The Empty Forges
Istanbul's skyline glittered with domes and minarets, but Abdulhamid saw only the silence of empty forges.
No smoke of great factories rose over the Golden Horn. No rhythmic thunder of machines shook the ground. The Ottoman Empire, heir to Rome, to Selim, to Suleiman, was now a beggar at Europe's door, buying rails from the English, cannons from the Germans, textiles from the French.
It was shameful. It was dangerous.
In his first life, Abdulhamid had watched as Europe used its factories to mass-produce rifles, cannons, ships — weapons that dwarfed anything the Ottomans could afford. He had begged for scraps of industry, too little and too late.
But not this time. This time, he would plant the seeds of industry himself — and water them with steel, sweat, and secrecy.
The Council of Skeptics
Abdulhamid stood before a circle of ministers in the Sublime Porte, his plans spread across the table: sketches of looms, furnaces, shipyards, and mechanical workshops.
"Factories?" scoffed one minister. "We are not the English. We are not the Germans. Our people are farmers, soldiers, traders. This is folly."
"Folly?" Abdulhamid's voice was steady, but sharp. "Folly is sending coin across the sea for every musket, every uniform, every rail. Folly is letting foreigners build their wealth with our labor. Factories are not folly — they are survival."
Another minister sneered. "And who shall pay for these grand workshops? The treasury bleeds already. You propose draining it dry."
Abdulhamid leaned forward. "Then let us fill it again. If we produce our own arms, we keep the coin at home. If we weave our own cloth, we need not bow to Manchester mills. If we forge our own steel, we build not only railroads but an empire of iron."
Silence fell. They were unconvinced, but they could not refute him.
In the end, Sultan Abdülaziz waved his hand. "Give him a chance. A seed planted in barren ground may yet take root. But, Nephew — if this fails, it is your name that burns with it."
The First Workshop
With secret funding funneled through the Crescent Eyes, Abdulhamid converted an abandoned warehouse near the Golden Horn into a small mechanical workshop.
It was humble — a forge, a few lathes, hand-built looms, and crude assembly lines guided by his memory of 21st-century factories. But to the apprentices who gathered there, it was a temple of wonders.
Abdulhamid himself walked the floor, instructing them:
How to refine steel with controlled heat, instead of crude blacksmithing.How to assemble parts interchangeably, so muskets could be repaired swiftly.How to use steam engines to drive looms and presses, doubling the speed of production.
At first, the workers were skeptical, fumbling with the strange designs. But slowly, under Abdulhamid's guidance, the sparks grew into flame.
The first fruits came within months: muskets built not in Europe, but in Istanbul. Simple, but functional.
When Abdulhamid held one aloft before his loyal men, his voice trembled with pride:
"This is more than a rifle. This is freedom, hammered into steel."
The Web of Sabotage
But freedom came at a price.
The British ambassador soon sent word to the Sultan, warning against "reckless ventures that destabilize the economy." The French merchants complained of "unfair competition." And within Istanbul itself, European agents bribed dockworkers to sabotage shipments of coal and ore destined for Abdulhamid's workshop.
One night, the forge was set ablaze. Flames devoured half the warehouse before Selim and the Crescent Eyes managed to extinguish it.
Abdulhamid stood in the smoke, soot covering his hands, his eyes burning.
"See how quickly they fear us," he said coldly. "We have struck a nerve. That means we are on the right path. For every workshop they burn, I will build ten more."
The Crescent Eyes fanned out, hunting the saboteurs. Some vanished quietly into the Bosphorus, their bodies weighted with stone. Others were paraded through the streets, exposed as foreign agents.
Fear spread — but so did resolve.
The Arsenal of the Future
Abdulhamid's vision expanded. He secured support from loyal military officers, channeling resources into the Imperial Arsenal at Tophane. There, under his secret instruction, new foundries were built.
Soon, the empire had more than muskets. It had rifled artillery, steam-powered presses, and even the beginnings of naval shipbuilding with iron plating.
Each creation was crude compared to the perfected weapons of Europe — but it was the beginning.
Abdulhamid looked upon the arsenal one night, smoke rising like a dragon over the Golden Horn, and whispered to himself:
"Here is the beating heart of a new empire. The heart that will pump steel through its veins."
Enemies in the Palace
Yet even as factories roared to life, enemies within the court sharpened their knives.
Old nobles complained that workshops polluted the city. Merchants who grew fat on European imports cried that their profits dwindled. Some clerics even denounced the factories as "satanic," claiming the machines defied the natural order of Allah's creation.
The court buzzed with murmurs:
"The prince grows dangerous."
"He plays with fire greater than his station."
"Factories are the tools of Europe, not Islam."
Abdulhamid countered carefully, invoking religion itself as his shield.
"Did not Allah give man a mind to think, a hand to build? Is not the plow also a tool? Is not the bow a weapon? These machines are no different — only greater."
Slowly, he bent resistance. Some clerics nodded reluctantly. Some nobles grumbled but fell silent.
But Abdulhamid knew: for every man he convinced, two more plotted in silence.
The First Smoke of Industry
Months later, smoke rose over Istanbul. Not from saboteurs, not from fire — but from furnaces, roaring with coal.
The Golden Horn echoed with the clang of hammers, the hiss of steam, the rumble of engines. Crates of Ottoman-made rifles were loaded onto wagons. Bales of locally woven cloth replaced imports from Manchester.
It was a small beginning — a seed. But Abdulhamid knew what seeds could grow into.
As he stood on the balcony of his chamber, watching the smoke rise like banners of war, he clenched his fist.
"Factories are not buildings. They are weapons. Every loom, every forge, every engine is a soldier in my army. And with them, I will forge not only steel — but destiny."
Yet in the embassies along the Bosphorus, European men in suits watched with cold eyes. Reports were sent to London, to Paris, to St. Petersburg. They spoke of a dangerous prince, of factories rising, of a fire too great to ignore.
And in the shadows of the palace itself, another plot stirred, deadlier than fire.