Chapter 3 – In the Shadow of Galata
Istanbul neared dawn, but the shadows did not sleep.
Especially not when Cafer walked among them.
His hood drawn low over his face, he moved with silent purpose through the steep streets of Galata. The city's breath was shallow, the alleys hushed. His eyes locked onto a figure he'd been watching for days—a Janissary whose movements reeked of secrecy. Though stationed in the palace, the man often disappeared at night, slipping through the city's underbelly.
Tonight, Cafer's instincts had been right again.
The soldier had crept out under moonless skies, vanishing into Istanbul's hidden corners.
When he reached the tavern district, he paused.
There, amid music and laughter, a shadow emerged—cloaked and cautious.
The Janissary approached the figure, glanced around, and the two slipped into a dark corner to speak.
Cafer melted into a wall's shadow, listening.
"…he failed," the soldier muttered. "Arrow took him. Right at the door."
"Impossible," the other whispered, panic in his voice. "He got inside without anyone seeing him. An arrow? That means Cafer was there…"
"That's not the point. The Sultan is suspicious now. They found the symbol."
A heavy silence followed. Then came a sharp whisper and a slap.
"The last thing we can afford is carelessness. Understood?"
The two parted. The soldier turned back, but the other man—the true danger—headed deeper into the Golden Horn.
Cafer had already made his decision.
The soldier was no longer his priority.
He followed the cloaked man.
The stranger descended toward the old sea walls, slipping into a dock near moored boats. He entered through the back of a small wooden shack.
Cafer crept to the edge of a fluttering curtain, drawn by the wind.
Then narrowed his eyes.
What he saw inside… was unexpected.
Topal Recep Pasha.
Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire. Brother-in-law to the Sultan. A pillar of the court.
Outwardly, a man of honor. But here he was—in a shadowy backroom, his face pale, angry, and resolved.
"Recep Paşa…" Cafer whispered to himself.
"So the trail leads to you…"
He didn't move. It wasn't the time to strike—
It was the time to observe.
The man who had met with the Pasha exited shortly after.
Cafer slipped away to set a trap.
A few streets away, within the ruins of a forgotten Byzantine church, Cafer waited.
There was only one path leading to it—
And the shadows on that road belonged to him.
The man turned the corner.
He managed only a few steps before a dark figure slammed him to the ground. His breath vanished as his back struck the stone.
When he opened his eyes, Cafer stood above him, a dagger pressed to his chest—gleaming and thirsty.
"Did Recep Pasha send you?" Cafer asked, his knee pinning the man down.
"I… I just delivered messages…" the man wheezed.
Cafer sliced a thin line across the man's cheek—no hesitation.
"I want answers. Not loyalty."
There was a long silence.
Then, surrender.
"Yes… the order came from Recep Pasha. The assassin was his. I don't know who exactly arranged it—but it was his plan. The Sultan's pursuit of the relics threatens his power. He wants it stopped."
"Who else is working with him?"
"I don't know… I swear. They don't give names. Only instructions. Paid intermediaries. Hired shadows…"
Cafer inhaled slowly. He lowered the blade—but didn't move.
Then, in a whisper:
"Recep Pasha… now you have a shadow of your own."
The man slipped into unconsciousness.
Cafer left him there, silent as ever.
Above, the stars had lost their shine.
Dawn was near…
But the night was far from over.