Within the refurbished governor's office, I sealed the report to be sent to His Imperial Majesty Sultan Mustafa III—a detailed account of Athens' recapture, its costs, and the condition in which we found the city.
Muhtasin and the rest were seated around the grand table, silent, waiting as I scanned over the fresh stack of reports—casualty numbers, infrastructure damage, grain shortages. It was sobering.
Officially, Athens remained under the Eyalet of Morea, whose governor was once Muhsinzade Mehmed Pasha. In the original timeline I remembered, he led a brutal but successful suppression of the Orlov Revolt. Yet here—here he had died in the early stages of the rebellion, ambushed in Corinth due to the rebels' unorthodox tactics.
According to what we'd gathered, when the rebels took Athens, they moved quickly and surgically: targeting the provincial arsenal, the Divan records office, the treasury chambers, and seizing a significant sum of gold altın. It was less an uprising than a calculated raid. But curiously, they left behind only skeletal defenses. It seems most of the loot was smuggled into Morea instead of being used to strengthen Athens.
In essence, they had gutted the city and fled—leaving behind ruins and silence.
Cemil folded his arms. "My Shehzade, what remains of Athens is hollow. The grain stores are half-burnt, the wells are fouled, and the people are weary. I recommend we remain here to begin restoration efforts. The city may not survive without direct intervention."
I nodded slowly. "It's a worthy idea, but... what of funding? The main treasury vaults were ransacked, were they not?"
Muhtasin, rushed towards the office, take his time to gestured calmly. "We had thoroughly checked the rest of rooms. It seems the rebels were missing the vault beneath the office, it was properly sealed and locked. We need to find the key."
"Hmm, who's holding the key?" I asked
Cemil then answered, "Usually, the governor and his deputy. Since the governor died, we had to check his remains. And at the same time, we had to find his vice governor."
"You heard it, Muhtasin pasha, find the person. We must get the key."
"Understood, My shehzade."
I turned to Cemil and the others.
"We have to call for the remaining Eyalet officials who stayed behind. We will hold council tomorrow at first light. Restoration begins with unity, and if we are to govern, it must be done with them—not over them."
Muhtasin bowed, his expression thoughtful. "Shall we also prepare provisions to distribute during the gathering? Bread and water, at least. A gesture of goodwill."
"Hmm, yeah with light breakfast too."
~~
The morning sun cast long shadows across the assembly hall as the city's remaining officials and notables gathered once more. The representatives from Turkish and greeks populace, including the remaining merchant guilds, and some scribers are also there.
But the moment I entered, all eyes shifted to me.
"That boy again…"
"Who is he, really?"
One elder, hunched and sharp-eyed, muttered just loud enough, "In times of fire, even children wear crowns, it seems."
I strode past the murmurs and took the raised seat at the head of the long table. Muhtasin remained silent at my side, arms folded. Cemil stood behind me, visibly irritated by the murmurs but holding his tongue.
I let the unease linger for a moment—then I stood.
"Allow me to speak clearly, so that all doubts may be buried here and now."
The hall fell into silence.
"I am Selim, Shehzade of Ottoman Empire. Son of Sultan Mustafa III."
Gasps erupted. Some men stood in shock. A few bowed instinctively. Others froze in disbelief.
"That child?" one whispered.
"The Shehzade himself... here?"
"I understand your surprise," I continued, voice steady. "You see a youth in your midst and question what power he could possibly hold. But let me tell you this: I have marched from Edirne with soldiers who would die for Ottoman. I have led the recapture of this city with fire, discipline, and prayer. And now—now I intend to rebuild it."
The skepticism had not vanished, but it had been cracked.
"Thus," I declared, placing a decree scroll before the assembly, "by temporary authority vested in me by war and necessity, I will establish a provisional government to restore Athens. You, the elders and notables of this city, shall be its hands and voice. But until the Divan in Istanbul sends further orders, this city answers to me. But for now, our first objective would be to rebuild the city."
Silence again.
Then slowly, a few heads nodded.
"That's wise, my shehzade, but what would you try to begin with?"
"I will begin with what must always come first," I said, my tone softening. "Faith and healing."
"Whether mosques or churches, or even synagogues, which was destroyed shall be rebuilded. And of course, since the governorate palace is just fine as it is, we can just proceed as it is. And also the residential places, markets, shall be included too."
That drew murmurs of cautious approval.
"Then, we shall rebuild the granaries and the aid is now on its way. And finally," I gestured to the scribe to take note, "a new darüşşifa—a house of healing—will be constructed in the central district, open to all who suffer, regardless of creed."
There was quiet. But this time, it was not born of doubt—but of stunned reflection.
One old Greek official, with silver hair and sunken eyes, rose and gave a respectful nod.
"If this is what the Empire's future looks like," he said quietly, "then perhaps... there is still hope."
I gave a slight bow in return.
~~
Days had passed, and Athens had begun to stir with life once more. Reconstruction was underway—rubble from the recent battles cleared, stones reset, scaffolding rising along sacred domes and public halls. I had recently issued an initiative for street kitchens—a temporary measure to ensure the people could access warm meals without cost. Relief now gently filled the air, replacing fear.
Muhtasin approached with a report.
"My Shehzade, so far there's been no movement from the rebels in Corinth. But it appears they've begun fortifying their positions."
I furrowed my brow. "That's troubling. If they complete those fortifications, retaking Corinth will be far more difficult."
Turning, I asked, "Cemil, how are the people of Athens?"
He gave a small smile. "So far, they seem relieved, my Shehzade. The food supplies and rebuilding efforts have lifted much of their worry."
"Good. You know what, Cemil? Let's take a stroll through Athens. I've never seen this city before—not like this. I want to witness its wonders, even amidst the ruins."
Cemil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well… if you insist, my Shehzade."
Corinth, Morea Province
A cold wind swept through the crumbling halls of the occupied governor's palace.
"We've seen no Ottoman movement," reported a Russian officer, standing at attention. "The city seems secure, but rumors say they're reorganizing in Athens."
Count Alexei Orlov—Admiral of the Russian Navy and mastermind of the southern uprising—stood by the window, his hands clenched behind his back. His eyes narrowed at the distant hills.
"How shameful that they recaptured Athens…" he muttered, voice laced with frustration. He turned sharply, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Crimean vodka and hurling it against the wall. It shattered.
"The Empire only managed to send two fleets to Morea to stir the rebellion. We had prepared everything—but thanks to that damn interference at Taganrog, our reinforcements were crushed. Blyat!"
Another officer stepped forward, attempting calm. "Be patient, Lord Orlov. I have just received word—we have visitors."
"Let them in," Orlov snapped.
The chamber doors opened with a creak. In walked a tall man in a crimson coat, adorned with the insignia and medal of the British Empire. Calmly, he raised a gloved hand and placed a rolled parchment upon the desk.
"Gentlemen," the stranger spoke with a slight accent. "I am Major Charles Wentham. A representative of Her Majesty's trade interests in the Eastern Mediterranean. While our nations are not formal allies, I believe our… ambitions may overlap."
He gestured to the scroll.
"With this understanding of mutual interest, I hope to extend the hand of friendship. Our support may yet tilt the balance in your favor."
Orlov picked up the scroll, eyes scanning the contents. A slow smile crept across his face.
"Jolly good, indeed."