The Palace of Lies
The Ottoman court was a forest of whispers. Every marble hall of Dolmabahçe carried rumors like wind through branches; every eunuch's glance concealed a secret; every vizier's smile hid a dagger.
Abdulhamid had walked these halls once before in his first life — naïve, unaware, believing loyalty and faith alone could shield him. And for that blindness, he had been outmaneuvered, betrayed, and cast aside.
Not this time.
Now, every whisper rang in his ears like thunder. Every subtle glance, every careless slip of tongue, he read like a map of treachery.
The empire's enemies were not only in Europe, Russia, or across the seas. They were here, in the palace, clothed in silks and bowing before the Sultan, their knives hidden in the folds of their robes.
If he was to reshape the empire, he needed eyes sharper than steel, ears that reached into every chamber, every market, every foreign embassy.
He needed an intelligence network.
He needed the Crescent Eyes.
Recruiting the Loyal Few
Abdulhamid began carefully. He could not openly declare his intentions. Instead, he sought out those ignored by the arrogant and the powerful — the servants, the eunuchs, the guards overlooked.
One night, he summoned three men to his chamber in secret.
The first was Selim, a young guard of humble birth, sharp-eyed and silent, whose loyalty was unquestioned. Abdulhamid remembered him from his first life — he had died in obscurity defending the palace during a riot.
The second was Yusuf, a eunuch known for his gossiping tongue, who seemed to know everything before anyone else. In his first life, Abdulhamid had dismissed him as a nuisance. Now, he realized Yusuf's chatter hid a vast web of information.
The third was Mehmed, a page boy of no rank, but one with a sharp memory and faster wit than anyone suspected.
They knelt before him, confused but curious.
"Do you know why I summoned you?" Abdulhamid asked quietly.
Selim shook his head. "Highness, we serve as commanded."
Abdulhamid's gaze was cold and steady. "You serve… but you do not belong. You are ignored, underestimated. Yet it is you who see everything. Servants see what viziers hide. Guards hear what courtiers whisper. Eunuchs pass unseen where Sultans cannot tread. The mighty are blind because they look only at themselves. But you… you are my eyes."
They looked at one another, unsettled.
"You will form the Crescent Eyes," Abdulhamid continued. "Swear to me your loyalty, and I will raise you above all others. Betray me… and I will erase your names from this world."
The fire in his eyes silenced their doubts. One by one, they pressed their foreheads to the floor.
"We swear, Highness. By Allah and by our lives, we swear."
And so, in a candlelit chamber deep within Dolmabahçe, the first seeds of the Crescent Eyes were sown.
Testing the Web
Within weeks, Abdulhamid's network began to grow. Servants were paid to pass information. Guards loyal to him rotated shifts where key ministers walked. Even merchants outside the palace, bribed with gold from Abdulhamid's private funds, began to whisper secrets into Yusuf's ears.
Abdulhamid tested them ruthlessly.
When Yusuf reported that a vizier mocked him as "the prince who plays at prophecy," Abdulhamid ordered Selim to confirm it by shadowing the man. When Mehmed delivered the secret that French envoys had bribed an officer in the navy, Abdulhamid had proof within days.
The Crescent Eyes did not simply gather rumors — they verified, they dissected, they learned patterns.
For the first time, Abdulhamid felt not blind, but armed. In his first life, enemies had struck him from the shadows. In this life, he would strike first.
The Sultan's Suspicion
But shadows attract light.
One evening, Sultan Abdülaziz summoned Abdulhamid privately. The Sultan's heavy frame loomed as he sipped bitter coffee, his gaze sharp.
"Nephew," he rumbled, "strange rumors reach my ears. Ministers whisper that you pry too deeply, that servants loyal to you carry tales. Tell me — is this true?"
The room was silent. The Sultan's question was a blade.
Abdulhamid bowed respectfully. "Uncle, the palace is a forest of lies. I only seek to know truth, so that I may serve you better. If I am guilty, it is of loyalty too sharp for comfort."
Abdülaziz's eyes narrowed. He searched his nephew's face, as if trying to pierce his very soul. For a moment, Abdulhamid wondered if suspicion would undo him before he had even begun.
Then the Sultan chuckled darkly. "Good. Keep your eyes open. A Sultan needs ears sharper than swords. But beware, Nephew — those who listen too much often hear their own death."
The warning was clear. The Sultan tolerated his games, for now. But one misstep, and even kinship would not save him.
The First Test of Power
The true test came sooner than expected.
One night, Selim rushed into Abdulhamid's chamber, breathless. "Highness — Prince Murad has gathered men in secret. They plan to confront you at tomorrow's council, to accuse you of disloyalty. They say you plot to surpass him in succession."
Abdulhamid's jaw clenched. In his first life, Murad had always been a rival, unstable and easily manipulated by foreign powers. To let him grow bold now would be dangerous.
"Do we have proof?" Abdulhamid asked coldly.
Selim nodded, producing a letter intercepted by Yusuf — Murad's handwriting, pledging friendship to a French envoy in exchange for support.
Abdulhamid's lips curved into a thin smile. "Good. Then tomorrow, the wolf shall bare his teeth — and find his throat already in my hands."
The Crescent Moon Rises
The next day, the council chamber was filled with tension. Ministers stood in ornate robes, the Sultan sat upon his throne, and princes knelt respectfully at his feet.
Murad rose, his face flushed with arrogance. "Uncle, I must speak! This one—" he pointed at Abdulhamid, his voice sharp, "—this nephew of yours builds spies in the palace! He gathers secrets, undermines loyalty, seeks to rise above his station!"
Gasps filled the hall. All eyes turned to Abdulhamid.
Slowly, deliberately, Abdulhamid stood. His gaze swept the room like a blade. Then, with calm precision, he produced the letter.
"Uncle," he said, his voice low but carrying, "I, too, must speak. While my cousin accuses me of shadows, he himself writes to foreign embassies, promising loyalty not to you, but to France."
He handed the letter to the Sultan. Gasps turned to murmurs, then to stunned silence.
Murad's face drained of color. "Lies! Forgery!"
But Abdülaziz's eyes darkened as he read. His hand clenched the paper, and his voice was thunder.
"Murad… you dare pledge to foreigners while you eat bread in my palace?!"
Murad fell to his knees, stammering.
Abdulhamid bowed low, concealing the cold satisfaction in his eyes.
The Crescent Eyes had struck their first blow.
As the chamber dissolved into chaos, Abdulhamid thought to himself:
"This is only the beginning. Today, the Crescent Eyes are but a whisper. Tomorrow, they will be a storm. With them, I will see all, know all, and strike before any enemy dares to move. The Sultan may not know it yet… but the future already belongs to me."
The crescent moon rose outside the palace, casting silver light on Istanbul.
And in its shadow, the Crescent Eyes opened.