Chapter 24 - "Whom Are You, Who Don't Know Your History?"

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"Violence shall grant you strength."

With those chilling words echoing in his mind, Henryk jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat, gasping for air as if he'd been held underwater. Fingers clenched tightly against the sheets, he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings that enveloped him, a sense of disorientation clouding his senses. But the panic subsided, albeit slowly.

As his breathing gradually steadied, his fingers loosened their grip on the sheets. Blinking, his blue eyes struggled to focus, slowly piecing together the fragments of reality before him. It was a room, he realized, though not one he recognized. Yet, somehow, he knew it was his now.

Tearing his gaze away from the unfamiliar surroundings, Henryk's mind raced, grappling with the remnants of the unsettling experience that had just unfolded. It was no mere dream, he knew that much. His eyes widened, the whites stark against the darkness of the room, as his trembling hands rose to cover his face.

Henryk searched his thoughts, seeking to unravel the mystery of what had transpired. He had been tutored by a variety of mentors—wizards and witches alike—who had honed their magical prowess through their journeys as adventurers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters. In the wake of the cataclysm, many had been forced to adapt, relying on their abilities to navigate a world forever altered. His colony, lacking the resources for an Empirical Magical Tutor, had made do with what they had. And now, Henryk recognized the signs for what they were.

A knock rapped at his door, and Henryk's gaze shifted, noting the sun's rays slicing through the window's slit. "Yo, Henryk," Ty's voice drifted in. "Breakfast's almost on, and Ed wants everyone downstairs for their assignments."

With Ty's departure echoing down the stairs, Henryk sighed, rising from his bed and shedding the weight of fatigue. His clothes, though worn and soiled, clung to him like a second skin. Thoughts of Jose's betrayal flickered in his mind, a sneer tugging at his lips as he fingered the fabric of his uniform, the emblem of House Mars gleaming in his eye. Yet, something else caught his attention.

His gaze drifted to his left wrist, dread coursing through him. There were no visible wounds, but faint, jagged marks marred his skin, remnants of a dream that had seeped into reality. Fear coiled in his gut at the implications, but he pushed it aside. Axel's insults echoed in his mind, a reminder of his outsider status among the true-born Martians. He'd never truly be one of them.

Yet, he needed their acceptance to secure his family's future, to benefit his home. Perhaps, one day, he'd betray these traitors just as they'd betrayed their own. With a determined sneer, he resolved to play his part, to wear his mask until the time was right.

Thoughts of Ed flickered through his mind. Was he different? Zephyr had promised him a place in House Mercury, but Ed had seen past his reputation, embracing him for his skills and conviction. So, he donned his uniform and ventured downstairs, the aroma of bacon and the sounds of laughter guiding his way.

Entering the dining room, Henryk found himself amidst the members of House Mars, their numbers greater than he'd realized. The stone table, adorned with strange rivets, stood as a testament to their status, a silent reminder of the power they once wielded.

Ed sat near the center, a picture of domesticity, while Vinnie presided over a pot of simmering eggs, Axel's eyes brightened at the sight of pancakes, and Ty and August shared pitchers of orange juice. Isaac and Jacob were engrossed in conversation, while Joseph struggled to contain his laughter between mouthfuls. Henryk hesitated, feeling out of place amidst the camaraderie.

"Come eat, Henryk," Ed beckoned, and Henryk felt a pang of relief at the lack of rigidity in House Mars. In other houses, such informality might have invited punishment, but here, it was welcomed. He nodded, taking the seat next to Ed, the crackling of the fireplace providing a backdrop to their meal.

"How'd you sleep?" Joseph's question pulled Henryk from his thoughts.

"Better than outside," Henryk replied, the memory of cold asphalt sending a shiver down his spine.

"Damn straight," Isaac chimed in, twirling his fork between his fingers. "I'd take a house over the street any day."

"Hear hear," Joseph raised his cup in agreement. "This lineup's looking good. Got a good feeling about it."

Axel snorted in response. "Good lineup? More like a bunch of misfits."

Arthur, rising from his seat, challenged Axel. "Got something to say, pretty boy?"

"A bunch of undesirables," Axel retorted, his words dripping with disdain.

Isaac laughed, unfazed by Axel's scorn. "How's the job hunt going, Axel?"

Axel's cheeks reddened, but before he could respond, the group erupted in laughter. "Oh, it's going just fine!" they chorused, mocking Axel good-naturedly.

Axel huffed, burying his face in his food. Arthur, unperturbed, loaded Henryk's plate, flashing a grin before announcing his new job as a butcher.

As Henryk observed the camaraderie around him, a sense of belonging washed over him. They were an odd bunch, but there was a closeness among them, a bond forged in adversity. He turned his attention to his meal, content to let the laughter and banter wash over him, feeling oddly at home in this eclectic group.

The atmosphere at the school was peculiar, Henryk thought. It wasn't your run-of-the-mill institution; it was a place meant to shape them into heroes of the empire. He understood the weight of their mission, the need to honor their homeland and his father's memory. They all deserved recognition, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to elevate them within the empire's ranks.

"So this job as a butcher is supposed to get us more food?" August inquired, breaking the silence.

"It's a start. I've never had much experience with money from the midworlders. At the very least, I'll be doing my part and more," replied Arthur.

"A real saint, huh?" Vinnie chuckled, turning to Edward. "Hey boss, any luck contacting the Guild?"

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Edward. He sighed. "They're not interested in associating with any Martian groups."

"Bastards," Isaac muttered, echoing the sentiments of a few others. "Back in the day, our fathers could just show up at their doorstep, and they'd bow to them. Now, you can't even get a decent contract."

"There's no point dwelling on it," Arthur interjected.

"Maybe not to you, but after Mars, I was raised on a culture that valued honor, loyalty, and creed," Isaac snapped, his voice tinged with bitterness. "As Martians, we are superior. The blessings of the gods of Mars were meant for us to be stronger, faster, and wield true weapons. Our genetic lineage may be from Earth, but it was the seed of Mars that is our true legacy."

A heavy silence hung in the air. Vinnie sneered. "Ah, you're one of those Martians."

"One of what?" Isaac shot back. "What does that even mean?" His temper flared, and he rose from his seat, the chair skidding backward. Henryk noticed the remarkable cleanliness of the room, as if they had been fixing it up.

"Easy there, Zealot," Vin retorted, undeterred as he continued eating. "Gods of Mars, genetic ancestry, seeds and..."

Isaac interrupted sharply. "Don't drag the hick into this. This is between us. Do you not believe in the Martian Decree?"

Vinnie sighed. "My education taught me a lot about science, philosophy. I don't buy into tales of Spirit Wolves, sword legends, or great god birds and Martian prophecies. All far-fetched."

Isaac scoffed. "Far-fetched, like the stories of our homeland. You're educated, yet you don't appreciate the triumphs of your culture, your history."

"That was the problem with Mars," Vinnie interjected, rising to his feet and pointing his fork at Isaac, who settled back down. "We were a bunch of cultists, believing in star constellations, ghosts..."

"Enough, Vinnie," Ed sighed wearily, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "All this bickering, it's wearing thin. We're a team now, and it's time to start acting like one." He paused, laying down his book and gesturing toward Henryk. "Eat up, we begin training today."

His gaze swept the room, eyes hardening with determination. "I mean it. Whether you've got work or you're nursing a hangover from a night with a girl, I want to see you out in the yard or library honing your skills. This is your craft, your expertise, and we need to restore the glory of the house. We'll have to work twice, no, thrice as hard against the other houses."

Isaac's eyes flicked to the large windows. "But it's raining!" he protested.

"Good, a rain melee always gets the blood boiling," Arthur remarked, rising from his seat. He turned to Ed. "Sir, what do you want us to train with today?"

Edward was momentarily speechless, but quickly composed himself. "Sword and fist," he declared, as the others finished their plates.

"Do you know about the guild, the purpose of the academy?" Edward directed his question at Henryk.

"No, I don't even know what a guild is," Henryk admitted honestly.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Edward sighed. "You must understand, we're old enough to enlist in His Majesty's army, but we hone our talents here. This place, and its sister schools, are different. We train against real threats," Ed said, tapping his temple. "We study to understand the enemy, to go out there and eliminate them."

Isaac chuckled under his breath. "For the Emperor," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "...and the kings of Mars."

"Of course, there's also prestige, honor, and wealth," Axel rambled. "Do well here, and you could serve as an advisor, royalty, or gain great prestige on some worlds."

"But you'll see some more than others. Don't know what kind of person would go to Earth, or a woman to Pluto," Vin commented.

"The guild tests you. They give you missions of varying difficulty. Assassinations against hostile alien races, settling petty feuds between lords, and sometimes we're commissioned for military tasks... or forced into them," Ed explained to Henryk. "We Martians were once knights, loyal warriors to the Emperor. Now, we wear our shame," he added, watching Henryk's gaze drift to his bloodied right arm, marked like paint splatters, shamed by Mars, and shamed as a mutant. "Do you know about the Executor?"

Henryk slowly shook his head, feeling a chill settle over him. Ed gestured around the room. "The role of the Executor. There have only been six, maybe seven if you pass," Ed paused, sweeping his hand toward the other participants beside Henryk. "None of us can do it. It's for exceptional individuals who have shown promise, and some of us believe you can do it... However, Henryk, regardless of any precautions in this known universe," Ed's eyes widened, and Henryk felt a shiver run down his spine as he leaned back in his seat.

"Whatever precautions you have in this universe, they'll be twisted upon your fucking axis, and if you're not careful, you'll die. Your family will die, your sisters will die, and everything you hold dear will burn around you. We Martians know this," Edward's voice was as cold and unyielding as Martian steel. "Are you prepared to die on a dead world?"

Henryk felt the weight of Edward's words bearing down on him, his gaze locked with those of the others. He realized then that Edward had posed this question before, and they had all accepted it.

"Are you ready to die dishonorably, to endure a slow and agonizing death, a death that might not even belong to you anymore?" Edward's tone was grim as he surveyed them, his eyes lingering on Ty, still wincing from his recent encounter. "Look at that evil, Henryk. Ty faced a member of Neptune trying to kill him."

Vinnie's lips curled into a sneer. "Those bastards fight dirty. They kidnapped one of our own, Ed. We've got to deal with them."

"Not now, Vinnie," Ed interjected sharply. "That's just a fraction of the horrors at the academy. The politics here are cutthroat, filled with drama and intrigue. Many here are just looking to advance their own positions. We've heard terrible stories about this place. Are you prepared to follow us into the darkness?"

"We'll be going on raiding missions and guild assignments. We need to make money and acquire genuine Martian armor," Isaac remarked with a grin. "You've said it before, Ed. We can start tearing this place apart. A true Martian keeps his weapons hidden, his armor sealed, and his knowledge close. There has to be more to find here. I don't need any Neptunian gear."

"But there is glory," Arthur added, his tone brutal as he narrowed his eyes, Axel nodding in agreement.

"I agree," Isaac chimed in, and Arthur shot a smirk in his direction. "I remember our Martian heritage. I don't like you, hick. I see you as nothing but a pest, infesting our house alongside the rest of the squires. You'll get no love from me, but Ed's rambling is getting old."

Ed turned to him, his expression grave. "Death in a WarCasket is a brutal fate," he said.

"A death in..." Axel started, then faltered.

Ed's gaze shifted to Henryk. "You have your mother and sisters. You possess the skills to excel in various aspects of piloting a WarCasket. Your kind can navigate the stars, your magic—"

"My mutations," Henryk interrupted, his voice dripping with bitterness. "I'm not special. I'm an abomination. I don't use them, and the only reason I have them is for self-defense." He paused, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at them.

"But you're strong," Edward insisted. "I saw you best Piper. She had the upper hand at first, but your magic, your skills with that Executor blade—"

"You want to take the wizard on missions?" Vinnie interjected.

"This better not be some pity mission because he's..." Arthur began, his voice trailing off.

"He's not a wizard. His genome has mutated."

Isaac facepalmed, muttering, "Are we really doing this right now?"

Vinnie launched into a loud rant, "Genetic mutation, look at Tyson. Random space anomalies, widespread hysteria, humans adapting to different planets. You guys are basically ignoring all the scientific evidence that Henryk is just a genetic anomaly that—"

"He's a fucking space wizard," Joseph interjected sharply. "He shot lightning out of his mangled Warcasket. I've never seen anything like that before, so no, I do not believe that science can explain that."

Vinnie sneered. "He's not the only one; there are thousands that believe in what the main empire preaches. There isn't anything magical happening. There was no Wonderful Spring. There are just legends, stories, and brute reality."

Arthur scoffed. "Get real," he declared, throwing his hands down in mockery, earning laughter from the crowd.

"I agree, Henryk's kind are a mixed bag of mutants, but hey, you're the first real wizard I've met," replied Isaac.

"I've had a couple," Joseph remarked. "In my tribe, the gene was special. Never realized that they exploited you guys; you come to my world, many women would be very interested."

"Gee, thanks," Henryk retorted. "What world is that?"

Laughter erupted. "Funny guy," Joseph replied, and Ed clapped hard. "Enough, you all done eating?" he asked.

They cleared their plates. "Good, August has plate duty for tonight. Meet me all outside, and we're going to train."

As they rushed outside, August shuddered at the sight of the plates. They reached the deck, greeted by a grey sky. Weapons awaited them. Henryk paused, realizing that Arthur had picked up a real sword—the sound it emitted confirmed it.

"Come on, Henryk. Get your shirt off; a melee like this... feel the rain against your skin. Your blood will pump harder."

Henryk slid off his uniform jacket and removed the tie, the grass brushing against them as the wind blew fiercely. Shirtless, he suddenly noticed something wrong.

Their backs were wrong.

A primal fear surged through Henryk's spine. It felt as if he stared into a cave, and something smiled back. For a moment, he was taken off guard by the alien visage that adorned their backs. What was it? It had to be wrong. What were they...

Isaac's figure caught Henryk's eye. Slanted spikes rode along the base of his spine, reminiscent of the spikes of an angler fish. Carbon black, yet alien in design, they extended three inches, five in number, disappearing into their pants. It dawned on Henryk then and there—they were all of Martian birth. Was this how the people of House Mars mutated from their time in the core world?

Was he now in a den of mutants? How could he complain? He was more akin to them now than before.

"Henryk, you're going to fight Ty!" Ed flagged him over, Joseph and Isaac dropping pieces of rugged armor and wooden swords.

Henryk stared at the gear. They were training—actually training on how to fight. He donned his own armor and gripped his weapon. "Prepare yourself, Henryk," his mind whispered. This training would hone him into a warrior, someone who would bear the burden of his homeland, bringing honor and prestige.

He'd grant his homeworld honor and prestige, bearing whatever weight came with it. House Mars seemed the place to do it. Before, he hadn't realized why he disliked the other houses, but now it made sense. They were lazy, miserable, racist, bickering, indulging—these were the people who would rule the solar system one day?

Their house was damned, but not destroyed. They could rebuild, and Henryk sensed their potential. He felt their exhilaration, their call for brotherhood, as he gripped the sword and approached Ed.

"I accept it, Edward," Henryk declared. "If you truly believe we can gain honor, I'll be the greatest among us all. I'll forever remember this debt and how you gave me a chance to stay here and gain said honor. I'll do whatever you ask of me—tell me when to wake up, work me to the bone, even if it kills me. I will not go home empty-handed."

They were speechless, then smiled, then cheered. "Excellent then!" exclaimed Edward, turning his gaze toward Ty. "Give a good fight. You all have decent training, but it's my job to enhance it and turn you lot into murder machines. Turn you into true knights—though some more than others." He glanced at Henryk.

Henryk and Ty began their duel, wooden blades clashing with force. Henryk had never handled a sword, but he had strength and height. However, Ty seemed reluctant to hurt him, merely adequate with this sort of weapon.

Ed glanced at Arthur. "I need you to help me work them out. Get them on regimens, find tutors to train us, or maybe we'll get lucky. But the point still stands: these missions are going to test us."

Arthur gave him a nod, and they watched as Ty's blade slammed hard against Henryk's body. Henryk spun and hit the floor. "Get up, get up, get up!" Isaac cheered. "You want to be a knight, you want honor and pride. Then get up and give us a good show!" He cried out with fervency.

Ed continued, "I believe we can go to a private guild corp for our missions."

Arthur scoffed, his voice a mixture of frustration and resignation. "We've been sending out to anything at this point, Ed. Even the private guild corps are denying us."

Ed rolled his eyes, his attention divided between the conversation and the brutal training unfolding before them. "I've been around the city, and there's a place I want to check out. It's a privately owned establishment, and I know the owner."

"Deimos Falconer," Ed exclaimed, a note of recognition in his voice.

Arthur processed the information, his eyes widening in disbelief. "That old man still lives?" He turned to Ed. "I thought they got all the WarMasters."

"Hung them all except for a couple," Ed replied. "He's old, Arthur. I don't know how, but he managed to have two daughters."

Arthur shook his head, a sense of ancestral pride creeping into his tone. "The seed of Mars is strong. That's why so many Plutonians bear the eyes of Damien. Speaking of which, how do you know so much about Deimos?"

Ed sighed, his gaze returning to the duel between Henryk and Ty. "I was supposed to contact them, but I decided against it. The guy's got two grown daughters, and he's battling cancer, Arthur. His spikes... they've..."

Arthur fell silent, his attention focused on the intense training session unfolding before them. Ty was improving with each moment, but so was Henryk. They watched as he adjusted his grip on the weapon, learning and mirroring Ty's moves.

"That will be the end of the male line of House Falconer," Arthur said wearily. "They've been a lineage steeped in honor and tradition. Now, he's just an old man playing house before he dies?"

Ed shook his head. "It's not our choice, Arthur. He's fought hard enough... long enough."

Arthur sneered. "He's a traitor coward. My father and brother... his true heirs, they kept fighting, and look at what happened. They met unsung deaths. Some heroes of the revolution believe they still draw breath as golden revenants, but I know the truth. We are not like other men."

Ed's tone turned stern. "I don't like the way you and Isaac talk about this. We're human. The blessings of the spikes make us stronger, yes, but we're not inherently better or worse. Like Ty with his heightened senses, Henryk with his powers, we just have more access to becoming Knights. We're not better."

Arthur croaked out a bitter laugh. "And the emperor made us his hounddogs because we weren't better. We fought the unsung and bloody battles, bore oaths to protect the realm. Our fathers, our brothers, all dead. Now, we're all that remains. Centuries of honor, of legends, of songs praising slaying the alien, protecting the innocent, and now we bear a brand of shame."

"Enough of this," Ed interrupted, his tone commanding. "Scramble everyone up and get Henryk to do firearm training."

"What?" Henryk snapped back.

"You've got guns in…" Arthur tossed him a rifle—a slim training rifle.

"Good. Well, you're going to learn. Trust me, you're going to have to point that rifle down at a seven-foot-tall lizard alien. Better to know now than get jammed up," Arthur spoke, and they watched as Ed took his leave. That marked the first day of the Sons of Mars training.

Yet, in the back of Henryk's mind, even as the days passed, even as his grip on his sword tightened, even as he worked out and ate, even as a week passed into his semester, he still had the eerie reminder of the peyton haunting the back of his psyche. Of the blood along its lips, and what it meant.

Sometimes, in the dark, Henryk would think about those days. But that was when those days were old. He wondered if he could've gone back to those times, wondered what could've changed if they were more mature. The people that were killed, were maimed…had fates that kept him awake at night. Yet, it was the thousands. It was the thousands he had murdered by the bloody tip of his blade. But that would come soon. Very soon…

Henryk could not recall killing anyone. However, that all changed when Edward of House Mars made a connection. And then they were in.