Vienna, now a city of scaffolds and cranes, had become a symbol of defiance—and of opportunity.
Four months after the Pact of Nations and two weeks after the birth of Hans's twins, the capital was unrecognizable. Streets echoed not with boots, but with hammers and laughter. And yet, under every flag, behind every smile, Hans knew the truth:
They were watching.
Foreign Arrival
The landing field buzzed with activity as sleek foreign aircraft touched down. Japan, the United States, Türkiye, and even cautious envoys from former European nations arrived in turn—smiling, curious, masked.
In the Grand Assembly Hall, Hans and Eliska received them with calculated grace. The twins, by design, were absent—kept safely in the upper sanctum with guards and select officers.
The first to speak was the American diplomat, a hawk in a suit:
"We're here to support peace. But the world needs to know—where does the Ehrenfeld-Austrian Empire draw the line? Is this expansion? Or reconstruction?"
Hans's eyes did not flinch.
"Our people deserve sovereignty. Our neighbors deserve security. We will give both."
The Japanese offered investment in exchange for awakened research. Türkiye proposed military cooperation in case of another portal surge. Others eyed the land, the economy, the power vacuum.
The Decentralization Act
Later, Hans convened his internal council. He unrolled a new parchment across the table—The Decentralization Act of 2030.
"No empire stands forever on the shoulders of one man," he declared. "The Crown must evolve—or break."
The act proposed:
Regional Parliaments with emergency powers.
Civic Guild Training Programs to educate citizens in administration, defense, and law.
Skillholder Representation Councils, giving awakened people peaceful influence rather than rebel factions.
Succession Protocols —should Hans fall, a council of four would govern until the twins came of age.
Some officers—especially the Sovereigns—objected.
Engelhardt stood. "Decentralization will open the door to foreign infiltration and internal betrayal. We've just won."
But the Reformists countered.
Commander Rosa: "That's why we must act now. While Hans is alive. While the people still trust us."
The vote passed. Barely.
A City Reborn
That evening, Hans walked the eastern district of Vienna—no guards, no cloak, just a scarf and the faint glow of lanterns. Rebuilt bakeries offered warm rolls. Children rode hoverboards powered by crystal-tech. Officers in construction uniforms helped locals lift steel beams.
Near the river, a mother held a crying baby.
Hans bent down and offered her a ration pack. She didn't recognize him—just thanked him with tired eyes.
"You're good," she said. "You'd make a fine emperor."
He smiled faintly. "I've heard that once or twice."
From atop a tower under reconstruction, Mehmed waved a wrench like a saber. "We're turning steel into poetry!"
As night fell, the stars burned brighter than usual. Perhaps it was hope. Perhaps a warning.
From deep within the palace, the Imperial Archives glowed—Eliska and a newly appointed civilian historian compiling the first draft of a national textbook.
Hans returned home late. His children were asleep. Eliska was reading. He kissed her hand and whispered:
"Tomorrow, we start the next phase."
And in the deepest corners of the empire—some cheered, some plotted.
But all agreed on one thing:
The Emperor was building something more dangerous than an army. He was building a legacy.