Virella's boots clicked sharply against the marble floor as she strode down the wide corridor of City Hall, her cloak billowing behind her like a wave of midnight silk.
Two guards standing by the double doors snapped to attention and saluted her with the raised hand of the Reich — stiff, formal, exact. The gesture was flawless, but Virella didn't return it.
She couldn't.
Her heart was hammering. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Forgive me," she muttered under her breath, not slowing her pace. "But I don't have time for ceremony."
Her mind burned with a single thought — I have to stop this.
Every echo of her footsteps seemed to strike harder than the last.
Without pause, she reached the grand door to the meeting chamber and shoved it open with a burst of raw force.
The hinges groaned. The wood slammed back hard enough to make the iron handles rattle in their sockets.
"Mein Führer!" she barked, her voice slicing through the room like a blade.
Every head turned.
Commanders paused mid-sentence. Officers straightened instinctively. General Elisabeth Ritter, seated near the front, turned with a sharp glance — eyes wide at the sudden intrusion.
Silence swept the chamber.
Virella stood tall in the doorway, chest rising and falling with restrained fury, the flicker of blue still dancing in her eyes.
Adolf Hitler slowly rose from his seat at the head of the long table, his gloved hands pressing firmly against the edge. His black uniform caught the chandelier's cold glow, eyes shadowed beneath the sharp peak of his cap.
His gaze locked on her like a vice.
"Was ist der Sinn dieser Unterbrechung?" he demanded, voice cold and sharp like a blade drawn in frost."What is the meaning of this disruption?"
The tension in the room thickened. No one moved.
Virella took a step forward, bowing her head slightly as she fought to steady her voice.
"Mein Führer… I deeply apologize, but—may I speak with you in private?"
A pause.
Hitler's eyes narrowed.
Then, with slow precision, he stepped out from behind the chair and straightened to his full height, his tone unwavering:
"If it is important enough to barge into a high command meeting without invitation…"He gestured to the entire room — generals, officers, advisors now watching in uncomfortable silence."…then it is important enough to say in front of everyone."
Virella hesitated, her breath catching in her throat.
But there was no turning back now.
Virella stepped fully into the room now, her voice steady but intense — echoing across stone walls and polished brass.
"Mein Führer… magic is not like steel or fire. It is not something to hand out like rations or rifles. The human body is not always meant to hold it. For those born without the spark… forcing it open can shatter them."
Her eyes swept the room briefly, then returned to him.
"I've seen it. Their minds don't bend — they break. I watched a boy scream until he tore his own throat. A woman aged thirty years in three minutes. Some don't survive. Others wish they hadn't."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"There is a reason only a few of us reach the Circles. It's not just about talent — it's about survival. Discipline. Alignment of soul and spirit. You can't make a mage. You can only become one."
She stepped closer, eyes softening just slightly.
"I know you value strength, Mein Führer. But I also know you value your people. And surely… surely, you understand the danger in turning them into weapons they cannot control."
She bowed her head slightly, her voice now softer — respectful.
"I trust your judgment… and I'm certain you understand this, Mein Führer."
The silence that followed was thick. Several officers glanced at Hitler, gauging his reaction.
The Führer stared at her for a moment longer… then gave a single nod.
"Sehr gut. "His voice was cool. Commanding. "Then you will not experiment on the innocent."
Virella's face lit with relief. She straightened.
"Yes—thank you, Mein Führer. I knew you—"
"You will experiment on the guilty."
The room froze.
Virella's words died in her throat.
Hitler stepped forward, his boots clicking sharply against the floor.
"Rapists. Traitors. Those who sabotage our work. Cowards who fled the uprising."He looked her directly in the eyes. "We have prisons full of them. Let them serve a purpose greater than themselves."
The tension shattered like glass.
Officers exchanged glances. One aide inhaled sharply. General Elisabeth's eyes narrowed faintly, but she remained silent.
Virella stood speechless—caught between obedience… and horror.
Virella's lips parted, her voice weak but trying to hold on.
"But… Mein Führer—"
Hitler's hand slammed down on the table.
"But?" he barked, his eyes sharp as knives.He took a step toward her, voice booming now."But what?
Are you saying the guilty deserve innocence? That traitors and cowards should be treated like our soldiers? Like our children?"
The officers around the table shifted — and then the flood began.
"She's protecting those who betrayed us," one commander sneered.
"Why do you weep for those who let our people starve?" another snapped.
"They spat on humanity when they knelt to demi-humans. Death is too kind for them!"
"Letting them serve the cause — that's mercy."
The voices layered over each other, one after the next. Some calm, some angry, but all in agreement. The circle of power had turned inward, and Virella stood at the center, their judgment burning into her from every angle.
Her breathing quickened.
"No—no, that's not what I meant!" she tried to argue. "You don't understand what it does to the soul—"
"We understand perfectly," A man in the corner said coolly from his seat, arms folded. "You're just not willing to pay the cost."
"Weakness," muttered a voice near the far end of the table.
Virella backed away a step, trembling now. Her throat felt tight, her vision swimming.
"Stop it… please—"
They weren't even talking to her anymore. They were building off each other, feeding the fire.
"This will save lives." "This will win us the war." "She's too emotional to see it." "She would spare traitors while our children starve."
Virella's chest heaved. Her hands went to her head.
"STOP IT!" she screamed, her voice cracking — raw with anguish.
The room finally went still.
Every eye turned to her — not with fear, not with sympathy… but cold disapproval.
She took one final look at Hitler, her eyes brimming with pain and betrayal.
Then she turned—abruptly—and ran.
Her boots pounded against the stone floor as she fled the chamber, cloak trailing behind her like a stormcloud. She didn't wait for permission, didn't look back, didn't salute the guards. The doors slammed behind her with a deafening echo.
And the room remained still.