"We are here to guard the sect and the balance of the world that feeds it. A single boy's feats will not break our rules... unless those feats prove that the rules were not built to contain him. That is what we decide now."
He turned his gaze slowly across the elder faces, reading their heat and fear and greed like an open scroll. "Elder Anutach speaks wisely: anomalies are to be studied. Tankuht speaks from experience: the wild-forged can be the sharpest blade or the ragged wound. Caron's counsel is pragmatic; control is safer than ignorance. Silvia anchors us to procedure. Merit and Iset remind us of risk and duty."
Sekhem folded his hands behind his back and exhaled. "Derek, you argue for direct admission because you see a chance to gain. Caron, you argue for containment. Both are valid. But the sect answers to more than one need." He paused, and the light in the chamber pooled around his words.
"Bahamut, the caveman, as the crowd calls him, has demonstrated capacity well beyond his stated Circle. He has survived a Circle of Mind creature, slain a wyrm, and broken a trial border that should have ended him. He has bled, and in bleeding he has also shown us a method of adaptation that the codices do not account for." Sekhem's tone was neither praise nor condemnation; it was measurement. "We cannot allow the trials to maim a potential fulcrum of power nor leave him to wander unobserved. He is an instrument and a hazard."
He stepped down from his chair and crossed the dais, moving toward the center as if his words were heavy things needing to be placed carefully. "Therefore, by the authority vested in the Twelve, Bahamut will be removed from the trial stream."
A dozen breaths seemed to stop. Some elders' mouths twitched in surprise or relief; others, like Silvia's, clenched in tidy displeasure.
Sekhem continued, unhurried, "He will not be punished. He will not stand before the next test. He will be placed into supervised admission: a controlled tutelage under Elder Derek's oversight for martial refinement, under Anutach's lineage study for spirit cataloguing, and under Iset's archive for cross-referencing past anomalies. Tankuht will oversee his integration into the rites of survival and the ethics of power."
"Supervised admission," Silvia repeated, tone clipped. "You propose to bend our own statutes."
"I propose oversight for the good of all," Sekhem replied. "He will be bound to watchers, to treaties, and to the sect's obligations. We will study him, catalog the nature of his intent, and decide in ten cycles whether to formalize him as inducted or to guide him to an alternate path. This is not a gift. It is a containment exercised with benefit to the sect."
Caron inclined his head, dark hood dipping. "So we control him and profit from his presence."
"We contain risk and steward power," Sekhem corrected softly. "Which is what the Shadow Fang has always done."
Frugo nodded once. Karesh exhaled, some satisfaction easing his shoulders. Derek's jaw remained locked, but the steely set in his eyes betrayed his readiness to accept command, if only to steer the outcome.
Sekhem met Derek's blue gaze for a long heartbeat. "Elder Derek, you will take the lead on his tutelage. Anutach will lead spiritual cataloguing with two monitors assigned to him. Iset and Merit will handle archival recording. Tankuht will ensure his survival training is disciplined, not feral. Haley and Baset, " Sekhem named two others in a measured roll call, and Baset's ears twitched at the summons, "will oversee the watchers."
He turned finally to the group. "This is a decision for the sect, not for individual glory. We will not break our laws; we will extend our arm to grasp what the world offers us, carefully."
Silence tightened, then sloughed off into practical motions: nods, the soft rustle of robes, the reach for ink and seal. The debate broke like a wave upon a cliff, fierce, then inevitable.
Elder Derek's voice, low and cold, cut the closing murmur: "Very well. I will begin immediate supervision."
Sekhem inclined his head with the barest of motions. "Make sure he is watched, trained, and not left to his own devices. The sect must be fed with power wisely, not devoured by it."
Outside, the Citadel wind wound through black stone. Inside, a new directive had been carved, half mercy, half strategy, entirely a verdict that would alter the course of one reckless, bloodied youth called Bahamut.
The meeting dispersed with the weight of the decision settling in every elder's chest. Plans were set into motion, seals prepared, and watchers chosen. The Caveman would be taken, not to be spared, but to be made useful, and to be kept from breaking them all.