"Herr Einstein. Friedrich."Paul greeted the two men and took a seat as well.
Werner looked at Einstein expectantly.
Einstein noticed the gaze and cleared his throat.
"I was nearly arrested today," he began. "A group of SS men saw me watering the plants in my garden and demanded my papers."
Paul nodded. He had asked Heydrich to arrange forged documents, but there had been delays.
"They questioned me, suspected me. A Jew, of course. What a terrible crime that is," Einstein continued, anger unmistakable in his voice.
"Fortunately, Friedrich intended to meet me and happened to stumble upon the scene. The SS left shortly after, their gazes filled with unfulfilled hunger."
"Yes," Werner said quietly, tension pressing into every word, "the SS is becoming more radical by the day when it comes to Jews, Heinrich."
Paul sighed.
As if I did not know, he thought.
"What do you want me to do?" Paul asked, a trace of anger slipping into his voice.
"Speak to the Führer. Use your influence. Do something," Werner began.
"As if it were that simple," Paul snapped. "You know it never works that way. Still, I will, God help me, try to stop it."
"Stop it?" Werner shouted, placing heavy emphasis on the word. "When? When it is already too late?"
"Stop what?" Einstein asked sharply. "Are we still talking about the new laws?"
He had struck a nerve. Paul tilted his head slightly, while Werner avoided Einstein's gaze.
"I need some fresh air," Werner said, excusing himself.
Paul remained seated, lost in thought, as he had been so often in recent weeks.
Then he stood up and followed Werner outside.
The cold November air was especially harsh at that late hour.
Werner stood by the fence, leaning against it, his head tilted toward the sky.
Paul stepped beside him and lit a cigarette.
"You know how harmful those are," Werner said quietly, almost out of habit, his gaze never leaving the dark sky.
The small flame briefly illuminated Paul's face.
"You know I've tried," Paul replied, his voice shallow.
He closed his eyes for a moment, memories resurfacing once again.
"Good morning, my Führer," Paul said, greeting the man standing before him.
"Good morning, Jaeger," Hitler replied, gesturing for Paul to follow. "It is always a pleasure to spend the morning outside."
The two men walked slowly across the vast mountains Hitler called his home, deep in Bavaria near the Austrian border. The view was breathtaking. Mountain ranges stretched endlessly into the distance, their peaks already crowned with the first snow.
"Mein Führer, I have heard about the recent new laws concerning Jews," Paul began cautiously.
"Yes, yes, wonderful, aren't they?" Hitler said enthusiastically. "Himmler and I designed them ourselves. That filth must be marked, so that no true Aryan is forced to come into contact with them."
Paul did not respond.
Hitler stopped and turned to him. "So? What about them?"
"I… I agree, of course," Paul said slowly, searching for the right words. "But I honestly believe they might be a bit harsh."
"Harsh?" Hitler scoffed. "Jaeger, you are young. You still have much to learn about the betrayal this trash has inflicted upon Germany."
His voice rose, anger flaring.
"These Jews," Hitler continued, clenching his fist, "they have betrayed us time and time again throughout history. It is an embarrassment. Hell, they even caused us to lose the Great War."
Paul raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
"Have you heard of the Dolchstoß?" Hitler asked, his eyes wide with fervor.
Before Paul could answer, Hitler continued.
For the next thirty minutes, Hitler ranted about betrayal. Capitalists, bankers, Jews. His voice echoed across the mountains. Paul tried to intervene, to say something, anything, but Hitler did not allow it. His madness consumed every word.
Yes, madness. That was what this was.This man is mad, and he has driven an entire nation mad with him, Paul thought, watching the raw hatred burning in Hitler's eyes.
"...They are traitors!"Hitler shouted.
"Even the little children."Paul whispered, quietly.
"What was that?" Hitler asked.
In that moment, Paul stopped at the edge of a steep slope. Far below, hundreds of meters down, a narrow river cut through the land like a wound. His eyes remained fixed on the abyss while his lips began to move.
"You are right, mein Führer," he said, his voice stripped of all emotion.
Paul looked up.
It was no longer Hitler standing before him.
It was Werner, staring directly into his eyes.
"Why are we here, Paul?" Werner asked, almost rhetorically, his voice heavy with emotion. "I have asked myself that question countless times. I thought about God. About fate. About some higher purpose. But all I ever found were suffering, death, horror."
The last word was barely more than a whisper.
Paul watched him and said nothing.
"Why are we here?" Werner asked again.
"I don't know," Paul replied. Cold. Honest.
"I don't know either," Werner said, clenching his fist, "but I want to use this chance, whoever gave it to us. Maybe God. Maybe fate. Maybe ourselves. For something meaningful. We have the privilege of knowledge. Of the future. And yet we stand here talking while the world burns. We should do something. Go out there and do something."
"Do something?" Paul snapped, anger flaring visibly. "You think I haven't done anything?"
He stepped forward, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his shoe.
"I have done everything within my power. But I still have rationality. You think that if we kill Satan, hell will disappear? No. There are thousands of demons. Should we slaughter them all? And if we do, are we any better than they are?"
Werner opened his mouth, but Paul did not stop.
"Don't act like a fairytale hero," Paul said, his jaw clenched tight. "You might save your princess, but you will not save her kingdom, Werner. That is what I have been trying to tell you all this time. Look at the bigger picture."
He turned his gaze back toward the starry sky.
"The time will come when we can end it. All of it. For everyone."
"Somewhere along the way, you will lose something, Paul," Werner said quietly.
"What is it?" Paul asked, barely above a whisper.
"Your humanity," Werner replied.
Paul closed his eyes and let a few seconds pass before answering.
"That is a cost I am willing to pay."
At that moment, the door opened.
Einstein stepped outside.
"I did not wish to interrupt," he said, "but you should see something."
He gestured for them to follow.
They walked around the house, toward the garden. It ended at a slight cliff, the elevated position offering a wide view over Berlin.
Einstein turned to them, his eyes filled with expectation. A blazing fire reflected in his pupils.
The same fire burned in Paul's eyes.
And in Werner's.
Deep in the heart of Berlin, war was raging. Not against the Russians. Not against the French or the British. Not against an army at all.
It was a war against humans.
The sound of boots striking asphalt in perfect synchronisation echoed through streets that were usually silent at night. Men marched forward, singing. Their arms locked, their movements rigid, forming a single, living machine. Many carried burning torches, the flames dancing wildly in the darkness.
Soon they reached their destination.
Shouts erupted. Orders were barked. Then destruction followed.
The sound of glass breaking shattered the night, followed by screams. Men. Women. Children. Their cries echoed through the streets, swallowed only slowly by the roaring chants.
The horde moved on to the next building. Greed, hatred, madness burned in their eyes. They hammered against the door, again and again, but it did not yield.
One of the men, a swastika wrapped around his arm, spat against the wall. He tore down a small star hanging beside the door and crushed it beneath his boot.
From inside came the muffled sound of crying.
It only fed their rage.
One after another, they hurled their torches at the wooden building. Fire spread rapidly. Roof and walls ignited almost instantly.
They watched.
They listened.
They laughed as screams rose from within.
The men answered with singing once more. Rods and bats twitched nervously in their hands.
Then the doors burst open.
Men, women, children ran from the flames, screams of despair and terror tearing from their throats. Some were crying. Some were burning.
There was no mercy.
The men struck without restraint. Brutally. Repeatedly. Blows rained down as they shouted in ecstasy, consumed by violence.
The night remained long.The night remained dark, despite the countless fires.And the night remained, even as the first streaks of sunlight revealed the full extent of the destruction.
Later, they would give that night a name.
Crystal Night.
A man clad in a Wehrmacht uniform walked silently through the streets, assessing what was left behind.
He stopped before the blackened, charred remains of what had once been a building.
A synagogue.
Blood still clung to the ground in quiet defiance. People remained as well. Some knelt before the ruins, unmoving. Their tears had long since dried, yet their sobs continued, hollow and broken.
Paul bent down and picked up a small golden object from the ground.
His reflection stared back at him.
His eyes carried something no words could describe.
Not far from where the object had lain, buried beneath burned wood and collapsed stone, rested a small body.
A body Paul would have recognised, had he seen it clearly. A sight that would have pushed him beyond a boundary. A boundary that should never be crossed.
"They will pay," Paul muttered.
His fist, clad in a black leather glove, curled with terrifying force.
Anger surged through his body. Every heartbeat fed it. Every breath sharpened it.
His muscles tensed, pulsing with rage.
Through a narrow gap in the rubble, sunlight slipped through.
It illuminated the childish facial features of a familiar young boy...
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This marks the end of Volume 1: Marching Towards Darkness. I can hardly believe how far we have already come.
Thank you all for your continued support. Your enthusiasm truly motivates me to keep going. And I promise, the next volume will be even better...