Final Throne / Season 1, Episode 5
Chains of the Dawn
The chain across the Golden Horn trembles under the weight of its own rust, its iron links groaning as if they feel the enemy closing in. Loukas Notaras stands on the deck of his flagship, the Kyra Maria, a relic of a navy that hasn’t known open sea in a generation. His boots scrape against the salt-crusted wood, the air thick with the stench of tar and the faint rot of fish washed ashore. Dawn hasn’t broken yet, but the sky to the east is a bruise, purple and swollen, promising nothing good. He grips the rail, his knuckles pale under the grime, and stares across the harbor where the Ottoman ships—dozens of them—bob like wolves waiting for the shepherd to stumble. “Admiral!” A voice cracks behind him, young, ragged. It’s Nikos, his second, barely old enough to grow a beard, his face streaked with soot from last night’s failed attempt to burn an enemy galley. “They’re moving again. North of Galata. Torches—hundreds. They’re not even hiding it now.” Loukas doesn’t turn. His eyes are locked on the dark shapes beyond the chain, the Ottoman fleet that shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t have slipped past the barrier by dragging their cursed ships overland. He can still hear the reports in his head, the disbelief in the messenger’s voice days ago: they...