Hitler stood at the edge of the marble steps, hands folded neatly behind his back. The building behind him loomed tall and white—veined concrete polished smooth like bone. The Reichstag of the New Order. No banners hung from it except for one: a towering red flag stitched with a black swastika that snapped against the breeze.
Beside him stood Riese—silent, towering, his long, dark coat split just enough to reveal the polished steel of the weapon slung across his back. No ordinary man could carry that machine gun. Not in motion. Not without collapsing under its weight. But Riese stood like it weighed nothing at all.
Before them stretched the long road, flanked by rows of state buildings and marble courtyards. Most were homes for high officials and their families. Every rooftop bore the banner of the Reich, swaying rhythmically in the rising wind. Guards stood like statues along the curb, rifles at rest, eyes fixed down the lane.
Riese leaned slightly, lowering his massive frame until his breath warmed the side of the Führer's face.
"What country do we speak with today, Mein Führer? They must be important… for you to stand outside yourself."
Hitler's eyes didn't move. They stayed locked on the horizon.
"I'm waiting for the most powerful nation on this continent."
Riese blinked, then straightened slightly. "…The Empire?"
"Yes," Hitler said. "The Bashurian Empire. Sounds a little Middle Eastern, doesn't it?"
"Middle Eastern?" Riese tilted his head. "What is that?"
"A people long passed," Hitler murmured. "From a world that deserved to die."
A pause. Then, the soft thunder of hooves on stone.
Down the road came a white carriage, gilded in gold leaf, drawn by two immaculate silver horses. The sunlight danced off its surface, turning it into a moving mirror of wealth and tradition. Following it were four smaller carriages—heavier, armored, and manned. Knights rode alongside, clad in chainmail layered with cobalt-blue tabards. Their helmets bore twin crests—one of a sun, the other of a crescent blade.
"I'm guessing that's them," Riese muttered.
Hitler gave a single, silent nod.
Riese stiffened his shoulders, raised his chin, and planted his boots firmly into the stone. His breath slowed. His stance widened—broader, harder, like a fortress forming from flesh.
The main carriage rolled to a perfect stop just before the steps. Two knights from the trailing guard dismounted quickly, their armor clinking with speed and precision. They approached the royal carriage and halted. One slammed his gauntleted fist to his chest in salute, then turned toward the waiting German figures.
He raised his voice.
"By order of the royal bloodline of the sun and veil—stand for her grace, Princess Valerie of House Bashur!"
The voice rang clear across the marble, echoing against the concrete.
I didn't move.
My eyes narrowed.
I could hear Otto's voice in my head, telling me to act civil. I could hear Seris reminding me of politics and alliance. But my mouth spoke colder things.
I took a slow step forward. Just enough to let the knights believe I might welcome her.
Then I scoffed.
Loud enough to cut the air.
"I don't greet anyone… who doesn't already belong to my empire."
Riese didn't flinch. But the corner of his mouth twitched, like the beginning of a smile.
The knights hesitated, confused.
Inside the carriage, velvet curtains shifted.
Then came silence.
Not a bird. Not a hoofstep. Not a whisper.
Only the weight of history, and the shadow of the Reich stretching long over the continent.
A single step.
A polished blue heel touched the stone, its sound echoing faintly across the wide boulevard.
The road went quiet.
A woman emerged from the carriage, her dress catching the wind. Midnight-black hair danced behind her shoulders. Her eyes held the confidence of royalty. The silk gown she wore sparkled like crushed sapphires under the sun, every movement catching the light.
She stood around 165 cm tall.
Graceful. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Well, that's not very nice, Mr. Führer," she said softly, her voice sharp as it was elegant.
She stepped down once more, her second foot meeting the concrete path. A nearby guard offered his arm—she barely touched it.
She paused at the edge of the step.
Then bowed, just slightly—lifting the hem of her dress in one hand, the gesture smooth and rehearsed.
"My name is Valerie," she continued. "I will be discussing matters with you today. I hope the meetings go well."
She raised her head.
Her eyes met mine.
I stepped forward.
Then down the first marble step. Then another.
I did not blink.
She didn't either.
But one of her guards broke the moment.
A tall man in blue-trimmed armor stepped in front of her, sword handle at the ready.
"Step away from Her Majesty," he barked. "Now."
Then—behind me—Riese moved.
One heavy boot thudded against the stone.
He stepped forward, towering over all.
A cold, metallic click echoed from his weapon—loaded. Charged. Ready.
His voice, low and brutal, cut through the street like a blade:
"Any move made against the Führer," he said, "and you will be gunned down."
He raised the weapon slightly."This is your only warning."
Dozens of soldiers sprang into action.
Bashurian knights in silver and blue surged around the princess, surrounding her with drawn swords and lifted shields. Runes flickered on their armor. Helmets clanked. One guard even raised a glowing staff—foolishly.
The air tensed.
One mistake, one twitch of a finger, and someone would die.
But then Valerie turned her head.
She tapped one of her guards on the shoulder and leaned in close.
A whisper passed between them.
Then—
"All men, fallback," the knight commanded.
Instantly the guards obeyed, returning to formation behind their princess.
The rune faded.
The swords sheathed.
The tension… broke.
Valerie faced me again, her expression calm.
"I apologize for the incident," she said. "My guards… tend to act before they think."
Riese slowly lowered the weapon.
Click.
He turned without a word and thudded his way back up the stairs—step by step—until he resumed his place behind me, silent as a mountain.
I nodded slowly. "These things happen."
I stepped forward again.
Then extended my hand.
A gesture of power disguised as politeness.
Valerie tilted her head, just slightly amused.
"So… this is how you greet people in your country."
I smiled faintly.
She took my hand and shook it.
It was cold. Strong. Calculated.
I held it a moment longer than I needed to.
Then let go.
"Now," I said, turning toward the tall doors of the government hall, "follow me to the meeting chambers."
She walked beside me, the gates of diplomacy opening behind our steps.