The first thing he felt was cold.
A strange, biting cold—not like anything from his old world. A newborn should not have memories, yet he did. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a wooden ceiling above him. It was uneven and old. It was not the hospital lights he expected. It was not Earth. It was not home.
He had died; he remembered that clearly. Now, he was here, reborn.
A woman's gentle voice echoed through the small cottage room.
"Emil, look, he's so quiet."
Emil. They named him Leonhardt Emil Weiss.
The voice belonged to his mother, Elsa Weiss. She was a thin, pale woman with soft blue eyes and roughened hands from years of chores. At the foot of the bed stood his father, Tobias Weiss. He was a village schoolteacher who earned little but carried himself with pride.
Outside the wooden window, snow fell endlessly. The world he entered was drowning in winter.
"This year's cold is harsher," Tobias muttered. "Even the Empire's southern provinces reported frost."
The Empire. Leonhardt heard that word often, even as a baby.
The Eisenreich Empire—a vast, disciplined nation modeled after old-world Germany. A place where honor meant more than money and war was always one bad decision away.
Leonhardt grew up in a cramped two-room house warmed by a single stove. Food was always stretched thin, and nights were too long. But laughter in the house made it feel warmer than any palace.
His older brother, Adrian, was the brightest flame in that home.
Adrian, three years older, was strong, fearless, and endlessly curious. He would sit beside the stove with Leonhardt in his lap and point outside.
"See that smoke rising from the barracks? One day, I'll train there."
"Why?" little Leonhardt would ask.
"To protect this village… to protect you."
Their father wanted Adrian to study and become a scholar. But Adrian's eyes always followed the soldiers marching down the snowy roads.
Leonhardt watched them too—men in long gray coats, iron boots thudding in perfect unison, rifles gleaming with frost.
He felt something stir in his small chest.
A calling.
Leonhardt's Early Years
The Weiss family struggled, but they were close.
In the morning, Father taught village children in a broken-down schoolhouse. In the evening, Mother sewed clothes for neighbors for a few extra coins. At night, Adrian and Leonhardt studied by candlelight, dreaming of better futures.
Leonhardt was not physically gifted, but he was sharp—too sharp for his age. Sometimes he knew things he shouldn't and remembered ideas from a world no one here had seen.
Maps.
History.
Military drills.
Scientific principles.
He hid this knowledge, fearing his parents would think him strange.
Yet he used everything subtly—helping his father teach, fixing small tools, solving problems quickly. The neighbors called him:
"The Quiet Genius of Winter Village."
The World Beyond
From travelers and merchants, Leonhardt learned bits about the world.
The Eisenreich Empire ruled the central continent.
To the east lay the Vorska Union, a cold, brutal land of warriors.
To the west, the wealthy Marovian Kingdom always played politics.
Tension simmered everywhere along the borders.
But for Leonhardt, all this was just distant noise. His world was the village, his family, his studies, and the footsteps of soldiers marching in perfect rhythm.
The First Turning Point
On his seventh winter, something changed.
The Empire's recruiter visited the village school. A stern officer in a steel-gray uniform spoke to the students.
"The Empire is expanding its Military Academy intake. Those who show talent will be trained as officers."
Adrian's eyes blazed.
Leonhardt saw his brother kneel in front of the recruiter the next day. At age 17, Adrian left the village, carrying a small bag and immense dreams.
Leonhardt never forgot that day.
The snow fell hard. The wind howled. Adrian hugged him tightly.
"Grow strong, little brother," Adrian whispered. "When you're old enough… join me."
And just like that, he was gone.
Leonhardt's Resolve
Three years later, Leonhardt stood at the village border, watching soldiers march once more.
Now 13, tall, serious, and frighteningly capable for his age, he clenched his fists.
"Adrian, wait for me."
He would join the academy. He would walk the same halls. He would stand on the same battlefield. Not because he admired war, but because this world was changing.
Rumors of rebellion. Border skirmishes. Tension with the eastern tribes.
And somewhere, Adrian was in the middle of it.
Leonhardt could feel it.
This world was preparing for a storm.
And he would be ready.