The Academy boasted a doctor's building, but this moment demanded more urgent attention. Margaret found herself whisked away to the Academy City Hospital. Inside, the atmosphere was sterile, the colors bland—a sea of blue scrubs and white coats enveloped her.

Yet, Margaret's focus zeroed in on the vending machine's glass, its tantalizing treats beckoning. She swiped her cash card, selecting the coveted "Blast Em" Cookies. But fate had other plans; the machine jammed, mocking her desire.

"Oh, come on..." she sighed, frustration mounting.

Determined, Margaret approached the machine, gripping it with both hands, rocking it back and forth in a futile attempt to dislodge her snack.

"Margaret, I can swipe to get you what you want."

"Huh?" Margaret glanced up, startled, as a figure moved past her. With a swipe of his cash card, the same item slid out of the machine.

Then, realization dawned, and Margaret's eyes widened. "Simon?" she breathed, watching him retrieve her snack along with his own. "You're here?"

Simon nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to visit my girlfriend."

Margaret opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, her gaze dropping to her shoes. Before she could speak, Simon continued.

"Margaret, I knew you for a good year before I transferred. We're not strangers anymore, and I still care about you and Piper. Neptune and Mercury. Does it really matter which planets we herald from?"

Meeting his gaze, Margaret felt a warmth spread within her. "Zephyr, he always... he just gets so rattled up about everything. Many of the other houses stay friends with each other, but only Zephyr would preach about diplomatic missions instead of personal ones."

Margaret sneered, crossing her arms. "The fool."

Simon chuckled, a familiar sound that eased the tension. "Now you understand why I went to Piper for my resignation."

They shared a laugh, the weight of the moment lifting. "It's nice to smile and laugh again after all these hours," Margaret confessed. "You were pretty good, Simon Bolize."

Simon smirked, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Just pretty good? I could handle my own out there. Remember our missions together... handler and pilot."

"Nothing was safe," Margaret affirmed, a nostalgic twinge in her voice. "How many raiders, automatons, aliens, and whatnot have we shot down together in those missions?"

"Too many to count," Simon echoed, his voice hollow, trailing off into the silence. He looked up at Margaret, who sighed heavily.

"How is she doing, Margaret? How is Pipes?" Simon inquired.

Margaret leaned against the wall, weariness etched into her features. "There's a silver lining, the doctors said. The glass slammed so deep into her eye it could've gone straight into her brain with a few more inches. She can't see anymore out of it. The ocular lobe or what not was damaged irreparably, and they just removed the eye. What a shit show of a duel that was. I didn't know that boy was a..."

"Wizard," Simon finished for her.

Margaret's eyes widened. "You heard?"

Simon shook his head. "I saw it. I was watching along with Neptune when they got her out and placed her on the gurney," he recounted, a shadow passing over his expression. "It was some real rotten business. I don't know what happened; the shields didn't react to it or something?"

Margaret shrugged, a bitter edge to her tone. "I think her inner cockpit sucked up some damage. She never wore her helmet, and when she was getting thrashed around, something broke within her inner cockpit and flung into her screen. The glass fell and it... struck her."

Straightening herself, Margaret met Simon's gaze. "It's kind of a miracle, actually. It's horrible to say, and I know she wouldn't want to hear it now, but she nearly died today... this isn't the 1920s. She can have another eye, a bionic one as well."

"It won't replace what was once lost," Simon remarked solemnly. "Look at the Mockingbird."

"Atticus?" Margaret queried. "Even he is a testament that she can have a life."

"But he must struggle," Simon affirmed.

After a pause, Simon shook his head, his expression troubled. "But what of Henryk, of the Mage? What is going to be done with him?"

"I've never seen anything like that before. I've never known that Warcasket pilots who were magically attuned could weaponize spells within their crafts," Margaret admitted.

Simon absorbed her words, contemplating for a moment before responding. "There is much we do not understand after the introduction of magic within our universe. People are still learning... failing but learning. We maybe are just seeing the new strength of this generation of wizards."

"Well, I don't want any part of it," Margaret declared firmly.

Simon let out a heavy sigh. "Listen, it was good talking to you, but I need to get back to my girlfriend." He made a move to leave but hesitated. "Is Clive back yet?"

Margaret shook her head.

Simon narrowed his gaze at her. "Was Zephyr lying about when Clive is going to return? I wasn't under the assumption that Zephyr had access to these special long-running guild contracts."

"Zephyr was not lying," Margaret replied.

Simon fell silent, contemplating her words. Then, with a tense undertone, he spoke again. "Piper was the one that signed my letter of resignation. I was able to smoothly transfer over to House Neptune, and now when I officially graduate, I will be able to move there to aid my new home planet and house. I didn't betray anyone, I didn't pull a turn cloak... I got permission." His words dripped with restrained anger as he fixed his gaze on Margaret. "Clive is a mad dog."

Margaret grew quiet, her gaze falling to her feet. "I did the right thing. And he could've come after me, but like the cowardly dog he is... he..." Simon paused, his voice lowering.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, a darkness lurking within them. "Once he arrives here, we will have a trial by combat. I am going after all his cronies, and once he is within my grasp, his ass is mine."

With that, Simon turned to walk away, but Margaret's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"How did you get those bruises along your face, Simon?" she asked.

Simon halted his stride, though he didn't turn back to face her.

Margaret pressed on. "You aren't invincible, Simon. Clive is a coward who came after your girlfriend... but Zephyr didn't send him away into the stars to protect him from your wrath, it was to protect you."

Simon whipped his head around, anger flashing across his features.

"You said it yourself," Margaret continued. "He's a wild mad dog. Lucas has told me about how he gets in a Warcasket and on the ground during missions. I've heard horrible shit about him and what he's done on the battlefield."

"...and Zephyr protects him," Simon affirmed bitterly.

Margaret fell silent for a moment, her expression troubled. "He's a beast in human flesh. I've heard tales, and he's kept his madness primarily off grounds until now. Hopefully, it stays that way."

"Rumors are rumors, and truth is truth," Simon stated bluntly.

"...and all rumors have a bit of truth to them. Don’t they," regarded Margaret. She realized she was glaring at him now. Once they were friends, but this game of houses... sometimes it was easier to pay attention to the colors.

Simon whirled his head away, and Margaret followed suit as they all went their separate ways within the hospital.

Meanwhile, within the academy, Henryk was approaching House Mars. They cut through the woods now, later explained by Arthur that there were different ways to come through. Henryk was in the middle, and Arthur lagged behind, his sword pressed against his left shoulder as they strode together.

"You've got the front entrance to the main school grounds, but we've got to do some repairing for that part," Arthur explained.

"We were just out here for training," Axel interrupted, his rifle held firmly in both hands as they moved through wild, long leaves of grains.

"You were very lucky, countrymen," Arthur remarked.

"Don’t tell me twice. I was planning on running through the forest," Henryk replied.

"Luckily, when they ambushed you, we were around," added Ed, pausing in his stride. "However, that isn't it. You wish to join House Mars?"

Before Henryk could respond, Axel's voice interjected. "Sounds like he only wants in because all the other houses had rejected him." His laughter echoed.

Arthur snorted and turned to glare. "Don’t be acting so noble and loyal, pretty knight," he jabbed. "Didn’t you try to join House Venus and were rejected? Everyone has their choices... and Henryk's path has just led him to us."

Axel's humor quickly faded, and he glared ahead. "Don’t call me pretty knight," he spat.

"...or what?" Arthur challenged.

Before any more hostility could arise, Ed stepped between them. "Easy, easy," he said. "Save it for training or for future missions. I don’t want us fighting amongst ourselves like House Mercury."

Arthur snorted and chuckled at that one. Then, they continued for a brief passing in casual talk. Then, Henryk, for the first time, set his eyes upon House Mars’s manor.

It was a large house, more akin to a faded-away manor. Constructed of dulled red brick and in some segments wood, with many windows—some broken, some boarded up. Tattered and graffitied, Henryk realized in a glance that there was a beautiful blue stream that rivered around it.

"Come on," Ed motioned, gripping the strewn-apart fence with ease using his powered armor gloves.

As they entered, Henryk realized there was a slight hill to reach the manor from this descent. They walked upwards and came upon a wooden patio, with tattered remains of shattered and destroyed wooden seats.

Welcomed in through the patio door, Henryk found others inside, more than he expected. They wore duller colors of grey, contrasting with the red crimson paint of dishonor. Some were preparing food within the kitchen, shooting him odd glances.

"Join us in the living room," spoke Ed, who was now ahead of Henryk. They all proceeded, and Henryk paused within the entrance of the living room. His eyes surveyed his surroundings, feeling the dead history within the place, now akin to being in ruins.

Edward observed Henryk's reaction, sensing his awe. The size of Mars' home was comparable to a medium-sized classroom. The floor had been dusted clean, with evident efforts to repair the flooring. A fireplace implanted into the wall rippled with rusty bars, and a heavy chandelier, brimming with rich jewels, hung from the ceiling.

Taking their seats, more joined them, including a fancier-looking boy stripped out of his uniform, wearing a blue and white tracksuit with his chest popped out. He exuded confidence, smelling of cigarette smoke, with gelled and freshly combed hair, perpetually smirking, as Henryk observed.

Then, Tyson arose, a beast-like presence but human within the eyes. For a brief moment, Ty’s eyes widened in wonder and astonishment at seeing Henryk there. Henryk nodded towards him, offering a smile of his own.

They were mutants. There was a kinship within that, and even in the silence that followed, Henryk felt it.

Another one arrived, dark hair and tanned skin, his hair tied into a long braid with brown golden eyes tinted a deep red. Alongside him strode a brown-haired boy with freckles spotted along his features. Both of them had eyes tinted a cherry red, and a faint herbal smell wafted around them.

“What’s this all about?” Isaac queried.

“We’re having a meeting,” Ed replied, turning to Arthur, who coughed into his fist.

He gestured towards Henryk, who had yet to take a seat. “Henryk Brown, the druid, wishes to become a ‘Son of Mars.’”

Silence hung heavy in the air as others began to chatter around them. More pushed through the crowd, and Henryk noticed the room quickly filling at the edges.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Thirty-five boys, thirty-five young men—the house's manpower. Footmen, soldiers, pilots, and special units, true individuals harnessing their innate prowess to overwhelm the enemy, for the emperor and the royal family!

For a moment, no one spoke, but Arthur's gaze fixed on Henryk. “I like your manner, Henryk. You're brash, impulsive, and rugged…”

“Gee, thanks,” Henryk muttered.

But Arthur continued, turning his head towards the crowd. “We don’t need some pansy boy from Neptune or a green boy from Earth,” he proclaimed, gesturing towards Henryk. “Henryk is—I recognize your accent—a wizard. Where are you from?”

Henryk paused, trying not to stutter under the scrutiny of all eyes. “Nowhere,” he replied. “I am from some backwater world that…”

“Good then!” Arthur interjected loudly, his voice booming with a smile. “Tough planets breed tough men, and to rebuild the glory of our house, we need tough men!” He cheered, eliciting loud murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

Ed nodded in approval. “That’s a good point.”

However, Axel sneered. “Being tough doesn’t necessitate being a Knight of Mars,” he spat, glaring at Henryk. “This Henryk of yours. I’ve heard of him. We don’t need some mindless brute that likes to brutalize…”

“Say that louder!” Henryk screamed, almost charging at Axel.

But Henryk was held back, and Axel snickered, pointing. Ed did nothing, his gaze fixed on the exchange as others restrained Henryk.

“We need passionate knights, no doubt, but being tough or resilient isn’t all that matters,” Axel countered.

“A strong knight wins the war,” Arthur insisted.

“And what of after the war?” Axel retorted. “What of the people, of the culture that needs to be protected, and the mastery of discipline? Tough brutes need to be taught, but this Henryk has shown us this week that he may be incapable of being taught into a proper knight…he will surely dishonor us.”

Isaac groaned audibly. “Enough. We don’t know who Henryk truly is. All I’ve heard about the party was a mix of claims,” he paused, fixing his gaze on Henryk. “Are you the antlered knight, Henryk? You fit the similar build and…”

“No!” Henryk screamed. “I was in the back, drunk as shit, and I could hardly remember…”

“If you could hardly remember parts of the night, then that could be…” Joseph began to interject but softened his voice as he noticed Ed’s glare from across the room. He widened his eyes in realization, backing away and resting on the couch.

“What skills do you have?” Vinnie demanded, arms crossed, glaring at his comrades. “What are we doing here? Let’s get to the practicals.”

Henryk straightened his back, words tumbling from his lips uncontrollably. “I was the one who saved Logan from that boulder with my Warcasket. I spotted and aided in the recovery of Sirine. Hell, I saved them in that damn maneuver when the ship dug within itself! I know basic survival skills from my time on my backwater world, and I know how to shoot. I fought Piper and…while she was injured, my victory still stands, and I…”

“You were victorious,” Ed interjected.

Ed’s words silenced the room. All eyes turned toward him, and Henryk realized Ed had his own seat, a mini throne in the middle of the room, his words commanding attention. He was their leader, and Henryk remembered that feeling—the feeling of a leader, someone great with his own ideals.

"Henryk, do you have any true idea what you're going to be doing here?" Ed's question hung heavy in the room, casting a shadow over the conversation.

Henryk glanced around, wondering if Ed had posed the same query before, perhaps to others. "Yes, but I've been surprised by the new things I've learned since my arrival."

Ed sighed, the weight of history heavy in his voice. "House Mars... it's a different house than others, well, it was before the scattering."

"The scattering?" Henryk echoed, intrigued.

Arthur's lip curled in disdain. "It's what our people call the devastation of Mars. When the Empire and the Armies from the Houses descended upon us. They destroyed... and our world was reduced to ash."

"Reduced to ash..." Henryk repeated, the gravity of those words sinking in.

"It's a severe punishment," Vinnie interjected, his gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "The King... or rather, the old king. He tried to attempt a coup when the old Emperor died."

"The Eunuch Emperor..." Arthur spat, bitterness lacing his words.

Henryk's eyes darted between them, shock and disbelief mingling within him. He had never imagined the depth of their shared history. As he wrestled with his thoughts, he felt Ed's gaze upon him, the unspoken acknowledgment of his inner turmoil.

Ed pressed on, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Before, even then our ranks were quite exclusive, and we usually picked from our own stock, but there aren't many Martians out there... fewer that survived the crucible, and now here we remain." He gestured around the room, encompassing them all.

"You are speaking to the sons of dead fathers, young men who can hardly even remember what the red planet looked like..." Ed's words hung in the air, a somber reminder of their shared loss.

Axel's sneer broke the heavy silence. "I remember."

"Oh really, pretty knight," Arthur mocked. "What do you recall so much about it?"

Axel's gaze met theirs, his purple eyes shimmering beneath flowing blond hair. Surprisingly, he smiled, not with arrogance but with genuine warmth.

"I remember the meat cakes... and I remember the festivals," he reminisced, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes.

"I can remember things," Isaac replied, his voice trailing off into the depths of his memories. "Bits and pieces, but mostly sounds and figures. I was so young, and everything felt so much grander back then... makes you wonder how much was real and how much was imagination?"

Ed paid no heed to Isaac's musings, nor did anyone else. They chose to ignore the haunting whispers of the past, burying them beneath the weight of their present reality.

"Our roster was small, but we've got a good number of engineers and our own guys with their own miscellaneous skills. However, we need pilots and soldiers. You'd be trained in both," Ed stated, his tone carrying a sense of urgency.

"Trained?" Henryk echoed, uncertainty creeping into his voice as he surveyed the room.

Ed locked eyes with him, determination flickering in his gaze. "You're hardy, and your mind and body are young. They can be molded, and underneath the right temperature... a true knight of Mars is born."

Henryk paused, the weight of Ed's words sinking in. He had expected physical exertion, but the prospect of becoming a soldier was daunting. He had no aspirations of facing the horrors of war firsthand.

"What does the training mean?" Henryk inquired, his gaze darting around the room in search of answers.

Isaac raised his hand, offering a glimpse of insight into the harsh reality awaiting Henryk. "Have you ever fought in any real serious conflicts, Henryk?" he asked, his tone grave.

Henryk shrugged, recalling the skirmishes of his youth. "When I was a young lad, I had to protect my baby sis, and sure there were fights and I was trained on how to use a..."

"No," Isaac interjected, his smile tight but firm. "That is not the type of training I am talking about."

Isaac turned to Arthur, drawing attention to the seasoned warrior among them. "You see Arthur there? He's the oldest out of us, twenty-two. He's six-five and was raised as a ward for a lord renowned for warrior strength. How many wars have you fought in?"

Arthur's sneer spoke volumes of his experience. "I've been fighting since I was fifteen," he declared, his eyes gleaming with the fire of battle.

"Fifteen?" Henryk repeated, aghast at the revelation.

Arthur's smirk widened, his pride in his prowess evident. "Midworlders and coreworlders forget the beauty in a melee. When two blades create sparks, that is the light of the gods watching for their renown."

Joseph, unimpressed by Arthur's bravado, challenged his assertion. "You say that only because you inherited your spikes," he accused.

Arthur's laughter reverberated through the room. "You mean to call me a coward?" he taunted, his confidence unshakeable in the face of doubt.

"No, I don't," Joseph retorted, his words laced with a hint of resentment. "However, you inherited your spikes young. You know of the abilities and great strengths it gives us. You must've been a great warrior amongst your people."

"And to my liege lord," Arthur acknowledged with a nod. "That is where I learned more about our Emperor's realm. I also gained knowledge of space combat, boarding, and..."

Isaac chuckled, his amusement evident. "I got that education pretty heavy-handed."

"The military brat," Axel chimed in, earning a smirk from Isaac.

"Now do you see?" Ed interjected, his tone grave. "Henryk, we are going on the real difficult missions. We're going to be eviscerating and rooting out the space insects from their core, fighting and pledging our independence and warcaskets to the individual nobles of the houses. We aid them, we get money. But we are doing the difficult missions... it is not uncommon for those that go for the role of eviscerator to sometimes meet an early demise."

"What?" Henryk exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur added his perspective. "Dying in your warcasket is an honorable thing, but you die nonetheless. To some individuals, this prospect is ill-rewarded. The deeds of warrior honor carrying your name throughout the galaxy seem to not appeal to midworlders."

"Gee, I wonder why," Vinnie quipped sarcastically.

"We are going on missions into the darkest corners of the galaxy, Henryk," Arthur reiterated, his tone serious.

Henryk glanced around at his companions, his expression souring, muscles tightening. This was his only practical option, for his family, for his colony, for the memory of his father. "I can accept any burden," he declared, determination burning in his eyes.

Ed's eyes widened at Henryk's resolve, a flicker of guilt and hope stirring within him. "I'll vouch for you, Henryk," he affirmed, drawing the attention of the room.

Axel snorted, his disdain evident. "You'll vouch for this... this... hick!" he spat.

Arthur shot Axel a warning look. "What is your issue, pretty knight?" he demanded.

Vinnie rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he muttered. "Axel and another one of his tirades."

"How about you shut your fucking mouth," Axel snapped, his tone curt, silencing the room with its intensity.

The air hummed with tension, each breath thick with anticipation. Axel's purple eyes pierced through the charged atmosphere, locking onto Vinnie's defiant gaze.

"...And what if I don't, pretty knight?" Vinnie retorted, his voice steady despite the crackling energy between them.

Axel's sneer faltered, his anger redirected toward Ed. "The other squires were midworlders, possessing a hint of class and grace. This hick... what does he know beyond tilling and simple labor? What fool like him could comprehend the essence of piloting a warcasket?"

"...And also," August interjected, his voice hesitant. He stood apart from the others, the shortest in the room, yet his words carried weight.

With dark glasses obscuring his eyes and dark hair framing his pale face, August hesitated as he voiced his agreement. "I... I don't agree with letting Henryk in as well."

Axel seized upon August's wavering stance. "Even Fleeboy agrees with me," he declared triumphantly.

Henryk shot Axel a scathing look, but before he could speak, Fleeboy, visibly trembling, continued the dissent. "He has made powerful enemies within the houses. I've heard tales of Logan of Neptune and him being at odds."

Arthur acknowledged the truth in Fleeboy's words, prompting Henryk to shoot him a questioning glance. "What, Henryk? We must be fair," Arthur explained. "The other houses, aside from Mars, of course, each have their uses. It's like an ecosystem. We can't afford someone who disrupts our balance."

"Sounds pretty bureaucratic," Isaac scoffed, stepping forward. His gaze fixed on Fleeboy, and with a swift motion, he struck him hard across the head. Fleeboy crumpled to the ground, clutching his injured head.

"You're a coward," Isaac spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "All of you are!"

He turned to face the room, his words cutting through the silence. "Do you not remember Mars? The glory, the honor, the beauty of our planet. We fought for years, with distinction, with glory. How many Sons died on foreign worlds in service to our Emperor? How many of our knights lie on the scattered rims of the red moon? And our planet... dashed away by the Emperor. That, and the houses, they are equally at fault..."

Axel's sneer cut through the tension like a razor. "You choose to blame the other houses?" he taunted, his gaze flickering upward with disdain.

Isaac's sneer mirrored Axel's. "We were the Emperor's loyal dogs, and our master turned against us. They should've felt fear and turned against him. We served them for generations, and this is how we were repaid. Stabbed in the back by the Eunuch Emperor!"

But Isaac's tirade faltered as Ed's glare bore into him, a silent warning. Henryk, bewildered and stunned, found himself thrust into a moment of history he hadn't known existed.

Then Tyson rose abruptly. "I think Henryk can become a Knight of Mars."

A hush fell over the room, all eyes turning to Tyson. "You do?" Vinnie questioned, his skepticism palpable.

Tyson nodded, addressing Ed. "I believe that if Henryk passes his trial, he can endure the crucible and become a Knight of Mars. Perhaps, he can bring honor to the Executor position."

"The Executor..." The whispered words carried weight, laden with significance.

"What is that?" Henryk interjected, his curiosity piqued.

"It's not merely a tale," Arthur interjected sharply, cutting off Vinnie. "It's real."

Vinnie gritted his teeth. "Believe what you will, Arthur. Mars was a world steeped in bloodshed, more than we should ever feel proud of."

Arthur's laughter rang out, raw and untamed. "Your history is my history, Vinnie. Never forget that. We're all the sons of savages. If fate had tilted just a bit differently, we'd have borne our fathers' spikes into battle, wielded the sharpest swords, and blazed forth with the mightiest guns."

Vinnie's sneer deepened. "There's no honor in being a conqueror or a killer."

Isaac chuckled, a dark edge to his smile. "But there is honor in being a soldier," he countered, Joseph joining in with a smirk and a clap on Isaac's back.

"Amen to that," Joseph chimed in, his voice carrying a weight of agreement.

Tyson pressed on, his words dripping with conviction. "Henryk embodies the true values of a knight. You all heard of how he saved Sirine at the party. But there's more. Remember when those Neptune cronies had me pinned down? Beaten and bruised on the floor? Henryk came charging in, fighting tooth and nail to protect me. He's just a countryman, a hick, but he's shown more chivalry than any of us. While we stood by, he acted."

Silence descended like a shroud, guilt hanging heavy in the air. They were the sons of knights, yet when trouble arose, it was Henryk who stepped up to the plate.

"I'll cast my vote for Henryk," Tyson declared. "The Executor's blade, he bears one."

"Indeed," Ed agreed.

Isaac's curiosity piqued. "Where'd you get something like that?"

"It's a family heirloom," Henryk replied simply.

"A knight's sword," Arthur mused. "That's a good omen. Who was your father?"

"I don't know much about him. He died when I was young, freeing us from a slave vessel."

A solemn silence enveloped them. Henryk's truth hung in the air, unyielding. He wouldn't allow doubt from those lacking in honor. His thoughts turned to Zephyr and the others, to the injustices he'd endured. His heart hardened, forged in the fires of adversity.

Arthur's gaze shifted to Henryk. "He's got my vote. An interesting character indeed. Perhaps songs will be sung of you, Henryk Brown."

"A druid in the truest sense," Isaac mused. "I've never fought alongside a wizard, but as long as you stay clear of my line of fire, we won't have a problem. Let him prove himself."

Tyson stood tall. "Me, Ed, Isaac, and Arthur. That's our vote for the piloting and soldier division. Some of us aren't pilots, but our bodies are enhanced. We stand apart from the rest. August and Axel said no. Joseph and Vinnie, it's your turn. What say you?"

Joseph cast a scrutinizing gaze at Henryk, his expression clouded with uncertainty. Turning to Edward, he emitted a resigned sigh, a silent communication passing between them. "Fine then, let's give it a shot..." His words carried a weight of hesitation, the haze of indecision evident in his features.

Vinnie's nonchalant shrug belied the gravity of his words. "You seem decent enough. We'll have to whip you into shape, get you on a regimen. You're at the academy, but you're also a squire in training... you'll need to be ready."

"Get ready to sweat," Isaac interjected, his tone serious. "I went through a grinder after the fall of Mars. We'll need to sharpen you and the other squires."

"Squires?" Henryk questioned, a note of confusion in his voice.

"We're preserving our heritage," Edward explained solemnly. "Mars may be gone, but its people endure, Henryk."

"That's a wrap," Isaac declared, glancing at the fading sun.

"And just in time," Joseph added, his gaze following the descent of the sun.

Approaching Henryk, Ed's demeanor was somber. Henryk noticed the object Jace had used during Jose's crowning ceremony. Had Ed been wearing it all along? Did he already know the outcome?

Lifting the gauntlet-clad hand, Ed placed it on Henryk's shoulder. "I, Edward Wolfsheim of House Mars, of the lineage of 'The Vapor Swords,' as acting president of House Mars, hereby name Henryk Brown of The Frontier. Let him serve as a squire... and one day, rise to bear Mars's blessings. On that day, they shall be true brothers."

In an instant, Henryk's uniform shimmered and transformed. The drab gray fabric morphed into a sleek gunmetal gray, adorned with golden bands on the cuffs. Though the process was fleeting, Henryk knew he would never forget that moment.

"Welcome, Henryk," Ed said, clasping Henryk's hand. "Welcome to House Mars. You've earned it."

For a moment, Henryk felt as though he were soaring among the clouds, unsure if it was reality or a dream. His legs trembled with exhilaration, a surge of triumph coursing through him. He wanted to shout to the heavens, to celebrate his newfound achievement.

The sound of paint hitting the walls shattered any notion Henryk had of presenting himself decently to his mother. Axel stood there, a grin etched across his face, his helmet casting a shadow over his features as he held out a can of thick crimson paint.

"Douse it," he commanded, the words cutting through the air like a knife.

Henryk's gaze hardened as he heard the muted voices swirling in his mind. "You've got to do it," someone urged.

Another voice chimed in, its tone heavy with resignation. "We were marked, condemned, disgraced. To remain at the academy, we must wear the red of our shame..."

Amidst the cacophony of voices, Henryk couldn't shake the echoes of Jose's accusations and the relentless pounding of the crowd. "Traitors, murderers, outlaws..."

What had he just become a part of? A brotherhood of steel... or a band of rebels and renegades?