EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

A silvery haze hung over the Ionian Sea in the early morning light, turning each wave crest into a glimmering fragment of the sun's reflection. The sea breeze carried with it a faint tang of salt as Constantine's galley approached the port of Glarentza. The morning gulls circled overhead, calling out in sharp cries that mingled with the slap of oars cutting through the brine. Crates and barrels—laden with goods bound for the marketplace—lined the main pier, stacked precariously as dockworkers bustled back and forth. Despite the usual cacophony of an active harbor, a reverent hush seemed to accompany the vessel's arrival, as though the city itself recognized the significance of its ruler returning.

The castle's familiar outline and the harbor's bustling activity came into view. It stood watchful in the distance, towering ramparts gilded by the early sunlight, a silent testament to centuries of vigilance. After nearly six weeks away in Italy, Constantine felt an odd mix of relief and anticipation. The trip had been more than productive—even transformative—but home carried its own challenges.

The oarsmen slowed their pace, and the galley eased into the dock. Seawater sloshed against the wooden hull in rhythmic surges. Fishermen paused in their work, shading their eyes to watch the returning vessel; merchants straightened their backs to show respect for their Despot. Even the horses at the far end of the pier flicked their ears in mild curiosity.

As the ship docked, Constantine disembarked, greeted by the sight of Theophilus Dragas and Petros, his steward, waiting at the pier. Their expressions, calm but watchful, reflected the ever-present pressures of leadership tempered by their loyalty.

"Welcome back, my Despot," Theophilus said with a slight bow, his tone warm yet measured. "How fares Italy? Were your discussions fruitful?"

Constantine took a moment before responding, remembering the stately halls of Italian nobles, the fervent discussions of trade deals, and the promise of new alliances.
"Indeed, Theophilus," Constantine replied, clasping his advisor's forearm in greeting. "They were. There is much to share—great news that could open doors we never imagined. But I will speak of it later. First, it is good to be home."

His gaze swept over the dock. Soldiers stood at well-defined intervals, each scanning the crowd for signs of danger. Nearby, a cluster of travelers and merchants waited to unload cargo, producing a muted ruckus as they shouted to each other or whistled for help.

Petros stepped forward, bowing slightly as he spoke. "Your return is a blessing, my Despot. All has been well in your absence. Captain Andreas has kept the men drilling with diligence, and the defenses remain strong. The books continue to sell steadily, replenishing the treasury, and trade in the port has been smooth, with merchants reporting profitable exchanges."

"And the Hexamilion?" Constantine asked, his tone carrying a note of curiosity.

Theophilus stepped forward confidently. "The works on the Hexamilion Wall are progressing smoothly, my Despot. The trenches have been deepened, the stonework reinforced, and the cannon emplacements are nearing completion. Thus far, no Ottoman activity has been reported."

Constantine allowed himself a smile. "This is good news. Well done, both of you. Theophilus, please ensure the council is assembled later. We'll need to plan our next steps carefully."

Later that evening, Constantine found solace in the private quarters of Clermont Castle, a reprieve from the relentless demands of leadership. Maria greeted him eagerly, her smile a little too quick, her embrace lingering. Her youth was evident in the energy she radiated, but there was an undercurrent of tension in her demeanor.

"You've returned," she said, a faint edge in her voice as she pulled back to look at him. "It felt like years, Constantine. While you were away, the days dragged on like an eternity."