Author's Note: Hello everyone! First of all, thank you for those of you who decided to give the first chapter a go! Here is the official first chapter of The Isle's Flag is White!

So, it's still more of an introductory chapter, the actual plot will start next chapter.

Any constructive criticism is appreciated, since I've got still got a lot to learn!

Names this chapter:

Francis Bonnefoy: France

Eduard: Estonia

Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden

Tino Väinämöinen: Finland

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo: Spain

Lovino Vargas: South Italy

Feliciano Vargas: North Italy

Disclaimer: Hetalia still belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, not to me.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death

Enjoy! :)

Gilbert loved patrolling. The feel of his horse, Arger, beneath him, the wind in his face as he rode faster, the birds tweeting in the trees, seeing the passing scenery, there couldn't be anything better. And when his childhood friend and rival Elizaveta was with him, it was even more fun. The two would race each other, challenge each other, insult each other. Those were fun and peaceful days that made getting up at five in the morning worth it.

However, he hated patrolling with Roderich. The Austrian aristocrat would ride slowly, try to get everyone lost and ignore any advice given to him, and, worst of all, he would stay right next to Elizaveta. He was absolutely hopeless. And it wasn't as if she was interested in him! Nope, Liz fancied the awesome him, he was sure of it! All her vicious insults, blows and glares were just her way of trying to get his attention. But Roderich just didn't seem to understand that!

"Gilbert, hurry up. You're lagging," said aristocrat reprimanded the daydreaming self-proclaimed Prussian.

The red-eyed man shook his head as he was brought back to reality. Today was one of those days when he hated patrolling. Both Roderich and Elizaveta were there, and they were so close. So damn close to each other!

However, the albino simply urged his horse on and shot a dark glare at his arch-enemy's back.

"What were you day-dreaming about, mon ami? It's not like you to be so distracted," one of his best friends, Francis, frowned in concern.

Francis Bonnefoy was French, a pervert and a really good friend. Whilst he enjoyed flirting with anything that could speak and constantly fought with the Isle's local crazy person, he was loyal and surprisingly smart and had earned the right to be almost as awesome as Gilbert.

"Nothing in particular," the shorter male shrugged, "wish Toni was with us instead of the Priss."

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was the other member of the group commonly known as the Bad Touch Trio, due to their pranks and slightly perverted ideas. He unfortunately hadn't come that morning, since he was busy helping out with the harvest.

"Ah, wouldn't that be nice? Although, you have to admit, he is quite the looker," the Frenchman stroke his stubbly chin thoughtfully, smiling slyly as he eyed the dark-haired man up.

Gilbert punched him playfully, grimacing in disgust.

"He's ugly and he's got a shit personality. Plus, he's always flirting with Liz. Do it with him and we're no longer friends."

His friend laughed as they followed the two in front of them. Patrols generally lasted about an hour, the time they walked the borders of the Island. There usually wasn't anything to report, except maybe a complaining farmer or a boat sailing too close.

The Isle was fairly small, but was composed of seven main areas: the east mainly contained beaches and cliffs. People rarely went there, mainly because it had full view of land, therefore was considered dangerous. To the south were fields of corn, wheat, barley, hay, straw and many other agricultural products. It was one of the busiest areas, and people constantly complained about everything over there. It was too hot, they'd been ignored by the Patrollers, the list went on and on. It was also home to fruit trees, which meant the Patrollers had to double-check that nobody was stealing all the apples. The west was a lot more industrial. There were tall buildings, polluting factories and lots and lots of people. It was also where all their meat came from. Finally, in the centre, there was a lot of forest and Gilbert's home, the Palace. Despite its grand name, it was simply an extremely long house home to the Patrollers of the Isle.

As the small group joined the long sandy trail by the beach towards home, Elizaveta turned towards the albino.

"Oi, Gil, fancy a race? However gets home first wins," her green eyes gleamed in the sunlight.

"You're on! But don't cry too much when the awesome me beats you!"

Without waiting for an answer, he urged his black mare into a canter and sped off in front of her. Trees past by him in a blur and he let out a whoop of excitement as the Hungarian caught up to him. They both chased each other along the path, one moment had him in the lead, the other she'd overtake him. This was what he loved. Racing with his rival. There was nothing better in the world.

But it was over too soon. They slowed down as they reached the grand gates that opened up to the Palace. They were quite grand, framed by a stone wall. From the top of it, where a walkway had been installed for the look-outs, a blond-haired man wearing glasses poked his head over the wall to look down at them.

"You both know you're not supposed to abandon the others members of your Patrol unless we're under attack," he sighed exasperatedly, pinching his nose between his fingers.

"We were just racing, Eduard. Anyway, they'll be here soon," the Hungarian shrugged.

And sure enough, barely five minutes later, Roderich and Francis appeared, one appearing annoyed, the other amused. However, the leader didn't mention anything, simply shaking his head before turning the look-out.

"Can you open the gates for us, please? Roderich Edelstein, Elizaveta Hédérvàry, Francis Bonnefoy and Gilbert Beilschmidt are back from their patrol," he informed in that haughty voice of his.

"Anything to report?"

The gates opened slowly and groaned loudly, causing everyone to wince.

"Haven't you oiled them yet?" Gilbert grimaced.

"Berwald was busy with Tino this morning. Something about a leak in the infirmary."

"Are you sure it wasn't anything else? They have been eyeing each other up for the last few weeks," the Frenchman winked suggestively.

This earned him a smack from the brown-haired woman, although her eyes were shining with excitement, which was never a good thing. She then went bouncing off towards the Palace, quickly thanking the Estonian as she passed through.

"You know, sometimes I really think Liz is crazy," the Prussian stared after her.

"It's called being female, Gil. It's something us males will never understand," Francis yawned, rubbing his head where he'd been hit.

Roderich quickly dismounted and followed after her, passing his own horse to a stable-hand. Francis did the same, but Gil glared at the poor servant, bringing Arger back to the stables by himself. After a second of hesitation, he grabbed Elizaveta's stallion's reins as well and started to lead both animals towards their home.

Taking care of the horses was another one of his favourite pastimes. It seemed to run in the family, as his little brother Ludwig was the same. It was relaxing and rewarding to groom them down, rinse them off if it was hot outside, then to leave them in their field or stall.

By the time he'd finished, it was midday. His tummy rumbled, causing him to stretch and head back to the Palace. He headed straight to the dining hall, a large room with lots of benches and tables where many patrollers sat eating and chatting.

The Prussian spotted Antonio at one of the large tables, alongside Francis and a grumpy-looking guy called Lovino. The Italian's glare was just as dark as the Spaniard's smile was bright as they greeted him.

"What do you want, potato-eating bastard number two?" he wasn't exactly the friendliest of people.

"Hey, Gil! How are you today?" on the contrary, Antonio was probably one of nicest people on the planet.

"Starving! What's there to eat?" he seated himself down next to the Frenchman.

Whereas breakfast was simply a buffet laid out on the many tables, lunch and dinner were served by the servants. Of course, they weren't generally punished patrollers, but they did their job well, and the food the chefs prepared was delicious.

"Aren't you cooking today, Francis?" the tanned male frowned.

"No, our little Feli wanted to prepare something today. I'm quite excited to see what it is, actually."

Feliciano Vargas was Lovino's younger brother and the happiest person on earth. Constantly smiling and joyful, he loved to help out, and was probably the best chef on the Isle. He was also Ludwig's best friend, so Gilbert knew him quite well, even though he still failed to understand how the two got along.

Talking about his brother, he spotted the sturdy blond man discussing something a bit further away with a small black-haired man. Both were frowning about something. Whatever they were talking about seemed serious. The nosy man was tempted to go over there, but it was at that moment when the food was brought in and the talk was the last thing on his mind.

In the darkness of a room, multiple electronical equipment and computers lit up all of a sudden. A voice sounded in the now-blue office.

"Wy?"

"Here. What is your situation?" a small girl seated herself in front of a computer, typing furiously.

"We're completely surrounded. Is there any way you can help us?"

The young woman frowned and bit her lip nervously, eyes watering. She composed herself enough to reply.

"Negative. You're on your own."

There was a quiet "shit" on the other side of the speaker. The girl swallowed as tears started to fall from her eyes.

"Please tell me you'll be okay," she whispered.

There was silence. Screams could be heard from the distance as explosions shook the buildings and people in them. Finally, the man replied, but it was just as quiet as hers.

"Maybe. Goodbye, Wy."

And the line cut off. Now, with nothing to hold her back, the child burst into tears. Another three gone. As if life could get any worse.

"Lukas, we-"

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

"I'll figure it out."

"But-"

"Shut up."

A shot resounded into the darkness, followed by a scream.

Shit.