Seated on the plush couches of his room, Austria-Hungary cradled a glass of wine between his gloved fingers, lost in a storm of thoughts. A simmering anger surged within him. “Serbians... Damn Serbians,” he murmured under his breath, his pale blue eyes fixed on the deep, dark hues of purple swirling in his glass. He was consumed by a thirst for blood and vengeance for the archduke recently assassinated.

A sound from the balcony caught his attention, prompting him to turn his head. Empty. Only the tall trees loomed over his palace. Setting his glass down, Austria-Hungary rose and walked to the balcony, leaning against the railing. His gaze drifted over the city below as he hummed softly, his scowl deepening.