The icy January wind whipped through the streets of Berlin, carrying with it the smell of coal and the distant echo of speeches blaring from loudspeakers. It was 1943, and the war had left its mark on every corner of the city. The buildings, once majestic, now bore the scars of bombings, and people hurried through the streets, avoiding eye contact. Among them, a young man with dark hair and a restless gaze walked with purpose. His name was Lukas Weber, and though he was only 22 years old, he had already seen more than anyone should in a lifetime.
Lukas was not a soldier, nor a politician, nor even an ordinary citizen. He was the youngest son of the Weber family, one of the most influential dynasties in Nazi Germany. His father, Friedrich Weber, was a high-ranking official in the National Socialist Party, close to Hitler's inner circle. His mother, Elisabeth Weber, came from an aristocratic family with roots stretching back centuries. The Webers were respected, feared, and above all, envied. But Lukas didn't fit into that world. From a young age, he had felt that something within him didn't belong to that era, as if his mind were trapped in a time that didn't yet exist.
That night, Lukas was in his room, surrounded by books and maps. Unlike his family, he didn't believe in Aryan superiority or the promises of a thousand-year Reich. In secret, he had been helping to hide Jews and political dissidents, risking his life over and over again. He knew that if he were discovered, there would be no mercy—not even for a Weber. But he couldn't stand idly by. Something inside him told him he had to fight, that he had to do something to change the course of history.
As he flipped through a philosophy book, he heard a knock at the door. It was Hans, his older brother, an SS officer with unwavering loyalty to the regime. Hans entered without waiting for a response, his uniform impeccable and his gaze as cold as steel.
"Lukas, Father wants to see you," he said sharply. "It's urgent."
Lukas nodded, knowing he had no choice. He followed Hans through the hallways of the family mansion, feeling the weight of the portraits on the walls staring down at him. Each one seemed to judge him, to remind him that he was a traitor in his own home.
When they reached his father's study, he found Friedrich seated behind his desk, surrounded by documents and military maps. His face was stern, almost impenetrable.
"Lukas," Friedrich began without looking up, "you know our family has been loyal to the Führer from the beginning. We've sacrificed much for this cause. But lately, I've heard rumors… rumors that concern me."
Lukas held his breath. Did they know? Had they discovered his clandestine activities?
"I don't know what you're talking about, Father," he lied, trying to stay calm.
Friedrich finally looked at him, and in his eyes was a mix of disappointment and fury.
"Don't lie to me, Lukas. I know you've been helping enemies of the Reich. How could you betray us like this? How could you betray your own blood?"
Lukas felt the ground crumble beneath him. There was no escape. He knew his father wouldn't forgive him, that no one in his family would. But before he could respond, Hans stepped forward and grabbed his arm forcefully.
"Come with me," he ordered. "We need to settle this once and for all."
Lukas was dragged out of the mansion and shoved into a car. Hans drove in silence, while Lukas stared out the window, wondering if this would be the last time he'd see the streets of Berlin. Finally, they arrived at a forest on the outskirts of the city. Hans pulled him out of the car and led him to a clearing, where a firing squad was already assembled.
"Hans, please," Lukas pleaded, feeling fear paralyze him. "You can't do this. I'm your brother."
Hans looked at him coldly.
"You're no longer my brother. You're a traitor, and traitors deserve no mercy."
Lukas closed his eyes, feeling the cold night air mix with the heat of tears streaming down his cheeks. He heard the order, the sound of rifles being loaded, and then… the deafening crack of gunfire.
But instead of eternal darkness, Lukas felt himself falling into an infinite void. His mind filled with confused images: bombs falling from the sky, cities in flames, faces he didn't recognize but that felt familiar. And then, suddenly, everything stopped.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the forest. He was in a warm, cozy room, surrounded by antique furniture and the sound of a ticking pendulum clock. He looked at his hands, which were now smaller, more delicate. He approached a mirror and saw the face of a boy no older than ten, with blue eyes and blond hair.
"Lukas?" he heard a woman's voice behind him. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"
He turned and saw an elegant woman in a period dress, her gaze filled with concern. It was his mother, but not the Elisabeth Weber he knew. This woman was younger, kinder.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Lukas said, feeling the words leave his mouth without thought. "I couldn't sleep."
The woman smiled and hugged him.
"Don't worry, my little one. Tomorrow is a big day. Your father has an important meeting with the Chancellor."
Lukas felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew something had changed, that he was no longer in 1943. He had been reborn in a different time, into a powerful family, but with the memories of his past life intact. And now, he would have to decide how to use that knowledge to change the course of history… or repeat the same mistakes of the past.