Chapter Text
Marc felt his blood go cold. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from the holoScreen, his golden eyes darting across the hologram, trying to rationalise why he was seeing his little brother in the same landscape he had found himself in three years ago after he got stripped away from his family in the Red mines and was rebuilt to be a perfect Gold.
His hair fell into golden ringlets and his eyes caught the light of the au Augustus flagship he was currently standing on, the low barely audible hum of the ships engines caused a constant vibration under his feet which managed to keep his face steady despite his thoughts. His little brother no longer had the deep red hair and blood red eyes he was so used to seeing, he now looked like Marc, a Gold with no faults, perfectly crafted into a godlike being. Blonde curls with sparkling eyes, but with no life in them. He looked taller than Marc remembered too but his memories were so distant he couldn’t know for sure.
Then suddenly; rage. A rage he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he faked his death in the mines to join the Sons of Ares, not since he had been carved. Not since his body was stripped, his muscles replaced, his bones reinforced. He had faded into a dull monotony of life, a fake promise of revenge, of freedom, that the Sons of Ares had promised him. The fake promise of leaving Alex untouched.
He had been taken from the mines by the rebellion, he had been stripped of what he once was and was rebuilt as a God. He relearnt how to talk like high society Gold’s how to present himself as if he was an Iron Gold and not just a Red in Gold’s skin. He had fooled everyone so far.
“He is your brother isn’t he, Andromedus?” The sharp voice of his hyena-like lord snapped him out of his own rage, threatening to boil over, for a second Marc genuinely believed he had been found out until his fake name was uttered, his surname. A formality that the Golds had entrusted upon him, in the Red mines they were only identified by which mine they belonged to. Andromedus had a much more regal ring to it than Lykos, Marc thought.
“Yes, my lord, he is.” Marc answered, masking his hesitancy with formality.
“Pray he survives this then maybe he may join you as my Lancer.”
Marc swallowed, he didn’t want that. He only agreed on becoming a Gold to give a better future to Alex. He didn’t want to be a pawn in a political game, he didn’t want to serve a Golden lord that enslaved his color, he didn’t want to become a part of the system he so deeply hated. But here he was, mirroring the lord who sat in front of him.
He glanced next to him, Jorge au Raa, he was in the Institute before Marc’s time, he was familiar with his family. The Raa family was a vicious one, and Jorge himself was close to being an Olympic Knight, his father would have to pass if the family wanted another Fear Knight. The title wouldn't be wrong, Marc was scared of the man.
He glanced to his other side, Casey au Arcos stood high, his hair was far shorter than other Golds he had come across. Marc was more familiar with Casey, his uncle had trained Marc in an almost forgotten Razor form called Willow Way - it was beyond difficult to master, combining fluidity with strength. To Marc, Casey was a friend for the most part, he always had to remind himself that he was an enemy. He wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he found out he was a Red.
Marc was the youngest of the three, the most immature, the least threatening one. Augustus kept him close, thought of him like a son. But he remembered the words uttered to him the day he enrolled in the academy.
Manners, manners, then burn their bloodydamn house to the ground.
Marc just hoped someone had told Alex those words, that he wasn’t consumed by the same anger Marc had been, the anger that had clouded his judgement during the institute. The three Lancers didn’t question how Augustus had gotten the live video feed of the Institute, Augustus had never been afraid to dabble in not particularly moral ways of giving his son what he wanted, and a few corrupt Proctor’s didn’t help.
Proctors were the heads of houses in the Institute, if Marc could remember correctly the Archgovernors son was in House Jupiter, they were the poor excuses for teachers that wouldn’t step in even if you had asked them nicely. They sat watching their students slaughter each other in cold blood, laughing and placing bets on which house would get their scars - only one house could.
Marc’s eyes returned to the flickering holoCan, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his head.
The image of Alex was striking, he looked malnourished for a Gold, all the students did. Marc remembered that feeling, the questioning of why he was now a Gold then why he was groveling, playing pretend in the woods for a scar that did nothing other than display status, the hollowness of his stomach. He remembered feeling a painful amount of distrust and nausea whenever he saw his peers, the boys and girls he had come to deem as his brothers. Now he was watching his baby brother go through the exact same.
“Relax, Marc, he’ll survive, as we did.” Casey nodded, making Marc’s shoulders relax a little, making Jorge’s eyebrow raise.
Marc shifted his eyes away from the screen, onto Casey, then back to the screen,
He remembered his first kill during the Passage, the entrance ceremony that had gotten him into the Institute. It was another boy, scrawnier than Marc, younger as well, Marc recalled. His hair was barely Golden, high society would have labeled him a Bronze if he had survived the institute, maybe would have had a minor fleet, achieved only half of what Marc had done in the last three years. The fight blurred in his mind, he remembers the bare stone room, being stripped of any clothing he had on the night before, to eliminate any advantage he assumed. Then he remembered the other boy's higher voice begging, begging to live, begging to not be killed, begging to live just to not be a disgrace to his family.
Marc sucked in a breath. He couldn’t make out the memories that followed that, it was a scuffle, the other boy was clawing at him and it made Marc panic, Marc remembered bashing the boy’s head into the concrete floor as hard as he could over and over until the boy had stopped sobbing and started twitching. Then it was Marc who was the one sobbing, he didn’t remember why he was crying. The boy was a Gold, he would have done nothing to help the Reds stuck in the mines, but he was still a boy, he remembered the night before when they had joked at dinner as if they were friends, talking about their entrance exam scores. Now, the boy is dead. Marc is alive.
“You have never spoken about him before,” Jorge said suspiciously, again snapping Marc out of his thoughts, the line of questioning was obvious and just as Marc opened his mouth to give a plausible answer, the Archgovernor butted in.
“There is no obligation for us to speak about family, Raa. You should admire his dedication to this house, lest he claims an Olympic Knight before you.” The Archgovernors eyes narrowed at Jorge, a thinly veiled threat, making Jorge bristle. The topic of Olympic Knight was a fragile one, and only a select few people knew that Marc himself was striving for Death Knight.
Jorge nods.
Marc closes his eyes. He sees Alex in the back of his eyelids.
He prays he survives.