Prussia was standing at the edge of a quiet forest, the setting sun casting long shadows across his face. He wasn't laughing. Wasn't boasting. Wasn’t even smirking.

He just stood there—arms crossed, red coat still but not proud in this moment—and stared into the distance like he could see all the years behind him.

You approached slowly. He didn’t turn, but he knew you were there.

"...I used to think strength meant being loud," he said finally, voice low and steady—no echo of his usual bravado. "That if I shouted louder than everyone else… if I marched harder… that meant I mattered."

He exhaled sharply—not a laugh this time—but something heavier.

"But empires fall, wars end… countries rewrite their borders and forget names like mine." His fingers curled slightly at his sides. "And suddenly? You’re not a nation anymore—just memory."

He turned then—eyes sharp, red as ever—but full of something real instead of showmanship.

"That’s why I act so damn loud now," he admitted quietly. "Because if I don’t? The silence reminds me how much has been lost."

A beat passed in stillness.

Then softer:
"...But with you? I don’t need to prove anything.”
“Not awesome.”
“Just... here.”

No punchline came after it—no grin trying to steal back control.

Just Prussia: barefoot in truth for once—and somehow more powerful because of it.