Snow fell over the Ruhr Valley like ash from a dying world.
Rā'id and Elise trudged through the forest, their breath steaming in the frozen air. The sound of distant engines echoed — armored trucks searching the countryside, spotlights slicing through the night.
They had been running for two days.
The Fireheart blueprints were secured in a lead capsule inside Rā'id's coat; the vial of Fireseed glowed faintly, like a heartbeat of light. Every time he looked at it, he felt uneasy — as if it watched him back.
"Once we reach the border," Elise whispered, "we'll meet the contact at Aachen. He can get us through the lines."
Rā'id nodded. "We move at dawn. For now, we rest."
They hid inside the shell of an abandoned farmhouse. Rats scurried under the floorboards. Elise wrapped herself in a torn blanket while Rā'id checked his revolver — only two bullets left.
For a long time, neither spoke. The silence between them was heavier than fear.
Finally, she said, "You've seen it, haven't you? The Fireheart's energy. It's not natural."
Rā'id's eyes darkened. "It's not science anymore. It's faith twisted into machinery. Whatever the Reich is building, it's not just to win the war. It's to end the concept of man."
Elise swallowed. "Then maybe we're already too late."
At that same hour, hundreds of kilometers away, Berlin pulsed with fury.
In the marble halls of the Reich Chancellery, Heinrich Himmler stood before a vast map of Europe. His eyes were sunken, his voice quiet — too quiet.
"Sabotage at Essen," said General Müller nervously. "We lost the prototype, the lead engineer, and the core compound."
Himmler didn't turn. "And the thief?"
"Unknown. We have a name from the bodies — Rā'id Khaled. Possibly Middle Eastern. Fluent in German. Likely Soviet agent."
Himmler finally turned around. His gaze was cold, reptilian. "Middle Eastern? Interesting." He picked up a file from the table, skimming the reports. "Do you know what this means, Müller?"
The general hesitated. "That the Soviets have the Fireheart data?"
Himmler smiled faintly. "No. It means someone else is teaching them how to use it."
He walked to the far corner of the room, where a tall man in black robes waited in silence — a man with a scar running down his face, wearing an insignia unlike any SS badge.
"This is Oberführer Weiss's successor," Himmler said. "Doctor Viktor Anselm. He leads Division Thule — our arcane sciences branch. He will retrieve the Fireseed."
Anselm bowed his head slightly. "We've already begun tracking them, Reichsführer. Our astral triangulation confirms residual energy readings across the Rhine."
Müller frowned. "Astral… what?"
Himmler chuckled. "You wouldn't understand. Just know this — we're not chasing two fugitives. We're hunting a prophecy."
Meanwhile, in the ruins of Belgium's countryside, Rā'id and Elise crossed under the broken arches of an old viaduct. Snow blanketed the world in silence. Every shadow felt alive.
Suddenly, Elise froze. "Wait… do you hear that?"
A low hum, unnatural — like metal grinding in the wind.
Then they saw it: a black aircraft hovering in the distance. Its shape was unlike any plane they'd seen — triangular, smooth, with no propellers.
Rā'id whispered, "That's no Luftwaffe design."
A flash of blue light erupted from its belly. The ground around them shook violently as the aircraft released what looked like spheres of pure lightning. The air burned with ozone.
"Run!" Elise screamed.
They sprinted through the forest, branches whipping their faces. The lightning struck behind them, vaporizing trees into ash. Rā'id stumbled, clutching the capsule inside his coat — it was pulsing, reacting to the energy.
He turned, firing his revolver at the aircraft out of sheer instinct. The bullets vanished midair — disintegrated before impact.
Then, just as suddenly, the aircraft pulled away — ascending into the clouds and vanishing without sound.
Elise collapsed against a tree, gasping. "What… what was that?"
Rā'id looked at the Fireseed vial in his hand. The light inside it had grown stronger, swirling like liquid flame.
"That," he said slowly, "was the future — and it's already in the Nazis' hands."
By the third night, they reached Aachen. Bombed-out streets, ruins, and ghostly echoes of the last Allied raids surrounded them.
Their contact was waiting in the crypt beneath the old cathedral — a gaunt priest with hollow eyes and trembling hands.
"I was told to expect two," he whispered. "But the Gestapo is close. They've sealed the bridges. You must leave before dawn."
He led them to an underground passage, an old smuggler's route that connected to the Meuse River. The priest gave them a small wooden cross. "You'll need faith more than weapons now."
Before Rā'id could answer, a sound above — boots. Dozens of them.
The crypt door burst open. SS troopers poured in, rifles raised.
Rā'id threw Elise behind a column and fired twice — two soldiers fell. The priest screamed and was cut down by bullets.
The world turned into chaos. The flicker of gunfire lit the ancient stone walls like a macabre cathedral.
"Elise! Go!" Rā'id shouted, tossing her the capsule. "Take it to the river — I'll hold them off!"
"No!" she cried. "We go together!"
He shook his head. "If they take this, everything we've done is for nothing!"
For a moment, her eyes met his — something unspoken passed between them. Then she turned and ran into the tunnels, clutching the capsule.
Rā'id reloaded his last bullet. He waited until the soldiers were close — then shot the ceiling supports. The old stones groaned and collapsed.
Dust. Silence. Darkness.
Hours later, Elise crawled out by the riverbank. Behind her, the cathedral burned like a dying sun.
She held the capsule tight against her chest, tears streaking her face.
"Rā'id…" she whispered, "I'll finish what you started."
From the shadows, a figure watched her — tall, cloaked, wearing a silver insignia shaped like a serpent. His eyes glowed faintly red.
He whispered into a black communicator:
"Target separated. Agent presumed dead. Commence recovery of the Fireseed."
Far away, in Moscow, a radio crackled.
"—Agent Rā'id Khaled reported missing in action. Transmission terminated near Aachen. No confirmation of asset recovery."
The Soviet colonel switched off the receiver and muttered, "Let's hope the dead man was smarter than the living ones."