Year 1771,
Aydin's POV
It has been some time since I last received Shehzade Selim's final order — to disrupt the Russian holdings along the Black Sea coast by any means possible.
Together with our allies in the Crimean Khanate, we struck where they least expected: the Khan's riders plundered the steppes and frontier towns, while I commanded the Ottoman corsairs that stalked the coastlines, harassing Russian convoys and ports.
"Captain Aydın, His Majesty Khan Giray summons you."The servant bowed as he opened the door to my quarters.
I finished adjusting the crimson sash of my Ottoman naval uniform, checked the polished hilt of my sabre, and nodded."Lead the way."
The path to the Khan's hall was lined with guards — tall, proud Tatars clad in lamellar, their eyes sharp as hawks. The scent of incense and horse leather mingled in the air. As I entered, conversations ceased, and all attention turned toward me.
Upon the raised dais sat Khan Giray, the ruler of the steppes — broad-shouldered, with the commanding calm of a man born in the saddle. When he spoke, his voice carried like wind over open plains.
"Ah… the famous one — the man who turned the tide with the Prince's Cannons. Captain Aydın!" He gestured warmly. "It is a pleasure to have you among us."
I bowed deeply. "Nothing honors me more than standing before the Khan of the Steppes, may his reign be long and his people free."
The Khan chuckled. "You know, it's remarkable. Orders relayed directly from a Shehzade instead of the Sultan — a rare thing indeed. But what a collaboration it has been, hasn't it, Aydın-effendim?"
"Yes, my Khan," I replied with a faint smile. "Thanks to our efforts, the Russians no longer dare sail near the Crimean waters."
"True," he nodded, though his gaze turned distant. "And yet… we hear they march far inland — from the Moldavian valleys, perhaps even toward Wallachia."
He fell silent for a moment, then looked back to me. "You know, if all Ottoman commanders shared your wit and resolve, Captain, I doubt the Russians would still cast their shadow upon our lands."
I placed my hand over my chest and bowed slightly. "Your words honor me, Khan Giray. But it is not wit — only duty. The sea is our battlefield, and faith our compass."
The Khan laughed softly, pleased. "Spoken like a true son of the Empire. And yet…" — his eyes softened — "I would have kept you by my side, Aydın. Men like you are rare."
"I am grateful for your offer, my Khan," I said with quiet resolve. "But my place is beside Shehzade Selim. His vision for the Empire is far from over — and I intend to see it through."
Khan Giray nodded, leaning back in his throne, pride and respect reflected in his gaze."Then go, Captain. May the winds favor your sails. Tell your Shehzade — the steppes remember his name."
Crimean Port – Early Morning Mist
The harbor was shrouded in the soft veil of dawn, the air thick with the scent of tar, salt, and seaweed. Ottoman and Tatar sailors shouted orders as crates of dried grain, spare shot, and canvas were hauled aboard the Sancak-ı Bahriye. The gulls cried overhead, circling lazily in the pale sky.
As I checked the manifests and tightened the cords of a crate, I heard the steady rhythm of boots behind me. Turning, I saw an envoy from the Khan approaching, flanked by several armed guards in steppe armor. Their fur mantles fluttered in the sea breeze.
"Captain Aydın," the envoy greeted with a respectful nod, "before you depart, His Majesty Khan Giray sends this—" he held out a sealed scroll bound with crimson silk, the Khan's emblem stamped in gold wax. "He wished for you to receive it personally."
I accepted it with both hands. "I thank you. I'll be sure to read it before we set sail."
The envoy smiled faintly. "Then, Captain, may your voyage be swift and your cannons loud. Until we meet again."He bowed, his men following suit, before they turned and disappeared into the bustling docks.
For a moment, I stood alone against the noise of the port. The wind tugged at the edges of the scroll. Above me, the clouds broke apart, revealing a sliver of sunlight over the Black Sea.
I exhaled softly."Well, my Shehzade," I murmured, glancing toward the southern horizon, "it's been some time."
I broke the wax seal and unfurled the letter.
Letter from Khan Giray
To Captain Aydın, son of the sea and sword of the Crescent,
You depart our lands as both ally and friend. Know this — the steppes remember those who fight not for coin, but for conviction. The victories we shared under the banner of Shehzade Selim will echo long beyond the waves that carry you.
In that boy, I see the spark that once ignited empires — different to other Ottoman rulers. Tell him this: greatness rarely announces itself in thunder; sometimes it begins in silence, in the mind of a prince who refuses to repeat the mistakes of his forefathers.
And to you, Captain — bear this token.(enclosed was a small medallion — the mark of the Crimean Khanate, forged in silver and iron)It was once worn by my forebear, Mengli Giray, who rode beside Selim I. Let it remind you that seas and steppes may differ, but the wind carries the same prayer — strength to the faithful.
Until we meet again beneath a shared banner,
– Khan Giray of the Crimean Khanate
I ran my fingers over the medallion — cool, heavy, and carved with the symbol of the double crescent. The craftsmanship was simple, yet it carried a weight no gold could measure. I slipped it into my coat pocket, next to the tughra of Shehzade Selim that I had kept close since my first orders.
"Hoist the sails!"The command echoed from the deck. The ropes creaked, canvas billowed, and the ship began to drift from the pier.
The Crimean coastline receded behind us, its cliffs and towers fading into the morning haze. Ahead, the endless blue stretched toward the Aegean — and beyond it, Athens.
Arrival at Athens – Two Weeks Later
The city shimmered under the late afternoon sun, its white walls gleaming, the newly restored docks alive with workers and merchants. Smoke rose gently from workshops where craftsmen rebuilt what war had taken.
As I disembarked, an escort awaited — Ottoman guards bearing the crest of the Athens Eyalet. One of them saluted sharply."Captain Aydın, welcome home. His Highness Shehzade Selim awaits you at the Governorate Palace."
A small smile tugged at my lips. "Then let's not keep him waiting."
Through the winding streets and rebuilt avenues, I saw the traces of change — mosques under repair, schools being painted anew, and roads paved with a precision I hadn't seen in years. The city was alive again, reborn from ashes.
And there, before the palace steps, stood Shehzade Selim, dressed simply yet dignified, a faint smile crossing his young face as I approached.
"Aydın-effendim," he greeted warmly, extending his hand. "Welcome back. The sea treated you well, I hope?"
I bowed lightly, handing him the Khan's sealed copy of the letter."The sea was kind, my prince. And the steppes remember you fondly. Khan Giray sends his regards—along with this."
Selim took the medallion, his expression thoughtful as the sunlight caught the silver."The mark of Mengli Giray… so the past sends its strength to the future," he said softly. Then he looked up, the ember of determination in his eyes."Well done, Captain. You've done more than fulfill your orders — you've written a legacy upon the waves."