Chapter 25 - Henryk the Music Major - Start of ARC II

Arc 2 - Precipice of Dark Wars

----------------------------------------

"So, this is going to help me aim better?" Piper regarded.

Each of the houses had their own personal hanger. Even House Uranus and Jupiter had theirs, hidden, but they had it. House Mercury's Hanger was on the edges of the academy's campus, needing one to go off afar on a stone pathway. A good ten-minute walk from their campus, five if running, which was mostly what they had to do if the carts were gone.

From the outside, it looked like some dingy old-era hanger, more reminiscent of the great wars of old Earth. Inside, it was motley, but the equipment they utilized was modern. Rows upon rows of ceiling-borne Warcaskets filled the space. On one side was a massive wall containing their armaments. Within the lower levels, they also had an armory of sorts.

Yet, Piper didn't care about all that. The early September chill had set in, so while the glazing yellow light of the sun shone through the great ajar of the hanger doors, Piper stared through her opened cockpit at the beauty of nature.

Ernest sighed, combing through greying black hair upon purple eyes at her. "It's not that simple, Piper. The eye can only do so much…"

"I've heard of Pilots being able to synch robotic limbs into their Warcasket," Piper interjected.

Ernest sighed. "The machine can, yes, do a lot. But a machine is a machine, Piper. The more you give it control, the more you'll end up relying on it."

Piper paused at that, drawing her gaze towards the Warcaskets above them. "Would a sniper type fit me better, then?" She prodded. "Ernest, I can't be here for too long. I've got a music period."

"A music period?" Ernest chuckled loudly. "What are you doing behind an instrument?"

Piper rolled her eyes. "It's called registering for your classes late and being stuck with a class that you don't like."

Ernest shrugged, returning to the main conversation. "It's more of a preference thing. You've seen the Sniper Type helmet, where? It's not all just to zoom into a sniper scope or anything like that. It gives off a pretty good zoom and a good area scan, but to compensate for all that hardware, something's got to be removed."

Piper sighed in understanding. "So, the helmet is weaker?"

Ernest chuckled. "No, Piper," he said, raising his hand towards the cameras. "If that camera gets hit hard, you lose all sight. It's all in the front camera. Don't get me wrong, it's good hardware, but it's a matter of preference. Marcus and Jeremiah..."

He paused as their names were mentioned, even Piper's shoulders slumping within the mech. "How are they doing? Heard anything new?" Ernest inquired.

Piper's sigh was heavy, audible. "We haven't heard from them, and it's been over a week since they've been gone."

Ernest's eyes widened. "Over a week? Why isn't Zephyr doing anything about this?"

Piper continued, her voice laden with concern. "Guild mission contracts for certain missions can last a while, and from what I understand, this is one of those missions. But, Ernest, I just... I don't have a good feeling about this one."

There was a moment of silence. Then Ernest asked, "How is Margaret doing?"

Piper lifted her gaze to him, and Ernest continued with a small smirk. "We aren't idiots, Piper. She isn't the best at exactly hiding it."

Piper sighed. "She only went to her Monday and Tuesday classes. She's been in bed this whole time. She fears that he's gotten hurt, or captured, or maybe... worse."

Ernest's eyes widened at the implications. "Pipes, Marcus is one of the most skilled pilots I've ever met. Heck, Eric is a bit rough around the edges, but those two always get the job done. Same for Todd and Jeremiah."

"I know, but maybe if I was there," Piper mused, her voice heavy with regret.

Ernest shook his head. "Piper, you can't blame yourself," he insisted.

Piper shot him a look. "Ernest, I understand what you're saying, but how can I not blame myself? I am the ace, and while Marcus is good, he would've been the second pick and would've supported me. Who knows what my time at the hospital cost my house?"

Ernest shook his head once again. "Piper, I understand your guilt, but, like I said, you can't blame yourself. Things happen, and no one expects you to leap out of bed, jump into your mech, and soar into the stars after losing your eye. Piper, you need to ease up on yourself."

Piper sneered, her finger tapping rhythmically along the console. "Ease up on myself," she repeated tenderly, shaking her head and shifting her gaze. "You still didn't properly answer my question. Can you do it?"

Ernest seemed lost. "Do what again?"

Piper shot him a look, pointing at her face. "My eye, Ernest!" she exclaimed, louder than necessary. "Can you sync it to the Warcasket or something?"

Ernest sighed under his breath. "I don't know what you're going to try, Piper, but try to utilize it within your scope," he explained.

Piper sighed and glanced to her side. She activated her target finder, narrowing her left eye and peering through it solely with her right. "It looks exactly the same," she remarked.

Ernest thought for a moment, then visibly shook his head. "What?" Piper asked, rising slowly.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Ernest replied.

Piper smirked, leaning forward to peer at Ernest. "You had an idea... and then you shook your head. What was it?"

Ernest stared at her. "Nothing," he replied curtly.

"Nothing?" she echoed, sighing as she settled back into her chair. "That's a real pity, Ernest. Because I think you're very talented... and if you scratch my back, who knows, maybe I'll scratch yours."

Ernest shot her a look. "What do you mean by that?"

Piper rolled her eyes. "Well, you're on the first floor," she corrected. "I can get you onto the second floor. You'll actually have a shower."

"Communal or private?" Ernest inquired, pausing in front of the cockpit.

Piper shot him a knowing look. "Ernest, this is Mercury, you know how it is."

Ernest's sigh was audible. "Fine, whatever." He drifted towards the edge of Piper's warcasket. "What's your opinion on Human and Warcasket connections?"

Piper shot him a confused look. "I don't understand."

"Your ethics, do you believe humans and Warcaskets should bridge together? Human and machine?" Ernest's voice held a weight, piercing the silence like a knife through fog.

Piper pondered the question in silence before responding. "I know people have bionics and stuff, but are you talking about syncing prosthetics into a warcasket?"

"No," Ernest replied, shaking his head. "I am talking about connecting the human brain to the machine, each becoming one."

Piper's eyes widened at the concept. Ernest pressed on. "I've heard that the Martians were a strange bunch; we've got a bunch of stories with them."

"Really?" Piper's tone betrayed her curiosity. "In the Midworlds, we don’t hear much about them."

Ernest paused, recalling tales of old. "Centuries ago, we gave the Martians a bunch of Venus Princesses. I don’t remember why, but I've heard tales of what they did with their machines."

"I keep hearing more and more talk about the Martians," Piper mused. "I get it that they weren’t here the last couple of years, but they're back... they were a recognized and honorable house."

"A house with an equally dark history to it," Ernest interjected. "I’ve heard rumors that the Martians uncovered ways for their pilots to better sync to their machines. But not in the way you're thinking of, not mechanically, but rather biologically."

Piper's eyes widened at the revelation, drifting down to the clump of wires in Ernest's clenched fist. "What are you going to do with that?" she prodded.

Ernest turned to her, a determined glint in his eye. "You asked me before if I knew a way to connect you to your warcasket. This is the way, complete interface."

Piper's eyes widened further. "So, there is a way..."

Ernest raised a cautionary finger. "Every way has a toll to pay, Piper. The human brain was never meant to connect to a Warcasket. We'll test it out and put strain on the eye. I can maybe even figure out where this place or model came from. Zephyr got this for you, didn't he?"

Piper nodded slowly. "Do you know how to reset the bionic or...?" Ernest prodded.

Piper let out an audible sigh of frustration. "I didn't stick around long enough at the hospital to be taught."

Ernest's eyes widened at her admission. Piper shot him a pointed look. "I really hated being there, Ernest. I couldn't bear to be there for them to show me my own damn reality."

Ernest sighed, accepting her explanation. "Okay, fine," he said, pointing at his own eye. "Universally, all bionic eyes should have a port underneath the ocular lobe. Stretch your eyelid slightly, and we can insert it."

Piper followed Ernest's instructions obediently, allowing him to insert the wire into her eye, sliding it slightly to expose a small port. It was a strange sensation, but not uncomfortable, just odd. She watched as Ernest descended the steps, the lone blue wire trailing from her eye to the floor.

As Ernest settled in front of his laptop, Piper couldn't help but feel a bit awkward with the wire protruding from her eye. "So..." she began tentatively.

"So," Ernest echoed, his attention focused on the screen.

"Do you know anything about the eye or..." Piper trailed off, her curiosity piqued.

Ernest's eyes widened as he examined the data on the screen. "Holy shit," he muttered, showing Piper the laptop display. Though it appeared as a jumble of pixels and numbers from afar, Piper recognized the name: "Project Typhon?"

"It's a military unit," Ernest confirmed, his gaze fixed on the screen. "I can hardly get any real reads on its specs; it's old, I can tell you that. However, this thing is strangely advanced for its time."

He glanced back at Piper. "Where did Zephyr get this from?"

Piper shrugged. "I assumed it came from the black market."

Ernest chuckled. "A damn good find, let me tell you." He continued tapping away at his keyboard. "As I stated before, the mind wasn’t meant to accommodate calculations on such a scale. However, you can... but there is a risk."

"A risk?" Piper echoed, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

"There is always a price for something," Ernest replied solemnly, his eyes fixed on the screen. "The more power you give the eye, the more pressing danger will be placed onto your brain."

Piper's eyes widened in alarm. "Wait," she interjected firmly. "Are you saying that if I put too much pressure on my brain, I’ll die?"

Ernest paused, meeting her gaze. "No, Piper, you won’t die. First off, you're going to start bleeding from your nose, and that’s going to be the sign for you to chill and relax. Now, if you don’t... that’s when the seizures and tremors start to happen. In between, hallucinations, and I’ve heard people lose it and go nuts from these. Then, if any of the others didn’t kill you or your warcasket opponent didn’t crush your cockpit... then you'll die."

Piper remained silent, her thoughts swirling like a tempest.

Ernest let out a heavy groan as he closed his laptop and rose from his seat. "Looks like everything's set up, and you're synced up pretty good," he remarked, his tone tinged with exhaustion. "You wanna give it a try?"

Piper hesitated, her mind grappling with the gravity of the situation. "You know, I was more eager before you told me that I may die from this," she finally responded, her voice laced with apprehension.

Ernest sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You know that the Martians... that they view being sealed up in a machine as honorable?" he offered, his gaze distant.

Piper's eyes widened at the revelation. "Where did you hear that from?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued despite her unease.

"My grandmother," Ernest replied solemnly, his expression haunted by memories. "She was on some campaign when the Knights of Mars were still around. Like the combat medic she was, she made her way across the battlefield as she saw it."

"What did she see?" Piper pressed, sensing the weight of the story about to unfold.

Ernest paused, a somber breath escaping him before he continued. "Some shell, or IED, or god knows what hit what my grandmother thought was a normal Warcasket... Instead, when she activated the emergency door to rescue and treat him, she found someone hooked up to wire upon wire, like a messy ocean of them."

A chill ran down Piper's spine as she absorbed the tale. Though stories were often treated with skepticism, there was a raw authenticity to Ernest's delivery that resonated with her.

"You were raised on a Midworld?" Ernest's sudden question caught her off guard.

"Yes, it was actually one of the first colonized after the invasion, Lehasa," Piper confirmed, her mind drifting back to her childhood.

Ernest chuckled softly. "That's a good planet history to have. There's an honor in that, look at Uranus and the others," he remarked, a fleeting moment of levity slipping through the darkness that cloaked his features. But then his expression grew solemn once more. "The Martians come from a feudal world... When Humanity was cut off from each other, they had a schism."

"A schism?" Piper echoed, her curiosity piqued anew by the cryptic mention.

"They don’t teach this stuff in Midworld classrooms," Ernest stated matter-of-factly, his gaze piercing.

And Piper slowly nodded. “We learn the histories of the universe, the birds and the bees, and mathematics and writing. It’s nothing like a Venusian Royal Academy or some Neptune Private Boarding School. It’s just very universal.”

But Piper paused. “But a schism? I’ve never heard of that?”

Ernest shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know much about it… probably could find less in text or holorecords. However, Mars was not always a feudal world. Something happened that blasted them back into the past. For a culture to be thrown backwards in time, Piper, this wasn’t a joke or anything. Their dialect, their culture, even simple things like names… they regressed. Imagine being born on Mars, Piper? Due to these feudal worlds, you may not have been allowed to go to school, heck, the majority probably were not allowed to go. Farming, the army, but I will say this, one thing about the Martians… everything regressed, except their weapons and machines of war.”

Piper’s eyes widened. “That is why I believe in what my grandmother says,” he said. “She said it was some old man, wearing old-looking armor. She stated that he had wires coming out of his eyes and some had even ingrained into his flesh and functioned as veins where veins were not. She told me that the man was very cold, but he did not feel fear for his fate… instead he embraced it, for their king.”

Piper was stunned by the story, completely and utterly. She took a deep breath as she tried to level herself.

“Why do you care so much about House Mars?” asked Ernest, then awareness set upon him. “Henryk, that wizard boy, I’ve heard that he was the reason that you…”

And he glanced up at Piper with widened eyes. “Sorry, Pipes,” he quickly rushed out.

“It’s no bother, Ernest,” Piper stated plainly. “Things happen, and me and Henryk are fine.”

“Fine?” repeated Ernest. “So, there is no bad blood? You aren’t angry over the loss of your eye?”

Piper’s sigh was heavy and audible. “I should’ve worn my helmet,” she bluntly replied. “A duel is a duel, and ours was a scrimmage. I doubt Henryk meant to hurt me, so, what’s the point of me bearing a grudge?”

Ernest tossed her a look, but then he sighed. “That’s very mature of you, Piper,” he replied. “I wish more people here held your sentiment. Maybe, the galaxy wouldn’t be such a bleak place if people didn’t wish to hurt each other so much or even out scores.”

Piper tried to wave it off, but her own feelings about Henryk lingered beneath the surface, evident in the subtle shifts of her expression. Her sigh carried the weight of unspoken thoughts. “Let’s get this eye going,” she stated, her voice a blend of determination and apprehension.

Relaxing into her seat, Piper took a deep breath, her eyes still closed. “Is there something I have to do?” she inquired.

Ernest shrugged, a gesture laden with uncertainty. “I don’t exactly know.”

“I don’t exactly know,” Piper echoed, a hint of teasing in her tone. “Got any hints?” she prodded, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Ernest sighed in frustration. “Sometimes it’s vocal, state a core phrase or word…” he trailed off.

“What is one?” Piper interjected.

Ernest groaned, his patience waning. “Do you really not know anything about this?” He sighed heavily. “Fine, try and state: Initiate.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Taking another deep breath, Piper steadied herself. “Where did you learn that one?” she quipped.

“The corporations don’t like one another, but simplicity is one of the core tenets to great products,” Ernest explained.

With a mixture of uncertainty and determination, Piper reached for the reins of her controls. “Good then… initiate,” she said, the word leaving her lips with a hint of doubt. But as Piper’s eyes opened, she saw.

She chuckled softly, and Ernest turned to her, concern etched on his face.

“Is everything all right… Piper!” he exclaimed.

Piper’s chuckle persisted, accompanied by a close-lipped smile. She turned to Ernest, her grey and green eyes emanating a proud and piercing light.

“Everything is just rad, Ernest,” she reassured him, her smile widening as a lone red strand of blood trickled from her left nostril down to the bridge of her mouth.

On the other side of campus, in the large backyard of House Mars, Henryk’s eyes surveyed the surroundings before him. A week into the semester, and he remained dedicated to his studies and practice.

Near the deck door, a table was set up, surrounded by Arthur and Joseph. Books, parchment, and a few datararecords littered the worn patio table. Henryk observed the steady flow of the nearby river, winding its way through the bend in the woods.

During his week of classes, Henryk, along with Ed and the others, dedicated themselves to repairing the fences that bordered the property. Now, the area was encased in chain-linked barriers, save for the remnants of an old dock.

Down a slight descent from them, Isaac and Axel were engrossed in the task at hand. The air buzzed with the sound of belts being secured onto their bodies.

"Sick of your target practice," Axel remarked, his voice tinged with fatigue.

Isaac returned a weary smile, rotating his right shoulder. His gaze shifted towards the battered targeting dummy, now propped up by makeshift supports.

"Yeah," Isaac admitted, his breaths labored. "That recoil's a real kicker, but this gun packs a punch. Like any other, you just gotta get used to it."

Henryk observed Isaac's weapon with curiosity. It was unlike any he had seen before, its design unfamiliar and its caliber unknown. The rifle was bulky and stockless, with blocky features and vents along the barrel. Each shot resonated with a heavy, thunderous boom, its weight palpable even from a distance.

Axel nodded in agreement, retrieving another wooden sword from behind him and tossing it to Isaac.

"That's ironic, Soldier," Arthur interjected, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "Our forefathers probably spent hours training, enduring bone-rattling recoil."

He gestured towards the training area with a sweeping motion. "I've heard tales of Martian Knights becoming so accustomed to the recoil that they could fire one-handed."

Isaac scoffed at the notion. "It'd be a real challenge, but not entirely impossible," he mused.

Joseph intervened, directing their attention to the pile of books before them. "What planet is this, Arthur?" he inquired, his tone indicating impatience.

Arthur furrowed his brow, scanning the pages intently. After a moment of contemplation, he shook his head slowly.

"You don't know this?" Henryk interjected, surprised by Arthur's lack of knowledge.

Joseph shot him a stern look. "There are many things you don't know, Henryk. It's merely a matter of circumstance," he remarked evenly.

"It's the core worlds," Henryk interjected, still taken aback. "I thought everyone knew about the empire and—"

"Of course, everyone knows of the empire," Arthur replied, his tone tinged with a hint of exasperation.

"Then..." Henryk trailed off, seeking further clarification.

"Henryk, Arthur was raised on a feudal world. Do you understand what that means?" Joseph interjected, his voice carrying a weight of authority.

Arthur turned towards Joseph, awaiting his response. Henryk shrugged, but remained attentive, sensing he was about to receive an enlightening explanation.

"It's like being stuck in the medieval ages, right?" Henryk ventured, attempting to grasp the concept.

"Close," Joseph acknowledged, his demeanor indicating he was prepared to elaborate. He directed his attention to Arthur, gesturing with a sweeping motion.

"A feudal world is a place destined to remain entrenched in a medieval era indefinitely. While the empire occasionally selects extraordinary individuals for advancement, the majority of the populace is condemned to a life devoid of progress or innovation. Kings, queens, lords, and barons govern, but technological advancements are scarce. Order is maintained primarily by geographical borders, with little influence from external sources. However, there are exceptions," Joseph explained, his words carrying a weight of authority.

"Mars was one such exception," Arthur interjected. "During the Great War, our King decreed the destruction of electronics and other modern technologies to prevent the mistakes of the past from recurring. We complied, except for certain sacred machines."

"Sacred machines?" Henryk echoed, his interest piqued.

"Yes," Arthur confirmed with a nod. "Gun presses, WarCasket parts, weaponry, and vehicles held a special significance. We Martians have always valued our weapons."

Arthur concluded with a smile, prompting Henryk to mutter to himself, "I see that."

"But how did you manage to produce such items?" Henryk inquired, seeking to understand the logistics given the apparent technological limitations of a feudal society.

Arthur shrugged, his smile unwavering. "The old way."

"The old way?" Henryk repeated, seeking further clarification.

"Hoe, axe, and scythe," Joseph interjected, directing a pointed gaze between the two young men. "That was the Martian way—a feudal world governed by certain expectations."

In that moment, Henryk comprehended. Certain expectations dictated the lives of Martians, restricting their access to modern conveniences and confining them within the boundaries of their medieval existence. Despite possessing advanced weaponry and technology, the average Martian remained oblivious to the outside world, tethered to tradition and isolated from progress.

"Feudal medieval Europe," Henryk quipped, his words dripping with sarcasm as he cast a wry glance at the Martians. "With Space Knights."

Joseph nodded slowly, his expression grave as he handed Henryk a book. "You're the last one to speak, countryman," he joked, his tone laced with a hint of seriousness. "Focus on your studies. Heck, you're struggling with the basics."

Henryk let out an audible sigh of frustration. "I've never been good at math or reading," he admitted with a shrug.

"But piloting a WarCasket involves plenty of mathematics," Arthur chimed in. "Ever thought about applying that to your studies?"

"Thanks for the tip, Arthur," Henryk retorted sarcastically, shaking his head. As he gazed down the river, anger simmered beneath his calm exterior, stirring up memories best left buried.

"You're going to have to take at least one per semester," Joseph reminded him sternly. "Those credits are essential for graduation."

"What's your goal here, Henryk?" Arthur interjected, pointing to himself. "I'm here for economics." He tested the word on his tongue, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Economics?" Joseph chuckled. "And what do you plan to do with that?"

"Help out my town's farm," Arthur replied matter-of-factly. "We're allowed to return during certain periods, so maybe I'll put my newfound knowledge to good use."

"That's your reason for being here?" Henryk questioned incredulously. "Just to manage your town's food funds?"

Arthur chuckled, his gaze locking onto Henryk's. "Heck no," he declared, his eyes gleaming with determination. "I'm here for the missions, for the honor it brings, Henryk."

Henryk furrowed his brow in confusion, prompting Arthur to elaborate. "The major is just a side gig, Henryk. The real deal is the piloting, the engineering, the combat experience against formidable foes. If we survive and play our cards right, we can turn our futures into gold."

Joseph nodded in agreement, fixing Henryk with a meaningful look. "Even you..."

"Me?" Henryk replied, his voice tinged with disbelief as he chuckled. "I'm a nobody."

Arthur chuckled in response. "You've got people eyeing you because you survived that mission. Not bad for a nobody. You're a pilot and a wizard, Henryk. That's something to be proud of."

Henryk was taken aback by the unexpected praise. "Thanks, Arthur. But being a pilot is respected, being a wizard... not so much."

Arthur laughed heartily. "Well, Henryk, you're welcome to visit my world anytime. Princesses and beauties of the lake would throw themselves at you."

But Henryk's attention had already drifted back to the river before them. "Let's keep going. Rapid fire round," Joseph interjected, holding out a book to Henryk. "What sector is this?"

Henryk glanced at the blank page. "It's blank, just constellations. How am I supposed to read this?"

"Look at the stars," Joseph replied bluntly. "You can do this. Martian squires younger than you are taught to search the stars. The stars hold all the answers."

Henryk sneered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he stared at the parchment before him. But then, without a word, he pushed himself away from the table, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out of the room before Joseph could even react.

"I don't know what got into him," Joseph muttered, perplexed.

"The shits?" Arthur suggested, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Joseph chuckled despite himself. "No, Arthur. He just up and left."

As the front door slammed shut in the distance, Joseph shook his head in bewilderment. "That boy..."

Arthur exchanged a glance with Joseph, sensing the underlying tension. "I don't have a problem with Henryk or him being here, but I have to wonder... what does Edward see in him?"

And Arthur chuckled, his eyes fixed on the map before him. "The Callisto sector," he murmured, tracing the lines with his finger. "So, that's what's been troubling you, Henryk."

"What do you mean?" Joseph inquired, leaning in.

Arthur continued, his gaze still locked on the map. "I've heard Henryk had a rough week at school."

Joseph sighed, a touch of concern in his voice. "It's his first week away from home. He'll adjust."

But Arthur remained focused, his brow furrowed. "I don't think it's homesickness," he mused.

Joseph turned to him, curiosity piqued. "What are you suggesting?"

With a shrug, Arthur began his tale. "Back in my village, there was a lad much like Henryk. He came from nobility, so it was my job to mentor him. Polite, talented with music and a blade, but he couldn't read."

Joseph listened intently. "It's not uncommon for those from feudal worlds to lack education," he interjected.

But Arthur cut him off. "No, Joseph. His father hired tutor after tutor from the age of five, but nothing took. The doctors said there was something wrong with his mind, that the words just didn't..."

Arthur trailed off, his eyes drifting back to the map. "I'm just saying, the way Henryk acted just now... it reminded me of that boy and how frustrated he'd get with his studies."

Joseph glanced toward the front door, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Henryk, meanwhile, was on the move. Unfamiliar with the campus and everyone in House Mars occupied, he wandered aimlessly. As he walked, he watched the jets and spaceships streak across the horizon, the sounds of the Academy bustling around him. Yet, he continued to walk, his gaze fixed on the campus buildings as the orange sun dipped behind the mountains.

He treaded the familiar path toward the dining hall where he once shared meals with Mags and Jose, memories that now felt like distant echoes. Running from Neptune and Venus, clashing with Piper, and his induction into House Mars—all of it seemed surreal, like fragments of a fever dream.

As he wandered, the stars winked above, painting the night sky with their ethereal glow. The crescent moon cast a pale light, illuminating his solitary journey. His thoughts drifted homeward, to Diannie, Jennie, his mother, and the colony he left behind. His father's people. And where was he now?

Henryk had thought the academy was a bastion of military discipline, but the reality of his peers' unprofessionalism and the hidden horrors lurking within its walls left him feeling disheartened and afraid. Yet, he pushed back the longing for his family, a feat of sheer willpower. Thoughts of his mother's cooking clashed with the memory of the academy's unpalatable fare, though House Mars had improved the culinary situation, thanks to Arthur's influence.

But his mind couldn't escape the battles, the betrayals, and the prejudice he encountered. Raised in the frontier, he had concealed his magical abilities, but here they were laid bare. Initially, they served him against Piper, but now... now they posed a different kind of threat.

Henryk roamed the academy's woods, revisiting the spots where House Mars had rescued him and where Logan had nearly ended him. He retraced the path of the tram shuttle, revisited the library, and circled back to the dorms, from Pluto to Mars to Mercury, even venturing into those he'd never set foot in before.

He walked until he reached the strange stone walls of Uranus, his steps driven by a morbid curiosity that clashed with his instincts. Against his better judgment, he even approached House Jupiter, where the witches resided.

The looming black tower of House Jupiter rose before him, its spiky fence barring entry. Henryk pressed his arms against the cold bars, peering through the windows. And there, amidst the darkness, he saw her: a figure with wild, messy hair and gleaming green eyes, clad in undergarments with a toothbrush between her lips. The invader from his dreams.

He pushed himself away from the fence, propelled by a surge of anger that rippled through him like an electric current. The crowd roared around him, indifferent to his turmoil. They didn't see him, not really—just the uniform he wore, the insignia of House Mars branded on his chest, a double dose of shame etched into his right arm.

Henryk stormed into a lecture hall, his breath ragged as he leaned against a row of lockers, the cool metal offering a temporary respite. With a primal growl, his fist collided with the locker, a sharp pain shooting through him. Martian training or the bruises from initiation week—what did it matter? He wanted to hit something again, to release the pent-up fury boiling within him.

As he stalked past the lockers, his thoughts turned to his family. Jennie's laughter, his mother's gentle touch, Diania's comforting presence—these memories flickered in his mind like ghostly apparitions. "All for my family," he muttered to himself, his voice raw with emotion. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he recalled his mother's patience, teaching him to read when others had failed.

But they were gone now, his family torn from him by the cruel hand of fate. Alone in this unfamiliar world, he grappled with the weight of their absence, the ache of their loss gnawing at his soul. Would he ever be the same Henryk again, or had the academy irreparably changed him?

He kept his mutation hidden, a secret shared only with Tyson. In his world, mutants were feared, their potential suppressed by imperial decree. They could have been like Mars, held back by outside forces, their culture stifled in the name of conformity. But there was power in their uniqueness, in their defiance against the empire's iron grip.

Axel's lesson echoed in his mind, the wisdom of a fellow warrior who saw through the veneer of authority. Fighting for honor, for pride, for the right to exist on their own terms—maybe there was something noble in that after all.

With a newfound resolve, Henryk squared his shoulders, his gaze piercing the darkness of the lecture hall. If the core world bastards wanted a fight, they would get one. And House Mars would give it to them with everything they had, and then some.

Yet, amidst his turmoil, Henryk's mind inevitably drifted to Piper. A pang of regret shot through him, an ache in his chest as he grappled with memories he wished to bury. Deeper still, a primal feeling stirred, a sickening guilt that coiled within his soul like a serpent. He could almost feel the weight of his father's presence, the phantom touch of bandages that once held him tight. "Son," whispered a voice from the depths of his memory, a voice he hadn't heard in so long. For a fleeting moment, Henryk wept for the father he never truly knew, for the legacy that haunted him like a curse.

"Family!" His voice shattered the silence, reverberating through the empty hall with a force that seemed to electrify the air. Hate, anger, guilt—all swirling together in a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him.

Jace, Hannah, Logan, Jose—the names echoed in his mind, a litany of doubt and distrust. Who could he truly trust in this den of deception and betrayal?

A primal roar erupted from Henryk as his fist collided with the locker, the metal groaning in protest under the force of his rage. Lockers buckled and dented, a testament to the raw power of his fury. His hair whipped back, clearing his vision as realization dawned upon him.

"Holy shit, holy fuck!" His panic-stricken voice pierced the air, frantic thoughts racing as he scanned the room for security cameras. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, they're going to expel me for this!" With a surge of adrenaline, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows of the forest, the dense foliage swallowing him whole.

Meanwhile, outside in Academy City, Arthur stood amidst the fading light of day, his uniform stained with blood of varying hues. Boss Domerick's voice cut through the air, drawing his attention.

"Yo, Arthur!" Domerick's gruff voice echoed across the courtyard.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment, his mind still reeling from the day's events. "Sorry, Boss Domerick," he replied, his tone weighted with exhaustion.

Domerick's gaze flickered over Arthur's blood-splattered uniform, a grimace crossing his face. "That's a lot of blood," he remarked, his tone tinged with concern.

Arthur shrugged, his weariness palpable. "Didn't realize the Gazorpeen had so much blood in its—"

"Never mind," Domerick interjected, his attention diverted by the setting sun. "Listen, you're going to the academy, right? Good shit, kid. We'll cut your training short for today. Can you come tomorrow?"

Arthur hesitated, his thoughts already drifting to the tasks awaiting him. "Sorry, I've got class and I've got to help fix up me and my housemates' dorm."

His boss chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You guys are trying to fix up your own dorm?"

Arthur nodded, his expression darkening with the weight of their conversation. "Yeah, it’s a mess. People came in and trashed the hell out of it. They tatted the place up too, and everything. Traitors, dogs, and weak," he muttered, a hint of bitterness seeping into his words. "They even had tats talking about Pluto."

His boss's brow furrowed, a shadow passing over his features. "Arthur, I know very little of the Martians. However, I know that the scourge of Pluto was…complicated."

Arthur sighed heavily, the burden of history weighing heavily upon him. "The known galaxy may not understand how we've shamed him, how we've struck his name throughout history," he mused, his gaze lifting to meet his boss's. "Yet, Damien of Pluto still remains…"

As they discussed his scheduling, his boss glanced towards the approaching group of young men, their uniforms marking them as fellow Martians. "You need a ride or anything?" he offered.

Arthur shook his head, a wry smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nah, we're alright."

With a wave, they parted ways, and Arthur found himself walking alongside Joseph down the empty street. August and Isaac joined them, the topic quickly shifting to the new recruits.

"So, how is everyone feeling about the recruits?" Isaac inquired, leading the conversation.

Joseph offered a noncommittal shrug. "Henryk seems to be a good pick…"

"Henryk, Henryk, Henryk, we’ve been talking a whole lot about Henryk," Arthur interjected bluntly, his tone tinged with frustration.

August chimed in, voicing a sentiment shared by many. "Have you forgotten about the other squires?"

The group exchanged weary glances, acknowledging the validity of August's point. Isaac spoke up, voicing his concerns. "Is it really that bad though? I know what Ed is doing, trying to fill up the roster."

Joseph's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "Listen, I know that this is different…but we've got to think about our sizes."

"Do you condone this?" Isaac challenged, his tone sharp. "They're rookies, some of these guys never shot a gun, they're green as fucking grass. You toss a rifle into their hands and toss them at a Grimgore, they'll shit themselves."

Joseph held his ground, his voice firm. "…and you'd want us to have no auxiliary. Henryk is talented, but he's never been tested like how the majority of us have," he countered, gesturing to the group. "Say what you will, but everyone here is talented. We are lucky to have so many fighters…and maybe, Henryk and the others may join our ranks."

Isaac's eyes widened. "You wish to allow more than one into the Executor position."

Arthur snorted. "That's assuming if they all live long enough, don’t forget. This has been happening for years, and there have been many initiates, but only a couple passed. Even great Martian Veterans failed in the type of missions we were solely allowed to go into."

Isaac let out a heavy sigh. "Damn it, the guild paid us so much money. They wanted us to destroy a great space worm, we'd blow that fucker to high hell." He chuckled darkly.

Arthur pressed on. "Henryk is strong, no doubt. But does he have the mental grit, the physical strength, and the ability to bear the weight?"

"What weight?" inquired August.

Arthur's gaze shifted to the stars above. "What are we…," His eyes flashed with a profound sadness. "What were we meant to become."

It was August who stumbled for an answer. "K-Knights of Mars."

Arthur continued, his voice tinged with reflection. "Who else was it to bear the mantle? To hold off the dark…it was our privilege, the reason why we were blessed with these abilities. We face darkness more than ever after the destruction. But maybe scattered remnants could piece something together…anew."

Joseph's hand rested on Arthur's shoulder, a silent gesture of support. "I can get behind that, Knight."

A soft smile played on Arthur's lips.

Meanwhile, Henryk burst into a brightly lit building, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stumbled through the door, his eyes scanning the familiar but somehow altered surroundings. The halls stretched wider before him, casting long shadows as he navigated uncertain steps.

Outside, darkness had fallen, and with it, a sense of calm settled over him. He pressed his hands to his face, willing himself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other, no matter what.

Then, he stumbled upon it. "A piano…," he murmured, a wistful chuckle escaping his lips.

Taking in the dimly lit grandeur of the theater around him, Henryk found himself drawn onto the stage, the empty seats watching in silent anticipation.

"Hello," he murmured softly, his voice a mere whisper in the empty room. He left the door ajar, unwilling to call for help and risk the embarrassment of being rescued from his own impulsive outburst. Three dented lockers bore testament to his frustration, a silent plea for forgiveness from the unforgiving school authorities.

But the piano beckoned, its ivory and black keys a siren song in the dimness of the theater. "Now, this is a real piano," he mused, a wide smile gracing his lips. He settled onto the bench, cracking his neck and flexing his joints with practiced ease.

With a soft hum, he began to play. The melody started gently, his fingers dancing across the keys, conjuring memories of pine-scented woods and distant howls. But as the music swelled, so did his emotions, and he found himself swept up in a tempest of sound.

Wolves chased through the notes, their phantom forms flickering in his mind's eye. Switching to a more aggressive tune, his heart pounded in time with the rhythm, his fingers flying across the keyboard with an intensity born of raw emotion. Then, as the crescendo peaked, he saw her.

Not Piper, not yet. First, there was messy hair and wide eyes, a sight that caught him off guard, leaving him momentarily stunned. But there was no time for questions, no pause for explanations. Piper's voice shattered the spell, her praise ringing loud in the silence of the room.

"Henryk, that was amazing!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Henryk blinked, suddenly aware of the notebooks scattered at their feet.

Was she... into him?

As she grabbed his arm, her enthusiasm infectious, he offered a modest explanation. "My mama taught me the basics, but wandering travelers filled in the gaps along the way," he said with a modest shrug. "It's really nothing special."

But Piper wouldn't hear of it. Her eyes sparkled with admiration as she insisted, "No, Henryk. That was amazing. You have a gift!"

He waved off her praise, but Piper remained steadfast in her awe. The piece he had played, she insisted, was nothing short of magnificent. And as he looked up at her from the piano bench, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she was right.

She swiped a hand through a lock of hair, and even Henryk felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Honestly, Pipes, dumb stuff like that is all I know... nothing serious here at the academy. Heck, the feudal world people here are able to do complicated mathematics!"

Piper stared down at him, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe you should try to find something more... musical, Henryk. Everyone has their pros and cons. Maybe you aren't designed to be part of this system. And that's okay."

Henryk glanced down. "I know people liked my music back home. I'm good with my fingers, piano and guitar," he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

Her cheeks quickly reddened, and Henryk realized the implications of what he'd just said. "Wait, I didn't mean it like..."

But Piper was already laughing heartily. "You really are something else, Henryk."

Henryk returned her gaze, his smile faltering. "...and that's not the only thing I should be apologizing for. I'm sorry, Piper. Your eye and..."

"Hush about that," she retorted. "It's my own damned fault," she snorted, wiping her nose. "It is what it is... wanted to feel the wind on my face, now I'm going to see the skies through one real and the other grey."

Henryk fell silent, but Piper's smirk sparked a response. "Don't think you're going to get away from me."

Henryk looked back up at her. "What do you..."

"I'm going to beat you in a duel one day, Henryk Brown!" she declared triumphantly.

Henryk met her smile with one of his own. "I'd like to see you try."

"Bet on it," she shot back.

Henryk narrowed his eyes, a proud smirk curling his lips as he placed a hand over his chest, his words ringing with confidence. "Only I can fly high enough."