The training chamber was a steel cathedral, deep beneath Tempelhof. Walls lined with carbon shielding, observation decks encased in bulletproof glass, vents that could flood the room with suppressant gas in under three seconds.
To Helena, it felt less like a place to learn and more like a cage.
She stood in the center, flames flickering across her arms, waiting for the command. Around her, automated drones rose from hatches in the floor, their rotors buzzing, weapons blinking.
"Target sequence alpha," barked a voice from the control deck.
The drones fired stun rounds in a sudden storm. Helena's instincts took over. She swept her arm in a wide arc—flames coiled like a whip, searing the rounds midair. With a snap of her other hand, she launched a burst of fire so hot the first drone melted into slag before it hit the ground.
The room filled with smoke and heat.
Behind the glass, technicians scrambled to adjust their instruments. One muttered, "She's exceeding projected thermal output."
"Good," said Minister Vollmer coolly. "Germany doesn't need another masked vigilante. It needs deterrence."
---
Hours later, Helena sat in the debriefing room, sweat still streaking her face, her uniform clinging damply to her skin. Across from her sat Dr. Markus Keller, the project's lead scientist. Thin, spectacled, always clutching a clipboard, he regarded her less like a soldier and more like a specimen.
"Your combustion levels are stabilizing," he said, jotting notes. "But your control is… uneven. When you channel your flames into precise strikes, you are devastating. But your emotional surges still trigger uncontrolled bursts."
Helena leaned back, arms crossed. "You lit me on fire with Hydra tech and expect me to be calm about it?"
Keller didn't flinch. "If you are to face the Black Serpents, you must master your power. They thrive on chaos. You must be the opposite."
Helena bit back a laugh. "So I'm supposed to be a government flamethrower who never loses her temper? Good luck with that."
Vollmer entered then, her presence cutting the tension like a blade. She placed a folder on the table. Inside were photographs: Hydra-era bunkers along the Baltic, men with the Black Serpent emblem burned onto their jackets, experimental weapons glowing faintly green.
"You don't have the luxury of cynicism, Feuerkrone," Vollmer said. "These people are the same architects of terror who created you—Hydra's orphans, Serpent loyalists, men who would twist our nation into a weapon once again. We will not let that happen."
Helena glanced at the photos, her jaw tightening.
"They don't know you exist yet," Vollmer continued. "That is our advantage. But the first time you step into the public eye, the world will judge you—not just as a person, but as Germany's answer to the Avengers. Every move you make will carry our flag."
Helena closed the folder. Her flames, still smoldering faintly beneath her skin, hissed as she clenched her fists.
"I didn't ask to carry your flag," she muttered.
"No," Vollmer said softly. "But you will."
---
That night, Helena stood alone on the roof of the Tempelhof complex, staring across Berlin's skyline. The city glowed like embers, restless, alive. Somewhere out there, the Serpents were preparing their next move.
She could feel the fire inside her, eager to burn, to fight. But the weight of chains—political, moral, national—hung heavier than the flames themselves.
For the first time, she wondered: was she Germany's protector? Or its prisoner?