The flight from Berlin to Innsbruck was a short one, an hour or so, give or take a tailwind. Bruno rarely noticed the ti.
For him, the true asure was not in minutes or miles, but in mood: Berlin was steel and marble, all gravity and thunder.
Tyrol was granite and pine, cool mountain air and silence.
One was the fulcrum of power. The other, peace.
The hum of the aircraft’s propellers faded as the plane descended over the Alps.
Snow still capped the higher ridges despite the spring thaw.
The mountains looked eternal, unmoved by history’s churn.
Bruno gazed out the window, his face unreadable, but his shoulders slowly lowering.
The mont the first forests ca into view, sothing behind his eyes softened.
He was going ho.
By the ti the wheels touched down on the private airstrip outside Innsbruck, dusk had painted the sky in bruised hues of lilac and rose.
A black limousine waited on the tarmac, already ward.
A single driver opened the door with a nod.
Bruno said nothing during the ride.
He rarely did after Berlin.
They passed alpine adows beginning to bloom again.
The air slled of wood smoke and wild herbs.
Occasionally, a village child on a bicycle would wave at the passing limousine, unaware of the man behind the tinted glass.
Or perhaps not unaware, just unconcerned.
The Grand Prince belonged to Tyrol.
He had lived here for decades.
His blood, sweat, and tears were witnessed by all who lived here in the grand feats of architecture, industry, dicine, and agriculture that he had sponsored largely with his own personal wealth.
He was theirs.
The gates of the Zehntner estate opened silently.
The guards saluted, but Bruno didn’t look.
He knew every one of them by na.
He had trained with so, buried others.
The car crested the final hill and the palace ca into view, perched like a crown atop its pine-covered slope.
Lights glowed warm behind stone-frad windows.
Sowhere within, his children and grandchildren laughed.
That was enough.
He stepped out, removed his gloves, and inhaled deeply.
The wind here slled different. Cleaner. Honest.
He entered through the rear corridor, bypassing the grand hall.
There was no need for formality.
Not tonight.
In the drawing room, Heidi sat curled on the couch with a book in her lap, the fire casting a golden halo around her pale hair.
She looked up before he even spoke, sensing his presence like she always did.
"You’re early," she said gently.
"Pilot took a faster route," he replied, shedding his coat. "It was quiet. No turbulence."
Heidi rose to greet him.
He embraced her without words.
Her body pressed to his chest, slender and warm and real.
Her heartbeat, steady against his.
"Dinner is in the oven," she murmured.
"I’m not hungry."
"I’ll leave it warming, anyway."
He kissed her temple. "And the others?"
"Upstairs, preparing for bed. Honestly, they expected you to co ho much later, what with the war going on...."
Bruno sighed not wanting to think about his work in the slightest as he sat down on the sofa and loosened the dals around his collar.
"Everything is going as planned; I am not needed in Berlin until tomorrow morning. And I don’t want to think about it until then."
They sat together by the fire in silence.
Bruno leaned back, eyes half-lidded, letting the heat ease the tension in his spine.
The room crackled with pinewood.
The only sound outside was the mountain wind brushing against the eaves.
Heidi reached for his hand.
Though her husband insisted on not speaking about work, she knew he probably needed to vent so steam rather than internalize it until he combusted.
Hence, her tone was soft and endearing, while still forceful enough to prod an answer out of the man.
"Was it bad?"
He hesitated, wondering whether he should actually say sothing, but eventually he broke.
"The Aricans are cracking. They know... they just can’t prove anything. Yet."
"And Brazil?" Heidi asked curiosity flickering in her eyes more than horror.
Bruno’s jaw twitched. "Burning. Just as we planned."
She was quiet a mont. A little too long for comfort. And then she spoke.
"And what of London? Surely we don’t intend to let them exist in a state of war, acting as a safe harbor for the Allies to muster a force?"
Bruno sighed heavily, the truth escaping mid-gasp.
"It will be a ruin by the ti I arrive in Berlin tomorrow morning. And the rest of the isles will be blockaded until they either submit or starve."
Heidi watched him closely. "Then rest. The world will still be burning in the morning."
He closed his eyes.
So parts of him wanted to believe her.
That here, in this room, ti could be paused.
That the war, his war, could wait a few hours more.
But duty, like gravity, never truly slept.
He rose an hour later and made his way upstairs.
Bruno eventually made his way to his office where he turned on the lights.
In the dark they illuminated uniforms from wars past, dals earned from different Empires, so no longer a part of the world’s history.
Photographs of battles waged, and comrades lost.
In the end, he turned off the light and locked the door behind him as he made his way to his room.
Heidi was waiting, already under the covers, her reading lamp dimd.
She watched as he changed, folded his uniform neatly, and slipped beneath the sheets beside her.
For a while, they said nothing.
Then, just before sleep took him, she whispered:
"You built an empire. But don’t forget... you also built this."
He didn’t reply.
But his hand found hers in the dark.
And held it until morning.
And when dawn rose over the mountains of Tyrol Bruno once more found himself off to Berlin.
Taking another short flight as he watched the mountains untouched by the flas of war disappear, and the capital of the Reich return to form.
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