Two years had passed since the empire's rebirth.
Across the continent, France had erupted and reformed—the Syndicalists had won their brutal civil war, establishing a radical workers' republic that now loomed across the Rhine. Their slogans were loud, their borders militarized, and their propaganda had begun seeping into Central Europe.
Germany, meanwhile, teetered.
The once-reunited Reich had fractured once more. The "Kaiser Reborn", a mysterious awakened youth claiming to be the reincarnation of Wilhelm II, continued to amass influence in the north and east. Many of Hans' own former German allies now whispered about returning to the old ways—or worse, defecting entirely.
Reports from Hamburg spoke of mass rallies under imperial black, white, and red. Bavarian cities had barricades again.
And yet… amidst the chaos of Europe, the Ehrenfeld-Austrian Empire stood tall. Stable. Firm. Rebuilding.
And in a sunlit hall within Vienna's Royal Nursery, the emperor's legacy toddled forward in tiny boots.
Inside the royal nursery, sunlight pooled over patterned rugs, polished wooden furniture, and shelves full of both ancient books and plush toys. A pair of grand windows overlooked the recovering Vienna skyline, but all eyes were on two bouncing bundles of royal energy.
Anna Ehrenfeld-Adler, with her thick tufts of chestnut hair and mischievous violet eyes, had somehow escaped her caretakers and climbed atop a footstool, declaring loudly:
"I is… big bird!"
"Nein, Anna, down! Down!" cried Frau Klara, her caretaker and language tutor. "Repeat after me: Guten Tag."
Anna blinked. "Goo-ta… duck?"
"Close enough," muttered Klara, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Her twin brother, Karl Ehrenfeld-Adler, wasn't doing much better. He had decided that the phrase 'My name is Karl' sounded better as:
"Me Karl-boom!"
Mostly because he liked yelling "boom" and then falling backward onto pillows for dramatic effect. Every time he did, Captain Engelhardt, their godfather and the intimidating head of the Imperial Guard, flinched.
"By the Iron Crown…" he muttered under his breath. "They're learning tactics already. Unpredictable chaos. Like their father."
Hans chuckled softly from the doorway, arms folded as he watched the twins scatter a carefully arranged alphabet board. Eliska stood beside him, rocking slightly with laughter.
"They're barely two, Engelhardt," she whispered. "Not anarchists."
"They command the room like seasoned generals," he replied. "The girl already flanks from the shadows."
One of the language instructors, a plump, red-faced woman named Frau Metzel, clapped her hands rhythmically. "Now, children! We practice greetings. When someone bows and says 'Good Morning, Your Highness,' you say—?"
Anna tilted her head. "Hi!"
"High?" repeated Karl.
"No, no," Metzel sighed. "Your Highness. You say 'Good Morning.' Repeat: Gooood Moooorn—"
Karl burped.
Anna tried to curtsy and fell over.
Metzel looked like she aged ten years in a second.
Meanwhile, one of the Imperial Officers, young Lieutenant Rainer, had dared bring in a toy soldier doll with a tiny Iron Crown painted on its head. He offered it to Karl, kneeling down and whispering, "Here, Prince. Do you want to be a commander like Papa?"
Karl solemnly took the doll, stared at it… and then bit its head off.
Gasps.
"...Well," Rainer said after a pause. "That's a different kind of leadership."
Later that day, in the royal parlor:
Hans knelt in front of the twins, now half-asleep and curled in a sunbeam. He smiled, brushing hair from Anna's face and adjusting Karl's little jacket.
"These children will grow into a world unlike the one I was born into," he murmured to Eliska. "No monster war, no falling cities. They'll learn to speak before they learn to shout. That's the dream."
Eliska placed a soft hand over his.
"It's already happening. One day at a time."
Above them, the ghostly ancestors watched silently. Among them now stood a new face, an older man in a fur-trimmed greatcoat and Prussian medal chain. His features mirrored Hans', but bore the grim resolve of past tragedy.
"So these are the future?"
"Aye," said Dietrich, arms crossed. "Messy, noisy, reckless… but brave. Just like him."
"Then perhaps," the new ghost whispered, "there is hope still in this world of ashes."