Location: Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Reich Capital – Diplomatic Chamber
The room was quiet—too quiet for the amount of tension folded into it.
Soft yellow light from the gemstone sconces danced across white concrete walls lined with Reich flags and geometric banners of crimson and black. No wind reached this deep. No sound filtered in from the streets outside. Only the faint hum of steam pipes beneath the marble floor filled the gaps between breaths.
Two velvet chairs sat facing a wide desk of polished walnut. The chairs were plainly regal—well-maintained but unadorned, the kind diplomats used when they wished to appear equal. Behind the desk sat Albrecht Morgen, the Reich's official envoy. His uniform was dark and sharply creased, collar pinned tight with the steel double-eagle insignia. His posture was perfect.
Across from him, seated stiffly, were two elves.
Caelthas of House Ylaelor, silver-haired and iron-spined, sat upright in one chair, hands folded over his lap. Beside him, slouched back with arms crossed and glare unwavering, was Princess Sylvariel. Her armor was ceremonial—leaf-detailed bracers over silk—and a silver crest hung from her neck like a noose waiting to tighten.
Between them sat silence.
A painting of the Führer watched over the room from the far wall—his eyes grim, his posture frozen in sharp military dignity. Below the painting, a radio played faintly: Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, slow and prideful.
Albrecht cleared his throat. Then, in practiced, formal German:
"Ich entschuldige mich aufrichtig für das frühere Missverständnis."I sincerely apologize for the earlier misunderstanding.
Sylvariel didn't hesitate.
"You better be," she snapped, her eyes flickering with restrained fury. "You dare to threaten my kin at your border—"
"Sylvariel," Caelthas interrupted firmly.
Albrecht raised a brow, ignoring the outburst. "Let's move forward."
Caelthas nodded. "Agreed. You are forgiven. Tensions were high on both sides. We are here now in peace—and under the banner of diplomacy. We have come for the perpetrators in your possession. The family that crossed the river. The father, the boy, the girl. They are suspects in the murder of Lord Velas's son."
Albrecht didn't shift. "With respect… we've been presented no evidence."
Sylvariel stood so abruptly her chair scraped the floor.
"You arrogant verdammt affen! Your border rats protected a killer! You saw the flames on our backs! The noble's child was murdered—his body burned—and you want—"
Caelthas raised a single finger, eyes never leaving Albrecht's.
The spell formed without word or strain—just a shimmer of white heat across Sylvariel's mouth.
Her lips froze. No sound came.
She staggered back slightly, blinking in shock. Her hand shot to her jaw, but no scream escaped.
Caelthas remained unmoved. "Forgive her. She is young… and grieving."
Albrecht didn't flinch. He simply nodded once, slowly. "Of course."
Caelthas exhaled through his nose. "We will not waste time. The facts are these: Lord Velas's son, heir of the Shimmering House, was ambushed near the border. Struck from behind. His body was found burned. Two humans were seen fleeing the forest by our scouts—the same family that crossed into your territory that same hour."
"Seen," Albrecht repeated. "But not arrested. Not interrogated. Not judged."
"They fled," Caelthas countered. "From a murder. On elven soil. That is guilt enough for detainment."
Albrecht leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the desk. His voice stayed calm—but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.
"Respectfully… they are not citizens of your kingdom. They are human. They do not belong to your laws. They are not judged by your standards."
Caelthas didn't blink. "And yet… when those in power move, mountains obey. Borders bend. Laws… adapt. You know this, or your Reich would not exist."
A pause.
Albrecht's expression didn't change. "That may be. But our laws do exist. And they are clear: humans who seek refuge under Reich protection are not to be extradited to foreign powers without due process."
Caelthas spoke slowly now, every word deliberate. "Then due process must account for murder. Or will your Reich defend any crime, so long as it's one of your own?"
Albrecht didn't answer right away.
He reached for a small stack of parchment at the edge of his desk—diplomatic forms, blank and waiting. He tapped them once against the wood. Then set them back down.
"Your request has been heard," he said. "And logged. However, the decision does not rest with this Ministry alone. If you wish to proceed with formal extradition, you may submit a claim to the Reich's Legal Court, Article 12, Subsection—"
"I will not file papers," Caelthas said coolly. "We came for justice, not paperwork."
Albrecht met his gaze, still calm. "And I came for clarity. Which, it seems, we are not achieving."
Sylvariel still stood in silence, fists trembling at her sides. The magical seal over her mouth glimmered faintly, but she didn't struggle anymore. Just stared daggers.
Caelthas finally relented. "Then what do you propose, Reich Envoy?"
Albrecht looked to the far corner of the room. Then to the flag behind him.
"We take it to the Continental Court."
The weight of the silence hung heavier now. The words continental court had changed the air—what had once been a tense exchange had morphed into something far more fragile.
A formality wrapped around a threat.
Albrecht Morgen rose first. His black-gloved hands moved with deliberate care as he opened a drawer in the desk and retrieved a leather-bound document folder stamped with the sigil of the Reich: a double-headed eagle, wings spread over a triangle of swords and laurel. The wax seal gleamed red as blood under the gaslight.
He set the folder down on the desk with a heavy thump.
"This is a copy of the Reich's conditional extradition refusal and a joint petition for arbitration to the Imperial Continental Court. It outlines the disagreement, logs the incident, and requests a third-party tribunal ruling."
Caelthas rose from his chair with practiced poise, brushing his cloak back with one hand. His silver hair draped slightly over his shoulder, catching the warm light from the wall sconces. Sylvariel did not move, still standing at his side like a chained lioness.
"We will sign it," Caelthas said, "but let history record that we did not come to squabble over law. We came to retrieve the body of justice before it rotted."
Albrecht offered a shallow bow. "Let the court decide which body will be buried."
He flipped the cover open. Inside, thick parchment pages bore embossed titles in three languages: Reichschrift, Old Elvish, and Imperial Common Law.
Two pens lay beside it—one gilded in black steel, the other in brushed silver. Symbols of both sides.
Caelthas did not hesitate. He signed his name first in fluid, ancient strokes that curled and coiled with elegance. At the end, he added his personal glyph—a stylized leaf pierced by a spear—mark of House Ylaelor.
Then Albrecht stepped forward and signed beneath, his signature sharp and narrow, ending in a cold flourish.
He closed the folder and pressed a fresh wax seal across the edge—then handed it to a waiting aide. The young clerk, dressed in an ash-grey officer's coat, saluted and immediately turned on his heel.
"Take this to the Imperial Embassy courier station. Mark it urgent. No delays."
The aide vanished into the hallway.
A beat passed.
Then without breaking eye contact, Albrecht extended his right hand.
"We disagree. But we are still men of order."
Caelthas looked at the hand, as though considering a blade. Then he took it.
Their handshake was firm. No warmth. No diplomacy. Just pressure. Just steel against stone.
"If the court fails us," Caelthas said lowly, "you know what comes next."
Albrecht didn't blink. "Yes. And we're prepared."
Sylvariel stepped forward at last, her eyes locked not on Albrecht, t but on the painting of the Führer watching from the wall.The magic slowly faded from her lips then she spoke. Her voice was soft but bitter.
"You parade your order as though it replaces honor. But we see what's being built here."
Albrecht turned to her. "What you see is irrelevant. What the court sees is what matters."
The guards near the chamber door—two riflemen in black coats—shifted their stance.
Albrecht took a breath, then continued in a smoother tone.
"Your delegation will not be detained further. Accommodations have been arranged at the Hotel Imperium, near the East Spire. Top floor, full security. A suite has been reserved for Lord Caelthas, Her Highness Sylvariel, and your escorts."
He gestured to the guards.
"These two will accompany you there. Should you require a translator, medical services, a private dining space, or an embassy line—we have you covered."
Caelthas raised an eyebrow. "Such hospitality. Almost as if you think we won't be returning."
"On the contrary," Albrecht said, with a faint smile. "I expect we'll be seeing you again. Very soon."
A heavy pause lingered.
Then Albrecht walked from behind his desk and approached the door himself. The metal handle was cold to the touch as he pulled it open. Cold air from the corridor brushed into the room.
The Reich eagle banners on the wall behind him fluttered just slightly.
"Welcome to New Berlin. May your stay be...educational."
The elves stepped out, their cloaks trailing behind them, boots tapping sharply on polished black tile. The guards fell in behind, weapons at ease but eyes alert. Sylvariel glanced over her shoulder once, staring again at the portrait above the desk.
The Führer's eyes did not move but she felt them.
She turned back and followed Caelthas out.
As the doors closed behind them, Albrecht stood still, arms behind his back. Then he spoke softly to himself.
"If it is war they want... it will not come from us first."
He looked at the map of the continent on the wall—thin red lines marked the Reich's borders.
A third line had just been drawn, even if no ink could show it yet.