A Normal Day

Amidst the tides of war, the Reich calls for a savior. Someone who will return the Empire to its former glory. Someone who will save Baronia.

Today I realized: I am not that someone.

A land built upon hate will never be saved. Our sins have come to reap the souls of those responsible for this nightmare. We are bound to pay the price. The angels of Revelation have come for us.

I stood on a barren field, the sky above me swirling in shades of red and black. The earth trembled under my boots as ghostly figures rose from the ground—men, women, children—all with hollow eyes that pierced my soul. They whispered my name. Hans... Hans... Their voices grew louder until it became a deafening roar.

"Hans, wake up."

"Huh?"

"You were talking in your sleep again, for the tenth time," Peter's voice cut through the haze.

I blinked and sat up, still caught between the dream and reality. The dim barracks offered no comfort—the thin slats of my bunk bit into my back, and the air was heavy with sweat and damp wood. The light filtering through the cracks in the walls only served to highlight the grime of our existence. The world outside, where everything had fallen apart, seemed so far away. Yet, it felt like I could almost reach out and touch it.

"I'm sorry. I seem to get the same dream over and over again. What time is it?"

"0600. Breakfast is in 30 minutes."

"Oh shoot! We have to hurry, or Captain von Hilten will shout at us again!"

This is the life we are subjected to—our duty, as they call it. The next generation of the Reich, molded to perfection. Schedules we dare not question. Protocols that leave no room for error. At first, I didn't think much of it, but it's exhausting. The same food, the same clothes, the same strange rules. But as long as the Secret Police leaves my family alone, I can endure it.

"Hans Bergmann! Is there shit on my face? Answer me, you impotent swine!"

I froze mid-step as Captain von Hilten loomed over me, his sharp features twisted into a sneer. The stench of his cheap cologne mixed with the sourness of his attitude. I could feel his eyes boring into me, trying to find any sign of weakness. A slight tremor ran through my hands, but I held my ground.

"No, Captain! I just—"

"That's it! Get your asses in the kitchen now! You're on kitchen duty today! Oh yeah, take Puny Peter with you!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Peter gave me a sidelong glance as we marched toward the kitchens. "Why were you staring?"

"I wasn't," I muttered. "I zoned out. I'm sorry."

"Ah, whatever. Let's get it done."

Peter Haber—the only person in this place who doesn't make me feel like dirt. I met him on the first day I was transported here. He's reliable, someone you can trust. But sometimes, his mouth gets ahead of his brain. Still, he's one of the few who hasn't turned on me. I used to think he was just like the others—shallow, obedient—but now I know better. Peter, for all his flaws, is trying to survive this nightmare just like I am.

We scrubbed the oversized pots in silence, the smell of burnt beans clinging to the air. Each scrape of the metal against the grime seemed to echo in my skull. I didn't understand why, but no matter what I did, I always got kitchen duty. Maybe it was Von Hilten's way of reminding me of my "place." He probably found it amusing. What does it matter to him, after all? He gets his orders, and we follow them.

"You really have to stop zoning out, Hans," Peter said, scrubbing harder than necessary. "You know why Manfred is always riding you? It's your impotence!"

"Don't be like that, Peter. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Peter sighed and leaned against the counter, flicking a stray bean off his sleeve. His expression softened, but only slightly. "Just try not to make him angrier next time. He's one bad report away from shipping you off somewhere worse."

Worse. The word hung in the air, unspoken yet heavy. We all knew what "worse" meant—those who disappeared in the middle of the night, or worse yet, were sent to the frontlines before they were ready. There were whispers of it, but none of us dared speak it too loudly. "Worse" was a fate worse than death. It was a world where you disappeared, and no one ever remembered you.

"Alright, we're done. Send them in!" The order came with a sharpness that cut through the haze of exhaustion in the kitchen.

The cafeteria filled quickly as boys in gray uniforms shuffled in, their faces pale and tired. Some of them looked like they hadn't slept in days, and I could feel their unease in the air, thick and suffocating. The clinking of utensils and the hum of murmured conversations filled the room, but the tension was undeniable. We all knew something was coming. Something worse than the hell we'd already endured.

I watched them eat as Peter and I served the last bowls of beans. Some tried to hide their fear, others their defiance, but it was always there, just beneath the surface. No one here was truly loyal to the Reich. We were all just surviving.

Peter nudged me with his elbow. "Hey, look at that guy."

Across the room, Captain von Hilten stood with his arms crossed, a smug grin plastered across his face. The sight of him made my blood boil. It wasn't just that he was a product of the system we were all bound to. It was the way he reveled in his power over us. He had no honor, no respect for the people he commanded. He was just another cog in the machine, but one that enjoyed the grind a little too much.

"I hate that look," Peter whispered.

"Me too," I muttered.

We were almost finished serving when the loudspeaker crackled to life. The harsh buzz of static filled the room before a voice came over, cold and efficient.

"Attention! The Wilmenians from the West have crossed Lake Caden Fortress! The Forced Conscription Act is now in effect. All able-bodied individuals are to report to the nearest barracks immediately!"

The room fell silent. Spoons paused mid-air, conversations stopped mid-sentence. The crackle of the loudspeaker lingered in the air, a grim punctuation to the announcement. My pulse quickened, my thoughts racing. Lake Caden... the Wilmenians... they were closer than we thought.

Peter's hand tightened around the edge of the counter. "This is it, isn't it? They're coming for us."

I wanted to speak, but my throat felt dry. The words from my dream came back to me: The angels of Revelation have come for us. Was this it? Was this the end of everything? The moment we had all been waiting for, whether we liked it or not?

Von Hilten's voice shattered the silence. "You heard the announcement! Finish your food and line up outside. Anyone not ready in ten minutes will be considered a deserter!"

The boys scrambled to obey, their fear palpable. The once indifferent shuffle of soldiers had turned into an anxious rush. I looked at Peter, whose face was pale but determined. He clenched his fists at his sides, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something deeper. Was it fear? No, it was something more complex. Resignation, maybe. Or acceptance.

"What do we do?" he whispered.

I didn't have an answer. I didn't know what to do. The dream was still there, like a heavy weight pressing against my chest. All I could do was look out the window, where the sky was already darkening with the smoke of distant battles. The world outside seemed to be crumbling, and we were nothing but bystanders, forced to take part in the destruction. The angels of Revelation had indeed come for us. Whether we fought or hid, we would all be consumed.