The snowy expanse extended for as far as the eye could see. The wastes were hostile to plants, animals and corvids alike. Little could thrive in this icy tundra, yet life would come to these wastes today. A black shape flew through the overcast sky: Petwee. The anthropoid tall crow soared above these hostile wastes with a proud smile on his beak.

Petwee never could fly well as a youth, but the crow had gotten the hang of it in recent months. This flight, however, proved difficult, which was odd because so many things were right. The wind was still, and fog was light. The crow’s black feathers kept his wings and tail shielded from the cold. His rubber mask and furred hood shielded his face. The wastes were not the issue, yet Petwee still strained to keep his wings level with his side. Perhaps it was the weight pulling him down. Bulky shoes covered Petwee’s gray foot-like talons, which were in turn attached to a heavy box. All that weight made it difficult to fly straight.

Corvids were scarce so far in the wastes. If Petwee fell or injured himself, there’d be nobody to save him. That chilling thought certainly added to the stress of flying. The return flight would be harder once he filled his box with trinkets, though he wouldn’t mind that. A heavier box meant a better haul, and thus more acclaim. That wasn’t why he was here, of course. Crows didn’t venture out to the wasteland if they were only interested in glory. 

Petwee had an important mission: scour the waste for predecessor artifacts. For hours now, he’d been investigating the identical wastes. Sometimes he found a sight — the ruins of a building, or perhaps a huge rusted station wagon — and his heart would flutter. His hopes would then be dashed on seeing the orange flag. Petwee sighed. There were probably thousands more sights, too buried to be seen from the surface. Even one could be a decent haul, yet they may be locked to him today. The sun would soon set, and he knew that crows best not fly at night as his mother always said.

No. Petwee forced the thought aside. He had to find a new site. If need be, he’d stay out here until his wings froze over — at least that’s what he kept telling himself. Petwee had told himself that the last few times as well. Yet the hours wore on, and his wings ached more. It may be time to call it a day.

Aha!

A small concrete platform jutted out of the ice — a clear sign of a predecessor ruin. There was no flag either, showing that it was unspoiled. Petwee chirped. There was no telling what he could find: perhaps some plastic, maybe some books or even the poor graverobber. A silly thought, Petwee knew. That raven would be long dead by now, and their supposed note was likely a myth. Fantasies aside, this sight looked promising. 

Bringing his wings out wide, Petwee began his descent. Cool air chilled him as he glided down at a steep angle. He positioned himself to land upright, intending to land on the platform with grace. The box strapped to his talons weighed him down. Petwee hit the asphalt rim, then fell flat onto his beak.

Petwee let out a squawk as he rightened himself. Attaching the box to his shoes had been a bad idea; a rope would’ve been better because it would have allowed him to drop the box. Chuckling at his mistake, Petwee unstrapped the box then stood on his own two foot talons. From claw to beak, Petwee had a height of three feet, which was quite modest for his kind. He wore a white tunic beneath his furred coat and thick trousers covered his skinny legs. They were snug by his tail, but that was the least of his concerns now. There was a job to do.

Dusting himself off, Petwee only succeeded in getting snow onto his tunic and wing feathers. Snow slipped into his mask too, and he had to cast it aside. Chill air nipped at his beak, but it was a relief after such a look flight. Petwee waddled to the edge of the roof, his gait was awkward due to his bulky shoes.

The infinite flatness of the glacier field was far more impressive from the ground. This asphalt platform was an island amidst a sea of white. Closing his eyes, Petwee tried to imagine the predecessor city that had once been here. There had once been shopkeepers selling goods, youths playing about in warm fields, and many unknown machines buzzing about. Only ice remained now. Nature’s power to erase boggled the mind. 

After a quick search of the rooftop, Petwee stumbled across a shiny that made him squawk with delight. It was a silver panel, perhaps a trap door. The predecessors loved those. Three good kicks forced it in, revealing a dark shaft which seemed to descend forever. Cool winds blew to the panel, as if the mystical Vaghet called for Petwee to enter.

Only fools said no to Vaghet! 

Protocol demanded that Petwee return to base, but he figured he’d have time for a quick look over of the site. If he hurried, he may get back before nightfall. Petwee said a quick prayer of thanks to Vaghet, then sprinted over to his suitcase. He cawed on discovering that his torchwood had gotten wet. That merchant in Nork had assured him the box was waterproof but that had been a lie. And now, because of this folly, Petwee would now have to enter without flight. 

Returning to the hatch, Petwee stared the abyss down. His feathers ruffled as the wind blew through his tunic and up his back. Taking a deep breath, Petwee assured himself that he was an expert now. He had passed the training, so there was nothing to fear. 

Probably. 

Petwee got a grip on the satchel. His tip feathers split from each other, giving him four digits on each wing. Though he lacked the dexterity of other creatures, the anthropoid crow could still use out these digits for grasping objects or making clear gestures.  The wings themselves were big and soft, and approximated arms. His feathers shook as Petwee felt his satchel. It was wet too, but he’d have to live with that. 

With satchel slung over his shoulder, Petwee leapt into the abyss. He flapped his wing arms to slow his landing. However, there was no need as he hit the ground in two seconds flat. Rusted metal scraped against his feathers, tickling his fair skin. Feeling around the confined space, Petwee soon stumbled upon a door.

Petwee kicked it in on the first try. He chirped. Such a cool move. It was something out of an old serial book. Better yet, he had not stubbed his talons this time. Petwee looked down. “Thank you new shoes.”

His eyes adjusted to the lax light. The narrow hall before him led to another door. Petwee could afford one quick check inside, then he’d have to leave. Still he hesitated. Predecessor ruins grew less stable with each passing winter. A cautious approach was best, or he may wind up like his poor Uncle Rek, lost and buried in some unknown building. 

Petwee stepped onto the cracked floor. Nothing happened, so he risked another step. The floor groaned, but supported his weights, which wasn’t a big surprise. The predecessors were bulkier and taller than them. A fully grown corvid like Petwee would be as large as one of their young. That meant that their buildings were incredibly sturdy by corvid standards. 

He risked a light trot, then the floor gave way beneath him. Petwee ran, then flew down the corridor. He slammed against the far door, then fell onto his tail feathers. More floor collapsed. Petwee leapt up, just in time, and flew to the ceiling. A concerning crack echoed through the hall as even more flooring collapsed. 

Flying in place, Petwee braced for a ceiling collapse which never came. The floor seemed the only unstable part. Even the mysterious door was unscathed as it remained attached to its hinges — if only just. The anthropoid crow slammed his weight against it. It took three tries, but the mossy wood snapped and Petwee fell right into the mysterious space. 

Expecting another collapse, Petwee leapt up but the floor in this room proved more stable. In fact, much of this place had been saved from decay. A squawk escaped Petwee’s beak as he scanned the room. He had discovered the motherload.

Shelves littered the dank space. Some had been blown against the wall, others had become unrecognized heaps of metal. The wrath of Ken’clar had been great here, yet much had spared. Priceless trinkets littered the floor. 

Nabbing one of the rusting cans that littered the floor, Petwee bit at the metal then gagged at its bitter taste. These cans smelled just as funny, but that metal could prove useful. He threw them into his satchel. There were several large black discs with odd groves on their smooth surface. Each was the size of his head, and they seemed to be made of an odd plastic. Plastic. Oh, what luck. He’d never seen plastic so hard or pure. Of course he threw them in the satchel. There were books too, an entire library’s worth had been stuffed onto two shelves. Petwee thanked Vaghet, then shoved the sturdier tomes into his satchel. Predecessor lexicon remained gibberish to corvidkind, but those books would prove invaluable whenever they cracked it.

Petwee found a weird metal device that was as long as a wing feather. It was a bar, which had hundreds of thin bristles attached. Each was like a tiny tooth. Brushing the device against his feathers felt good. In fact, the device went between his feathers real easy. Petwee chirped. The device contrasted his clothing so well. It must’ve been a fashion piece. The predecessors were said to have fur, so Petwee supposed it was possible. This artifact would be beautiful when restored. 

On and on Petwee went, shoving anything even remotely shiny into the satchel until its leather was at the bursting point. The crow now possessed more predecessor artifacts than he had seen in a lifetime, and it was only a fraction of the total sight. The quivering crow knew he needed to alert the team, right away. His haul would prove the site’s value, then they’d return at the crack of dawn. But as he turned to leave, something strange caught his eye.

The skeleton was twice his height, which was on the shorter end when it came to predecessors. Many were a foot or two higher. Scraps of clothing covered his lanky body. The skin and organs were gone, but the bones remained pure and unspoiled. They were so well preserved, Petwee briefly feared that this creature may come to life and attack him, but it was in fact more dead than the earth. He brushed the absurd thought aside.

The skeleton sat upon the floor and held a box in his spindly talon-esque appendages. Plastic bags filled the box, but it wasn’t the hardened stuff from the black discs. This was the good stuff, stretchy yet durable. The skeleton reached out to Petwee, seeming to offer the plastic as a gift. A silly thought, the crow knew, but this was so neatly arranged. It had to be the work of Vaghet. 

Trembling, Petwee grabbed a plastic bag by its malleable red band then pulled back as far as he could. The bag’s handle stretched out, like a small plastic bow. He feared he broke it, but that must’ve been part of the design for nothing snapped. On shaking the bag, a great echo sounded as the plastic expanded to thrice its size. Petwee squawked, then fell on his tail. To think that a hundred bags were in this box. Predecessor engineering was unrivaled. It was such a shame that they died in a god’s fiery wrath. Petwee would do anything to meet one, even renounce flying for an entire year.

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Petwee stuffed his satchel, and the other white bags into the big one. It did not yield, so Petwee stuffed cans and books into it without thought. The bag stretched but the plastic did not snap, for predecessor artifacts were too efficient to break. Such a marvel, Petwee thought. It was no wonder that the skeleton chose to protect these bag in its final moments. 

The plastic shell of the bag warped as it expanded, and the outline of the artifacts pressed against its frame. The crow was eager to leave, lost in the thought of returning to camp with such a great haul. He kept picturing the look on the other crows’ faces when he appeared on the horizon with a plastic bag stuffed with predecessor trinkets. This place would be swarming with archaeologists in no time.

Petwee chirped at his haul, but there was no way such a big bag would fit in his suitcase. The crow removed his shoes so that he could carry the bag in his talons. Gripping it was awkward since Petwee had to fly in place, which he had never been good at, but the weight wasn’t as big a burden as he feared. A crow’s wings provided great lift, and he could carry much by holding it in his talons. The return trip should be easy, even if his talons got frigid from the cold. Frostbite was a possibility, but the risk for this haul was worth it.

Before leaving, Petwee took a final glance at the predecessor skeleton. He shook the lengthy appendage, and two of its talon-like digits snapped away. Petwee covered his beak. He placed the broken digits on the predecessor’s lap, such that it would look like he found it that way. No one needed to know of this blunder. Still, Petwee deemed it best to move on, lest he further desecrate this great history. He said a quick prayer for the fallen skeleton, and for his extinct kind, the turned away. 

As he flew back to the hall, Petwee reflected on his day. This would be the start of a wonderful extraction, the findings of which would fuel exploration and science for years to come.  The only disappointment was that Petwee had found no sign of the dead grave robber, whose tale seemed more of a legend with each passing day. He could live with that though. Today’s find already put his others to shame.

A gleam caught his eye as Petwee flew over the ruined hall. There was a shiny pin on the ground, and a second skeleton besides it. The skull poked out of the rubble. It was far smaller than the predecessor one, and the lower half had the clear elongation of a beak. Petwee flew down. 

The bones were a putrid yellow, and the left wing bone had snapped. That must’ve done it. A broken wing was a death sentence out here. Kneeling beside the corpse, Petwee said some prayers for his fallen corvid then he took the book by his side. The pages had rotted away, but a message had been clawed into the leather cover.

Kuaw, 

I’m not sure if I can make it until our meeting time. But I found it. I found the firecloud. It’s in the ruins of Predsila, hidden within the subway tunnels. I had to ditch my fellow ravens, but I don’t think they know. Please find it. Become rich for me. Details are below.

Dense instructions followed this paragraph, detailing navigation through the subway tunnels. Petwee’s eyes darted to the illustration at the bottom of the cover. It was a crude doodle resembling a huge oval with a triangle at the end. It had been labeled simply as “big metal fish.” Petwee’s beak hit the floor. Big metal fish. That matched the firecloud description to a tee.

The firecloud.

It was real. This was the graverobber. They weren’t a myth after all. This find had gone from amazing to legendary. Petwee dropped his bag and paced about in circles, trying to account all he remembered about the firecloud. Nobody quite knew what it was, only that it was the predecessors’ greatest invention. Many said it didn’t exist, but Petwee could now prove them wrong. Petwee read the cover a second time, just to make sure it was real.

It was. Oh, this was the best day in any corvid’s life. 

Petwee’s thin knees shook, but he calmed himself after two minutes of deep breathing. He covered the graverobber with one of those plastic bags. This raven may have been a thief, but he didn’t deserve this gruesome death. He thanked him for his service, as the future firecloud expedition was only possible because of him. Someday, Petwee would track down Kuaw and learn what he could about this stranger.

Petwee shoved the cover into his pants pocket. Grabbing the bag in his talons once again, he flew straight up, through the narrow vent (It was a tight squeeze with the bag, but by no means impossible) and into the sky. He left his box and rubber mask in his haste, but figured it wasn’t a big deal. He’d return tomorrow with an entire team to analyze this great sight. 

The sun teetered on the horizon line, which meant it’d be a race to return to camp before dark. Petwee flew as fast as he could, but he wasn’t too concerned. The moon was full tonight, so he didn’t have to worry about light, even in the worst case. Yes, Petwee told himself. He would be fine.

The frost burned at his boney talons. The limbs shivered, causing waves of aching pain to cascade up his body. Petwee adjusted his grip, then nearly lost the stuff. Perhaps he had overestimated his strength. However, his fear was relieved when three specks appeared on the horizon. They must’ve been fellow crows who had been tasked to search for him. Petwee flew to their level, and for once the weight he carried was no burden. He couldn’t wait to surprise his friends.

The corvids got closer, and Petwee realized they weren’t crows at all. Their messy feathers had a purple shine, their eyes were orange instead of yellow. These anthropoid corvids seemed half a foot taller than him too. These were ravens, which was strange. Petwee hadn’t seen ravens since the war started. 

One carried a purple and yellow banner, which had the symbol for their archeological guild. Petwee breathed easy. He had no fear, for these were fellow corvids of science. 

The bag’s great weight forced Petwee down again. He struggled to fly straight. His poor talons, nipped by a furious cold, shivered so hard that they seemed poised to fall off. “Hey!” He yelled. “Could I get some help over here?”

The ravens changed course, so swift they resembled blurs. Two flew beneath him, no doubt to catch the bag if he fell. Petwee smiled. How kind of them. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve got a bag full of heavy stuff, and I wasn’t sure if—”

A rock fell towards him. It missed by quite a margin, but the shock of it passing his beak caused Petwee to drop the bag. It fell tens of feet before the ravens below caught it. Petwee attempted to dive down and meet them, but another raven blocked his effort. He wore a basic raven uniform, with worn leggings and plenty of layers. His red scarf shielded him from the cold, protecting his neck. The gear was pristine and the shiny made it hard for Petwee to focus on the stranger. A smirk crossed the raven’s chipped beak as he looked Petwee over.

Petwee knew he should have been scared, but this raven had a strange allure to him. Flying was a delicate art Petwee had yet to master, yet this stranger did it with such grace. He brought his wings up and down in an elegant manner, his motions rhythmic and no doubt considered. Petwee chirped to show his admiration. The raven’s gaze flattened. “Don’t patronize me.”

They flew in place for a few seconds, and Petwee grunted. The raven showed no sign of tiring, and kept a hardened stare on Petwee. Perhaps he was waiting for a greeting. So Petwee began:  “My name’s Petwee.”

The raven glanced at his compatriots. Both ascended with the bag, flapping like mad as they strained to lift the heavy weight. The mysterious head raven prevented Petwee from getting close. “I am Isaac,” he said. “I’m here to take these valuables off of you.”

Petwee’s heart stopped. Only now did he understand that these ravens were robbing him. He rushed for his stuff, but Isaac got in the way. Petwee dove under him, then tried to go around but it didn’t matter. Isaac was faster and less exhausted than him. “I found these artifacts,” Petwee said. “They belong to the crows.”

Isaac flew into Petwee, bumping his chest as he forced the smaller crow back. “The war still applies out here,” he said. “I’m afraid that your trinkets are ours now.”

“You’re miles from Timora,” Petwee said with a frown. “The ravens don’t have power here.” It was a stock response, but he felt good saying it, even if it might not mean much to them. While the ravens lacked the legal authority over these wastes, they still had Petwee surrounded. 

The other soldiers flew away with his haul. They’d soon be out of reach. Petwee swooped down to get it. He feigned left, then darted right, only to get clawed in the face. 

Red smeared his vision. Blood. The world spun around Petwee, and harsh winds blew around him. The ground was coming up from under him. How close was he? Was he even right side up? It was hard to say when the world was tinted red. 

Instinct kicked in. Petwee brought his wings out wide, and held them up to catch the drag. He flapped harder than he ever had before, as he tried everything he could to slow his descent. The ground was almost upon him. Closing his eyes, Petwee braced for the fall. 

Cool snow blessed his face when he slammed into the ground, and pellets of cold embedded themselves into his body. Flopping to his back, the dazed Petwee rested with beak agape. His face stung due to a gash under his eye. Blood stained his feathers. Ice relieved the stinging, and Petwee let out a long squawk of relief. 

Then came his next mistake: Petwee patted his pocket to check on the graverobber’s cover. It was there, but the greedy Isaac saw he had a trinket and flew down. There was a purple blur, then Isaac’s blood-covered talon was on his throat. Petwee cringed back as a droplet of his blood splattered onto his neck. 

The raven rested his claw against his throat. One slash, and Petwee was dead. This might be it, and that realization made Petwee tremble. Isaac pointed to his pocket. “What do you have here?”

Petwee shook his head. “Nothing.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Isaac snatched the cover from Petwee and his eyes grew wide, no doubt with a horrible greed. Petwee’s stomach dropped as his failure grew even more complete. “A hundred miles north-east…firecloud. That’s interesting, Petwee. So very interesting… an actual firecloud. Discovering it would make you a legend. Tell me, is this your writing?”

Isaac pressed his talon on Petwee, who shook his head. Isaac leaned in close and his rancid breath made Petwee squirm. “You’re not pulling one on us, are you Petwee?”

“No,” Petwee said, and he put his wings up. “Honest. I found it from a dead graverobber. They passed away not far from here. You should bury him, if you find him.” Petwee wasn’t sure why he said that. Was he so willing to give up his discovery, just because Isaac had threatened him? How cowardly was that?

Isaac stared across the barren plain. Howling wing rushed across his face, and he shivered. Leaving Petwee in the snow, Isaac flew off to join his fellow thieves. Petwee tried to fly after him, but oozing blood marred his vision, and he tumbled back to the ground. The snow ached him now, but he ignored his freezing body.

Petwee cursed his own stupidity. The ravens had his stuff, and most likely the site too if they had seen where he had flown from. He had to return to base. He had to right this wrong. If they were fast, the crows could get a flock to the site before Isaac. 

And so, Petwee kicked it into high gear, soaring high despite his aching wings and the blood which oozed from his wound. He would make it. There was hope too, at least until he saw five more ravens arrive. All carried bulky boxes, and they were heading in the direction of his site. They would find it, no doubt, because a flagless asphalt platform would be hard to miss.

Isaac and his companions had brought the war to the wastes, in an expedition which had no doubt been planned for months. They’d steal the site before Petwee could alert his friends. Worse yet, the crow had led them right to it. That had been stupid. Why had he approached them? Why had he chirped like that? It was embarrassing. So naive. He had failed hard. Those artifacts would never make it to the crows. They’d be sold to the highest bidder. Worse yet, Petwee now had to report all of this to their commander.

Returning to base no longer excited him but he flew on regardless, ready to do his duty as a crow soldier. Dread built in his frail heart during the long flight home.  

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