Prologue: The Fall of a Queen
The snow outside the Imperial Palace in Saint Petersburg fell silently, muffling the sounds of a tragedy that would ripple across the empire. Inside the gilded chambers, Queen Lucillia lay motionless, her crimson gown soaking the cold marble floor. The guards stood over her lifeless body, their faces masked with steel and indifference.
From the towering throne, Emperor Charles III's voice echoed through the hall, cold and unyielding. "Let this serve as a lesson. The crown tolerates no defiance."
In the shadows of the grand corridor, two boys watched. Aron, barely sixteen, clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. Beside him, Erwin, just a year older, stared with wide, unblinking eyes, his breath caught between terror and rage.
"She was our mother," Aron whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of grief and fury.
"And he's our father," Erwin replied, his tone like ice. "Remember this moment, Aron. Burn it into your soul."
When the guards found them later that night, their sentence was swift. Stripped of their titles, banished from the kingdom, and sent to the frozen wilderness with only their wits and hatred to sustain them. By the time they reached Berlin, they were no longer boys.
They were predators.
Shadows in Berlin
The city of Berlin loomed before them, its jagged skyline outlined against a slate-gray sky. Unlike the gilded opulence of Saint Petersburg, Berlin was a city of hard stone and harder people. Smoke billowed from chimneys, mingling with the cold, damp air. It was a city that had known war, famine, and betrayal—a fitting refuge for the exiled sons of an empire.
Aron and Erwin stood on a frost-covered hill overlooking the capital. Aron pulled his threadbare cloak tighter around his shoulders, his dark eyes scanning the city with predatory intensity.
"This is where we begin," Erwin said, his voice low and resolute.
Aron didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the bustling streets, the crowded marketplaces, and the spires of churches that pierced the sky. Berlin was alive, chaotic, and indifferent. It was everything Saint Petersburg was not.
"Do you think they'll come for us?" Aron asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and bitterness.
"They won't," Erwin replied. "To them, we're already dead. And that is their mistake."
The brothers descended into the city as the first snowflakes of the season began to fall. Their destination was a dilapidated tavern on the outskirts of the city, a place where the forgotten and forsaken gathered. It was a haven for mercenaries, thieves, and those who had been cast out of society.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale ale and unwashed bodies. Conversations hummed in a dozen languages, and the occasional burst of laughter or shouted insult punctuated the din. Aron and Erwin drew little attention as they slipped into a shadowy corner, their cloaks hiding the fine tailoring of their former lives.
A grizzled man with a scar running across his face approached their table. His eyes were sharp, his movements deliberate. "You're not from around here," he said, his voice gravelly.
"We're not," Erwin replied. "And we're looking for men who aren't afraid of blood."
The man chuckled, his scar twisting into a grotesque smile. "You've come to the right place. But blood doesn't flow for free."
Aron leaned forward, his voice cold and steady. "We'll pay. In coin, or in something more valuable."
The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what might that be?"
"Vengeance," Aron said, his eyes blazing with a fire that seemed to consume the room. "We're going to bring down the Emperor of Russia. Piece by piece. And we'll make anyone who stands with us rich beyond their wildest dreams."
A heavy silence fell over the table. Then the man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that turned heads across the room. "Ambitious, aren't you? All right, boys. I'll bite. Let's see if you've got the spine to back up your talk."
Erwin smiled faintly, a predator's grin. "You'll see soon enough."
Inside the dimly lit tavern, the crackling fire in the hearth was the only warmth to be found. Aron's gaze remained fixed on the scarred man across the table. The tension was thick enough to cut with a blade as the man waited for an introduction.
"I am Aron..." he began, but the words caught in his throat. His birthright, once a badge of honor, was now a death sentence. The name vi Charles—son of the Emperor—was a chain he could no longer bear to carry.
He paused, his mind racing, then said with deliberate finality, "Aron Himmler. And he is my brother, Erwin Himmler."
Erwin's sharp glance betrayed his surprise but only for a moment. He quickly recovered, giving a slight nod of agreement.
The scarred man leaned back, crossing his arms. "Himmler, huh? Never heard of you."
"We've been... away," Erwin said smoothly, picking up the thread. "But we're here now, and we've got plans."
"Big plans," Aron added, his voice calm but with an edge that dared anyone to question him.
The man raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "You've got nerve, I'll give you that. But Berlin doesn't care about big plans unless they come with big coin."
Aron reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch. He placed it on the table, and the unmistakable clink of gold rang out as he loosened the drawstring. The scarred man's eyes narrowed, greed and caution wrestling for dominance in his expression.
"This is just the start," Aron said. "There's more where that came from if you listen."
The man studied them both, then nodded slowly. "You've bought yourself a seat at the table, Himmlers. But don't think for a second that coin alone will keep it."
Aron leaned forward, his dark eyes unflinching. "We're not here to keep a seat. We're here to take the table—and everything on it."
The man's laughter boomed through the tavern. "You've got fire, boy. I'll give you that. All right, I'll hear you out. But tread carefully. Men like me don't follow kings. We follow power."
Aron's lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile. "Then you'll follow us soon enough."
"Do you know a political office of the opposition party?" Said Aron.
The scarred man leaned back in his chair, watching Aron with measured curiosity. "You've got the look of someone who's thinking five steps ahead. What are you after, boy?"
Aron met his gaze, unwavering. "Do you know a political office of the opposition party?"
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, the noise of the tavern seemed to fade. The scarred man frowned, his scarred brow creasing. "Opposition party? You're either mad or bold to bring that up here. The Emperor's spies have long arms, even in Berlin."
"I'm not concerned about the Emperor's spies," Aron replied, his tone sharp. "I'm concerned about finding someone who has as much to gain from bringing him down as we do."
Erwin crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "And someone who has resources. This isn't just about revenge—it's about alliances."
The scarred man's lips twitched into a smirk. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But you're playing with fire. The opposition party doesn't trust outsiders, especially ones with no name or history in Berlin."
Aron leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Then they'll trust gold. Or fear failure. Either way, they'll listen to us."
The man shook his head slowly. "You're walking into a viper's den, Himmler. But if you're determined, there's a place in the southern district. An old grain warehouse. They hold meetings there when the moon is full. If you're serious about this, you'll find what you're looking for."
Erwin shot Aron a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a faint smile. "A grain warehouse. Fitting, don't you think?"
"Very," Aron replied, his tone icy. He stood, smoothing his worn cloak. "Let's see how willing these vipers are to bite."
The scarred man watched them with a mix of amusement and wariness as they left the table. "Good luck, boys," he muttered under his breath. "You'll need it."
As the brothers stepped out into the cold Berlin night, Aron turned to Erwin. "We'll offer them what they want to hear. But if they stand in our way…"
Erwin's smile grew darker. "We'll crush them, just like the rest."
As the cold wind nipped at their faces, the brothers walked through the dimly lit streets of Berlin. The city's shadows seemed alive, whispering secrets they were determined to uncover.
Aron broke the silence. "Brother, do you know the name of the Emperor of Germany?"
Erwin raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "Ludwig IV, if I'm not mistaken. Why?"
Aron's expression darkened, his breath visible in the icy air. "If we're going to build alliances, we need to know where the real power lies. Not just among the opposition, but in the empire itself."
Erwin smirked, adjusting his cloak. "Ludwig is a cautious man, from what I've heard. More interested in keeping his throne than expanding his reach. He's no Charles."
"No," Aron agreed, his voice filled with disdain. "But even a cautious man can be useful. If we understand his weaknesses, we can manipulate his strengths."
Erwin stopped abruptly, grabbing Aron's arm and pulling him into a darkened alley. "You're thinking too far ahead," he hissed. "We barely have a foothold here, and you're already plotting to sway emperors?"
Aron shrugged off his brother's grip, his eyes blazing with cold determination. "This isn't just about survival, Erwin. It's about strategy. The Emperor of Germany may be cautious, but he rules a powerful nation. If we can make him see the benefit of our cause—or the threat we pose—we'll have leverage against Father."
Erwin's gaze softened, a flicker of admiration crossing his features. "You've always thought bigger than me. Maybe that's why I follow you."
"Not follow," Aron corrected, his voice firm. "We're equals in this, Erwin. Partners."
Erwin chuckled, his breath visible in the frigid air. "Partners, then. But let's focus on surviving tonight before we start toppling emperors."
Aron gave a faint smile, one devoid of warmth. "Fair enough. First, the grain warehouse. Then, we decide who lives and who doesn't."
The brothers continued their march toward the southern district, their steps purposeful and their minds filled with visions of vengeance and conquest.
As they walked under the flickering light of an old street lamp, Aron broke the silence. "I luckily managed to get Mother's savings right before we were kicked out."
Erwin stopped mid-step, staring at his younger brother. "You... what? How?"
"I knew things were spiraling," Aron said, his tone measured. "She always kept a hidden stash, just in case. It wasn't much, but enough to buy us a few advantages."
Erwin's surprise faded, replaced by a slow, approving nod. "Smart. That explains how you managed to keep us alive so far."
Aron smirked faintly. "Mother taught me to think ahead. And now, we use that foresight to take our first real step."
Erwin tilted his head. "And what's that?"
"We use the gold to buy information," Aron said, his eyes gleaming with calculated intent. "We pay someone a bit to tell us about the secret hideout of the opposition party. Once we have that, we blackmail the party leader."
"Blackmail?" Erwin echoed, intrigued.
Aron nodded. "We'll threaten to leak the hideout's location to the guards unless they give us a ticket in the local grass-root elections. I've heard elections are held at that level—in towns and small hamlets."
Erwin crossed his arms, considering the plan. "That's ambitious, even for you. What makes you think they won't just kill us to keep their secrets?"
"They might try," Aron admitted. "But if we approach carefully, they'll see the sense in cooperating. A few new faces entering politics at a minor level won't threaten them immediately. It's low risk for them, and high reward for us."
Erwin chuckled, shaking his head. "Starting from the bottom. It's not exactly a march on Saint Petersburg."
"No," Aron agreed, his voice hardening. "But every empire starts somewhere. We build a base, gain power, and rise through the ranks. By the time Father realizes we're a threat, it'll be too late."
Erwin gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "You're always thinking five moves ahead. All right, let's find someone who knows where this opposition party likes to hide. And let's hope they value gold more than loyalty."
Aron smiled—a sharp, predatory grin. "They always do."
The brothers quickened their pace, disappearing into the labyrinth of Berlin's shadowy streets, their minds set on the next move in their game of vengeance.
The brothers moved through the backstreets of Berlin, their cloaks wrapped tightly against the biting wind. Aron's sharp eyes scanned every alleyway and shadowed corner, searching for the kind of person who could be persuaded by gold and a whisper of danger.
Their search led them to a seedy tavern near the docks, a place where secrets flowed as freely as the ale. The air inside was thick with smoke and tension, the kind of place where men spoke in hushed tones and fists often settled arguments.
Aron's gaze landed on a wiry man hunched over a corner table, his greasy hair falling over his face as he nursed a half-empty mug. The man's darting eyes and nervous demeanor marked him as someone who knew more than he let on—and likely feared for his life because of it.
"Follow my lead," Aron murmured to Erwin as they approached.
The wiry man looked up as they neared, his hand instinctively going to a knife at his belt. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and wary.
"To make you richer than you've ever dreamed," Aron replied smoothly, pulling out a small pouch of gold coins and placing it on the table. "All you have to do is tell us something useful."
The man's eyes flickered to the pouch, then back to Aron. "Depends on what you're asking."
Aron leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We need to know where the opposition party holds its meetings. Their leader's name. Everything you can tell us."
The man's expression darkened. "You're mad. They'll kill me if they even suspect I talked."
"And the guards will kill you if I hand you over to them," Aron countered, his voice cold. "Think carefully. This gold could buy you a new life far from here. Or you can keep your secrets and die poor in this gutter."
The man hesitated, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But you didn't hear this from me. The party meets in an abandoned grain warehouse on the southern edge of the city. The leader... his name is Gustav Rhein. He's a shrewd one—doesn't trust easily."
"Good," Aron said, sliding the pouch across the table. "You've made the right choice."
Erwin watched the exchange silently, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his dagger—a subtle reminder to the man of the consequences of betrayal.
Later That Night
The warehouse was as desolate as the man had described, its crumbling walls and broken windows bathed in the pale light of the moon. Aron and Erwin approached cautiously, their footsteps muffled by the snow-covered ground.
A pair of armed guards stood at the entrance, their eyes scanning the darkness. Aron stepped forward, his posture calm but confident.
"We're here to speak with Gustav Rhein," he said.
One of the guards snorted. "And who the hell are you?"
"Messengers," Aron replied. "And if your leader has any sense, he'll want to hear what we have to say."
The guards exchanged a skeptical glance before one disappeared inside. Moments later, the door creaked open, and the brothers were ushered into the dimly lit interior.
Gustav Rhein stood at the center of the room, a tall man with graying hair and piercing blue eyes. He was flanked by several men and women, all armed and watchful.
"You've got my attention," Gustav said, his voice as sharp as the blade at his side. "But not for long. Speak."
Aron stepped forward, meeting the man's gaze unflinchingly. "We know your secrets, Gustav. Where you meet. Who you are. Everything."
The room tensed, and hands moved to weapons. Gustav raised a hand, silencing his followers. "And you think that's enough to bargain with me?"
Aron smiled faintly. "It's more than enough to destroy you. But we're not here to fight you, Gustav. We're here to offer you an opportunity."
"What kind of opportunity?" Gustav asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
"Leverage," Aron said. "We know the system you're up against because we come from it. We can help you take control of Berlin from the inside. But we need a place to start—a position in the local elections."
Gustav studied them for a long moment before speaking. "You're either bold or foolish. Perhaps both. But if you're lying, you won't leave this warehouse alive."
Aron's smile widened, cold and calculating. "If I'm lying, you won't need to kill me. The Emperor's guards will take care of that for you."
Gustav's lips curled into a faint smirk. "You've got guts, boy. All right, you've earned a chance. But if you fail..."
"We won't," Aron interrupted, his voice firm. "This is just the beginning."