In mid-492 B.C., the waters of the Marmara glistened in the summer sun as the workers of Cicicum put the finishing touches on the city's new harbor. It was a special day.
The harbor, a masterpiece of engineering, had reinforced stone piers, large warehouses, and watchtowers. From above, you could see how the city had grown. Orderly streets, wide squares, irrigation canals, and modern structures gave Cicicum an air that no other settlement in Asia Minor possessed.
The city thrived beneath him. Cicico, once an obscure coastal settlement, was now the shining jewel of western Anatolia. Its streets pulsed with new life, and its harbor, just completed, welcomed vessels from Egypt, Phoenicia, and the inner provinces of Persia. Tonight, for the first time, it would host a festival of peace.
The palace, completed the previous year, overlooked the city from a sacred hill. Tall and majestic, with golden-roofed halls, frescoes of legendary creatures, and gardens overflowing with flora brought from Egypt and Babylon. It was the pride of the people and the center of Daniel's power.
Lanterns lined the streets, suspended from ropes that crisscrossed above the plazas. The scent of roasted lamb, honeyed dates, and fresh bread filled the air. Musicians from Media and Lydia played side by side, while children ran barefoot through alleys lit with polished copper bowls full of fire. Above them, fireworks — simple by modern standards, yet miraculous here — burst in brief flashes of green and red.
Daniel walked among his people, dressed not in Persian silk or Greek robes but in a style entirely his own—a fusion of what had come before tempered by practicality. He smiled, nodded, and touched shoulders. These were his people now, not by conquest but by trust.
Near the harbor, a crowd gathered around a raised platform, where the nothosaurus rested in a great saltwater basin built specifically for it. Children stared in awe as Daniel approached, climbed atop the creature's back, and gave a signal. The nothosaurus dove, sleek and swift, disappearing under the water with Daniel on its back. Gasps turned to cheers as he re-emerged farther out, his arms raised in triumph. He had tamed the beast of the sea, and now, through it, the sea itself.
As he returned to shore, a woman watched from the shadows near the governor's pavilion. Tall, poised, veiled — but unmistakably noble. Her attendants carried the seal of one of Persia's most powerful houses. Rumors whispered her name, but Daniel did not yet turn his head. That meeting was not yet written in time.
Meanwhile… in Greece
The city-states stirred.
Athens rebuilt its fleet in secret. Eretria's council debated vengeance. The archons spoke of unity, but not all agreed. A rising generation of warriors and thinkers demanded action. "If Persia does not come," one said, "we must go to them." Their temples rang with oaths, their harbors with the sounds of hammers and iron.
Envoys passed between cities, some under the table. Mercenaries were hired. Grain was stored. Young men drilled in the hills.
They had lost the battle. But not the war.
In Persia…
King Darius listened to his advisors with weary patience. He was aging now, but his authority remained ironclad. He read the reports — about Cicico, about the Greeks, about Daniel.
"The Greeks aided the rebellion," one minister said."And now they arm again," said another.
Darius turned to his general, Artaphernes' son, a sharp, ambitious man raised on tales of empire and vengeance. "You will lead the campaign west. Make them remember who rules the world."
The first war of the Medes had not yet been called that. But it had begun.
And in Cicico…
As the fireworks died and the music softened, Daniel sat on a bench overlooking the quiet sea. Beside him, one of his trusted officers offered a cup of wine.
"Peace suits you," he said.
Daniel nodded, his gaze on the horizon. "For now. But peace is just the breath between storms."
And so, the world turned toward war, toward union, toward the unknown. And Daniel, the strange ruler of Cicico, stood ready to shape what came next.
The air over Cyzicus shimmered with the golden haze of autumn. It was the time of harvest — the time of giving thanks, of feasts, and of celebration. For the people of the city, it was more than a tradition: it was a promise fulfilled.
The Festival of the Harvest began with music at dawn. Pipes and lyres played in every plaza. The bakeries opened early, their ovens spilling warm scents of cinnamon, honey, and almond. From the highlands came caravans of fruit and grain, and fishermen offered salted eels and fresh clams from the sea. Flowers—wild and garden-grown—decorated homes and temples alike.
Daniel, now a figure of near-legend in the city, chose not to appear in the grand ceremonies at first. He walked the streets quietly, disguised in a simple green cloak, passing by vendors and children, observing the city that had grown under his hand. The smiles were real, the laughter unforced.
That evening, in the marble plaza of the civic temple, he was finally recognized. Cheers rose, and a circle of dancers surrounded him. He smiled — not with pride, but with something softer, something more human.
It was there that he saw her again.
Tall, composed, and veiled in deep blue, she walked slowly through the crowd, attended by two silent women. Their eyes met for only a moment — enough to speak a hundred things.
She approached, calm and curious.
"I expected a man of war," she said in Persian, her voice like silk over steel.Daniel chuckled. "And I expected a veiled specter of courtly rumors."
They exchanged only a few words before the crowd swept them apart. A noblewoman from the east, her name whispered by servants, vanished once more into the night.
The War Approaches
Weeks passed, and with the harvest safely stored, Daniel turned his energy toward his navy.
The harbor of Cyzicus, long the pride of the city, now birthed a fleet of its own — sleek warships and merchant vessels, crafted from pine and cypress. Daniel hired shipwrights from Phoenicia and Ionia, blending techniques with a vision uniquely his. He named the fleet The Teeth of the West, and at its center would swim a beast no navy could match.
The Nothosaurus, sleek and armored, had grown larger, stronger. Daniel trained it not only to carry him, but to follow commands in the sea. It had become both symbol and secret weapon.
But even as ships were christened, war drums echoed from the east.
In mid-492 BCE, under the command of Mardonius, Persia began its campaign toward Greece. Troops marched westward, and garrisons were reinforced. Daniel, though not required to participate directly, sent a company of volunteers — seasoned men loyal to him and the city. They joined the imperial army with honor.
A Shadow on the Waves
One moonless night, as Cyzicus rested under a veil of quiet stars, alarm bells rang from the harbor. A dozen small Greek vessels had appeared from the south, silent and fast, hoping to raid the docks or incite unrest.
They underestimated the harbor.
Daniel, already awake, mounted his creature and took to the water, accompanied by four patrol ships from his new fleet. The Greek boats, swift but lightly armed, had no chance.
The Nothosaurus dove beneath their hulls, capsizing two by force. Archers from the patrol ships rained fire on the others. By dawn, five enemy boats had been captured, their crews imprisoned. The rest fled into the open sea.
Cyzicus had stood firm — not just with walls, but with teeth.
A Quiet Night
Later that day, Daniel stood at the edge of the pier, watching his men celebrate. The city's safety had been proven. And somewhere, behind silk curtains in the palace, the noblewoman from Persia watched as well — her expression unreadable, but not unfeeling.
Daniel said nothing, but in his heart, he began to wonder what future peace — or alliance — might come from that single, interrupted conversation beneath the lanterns.