Vienna, September 1898
Rain fell hard on the cobblestones of Vienna, beating against carriage windows and trickling down gas lamps. Inside the grand lecture hall of the Austrian Imperial Academy, an Ottoman engineer stood at the podium, unveiling an oil turbine that powered lamps without coal smoke. The audience of nobles and scientists murmured in awe as the machine whirred to life, light flooding the chamber.
But in the shadows of the balcony, a man raised a pistol.
Crescent Eyes struck first. A dagger flashed, and the would-be assassin collapsed without a sound, his weapon clattering to the floor. The crowd never saw. They only applauded as the Ottoman machine lit their hall, unaware that Europe's shadows were already at war with the Sultan's.
That night, the assassin's body was found in a Vienna alley, staged as a common murder. But Selim's report to Istanbul told the truth: the assassin had been French, paid by a British agent. Their goal had been clear—kill the Ottoman scientist, cripple the empire's prestige.
Abdulhamid read the report in silence. He did not curse, nor raise his voice. He simply said: "So they have begun killing our minds. Then we shall kill theirs."
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By winter, Crescent Eyes extended its web into Europe itself. In Paris, Ottoman agents posed as students, slipping into salons where radicals debated empire and republic. In London, they masqueraded as merchants, listening in taverns where colonial officers boasted of plans. In St. Petersburg, they bribed clerks in ministries, copying letters with invisible ink. Slowly, a map unfolded before Selim's eyes: Europe's powers, usually divided, were whispering in coordination.
Britain funded tribal uprisings in Mesopotamia. Russia armed Balkan cells. France stirred discontent in Syria through its missionaries. Austria and Germany smiled at trade fairs while copying Ottoman machines in secret. Each dagger alone was nuisance. Together, they formed a ring of steel.
"Majesty," Selim told the Sultan, "Europe conspires as one, even while pretending to quarrel. They mean to strangle us in shadows before we can challenge them in daylight."
Abdulhamid's gaze drifted to the great map of Europe in his council chamber. His fingers traced the Balkans, then Mesopotamia, then the Caucasus. He remembered the alliances of 1914, the slaughter of millions, the blind march into trenches. He had seen it once. He would not let his empire stumble into it again.
"Then we will weave our own ring," he said softly. "Not of steel, but of shadows. They think only they can conspire. We will show them their own trick, perfected. Crescent Eyes will not only defend our empire—they will burrow into Europe itself. From their banks to their parliaments, from their barracks to their presses, our eyes will watch. And when the time comes, our hands will strike."
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Meanwhile, the empire's scientific exports spread like wildfire. Ottoman turbines powered trams in Sofia and Bucharest. Rifles from Anatolian factories appeared in the arsenals of Balkan satrapies. Even Italian naval officers came to Istanbul to study Ottoman oil-fired engines, whispering of contracts. Europe could not ignore the empire's rise. Yet every sale also seeded unease.
To ease their fears, Abdulhamid played a careful game. He sold older models, withholding the most advanced designs for Istanbul. Tesla's wildest experiments—the wireless transmission of energy, the radio signals that leapt through air—were kept secret in hidden Ottoman laboratories. Marie Curie's research into glowing minerals remained locked, guarded by Crescent Eyes around the clock. What the empire exported was brilliance, yes—but brilliance held at arm's length.
Still, the Europeans schemed. In Paris, Crescent Eyes uncovered a French plan to lure Curie back with promises of glory. In Berlin, spies tried to bribe Ottoman engineers. In London, newspapers ran editorials warning of "The Sultan's Black Gold Empire." Abdulhamid read each report and smiled grimly. Fear was the first step toward respect.
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In November 1898, Crescent Eyes delivered their most valuable prize yet. In Paris, an Ottoman agent seduced a secretary in the Russian embassy. From her letters, Selim brought back a draft agreement between France and Russia—an agreement that mentioned Britain.
"They mean to form a pact," Selim told the Sultan, unrolling the document. "A triad of powers—France, Russia, Britain. Officially, it is not yet signed. But the talks are far along. Their first objective will be to isolate us, to brand us the tyrant of the East, to cut our trade and choke our science."
Abdulhamid stared long at the parchment. In his first life, he had seen such pacts form and shatter. He knew the path that led from these whispers: alliances, tension, war. Europe thought they could shape the future. But this time, he would not let them write it alone.
"Then let them bind themselves," he said finally. "We will not stop them. We will prepare for them. If Europe unites in light, we will strike in shadow. And when they reach for the sick man's throat, they will find themselves choking on smoke."
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The year closed with a final act of defiance. On a cold December night, Selim returned from Europe, his cloak heavy with rain, his satchel filled with secrets. He knelt before the Sultan.
"Majesty, our web stretches across their capitals now. We have men in Parisian presses, in London's docks, in Vienna's ministries. They think themselves hunters. But the hunter does not know when the forest is already watching."
Abdulhamid stood at his balcony, gazing westward into the night. The lamps of Istanbul burned behind him, glowing with Ottoman science. Beyond the Bosphorus, Europe's cities glittered too—but he saw the shadows between their lights, the cracks where Crescent Eyes already slithered.
He clenched his hand into a fist. "Let them scheme. Let them unite. When the storm comes, we will be ready. This time, Selim, history will not bury us. This time, the empire will bury history itself."
And so the Sultan of shadows turned from his map, resolved. The Ottoman Empire would no longer be merely a survivor. It would be the unseen hand that shaped Europe's destiny.
The world had entered the age of science—but in the shadows, it had also entered the age of the Crescent.