The room had gone still again. Only the hum of the ceiling lanterns and the faint scribble of Seris' quill disturbed the silence.
"Now moving on to our last topic… immigration," she said calmly, voice precise.
The screen behind her shifted once more—this time displaying a chart. At the top, a silhouette of a human. Below, smaller, paler figures: elves, dwarves, orcs, beastfolk, demons.
Seris took a long wooden rod and pointed to the lower half of the image."These… are not citizens," she began.
"These are elves. Dwarves. Orcs. Beastfolk. Demons. They are not humans. And they will never be treated as such under this government."
Murmurs swirled in the room. Some looked uncomfortable. Others leaned forward with intense interest.
Seris continued flatly.
"In our nation, they will have no legal protection. No rights. No voice. They will not own land. They will not vote. They will not serve as maids, clerks, or cooks. They exist only to work."
Her pointer tapped the far corner of the diagram.
"To prevent foreign contamination of our economy, all non-humans will be prohibited from investing in anything beyond 5% of any small-scale human business—and only if they reside outside of our borders."
One of the younger officers—Lieutenant Dremel—raised his hand hesitantly. "Forgive me, but… what exactly will be done with the demi-humans already captured? Those in the valley, the cities, the mines?"
Seris turned to him without blinking."They will be sent to work camps. Their rations will be limited to water and a trace amount of grain paste to ensure functionality. Their only purpose will be to serve as forced labor—mines, foundries, deep tunnel excavations, and environmental hazard zones."
A long pause. Someone shifted in their seat.
"They will not wander the streets," Seris added. "They will not breathe our markets. They will not share our bread."
Colonel Adair leaned forward. "That sounds like a form of slavery."
Seris looked at him. Calm. Blunt.
"Slavery, Colonel, is a crime against humans. Not among them. The decree on the books bans human slavery. These creatures are not human. Therefore, there is no crime in their labor. Citizens may not own them individually—that is correct. But the state may deploy them however it sees fit."
General Wilhelm's brow furrowed. "And if they revolt?" he asked gruffly. "We did."
"They will not," Seris replied instantly. "Unlike us, they will have no access to freedom of movement. No arms. No central leadership. Camps are fortified. Workers are watched. They will fight each other for scraps long before they ever unite."
She turned slightly, expression tightening.
"We will deliberately limit their food. The ones who perform best—who yield the most ore or bricks—will be rewarded. A mouthful of soup. Extra sleep. That will cause infighting. They'll turn on each other. We'll never need to raise a rifle."
Silence followed her words like a cold breeze.
Then, another hand. It was Officer Renner from logistics.
"What will foreign kingdoms think?" he asked slowly. "When they see us building camps, isolating entire races… won't they interfere?"
Seris answered without hesitation.
"We won't publish it. Camps will be declared resource containment zones. Demographics will be falsified for the public. Only internal security and military will know the full extent. Our citizens will never see the camps. And the other nations? They've used elves in their own wars. Dwarves in their mines. Orcs as mercenaries. They will not act."
Riese chuckled, arms folded. "They'll cry out in public. Protest in councils. But they'll still buy our steel and coal."
Seris nodded. "Exactly."
Otto leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "And how will we manage tracking, rationing, and logistics for these camps?"
Seris turned to a new chart."With a central registry. Each non-human will be tagged and assigned a number. Births will be monitored. Deaths will not be investigated. Transport will occur via sealed wagons under guard. Camps will have no fences that can be scaled. Only walls with sharpened steel."
Bruno muttered under his breath. "This is beyond efficiency."
The Führer, still silent, remained seated at the head of the table. His fingers tapped slowly against the surface. Then he spoke.
"Good," he said simply.
Seris bowed her head slightly and rolled the final chart upward.
"We will classify this policy under the 'Non-Citizen Labor Directive – 1A.' I'll prepare copies for all senior officers. The framework is already being implemented at captured foundries."
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Wilhelm exhaled and muttered, "Let's hope history remembers us… correctly."
The Führer didn't answer.
"Now," Seris said, her voice clear and measured, "we will talk about education."
She stepped aside, clicking her wooden rod against a sliding board marked:State Education Policy – Human Sector Only
"As of now," she began, "education in our territories shall be free for all human children—from basic primary level until the completion of secondary training. After that point, those eligible for higher education or specialization fields will be individually evaluated and—if qualified—state funded in full."
She let the weight of her words settle. Several officers leaned forward.
"Our model is meritocratic," she continued. "Every student will be graded under a standardized mark system—0 to 100—measured quarterly. At the end of each academic year, the top ten percent of students will be recommended for one of three elite tracks."
With a click, three new charts emerged.
Military and Officer Training Schools
Industrial Sciences and Research Divisions
Magical Studies and Sorcery Development
"Track one supplies us with officers, tacticians, and combat analysts. Track two with mechanics, chemists, and civil engineers. Track three… magical defense, enchantment research, and support-class development."
Virella's expression tightened but remained silent.
"These tracks are reserved for the gifted," Seris said. "They require high scores, a clean background, and educator approval. However—every child starts equal. There are no nobles. No inherited seats. In the Reich, only discipline and ability matter."
A pause.
Colonel Sturn raised a hand. "What of the illiterate? Survivors from the valley, orphans who never held a book?"
Seris nodded. "We've planned for that. All children ages six to ten begin in State Level 1, where literacy, writing, and historical memory are drilled using uniform manuals. At eleven, they enter Level 2, where mathematics, civics, and war history are added. At sixteen, students are then sorted—either into military service, infrastructure work, or higher education."
"And girls?" Lieutenant Grell asked, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "Just nurses and sewing kits?"
Seris's gaze sharpened. "Any female who scores within the top bracket will be assigned by skill—combat theory, magical analytics, or mechanical design. Merit alone decides placement."
More murmurs—this time mixed approval and discomfort.
Officer Renner leaned in. "And who funds all this?"
Seris pointed to a new symbol—Ministry of Advancement and Civic Discipline.
"The state," she answered. "All facilities, instructors, textbooks, housing—fully funded for top performers. All materials are printed using the same ink and press systems used to manufacture Reich Marks."
"Even books?" someone whispered.
"Yes. All textbooks are uniform. They contain state-approved versions of history, economics, mathematics, and civic loyalty. There will be no foreign literature, no demi-human myths or stories. Only truth."
Wilhelm's voice rose from the rear. "So schools become factories of loyalty."
Seris didn't blink. "Loyalty is the byproduct of truth."
Officer Durst lifted a hand. "Private academies? Can families fund their own schools?"
"No," she said flatly. "There will be no elite schools. No separate academies. If the child of a merchant or general wants success, let them prove it through test scores—like any farm boy."
Bruno grinned. "So the smart brats go to labs, the tough ones to command, and the rest to the mines."
Riese glared. "That's not funny."
Seris turned, unshaken. "It's accurate."
"But what about the rest?" Lieutenant Grell pressed. "You said students get to choose their field—what if they want to study science but don't make the cut?"
Seris clicked again. A new diagram appeared:National Support Priority – Gifted vs Standard
"All students have the right to choose their field," she clarified. "But only those ranked in the top ten percent will be fully sponsored. Food, housing, materials—all free. They will be seen as long-term state investments."
"And the others?"
"They will be given freedom to self-fund. They can apply for loans from the People's Credit Bank, pursue labor-based scholarships, or seek patronage from approved guilds. The government will not suppress dreams—but we will not subsidize mediocrity."
"And the guilds?" Bruno raised a brow. "That's not exploitation?"
"Not if capped," Seris answered. "All interest rates are state-controlled. No private lender may charge more than 4% per annum. Loan defaults result in civil labor service—not imprisonment. We will not enslave our own."
A long pause.
"Furthermore," she added, "three national aptitude tests will be administered between ages twelve and fifteen. Students showing consistent excellence in logic, memory, physical command, or magic will be placed on a gifted track under private monitoring."
"Who decides?" asked another officer.
"The Ministry. Silent observers in the schools. Corruption will be punished by imprisonment or even death. No favoritism. No bribes."
"What if someone cheats?"
"They will be banned from university and reassigned to serve the military or lower work of their choice. Three strikes. No more chances."
Wilhelm asked one more question. "Say the child of a war hero dies. But the child had talent. Do they still get a path?"
Seris paused, then nodded. "Yes. Exceptional cases may be appealed to the Führer's council. But such approval will be rare. No legacy seats."
At last, she stepped back, hands behind her.
"The Reich will not rely on bloodlines. It will rely on steel minds and disciplined hearts. Every pencil, every book, every teacher—shall shape a citizen. Knowledge without loyalty is rebellion. But loyalty with knowledge? That builds an empire."
No one spoke.
Only the oil lamp ticked.
Then came Hitler's voice.
"Begin the drafting. I want every child above age six entered into the system within the month."
"Yes, my Führer."
The next slide clicked into place.
A new topic. A new pillar.The future was still being built—piece by iron piece.
"That concludes today's meeting."Seris clasped her hands together with finality.
"Any questions?"She looked around the bunker, her eyes sharp.
No one spoke.
"Good."
With a faint wave of her fingers, Virella closed her glowing hand, and the magical projection on the board dimmed and vanished. The room was swallowed in near-total darkness—just the soft blue embers in her eyes faintly glowing.
Then came the sound of boots scraping wood.
Two guards climbed tall ladders stationed at either side of the chamber. One by one, they lit oil lamps suspended in iron sconces across the stone walls. Flame by flame, the bunker returned to life—not warm, but visible. The light revealed the subtle exhaustion etched into everyone's faces.
No one spoke.
Not even when the firelight touched the Führer's boots as he rose from his chair.
He exited the room first, flanked by two guards. His long coat trailed behind him like a shadow as the doors opened—then sealed shut with a heavy clang.
Only after he left did quiet conversation resume. Some officers leaned toward each other, whispering about the economic orders. Others exchanged low murmurs about family, deployments, or the terrifying scale of the new education program.
There were doubts. There was fear.But underneath it all—there was faith.
Not in gods.Not in mercy.
But in victory.
And in the one man who had made them believe it was still possible.