"

"She can practice her stealth and stay out of his way." The Steelborn confirmed. "A social voice to keep him grounded and to warn him away from the hazardous parts of the island. If he succeeds, it will drastically move up our timetable. He is already on the cusp of a combat class. Days of live practice will save weeks of drilling, and he'll arguably have more time to relax and reflect."

"Between bouts of fighting for his life." Elena scowled. She could already see the way the wind was blowing from a quick look at her husband's face. Instead of fighting an inevitable decision, she bartered for a lesser loss, "Two weeks and five healing potions."

"Three weeks and two potions."

"Three potions, and an Escape Icon keyed to the manor."

"Done. Though he keeps control of the Icon." When Elena's face showed a mark of confusion, Ezekiel quickly explained. "If you give it to Mistress Sierra, she is likely to pull him out sooner than he would agree to."

"How nice to see true compromise between those who are not responsible for the decision." Dar quipped to the chagrin of both. "You will bear the brunt of the blame if this plan of yours goes awry?"

ZEKE regarded the governor steadily for several moments before he uttered a firm "Yes."

"Then it is done. See the quartermaster for your needs," Dar said with a dismissive wave. As the two turned to leave, the burly man added, "Machine."

ZEKE stopped, though he took longer than was entirely proper to turn to address the governor. "Yes?"

"My warning felt too vague. Allow me to be more clear." Dar rose to his feet, looming over ZEKE, even at a short distance. "If this plan of yours goes awry, you can expect to be dismantled."

ZEKE's only outward reaction was a slight incline of the head, neither bow nor nod. Mere acknowledgement.

"Just so. I would expect nothing less."

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