'With a little luck and experience, anyone can achieve their heart's desire. My prince, you've only been alive for a few short years, yet already you understand the darkness that dwells within this world. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, your mother was a dear friend of mine.

Politics. Employment. Money. Power. All of it exists as such that it is for the betterment of those that already are in possession of such resources, and to keep anyone that dares try to usurp these things for their own begging, and clawing at the bottom. Forced to endure hellish poverty and indignation as those with privilege piss on them from above. Though it is true that we Ashfords have run a line of bad luck these past few years - culminating in the assassination of your mother, Empress Marianne - but for all that misfortune we see spread amongst us, we have found ourselves equally blessed.

To know you, my prince, is to know hope. Hope for a better world and a brighter tomorrow, hope for a world where the circumstances of one's birth do not define them, and that all may rise to their limits and break beyond them. That you have experienced such sorrow as that you have this early in your life, and that you still only find worry for your sister, Nunnally vi Britannia, and others. That you worry for us…

You stand as the greatest testament to all that is righteous and just with the world, and for but the flip of a coin difference, the Empire as we know it would have seen better days with you on the throne. That day, that chance for a better world has, with great sorrow, passed; and in its place, the status quo remains. For now. I have no doubt that regardless of the trails you shall face going forward, you'll emerge victorious. Tempered in the flames of conflict that lay before you.

So I implore you this, my prince. Think not back on the days of joy and cheer that you have experienced here in Aeris Villa. Turn your mind's eye to the future, and work to whatever vision it is of that better world that you can imagine. Act swiftly, with experience born of wisdom. That with change, comes trouble - and to stay your hand when others might be harmed by your actions. Claim this world as your own, if you must, but do so in a way that in the generations to follow…

People need to look to history and see that even in a time that has so far passed before them, that paragons of the ideal of Justice stood, ever in defiance, in the face of the terrible evils that have taken root in the world, and declared 'No'. Do all you must to better this world, but ensure that the legacy you leave behind will give people that hope, hope in a time for when all seems lost. It is this above all else, that I implore you Lelouch; no change can happen without sacrifice. This is irrefutable - but you must do all that you can, all that is within your power, to minimize that sacrifice.

And remember this, if nothing else. That for people to follow; a true King must lead.

I give you this now, your highness. A coin, minted from a time long before your father sat on the throne of the Empire of Holy Britannia. It holds no value in this day and age, save for those that may seek to add it to their collection. And for the memories in this man's heart. Take it, and heed it well. For the flip of this coin has never steered an Ashford in the wrong direction. Our entire fortune, however shattered it may now rest, was made by the flip of this coin.

Now, to you, it shall lead towards the future. Whatever happens from here… A little luck may be all that you need, Lelouch. With a little luck, and the wisdom born of experience ; all things are possible. Remember that wall.

Farewell, my prince. Nay…

My King.'

- December 16th, 2008, A.T.B -
- 15 months after the Britannian Occupation began -

Area Eleven. The official reclassification of the island nation once known to the world as Japan had been made final. Though the war had officially ended some time ago, during the mid-summer months, and after a scant nine months of open hostilities, the last vestiges of Japanese resistance had only just fallen. From this point on, any and all resistance towards the Britannian imposed rule of law would now be classified as terrorism. That Japanese military had been heavily outgunned and outmanned.

It was a small price to pay ultimately. The Britannian Empire's new weapon, the Knightmare Frame, had proved to be much more effective in urban warfare than initial projects had speculated. Faced with such a radical leap in military technology, and the rapid shift in warfare doctrine, it was little wonder that the Japanese forces fell as quickly as they had. Numerical advantage aside, the technological difference between the isolationist nation and the rest of the developed world had grown wide. There had never been any real hope for a Japanese victory once Britannia made landfall.

And so the conquest of Japan had been relatively short - the shortest ever in Britannian History, and the Japanese people would now have to live under the thumb of the world's largest, and still growing, empire.

Stripped of their freedoms, their rights - and even their national identity, the Japanese people would now, and forever more be known as Elevens. Those native born citizens of the conquered Area Eleven. The humiliation and dehumanization of a lost identity would keep them in line. Such was the reasoning behind the Empire's reclassification system, employed across all its conquered territories.

Now, just thirteen short months after the conflict had begun, the former nation was considered settled enough that Britannia could begin the arduous task of setting up their infrastructure. A process that would take some time, more so for an island as prone to earthquakes as Area Eleven was. Britannian government. Britannian media, academia, settlements, utilities, and people. Their rules, their justice, and their sense of natural dominance over all other peoples. Such a process would require vast efforts of manual labour, and it would be completed by the very people that were just beaten into submission. The blood, sweat, and tears that would be spilled building up the new regime would come from the very conquered people themselves. No Britannian would heft a plow.

Forced labour that would further serve as a reminder to the Elevens as to their new place in life. Beneath the mighty heel of a Holy Britannian Empire. The cities that they would be (re)building would not be for them, but for their new Lords and Ladies. For the gentile nobility that would soon be flocking to the island to both flaunt their newfound wealth and power over the Elevens, and to further drive in the despair that was already weighing heavy on the former Japanese.

Everything that they had known until now, was at an end. They could make peace with their new station, and serve their conquerors. Or they could resist, and be put to the sword for their defiance.

It was during the clamour of this rebuilding, and the rising tensions of possible rebellion, that a young man found himself seated comfortably in the atrium of Tokyo's International Airport. One of the few pieces of infrastructure left untouched by the war. There he sat, patiently waiting for the various VIPs from the homeland that had just arrived, to disembark from their plane. With his dark brown hair covered by a toque, with much of his face hidden; wrapped up in a vibrantly coloured scarf. Winters in Area Eleven were harsher than his old home near Pendragon, the imperial capital. Much colder.

To his side was his aide, chosen for their similar colouration. To any outside observer, they would look like nothing more than a mother and her child. Not like the exiled prince and a member of his Royal Guard.

'You're certain that your informant is reliable?' The young prince spoke, his voice barely rising above a whisper. 'This doesn't seem much like the jet of Royal.'

'Positive.' The woman replied, her voice level and calm. 'He was very specific that the appointed Viceroy for Area Eleven would be arriving on flight eight-eight-three.' She checked her watch briefly. 'The staff here were most accommodating when Jenkins was in here earlier, enquiring on flight plans.'

'Oh?' The young prince questioned. 'Jenkins was here earlier, was he? I believe I gave express orders that not a single one of you were to appear in public without a civilian disguise.'

'You did, your Highness.' Her voice broke nervously. 'However… Jenkins had decided it was important enough that we verify this information to enquire in his role as an OSI agent.' She looked down towards the prince and smiled softly. 'It wouldn't do to have you needlessly flaunt yourself in public such as this. You are supposed to be dead. Remember?'

'As if I could ever forget, Wood.'

'Right, then. You know that our unit was sent here to retrieve your body, yes?'

'Your point being, Captain?'

'All but a few of us have cut contact with the homeland after finding that you were very much alive despite all initial reports. Jenkins, and a few others, however, understood the importance that a few of us maintain relations with OSI Command. Strictly speaking, sir, until you die we haven't completed our mission.'

'I fail to see how this is all relevant at the moment.'

'We have standing orders from the OSI that take priority over all other obligations. We're not to return home until we have recovered your remains. So far as the homeland is concerned, our SR unit has split up chasing rumors. With half of the unit 'searching' the northern reaches of the Area, and the rest of us focusing on the central and southern regions.

'So long as three or four of us send infrequent reports back to our OSI handlers, and we have yet to find your body, we can serve you as need be. We are, after all, members of the Royal Guard - no matter from which member of the royal family, their orders are priority one.'

'Even if it comes from a ghost, such as myself?'

'Yessir. As an added bonus, so long as it involves a Royal in any capacity whatsoever, information cannot be withheld from us. By law. That includes, but is not limited to, their travel arrangements.'

'So your informant is the OSI then?'

'Yes, your Highness.'

'So…' The prince turned to stare at the arrival gate once again. 'My brother Cloves is truly aboard that jet. Interesting. Clovis was never one for subtleties, he always loved to announce his presence when possible. Perhaps he has matured in some small way since my time away.'

'If I may, your Highness.'

'You may, Captain.'

'Not fuckin' likely. This whole arrangement reeks of the Prime Minister's involvement.'

'Schneizel, then. Why am I not surprised?'

'Genetic predisposition, your Highness.'

'Cute, Captain. Very cute.' The prince let out a sigh. 'Remind me to both congratulate Jenkins for his foresight, and punish him for disobeying a 'Priority One' order. When we get back to the safehouse, I think it is well past time I have some… words with all of you. I am not some child that needs to be kept out of the loop for my own protection.'

'No… no you are not. Forgive me, your Highness.'

As their conversation died down to idle chatter, banter that to passers by would be little more than a whiny child pleading with his mother, the aircraft had finally begun to disembark. As a steady stream of people began to clear the arrivals gate, the prince in exile turned his full attention towards them. At the lead were various servants, no doubt sent first to secure transportation away from the airport, and to check on the state of security as well. After them came the minor nobles, the few that wouldn't be of any real significance to his plans. Discardable. Trash. Beneath his notice. Then the big names, people that he recognized as having special significance to either help or hinder all future operations and influence the developing Area in more profound manners. Stadtfeld, Calares, Leo, Nathdrake. Jeremiah Gottwald, interesting.

The Stadtfeld family was at the head of several major construction and logistics companies. Out of all of the major nobility that had just arrived alongside the Viceroy, they would be the largest decider on the Area's economic stability and policies. THey would need to be made to see things his way, as soon as possible.

The Calares family, while relatively new in the big leagues, had ascended to nobility only three generations ago. Most notable for their military prowess, as soldiers and officers both. Alongside the presence of Sir Gottwald, he would keep them under heavy surveillance to ensure more… favourable military conditions.

It was interesting, of note, to see both the Leo and Nathrdake families present in Area Eleven. Of the five founding families of the Holy Britannian Empire, only three had survived to this day and age; Leo, Nathdrake, and the Britannia line of which the Empire takes its name. Likely, they were here to wrest as much power away from the Office of the Viceroy as they could. A nation as rich in Sakuradite as Area Eleven was, was too tempting a prize for contenders for the throne. They could be used to great effect.

Behind those nobles, and their immediate families came the one that Lelouch had come to personally verify. Clovis la Britannia, the Third Prince of the Empire. His older half brother of which he had fond memories, and the newly appointed Viceroy for Area Eleven. Only seven years his senior, Lelouch would have to be careful to remain below his elder brother's attention for as long as possible while still undermining Clovis' authority in Area Eleven. No easy task.

No doubt that Clovis would only be in power in name only at first. Stadtfeld and Calares would be incharge for the foreseeable future, through backroom deals and shady manipulations. It was interesting to see a Prince, barely of age, sent to rule over a newly conquered Area. Perhaps it was Clovis' turn to be cast out of the line of succession. In a more decidedly friendly manner than Lelouch's own, of course.

'Wood.' Lelouch drew his guard's attention. 'Whatever else may happen in the next few years, the only thing that we must accomplish with absolute certainty is the demoralization of Clovis' rule. I have plans for Area Eleven, and Clovis' interference would only slow me down.

Once we begin moving in earnest, I need him taken out of the picture. If you, or any of the men under your command take issue with the possibility of regicide, take your leave now. I have no use for anyone that may present a problem in the future.'

'You know where we stand, my Prince.' Wood replied with a whisper. 'My men and I would follow you to Tartarus and back if need be. We swore ourselves to your service above all else, Lelouch vi Britannia. We would never abandon you so simply.'

The two turned away, beginning their walk towards their vehicle. Lelouch pulled down his scarf and revealed the wistful smile evoked by Captain Wood. His eyes shimmered in the glow of street lights, as they approached the lot, snow softly drifting down from the clouds.

'I believe our business here is complete, Captain.' Lelouch spoke as he and Wood climbed into the back seat of their car. 'We've confirmed the identity and presence of our new Viceroy as well as we managed to ascertain the key nobles in Area Elven development. This trip couldn't have possibly gone any better.'

'Sir. If I may, what are our plans for the immediate future now?'

'For now? We do nothing. Let my brother lord over the Elevens for a while longer yet. A ruined nation serves little purpose to me, less so that the breath in Clovis' lungs. Long term? Let Britannia raise their buildings and rear up another generation of mindless sheep, complacent citizens too numb to think for themselves. The better off this Area is economically and militarily, the less I need to do to get ready, and the quicker my plans can be put into practice.'

'Your Highness?'

'I intend to usurp more than just the hearts of the natives, Captain. Once we have accomplished my goals for this Area, everything that the Britannian's have built up here will be used to tear all of their lives down. The homeland will bow before me.'

'Where should we start then? With the nobles, I mean'

Lelouch pondered the question for a few moments, before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a well worn coin. A Pfund, a remnant of Charlemagne and the origins of the Holy Roman Empire. Rolling it through his fingers a few times, Lelouch eventually flipping the coin from his thumb, allowing it to tumble over itself as it first went up into the air, before falling back down into his hand. In his palm now rested the answer to the question posed by Captain Evelyn Wood.

Heads - Stadtfeld.

'Stadtfeld. Above everything else, the flow of money needs to be monopolized. If we can control how the government spends its money, we can dominate the field. Money makes the world go 'round, after all. Isn't that the saying?'

'It is, your Highness.'

'Then those are your orders, Captain.' The young prince paused as the car left the airport lot, and merged into the traffic moving away. 'Find out everything you can about the Stadtfeld family that may be of use. I don't care what it is. Whatever dirty secret or forgotten skeleton they have in their closet, I'll need as leverage to wrest control of them out from under Clovis' thumb.'

'By your orders. Shall we return to the safehouse for the time being?'

In place of an answer, Lelouch turned to stare out the window. Knocking twice on the glass, he indicated to the driver his intention to have the window lowered. As the cool night air hit his face, Lelouch suppressed the urge to shiver. The winters here really were harsher than back in the homeland. He could use that to his advantage as well, though he wasn't sure exactly how to go about it. He would have the cooperation, forced or not, of as many of the nobles he could before spring dawned over the bloodsoaked nation.

Lelouch returned his attention to the coin that still lay in his hand. Feigning interest in its design for a minute, the young prince ignored the world around him for a moment, some thought mulling over in his head. He flipped the coin again. Heads. Reuben.

'No. We have an appointment to keep tonight, I should think. An old friend that I would not want to keep waiting for us.'

'Our host…' Resignation laced Evelyn's voice. 'Does he even know that we are coming to pay a visit tonight?'

'He has no idea. An old friend of mine departed that jet. I was surprised to see him, if I'm being honest. We're going to follow him, and then we are going to see what it is that he can do for our rag-tag little group.'

'Yes, your Highness.'

Lelouch smiled.

Where do I begin? The start would seem as good a place as any, though I am hard pressed to know the exact start. I suppose the question should be phrased differently, shouldn't it? How to start? No… That's even more cliche than 'where do I begin'. Perhaps there isn't any question that I can use to preface this story. Maybe all I need to do is tell it from the beginning. But you already know the beginning, don't you?

I was born a prince. Eleventh born prince of the Ninety-Eighth Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire, and Seventeenth in line to the throne - to be exact. Logically, it stands that I have sixteen elder siblings, and even more younger siblings. Most of us are born of different mothers, however, and the only blood tie we have is our father. The man that sired us is more accurate… probably. I don't think that man has ever thought of us as his children. It is far more likely that he just saw us as pawns, pieces to be used and discarded whenever it was more convenient than to keep us.

That is what happened to me. Lelouch vi Britannia. At the age of seven, my mother fell victim to the machinations of the nobility. Marianne vi Britannia, Empress-consort to Charles zi Britannia. Ruthlessly executed in her own home, along with her daughter being caught in the crossfire. My younger sister, Nunnally vi Britannia. Though she wasn't killed, thank whatever lord there may be in the Heavens for that, she was not able to get away without scars of her own. The trauma blinded her, and shrapnel rendered her crippled. Bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

Now she spends her days locked away, hidden from the rest of the world. The core doctrine that drives the Holy Britannian Empire, Survival of the Fittest, meant she was now useless to our father. A crippled little girl, even one of royal blood, is not immune to that harsh truth. She was stripped of her titles, and her inheritance was revoked - cast aside without the protection that the name vi Britannia could offer, however scant it was. A pawn, discarded by the King. Her father.

I wasn't so lucky.

I was sent away to some far away nation that we barely had diplomatic ties to. Japan. I was to be used as a pawn, placed behind the lines and into enemy hands. The official story given to the media, was that I was sent to facilitate a trade agreement with the isolationist nation - to gain favour with their government, that we may see an increase in Sakuradite trade.

Suffice it to say, that was never the real purpose of my exile. I was to be silenced, discarded by the court that I may never press the matter of my mother's murder again. A price I paid for my outburst - questioning the will of the Emperor in court. Thus he saw fit to send me away.

Then came the coup de grace for my supposed crimes. Britannia declared war on Japan shortly after my arrival. And I was left to burn in the flames. No one soldier came for me, and within a week's time of the opening salvo, as the war began in earnest, I had been declared dead. My own nation, my own family, had abandoned me. They had condemned me to die along with the Japanese people. Worse still! They used my supposed death to whip the armed forces into a vengeful fervor. I fear that, because of those rumors, they were far more violent than needed. How many Japanese were tortured for their false crimes?

My hatred only grew stronger from there, and I vowed, then and there, as the once flourishing city of Nagasaki burned to ash around me, that I would dedicate the very core of my being, every fiber of my soul, to the eradication of the Holy Britannian Empire; and for all that she stood.

I suppose… that is how my story began. Amidst a sea of flame and ash. There is much, much more to it than that; if you dig deep enough. So much more. For now, though, I think that is all that is relevant if you wish to know of the origins of my hate.

- Transcript from His Imperial Majesty, Lelouch Vi Britannia's memoirs -
- September 19th, 2023, A.T.B -
- Copyright of Ashfordshire Publication House, 2023 -