The late summer sun beat down intensely through the marble pillars of the palace in Londinium.
A gentle breeze licked the holy stained-glass windows, but the silence it carried was ominous.
The Royal Cabinet had been summoned at midnight the previous day.
In the immediate aftermath of the reports from the front, there was no luxury for a delayed response.
King Frederick III, draped in a surcoat adorned with gold embroidery, sat upon his throne.
He perused the documents slowly before setting them down.
His eyes were clouded with a quiet sense of resignation.
"...It seems our noble friends in Birmingham have thoroughly squandered their forces. A most definitive defeat. Is it truly possible for every single unit—save for the supply and escort divisions—to simply vanish? There must be a limit even to incompetence."
As the King finished, one of the ministers muttered in a brittle voice.
"Does this mean... that the remaining nobility... are now in a state where they cannot exert power, at least for the foreseeable future?"
The Minister of Foreign Affairs spoke up.
"The coalition forces of Gododdin, Caster, Blackheaven, and Westbrook—our primary concerns—have been annihilated. A bitter dispute over responsibility among the surviving nobles is inevitable. The time has come for us to recognize those traitors not as a mere insurgent group, but as a political entity capable of negotiation."
"That is preposterous...! Is this truly Your Majesty's will?"
The King remained silent. His expression, however, was that of a monarch facing a decision that could no longer be evaded.
He gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"They must be framed as a mass of the people rising solely against the tyranny of certain corrupt aristocrats. By doing so, the Crown can absolve itself of the responsibility for this defeat, and the nobility will be fractured by internal discord."
"But this is civil war. The rebels have seized a city, sunk a flagship, and the Northerners are looking to them as a government rather than to the Kingdom and the Crown. This is not a situation that can be solved by ignoring it."
"And why is that a problem?"
The Foreign Minister continued his explanation.
"Now is the precise moment to create a diplomatic opening. Immediately following such a colossal battle, even the Central Revolutionary Committee must be reluctant to expand the front lines. They, too, suffered significant losses in Birmingham. We are not bowing to the Northern forces; we are granting them clemency."
The Minister of Finance interjected cautiously.
"What are the terms of negotiation? Autonomy? A franchise for elections? The independence of the revolutionary cities?"
The Foreign Minister shook his head.
"We will eventually move toward independence, but first, we must choose our vocabulary carefully. This is not a 'Peace Conference,' but an 'Emergency Security Dialogue.' Not an 'Interstate Treaty,' but a 'Conflict Mediation.' The diplomatic framing is paramount."
The King spoke for the first time. His voice flowed slowly, heavy with the weight of statecraft.
"Indeed, for a King to negotiate with rebels is a grave blow to the authority of the monarchy. But... if we can achieve true centralization by surrendering a small portion of the North—lands where the Crown never held direct royal demesne anyway—is that not a price worth paying?"
He lifted his head and issued his command.
"Invite them. Use unofficial channels—the diplomatic contacts of Countess Genevieve. Do not ask them if they 'desire peace.' Ask them when we might begin our dialogue."
Several ministers exhaled in small, quiet sighs.
That day, the Victorian Crown placed the term 'Central Revolutionary Committee' onto its official minutes for the first time in history.
And a few days later, an unofficial delegation began its quiet preparations to depart for Birmingham.
**************************************************************
"Attention, delegates of the Provisional Supreme Soviet. Please, everyone, take your seats."
The murmuring of the crowd subsided.
From the ceiling of the grand hall, supported by towering gray pillars, red banners hung in solemn stillness.
This structure, forged of steel and concrete, had stood tall and unyielding even on the day the catastrophic battle swept through the city.
The people of the city who had survived the fires of war, the representatives of the Soviets who had endured countless struggles and trials, took their seats one by one. The Soldiers' Soviet, the Steelworkers' Soviet, the Miners' Soviet, the Teachers' Soviet, the Peasants' Soviet, the Artisans' Soviet—each man and woman was more than a mere delegate; they were the living breath of the people filling the hall.
Two hundred and eighty-four delegates out of a total of three hundred seats.
The remaining seats belonged to the dead.
Nameplates for the fallen heroes were placed upon the vacant chairs, leaving their resolve behind.
Yet even that void made today's meeting all the more solemn. For this was the first assembly of the Supreme Soviet of the Victorian People ever to be convened in this world.
The red lights overhead flickered to life.
Upon the right rostrum, I, the General Secretary of the primary party—there was no second party—walked slowly toward the podium.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I gripped the microphone atop the stand.
Hundreds of delegates focused their gaze upon me.
And I uttered words that had not been part of my life until now, but would henceforth become my daily bread.
"I declare the opening of the First Supreme Soviet Session."
The solemn strains of The Internationale echoed through the great hall.
"Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth! For justice thunders condemnation, a better world's in birth..."
"...No more deluded by some idol, we'll learn to stand upon our own. Let us commence the battle and strike down the classes. If those barbarians resist, they shall make us heroes, for they shall soon learn that the object of our loyalty is none but ourselves!"
"'Tis the final conflict; let each stand in his place! The International Union shall be the human race!"
The gramophone fell silent. After a brief moment of silence for the martyred predecessors, I stood at the podium once more.
I began to read from the documents.
"All three hundred delegates have been registered, and two hundred and eighty-four are present. I report to you now. It is my honor to address you, the delegates of the free and equal Supreme Soviet. I shall keep my remarks brief."
I raised the documents for all to see.
"Over the past month, the Electoral Commission of the Central Revolutionary Committee has overseen the election of delegates from the various regional Soviets. From a total of 10,254 workplace Soviets and 294 regional Soviets, three hundred of you were chosen by the vote of the people to represent their will. While the delegates were decided, the Supreme Soviet had not yet been formally established; thus, the authority to convene this body remained unassigned. The Electoral Commission had no choice but to facilitate this summons and notify you of the date and location. We are grateful for your attendance. It is a profound honor to witness the establishment of the Supreme Soviet of all the people by your collective will. This concludes my introductory remarks. We shall now proceed to elect the Chairman through a secret ballot. Please write the name of your supported candidate on the slip provided and place it in the ballot box."
Ten minutes passed as the delegates filed toward the ballot box to cast their votes.
I cast mine as well.
Naturally, I wrote my own name.
"We are now opening the ballot box. I need one volunteer to supervise the counting. Ah, Alya. If you do it, it might compromise the appearance of impartiality. Is there a volunteer from the independents? Ah, there. Step forward, please."
Alexandra pouted at being excluded, but an independent delegate rushed forward eagerly.
"I am coming, Comrade!"
With two people counting two hundred and eighty-four slips, the process took a mere five minutes.
I announced the results.
"Two hundred and eighty-four slips were distributed, but one was not returned. It appears one delegate has abstained. The results are as follows: Vladimir, 246 votes. Wrangel, 15 votes. Pyotr, 11 votes. Maxim, 10 votes. Edwards, 1 vote. A total of 283 valid votes, and one invalid slip."
Did that brat Edwards really just vote for himself?
Regardless, a thunderous applause erupted from the delegates. And thus, I became the Chairman of the Constituent Soviet.
"I shall skip the acceptance speech. We have a mountain of work before us today. Now, let us proceed to the main discussion. I hereby table the first agenda item of the First Supreme Soviet General Assembly."
I cleared my throat, flipping through the papers on the lectern. The hall fell into a hushed silence.
"We all know why we are here. we have gathered to realize the will of a people that rose up upon a foundation of blood, sweat, and death. We have won the battle. And we shall win the war. But a revolution does not end with a war. Revolution is only now, truly, beginning."
I took a breath and continued with measured pace.
"Fellow soldiers, comrades."
I spoke in a low, grounding tone.
"Through those days of shouting, fighting, and suffering, all our leadership functions were maintained by the Central Revolutionary Committee—a provisional organ. Certainly, that Committee was the practical backbone that made today's revolution possible. We could not have triumphed without it. However, we must now move beyond provisional measures into a systematic phase. It is time to organize the fervor of the revolution into a structured institution. We are no longer an emergency government coordinating the contingencies of war; we must form a formal government based on the consent of all citizens."
I held up a single sheet of paper from the stack.
"Therefore, this Soviet proposes the following resolution. First, the immediate dissolution of the Central Revolutionary Committee. Second, the establishment of a formal government system based upon the Supreme Soviet. Third, the enactment of a new Constitution and the transfer of transitional legislative authority."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
I pushed forward.
"Naturally, this decision does not nullify the devotion of all the comrades who fought and sacrificed within the Provisional Committee. They were the foundation stones of history and the cornerstones of today. But as they themselves said, that system was intended to be temporary, and its end must eventually come."
I looked up, sweeping my gaze across the assembly.
"That end is now."
A scattered clapping quickly swelled into a roar of applause.
Everyone knew.
Provisional bodies must end with the emergency.
I concluded with a firm finality.
"This Soviet is no longer a mere consultative body. In the name of the people, we are the ones planting the seeds of a new Republic. Our task is singular: to create a state of the people. To establish a government on this earth built not on force or lineage, but on legitimacy and the Great Cause."
I clenched my fist.
"So, in this place, let us open our era and forge the fruits of our revolution into institutions, into organs, and into a Constitution. Dissolve the Central Revolutionary Committee and found the People's Government!"
The applause did not stop. Red flags fluttered overhead.
Within my chest, my heart was pounding with renewed vigor.
"As Chairman, I table Agenda Item Number One: the dissolution of the Central Revolutionary Committee and the transfer of government authority to the Supreme Soviet."
From that moment, the revolution entered a new chapter.
********************************
As Chairman Vladimir Park finished speaking, the lights in the hall dimmed slightly, and the eyes of the delegates, seated along the gray steel walls, converged on the rostrum.
The moment the General Secretary set down his gavel, a delegate slowly stood up.
It was Elodie Marlin, a senior delegate belonging to the Liberty League.
Dressed in a black jacket with a red scarf draped around her neck, she stepped forward to the microphone. Her voice was low but clear and resolute.
"Comrades. We respect the Central Revolutionary Committee that served as the fuse of our revolution. However, that committee was, from beginning to end, an 'organization of the revolutionary period.' That organization, entrusted with emergency powers, was meant to replace the collapsed old regime—not to eternalize a new order. If we are to acquire true legitimacy, we must now move toward a structure based on procedure, consensus, and democratic control."
Applause broke out from sections of the hall. She raised a hand to quiet them and continued.
"What we need now is not 'revolutionary justification,' but the 'trust of the people.' Internally, from the workers, peasants, and soldiers. Externally, from the masses who are still watching our system with hesitation. That trust does not come from administration without procedure. Therefore, we must now dissolve the centralized executive and move toward a new national system based on Soviet autonomy and direct control."
Delegate Marlin bowed and returned to her seat.
After a brief silence, Pablo Lask, the godfather of the Birmingham Steel Soviets and a titan of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League, lunged to his feet.
He was muttering even as he approached the podium.
"Dissolution... how irresponsible."
When he reached the stand, his coarse voice filled the hall.
"These are reckless words! The revolution is not yet complete. Birmingham is liberated, but the Kingdom still stands. The nobles have fled abroad, and the capitalists are still lurking beneath the soil. The Central Revolutionary Committee is not just the organ that ended the war—it is the organ that protected the revolution! The battle is over, but our duty is not. To ensure the flames of revolution do not cool, we need an apparatus to organize, educate, and protect the people. The Central Revolutionary Committee was that apparatus, and it remains so today. Dissolution is out of the question. You may talk of restructuring, but do not dare wipe away its name!"
Rhythmic pounding on desks erupted from the Centralists and members of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League.
A few delegates from the Liberty League shook their heads with derisive smirks.
"Delegate Lask claims the Central Revolutionary Committee represents the people, but in my view, that power was never elected, nor was it ever verified!"
The man who threw these words was Emil Richter, a young delegate from the Liberty League faction. Wearing worn worker's clothes, he shouted with arms outstretched.
"If this assembly is the 'Supreme Decision-making Body,' then we can now formally replace the central administration that ought to dissolve itself! Can we not? Right here, these two hundred and eighty-four representatives were elected from over ten thousand Soviets!"
"If we leave the Central Revolutionary Committee as it is, the people will say, 'The provisional is eternal!'"
The hall became tumultuous.
Amidst the din, an independent delegate murmured quietly.
"It's just a redistribution of power in the end... despite the fancy words."
Then, Rosalyne Zhao of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League took the podium.
She opened a bundle of documents and proposed a pragmatic compromise.
"Very well. Then how about this proposal? We 'dissolve' the Central Revolutionary Committee, but we maintain its functions and simply change the name. And let us elect its leadership directly from this Supreme Soviet, just as we do now. The name shall be the 'Central People's Committee.' Each department shall be renamed as a 'People's Commissariat.' Instead of Ministers, we shall call them People's Commissars, and the Prime Minister shall be the Chairman of the People's Committee. What say you?"
A brief silence fell.
Then, the response that broke out was more moderate than expected.
"...Is that not more persuasive?"
"We keep the legitimacy while maintaining the structure... not bad."
"This is acceptable."
Finally, Vladimir Park returned to the rostrum.
"Fellow delegates. This proposal is a compromise that respects both the spirit of the revolution and the democracy of the people. We shall now move to a vote. The agenda is: 'Dissolve the Central Revolutionary Committee and establish in its place a Central People's Committee. The supreme leader shall be elected by the Supreme Soviet, and each department shall be reorganized into People's Commissariats.'"
Applause rang out through the hall.
"We will begin the vote. Each delegate, please mark your ballot with 'For,' 'Against,' or 'Abstain.'"
The delegates lined up once more, receiving their slips and stamping them before dropping them into the box.
Soon, they had all returned to their seats.
"...The voting is closed. We shall proceed to the count."
"I want to do it this time!"
"Delegate Alexandra, this is tedious work. Why do you insist on doing it?"
"Why are you suddenly using such formal speech with me, Chairman Vladimir?"
...And so, Alexandra counted the votes.
"I shall announce the results. With 229 in favor, 31 against, and 24 abstentions, I declare the resolution passed."
The hall accepted the decision with a final wave of applause.
One phase of the revolution had ended, and a new era quietly dawned.