The door opened, and the dining room went silent...
The air pressed in, heavy and close. Mother moved first, her hand on the door. I followed, each step heavier than the last. By the time we reached the dining room, my senses were already on edge.
The room reeked of expensive wine, anticipation and pride. It felt as though I was carrying the entire world on my back. I sucked in a deep breath, forcing one foot forward. I stepped into the room.
Grandfather took Father's seat at the head. Father sat to his right, holding a glass of half-drunk amber liquid, and appeared more relaxed than I expected. To the left of Grandfather was Uncle Michael Tiernan, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, and next to him sat Uncle David Tiernan, sprawled in his chair nursing an expensive-looking glass of wine. Only two others were here. For us, this was a small crowd.
Their eyes cut through me. Grandfather looked up from his place at the table. His table.
"Marcus." He bellowed.
In that single word, I felt the pressure of every Tiernan that had served, died, and disappointed. The chair waited for me; it felt like a defendant's dock.
"Take a seat." He spoke with pure authority, yet it didn't feel cold. "We were discussing tomorrow."
My hand gripped the backrest. The legs scraped the floor, loud and sharp. I hovered, almost sitting—
"Wait. Show me your stance first, Basic Form One. Let us see if the prep academy is still preparing our future generations properly."
Everyone's eyes were glued to me, yet mine found Father. His knuckles white around his glass. He looked back at me, a forced, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
I relaxed my body, letting my shoulders drop as I entered the stance. Muscle memory took over: feet shoulder-width apart. Weight balanced on both feet. Palms up, ready for attack or defence. It was perfect, and I knew it. A stance I had practised a thousand times.
"Adequate." Grandfather stated. The words stung as I finally took my seat.
"David's was superior," David chimed in, "But then, he tested B-Grade, so that was to be expected."
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Uncle David always bragged about his son. Every damn opportunity he got.
"Simple form is only the surface," Grandfather said, moving his hand through the air as if to brush away something inconsequential. "The machine sees what we do not." For a fleeting moment, his words rekindled my pride.
Father drank deep. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.
"Tell me, Marcus, what Grade do you expect tomorrow?" The words crawled under my skin. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to focus.
"A-Grade, sir." My voice shook.
"A-Grade..." He tasted the words. "Good. Hoping to follow in my footsteps, are you, Marcus?"
Uncle David snorted into his wine, then coughed to hide it. Father glared.
Before things got worse, Grandfather started his stories. I had heard them all before, but tonight they felt heavier. Each word added a weight to tomorrow.
"Your great aunt Lydia," He started as a hologram sprouted from the centre of the table. "S-Grade, Luminary, died holding the line at Proxima. Three hundred thousand Buggers. Alone. They found her unconscious, still fighting."
The holoprojector depicted an older woman standing before a large mech. Its armour plating was bone-white and strangely smooth. Golden veins sprawled across its surface, glowing brighter and dimmer as if mimicking a heartbeat.
I'd heard this story a hundred times, every retelling woven so tightly into my memory it was almost background noise. Yet tonight, something shifted. I felt the weight of Lydia's choices press in on me. Why did she fight? Was it to prove herself to the family? To the Federation? Or was there a reason that even she couldn't name?
My certainty vanished when I pictured myself in her place. For a moment, I didn't know what drove me. Grandfather's gaze pulled me back.
"You have her eyes," Grandfather mentioned, studying me. "The same depth."
I froze. The older woman stared directly at me, as if she could see me. As if she weren't a hologram.
Tearing my eyes from the hologram, I forced myself to meet Grandfather's gaze. Was there something behind his look... Or was I just imagining it?
"James never did quite reach those heights, did you?" Uncle Michael cut my thoughts short. His voice was pointed in that casual and practised manner that exposed it as anything but.
"Hah, neither did you, Michael!" He shot back, taking another drink. The alcohol gave his bravado a feeble edge; he seemed smaller than usual.
"Rank-3 has its place," Grandfather mentioned neutrally. "But tomorrow, the next generation proves itself."
"My Son has already proven himself," David interjected, arrogance permeating his voice.
"B-Grade is proof of adequacy, not excellence." There was a double meaning there, but I couldn't pin it down.
Everyone at the table deflated. Grandfather was the only A-Grade present; everyone else was B-Grade. Such a congregation would usually be exceptionally rare, yet we Tiernans were nothing if not special.
"Marcus will show us something else." His eyes pinned me to the ground. "Won't you, boy?"
All eyes were on me. I had nothing left to hide behind. I felt exposed. I felt naked, I felt... I felt...
"Yes, Grandfather," was all I could squeeze out.
The maids brought out food. The air lightened. Attention shifted away from me.
As the evening wore on, Grandfather's stories grew ever more elaborate, bordering on lengthy lectures. Always echoing the same message, about our 'Oh, so esteemed past.' His words blurred at the edges as my thoughts drifted away...
-
-
-
"When I tested," Father said with a strained voice, "I was so certain. So absolutely certain I'd..."
He trailed off, alcohol adding a faint slur to his words.
My attention snapped back.
"We all were," Uncle Michael said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "The machine surprised everyone."
"The machine is never wrong," Grandfather declared. "It sees what we cannot."
"Not everything," Mother said quietly from her seat.
Everyone turned to look at her.
"Some things can't be tested by machine alone," she added, meeting Grandfather's gaze directly.
"Sophia, you married into this family. You don't understand-" Grandfather tried to explain. There was that double meaning again...
"I understand enough."
Father's hand tightened on his glass, almost breaking it. The room went cold.
"Marcus will test well, do our family proud!" Father said, slightly too loud.
Michael pounced on the statement like a wolf on wounded prey. "Feeling pressure, James? Worried about your legacy~?"
Here we go again... Bickering always ruined these gatherings. Power hung over everything; it didn't matter how many showed up, everyone busy pretending, clawing, competing. The atmosphere always saturated with desperation so palpable that I could taste it.
"No." Father declared, "My son will exceed expectations."
"Whose expectations, exactly?" David tested.
Father was already halfway out of his chair, lunging, before grandfather's hand came down on the table like a judge's hammer.
"Enough!" Grandfather's voice so cold that it could freeze an ocean. "Cease your childishness, we're here to celebrate, not to bicker amongst ourselves like overgrown children."
Everyone fell quiet.
"A toast," Grandfather filled the silence. With a clap of his hands, a maid entered. "Get Marcus a glass and pour him some wine."
Mother looked ready to protest, but Father stopped her with a glance. A glass appeared in front of me, filled with dark wine.
"A toast!" Grandfather declared. "To Marcus Tiernan."
Everyone raised their glass. I quickly followed suit.
"To the continuation of Tiernan glory!"
We drank.
"To the Federation and her colonies!"
We drank.
"To tomorrow's revelations!"
We drank.
The wine tasted like copper.
As I looked back up, I noticed that Grandfather hadn't so much as taken a sip. He just sat there, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Marcus," he said. "Walk with me after dinner."
"He needs rest for tomorrow-" Father protested, his words slurred slightly.
"No, he needs perspective."
Mother squeezed my hand under the table. Was it comfort or a warning? I couldn't tell.
Uncle David leaned in, breath heavy with wine. "Don't embarrass us, nephew. We'll be watching." His words were sharp.
"D-Grades don't get family visits~." Uncle Michael chimed in, humour in his voice.
They joked about D-Grades. They never joked about F.
"David," Grandfather's voice cut through the air. "You can share your 'wisdom' after you've earned it."
David slumped back in his chair. I almost smiled, but Grandfather looked at me, and the feeling vanished.
"The garden. You have ten minutes. I'll be waiting." Grandfather abruptly stood from the table, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He walked towards the rear exit of the house, not returning anyone's gaze.
Each step he took rang out like a countdown. With a fluid motion, he opened the glass doors, stepped through and closed them behind him.
Silence