Washington burned.
No one truly understood what had happened.
Not the soldiers digging through mountains of ash where governnt buildings had once stood. Not the doctors overwheld by injuries they had never seen before. Not the generals desperately demanding explanations from n who possessed none.
Rumors spread faster than truth.
So called it divine punishnt.
Others spoke of a new German superweapon.
Most simply stood in silence, staring toward the horizon where an entire city had ceased to exist.
Across the world, governnts scrambled.
In contested Moscow, doubt quietly entered rooms where doubt had long been forbidden.
And while much of the United States governnt apparatus had been wiped away in an instant, the survivors reached a decision driven by the very thing Paul had relied upon so many tis before...
Fear.
And how could they not fear it?
BERLIN THE DAY AFTER
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound of thousands upon thousands of boots thundered through the streets of Berlin.
Massive banners hung from buildings, swaying gently in the cold wind as soldiers marched beneath them.
Perfect posture. Weapons in hand. Heads held high.
Row after row.
Unending.
The sa in Paris.
The sa in London.
The sa in Munich.
The sa in Prague.
The sa in Warsaw.
Cologne. Frankfurt. Marseille. Liverpool. Oslo.
Everywhere across the vast territory of the German Empire and Reich, they marched.
"Isn’t this what you’ve always dread of?"
"Isn’t this what fills you with awe?"
Paul did not turn.
He did not want to acknowledge the voice echoing through his office.
Instead, he stood before the towering window, hands behind his back, watching Berlin stretch endlessly beneath him.
And already, the machinery had begun to move.
Radio stations broadcast without pause. Newspapers worked tirelessly since morning. Across every city, every occupied territory, every allied nation, the sa ssage spread like wildfire.
One sentence.
One truth.
Paul reached forward and slowly pushed open the window.
Far below, loudspeakers thundered across the capital.
"THE SECOND WORLD WAR IS OVER!"
The roar that followed seed to shake the very streets of Berlin.
Paul stepped onto the balcony, adjusting his collar as he revealed himself to the endless sea of people below. Hundreds of thousands had gathered in the streets, cheering, crying, celebrating the man who had led Germany to victory in the greatest war mankind had ever witnessed.
"What a magnificent sight."
The voice again.
Paul ignored it.
He simply raised a hand, and the city erupted once more, thousands upon thousands of voices rising together in celebration, yet his own expression remained unreadable.
"Our work isn’t finished... is it?"
Quietly, Paul turned his gaze eastward.
He knew what the voice ant.
Sowhere far in the distance, artillery still thundered, its echoes faint now, almost distant enough to be forgotten.
As though pulled from a trance, Paul slowly parted his lips and tilted his face slightly upward, allowing the warmth of the afternoon sun to strike against his pale skin.
"I think this is it," he said quietly. "It is over now."
A faint smile ford on his lips, hesitant at first, unfamiliar even to himself.
For the first ti in what felt like an eternity, there was peace.
"I think it is..."
"You are lying to yourself."
The smile disappeared instantly.
Paul turned, his eyes full of pain.
There he stood.
Clad in a grey suit, his gaze fixed entirely upon him, calm and unwavering.
"Werner."
Paul’s lips parted.
But no words ca.
Blink
And he was gone.
His eyes lowered toward his own hand, in thought once more.
"You didn’t think you could get rid of that easily, did you?"
His head snapped upward.
Standing beside him now was another familiar face.
His jaw tightened.
"Jas..."
He wore a beige suit, expensive and perfectly tailored, exactly as Paul rembered him. He stood there as though nothing had changed, as though none of it had ever truly ended.
"You killed ," Jas said calmly. "Just like you killed Werner. And so many others."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"How many people did you kill, Paul?"
Without answering, Paul stepped back into his office and quietly shut the window behind him. The deafening celebrations outside faded at once.
Slowly, he lowered himself into his chair, slumped and exhausted.
"Rember ?"
Paul froze.
Slowly, painfully, he raised his head once more, his hand beginning to tremble again.
The voice was soft.
Feminine.
"...Dearest."
Paul’s breath caught, while his lips trembled.
"Elisabeth..."
She stood before him, disappointnt filling her eyes, hurt buried sowhere even deeper. Blood stained her dress, sared across pale skin.
"You abandoned ."
Her voice rose.
"You left to die."
"No..."
Paul staggered to his feet.
"I... I didn’t know..."
His voice cracked as he slowly reached out his hand.
Elisabeth did the sa.
Their fingers ca closer.
Only inches remained between them.
Then she vanished.
Just like that.
Paul froze, his expression twisting as his fingertips suddenly pressed against sothing cold, hard, unmoving.
A mirror.
Slowly, his gaze lifted.
His own reflection stared back at him.
The sa face.
The sa tired eyes.
The sa trembling hand still stretched forward.
"So you are the last one?" Paul asked quietly, his voice already heavy with exhaustion and pain.
Silence answered him.
Only the muffled sounds of celebration remained beyond the thick walls of the Reich Chancellery.
Paul stared into the reflection.
"Huh?" A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "What exactly are you trying to tell ?"
Nothing.
No answer ca.
Paul let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"No words left?"
Then the finger in the reflection moved.
It slowly retracted.
Paul’s eyes widened.
His own hand had not moved.
The reflection lowered its hand entirely, adjusted its posture, and straightened itself, calm and composed in a way Paul no longer was.
Paul’s breath caught.
Slowly, almost chanically, he looked down at his own trembling hand before raising his gaze once more.
The reflection no longer mirrored him.
"You..."
His voice failed.
He touched his forehead, a terrible thought slowly forcing its way into his mind.
No.
This wasn’t possible.
"Am I going insane?"
"No."
The Paul inside the mirror tilted his head slightly.
"Quite the opposite."
Real Paul instinctively stepped back.
"You are finally beginning to understand."
His own reflection smiled faintly.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
It was the kind of smile that unsettled.
"The people you saw..." he continued quietly. "You think of them as mistakes. Regrets. Burdens you carry."
He slowly shook his head.
"But you misunderstand."
His reflection stepped forward.
Paul did not.
"They shaped you."
The voice remained calm, asured.
"Their suffering. Their choices. Their deaths...."
"Their fate is what brought you here. Here to this point."
Paul narrowed his eyes, taking another step back.
"What are you talking about?"
"The mont I found it..." the reflection continued, almost ignoring the question, "...their destinies were already decided."
Paul’s expression hardened.
His hand instinctively reached toward the whiskey bottle resting on his desk.
He grabbed it.
Poured himself a glass.
The liquid trembled slightly as it filled.
Only after taking a slow sip did he finally speak again.
"Found what?"
For the first ti, the reflection paused.
Then...
A smile spread across its face.
Almost mad.
"Ahhh"
Its voice lowered.
"Now that..."
The smile widened.
"...that is the right question."
Paul said nothing.
The reflection leaned slightly closer against the mirror.
"The statue."
Paul’s expression shifted.
For a mont, his lips parted.
Then closed again.
"Of course."
The reflection chuckled softly.
"The Statue of the Golden Eagle."
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Just who is mirror Paul?
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