The year was 1940, and across the European continent, the air itself seemed to thicken with anticipation and dread. What had begun as political maneuvering and diplomatic tensions now resembled a vast powder keg, requiring only the smallest spark to engulf the world in flames once more. The scars of the Great War had barely healed when new ambitions and old grievances began to reshape the delicate balance that had maintained an uneasy peace for two decades.
In the heart of Europe, the German Reich had undergone a transformation so complete that foreign observers could scarcely recognize the defeated nation of 1918. Under the iron will of Adolf Hitler and his National Socialist movement, Germany had cast off the shackles of the Treaty of Versailles and emerged as a continental power that no longer concealed its ambitions. The Führer had made no secret of his vision—indeed, he had committed it to paper years earlier in his manifesto. Germany's destiny, he proclaimed, lay in the conquest of Lebensraum, living space that would stretch eastward across the plains of Poland and into the vast territories of Russia. This was not merely political expansion but a sacred mission, a historical imperative that would restore Germany to its rightful position as the dominant force in Europe.
The Western democracies watched this resurgence with growing alarm. Britain, still the world's greatest naval power, and France, scarred by the memory of German armies marching through their countryside during the Great War, understood that they could not permit a hostile Germany to dominate the continent. Yet their strategic calculations were complicated by another specter that haunted European politics: the rise of Bolshevik Russia. The Soviet Union, under the ruthless leadership of Stalin, represented an ideological threat as profound as any military conquest. To the established order of European monarchies and democracies, the godless communist state appeared as a red tide that threatened to wash away centuries of tradition, private property, and the establishment of a dictatorship of the proletariat
This created a terrible dilemma for European statesmen. To resist German expansion might require accepting Soviet assistance, potentially trading one form of totalitarian domination for another. Some whispered in diplomatic circles that choosing between Hitler and Stalin was like choosing between different varieties of poison—each equally fatal to the European way of life.
Far from the trembling capitals of Europe, across the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean in the Southern Atlantic, North East of South America, lay the continent of Aria and the Hanseatic Empire that ruled it from shore to shore. Here, in the magnificent Crystal Palace that crowned the mountain city of Kristallberg, Emperor Konrad II of the House von Calveit faced his own agonizing decision about the approaching European conflagration.
The Hanseatic Empire was, by any measure, a global power of the first rank. With a population of two hundred and eighty million souls spread across the resource-rich continent of Aria, the Empire commanded an economy that rivaled that of the United States. The northern mountain ranges yielded iron, tungsten, and bauxite in quantities that could supply the war machines of half the world, while the southern desert provinces sat atop vast lakes of oil that had become increasingly precious in an age of mechanized warfare. The Empire's forests produced timber of unmatched quality, and its mines glittered with precious stones that adorned the jewelry boxes of wealthy families from New York to Shanghai.
Yet Hansa was fundamentally a commercial empire, built on trade rather than conquest. Its merchants had established trading posts and commercial relationships across six continents, preferring the subtle influence of economic dependency to the crude dominance of military occupation. This approach had served the Empire well for over sixteen centuries, allowing it to grow wealthy while other powers exhausted themselves in costly wars of expansion.
The Empire's military capabilities, however, were far from negligible. The Hanseatic Navy was among the world's largest and most technologically advanced, built in the sprawling shipyards that lined Aria's eastern coast. The Empire's aeronautical engineers rivaled their German counterparts in innovation and exceeded them in production capacity. Even in peacetime, the Imperial Army maintained a standing force of one million men, well-equipped and rigorously trained in the military academies that dotted the continent.
What made the Hanseatic Empire unique was not merely its wealth or military power, but its cultural unity. Despite Aria's vast size and the diverse origins of its population, centuries of careful assimilation had forged a single Hanseatic people who spoke one language, followed one law, and owed allegiance to one crown. The cities of Aria presented a striking visual testament to this unity of tradition and progress—ancient castle walls stood beside modern skyscrapers, medieval cathedrals neighbored factories humming with the latest machinery, and royal gardens provided green spaces between bustling commercial districts. This careful preservation of the past alongside enthusiastic embrace of the future reflected the Hanseatic character: proud of their achievements, respectful of their heritage, and confident in their destiny as a great imperial people.
The Empire's entanglement in European affairs traced back nearly four centuries to a succession crisis that had forever altered the balance of power on both continents. The Kingdom of Ravara, situated on the strategic landbridge that connected Spain and France—a corridor four hundred kilometers wide and stretching the length of what other worlds might know as the Pyrenees—had once been a proud and independent realm. For two centuries, however, Ravara had found itself trapped between the ambitions of its larger neighbors, fighting a seemingly endless series of defensive wars to maintain its sovereignty.
The Kings of Ravara had proven themselves skilled diplomats as well as warriors. Recognizing that their kingdom's survival depended on external support, they had cultivated a relationship with the distant Hanseatic Empire. What began as a commercial partnership—Hansa providing manufactured goods and financial credit in exchange for Ravaran agricultural products and strategic minerals—gradually evolved into a military alliance. Hanseatic advisors helped modernize the Ravaran army, Hanseatic officers trained Ravaran soldiers, and when Spanish or French armies threatened Ravaran borders, Hanseatic expeditionary forces invariably arrived to help restore the balance.
This relationship reached its culmination in 1598, when King Michael VII of Ravara found himself facing his own mortality without a clear heir. The kingdom's noble families were already positioning themselves for the civil war that would inevitably follow his death, while Spanish and French armies gathered at the borders, ready to support their chosen candidates for the Ravaran throne. In desperation, King Michael VII made a decision that shocked Europe: he bequeathed his entire kingdom to Emperor Konrad I of Hansa, trusting that only a power beyond the reach of European politics could preserve Ravaran independence.
The transition had not been without its difficulties. Many Ravaran nobles initially resisted what they saw as foreign occupation, and it took nearly a generation before the province was fully integrated into the Imperial system. The Hanseatic approach to assimilation, however, proved both subtle and effective. Rather than suppressing Ravaran culture, the Empire absorbed and transformed it. The black rose, ancient symbol of Ravaran royalty, was incorporated into Imperial heraldry. Ravaran festivals became Imperial holidays. The Ravaran language, while gradually giving way to Hanseatic in official use and in business, was preserved in literature and song. Most importantly, talented Ravarans found opportunities for advancement throughout the Empire, serving as administrators, officers, and merchants in territories far from their ancestral homeland.
After three and a half centuries of Imperial rule, Ravara had become thoroughly Hanseatic in its outlook and loyalties. The province's strategic location made it invaluable to the Empire's European trade networks, while its people had proven their worth as soldiers, sailors, and administrators throughout Hanseatic territories. The assimilation was so complete that most Ravarans thought of themselves as Hanseatic first and Ravaran second, proud of their distinctive heritage but unquestionably loyal to the Crystal Palace.
During the Great War of 1914-1918, the Hanseatic Empire had maintained a policy of studied neutrality that reflected both pragmatic calculation and emotional ambivalence. The German people and the Hanseatic people shared common ancestral roots, descendants of the same Germanic tribes that had migrated in different directions over a millennium earlier. Those who had remained in Europe had eventually coalesced into the various German states, while those who had crossed the ocean had established the foundations of what would become the Hanseatic Empire in Aria.
This shared heritage created a natural sympathy for Germany among many Hanseatic citizens, but it was balanced by equally strong commercial and diplomatic ties to Britain and France. The Empire's merchants had built profitable relationships with all the major European powers, and Emperor Konrad's grandfather had been reluctant to sacrifice these connections for any single ally. Moreover, the Hanseatic tradition emphasized the superiority of economic over military solutions to international disputes.
The decision to remain neutral had proven financially beneficial but diplomatically costly. While other powers bled themselves white in the trenches of the Western Front, Hansa had grown wealthy supplying raw materials and manufactured goods to all sides. When the war ended, however, the Empire found itself excluded from the peace negotiations that redrew the map of Europe. The victorious Allies had little interest in consulting a power that had contributed nothing to their victory, while the defeated Central Powers were in no position to reward their sometime friends.
This exclusion had rankled the Hanseatic political establishment. For a people accustomed to being consulted on matters of global importance, being treated as irrelevant was a bitter pill to swallow. It had also created genuine concerns about the stability of the post-war settlement. Many Hanseatic analysts had predicted that the harsh terms imposed on Germany would create the conditions for future conflict, and the rise of National Socialism seemed to validate their fears.
While Europe prepared for another continental war, the situation in East Asia presented its own set of challenges and opportunities for global powers. The Chinese Empire, ruled by the Jin Dynasty since their victory over the Qing conquest attempt two centuries earlier, was widely regarded as the "sick man of Asia." Corrupt administration, technological backwardness, and regional warlordism had left the vast country vulnerable to foreign exploitation and internal collapse.
The Empire of Japan had emerged as the dominant regional power, its rapid modernization following the Meiji Restoration having transformed it from a feudal backwater into a formidable industrial and military force. Japanese armies had already established the puppet state of Manchukuo in China's northeastern provinces, and few observers doubted that Tokyo harbored ambitions for further expansion into Chinese territory.
In a desperate attempt to preserve peace and his dynasty's survival, the Jin Emperor had agreed to a political marriage between his eldest daughter, Princess Ankang (Jia Ling), and the Japanese heir apparent, Prince Itsuhito. The betrothal was already formalized a year before, with the wedding to follow in the coming months. Chinese officials hoped that this dynastic alliance would satisfy Japanese ambitions and prevent the complete dismemberment of their empire.
International observers were skeptical of this diplomatic solution. The Japanese military had proven difficult for even their own government to control, and many believed that the marriage would serve merely as a pretext for deeper Japanese penetration into Chinese affairs rather than a genuine guarantee of Chinese independence.
As 1940 drew toward its close, the major powers found themselves locked in an increasingly precarious balance. The German Reich, emboldened by its recent successes and confident in its military superiority, was clearly preparing for a major war of expansion. Hitler's regime had begun reaching out to potential allies, emphasizing shared heritage and ideology while painting the coming conflict as a struggle against Bolshevism and Western decadence.
Britain and France, recognizing the threat, were equally active in seeking support for their cause. The industrial capacity and naval power of uncommitted nations could prove decisive in any prolonged conflict, and diplomatic missions were dispatched to capitals across the globe with increasing urgency.
The Soviet Union, despite its isolation, was also maneuvering for advantage. Stalin's regime desperately needed allies who could provide the advanced technology and industrial equipment necessary to modernize the Red Army and compete with the Western powers.
In the Far East, the political marriage between Princess Ankang and Prince Itsuhito represented a final attempt at diplomatic solution to mounting tensions. Yet few believed that ceremony and protocol could long contain the ambitions of the Japanese military or address the fundamental weaknesses that plagued the Chinese Empire.
The world stood poised on the edge of an abyss. In the capitals of the great powers, statesmen and generals made their preparations while diplomats worked frantically to secure the alliances that might determine the outcome of the coming struggle. The question was no longer whether war would come, but when it would begin and which nations would stand together when the shooting started.
This is just the prologue and I know it's been a bit slow but do hang around, The scope of this novel is so big that I felt like I had to introduce the world before we get into the story. I hope the upcoming chapters will be an enjoyable read for you all.
Thank you for reading!i