EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

The sun hung low over Mystras, gilding the fortress walls and winding streets in a final burst of warm light. In one of the castle's private chambers, Theodore Palaiologos stood by a narrow window, his posture rigid with mounting unease. He watched the rolling hills beyond the city as dusk settled—a seemingly endless sea of silhouettes harboring threats he could not yet name.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. A servant appeared, bowing.
"Master Plethon awaits you, my lord."

Theodore's gaze lingered on the horizon a moment longer before he turned, jaw set. "Let him in."

The door opened to admit Georgios Gemistos Plethon. At nearly seventy, he possessed the dignified bearing of a seasoned scholar. His long beard, streaked with white, framed a face creased by time yet illuminated with intellectual fervor. Though his simple Byzantine robes were unadorned, they reflected both scholarship and the stature of a magistrate.

"Theodore," Plethon greeted with a respectful nod, his voice measured.

"Plethon," Theodore acknowledged. He gestured toward a chair by the modest hearth. "Sit. I trust you know why I summoned you."

Plethon settled with a deliberate grace, folding his hands in his lap. "You wish to speak of the emperor's pursuit of church unification."

A flicker of anger crossed Theodore's features. He took a step forward, then paused, as if restraining himself from pacing. "You have been advising my brother. And I know that he leans upon your counsel in these negotiations with Rome." His tone hardened. "Tell me: do you truly believe in compromising our Orthodoxy? Do you support bending the knee to the Latin Church?"

Plethon's expression turned contemplative. "Believe me, I do not lightly suggest any compromise. But the emperor thinks that unification may secure Western aid, without which our people could be overrun by the Ottomans. And I cannot dismiss his concern out of hand."

Theodore exhaled, his pent-up agitation spilling into the quiet. "I recall the Fourth Crusade all too well—the rampage through Constantinople, the desecrations... And now we're to trust the West to respect our traditions? Their promises ring hollow."

Plethon lowered his gaze. "I have not forgotten. The scars of those days remain with us all. But the Ottomans advance closer each year. If Byzantium stands alone, our heritage—and our faith—might vanish entirely."

Theodore moved toward a small table on which an icon of the Virgin Mary flickered in the candlelight. Tracing its edge with one calloused fingertip, he spoke softly, as if the words were drawn from a deep well of doubt. "What is faith if not the anchor of our people? Embracing the Latins is more than a diplomatic turn; it means shifting our very creed. The filioque, papal supremacy—all these blasphemies we have long withstood. Would we not taint Orthodoxy by accepting them, even as a tactic?"

Plethon tilted his head, a gentle, almost teacherly gesture. "I've studied our past, and also Plato's lessons on forging unity in times of crisis. Sometimes a measured concession can preserve the soul of a society. We might ensure that, in exchange for our fealty, our own rites remain protected."

Theodore's voice grew taut. "You speak of negotiation. I fear the Latins speak of conquest. Their appetite for dominion has not changed since they first set eyes on Constantinople."

For a moment, Plethon did not reply. He fixed his gaze on the dancing shadows upon the wall, as though searching for an echo of an ancient truth. "I have spent my life sifting through the wisdom of Plato and the old Hellenic sages. I've seen how an empire can crumble when it clings too tightly to old forms while the world transforms around it. We are at a crossroads, Theodore—one requiring creativity as much as faith."