The air in Geneva was sharp with smoke, frost, and tension. The once-proud conference hall near the lake had become a fortress. Every nation brought their own guards. Every delegate watched their back.
Germany's representative came with a golden eagle pinned to his coat. Japan's delegate never removed her gloves, even indoors. Britain brought a full escort of black-suited operatives who never smiled.
But they all waited for one man. Hans entered the room dressed in military black, the fresh scar still healing across his face. Silence followed. Then murmurs. Then offers.
Each guild wanted him. For influence, protection, or fear of being on the wrong side of history.
"Commander Hans," the British delegate began, "our guild proposes a mutual defense pact, shared awakening research, and joint operations in Gate Zones across the Channel."
The Japanese guild's leader, calm and sharp-eyed, offered rare relics and teleportation sigils in exchange for military cooperation.
The German guild simply said: "Come home. Lead us. Be the sword of the new empire."
Hans listened to all. He agreed to nothing.
During a short break, a handwritten note was delivered to his quarters. It bore the symbol of a crescent moon and tulip.
It read:
"Come to the balcony, alone. –M"
Geneva Balcony – Midnight
Hans arrived with a hand on his pistol.
Out on the balcony stood a tall man in simple clothes, a scarf around his neck, dark hair brushing in the wind. He turned. Brown eyes. A strange calm.
"Mehmed," the man said, extending a hand. "Leader of the Provisional Anatolian Goverment. Pleased to finally meet the scarred lion of the Alps."
Hans shook it, wary.
"I heard you resist fascists, monsters, and your own officers," Mehmed smirked. "We should drink sometime."
"I thought this was a serious meeting," Hans muttered.
"Oh, it is," Mehmed said, pulling out a thermos. "Very serious. This is Turkish tea. Possibly the last real tea on Earth. You'll want to remember what peace tasted like when the next Gate opens."
Hans blinked. Then laughed, just once.
Mehmed poured two cups.
They drank.
And for a moment, in a city on the edge of world war, two commanders stood in the frost—not as threats, but as men who knew what it meant to carry their people's hope.