They say words carry with them the weight of worlds, and that dynasties rise and fall from but a whisper. In the hangar before our bout, I saw the truth of that statement. He exposed us both. Drove home the reality of our investment. In his eyes, I saw the same need, the same hunger I saw in myself when looking at my reflection—and yet he so easily found a way to explain it away. To divest us of it. If only his words that day proved to be true. If only they had been enough to prevent what came in the months that followed.

  Arthur stepped out of the elevator to the secured subterranean House Leos hangar with an appreciative look at its expansive interior.

  Five towering cradles of scaffolding and cutting edge—for the mid-Rim—machinery built for Eidolons anywhere from the smallest fifteen meter models to the tallest twenty-five meter models stood waiting within, each occupied by what he recognized as the standard frame units produced for training and testing purposes.

  All save the one in the middle, which instead held what Arthur immediately knew was Circe’s machine.

  It stood at perhaps twenty meters high, with a pair of folded wings at its back and a relatively short xiphos on its right hip. Its head was crowned by a metallic band akin to a crown above its dormant, unlit green eyes and the inverted chevron of its featureless mouth—so like a warrior’s mask.

  A halo of steel was mounted on its back, with its highest point visible above the machine’s head. At first glance, it almost appeared as if it were a disc of light even while dormant. He could only imagine how it would blaze during battle.

  What its purpose, though, Arthur could only guess at.

  The Eidolon’s main body was a decidedly stark shade of white, with solid pink adornment across its chest, biceps, and thighs. Articulated mechanical joints showed its capacity for mobility, and the faint thickness of internal thrusters marked its feet, arms, shoulders, and wings as points of primary mobility.

  A hoplon was mounted upon its left arm, and its surface was marked by a stylized pattern which Arthur recognized from his education as a medusa’s head. The entire machine held a faint femininity of form, and its ‘hips’ even appeared ever-so-slightly widened as if to indicate it was designed to imitate a more female identity.

  He remembered Core Eidolons with aesthetic feminine builds—like breasts and similar hips—piloted by the nobility of the Imperium, but he hadn’t expected to see the same aesthetic pursuits as far out as the Rim given the far greater need for function over form.

  “The Pallas Athena.” Menelaus said into the silence of Arthur’s observation, drawing his attention and giving him a moment of realization that everybody had been observing his reaction to the Eidolon.

  “Your family’s unit?”

  “Circe’s,” the Duke confirmed with a nod. “My own, the one which I inherited, was destroyed. The Pallas Athena was built from the remnants of the Ares Martialis.”

  “I’m surprised you were able to secure two such meaningful names.”

  “The perks of lineage, I suppose,” Menelaus said with a chuckle. “Many families laid claim to Olympian monikers when Eidolons were first brought to the fore of stellar warfare, but my ancestors were shrewd. They secured these two while most were still hotly seeking rights over the more prominent names.”

  “You gave up on Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades in favor of equally known but less prestigious monikers,” Arthur observed with his approval evident in his voice.

  “Precisely,” Menelaus agreed with a smile. “It is still a sore point for Athenian Houses that we claimed the name of their patron, but they have no legal means by which to challenge it outside of a duel, which they have historically declined to do. Though times being what they are…”

  “That might change,” Arthur surmised, “unless you can show strength enough to make your enemies think twice.”

  “Exactly so.” Menelaus affirmed with a nod.

  “And the other units?”

  “Training models taken from the Navy, and rebuilt with the last generation’s technology,” the Duke explained with a gesturing hand, “and while I doubt they will pass muster for someone from the Fringe, Ser Arthur, they are as advanced as one can attain outside of a titled machine.”

  “Ah,” Arthur said while moving forward to join Menelaus without thinking, “so named Eidolons have special privileges, here, as well.”

  “Yes, that is part of the appeal,” Menelaus said with a companionable smile. “We are permitted to build and upgrade them to as advanced a specification as Graecian technology allows. It is part of the privilege of the Eupatridae families, and one that is hotly pursued by those without such prestige.”

  “Which is why inter-house duels are so frequent,” Arthur extrapolated with an understanding nod. “The desire for the named models, or rather, the right to claim them.”

  “Yes, and our claim to the Pallas Athena will expire in a year. Before your arrival, I was sure we would end up with no recourse but for my daughter to defend her title herself.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Twelve months is a tight schedule, but if your automated fabrication facilities are up to the task, your grace—”

  “They are as good as you will find, even compared to military facilities,” Menelaus stated with utter confidence.

  “—then I believe I will be able to realize a machine that will quickly dissuade challenge for House Leos.”

  “And convince those Parthian dogs to rethink their aggression, I wager,” Stephanos added enthusiastically. “After all, we cannot forget that even with the tensions among the Houses, war looms on the horizon still.”

  “Yes,” Menelaus agreed with a nod to his Seneschal, “a fact we all would do well to remember.”

  “What is House Leos’ expected contribution to the war, if it were to break out?” Arthur asked while running his eyes over the five filled Eidolon berths.

  Training Models and a single Elite model.

  The House really was in trouble.

  “Usually when called to war, we supply a Hetairoi in a title unit, and an honor guard of twelve frontline models,” Menelaus explained while Arthur turned to listen respectfully. “In our prime, House Leos boasted thirty Hetairoi and of those, two were powerful enough to give meaning to the names of Ares Martialis and Pallas Athena.” Menelaus said with a sad smile. “Historically we have always had a male and female Hetairoi of great skill, with the former riding to war and the second defending the homefront. Now, though…”

  “You only have Circe,” Arthur said with a look for the proud heiress, “and she is too valuable.”

  “Yes,” the Duke agreed simply.

  “And there are no Hetairoi you can find to pilot the Hoplites?”

  “The Hoplites are part of why we cannot find Hetairoi,” Menelaus clarified solemnly. “While we could invest in building new models if we had the pilots to justify it, the simple reality is that nobody will fight for us. The embarrassment of only having these units on offer is enough that our enemies can dissuade them before we even try.”

  “Even good Laconians decline us,” Stephanos added gravely. “I have made overtures to multiple promising young pilots in the Navy, and all have declined—politely, in most cases, but declined no less. They are offered far more agreeable terms by Houses with far better machines.”

  “And you cannot build the models to bring them?”

  “A legal issue,” Menelaus elaborated with a grimace. “You cannot build combat models without legally ordained Hetairoi to pilot them, but you also cannot recruit good Hetairoi without offering them models for use.”

  “But the offer you made me was for a custom model, my lord,” Arthur pointed out.

  “Yes, because we have yet to replace the Ares Martialis, and so we may offer you the slot for that machine. If we wished to do the same for another pilot, we would need to appeal for another title allowance and a third Elite machine—and with no Hetairoi for our current machines, that would not even pass the vetting process.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “House Leos is seen as a rotting giant,” Atreus said with brutal honesty. “Hellas views the House as doomed, and so no young and promising pilots will take a chance. It is not a failing on their part, it is instead the artful manipulation of Menelaus’ enemies.”

  “House Drakos has been whittling us down for generations,” Circe interjected angrily. “They are eels and snakes, and have managed to instill false perceptions of House Leos through their manipulation of the narrative, and steady poisoning of impressionable minds.”

  “Their star has been rising, and ours has declined,” Menelaus clarified more humbly.

  “That is the price of true honor,” Daphne growled as if the matter were an old sore point. “House Leos does not debase itself and use the same despicable, vile tactics of its enemies—but that comes with a cost.”

  “I am not unfamiliar with such costs,” Arthur said while his Zacaris memories surfaced, and informed him of Houses on Albion he had personally obliterated with tactics far more vicious than mere rumor and intimidation. Good sense told him not to reveal those facts, but he couldn’t help but wonder as to what it would take to lift House Leos back to prestige.

  Killing people was an ambivalent experience for Arthur.

  He knew that in his life as Zacaris, he had been desensitized to killing at a young age. It had been a necessity of life for an aspiring heir of Pendragon, and his past self had taken to it with great success over the years.

  He had killed an untold number of people, he knew, to achieve his goals.

  It was a strange thing to feel both sickened by and dismissive of killing all at once. Magellan had killed in the memories Nataliya had crafted, but only in combat and only out of utmost necessity. It was a jarring juxtaposition, false recollection or not, when put up against his true memories as Zacaris.

  Finding where his new ‘combined’ self fit in would be a long process, he realized.

  He doubted that he would find the answer before he had to kill again.

  Not if his assessment of House Leos’ dire straits was even half accurate.

  “You, too, have suffered for the needs of honor?” Menelaus asked appraisingly.

  “No,” Arthur said with a look at the honorable Duke, “but I have witnessed such suffering,” he elaborated carefully. “I have stood witness while good men and women were crushed ruthlessly under the weight of their own ideals, and have seen their legacies obliterated beyond any recovery.”

  “That will not be our fate!” Circe declared boldly. “I will ensure Arthur is prepared!”

  “No longer looking to take the fate of our lives upon your shoulders, daughter?”

  Circe turned to her father fiercely. “I will do so still, father, in my own way. I realize, and have always realized, that putting myself at the fore is our last resort. The difference is that I never saw a way around it. Until now.”

  “You barely know this man, Lady Circe,” Daphne objected.

  “I know him enough to hope,” Circe insisted stubbornly while turning to Daphne. “I know what I have witnessed, with my own eyes, when I tested him with a blade and ambush in his quart—” her eyes went wide, and she snapped her hands over her mouth.

  All eyes were fixed on the princess, and then slowly looked to Arthur.

  Endymion and Perseus appeared unwilling to get involved, either.

  Arthur sighed at his companions’ admittedly wise silence, and spoke up.

  “Lady Circe ambushed me with a training xiphos in my apartments…”

  Menelaus’ eyebrows rose.

  “...after I had stepped out of the shower…” he continued with a grimace.

  Daphne and Stephanos stared at the heiress.

  “...while I was in a towel,” Arthur concluded with an apologetic look at Circe.

  “I see,” Menelaus said neutrally, “and how did this ambush conclude, Ser Arthur?”

  “Father, it really wasn’t—” Circe began earnestly.

  Menelaus silenced her with a look, and she huffed angrily.

  “It ended with her blade at her throat, your grace,” Arthur responded honestly, “and a pair of extremely confused Kidemónes entering after the commotion. To her credit, Lady Circe was an excellent opponent—” he gave a nod to the heiress, who smiled at him in thanks “—but I have been extensively trained in unarmed combat since my early years.”

  The look Daphne gave him at that admission was a mix between curious and suspicious.

  “And you only disarmed her?” Menelaus asked carefully.

  “I did not take any liberties with your daughter, my lord, if that is your concern,” Arthur assured the Duke firmly.

  “As if any man could!” Circe said indignantly. “He only barely pinned me because—”

  “That is enough, Circe,” Menelaus commanded, to which the heiress grimaced.

  “I intended no offense, your grace,” Arthur said more confidently than he immediately felt, especially with Atreus staring at him. “But I did not ascertain her identity until after I put her on her back.”

  Several moments passed after that statement, and Arthur’s eyes widened.

  “Uh. I didn’t mean—!”

  Atreus snorted.

  “We know what you meant, boy.”

  “Indeed.” Menelaus said with what Arthur recognized as the ghost of a smile, though the patrician’s features were not without weighted consideration while watching him. “I am not sure how to satisfy this debt of honor, in truth. I cannot think of an adequate form of repayment to ask for, given the gravity of the situation.”

  Arthur grimaced.

  “Whatever you feel is necessary, my lord. I did not intend to breach your—”

  “You mistake me, Ser Arthur,” Menelaus cut in firmly, but not impolitely. “It is not your debt of honor, but my own—through my daughter, perhaps, but mine regardless. You are our guest, and the sacred tradition of our hospitality was violated.”

  “Father, it was not like—”

  “Circe,” Menelaus continued with a hard look at his daughter, who fell silent once again and bit her lip, “is a very spirited young woman. Most women in their mid-thirties are, given they are only a few short years into the prime of their lives. I would wager you are no different, Ser Arthur.”

  “I cannot say I am entirely very different, no,” Arthur admitted.

  Circe glanced at him with relief at his words.

  Menelaus nodded in approval. “Then I hope we can move past this, in time.”

  “I don’t see her actions as worthy of a fuss, my lord,” Arthur said sincerely. “She only did what she thought was right, poor execution or not. I have no need to press a grievance against her. She has been a welcome companion in the short time we have spent together today.”

  Menelaus observed him with a weighing and thoughtful gaze, and Arthur was starkly reminded of the fact the Lion Duke was easily into his twelfth decade of life. For all that he looked barely a day over forty, the subtle laugh lines and streaks of gray in his platinum hair told the truth of his age. He might have had a long way to go, but he was definitely past his first century.

  It was very easy to forget, sometimes, given how well the truly elite aged.

  “Your words are kind, Ser Arthur, and do your honor credit. Still, there is a debt here to be paid. How that will be done, I am not yet certain. I will think on it.”

  “If I come up with anything, your grace, I will let you know,” Arthur said in kind.

  “Good,” Menelaus responded with a smile. “I would appreciate that, Ser Arthur.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t angry, father?” Circe asked carefully.

  “You violated our hospitality, Circe,” Menelaus said sternly while turning back to her.

  “I thought it would be the best way to test his preparedness for assassins!”

  “Without consulting me, or even Daphne. How do you think your stunt might have made our Lion Guard look, had it gone awry?”

  “I would not have let that happen,” Circe insisted with a guilty glance at Daphne.

  “You are the pride of my life, Circe, but gods help me if you aren’t three times as impulsive and five times as brash as your darling mother ever was,” Menelaus proclaimed with a father’s frustration. “You seem to have inherited her personality entirely, with no temperance from my own.”

  “Not entirely true,” Atreus cut in with a casual tone Arthur had never heard prior. “You were every bit the overproud idiot she is now when you were her age, Sword-Saint Menelaus.”

  Everyone gathered, including Arthur, widened their eyes at Atreus’ words.

  Menelaus, for his part, simply stared at the Myrmidón—and then laughed abruptly.

  “Very well,” the Duke said, in a concessional voice still filled with mirth, while turning to look at Circe. “I admit, perhaps you inherited some of it from me.”

  Arthur watched Circe’s expression shift slowly from embarrassment to something more akin to a wary hope, and Menelaus stepped closer to her when it did. While those present watched, Menelaus lifted his right hand to gently knock his knuckles against her forehead.

  Her eyes rose to watch his hand without fear, her nose scrunched at his tap, and then she looked once again into her father’s eyes. As close as they were, the height difference was barely noticeable. Circe was very tall for a woman.

  Powerfully built, with muscles as defined as her curves were generous.

  It amazed Arthur still that someone so beautiful existed outside of the Core.

  It defied everything his memories as Zacaris had instilled in him about genetic elitism.

  Arthur couldn’t help but smile wryly at the interaction after the gentle knock to her forehead. Menelaus and Circe’s relationship was… easy. Warm. Natural. It was a true parent and child relationship in the healthiest way.

  One he had never personally known.

  If Uther had approached him that way, Arthur would have steeled himself for a broken jaw at the least. His father had never believed in anything other than a firm hand, his memories readily reminded him.

  “Next time,” Menelaus said fondly, “please use your better judgment.”

  “Nai bampá,” Circe murmured with a chagrined smile.