Vienna – Return from Geneva
The Iron Crown's jet descended through the overcast skies of Austria, its engines humming like distant war drums. From the window, Hans Ehrenfeld Adler could see Vienna's fractured skyline—cranes, reconstruction zones, spires still cracked from the Portalfall years. Yet today, the city's scars were buried beneath banners of white and gold, and streets flooded with people awaiting their Emperor's return.
But Hans wasn't alone anymore.
Eliska Vranova stood beside him, her dark hair swept behind a green velvet hood, the Danube Phoenix brooch pinned proudly over her shoulder. The engagement had been whispered throughout Geneva on the banquet's final night—but Hans had made it official in the final minutes, not as a stunt, but a declaration:
Austria would not stand alone. Nor would he.
Evening – Imperial Gardens, Vienna
The palace gardens glittered under light snowfall. Candles floated in glass bowls upon still waters, and string quartets played a soft waltz echoing over the hedges. Guild leaders, foreign dignitaries, and Reformist commanders mingled in warm conversation. The engagement of Hans and Eliska was not just romantic—it was a political earthquake.
For once, there were smiles.
Colonel Engelhardt raised a toast. "To peace, and to the unity of hearts that will bring it."
Hans smiled politely, holding Eliska's hand. But behind his eyes, there was tension. Albrecht had still not reappeared. And some guild heads—the old money from Munich, the industrialists from Prague—seemed too quiet.
The ballroom clock struck nine.
A shriek split the air.
Then—Boom.
The eastern balcony erupted in flames, glass shattering inward. A second explosion rocked the front gate. Smoke engulfed the staircase. Screams and shouts overlapped with the crash of falling masonry.
Hans immediately pulled Eliska behind a pillar. Guards surged forward, weapons drawn.
"Protect the crown! Evacuate the guests!"
Blood streaked the floor where a merchant guild head from Salzburg had fallen, shrapnel in his neck. Across the room, an aide was sobbing over a collapsed admiral. Flames licked the edges of priceless paintings.
Eliska was already pulling open her coat, retrieving a small sidearm and shouting orders in Slovak.
Then the screens throughout the palace—used for state broadcasts—flickered. They turned black, then red.
A figure appeared.
Not masked. Not hiding.
Albrecht von Karling.
"To the citizens of Austria, and the subjects of the Iron Crown: I speak not as a traitor, but as a patriot. Hans Adler has corrupted our legacy. He has polluted the army with foreign influence, betrayed our traditions for romantic fantasies, and now dares to call tyranny a monarchy."
"No more."
"The Old Guard rises tonight. We declare the illegitimacy of the Iron Crown's regime. All loyal forces will march at dawn. Vienna is compromised. Retreat, or burn."
The screen cut.
Then sirens blared.
Civil war had begun.
Midnight – Throne Room, Inner Palace
Hans stood before what remained of the central command council, a cut above his brow, Eliska beside him, pistol still warm in her holster.
"Seal the outer gates," he barked. "Divert the 3rd Mechanized from Linz to the capital. We secure the city first—then strike."
"Your Majesty," a guild leader stammered, "they have artillery in the west, and at least five divisions pledged—"
"I don't care," Hans snarled. "They think bombs will scare me? I walked through Geneva with an assassin's blade inches from my heart and I kept walking."
His voice thundered through the hall.
"They betrayed the people. They betrayed me."
He turned to his generals.
"Albrecht wants war? Then give him hell. Let the world see that the Iron Crown does not bow to cowards."
Eliska stepped forward.
"And I will not leave his side. The Danube Confederation stands with the Emperor."
A hush followed.
Then Engelhardt stepped forward, saluting sharply.
"Then we stand together. For the Crown. For the future."