Chapter 30 – Those Who Came at Dawn
The first light of morning crept silently through the streets of Kritinia.
The chill of the night still clung to the stone walls.
Aside from a few dozing cats in the alleys, not a soul stirred.
A thin plume of smoke rose from the kitchen chimney of the Black Swan Inn.
The scent of the baker's wood-fired oven blended with the steam of freshly baked bread, spreading a warm drowsiness across the courtyard.
The old innkeeper, his eyes still heavy with sleep, placed the warm loaves onto the shelves behind the counter.
Each one carried the fragrance of effort kneaded in the hours before dawn.
Just then, the inn's door creaked open.
Footsteps echoed—
but not ordinary ones.
Heavy, deliberate, and commanding respect.
Four men entered.
They wore plain travel clothes beneath their armor, but the sharp alertness in their eyes made it clear:
they were no merchants.
The man in front stood a step ahead of the others.
On his right arm, an embroidered collar marked him as a janissary.
His voice was firm, controlled:
"Innkeeper."
The old man flinched.
He placed the bread on the shelf and straightened his apron with a bow.
"Yes, sir..."
The janissary stepped closer, eyes locking with the innkeeper's.
"Are four Turkish men who look like merchants staying in this inn?"
The innkeeper hesitated.
His throat tightened.
His eyes flicked toward the upstairs rooms.
Doubt in his heart, hesitation on his tongue.
"Yes, sir...
Four men arrived last night.
Clean men. No trouble or noise."
The senior janissary nodded slightly.
His words were short, sharp, and final:
"Show us their rooms."
The innkeeper swallowed.
He stood between his own safety and the four mysterious guests upstairs.
But the resolve in the soldier's eyes gave him no choice.
He lowered his head and pointed behind the hearth.
"Up there, sir...
End of the right corridor on the upper floor."
Without another word, the janissaries nodded.
The lead soldier took the first step.
Each strike of his iron-heeled boot broke the morning silence a bit more.
The innkeeper followed behind—nervous, curious, but silent.
As they climbed the stairs, everything on the second floor remained asleep.
Morning light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the worn walls.
When they reached the end of the corridor, the lead janissary slowed.
He raised his hand.
The other three halted a step behind.
They stood before the door.
Kritinia had not yet fully awakened.
Light seeped through the old windows, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Inside the inn's farthest room, Cafer stood by the window.
He hadn't slept all night.
Sleeplessness was an old friend.
His eyes were alert, but his mind wandered the dark corridors of his past.
The cold, stone cellars of his childhood, endless pain and training...
He remembered the day he first touched shadow energy.
How a child embraced darkness—
and how that darkness began to live within him...
A sudden feeling pulled him back.
The sun was rising.
Its light caught the steel of the weapons on the table.
Cafer stepped closer to the window.
He watched the street.
At first, all was calm.
Then, four figures appeared.
Armored. Moving with purpose.
Janissaries.
They asked a few passersby brief questions.
One approached an old man across the street and asked:
"Have you seen four Turkish merchants this morning?"
Cafer didn't need more.
"They're looking for us."
He recalled last night's tavern chaos.
There must have been traces.
He turned instantly and rushed to Balibey, half-awake in bed.
"Balibey! Wake up! We need to go!"
Balibey rubbed his eyes.
"What's going on, Cafer?"
"Soldiers. Janissaries.
They're downstairs asking about us.
We have to move!"
Balibey sat up straight.
He grabbed his sword belt from beside the bed.
"I'll warn the Sultan,"
he said, dashing out.
Cafer turned to Kasım's bed.
"Get up, Kasım! Now!"
As Kasım opened his eyes, Cafer had already strapped on his gear.
Within minutes, all three met in the corridor.
Balibey had opened Murad's door.
The Sultan was already awake and dressed.
No panic—
only that familiar calm, steady gaze.
The four moved quietly toward the stairs.
At that moment, the front door burst open.
Heavy janissary footsteps echoed through the stone floor.
Cafer led the group.
He quickly assessed the scene, then turned to Murad:
"Sultan, they've entered.
We have to take the back exit!"
Murad nodded.
They rushed to the rear and slipped into the narrow back alleys.
The streets were still cool.
Shadows on the walls stood long and still.
With a glint in his eye, Murad muttered:
"Never thought I'd be fleeing from my own soldiers..."
Balibey smirked.
"Fate plays strange games, my Sultan."
They headed west, toward the harbor.
Stalls weren't yet open.
Fishermen hauled nets, carts rolled quietly.
A small cargo ship sat moored at the dock.
It was half-loaded but still able to take passengers.
Balibey had a short talk with the captain.
A pouch of gold exchanged hands, followed by a few nods.
Moments later, the four men boarded the vessel to depart Kritinia.
As the ship drifted away under the gentle southern wind,
Kasım whispered toward the horizon:
"Venice… we're coming."
Murad closed his eyes.
His expression was calm—
but beneath it lay steel resolve.
The journey continued.
But the true war
had yet to begin.