Tagesanbruch

by JahJah

Rating: teen
Tags: Drama, Original Character, Adventure, Griffons, Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Equestria at War, Death, Other
Length: 13094

Ferdinand Dawnclaw has a plan, a plan to save the Griffonian Empire from its “inevitable” fate.

The Griffonian Empire groans…

It is March of 1007, and Grover V, emperor of all* griffons, has breathed his last. His empire is broken after secessions and a devastating revolution, his power stolen by schemers in his court, and his only son underage. A regency council, made up of the nobles and clergy of the empire, is being assembled to rule in the stead of four-year-old Grover VI.

Ferdinand Dawnclaw, like many others within the empire, remembers how the last regency went down. Unlike many others, he doesn’t intend to let history repeat itself.

“Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
- Winston Churchill

The worldbuilding, and several persons in the story (including Dawnclaw) are credited to the dev team of Equestria at War, the MLP Hearts of Iron 4 mod.
This story generally adheres to the “canon”, but I have tweaked certain events, added original characters, and maybe slightly tweaked Dawnclaw’s character. This is all done to create a good story, not because the source material is terrible.
Equestria at War Wiki
Griffonian Empire lore

Published 2023-12-06 09:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-04 11:13:10 UTC

Prologue: The National Address

A few rays of the mid-morning sun managed to scrape by through the open window-door, highlighting a few dust particles in the air, and hitting the wall of a small study. In the room, an albino griffon sat at his desk, across from three others. The four of them silently watched the radio, listening to a griffoness speaking out from it.

“I can only hope that my dear cousin will be remembered fondly by history. His last words reflect this. As he lay there, he mustered the last of his strength to ask, ‘Boreas… did I do good?’”

One of the three wiped an eye, and muttered a few words in respect.

“Truely, I think he did. He might not have been the greatest kaiser - or the healthiest, - but I can assure you, Grover’s heart was set on helping his people. Fate was not kind to him, but he made the best of it, and so we shall remember him in the best of lights that we can afford.

“So too, has fate not been kind to his son, Grover - now the sixth. Right now, the regency council is being assem-”

The albino took a deep breath, and reached for the medal around his neck, an Iron Cross. He turned away, towards the window-door, and walked out onto the balcony. The sun was warm, fighting against the chilly weather of the north in March, although the position of the southward-facing balcony meant that it was shielded from the cold northern winds by the manor. He took off the Iron Cross, and gazed at it as he cradled it in his claw.

One of the three broke from their stare at the radio. “Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand was silent, standing there in the sun for a moment. After a bit, he returned to the desk, just as the griffoness was wrapping up her speech.

“I, Gabriela Eagleclaw, promise to do my best to keep this regency from falling into the same pitfalls as the last one. I will help the empire to recover from this tragedy, and I will train Grover - help Grover - to be a good and just ruler, so that the empire may continue to carry on into the new millennium.”

The radio slowly transitioned into playing a somber orchestral arrangement, a tribute to the late emperor.

“That’s all there is, turn it off.” said Ferdinand.

None of the three made a move, too deep in thoughtful respect.

“I said… Turn. It. Off.” Ferdinand hissed. The three looked at him, but did nothing, confusion on their faces. Ferdinand reached across the desk, and switched off the radio. The atmosphere of sadness and respect pivoted into one of uneasiness.

One of the three took a pace back, while another stared Ferdinand down. Ferdinand himself passed his eyes over the three, obviously with anger, but nothing explicitly surfaced. After a moment of silence, one of the three - a griffon with yellow/green colouration - spoke.

“Ferdinand… what has gotten into you?”

“Can you not see!?” Ferdinand’s voice raised dramatically.

“See… what?”

Ferdinand opened his beak, but no words came out. After another moment, he turned, and walked back out to the balcony. The sun resumed bathing him in warmth, as he gazed southward towards the heart of the Empire, far out of sight, but not out of mind. He leaned his upper body over the railing, leaving him standing only on his hind paws. He held out his right claw and dangled his Iron Cross by its ribbon as it glinted in the sun.

“It’s all going to come crashing down, just like in ‘78.”

“Ferdinand…” another of the three said, “maybe this time it’ll be different. Most of the original council died in the revolution, that corruption was purged ages ago. It’s not like we can do anything anyway, so I’d stop worrying about it.”

Ferdinand turned from the balcony again, a single tear running down his beak. “Yeah… yeah… you’re probably right; I overreacted… Ready a memorial service, full magazines. Call up the field guns, make sure they’re using blanks. After that, we need to get back to preparations.”

“Yes sir.”

After a moment, the three filtered out of the room, Ferdinand sat back down at his desk. They were right… right?

“It’s just paranoia, it’s going to be fine.

“It’s going to be fine.

“It’s going to be fine.”

…

He meditated for a moment, becoming lost in his own thoughts. However, the longer he sat there, the more clear it became to him: it wasn’t going to be fine. His Iron Cross was still in his claw, and he appraised it one more time.

But what could he do?

Then, it came to him. At first, he pressed it down, but as he sat there, it seemed more and more likely to be his only option. Soon, he was writing a letter, addressed to a friend of his in Griffenheim…

The Griffonian Empire and the Reichsarmee

Lore dump chapter! Here is the background of the Griffonian Empire, to help explain some of the driving points; as well as information about the Reichsarmee, particularly it’s organisation, since that will play a role in some of the events.

The flag of the Griffonian Empire

The Griffonian Empire used to stretch from Cloudbury in the north, to Wingbardy in the south and Prywhen in the east. Unless you were a river pony, you almost certainly lived under the banner of the black griffon, whether you loved it or despised it.

However, when Kaiser Grover IV passed away, he left an underage heir. The regent for the young, sickly Grover V was to be his cousin, King Guto VI of Griffonstone. However, Guto died during an attack by a cyclops, the same incident which lost the Idol of Boreas. Instead, the noblegriffs formed a regency council to govern the empire in Grover V’s stead. Under their rule, the pro-commoner reforms of Grover IV were rolled back, the proud imperial bureaucracy decayed, corruption spiked, and the kingdoms of Aquilea and Wingbardy broke away, all while the nobles continued to be focused on increasing their own power.

Grover’s regency dragged on, and tensions began to mount between the neglected peasants and the nobility. Finally, in 978, it all snapped when frustrated peasants and lower-class workers marched on the Imperial palace in Griffenheim under the tricolour flag of the Republican movement. They broke into the palace, and executed whomever they found, from royal guards to nobles of the regency council. However, they couldn’t get their claws on the emperor, who escaped from the palace with the aid of Eros VII, archon of Boreas.

The Republicans declared the Griffonian Republic, with a Reichsarmee artillery officer by the name of Alexander Kemerskai as their president until elections could be held. Republican forces then marched out to secure the rest of the duchy of Griffenheim and beyond. They initially had sweeping successes, destroying several imperial armies before getting bogged down.

The republic was short-lived though, as the next year, a counterrevolution, led by first-cousin to Grover V, Duchess Gabriela Eagleclaw of Strawberry, finished off the revolutionary armies, and sent them fleeing north. Grover V was coronated, but it was too late. The collapse of imperial authority had left most of the empire outside of the Herzlands in anarchy, and local authorities and warlords rushed to fill the power vacuum, the imperial Reichsarmee too weakened to restore order. In addition, the powerful nobles who participated in the counterrevolution demanded autonomy within the empire, decentralising the emperor’s power even in the lands still loyal to him.

Today, the empire is a shadow of its former self. It exists solely in name only, most of its former land now either independant, or autonomous under the numerous vassals of the Reichspakt. Only the land of the duchy of Griffenheim is directly administered from Griffenheim, most of the Imperial Herzlands being under the control of the Duchy of Strawberry, and Grand Duchy of Feathisia, the Peasant Republic of Griefenmarschen, the Free City of Romau, the Yale Rectorate, the Barony of Angriver, the Katerin Principality, and the County of Bronzehill. These vassals almost operate completely independent of Griffenheim, maintaining their own armies, their own bureaucracy, their own economies, and their own politics. This heavily decentralised nature of the empire gives some stability, but means that the Kaiser is mostly powerless outside of Griffenheim’s borders.

Now, the Kaiser aller Greifen (Emperor of all Griffons) is dead. His son, Grover VI, is only four years old. Another regency council is being formed from the nobility and clergy of the empire. Although this time, they plan to elect a final authority in the council, many in the empire still have memories of the last regency, and some fear the “Sick Bird of Griffonia” will not survive the coming years.

Since this story is about Reichsarmee officers, here is some
Information about the command structure of the Reichsarmee as of 1007 ALB.

The command structure of the Reichsarmee is designed so that a soldier is always under supervision of a higher-up. The only real flaw with the system is since the artillery is commanded at the divisional and corps level, it makes it difficult and time consuming for regimental commanders to communicate effectively with artillery units, which has on more than one occasion allowed an enemy to organise a counter attack to stop advances.

The basic units of the Reichsarmee are the gruppe and the korporalschaft, made up of enlisted griffons. A gruppe consists of one Gefreiter leading eight regular soldiers, and a korporalschaft consists of two Gruppes led by one Unteroffizier. As NCOs, Gefreiters can be promoted to Unteroffizier. Griffons who serve well enough and for long enough can be promoted to Feldwebel, or even Etatmässige Feldwebel. These ranks hold a warrant, and serve as a bridge between NCO’s and commissioned officers. The Feldwebel has the power to veto a decision made by an Unteroffizier in their platoon if another Unteroffizier backs them, while an Etatmässige Feldwebel can do so without needing backing.

Four korporalschafts (seventy-two griffons) make up one zug, commanded by a Leutnant, or an Oberleutnant. Leutnant is the lowest rank of commisioned officers. Oberleutnant is slightly higher in authority, but serves mostly as a slightly higher rank for slightly more experienced officers before expanding their command. In lieu of a Leutnant or Oberleutnant, a Feldwebel can receive a commission and be promoted to Feldwebel-Leutnant - a transitionary rank between NCO and officer, - and command a zug.

Three zugs (two-hundred sixteen griffons) make up one company under the command of one Hauptmann. The Hauptmann is the highest ranking officer to actually be deployed to the frontlines with their troops. The Hauptmann is responsible for the individual micromanagement of their company, while also carrying out orders from higher up.

Four regular riflegriff companies plus a machine gun company ( one-thousand eighty griffons in total) make up a battalion under the command of a Major. Three Battalions form the moving part of the Reichsarmee, the regiment (three-thousand two-hundred forty griffons). The regiment is commanded by an Oberstleutnant or an Oberst (similar relationship to regular Leutnants), who with the three Majors of the battalions are expected to form the tactical heart of the Reichsarmee. While generals issue objectives to the regimental commanders, the regiments are more-or-less completely autonomous in what tactics are used in combat (although communication with other regiments working towards the same objective is highly emphasised). The Majors and Obersts (and Oberstleutnants) are in a group of officers called field officers, who are neither at the front lines nor sitting in a cushy mansion during war. They often sit behind the frontlines in command posts, watching the battle unfold on a map with their radio nearby.

Sitting around a large front-long map with figures and counters representing armies, the generals of the Großer Generalstab (Great General Staff) are rather detached from any direct fighting. They discuss strategy, issue orders to lower ranks, and pray that the officers at the front are competent enough.

One Generalmajor commands a brigade, containing two regiments (six-thousand four-hundred eighty griffons). Two infantry brigades plus a field artillery brigade makes up one infantry division under the jurisdiction of a Generalleutnant. Two infantry divisions plus a light infantry battalion, a pioneer battalion, a foot artillery regiment, and technical troops make up one army korps under one General. Two or more Generals answer to a Generaloberst, who commands an army. Two or more Generalobersts answer to a Generalfeldmarschall, who commands an army group. As of 1007, there are two Generalfeldmarschalls in service, Elias Bronzetail and Erich Ebonwing. A Generalfeldmarschall is promoted in person by the Kaiser, who is the de-facto head of the armed forces, although he technically answers to Arcturius in matters of military.

Meet the Oberstleutnant

“…and as such, for this exercise, all units will be operating under radio silence. I trust you all will be able to devise sufficient methods of coordination to fulfil your objectives.”

As he finished speaking, the albino griffon scanned the windowless wooden room, surveying the numerous fuzzy figures crammed in that he knew to be his fellow officers, checking that they understood all that he had said. “Any questions?”

One of the figures stepped forward. He motioned towards numerous marked areas on the map that sat on the table that separated the officers and their temporary commander. He spoke slowly and clearly, “Dawnclaw, I must inquire. Some of these objectives make almost no strategic sense. One of them is a field, another is just a dirt T-junction. What is the purpose in selecting these seemingly random places as objectives, when a forest border or a river crossing would make more sense?”

Oberstleutnant Ferdinand Dawnclaw was silent for a moment. The voice of the officer was a dead giveaway, but apart from that, obviously this was an older officer, born at least before 940, not trained in any of the new rules of warfare devised in recent years. He reached under his side of the table and pulled out five small chips, three green, one blue, and one red. He silently placed the green chips end-to-end along the road approaching the T-junction, and placed the blue and red chips on the table. The officer who has spoken looked on with confusion.

Ferdinand spoke, “The junction is quite simple, you do not understand the proper way that modern war is conducted is all. Modern armies are large, and they need a constant supply of food, ammunition, replacement griffs and guns, and so on. The backbone of the modern army is logistics, and so, the truck becomes just an important tool of war as the machine gun. As such, by delaying the logistics of an enemy, one can delay the entire army. Do you follow?”

The griffon - and a few others - nodded. Ferdinand continued.

“Suppose these green chips are convoys carrying important logistics forwards.” He moved the green chips towards the junction. He then placed the red chip next to the junction. “Now, if the enemy holds a junction - or even just a road - like this through any means, it endangers the convoy, and delays the supplies. Roads in general are very easy to hold, especially rural ones. Thus, it is to be that our troops should be trained”- he placed the blue chip next to the red one -“in assaulting rural roadsides and junctions.

“As for the field, I haven’t fully revealed the exact details of every objective, those are revealed only to the defenders of them. If you want to know why the field is an objective, you must find that out under fire. I hope that answers your question…” he motioned to the griffon, then to his rank sleeves and name tag.

“Uh… Hauptmann Brightbeak, Dawnclaw.”

“Well, I hope that answers your question, Hauptmann Brightbeak. Does anyone else have questions? No? Then I wish you all fortune in this exercise.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I have also decided to add stakes. The winning side gets a day of free time, the losing side takes the duties of the winners for a day. You are all dismissed.”

Ferdinand cleared away the chips as the officers slowly filed out without a word. He gave the map a good look over, and thought a bit. North Strawberry’s countryside wasn’t like the fields along the banks of the Griffking, but it afforded amazing opportunities for training troops in more wooded and rural regions. The defensiveness of the northern garrisons was plain, with forests, creeks, hills, and cracks holding amazing potential for holding, a potential that was also useful for training. Ferdinand himself sometimes went out into the forest to plan potential strongpoints and defensive lines, even if he wasn’t the best at it, since he couldn’t see very well.

Not that they’d ever be used. In recent years, the number of incursions into the Herzlands by the Republicans had fallen to almost zero. The last real attack from across the border was three years ago, and in Feathisia. Ferdinand’s troops had mostly just sat back and done nothing but wait for their active service to end. Ferdinand rarely ever visited the encampments that housed the bulk of his forces, but after three years, the garrisons had lost a lot of the motivation to keep up their discipline. He couldn’t blame them, he himself had resigned himself to relaxing here in his manor.

That was, until a couple of weeks ago.

Ferdinand had devised an almost perfect guise to shake the discipline back into his griffs. Before the late Grover V died, he had personally petitioned the kaiser to allow him to host training exercises, with units from all across the empire. With the Kaiser’s word, there were now thousands of imperial soldiers here, with troops from Strawberry to Yale. This was the perfect excuse to begin drilling his own troops again, without raising eyebrows.

As he thought about his plan, he remembered something, and checked his pocket watch. It was rather large for a ‘pocket’ watch, to accommodate for the griffon’s poor eyesight, but he had managed to stuff it into a pocket without too much difficulty.

Almost twenty-to…

He stowed whatever remained on the map or the rest of the table. His little planning room wasn’t spacious at all, but it sufficed for what he needed it for. He picked up his officer’s cap from its hook on the wall, and placed it neatly on his head. He left the room, turning out the lamps before closing the door behind him. The door emptied into the side of an underground passage of wooden planks. To the right, it eventually ended in a secret exit. To the left, it quickly ascended up a set of stairs into the manor. Saluting the two guards who guarded the room, he turned left to climb up the stairs. From his pale-white plumage, his thin build, and his mature air, you would be excused for thinking he was at least sixty or even approaching seventy. Many griffons who met him for the first time certainly did.

Said griffons were surprised to learn that the Oberstleutnant was only forty-two, incredibly young for his rank. It had taken him only twenty years to achieve it, in a system that was bloated with officers, most of them nobles with connections. Unfortunately, what a lot of his peers lacked in actual military skill, they had in influence. Thus, Ferdinand was shunted to the north, out of sight, and out of the way.

He reached the top of the stairs, putting him on the first floor of his manor. Oh yes, his manor. The lack of actual military infrastructure along the border meant that Ferdinand had been granted a sizeable fund to construct the bases his troops now garrisoned. Enough had been left over afterwards to build a small manor as his command post. Ferdinand, of course, had personally helped design it, and it showed. The hallways, staircases, and even attic had been designed with defensibility in mind.

By now, Ferdinand was able to pass through the halls and rooms of the manor almost without thinking, his thoughts in other places. His meeting with the officers had been a useful distraction, but now he had time on his claws. For the Oberstleutnant, this is bad. The two voices in his head fought for dominance, for him to see their side.

He could call the whole thing off, let things happen. Would it really be wor-

Of course it would, how stupid to think otherwise.

He would be hated.

Only inita-

Despised.

Ferdinand muttered a curse under his breath, then promptly threw his head into a nearby wall. His skull screamed in protest, but at least the voices shut up. He continued, slightly disoriented, the next few minutes a blur.

When Ferdinand’s senses fully returned, he had arrived at his destination, his bedroom on the second floor. He now regretted smashing his head into the wall even more, as the headache had gotten worse. All over this plan he hadn’t fully decided on following through with. Would his subordinates even see what he saw? He would have to see. But… the uncertainty and his indecisiveness were killing him, both figuratively in his head, and literally with his head.

He decided to lie down on his bed for a moment. Why had he been so afraid to debate within himself? Part of him still held back, that much was obvious. But was it possible he secretly agreed with that part of him? Would carrying through with his plan actually be the wrong thing?

He couldn’t produce an answer, but he did figure out how to get one.

He wouldn’t wait until tonight. Now was the time, time to gather his majors…

Meet the Majors

Meanwhile…

“Do you trust me, Gitta?”

Those words were practically glued to the forefront of Gitta Lightwing’s mind. The griffon who spoke those words had been not just her colleague, but her friend for over twenty years through thick and thin.

The russet-coloured griffoness alighted from the train carriage. The platform had a few griffons, some also disembarking from the train, and others waiting to board. It was small, and had no roof in case of rain. Below was the familiar sight of Besanmiers, a small farming village in the north of Strawberry at the end of the imperial railroad. A small depot sat next to the platform, where soldiers and railway workers unloaded crates from the numerous freight cars and hauled them into trucks that waited on the roadside.

It had been a simple trip to Griffenheim. Nothing worthy of worry or suspicion. So what compelled him to ask?

Of course, it had become evident over the course of the trip that something was afoot - whether sinister or not she couldn’t tell. Her questions had been mounting every mile on the train ride home. Likely, the answers she sought were contained within the item for which she had traveled to Griffenheim for, a package she had been instructed not to open “for the safety of a lot of griffons, yourself included.” Incredibly reassuring words.

The sun ambushed her, unleashing its full fury on her eyes. She raised a claw to block it, on the way up jostling the pouch where the package sat.

“Aw, it’s not that much sun, Gitta.” came a voice from behind. Flapping up beside her was Ernst Stormbeak, carrying a suitcase in each claw. The spruce-coloured griffon had been assigned to be her escort during her trip. While he knew about the package, he wasn’t in the know about how it came into her possession (or anything else about it, for that matter).

On the third night of their stay in the imperial capital, she had received a letter in her room, which directed her to a bush in the gardens outside the imperial palace, under which she found the package. The letter had also outlined the necessity for her not disclosing any details with anyone, as well as blessing her with the already mentioned “reassuring words.”

Gitta said, “Maybe not for you, leutnant, but I don’t spend twelve hours a day staring straight into it.”

Ernst was taken aback. “Wow, I didn’t expect you to take it to heart. C’mon, I didn’t mean any offence.”

“I’ve just got.. a lot on my mind. I’m not in the mood for banter.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Let’s just.. let’s just get back.”

Without another word, she strode forward to present her ticket to the griffon in the ticket-booth, then began to descend the platform’s stairs. Ernst followed, flapping behind her while carrying their suitcases. There wasn’t an arranged plan for getting back, so she decided to just ask nicely. They made their way over to the soldiers. The troops were in lines, passing crates and other freight to each other and storing them in the trucks. One griffon in particular caught Gitta’s attention. He seemed to be directing the efforts of his fellows, which singled him out as the commander of this group - which she estimated to be about half of a zug.

She weaved through the soldiers, apologising quite a bit. When she got close to the officer, she hailed him, grabbing his attention. “Leutnant?”

The leutnant - for indeed he was - turned his head to inspect her. “Yes, miss?”

Gitta produced an ID, and passed it to the leutnant. “I am Major Lightwing. This is my escort, Oberleutnant Stormbeak. We require a lift back to the manor.”

The leutnant examined it for a moment, then gave it back. “Yes ma’am. We’re almost done here, we can find you a truck going to the manor.”

“Thank you, leutnant.” she said with a smile.

They had to wait a few minutes for the troops to finish loading up their trucks, by which time another convoy was arriving to continue the job. Gitta and Ernst were taken to a truck that was going to the Dawn manor. As she settled into the passenger seat of the cabin, she jostled the pouch once more. Her thoughts and questions returned.

She needed answers.

“Zug… halt!”

The zug came to halt on the beat. The leutnant in command breathed in for his next command.

“Zug… left turn into parade forma…..tion!”

The zug turned to the left, and then divided by rank, the first and second ranks taking two paces and one pace forward respectively. The leutnant hard spun around, and addressed his aged superior, the yellow/green coloured Major Atlas Hengsbach.

“The zug is ready for inspection, sir!” He announced sturdily. He made sure not to flinch an inch as he saluted.

The major returned the salute. “Very good, leutnant.” He didn’t often inspect the troops of the compound, but.. well… things hadn’t been normal recently. The parade ground was little more than a stretch of well-maintained grass at the foot of the hills on which the manor compound was situated. About half a kilometre east on the plain, tents of various sizes stretched long and wide, separated into areas designated for the military of each imperial fief.

The last few weeks had been pain and agony. Atlas had never been adept at organisation - the main reason he stopped getting promoted, - and having to help organise the accommodations, logistics, and activities for thousands of troops from across the empire had been a headache unfelt since the ouchie of ‘01. As such, he had grown to treasure his few moments he could actually spend with the troops, even if they technically weren’t his. His troops formed the left wing of the 5th Vinnin Regiment’s deployment, Major Lightwing had the troops in the centre, where the compound was.

However, just as he was about to step forward to inspect the zug, another griffon flew in from the side. She dropped to the ground about ten paces away, as was protocol, and approached on paw.

“Sir.” The young griffoness hailed him. Martin recognised her as one of the NCOs on messenger duty, so he turned to face her. They saluted, and then the sergeant spoke her message.

“Sir, your presence is requested by the oberstleutnant.”

“How soon, sergeant?”

“He specified a pre-lunch meeting, sir.”

“Thank you, sergeant. You are dismissed.”

The sergeant saluted again, and after taking a few back paces, flew off again, leaving Martin wondering.

Interesting

Pre-lunch meetings weren’t the most uncommon thing, but certainly an unplanned one was a cause for raised eyebrows. Since lunch was 1:30 PM, pre-lunch meetings were normally at 1. A quick check of his pocket-watch determined the time to be 12:42, still a bit of time.

“Well, back to the inspection, then.” He said, turning back to face the leutnant and his zug.

The silence of the bedroom was disturbed only by the scritch scritch of pen on paper. At her desk, Felizia Greytail slaved away at her report on the herbs of Strawberry. Both a botany student at Yale and a major in the Reichsarmee, Felizia caused no end of frustration for her professors, who had to jump through every hoop possible to accommodate her. Meanwhile, she cackled from the comfort of a comfortable existence far away from the campus lifestyle and radicals. While her colleagues pined for greater postings, the turquoise-coloured griffoness was delighted at the peacefulness of it all.

She finished the stroke on the last word, and reread the conclusion.

In conclusion, The viticulture of the northern Herzlands has overshadowed the potential for the growth of other useful crops. The lands of Strawberry are home to many interesting specimens of herbs: both those that can be used to cure a multitude of ailments and those which are pleasing to the tongue and nose.

She thought a moment, before striking out ‘tongue and nose’ and replacing it with ‘senses.’ She took a moment to stand up, and paced around the room to stimulate her mind. As she did, she became aware of pawsteps in the hallway. She wondered if they were coming towards her room. The steps stopped in front of her door, and a soft knocking manifested. Felizia kept a straight face, slightly annoyed at the interruption to her precious writing session.

“Who is it?” she asked, mild frustration evident on her face.

“Messenger, ma’am.” came a feminine voice from the other side.

“Speak quickly,” Felizia responded.

“Your presence is requested by Oberstleutnant Dawnclaw for a meeting.”

Felizia felt a grumble grow in her throat. “This is during my time, when am I required to be there?”

“The oberstleutnant is aware, and personally apologises. It is a pre-lunch meeting, so likely around the normal time.” explained the voice.

A sigh of resignation escaped. “Inform him that I shall be there shortly.”

“Yes ma’am!” And with that, she heard the pawsteps travel in the direction they had come from. They’d already had a meeting this morning, and now he wanted them again? Something important must have come up. Despite his high standards for his officers, Dawnclaw still respected Felizia’s studies, and usually let her be while she was working. Something must have come up that required immediate attention.

Her uniform hung by the door, beckoning to her once again. She sat back, knowing full well she couldn’t continue writing with her current thoughts racing through her head.

From Besanmiers, any griffon who looked north-east could make out the twin hills Einsam and Georges Sturz rising in the distance, with a number of smaller hills scattered around the base of the two. Atop Einsam, the Dawn manor presided over the surrounding countryside. If one had a particularly keen eye, they could also make out the buildings that sat around the summit of Georges Sturz.

The trip along the road from the village had been appalling for Gitta, as the ‘road’ was little more than a dirt thoroughfare quickly worn down by the large traffic of Katze army trucks that travelled it every day. She had been jostled and shaken the entire way, turning a twenty minute drive into what had felt like forever.

But now, from Einsam, Gitta could make out Besanmiers, now a speck in the distance. The manor and the buildings on Georges Sturz - which from where she was were obviously barracks and a few halls - formed the compound for the headquarters of the 7th regiment of the Treu Division - the Vinnin Steelrainers, - Ferdinand Dawnclaw’s regiment.

She bid a temporary farewell to Ernst as he went back to reintegrate with his zug, leaving her standing alone in front of the manor, pouch by her side. The manor itself wasn’t anything to be particularly proud of in terms of architecture. It had been built to be comfortable for officers, strong enough to not fall apart if hit by a strong gust of wind or an artillery shell, and cheap enough that if it did get destroyed, it wouldn’t have been a massive waste of money. It was small, requiring a few rooms to accommodate nineteen officers who slept there, plus a few facilities. It sat facing the northwest, towards Georges Sturz. In a rather standard general design, there were two wings that wrapped around perpendicular to the centre structure and created a small courtyard in the centre, of which the only entrance into the manor being on the far end of. Windows were few, but strategically placed to have the greatest lines of view over the courtyard and grounds in front. The roof was reinforced to provide some protection against aforementioned artillery.

Gitta took a breath, and strode towards the entrance. Her mindset was on getting the package off her person, as that might provide some relief to the onslaught of questions bubbling in her brain. Hanging over the doors was a carved depiction of Arcturius - the griffon god of war - leading an imperial army and guiding volleys of musket fire against their enemies.

The plain double doors opened with only a small creak when she pushed them. There was no butler, or any other kind of servant, really. Dawnclaw didn’t hire servants, and instead rotated korporalschafts to perform the maintenance duties. So, if one wanted to open the doors to enter the manor, they only had to push - so long as the doors were unlocked.

The entrance hall was comparatively quite small. The main feature was a thin, off-centre staircase, which connected with a walkway that ran left and right to the top floors of the wings. There were four cased openings, one each on the west and east sides, a big one on the far wall lined up with the entrance doors, and a smaller one on the other side of the staircase. The room lacked windows. Instead, the room was lit by a skylight, courtesy of the high ceiling. On the walls of the second story-height walls, little indents in the wood betrayed firing slits to a person looking for them.

Dawnclaw’s office was on the second story. She climbed the staircase, and turned into the right passage. The second story hallways ran right above the hallways below, and together, they formed the ‘skeleton’ of the building. The ‘meat on the bones’ - the rooms - were on the inside and outside of this framework. Most of the outer rooms were small bedrooms, studies, and such. On the inside, rooms like the kitchen, recreational rooms, armouries, etc.

Dawnclaw’s office was the outside corner room at the junction between the centre structure and the east wing, so she quickly made her way there, eager to be done with her little mission. She wondered at the lack of movement in the manor. It wasn’t - she checked her watch to make sure - lunch time yet, so where were the caretakers? The lack of griffons served only to increase her growing uneasiness. As she approached the office door, it opened. She steadied herself, ready to confront th-

However, instead of the albino oberstleutnant, out came a uniformed, frustrated turquoise griffoness whom she knew well.

“Good afternoon, Felizia.”

Felizia started a bit. “Oh, it’s you. Good afternoon to you too, Gitta.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Gitta said, a small exhalation of air escaping her nose in humour.

“It’s been too quiet. I was called out of my room about.. ten minutes ago, and I haven’t seen any of the soldiers on duty, nor any of the officers who usually sit around.”

“You noticed that too? I’d thought it might be the norm due to the exercises. Do you know why?”

“No clue, but we have a surprise meeting in about ten minutes. Only found out about six ago, and the oberstleutnant refuses to tell me why.”

“Huh... well, I have this package to give to the oberstleutnant.”

“So.. a week-long vacation, leaving us here to work in your absence, and all you have to show for it is a present for Dawnclaw?”

“He… he asked me to.”

Now it was Felizia’s turn to ‘huh,’ before visibly having a thought, and smirking. “What did you do to upset him?”

“N-”

The door opened suddenly, startling both majors, and revealing the white plumed, red eyed, and uniformed figure of Ferdinand Dawnclaw.

“No, I had some other.. more personal reasons for sending her out.” he said, smiling.

“Speak of Maar…” said Felizia, jokingly.

Ferdinand cut her off before she had an opportunity to finish the sentence, “…Are you setting up for another ‘and Ferdinand will appear’ joke?”

“I might be.”

Ferdinand sighed, then turned to Gitta. “Good to see you got my package, and.. even better that it’s still in one piece.”

“Trust well placed.” Gitta reported as she passed it to him.

“I hardly doubted you…” Ferdinand trailed off as he inspected it. He stood for a moment, apparently in deep thought. It took a dozen seconds before he continued. “Well, you should probably get dressed up. If Felizia didn’t tell you, I’ve called a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, I’ll be seeing you shortly.” he said as he retreated into his office, leaving the two almost as quickly as he had appeared.

Gitta broke off from her conversation with Felizia with a few words. She now had even more questions.

Ferdinand sat at his desk, blankly staring. Deep in thought, he envisioned multiple outcomes for this meeting, some good(?), some bad(?). What could even be considered a good outcome? He found an interesting clarity with future events so close. He knew what needed to be done.. patriotism guided his actions, not selfish or evil thoughts. A claw to the Iron Cross around his neck, an upward gaze to the flag hanging on the wall, the weight of medals on his uniform, it was all for the greater good. Why should it be, that one, two, or even three morally questionable actions should condemn him, when doing none would condemn billions.

Yes…

Clarity was sweet. It was relieving. It was good.

He checked his watch, just about time. He could hear chatting outside the door. He waited…

Time to take the leap.

The First Domino: The Plan

On the turn of the hour, as the door was pushed open, and the three majors took their place on three seats drawn up in front of the oberstleutnant’s desk, a mental timer began ticking in Ferdinand’s head. He had twenty minutes - at most - to convince them. If he didn’t… he imagined the noose around his neck.

The only differences in the room since last time was the lack of sunlight filtering through the window behind, and the radio on the desk had been replaced by a sturdy, paper package. Gitta’s heart began to beat faster from anticipation.

“Good afternoon, you three.”

Atlas, as the officer with seniority among the three, saluted Ferdinand briefly on behalf of his fellows. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“You may all be seated.” said Ferdinand, picking up a slitter knife. “I have a.. surprise for you.”

The three took seats warily. Ferdinand felt around the package for a moment, then began to spin in around, making incisions with a knife at points. He stopped short of opening it fully, and instead addressed his officers.

“Atlas, Gitta, Felizia; for three years we have defended this stretch of countryside - and I’d say we’ve done that amazingly, - and I’ve known you all for longer than that. There’s no three elsewhere in the empire I trust more than you. I will let you know that you can speak freely, but I hope that outside… you will hold your tongues.”

The same word caught the attentions of Gitta and Felizia. The latter was the first to voice their concern. “Sir, why do you bring up ‘trust?’”

“Please, don’t talk to me as a superior, talk to me as a friend. To answer your question: because of what I have been sent inside this package. Please, do indulge yourself to look.”

With that, he used a talon to rip open the paper weakened by previous incisions. The majors leaned in to look closer. Inside was a pile of papers, on top a letter addressed to Ferdinand. He took the letter, and lay it aside while he picked up the papers. He spread them out over the table, placing them in full view for his subordinates to see. After a moment or two, a gasp of horror escaped from one Felizia, eyes widened on the face of Atlas, while Gitta froze. Ferdinand was expressionless.

The papers only had a few things in common, they all were classified documents and reports, and they all bore the seal of the kaiser’s court. Felizia picked up a stapled report labeled “The fourth meeting of the council of regents” dated only a week before. Atlas held up a detailed list of troops inside Griffenheim, where they were, when they rotated, when they drilled, and so on. Gitta didn’t grab anything, but stared at the papers with the shocked expression they all had.

“Sir! Wha- what is this?” Gitta glanced up.. and almost wished she hadn’t. While they had been distracted, Ferdinand had unrolled a map on the desk, a map - no, a whole floorplan - of the imperial palace. Her sudden silence prompted the other majors to notice it as well.

Ferdinand spoke slowly, “This… is my… solution.”

“Solution to what!? You could be court-marshalled for simply possessing some of these!” exclaimed Felizia with a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear.

Ferdinand shushed, “Be quiet!” he demanded with a lowered voice, “If I am court-marshalled, I’ll die knowing I was doing what was right. Call it a solution, call it treason, I have devised a plan to save the empire, save it from weakness, save it from the regents, save it from… from.. from this.. this rot!”

Felizia’s jaw dropped. “You’ve gone mad. I said this two months ago, there. is. nothing. to worry. about. The nobles learned their lesson, doing whatever… this is, will only make things worse.”

“This isn’t… read the papers - someone risked life and limb to get them. They spell the whole story out. The nobles, clergy, and others are bickering like chicks over the most minor issues, a repeat of 970 is coming, almost assuredly.”

“So what? You stole documents from the palace, and hatched a stupid plan? For what end?”

“This… this…” Ferdinand sputtered. “This is my plan, a takeover of Griffenheim; a coup d'état, to use the Aquilean term.” He picked up the letter, and glazed over it while the majors were left with beaks agape.

They were startled when Ferdinand began to read out loud. “To my old friend. While I must admit that I was incredibly skeptical at first, the further I snooped, the more I realised you might just be right. I’m going to go radio (letter?) silent for a while, avoid suspicion. I really hope that none of this comes to pass.”

Ferdinand put the letter down. “I really don’t know what else to say. History might repeat itself, it might not. But when there is evidence right in front of your beaks that the former might be very possible, are you willing to take the risk?”

Felizia opened her beak to speak, but all that came out were first syllables.

“How deep is this, sir?” asked Atlas, who had been mostly silent the whole time. He rested a claw on the table, tapping it gently.

“What do you mean? How detailed is the plan? How much evidence is there? How many others are in on it?”

“The latter.”

“No griff else knows about this, bar the one who got all this, and he isn’t in the loop about the plan.”

“Even if you were right then… it’s a suicide mission.”

“But we have so many potential allies here, in Besanmiers, right now. If we go ahead with this, all we would need to do is identify those allies, and get their support. With enough friends in the Reichsarmee, the rest should fall in line once we have the capital. Remember, we are in the right here, not those.. vipers that are the aristocratic elite.”

Atlas’ eyes raced over the papers again briefly. Ferdinand’s mind correctly guessed that his past experiences made him the most likely to see reason. “I.. must say, it does make sense. If you’re sure about this, then I’ll pledge my sabre to your cause.”

Felizia glared at Atlas, almost as if rebuking him telepathically.

Gitta sat back in her chair. She studied Ferdinand for a moment. Ferdinand smiled slightly.

“Alright, I’m in,” she said. “I trust you, and.. I will continue to trust you in this situation.”

“Thank you, both of you.”

Ferdinand doubled down. He cleared the remnants of the package off the desk, and stood up. He walked over to a bookshelf while Felizia took the opportunity to protest to her colleagues in a hushed voice. He withdrew another rolled up map, and proceeded to place it on the desk. This one was about the same size as the floorplan, but what it depicted was much bigger.

“That’s Griffenheim,” Gitta recognised, having just come from there. And indeed it was. It was a plan of the Imperial Capital, scribbles and lines and circles of red ink drawn all around. Several areas were labeled as ‘barck,’ others as ‘engpa.’ The great bridges over the Griffking were highlighted, and lines were drawn from several areas to the Imperial Palace.

“This is the plan, I call it Tagesanbruch, or.. Operation Tagesanbruch, for safety.” Ferdinand announced boldly.

“That’s not big headed at all,” Felizia quipped.

“You’re right, it’s not.” replied Ferdinand. Without warning, he stood straight. “The empire needs to come out of the night which it has found itself in, and the aim of this plan.. is to herald Tagesanbruch.” He finished the sentence by grabbed the Iron Cross around his neck. “This… this shows that I truely care, I deeply care about the empire. I care about it because of what it represents. They only care for the empire because it gives them power, power which they squander to eat and drink and indulge themselves. Who really deserves it then?” He was hyperventilating now, the look in his eye couldn’t be deciphered, but it probably lay somewhere between extreme fervour and madness. He continue with his rant, and he struggled to keep his voice from raising to the roof.

“As we speak, the traitor Kemerskai and his rabble are sorting themselves out. Revolutions are continuing to happen across the continent in places such as Prywhen. The continent is about to enter another round of bloodshed, the second one since the Revolution. The empire brought peace, and the nobles caused that peace to end. When - yes when - the empire falls under the incompetence of the nobles, the Griffking will flow red with the blood of those who should really be in charge, the loyal patriot who actually cares for his country.”

“You sound like a Freikorp fanatic.”

The eyes in the room turned to Felizia, who immediately realised what she had not actually intended to say. The Freikorps were a taboo topic amongst the Reichsarmee - and the rest of the empire, in fact. The Freikorps had been paramilitary groups that fought republicanism and successionism during and after the revolution. The Freikorps were nationalists whose leaders denounced the nobles after the latter ordered the former’s dissolution. The Freikorps were dangerous griffons who tried to storm the capital themselves.

“The Freikgriffs were heroes,” Ferdinand whispered. “The Freigriffs were patriotic griffons who willingly took up arms to defend their fatherland.”

Felizia, already having crossed the line, doubled down. “Wha- what are you, a neo-Freigriff?!?”

“I am not.” Ferdinand replied. But Felizia’s next sentence was stopped before she could speak, because he continued to think.

“I did not go into this with the Freikorps in mind, and then come to this plan. I reached a conclusion based on what I saw, and if that’s the same conclusion they came to, maybe that sheds some more light on the situation.

“But I would counter, what do you have against the Freikorps? A lifetime of being told they were evil, that they only wanted to cause chaos?” Ferdinand finished.

“One of my colleagues was beaten in the streets by a mob of self-proclaimed Freigriffs.” Felizia explained. “Overall they may have been noble, I don’t know. What I do know is that extremist groups attract extremist griffons, and I almost lost a friend to extremists.”

“Oh.” Ferdinand’s expression dropped. “My condolences…”

The mood in the room shifted to a more somber one.

Ferdinand continued to surprise his subordinates. “And Yet…”

Und Doch, the rallying cry of the Freikorps. Despite bombshell after bombshell, the three still held their breath in anticipation of what would happen.

“Did you ever wonder what it meant. They found themselves in a hopeless situation, and yet they kept fighting. That ‘And Yet’ saved the Empire, salvaged what little we had left. The spirit to see the empire not fall, it is admirable. Do you want to know what I think? I think that the Freikorps had the right idea. The Empire, should we want to preserve what we have, should we want to once again rise to greatness, should we want to bring peace to the continent, we won’t get there with nobles who wish greatness only for their own personal gain. We will get there through the sheer willpower of the Griffonians, those who actually believe in the Empire, griffons like the Freigriffs. That is what I want.”

Felizia shut her eyes, and quietly hummed the first few notes of a tune. Her eyelids flickered, as if she was experiencing REM. With a sigh, she opened her eyes again, and conceded. “I don’t know. The others trust you, and you make some good points, but I feel like this may be a bit too far.”

Ferdinand regained his composure, and a soft smile returned as he closed his own eyes. He sat down again. “I understand. It took me a while to convince myself too. It’s not easy to make such a difficult decision. I’ll give you some more time to think about it, if you want.”

“Thank you, sir.”

…

A short silence followed. After what he deemed a sufficient amount of time had passed, Atlas pressed for more details.

“So.. when?”

“When?” Ferdinand responded

“When do you plan on…” Atlas motioned to the map.

“Ah, yes.” Ferdinand said. He pulled out his timepiece briefly, and answered as he put it back. “We’ll have to wrap this up soon, if we want to be down for lunch in a timely fashion. But returning to your question, I haven’t thought super in-depth about all the timing. However, based on rough figures, I estimate, and now I’ll set in stone: 100 days. In 100 days, we march on the Palace.”

“100! That.. that seems ridiculous!” Gitta exclaimed. “You want to plan, recruit supporters for, and coup the Imperial Government, all in 100 days? Is that even possible?”

“The longer we wait, the more time the nobles have to entrench their hold. We will have to be swift, not one day can be wasted.”

“But still, how would we even organise such things?” Atlas asked.

“I don’t really think we need much other than allies to help us cement our hold once we’ve got it. As I previously mentioned, there are plenty of officers here who likely share similar sentiments to us. While I would highly stress that only officers I specifically mark should we talk to, we cannot risk leaks.”

“And that brings me to my next question: what is stopping one of these potential “allies” from blowing the whistle on ‘Tagesanbruch?’”

Ferdinand smirked and raised his head. “As of tomorrow, the telegraph machine in Besanmiers will ‘stop working’. As the telegraph is very much an important asset for the exercises we’re doing, I will have it sent to Readewetter to get it fixed. Of course, while this is happening, all information and messages between us and the rest of the Empire will be run through loyal messengers. When they send the telegraph machine back, it’ll be ‘discovered’ that the problem was a cut telegraph line. By the time the telegraph line is fixed, and the news can get out, it’ll be too late for anything to really be done.”

“And what if someone simply bypasses us and sends a messenger on a train back to say.. Griffenheim? What happens then? Does this plan hinge on eighty different ways our opponents need to be dumb?”

“I already have a plan for that. Tonight I’m going to send a letter to a friend of mine, and he’ll be working behind the scenes to prepare a safety net.”

“Really?”

“I won’t go deeper, you’ll find out about that later.”

Gitta also had a question on her mind. “So.. we’ve been talking about the plan.. but what is it?”

“Alright, the general idea is that at dawn 100 days from now, a train will pull into a station in the Griffenheim city centre. The train crew will either be threatened, or replaced with allies. In the carriages, entire zugs of troops will swarm out. Now, we probably don’t have enough troops to successfully fight the entire garrison, so we’ll need to get help. One of my thoughts was we could try our claw at recruiting from the villages along the way, but if we get some more allies in the Reichsarmee, and coordinate correctly, then we - yes we, I’ll be there too - could fight our way to meet up with them, before pushing into and converging on the Palace. If we can break the palace guard, we’ve won.

“As you can see, I’ve labeled important places on the map. Fighting in cities is not really my area of expertise, but if we want to get from A to B,” he traced a line from a station to the palace,” we need to move and strike quickly. This, generally, is the plan. Again, we should probably be wrapping this up, but in a few days we can probably all come together to hammer out some of the details.”

“Griffonpower is going to be a massive factor..” Atlas muttered to himself.

“Undoubtedly. Well, I thank you for your time. May Boreas, Arcturius, and Eyr look favourably upon us. I hope my trust in you three is not misplaced.

“In a general update for today, it’ll be pretty quiet. There are some wargames going on out east, I do need someone to oversee that. Other than that, the rest of the day will be relatively lax. Felizia, I’m sorry I pulled you away from your alone time. As a consolation, I’ll let you have a few more hours off duty.”

“I’ll oversee the wargames, sir,” Atlas volunteered. “I’ve been meaning to get away from charts for days.”

“Alright then, you are all dismissed. For Fatherland?

“For Fatherland,” the three answered. Atlas saluted on behalf of the others, and within a few seconds they were gone.

Something nagged Ferdinand’s mind, but he shrugged it off.

Poor Grover. He was too young, too fragile for this cruel world. But with change, comes an opportuntty.

Gabriela Eagleclaw, Duchess of Strawberry, was deep in thought as she walked down the venerable halls of the Imperial Palace. Gears turned in her head. As much as she personally considered the late emperor her friend, she knew that he had been no proper ruler. Now that his son was in need of a regency, she could fix that. She had a grand vision for the empire, one that would make Boreas proud of griffons again, and more importantly, give the young heir an actual territory to rule once he was old enough. But first… she needed to deal with Eros and his supporters. The archons were such a nuisance, putting forward one of their own to contest Gabriela’s claim to Lead Regent.

With that, she stepped into the Council Chamber. The archon was already there, giving his “sermon” to the gathered nobles.

What a bother. She took a seat next to the Count of Bronzehill - Ignatius. She tuned out the speech, and discussed the situation in hushed whispers with a few of her fellow nobles. Gabriela ignored Eros grandstanding, until he finally decided to remove his old hide from the central podium. With that, she took her chance, strolled down to the centre and addressed the room.

"My fellow nobles and other griffons worthy of respect. The esteemed Archon speaks well of the situation. We must have stability, and we must reassert our authority. But how can we trust the Archonate to provide for our nation?” She ignored the scowls Eros and his lackeys were sending her way.

“They talk of war, but do they care for the little griffon? How can we get anywhere before we modernise our beloved Herzland, before we help our people? I implore you all to consider the right choice."

Cheers and applause followed... with a loud minority of jeers and claw pointing. It didn’t matter. The council would back her claim for lead regent, and Eros would be marginalised, consigned to the altar where he belonged.

The duchess moves to consolidate her power.

Author's Note

Haha, I did it!

100 Days to Tagesanbruch

The soldat to the left of Felizia stretched back in his chair with a grin towards his comrades on the other side of the table.

“Well, at least we can agree on that! Anyways, I’m done, see ya.”

He grabbed his bowl and spoon and squeezed out from his chair. With a jolly flap of wings, he took off. Felizia didn’t see where exactly he went, her eyes were pointed downwards, towards her bowl. She scrapped her spoon along the bottom of the bowl to collect the last remnants of the purple soup, before tipping it back in a moment later.

She wasn’t interested in whatever they had been talking about, her thoughts were elsewhere. What was she to do? This was a plot against the Empire itself she was now privy to. Her thoughts bounced across her mind, never standing still. When she tried to explore a train of thought deeply, the chatter of the hall in the background became deafening, and she lost it.

A series of flaps signalled the arrival of a new griffon, but she didn’t notice them, nor did she notice the clunk of a new bowl on the table. However, when she heard the unmistakable sound of wood - specifically a chair - scraping on wood directly on her left, she lifted her head in reaction. The mess hall was full to the brim. It was designed to accommodate hundred of griffons all wishing to fill their bellies at the same time, but at some point they had given up trying to pack more into it, and so there were hundreds more eating out in their camps or even just outside the hall. From wall to wall, griffons sat at large square tables with the middle 50% cut out to allow more seating. Felizia’s table was near the back wall. Flight was practically the only way to get around, which the nine metre tall ceiling was designed to allow. The room felt to her like an ocean of griffons with no shore in sight.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here,” Atlas said as he pulled out the chair.

Felizia’s mind snapped into the her and now at his voice. She shook her head “Don’t worry, the previous occupant just left.”

“Yes, I watched him go. Are you alright, Felizia?”

“I’m… fine. For now, at least.”

“Are you enjoying the soup?”

She became aware of the remnant of the sweet taste of beetroot on her tongue. A tinge of onion crept beneath the blanket of the beet, but couldn’t hide from Felizia’s now attentive senses as she probed to produce a genuine answer.

“It was… well, I can say it is not terrible, just a little less than.. well, yeah.”

“I can understand. How are you… doing?

“I’m fine, absolutely. Just thinking about the… the.. uh.. figures from the meeting.”

Atlas surveyed the table. The only seat empty was directly across from him: griffons chattered or ate in silence all around. On the far side of Atlas a group of four - two on each side of the table - were in general catch-up conversation. The griffon across from Felizia sipped at his soup, whether he was paying attention to something or not was unclear. On the far side of Felizia a group of friends joked about the colour of the soup and the colour of a common friend.

Atlas laid his spoon over his bowl, suspending it above his soup. “I think we all need a bit of time to reflect on those; I can understand.”

Felizia scrapped the last of her soup into her spoon again. She took a few glances at the nearby griffons, none of whom seemed to be paying much attention - if any- to their conversation.

“Did you want to talk about anything? Was there a reason you came over here?” she asked after a moment.

“I just saw you were uneasy, I thought I might give you some company.”

“Well.. thanks, I guess. I’m uncertain more than anything. He seems dead-set, utterly convinced about this. I… well.. it’s disturbing for me.”

“One hundred percent, it’s not the most reassuring thing.”

“What are your thoughts, should we…” Felizia placed raised her claw over her head and spread out her fingers like a comb, their adopted sign for the nobility. She watched Atlas squint his eyes in confusion. She repeated the action, this time first signing the unmistakable sign for speaking.

This time she properly conveyed her question: should we report this plot to the authorities? In the process, she also drew the amused attention of a few of the griffs sitting near them. Atlas drank a spoonful of soup, and closed his eyes, letting the taste of beet soothe his thoughts. The griffs near them soon lost interest and resumed their previous attentions.

“I didn’t say what I said out of hasty fear. I think that what he said is true, although I am inherently sceptical about anything’s that involves anything of this sort. But… he’s right.” He released his spoon on the side of his bowl, and placed his elbows on the table, bowing his head, it was unclear whether in contemplation or prayer.

“I’ll ask you this,” he said after a few more moments, “what happens when you plant a flower?”

Felizia furrowed her brow. “It grows?”

“All the time?”

“Well, if the soil is right for it, if it gets enough sunlight, if it gets enough moisture.. then yes, it will.”

Atlas took another sip. “So conditions need to be right?”

“Yes...” Atlas had made it very clear previously that he had no interest in botany, or agriculture of any sort. This set of questions was hence doubly confusing for Felizia.

“What if they aren’t right then?”

“Hey, Major Hengsbach!” a griffess shouted from down the table. She drew near, sneaking past the shifting tide of chairs instead of flying.

Atlas shook his head, “Not now, leutnant.”

“I’ll be out of your plumage soon, but I believe you owe me a gold one. So just toss it over and I’ll go.”

“I don’t believe you.” He exclaimed. But he thought a moment more, and realised she probably wasn’t lying. “How many of the 61st were incapacitated?”

“What’s this about, sir?” Felizia interjected.

The leutnant answered for him. “Ma’am, your partner here owes me an idol for a little wager we made. I bet that in this morning’s exercises that the 5th Turmwache Battalion would beat the 61st Infanterie Battalion. The 5th won - fair and square I might add - so I’m entitled to my money.”

“The Turmwache are hardly what I’d consider to be a well-drilled deployment.”

“Oh I heard one of them made a sprint across the playing field to order a crucial redeployment that saved their feathers. You can check it out for yourself.. sir.” she quickly added.

Atlas muttered grumpily as he patted some of his pockets. “Oh what a surprise, I don’t appear to be carrying any.” he said. “Again, talk to me later, I’m busy right now.”

The leutnant nodded once before she turned and left. “Yes sir.”

Atlas sighed. Felizia watched the leutnant leave, a smirk slowly growing on her beak. “Well well well, I certainly didn’t expect to find out today that you’ve been gambling with Gitta’s troops.”

“Today’s been a day for unexpected surprises, hasn’t it? I promise it’s not a big thing, it was just a casual discussion that turned into a bet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t dwell on it.”

“Thanks.” Atlas said. He tapped the end of his spoon for a bit as they fell silent again before continuing. “So where were we?”

“Uhh… I think you had asked about conditions not being right?

“Umm… yeah I think that’s about right. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts.” He finally picked up his spoon, and stirred his soup. He drank a spoonful of the soup, then creaked this head to one side. Gitta turned and listened to the ambience of the hall.

The group just over from them on the right was discussing something about the tanks the changelings had brought. From somewhere she faintly heard an angry curse being exclaimed. When it died down she could hear distant singing from somewhere, a faint melodic “Gefahr!”

“Ah, yes, I’ve got it.” Atlas announced. He put down his spoon and turned back to face Gitta. “So what would you say would happen if a flower wasn’t planted in ideal conditions?”

Gitta picked at a knot in the table. “Well, the flower either outright doesn’t sprout, or it grows a few millimetres before dying. Maybe it does grow, really that’s dependent on a variety of unknown factors.”

“That makes sense.” Atlas nodded. “But with that in mind, are the conditions for the flower ideal?”

“Ummm.. what?” Felizia gave a forced chuckle, confused.

“What we’ve been stressing over this whole time; that flower. Is that flower growing in ideal conditions?”

It took her a moment, but then her eyes widened, she realised what he was asking.

“Oh… well, I don’t know. What would ideal conditions to grow said flower be?”

“I wouldn’t know either, I don’t exactly have experience in this either. But… I’ve known him- we’ve known him for many years now. And while…” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “I do think he’s slightly unstable on this matter, I do trust him. I wouldn’t want to push you to any conclusion, however.” He leaned back, and took another spoonful of soup.

Felizia nodded slightly. “Yeah.. I guess. Hey…-” she pulled out a pocket watch from her uniform, “- I really should be going. I’ve got to finish up what I was doing before I’m needed for anything else.”

“Just… give it some thought and reflection, let me know what you come to.”

“Thanks Atlas… for…” she struggled to find the correct words to articulate. “Thanks” was what she finally settled on.

“You mentioned your studies, how are they going?”

“You care about that stuff now?”

“No, not really. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Keeping me here, are you?”

Atlas made an explanative gesture with his claw. “I didn’t want to end conversation with you without talking about something normal.”

Felizia laughed. “You’re good that way, thank you. But I do need to go. Since you asked, I’m finishing up the final dissertation for last year’s work. Then I can start on this year’s.”

“Shouldn’t you have finished last year’s last year?” Atlas joked. “You can tell me about that later. I’ll see you tonight, perhaps.”

“Alright, that sounds good.” Felizia said as she pushed herself out. “Thanks again, sir.”

[h]

“Welcome back, ma’am!” was becoming tiring to listen to. Gitta had only been gone for a week, and yet it seemed every soldat and Unteroffizier and C.O was acting like she’d just come back from a circumnavigation of the entire known world! The first few times it had been alright, but even preoccupied griffs had been dropping what they were doing to come greet their commander.

“Yes, thank you, Leutnant Rieger.”

“Thank you, Soldat.”

“It was fine, thank you for asking, Hauptmann.”

At this point, there was only one griffon she wanted to hear those words from, but he was in town. She wished she had had time to stop by when she’d arrived, but plans rarely worked out like that. Right now she was sat at a table with two of her Hauptmanns. They were bringing her up to speed on the situation

“The Oberstleutnant also told me to give you this.” said Matthias Stelzner, a yellow-plumed migrant from the Griffonian frontier whose accent refused to say his ‘E’s with their long sound. He passed over a clipboard with several large pages. “Events and drills and everything in between, where you have to be, minus all the extra stuff that pops up when Ferdinand feels a company is getting a bit too comfortable.”

Gitta picked up the clipboard and gave it a quick glance. Meanwhile, the other Hauptmann, Erika Redwing, circled some important sections on another piece of paper. She was from Vinnin, like most of them. Her green neckfeathers stood out on her white-grey plumage.

“I only had to highlight a few things, but there you go. Our current logistical issues on the first page, and general reports for your consideration on the third and fourth.” She passed more pages over to Gitta.

“Good, good. I’ll look over these. Pass on the logistical report to….” she paused . It had only been an hour at most, yet looking down at the papers she was back in front of the stolen papers in Ferdinand’s office. She didn’t like it, but Ferdinand had made the situation clear to her, there really wasn’t any other option.

100 days…

For a moment, it seemed a tangible, physical distance, yet one that stretched over the horizon and out of sight, shrouded in uncertainty. Like the smaller tremors that follow the large quake, the weight of the situation bombarded her again. Her mind raced, would the plan still hold together after that long? A third of a year was a long time in such a political climate. But at the same time, was it enough time?

“Major?”

Erika’s voice brought her back to ground.

“The Warenstamm.. that’s it. Send the report to the Warenstamm.”

“The Warenstamm’s been usurped in his role, ma’am.” Erika said.

“Logistikmeister Torsten has replaced him.” added Matthias, providing context.

Gitta’s eyes raised. “Torsten Blackcrest? Scheer’s chick?”

“Yup. Don’t know how you missed it, ma’am: he’s gotten an entire hut for his work assembled by the road coming in, and one of his . The Warenstamm isn’t at all happy about it, but Ferdinand agreed to keep paying him half even though he’s not working currently.”

“Ok then.. pass the reports on to the Logistikmeister.” she asked Erika.

“Yes ma’am.”

[h]

Ferdinand paced the width of his office, a well of frustration like a bubbling pit of tar slowly building up within him. In one claw he held a list of all the major Griffenheim officers present in the encampment. He hadn’t really thought about whom he might try to persuade to join, but he was realising now that he hadn’t the foresight to realise how few griffons he actually knew closer than the acquaintance status. He hadn’t circled any names yet.

He punched the air, and resisted the urge to swear.

“Saints of the sword!” he exclaimed instead, invoking the Arcturian saints in frustration. He paused, a thought fluttered into his mind. His eyes found their way to the left wall, where his special Arcturian sword sat on its mounting: a straight, steel blade shorter than a typical longsword. Engraved along the blade was a silver imprint in the image of the sword itself with a three-star-pronged crown hovering above the pommel: the symbol of Arcturius.

Ferdinand carefully lifted the sword from it’s mounting. Each sword was a holy artefact, tradition held that the method for forging steel swords was taught to griffons by Arcturius after he was disappointed with the bronze weapons they were swinging around. Ferdinand had forged his own when he was still a student in the Archonate, and he respected it as if Arcturius himself had forged it.

He held it in his grip. It fit a lot better in his claw than it had when he had forged it when he was still a chick in the Archonate. He took it back to his desk, swinging it in a downward-slicing motion as he turned around, almost into the wall.

Heh, still nippy.

He placed his list on the table, next to another just like it, just with the names of the non-Griffenheim officers. He sat back in his chair, grasping the sword in both claws and holding it upright. He closed his eyes, he emptied his mind of distractions. He prayed:

“Mighty Arcturius, protector of empire, guardian of the righteous, and prince of holy light, may your name be blessed. Give… keep me - your servant - from the darkness, and help direct my walk, my walk in righteousness. May my heart be inclined towards good, and may my heart seek to ultimately bring glory to the gods. In keeping with such, reveal to me those whom I am to ally, reveal to me those similarly minded: those who see the truth as I do. By the saints of the sword, blessed be your name, blessed be Boreas’ name, blessed by Eyr’s name.”

Ferdinand gave a moment before opening his eyes. He didn’t know what he expected to see, a sign of sorts maybe. But he was left disappointed. He slumped back, still holding the sword, which accidentally drop slightly. The tip of its blade bounced on the desk. He quickly pulled it back up, and leaned over to inspect the desk for any damage. The blade tip had landed on his list, and so he had to remove it to inspect the impact point. A small dent had been made in the wood, not terribly noticeable, but not insignificant. Ferdinand was about to curse when he had another thought. He checked the list, and found that the sword had punched a tiny hole in it, right in the middle of a name, a name he vaguely recognised.

“Aras Seeliger...” he thought out loud, trying to remember the face.

He reached for his pen.

[h]

“A toast to our great victory, courtesy of our Oberleutnant!” The bright-blue griffon raised a bottle of wine as high as he could to a round of cheers from the group of griffons gathered around Aras Seeliger as they sat around a board of wood in the middle of their tents.

Aras was a tired-looking griff, his grey/blue plumage only darkening his exhausted countenance. His bowl of soup was only half-empty: he just couldn’t find the energy to pick up his spoon anymore. The top buttons on his uniform were undone, so that his top chest feathers were visible. His heart had calmed down, but it ached with pain, as did his lungs, his wings, and his head. He did manage to pull through a smile in response, though.

The blue griffon cheerily poured some of the wine into a canteen and laid it in front of Aras. He took a collection of the present ‘non-coms’ (non-commissioned officers) canteens and poured them some as well.

“Who are we?” he asked.

“Griffenities!” was the collective cry from the crowd.

“Does that make us any less than other units?” he shouted, continuing to raise his volume.

The ‘Nein’ that followed could have been heard from the other side of the camp. This was, after all, the griffons of the 5th Turmwache, rejoicing in their recent victory over the 61st. Their worth was assured: they were just as capable as an outer-garrison, even if they had the cushy job.

“Thank the gods for Aras, best com’ I’ve ever had. To his health, and to the 12th!” With that the non-coms raised their canteens in toast, some of the soldats even joining in with their water.

Aras gave a tired but thankful smile, probably the eightieth today. He took a small sip of the wine. “Thanks, but please.. stop. I’m going back to my tent.” he managed to say. He took one last sip of soup. He stood up, and turning around started an unsteady walk back to his tent. Before collapsing onto his sleeping mat, he tried to measure the time of day by the sun’s height. He’d be able to have a few hours of rest.

Author's Note

Sorry for the inexcusable delay on this one for only a 3000(ish) word chapter. I kept cutting bits and pieces, and throwing out ideas for more parts because I was worried about oversaturating the story with characters and flipping too much and too rapidly. But it’s here, enjoy!