Final Throne / Season 1, Episode 4
Chain of Destiny
The chain across the Golden Horn trembled under its own weight, a rusted iron beast groaning as if it knew the end was near. Loukas Notaras stood on the deck of his flagship, the Kyra Maria, his boots slipping on the salt-slick wood as he gripped the rail. The harbor mouth was a black gash under the pre-dawn sky, and beyond it, the Ottoman fleet loomed—dozens of galleys, their oars slicing the water like knives through flesh. The chain held, for now, stretched taut from the Acropolis Point to the Galata Tower on the Genoese side. But it wasn’t the ships that gnawed at Loukas’ gut. It was the silence. No cannon fire this morning, no shouts of attack from the landward walls. Just the slap of waves against the hull and the creak of ancient links under strain. “Admiral!” A boy’s voice, sharp and cracking, cut through the damp air. One of the Venetian lads, barely old enough to shave, scrambled across the deck, his tunic half-untied, a scrap of parchment clutched in his fist. “Message from the Emperor. Urgent.” Loukas didn’t turn. His eyes stayed on the chain, on the faint shimmer of torchlight reflecting off the enemy hulls. “Read it, then. I’ve no hands for paper.” The boy fumbled, his breath hitching as he unfolded the note....