US Embassy in Germany at Pariser Platz
March 1st, 1941
By then Pug received a message that from the President by telegram that was short and to the point:
PUG,
YOUR DISPATCH ON SNEZHNAYA AND THE FATUI ALLIANCE RECEIVED AND GIVEN MOST CAREFUL CONSIDERATION.YOUR JUDGMENT IS HIGHLY VALUED HERE AND YOUR WORD CARRIES GREAT WEIGHT IN OUR DISCUSSIONS. CONTINUE DETAILED REPORTING ON FATUI CAPABILITIES, PERSONALITIES, AND EFFECT ON GERMAN WAR PLANS. YOU ARE RENDERING A VERY IMPORTANT SERVICE TO YOUR COUNTRY.
FRANKLIN D ROOSEVELT
To say the reply relieved Pug was an understatement, especially considering how the papers he has been getting from America were very quick to say Hitler was courting alliances with fairytales and an ice witch out of Grimm. He even talked to a friend that knew people on the British embassy in Switzerland, the British to say the least were both confused and calling Hitler mad as a hatter. Why would he make such a bogus alliance at this point of the war when he has Britain alone against him? Did he hope to frighten the British into surrender with Wagnerian fantasies when bombers and U-boats had failed? Needless to say, Pug wish he could get the British to understand that this 'bogus fictional alliance' might actually have some teeth that couldn't be seen on any earthly map. He just hoped that the British didn't have to learn that too late as he could not help but still envision that mushroom cloud caused by Arlecchino.
Then three days after Pug received the telegram from FDR, he received an invitation that was delivered to the US Embassy by a Fatui courier that was female and wore a tall hat angled on her head with a mask attached with her outfit reminding Pug of a casino croupier in teal and white. Needless to say, the American Embassy's Marines and clerks had a hard time not looking away from this woman as to them she probably would fit as a pinup girl. She delivered onto Pug's desk a card in an elegant script with the eight pointed star on its right corner. The card read as:
The Tsaritsa has organized her people to hold a cultural evening between peoples of Germany and Snezhnaya in the newly commissioned Embassy. Your presence is requested by Her Excellency, Lady Arlecchino, to begin the start of Snezhno-American relations.
When he read it, he asked the woman shouldn't this be an event held with the US Ambassador to Germany not its Naval Attache.
The Woman replied as if the answer was obvious and Pug assumed that behind her mask she rolled her eyes with an accent that was hard to place, "Lady Arlecchino felt that considering that your newspapers questioned my homeland's existence that maybe starting talks with you would open the doors to allow more diplomatic discussion. However, My Lady has wished to express that if you feel it too formal considering the situation of conflict that your country and Germany might have, then she will understand if you do not wish to attend."
There it was the fig leaf of choice. He could say no, and the Fatui could say they had graciously offered and been rebuffed. Pug turned the card over in his hand and weighed his options that he wasn't sure that he had. Declining would be the safe choice. America was neutral, at least on paper, and attending a Fatui function could be seen as legitimizing an alliance that most of the free world still considered Nazi propaganda.
But the President's telegram burned in his memory on reporting on the capabilities and personalities of the Fatui.
"Tell Lady Arlecchino," Pug said slowly, "That I would be honored to attend."
The Courier inclined her head as she continued, "The party will be held tonight at 7pm at the Snezhnayan Embassy in the Tiergarten. Will that be satisfactory to you, Commander Henry?"
Pug only nodded as she turned around and walked away. The other men in the embassy watched her go with expressions that ranged from confused to mesmerized. The moment she fully left outside of hearing range, one sailor even gave a whistle and commented on how one would not find something like in Norfolk.
Colonel Forrest appeared at Pug's shoulders moments later.
"You're actually going?" Forrest asked with his voice pitched low.
"Orders from the top." Pug replied as he tucked the invitation into his jacket pocket, "Someone had to figure out what these people really are. Might as well be me."
Forrest snorted softly, crossing his arms.
"Just make damn sure you come back with more than a hangover and a souvenir program," he said. "I've got a feeling 'these people' don't throw simple cocktail parties."
"Neither do we, apparently," Pug said. "I'll file a report."
"You'd better," Forrest replied. "And, Victor…."
Pug paused.
"Try not to let them turn you into one of their parlor tricks," Forrest finished. "I like you the way you are. And, also try not to get photographed, don't want some Isolationist Congressman to have a field day with your picture in that place."
"I'll do my best," Pug managed a thin smile as he replied.
__________________________________________________________________
At the Snezhnayan Embassy in Berlin's Tiergarten
At 6:45pm
Pug figured that if these Fatui were just as punctual and precise as the Nazi's and ensure that his embassy car got him there early with 15 minutes to spare. The car driven by a marine stopped at the gate, where a German Officer in the Heer waited along another one of those Fatui Croupiers as he nicknamed them. They checked his name to the list and examined his invitation when he was asked. The Fatui Croupier looked under his ride and tapped his tires with a cane that was more like a mixture between a sword and an arrow. After a minute, both the Officer and Croupier waved him through to the front entrance of the embassy where the car stopped before the big doors.The Embassy was a mansion that undeniably a very beautiful neoclassical structure with three stories to it and tall windows of amber that glowed in the evening dark.
Before he could continue, another Fatui person opened the car door. But this time, the person was not a Fatui Croupier but a tall man wore a dark coat with a red mask and made Pug think of him more fitted to be more of an actual assassin type.
"Welcome Commander Victor Henry of the United State Navy." was the words Pug heard as the man bowed while holding the door.
"Thank you." Pug said as he stood out of the car with his breath fogging in the early March air.
The front doors stood open with light and the faint sound of music spilling out. As he walked into the entrance hall way with its high ceiling and warm air, where light from a crystal chandelier poured down onto a polished floor veined in gray and gold. A grand staircase swept up to the second floor where its bannister gleaming. Then Pug noticed the walls with pale rectangles marking the wall paper where spaces where paintings or family portraits had once hung and were now gone. Only a single painting remained at the far end of the hallway, where a landscape of a lakeshore with a bright sun could be seen.
"Your coat, Herr Kommandant?" were the words that Pug heard beside him in precise german as he turned to see a second attendant. Another one of these Fatui people that looked more assassin and guard then butler.
Pug shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it over as a third Fatui person walked up to lead Pug to the dance area. They passed under a wide arch into what had probably been the main drawing room. Tonight it had been transformed into a reception hall. Small round tables were scattered artfully around the space, each holding a vase with a few pale winter roses and a cut-glass ashtray. Tall windows looked out over the Tiergarten, their heavy red curtains drawn back just enough to show a strip of night beyond. The quartet was set up near the far wall, the musicians dressed in sober black, sawing gently away at something that sounded vaguely Russian to Pug's uninformed ear.
The room was half full of an assortment of people ranging from Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe officers in black uniforms to Nazi Party officers in brown outfits. Many women were in attendance with the officers and officials, most likely their wives or dates in evening gowns. Pug spotted some non-german faces that he recognized from other neutral embassies like Sweden and Switzerland. The Fatui were also all round partying with some single German officers and their own comrades. Some wore their masks, while others had half-masks and a few wore no masks.
Pug grabbed a glass of champagne offered from a waiter as he watched the dancing and acknowledged to himself that the drink was better than anything he had with it cold and dry. He wondered if it came from 'their' world.
"Commander Henry."
Pug turned to his shoulder toward the voice that was smooth as glass and confident. He instantly recognized him from the official start of this whole alliance. Pantalone, another Harbinger of the Tsaritsa from that world, dressed more fashionable than a wall street banker and smiled with his eyes closed behind those spectacles.
"On behalf of Her Majesty's Embassy," Pantalone said in English as if he had no trouble speaking it, "may I say what a pleasure it is to welcome an officer of the United States Navy to our little experiment."
"Experiment?" Pug echoed.
"Cultural experiment," Pantalone amended as his mouth curved. "The Germans are very keen on visible alliances. They like their friends where everyone can see them. We aim to oblige… and observe."
"I appreciate the invitation," Pug said, keeping his own tone neutral. "Though I imagine my Ambassador was a more obvious choice."
Pantalone tilted his head, as if conceding the point.
"Your Ambassador is a very correct man," he said. "His cables travel along the proper wires, to the proper desks. But it was not his report that convinced President Roosevelt that we are…what is the phrase your papers used? Ah….'More than a fairy tale.'"
Pug suppressed a wince. He could picture the cartoon exactly in his mind where Hitler was hand-in-hand with a snow queen under the headline of "Führer Finds Frosty Friend."
"Our newspapers print all sorts of things," Pug said.
"Yes," Pantalone agreed pleasantly. "We collect them. They make a… fascinating study. But private reports from trusted officers, those are something else entirely. We are very interested in trust, Commander."
Pug had the distinct feeling of having been moved one square further along in a game whose rules he did not yet fully know.
"I'm just a naval attaché doing my job," he said.
Pantalone's smile didn't change, but his eyes warmed by a degree.
"Aren't we all?" he said. "You will forgive me, I hope, for the theatrics. Her Excellency believes that if Germany enemies insist on treating us as myth, we might as well be entertaining myths. And Berlin has always liked a good performance in order to become a myth."
He nodded toward a crimson-draped platform.
"We have brought a little talent from Fontaine," he added. "I think you will find them… instructive."
"Fontaine?" Pug looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"One of the seven nations of our world, Snezhnaya is included in that number." Pantalone replied.
A aide stepped up on the platform with his voice carried easily over the room in perfect German.
"Meine Damen und Herren," he called, "Her Excellency, Lady Arlecchino, thanks you for honoring our new embassy with your presence tonight. As a small token of friendship between the Tsardom of Snezhnaya and the German Reich, she wishes to share with you a demonstration from one of our sister cities beyond the sea."
He lifted an arm toward the crimson-draped platform.
"From the House of the Hearth in Fontaine," the aide announced, "we present Master Lyney and Mademoiselle Lynette."
Two figures stepped out from behind the curtain.
The boy came first but boy might not be the right word Pug decided. He was 18 or 19 at most by looks, but walked like he owned the footlights. Hair of short ash blond with violet eyes that made Pug like of a cat and some sort of mark on his right cheek that Pug could not make out. His outfit of black included a top hat. Where this boy was bright and full of motion, the girl that came out next was spare and silent almost female copy of the boy. However, her differences from him almost had Pug question if his drink had been spiked as on top of her short ash blond was cat ears ....cat ears…..that the same color as her hair and a tail….a cat's tail of the same color.
They stopped at center stage and bowed in unison: his bow a theatrical sweep, hers a small, measured dip.
"Bonsoir, mesdames et messieurs," the boy said in French, voice warm and trained for a stage. Then, without a pause: "Oder vielleicht… guten Abend."
The shift into German drew a small approving noise from the crowd. A few of the women smiled.
"My name is Lyney," he went on in clear, lightly accented German, placing a hand over his heart, "and this is my sister, Lynette. We come from Fontaine, where the streets are full of water and law."
"And tonight," Lynette spoke, "we shall demonstrate that the distance between what you believe and what is real... is often thinner than you think."
Lyney proceeded to produce a deck of cards from thin air and fanning them with a one elegant motion. He then flicked his wrist as the cards scattered into the air and became doves. Real, white, cooing doves that circled the chandelier above once and swooping down to Lynette, who caught them one by one and tucked them behind her back where they simply turned back into cards as she showed her hands again.
The crowd applauded and a Wehrmacht colonel near Pug muttered something appreciative about stage craft.
"Stage craft." Put thought to himself, "Sure."
"But illusions are only half the fun," Lyney said with eyes scanning every member of the audience, "For the next demonstration, we require a volunteer. Someone with skeptical mind. Someone accustomed to facts and figures. Someone…"
Pug didn't how Lyney stopped his gaze toward him.
"Military." was the word that Lyney said as Pug felt almost every head in the room turn toward him.
"Commander Henry," Lyney said, extending a gloved hand, "The American. Would you care to do us the honor?"
There was no graceful way to refuse. Not with Pantalone watching from the edge of the room, not with German officers smirking at the neutral American being put on the spot. Pug set down his champagne and walked toward the platform.
"Don't worry, Commander," Lyney said as Pug climbed the steps, "This will be entirely painless."
Lynette wheeled forward a tall cabinet painted in swirling patterns of gold and black. The cabinet was large enough for a man to stand in, with a door that opened on brass hinges.
"The Cabinet of Wonders," Lyney announced. "Crafted by Fontaine's finest artificers. The Commander will step inside, the door will close, and when it opens again..."
He paused, letting the silence build, "He will have vanished entirely."
Pug examined the cabinet and even looked inside where it could tell that from the exterior that it was solid wood with no mirrors that he could see. No obvious trapdoor that he could find on the platform beneath it.
"Any tricks I should know about?" he asked quietly.
Lyney's smile was impish, "Just stand very still, Commander. And try not to think too hard about where you're going."
As Pug stepped inside the matte black interior as the door swung shut with darkness inside. He could barely hear Lyney's voice muffled as he built the anticipation of the audience. Then all of a sudden, the floor dropped underneath him as Pug gasped with his grey hair jumping up. The fall was short, maybe by about a few feet, but when he landed, the world around him was very wrong. Colors of different types of streak passed his vision, the air tasted of ozone and something sweeter like flowers after rain. For one wild heart, he felt like he was being pulled apart and put together in the space between thoughts. Then the light flooded back around as he found himself standing at the far end of the ballroom, behind the crowd, and near the entrance doors. Then he heard the sound of the audience erupted in applause.
"There he is!" Lyney cried, pointing with a cane,"The Disappearing Commander, ladies and gentlemen! Transported across the room in the blink of an eye!"
Pug steadied himself against the wall, his heart hammering.
"There wasn't a trapdoor…no misdirections…no mirrors…That was something else." Pug thought to himself in near panic.
Across the room, Lyney met his gaze and tipped his hat. Beside him, Lynette watched with those violet eyes, her expression unreadable, her cat tail swishing behind her.
Lyney and Lynette had gone on to a smaller trick, something with silk scarves and the party men's watches.
"Well," Pantalone murmured, drifting back to Pug's side as if he'd never left. "What do you think, Commander? Does our little performance make you feel more… reassured?"
Pug took a sip of champagne to buy himself a second. Now that his pulse had slowed, he found the drink had a faint, unfamiliar crispness he still couldn't place.
"It makes me aware," he said. "Though I haven't decided of what yet."
"A good beginning," Pantalone said. "Awareness is a negotiable commodity. Ignorance costs much more."
Pug turned his head.
"I thought you were a banker," he said. "Not a philosopher."
"In Snezhnaya," Pantalone replied mildly, "we do not always distinguish between the two."
Before Pug could answer, a smaller movement at the edge of his vision drew his attention. One of the masked attendants similar to the Croupier but with no hat and a mask that reminded Pug of an Egyptian cat had appeared at his elbow.
"Commander Henry," she said in careful, accented English. "Her Excellency requests the honor of a brief conversation. If you would be so kind as to follow me."
Pantalone's smile did not change, but there was a glint behind it now that hadn't been there before.
"You will enjoy this, I think," he murmured. "Few foreign officers get to meet the Knave herself so early."
"Enjoy" was not the verb Pug would have chosen. But Roosevelt's underlined words burned in his mind again: CAPABILITIES. PERSONALITIES. EFFECT ON GERMAN WAR PLANS.
"Lead on," he said to the attendant.
She guided him away from the main crush of guests, through a side archway and down a narrower corridor where the music dulled to a muffled pulse. The sounds of German officers laughing, glasses clinking, and Lyney's voice tossing something clever to the crowd faded behind them. Here, the walls were less dressed. The pale rectangles where stolen paintings had hung were more obvious. The single remaining family portrait, half-obscured by a velvet curtain, watched them pass with the unintentional accusation of painted eyes.
The attendant stopped before a heavy door of dark oak and knocked twice in a pattern of soft taps.
"Enter," came a voice from within.
The attendant opened the door and stepped aside, where she gestured for pug to pass through. After a second, he did and heard the door close behind him with a soft click. The room had once been a study or a private office where bookshelves lined three of the walls. A single lamp burned on a desk near the window, it light pooling across papers that Pug couldn't read from this distance. Heavy curtains blocked most of the view of the garden beyond through a small gap. But standing there at the window with her back to him was Arlecchino. She didn't turn immediately as she let the silence stretch, let him take in the room, and let him wonder. Pug knew the technique too well as a navy man and saw various admirals use it to establish who held the power in the conversation before a single word was spoken.
The difference was that Arlecchino didn't need the technique as the power was simply there and it radiated off her like heat from a boiler. But when she turned, those eyes found him at once. Those eyes with a black sclera that had burning red crosses for pupils. In the dim light, they seemed to glow and it almost terrified Pug.
"Commander Henry," she said. "Thank you for accepting my invitation. Please, sit."
She gestured to a chair positioned before the desk and Pug noted that it was the only chair on his side of the room with its back to the door. He moved forward and sat anyway as he didn't have much of a choice. The moment that he sat, Arlecchino moved to the desk but didn't sit behind it. Instead, she perched on its edge, arms folded , looking down at him with an expression that was impossible to read.
"You enjoyed Lyney's demonstration?" she asked.
"'Enjoyed' might be a strong word," Pug said. "It was... educational."
"Good. Education was the intent." She tilted her head slightly. "You're calmer than I expected. Most men who experience what you just did need a few minutes to remember how to breathe."
"I've had some practice at keeping my composure in unusual situations."
"Yes. I know," Her eyes didn't blink, "The Hitler-Stalin pact. You predicted it when every intelligence service in Europe was calling it impossible. I would assume that your report reached Roosevelt's desk before the ink was dry on Ribbentrop's signature. Von Roon told me when he had dinner with you and your wife that the moment news reached the restaurant that your wife jumped in excitement and said 'you were right. They were all wrong and you were right."
"Von Roon has a good memory," Pug said.
Arlecchino's mouth twitched, the closest thing he'd yet seen to a smile.
"He has a trained one," she replied. "And he is paid to remember which men notice the right things. You are one of them."
Pug had to resist the urge to shift in the chair. He could feel the back of it and solid against his shoulders.
"Lucky me," he said lightly.
Arlecchino's gaze stayed fixed with that somewhat smile.
"You came tonight because you want to know what we are," she said, "I suspect that your President asked you to find out. The German Government, particularly Ribbentrop and Goring, told us that you are closely connected to your president when you came with that banker to offer the visit of Undersecretary of State Sumner Wells to discuss peacemaking proposals between the Allies and Germany."
Pug felt his jaw tight immediately. It had been over a year ago since the Sumner Wells mission, where it was FDR's last attempt to find some way to end the war before it true consumed continental Europe.
The Germans keep good records," he said carefully.
"They do," Arlecchino agreed. "And they share them with their allies. We know that you escorted Mr. Welles to meetings with Göring, with Ribbentrop, with the Führer himself. We know that Roosevelt trusts you enough to put you in rooms where history is being made. That makes you valuable, Commander and it makes me curious."
"Curious about what?" Pug asked.
"Let's go back to your question earlier," Arlecchino said as if redirecting the conversation to measure his reaction, "you asked about what Hitler meant in the Tsaritsa's war. Very well, I suppose I can give you a rundown of it."
Arlecchino moved away from the desk and walked slowly toward the window with her silhouette cutting across the thin line of moonlight that slipped through the curtains.
"Each rules differently. The first is Freedom who lets his people govern themselves and calls it virtue. The second is Contracts who has recently stepped aside, and the world is still learning what that means. And, of course, Justice once sat as the head of a realm built on law, until… events forced that nation to rewrite itself."
Arlecchino's gaze drifted, not to Pug, but past him into memory.
"One is Eternity like your Emperor of Japan: divine and absolute in the minds of her people… although even eternity can change its definition. Another is Wisdom who rules with a mind so old and so sharp it makes your Enlightenment look like a tavern argument."
A faint, almost amused exhale.
"And then there are others like War with tribes and trials and strength as a language and the Tsaritsa was of Love."
She let the last word hang, as if daring the room to misunderstand it.
"Each Archon commands an element: wind, stone, lightning, and the rest… down to Her Majesty's cryo, ice."
Pug didn't move. He didn't blink. He listened.
"And above the nations," Arlecchino continued, "above even the Archons, there is Celestia which is our divine realm. It watches, judges, and enforces what it calls the Heavenly Principles."
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed around Pug as the fire started to die down with lighting dying and those red X's illuminating more than the moonlight even though he could only see the back of her head.
Then Arlecchino's voice hardened imperceptibly, "Then five hundred years ago, there was a nation called Khaenri'ah. It had no Archon…No God to guide it, where its people built their civilization through knowledge alone. They asked permission from no heaven and bowed to no divine throne."
She turned to face him fully, where in that dimmed light with only her eyes burning like twin coals, Pug felt the weight of something ancient and terrible pressing down on the room.
"Celestia destroyed them, where the Heavenly Principles decided that Khaenri'ah had grown too powerful and gone too far in its curiosity that its existence posed a threat. So they spared nothing and no one where they erased it…the nation…the people…the children in their beds. Something so cataclysmic that I doubt that maybe there is a verse in your Holy Bible that could match its destruction and would make Sodom look like a firecracker."
"And the other Archons?" Pug asked, "The seven gods, they simply allowed this?"
"Some fought and obeyed, but some paid for it in ways your history would recognize.Your First Great War didn't just kill men, but instead it also changed what survivors believed was possible. Khaenri'ah did the same to Teyvat." She dropped lower in response, "And the Tsaritsa wept. They say she was different before Khaenri'ah where she was both gentle and warm. A goddess who believed in mercy, in the goodness of the divine order, in the justice of heaven. But she does not believe these things anymore, you can say like your isolationist young, they were changed by the stories of the horrors of war."
"So she declared war? On heaven itself?" Pug asked as he discovered his voice rougher than he intended.
"On the system itself, she declared before her followers a plan to seize the authority from the gods and a rebellion against the Heavenly Principles," Arlecchino corrected, "The Fatui are her army in that war, Commander. We prepare for the day when the Tsaritsa will look the Heavenly Principles in the eye and demand an accounting for what was done to Khaenri'ah."
Pug sat for a moment in complete terrified silence and was processing. It was madness, all of it. Gods and divine rebellions and civilizations erased by decree from above, but yet the woman standing before him was no myth for sure.
"And my world?" he asked finally. "Earth. Where do we fit into a war against heaven?"
Arlecchino's lips curved into that cold knowing smile that made Pug feel like a specimen being examined under a glass, as she continued:
"Your world, Commander Henry, has no Archons and no Celestia watching from above. No divine principles constraining what humans may build, may learn, may become," She gestured toward the curtained window, toward the city beyond, "In Teyvat, if a civilization advances too far, heaven intervenes. Here, you answer to no gods. You harness lightning and build machines that fly through the air and ships that sail beneath the waves. You reach toward the stars without asking permission and no hand from above strikes you down for the presumption."
She leaned closer, close enough that Pug could see the faint lines etched around those burning eyes.
"And the Tsaritsa needs Germany to understand powers that will help prepare her for that day, but we are an equal to Germany or even more in teaching, supplying, and directing them ways to improve their war. Although Snezhnaya is not at war with Churchill and his British Empire, I have no doubt that as time passes where your cigar smoking Prime Minister finally understands the alliance then things might possibly change."
"Does Hitler know of the details and all? Celestia and the other archons?" Pug asked curiously and with a swallow.
For a moment, Arlecchino didn't answer and then she gave him something like approval as if he asked the right question.
"Yes," she said, "He's aware Celestia exists and of the other archons. Him and the other members of the Tripartite Pact, Italy and Japan have been made aware as well."
Pug absorbed that for a moment. The image of Adolf Hitler being briefed on divine realms and elemental gods was surreal enough. But Japan seeking diplomatic relations with another nation from Teyvat opened implications he hadn't considered as he remembered about Japan's imperial ambitions in China and even Asia.
"How did he take it?" Pug asked.
"How do you think?" she replied. "The Führer believes in destiny, Commander. In providence. When we told him that Celestia had destroyed a godless civilization for the crime of advancing too far, he didn't hear a warning. In his mind, Khaenri'ah fell because it had no divine guidance and no purpose beyond mere progress. Germany, he believes, is different. Germany has him."
"What about us?" he asked. "America. Has the Tsaritsa formed opinions about the nation that's still neutral?"
"The Tsaritsa," she continued, "is very interested in America, which is a nation built on revolution against a king and believes that men can govern themselves without divine mandates. In some ways, Commander, your county is more like Khaenri'ah than any nation in Teyvat. And that makes you either very valuable... or very dangerous."
"Which one are we?"
"That," Arlecchino said, "depends entirely on what you do next, which the Tsaritsa hopes to ensure remains positive between our nations."
She looked at the clock above the fire.
"Unfortantely, Commander, we will have to end these talks for later. I must attend to personal Harbinger matters that the Tsaritsa has delegated me for right now. But fear not, we will have more to chat until your President feels he is ready to hold official diplomatic talks between our nations."
Pug rose from the chair, feeling the stiffness in his legs from sitting so tensely for so long. The conversation had lasted like what? Twenty minutes? An hour? He honestly couldn't say. Time seemed to move differently in this room, under the weight of those burning eyes.
"I appreciate your candor, Lady Arlecchino," he said, falling back on the formalities that had carried him through a thousand uncomfortable diplomatic exchanges. "It's been... educational."
"That word again." The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "You use it like a shield, Commander. But I think you mean it more than you let on."
She moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the frame.
"One more thing," she said without turning. "When you write your report to President Roosevelt and you will write one, we both know that you may tell him everything I've told you tonight. The Tsaritsa has no interest in secrets that serve no purpose. Let your President know what we are. Let him understand what we want and let him decide whether America wishes to be Khaenri'ah... or something else entirely."
She opened the door. The sounds of the party flooded back in with music, laughter, and the clink of glasses.
"The attendant will show you back to the reception hall," Arlecchino said. "Or to your car, if you prefer. I suspect you have much to think about."
"That's one way to put it," Pug managed.
Arlecchino turned then, and for just a moment, something flickered in those terrible eyes.
"You asked good questions tonight, Commander Henry. Better than most people I have meet, even at times a certain Traveller that I meet." She inclined her head fractionally. "I look forward to our next conversation."
And then she was gone, moving down the corridor with footsteps so silent they might not have existed at all, leaving Pug standing in the doorway of an empty study in a stolen house, with the weight of two worlds pressing down on his shoulders.
The masked attendant materialized beside him moments later, silent as a shadow.
"Commander," she said. "Shall I escort you to the reception hall, or would you prefer your car?"
Pug glanced back at the empty study one last time. The fire had died completely, leaving the room cold and dark. Only the thin blade of moonlight remained, falling across the desk where Arlecchino had perched while explaining that human civilization was an experiment being observed by beings from another world.
"My car," he said. "I think I've had enough culture for one evening."
If the attendant found this amusing, her mask hid it well.
She led him back through the corridor, past the pale rectangles where paintings had hung, past the half-hidden family portrait that watched them with accusing eyes. The sounds of the party grew louder as they approached with laughter, music, and the clink of champagne glasses heard. Someone had started a drinking song, and Pug could hear German voices raised in chorus:
"Deutschland, Deutschland über alles..."
It felt obscene, somehow. All these people celebrating, drinking, singing their anthems of destiny and triumph, while somewhere in this very building a woman with burning eyes plotted a war against heaven itself. The Germans thought they had found powerful allies. They had no idea they were dancing on the edge of something that made their thousand-year Reich look like a child's game of tin soldiers.
They passed through the reception hall, and Pug caught a glimpse of the stage. Lyney was performing again using something with fire this time, conjuring flames that danced between his fingers and took the shapes of birds and flowers before dissolving into sparks. The crowd applauded, delighted. A Luftwaffe general was laughing, his face flushed with champagne, as Lynette handed him back a pocket watch that had somehow found its way into her hand.
Lyney's eyes found Pug across the room.
For just a moment, the showman's mask slipped, and something older looked out from those violet eyes. Something that had been trained in an orphanage run by a woman who made mushroom clouds from pistols. Then Lyney smiled, tipped his hat, and turned back to his audience.
Lynette watched Pug with those unreadable eyes, her cat tail swishing slowly behind her.
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Meanwhile a week later in the Court of Fontaine
Aether and Paimon stood up among the crowd with the posters of all the films being present for the first Fontinalia Film Festival, the past few days were busy for the two as they had been helping their film producer friend Xavier create a movie that was based on the book titled 'The Two Musketeers." As they helped in the film with Ayaka, Ayato, Furina, Chiori and others that they knew in Fontaine and other regions. It turned out that the writer of the book and his sister made the book as a mirror of their lives as well as their plan to murder the man that killed their mother. Through the help of Yoimiya and Chevreuse, they not got the man that killed the siblings mother (who was also their father) through an assassin by faking an attempt on him and having him confess with a hidden Kamera held by Paimon, but they caught the sister wanting revenge and exposed the plot after arresting the brother.
Now the film was done after a lot of hard work and was ready to be presented to the panel of judges to evaluate and score the film. Romantic comedies, historical dramas, actions spectacles that featured the Marechaussee Phantom were presented.
Aether stood near the edge of the plaza, watching the spectacle with the kind of quiet observation that had become second nature to him. Beside him, Paimon floated at shoulder height, her attention fixed on a vendor selling caramelized cream puffs from a cart decorated with tiny film reels.
"Paimon thinks we deserve at least three of those," she announced. "Maybe four. Do you know how hard it was holding that Kamera steady while hiding behind a box? Paimon's arms still hurt!"
"Your arms are the size of bread rolls," Aether said mildly. "How much could they possibly hurt?"
"Hey! Paimon's arms are perfectly normal-sized for Paimon!" She puffed up indignantly, then immediately deflated as the vendor handed a cream puff to a passing gentleman, "...Okay, but seriously, can we get some? The judging doesn't start for another hour."
Aether reached into his travel pouch and handed her a few Mora. "One. We need to find Xavier before the screening."
Paimon snatched the coins and zoomed toward the vendor with a speed that suggested she had not heard the word "one" at all.
Aether let her go because after everything they'd been through in the past few days a few cream puffs seemed like a small indulgence. He turned his attention back to the plaza and the massive posters that dominated the entrance to the screening pavilion.
There were many stories that were presented to the competition, but only five were selected as the finalists. One was a Sumeru action-comedy film about a dramatic old Forest Ranger dressed like a Favonius Knight on a quest like journey to Realm of Farahkert from Port Ormos acting like he is some long lost king while he walked with a Sumpter Beast. Another was a Mondstat that recreated Vennessa's Rebellion against the Mondstat Aristocracy. Then there was the one that he helped make where it had the moon and night in the background with Ayaka and Chueyruse back to back holding pistols up at an angle for the Film: The Two Musketeers.
However, he noticed the fourth poster that was right beside was a different type of poster entirely. When compared to the other finalists that showed familiar aesthetics, this one was stark and severe. The colors were muted grays and deep crimsons, the composition rigid and symmetrical in way that felt almost dramatic. The image showed a man in a grey uniform with his handsome face beneath a metal helmut that Aether could not recognize. The man was gazing into the eyes of a woman, a Fatui electro Cicin mage in purple. Her bright purple cicins floated around them like purple fireflies that casted an ethereal glow over the scene. Behind the couple, a city skyline stretched beneath a winter sky with architecture that Aether could not recognize. In the corner of the poster, two flags crossed with the eight-pointed star of th Fatui and another that instantly made Aether's blood cold. This flag was red with in the very center of it was a crooked black cross inside of a white circle.
The same cicle in Nahida's vision. The same symbol that had hung from every wall while tens of thousands of people chanted in unison. He slowly read the title and captions of the poster, which said:
"ZWEI WELTEN, EIN HERZ"
(Two Worlds, One Heart)
Ein Film von Herbert Selpin Eine Gemeinschaftsproduktion der Universum Film AG und des Snezhnayan Kulturministeriums
(A film by Herbert Selpin through a co-production of Universum Film AG and the Snezhnayan Ministry of Culture)
"Pretty, isn't it?" said a new voice behind Aether.
Aether turned sharply.
A man stood a few feet away, studying the poster with an appraising eye. He was perhaps forty, with thinning dark hair swept back from a high forehead and an intense, restless energy that seemed to crackle around him even in stillness. His suit was unlike anything worn in Fontaine double-breasted with wide lapels, cut in sharp lines that spoke of a different world's tailoring. A small pin on his lapel bore that same crooked cross. He wore glasses that almost made Aether think of them as shades.
"The lighting was particularly difficult," the man continued in accented but fluent Teyvatan, gesturing at the poster. "Cicin magic photographs beautifully, but getting it to blend with our Berlin streetlamps required weeks of experimentation. Worth it, though, don't you think? The violet against the gray..."
He kissed his fingertips in an exaggerated gesture of artistic satisfaction.
"You're the director," Aether said. It wasn't a question.
"Herbert Selpin." The man extended his hand with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to being recognized. "And you must be the famous Traveler. The Fatui briefed me, of course. You're quite well-known in certain circles."
Aether didn't take the offered hand. After a moment, Selpin withdrew it without apparent offense.
"Not a film enthusiast, I take it?" Selpin smiled, but his eyes were calculating. "A pity. Cinema is the art form of the future, you know. It speaks to the masses in ways that painting and literature never could. A single film can reach millions where it can shape how they think, what they feel, what they believe is possible." He nodded toward his poster. "That's what we've created here. A bridge between worlds. A story that shows our peoples what we can become together."
"A romance," Aether said flatly. "Between a soldier and a Fatui agent."
"Between two people caught up in forces larger than themselves," Selpin corrected smoothly. "Hans is a simple Wehrmacht officer, stationed in Berlin, lonely, far from home. Yelena is a Cicin Mage assigned to the new Snezhnayan Embassy, isolated in a strange world, longing for connection where they meet by chance. They fall in love despite everything that should keep them apart." He spread his hands. "It's universal, really. The oldest story there is."
"And the flags?" Aether nodded toward the crossed symbols on the poster. "The uniforms? The politics?"
Selpin's smile didn't waver, but something flickered behind his eyes.
"Mere backdrop," he said. "Context. The audience needs to understand that this love blooms in extraordinary circumstances where it represents something grander than two individuals."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "Between us, Traveler, I don't concern myself much with politics. I'm a craftsman and I tell stories. The Reichsministerium and the Fatui provided the funding and the brief; I provided the artistry. That's how it works in my world."
"And what brief did they provide?" Aether asked quietly.
Selpin studied him for a moment. The easy charm didn't leave his face, but something more thoughtful surfaced beneath it.
"They wanted a film that would make their alliance feel... human," he said finally, "Approachable. Something that audiences in both worlds could watch and think, 'Perhaps these strangers aren't so strange after all.' Something that would make the Pact of Iron and Frost feel like destiny rather than politics."
Selpin shrugged. "It's not so different from what any government wants from its films. The Americans do it. The British do it. We just do it with better production values."
"Paimon doesn't think she likes that poster."
They both turned to their right where Paimon had returned, cream puffs forgotten in her hands but not in her stomach for sure judging by the pieces on her face. Her small face scrunched in an expression of deep suspicion as she stared at the image.
"Something about it feels... wrong," she continued. "Like when you eat fish that's been sitting out too long. It looks fine, but your stomach knows better."
Selpin laughed with a genuine sound, surprised out of him.
"What a delightfully honest critic," he said. "Perhaps you should write for the Steambird." He inclined his head to Aether, then to Paimon. "I should find my seat. The screening begins soon, and I'm told your Two Musketeers is quite the accomplishment. I look forward to seeing what Fontainian cinema has to offer."
He walked away, his stride confident, already raising a hand to greet a cluster of Fatui officials near the pavilion entrance.
Paimon watched him go, her expression deeply troubled.
"Aether," she said quietly. "That symbol on his pin. That's the same one from…."
"I know." Aether replied looked back at the poster.
"Nahida showed us what those people do…the trenches…the rallies…the…." Paimon swallowed, "the things that man was saying and now the fatui are making movies with them? Love stories?"
Aether kept staring at the poster with the Cicin Mage's tender expression and the soldiers jaw showing some form of discipline. The flags crossed in the corner.
"It's not about love," he said finally. "It's about making the unthinkable seem normal. Making an alliance between the Fatui and... those people... look like something beautiful instead of something monstrous."
"But why would anyone fall for that?" Paimon asked as she floated right beside him looking like she was wanting to panic.
Aether thought of the rally. The tens of thousands of people, cheering, saluting, their faces transformed by fervent belief in something that must have felt great and righteous.
"Because stories are easier to believe than reality," he said. "And this Selpin seems to know how to tell stories."
Aether then saw Xavier come up to him with his red-black knit outfit and black-wide-brimmed hat. The Fontainian filmmaker looked slightly out of breath, as if he'd been searching through the crowd for some time.
"There you are!" Xavier exclaimed, "I've been looking every where. The screening order has been finalized….we're third in the lineup, right after the Sumeru comedy and the Mondstadt piece."
Xavier paused and noticed their expressions as they stared at the fourth poster, "Ah, you've seen it."
"Hard to miss," Aether said quietly.
Xavier's face tightened as he followed their gaze to Zwei Welten, Ein Herz.
"It arrived four days ago with a Snezhnayan delegation," he explained, his voice dropping, ""The festival committee received... let's call them 'strong suggestions'... that it should be included among the finalists. Given the current political situation with the Fatui, Fontaine's leadership felt it would be unwise to refuse outright."
"So they just let Fatui propaganda into a Fontainian film competition?" Paimon demanded, her remains of the cream puffs now completely forgotten, "Just like that?"
"The Fatui have become difficult to refuse lately," Xavier said carefully. "When they arrived, a Oberleutnant Meyer of this German Reich with the Fatui delegates presented himself as a member of the Germany Wehrmacht Propaganda Troops. According to Cheyruse, Meyer and the Delegates explained to Chief Justice Neuvillette that they represented a part of the military and cultural army of the Fatui's new ally in their 'glorious cause'"
Xavier emphasized 'glorious cause' with his fingers.
"What's a Wehremarch?" Paimon asked scratching her head in confusion, "Also what's that mean? Uber-leanat?
"It's Wehrmacht." Xavier clarified, "And that's apparently the military for these Germans. And Oberleutnant is Meyer's rank in their army."
"And these Wehrmacht Propaganda Troops?" Aether asked concerned.
"Oberleutnant Meyer said that represented the needs and morale of the German military." Xavier stated.
"So they have soldiers whose entire job is making films and posters?" Paimon's eyes widened, "Sounds almost easy."
"Not according to Meyer as he explained that their Führer or leader is very particular about his tastes as well as his Minister of Propaganda."
Aether felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "And Neuvillette accepted this?"
"The Chief Justice had little choice. The Fatui delegation made it clear that refusing would be seen as an insult to Snezhnaya and their new allies. They spoke of 'cultural exchange' and 'building bridges between worlds.," Xavier's voice turned bitter, "They also mentioned, very casually, how unfortunate it would be if certain trade agreements between Fontaine and Snezhnaya were to be... reconsidered."
"A threat wrapped in a smile," Aether said.
Xavier nodded in agreement, "Precisely. But Neuvillette is no fool. He agreed to include the film in the competition, but he insisted that the judging panel remain entirely Fontainian with no Fatui observers and no German 'advisors' with voting power. He placed their film last in the screening order, after all the Teyvatan entries had their moment."
A commotion near the pavilion entrance drew their attention as a cluster of figures in unfamiliar uniforms in grey and black appeared. Some wore peaked caps on their heads, but the thing that they all had around their arms was that same crooked cross displayed prominent on armbands. They moved with miliary prevision with the troops making a circle around a one man and a group of Fatui operatives with their cane-swords and distinctive masks. In the center of the formation was a man that looked around thirty-five with a sharp angular face in a immaculate uniform with polished buttons and precise creases. A Kamera hung around his neck in a strap, but it was unlike any Kamera that Aether had ever seen with a lightbulb on the upper part of it.
"Is that him?" Paimon asked.
"Unfortantely, yes." Xavier replied sharply.
As if sensing that he was being observed, Meyer's blue eyes swept across the plaza until his eyes found Aether where they paused. For a moment, the two simply looked at each other across the crowded plaza.Then, very slightly, Meyer inclined his head as if he was acknowledging Aether before turning away and continuing toward a VIP area.
"Did he just….?" Paimon said in shocked.
"He probably knows who I am," Aether said quietly, "The Fatui must have told him considering the amount of times that we deal with them."
"Briefed them on what? That you're trouble?" Paimon huffed, trying to hide her unease with indignation, "Well, they're not wrong about that, but still!"
Then a bell could be heard ringing across the plaza with five minutes until the first screening.