Henryk

Henryk returned to House Mars after the grueling morning, his body heavy with exhaustion and his mind cluttered with the weight of it all. He pushed through the door without a word, ignoring the murmurs of others who seemed ready to speak with him. His only focus was on reaching his bedroom and the sanctuary of his bathroom.

The second he got in, he flicked the shower on. Hot steam billowed around him, clinging to his skin as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. He caught his reflection in the fogging mirror, and for a moment, he paused. His eyes widened at his own transformation. His muscles had become more defined, his shoulders broader. A faint six-pack was beginning to push through, carving itself along his abdomen.

He chuckled to himself, curling a fist and flexing. For a brief second, pride flickered—but it was quickly replaced by a wince. The pain pulled him back to the fight, to Kieren’s savage, animalistic fury. The threats Kieren had spat, dripping with venom, resurfaced in his mind. What he’d almost done to Adaline…

And then there was Arthur—maimed but alive. Henryk shuddered. That could’ve been him. Hell, if they’d been a second later, it could’ve been Adaline.

The thought sent a chill down his spine. His gaze drifted back to the mirror, now cloaked in fog. His mind wandered back to earlier, just before they’d left the garage. He and Arthur had spoken with the girl, checked on her.

“Why were you even in there with that… thing?” Henryk had asked, his voice edged with disbelief. “Didn’t anyone tell you what was going on?”

Adaline sat at a table, clutching tissues in trembling hands. Her face was pale, her red skin stark under the overhead lights. “Ed, Vinnie, and my sister told me to keep a close eye on him,” she murmured. “So, I waited. Then he started talking about being in pain. I didn’t let him out of the restraints, but… I opened the door to get a better look, and then…”

Arthur, standing nearby, took a deep breath. His hand rose to his face, brushing against the raw wound where his ear had been. Both Henryk and Adaline stared, unable to hide their grim fascination as the edges of the wound seemed to self-cauterize before their eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Arthur said, his tone steady. “What matters is that you’re safe.”

Adaline’s eyes glistened as fresh tears spilled. “Thank you, but… you lost your ear saving me…”

Arthur smirked, his expression softening into something almost playful. “One of the first, and simplest, tenets of chivalry is the protection of women and maidens.” His voice grew warmer. “Your father was a great Knight, and you, in turn, are a princess of Mars. I merely did my duty.”

He pressed a fist to his chest, his smile growing wider, full of unshakable pride.

Adaline’s lips trembled as more tears fell. “T-thank you…” she stammered, sincerity pouring from her with each word.

Henryk’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly ajar, frozen in awe. Arthur was like a superhero—no, not like—he was a superhero. The thought almost made Henryk chuckle, but the memory was too real, too raw. Arthur had rolled in there and saved that little girl’s life. Not for glory, not for recognition, but because it was the right thing to do. Because he was a Knight.

“Don’t be putting all the weight on me, girl,” Arthur had said, clamping a hand on Henryk’s shoulder with such a commanding presence that Henryk nearly jumped. “Thank the Druid of Mars.”

That memory lingered in Henryk’s mind like a faded photograph, still vibrant but distant. His hands froze under the scalding water of the sink, his breaths heavy and uneven. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, he smiled. He’d heard plenty of bad things about House Mars—whispers, accusations, rumors—but Arthur’s actions proved otherwise. At least somebody was trying to be one of the good guys.

Could pricks like Jace or Logan have done what Arthur did? Hell no.

But no one saw that side of House Mars. Instead, it was Henryk and his brothers who bore the shame, who were painted as villains. Centuries of loyal service to the Emperor, and this was their reward? Scorn. Ridicule. Hatred.

He turned off the faucet, dried his hands, and pulled on a shirt. The thoughts were piling up, heavy and relentless. The academy, the Houses, the missions—it was all too much. And now Kieren. A fellow Knight, turned into some kind of monster. The good guys, sure. But could his family ever see them that way? Could he?

His mind wandered home, to the men in his mother’s life. His grandfather, his father, even his stepfather—all good men. All dead. And now it was just him, standing between his two younger half-sisters and the void. The academy could change his life. It had to. But the memories of Oceana, the pressure of training, missions, and House loyalty—it was eating him alive.

He took a deep, rattling breath, his hands gripping the edges of the sink. “I-I can’t be here right now,” he mumbled to himself, his reflection staring back at him with hollow eyes.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him as he zipped up his jacket. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a sharp blip breaking through the fog in his head. He pulled it out, narrowing his eyes at the attendance alarm flashing on the screen. “I’ve got a couple more days I can skip,” he muttered, shrugging it off as he pocketed the phone and headed down the hall.

As he reached the staircase, he froze again. Waiting for him at the bottom were Franklin, Mateo, and Wilbur, their faces a mix of apprehension and expectation. They stared up at him like they were sizing him up for something big.

“What is this all about?” Henryk asked, his voice steady but his pulse quickening.

Mateo stepped forward, his brows furrowed with concern. “How’s Kieren? Is he doing okay?”

Henryk’s eyes widened, his mind flaring with images of what had happened. Should he tell them? His thoughts swirled back to the secrets of House Mars—those things they wanted locked away, things Arthur would have demanded remain buried.

He tilted his chin up, masking his inner turmoil with a stoic front. He was part of House Mars now, bound to its oaths, its silences. “Last I checked, Kieren was fine, but if you want the details, ask Arthur or the others,” Henryk said, his tone clipped as he descended the steps.

Mateo and Wilbur exchanged relieved glances, tension draining from their shoulders.

“So, the surgery was a success?” Franklin asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Henryk opened his mouth to respond, but—

The world beneath him tilted violently, the axis of reality yanking sideways. His hands flew out, gripping the banister just in time to stop himself from tumbling down the stairs. His elbows locked, holding him steady as his knees buckled.

“Holy shit!” Wilbur shouted, scrambling toward Henryk. Mateo and Franklin were right behind him, their hands reaching out, but their eyes weren’t on Henryk.

The mass of brown robes zipped past, darting through the dimly lit corridor below. It moved like a shadow, faster than any of them could track. Small—smaller than all of them—but bigger than a child. It cut through the hallway like a ghost through fog.

Henryk’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the banister tighter. His heart raced, adrenaline spiking. “W-what the fuck!” he shouted, his gaze locking onto the retreating figure. “I-I’ve seen that fucking thing before!”

He had written about it once, buried it in a journal entry he’d hoped no one would read. A shadowy being he’d spotted in the dark corners of the school. He wasn’t the only one—Joeseph and the others had seen it, too. But they’d dismissed it, shoved it aside like they did everything else—like the talk of the spikes, like the whispers of Old Mars.

The creature ducked into a side hallway, vanishing into the shadows.

“Henryk, are you—” Mateo began, his voice cautious, but Henryk cut him off with a wave of his hand. He shoved himself upright, brushing off his jacket with sharp, irritated movements.

“I’m really starting to hate this freaking school,” Henryk muttered, his voice tight with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, the static cling making it stand on end.

“H-Hey, where are you going?” Franklin asked, his tone rising with concern.

“…More like, what the hell was that?” Wilbur interjected, his voice quivering with unease. “That had to be an intruder. Do we need to call the cops, or—”

“I’ve seen something like that before,” Henryk said matter-of-factly, his tone clipped as he strode forward. “The Knights… the Sons… they know about all this,” he muttered, his words trailing as though he were piecing together a puzzle mid-sentence.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Wilbur called after him, his voice sharp with exasperation. “After the shit show with Kieren, House Venus, and now these little gremlin fuckers running around, you’re just gonna leave?”

Henryk paused at the foot of the stairs, running a hand through his hair with a weary sigh. “First off, I’ve got class,” he said, voice rattling with frustration. “Not that I even want to go, but I need to get my mind off this crap.” Then his words slowed, his mind catching on something. “House Venus? Kieren’s fine, but House Venus?”

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The three exchanged uneasy glances, their collective silence setting Henryk on edge. His patience snapped, and his voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Talk.”

Franklin rubbed his elbow, hesitant, his eyes darting toward the floor. “We… well, it was more Kieren’s idea,” he admitted reluctantly. “We kinda… messed with House Venus. Don’t tell anyone.”

Henryk’s eyes widened, disbelief plain on his face. “W-why? What?” His voice rose with incredulity. “Why the hell would you do that? They’re one of the strongest Houses in the Solar System! Hell, I thought you guys were just trying to skim by.”

Wilbur sneered, crossing his arms. “You’re one to talk, Henryk Brown,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm.

“Wilbur,” Mateo cut in, his tone sharp with warning.

But Wilbur wasn’t about to stop. “No, Mateo. This is the last guy who should be lecturing us,” he snapped. “First off, we just wanted to make a name for ourselves. Henryk doesn’t have to worry about that because the truebloods fawn over him. Hell, we only attacked them because of the mess he caused.”

Henryk’s brow furrowed, his voice rising. “I don’t know how my actions motivated you in any way. My issues with House Venus are mine—I didn’t need anyone to get involved!”

Wilbur’s grin turned cheeky, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “…So the rumors are true then.”

“Enough, Wilbur,” Mateo warned again, his voice like steel. His gaze flicked toward Franklin, but Franklin kept his head down, avoiding the tension altogether.

Wilbur smirked, ignoring the warning. “So, were we wrong to attack them? We only did it because you were falsely accused. Or maybe we’re the ones who were wrong. What do you think, Mateo?” He tilted his head toward Mateo briefly before snapping his gaze back to Henryk. “I mean, a princess accuses you of pinning her down in a dark, empty room and trying to rape her, then you go off and beat the shit out of her friends—and then you duel her brother and kick his ass.”

Henryk’s eyes flared open, his chest heaving, arms crossed tightly over himself like he was holding something back, something ready to explode. “That’s the worst crime imaginable,” he spat, his voice rising with fury. “I’ve got sisters. A mother. Do you think I’d do something like that? I wasn’t even around Hannah or the goddamn party when the Antlered Knight was going off, beating everyone there!”

He stepped forward, his voice a storm gathering strength. “Second,” Henryk jabbed a finger into the air, “I only got involved when Jace was grabbing up on Sirine. You most definitely saw that!” His words cracked like a whip.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, trying to play it off, but Henryk was just getting started. “Oh, so you’ll discount Jace? The guy who was obviously trying to sexually assault her? No, no, he didn’t do much—just enough to leave Sirine terrified that night.”

Henryk’s voice boomed now, his face a mask of rage and conviction. “And when I stepped up—the only man in that crowd willing to do something—you all just stood there.” His breath came in short bursts, the spit flying from his lips as he marched toward Wilbur. “You want to denounce me? The one actually making waves? The one taking a stand while the rest of you hide?”

Wilbur flinched, his usual bravado crumbling as Henryk loomed over him. The room felt stifling, the weight of Henryk’s fury pressing down on everyone.

But then, Henryk froze, his words catching in his throat as his gaze shifted, catching the fear in Wilbur’s eyes, the shallow, panicked breaths coming from everyone in the room. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment, his anger seemed to fold in on itself, replaced by something colder.

Henryk sneered, his voice dropping to a flat, venomous tone. “Goodbye.”

He spun on his heel and marched to the door. The slam echoed through the room like a gunshot, leaving behind a rhythmic, heavy silence that pulsed like a heartbeat in the wake of his departure.

Piper

Piper sat stiffly in Zephyr’s office, the hum of the air conditioner struggling against the morning heat. Zephyr clutched the unit to his stomach like a lifeline, his bulk sinking into the chair as he avoided her gaze. His eyes stayed glued to the console in front of him, his fingers clicking through screens with deliberate slowness.

“Do you know why I called you in today, Piper?” Zephyr finally asked, his voice low, almost bored.

Piper’s brows furrowed, exhaustion weighing on her. The early sunlight creeping through the blinds wasn’t helping. “Zephyr, what is this all about?”

Zephyr didn’t answer, his attention on the monitor as though he’d forgotten she was even there. Then, with an almost childlike air of self-importance, he cleared his throat and read aloud:

“To the leadership of House Mercury—concerning the recent duel involving Lieutenant Piper and Atticus of House Earth. Given the current galaxy-wide instability and the academy’s precarious standing, this behavior is irresponsible and sets a dangerous precedent. The duel should be rescinded immediately.”

Zephyr sighed, rubbing his temples as he looked at her for the first time. “Do you think this was appropriate behavior?” he asked, the weariness in his voice giving way to annoyance. His hands pressed into his face, muffling his next words. “Do you just get a kick out of this? Making others clean up after you while you sit back and reap the benefits?”

“Zephyr—!” Piper’s voice rose, but Zephyr cut her off with a sharp glare.

“Piper, lower your tone,” he snapped. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, static and heavy, leaving the room oppressively silent.

Piper’s jaw tightened, but she refused to look away. Her eyes glistened, though no tears fell. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She crossed her arms, leaning back with a scoff. “So that’s what’s got you so worked up. The duel. Figures.”

Zephyr exhaled through his nose, his head sinking back into his hands. “You’re a Lieutenant now, Piper. This isn’t just about being an ace with a flashy nickname. You carry weight. Your actions carry weight. These little duels aren’t just games; they’re statements. What kind of precedent are you setting for the House?” His voice rose again, sharp and frustrated. “Do you ever think beyond yourself?”

“I got Atticus out of a tough spot,” Piper shot back. “There’s honor in dueling, and he agreed to it. Until he tells me otherwise, I won’t back out.”

Zephyr’s gaze hardened. “Consider this a presidential order,” he said, his tone dropping, cold as a blade.

Piper’s lips curled into a smirk. “Or what, Zephyr? You gonna punish me?”

Zephyr leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes. “There are other ways to handle this. Favors you enjoy as a Red Rocket, for instance—a House during the off-seasons, unrestricted spending in Mercurian territories. These aren’t rights, Piper. They’re privileges. And privileges,” he added, his voice dripping with implication, “can be revoked.”

Piper’s smile vanished, her eyes flaring wide before narrowing into slits. “Zephyr,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained fury, “I’ve given years of loyal service to the Mercurian Sphere. I was born on one of their planets. I fought for my place here, bled for it. And you want to talk to me about privileges? I could’ve filled a graveyard with corpses by now. I’m not even twenty-one. Don’t you dare discount what I’ve done.”

Zephyr wobbled slightly in his chair, his gaze dropping to his desk. The silence was deafening, heavy with all the unsaid words between them. Piper’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing through every moment they’d worked together, every bit of trust she thought they’d built. All of it felt like it was crumbling to ash.

“Well?” she challenged, her voice cracking under the weight of her anger. “Say something.”

Zephyr didn’t. He couldn’t. He just sat there, his silence saying everything she feared.

Finally, he muttered, “You’ve got to stop thinking for yourself, Piper.”

Piper clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream, to throw something, but instead, she sat.

“Got it,” Piper brushed off, her tone clipped.

“I’m serious, Piper,” Zephyr said, his voice hardening as he extended a hand. “What does this accomplish? Evening out your pilot pride because you think things have changed since Oceana II?”

Piper rolled her eyes, waving him off. “A lot has changed. I’ve grown stronger because of this.” She tapped the plastic of her eye, the unblinking lens staring back at Zephyr, defiant.

“You can’t use that machine in normal battle,” Zephyr snapped, the words biting.

“I wasn’t talking about the machine,” Piper shot back, her voice sharp as a blade.

“Good,” Zephyr replied, his tone firm. “Because that’s Mercurian-classified military property. You know the rules.”

“Classified,” Piper repeated, her voice dripping with venom. “So, you get to use me as a guinea pig, but I don’t even get to decide my own damn fights?” she spat, her fists tightening at her sides.

“Piper!” Zephyr barked, his voice rising. “You’re out of line!”

“This is bullshit! It’s an injustice!” Piper fired back, her words spilling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “You’ve never had an issue with me fighting before. Now, suddenly, it’s a problem? I’m going to win!” she shouted, her chest heaving as the air in the room thickened with tension. For a moment, silence swallowed them both, leaving only their ragged breaths echoing in the space.

Zephyr exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold and deliberate. “You can leave now.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Piper muttered, rising to her feet. The chair screeched against the floor as she shoved it back with more force than necessary.

As she reached the door, her hand hesitated on the handle. She didn’t turn around, but her voice was steady, if laced with a touch of bitterness. “Open or closed?”

Zephyr’s icy gaze lingered on her for a moment before returning to the desk. “Closed,” he said firmly.

Without another word, Piper stepped through, shutting the door behind her with a final, deliberate click.

Earth House

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the cramped common area of Earth House. It wasn’t much—worn couches, a scuffed coffee table piled with half-empty soda cans, and a kitchenette that had seen better days—but it was home for its residents. Tonight, it was anything but peaceful.

Atticus stood near the window, the pale light of the city casting shadows over his bruised face. His sister, Ella, Earth House’s President, loomed in front of him, her posture rigid, her hand still stinging from the slap she’d just delivered. The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic from outside and the murmured breaths of the lieutenants who lined the walls.

“You idiot,” Ella hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve dragged this House into the mud!”

Atticus clenched his jaw, staring out the window, avoiding her glare. “I didn’t drag anyone into anything,” he muttered. “This is between me and Piper.”

Ella’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “Between you and Piper? God, you really are as stupid as you look. Do you think duels like this happen in a vacuum? Do you think House Venus isn’t watching every damn move we make, just waiting for us to screw up?”

“That’s not my problem,” Atticus shot back, finally turning to face her. His voice was steady, but his fists were clenched tight at his sides. “This is about pilot honor.”

“Honor?” Ella snapped, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer. “You don’t have any honor to protect! You lost that the second you decided to throw this House under the bus for your petty pride.”

The lieutenants shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between the two siblings. One of them, a lanky guy named Victor, tried to interject. “Ella, maybe we should—”

“Shut it, Victor,” Ella barked, silencing him instantly. She turned back to Atticus, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You’re going to rescind this duel. Now.”

“No,” Atticus said firmly, meeting her gaze head-on. “I won’t.”

Ella’s hand shot up again, trembling with rage, but before she could bring it down, the sharp knock of knuckles against the door cut through the tension. Everyone froze, the sound ringing out like a gunshot in the thick silence.

Ella hesitated, her hand lowering slightly as she turned toward the door. “Who the hell…?” she muttered, striding across the room and yanking it open.

Standing in the doorway were two messengers clad in the regal green and gold of House Venus. Behind them, towering like a monument to arrogance, was Jace himself, the President of House Venus. His smirk was as sharp as the tailored lines of his suit.

“Good evening,” Jace drawled, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.