Author's note: Since it has felt increasingly unlikely that I will finish book one of Crows, here is a window into what I imagined its sequel would look like.
It was the end. The Emperor lay dead upon his throne. Royal blood trickled down the stone steps, pooling around the boots of Montgomery York, who, through sheer will, had pushed the cursed wheel of history forward. Did he have any private doubts in the moment? If so, they left him in the plume of smoke from his pistol. Humanity had planted its flag upon the future. And in doing so, he alone became responsible for the Armageddon unleashed. The tree of Yggdrasil would bleed itself white as the hatchets of mankind chewed into its roots.
Ordered chaos erupted from the rotted two-headed eagle with a fury predicted only by a pale valkyria many years before. The same one, Montgomery signed his Faustian pact with at the start of his crooked path. He was granted the power to reshape Europa, which came in the form of pikes wielded by Schwartzgrad's impoverished urban workers, as they coalesced beneath a banner of the Crow and, like a typhoon, flooded the districts of wealth.
The people's justice was a thunderbolt hurled from the void. With calloused hands they tore the oldest Yggdist cathedral in Europa apart, brick by brick. Foreign observers rushed home with tales of public trials conducted in the opera house, where cheering crowds pronounced death as the punishment for aristocrats and clergy alike. The Grand Imperial Restoration began with battered bodies hanging from the aqueducts of Schwartzgrad.
Catherine could do nothing but wait for her time to come. Confined to a subterranean cell, the days came and went in a blur. As they passed, the prison grew eerily quiet. Her compatriots and associates were dragged away, to never be heard again. Their absence brought an oppressive silence down upon her. A woman of faith, she spent her time in prayer, pleading with the Valkyrur to bring an end to the madness gripping her motherland.
Then the hammer fell, and late one night, Catherine woke to the sounds of heels clicking off the cold stone. Shortly after, Ulyana entered the cell alone. The two met each other with cold gazes. Their brief dalliance on the edge of oblivion a fleeting memory, now that they stood on opposing sides.
"At last. You've come to finish me off." Catherine smiled, as she flitted her eyelashes. "A goddess of victory, or perhaps… A harbinger of death? Either way, Ulyana, you are as beautiful as ever."
Ulyana did not respond at first. She considered how many times Montgomery must have stood where she did now. The final harbinger of doom for a former friend and lover. Yet, despite her thoughts, she had no regrets. "Dear Cat. Your radiance is like that of the North star, and will continue to guide me even after tonight."
"Let's not lie, love." Catherine looked at the pistol's hilt, jutting from her to be executioner's coat. "I have no time for such poisonous declarations. Satisfy my curiosity, how many so far have met their end at your hand?"
"None. I am merely an instrument of the people's justice."
"Ah, another one of Montgomery's obfuscations." Catherine leaned forward, clasping both hands together. "The people. An undefined mass of ingrates. They care only who feeds them and will turn on you just as they have my family."
"The people are our nation. All who exist within our motherland's borders and stand for Europa," Ulyana retorted coolly; "Should their judgment conclude my services are no longer needed, I'll accept whatever punishment they deem appropriate instead of cowering in the dark."
"Yes, yes. You are of the living dead, positioned between life and death." Catherine waved her hand dismissively. "I hope the nest of bones keeps this new society warm when winter descends."
"The Valkyrur built their world on the bones of the Darcsen. It is only fitting. We add another layer." Ulyana was unperturbed by the description. "Is it not odd to you, Cat? That overnight Europa has united against us and for the Valkyrur? The Federation. Borgia. Prince Maximilian. Gallia. They all seek to strangle our transformation."
"The ever certitude of conspiracy. Yes, I do recall how Montgomery's paranoia left an impression on you." Catherine stood. She was not bound. Calmly, she reached for Ulyana, wrapping her arms around her. "Let's not fight."
Ulyana felt a twinge in her heart. Not all attachments were as easy to surrender as others. She touched the webbing between Catherine's fingers. "You're right. How I wish you could see the dawn of eternal happiness to come."
Catherine turned, touching Ulyana on the cheek. "I'm sure it will be lovely." They kissed in the gloom of the cell. Even the rats in the walls went silent for a time, as the two women shared one last moment of unity. During this, Ulyana deftly brought forth her pistol, its barrel coldly pressing against Catherine's stomach. The Empress, turned prisoner, offered a weak smile. "I love you… Ulyana."
"Thus always to tyrants," Ulyana answered, pulling the trigger. A shot deafened her. Warm blood splashed against her uniform as Catherine slumped to the ground, clutching an arm around Ulyana's leg.
Holding tightly to her lover, Catherine spoke through the blood gurgling up her throat. "You'll be joining me soon—But you know that already."
A nod from Ulyana answered the question. "I can only hope. For now, I fear our march will never end…" She pulled her leg free and knelt. "Goodbye, Cat. Say hello to Klara for me." She departed after a single kiss on the cheek. Clutching her stomach, Catherine curled up on the ground, her royal blood spilling over the floor.
The bloody end of the ruling family was a distant concern for Lord Protector Karl Ludwig as he settled into his new role. He had considered taking a new name, but opted against it. His age already made it easy to slip up during the act expected of him. Opulence did not come naturally to a man who preferred a spartan existence as a matter of ideological fervor. His efforts to make his office less gaudy continued to be a matter of failure as gifts from across the country continued to flow in.
The urban poor of Schwartzgrad truly viewed him as a savior. A surrogate for the mythical Lord of Crows who had saved their nation from the Valkyrur's feudal children. And much to Karl's annoyance, the people he swore to serve now sought to worship him. He pushed aside a wrought metal statue of a crow and returned to his pose.
An artist across from him made long, careful strokes on the canvas. His painstaking efforts were meant to convey respect, but in reality just made the whole affair one of agony. He was expected to take liberties where needed to present Karl as a larger-than-life figure, while right before stood just a tired soldier. A cigarette dangled from Karl's lips as his eyes scanned the latest intelligence reports about recent skirmishes on the edges of the Schwartzgrad administrative region.
The scene was disturbed by a knock on the door. Karl grumbled, folding the page he was reading before shoving it into his jacket. "Enter," he said, pressing his eyelids.
From his nose a cloud of of smoke was expelled, greeting Irene as she poked her head inside, then the rest of herself. "Pardon the intrusion." A war correspondent during the Imperial Invasion of Gallian, she had volunteered to be a liaison for the new revolutionary government, seizing the opportunity to be on the ground floor as the Empire opened up its archives.
Still frumpy as ever, her dirty blonde hair exploded outward from her newsboy cap."Is now a good time, Lord Protector?"
Karl's attitude quickly shifted to that of a statesman. "Ah! Miss Elliot, please." He gestured to one of the leather lounge chairs near the window. His eyes flicked to the artist. "You are dismissed for now."
Irene stepped out of the way as the haggard painter bid a hasty exit. She stayed silent for a moment, as Karl poured himself another drink, finding his appearance not to be what she expected at all. "Writing on the Wall thanks you for this exclusive interview, Lor—"
"Karl. Please." He cut her off with a curt flick of his wrist. "May I offer you a drink?" Karl asked, sliding out from his coat, heavy with medals and jewels befitting his status.
"Water is fine." Irene was struck by the weak form beneath. His pressed shirt fit him poorly. There could be no doubt he once was of an impressive physique, but age had taken its toll.
Seeing her stare, Karl laughed. "You are aware we are facing a famine, no? I've taken to gardening to supplement my diet."
"I find that hard to believe, Karl." Irene sat, and he passed over a glass of water before joining her. "Perhaps because you are used to leaders who divorce themselves from their subjects?" Karl's reply held within it a resentful edge. "Our motherland has been splintered. Schwartzgrad was never an agricultural district." He took a pull off his cigarette before producing a fresh one. "As long as one mother goes hungry, so shall I. For she is me and I am her."
Irene noted this comment, as it reminded her of the propaganda posters plastered all around Schwartzgrad, depicting the Lord Protector as a paternal figure. "What say you to claims, your government is currently exporting grain to the Nordic State?"
"We are. I've never hid it." Karl shrugged. "If our situation is worrisome, those in the North are dire." He directed her to the map on the wall. "They are part of our family. I will not see Governor Halvard abandoned. The Federation might use food as a weapon against its colonial subjects, but not us. Not ever."
"How noble." Irene nodded. "But I have another question." She gestured vaguely. "Why request Writing on the Wall? Surely, your own Veritas could handle this?"
"Indeed, it could. But Gallia professes its neutrality. I felt it prudent to grant an impartial interview." Karl shifted, crossing his legs. "So please, ask whatever comes to mind. I'm obliged to answer."
Irene cracked a slight smile. "Okay, why request a Gallian paper when your regime has recently declared all Gallian nationals must return home?"
"Only those who will not become Imperial," Karl corrected, raising a finger. "This is Year Zero of our new country. Those who do not wish to be part of our restoration are not entitled to its benefits." He cocked his head. "Let's not forget it is Gallia, Miss Elliot, who has provided safe harbor for Maximilian and his legion of bandits."
While not literally on Gallian territory, Prince Maximilian, the last living claimant to the Imperial throne, had been setup in the small border region of Eckholz. Where he sat with a dysfunctional wonder weapon, having failed earlier in the year to save his father. It was only a matter of time until a northern crusade marched on the black heart of restoration once again.
"Would you ask for his extradition? So he can face the people's justice, as you so call it?" She asked.
"No. Let him rot in the prison of his own making," Karl said coldly. "The people have rallied against him. He's a relic of the Valkyrur's age. One no longer fit to claim the future to come." He rubbed his cheek. "Gallia must remember, tyrants die. The people will remember how your Queen Cordelia sided against them at such a crucial juncture."
"That sounds like a threat." "Only if one has staked their legitimacy with the Old Lords. As I said, tyrants die. Your Queen is no different from our former Emperor. Both professed their right to rule from on high." Irene felt a tension descend between them. She cleared her throat uneasily. "Yes, about the Valkyrur. Any thoughts on their return?"
"Should I have anything to say? They have always been among us. Manipulating countries from the shadows." Karl's expression hardened with a deep-rooted disdain. "As per Director-General Wolzogen's directive. All cathedrals erected to the Valkyrur are to be demolished. Any materials of stone and glass will be used to construct housing for the poor."
It was the first mention of the system of dual power that now existed. Where the Lord Protector split duties with a Commissariat of Imperial Restoration, headed by Ulyana. Whispers abounded of an unseen third presence in government, but such a figure was only a figment of a paranoid populace under constant surveillance.
Scribbling his words verbatim, Irene hurried the conversation along. "And do you have feelings on the Darcsen? Your government was the first to applaud Queen Cordelia's proclamation."
"The Darcsen are have suffered beneath the yolk of the Valkyrur as much as all the good people of Europa. I would never deny them the right to become Imperial." An ominous assertion. Irene hesitated to ask what become meant in this context. The interview continued long into the night. Every question was answered with the same degree of zeal and became the first window into the restoration goals for the Eastern heartland.