I never believed in fate. Not after the war. Not after losing everything. But when I woke up on that red desert, under two moons, with the strength of ten men and the weight of a dying world on my shoulders, I started to wonder.

The cave in Arizona had swallowed me whole. One moment, I was fleeing Apaches and Union soldiers. The next, I was falling through stars, landing in a wasteland of giants and monsters. The Tharks—towering, four-armed, green-skinned warriors—captured me like a wild animal. They called me Dotar Sojat, a name forged in battle.

I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.

Then I met her. Dejah Thoris. Princess of Helium. Brilliant. Defiant. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. She looked at me like I was more than a soldier. Like I was a promise.

Now, as Zodanga’s airships darken the sky over Helium, she stands beside me, her hand in mine. 'You don’t have to fight,' she says. 'The medallion still works. You can go back.'

I look at her. At the city. At the people who’ve come to call me leader.

I made my choice a long time ago.

But the question remains—do I fight for Mars? Or do I let it die?