Chapter 16 - Druid Knight of Mars

  Edward

  Arthur awoke with a sharp inhale, his eyes snapping open, darting wildly. Instinct told him to rise, to push himself up—but the moment he tried, pain ced through his body like fire in his veins. Every muscle ached, every inch of him felt stitched together with raw agony.

  "Easy, big guy," came a familiar voice.

  Ed was sitting nearby, his posture rexed but his eyes watchful. Beside him, Kieren lingered, shifting his weight awkwardly, his discomfort pin in the way he hovered like a ghost in the dim light.

  Arthur gritted his teeth as his mechanical fingers curled into the soft, pale bnkets beneath him. The sensation of fabric felt strange against cold metal. He tried to push himself up again, but Ed’s hand caught his shoulder, firm but careful.

  "Don’t," Ed said. "You took a bad beating. You’d be amazed at the number of stitches you’ve got holding you together. Even with your healing factor, you’re gonna carry some new scars."

  Arthur tensed, fingers twitching as he took in his surroundings. The walls were old stone, stacked high and uneven, their edges softened by time. Shadows flickered, cast by a roaring firepce that dominated the center of the room, its heat licking at the air, warming everything in a golden-orange glow. Candles lined the walls, their light dancing against the faces of those gathered.

  Then there was a sound—a low, guttural noise from somewhere beyond. It sent a shiver up his spine. Something was breathing in the dark.

  "Where are we?" Arthur rasped.

  Ed exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re safe. We’re safe. That’s what matters." A pause. His gaze swept the room, searching for the right words. "This is The Monolith. Used to be some old Martian fortress. Now? It's a sanctuary, a hideout for the remnants."

  Arthur’s breath hitched. "Where’s Axel? Where’s Isaac?"

  Panic cwed into his voice, but Kieren cut in, calm, steady. "Isaac’s at the firing range." His eyes shifted, his expression tight, as if the words sat uncomfortably in his mouth. His attire was different—something about it felt offhand, ill-fitting, like he didn't belong in it. "Axel’s in the… what was it called again?"

  "The Sword Pits," Ed answered.

  Arthur didn’t respond at first. His gaze swept the room, taking in the long row of beds—too many, crammed together like coffins waiting to be filled. Some of them already were.

  Men y on them, some barely clinging to life. Boys, younger than they should have been for a battlefield, whimpered in pain. Limbs were missing, bodies wrapped in bandages stained deep red. Young women moved between them, tending wounds with careful hands. In the dim firelight, Arthur watched the dead being carried out, their faces covered, their bodies limp.

  His breath left him in a slow, heavy sigh.

  “…And what of Henryk?”

  The reaction was immediate. Ed’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. Kieren turned away, hiding whatever was written on his face.

  Ed sighed again, louder this time. "We know he’s alive. That’s enough for now." His voice was measured, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "You and the rest were lucky—your injuries were superficial compared to some of the others. You got the worst of it, though. You’ve been out cold since the battle."

  Arthur’s stomach knotted.

  "How long?"

  "A day, maybe two," Ed said.

  Arthur groaned, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. His skull throbbed, the pain nestled deep in the bones. He forced himself upright, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest.

  "Okay, okay," Ed muttered, rising to his feet, Kieren standing alongside him. "You need anything? It’s a feudal lot here, but they’ve got amenities."

  Arthur let out a slow breath, gncing around. "I can see that." He hesitated, running a hand over his face. "I won’t lie, though… it feels nice, being away from all the tech. The gadgets, the blinking lights. Even though our Warcaskets and weapons are advanced, there’s something peaceful about the simplicity of it all."

  Kieren snorted. "More like the simplicity of getting tetanus."

  Ed nudged him with an elbow, shaking his head.

  "What?" Kieren whispered back, raising a hand in a zy gesture. "These dumb hicks couldn’t tell a toaster from a lighter. I doubt they can even keep up with how fast I talk." His voice carried just enough arrogance to make Arthur clench his jaw.

  "You're lucky you got the spikes, boy," Arthur spat. But he sighed, shaking his head, dropping it before the anger simmered too hot. "I need clothes. Something like Kieren's will do. My emotions betrayed me—I shouldn't have announced our status as Truebloods."

  Ed nodded along. "It’s whatever…" But his eyes narrowed as they swept the room. The low murmur of voices, the soft rustling of bandages being changed—too many people y wounded, and the st thing they needed was loose tongues wagging.

  At least one or two nurses kept passing their open stall a little too often. The st thing they needed was rumors.

  "They know," Ed muttered, voice low. "But it couldn’t be helped."

  Kieren sneered. "So, them knowing about our mutations—"

  "The spikes," Ed interrupted, his voice sharp enough to make Kieren stiffen. "Don’t call it that."

  Kieren swallowed hard.

  Ed turned his gaze toward Arthur. "You were raised on a feudal world…"

  Arthur exhaled through his nose. "They knew the triumphs of House Mars, so at the very least, they weren’t completely uncivilized." He brushed a stray bit of lint from the ragged brown pants they must’ve dressed him in while he was unconscious.

  Ed sighed, nodding. "Same rules as old Mars. I already warned Kieren, but you should feel the most at home here."

  Arthur flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. "Okay. So where do we go now?"

  Ed gestured toward Kieren. "Fg down one of the nurses. Ask for a set of clothes."

  Kieren gave a stiff nod and strode off, his posture straight but a little too rigid. Both Ed and Arthur watched him for a few extra seconds as he moved through the ward.

  "He’s an interesting one," Arthur remarked.

  Ed stayed silent, running a hand through his hair.

  Arthur turned to him, voice even. "What do you think, Sire? You think he was worth the spikes?"

  Ed didn’t answer right away. His fingers combed over his face as if trying to smooth out thoughts too jagged to hold. Finally, he exhaled.

  "His life was saved," Ed murmured. "The house got away clean with what happened. And Jace and House Venus—" he smirked faintly, turning to Arthur— "a month ter, they came out none the wiser."

  Arthur didn’t return the smirk. He just stared, gaze locked on Kieren as the younger man approached a nurse—a blonde woman in a blue dress, a crisp white blouse yered on top, a neatly perched nurse’s cap banced on her head.

  "Those spikes mean he’ll never have a normal life again," Arthur said, sliding on the st of his boots. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. "Everything. The food he eats. The woman he marries. Even how advanced his shitter is gonna be—that’s all been decided for him."

  His eyes darkened.

  "And the one job—the one thing the spikes boosted our ability to do—" Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose, the corner of his lip curling. "He tried to crawl into a hole and hide. Like a coward."

  Ed’s eyes widened.

  Arthur wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was still locked on Kieren.

  "He dishonors the Red Temprs with every breath he takes," Arthur said, his voice cold, final.

  Ed’s breath caught, and he turned toward him fully. "Arthur—aren’t you being a little harsh on him?" His voice was softer now, measured. "That was Kieren’s first real engagement…"

  Arthur snapped his head up, his gaze sharpening like a bde catching the light. "So," he said, voice ft. "Henryk was afraid. Sure. Looked like he was about to piss himself. I remember when the others thought he’d be a liability..."

  A faint smirk curled his lip. "Then old Henryk goes and covers our weak points. Turns out he’s more of a strength than a liability. Hell, when he got separated, he linked up with House Pluto, and we got double the support for your rescue. Could Kieren have done that?"

  Edward was silent.

  Arthur let the moment stretch before speaking again.

  "...And he’s the one that has my father’s spikes," Arthur said, wrapping his arms around himself. "My brother’s spikes. My grandfather’s. His father’s. And his father’s before him."

  "Arthur, I get it," Ed murmured, his voice quiet, careful.

  "I get that he was leading executor," Arthur pressed on, voice gaining heat. "I get that. But if we were following proper tradition, every other squire would’ve been inducted as either serfs or Warrior-Serfs."

  Ed exhaled through his nose. "Because there’s still an option for more squires to be inducted," he said. "You just spoke of Henryk—like you said, we’re differing from tradition. I’m still allowing him to prove himself the formal way."

  Arthur chuckled, low and bitter. "So Kieren gets the shortcut to divinity, but Henryk’s gotta take the long road."

  Ed’s eyes narrowed. "And what would you have of me?" he said, voice edged now. "Just give the spikes out willy-nilly? Mateo was right—Kieren was lying on a metal table talking about how he’d never walk again. You really expect me, if Henryk had been in that same position, to just let him die? To deny him the spikes?"

  Arthur’s chuckle deepened into something darker. He leaned forward, looking Ed dead in the eye.

  "Let me put it this way," he said. "Between Henryk and Kieren? I would’ve chosen Henryk, no question. But even then—" His eyes glistened, something raw flickering behind them. He shook his head, slow and deliberate.

  "I like Henryk," Arthur admitted, his voice quieter now, but heavy as stone. "But I would’ve let him die on that table before I gave him the divine spikes."

  He whistled then, turning toward the rapidly approaching Kieren.

  "Henryk and the others—" Arthur exhaled, his words final, carved in iron. "Henryk may have been tested, but he’s still got a long way to go before I even consider him worthy."

  Joseph

  Joseph sat in Ed’s office, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like an ill-fitting coat. He wasn’t just filling in—he was the one Ed had put in charge during his absence. And now, for the first time, Joseph was beginning to grasp just how much work went into running the house. Bills, supplies, tuition. Always being on call. That was just for their house—he didn’t even want to imagine the nightmare of managing one of the bigger ones.

  Instead of thinking about it, he focused on his phone, flicking through a mindless app game, his fingers tapping out some idle rhythm against the screen. That’s why Bea’s call caught him off guard.

  His phone buzzed. He stared at the name for half a second before answering.

  "Hello...?" he said, his voice coming out more hesitant than he liked.

  “Hey… this is James, right?” Bea’s voice came through the line.

  Joseph sighed, already rubbing his temple. “No, Joseph. Or Joey.”

  “Oh, damn, sorry,” Bea said, letting out a breath. “Listen, Ed told me to call you if anything came up.”

  That got Joseph’s attention. His back straightened. "What happened?"

  Bea must have picked up on the shift in his silence.

  "Rex, it's nothing bad," she assured him. "Just some things I think you should be aware of. A report, if you will."

  Joseph nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “S-sure, so, what’s up?”

  He winced at his own voice. Too nervous. Too obvious. He never had been great at talking to the opposite sex.

  Bea sighed on the other end. “First off, I took the suggestions you guys gave me about the machines. I’ve been working with Henryk on—”

  “You’ve been working with Henryk?” Joseph interrupted, then immediately regretted it, his hand flying to his face. He should’ve just shut up.

  Bea didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. He may not be a Martian, but he sure as hell understands the technical aspects of our technology.”

  Joseph had no real response to that, so he just let her continue.

  “I’ve worked out the test type for the Warcasket micro-carrier,” Bea went on. “I think I’ve got it operational.”

  “Gee, that’s great,” Joseph said, trying to sound confident, but Bea cut him off.

  “No. That’s the thing—it’s only going to be programmed for a single pilot.”

  Joseph frowned. “Wait, but—”

  “The connection between the suit and the carrier is instantaneous," she expined. "Me and Henryk are still working out the bugs, but the tests and the simutions I’ve been having Adaline run? Absolute godsend.”

  Joseph exhaled. “That’s… really good, actually.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, thanks for the update, but we still haven’t heard from Edward or a good chunk of the guys in the st couple of days. We’re not worried—deep space travel has its issues—but it might take a little longer for your message to reach him."

  Bea was quiet for a second before asking, “Who’s missing? I know Ed, but Henryk too?”

  Joseph nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. The house is quieter than it’s ever been. At first, it was kind of nice,” he admitted, rising from his chair and making his way toward the massive central window. But as he spoke, his smile faded. "...But now there’s just a lot of empty rooms."

  Bea let out a tired sigh. "I owe Henryk for what happened with Adaline."

  Joseph could hear the exhaustion in her voice. Then, something sharper—something simmering just beneath.

  “You’re lucky Henryk saved her," she said, her voice cooling to steel. "Not a hair harmed on her head. Ed’s lucky I didn’t rip him a new one for that."

  Joseph winced.

  Yeah. He didn’t envy Ed for that conversation.

  Bea continued, her tone shifting. “Listen, if Ed isn’t around and you guys are short-manned, I get it if you don’t wanna hear this next part.”

  Joseph sat up straighter. “What is it?”

  “A mission.” A pause. “Honestly, doesn’t look too bad. Probably a bug hunt or something else out there.” There was a slight rustling on her end—papers shifting, maybe a screen flicking. Joseph had the distinct feeling she was reading off something. “Came across my board a little while ago. Thought it was bullshit at first, but I dug deeper. The photo was real. The location wasn’t.” Another pause. “Bh, bh, you get the idea.”

  “Bea,” Joseph said, patience thinning. “Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

  She sighed. “Look, the details on this one are murky, but I’m damn near certain—I found a relic ship from Old House Mars.”

  Joseph froze. The air seemed to thicken in the office. His earlier sck posture was gone. “You serious?”

  He could already tell she was nodding on the other end. “I can send the files to Ed’s computer if you’ve got the password.”

  “Do it.”

  Joseph flicked on Ed’s terminal. The screen hummed to life, and the first thing that greeted him was a group photo of the present Sons of Mars. Front and center was Axel, wearing that telltale emo sneer.

  Joseph smirked. “Hah. That’s sweet and sentimental. I gotta bully him ter for that shit.”

  “What was that?” Bea asked.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, already pulling up the email.

  The image loaded, a grainy bck-and-white blotched photo. Time-stamped coordinates ran along the bottom, stark and clear against the distortion.

  “This was recorded a week ago,” Joseph murmured, sinking into Ed’s chair.

  “The forums and even the guild were losing their minds over it. I’m surprised you guys didn’t hear.”

  Joseph sighed. “There’s been a lot happening on our end.”

  “Clearly.” Bea exhaled. “People were sent to the coordinates. Students, scavengers, soldiers, mercs—hell, even some government spooks sniffing around. And then, strangely enough? Poof. Just gone.”

  Joseph’s stomach twisted. “You’re kidding. A behemoth like that, just—vanished?”

  Bea didn’t miss a beat. “Which means one of two things. Either it left on its own…”

  Joseph scoffed. “That’s insane.”

  “…or maybe it doesn’t wanna be found.”

  A heavy silence stretched between them.

  Then Bea, ever pragmatic, added, “…or there’s a lot of goodies onboard.”

  Joseph scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Okay. You make a good point. Thanks for bringing this to us.” A small smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re a wonderful handler, Bea.”

  Bea was silent for a moment before answering, her voice drier than a Martian dust storm.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” she said with a sigh. “I only help you guys because of what Henryk did for my sister… and because Ed is bckmailing me.”

  Joseph’s eyes widened, then narrowed as his hand dragged down his face. “I—I didn’t know that.”

  Bea exhaled. “Listen, I’ve got other things to deal with. Adaline’s graduating soon, and we need to start looking at colleges.”

  Joseph smirked. “Hah, send her here.”

  Bea let out a sharp ugh. “Yeah, right. Like hell I’d send her to that animal-kingdom monkey school you call an academy.”

  Joseph chuckled harder. “Fair.” His tone sobered as he leaned back. “I’m probably heading out alone. I’ll take one of Ed’s smaller transports and a Warcasket—at least do some recon.”

  Bea was quiet for a beat. “Be careful,” she tested.

  “I will,” he assured.

  She sighed. “You boys have the spikes, but that doesn’t make you Knights of Mars.”

  “I know.” Joseph stretched his arms, the motion slow and zy, but his voice was firm. “Feels like my knight cousins forget that fact, though.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “After the fall of Mars, my father took us to another world. We found a tribe. That tribe became my home. For years, he blended nomadic life with Martian Europeanism. Most of the Sons of Mars—hell, including Edward—didn’t have their fathers around after the fall to train them.”

  Bea sighed again, slower this time. “That’s all well and good, but you know how dangerous deep space travel is. I’m not saying you’re not skilled, but…”

  “No, you make a good point.” Joseph’s fingers traced his jaw, thoughtful. “…but like you said, we don’t have the manpower.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else you could take with you?”

  Joseph shrugged. “One of the reasons Tyson and I got left behind was what happened st time the squires went off without permission.” He groaned, rubbing at his temple. “They’re all legally adults. We shouldn’t have to babysit them like they’re kids.”

  “Well, the mission’s there if you need it,” Bea said. Then, a slight hesitation. “But… isn’t there someone else with you?”

  Joseph’s expression flickered. “August. Yeah. But he’s not exactly the fighting type.”

  “He has the spikes, though,” Bea pointed out. “I thought he was born on Mars?”

  “Born there, yeah.” Joseph hesitated, running a hand through his hair again. “Raised… not so much.”

  Bea stayed silent, letting him talk.

  “If August had tried to be a Knight of Mars during our prime, he wouldn’t have even made it past the front gate,” Joseph muttered, slumping back into his chair. “I don’t even know why he’s here. Out of everyone—hell, even Henryk—AUGUST had the most normal life. His dad died in the fall, sure, but he was raised on a Midworld under Mercurian control. A safe, cushy life. So why the hell would a guy like that choose to walk back onto this road?”

  Bea exhaled, the sound staticky over the call. “Well. I told you the mission. The choice is yours. Pass what I said to Ed when you get the chance.”

  “Noted,” Joseph said simply.

  After Bea’s phone call, Joseph sat in silence, the only sound the rhythmic ctter of his mouse as he scrolled through the data. A cruiser—massive, the kind that wouldn’t unch without at least a hundred crew members. And yet, there one second, gone the next. Vanishing like a ghost in the bck.

  It was madness. But the Martians were known for their madness.

  Joseph leaned in, eyes narrowing at the grainy image of the vessel. Could it be some prototype? Some way of crossing impossible distances in the blink of an eye?

  He shook his head. The coordinates Bea had sent were buried deep, a cipher within a cipher on the dark web. Millions had seen the st known image. Only a handful could see this one. He rubbed his chin, mind drifting to relics—artifacts, weapons, schematics, even scraps of a culture long turned to ash. Anything was worth the risk. He exhaled sharply and powered down the computer.

  He called August and Tyson into the room, giving them a quick rundown.

  “So,” Tyson said, crossing his arms. “Who’s going with you?”

  His gaze flicked toward August, who sat hunched, arms wrapped around himself, head low, avoiding their eyes.

  Ty sighed. “I’ll go—”

  “You can’t,” Joseph cut in, voice quiet but firm. “The squires respect you. They’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  Ty shook his head, gncing at August. The kid’s face was hidden, but his eyes—Ty could see them. Wide. Drenched in something Joseph couldn’t pick up on.

  “August has never been on a single mission,” Ty said, measured. “He’s barely trained. Between him and Henryk? He’s greener.”

  Joseph sneered, gesturing toward August’s curled-up frame. “He’s a Knight of Mars,” he said, voice ebbing with conviction. “He’s got the spikes on his back, doesn’t he? That makes him one of us. And as a member of this house, he’ll fight.” Joseph turned, offering a smile—practiced, confident. But it faltered the moment he actually saw August.

  The kid was sniffling, silent tears streaking down his cheeks as he wiped them with the sleeves of his coat.

  “August, you alright, man?” Ty asked, crouching down to his level.

  August sucked in a breath, voice shaking. “I—I… I’m a c-coward.”

  “August,” Joseph started, but August pushed forward, voice gaining momentum, swelling with something raw and jagged.

  “My father was a warrior. A true warrior. He died noble—died before he had to watch Mars burn.” His hands curled into fists, nails digging into the fabric of his pants. “I understand Henryk. When he talks about proving himself—I get it. But I’m afraid.” His voice cracked on the st word, a sudden rupture, splitting the air. “I’m afraid.”

  Joseph’s expression darkened. “Then why are you here?”

  Ty’s eyes flicked toward him, narrowing. “Hey.”

  “What?” Joseph said, unflinching. “He joined the Sons of Mars, didn’t he? Ty, people in the Empire look at you like a mistake because of your mutations. But that hasn’t stopped you from doing your duty.”

  Ty’s fist clenched, then slowly unfurled. His voice was measured but simmering. “Even then, August’s reasons for not fighting are valid. He’s human. No matter what the spikes change, we are still—will always be—human.”

  Joseph turned the word over in his mouth. “Human.” His lip curled slightly, just shy of a sneer. “Is it wrong to ask more? If August wanted, he could’ve been an engineer on Mercury or Earth. Hell, he could’ve leveraged his Martian blood to squeeze into a House like Saturn or Neptune. But here? Where the only path is knighthood?” Joseph exhaled sharply. “What’s the use of a knight who won’t fight?”

  “Knights weren’t all meant just for fighting,” Tyson said, his voice steady, measured. “Some of the greatest warriors tended the most beautiful gardens.”

  Silence settled between them, thick and uneasy. The only sound was August’s faint sniffling, the quiet tremble of someone trying to hold himself together.

  Joseph exhaled, long and slow, then turned to August. “I get it. You don’t want to fight. You don’t want to die. But I need you on this mission. The house needs you.”

  Tyson shifted as if to speak, but Joseph cut him off with a raised hand.

  “I’ll be the one doing the investigating,” Joseph continued, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. “But I need someone to keep the ship steady.”

  August wiped his gsses with the sleeve of his jacket, cleared his nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t look up.

  “I need someone handling the technical side,” Joseph said. “If something goes wrong—and let’s be honest, something always goes wrong—I need eyes on the systems.”

  “To keep an eye on the mechanical…” August’s voice cracked, fragile as gss, and Joseph allowed himself a small smirk.

  “Ty had a point,” Joseph admitted, nodding toward Tyson, who tensed slightly, unsure of where this was going. “Not every knight wields a sword.”

  Joseph stepped forward, resting a firm hand on August’s shoulder. His grip was solid, the calloused strength of someone who had been in the fire and expected others to stand beside him.

  “There are other ways to serve,” he said, his voice low, final.

  Logan

  "I’ve got to say, Jace—for a guy wearing those girlish colors, you sure know how to throw a party."

  Logan and Jace stood at the outskirts of Academy City, far from the towering spires that cwed at the sky. Here, the world looked older. Time moved slower. The marble-walled houses still stood proud, chimneys puffing soft plumes of smoke into the cooling air. The roads, smooth bck asphalt, cut clean through the past, where vintage cars rolled alongside modern machines like ghosts of two different eras refusing to let go.

  Yet the real party was deeper in the woods, where the city’s glow faded, swallowed by towering oaks and pines. Their massive limbs twisted into a natural canopy, the shadows long, the air thick with pine and damp earth. But in the heart of the clearing, a bonfire roared, spitting embers into the bruised evening sky.

  Young men and women, draped in the purple of Venus and the blue of Neptune, had gathered in droves. Dozens, maybe hundreds, drinking from kegs, their ughter and shouts rising above the pounding bass of music. Around the fire, tankards cshed, liquor sloshed, and reckless joy ran wild. Jace and Logan clinked their drinks together, tipping their heads back as they drank deep, the burn running warm down their throats.

  "I’m telling you," Logan said, gesturing with his cup, "when the bigger houses put their heads together, they always pull off something grand."

  "Sounds like someone’s enjoying himself," Jace replied, fshing a grin.

  Logan waved him off. "I’m humble. Like my brother. Like my father." He swept his drink in an arc, gesturing at the partygoers. But not all were lost in revelry. Some had broken away from the crowd, the sound of steel cshing in the distance—swords and tridents meeting in sparring duels under the moon’s watchful eye.

  Logan’s blue eyes flickered toward the sound, uneasy.

  "Don’t worry about it," Jace said, finishing his drink and tossing the empty can into the underbrush. "It’s good for them. Different teams. Different styles. They’ll sharpen each other."

  Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Didn’t think you cared much for martial combat."

  Jace smirked. "All princes do."

  "No," Logan corrected, voice lowering. "We must." He drained his drink and sent it flying into the dark.

  Jace leaned in slightly, studying him. "You brought up your father and brother. How goes your conquest of the Oceana sector?"

  Logan sighed. "What are you, a reporter?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "A conquest…"

  Jace chuckled. "I mean it in jest."

  But Logan wasn’t ughing.

  "If you must know, it’s a sughter," he muttered. "The people don’t want us there, but the might of Neptune—" His fingers clenched, the knuckles whitening. He gred down at his fist as if he could feel the weight of the empire pressing against his palm. "That blue Neptunian fist crushes everything. They can hold out for now. But when my brother reaches them?" His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "There’ll be nothing left."

  Jace watched him carefully, expression unreadable. "That’s good to hear. The Mercurians wouldn’t know how to tame the nd. And many in Oceana still cling to their old ties to House Mars. Poor fools."

  Logan nodded absently, his thoughts drifting. The fire reflected in his drink, rippling against the dark liquid like blood swirling in water.

  Then Jace tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "You called it a sughter before."

  "Correct." Logan nodded, sluggish now, his voice loosening at the edges. He burped, blinking hard. He was a drinker, always had been. But this? This was the first time a single drink had really made him feel drunk.

  Weird.

  "You know," Jace started, his voice unusually measured, "if you wanted, my father and I… we’re close. As close as a prince and king can be, after losing my mother."

  He hesitated. Just for a moment. Then, as if the thought had never been there at all, he smiled and locked eyes with Logan again, easy and casual, like he’d just said something completely normal.

  "You helped me with Henryk," he continued.

  "Don’t worry about it," Logan said quickly, almost cutting him off.

  "But I owe you." Jace’s tone didn’t waver.

  Logan let out a short, drunken ugh, the kind that carried more weight than it should have. "You don’t owe me anything." His smile lingered, zy, half-lidded. "That hick mutant had it coming. After what he tried with your sister? He just got lucky…" His voice trailed off, lost somewhere in the back of his throat.

  "I should be thanking you," Jace said. "You lost one of your guys the st time my pn fell through."

  Jace wiped his nose absently, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "Water under the bridge."

  "Really? Not even money for the Warcasket repcements?" Logan asked, tilting his head.

  Jace shook his head. "No. Like I told you before, that model was just some old tech we had stashed from a few years back. No real loss. And the pilot? I was surprised he sted as long as he did in that thing." He chuckled at the thought.

  Logan exhaled, some tension unwinding in his shoulders. "Well, that’s a relief. I was worried, during the fight… that he was someone you guys actually knew."

  Jace erupted into ughter—sharp, sudden, ugly.

  "That fucking loser?" He sneered. "Nah. We only let him in because it was the st day. He was begging. Pleading. But when we found out he was Henryk’s friend…" Jace’s grin sharpened, and there was something in his eyes—something dark and glinting. "Well. I suppose we had to let him in."

  Logan gnced at him, his smile twitching at the edges. "You pay the family?"

  Jace shot him a confused look.

  Logan gestured vaguely, rolling his wrist in the air. "You know. He died. You give them the death tax, Jace?"

  Jace’s expression shifted, his pupils diting slightly. Then, realization dawned, and his lips curled again. Slowly, he lifted a finger beneath his nose, rubbing the skin absentmindedly. A little tic. A little tell.

  Logan only chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "We got real lucky that one did get clipped, though. We lost the duel. If people hadn’t been so rattled by José’s death, they’d have forced Atticus to confess. And I don’t know how much Crissa told him about the real reason behind that duel…"

  Jace said nothing, just kept that slow, easy smirk on his face. The firelight flickered in his violet eyes, shadows stretching long behind him.

  Jace waved a hand, dismissive but deliberate. “…We may have lost the battle, but the war is far from over. Henryk J. Brown—his time will come. And we’ll be the ones with our boots on his throat.”

  Logan arched a brow. “So you still hold that grudge against him?”

  Jace scoffed as he stepped toward the bench, grabbing a bottle and pouring another drink. “Grudge?” he repeated, his voice tinged with something cold.

  Logan watched him, his own drink swaying in his hand. “Yeah. About what happened between him and Hannah. I’ve heard a lot of rumors saying you put it aside.”

  Jace chuckled, but there was nothing lighthearted in the sound. It was low, dark, something guttural. “That bastard tried to force himself on my little sister.” His violet eyes narrowed, the firelight glinting off their edges like sharpened steel. “There won’t be a single night I sleep soundly until he’s dead and in the ground.”

  Logan raised his cup, and Jace poured.

  “To that,” Logan muttered, knocking back the drink, his throat working in heavy gulps. He wiped his mouth and grinned. “You know something? You’re alright, Jace. Real alright.” He lifted the cup again, and Jace obliged with another pour. “You’re a stand-up guy. I’m gd our houses are on good terms. And you’ve even got the kindness to aid my older brother.”

  Jace smirked, rolling the bottle between his fingers. “…Royals should be friends. That’s what my father always said.” He leaned back slightly, watching Logan over the rim of his gss. “The Martians may have been savages, but a medieval order is still better than the way these pnetary governments run their midworlds and colonies. Letting things like css progression exist.” He gave a visible shiver, his lip curling in distaste. “The Martians were barbarians, but at least they knew how to keep order.”

  Logan took a slow sip, the kind meant more for thought than thirst. A smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes were unfocused now, his features completely flushed.

  “You know…” Logan started, swirling the brackish liquid in his cup, his blue eyes lost in the motion. “About your sister… not many people know this, but me and my brother had one too.” He drained the rest of his drink, setting the empty gss down with a quiet thud.

  Jace’s eyes widened, something flickering in his gaze. A Neptunian princess? Now, this was why the liquor had been brought out—loose lips spill truths.

  Logan stared at the liquid in his cup, watching it shift like an old memory refusing to settle. “I don’t know much. My brother knows more… She was born before him. Stillborn. They didn’t even announce it to the public. No formalities. No burial for the people to mourn. Just a private funeral. Just family.”

  The fire crackled, the weight of the words settling between them like ash.

  Jace’s voice came, smooth, deliberate. “…If that timing is right, that would have been around when your mother started deteriorating.”

  Logan didn’t speak at first, just nodded, slow and heavy.

  “Yeah,” he finally said.

  Just that.

  Then he took another deep pull from his drink.

  Bri

  “How long has she been like this?” Himari asked, her voice low.

  She and Belle-Anne stood just outside Bri’s room, the dim glow of the dorm’s overhead lights casting long shadows against the narrow hall. Their dorm wasn’t much—just three bedrooms, a bathroom, a cramped kitchen, and a living room that felt smaller than it should. It sounded big on paper, but when you were boxed on the third floor of a seven-story apartment-style dorm, it felt more like a holding cell.

  There were no windows in this hall. Just walls. Stale air. And beyond them, inside that room, Bri sat curled up in the moonlight, shaking under her bnket, wrapped tight in her robe.

  “A million…” Himari heard her murmur.

  Then again. “…A million…”

  A pause. A sharp breath.

  “…A million…”

  Himari’s skin prickled.

  “How long has she been going on like this?” she asked.

  Belle-Anne exhaled through her nose. “Thirty, maybe forty minutes.” Her gsses caught the weak hallway light, the lenses fogged just enough to hide whatever it was her eyes were really searching for.

  Bri had her hands cmped on both sides of her head, fingers digging deep into her temples, her shoulders trembling. That—more than the muttering—was what unsettled Himari.

  “…Okay, what the fuck?” Himari stepped forward, voice firm. “Bri—”

  A hand gripped her shoulder. Hard.

  Himari jolted. “Huh?”

  Belle-Anne didn’t let go. Her grip was cold, tense. “I’ve known Bri for years, and I’ve never seen her like this.” Her voice was quiet, controlled, but there was something in it. Something careful. “We should… maybe we should—”

  Himari sneered, shaking Belle-Anne off. “And what?” she spat. “Turn her in? Have her marked as undesirable? A bad creation?” The words burned on her tongue. “Hell no. The witches ordered her into that tank. They told her to root around Henryk’s head. And now—”

  Belle-Anne sighed, rubbing her temples. “I get what you’re saying, I do. But maybe the senior witches can help. You know they’re different from the old heads.”

  Himari exhaled, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay. Okay. You make a good point.” Her fingers pressed against her forehead. “I’ll go in.”

  She stepped through the doorway.

  “Bri… Bri…”

  Bri’s head snapped up. Not just turned—snapped, like something mechanical and wrong. Her back had already been hunched in an unnatural arch, and when she fell ft against the mattress, her limbs folded like a marionette’s strings had been cut.

  Her eyes—so white, so empty—stared up at Himari.

  Then she yanked the bnket over herself.

  “Himari.” Bri’s voice came from beneath it, muffled but sharp. “Please. Leave me alone.”

  Himari’s breath hitched.

  “Bri, please,” she tried again, softer now. “You can tell us what’s going on…”

  “I can’t.”

  A tremble in her voice. A crack in her words.

  Tears.

  “Bri, there isn’t anything you can’t—”

  Belle-Anne’s voice came soft, reaching, but Bri cut her off before the words could fully form.

  “…This is.”

  Her voice was small, broken. A sniffle followed, the sound muffled beneath the covers. From where Himari stood, she could see Bri shaking her head, trembling so hard it made the mattress creak beneath her.

  “I never should’ve done it,” Bri whispered. “I never should’ve helped them. The witches—I—I just wanted to impress them. Wanted to—” Her breath caught. “I was so fucking stupid.” The words bled out through choked sobs as she smmed her fist into the mattress, over and over, like she was trying to punish herself for something that couldn’t be undone.

  “Bri…” Belle-Anne stepped further in, one hand raised, hesitant. “Please, just talk to us. We’re your friends. It’s our job to—”

  “You don’t get it,” Bri snapped, her voice rising, tight with something brittle and ugly. “You wouldn’t get it. What I saw inside Henryk’s head—what that thing did to me—”

  She stopped.

  Her breath hitched, turned shallow, scraping against the air like something sharp and broken. Her eyes darted, flicking, roving over the room in frantic loops.

  “Bri?” Himari called, stepping closer. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at?”

  Bri exhaled, but the sound was deathly. It had weight, like the air had turned thick with something unseen.

  “…I can’t.”

  The words barely left her lips before her gaze locked onto the far wall, frozen, eyes dited in a terror neither of them could see.

  “I can’t.”

  Her breath hitched again—deeper, heavier—her body tensing as though something unseen were drawing near.

  Only she could see it.

  Then she spoke again, voice thin and unraveling. “After what happened with Henryk, that thing—it attacked me like some parasite and I—”

  Bri’s words cut off. A violent gasp tore from her throat as her body lurched, her fingers digging into the sheets like she was trying to hold onto something—anything.

  “Bri!” Himari bolted forward.

  Bri thrashed, cwing at herself, at the air, at the nothing that wrapped invisible tendrils around her.

  “Christ—Belle-Anne, get someone!” Himari shouted, throwing herself onto the bed, arms locking around Bri’s convulsing form.

  Bri spasmed, eyes wide, pupils blown.

  “I see him—I see him!” she shrieked. “The Purple-Eyed Executor! The Druid of House Mars! A million sons—!”

  Tears streaked down her face as Himari clutched her tighter, desperate to keep her from throwing herself to the floor.

  “A million sons false—two true!”

  Bri’s voice cracked into something hysterical, her lips peeling into a manic grin as she raised cwed fingers toward the moonlight.

  “All hail Henryk!” She ughed then—a ragged, broken sound that sent ice down Himari’s spine. “All hail a Druid Knight of House Mars!”

  The door smmed open.

  Belle-Anne was already running, racing down the corridor, calling for help. But the damage had been done.

  Other girls—first-years, seniors, half-dressed and groggy—were stepping into the hall, rubbing sleep from their eyes, only to snap awake at the sound of Bri’s screaming.

  And when they saw her—saw her wild, raving, prophetic madness—the words hit them like a thundercp.

  “All hail the Druid Knight.”