Ashes Of the Führer

"Commander Virella!" a soldier's voice rang out across the frost-covered ridge, urgent and breathless.

Virella turned her head slowly, her eyes still pulsing with a faint, ethereal glow — a piercing blue that shimmered like starlight trapped in water. Her pale hair floated slightly as if caught in a gentle current, untouched by the wind.

"What is it?" she asked, her tone calm but sharp. Her boots crunched as she stepped away from the war map drawn into the snowy earth.

The soldier approached cautiously, holding out a tightly folded letter sealed with black wax. "A message from the Führer. He demands an audience... immediately."

Virella took the note and opened it with a flick of her fingers, the wax dissolving with a quiet hiss of heat. Her eyes scanned the contents.

"...Did I do something wrong?" she murmured under her breath, her expression unreadable — the glow in her eyes dimming slightly. But she shook the thought away. It wasn't time for doubt.

She turned to her unit, her voice rising above the wind. "I'll be back soon. Don't slack off while I'm gone."

The soldiers saluted, though many looked uneasy. They had seen what long-distance teleportation did to her when they first arrived in the mountains — the toll it took on even someone as gifted as Virella.

She stepped away from the group and raised both hands slowly, palms open to the sky. A low hum filled the air, soft at first — like a choir beneath the ground. The snow around her boots began to rise in small, spiraling flakes. The ground itself shimmered faintly, reacting to the magical pressure.

Then came the light.

Blinding. Blue. Brilliant.

It exploded around her like a star being born — a crackling sphere of raw arcane energy that swallowed her entire form in one breathless instant. The air snapped with static, and the scent of ozone flooded the field as the column of light shot upward, leaving only scorched frost where she had stood.

She was gone.

—

The same light burst into existence just outside the village's central square — a thunderclap of brilliance and sound that startled nearby guards and villagers alike. They shielded their eyes as the blinding blue faded, leaving a lingering haze in its place.

And there — crumpled in the center — was Virella.

Her knees buckled. Her hands hit the ground. Her breathing came in harsh, uneven gasps, her body trembling from the sheer energy she had just channeled. Cold sweat clung to her forehead as the last of the glow faded from her eyes.

"…Damn it," she whispered, barely able to stay upright. "Master… I wish you would've helped me reach the Seventh Circle..."

She closed her eyes, leaning against the icy ground as her magic slowly stabilized within her, her heartbeat hammering in her chest like distant drums.

The cost of power was never cheap.

Virella remained on her hands and knees, chest heaving, breath steaming in the cold air. The teleportation had taken more from her than she'd expected — the distance, the strain, the weight of magic she still hadn't fully mastered.

The iron gates of the village clanged open behind her. Two guards rushed down the stone-paved road, armor clattering, boots thudding against the ground.

"Commander Virella!" one shouted, dropping to her side. "Are you alright?!"

She nodded weakly, not yet able to speak. The second guard knelt beside her, carefully wrapping one arm around her shoulder for support.

"She's cold as death," he muttered. "We need to get her off the street—now!"

"I'll call for a carriage!" the first guard barked, sprinting back toward the inner post.

Virella looked up slowly, eyes dim now, watching the village around her with labored breaths.

No—not a village anymore.

The streets bustled with life. The once-ragged settlement had begun to take on the bones of a town — rough, yes, but growing. Wooden scaffolds and stone foundations lined the roadways. Dozens of new homes were going up — some small, some built with two floors and front porches still under construction. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the scent of warm bread and ash mixed in the winter air.

Men walked shoulder-to-shoulder with planks of wood, bricks, and bundles of metal rods. Women carried crates and jugs of water to nearby construction zones. Their coats were patchworked, many of them stained from labor — but their expressions weren't grim.

They were smiling.

Laughing.

Determined.

In the far corner of the square, children played in the snow — shrieking with laughter as they threw snowballs and chased each other around half-built fences. One had crafted a little wooden sword and pretended to guard a pile of snow as if it were a fortress. Another little girl spun in circles until she fell, laughing into the white powder, her cheeks red from the cold.

Further along the main road, a long line had formed in front of the food tent, where soldiers and volunteers handed out rations. Despite the wait, people stood patiently, chatting and telling stories to pass the time. Some shared cups of broth. Others leaned on each other for warmth.

They weren't just surviving anymore.

They were rebuilding.

Becoming something more.

A rickety, horse-drawn carriage finally clattered into view, turning the corner as the first guard waved it over. The driver jumped down and threw open the door as the guards gently lifted Virella to her feet.

"We'll get you to City Hall, Commander," one said, wrapping her in his own cloak. "The Führer will want to see you immediately."

Virella nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you…"

As they helped her into the carriage, she cast one last look at the lively streets outside — the hammering, the laughter, the warmth — and allowed herself the briefest of smiles.

So this… is what he's building.

The carriage door shut, and the wheels turned, pulling her through the heart of the rising human settlement.

Toward the Führer.

Toward whatever awaited her next.

Inside the carriage, the dim interior rocked gently as the wheels clattered over cobblestone. Virella sat slumped against the cushion, her breath shallow, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. She wiped a bead of sweat from her temple, the color slowly returning to her cheeks.

She closed her eyes and began to whisper quietly, lips barely moving.

"In… two… three… hold…"

She inhaled sharply through her nose, her chest rising with practiced control. Her fingers glowed faintly blue as she traced slow circles across her lap.

"Exhale… steady… let the flow return…"

Tiny wisps of magical light gathered near her skin — no more than flickers — as she performed the breathing technique taught by her master years ago. It wasn't much, but it helped. The fatigue dulled slightly. Her thoughts cleared just enough.

"One more circle…" she whispered. "Balance… not power… balance."

The carriage jerked to a stop.

Outside, servants were already waiting.

As the carriage door opened, two attendants in dark vests and white gloves stepped forward, offering her steady hands.

"Commander Virella," one said with a bow, "we've been instructed to bring you directly to the meeting chamber. The Führer is expecting you shortly."

Virella nodded, standing straighter despite the tremor still in her legs. Her cloak flowed behind her as they led her through the wide, stone corridors of City Hall. The structure had grown considerably — marble floors now covered what was once simple timber, and new portraits of officers, commanders, and even General Elisabeth lined the halls.

People paused and bowed respectfully as she passed. Despite her youth, she was feared — and respected.

The servants stopped at a tall, arched door of black iron.

"Please wait inside," one said softly. "He will arrive soon."

She stepped into the room.

The Meeting Room — Cold and Empty

It was large, circular, and dimly lit by a single chandelier. The table in the center was long, carved from dark oak. A single chair was placed for her, but she chose to stand. The silence in the room wrapped around her like a second cloak.

Minutes passed.

Virella's thoughts began to wander.

Did I fail? Did I draw too much attention?

Did someone report what happened during the last mission?

Her hands tensed slightly. Her heartbeat climbed. She tried to calm herself, but the silence only deepened her worry.

What if he's angry…? What if I've already lost his trust?

Then—click.

The door opened.

Adolf Hitler stepped inside.

No coat. No entourage. Just his sharp eyes, dark uniform, and a folder clutched in one hand.

"Virella," he said, without pause or formality. "Sit. We have work to discuss."

She obeyed instantly, lowering herself into the chair as he stepped to the other side of the table.

He dropped the folder in front of her. A few paintings spilled out, its colorful images of the captured beast, its flesh stitched and bound to the iron table, its veins bulging, eyes rolled back.

"We've begun preliminary tests on the creature captured in the north," he began. "It survived longer than we expected. The restraints held. Otto is preparing for internal study."

He looked her in the eyes — calm, measured, cold. "What we need now is you."

Virella blinked. "M-me, Mein Führer?"

"Yes," he replied, voice flat. "We have a suspicion. A strong one."

He leaned forward slightly, fingers tapping the table.

"We believe its blood may contain… magic."

The room felt colder suddenly. Virella's throat tightened.

"It's subtle. Nothing like what you or your our kind can channel, but... we've noticed signs. The way the body healed. How it resisted sedation. And how it reacted to pain — not biologically, but instinctively... commanded like, as if connected to something beyond the material."

He folded his hands. "I need you to confirm this. You're the only one I trust with it."

Virella swallowed, her mind already spinning.

Magic... in its blood?