Chapter 1: The Whispers of the walls

The last light of the setting sun bled crimson over the Theodosian Walls, staining the ancient stones the color of old wounds. Constantinople stood defiant, a skeletal giant wrapped in the fading glory of a dying empire. Its people moved like ghosts through the streets, their whispers drowned beneath the distant thunder of Ottoman war drums.

Theodora Kantakouzene, last daughter of a fallen house, stood atop the battlements, the wind clawing at her cloak. Below, the enemy’s fires burned like a thousand watching eyes. She had seen the reports—the sultan’s cannons, his endless ranks of Janissaries, the siege towers creeping ever closer. But it was not the armies that chilled her tonight.

It was the silence of the city.

Not the quiet of sleep, but the hush of a beast holding its breath.

A hand touched her shoulder. She did not startle.

“You should not be here alone, *kyria*,” murmured Alexios Laskaris, his voice rough from years of shouting orders over the din of battle. His armor, once polished to a mirror’s sheen, was dull with dust and dried blood.

Theodora did not turn. “Where else would I be? The palace is a tomb. The churches are packed with wailing women. Here, at least, I can see the storm coming.”

Alexios grunted, leaning against the parapet. “A storm we cannot stop.”

She clenched her jaw. “Then why do you still stand on these walls, *stratopedarches*? Why not flee like the others?”

“Because,” he said quietly, “someone must remember how it ends.”

A gust of wind howled through the crenellations, carrying with it the scent of salt and iron. And beneath it—something else. A whisper.

*"They are already inside."*

Theodora stiffened. “Did you hear that?”

Alexios frowned. “Hear what?”

She turned, scanning the empty battlements. The wind had died as suddenly as it had risen. But the air… the air *thrummed*, like the moment before a lightning strike.

Then she saw it.

A crack in the mortar—thin as a hair, but black as pitch. It ran in jagged lines down the face of the wall, forming a shape that made her breath catch.

The *Hysminai’s Mark*. The sigil of the old gods, the ones who drank the smoke of burning cities.

“Alexios.” Her voice was a blade’s edge. “Look.”

He followed her gaze, and his face went pale. “That’s impossible. These walls were blessed by Patriarchs. No dark magic could—”

The crack *split*.

A sound like breaking bones echoed through the night as the stone ruptured, dust showering onto the walkway. From the fissure seeped a shadow—not the absence of light, but something *alive*, coiling like smoke given purpose.

Theodora stumbled back, her dagger already in hand. Alexios swore, drawing his sword, but the shadow did not attack. It pooled at their feet, twisting into letters, then words:

***"The dead do not sleep. They wait."***

Then—laughter.

Not from the shadow.

From *inside the walls*.

A chorus of voices, some whispering, some screaming, all speaking in tongues long forgotten. The stones themselves trembled, as if something buried deep within the city’s bones was stirring.

Alexios grabbed her arm. “We need to go. *Now.*”

Theodora wrenched free. “Go where? There is no running from this.”

She stepped toward the crack, her boot disturbing the shadow-message. The whispers surged, hissing like serpents.

*"Thea... dorrrraaa..."*

Her name. Drawn out, hungry.

She should have been afraid. But something older than fear rose in her chest—rage.

“Who speaks?” she demanded, pressing her palm to the wall. The stone was ice-cold, yet it *burned*. “What do you want?”

The whispers coalesced into a single voice, dry as a corpse’s breath:

*"The key. You carry it."*

Then—silence.

The crack sealed itself, the black veins retreating as if they had never been. The wind died. Even the distant Ottoman drums seemed to pause.

Alexios exhaled sharply. “What in God’s name was that?”

Theodora stared at her palm. A faint red mark pulsed there—a mirror of the *Hysminai’s Mark*.

“A warning,” she said softly.

“Or a threat.”

She closed her hand into a fist. “No. An invitation.”

Somewhere in the city, a bell tolled. Not the steady call to prayer, but a frantic, irregular clanging—the sound of alarm.

Alexios cursed. “The gates—”

But Theodora was already moving, her cloak billowing behind her like the wings of a carrion bird. The whispers followed, slithering through the cracks in the world:

*"Find us, daughter of ashes. Before the sultan does."*

---

**End of Chapter 1**

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***