Chapter 22 - The Way of Countries

  Tyson

  Bea exhaled hard through her nose, pulling off her glove with her teeth in one smooth, practiced motion. She flung it over her shoulder like it meant nothing. Her other hand pressed to the cold metal, fingertips brushing over the work of her own hands. Pride glinted in her ocean-blue eyes—eyes that shimmered with the deep light of old welding sparks and something more eternal.

  “Man…” she whispered, reverently. “What a beauty.”

  The mech's surface reflected her smile back at her, jagged and silver and alive.

  Behind her, Adaline gave a low whistle that bounced off the arched rafters of their father's hangar. Even now, the pce groaned with machinery, belching out weapons and armor for Mars like a great mechanical womb.

  “Are those the dual-atmospheric rockets?” Adaline asked, stepping closer, eyes narrowing with interest.

  Bea nodded, her smile growing sly. “Pulled 'em out of a junkyard heap. Barely holding together when I got my hands on them. Rewired, restructured, recalibrated. Tuned 'em up just the way Henryk and I wanted.”

  She spoke the words like a quiet boast, but her voice softened at the end—just a little.

  Adaline tilted her head. “I thought you said it wouldn’t be ready ‘til the block.”

  “That’s weeks away, Adaline,” Bea muttered, rubbing her temples as her eyes narrowed, heavy and rimmed red from sleepless nights. “We’ve still gotta smooth out the AI on the Mark 2...”

  Adaline raised an eyebrow. “Think I can get your hands with that?”

  Bea blinked at her. “…What?”

  Adaline grinned. “I mean, I don’t wanna get my hands in the muck.”

  Bea groaned, slumping against the rocket, arms crossed zily but her eyes sharp and twitching. “I don’t need a grease monkey. I just need you to help run the damn code for the AI interface.”

  Adaline’s eyes widened. “AI?”

  Bea sighed again, this time long and loud. “Nothin’ fancy. But it’ll help the pilot port into the transformation mode smoother. That’s all.”

  “Ahhh,” Adaline said, dragging out the sound as her brow furrowed again. “I’m confused, though. I thought the Mark 1 needed the special code.”

  “They all need special code,” Bea snapped, her voice ricocheting off the hangar walls like a bullet. Her face twisted, exasperated, and she pushed off from the rocket like it had offended her. One hand spped over her forehead. “That Henryk…” she groaned, dragging the name out like a curse. “He’s lucky he saved your ass. And that…”

  “Arthur,” Adaline interjected quietly. “He saved me too. It was a team effort.”

  Bea’s expression softened. Just a fraction. “You’re lucky you’re my darling lil' sister.” She pulled her into a tight hug, burying her chin into her hair. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  Adaline wriggled free, half-smiling as she tried to fix her hair again, strands sticking in every direction. “Fine, I’ll help with the code,” she said, sighing like she was giving in to a bad habit. “But then your reaction module—”

  “—That’s the Mark 2,” Bea cut in, eyes narrowing with focus. “It’s getting a combat-assisted transpo unit. A whole new core built for acceleration. It’ll be able to move. We’re housing extra combat protocols, and it’s easier—kind of—since the core chassis isn’t overloaded. Backpacks are great. They’re light. Easy to swap.”

  Adaline gave a loose shrug. “…And the Mark 1?”

  Bea’s shoulders twitched with irritation. “That’s the one Henryk’s so obsessed with,” she muttered, rolling her eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. “That damn Stargazer Type. I keep telling him, but no—it’s always something. It’s not transforming fast enough, or the generator’s overloading again, or the gyros are gging by half a second. I swear to God—”

  “Try throwing one of Dad’s generators in it,” Adaline offered, half-joking, half-serious.

  Bea stared at her a beat too long. Then: “…Don’t tempt me.”

  Bea’s eyes widened. Her fingers brushed against her lips, and for a second she looked like she might bite down, chew the frustration away.

  “You think that’ll be enough?” Her voice was quiet but tinged with fire. She shook her head, lips tightening into a grimace. “You’re right… that Martian stuff can only take us so far.”

  Adaline exhaled through her nose, arms crossed, her voice caught between skepticism and exhaustion. “Maybe... I don’t know. How much of the internals actually need to be Martian-made? Or is it just—”

  “It’s not just the materials,” Bea snapped, cutting in. “It’s not just about some fancy alloy or power converter. The whole goddamn thing has to transform—to twist, bend, lock back together and still fight. Do you know how hard that is to engineer? There’s a reason Warcaskets haven’t changed shape in decades.”

  Her voice echoed off the ceiling of the basement, rough and metallic like a bde being sharpened.

  Adaline’s shoulders slumped. Her gaze drifted downward, voice shrinking. “W-What do you mean by that?”

  “Technological stagnation,” Bea barked. Her hands fred open, then clenched into fists. She started pacing like a caged wolf, her head shaking wildly. “We’re living in another silent depression, don’t you see it? Same movies. Same games. Same goddamn mech frames they’ve been using since before we were born. Everything’s stuck. And no one’s talking about it because being stuck is comfortable.”

  Her face twisted, voice rising.

  “Henryk keeps chasing ghosts—thinks bipedal Warcaskets are the holy grail. Wararmors? Easy. Hell, you can strip the legs off a Warcasket, sp on some treads, and call it a prototype. Boom. Done. Efficient. But bipedals? They’re a different beast entirely.”

  The rant ended in a choked breath, like she was swallowing her own fury. The room hummed around them, the thick mechanical air pressing against their skin.

  Adaline didn’t speak. She stared at her sister, brow furrowed—not angry, just listening. But something in Bea’s words stuck like a barb.

  Technological stagnation.

  That was a term she’d heard whispered before. Quiet and dangerous.

  “Maybe when we get to the Block,” Bea muttered, her voice lower now, fists rexing. “It’s still a hub for the industrious... the academic. People who give a damn about pushing things forward. Maybe…”

  Her gaze drifted, unfocused. But she wasn’t looking at Adaline.

  She was looking past her—past the shelves cluttered with half-finished weaponry, broken targeting cores, defective sensors. And there, suspended by thick steel cranes, was a head. Massive. Ancient. A bipedal mobile suit’s crown, still bearing the Tempr-era design—knights of steel long rusted.

  But it was the right eye port that caught her breath.

  A light throbbed behind the lens. Bck-red, bleeding into orange. Code shimmered on its surface—lines of numbers, flickering, alive. A lens snapped, wheezed as it scanned the room like an old camera coming to life.

  Bea’s voice came out slow, dreamlike. “Maybe... just maybe...”

  That was when the intercom buzzed.

  The shrill tone shattered the silence. Both sisters jumped. Adaline’s eyes shot wide. Bea’s, too.

  Bea tilted her head toward her, a silent cue. Adaline moved to the intercom, fingers brushing the dusty panel.

  “Feds?” Bea quipped, half-serious, half-dreading.

  Adaline squinted at the screen. “Martians.”

  Bea groaned like her soul just left her body. “Even worse.”

  Adaline smirked. “Nah, it’s the boy with all the fur. And the girlish one.”

  Bea rolled her eyes, dragging a hand down her face. Ty was alright. Loud, charming, a little too full of himself, but good-hearted. Mateo? That was a different story.

  He wasn’t feminine, not in voice or behavior. But he looked delicate. Narrow wrists, slender limbs, the smallest out of the whole damn crew—including Adaline, who was barely sixteen herself. A kid built like a thought.

  Bea grunted. “I don’t know what they want, but go ahead. Buzz them in.”

  Adaline grabbed a towel from a hook and wiped her hands. “I’m clocking out after this. Shop’s closed.”

  Bea followed her toward the lift, both of them walking shoulder-to-shoulder through the steel corridor lined with power tools and stripped armor ptes. At the elevator, Bea flipped open a rusted control panel, fingers tapping in the sequence. A loud click echoed as the hidden door behind them slid open with a hiss.

  She wiped her hands on her pants, more out of habit than need, then stepped forward.

  She had grown up alongside Adaline.

  Even with most of her life spent scattered across off-world colonies, she remembered Mars. Not just the pce, but the feeling of it—red sand underfoot, dry heat bleeding through synthetic skin. A culture carved around fire and fury. They respected strength there, and the color red. A pce where kindness was a liability.

  The Knights of Mars had their own doctrines. Mutation was impurity. Deviance was weakness. Would Ty have survived under that code? Would he have been culled for the fur on his arms, for the sharpness in his eyes?

  Bea didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. What mattered now was this: the strange contradiction of him. How a person could look both human and beastlike—how something wild could wear a face so kind. And in that heart of his, she saw something more tempered than any Tempr she’d ever known. Kinder. Even than Edward.

  It was Adaline who cut the silence. “What’s up?”

  Ty’s smirk was quick, but there was tension hiding in it. He folded his arms across his chest like armor. “Nothing much…”

  He trailed off. His eyes found Bea’s. “M-Maybe we should talk in private.”

  Adaline gnced between Mateo, Ty, and her sister. Her mouth twitched.

  Bea exhaled. “Ada…”

  “Whatever,” Adaline muttered. She shook her head, her voice tightening like a coiled spring. “Why? Because I’m just some dumb kid who can’t handle it? I’ll be eighteen soon and—”

  She didn’t finish. She just turned and walked off, boots stomping against the grated floor, vanishing into the far end of the shop like smoke curling into a vent.

  Mateo whistled low. Bea shot him a look so sharp it could skin a mech. He dropped the grin like a hot wire.

  Ty cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Look… we didn’t mean to drop in on you like this.”

  “I assumed it was about the loadouts,” Bea said ftly, folding her arms.

  Mateo shook her head, solemn now.

  Ty’s sigh was heavier this time. “Joseph and Flee... August too. They went out on that deep-space op. Since then, it’s been me running things.”

  “What’s the issue?” Bea asked, voice sharpening.

  “They’ve been gone nearly a full week,” Ty said. “They should’ve been back four—maybe five days ago.”

  Bea’s expression darkened. Her eyes shifted toward Mateo. “Does Edward know his second-in-command’s gone dark?”

  Ty’s voice came slow, measured. “Our long-range comms can’t punch through where they went.”

  “…and any other channels are too public,” Mateo added, stepping forward, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

  Bea exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “So, you need something more discreet.”

  Ty nodded. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.” He gestured to Mateo. “I’m the only acting trueborn left on deck right now. And Ed’s mission was already sensitive—hell, he didn’t even tell me half of it.”

  Bea didn’t answer right away. Her mind was spinning, but her voice came even. “Last time I spoke with him, he said it was in-and-out. Get in, hit the objective, pull out clean.”

  “That was the pn,” Ty muttered.

  “It would’ve been fine—” Bea said, “—if they came back yesterday.”

  Ty echoed it without thinking. “A day te…”

  He froze mid-sentence. The weight of his own words settled on him like a concrete block. His hand pressed to his face, as if trying to smother the panic rising behind his eyes.

  Bea saw it. The worry curled in his posture. The tremble behind his breathing.

  “Look,” she said, softer now. “A day’s a day. But Joseph and August…” Her voice wavered. She stopped. “I’ll reach out to my contact. If Ed’s still somewhere in-system, we’ll get eyes on him. We’ll find out what’s going on.”

  Ty’s relief was instant. He csped his hands together, eyes almost bright with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Bea waved it off, like brushing dust from her shoulder. “It’s no big deal.”

  But as she turned her face upward, the sky outside the shop's wide windows was bleeding soft blue into the first signs of night. A few stars were already visible—cold white pinpricks against the fading sky.

  “The universe,” she murmured, “is a big pce to get lost in.”

  Zephyr

  “Okay, so… we’re alone.”

  The words hung awkward in the stale air as Ed stepped into the room. It was dim, the kind of room designed to unnerve—clean, sharp edges, silence loud enough to press against your skull. Two holoscreens pulsed like blue ghosts in front of him.

  He recognized the first one instantly—Zephyr, the political phantom who acted as the face of House Mercury.

  The second?

  The actual President of House Mercury. The real power. The woman who ruled not only Mercury but its vast web of territories stretched like nerve endings across voidspace.

  “Whoa…” Ed muttered. His voice echoed in the quiet like a gunshot. His eyes widened, and he took a step back on instinct. “H-holy shit. I didn’t think I’d be meeting her today.”

  The President of House Mercury smiled, thin and deliberate. A politician’s smile—measured down to the millimeter. But it was Zephyr who spoke.

  “Well,” Zephyr said smoothly, “the President and I were both interested in having a word with you. Especially...”

  “In regards to the Oceana Sector,” the President interrupted, her tone silked in diplomacy and buried knives. “Right now, I'm speaking to the highest legal representative of House Mars. Since your shaming, we haven’t been able to locate or contact any standing leadership.”

  “That’s because the Knights of Mars are dead,” Ed replied ftly, voice low and hard as flint. “Our King is gone. Our ARC core is shattered. You’ll find nothing but radiation and ghosts on that pnet.”

  There was a pause.

  Ed caught it. The shift.

  Only he could’ve noticed—the faintest twitch in her lips. Not even a smile. A hint of one. Gone in a blink. He doubted Zephyr saw it. He doubted anyone else could.

  She was good.

  He’d have to be better.

  His voice turned sharper. “What is it you want from Oceana anyway?”

  “The worlds are fractured,” the President said, choosing her words like someone defusing a bomb. “But they still hold a Martian presence.”

  Ed’s mouth curled into something between a grin and a threat. “Those worlds belonged to us. Still do. I doubt the people would tolerate anything less.”

  “Yes, however—” she raised a finger, halting him with a gesture that dripped command “—three of the pnets are up for grabs. And the Neptunians are already preparing to snatch them all.”

  “So I suppose you want a deal,” Ed said, stepping toward the screen. “Thing is… I don’t know how you pn to get the Emperor to approve. I thought we were shamed.”

  “Shamed. Censured. Exiled.” The President waved her hand as if brushing off ash. “All of that feudal horse shit should’ve died centuries ago with Earth’s dust. If the Houses apply pressure, the Eunuch Emperor will listen.”

  Ed sneered. “You think the Houses will rise for Mars?” he spat.

  “You were the Empire’s sword for generations,” she said coolly. “You shed blood, silenced rebellions, purged entire moons—all with a smile. Sure, there are those who see you as relics, but there are others who admire the brutality. The willingness. If you want back in the grinder, we’ll let you march into the fire again. But... in return, we want one of your worlds.”

  Ed blinked.

  His stare sharpened. “So that’s it. You want to break our pnets open like cotton fields. Strip them bare. Pick them clean.”

  The President’s smile didn’t falter. “We’re facing a crisis in the Mercurian Sphere. Overpopution. Resource scarcity. Civil unrest bubbling under chrome surfaces. The Neptunians are unrelenting, but you Martians—you are immovable. We respect that. So let’s make a deal.”

  Ed’s jaw tightened. “A deal,” he echoed. He turned from the screen, fingers brushing his chin in thought, his body half-shadowed now by the room’s dim light.

  The President leaned forward, eyes cold as vacuum. “You keep your sector. All of it. But we want one pnet. Just one. Prime.”

  Ed spun, his eyes fring.

  “That’s insane,” he barked. “The people of Prime will never accept Mercurian rule. Not under me. Not under anyone.”

  "However, if you authenticate it..." Zephyr’s voice dragged like a bde across gravel.

  “Silence it, oathbreaker,” Ed snapped, eyes gleaming with contempt. He sneered. “Henryk speaks plenty about you.”

  Zephyr nearly burst—color rose to his cheeks like fire behind paper. His lips trembled, words catching on the edge of fury.

  “Prime is ancestral to the Oceana System,” Ed went on, voice smooth but loaded. “The first pnet ever colonized.”

  “You’d think being the first would’ve drained it dry by now,” the President said. Her eyes narrowed to knives, and her voice climbed slow and sharp. “But it didn’t. Prime still holds beauty untouched—oceans clear as crystal, kes unmarred by industrial rot, fields of grain and golden grass that stretch like dreams. And most of your people—Ed—have never once heard the stomp of Warcasket feet across its soil.”

  “Ai,” Ed said, his voice like rusted iron. “But they’ve heard axes splitting bone. They’ve heard spears crashing through their front doors at dawn. They've felt what it means to be burned, not bombed. To be taken.”

  He stepped forward, eyes leveled. “Don’t get any clever ideas, Madam President. The Martians may be shamed. But they do not break. They never have. No foreigner has ever ruled Mars—and none ever will.”

  Zephyr’s mouth twisted. “Why you—”

  “Zephyr.” The President’s voice cut through him like a scythe through tall wheat. “Enough.”

  Zephyr fell silent, his gaze dropping to his p. His jaw clenched, lip quivering. There were tears threatening in the corners of his eyes. Ed saw them. And for a moment, he wanted to ugh.

  “Listen,” Ed said, his tone cooling like steel in water. “Me and my comrades—we're thankful for what you did, truly. You pulled us from the fire. That matters. But I don’t know the ins and outs of House Mars anymore. The academy role… it’s ceremonial now. A pce to sit. Not to lead.”

  He turned, boots tapping the floor as he made for the door.

  But the President’s voice chased after him.

  “Then go and tell someone,” she said. “Tell whoever still matters on that red rock that the President of House Mercury is offering her hand. You want back into the Imperial fold? We can make that happen.”

  Ed paused mid-step. He turned, slow.

  “There are still those in the stars who remember what the Knights of Mars were,” she continued. “Not just butchers. Not just killers. Necessary. You take this offer seriously, and you’ll recim more than a pnet. You’ll recim purpose.”

  Ed sighed. That one hit him.

  He knew he was being greedy. He knew, from their perspective, this was madness. But his opinion didn’t matter—not in this. Not now.

  Rightful heir or not, the Knights of Mars were broken into twelve surviving orders. Each one scattered across the system, clutching their pieces of history like holy relics. Their creeds. Their ghosts.

  Some were probably in ruins, just like the academy. Others—like Maelia’s group—might not have any knights left. Just names and ashes.

  But some... Ed was certain some still had teeth. Still had steel in their bones.

  The only question was—where their allegiance fell now.

  “I’ll inform them,” Edward said finally, voice solemn, almost soft. He turned his eyes back to the screen. “Thank you, Madam President. For the rescue. And the warning. We’ll discuss. And we’ll return with an answer.”

  The President allowed herself the faintest smirk. “That’s all I asked.”

  The door sealed behind Ed with a hiss, cutting him off from the chamber. Inside, the two Presidents—the mask and the mind behind House Mercury—remained.

  Their holoscreens glowed, casting long shadows across their faces. They stared at one another, silent.

  Then, the President leaned forward.

  “What the hell is this one talking about, Zephyr?” she asked, voice low and flinty.

  Her eyes didn’t blink.

  Edward

  Ed dragged his palms across his face, scrubbing the exhaustion from his eyes like a man trying to wash away a nightmare. What a day… no, what a goddamn few hours.

  His steps slowed, his stride faltering into a lethargic drift. The corridor stretched long and empty, white walls bending with quiet hums of electricity, but the few scattered crew that passed him blurred in his vision. He didn’t just feel tired. He felt hollow. Like something had been carved out of him and hadn’t yet grown back.

  And more than anything—he wanted to hold something. Something solid. Real.

  He stopped.

  Pressed both palms and his forehead against the cool viewport gss. He leaned there, quietly, like a man paying respects to a grave.

  The stars stared back.

  They were docked aboard the 34th fgship. Through the reinforced gss, he could see the fleet’s array—massive capital ships trailing escort vessels like silverfish, rows of transports crawling in tight formations. Some were peeling away now, engines igniting in glorious fre, their thrust carving pale-blue scars across the velvet of space.

  Once, House Mars had commanded three times this number. Once, his people had filled the void between stars with red banners and the iron jaws of Warcaskets.

  Now? Now, they were a shadow of myth.

  He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in… he couldn’t remember. The st one was probably some half-cold ration devoured while scanning reports and pretending to care. Pretending everything was fine.

  His voice, when it came, was a whisper to himself.

  “I… I knew this road would be hard,” he said, slowly, like tasting bitter medicine. “I just didn’t think it’d feel like walking it alone.”

  The president’s offer churned inside his skull like coals refusing to die. It wasn’t a bad idea. Hell, it was smart. But would Maelia understand? Would the Knights of Mars—those scattered orders exiled across the stars, surviving in fragments, hidden in ruins and old memories—look at him as a traitor? A dealmaker in a time that demanded a warrior?

  Would history spit on his name?

  He heard the footsteps before he saw him—steady, deliberate, too heavy to be casual. Ed straightened up, exhaled, and slid on that mask. The one he wore like armor. A confident, close-lipped grin that told the world he had this, even when he didn’t.

  He turned. Saw Henryk.

  And just like that, the mask cracked.

  Henryk’s tired, earth-toned eyes met his own, and the false grin melted into something real. A weary smile. One shared between survivors.

  Ed leaned back against the window, his shoulder thunking softly against the frame.

  “Man,” he breathed, “I am so freaking tired…”

  Henryk gave a small grunt of agreement and settled beside him, arms crossed, mirroring the stance like it was some unspoken ritual between them.

  “I ever tell you I hate meetings?” Ed asked, a hoarse chuckle riding the words. “Being president… you don’t want to know how many meetings and reports and goddamn emails I swim through every day. It’s like drowning in a bureaucratic toilet.”

  “I’d imagine it comes with the job,” Henryk said. Simple. Dry. But not without sympathy.

  Ed chuckled again, this one more genuine, gaze drifting upward through the gss. The stars glittered like a thousand promises no one could keep. He looked left. Right. As if afraid the gaxy itself might be listening.

  “What time is it?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Henryk shrugged. “Last I checked, I was in the hangar. Engineers were tearing through the stuff that girl—Iman—recovered.”

  Ed blinked. His posture stiffened, eyes narrowing just slightly.

  “Oh?”

  He turned his gaze toward the edge of the window again. The stars were still there. The ships too. But now… they felt closer. Like they were watching.

  Henryk raked a hand through his messy hair. His voice stayed low.

  “No codes,” he said. “Model’s not on any registry I’ve seen. And the weapons? They’re something else entirely.”

  The silence after that was heavy. Like the gravity in the room had shifted.

  Ed exhaled, his fingers tapping absently against his vest, the sound soft but rhythmic—like a heartbeat. His lips curled into a lopsided grin, something nostalgic, something faintly bitter. As he spoke, he dug into one of the pockets stitched just beneath the chestpte.

  “…That says something, doesn’t it?” he muttered, tone breezy but edged with steel. “They came in a group of three. Armed to the teeth. Say what you will about True Martian Warcaskets, but Axel, Arthur—and you—none of you are amateurs.”

  Henryk’s eyes widened, the implication tching onto his spine. “Y-you think…?”

  “Oh, this was pnned,” Ed said, ft and firm. He pulled out a dented aluminum tin with a familiar rattle. “House Mars has no shortage of enemies, Henryk. That’s not new. But I didn’t recognize a single thing about them. Not their caskets. Not their protocols. They weren’t there—and then they were.”

  The sentence dropped like a stone in still water. A silence followed, long enough for Henryk’s mind to start grinding through the details again. And when the thought surfaced, it struck like lightning.

  “They were magically enhanced,” he said.

  Ed choked. The cigarette cttered between his teeth as he hacked smoke into the crook of his arm, eyes watering.

  “Christ, Henryk,” he coughed, half-ughing. “You’ve gotta give a guy a warning before dropping something like that.”

  But his humor didn’t st.

  Ed shook his head, rubbing a hand down his jaw. His voice dipped low, the words coming like confessions rather than commentary.

  “The Witches of Jupiter are isotionist. Always have been. They take girls with potential and call them ‘donations.’ No marriage. No alliances. No children. Hell, there are entire systems that don’t even believe they exist. The only reason I do is because—”

  “I know,” Henryk cut in gently. “You’ve seen them. In person.”

  Ed nodded slowly, blowing out another stream of smoke. It curled in the stale air like incense over an altar.

  “Right,” he said. “And sure, I get what you’re getting at. But look at you—you’ve got magic too. That doesn’t make you a Witch.” He chuckled under his breath, the sound tired but warm. “Like I said, Mars and the Witches never had any beef. They kept to their shadows. We kept to our blood. That was the deal.”

  Henryk leaned a little closer, eyes half-lidded. “Mind if I get a bump off that?”

  Ed looked at him like he’d asked to borrow his shoes. Then that smirk returned, wider now, lined with the sarcasm of old friends.

  “You gave me so much shit about these when we met,” Ed said, shaking the cigarette between two fingers. “How the tables turn.”

  Henryk rolled his eyes as Ed wordlessly passed it over. The end glowed faint red as Henryk took a long drag, the smoke lighting in his lungs like fire and leaving him still.

  “I didn’t think you smoked,” Ed said, eyebrows raised.

  Henryk shrugged. “I don’t,” he muttered, then paused. “…But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like what I’m about to say.”

  He blew the smoke upward, into the vent above, then passed the cigarette back like it was something sacred.

  Ed raised a brow. “Go on.”

  “…The Witches of Jupiter,” Henryk said slowly, eyes on the gss. “One of them came to me. In a dream.”

  The silence afterward felt like a knife being unsheathed.

  Ed didn’t speak. His expression froze, eyes slowly widening. And then—just as quickly—he smiled.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time one of ‘em slipped into my dreams,” he said with a half-hearted ugh. “They’ve got a habit of showing up when they’re least welcome.”

  Henryk smiled faintly, but there was no mirth behind it. “You know what I mean.”

  Ed’s ugh tapered off, slow and soft, until only the hum of the ship remained between them. He turned his head slightly. Saw the look in Henryk’s eyes. And this time, he didn’t ugh.

  “H-How long ago was this?” Ed asked, his voice cracking despite the armor of his posture. The stutter slipped out before he could catch it.

  Henryk didn’t flinch. “A couple months back. Maybe more. First night I was accepted into House Mars.”

  Ed’s expression twisted, his eyes going wide. He dragged both hands down his face, the st curl of smoke dying on his lips. “Christ, Henryk… you’re telling me they visited you in a dream? I didn’t even know that was possible. I didn’t even—”

  “It is,” Henryk cut in gently, his voice low and steady. “When I was a kid, one of the first things our tutors drilled into us. I never had the talent to do it myself, not really, but I can recognize the technique. It’s... unmistakable.”

  Ed waved his hand in a wide, spiraling circle, urging him on. “And?”

  Henryk leaned back, eyes narrowing as if seeing the memory again. “At first, I didn’t realize what was happening. There were two presences. One was a girl. The other was… a thing.”

  “A thing?” Ed echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Bro, you’re gonna have to be way clearer than that.”

  Henryk’s sigh came deep from the chest, like he was exhaling months of pressure. “Like I said—it was weird. Surreal. I probably would’ve told you about it if it happened now, but back then? With everything going on around me… I didn’t need to give anyone another reason to think I didn’t belong in that House.”

  Ed didn’t press. His sigh was heavier than Henryk’s, but he nodded for him to keep going.

  “…I was back home. At least, it felt like it. Could’ve been a memory. Could’ve been a construct. I don’t know. I was reliving the day my stepfather died. Or maybe it was one of those days we were out hunting.”

  “Christ,” Ed whispered. “They made you dream that?”

  Henryk shrugged like he’d grown used to the weight. “Stronger memories carry stronger wavelengths. That’s how dream-based channeling works. Emotional connection opens the door. You call it magic. Our professors call it science.”

  Ed let out a breath that sounded half like a ugh and half like a prayer for sanity. His head sank into his hands, fingers tugging through his hair. “I don’t understand a damn thing you just said.”

  He peeked through his fingers. “But where does the cute witch girl come in?”

  Henryk chuckled, the sound dry but genuine. “Who said she was cute?”

  “I didn’t hear you say she wasn’t,” Ed shot back with a smirk.

  Henryk rolled his eyes, but the grin stayed. “The creature—the Peyton—it kept the girl from talking to me. Stood between us like it was guarding something. Then it warned me. Told me about battles still to come.”

  Ed went still. His eyes didn’t blink, didn’t move. Then he exhaled, slow and gravelly, as if dragging air through stone.

  “Well,” he finally said, “like you said… if the Witches of Jupiter are involved in this, then I’m inclined to take your word for it.”

  Henryk’s brows drew together. “H-huh? What do you mean by that?”

  Ed turned toward him, the calm in his expression suddenly molten. “Henryk, this is war. The Witches intercepted our mission and tried to assassinate us. If they’d succeeded, we’d be dead. All of us. The House at the Academy would’ve been crippled.”

  He stepped forward, eyes burning. “I won’t forget that. Not after Issac.”

  That name. That name cut through the air like a bde.

  And suddenly, silence. A silence that wasn’t awkward—it was sacred. It rang like a bell, cold and hollow. The kind of silence that comes after a name carved into stone.

  Ed turned away again, pressing his shoulder to the gss, eyes distant.

  It was Henryk who finally spoke, voice quieter than before. “W-What will happen… to Issac’s body?”

  Ed’s eyes narrowed, cold slits against the dark reflection on the window. “The Neptunian Police Force most definitely has their hands on his corpse.”

  Henryk stiffened, the words sinking through him like a bde. “Then what about the Spikes? The Neptunes will know, and—”

  Ed cut the thought off with a dismissive wave. “Martians have always slipped past their so-called Imperial racial scans—before and after our shaming.” His gaze didn’t waver from the bck void beyond the gss. “It always goes the same. They’ll wheel his body into a sub-zero morgue and scratch their heads when they see all the strange shit ced up his spine. Then they’ll do what they always do—tick a box. Just another mutant, chalk it up to radiation poisoning, birthpce anomalies, deep space rot. Whatever gets the paperwork filed.”

  Henryk went quiet at that, the silence pulling in tight around him like an old coat. But he still found his voice.

  “So he’ll never have a burial.” The words felt brittle in his mouth. “Did he have anyone? Anyone at all?”

  Ed’s answer was a sigh. “Just Joseph. Only real friend he had.”

  Henryk nodded slowly, almost to himself, before speaking again, voice low and measured. “If I die… I’d like you to tell my family. Whether I’m dead or missing or worse.”

  Ed blinked. “W-what? Why?” The stammer returned. “Well… yeah, of course I would, but—”

  “I want my mom and sisters to know,” Henryk said, eyes steady now. “If I’m really gone, I think it’d break my mom. She’s stronger than she looks, but my sisters… they need her. And they never really needed me.”

  Ed opened his mouth, closed it. “Henryk…”

  But the boy already had his hands tucked in his jacket, that half-thoughtful, half-lost smile curling across his face as he stared into the sea of stars.

  “You know,” Henryk said, his voice quieter now, but firmer, “back home, I was never off-colony. Hell, I barely left the basin. Deep space? It was something that happened to other people.”

  Out in the void, a green comet sshed across the darkness like a bde drawn across velvet. Henryk’s eyes flickered with the light.

  “I used to think I’d be afraid out here. Floating between worlds. Alone. But now… there’s a kind of weightlessness to it. And not just in my body. In my mind.” He raised his hand, fingers spyed, letting starlight catch on skin. “I feel clearer in the void. More me. Like this is where I was always supposed to be.”

  Ed didn’t respond right away. Then he just shrugged, lips twitching. “I get pissy after a couple days out here,” he said. “Can’t stand long hauls. Don’t know how the hell people do it—living on satellites, crawling through the dark, pretending it’s just normal.”

  He fred his fingers out with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and silence settled between them again.

  A long, heavy one.

  Ed regretted how the mood had turned. Just minutes ago they were ughing, and now it was all death and ghosts and talk of st words. Was this how all their conversations ended up?

  He swallowed and shook his head. Enough of that.

  “You wanna hear something cool?” Ed asked, the grin creeping back. “Let you in on a lil’ secret. Not even Arthur or Axel or the truebloods know this yet.”

  He raised his fist.

  Henryk looked at it, then bumped it with a quiet chuckle.

  Ed grinned wider. “In the old days, Kings of Mars picked their Executors—personal warhands, closest comrades. Always their best friends, always ride or die.”

  He leaned in, voice dropping like he was revealing the final plot twist of some forbidden novel.

  “Well guess what, Henryk? I choose you.”

  Henryk blinked, his mouth twitching into a grin. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I ain’t,” Ed said, eyes gleaming now. “And to top it off—I just had an audience with the president of the Mercurian Sphere. Top brass. Fancy chair. Gold everything.”

  Henryk’s ughter broke through the weight in the room, wide and sharp. “No shit...”

  Ed nodded, leaning back with pride. “We’re moving up in the world, brother.”

  Ed’s ughter rang out, loud and raw, cutting through the tension like a knife through meat. “So, what was it about?” Henryk asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

  Ed took a deep breath, still smiling like someone who had just gotten away with a crime. “They want to form a temporary alliance. Tame the pnets, you know? Consolidate.”

  Henryk’s brow furrowed. “All pnets? Even the Neptunian ones?”

  Ed paused, then waved a dismissive hand, letting the weight of his words sink in. “That’s the exception. Those pnets used to be ours—technically, anyway. But after the shaming, and the senator’s death, and the heir being wiped out, the pnets are pretty much up for grabs now.”

  “…And the Emperor isn’t going to step in?” Henryk’s voice was sharp, like the edge of a bde being drawn.

  Ed chuckled, a deep, throaty ugh that seemed to rumble from somewhere in his gut. “The Enuch Emperor? Nah, I imagine he’s too busy enjoying his royal harem to worry about a bunch of rotting territories.”

  Henryk snickered, but the humor felt hollow, like an old echo bouncing off a dead wall. The crude words of the Sons of Mars had long since stopped sounding strange to him.

  “So, what does the Mercurian Government want then? And what do we get in return?” Henryk asked, his voice careful now, like he was parsing each word for meaning.

  Ed raised a finger, the motion slow and deliberate, like a man about to deliver bad news. “One.”

  “One what?” Henryk asked, confused.

  “We get one pnet. Out of the two to three we used to own.” Ed's hands wrapped around his own shoulders, pulling his arms close as if to shield himself. “It’s not even one of the worlds we used for industry. Just a Knight World. Something we can use for recruiting.”

  “…And the Mercurians don’t want to haggle over that?” Henryk asked, the skepticism dripping from his words like poison.

  Ed sighed, the sound heavy, like a man caught between frustration and resignation. “I know. I know we’re in a bad way. But if the other Martians—hell, not the ones at the academy, but the Maelia types—find out about this deal, they’ll lose their damn minds.”

  “It’s a miracle the Emperor’s still letting you guys keep your lost property,” Henryk remarked, his voice bitter, sharp.

  Ed’s ugh was low and cynical. “Retain lost property,” he repeated, his tone dark and empty. “What a joke.” His voice trailed off, and Henryk could see the faint flicker of regret in Ed’s eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

  Henryk, feeling the shift in the mood, pressed on. “Listen, if it’s about the pnets, why don’t you guys try to be a little more malleable?”

  “Malleable, huh?” Ed’s voice rose with disbelief, the mocking tone too clear to miss. “Like I said…”

  “I know, Ed.” Henryk pced his hands on his chin, his eyes narrowing before widening, the gears in his mind clicking into pce. “Why not just… not have one and a half?”

  Ed’s head jerked up, eyes widening in incredulity. “One and a half?” His voice rose higher, disbelief thick in his words. “How the hell can you split a pnet in half?”

  Henryk scoffed, the disdain clear in his voice. “Sometimes, Ed, I forget just how backwards you Martians really are…” He raised his hands, gesturing as though the answer was obvious. “Look at Earth, 21st century. The whole damn pnet was split a thousand different ways—and you’re going to tell me that you can’t share it with one other person?”

  Henryk raised his chin, his eyes glinting with something between frustration and amusement. “Spoiled children. The whole lot of you nobles and leaders.”

  Ed went silent, his fingers now tracing the edge of his chin as he stared at Henryk. His eyes narrowed, taking in the words like a man absorbing the sting of a sp. Then, without warning, he smiled—a slow, sinister grin that stretched from ear to ear.

  “I like your thinking, Wizard.”

  Marcus

  “Where’s Henryk?” Iman’s voice pierced through the air, right into Marcus’s ear.

  Marcus nearly jumped, the lunch tray lurching in his hands, the sealed pstic clinking as it floated into the zero-gravity cafeteria. “Christ, Iman… there’s a freaking line,” he grunted, his arm snapping out, fingers grabbing the edge of the tray as he steadied it with a smile.

  He gnced down at her. Her eyes were narrowed, sharp like bdes, and her arms wrapped tight around herself. A wall. She was always a wall. “I’ve been looking for him everywhere. Thought he’d be with you.”

  Marcus shrugged, the casual gesture belying the tension tightening in his chest. “Nah. Last I heard, Ed took off with their transport about thirty minutes ago.”

  Iman’s eyes widened, disbelief fshing across her face. “What?!” Her voice cracked like thunder, and the murmur of the cafeteria fell silent. Heads turned. The Commander and the Lieutenant, making a scene.

  Iman’s hands curled into fists, her fingers trembling. “That bastard… I saved all their asses, and he doesn’t even have the decency to say goodbye?”

  Marcus let out a low chuckle, elbowing her lightly in the shoulder. “You really wanted him to tell you goodbye?” His ugh carried a bitter edge, a hint of something darker under the surface.

  “Oh, shut up…” Iman muttered, rolling her eyes, though she couldn’t fully mask the hurt behind the sharpness of her tone.

  Marcus kept on ughing, the sound filling the space between them. “Maybe I should tell Margaret you’re not that serious about her…” His grin widened, but Iman didn’t flinch this time. Instead, she raised her chin, her gaze cold, distant.

  “Woah, woah, easy,” Marcus held up a hand in mock surrender. “Listen, Henryk’s a chill guy, but the guy flies his own fg. He goes where his ideals take him.”

  Iman’s eyes sharpened, narrowing into thin slits. “What does that mean?” she snapped.

  “He’s a complicated guy,” Marcus said, scratching the back of his head, a nervous tic that betrayed his discomfort. “I think he would’ve said goodbye, but I think... they lost one of their own. They probably need to head back.”

  Iman stood still, her eyes unfocused, staring down at Marcus’s boots like they were the only solid thing in the universe. But Marcus wasn’t done yet. “Listen, I wouldn’t worry too much about Henryk. Maybe…” He hesitated, and Iman’s eyes snapped back to his. “What do you mean by that?” she pressed, her voice suddenly hard.

  Marcus sighed, a deep, gravelly sound that rattled through his chest. “Listen, I think… him and Piper, they’re not together, but there’s definitely something there. You’re my friend, Iman. We’ve fought side by side, again and again. Hell, they kissed. I saw it.”

  Iman’s face went from disbelief to fury in the span of a breath. Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “She’s dead,” she affirmed, her voice as cold and final as the void of space.

  “Iman…” Marcus’s voice was quiet, thick with regret. “Piper... she’s innocent in all of this. Same for Henryk and—”

  “Henryk was mine,” Iman’s voice cut through him like a bde, low and deadly. She smmed her thumb into her chest, her hand gripping the fabric of her suit. “He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s mine. You know my culture, Marcus. For me to do that to Henryk… It’s—”

  Marcus’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Iman, culture or not… you grinding all over Henryk like that and—”

  Iman’s face burned red, and before Marcus could finish, her fist was in his chest, shoving him back. “Stop speaking. Stop. It…” she hissed, her voice low, a warning. “We’re in public.”

  Her grip on him tightened briefly, but then, just as quickly, she released him. Without another word, she turned, striding away, her steps deliberate. Her orange astro-suit floated with the zero-gravity, the lines of it sharp, almost mocking in its boldness. Her bck hair—no longer in the pigtails that once made her look almost innocent—now hung in a wavy mass, thick and heavy, flowing like an inky storm cloud.

  Marcus watched her walk, the silence between them settling like dust. As she disappeared into the crowd, his eyes caught the shimmer of something—tears, perhaps, floating in the zero-g around her, like tiny stars caught in the dark. Even he could feel the pang of sorrow in his chest. ‘Damn it, Henryk,’ he thought. ‘What the hell are you doing? Piper and Iman. Those two could never stand each other. Do you even realize it? Or don’t you care at all?’