Author Note Fuck the RoyalRoad and ScribbleHub Algorith and all these other free webnovel sites. Practically bullshit and hell to grow.

  Chapter 18 - Mission Briefing

  Zephyr

  “Madam President, I assure you that everything here and in the Oceana Sector is being handled accordingly,” Zephyr stated.

  He sat stiffly behind his desk, the glow of his rge monitor casting a pale light over his face. On the screen, the woman regarded him with a cool, practiced stare. Grey streaks cut through her dark hair, and behind her, the Mercurian fg hung rigid, unmoving, framed by a bck window. Zephyr had the same scene behind him—a reminder that, in moments like these, power was nothing more than a reflection of who controlled the conversation.

  “Your report mentioned an incident,” she said. Her brow tightened, sharp eyes pinning him in pce.

  Zephyr chuckled, though it came out more awkward than he intended.

  He prided himself on order. He ran a tight ship. Things didn’t just explode under his watch. And yet—between Piper’s tantrums, the day-to-day chaos of running this operation, and the absolute disaster Henryk’s arrival had triggered—everything around him felt like it was unraveling.

  He cleared his throat, nodding along. “It appears a transport ship from… House Mars—”

  “Yes, I read about it.” Her voice cut clean through his expnation. “I was surprised you allowed them entry, Zephyr.”

  A bead of sweat formed on his brow.

  “Their papers were green,” he expined. “That’s what I was told all day. Someone Empirical got them here. There’s nothing I can do about wider gaxy w.”

  The President of Mercury exhaled slowly, the weight of the gaxy pressing down on her shoulders. She rose from her desk, turning toward the window, arms crossed as she looked out into the void beyond.

  “My apologies, Zephyr,” she said at st. “I know you’re doing your best. But I fear this swift takeover of Oceana won’t be as straightforward as we imagined.”

  Zephyr was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?”

  She sighed, still looking out the window. “Lately, the gaxy has been paying far more attention to what’s happening in Oceana 4.”

  “The Grimgar infestation,” Zephyr noted.

  “That too.” She turned back to the console, her expression unreadable. “But I was talking about the Neptunians, the Pirates, the Mercurians… and now, Martians are getting involved?” She leaned in slightly. “Zephyr, you’re at the academy. House Mars—how do they look? Or rather… how do they feel?”

  Zephyr hesitated. “I—apologies, Madam President, but I don’t follow.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Zephyr, the only thing that held the Martians back from universal domination was the Emperor’s Arc, promising them endless conquest.” She exhaled sharply, her eyes flickering with something between exhaustion and dread. “What do you think happens when the Martians regain their full strength… and they no longer have those loyalties?”

  Zephyr took a slow, measured breath. “Honestly? The Martians at the academy are already a handful. Especially their president, Edward, and their Executor, Henryk.”

  The President’s eyes widened. “They’ve already promoted another president?”

  Zephyr shrugged. “Yeah. The house was vacant, but Ed and the others built it back up. Honestly, I’m surprised they’re still standing… hell, I don’t even know how they’re getting missions.”

  The President said nothing. Her gaze drifted to the shadows pooling in the corners of her office, like something unseen was baiting her, pulling at the edges of her mind.

  “We have bigger things to deal with,” she muttered, almost to herself. Then, her eyes snapped back to Zephyr. “House Mars—do they seem loyal to the Emperor?”

  Zephyr hesitated.

  “The Emperor?”

  The president nodded. “They were mad dogs, but even mad, wild dogs still hold a pce for their abusive masters,” she said, exhaling sharply. “The nuclear destruction of Mars… You were only children when it happened. None of you could truly comprehend the scale of it. But it wasn’t just physical—the Eunuch Emperor wanted something more from them.”

  Zephyr furrowed his brow. “What more could he take than an entire world?”

  The president sighed but waved the thought away. “There’s no point in worrying about that now. On the bright side, we’ve managed to avoid much of the fallout from both the Grimgar attacks and the Neptunian occupation.”

  Zephyr’s eyes widened. “So the universe is paying attention?”

  The president let out a dry chuckle. “What have you been doing all day?”

  “I just finished a six-hour exam,” Zephyr replied.

  She ughed again. “Take a look online. Maybe it’s the algorithm on Neo-YouTube, but there’s a flood of news coverage now…”

  Zephyr clicked out of the tab and pulled up the search bar, typing in The Oceana Sector. The results loaded instantly—articles published hours ago, some mere seconds ago. He scrolled to Neo-Reddit, then Neo-Twitter, his breath hitching as he skimmed headlines.

  Dispced families. Burned-out cities. Roads scarred by bst craters. People, tens of thousands, forced to march for miles with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

  And then, one image stuck with him.

  A family of six, exhausted, barefoot, walking across a vast bridge. Behind them, others followed in an unbroken line of refugees stretching to the horizon. In the distance—across the gulf—Neptunian Warcaskets smashed into the Oceana Pnetary Militias, metal giants wading through the carnage like gods of war.

  Zephyr ran a hand down his face, sneering. “So the Neptunians' pn to make this quick backfired on them too,” he muttered. “Hell, everything I’m reading is practically shitting on our enemies.”

  The president nodded. “There are women on there talking about what they’ve endured at the hands of the Neptunian invaders. Countless men, women, and children have been killed in the crossfire of this guerril war. Oceana—all four pnets—needs order.”

  Zephyr exhaled slowly, nodding. “…And we can give them that. I suppose that means there’s growing support for a Mercurian occupation.”

  The president’s expression hardened. “The Senate and I will be speaking soon. I’m thinking of assembling a formal joint operation between the Academy and the Mercurian military. If we hit them hard and fast…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “We’ve spent too long there. Exhausted too many people. The prize is too great. Even one pnet as an agri-world would be beneficial.”

  Zephyr’s stomach turned. “We’re… thinking of going to war?” he asked slowly. “The Emperor—won’t he interfere?”

  The president threw her head back and let out a sharp, boisterous ugh. “I don’t know what that cockless bastard is doing,” she said, shaking her head. “The whole universe is teetering on the edge. Don’t forget—a whole fleet. The most advanced fleet of Grimgar we’ve ever seen has fled into the backwoods of the gaxy. We don’t know where they went.”

  She gestured toward his screen. “Keep looking at those articles. There are Grimgar remnants still out there.”

  Zephyr’s pulse quickened. His eyes darted back to the feed, scanning the new headlines.

  Some had stayed behind.

  His breath hitched. “Some stayed behind?”

  The president sighed. “There’s the Martian Militia, the Pnetary Militia, and then, I suppose, us… I want to meet with the other two—especially the Martian Militia. Do you think it would be possible for me to meet the president of House Mars?”

  Zephyr’s brow furrowed. “I can try to arrange something.”

  “That’s good,” she said, a small smile crossing her lips. “We need more worlds with food. The Mercurian Sphere… Say what you will about our history, but unlike Earth, we actually have true autonomy. We can’t afford to lose it—not to overpopution, not to famine.”

  Zephyr nodded, and she continued, her voice dipping into something more contemptive. “Strange, though… I wonder if this boy has ties to the royal family.”

  Zephyr shook his head. “The whole Martian royal family was wiped out decades ago.”

  She exhaled, eyes still on the monitor, but Zephyr had the feeling her mind was elsewhere, chasing some long-buried thought. “The Martians had a habit, same as the Neptunians… Their presidents were usually sons of their kings. Groomed for power.”

  Zephyr stiffened. “…Edward? A possible king?”

  She gave a small shrug. “Like you said, their papers are green. And if the Emperor isn’t going to press further—if their punishment is simply shame and a dead pnet—then they can still serve. They can still be useful.”

  And then, the smile. Not kind, not warm, but sharp as a bde.

  “Zephyr,” she said, voice low and knowing. “Have you ever heard of The Block?”

  Then the call ended.

  Zephyr leaned back in his chair, hands dragging down his face as her words echoed in his head. Outside, rain tapped against the gss, rhythmic, steady—comforting in its own way.

  He needed a drink.

  By the time he sat back down, whiskey dulling the edges of his thoughts, Jesus Gomez was already on screen. His beret y to the side of his webcam, his eyes hollow with exhaustion.

  “That engagement must’ve worn you and your guys out,” Zephyr muttered, pouring another finger of whiskey into his gss.

  Jesus nodded, a bead of sweat sliding down his brow.

  “The president wants us to move—backward or forward, I’m not even sure anymore.” Zephyr exhaled. “You and your people are staying put. Keep running tests on the Martian Prototype.” He rubbed his temple, then looked back at Jesus. “Speaking of which… How’s Piper?”

  A flicker of something unreadable passed over Jesus’ face.

  Zephyr pressed on, the alcohol warming his thoughts, making his words looser. “Pipes… It’s been a month.”

  Jesus nodded slowly. “…Kind of crazy. Bottom brass told me they were sending a top ace my way.” A tired smirk crossed his face. “The Red Rocket, the pride of the Mercurian Sphere. These hotheaded aces—especially Academy types—are the worst when it comes to following orders… but I’ll give her this: the girl’s got a knack for a Warcasket.”

  Zephyr let out a quiet chuckle, the kind that carried something heavier than humor. “I still remember how she was—scrawny, lost in that sea of recruits. Back then, the only way you could pick her out from the crowd was the grey of her undecided fatigues against the orange.”

  He let out a long breath.

  “Damn, Jesus… Look how she’s grown.”

  Jesus sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. “She’s got a mean streak, but she’s been marginally behaving herself.”

  “Marginally,” Zephyr repeated, chuckling as he pointed at the screen, his cheeks flushed a warm red. “You boys finally get to deal with her now. Handling the Michael Jordan of Warcaskets ain’t exactly a cakewalk—hard to believe she’s not even twenty-five yet.”

  Jesus rolled his eyes, but then his expression grew serious. “There’s been talk among the ranks… some of the soldiers think she’s a Star Child, or a Homo-Magica, or whatever the hell they call ’em these days.”

  Zephyr scoffed, dismissing it with a wave. “Piper’s just fast. Always has been. She’s got something to prove—hell if I know what it is—but it’s what drives her to fight so damn hard… especially for the Mercurian Sphere.”

  Jesus nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah… I can see that. Different from when we had the 34th attached to us,” he said, his fingers massaging his temples. “That one… the middle e-Muslim one?”

  Zephyr groaned loudly. “That’s pretty racist. She’s descended from there, sure, but I don’t know what part. Yeah, you got assigned Iman back then… I almost forgot.”

  Jesus nodded, eyes clouding over with memory. “You were leading the charge with Piper. That was a few months back, right?”

  “Different sector,” Zephyr replied, dragging a hand down his face. “The battle of Erhonda-2… we lost a lot of good people to those machines.”

  Jesus grimaced, jaw tightening. “We won the battle. Humanity vanquished another enigmatic race… for the Emperor, right? Or the Eunuch Emperor. Whatever the fuck he is.”

  The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Such talk would elicit a censor, and Zephyr didn’t need to say anything—his expression did the job well enough. Jesus knew he’d overstepped but figured it wasn’t worth apologizing. They were comfortable with each other, but even comfort had its limits.

  Zephyr cleared his throat, steering the conversation elsewhere. “That’s where Iman and Piper first met… and I guess that’s when their mean streak started.” He downed his drink in one gulp, letting the burn settle.

  Then, with a loud cp of his hands, Zephyr broke the tension. Jesus was certain now—he was drunk.

  “All right. Piper’s got a few more weeks left on suspension,” Zephyr said, voice carrying a touch of reckless determination. “After that, she’s back on duty. But I know it’s bad protocol… I want to talk to her.” His eyes burned with that familiar intensity.

  Jesus hesitated, taken aback. He’d thought they were past this. Piper was supposed to be recovered along with the prototype—there was no reason to involve higher management now, right?

  Zephyr didn’t give him time to argue. “She’s my friend,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “And she was right.” He let out a long, weary breath. “There was someone at the academy… You guys are out there in deep space almost year-round, so you wouldn’t know. But there’s been this… presence, someone stirring up trouble. At the time, I thought he was just blowing smoke. I had him in my grasp—could’ve brought him into the fold of Mercury, made him one of us. But I acted dishonorably. And I know… I made the wrong choice.”

  Jesus swallowed hard, the words sinking in.

  “Zephyr, I want to assure you that everything is under control,” Jesus said, his voice measured but strained.

  Zephyr just stared, his mind racing too fast to catch up. He managed a single word. “Uh… okay.”

  Jesus swallowed. “Piper… and the prototype. I sent them out on a test combat run. She had two wingmen for support. Everything was going fine—textbook, even—but we had to aid the Martians and…”

  “Wait, the Martians?” Zephyr shot up from his chair, the sudden movement making the room sway. “Where the hell is Piper right now!” he shouted.

  Jesus raised both hands, palms out like he was trying to calm a spooked animal. “Zephyr, rex. Those guys' numbers were green—they were supposed to be cleared. The Neptunians acted illegally on our territory. Piper’s skilled like you—”

  “I don’t give a fuck that she’s skilled,” Zephyr snarled, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles bnched. “Where the hell is the prototype? Jesus, I swear to fucking God, if that thing’s lost, it’s your ass on the line!”

  Jesus just stared, expression bnk and unmoving, like he’d seen this storm before and knew better than to flinch.

  Zephyr scoffed bitterly, the words scraping out of him like gravel. “God, it’s fucking ironic—talking about Piper and Iman. Just another reminder of another goddamn failure staring me in the face,” he growled, jabbing a finger at the screen like it was Jesus’s throat. “Fix this. The president’s talking about war—a war between Neptune and maybe even Saturn. You did the right thing helping the Martians, but you made a grave mistake.”

  Silence settled, heavy and suffocating. Jesus didn’t move.

  “What?” Zephyr spat, swaying slightly, drunk and furious. “You lose your nerve?”

  Jesus sneered, shaking his head, his eyes sharp and unyielding. “Do I have permission to speak, sir?”

  Zephyr leaned back, barely holding his bance, and gestured vaguely.

  Jesus exhaled through his nose, like he was holding back a curse. “The Martians don’t like people fucking with their tech. What do you think most of those components on Piper’s suit are?”

  Zephyr froze, his anger cooling to a bitter, sinking dread as the realization hit him. Jesus watched as his commanding officer’s expression shifted, dread bleeding into frustration.

  “They recover it…” Zephyr muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Hell, the Sons of Mars at the academy would call her a witch. Fucking tech heresy!” He bit down on his rage, fists trembling at his sides. “You should’ve just let them get shot the hell down!”

  Tyson

  “So, how’d you guys end up with House Mars?” Tyson asked, his broad smile tight-lipped, eyes glinting with curiosity.

  The sun hung high over the academy grounds, baking the manicured wns behind the grand manor of House Mars. Tyson, Franklin, and Wilbur stood shirtless, training swords either strapped to their hips or resting in their hands. Mateo was the odd one out, still wrapped in heavy trousers and training pte, his expression caught somewhere between determination and discomfort.

  “You’ve gotta learn how hits feel against bare skin,” Tyson said, giving Mateo a knowing look.

  Mateo just shook his head, jaw tight.

  Tyson smirked. “Seriously, it’s important. If you don’t know how to handle or recognize pain, it won’t matter how good you are with a bde. You need to feel it, take it, know it’s not the end.”

  Mateo gave a reluctant nod, but his gaze stayed low. “I’m not gonna be like you homos, fshing myself to the world.”

  The group burst into ughter, Franklin wiping a tear from his eye. “Damn, a bit rough, isn’t it?” Wilbur chimed in from the side.

  Franklin was still chuckling as he waved a dismissive hand. “Speak for yourself. Maybe you, but I’ve had dozens of girls…” He closed his eyes, tipping his head back like remembering fond conquests.

  Mateo arched a brow, unimpressed. “Oh really? What was her name?”

  Franklin’s confidence faltered, his mouth opening and closing before he finally blurted out, “Ugh… Hazel.”

  “Oh wow,” Ty drawled, elbowing Wilbur. “What a name. Real memorable.”

  Franklin’s face flushed, but he held his ground. “She’s the reason I’m here. I come from a world not too far off. She only wants the best, and the academy offers that.” His hands fell to his sides, a wistful look crossing his face.

  Tyson raised a brow. “But House Mars? You must’ve heard of our shaming. Unlike Henryk, you guys are from the MidWorlds. You didn’t have to pick us.”

  Franklin shrugged, gncing at his own calloused palms. “…I know I’m not the best shot. Hell, I hadn’t even stepped into a Warcasket before the academy sims. But House Mars has a long history of honorable gactic service. Hazel… she’d love to be a princess—no, a queen—of my world.” A wistful, rosy smile spread across his face.

  Tyson snorted, giving Mateo a nod. “What about you, d?”

  Mateo’s voice cracked slightly. “Lad?” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “What do you mean?”

  “Why’d you join House Mars? I know you had plenty to say about the Rubicon Tapes. Honestly, I’m surprised so many of you stayed after all that madness.”

  Mateo hesitated, then sighed, the weight of old frustrations pressing down on him. “You tell me. Like Franklin said, there’s honor here. But unlike him…” He shot a sharp gnce at Franklin, who looked down at the ground. “…I’m not deluding myself about my pce. I messed up in my first few days—got into a fight with some girls. Rumors spread like wildfire, and I needed somewhere to go before the expulsion date. Lucky me, House Mars was desperate enough to take me in.” He gave a dry, humorless chuckle and tightened his grip on his sword. “I like hurting shit. That’s what the micademy taught me, anyway.”

  Tyson’s expression softened just a touch. “At least you found your pce with us.”

  Mateo let out a bitter, worn ugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure. This school’s too damn small—information spreads faster than a goddamn virus. Word of mouth and the net… I get Henryk, though. It’s the same for him. Nowhere to hide from your past, no matter how hard you try.”

  Ty ignored that, his gaze shifting toward Wilbur. “What about you, friend? What brought you here to us?”

  Wilbur’s eyes widened, gncing around as if caught off guard. Ty didn’t let up. “You’re an Earth native, right? Technically, you could’ve just joined Saturn House—they would’ve loved to have you.”

  Wilbur sighed. “Honestly, it’s not a good time to be someone wearing Saturn’s yellow right now,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “That feudal life of House Mars—the simplicity—it’s way better than the industrialized monster Saturn’s become.”

  “Monster?” Franklin echoed, curiosity lighting up his face.

  Wilbur’s gaze darkened. “Yeah, a monster. After the Fall of Mars, Saturn’s government eagerly took up the role of the Empire’s elite military force, repcing old Mars. But to do that, they had to change our whole society and culture. Now it’s either break your back for the state—working the fields or sweating in factories making guns and tanks—or serve in the military. If you’re lucky, maybe you get into the academy. But if not…”

  “What?” Ty asked, his tone dropping with genuine concern.

  Wilbur just sneered, shaking his head. “Nothing. But I bet you can all guess what happens to the ones deemed really ‘unproductive’ back home.” Silence settled between them, thick and uneasy.

  Mateo broke it first, his voice soft but unyielding. “What about you, Knight?” he asked. “I was there the day Ed stood up on that podium—he was the only one.”

  Ty’s eyes went distant, and Mateo caught that glint of sadness buried in them. “I’m not bming you for standing with him,” he continued. “Hell, Ed was practically crazy, standing in front of thousands—on gactic television, no less—and announcing his affiliation with terrorists…”

  “I know,” Ty said, his voice taut. “Listen, a lot of us… especially me—we didn’t know what to think. The idea that House Mars could come back from its destruction? If you’d told me that a year ago, I would’ve called you crazy.”

  “Really?” Wilbur murmured, raising an eyebrow.

  Ty gave a hollow chuckle. “Hell yeah. We were bombed to pieces. Our worlds were up for grabs. I was content to just live out my days in misery and neglect. Almost died trying to get into another house—same as Henryk. The rest of us just didn’t think there was anything left to save.”

  Somberness hung heavy in the air, and the squires lowered their heads.

  Ty gnced back at Mateo and offered a soft smile. “Also, Mateo—I’m not a knight. Never got knighted.”

  Mateo’s eyes widened, and a faint blush crept over his cheeks. He coughed into his fist, trying to brush it off. “I apologize,” he muttered.

  Ty waved it off with a warm, crooked grin. “No biggie. You didn’t know.”

  Mateo turned away, hoping no one caught the odd flicker of heat in his face. He told himself it was just embarrassment—nothing more.

  Arthur

  "How are you doing, pretty knight!" shouted Arthur, his fingers clenching the metal railing as he leaned over the threshold. Below him, surrounded by steel walls and heavy wooden doors, Axel stood shirtless, a wooden sword in hand, his spikes catching the sun as he held a rexed fighting stance.

  Young men y sprawled around him, clutching their joints and grimacing in pain, their training swords abandoned. The air was thick with sweat and groans, and Axel just looked bored, the faintest hint of disdain tugging at his lips.

  The wooden sword was pin, built for a one-handed grip. From above, Edward stood next to Arthur, his face tightening with disapproval.

  "I told you to take it easier on them," Ed said, his voice cutting through the noise like a bde.

  Axel just huffed, shutting his eyes before heading toward the stone steps leading up from the sparring pit. The ascent was steep, and it made the whole pce feel more like a coliseum than a training ground.

  "The mortals desired a fair challenge," Axel remarked, his tone ft. "Some of them had potential. Even fewer might have made quality champions—worthy of being picked as knights."

  Ed let out a slow breath, dragging his hands down his face. "We're not out here to recruit more knights. Just here to offer our aid to House Mars."

  "That's what we're doing out here..." Another voice cut in—Isaac's. His left arm was in a cast, and an Executor rifle, blocky and long-barreled with no stock, hung strapped across his chest. He looked tired, but the glint in his eye was as sharp as ever.

  "Shit, good to see you're up, Arthur," Isaac said with a wry smile.

  Arthur nodded. "Good to see your injuries have been tended to as well."

  Isaac chuckled. "There were recordings of what happened between you and that Warcasket. Henryk’s sword... you really carved through that fucker."

  Axel had finally made his way up the steps, and for a moment, the noise faded, leaving Arthur standing in the center, surrounded.

  "So, he's dead, that man..." Arthur said quietly, his voice thick with something darker than grief.

  Ed was the first to notice. "You... you knew that pilot?" he asked, turning to Arthur with a look of confusion. "How? He was just some no-name grunt..."

  Arthur sneered, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth creaked. "I've seen that mobile suit before. That strange suit..."

  "WarArmors," Isaac interjected, cocking his head. "Nothing new. They were the predecessors to our bipedal machines before humanity cracked the code. But you've seen them at the academy before?"

  Arthur's eyes fred wide. "Before? That machine..." He pointed out the window, toward the battleground where trenches y littered with the dead and burning sg of machines. "That exact machine killed my father. My older brother. My grandfather!" He spat the words out, and the room seemed to shrink around him.

  "Arthur, you're alright..." Axel spoke this time, his voice stripped of its usual pride. "But that machine—I’ve seen it on catalogs and Neo Insta. It's a standard mass-produced Neptunian WarArmor."

  Arthur sneered, growling through clenched teeth. "You lie..."

  Axel's eyes widened, and he gnced at Ed, who waved it off, his shoulders dropping as he took a slow breath. Relief washed over his features, if only for a moment. Maybe it was because they’d fought side by side for so long. A brotherhood formed in blood and iron—the kind that made men willing to die for one another.

  Yet Kieren lingered on the edge, his eyes drawn instead to the nurses moving up and down the steps, fetching the wounded infantry. Their faces were hardened, hands stained with blood, and their movements efficient despite the chaos. He couldn’t help but watch them, like specters gliding through the dying light, indifferent to the pain they tended to.

  Isaac's voice joined the mix, calm but firm. "He’s not lying, bro. Those WarArmors have been in development for years. One of the reasons the Neptunian Military’s been thriving—they’ve got the advantage in both nd and space combat. Doesn’t matter if it’s alien or Earth-like atmosphere."

  Arthur sighed deeply, his hands running down his face. "I-I just thought..."

  "You thought this was some storybook shit," Isaac cut in, moving to Arthur’s side. "That you’d run into the guy who killed your family personally? That’s not how the world works, buddy."

  Arthur sneered, but Isaac gave him a light nudge with his elbow. "Listen, you were like... what? How old?"

  Arthur gnced at him, face drawn. "Six... maybe eight, possibly. It was a few years after the fall of Mars..."

  "It was during the hunts, wasn’t it?" Axel asked, his tone softer than usual.

  Arthur’s face twisted with a bitter smile. "We were all that was left of the true blood lineage of the Red Temprs," he muttered, his eyes wide and distant. "That machine... whoever was in it, they—"

  "The proper name for the WarArmor is designation NZ-009 Revenant."

  A voice—feminine, proud, confident—cut through the room like a bde. All the young men turned, eyes narrowing against the dim light, and saw her figure looming down the hall behind them.

  Kieren’s eyes loomed around too, struggling to see. The halls were suffocated in darkness, the distant hum of generators vibrating through the castle walls, but the lights here—flickering, weak—were powered by crude oils and torchlight. Servants moved to tend them, keeping the gloom at bay. It wasn’t like the garages where electric lights hummed overhead. The whole pce felt like it was caught between ancient savagery and clinging remnants of modernity.

  For a moment, Kieren thought about his old life—the games he loved, the noise and color of the city. Would he ever hold a controller again? His mind faded to the squires, to Henryk, the one he used to bully. By accepting the spikes, his life had been saved with the promise of divinity... but he’d pledged himself to eternal service, to the Kings of House Mars. Had he signed away his soul for salvation?

  The figure stepped closer, draped in a dark cloak that swallowed the light. For just a moment, Isaac grimaced, swearing he almost saw a snout beneath the cowl.

  "Who are you, beast?" Isaac growled, narrowing his eyes.

  "Isaac," Edward snapped, sharp and unforgiving, before smming his fist into Isaac’s bad arm.

  Isaac let out a strangled scream, colpsing to his knees. "W-What the hell—"

  "My apologies, my princess," Edward said, voice tight and formal. He dropped to his knees, and the others followed suit, heads bowed. Edward pushed Isaac’s face to the cold stone, practically making him kiss the asphalt. "My friend forgets himself."

  The princess pulled back her cowl, and their eyes widened. If it weren’t for the humanoid shape—the curve of her hips, the poise in her stance—she could have passed for something alien. But no... she was like them, just touched by one of humanity’s mutations after conquering the stars—or reaping the alien soils that did it for them.

  "Princess Maelia of House Voss," Edward spoke with a sigh of reverence. "It is an honor."

  "The honor is mine, Edward of House Mars. Rise, Knights of Mars," said Maelia, flicking her hood back, revealing vibrant orange eyes that seemed to cut through the crowd.

  Her skin... it was almost shaggy, like Tyson's, coarse and wild, giving her a strange, animalistic grace. She looked human enough, but Ed couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Isaac should have known better than to run his mouth like that—he’d have to talk to him ter.

  "Come forth," Maelia continued. "We must speak. There is a reason you are here."

  Ed nodded, gesturing for the others to rise. "Princess, it is an honor," Arthur said, standing tall, his posture rigid with pride. "I am Arthur of the Red Temprs. My father fought alongside your own during the Battle of Trey's Cliff."

  Maelia's expression softened, and a hint of mencholy crossed her face. "That was a terrible battle," she said quietly. "Before he passed, my father spoke of your father’s valor. That was his first Warcasket engagement, correct?"

  Arthur’s chest swelled, and his smile widened as he pced a hand over his heart. "Yes."

  Maelia hesitated, her voice quieter now. "...And what of your father now? Of your brother?"

  Arthur's smile faltered, and the shadows of old grief flickered in his eyes. Maelia caught it and wisely did not press further. Arthur straightened his shoulders, brushing away the sorrow with a determined gre. "Whatever you need, Princess, just say the word. My sword is yours, forever and always. Unlike some of my cousin Knights... I don't care about issues of mutations."

  Maelia waved it off, a faint smirk on her lips. "It’s fine. But... there have been developments. After this Neptunian attack, many are considering leaving the Monolith."

  "Leaving?" Ed repeated, his voice tight with disbelief.

  Maelia gave a grim nod. "They found our location after years of secrecy. The Monolith is a fortress, but keeping it hidden within Mercurian Territory has always been a gamble. Now, with the Neptunians sniffing around, it’s only a matter of time before word gets out."

  "How the hell are you fighting a private war here?" Axel cut in, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "What do the Mercurians think of all this?"

  Maelia let out a harsh, barking ugh. "The Mercurians and Neptunians are both fools. They think they can conquer this nd, but the people remain loyal to Mars, even now. The Neptunians understand that, which is why they’re pushing this marriage deal so hard... but there’s a complication. An heir lives—my brother is alive."

  Shock rippled through the room, and Arthur’s eyes grew wide. "If an heir lives, then technically..."

  Maelia nodded. "There are ancient rites that even the Eunuch Emperor must honor. That’s why Martians can still walk some streets without hiding, why even disgraced sons can attend prestigious institutions. It’s our blood—it can’t be erased from the legacy."

  "Where is he?" Isaac demanded, eyes narrowed. "And you’re just finding this out now?"

  Maelia sneered at him, her lips curling. "Mind your tongue, Knight," she snapped.

  "Easy, woman, I ain’t no Knight," Isaac shot back, crossing his arms.

  Arthur gred at him, voice tight with anger. "Easy, Soldier. As a True Knight, I won’t allow you to disrespect an honest-to-god princess."

  "Yes, soldier," Isaac mocked with a lopsided grin, fingers twitching in irritation. "I don’t take orders from you. I just want to know what’s in it for us—what’s the payout, the new developments."

  "Isaac, that’s enough," Ed barked, voice sharp as steel. He turned to Maelia, offering a weary smile. "Ignore him, Princess. He took a hard hit in his Warcasket when he got thrown clear. Still rattling around in his skull."

  Isaac scoffed, muttering under his breath as he started to walk away. Axel gave a dismissive shake of his head, watching him go. "Absolutely disrespectful," he muttered.

  Ed gave Maelia an apologetic gnce, and she just nodded, leading the way down the corridor, her steps echoing against the stone. Axel fell in line behind them, while Arthur stayed a moment longer, gring at Isaac’s retreating form before finally following the others.

  "He really doesn't mean it," Ed started, his voice trailing off, a little unsure. "He's just had a bad hand after the fall and..."

  Maelia sighed, her eyes narrowing like a storm brewing on the horizon. "Edward, I have thicker skin than to worry about some gun-loving redneck," she said, her voice smooth and venomous. She paused, turning to meet Ed’s gaze. The heat from her stare felt like a furnace. "Does he have the spikes? Does he know how to shoot? How to use mace and shield?" Her voice was like a bde.

  "Yes, yes he does," Ed replied, nodding.

  A smirk crept across Maelia’s face, sharp as gss. "That’s all we need," she said, her tone almost amused. "Hot-blooded youths who’ll throw themselves into the jaws of danger for glory and gold." She gestured toward the group lounging nearby. "So, you want some new toys, some machines?" she asked, her voice dripping with a kind of dark promise.

  Ed nodded, a little more hesitantly this time. "...Some money on the side would be nice, too."

  "Yes, yes, of course," she replied, waving her hand dismissively, as if the offer of money was a mere afterthought. "Back in the day, your grandfathers would throw millions at the House. I’ve heard the stories, the whispers of the madness that followed."

  Ed’s shoulders sagged. "Yeah, but now? Now it’s just... a struggle. Hell, even our munitions are a pain to come by."

  Maelia’s hand came down on Ed’s shoulder, steady and reassuring. "We’re going to recover my brother," she said, voice softening for a moment before hardening again. "But I know the moment I step foot outside this fortress, a target’s going to be painted right on my back."

  Ed’s face darkened, a storm in his own eyes now. "What would you have us do?"

  Maelia leaned against the wall, raising her fingers—more like talons, rough and wild, much like Tyson’s. "I need two of you to take your Warcaskets and hit the Neptunian fuel depot," she said, her voice low, each word a command. "It’s in the city where they’re holding my brother."

  Ed’s eyes widened. "So, you’re asking for two of our guys," he said, gncing over at the group. "We’re a bit light on hands, but I can stretch them thin. They’ll get the job done, or at least some of them will."

  Maelia tilted her head, the smirk returning. "Ah, someone can’t handle their members," she teased, her voice ced with amusement.

  Ed rolled his eyes. "Isaac shockingly isn’t the problem. Give him a pound of weed and he’ll keep himself occupied. I think it’s more the paranoid post-traumatic stress disorder. But Kieren... he’s an off-worlder we gave the spikes to. He barely knows how to fight. Isaac, on the other hand, is from a MilAcademy, though he broke his arm during his st mission."

  "Isaac’s the loud dog with no respect," Maelia said, her voice a zy drawl, dismissing the trouble with a flick of her hand.

  Ed nodded, the weight of the conversation pressing on him like the thick air before a storm.

  “The Spikes will heal him in time for this battle,” Maelia said, her voice calm but ced with an undercurrent of concern. "But wasn’t there another one?" Her eyes narrowed, a glint of curiosity. "I’ve heard in your reports of a mutant who can see what others cannot, wielding powers that no man should possess."

  "Henryk," Ed said, a smirk pying at the corner of his lips, but it quickly faded, his expression darkening as his palms pressed to his face. "He... he was outside our transport during atmospheric reentry."

  "He didn’t make it?" Maelia's voice softened, a trace of sadness threading through the words.

  Ed sighed, his breath heavy, his eyes distant. "The Mercurians... they built something. It was small, too small to be a transport ship, but it scooped up Henryk in the nick of time. It fought off the Neptunians, reentered atmosphere... saved him."

  Maelia’s face darkened, her eyes a storm of uncertainty.

  "Do you think he’ll be alright?" Ed asked, his voice strained, his features tight with worry. "The Mercurians at the academy are different. If they’ve recovered him... if they’ve taken him... it would be..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  Maelia sighed, shaking her head slowly. "I don’t believe so," she said quietly, as if trying to reassure herself. "They saved him. That’s a start." She pced a hand on Edward’s shoulder, grounding him in the moment. "Does it really bother you so much? The idea of other Houses helping House Mars? Don’t you remember the honor of your own?"

  Ed’s sigh was long, drawn out, as if the weight of his house’s legacy had finally broken through. "Princess," he murmured, his voice rough, "tely, all I’ve been reminded of is blood and warfare. My house... it’s all I’ve known. Nothing more, nothing less." He gently moved her hand off his shoulder, the motion slow, deliberate. "I’ll brief the guys. We’ll support you, however we can. The Oceana Sector… we’d be damned to lose any more to the Neptunians."

  Before Maelia could respond, the sound of armored footsteps echoed down the corridor, a figure emerging from the dim light. His armor was a patchwork of light pte and chainmail, his features hidden beneath grime and a bck mask.

  "Princess," he called out, his voice crisp and urgent. "We’ve recovered two individuals in front of the trench line. They’re to be delivered within moments."

  Maelia turned to him, her posture tightening, the weight of what was to come settling on her shoulders. As the figure moved toward them, Ed’s gaze lingered on her, a mixture of concern and resolve in his eyes. He knew what this meant.