1942, Atartica

The storm had been roaring for six days straight. Wind scraped across the endless ice like sandpaper against glass, howling through the cracks of the convoy's metal hulls.

Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Kraus watched the blizzard through the frozen windshield of the lead snowcat, his gloved hands tight around the railing. His face was carved with exhaustion — thirty-nine years old but worn like sixty. The reflection of the compass lights shimmered in his green eyes.

"Half a kilometer more, Herr Oberstleutnant!" Sergeant Rieger shouted over the engine's grind. His voice came muffled through his scarf. "The instruments say we're still on course!"

Kraus didn't look back. "Keep the engines steady. No sudden stops — last time we lost two vehicles to a crevasse."

"Yes, sir."

The men didn't complain. They'd stopped doing that weeks ago, back when one of the geologists froze to death in his sleep, smiling like a saint. Their mission was simple on paper — a scientific expedition to the southernmost ice shelf. But everyone knew what that really meant. The Reich didn't fund science for curiosity's sake. They were searching for something to win the war.

Hours later, when the wind finally calmed, the convoy came to a halt. The silence afterward was worse than the storm — vast, heavy, almost holy.

Kraus jumped down from the vehicle.

Dr. Friedrich Adler, a thin man with round glasses and a coat far too large for him, climbed out beside him. He held a small metal device strapped with glowing tubes.

He tapped it, frowning. "This doesn't make sense…"

Rieger approached. "What doesn't?"

Adler squinted at the readings. "We're getting electromagnetic pulses… deep beneath us."

Kraus turned to face him. "Could it be ore? Iron?"

"No," Adler said, shaking his head. "Iron doesn't pulse. Look."

He handed Kraus the scanner. The needle jerked back and forth wildly, the glass fogging from the heat of the device.

Kraus frowned. "It's… warm?"

Adler nodded, breath trembling in the cold. "The ground is warmer than the air. Whatever's under us is generating energy. And it's old — very old."

Rieger laughed nervously. "So, what is it, Doc? A volcano?"

Adler didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the ice. "No volcano could produce readings this clean. It's not natural — at least, not from this planet."

Kraus gave him a look. "Then we'll dig."

By midnight, they had set up camp. Generators hummed, drills roared, and searchlights cut pale beams through the dark. Rieger joined Kraus near the edge of the drill site, holding 2 tin cups of steaming coffee. "You really think we'll find something?" he asked, handing one over.

Kraus took it without a word, his eyes never leaving the pit. "Berlin doesn't send men to the edge of the world for nothing."

Rieger smirked. "Berlin sends men everywhere for nothing."

Kraus's lips twitched. "True."

A shout came from the pit. "We've hit something!"

Both men rushed to the edge. The drill team had stopped working. Steam rose from the hole, and the smell of metal filled the air.

Adler hurried forward, shining a lamp down. "It's hollow! The drill broke through something solid!"

"Solid?" Kraus echoed.

Adler nodded. "Smooth surface… like glass."

Rieger crossed himself. "Jesus Christ…"

Kraus shot him a look. "Careful what names you say out here, Sergeant. God doesn't visit this place."

They widened the hole enough for one man to descend. Kraus volunteered first.

The deeper he went, the warmer it became — unnatural warmth that carried the smell of ozone and brine. His boots touched the bottom, sloshing into slush.

His flashlight swept across the ice. And there — glimmering beneath the frozen surface — was a pool of liquid, a dense, luminescent fluid, its surface constantly shifting like liquid glass. The color is a deep, radiant turquoise, but within it, darker shapes twist and bloom like ink diffusing through water. Those darker veins seem to pulse faintly, giving the illusion that the substance breathes.

The texture is paradoxical: both viscous and weightless, as though it could cling to metal yet flow effortlessly across any surface. Under light, it refracts into greenish hues — almost metallic — and thin, threadlike ripples travel across it without sound.

When still, it reflects its surroundings like a perfect mirror, but the moment it's disturbed, it erupts into subtle, shimmering vortices that vanish just as quickly. Tiny motes — glowing flecks suspended within the liquid — drift like embers in a still sky, each one flickering independently, as if responding to a hidden rhythm. It was perfectly still. No ripples, no movement — yet it radiated energy. The air shimmered with heat above it.

"Dr. Adler," he called. "You'll want to see this."

Dr. Adler joined him moments later. Before their eyes, the strange chemical reacted to the cold and the air itself—hissing, glowing, alive.

“It’s a compound,” Adler said. “A chemical unlike anything we’ve ever seen. It isn’t organic… yet it’s producing energy. It could be atomic in nature—or pre-atomic.”

They extracted the first vial that night — a thin glass cylinder of liquid blue fire. The camp didn't sleep. Soldiers watched from a distance, whispering about ghosts and weapons.

Rieger stared at the container as Adler sealed it inside a lead case. Kraus's expression was unreadable. "The Führer wanted something to turn the tide of war. I think we just gave it to him."

Berlin,
The snow outside had turned to ash.
Berlin's sky glowed red at night from the furnaces — factories working twenty hours a day to feed the Reich's war machine.But inside Reichs Laboratory IV, there was another kind of fire — a small vial that glowed faint blue against the dim light of the room.

Dr. Friedrich Adler stood before it, his hands trembling inside thick protective gloves. Two black-uniformed soldiers watched in silence, while Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Kraus observed from the shadows, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.

"It's stable," Adler muttered, checking the gauges. "For now."

Kraus exhaled smoke. "Berlin calls it Primogenium now, yes?"

Adler nodded. "It seems to fit. 'The first.' The origin of all things."

Kraus smirked. "A poetic name for something the Führer plans to use as a weapon."

Before Adler could reply, the steel doors hissed open. Heinrich Himmler himself walked in — pale, precise, eyes sharp as glass. Behind him followed a tall officer with slicked blond hair and a dark uniform trimmed in crimson.

"Gentlemen," Himmler said, voice calm but carrying authority. "Has it begun?"

Adler straightened immediately. "We've tested its stability, Reichsführer. The liquid is reactive to heat, but inert when contained. It emits a faint energy signature — something we can't yet identify. We thought it might be a potential power source."

"And?" Himmler asked.

Adler hesitated. "We tried channeling it into machinery. It melted the conduits. Even through reinforced steel."

Himmler approached the containment case, peering into the faint blue glow. "And what of its origin? The Führer is curious."

Adler adjusted his glasses, hesitant. "We can't say for certain. The structure of the compound doesn't match anything found on Earth's surface. My team believes it could have been… cooking below the crust for centuries,  — immense pressure, heat, and time. But…" He paused, glancing at Kraus. "There's another theory."

Kraus raised a brow. "That it didn't come from the Earth at all."

Adler nodded. "A meteor, perhaps. Something that struck the continent millennia ago and fused with the ice. Either way, it's ancient — and it doesn't belong to us."

Himmler's expression didn't change. "Then perhaps Providence has finally given it to the Reich."

Himmler approached the containment case, peering into the faint blue glow. "And what of organic testing?"

Adler swallowed. "We've… begun with small animals. Rats, mostly. The results are… inconsistent."
"Inconsistent how?" Kraus asked quietly. Adler took a deep breath. "Exposure to small amounts caused accelerated metabolism, increased cell regeneration, and in some cases… growth. But prolonged exposure—" He paused, lowering his eyes. "—they burned from the inside. Bones, organs… all liquefied."

The room was silent except for the hum of the lights. Himmler's gaze lingered on the vial. "Perhaps the animals are too weak."

Adler looked uneasy. "Reichsführer, with respect, we are dealing with something beyond atomic energy. It could"

Himmler turned his head slightly. "It will serve the Reich."

That evening, Kraus found Adler alone in the laboratory, staring at the containment case.

"You shouldn't stay here this late," Kraus said, setting his cap on the table.

Adler didn't look up. "Do you know what this really is, Wilhelm?"

Kraus sighed. "I know it came from the ice."

"It's not just a chemical," Adler said softly. "The molecular structure— it doesn't match any known element. It's almost… designed."

Kraus frowned. "Designed?"

Adler nodded. "Every atom is identical. Perfectly symmetrical. That shouldn't be possible in nature. It's as if someone — or something — made it."

Kraus stared at the liquid's faint glow. "And yet you'll keep testing it."

Adler's voice was bitter. "If I don't, someone else will. And they'll be less careful."

A week later, Kraus was called to Reich Chancellery. He stood in the massive marble hall, boots echoing against the floor, as Hitler himself listened to Adler's report. The Führer's pale eyes gleamed with manic fascination.

"So this… Primogenium," Hitler said, leaning forward, "it changes the flesh?"

"Yes, my Führer," Adler answered, nervous but composed. "It binds to organic matter and alters the cells. It's unstable in animals, but—"
"—but perhaps not in men," Hitler interrupted.

Silence followed. Kraus exchanged a glance with Adler, who visibly hesitated.

"My Führer," Adler said carefully, "human testing would be extremely dangerous. We don't yet understand the full scope of its reaction—"

Hitler slammed his fist against the table. "Danger is the path of progress! Do you think victory comes without sacrifice?"

No one spoke.

After a long pause, Hitler's tone softened. "Begin with prisoners. Criminals. Degenerates. Those unworthy of the Reich. If they survive, we will know the true potential of this gift from the heavens."

He turned to Kraus. "You will oversee security at the facility. No one outside this circle must know. The world will not understand what we are about to achieve."

Kraus bowed his head. "Jawohl, mein Führer."

Weeks later, behind sealed doors, the first human trials began. Prisoners were strapped to steel tables under the glare of surgical lamps. The liquid was injected intravenously — one drop at a time. The first subject screamed for thirty seconds before collapsing. The second convulsed so violently that his restraints snapped. The third… opened his eyes again. His pulse tripled. His muscles expanded. His bones began to thicken beneath his skin. For a moment, the doctors believed he might survive — until his veins turned blue, and he burst into flame. By the end of the day, fourteen bodies lay on the floor. Kraus watched in silence from behind the glass. Himmler took notes without emotion. Adler stood frozen, staring at the smoke rising from the last test chamber.

"Do you see now, Doctor?" Himmler said quietly. "It can change men. We just need the right one."

And in that moment, Kraus understood: They would keep trying until they found him.

Months had passed since the first successful stabilization. The subject — a prisoner whose name no one remembered — had lived for twelve hours after injection. Twelve hours that changed history. During those hours, his body emitted heat like a furnace. Yet he felt no pain. His pulse remained steady. His lungs worked better than any soldier's. His blood cells multiplied at an impossible rate, and his muscle tissue produced energy faster than any machine. Dr. Friedrich Adler had filled three notebooks with data. For the first time, they had seen what Primogenium could truly do. When the man finally died in his sleep, Adler's first reaction wasn't horror — it was fascination. His cells continued dividing for hours after death, as if refusing to accept it. It was all the proof Berlin needed. A new order came down: The experiments will continue — this time with German soldiers.

The Reich was done wasting miracles on the weak.

The underground facility was buried beneath Tempelhof Airfield — disguised as an aircraft repair site. Behind steel doors, hundreds of soldiers lined up for medical examinations. Only the best would be chosen. The final list contained a single name: Leutnant Otto Falken. Twenty-six years old. Decorated for bravery in Stalingrad.Blond hair, blue eyes, perfectly symmetrical bone structure — "a model of Aryan strength."  When the officer handed him the sealed orders, Falken saluted without hesitation. But that night, as he packed his things, he felt something heavy in his chest — a weight that had nothing to do with fear of death, but of becoming something he didn't understand.

Falken sat on his bunk, staring at his boots. Across from him, Corporal Weiss grinned. "You're a lucky bastard, Otto. Chosen by the Führer himself!"

"Lucky?" Falken said quietly. "They won't even tell me what for."

"It doesn't matter," Weiss said. "They say it's something special — a secret project to end the war. You should be proud."

Another soldier, Krüger, chimed in. "Proud? You think I'd let them pump mystery juice into my veins? Not a chance."

Weiss scoffed. "That's why you weren't chosen."

Falken looked up. "They said I was to serve the Reich in a 'higher capacity.' Whatever that means."

"It means," Weiss said, lowering his voice, "you're going to be more than a man."

Falken forced a small laugh. "Or less."

The room went quiet after that. When Kraus entered the lab the next morning, Adler was already there, pacing in front of the containment case.

"This is him?" Kraus asked.

Adler nodded. "The perfect specimen, according to Berlin. Good genes, ideal health, stable psychology. They believe discipline might be what keeps the reaction stable."

Kraus glanced at the small glass cylinder sitting in the containment box. The liquid shimmered faintly blue. "And you believe that?"

Adler didn't answer. He looked tired — the kind of tired that didn't come from lack of sleep, but from too much understanding.

"Once, I thought science would make us better," he said softly. "Now I see it only makes us more efficient."

Kraus exhaled. "It's not your choice anymore, Doctor."

Adler smiled bitterly. "Was it ever?"

...

To be continued in the next chapter.