Cronus' system: Against the gods

Magnus groaned softly as the sharp trill of his phone broke the silence of his room. Reaching for it, he hesitated, his heart giving a faint thump. He rarely received calls. Who would call an orphan like him? His social circle was non-existent, except for one person.

Brenda.

His fingers trembled slightly as he swiped to answer, the memory of yesterday flashing vividly in his mind. The shadow blast from Lukas had almost killed him; he could still feel the phantom sting of it. But then Brenda had appeared, her face streaked with tears as she pressed that strange healing device to his chest. Her sobs and the way she'd clung to him afterward, arms tightening as if she'd never let go, had stirred something deep within him.

They'd only been dating for a week. One week. And yet, the intensity of her concern, her devotion—it caught him off guard. The kiss they'd shared before the Lucius debacle felt so distant now, an impulsive act of youthful recklessness. Or so he'd thought.

"Hello, Brenda," he said, his voice soft but steady.

"Hey!" Brenda's lively voice shot through the line, warm and bright like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Can we meet? Anywhere! Your call!"

Magnus blinked, momentarily disarmed by her energy. "Uh… a date?" His eyes roamed his disheveled room. Dust motes swirled in the air, illuminated by streaks of weak sunlight slipping through grimy windows. Clothes were scattered everywhere, books stacked precariously on every available surface. It looked less like a home and more like the hideout of someone perpetually on the run.

"Yeah!" Brenda chirped. "I've got a little something for you. Are you busy?"

Magnus hesitated, ruffling his already messy hair, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to shake. The last time she'd said she had something for him, they'd ended up in the secluded wing of the academy, their lips locked with a fervor that still made his ears burn. "Not… really," he said cautiously.

"Great! Let's meet at Oak and Lantern's again. Just the two of us this time," she added, a giggle slipping through her words.

Magnus' stomach flipped, both from her playful tone and the memory of the last date they had. "Is it safe?" he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "I mean, after everything, are you sure your clan's okay with you wandering around alone?"

Brenda's laughter was light, almost carefree. "Safe? Please. They wouldn't dare stop me. Besides, the academy incident was hushed up, remember? No one knows. Not even my overbearing brother."

Magnus chuckled despite himself. The way she referred to her brother, the head of the Voss family, with such casual irreverence never failed to amuse him. And yet… her flippant attitude toward such power always left him in awe. She lived in a world of untouchable elites, while he…

He shook the thought from his head.

"Alright," he said at last, a smile tugging at his lips. "Oak and Lantern it is."

"Great! we'll meet by 4pm" Brenda replied and hung up the call, leaving Magnus wondering what surprise she had for him. Heck! Aren't I the one who's supposed to get her gifts and yet...it's the other way round" Magnus facepalmed, cussing at his poverty.

"I really need to get a job!" He said as he got up from the bed quickly. He rushed to start tidying the room. He had one hour and thirty minutes before 4pm.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Magnus sighed, staring at the chaos in his room. The call with Brenda left a faint smile on his lips, but as he scanned the dusty surfaces and the mess on the floor, reality came crashing back. His life wasn't glamorous, and his room was a testament to it.

He knelt down, gathering clothes from the ground into a makeshift pile. The fabric was stale, carrying faint traces of sweat and time, and he cringed at the thought of how long it had been since he'd properly cleaned. As he worked, the sunlight filtering through the windows seemed to intensify, illuminating the swirling dust and the faint outlines of forgotten memories.

A sudden wave of nostalgia hit him as he picked up a crumpled jacket from the floor. The faintest scent lingered, a citrus-like scent like the one his mother used to wear. The memory came unbidden, like a ghost he couldn't quite shake. He stopped mid-motion, staring blankly at the wall as her voice echoed in his mind:

"I'll be back."

He had been too young to understand what those words truly meant. Too innocent to recognize the lie hidden within them. His mother had kissed his forehead, her touch warm and soft, and disappeared into the haze of his fragmented childhood. He couldn't even remember her face anymore, only the faint cadence of her voice. But even that was slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

Magnus sat back on his heels, the jacket dangling from his hand. For a fleeting moment, he let himself drown in the ache of the past. He'd spent years clinging to those fragments—her voice, her promise—but as the days turned to months, then years, he'd realized she was never coming back.

He didn't even know his real name. Magnus was a name he'd taken for himself, inspired by some celebrity he'd admired in his teenage years. A hollow identity to fill the void left by parents he'd never truly known.

With a sharp exhale, he pushed the thoughts aside. They didn't matter. Not anymore.

Shaking his head, Magnus threw the jacket onto the pile and stood up, forcing his focus back to the task at hand. He grabbed a rag and began dusting the surfaces, his movements quick and methodical. The rhythmic action gave his mind something to anchor to, pushing back the memories threatening to overwhelm him.

The books on his desk were next, a stack of forgotten titles and half-finished notes from classes he barely remembered attending. He flipped through one, finding a page scrawled with doodles and half-hearted attempts at homework. A faint, bitter laugh escaped his lips. He'd always been a dreamer, imagining himself in better places while the real world crumbled around him.

By the time he'd swept the floor and cleared the last of the debris, the room looked almost livable. Dust motes still danced in the fading sunlight, but the space felt lighter, less oppressive. He glanced at the clock. 3:45 p.m. Fifteen minutes until he was supposed to meet Brenda.

Magnus ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he surveyed his work. "Good enough," he muttered. He grabbed his jacket, the least wrinkled one from the pile and threw it on.

As he reached for the door, he paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the room. It wasn't much, but it was his. And for better or worse, he was determined to make something of himself.

****************

IN THE MILITARY HQ

The dimly lit office reeked of tension. Shadows flickered across the walls as the overhead light buzzed faintly, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Smoke curled lazily from the General's pipe, weaving patterns in the air before dissipating into nothingness. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and stared at the glowing holo-screen in front of him. His eyes narrowed, the blue hue of the display reflecting the fury simmering within.

"The Council has appointed Chairman Voss as the new Academy Head," the message read.

The General's lips curled into a snarl, his grip tightening around the ornate pipe. His hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from sheer frustration. "Why?!" he growled, exhaling a cloud of smoke that swirled angrily, mirroring the storm brewing inside him.

Chairman Voss. The name alone carried weight, invoking whispers of fear and reverence. He was the head of the Voss family, second only to the ruling house in power and influence. Ruthless, cold, and impossibly calculating, Voss was a man who thrived on control. His icy demeanor was enough to send shivers down the spines of even the most hardened soldiers.

The General rubbed his temples, trying to quell the headache forming at the thought. Voss wasn't just a threat to the Academy; he was a threat to everything.

If Voss controlled the Academy, he'd have a direct hand in shaping future soldiers and leaders. That influence could bleed into the military ranks, undermining the General's authority. He'd only just claimed the title of General, barely had time to settle into the weight of his new responsibilities and now this? He could already picture Voss's sharp eyes and steely smile, plotting ways to claw away his power.

He took another long drag from the pipe, the embers glowing red like the fire in his chest. "What the hell were they thinking?" he muttered to himself. The Inner Council, with their anonymous faces and cryptic decisions, had made this call. But why? They were supposed to be incorruptible, beyond bribes or coercion.

A faint knock at the door jolted him from his spiraling thoughts.

"Yes," he barked, his voice gruff as he yanked the pipe from his mouth.

The door creaked open, revealing a young soldier. The man stepped inside, snapping a crisp salute. "Sir! The funeral for the late General is about to begin."

The words hung in the air, heavy and solemn. The General froze for a moment, the reality of his predecessor's death settling like a stone in his chest.

"I'll be there shortly," he replied, his voice low but firm.

The soldier nodded, retreating as quickly as he had arrived, leaving the General alone once more.

He set the pipe down on the desk, his fingers drumming against the polished wood. The smoke in the room began to dissipate, but the tension lingered, thick and suffocating.

Chairman Voss.

The name echoed in his mind. If the Inner Council wanted to test his resolve, they had succeeded. But one thing was certain: he wouldn't surrender his title or his command without a fight.