Chapter 19 - You'd Promise You'd Wait for Me

  Henryk

  Before they even reached the trench line, Henryk Brown and Piper were already a ways away from the main battlefield. They must've been searching for them—a lucky break after Henryk’s miscalculation during their journey and the unexpected early rescue pickup.

  Mucking through the trees and talking to Piper had been a nice distraction, but exhaustion still throbbed at the edges of Henryk’s mind. Sleep clawed at him, dulling his thoughts, but as he glanced out the window of the helicopter—Piper across from him, her gaze spiraling somewhere far away—his senses sharpened.

  The fortress loomed into view, and it stole the breath from his lungs.

  A dark, black spire rose against the sky, noir and neolithic, its architecture ancient yet imposing, as if history itself had been carved from the stone. It looked like something torn from a Dark Age European textbook, only marred by the scars of modern warfare—bullet splatters, fire scorches, and strange claw marks that whispered of battles fought and battles lost. Massive windows gaped like the empty eye sockets of skulls, and Henryk couldn’t help but wonder what material this fortress was made of to endure so much.

  Gargoyles clung to irregular slopes, their grotesque forms hunched over the edges like watchful demons. Machine gun turrets were embedded along the castle’s slopes, bristling with hostile intent, and Henryk marveled at how far the structure seemed to stretch—both above ground and likely deep into the rock below.

  This place had been kept secret for years. A whole battlefield had unfolded around it, and now it stood as a defiant monument to survival, even as he and Piper rose higher and higher.

  "Hey, how much longer till we...?" Piper’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  "A couple of minutes..." The pilot spoke curtly, his voice gruff and focused. He arched the helicopter upward in a smooth, rising curve. "Druid, the Knights of Mars sent us for you. It is an honor to stand with a true..."

  Henryk almost snorted. The co-pilot—no, wait, probably the navigator—was trying too hard, and he knew Tyson would have smacked him for getting ranks mixed up. Too much studying, too much working out, too many hours hunched over books and lectures from people he used to call friends. Friends... was that what they were now? They'd come to rescue him, and for the first time, Henryk wondered what his place within the fold truly was.

  "Druid, huh?" Piper chuckled, her mouth tugging into a lopsided grin. "Word travels fast, even off-world."

  The pilot and co-pilot were far enough ahead, and with the open door giving them some privacy, Henryk felt his shoulders relax just a bit. The chopper was massive—four propellers, a bulk wide enough to carry twenty or forty people. It was quieter than he expected, just the low thrum of the engine and the rush of wind.

  He glanced at Piper and couldn’t help but smile. "You ever take biology with Deezna?" he asked, shifting in his seat.

  Piper yawned, her hand covering her mouth. "Took my biology course online—was too busy playing Minecraft all day."

  Henryk’s eyebrows raised. "That’s rad. Didn’t know you played Minecraft. What version?"

  She smirked, flicking her curls over her shoulder. "1.20.1."

  "1.7.10," Henryk shot back, his own grin creeping up.

  Piper laughed, and it came out softer than she meant. "Can’t go wrong with the classics." Her face warmed suddenly, eyes darting to the side, and her voice dropped almost to a mumble. "...Maybe... I’m still punished till the end of the month—stuck in this sector—but I still play on my laptop. Would you, um... like to play sometime? I... we haven’t talked..."

  Henryk’s smirk softened, and he leaned in just a bit, letting his gaze lock onto hers. Piper felt her heart kick against her ribs, her wild curls bouncing slightly as her cheeks flushed crimson.

  "I think it’d be awesome for us to play together," Henryk said, his voice low and steady.

  They were quiet for a moment, but Piper broke the silence—of course she did. Henryk was starting to piece together the enigma that was Piper: she hated the quiet, craved motion, and filled any gap with words or noise. It made his heart throb in a way that felt reckless, like stepping out into enemy fire without armor. There was something about her that stirred something primal in him—a sense that he’d fight wars just to keep that smile on her face.

  When had the protection of the girl he’d maimed turned into this?

  “Why’d you ask me about biology, by the way?” Piper regarded him with a curious tilt of her head.

  “Homo sapiens—that’s the proper scientific way of calling me... or us, that,” he said. “Druid, wizard... I’ve got an actual guy named Arthur who’s a genuine knight. Picks me up in his pickup truck after he’s done with his job at the butchery.”

  Piper snorted. “What are you trying to say?”

  Henryk sighed. “Just... different people and cultures trying to brand things they don’t understand. At least they aren’t like the Neptunians—those bastards would probably try to lynch me.”

  “True that.” Piper raised her hand in a mock toast, a wry grin cutting through the tension. “Still, I wouldn’t mind being called the first of something... I never really asked you much about your powers.”

  “My powers...” Henryk began, his voice trailing off as the chopper continued its steady ascent. How long had they been going up? The pilot said it’d only be a couple of minutes, but his ears popped again, and his eyes widened at the unfamiliar pressure.

  Piper inched closer, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “You used it against me, and I saw you use it again in the last duel... but I watched the clips of you fighting the GrimGar—why didn’t you use it then?”

  Henryk’s lips twitched, and he couldn’t help it—a laugh burst out of him, loud and sudden. Piper’s face flushed crimson. “Hey, what are you laughing about?” She gave him a light, embarrassed punch to the shoulder.

  He smirked, still chuckling as he shook his head. “Didn’t realize you were watching me so intently.”

  Piper snorted, her shoulders relaxing as she sank back into her seat. “Sometimes you can be so—” She didn’t finish, just huffed, half annoyed and half amused.

  Henryk grinned, stretching his shoulders within the straps. “Aren’t we in different houses?” he teased. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll have another friendly match... no magic, of course. Can’t let you in on any secrets.”

  Piper rolled her eyes but didn’t look away. “You know I wouldn’t tell any of my housemates. But... I would like to know how it works,” she admitted, her voice softer. “We’ve fought side by side so many times. Like you said, we’re from different houses, but it feels like our paths keep crossing—like we’re always fighting together as a force for good. I just... want to know you better, Henryk Brown.”

  Henryk’s gaze dropped to the floor, and a strange feeling wormed its way into his chest. Timid wasn’t something he was used to feeling, but Piper’s eyes on him made his heart feel too big for his ribcage. There was a small part of him that couldn’t believe it—couldn’t believe that she’d want to know him. Yet that smallest part cast the largest shadow, like doubt made flesh.

  He sighed, flexing his fingers as if the power still thrummed under his skin. “Honestly... I’ve had these abilities since I was a kid. Never knew much—just the bare minimum.”

  “Bare minimum?” Piper echoed, her gaze drawn to his hands as he opened and closed them.

  “I’ve had tutors, of course,” Henryk said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Passing vagrants that came and went from the colony—my mother paid for them when she could. I’ve heard stories of magic users so powerful they killed their own families... some changed so much when they received their powers that they came back practically as strangers. Guess I just got lucky...” He flexed his fingers, almost like he was reassuring himself that they were still his. “I was thankful for it, too.” His gaze found Piper’s, and he held it. “It only ever really showed up when I was in real danger. That’s all I know.”

  Piper’s eyes widened, her expression caught between confusion and disbelief. “Wait... but you just said you have control over it. That you’ve had training.”

  “Training?” Henryk’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Piper, the witches of Jupiter—with their eugenics and whatever godforsaken rituals they’re cooking up—they know what they’re doing. We learned how to keep the magic contained, to make sure we didn’t blow up and take a colony with us. That’s about it.”

  Piper’s eyes flared at that, and Henryk couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at her reaction.

  “Piper, we’re... something new,” he said flatly, his gaze fixed on her as she shifted uncomfortably. “We’re just recently on the scene. A few spells, a few techniques... but that one blaze of light—that surge of electrical power? I have no idea what it was or why it happened.” He clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white.

  Piper looked at him, eyes softened by something close to admiration. “I’ve never met a pilot who could wield magic and pilot a Warcasket at the same time,” she said quietly. “Henryk... if you keep going—learn how to control it—it could be the difference between victory and defeat.”

  Henryk sighed, looking down at his hands again. “I just... wanted to keep it hidden. The Neptunians want me dead as it is. And that rumor about Jace’s sister didn’t help things...”

  Piper’s gaze sharpened, unyielding. “A weapon is still a weapon,” she said, her voice firm. “Master it. You know you can. I know you can.”

  The way she said it, with that unwavering confidence, did something to him. Something primal and unspoken that made his pulse quicken, his mind drift to dangerous places.

  Henryk cleared his throat, pushing down that thought. “Now, my turn,” he said, his tone lightening up just enough to steer the conversation away from his own turmoil.

  Piper narrowed her eyes, the corners of her lips quirking up. “What would you like to know? A deal’s a deal.”

  He chuckled, giving her a sly look. “I want a proper explanation of that Warcasket of yours.”

  Piper’s expression faltered for just a moment, her eyes dropping to her lap. Henryk didn’t miss it. “I’ve never seen a Warcasket like that before,” he continued. “The fact that you held onto my back while I entered the atmosphere... a day ago I would’ve called that impossible.”

  Piper let out a long breath. “Listen... like I said, we’ve fought together countless times. You trust me?”

  Henryk hesitated, but only for a second. Then he nodded. “I trust you.”

  She looked away, clearly unsure whether she was making the right call. Maybe the crush had her acting foolish. Or maybe it was something deeper. “The Warcasket has something we’re calling the Mobilized Battleframe,” Piper said at last.

  Henryk chuckled. “Kind of a dumb name,” he teased.

  “What?” Piper shot him a glare.

  “Just saying, if it was Martian tech, we’d have bogged it down to something practical. It’s military equipment, after all. But what does it actually do?”

  Piper sighed, her eyes distant as memories of battle flickered through her mind. “Remember the fight? It’s still primarily for space use right now. We don’t really know how to handle the suit on land. Trying to make an engine that can handle both space and planetary atmospheres is... well, it’s practically impossible. The suit I fought alongside Oceana with—it’s the same one. They shipped it up here after my censure so we could run tests and gather data...”

  “Tests and data?” Henryk’s smirk widened, teasing.

  Piper inched closer without realizing it, catching the faint, clean scent of him. Her cheeks flushed, and she cursed herself internally. Why was she acting like this? Why did his voice make her feel like her spine was melting, like when he sang—booming over the radio, effortlessly confident and alluring? His voice had a way of bending her resolve, and it was maddening.

  “We’re trying to make more machines,” Piper said, her words softer now. “Or at least use the suit as a testbed for new models. Primarily, we were focusing on creating a version with higher mobility.” She chuckled, the sound lighter than she intended. “Honestly, the control sensitivity on that one... I could barely keep up. But to answer your question, the suit is able to, I guess... transform?”

  “Transform?” Henryk echoed, testing the word like it was a foreign concept.

  Piper sighed, glancing out the window as they swept across the gulf of the spire. The landing pad stretched below them, black dots marking the gathered crew. It was late, the sun sinking behind the cliffs, bathing the horizon in bruised purples and reds.

  “Yeah,” Piper continued, drawing his attention back. “That’s what they’re calling it. Transformation. But it’s pretty crappy, to be honest.” Her expression hardened, eyes darkening with frustration. “The whole process takes over ten seconds, which is a death sentence in combat. And if we’re doing something like that atmospheric dive... I’d have to cut my back rockets entirely. I’d lose speed and risk burning my comrade. Want to know something interesting, Henryk? The machine has to be fluid—cohesive. If one thing goes wrong during transformation, a malfunction could kill me.”

  He could hear the resentment in her voice, the way she seemed to hate the very thing that was supposed to protect her. Henryk sighed, leaning deeper into his seat as he thought back on their battle. “The firepower on it was insane, though. Each shield had a rocket and twin lasers?”

  Piper snorted, flashing him a small, almost proud smile. “Like I said, we’ll be rolling out some new toys soon.” She tilted her head with a playful glint in her eyes. “There’s still time to switch sides, Henryk Brown.”

  He waved her off just as the pilot veered left, the landing pad looming closer. The scattered figures on the ground were sharpening into faces, their anticipation palpable even from up here.

  “The Martians may be a rough bunch,” Henryk remarked, his voice oddly wistful, “but they’ve got some great things to offer.”

  Piper’s laugh was softer this time, almost hesitant. “I guess... but Henryk, a life lived medieval—where the only thing advanced is their army? Their military? Is that really a life?”

  Her words struck something in him, and the doubt must have shown on his face, because Piper’s smile faltered. A twinge of guilt gnawed at her. She hated that she’d put that look on his face, hated that she made him question his place. But this life of his... he could die from dysentery tomorrow, and she knew it. She knew she could keep him safe by her side, even if it meant tearing him from the world he knew.

  Amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and doubts, Henryk’s mind latched onto what Piper had said about the transforming Warcasket. His thoughts thumped with memories—documentaries watched with Joseph and Arthur back at the academy, old raptors and fighter jets from Earth’s fractured past, remnants of Old America before the full Earth Government took over.

  Transformable Warcaskets... it was ambitious. It was reckless. But maybe, just maybe, it was the future.

  And yet, shameless as it was, his eyes drifted to Piper—the way the dying sunlight glinted off her hair, the way her lips quirked up at the edges. A beautiful girl right in front of him, one who clearly cared... but his mind kept tugging him back to Bea. He needed to talk to her. Now.

  As the skiff clicked onto the landing pad, the whine of the propellers slowly died around them. Henryk pushed the door open, the wind slicing at his face and whipping his jacket like angry fingers. He grabbed his pack and weaponry, shaking the stiffness from his shoulders.

  Before he could fully get his bearings, a familiar voice erupted across the landing pad.

  "Henryk Brown! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Druid!"

  Arthur barreled toward him like a human avalanche, practically tackling him as Piper backed away with a bemused smile.

  "At ease, at ease!" Henryk pleaded, but Arthur just laughed, wrapping him up in a bear hug as others rushed in to join the commotion. Workers, maids, nurses, and guards lingered at the edges, their faces painted with surprise and relief, whispers fluttering through the crowd like anxious moths.

  "We thought you were dead, Druid!" Arthur bellowed, spittle flying at Henryk’s face. "You defied death—not once, but twice!" He threw his arms wide, looking skyward as if demanding the heavens take note. "Executor material, right here!"

  Arthur’s booming laughter echoed off the stone, and the others crowded around, patting Henryk’s shoulders, ruffling his hair, and bombarding him with questions. Axel and Isaac pushed their way into the throng, grinning ear to ear.

  Not everyone shared the joy.

  Kieren stood apart from the others, hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles went pale. He barely registered the pain as his nails bit into his palms, drawing thin lines of blood. He didn’t notice it trickling down his wrists—didn’t notice how quickly the blood clotted and sealed on its own, as if the wound had never been there.

  “What the hell...?” Kieren whispered, eyes locked on his hand. The moment passed so quickly he almost doubted it happened at all.

  Meanwhile, Piper glanced over her shoulder at the sound of a new voice.

  “Piper the Red Rocket of the Mercurian Sphere.”

  She turned to see a young man approaching—blond hair tousled by the wind, faint speckles of facial hair on his jaw, and striking emerald eyes that seemed too keen for their own good. He raised a hand in greeting.

  "Edward," he introduced himself, offering a cordial nod. "House president." He glanced over at Henryk, still swarmed by the others. "He joined you in that duel with Atticus, didn’t he? Rotten business, that was."

  “You’re telling me...” Piper muttered.

  Edward sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose you’ll want to let your house and friends know you’re safe."

  Piper’s eyes widened in surprise. "You guys have radios?" She huffed, half-amused. "Of course you do..."

  Edward gave a wry smile. "They might prefer lanterns to lightbulbs, but they’re not bad people. Just trying to defend their home and land against invaders who have no real claim here. They’re willing to let you use their radio to call your house and arrange pickup."

  Piper hesitated, relief flickering through her expression. "Thank you, but... me and Henryk left my Warcasket somewhere in the forest and—"

  Edward waved it off. "Don’t worry about it. Just let them know on the call. They’ll recover it."

  Piper glanced back at Henryk, watching as the others tousled his hair and clapped him on the back, laughter weaving through the air like an old, familiar melody. She couldn’t help but smile, even as a heaviness settled in her chest.

  "...After I leave, I’m not going to see Henryk until the end of the month," Piper muttered, half to herself. "I’m going to be attached to this sector."

  Edward opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure how to navigate the emotion tangled in her words. Piper shook her head, as if clearing the thought.

  "Come on," she said, determination hardening her tone. "Lead me to the radio room. We’ve got work to do."

  She stepped past Edward without another glance back, her pace firm and unyielding, like a soldier charging into battle.

  Bri

  The presidential room of the Witches of Jupiter had been completed years ago—a monumental space unlike the utilitarian, wide-open offices favored on Mars, Neptune, Mercury, and Pluto. The Witches didn’t bother with a desk. Instead, the room sprawled out, easily the size of four conjoined rectangular classrooms, with stairs leading to four windows on each opposite side. There was no direct natural lighting—just mirrors along the ceiling to catch the moonlight, fragmenting it into pale, ghostly patterns that danced across the walls.

  In the center of the room stood a grand map suspended high above, shimmering like glass in the fractured light. It wasn’t just a map but a constellation of spheres—planets and moons and knots of territory—each one connected by glowing filaments like cosmic threads in a spider’s web. As the beams struck them just right, each orb seemed to flare to life, gleaming in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors.

  Himari’s eyes widened, her lips shaping into a soft "ooh" as the colors blossomed around her, bathing her face in hues of blue, green, and crimson. Her red robes swayed with the slightest motion as if the map itself breathed with the pulse of a living thing.

  “This is your first time coming here in a long while.”

  The voice was smooth, almost regal. Esava—the president of House Jupiter—stood at the top of the stairs, her silhouette framed by the glowing map. Dark bronze skin gleamed under the shimmering lights, and her straight, jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken curtain. She was tall—taller than most women—and Himari had to tilt her head just to meet those piercing eyes.

  "It takes my breath away every time I see it," Himari admitted, her dark eyes brimming with wonder.

  She reached out, her fingers brushing one of the spheres, tracing the surface as if afraid to break its fragile beauty. "Such a marvel... each color... how does it even work?" She paused, focusing on one sphere in particular. "That one... that’s Earth, isn’t it? The deep blue and green one?"

  Esava’s eyes followed her gesture. In the center of the map, Earth glowed like a gem, its color bleeding into the interconnected lines—a bridge to the moon, then outward to the sun, and onward to the far planets. Knots linked it to Mars, Jupiter, Neptune—all with their own distinctive hues, representing alliances and territories. It was a history written in light and glass, tracing humanity’s journey from the first steps on the moon in the 1960s to the sprawling network of colonies that now dotted the solar system. The map pulsed as new threads appeared, marking the expansion of human influence with every passing day.

  Esava raised her hand, the light tracing her elegant fingers. "One of these days," she began, voice low and calm, "if you keep doing well within the order..." She cocked her head to the side, giving Himari a sly smile. "It took guts to do what you did. But having Jace’s seed is paramount."

  Himari's expression tightened, doubt flickering across her face. "I doubt that many would like that I broke my oath."

  Esava narrowed her eyes, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. "You’d be glad to know that very few in our circle are aware. And those who do..." She let the sentence hang, her gaze cutting sharp and purposeful. "...House Jupiter needs people capable of going against the grain for the sake of the order. Just be careful who you open your mouth to about this."

  A faint smile tugged at the corner of Himari’s lips, though her thoughts drifted to Belle-Anne and Bri. Even the smallest hint to the wrong person would be her undoing.

  Esava turned back to the map, her gaze drifting out over the academy grounds below. She could see the lecture halls and dorms stretching like a small city, students milling about—some talking, some making their way to classes or training exercises. The hum of life beyond the windows felt distant and detached, like another world entirely.

  "...How’s Bri doing?" Esava asked, almost casually.

  Himari hesitated, drawing in a breath before letting it out in a slow sigh. "S-She’s doing better," she replied, forcing a smile.

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  Esava shot Himari a skeptical look, her lips quirking up in a tired, almost bitter smile. "That doesn’t sound convincing," she said, chuckling dryly. "Listen, it’s only been a few days since it happened. I’m not expecting a miracle overnight. Just... make sure she doesn’t freak out like that again."

  Himari nodded, but the gesture felt hollow. Esava continued, her tone softening just a fraction. "I’m giving you the grace to handle this situation because you came through for us when it counted." She sighed and placed a hand on Himari’s shoulder, her touch firm but weary. "There’s still so much we don’t understand about Henry Brown. He seemed like this harmless boy, but there’s something about him... something that’s either protecting him or watching him. Maybe both."

  Himari’s eyes widened, and Esava sighed again, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. Her gaze drifted from the shimmering map to the floor, shoulders sinking as though the gravity of it all was finally catching up to her.

  "Magical practices are still in their infancy," Esava murmured. "We like to pretend we know everything, but the truth is, we don’t. If this... thing—or Henryk himself—has cast some kind of curse or a possession onto—"

  "Possession!" Himari cut in, forcing a laugh that sounded far too brittle. "Come on, Esava. That’s ridiculous—demons, monsters...?" She shook her head, trying to dismiss the creeping dread gnawing at her thoughts.

  But Esava just looked at her, expression flat and unyielding. "Himari," she said, her voice as hard as iron, "I’ve seen things that would make most rational men’s minds split apart. I know magic that could make a city rot from the inside out."

  A cold chill ran down Himari’s spine. She swallowed, suddenly unable to meet Esava’s gaze. She knew better than to doubt her, and that simple truth weighed heavier than any warning.

  Esava’s eyes didn’t waver. "Demons. Monsters. The alien. People like to think we’re just fighting off hostile creatures from far-off worlds—primitive, foolish, like those during the Xeno Wars..."

  "The GrimGar," Himari whispered, and she didn’t know why the name slipped from her lips.

  Esava let out a long, slow breath. "Exactly. They’re aliens—brutal, primitive—but Oceana showed us something different. Smarter. Better equipped than in past years. There’s a darkness out there, Himari. A darkness that’s deeper than just alien savagery. Places even the greatest Witches of Jupiter don’t dare to tread. Planes we don’t walk." Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "And Bri... she’s always had a way of walking those places. Of touching the darkness without losing herself. Until now."

  Himari felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. The memory hit her like a hammer blow, unbidden and raw.

  Last night. It had to be last night...

  Bri sat curled up on her bed, blankets wrapped tight around her shoulders like a makeshift cocoon. She rocked back and forth, eyes hollow and unfocused, whispering to the dark. "P-please... what do you want? What do you want?" The words tumbled from her lips like broken glass, jagged and desperate.

  Himari and Belle-Anne lingered by the doorway, frozen and silent. Belle’s voice was almost a whisper, trembling at the edges. "She hasn’t been to class since it started. The professors are going to notice, Himari... they’re going to start asking questions. They’ll tell the president of the house."

  Himari scowled, fighting back the panic clawing at her throat. "We’ll just say there’s a mission... special training... something."

  Belle shook her head, hands clenched at her sides. "We need to tell someone. Something’s wrong with her, Himari. She hasn’t eaten in days. Hasn’t slept. Barely drinks any water. And..." Belle’s voice cracked. "...she’s pulling out her hair."

  Those words stabbed deep, and Himari glanced through the narrow slit of the door, her heart pounding in her chest. Bri rocked harder, arms wrapped so tightly around herself it seemed she might fold in on herself. Thin tufts of hair were scattered across the mattress—ragged clumps torn free by her own trembling hands.

  A shudder racked Himari’s frame, and she swallowed the bile creeping up her throat. "What do you think she’s seeing?" she whispered.

  Belle didn’t answer, just hugged herself and kept staring at their friend.

  Himari’s eyes widened as she took in the clumps of hair scattered across the bed—torn free, twisted, and matted against the sheets like remnants of some violent struggle. A cold dread coiled in her stomach.

  “Christ, Bri…” Himari whispered, her voice trembling.

  “We need to tell someone…” Belle repeated, her tone flat but tinged with urgency. She turned toward Himari, her glasses catching the dull light, reflecting narrowed eyes framed by her swaying, curly, raggedy brown hair. “She could be cursed.”

  Himari sneered and spat, “And you know what they’ll do to her, right?” She jabbed a finger at the door, stepping away as though the mere thought burned her.

  Belle frowned, her expression hardening. “It’s not an option. We need to help her get better or figure out what’s driving her mad.”

  “She’s not saying anything,” Belle pointed out.

  “I don’t think she can,” Himari replied, her voice cracking. She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing circles like it might somehow erase the nightmare playing out in front of her. “Oh my God. This is actually freaking horrible. Who else can we call in for help…?”

  Belle gave her a quizzical look. “Help?”

  “Yeah, help.” Himari shot her a look, eyes narrowing. “I think I know what we’ve got to do.”

  Belle hesitated. “I-I could probably grab Penny and Natalie…”

  Himari let out a sharp, disdainful huff and made a face like she’d just tasted something rotten. “What was that?” Belle raised an eyebrow.

  “Nat. That one, really?” Himari wrapped her arms around herself defensively. “Is that REALLY the best we’ve got?”

  Belle’s face twisted in a mix of irritation and exhaustion, and she shook her head slowly. “That’s all we’re probably going to get, and you should be thankful Bri even has two more friends willing to defy the order for this. So… what’s the plan?”

  Himari turned to face her fully, and Belle’s eyes went wide, mouth falling open like something out of a horror film—pure, stupid shock.

  “Exorcism,” Himari stated.

  Reality snapped back into focus as Himari found herself standing in the presidential room once more, Esava still staring out at the glimmering spheres suspended above them. Esava sighed, the tension in her shoulders melting into something resigned and bitter.

  “It should be of no matter—Henryk Brown,” she said, practically spitting out the name. “An abomination. A man who dares to use magic. We tolerated him before, but now... I’ve sent someone from the order to deal with him. Well, three, actually.”

  Himari’s eyes widened. “An attack force?”

  Esava glanced at her sharply, hushing her with a quick gesture. “No one shall know about this. His death may be what Bri needs. If there’s a taint on her, it might die with him.”

  She looked back at the vast planetary map, her eyes glinting as they traced the lines and glowing spheres. There were many colors—bright and pulsating—but there were also blackened voids, clustered in some places, isolated in others. The darkest hole marked the path of humanity’s departure from Earth, a gaping maw that seemed to swallow the light around it.

  Esava sneered, a cold, cruel smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Ah, the wolves of Mars... how pitiful their dying howls are.”

  Piper

  "Leaving so soon?" Henryk asked, leaning against the wall by a window that spilled yellow light across the floor. Piper paused, her hand on the wooden door that separated the radio room from the main halls. Her backpack was snug on both shoulders, her gaze half-lidded and fixed on the stairs. But his voice made her eyes flutter open, and there was a new bounce in her step as she turned to him.

  "Soldier stuff," Piper said, brushing off the weight in her tone. "And I’m still censured." She moved to stand by his side, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

  Henryk let out a long, thoughtful sigh. "So, when's the next time I'm going to be able to see you?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

  Piper looked out the window, her smile widening as she spotted three contrails cutting through the atmosphere in the distance—shimmering streaks against the sky. One of them broke off from the formation, angling toward their position. Her Warcasket. She'd given them the coordinates, and it was on its way now.

  "I know the Martians live like it's still the medieval era, but they're an alright bunch," Henryk said, glancing sideways at her. "No one gave you any trouble… or raised too many questions?" His eyebrow arched, but his tone stayed light.

  Piper shot him a look, only to see his smirk widen like he was sitting on a secret.

  "W-what are you trying to say, Henryk Brown?"

  Henryk’s smirk turned downright wicked. "I'm just surprised to—" He paused, savoring the moment. "Ed asked me about the mobile suit you were working on—the specs. Pretty obvious it's Martian."

  Piper’s eyes flared wide, but Henryk didn’t miss a beat, his gaze narrowing with that close-lidded, cocky grin that made her thighs clench.

  "…I don’t think Ed needs to know that," Henryk added casually. "Just that the Mercurians are cooking up some really hot stuff."

  Piper’s blush deepened, and she turned her head to hide it, but Henryk saw. With a chuckle, he pushed himself off the wall, already walking away. Piper slapped her cheeks with both hands, setting her jaw. ‘Does he think he’s going to make me feel like this and get away with it? Get the last laugh?’

  Henryk didn’t even notice her charging down the hallway. He just kept talking, waving lazily over his shoulder. "I’ll guess I’ll see you at the end of the month. But the Minecraft will be fun for a time—"

  His words cut off when she seized his hand, spun him around, and grabbed his waist. He barely had time to process before she was on him, her body pressed close. His mouth opened to speak, but Piper didn’t give him the chance.

  "That Warcasket of yours," she whispered, breath hot against his lips. "A transformable Warcasket."

  Henryk's shock faded, replaced by a slow, wide smile. Piper loved that smile—the way it never quite left his face, like he was always half-amused with the world.

  "I’ve got some ideas of my own I was going to radio off to—"

  She silenced him with a kiss, lips locking onto his with a fierce, hungry need. Henryk froze, eyes wide, but instinct took over as he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight. Her feet left the ground, and she melted into his embrace, feeling his heartbeat thundering against her chest. A soft moan escaped her as his hands gripped her back, fingers digging into the fabric of her jacket.

  The kiss broke with a wet, satisfied pop, and Piper slumped against him, feeling his pulse racing through his fingertips. Henryk’s face was flushed, eyes bright and dazed, his mouth still tingling from the sudden, electric contact. Piper smiled up at him, feeling his arousal pressing against her thigh, and couldn’t help but let out a small, triumphant laugh.

  "Wait for me, Henryk Brown," Piper whispered, her hands rising to cup his cheek, fingers brushing against the roughness of his stubble. Her voice was steady, but her eyes carried a softness that made his chest tighten. "You wait for me, and I'll wait for you."

  For a fleeting moment, Henryk’s mind wandered back to the academy, to the women he'd left behind. Iman—bright and fierce, her laughter ringing out over clinking glasses. Sirine, the girl he'd saved—the one he should’ve been fighting for, should’ve been standing beside as they rose through the ranks.

  But here he was, halfway across the galaxy, taking missions for House Mars as an acting squire. And now, in his arms, stood Piper—Mercurian royalty, a celebrity of the Sphere. Wrapped in that pilot suit, with light glinting off her armored curves, she looked like the most beautiful thing in the universe—like she’d been forged from steel and fire just for him.

  Henryk swallowed back the ache in his throat, a slow smile creeping onto his face. "Okay," he said, voice low and careful, like he was afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. "I'll wait for you... if you'll wait for me."

  Piper’s lips curved up, and her eyes fluttered closed, a hint of expectation painting her face. Henryk couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, rolling his eyes with a playful shake of his head. He wrapped his hands around her arms, pulled her in, and kissed her deeply, letting the world melt away around them.

  She melted into him, pressing closer, and his fingers dug into the fabric of her suit as if afraid she might vanish if he let go. Piper’s lips moved against his with a slow, deliberate passion, like she was memorizing every detail—the taste of him, the warmth, the quiet hum of breath between them.

  When they finally parted, Piper stayed close, resting her forehead against his, eyes still closed, a contented smile on her face. Henryk couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathless laugh, the weight of everything slipping away just for a moment, leaving nothing but her and the promise they’d made.

  Logan

  “You reading these fucking reports?” Logan’s voice crackled through the comms, his tone sharp with irritation. From inside his Warcasket, he cut through the void like a predator, his machine thrumming with power. Below them loomed the academy's home planet—a blue orb with a single mega-continent, dotted by countless tiny islands scattered across vast oceans.

  Jace kept his own Warcasket steady, the pair gliding side by side through the star-specked blackness. Logan’s voice was harsh and feverish, his frustration seeping into every syllable.

  “The Martians are trying to regain their strength,” Logan snarled, gripping his trident with white-knuckled force. “Linking back up with their old allies, and for what!” He was practically spitting with rage, sweat beading on his brow despite the cool cockpit. An asteroid floated lazily in their path, and without warning, Logan hefted the trident and hurled it forward.

  The great spear slammed into the rock, shattering it into glittering dust. The weapon snapped back into his hand with a magnetic hum, but Logan didn’t ease up, his fury gnawing at him like a ravenous wolf.

  “The Emperor ordered their world destroyed!” Logan barked, his eyes blazing. “We should be ridding them from their rat nest and finishing the hunts—not giving them the privilege of getting back into the fold!”

  Jace gave a long, steadying breath. “You’ve got every right to be mad, but we’ve got to be smart about this.” His eyes swept the darkness, scanning the black for movement. “That’s why we’re here—to meet them.”

  A grin tugged at his lips as two red blips appeared on his sensors, cutting through the void like crimson wraiths. The shapes resolved into Warcaskets, bulky and utilitarian, bristling with munitions. One bore the austere markings of House Pluto, the other the grim heraldry of House Saturn.

  “President Gerald and President Ivan,” Jace spoke smoothly, dipping his head in mock respect. “Glad you boys could make it on such short notice.”

  All four Warcaskets hovered a safe distance apart, silent but for the low hum of reactors and the occasional burst of comms static. Gerald’s voice came first, gruff and skeptical.

  “Why are we here?” President Gerald demanded, the bitterness evident even through the tinny radio. “This is last-minute. Hell, it’s end-of-day. Whatever you’re planning, it better be worth the trouble.”

  Logan turned his Warcasket toward them, voice low and smoldering. “My father and brother are waging an honorable war for dominion of the Oceana Sector…”

  Gerald gave a derisive snort, amusement tinging his tone. “Here we go again.”

  Ivan just rolled his eyes, leaning back into his seat with a bored expression. “What’s the point, Logan? Are you seriously dragging us out here for more of your family drama?”

  Logan gritted his teeth, ignoring the contempt. “The shaming of House Mars resulted in the loss of their planets. The Eunuch Emperor was too preoccupied to focus on redistribution, and thanks to certain leniencies in imperial law, some of these worlds have been going off outdated rules.”

  “So they’re not your rules,” Ivan cut in, his tone dripping with annoyance. “You’re saying this land belongs to you, but I don’t get it. Why are we here? Why call us out?”

  Jace heaved a weary sigh, cutting in before Logan could start another tirade. “Because both of you—House Pluto and House Saturn—are ancient enemies of House Mars.”

  There was a heavy silence, and though Gerald tried to hide it, Jace could hear the faint hitch of breath on the other end. He pressed on, voice low and deliberate.

  “House Saturn,” Jace continued, “you’ve always made up the bulk of the military during real battles—always the unsung heroes while House Mars reaps the glory. And you, House Pluto… You remember the great sacking, don’t you? Mars, abducting and terrorizing your people—burning your cities to ash, all in the name of birthright. Isn’t it because of them that your people live in bunkers? That entire generations have never seen the sun? Famine and suffering—those are Mars’s legacy. It’s time you considered that.”

  “Enough!” Gerald’s voice cut through the comms like a blade, harsh and unyielding. His Warcasket loomed in the black, motionless, but his glare burned through the screens. He pointed an accusing finger, his tone thick with contempt. “What is the meaning of this?” he spat. “You’re trying to recruit our Houses into your cause—fine. Admit it and be done with it.”

  Jace let out a long, weary sigh. “We’re asking you—the students at the academy—to help Logan’s father and brother in this war. The Martians are rising in power again. They’ve got themselves a new Executor—a real bastard, mind you.” He sneered, bitterness threading through his words. “The Martians don’t forget. They’ll come for our throats if we don’t destroy them—root and stem. Not just the planet—all of them.”

  Gerald’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and biting. “What are you talking about?” He sneered, disgust dripping from every word. “You speak of Damien—our greatest shame. He was nothing without the Martians’ blessing. And I know the truth, Jace of Venus. It was those very Martians who hunted him and his sons down to the ends of the universe—until all Damien could do was commit the worst murder-suicide in galactic history. The Martians didn’t make him that way. We did.”

  Gerald turned away, his Warcasket already drifting off into the void. Logan bristled, his hands shaking with fury. “You’re leaving?” he spat. “Those monsters fight with mutants and abominations! They destroyed your planet, killed your men, raped your women, enslaved your children—and you’ll give them mercy?” Logan’s voice cracked with unbridled rage, but Gerald didn’t even look back.

  “I’ve been House Pluto’s president for years,” Gerald stated, his tone cold and resolute. “And through those years, I’ve learned to recognize when someone’s trying to manipulate me. You’re banking on my hate—on my planet’s hate. But I’m not so easily swayed. Goodbye, Logan of Neptune, and Jace of Venus.”

  Logan’s face twisted, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Gerald’s Warcasket dwindled into the distance. “Y-you BASTARD!” Logan howled, hefting his spear with murderous intent, but Jace’s Warcasket moved quicker—one steel limb grabbing his arm and holding it fast.

  “Easy,” Jace cautioned, his tone measured. “We still have one left.”

  Logan let out a twisted chuckle, turning his gaze to Ivan, whose Warcasket remained unmoved. Ivan’s lips curled into a sneer. “The Martians are some real bastards,” he muttered. “If they rebuild their strength, they’ll just replace us again. Things will go right back to the way they were before—and we can’t have that.” He inclined his head towards the pair, a calculating gleam in his eye. “House Saturn—the main military—won’t get involved.”

  “That was to be expected,” Jace replied, his voice steady.

  Ivan took a deep breath, considering the weight of the decision. “We could get into a lot of trouble for this,” he muttered, almost to himself.

  Logan let out a low, dark chuckle. “But if all goes well—and it will—I’ll make it my mission to reward you and every last student at the academy.”

  “Me as well,” Jace added, his tone resolute.

  Ivan glanced between them, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “What sort of fight do you have in this, Venusian?”

  Logan grinned, teeth bared like a wolf. “Henryk Brown—one of those Martians down there, I bet. He tried to fuck Jace’s sister, Hannah. She’s the Princess of Venus, and the son of a bitch tried it at his own party.”

  Ivan sneered, disgust evident in his voice. “Nasty business. I get why you want him dead. But why drag us into it?”

  Logan sighed, his voice low and conflicted. “I can’t get involved without my father or brother’s real permission. It could destroy our House. If the war effort goes south... they’d never forgive me if I was the reason we lost. But I could never forgive myself for standing idly by.”

  Jace nodded, his jaw clenched. “Same here. If they figured out Venus was involved, this whole war would shift. We’re doing this for the safety of the galaxy... Men like Henryk and his Martians are going to drag us into a war whether we want it or not. And with the Emperor having no more kids... the Imperial ARC is done for. As soon as that power vacuum opens up, the Martians will start vying for control. Before long, we’ll all be living in medieval hellholes—just like them.”

  Ivan’s sigh rumbled through the comms like distant thunder. “You’re asking a lot. Greater evil aside... I’d be lying to the real president of my government. Not just risking my life—risking my family, my crew, everyone who follows me. You know how Saturn is... our loyalty runs deep.”

  “Yes, we do,” Logan replied, his tone somber and respectful. “Strong warriors, fierce fighters—honorable to a fault. It’s criminal how your government treats you... but maybe if you help us, we can help you. Make life better for your people—for everyone around you.”

  Silence stretched out, the void pressing in on all sides. Ivan’s cockpit remained sealed, his expression hidden behind layers of reinforced glass and alloy. Then Logan’s cockpit hissed open, the armored canopy lifting to reveal him still strapped into his seat. In the zero-gravity, he pushed out a small box, letting it drift across the space between their mechs.

  “A gift,” Logan’s voice crackled through the radio. Ivan hesitated before cracking open his own cockpit, reaching out to snatch the box from the void. Closing the hatch behind him, he cracked it open—and yellow light spilled out, washing over his face and glasses.

  “T-This...,” Ivan whispered, lifting the gleaming gold bar with both hands, his fingers tracing the engravings. “I-it... it’s real?”

  “It’s real, trust me,” Logan assured him, leaning back into his cockpit with a confident grin. “All I’m asking is for you to falsify a couple of reports—move your people into specific positions. We’ll make sure nothing can trace back to you. Money’s just the start—we’ll repaint your mechs, upgrade the systems... hell, I’ll even pull some strings to get you new units or weaponry.”

  Ivan let out a raspy chuckle, his eyes fixed on the gold as the dim cockpit lights played over his face. His fingers traced the bar’s edge like he couldn’t believe it was real. Jace watched him through the screen, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

  “Ivan... Ivan...” Jace mulled the name over, tasting its weight.

  Ivan’s lips pulled into a crooked grin, his laughter coming in low, sporadic bursts. “What’s that one’s name again—H-Henry? Henryk?” He snapped his fingers as if summoning the memory. “You wanted a war... I’ll give you one.”

  Henryk

  “Why are you so silent?” Adaline’s voice filled the radio, smooth and bright, cutting through the static like a blade.

  Henryk couldn’t help but smile, the widest, dumbest grin stretching his lips as he sat there, practically melting into his seat. His mind wouldn’t let go of that kiss with Piper—her face, her eyes, the way her lips tasted like salt and something sweet he couldn’t quite place. He could still feel the phantom warmth on his mouth, and his heart thudded like a sledgehammer.

  She was so damn pretty. The guys from his hometown wouldn’t have believed it even if they’d seen it with their own eyes. He’d watched her go, standing by the window as the carrier took her and that Martian suit away, shrinking into a speck against the sky. The memory hammered in his skull, refusing to leave him be.

  He was in the radio room, almost alone—just a couple of techs hunched over ancient consoles, more interested in their dials and screens than anything else. The room was a sprawling, semi-medium, irregular slope of steel and wiring, like a bunker filled with old radios. Static hummed around him, and the black-and-white screen flickered with the faces of Bea and Adaline, both leaning into frame and watching him with equal parts curiosity and amusement.

  “It’s nothing,” Henryk waved off, though the stupid grin still lingered on his face.

  “How’s Oceana II?” Bea asked, arching a brow.

  “Just as medieval and feudal as I was told,” Henryk said, pausing to gather his thoughts. “It’s beautiful—feels like stepping into a time piece. In a... horrifyingly beautiful kind of way. Beautiful for all the worst and wrong reasons.”

  Bea and Adaline erupted into laughter, their voices overlapping in chaotic harmony.

  “There’s no heating—everything’s done by serfs. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad,” Henryk said, rubbing his chin.

  “That’s because you guys are knights and squires training to acquire the spikes,” Bea pointed out, shaking her head.

  “You’re practically nobility,” Adaline added, smirking.

  Henryk nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the floor. “Yeah... would really suck to be some poor little serf living on the edge of the battlefield. It was a real shit show—and I was hardly involved. Even from a distance, the stench carried for miles.”

  Silence settled over the radio for a moment, heavy and uncomfortable. Henryk sighed, drawing both sisters' attention back to him.

  “Listen,” he started, voice steady now. “The person who rescued me gave me some new ideas for how I want my Warcasket to go.”

  Bea perked up, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “How did you feel about the added thrusters along the calves?”

  “They were excellent,” Henryk said, nodding with enthusiasm. “But I want to see if I can go even faster...” His eyes gleamed with excitement, and his fingers flexed in the air as if already piloting. “I’ve got a bit of experience with small transports, but I’m thinking of doing something completely against the grain.”

  Adaline chuckled. “Against the grain? What are you cooking up in that head of yours?”

  Henryk grinned. “Ever heard of WarArmors?”

  Bea scoffed. “Of course I have. I wouldn’t be much of an engineer if I hadn’t.”

  “I want to try my hand at making a true transformable Warcasket,” Henryk said, and both girls' eyes went wide.

  “Woah, woah,” Bea chortled, holding up her hands. “I respect your enthusiasm—and your faith in my skills, Henryk—but you aren’t the first person to try their hand at that. Plenty have tried. None have succeeded.”

  “It would revolutionize the battlefield,” Henryk insisted, leaning forward. “It’s exactly what I had in mind for the high-mobility series. We can keep the ones we’ve already made—the concept was a success. But this? This could be something entirely new.”

  Bea sighed, rubbing the back of her neck as if the stress had settled into her bones. “At least Ed will be happy about it. I’ve heard that Joseph wanted what you had...”

  Henryk let out a low chuckle, more confident now. “Told you—I know what I’m doing. I don’t know all the specifics, but the Mercurians created something they call a ‘Mobilized Battleframe.’”

  “Mobilized Battleframe,” Bea repeated with a scoff, shaking her head. “Dumb name.”

  Henryk shrugged it off. “Forget the name—the point is that its joints can sync up and transform. Bea, I saw it. That thing handled atmospheric reentry like it was a casual stroll.”

  Both Bea and Adaline glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. Bea’s face twisted with curiosity, but before she could ask more, Adaline interjected, pouting. “Hey, don’t hog the radio! I wanna talk to Henryk too!”

  Bea gave her a sharp look. “Adaline, don’t you have school early tomorrow? Isn’t that field trip happening?”

  Adaline’s eyes widened, and she stomped her foot in frustration. “Come on! Why is it always you that gets to talk to him? It’s not fair—”

  “Adaline, bedroom, now,” Bea snapped, her tone brooking no argument.

  “God, you’re so ANNOYING!” Adaline dragged the word out, punctuating it with a loud huff as she stomped toward the elevator. Bea didn’t relax until she heard the ding, signaling her sister had reached ground level.

  With the tension finally releasing from her shoulders, Bea let out a groan and ran a hand through her hair. “Fucking teenagers,” she muttered. Turning back toward the radio camera, she found Henryk leaning back, his face barely illuminated by the flickering console light.

  “Henryk, you’ve got sisters, right?” Bea asked, her voice softer now.

  He nodded slowly. “Two of ’em.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Younger. About a ten-year gap between us,” Henryk replied, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face.

  Bea snorted, bitter and exhausted. “Sometimes I think that would’ve been for the best. After our parents were killed by sacrene, Adaline naturally looked up to me. But now... now she’s older, and she wants to go out late, do reckless shit, and I’m just the annoying big sister holding her back. Ed’s got her all riled up with his stories of riches and adventures...”

  Henryk leaned forward, folding his hands. “…You want some advice from a big brother with two little sisters?”

  Bea didn’t answer immediately, but her silence said enough. Finally, she let out a long, drawn-out breath.

  “Just support her,” Henryk said softly. “That’s all you really can do. Sir William—Ed told me he’s gone. And I...” He hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts.

  Bea’s expression darkened. “Me and Adaline had different mothers,” she muttered, almost like the words left a bad taste in her mouth. “The old man didn’t even wait a month before shacking up with a new wife.” Her eyes widened as if suddenly realizing something. “You know Adaline’s my half-sister, right?”

  Henryk nodded, more to himself than to her. “Figured as much. Could’ve been a genetic mutation too. I inherited magic from my mother, but my sisters didn’t get the gift.”

  Bea scoffed, shaking her head. “Inheritance... Hell, Adaline’s mutation makes her more desirable. Even though she’s younger, the way she looks—if the Martians were still around, our father would’ve already been courting suitors for her.”

  Henryk frowned. “Her mutation makes her desirable?”

  Bea’s shoulders slumped, her voice almost a whisper. “Red. To us... to the Martians, red is a sacred color. Look at Adaline—crimson hair, red, sun-baked skin like the sands of Mars. Her mother had the blessing. It naturally transferred to her. The pride of our house.”

  Silence wrapped around them like a suffocating shroud. Henryk didn’t know what to say, how to respond. They’d started talking about Warcaskets, and somehow it had spiraled into this—

  Bea's lips twisted into a bitter smile, her gaze distant. “She’s seventeen now—just a couple of months off from eighteen... but if the old man were still around, he’d be marrying her off to some noble or knight.” She sneered, but there was a hollow, aching sound to it. “Her dreams of singing, dancing, becoming an idol... Girly stuff, sure, but those are her dreams. If Mars hadn’t fallen, she’d have been forced into a life she had no choice in.”

  Henryk saw it then—the raw wound that pulsed just beneath the surface. A sister’s desperate love tangled with resentment for a fate that never fully unraveled.

  “We can’t change the past, Bea,” Henryk said softly. Her eyes snapped toward him, widened and cautious, like she wasn’t sure whether to be angry or grateful. “I’m not a Martian. Honestly... I’m still trying to figure out what being a Knight of Mars even means. All I know are the people who showed me kindness, took me in. And all I keep hearing about are how their forefathers were monsters...”

  Bea’s voice came back sharp but measured. “They weren’t all horrible. Sure, there were bastards like my father. But there were great knights too—men who embodied what House Mars was supposed to be. Maybe you’ll end up one of them.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and Bea glared, but it wasn’t the harsh kind—more like an exhausted sister scolding her younger sibling.

  “I’m not joking, Henryk Brown,” she said sternly. “Inheritance—that’s all we have in the end. Family name, legacy. No matter how much I hate my father, that truth doesn’t change. Maybe... maybe I get why you’re so driven by this idea.”

  Henryk smirked, leaning back. “People always say it—Martians know Warcaskets and warfare. You all know your shit. There’s gotta be something more to it—something the Mercurians figured out. Maybe they cracked the code.”

  Bea rolled her eyes. “Or maybe they didn’t, and all they came up with was some half-assed transformable mobile suit. Just because it works doesn’t mean it’s good.”

  He didn’t answer right away, letting the idea settle. “I’ll send you the data and specs. Everything I managed to recover. And when I come back, we’ll start working on the new model.”

  Bea’s eyes widened, and her lips parted like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A new model?” she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “You’re planning on making a completely new suit?”

  Henryk grinned, thumbing his chest with pride. “An ace unit built just for me. Don’t get me wrong—I know our limits.” He began counting on his fingers. “One-to-five-second transformation. Capable of handling both Warcasket mode and Stargazer mode in various atmospheres. A loadout that doesn’t slow me down, adaptable for both modes. I’ll probably use the MSN-01 model as a template for ease of parts... and... and—”

  “Henryk Brown, enough!” Bea shouted, throwing both hands up, and Henryk stopped mid-sentence.

  “I’m not sure we can pull off even half of that list!” she said, her voice caught between exasperation and disbelief.

  He just waved it off, a determined glint in his eyes. “We’ll find a way. Even if we have to go through prototype after prototype, test type after test type.” He tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Two models: MTW-01 Stargazer and MTW-02 Stargazer.”

  “Two units?” Bea repeated, narrowing her eyes at the camera. “StarGazer? Really?”

  “That’s what I’m calling them,” Henryk replied, confident. “MTW—Martian Transformable Warcasket. StarGazer. It just feels right.”

  Bea sighed, shaking her head with a half-smile. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Maybe,” Henryk admitted with a smirk. “But crazy’s gotten us this far.”