The Imperial Citadel, Vienna
Hans awoke with his heart in his throat.
It was not a nightmare—it was a memory that had not yet happened. Fire rolled over mountains. A citadel in black stone crumbled. Blood streamed from the roots of a great white tree. And in the flames stood a face... his own, yet not.
A voice, heavy with ancient power, whispered through the dream:
"The Firstborn bleeds again. And this time, it is one of your own who will not return."
He opened his eyes. Eliska was already sitting up, a cold sweat on her brow.
"You saw it too," she said, not asking.
Hans nodded.
War Council – Two Hours Later
The war room reeked of incense, old sweat, and dread. Maps of the Carpathians glowed under hovering runes—war-magic cast by allied guilds.
Colonel Engelhardt pointed at a red-blinking spot near the border: the Firstborn Valley.
"The Karling loyalists have torn open an ancient portal. Something older than our world is bleeding through."
General Sokolov added, "The reports speak of 'bleeding stone,' 'howling wind-flesh,' and… mirrors that scream back."
Hans stood slowly. "Then we bring fire to the dark."
The Firstborn Offensive – Carpathian Mountains
The advance began with twenty thousand troops, four Officer-class commanders, and the Empress herself. But the enemy was not an army.
It was a storm.
From twisted rifts emerged warped monsters—beasts that wore the skins of men, some even mimicking the faces of Hans's own soldiers. Their voices mocked in distorted tones: "Haaans… Emperooor… come bleeeed."
Eliska, garbed in ceremonial red and white armor, summoned forth her Resonant Shield, a dome that echoed and fractured enemy magic. Her voice carried power: "Not one step backward!"
Engelhardt, using his Dominion Surge, turned his blade into a burning banner—where it passed, enemy formations withered.
And Hans…
He activated Command Field, the battlefield around him glowing in gold—but it shattered, overwhelmed.
Then, it happened.
A massive creature—a twisted version of a fallen Officer—leapt at him, claws raised. Hans caught the strike with his bare hand.
His veins glowed white.
Time slowed.
[System Alert]Officer-Class Skill: COMMAND FIELD [LIMIT EXCEEDED]Initiating Evolution: COMMAND THRONE – IMPERIAL SIGILSub-Effect: Active Auras Elevated to Strategic Tier
The ground beneath him turned to marble-like stone, an Imperial Sigil spreading outward in radiant lines. His soldiers' eyes cleared. Wounds began closing. The tide turned.
He was not just a commander now.
He was a living empire.
Fall of the Rift
At the peak of the battle, Hans and Eliska stood before the main rift. Behind them, the army held the line. Before them, the rift screamed with black wind.
Then came the enemy Champion.
Tall, thin, armored in broken banners, his face was Hans's—though mutilated. His voice was half-whisper, half-command.
"Hans Ehrenfeld Adler. You wear the crown of light… but you were always born from war."
Hans stepped forward.
"And I'll return you to the dark."
Their clash shattered the mountainside.
Steel, magic, faith—each rang with ancestral echo. For a moment, the rift itself bent toward Hans's blade.
With a final cry—"For the Empire!"—he plunged his blade into the champion's heart.
The rift closed.
The mountain fell silent.
But the cost was brutal. One of Hans's earliest officers, Commander Reik, had fallen—his body twisted protecting a child soldier.
Hans knelt before him, hand over heart.
"You were the Firstborn of this Empire, Reik. And we will not forget you."
Vienna, Aftermath
The Council convened again. The Carpathian portal was closed, but four others were detected across Eastern Europe. The war was not over—it had only evolved.
As Hans looked out over Vienna, hand held tightly in Eliska's, he knew:
This empire was no longer only a union of nations.
It was now a beacon—and every beacon casts a shadow.