Chapter 15 – In the Shadow of Dawn

Chapter 15 – In the Shadow of Dawn

As the ship neared Rhodes, the night blanketed the Aegean like a gray shroud.

The waves murmured softly, yet carried depth—

and the line between sea and sky had all but vanished.

In the ship's lowest cabin,

a lone candle flickered with a trembling light.

Its glow yellowed the map papers pinned to the walls, casting long, serpentine shadows.

The Sultan stood over the map.

Beside him, Kasim had opened a small chest filled with scrolls and compasses,

repeating the plan once more:

"My Sultan… we will reach the eastern harbor of Rhodes before dawn.

The pilgrimage group will disperse there.

We will slip away to the western port and board the vessel waiting for us in secret."

The Sultan nodded, his eyes on the map, voice heavy and calm:

"There is more than one route to Venice.

But a single mistake could bring our journey to ruin."

Kasim pointed to a spot he had marked. His gaze stayed on his sovereign.

At that moment—

The candlelight shuddered.

As if an invisible wind brushed the room.

The shadows fractured.

The Sultan raised his head slightly.

A feeling—

A tightness rising from his gut to his chest.

The hairs on his neck stood.

His palms flushed hot, his pulse thudded in his ears.

This was the wolfblood.

The instinct of a predator sensing peril.

Kasim noticed nothing.

But the Sultan paused—

His gaze turned toward the dark.

And in that instant...

the dark split like a dagger.

Silence died.

A dagger.

Curved and gleaming…

Carrying not light, but darkness.

It came straight for his eye.

No sound.

But the air tore.

The Sultan spoke not.

He raised two fingers—

Snap.

The dagger stopped.

Held between his fingers.

Just a hair's breadth from his eye.

Kasim turned with a cry.

"My Sultan!"

The Sultan's gaze didn't flicker.

"You were late," he said—unclear to whom.

Then with will twice as sharp,

he thrust the dagger back into the dark.

Crack.

A sound burst from the shadows.

In the blackest corner of the cabin, beyond candlelight,

a shape stirred.

Not quite human—

but bearing something human.

Small. Crooked. Hunched. No face.

But eyes—

or rather, voids where eyes should be.

The dagger did not strike.

It was caught.

Suspended mid-air,

between two fingers.

Just as the Sultan had done.

The void-eyes locked on his.

And from that small body came a voice.

No… a tone.

"You are gifted... young wolf."

Not Cafer, not Kasim.

The words were for Murad.

"I know your line well.

The shadows have always watched you."

The Sultan narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

His shoulders broadened.

A growl rolled from his nose—

Like a wolf.

The blood in his veins howled with ancestral strength.

"Who are you?" he growled.

The creature stepped forward.

Its tiny form cracked, bones stretching—

its arms lengthened, its silhouette hardened.

Its chest expanded.

Still faceless—

But now a man.

A black cloak spilled from his back.

His mouth, at last, was visible.

"My name..."

"Sabbah."

"Hasan Sabbah."

The room froze.

Kasim forgot to breathe.

For the Sultan, his eyes—

for the first time—quivered.

That name was etched in blood.

An enemy of states, a master of betrayal.

A name thought to be extinguished.

And yet here—

from the shadows—an immortal whispered.

The very walls recoiled from that name.

As a scholar of history,

Murad knew the weight it bore.

But his shock lasted only a breath.

His eyes steeled.

His voice turned to stone:

"That is impossible.

You and your bloodline died at Alamut,

buried with your darkness."

Sabbah stepped forward.

Moonlight still veiled his face.

But his voice...

no longer came from his lips—

it flowed from the dark itself:

"Because I wanted you to believe that."

He raised his gaze skyward—

not to the stars,

but to the space between them.

"I have dwelled in the shadows for centuries.

Empires fell, thrones changed hands…

But I watched."

"Alamut was not a fortress, Sultan—

It was a mirror.

And while you stared into it...

I stood behind you."

The Sultan's hand moved toward the hilt of Fatih's sword.

When his fingers touched the steel,

the wolfblood roared within him.

Still, his voice remained steady:

"What do you want from me?"

Sabbah smiled.

Not with joy—

But like a man who has already won.

"First… your life."

"Then… the sword you carry."

The Sultan's eyes narrowed.

"My sword?"

Sabbah tilted his head.

His voice now a whisper,

sharp enough to pierce stone:

"My master wants it."

"Who is your master?" the Sultan asked,

his tone for the first time laced with fire.

But Sabbah shook his head.

"I won't speak his name.

Not yet.

Not until you've lost enough...

to be worthy of hearing it.