“You’re just in this competition for the glory, aren’t you?” “Well, yeah,” I replied, the medal now clutched to my chest. I loved the weight of it, its polished edges, how it glinted beneath the lights. “Obviously.” He’d stared at me, clearly not expecting me to agree. I was surprised by his surprise. Why else would I have entered the competition, put in all that work, if I didn’t care for glory? It seems a common enough motivator for men, and it’s never questioned. The realms of history and literature are heavily populated by kings who’ve gone mad for glory, knights who’ve killed in search of
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