House Mars

“So, he’s going to be alright?” Mateo’s voice wavered, his hands clasped together as though in prayer. His gaze stayed fixed on Ed, the question hanging in the air like a desperate plea for hope.

Ed’s smile was warm, a flicker of reassurance that softened the tense lines of his face. “Yeah, he’s going to make a full recovery. Better than ever, even.” A soft chuckle followed, but his eyes darted briefly toward the door as Wilbur and Franklin stepped in, their presence barely rustling the room’s heavy atmosphere.

The two squires were young, their expressions an awkward mix of relief and lingering guilt. Wilbur leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed in a show of ease that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s… that’s good to hear. I mean, it could’ve been worse. A lot worse.” His voice carried the weight of someone trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

Franklin, always the more restless of the pair, ran a hand through his unruly curls, his movements sharp and jittery. “Yeah. Honestly, I was starting to think we’d be dealing with expulsion. Or worse—” His voice hitched. “—blood on our hands.”

Ed’s chuckle was soft but carried an edge of finality. He shook his head. “No one’s getting expelled. No one’s bleeding out either. Let’s not get too dramatic.”

Wilbur’s lips twitched into a grin. “Can you blame us? After last week… felt like we were one bad decision away from disaster.”

Before Ed could answer, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor, sharp and uneven like someone half-running, half-tripping. The door swung open, and Isaac and Joseph stumbled inside, their faces flushed and their breathing uneven.

“Hey!” Ed called out, lifting a hand in greeting. “Where’ve you two been?”

Isaac rolled his eyes and dumped his bag onto a nearby bench with a thud. “Classes. You know, that thing we’re supposed to be doing when we’re not dealing with… well, everything else.”

Joseph, a step behind, added, “Speaking of chaos, what’s this emergency meeting about? Did something happen?”

Ed opened his mouth, but before a word could leave him, the door creaked open again. This time, the room seemed to still. Arthur stepped in, his uniform damp at the cuffs, the faint stink of rain clinging to him. His shaggy hair hung unevenly over his brow, and a thick bandage curled around his ear, dark with dried blood at the edges.

“Holy hell,” Joseph whispered, his voice slicing through the quiet. “What the hell happened to you?”

Isaac’s eyes widened, his gaze tracing the jagged wound peeking just beneath the bandage. “You look like you walked out of a medieval jousting match.”

Arthur smirked faintly, his expression a half-hearted attempt at bravado. “’Tis but a scratch.”

Joseph burst out laughing, doubling over and slapping his thigh. “Oh, my God. I’ve been showing him Monty Python, and now he thinks he’s in on the joke.”

Arthur tilted his head, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I am unsure what jest you speak of. Though I did admire the knight’s unyielding valor, the rest seemed… peculiar.” He scratched at his chin, eyes narrowing in genuine contemplation. “Why would anyone quarrel over a shrubbery? Surely, it holds no value.”

Isaac snorted, the sound sharp enough to draw every eye in the room. “Wait, you actually showed him the movie? Dude, Arthur’s got the mind of a medieval serf—how’s he supposed to get satire?”

Arthur stiffened, his arms crossing over his chest like a knight bracing for battle. “I assure thee, I understood much! The gallant knights sought their holy grail, yet their journey was rife with strange obstacles. It seems the humor lay in its absurdity.”

Joseph chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s the gist of it, buddy, but you missed like… 90% of the comedy.”

Wilbur leaned casually against the wall, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds about right. And here I thought you were supposed to be our ‘modernized knight.’”

Arthur straightened, his expression hardening into something like defiance. “I am no mere jester, but neither am I blind to wit. Perhaps thou shouldst give me more credit.”

“Right, right,” Isaac said, waving him off with a lazy gesture. “Anyway, has anyone seen Henryk, August, or Kieren? If this meeting’s so damn important, where are they?”

Ed sighed, his shoulders sagging as he rubbed the back of his neck. “August should still be in his late class. As for Henryk…” He glanced at his watch, a faint crease forming between his brows. “You know how he is. No phone. No way to contact him unless he decides to show up.”

Joseph groaned, throwing his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “God, he’s so impossible sometimes. And Kieren? What about him?”

Ed hesitated, his voice dropping a shade quieter, like the tone one takes when delivering bad news. “Kieren...” The name hung in the air, a loaded pause that pressed down on the room like a growing weight. “Well—”

Before he could finish, the door slammed open with a deafening crack that echoed through the room. A gust of wind carried the scent of rain inside, the metallic tang of storm-soaked stone sharp and cold. Outside, rain lashed against the cobblestones, their sheen reflecting the flicker of the hallway lights.

A figure loomed in the doorway, drenched and imposing. It was Henryk, his dark coat clinging to his frame, water streaming off him in rivulets. His face, sharp and angular, was a mask of barely restrained fury, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter.

The room stilled. Even the air seemed to hold its breath as his boots struck the tiles with heavy, deliberate thuds. He stopped in the middle of the room, his gaze sweeping over the group like the edge of a blade.

“Henryk,” Ed began cautiously, his tone measured, like someone approaching a snarling dog. “You’re—”

“Save it,” Henryk snarled, his voice low and crackling with venom. In one sharp motion, he pulled off his coat and flung it onto the bench, water droplets scattering across the room like shrapnel. “Where. Is. Kieren?”

Joseph’s hands shot up, palms outward, his tone light but wary. “Whoa, calm down, man. We just got here. What the hell’s your problem?”

Henryk’s glare snapped to Joseph, and for a moment, it seemed he might lash out. His knuckles flexed at his sides, white against the dark fabric of his soaked sleeves. But then he shut his eyes, his chest rising as he dragged in a slow, deliberate breath and let it out in a measured exhale.

“My problem,” he said, his words ground out between gritted teeth, “is that I’ve been running around this entire campus looking for answers, and all I’ve gotten is silence.” His eyes opened, cold and steely as they locked on Ed. “So, I’ll ask again: where is Kieren?”

The tension in the room thickened, heavy and stifling like the air before a thunderstorm. Ed stepped forward, his movements measured, his voice calm but edged with urgency. “Henryk, listen. Kieren’s fine. He’s recovering. I was just about to—”

“Fine?” Henryk’s voice cut through Ed’s words like a blade, sharp and rising. His anger coiled around each syllable, barely restrained. “That’s all you have to say? After everything that’s happened?”

Arthur moved before anyone else could react. His hands hung loose at his sides, but there was a quiet authority in his stance. “Peace, friend,” he said, his voice steady and deliberate. “This is no time for discord.”

Henryk’s eyes flicked to Arthur, lingering on the bandage wrapping his ear, the faint stain of dried blood at its edge. His scoff was low and bitter, shaking his head with a slow, deliberate motion. “Figures,” he said, his tone biting. “You lot are always so quick to brush things off. Always ready to slap a bandage on the wound and pretend it doesn’t still hurt. But not this time.”

Ed stepped forward again, cutting the space between them. His voice was firm now, the calm giving way to something sterner. “Henryk, what’s going on? This isn’t like you.” He held the other man’s gaze, unflinching. “You’re usually the one keeping things together. What’s got you so wound up?”

For a moment, Henryk said nothing, his glare fixed on Ed as though the weight of his stare alone could force him to understand. His lips tightened, his jaw working as if he were swallowing down a torrent of words too volatile to unleash.

The room’s silence was broken by the sound of the door opening again, the creak of its hinges cutting through the stillness like a splinter of glass. Axel stepped in first, the clack of his boots steady and self-assured. His training fatigues clung to him, the wooden practice sword at his belt swinging with his stride. He carried the confidence of someone fresh from the sparring grounds, his presence unapologetically loud against the charged quiet.

Trailing behind him was August—better known as Fleeboy—dwarfed in both stature and demeanor. His school uniform was slightly rumpled, and his bag strap hung loose over one shoulder as if he’d thrown it on in a rush. His eyes darted nervously across the room, wide and skittish, like a rabbit stepping into a den of wolves.

“Did we miss something?” Axel asked, one eyebrow cocked as he surveyed the room. His voice was casual, but his sharp gaze took in the tension like a blade finding a crack in armor.

Fleeboy hesitated in the doorway, his hands fumbling with the cuffs of his sleeves. “I, uh… I-it seems l-like we did,” he stammered, his words tumbling over each other. His voice was barely above a whisper. “W-what’s g-going on?”

Before anyone could respond, Ty appeared in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame with his arms crossed. His ever-present smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a glint of detached curiosity in his eyes as they swept across the room. “Hell of a show I’ve walked into,” he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “Mind filling me in?”

Henryk’s jaw tightened, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap, but Ed raised a hand, cutting him off before he could explode. “Fine,” Ed said, his tone sharp enough to slice through the tension. “Everyone’s here now, so let me explain.”

He took a deep breath, the weight of authority settling into his voice like an iron mantle. “Kieren and the other squires decided it’d be a good idea to pull a prank on House Venus. But it backfired. Badly. Kieren was injured—seriously injured—in the process.”

Axel straightened, his easy confidence evaporating as a frown creased his brow. “How bad are we talking?”

“Bad enough that we had to act fast,” Ed said, his expression hardening into something unyielding. “As president, I made the executive decision to give Kieren the spikes.”

The room fell silent, the words crashing down like a hammer. Stunned expressions replaced the simmering anger, and even Ty’s smirk faltered.

Arthur, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, stepped forward. His shoulders were squared, his face darkening like a storm brewing on the horizon. “What?” His voice was low, the kind of dangerous calm that set the hairs on the back of the neck standing.

Ed turned to him, steady but unwavering. “Arthur, your spikes have accepted Kieren. When he wakes up, he’ll become a hybrid—a true Martian Knight.”

Reaching into his coat, Ed pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. Its edges were worn, the ink on it dark and meticulous. With deliberate care, he unfolded it and began to read aloud. The decree, written in the archaic and ceremonial language of the Knights, rang out with the weight of tradition. It spoke of Kieren’s ascension, his bravery, and his sacrifice, every word dripping with the gravitas of an ancient rite.

When Ed’s voice faded, the silence that followed was deafening, thick with unspoken rage.

Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides, trembling with barely restrained fury. “This is outrageous!” he bellowed, the words ricocheting off the stone walls like cannon fire. “Those spikes have been in my family for generations—passed from father to son, an unbroken line. I had to inherit mine from my brother after—” His voice caught, a crack in the armor of his anger. He shook his head, glaring at Ed with burning intensity. “And now you’ve given them to… to some kid from a normal world! He doesn’t deserve them!”

Ed met Arthur’s glare without flinching, his tone calm but resolute, like steel sheathed in velvet. “Arthur, Kieren’s life was at stake. There wasn’t time to debate lineage or worthiness. He would have died.”

Arthur opened his mouth, his rebuttal boiling just beneath the surface, but before he could speak, the door swung open again. The heavy creak cut through the tension like a knife.

Vinnie entered, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes scanning the room with the precision of a hawk. His boots echoed on the floor with each deliberate step, the sound slicing through the oppressive silence.

“He’s right,” Vinnie said, his voice low but resolute, each word landing with the weight of finality. “Kieren’s life was at stake. But let’s not pretend this decision doesn’t come with consequences.”

Arthur turned to Vinnie, his fury radiating like heat from a forge. “You’re damn right it does! Those spikes weren’t meant for him. Do you have any idea—”

Vinnie raised a hand, cutting through Arthur’s tirade with quiet authority. “Arthur, calm down.” His voice was measured but carried an edge that demanded attention. He shifted his gaze to Ed, his expression hardening. “Ed’s decision saved Kieren, sure. But it’s not just about keeping him breathing, is it?”

Arthur froze, his anger momentarily checked by the change in Vinnie’s tone. The room seemed to shrink, the air growing heavier.

Vinnie’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto Ed. “You didn’t tell him, did you? The full story?”

Ed’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “He’ll be alive,” he said, his voice clipped. “That’s all that matters.”

Vinnie’s laugh was cold, sharp as shattered glass. “Alive? That’s your line? You’ve completely altered the course of his life, and you think you can leave it at that? Those spikes—those worms—aren’t just some miracle cure. They’ll change him, Ed. Stronger, faster, sure. Maybe even something beyond human. But you think that’s a gift?”

“It is a gift,” Ed snapped, taking a step forward, his presence imposing. “Kieren will have a second chance at life. A chance he wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

Vinnie shook his head, his laugh more bitter this time, tinged with disbelief. “A second chance? At what cost? The spikes aren’t free, Ed. There’s always a price. You know that as well as I do.”

Axel frowned, crossing his arms. “What burdens?” he asked, his skepticism clear. “You’re being dramatic.”

Vinnie didn’t even glance at him, his focus unrelenting on Ed. “The worms. The spikes. They’re not just tools. They’re alive. They have their own will, their own hunger. Once they take root, they don’t just give—they take. And they take in ways you can’t understand until it’s too late.” He paused, letting his words hang in the suffocating silence. “Kieren might survive, but he’ll carry that burden for the rest of his life. And you think he’s ready for that?”

Ed’s face darkened, the weight of Vinnie’s accusations pressing down on him. “He didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

“And neither did you,” Vinnie shot back, his tone sharp as a blade. “But don’t stand there and pretend this was some noble act of mercy. You saved his body, sure. But his soul?” He shook his head. “That’s another story entirely.”

The room fell into a stunned, oppressive silence, the gravity of Vinnie’s words sinking in. Arthur’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Axel, Ty, and Fleeboy exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado visibly shaken. Even Henryk, still brimming with anger, seemed momentarily thrown off balance.

Vinnie exhaled, his voice softer now but no less cutting. “Nothing in this world is free,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that seemed to press against each of them. “And the power of the worms? It’s not something you mess with lightly.”

Ty shifted uneasily near the back, his pale face betraying his discomfort. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his voice low and wavering as he muttered, “Well… at least Kieren’s okay.” It sounded more like a question than a statement, his words barely audible over the growing noise.

Joseph stood rigid, arms crossed tight against his chest like armor. His glare burned into Ed, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he fought to keep his temper in check. He leaned toward Isaac, his voice a low growl meant to avoid adding to the chaos. “What do you think about all this?”

Isaac yawned, exaggerated and unapologetic, before stretching his arms over his head. “What do I think?” he said, his tone so casual it bordered on insulting. “I think knights of a dead world don’t matter much.”

Joseph blinked, stunned by the nonchalance. “That’s it? You’re not angry?”

Isaac shrugged, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not really. My dad was a Knight, remember? He told me the same thing: nothing in the universe comes free. This?” He gestured lazily toward Ed and the others. “This is just another reminder. You survive, you adapt, or you die. No point losing sleep over it.”

Joseph stared at him, his disbelief hardening into frustration. “You’re impossible,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Isaac’s grin widened, infuriatingly smug. “That’s why you love me.” He turned and strolled toward the door, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “Let me know how it shakes out. Or don’t. I really couldn’t give less of a shit.”

Joseph’s fists clenched, his knuckles white, as he watched Isaac vanish through the doorway. The room, meanwhile, dissolved into chaos, voices overlapping in an escalating storm of frustration and anger.

Arthur’s voice sliced through the uproar, sharp and furious. “This is a disgrace!” He stepped forward, pointing a trembling finger at Ed, his face flushed with rage. “You’ve turned my family’s legacy into some kind of… experiment! Those spikes were meant for true Martian Knights—not some reckless child from nowhere!”

Axel stepped into the fray, his presence like a sudden gust of icy wind. His tone was grim, his words steady but unrelenting. “Arthur’s right,” he said, his eyes fixed on Ed. “If Feudal Mars still stood, this decision would’ve destroyed you. They’d have stripped your family’s honors, dragged you through the streets, and probably lynched you naked for disrespecting the Order.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And honestly? They’d have been justified.”

The room recoiled as if struck, the raw truth of Axel’s statement cutting deeper than any blade. Henryk, standing near the edge of the group, went still. His fists curled tightly at his sides, trembling with barely contained fury.

Mateo’s voice rose above the stunned silence, his outrage breaking like a wave. “You’re saying Kieren should’ve just died?” he spat, his words hot with disbelief and anger. “You’d let him suffer—or worse—just to cling to some outdated code? What the hell kind of logic is that?”

Axel’s gaze was frigid, unflinching. “Better a dead squire than a corrupted Knight. That’s how Mars worked. That’s how it should still work.”

Henryk stepped forward, his voice slicing through the room like a well-honed blade. “That’s sick,” he spat. “You’d rather uphold some ancient tradition than save someone’s life? What kind of Knight does that make you?”

Axel turned fully toward him, his towering frame casting a shadow that seemed to grow darker under the dim light. His spikes caught the faint glow, sharp and metallic, a cruel reminder of his power. “What kind of Knight?” Axel repeated, his tone dripping with scorn. “A real one. Not someone playing pretend, scrambling to grasp the weight of Mars.”

Henryk’s jaw tightened, his shoulders squaring as he took another step forward, closing the gap. Though dwarfed by Axel, his defiance was unyielding. “Pretending?” His voice was a low, venomous hiss. “I don’t have to pretend to know what’s right. You’re not a Knight, Axel. You’re a coward wrapped in steel, hiding behind a code that should’ve died with your world.”

Axel’s lips curled into a sneer, his voice cold and precise. “Careful, Henryk. You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

“And you’re standing knee-deep in bullshit,” Henryk shot back, his voice rising with a fiery intensity. “You talk about honor, about tradition—but all I see is a frightened man too weak to question the past.”

The air thickened as the two squared off, the weight of the room pressing down on everyone like a stone slab. Axel loomed over Henryk, his fists twitching, each breath measured and slow, as if reining in an urge to lash out. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Axel said, his words sharp as the edge of a blade. “But nerve won’t save you when you step too far.”

Henryk’s glare didn’t waver. “I don’t need saving, Axel. Least of all from you. And I sure as hell don’t need your approval.”

The tension reached a breaking point, only to be shattered by Arthur’s sharp scoff. “Enough of this posturing,” he said, his voice heavy with disdain. “The fact remains, Ed made a decision that spits in the face of everything we stand for. He should’ve let Kieren—”

“Shut up!” Henryk roared, the force of his voice stopping everyone cold. The raw emotion in his tone crackled like a live wire. His voice cracked as he continued, his words tumbling out like an avalanche. “All of you, shut up! You think this is about honor? About Mars? It’s not. It’s about a kid who almost died while we stood here, clinging to a world that doesn’t exist anymore!”

His eyes swept the room, burning with a furious light as they met each stunned face. “I’m done with all of this. The false accusations. The Siege of Oceana. The endless lies and secrecy. I’ve had enough!” His voice caught, and for a brief moment, it seemed like the fire might die, but he pressed on, unbroken. “I just want to go home. I want to see my mom.”

The room stilled, the weight of his words sinking into the silence. Even Axel looked momentarily taken aback, his defiance faltering under the rawness of Henryk’s confession.

Henryk’s voice steadied, quieter now but no less fierce. “She’s already buried both my fathers. She doesn’t need to bury her only son, too.”

The silence that followed was deafening. No one moved, no one spoke.

Henryk turned his focus to Ed, his finger trembling slightly as he pointed. “You let me into your House, Ed. You gave me a place here. And this—” his voice cracked, but his glare was steady “—this is what I get? Lies, manipulation, half-truths?”

Ed opened his mouth, but Henryk wasn’t done. His voice cut through the room like a whip. “I had a long talk with Adaline,” he said, his tone sharp enough to slice. “She told me some interesting things about Martian history. And then I did some digging of my own.”

Arthur frowned, curiosity flickering beneath his scowl. “What are you talking about?”

Henryk smirked, his eyes locking back onto Ed, gleaming with cold triumph. “You’d be amazed at what you can find on Wikipedia,” he said, the mockery in his voice practically dripping from every word. “Especially when it comes to the Rubicon Tapes.”

The color drained from Ed’s face, the faintest flicker of fear betraying him. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Henryk took a step forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that seemed to reverberate through the room. “So tell me, Ed. Are they true?”

The room fell deathly silent, the weight of Henryk’s question pressing down on everyone like a suffocating fog. Ed didn’t respond. His gaze remained locked on Henryk’s, the tension between them crackling like static electricity.

It was Mateo who broke the silence, his voice hesitant and unsure. “The Rubicon Tapes?” he asked, glancing around at the others. “What’s he talking about? What are the Rubicon Tapes?”

Franklin, standing beside him, crossed his arms. “Yeah, I’ve never heard of them,” he added, his tone laced with unease. “Are they, like, some kind of historical record or something?”

The Sons of Mars—Arthur, Axel, Vinnie—shifted uneasily. Their silence was louder than any confession, their eyes darting away from the group as if the answer might be written somewhere on the floor. Shame hung heavy in the air, pooling like a thick, oppressive fog.

Henryk’s scoff broke the stillness, his lip curling into a sneer. “Of course they won’t say a damn thing,” he snapped, glaring at the Sons of Mars. “Mute shame. Typical.”

“Henryk,” Mateo started, his voice steady but probing, “what’s on these tapes? What’s the big deal?”

Henryk’s head turned sharply toward Mateo, his eyes burning with righteous fury. “You really want to know?” His words came out like a challenge, daring someone to interrupt. “Fine. Let me educate you.”

He began to pace the room, his voice growing louder with every step, every syllable a stone hurled into the silence. “The Rubicon Tapes are a series of recordings made by General James Rubicon of Saturn—ten tapes in total. They document his time stationed with a Martian Knight Order during the so-called ‘pacification and cleansing’ of a system meant for colonization.”

Henryk’s words hit like a hammer, and the weight of them lingered, pulling the room further into his orbit.

Arthur frowned, his confusion evident as his gaze darted to Henryk. “Pacification? Cleansing? What is this nonsense?”

Joseph, standing nearby, leaned toward Arthur and muttered under his breath, “It’s old Earth internet stuff—records, videos, blogs. Think of it as a digital library. Henryk’s talking about some historical recordings that must’ve been archived.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed deeper, his lips tightening as he processed Joseph’s words. Still, he said nothing, his focus shifting back to Henryk, whose expression had grown darker, his pacing relentless.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“Those tapes,” Henryk began, his voice bitter, “were supposed to document Martian culture—your secretive, self-righteous society. They were meant to be a testament to your so-called honor and traditions.” He stopped abruptly, his gaze slicing through the Sons of Mars like a blade. “But they revealed a hell of a lot more than just rituals and ceremonies.”

Henryk let the silence settle for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on the room like an invisible hand. “You’ve heard of the Battle Maiden Policy, haven’t you?”

Wilbur hesitated, raising a hand as if he were a schoolboy unsure of the answer. “I… I don’t think any of us know what that is. What’s a Battle Maiden?”

Vinnie sighed, stepping forward with the reluctance of someone walking to the gallows. His voice was low, edged with discomfort. “Battle Maidens were female warriors. Women couldn’t bear the spikes, so they joined the Knight Orders in other ways—either as healers or fighters. They were revered, skilled, and loyal to their Orders.”

Franklin raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Okay, but why is that a big deal?”

Henryk’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Franklin. “Because, Franklin, as noble as that might sound, General Rubicon uncovered something far uglier beneath the surface. A lot of those girls—those so-called Battle Maidens—weren’t even adults. They were kids. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Fighting alongside grown men.”

Mateo’s face contorted in disbelief, his voice rising. “Wait, what?”

Henryk’s jaw tightened as he pushed forward, his voice gaining momentum. “Sure, there were older ones—women who had proven their worth, even a few grandmothers who had fought for their place on the battlefield. But that wasn’t what disturbed Rubicon. No, what shook him to his core was what came next.”

The room seemed to freeze, every eye fixed on Henryk as he turned back to Ed. His voice dropped, calm and cold as the edge of a knife. “One of his tapes captured a confession. A Battle Maiden admitted that her so-called Knight Lord—the man she was sworn to protect with her life—had been sexually assaulting her.”

A collective gasp rippled through the room, sharp and jagged, leaving silence in its wake. Even the Sons of Mars, who had weathered countless battles and borne unspoken truths, shifted uncomfortably, their shame palpable.

“And it wasn’t just one case,” Henryk spat, his voice trembling with rage. “Rubicon’s research revealed it was widespread. A disgusting, systemic abuse of power buried beneath all that talk of honor and loyalty. Martian culture—so proud, so goddamned mighty—was rotten to its core.”

Franklin staggered back as if the words had struck him. His face drained of color. “That can’t be true…”

“It’s true,” Henryk snapped, his voice cutting like a whip. “Adaline confirmed it. And do you know what happened next? Those tapes caused such an uproar that even the Emperor himself had to step in. He tightened his grip on House Mars, trying to rein them in. But it was too late. The cracks had already started to show. The Fall of Mars began right there—with the truth dragging your so-called honor into the light.”

Henryk’s anger surged, his voice growing louder, sharper, a storm gathering force. “And now here we are, centuries later, and I’m supposed to stand here and respect this? Respect you?” He thrust a finger toward the Sons of Mars, his fury boiling over into something raw and electric. “This school hums with whispers about the rapist House of Mars, about the atrocities your ancestors committed. And I’m supposed to wear this?”

He yanked at the red-printed sleeve of his academy jacket, tearing it off with a swift, savage motion. “This symbol? This stain?”

The sleeve hit the floor with a hollow thud, but Henryk wasn’t done. He ripped the entire jacket off and hurled it to the ground as if it burned him. “I’m done,” he said, his voice cold but shaking with barely contained emotion. “I’m done with this House. Done with this school. Done with you.”

Ed finally found his voice, stepping forward, his hands raised in a gesture of appeasement. “Henryk, listen—”

“Don’t!” Mateo’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and furious. “Don’t even try, Ed!”

All eyes turned to Mateo. Her body trembled with barely controlled rage, her voice quivering as she let the words spill, unchecked and venomous. “This… this is disgusting! All of it! You mean to tell me that this noble House of Mars, with all its honor and pomp, allowed something this vile to happen? And you didn’t think it was important enough to tell us?!”

“Mateo, please,” Ed tried again, but Mateo wasn’t finished.

“Don’t please me, Ed!” she roared, her voice cracking under the weight of her fury. “How long have you known about this? How long have we all been walking around with this filthy red emblem on our sleeves, thinking it stood for something good?”

“Mateo—” Franklin started, his voice hesitant, but Mateo wheeled on him like a storm bearing down.

“And you! What about you?” she yelled, jabbing a shaking finger in his direction. “You’re just going to stand there and say nothing? Do you even care? Or are you just stunned into silence like the rest of these cowards?”

Franklin staggered back, his face ashen. “I—I don’t even know what to say…”

Wilbur crossed his arms, his jaw set in a grim line. “Me neither. This… this is insane. Is it true, Ed?”

Ed held up a hand, his voice shaking as he tried to regain control over the spiraling conversation. “Listen to me. The moment the King of Mars found out about this—when the tapes surfaced—he decreed that the practice stop. Immediately. The Kings of Mars didn’t know how widespread the problem was—”

Henryk scoffed, the sound bitter and derisive, twisting his face into something unrecognizable. “And you think that makes it better? You think that absolves them?”

Ed’s voice faltered, faltering like a drowning man gasping for air. “Henryk, they tried to make things right. They—”

“They tried to fix it after centuries of abuse!” Henryk’s voice shot back, raw and unyielding. “That doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t bring justice to those girls. It doesn’t bring them back.”

Ed’s shoulders sagged as if the weight of Henryk’s words crushed him. He realized, in that moment, that he was speaking to a wall, built high and thick with years of pain, and no amount of rationalization would topple it.

Henryk’s tone grew cold, the words coming out clipped, like icicles ready to shatter. “You talk about making things right. About building a better future. But how am I supposed to trust you with that?” His voice rose, biting and cruel. “How am I supposed to believe you’ll raise your sisters as queens and barons when your culture—your people—conducted themselves like this? How?”

Ed opened his mouth, a thousand responses on the tip of his tongue, but Henryk turned toward the door. His movements were stiff, deliberate, as if each step took more effort than the last, and his resolve was a weight too heavy to bear.

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Vinnie’s voice rang out, clear and desperate. “Henryk, wait.”

Henryk froze, his back to them, but his posture was rigid. He didn’t turn around. “What could you possibly say that would make me stay?”

Vinnie stepped forward, his movements slow but sure. The room fell quiet, the tension thick as fog. He ignored the incredulous look Axel shot him, his focus fixed entirely on Henryk. “You want to know the truth?” Vinnie’s voice was calm but unwavering, the kind of steady confidence that could silence storms. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything.”

Axel’s eyes darkened, and his spikes caught the dim light as he took a threatening step forward. “Vinnie, don’t.”

“Shut up, Axel,” Vinnie snapped, his voice hard and unyielding. He didn’t even glance in Axel’s direction, his gaze locked on Henryk, determined and unshaken. “We can’t afford to lose someone like Henryk. Not over this. Not over something we can explain.”

Axel growled low in his throat, the sound like an animal at bay, but he stayed silent. His jaw was clenched so tight it was a wonder it didn’t crack under the pressure.

Vinnie turned back to Henryk, his voice softening, but only just. “Look, a lot of Martian culture is ugly. I’m not going to deny that. But you have to understand—we’re the champions of the light. If not us, then who? If we don’t stand against the horrors of the universe, then who the hell will?”

Henryk turned slowly, his face hard as stone, his eyes flat and unreadable. “You want to talk about horrors? Fine. Tell me about the spikes.”

Vinnie’s expression darkened, his shoulders tightening as the weight of the words settled in. “The spikes of Mars… they’re step two of a twisted process. It starts with a Martian worm. The worm gestates, and once it’s ready, it needs a host. That’s where the spikes come in.”

He gestured toward his own back, his voice dropping lower, tinged with something close to regret. “The worm’s teeth—its spikes—are driven into the base of the host’s spine. The temperature has to be regulated, or it’s over. Timing is everything. If the host carries the worm for longer than twelve hours, they’ll become a slave to it. Their mind? Gone. Their will? Broken. They won’t be their own anymore.”

Wilbur flinched, the color draining from his face. “Jesus…”

“The severance process,” Vinnie continued, his voice flat, like he was reciting a death sentence, “kills the worm. Knives and cauterization are used to fuse the spikes with the host’s nervous system. From that moment on, the host is no longer fully human. They’re taller. Stronger. Faster. Their senses… sharper. The world around them doesn’t even look the same anymore.”

Mateo crossed her arms, her face pale but defiant. “And what’s the catch?”

Vinnie’s eyes were cold, unwavering, like he was staring into the abyss and wasn’t afraid of what stared back. “You can never go back. Once the spikes are in, you lose your humanity. Forever.”

Henryk stared at him, his face unreadable, the words hanging between them like a threat. “And Kieren?”

“Kieren didn’t have a choice,” Vinnie said bluntly. “But you do. So what are you going to do, Henryk? What’s your choice?”

Henryk’s lips parted, the words on the tip of his tongue, but before he could answer, a sharp, shrill sound sliced through the silence.

A phone ringing. Then another. And another. The room seemed to come alive with the cacophony of ringing phones, each one demanding attention, each one carrying a weight of something unspoken.

Ed’s head snapped toward the sound, his expression shifting from frustration to something colder, something more uncertain. “What the hell…?”

The tension in the room twisted, morphing from anger to confusion in an instant. The argument was momentarily forgotten as every set of eyes flicked nervously toward the phones, exchanging uneasy glances. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

Piper

Piper watched the auditorium fill, a sea of colors swarming the space as each house’s representatives found their seats. Some were groggy, eyes heavy from being yanked awake, while others were already on edge, muttering, cursing. It was like a storm waiting to break.

She could hear it all. The murmurs, the tension, the raw energy. Because she was standing right at the edge of it.

This auditorium. The same place where Edward had once declared the rebirth of The Sons of Mars. The same place where the Headmaster had revealed his death. And yet, there was no security. No teachers. Just a room full of bodies, all about to govern themselves. Lord of the Flies style.

Zephyr’s hand landed gently on her shoulder, a grounding touch, but his eyes stayed fixed on the crowd. "How you holding up?" he whispered, his voice low, like he was afraid the storm might hear.

"Peachy," Piper muttered, rolling her eyes. She wanted to sound unbothered, but even she could feel the edges of her control beginning to slip.

Zephyr sighed, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "Like I said, I didn’t realize just how big a spectacle this was gonna be. Christ, it was one thing if you lost to Atticus... but this?" His voice trailed off, lost in the immensity of it. "This is just overkill."

Piper’s gaze sharpened. "Who do you think they’ve got assembled against me?"

"Of course, Atticus," Zephyr answered, his hand lifting in a half-hearted gesture. His eyes flicked over to where Clarissa and Atticus stood. For siblings, they looked nothing alike. It was almost comical how different they were.

Clarissa was rigid, standing at attention in her Earth uniform—the dull browns and greens of her house, her hair pulled tightly into a single, precise ponytail. She was the image of military discipline, her glare cold and unyielding.

Atticus, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. A grin stretched across his face, hands stuffed casually into his pockets. The kind of smile that said he knew something no one else did. And that chain hanging around his neck, the sunglasses perched on his face, the hawaiian shirt—he might’ve been at the beach if not for the cold, gleaming metal of his bionic limbs catching the light just so.

Zephyr snorted softly, a dry, gritty sound. "Huh, look at that... looks like you two got something in common after all."

Atticus was a study in contradiction. One look at him and you could tell he was nothing like his sister. His bionic leg, the sharp gleam of his arm—cold, mechanical, and precise. His appearance, almost too smooth and polished, stood in stark contrast to the wild energy of his sister, Clarissa. If Zephyr had to make a wager, he would guess there was a reason for those dark glasses perched on Atticus’ face—something to hide. Atticus’ sunbaked skin and snow-coated limbs, his blond hair tangled in the breeze, made him seem like an outsider in every way. He stood there, a ghost in the storm, next to Clarissa—who was all structure, all discipline—and yet, there they were, bound by blood.

Siblings, in the strangest of ways.

Up ahead, Sarah and Anderson turned their gaze toward Piper and Zephyr. They were observers in this contest, liutenants without a stake in the duel—but they understood the weight of the moment, knew it was one step away from disaster. Only the class presidents and the players involved were truly part of the game tonight.

"Who do you think she’ll call on?" Sarah’s voice broke the tension.

Anderson tossed another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Christ, these assholes are sick. Can you imagine? How normal is this? How fucked up it’s all become?" He spoke through a full mouth, his words muddled, not matching the gravity of the situation.

Sarah didn’t even blink. “Anderson. Shut up. Stop eating, this is serious. Piper’s position is up for grabs. Don’t get me wrong, it’d be good for us... but if she goes down, then…” She trailed off, her mind racing ahead of her words.

Anderson waved her off with a lazy grin. “She’s the Red Rocket of the Mercurian Sphere. Ain’t nobody stopping her, Sarah. Trust me.” He leaned back in his chair, tossing another handful of popcorn into his mouth, as if the world didn’t have the weight of a thousand stones pressing down on it. “Hell, it’s even salted right. Buttered, too. They put butter in this shit? Damn.”

Sarah was losing patience fast. “Anderson, what the hell is wrong with you?”

He shrugged, unfazed, his fingers idly flipping through the bag. “We all get the shitty call to come here, don’t we? And it’s crazy, right? The second-years and up—those assholes already have stalls, foods, drinks...like, what kind of level does this shit get to, huh?”

Sarah sighed, her mind still clouded by worry. "Everyone likes a spectacle. And Piper... she’s 'technically' famous."

Anderson, ever the optimist, nodded sagely. "You’re worrying too much. She’s gonna be fine."

Sarah studied him, her gaze sharp. "You sound so sure," she remarked, her words laced with doubt.

Anderson smirked, a cocky glint in his eye. He leaned back, placing the popcorn aside with a careful motion, like this wasn’t just a game to him. Then, from inside his jacket, he drew out a worn notebook. His fingers flipped through the pages with practiced ease, but Sarah—who hadn’t expected what she’d see—watched in stunned silence.

“Are those... all pictures of her?” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them.

Anderson grinned, his tone smug. "Relax, I ain’t a stalker. This all came from the internet, Reddit, you know? Public stuff. Nothing weird about it." But as he said it, Sarah’s horror grew with each page he flipped. Every image was a record, a snapshot. A battle. A fight. Every victory Piper had ever had. Cataloged. Filed away. All of it there, on paper—like a trophy of war. And it wasn’t just House Mercury. No, every battle she’d fought, every fight she’d won, was there.

“Christ, you could be her biggest fan,” Sarah muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him.

Anderson, however, didn’t seem to notice the distaste in her tone as he slid the notebook back into his jacket, close to his chest, giving it a comforting pat. “The only time Piper’s really lost was against Logan and Atticus. Hell, what we did in Oceana should’ve been enough to fix her reputation. But it looks like the doubters need more. Real proof.” His gaze cut across the room, landing on the crowd ahead with a bitter glance.

Sarah followed his line of sight, narrowing her eyes as they landed on Piper. “Honestly, I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now. She doesn’t even know what they’re going to ask her.”

“How far can it go?” Anderson’s voice carried a thread of uncertainty.

Sarah shrugged, a bitter edge in her tone. “Anything. Honestly, I’ve heard some things…” She let out a heavy sigh, the weight of it dragging down her chest. “There’s a darkness here, in this Academy. Who knows what they’ll ask of Piper? For all we know, this could be a duel to the death.”

Anderson set the popcorn aside, his tone shifting, hardening. “…And there’s nothing we can do for her?” His hand, as if on instinct, went to his chest, then reached toward Sarah. “Both of us are lieutenants in House Mercury. I’ve got favor from the battle of Oceana…”

“Don’t be an idiot and get her disqualified,” Sarah cut in sharply. “She needs people from other houses, people who will work with her.”

Anderson opened his mouth to respond, but another voice interrupted.

“You’re both right,” the voice spoke, feminine and steady. “There’s nothing we can do. This is their fight.”

Sarah and Anderson both turned to see who had spoken, their eyes instinctively narrowing.

“Yeah,” the voice continued. And there, standing behind them, was Marcus.

Marcus stood tall, his figure cutting a wide shadow over the girl beside him. She was small in comparison, her hand pointing at the scene in front of them, her lips curving into a smirk. “These are the new guys?” she asked, her tone dripping with disdain.

Both Sarah and Anderson exchanged an uneasy glance, their eyes locked on Marcus. But it wasn’t just Marcus. It was those eyes—crimson red, deep and unsettling, burning with a strange hunger. His back arched slightly as he surveyed the room, then refocused on them.

“S-shit… sorry about that,” Marcus stammered, shaking his head as if to clear some inner fog. “Shit… this is Iman. She’s a Lieutenant Commander of the…”

“Bloody 34th!” she proclaimed, raising her fist into the air, her voice ringing out with the kind of vigor that could shake the walls. Sarah and Anderson’s eyes widened at the intensity of it, a flare of recognition and unease passing between them. “I remember you two. I had the pleasure of fighting alongside you during the battle of Oceana II.”

Anderson and Sarah’s eyes widened even further, the memories pressing down on them like a weight. They nodded, their expressions slackening. “Christ, that was a bloodbath,” Anderson muttered under his breath, his voice thick with the memory of the carnage.

Iman and Marcus took their seats next to the others, unfazed by the grim silence that had settled in. “Oh, when’s this going to start?” Iman said, her voice light but laced with impatience. “I’ve got a late class tomorrow at nine.”

Marcus shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Write that email to your professor, use the duel excuse. Works every time,” he said, his tone casual, as though he were offering advice on a mundane task.

“You know it,” Iman replied, her hand slapping against Marcus’s in a fist bump.

“Yo, freshy, let me have some of that,” Marcus called out, his voice still amused.

“What—wait, what?!” Anderson spluttered, his words cut off as Marcus cleanly snatched a handful of popcorn and poured the rest into his own palm with practiced ease.

“Serves you right for getting distracted,” Iman quipped, her grin sharp. Anderson’s fist tightened at his side, but she wasn’t done. “Hesitation is death,” she added, her tone light but carrying a chilling edge, like the flash of a blade in the dark. Sarah caught the glint in her voice, but she wondered if Anderson could hear it too.

“Oh, it’s starting…” Marcus’s voice drew out, languid and almost disinterested. But Iman, her gaze fixed forward, was a study in stillness. Her eyes scanned the floor, and then stopped—midway. The room felt like it held its breath.

“What are you looking at…?” Anderson started to ask, but then his gaze followed hers, drawn by the same invisible thread. He watched, speechless, as Iman’s eyes locked onto Henryk’s frame, her expression suddenly unreadable. She licked her lips, her posture shifting, leaning slightly against the railing as if readying herself for something.

“You’ve talked to Henryk in a minute?” she asked, her voice lower now, a touch of curiosity twisting through her words.

Marcus nearly burst out laughing.

“H-hey, what’s so funny?!” she shouted, now starting to smack Marcus in playful annoyance.

“YOU’RE so obvious!” he shouted back, ducking under her strikes, his grin wide. But his laughter faltered as his eyes locked onto Margaret’s face, the smile there unnerving in its intensity. She stood a few paces away, arms behind her back, staring at him with an expression that mixed something almost predatory with a touch of strange affection.

“Hey, Marky,” she said, her voice sweet, but the words felt like they had a sharp edge beneath them.

Marcus’s eyes widened as he leaned back in his seat, an almost imperceptible chuckle escaping his lips. “Marky, what happened to Marcus?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the room. The other members of House Mercury—his colleagues, his comrades—couldn’t know.

They couldn’t know that this was the girl he was fucking.

Yet there was no escaping it as Margaret’s hands locked around his head, pulling him into a kiss so deep it threatened to steal the air from his lungs.

“Ladies’ fucking man, this one is!” Anderson shouted, his voice carrying through the room like a cracked whip, and the crowd erupted in laughter. Marcus, flushed and disoriented, struggled to escape Margaret’s hold, but it was futile.

“…unlike him,” Anderson said, his voice laced with an easy confidence, “I’ve got my eyes set on one.” The crowd smiled and murmured, their attention shifting to the stage.

The atmosphere in the hall shifted. There was a moment of strange silence, a breath held, as instinctual human responses took hold. Zephyr and Clarissa moved from their respective duels and made their way to the podium. They took the microphone that the headmaster had used before, and the weight of the room seemed to press down on them.

“Hello, first off, sorry for interrupting your night, everyone…” Zephyr’s voice rang out, drawing scattered laughs and chuckles from the crowd, some of which quickly turned to jeers.

But Zephyr pushed on, undeterred. “Now, for those who are in the unknown, House Mercury and Earth House have been having a lot of problems. Now, this is going to be a duel, not a trial by combat. Shields will be up. Once your mechs stop moving…” He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle in. “It’s done. No critical hits, we’re not losing anyone tonight.”

His voice echoed through the hall, a ripple of understanding running through the crowd. Zephyr handed the mic to Clarissa next, and she took it with the quiet authority of someone accustomed to commanding attention.

“Hello, to all of you, I am Clarissa of Earth House, president. But tonight, I come to you as a student. Tonight, we shall test the absolute. Combat!” She shouted, and the crowd roared in response—some in excitement, some in disgust. A few turned away, unable to stomach the spectacle, but the cheers were loud and plentiful.

“Fucking animals…” Joseph muttered under his breath as he turned for a moment, but before he could even make a full gesture, Isaac’s hand was on his head, pressing it back into position, his grip firm, unyielding.

Joseph slapped Isaac’s hand away, frustration in his eyes. “The hell is your malfunction? Don’t—don’t randomly be…”

“Keep your eyes forward,” Isaac snapped, his voice clipped, his posture military, rigid. It was the same stillness Clarissa exuded. “We are the black sheep house. We do not have the luxury of looking around.”

Joseph shot him a look, annoyed, but his gaze returned to the stage. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, but it lacked the force of conviction.

“Really?” Isaac’s voice was low, laced with a cautionary tone. “Then go ahead, keep staring. There are plenty of kids here still pissed about the honor of House Mars. A lot of them don’t believe in our strength anymore—just rumors. You try it, and we’ll be lucky if the focus isn’t on us tonight. Don’t fuck it up.”

Joseph took the words in, his face a mask of stillness, mouth tight. Isaac had a point.

Clarissa’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and clear. “…My half-brother, Atticus, and Piper dueled. Now, Piper has rechallenged my brother…” Piper felt the urge to slap herself, just one simple action to wipe away the mess that had spiraled out of one stupid duel. One action no one would have remembered. But now it was here—this blood-soaked spectacle. “Now, I don’t want another one-on-one. No. I want entertainment!” Her voice surged, her bloodlust spreading through the crowd like a fever.

“No, I want retribution,” she continued, her smile twisted with something darker. “So let’s make this fun… The last cross-team battle was over a decade ago,” she said, raising her free hand to the air. “So here’s how the duel is going to go. It’s going to be a three versus three. Piper and Atticus will not pick rosters from their houses. Instead, they will draw from you…” Her gaze swept over the crowd. “The crowd.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The screams and shouts of bloodlust died as realization settled in—one of them would have to commit to this bloodsport.

Clarissa sighed, a slow, almost bored exhale. “If no one joins either side, the match is forfeit. However…” She paused, the corners of her lips curling into a smile that felt colder than the air around them. “If one side has members and the other doesn’t have enough, the other side wins.” She let the words hang. “So, we’re going to ask each side what they desire.”

Clarissa turned sharply to Atticus, moving like a woman about to hand over the mic. But Atticus reached for it first, the cold metal of his bionic hand glinting under the lights. She recoiled from it, a brief hesitation flickering over her face.

“Atticus and Earth House,” she announced, her voice cutting through the silence. “If we win, anyone who aligns with Piper and herself will be terminated and expelled from the Academy.”

A deathly silence fell over the room, as though the very air had thickened, become unbearable.

“Huh?” Marcus’s voice broke the quiet, blunt and full of disbelief. His hand ran through his hair, eyes darting around the room to the shocked faces, the open mouths. “Could she… could she really…?”

“Yes, she can,” Edward spoke, his voice calm but carrying the weight of knowledge. His gaze met Arthur’s, standing a few rows down, as they both observed the unfolding madness from the middle of the auditorium. Even though their legs ached, they stood firm. The honor to stand seemed hollow now, a mockery of what it was meant to be.

Arthur shot a look back up to the deck, incredulous. “So, she can just order them to renounce their allegiances and loyalties like that?”

“We sign certain things to be here, Arthur,” Edward replied, his voice quiet now, weary. He wrapped his arms around himself, a tightness in his posture as though trying to hold himself together. “That’s why I’ve warned you and the others. Save the conflict for the missions. This house shit? You’ve ever heard the saying ‘don’t shit where you eat’? We don’t need enemies at home.”

Arthur nodded along, his large frame casting a long, heavy shadow even among those with their spikes and sharp edges. Maybe that was why he didn’t feel August’s hands tugging urgently at his overalls.

“Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!” August half-yelled, half-whispered in frantic breaths. “I-It’s Henryk, man, you were right about him… you were right!”

“Right about what?” Arthur’s voice was thick, hoarse. His eyes shifted toward Henryk’s direction, but the crowd was a blur, and he couldn’t spot him. “H-Henryk?” His voice croaked, the words tasting like dust in his mouth.

He swept his gaze over the room once more, but his mind echoed with Clarissa’s voice, a whisper that was already a looming command. “We’ve already got our pick.”

“Oh, you do?” Zephyr’s voice cut in, laced with a mockery that didn’t even try to hide itself. “Wow, I didn’t realize we could’ve planned this ahead of time.”

Clarissa’s arms wrapped tightly around herself, her stance defensive, like she was bracing against the wind. “Well,” she said, the edges of her voice sharpening, “maybe you should’ve thought about that before challenging our ace.”

“Who’s your two then?” Piper asked, her voice as cool as it was deadly.

Clarissa’s eyes locked onto the crowd, her gaze a flash of something dangerous. “Easy,” she replied, the words drawn from her like a blade. “I call upon José of House Venus, and Logan of House Neptune.”

The crowd stirred like wildfire caught in a dry wind. A wave of purple and blue erupted into a frenzy, the noise almost deafening as the aces of their respective houses made their way toward the stage. Their arrival was a spectacle, as if the crowd were cheering athletes, pumping their fists, thumping the air in a primal rhythm.

“Ah, Atticus,” Logan’s voice sliced through the noise, sharp and cruel, “you look far uglier and meaner up close.”

José let out a laugh, too loud and too forceful, a sound that carried an edge of mockery. “Hah, that’s funny, Prince Logan,” he said, his tone too heavy with arrogance.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the side, his glance lingering briefly before he focused back on Piper, his words like a knife, deliberate and cold. “You missed me, Piper? I heard a lot of good things about you on Oceana. You pushed through that little bug of yours, didn’t you? The one that made you eat shit every time you crawled into a mobile suit.” His voice dropped to a scolding tone, like he was lecturing a disobedient child.

Piper’s fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, a vein pulsing on her forehead as her red hair flared around her face, like flames licking at the air. “The fuck you say to me, you small-dicked prick?” she spat, her words dripping with venom.

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and laughter as Logan waved it off, his grin wide and self-satisfied. “Woman, am I right?” he bellowed, his voice ringing with a smugness that somehow infected the room. There was a surprising number of people laughing, both men and women, as if they were all complicit in the joke.

“You’re a real bastard, Logan!” Piper shouted, her voice laced with venom. “What the hell does this have to do with Neptune’s affairs, or Venus?” Her eyes flicked between the trio of young men, her gaze sharp, like she could tear them apart with her stare alone.

“Are you as stupid as you look?” Logan quipped, his hand nonchalantly cleaning his fingernail, as if this was all just a game. “Anyone can join the games, Pipes. Sorry, looks like you’ve met your match. I’ll try to keep that face of yours intact. It’s honestly the only decent part of you.”

Piper’s hands balled into fists at her sides, her jaw clenching so tight it might break. “Oh, I’m going to kick your ass!” she spat, fury rising in her chest. She turned her gaze toward Atticus. “But you, you’re the biggest coward of them all.”

Atticus blinked, taken aback. “Huh?”

“I know you, Atticus,” she said, her voice low and biting. “You’re a warrior. You didn’t care the first time about the spectacle. You didn’t care about me being expelled. So, what is it? You know what? If I win, you tell me the truth. Tell everyone the truth. Did Clarissa, that cold-hearted bitch, force you to do this?”

Clarissa’s laugh rang out, too loud, too sharp to be anything but forced. “Well, Piper,” she drawled, her eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the faces that had turned toward them. “Who’s going to fight by your side, then?” She smiled with something like pity, looking at the members of House Mercury—Marcus, Margaret, Iman, Ernest, Simon, and Anderson—and others from various houses. She could practically smell the weight of doubt in the air. Bracken’s mind went to Piper’s contributions on the frontlines. Simon and his girlfriend, torn away from the sight…

“I—I’m not even going to be allowed to fight,” Piper muttered, the words barely escaping her lips. It wasn’t the duel. It wasn’t the stress of the fight ahead. It was the realization—the crushing weight—that even her ability to defend herself, to stand her ground, would be ripped away.

Clarissa’s voice cut through the tension, her words dripping with the satisfaction of knowing she had already won. “Huh, not unexpected,” she said, her eyes scanning the room with a cool, almost clinical detachment. “Over a thousand people here, and not a single soul wants to help you, Piper. That must feel like the loneliest feeling in the whole world.”

Piper wiped a tear from her cheek, her fingers trembling slightly, but her voice held firm. “Oh, shut up, Clarissa. What do you know about being lonely?” She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. “I know about you, about your father. I’d rather die than have a dad like that.” Her voice broke for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. “Honestly, I pity you… I see the way Atticus is, how he hides his wounds, and I know who gave them to him…”

Clarissa’s gaze turned colder, sharper. “And what do you know about fathers, Piper?” she asked, her voice a quiet knife. “I know about your past…”

Piper’s expression twisted into something dark and resolute. “You don’t know shit,” she shot back, her tone as curt as a whip crack.

“Really?” Clarissa huffed, a cruel chuckle slipping from her lips. “I know your family... disowned you.” She let the words hang in the air, watching the surprise, the slow realization settle on Piper’s face, like a storm cloud creeping across the horizon.

“Really,” she continued, her voice almost sweet, “it must be lonely. Hell, Atticus is a little shit, but honestly, you’ve only got one brother left.” She laughed again, sharp and mocking.

But before Piper could respond, Henryk raised his hand. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “I will fight.” His words hung heavy in the tense air, and the squires around him turned in disbelief—Mateo, Wilbur, and Franklin looked at him like he had just sprouted another head.

“I’ll fight,” Henryk repeated, his voice louder now, unwavering.

“What the fuck is he doing? Is he retarded?” Wilbur’s voice cut through the room, thick with incredulity.

“Fuck if I know,” Franklin muttered back, but the others couldn’t take their eyes off Henryk, who was already pushing through the crowd, heading for the stage.

“…My father taught me that,” Henryk spoke as he moved, his voice steady, the weight of his words unmistakable. “Seems like he’s got the concept of family down better than yours did.”

Piper’s fury surged like a tidal wave. She hated the tears, hated the way people were seeing her like this. The deaths, the sacrifices, all of it had been for nothing. She had been searching for a reason, searching for a way to prove it had been worth it. But now, it felt like the end. She could feel the walls closing in around her.

“Who will fight for you, Piper?” Clarissa’s voice rang out, cruel and inviting, her hand sweeping toward the crowd, offering them a chance to join her cause. But it was Henryk who caught Arthur’s eye. He had just stepped forward, his form standing tall, different from the rest.

Arthur’s voice escaped him, a shout of disbelief. “Henryk!” The name tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, instinctive, raw.

“Henryk?” Ed repeated, his voice low, searching, as if the name itself might hold some meaning.

“Henryk?” Clarissa’s voice was a sharp edge, her eyes narrowing as they scanned the crowd. She didn’t recognize him, but she didn’t need to. The others did. The name wasn’t just any name. It was a name that carried weight—a name only borne by one person in this academy, maybe even in this whole world.

“Yes, I will fight.” Henryk’s voice was final, the certainty in his tone unshakable. He let his hand drop, and the sound of his footsteps echoed against the wooden floor, each step deliberate, each one carrying the gravity of his decision.