The twisted metal tube lay on Abdulhamid's desk like a serpent, its scorched steel glinting in the lamplight. The smell of powder lingered faintly in the chamber, though days had passed since Selim had first placed it there.
For hours after its discovery, the Sultan had spoken little. He had simply stared at it, fingers steepled, his expression carved in stone. It was not the device itself that held him in thrall, but what it represented: a new phase in the war. No longer whispers in Europe, no longer pamphlets in the Balkans. The enemy had brought their venom into the heart of his capital.
At last, he broke the silence. "They have moved from words to fire. From whispers to murder. This changes everything."
Selim bowed his head. "Majesty, we have already traced the device. It was assembled from parts bought openly in Galata. The maker is a clocksmith. He claims ignorance, but one of his apprentices is missing. Witnesses saw him near the British embassy."
The Sultan's eyes narrowed. "So the hand is theirs, but the dagger is carried by traitors among our own. A serpent in the grass."
He rose, pacing before the window. Below, the city spread out—its domes and minarets, its narrow streets thrumming with life. My city, my heart. They would dare to turn its veins into battlegrounds?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next day, the capital awoke to thunder. Not from the sky, but from the palace itself. By Abdulhamid's command, soldiers swarmed Galata and Pera, seizing shops, taverns, and lodgings. Crescent Eyes moved like wraiths, dragging suspected agitators from their beds.
The people whispered that the Sultan himself had ordered a purge—that no foreign spy, no rebel, no anarchist would escape.
On the third day, Abdulhamid personally descended into the dungeons beneath Yedikule. The air was damp, the walls slick with age. Before him knelt three captured men: the missing apprentice, a bookseller known for distributing seditious pamphlets, and a gaunt figure with Balkan features whose eyes smoldered with defiance.
"Who sent you?" the Sultan asked softly. His voice carried no anger, only the weight of inevitability.
The apprentice wept, stammering that he did not know. The bookseller remained silent. But the Balkan man spat upon the floor. "Europe rises against you, tyrant. You cannot stop the tide."
Abdulhamid studied him with cold pity. "A tide is only water. And water flows where I carve the channel."
He turned to Selim. "Hang the apprentice. Silence the bookseller. Send the third back to his masters—blinded. Let them see what it costs to bring fire into my city."
The gaunt man was dragged away, screaming curses that echoed against the ancient stones.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That night, the Sultan gathered his council. Ministers, generals, and clerics assembled in the gilded chamber, their faces pale with unease. The bomb had shaken more than walls; it had shaken confidence.
Abdulhamid stood before them, holding the twisted tube aloft. "This," he declared, "is the true face of Europe's friendship. They send us embassies and trade agreements, but in their shadows they send us fire and death. This device was meant not for stone, but for me—and through me, for all of you, for the empire itself."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Some ministers clutched their robes, others exchanged fearful glances.
The Sultan's voice rose like thunder. "Let it be known: Istanbul is not their playground. From this day, any man who conspires with foreigners, any man who carries their gold or their fire, will hang from the gates. Crescent Eyes will hunt them, soldiers will seize them, and the empire will be purged of snakes."
The chamber erupted in assent, some voices loud, others merely trembling.
Abdulhamid slammed the device down upon the table. "Steel and steam will build our empire, but shadows will defend it. And if Europe wants war of shadows, we shall give them nightmares."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside, the city felt the tightening of the Sultan's grip. Posters appeared on walls warning against foreign influence. Soldiers patrolled the docks, seizing suspicious cargo. Factories doubled their guards, and new workshops sprang up—producing not only rifles, but locks, safes, and coded devices for Crescent Eyes.
Even the mosques echoed with warnings. Preachers, at the Sultan's quiet urging, spoke of treachery hidden among the faithful, of wolves in sheep's clothing, of the need for unity under one tongue, one law, one faith. Assimilation was not only cultural now—it was survival.
Yet even as the Sultan struck hard, he knew the truth: one bomb was never just one. It was a herald. Somewhere in the city, more serpents slithered. And their masters in Europe smiled in their salons, believing they had brought fear to Istanbul.
But Abdulhamid was not afraid. He was sharpening his claws.
The Sultan's vow hung heavy in the air long after the council dispersed. Outside, the city pulsed with fear and rumor, its lamps flickering like watchful eyes in the night. For every whisper of reassurance came two whispers of dread. Somewhere, men plotted in cellars and attics, emboldened by foreign gold; somewhere, shadows conspired against the throne. Abdulhamid knew the first device was only a prelude. The true storm was yet to break.
The streets of Istanbul simmered under a tension sharper than any blade. Soldiers stood at every gate, patrols stalked the alleys, and Crescent Eyes spread silently through markets, mosques, and taverns. The Sultan's decree had been clear: the shadows that carried bombs would be dragged into the light.
Selim arrived in the Sultan's chamber three nights after the purge began, his cloak heavy with rain. His eyes burned with the grim fire of a hunter who has tasted blood.
"Majesty," he said, kneeling, "we have traced the network. It is not only one apprentice, not only one bookseller. There are cells—scattered through the city, feeding one another. We have seized ledgers, lists, codes. The trail leads to Pera, where foreign hands guide them."
Abdulhamid leaned forward, his palms pressed together. "How many?"
"At least thirty men, perhaps more. Some Ottomans, some foreigners. They meet under the cover of trade guilds. And, Majesty…" Selim hesitated. "Their gold is French. Their weapons are Russian. Their guidance, English."
The Sultan's lips curved into a bitter smile. "So the Eastern Accord is no longer a whisper. It has planted itself in my capital."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The hunt began.
By day, Ottoman soldiers raided guild halls and safehouses. By night, Crescent Eyes moved with surgical precision, infiltrating, observing, striking. Arrests swept through the city. Shops were shuttered, docks emptied, carriages searched at checkpoints.
Yet for every conspirator seized, another seemed to vanish into the labyrinth of Istanbul's streets. Pera, with its foreign embassies and European merchants, was the hardest ground of all. Within those walls, Ottoman law held little sway.
One evening, Abdulhamid summoned Selim and a handful of his most trusted agents into the map room. Candles flickered over charts of the city.
"They think their embassies untouchable," the Sultan said, his voice low but iron-hard. "But even within walls, snakes slither out to feed. Watch every step they take. Mark every servant, every carriage, every whisper. If I cannot storm their walls openly, then we will rot them from within."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The pressure mounted. A warehouse fire on the docks revealed crates of explosives hidden beneath wool bales. A coded letter seized in Üsküdar spoke of "a grand strike upon the Sultan's parade."
Abdulhamid read the letter in silence. Then he set it down and spoke words that chilled the chamber:
"They mean to kill me not in shadows, but before my people. To make a martyr not of their cause, but of chaos."
His ministers begged him to cancel public appearances. Some urged him to retreat within the palace walls until the threat was crushed. But Abdulhamid shook his head.
"If I hide, then the empire hides. If I cower, then every Turk cowers. No. I will stand, not behind walls, but before my people. Let them see that their Sultan does not fear shadows. And while I stand in the sun, Selim, you will cut the strings of every puppeteer who hides in the dark."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The days that followed were a storm. Crescent Eyes spread nets across the city, intercepting couriers, shadowing suspects. Informants whispered of bombs smuggled in wine barrels, of assassins disguised as beggars, of weapons hidden in church basements and mosques alike.
Selim reported each night, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Majesty, we seize them by the dozen. But for each one caught, another rises. It is as if Europe pours its venom endlessly into our streets."
Abdulhamid's reply was calm, though his heart smoldered. "Then we must not only cut the snakes, Selim. We must burn the nest."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The chance came sooner than expected.
On the morning of a military parade near the Hippodrome, Crescent Eyes discovered a cart laden with barrels. Hidden among them was a device far larger than the first bomb—a mechanism of French design, set to ignite when the cart neared the Sultan's procession.
The cart was seized moments before the parade began. Selim himself rode at its head, his cloak flaring as he barked orders. The bomb was dragged into the open square, where soldiers and citizens alike stared in horror at the size of it.
Abdulhamid, atop his horse, raised his hand for silence. His gaze swept over the crowd, his voice carrying like steel across the square.
"This was meant to slaughter you, my people. To tear your city apart, to break your spirit, to humble your empire. But see—Allah has delivered it into our hands. Their fire is broken, their shadows dragged into the sun."
The crowd roared. Cries of "Padishah! Padishah!" thundered against the ancient stones. Soldiers raised their rifles, citizens waved their caps, women wept.
Abdulhamid's eyes burned as he looked toward the embassies in Pera. He knew well where the gold had come from, where the orders had been given. They think they can shake me with bombs. They will learn instead that every spark they light will forge me harder than steel.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That night, in his chamber, he spoke quietly to Selim.
"This was not their last strike. There will be more. But let this be the beginning of ours. The empire no longer waits. If they bring their shadows into Istanbul, then we will carry our shadows into their very capitals. They will not rest in Paris, or London, or Moscow. The long hand of the Sultan will reach them there."
Selim bowed, his voice solemn. "It shall be done, Majesty."