Prologue
My name is Ignacy Lukasiewicz, Republic of Poland. The word "Ignacy" means flame in Polish language, and the story behind the naming is a long one, and one of prophecy, better left for another time. By the grace of God and the heroic sacrifice of my people, I have survived this perilous world, dashing towards a bright future. However this comes to be, too, is another story. The one I wish to put to chronicles now, is the story of foreigners and natives, of those who betrayed me and whom I betrayed, and in fact, a story for all of us.
What might have become of us had these events not unfolded, not even the old sage Yao Wang can tell. Ways of Fate are many and varied, and no sane being should ever venture down the deceptively pleasant one of "if only." What happened, just happened; Poland must shoulder both the shame and the glories of my choices.
This is the tale not of the Europe as it exists today, a loose union of Romans, Germans and Slavs, but of the cycle of hatred since almost a thousand years ago. The age of Europe's rising, of new countries born in name of blood and fire, and its harsh cries for life meant death to her enemies. For such a grim and violent tale, it begins peacefully enough, amid the beautiful red palace in an old city named Warsaw.