The palace had never been so quiet—or so loud.
In the heart of Vienna, in a golden-lit chamber guarded by both steel and spell, Eliska Vranova lay in bed with gentle exhaustion. Cradled in her arms were two bundles of miracle: a boy and a girl, born in peace, untouched by fire and politics.
Hans Ehrenfeld Adler sat by her side, uncharacteristically at ease. For once, he wore no uniform, only a plain white shirt, half-buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His Officer's mantle hung on the chair behind him, forgotten.
The boy was named Alaric, the girl Anneliese.
"Strong names," whispered Eliska, brushing a finger against their tiny cheeks.
"A future emperor and empress," Hans mused, but Eliska swatted his arm.
"No," she smiled, "a boy who can dream... and a girl who can laugh."
Just then, the door creaked open—first came Mehmed, arms loaded with toys.
"They have arrived!" he announced dramatically. "And I, Mehmed the Beloved, come bearing gifts of color and chaos."
Behind him, the officer cadre poured in—General Engelhardt with a bouquet of mechanical flowers, Oberkommandant Rosa trying (and failing) to coo like a normal person, and even the stoic Taisa, who cracked a smile when Anneliese grabbed his finger.
The twins responded to each differently. Alaric stared wide-eyed at Engelhardt's medals, as if inspecting a future career. Anneliese, however, was instantly enamored with Mehmed's long mustache, which she tried to grab with astonishing speed.
"Ow!" Mehmed yelped, "She's got a grip like her mother."
"No," said Hans proudly, "Like me."
The room burst into laughter.
Later, when the twins had fallen asleep, Hans stepped onto the balcony. Snow fell gently. Behind him, the laughter of comrades and the soft breath of his children filled the air.
Four months ago, the Pact of Nations had been signed. Peace, for now, had returned.
And in that silence, in that serenity, Hans whispered to the wind:
"Let them inherit a world better than mine."