Nath shook his head ruefully, rereading the notes from his interview with the Knight. "There are just… there are so many 'what ifs' here. What if they had succeeded? What if he had joined them? What if things had gone just a little differently that day?"

Marc hummed. "I know. There have been a lot of those 'what ifs', with the whole War. If the Normandy invasion had failed, would the Allies ever have opened a Western front? If the Knight had refused to fight for Hitler, might he have been able to escape the Nazis and fight for the Allies? Would he even have wanted to do that?"

Orikko ruffled his feathers, hovering between them. "Ultimately, those hypothetical questions don't change anything. Events happened the way they did. Now we simply live with the consequences."

Der Ritter's Residence in Berlin, July 20, 1944

"Sir! There–there has been an attack!"

Sigmund leaned forward in his seat, his eyes widening. Mathias stood in front of him, a panicked look on his face, holding the phone in his trembling hand. The normally-calm butler trembled slightly, opening and closing his other hand on the hem of his suit coat, staring at Sigmund wide-eyed. Sigmund let out an annoyed groan that turned to confusion as he took in Mathias' expression. What could have gotten to Mathias so badly as to have him trembling in this way? He really didn't want to worry about another attack along the Front; ever since the Allied invasion at Normandy, the Army had been on the defensive, losing ground on all fronts. Italy had fallen to the Allies; their new government had even joined the War on the Allies' side. The Soviets were steadily rolling back their gains on the Eastern Front. The Allied offensive through France showed few signs of stopping, now that they had begun to gain momentum. After the Battle for Caen, der Ritter had been recalled to Berlin for consultation; he was to return to the front in a week. And with his meetings finished, this was the closest thing he had gotten to a leave since the war had begun, and he had been hoping for an opportunity to rest before returning to the front.

And yet, it seemed as though every time he thought he might be able to relax and forget about the War raging all around them, something happened to draw him back in. Last month it had been the Allied invasion of France; before that it had been the Americans' raid outside of Rome. He sighed. How he tired of Hitler using him as his personal errand boy. "Where is it this time?" Sigmund asked, resigned, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Th–the Wolf's Lair!"

Sigmund's jaw dropped. His eyes bugged out in shock, and he reeled back in his chair, blinking repeatedly. "Say that again?"

"Th–there was an attack at the Wolf's Den, sir," Mathias repeated, a tremble in his voice. "Details are sparse – according to the Army Headquarters, there was an explosion. Many people were killed."

Sigmund coughed, swallowing hard, trying to find his voice. "Der Fuhrer?" he croaked. His stomach flipped; he couldn't breathe. Could he dare to hope? "Was Hitler killed?"

"U–unknown, sir."

Sigmund's jaw clenched. The writing was on the wall for the Third Reich: though Heusinger maintained that they could still push the allies back with a strong counterattack on the west, Sigmund was a student of history. Germany was now fighting a war on three fronts. Hitler might lash out at his enemies – Sigmund would never conflate Hitler's interests with Germany's interests – but he could not succeed. Not with the full might of America, Great Britain, and the Soviet Union arrayed against him. The only solution remaining for Germany was a negotiated peace. But Hitler would never agree to such an outcome. Perhaps someone else had recognized that fact and removed der Fuhrer from the equation.

He could only hope.

"Der Magier was at the conference with him," Sigmund mused slowly, stroking his chin. His nostrils flared. Of course, Hitler had wanted his "advisor on the arcane" present while reviewing the plan for Operation Werwolf. He had never asked Sigmund's advice on that plan; if he had, Sigmund would have warned him that this plan was destined for failure.

Mathias sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening hopefully. "Perhaps he saved der Fuhrer!"

"Perhaps so…" agreed Sigmund, pursing his lips. "We can only hope that he was close enough when it happened…"

"What are you going to do, sir?" Mathias asked, leaning forward with his eyes wide.

Sigmund furrowed his brows in thought, twirling the penknife between his fingers. What was he to do, indeed? He could fly to the Wolf's Den, of course, but that was a long trip; by the time he arrived, he would be far too late to do anything. He could report to Army Headquarters in the city, but there was no point. Under the circumstances… He needed time: time to think, to regroup. Once he knew what was happening, then he could formulate a response. After a long moment, Sigmund started to stand up, just as a pounding came on the front door.

"Open up in there!" A gruff voice ordered. The pounding intensified. "Open this door!"

Mathias gasped, staring at Sigmund with terror in his eyes. "What are we to do?"

Sigmund sighed with resignation, raising an eyebrow at Mathias. "Answer the door," he told him, before giving his penknife a flourishing twirl and dropping to one knee. "Helfen, Wehren, Heilen."

"Do you think that is necessary, sir?"

Rising to his feet and sheathing his sword, der Ritter's mouth set in a thin line. "So soon on the heels of news of der Fuhrer's death? Best not to take chances."

Moments later, Mathias returned, followed by two men in the uniforms of the Reserve Army. Mathias looked back and forth between them in terror, his hands trembling. One of the officers held back near the door; the other strode to the center of the room.

"Herr Ritter," the closer officer greeted him, dipping his head curtly. "Will you accompany us?"

"Where are you going?" der Ritter responded, resting one hand on his sword hilt. "What is all this about? Why do you wish me to come with you?"

"Der Fuhrer is dead," the other officer announced gravely. "Operation Valkyrie is now in effect. You are to come with us into protective custody."

"'Protective custody'?" Mathias repeated incredulously. "That's ridiculous!"

"On whose authority have you come to me?" demanded der Ritter, glancing back and forth between them without moving.

"General Hoepner of the Reserve."

Der Ritter cocked his head to one side. "But Fromm–"

"–is no longer in command," the officer informed him shortly. "He has been replaced. Come, there isn't much time. We can answer all your prayers on the way to our headquarters."

Giving them a deadpan look under his helmet, der Ritter folded his arms. "And coming so soon after der Fuhrer's death…" he mused rhetorically, eliciting a chuckle from Mathias. "The Reserve Army has no authority over me," he told the two officers evenly.

One of the officers suddenly drew his pistol, aiming at der Ritter's head. Der Ritter scoffed. The other officer grabbed Mathias, holding his pistol to the butler's head. Der Ritter's eyes narrowed beneath his helmet. The officer clenched his jaw, glaring at der Ritter. "Come with us. Now."

"If your General Hoepner wishes to threaten me, he could do me the courtesy of doing so himself – as Himmler did," der Ritter answered curtly. "Wehren!" A silver shield appeared in the space between Mathias' head and the pistol's barrel, expanding and pushing the officer away from him and out of his grip. Quickly, Mathias rushed from the room, and der Ritter shifted his stance, eyeing the two officers warily. "Now, you will tell me what this is really about."

"Please," the first officer begged, holding up one hand and pointing his pistol away from der Ritter, taking his finger off the trigger. "We need your help during this difficult period. There is chaos in Berlin – and there may yet be more. If there is going to be a smooth transition of power and end to this War, we need your voice. People will listen to der Ritter: we want to guide what der Ritter says, to calm the dissent."

"What?" the other officer started, staring at him in shock. "End to the War!? Transition of power? But–"

The first officer turned his gun on his companion, not taking his eyes off of der Ritter. His companion froze, staring down at the gun barrel in shock, his hands raised

"So it is a coup." Der Ritter hummed pensively, giving the conspirator a quick once-over.

"It is hope for Germany."

"And you are certain of der Fuhrer's death?"

"Um…" The officer looked away.

Der Ritter sighed heavily, looking across the room at the painting above the mantlepiece which showed the First Knight, searching his expressionless painted helmet for guidance. Life had been so much simpler for him: he had only to uphold his vows and protect travelers. But that world was not this one. His way forward was not so clear-cut. What was der Ritter to do under these circumstances? His loyalty was not to the Third Reich – except under protest. Honor could not bind him to a Fuhrer who was himself without honor. But did that mean he had to take sides in this coup? If he supported these conspirators, he would be implicated in their coup, should anything go wrong; if he rejected it, then the War would continue unabated for as long as Hitler could maintain contro,. But if he supported the coup and Hitler was alive… Either way, there was no good choice. Yet the longer the coup continued, the greater the suffering of his people. And honor required that he take a stand. His stomach churned. Finally, he looked down at the officer in front of him. "Tell your General to bring me clear evidence of der Fuhrer's death. Then – and only then – can we talk."