Vienna, 1652 — The First Breath of a New Game
When Jakob's eyes opened, not a single bell rang.
No shouts echoed through the corridors.No messenger sprinted toward the crimson chamber.
Only the physician heard the small, broken sound the boy made as breath returned fully to him — a soft, startled inhalation, like a child waking from a long sleep.
The physician froze.
He had not expected the boy to return.He had not expected the collapse to reverse.He had not expected life to bloom again in that tiny, fragile chest.
He leaned closer.
"Jakob?" he whispered.
The child blinked once, slowly, as though the air around him were thicker than expected. His pupils adjusted. His throat flexed.
A whisper escaped him.
"Forward."
The physician almost wept.
He stumbled from the bedside, unable to contain himself, and pushed open the chamber door.
"Guards!" he cried down the corridor. "Fetch Director Harrach—no, fetch—fetch the Chancellor!"
The guards stared at him.
One blinked. "The Chancellor?"
"Yes!" the physician insisted. "Now. At once. The boy—he—he lives!"
The guards stared at one another, as if each waited for the other to be certain of what they'd heard.
Then they ran.
Matthias von Rosenfeld received the news in his private study — a room lined with maps, lawbooks, and a single large window overlooking the frozen Danube. He spent most early mornings here, not with tea or letters, but in silence, measuring the world without speaking to it.
His aide burst into the room.
"Chancellor—"
Rosenfeld lifted a single finger. The aide froze.
Rosenfeld finished tying the knot of his cuffs. Only then did he speak.
"Yes?"
"The boy…" The aide swallowed. "Jakob… has awakened."
Rosenfeld paused mid-motion.
A breath.A heartbeat.A calculation, turning silently.
"Show me," Rosenfeld said.
He walked the corridor alone.
He did not bring his advisors.Not his strategists.Not even the guards.
He walked as one who owned each stone beneath his feet, who knew the quiet weight of authority so well he need not display it.
When he entered Jakob's chamber, the physician stepped aside.
Rosenfeld approached the boy's bedside.
Jakob blinked up at him — eyes unfocused but alive, breathing with the halting rhythm of someone returned from too far away.
Rosenfeld observed him in silence.
Jakob's gaze drifted, searching for something he could not find.
Rosenfeld spoke softly.
"Jakob."
The child turned toward the sound.
Rosenfeld watched, fascinated. "Can you hear me?"
Jakob's lips parted.
A single word formed.
"Deep…"
The physician tensed.
Rosenfeld leaned slightly closer. "Deep?"
Jakob inhaled shakily.
"Deep… place…"
The words were thin. Barely sound. But they sent a cold tremor through every person in the room.
The Chancellor straightened.
He clasped his hands behind his back.
And he smiled.
Not cruelty.Not joy.Calculation.
A door had opened again. And this time, Austria had a hand on the hinge.
Within the hour, the crimson chamber was convened.
Not a full council — Rosenfeld requested only Eveline Harrach and Minister Bruckner, the court's chief strategist. Otto Weiss was not summoned. Not yet.
The chamber lamp flames flickered in the early morning drafts. Eveline looked tense, pale beneath her composed exterior. She stood at the table as Rosenfeld entered.
"Chancellor," she said, bowing. "News has reached us. Jakob—"
"Awakened," Rosenfeld finished. "Alive. Speaking."
Eveline swallowed. "Did he say… anything relevant?"
"Yes," Rosenfeld said.
He sat slowly, smoothing the tablecloth with one palm.
Minister Bruckner leaned forward eagerly. "What did he say?"
Rosenfeld tapped a single finger against the tabletop.
"'Deep place.'"
Eveline inhaled sharply. "Then his consciousness made contact with a lower harmonic layer."
"Precisely," Rosenfeld said.
Bruckner frowned. "But Vienna lacked the tools to pull him back. How, then, did he return to himself?"
Rosenfeld raised an eyebrow. "A fair question."
Eveline stiffened. "Meaning…?"
"Meaning," Rosenfeld said quietly, "someone assisted him from afar."
Eveline bowed her head slightly. "We believe Venice—"
Rosenfeld raised a hand. "Beliefs are not useful, Director. I require certainty."
Eveline hesitated. "Rosenfeld… Kessel has not reported back."
"Of course he has not," Rosenfeld murmured. "He is, as of this morning, three hours overdue."
Bruckner blinked. "That is unlike him."
"Indeed," Rosenfeld said.
He poured himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table. The steam rose delicately.
Eveline waited.
Rosenfeld took a slow sip.
Then he spoke:
"Kessel is alive. And he has learned something he does not wish to report."
Eveline bristled. "Or he has been compromised."
"No," Rosenfeld said quietly. "Kessel is un-compromisable. If he is silent, it is because he has seen something he wishes to understand before telling me."
Bruckner frowned. "Then what do you propose?"
Rosenfeld placed the teacup down.
"You will summon Doctor Weiss."
Eveline blinked. "Weiss? But—"
"Weiss," Rosenfeld repeated.
"Chancellor," Bruckner said carefully, "Weiss is unstable. Emotional. He may blame the Commission for the boy's collapse."
Rosenfeld smiled thinly. "Just so. Which makes him useful."
Eveline straightened. "For what purpose?"
Rosenfeld's eyes gleamed.
"To measure truth."
Bruckner blinked. "Truth of what?"
Rosenfeld folded his hands.
"The boy said 'deep place.' Not 'sea.' Not 'sound.' Not 'collapse.' Deep place."
Eveline swallowed. "You believe he remembers where he drifted."
Rosenfeld nodded.
"And," he added, "I believe Weiss can coax the rest."
Bruckner frowned. "And Venice?"
Rosenfeld leaned back in his chair.
At last, he spoke:
"They have made their first move."
He tapped the table.
"We will make ours."
When Otto entered the crimson chamber, he looked as though he had not slept. His eyes were shadowed. His hands trembled faintly. He bowed out of habit, not respect.
"You summoned me," Otto said hoarsely.
"Yes," Rosenfeld said. "The boy has awakened."
Otto's breath caught. "Jakob—he's—?"
"Alive," Rosenfeld said. "Speaking."
Otto sagged into the nearest seat, relief flooding him.
Eveline watched him with unreadable eyes.
Rosenfeld waited until Otto's breathing steadied.
Then:
"Doctor Weiss," Rosenfeld murmured, "I require your expertise."
Otto blinked. "For…?"
"To speak to the boy," Rosenfeld said. "To ask the questions we cannot."
Otto hesitated. "What questions?"
Rosenfeld smiled softly.
"Who helped him."
Otto froze.
Rosenfeld continued, "Who reached him across distance. Who constructed the counter-song. Who dared to touch the collapse I created."
Otto swallowed. "You assume Venice—"
"I know Venice," Rosenfeld said. "What I require is how."
Otto trembled. "I won't be part of this."
Rosenfeld stood.
He approached Otto with slow, measured steps.
"Doctor Weiss," Rosenfeld murmured, "I do not ask you to betray the child."
Otto said nothing.
"I ask you to save him."
Otto looked up sharply.
Rosenfeld continued:
"If Venice touched him, they can touch him again. Perhaps pull him again. Perhaps break him."
Otto's pulse pounded.
Rosenfeld's voice softened to almost a whisper.
"Help me protect him."
Otto stared at Rosenfeld's controlled, elegant face — the face of a man who never wasted a word, never made a move without its shadow pre-calculated.
He didn't believe Rosenfeld.
Not wholly.
But Jakob needed someone beside him.
Otto swallowed hard.
"I'll speak to him," he whispered. "But I won't deceive him."
Rosenfeld bowed his head slightly — as though Otto had just said exactly what he'd hoped for.
"That," Rosenfeld murmured, "is why I chose you."
When Otto left the chamber, Eveline lingered.
"Chancellor," she said quietly, "do you truly believe Venice orchestrated the rescue?"
Rosenfeld looked at her.
"Of course," he said.
"And Kessel?"
Rosenfeld turned toward the window, watching the slow drift of smoke from the palace chimneys.
"Kessel," he murmured, "is observing the rescuers."
Eveline frowned. "And if he allies with them?"
Rosenfeld smiled faintly.
"He won't."
Eveline exhaled in relief.
"He won't," Rosenfeld repeated.
Then he added, almost lazily:
"But if he does…we will adjust."
Eveline bowed and left.
Once alone, Rosenfeld laid a hand on the windowpane.
The glass vibrated faintly — a fragmentary echo from the deep layer, still drifting through Jakob's mind.
"Venice…" Rosenfeld whispered. "You have surprised me."
His gaze hardened.
"I will not let you surprise me again."
He turned from the window.
His first orders were already forming.
His second orders were already sealed.
And by the time the sun set over Vienna, Matthias von Rosenfeld had set in motion the first quiet chords of an empire preparing to reclaim the child who had touched the deep.
No one in Venice yet realized that Vienna was moving.
But soon, very soon—
They would feel the consequences.