Logan

It was the day after the funeral. Logan sat in his dorm room, a wide, genuine smirk spreading across his face as he stared at his laptop. This time, his smile wasn't one of trickery or mischief but of true happiness.

“You doing well, little brother?” The voice on the other end of the video call was warm and familiar.

Logan snorted. “You know it, Kaelin.”

Kaelin reclined on the luxurious, leathery red sofa in their father's study. Rows of books in all shapes and sizes filled the wall behind him, illuminated by the soft, white moonlight pouring in through a large circular window. Kaelin's blond hair, far longer than Logan's, cascaded past his shoulders. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on the aquamarine trident in his hands, his posture still reflecting the intensity of recent training.

“How is the House doing?” Kaelin asked, his voice casual but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

Logan snorted again. “Why do you care?” he retorted. “This place can get so boring sometimes. I bet you were excited to leave.”

Kaelin shrugged his shoulders. “It only got really exciting when I knew Dad was going to take a more hands-on approach to start grooming me for kingly responsibilities. At that point, I was practically ready to finish my final year before it even started.”

Logan sighed, a mixture of envy and resignation in his breath. “I’ve got a couple of years left before I'm done, but honestly, the Academy and The House are doing really well. Far better than before, in my opinion. We’re stronger, Dad’s been sending us stipends and more state-of-the-art gear than ever before. Heck, we haven’t lost anyone in a long time.” Logan's smile grew wider, the truth of his words filling him with a rare sense of peace.

Kaelin nodded, his gaze shifting to the moonlight dancing on the trident, momentarily blinding him. “Sometimes, you need death to make you remember what it means to be alive,” he mused. His eyes remained glued to the way the light played on the ancient weapon. “I’d do anything to get back into the thick of it, to give Aqua here a taste of combat, true combat...”

Aqua, the family trident, had been handed down to the firstborn son since the days of Old Neptune. It was a symbol of their lineage and power. For a moment, Logan's thoughts drifted to Henryk’s own blade. He wondered if he could ever trade something so important, father or not. He pondered the weight of responsibility, the legacy carried in the steel of their family weapons. Could he ever part with such a vital piece of his heritage?

Lost in his thoughts, Logan felt a pang of doubt. He couldn't imagine letting go of something so significant. Would he ever be able to bear such a sacrifice? The question lingered, heavy and unresolved, as the moonlight continued to glisten on Aqua's surface.

Yet, Logan shook his head, trying to dispel thoughts of Henryk of Mars. Still, the betrayal ran thick, boiling his blood.

“How are you feeling about the Oceana system?” Logan asked, steering the conversation.

Kaelin's gaze snapped back to the camera, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “That’s what dear father wishes to discuss,” he stated. “I was leaning towards forcefully drawing them into the Neptunian fold. Instead of just donating and giving them goods, we need to be careful. Giving these Midworlds too much autonomy often leads to them craving independence within a few years.”

“You've got a point,” Logan conceded.

Kaelin shrugged, his expression smug. “The Earthians with their fractured governments, the Mercurians with their fledgling Republic... Their weakness is apparent. It’s our divine right to rule. Only the strength and purity of the House of the Fifth Reich can lead,” he declared, tightening his hand into a proud fist.

Just then, their father entered the room—a tall, but stout man with a small smirk, gelled black hair, and piercing blue eyes. “I hope I’m not hearing you spout the old history,” the King of Neptune said, his voice carrying a warning. He sighed as he approached the desk. “Kaelin, if the wider populace hears you talking like that…”

“They’d rally to my call,” Kaelin interjected, fervor in his voice. “Many would return to the Old Way, especially after the expulsion of House Mars.”

Their father, now seated at his desk, pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You can’t say things like that,” he admonished, but Kaelin merely smirked.

“Like what? The Eunuch Emperor and his dogs of Mars are gone,” Kaelin declared, lazily thumbing his chest. “If I were in charge, I’d push out all the mutants and undesirables. Revoke their visas and whatnot…”

The King of Neptune, one of the most powerful men in the solar system, stared at his two sons. Despite his age and the greying of his once black hair, his name alone commanded both love and fear. To them, he was just Rylan.

Rylan sighed deeply. “Kaelin, the old way is called the old way for a reason. There may have been strength in it, but returning to it will only lead to disaster,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself. He nodded towards the screen. “And Kaelin, don’t influence your brother. He may be second in line, but he will wield significant political power when you take over. Likewise, he attends that school with all those mutants and half-breeds. We don’t need Mercurians or Earthians hearing anything about the old way.”

Kaelin shrugged. “Logan can form his own opinions without me swaying him.”

Logan nodded, a smile playing at his lips as he looked between his brother and father. “I agree with Kaelin, though, Dad.”

Rylan facepalmed, letting out a weary sigh. “Kaelin, you’re such a bad influence,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “When it’s your turn to wield the throne, you’ll see the weight of this responsibility. Great power is coupled with the need for strategic persuasion. Convincing people by appealing to their nobler traits will get you further than force ever will.”

Kaelin fell silent, contemplating his father's words, before speaking again. “But Father, what about the Oceana system? All our donations and aid…”

The king nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, Kaelin. We’ve given them funds and offered security. And now, I hear the Headmaster at the Academy has extended an invitation to the Mercurians and even the Martians.” He ended the sentence with a dark laugh, his amusement bitter and cold.

Rylan settled back into his chair, a calculating look in his eyes. “You’re right, Kaelin. The time for gentle persuasion has passed. Now is the time to squeeze them.”

“Squeeze them?” Logan repeated, curiosity piqued.

Kaelin chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “So, we’re going to go down there in full force? Declare war on the Oceana system?”

Rylan waved his hand dismissively. “You’re too blunt, Kaelin. It’s about strategy. Those things—GrimGar—they destroyed a whole planet, decimated their city, forcing survivors into the cosmos.”

“Yeah,” Kaelin interjected, “so what?”

Rylan snickered, leaning forward. “Some GrimGar have broken away, attacking neighboring planets within the sector. From Oceana Prime to Oceana Four, they’re all feeling the brunt of these raids—murdering, enslaving…”

Logan’s eyes widened in realization. “You’re going to use this chaos as an excuse to intervene militarily.”

Rylan chuckled, pointing at Logan. “Your brother catches on quickly,” he said, satisfaction evident in his tone.

“He does,” commented Kaelin. “He was always the smarter one, but at least I’m far prettier.”

Rylan sighed, shaking his head at his sons. “Brothers... Listen, Logan, you’re going to keep doing your thing at the Academy, but I’ve heard that the Headmaster of that damned academy… he’s dying.”

Logan nodded. “We learned about it yesterday. He announced it, and now there’s a race to marry his daughter or something?”

Kaelin scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve always known he was an eccentric prick,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “A bunch of Mercurians died, Oceana Two or Three is in flames, and millions have been sent to its sister worlds. And now is the time to reveal this?”

Rylan sighed deeply. “He’s always been a joke—a family of noble upstarts that only control the academy. They only gain prestige from the number of heroes that have graduated from their halls,” he scoffed. “But Logan, because you’re our ace... remember how I told you that you are going to wield great political power?”

Logan nodded tentatively.

Rylan continued, his tone serious. “The Academy for years has followed strange traditions… some that even contrast and interject with the Imperial Abhorrents,” he sighed again, clearly frustrated. “One of these traditions is that there cannot be any female headmaster…”

Kaelin smirked and then exploded into laughter. “Of course there can't,” he stated, his laughter echoing. “We know how these dumb bitches operate.”

Rylan was not amused, but Logan joined in the laughter. “Well, big brother, I’ve got a story for you,” Logan said, his eyes gleaming.

Rylan raised his hand to quiet them, but he did it lazily enough for Kaelin to turn and smirk at his younger brother. Deep down, he was pleased that his sons were such good friends.

“What’s up, little bro?” asked Kaelin.

Logan snickered. “I beat that bitch from House Mercury, their ace, the Red Rocket or something dumb along those lines, after one of their pricks attacked one of our girls.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Kaelin smirked. “You told her to get back into the kitchen like I told you to?”

“Hell yeah, I did,” Logan replied, grinning widely. Kaelin’s smile matched his own, pride evident in his eyes.

“Now, that’s my little bro,” he stated, pointing towards the camera.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Rylan spoke, trying to rein in the conversation. “Back to the point. The professors at the academy—not all of them, but the ones with notoriety and combat experience—are going to be looking for prospects. They’ll most definitely reach out to the famous ace of Neptune, you.”

Logan nodded, considering his father’s words. “Why would a professor want to sponsor me?” he questioned, raising his arms in a gesture of confusion. “I can handle myself just fine or with one of our trainers.”

Rylan sighed, his expression weary. “I suppose, but it’s just the way it’s being handled. I know for sure that any professor who aids a student is going to gain more power from his position. Pick a good one, but if there’s only one coming to you... take it.”

His father’s words were like steel, and Logan understood the gravity of the situation. “Of course, Dad,” Logan said. “I’ll win this race and bring honor and glory.”

Rylan nodded but paused for a moment. “Logan, be careful.”

“Dad, I’m always...” Logan began, but halted at the sight of his father’s raised hand on the screen.

Rylan continued, his tone somber. “You are not going to be facing mere aliens not made in God’s image, or robots, or even your own kin,” he sighed. “We’re talking about the next heir to not only the academy but someone who will wield substantial power within the Eunuch Emperor’s domain. You’ll be going against other champions, aces, warriors—true warriors who have tasted blood, true blood.”

Logan’s eyes widened at that, his mind drawn to what he had witnessed during the headmaster’s speech. Henryk, mutant, abomination—but Logan had seen great skill in him. He had not even told his father and brother how Henryk had saved his life. That silent shame he’d forever carry.

“I will be, Father, I promise,” Logan said with conviction.

“Good, good,” Rylan repeated, then turned his gaze to Kaelin. “In a couple of years, I’m going to step down from my role as king. I want to take your mother to the countryside and live out the rest of our days in relative peace. So, I’m going to send you to the Oceana Sector.”

“Father...,” Kaelin began, shock evident on his face, but a smile was also forming.

Rylan continued, his voice steady. “You are beloved by the people, and don’t forget that one of those planets used to be controlled by us.” He raised his fingers and started to squeeze them into a fist. “The Martians are gone, and the Eunuch Emperor is too preoccupied to do anything about this. We’ve already paid off the guild to handle any unwanted House missions going there. Only independents or mercs will be a problem.”

“…and the proud people of Oceana,” Kaelin said, his voice steady yet questioning. “I get what you mean, Father. But the idea that they’re just going to give in or…”

Rylan waved his hand dismissively. “You’re right; they won’t just give in. But the militia they have, the number of people tired of the constant running, and the GrimGar breathing down their backs... Listen, Kaelin, you are a man of Neptune, of the royal family. You will be in charge of the fighting. Make it swift, and put an end to their leader.”

“They already have a leader,” Logan interjected.

“They're calling her a princess of Mars,” Rylan revealed, watching his sons’ eyes widen in shock.

“A princess?” Logan repeated, incredulous. “I thought the whole royal family was dead?”

Rylan chuckled darkly. “I took my ARC core and dealt with that upstart king myself. However, I assume this girl has some royal blood lingering within her. An offshoot, perhaps. But if rumors can be believed, if she has enough…” His eyes moved to Kaelin. “We may have just found your bride.”

Kaelin’s eyes widened, then a soft gleam spread over his face. “As long as she’s pretty, I don’t mind,” he said with a smirk. “But why marry?”

“Two reasons,” Rylan explained. “The people of Oceana are proud and have always loved the Martians. The sector was home to some honorable orders. If we get a hand on her, reluctantly and furious, they will fall in line. Secondly, your son or daughter will have access to bear the ARC of both Mars and Neptune.”

“Father, but I thought you said that…” Logan began.

“I know what I said, Logan,” Rylan interrupted. “But things can always be found and repaired.” Both sons’ eyes went wide at that.

Rylan sighed heavily. “I’ve given you boys a lot to think about, but I want to remind you that while you are hearing tales of honor, glory, and power, there is always death.” He paused as he rose from his seat. “I’ve seen the cruelty of this universe. My words alone have led to hundreds of thousands of deaths. I was there when the Eunuch Emperor himself set fires to the plains of Mars and condemned millions to nuclear atomization.”

Logan and Kaelin were silent, absorbing the weight of their father’s words. A small smile appeared on Rylan’s aged face. “It’s a horrible thing for a father to bury his sons. Promise me, you two will not take any unnecessary risks,” he sighed, gazing between them. “Fight for your ideals and your planet, not for greed, or pride, or honor.” He directed these words particularly at Kaelin, who shrugged, masking a smile, while Logan hid his own grin.

His brother bore the trident Aqua, the ace before Logan came around. His brother would fight and kill these enemies and take this princess for himself.

“I promise,” Kaelin stated firmly.

“Me too,” Logan echoed.

Rylan sighed once again, rubbing his temples. “Sometimes, I wish you two had followed the paths of academics. But everyone loves a hero.”

Henryk

Ed was cracking funny faces to make Henryk laugh. Henryk chuckled quietly, trying to keep it discreet within the lecture hall. The room was vast, capable of seating fifty to one hundred students. The seats were connected to great circular desks that stretched row by row, the students of the academy scattered around them, clad in differing colors—Neptunian blue, Mercurian orange, and more. Within these classes, there was a degree of peace. No fighting was allowed during lectures; Henryk had been told by Edward that there was great punishment if caught.

Yet, people still messed around.

Henryk bobbed his head, his fingers on his laptop as he listened to an unfinished song. One earpiece of his headset was loose, resting against his head, while the other was snug in his ear.

The professor, Deeznea, commanded the room with her presence. Henryk’s mom had told him it was rude to call professors by their first names, so he never bothered to learn them, only their titles. She also told him to pay attention during his classes; however, he already knew much of this subject.

Deeznea was an older woman with peculiar purple hair, streaked naturally with grey—a rarity far from humanity's birthplace. Henryk and Ed shared a biology class together.

“Can anyone tell me the appropriate name for witches and wizards as they are commonly called within this universe?” Deeznea spoke, her arms wrapped around herself. She stood in front of a great white chalkboard, an anachronism in the deep future.

Arms shot up.

A girl clad in Mercurian orange spoke up, her voice dripping with smugness. “Magicians!” she called out, her tone proud.

Deeznea shook her head in response. “No, they aren’t,” she said, facepalming at the response. “I’ll give you all a hint: it isn’t witches or wizards.” Laughter rippled through the hall.

Another student, wearing the militaristic brown of Saturn, raised his hand. His orange eyes gleamed mischievously. “Abhorrents,” he said, and a few more chuckles arose from the crowd.

Ed sneered at the boy, already committing his face to memory. He glanced at Henryk, but Henryk’s gaze was fixated on his laptop screen, his attention wholly consumed by his music. Ed could faintly hear the piano playing through Henryk’s headphones, each beat resonating as Henryk’s mouse hovered over the center of the screen. “1, 2, 3,” Henryk muttered, following the rhythm.

He was oblivious to the classroom around him.

“Wrong and racist,” Deeznea spoke firmly, turning away in exasperation. She returned to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk, drawing with quick, fluid motions. Ed’s eyes widened as she sketched a crude human figure.

She then slammed the chalk down in the center and turned back to the class, her gaze sweeping over everyone, finally landing on one of the few Witches of Jupiter.

“Belleanne, would you like to educate your fellow peers?” Deeznea asked, her tone suggesting she already knew the answer.

Belleanne’s eyes widened as she snapped out of her stupor, red from lack of sleep. She slipped one hand from the sleeve of her robe. “O-oh, I can’t… oaths and all that,” she stammered.

“Why am I not surprised,” Deeznea muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her gaze drifted from Belleanne and landed on Henryk, who was still nodding his head to his music. Ed, seeing this, stomped on Henryk’s foot.

Henryk winced. “Ah, what the hell, Ed,” he blurted out, yanking off his headphones, only to find himself under the intense stare of Professor Deeznea.

“Care to join us, Mr. Henryk?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Henryk glanced around, feeling the eyes of the entire class on him. He cleared his throat, his mind racing to catch up with the lecture. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he replied awkwardly.

Deeznea sparked a smirk. “Ah, Henryk, I read your file. You're magically inclined, aren’t you?”

Henryk looked around blankly, seeing everyone staring at him. He let out a small sigh. “Yes, I am. I can utilize magic.”

The young man from before rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and glaring at the blackboard. “Abomination,” the son of Saturn muttered under his breath, his lips moving just enough for Ed to catch the word. Ed sneered, but Henryk remained indifferent.

The professor whistled at that. “I always find speaking to magically gifted individuals quite interesting. It's pretty miraculous how most proper schools on Jupiter wouldn't accept you. So, how do you learn your spells?”

The whole class was now watching Henryk. Feeling the weight of their stares, he sighed again. “I had tutors and teachers from all across the galaxy visit my colony.”

“Your colony was quite prominent?” the professor asked.

Henryk shook his head. “No, we’re all descendants or former workers from a slave labor camp that was liberated about two decades ago.” He paused, hearing the silent murmurings. Even Ed’s eyes widened.

“You never told me you were the son of a slave,” Ed began.

Henryk's curt look silenced him. “I didn’t need to,” he sneered. He paused, then continued. “Traders and travelers would come and go, and my momma would tell them about my abilities. We’re persecuted throughout the galaxy, but learning a few spells has gotten me out of more situations than I can count.”

The professor nodded thoughtfully. “That is most definitely true, Henry Brown,” she paused. “…but just magic? What about the physical characteristics that set you apart from the previous generation?”

Henryk’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about how some people believe we’ve got an extra bone?”

Laughter echoed through the room as the professor shook her head. “Of course not, that’s false. But I am talking about how attuned you are to the universe around you.” Henryk raised an eyebrow, and she continued, seeing his confusion. “A higher reaction time, greater strength, greater vitality—yes, those are true. The witches of Jupiter would like to believe that only women can harness magic.” She paused and glanced at Belleanne, who sat lazily, looking as though she'd heard all this before. “…The witches of Jupiter use eugenics to keep magical lines pure. We know the history—the witch burnings of Neptune, the lynches on Jupiter, and other atrocities that have followed the birth of those who can open their third eye. However, there is a sensitivity toward them, a connection they make to the Earth…no, the universe as a whole.”

Henryk’s eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and understanding as he absorbed the professor's words. The classroom buzzed with a newfound respect and interest, and for a moment, the invisible lines dividing them seemed to blur.

Henryk paused, eyes wide, unsure where this conversation was headed. Sure, he was a wizard, but what she was talking about seemed beyond his understanding. He utilized spells and magic—that was what a wizard did. He knew he was stronger than others and a good pilot, but to connect with the world around him? What did that even mean?

“Sensitive to the world around you,” Ed mumbled into his ear. “Sounds like she’s calling you autistic.”

“Shut up,” Henryk snapped, but Ed chuckled softly.

The professor continued. “Many scientists in my social circle and other circles believe that 'Homo-Magica' are not mutants. Their ability to connect, to heal, to utilize the elements and psychic powers might represent the next stage of evolution. We live in a universe with knights, soldiers, and you students will fill many of those eager ranks. Now, I ask, those bearing magical gifts, is that all they can be—tools of war?”

She posed the question directly to Henryk.

He sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he reslung the headset over his head. “You tell me, teach,” he replied. “A weapon is a weapon, and magic is mine. Homo-Magica, wizard, or witch—it’s all the same.”

Deeznea’s eyes bore into him, but her expression softened. “Perhaps, Henryk. But consider this: tools of war are often forged in fire, yet they can also be used to build and heal. It’s all in how you wield your power.”

The room fell silent as the weight of her words settled over the students. Henryk’s mind raced, grappling with the implications. He had always seen his magic as a means of survival, a weapon to protect himself and those he cared about. But what if there was more to it? What if his abilities could be used for something greater than just fighting?

The professor returned to her lecture, but Henryk’s thoughts remained distant, lost in the possibilities she had opened before him.