The campaign has ended with blood , success and disappointment . The campaign has ended but the victory was bitter .

Sultan Suleyman returned to the capital in silence , followed by his soldiers . There were no celebrations, no cheers echoing through the streets of the capital , the city felt different and suspiciously quiet and in that quiet , the sultan heard something worse than rebellion - he heard memory .

the silence that met his arrival spoke volumes , he felt the ground shifting beneath his feet because Mustafa was gone but not forgotten .

In the corners of the empire , whispers began . They started in small taverns , in the alleys of markets , in the campfires of soldiers who once served mustafa now exiled and erased from records . They spoke of of betrayal , of a prince who was stolen from them without a cause , a bloodline erased by the will of one man .

But what started as quiet rumblings soon turned into something more , small groups were getting formed and gathering in the shadows . They spoke of justice , of the rightful heir , they didn't raise their swords or banners . For now they only spoke in whispers

In the vast corridor of the palace , everything seemed peaceful but outside of it , a different story was unfolding . A rebellion was about to break out , it was growing quietly and secretly under the surface .

Stella's pov - Months later

It had been one or two months already since i've left everything behind , i've counted days not in numbers but in silences . The wind here was soft , perhaps gentler on the skin but crueler on the heart , it reminds me of how far we are from everything we once knew .

I have not heard of Mustafa ever since , not even once , not a letter , not a whisper . They tormented us , but i knew that he's out there , somewhere alive , breathing the same air under a different sky . That's enough for now but i can't help but stay awake at night and think about him missing all the little things , he should've been here to witness the pieces of life we're forced to build without him . Nergisşah has started walking and Mehmed uttered his first words already , he started to look like his father more and more

Alexander stood on the balcony overlooking the training yard , his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed . He hadn't heard me come in. For months now , he'd watch over me like a hawk , patient but silently waiting for the pieces of his sister to return , i don't know if he realised that some of them were lost forever

« Brother » I said softly

He turned around , his expression melted as the stiffness in his shoulder eased when he saw me standing .

« you sent for me » I said softly

He turned and for a moment I saw not a king, but my brother tired, protective and worn out by things he couldn't say out loud .

"Yes, I did sit down" he offered me a seat which I gladly took , for a moment neither of us spoke the silence was stretching .

"How have you been?" he looked at me with something close to being surprised. "You're asking about
me ?"

"Of course I am" I replied " you're still my brother aren't you? Do I not have the right to ask?"

his smile softened " I've been fine tired actually there's a lot of things on my shoulders but I suppose that's the price of having a crown , but i'm trying to manage"

" Father used to tell me leadership is all about presence , but he didn't  mention how isolating it can be . no one talks to me the way you just did"

My gaze softened and I grabbed his hand " I know how hard that can be and I really appreciate you because I could have been in your place. I could have been the one to rule, but you  chose to do it. As long as I'm here with you, I am sure I can help you with everything you just need to tell me and I will do my best to assist you"

" And you ? How are you doing Really ?" I looked down at my hands, fingers curling slightly " I'm surviving , some days I wake up and forget who I am or where I am , other days I remember everything and I wish I hadn't"

"How are the kids feeling?" he asked me about nergisşah and mehmet ."Honestly they're clueless , but Nergisşah has asked me about her father and i couldn't give her a proper answer"

Alexander's eyes darkened " you should've never had to go through that neither should they"

" we don't always get to choose the wars we're thrown into" I said " but we get to choose how to survive them" 

Before I could finish the door creaked open , a guard stepped in head bowed .

" Your majesty , Your  highness. I am sorry for the interruption but a Messenger has arrived from the north and they say it's very important

Alexander stood immediately, the weight of his crown seeming heavier by the second. "Let him in."

I rose as well, instinctively straightening my posture though my heart was already tightening in my chest.

The guard stepped aside, and a man cloaked in dust and the smell of cold wind entered the room. He bowed deeply, then pulled down the scarf from his face. "Your Majesty. Your Highness."

"Speak," Alexander commanded.The guard stepped aside as the Ottoman envoy entered — draped in imperial silks, the seal of the Sultan displayed clearly on his chest. Behind him trailed two scribes and a chestlocked satchel.

Alexander rose, tension seizing his shoulders.

"You dare set foot in my palace unannounced?" he asked coldly.

The envoy bowed. "Your Majesty. Your Highness. My apologies, but I come with orders from the capital directly from the Divan."

I stood up slowly, a chill crawling down my spine.

"We are here to deliver an official decree from the Sultan " the envoy continued. He unrolled a scroll, the imperial seal cracking as he did.

"By the will of the Sultan, it is hereby declared that the children of Prince Mustafa born of Ottoman blood are not to be considered citizens of any foreign realm. They are imperial property and heirs of the dynasty. Their current status as residents of a foreign crown is in direct violation of the Ottoman laws concerning royal lineage."

my breath left my body. Nergisşah. Mehmet.

The envoy's voice remained steady, impersonal. "You are given one fortnight to surrender both children to the custody of the Empire. Failure to do so will be interpreted as an act of aggression and treason."

Silence. Sharp and suffocating.

Alexander took a step forward. "If you think for a moment "

"I am merely the mouthpiece of the law," the envoy said calmly. "The empire has been... merciful. But it will not be mocked."

My fingers curled tightly against the armrest of my chair as the envoy's words echoed in my ears.

"You claim my children still belong to the Empire?" I repeated, my voice measured, calm — too calm for the fire rising in my chest.

The envoy met my gaze without flinching. "By blood, they are descendants of Sultan Suleyman. Regardless of their father's abdication, their lineage remains. The Empire only requests they be raised under its protection... in Istanbul."

I stood slowly. The silk of my gown whispered against the marble floor. "Mustafa abdicated," I said quietly. "You speak of lineage, yet by your own laws, an abdicated prince ceases to exist in the eyes of the dynasty. His children have no claim. No title. They are not Ottoman subjects."

There was a flicker in his eyes, but he kept his posture rigid. "It is not for you to interpret the Empire's will, Sultana."

"No," I replied, my voice sharper now, "but it is mine to protect my children. And I will not let anyone take them not in the name of blood, or duty, or empire."

From beside me, Alexander stepped forward. His voice rang out like thunder cold, firm, regal. "This kingdom does not answer to veiled threats. If the Empire has truly severed ties with us, then they have no authority here."

The envoy bowed his head slightly. "You may regret this decision."

"I already regret many things," I said, my eyes locked on his. "But not this."

He turned on his heel and left. The door closed behind him with a final, echoing thud. The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Alexander exhaled slowly. "That wasn't a request."

I nodded. "It was a warning."

"They're planning something."

"I know," I whispered, gaze fixed where the envoy had stood. "And we need to be ready."

The moment the door shut, I felt my knees weaken slightly. I steadied myself, refusing to show even the smallest sign of fear not in front of my brother, not in front of anyone. I had lived through exile, heartbreak, and the cold silence of uncertainty. I would not fall apart now.

Alexander was pacing, his jaw tight. "They'll come back," he muttered. "They don't send envoys unless they're preparing something."

I turned to face him. "They think we're weak. That I'm fragile. That you're distracted."

He stopped and looked at me, really looked. "Are you frightened?"

"Yes," I said truthfully. "But not for me. For Nergisşah. For Mehmet. I know what happens to children like them when empires feel threatened."

He didn't reply for a moment, and when he did, his voice was low. "They're not going to touch them. We'll reinforce the borders. Double the guards near your wing. You'll be surrounded at all times."

"And if they don't come with soldiers, but with lies?" I asked. "With whispers and bribes? All they need is one traitor, one weak link."

Alexander ran a hand down his face, frustration flashing across his features. "Then we start watching our own court. No more assumptions. No more trust without proof."

A soft knock at the door made us both flinch. My heart was already bracing for another message, another twist but it was only the maid. "Your Highness," she said gently, "Nergisşah is asking for you. She won't sleep."

I nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of my world return all at once.

As I turned to leave, Alexander called out, "Stella."

I paused.

"We'll protect them. You have my word. And... if war comes, it won't find you unprepared."

I gave him a tired smile. "Then let them come. Because if they think they're the only ones who know how to fight for what's theirs, they're mistaken."

And with that, I stepped out back into the quiet halls of my temporary home, where war didn't roar with cannons, but whispered through doors and echoed in lullabies.

3rd person POV

The morning light draped Topkapi in gold, but Hurrem Sultan felt none of its warmth. The court was unusually quiet too quiet as if the palace itself was holding its breath.

She moved through the marble corridors with practiced grace, attendants trailing behind her, their steps silent. Every whisper, every bowed head, reminded her that the empire watched her and feared her. And yet, something had shifted. Something intangible.

At breakfast, Mihrimah barely touched her food. The news from the western provinces had not been good caravans delayed, taxes resisted, local governors restless.

"The refusal from the northern kingdom..." Mihrimah finally broke the silence, "It's made us look weak."

Hurrem set down her cup of sherbet. "She was never going to give them up willingly," she said, voice steady. "A mother's heart is stubborn. But it changes nothing. Her children are not Ottomans anymore."

"But the world doesn't care for details," Mihrimah muttered. "They only see defiance."

Hurrem leaned forward slightly. "Then we remind them who we are. Let them believe we were merciful once , only once."

Mihrimah's eyes flicked to her mother. "And if she refuses again?"

"She won't get the chance."

The silence returned not awkward, but weighty. Even they understood that diplomacy had its limits. The empire had lost face, and that was not something it could afford for long.

But it wasn't just Stella's defiance gnawing at Hurrem. In the past few days, rumors had crept through the palace like cold drafts. Murmurs of unrest in Anatolia. Secret meetings in Konya. A preacher's sermon laced with dangerous praise.

Hurrem had heard it before: "A lion cast out will one day return to his den."

She didn't speak Mustafa's name not even in her thoughts but the ghost of him loomed. He had abdicated, yes. Vanished without a fight. But that was the problem. There had been no blood, no closure, no body.

And Hurrem had learned long ago : nothing stays buried forever.

In the dusky heart of Konya, where the stone streets held echoes of the prince who once ruled them, a quiet fire burned beneath the surface. It was not seen, but it was felt — in the wary eyes of merchants who glanced over their shoulders, in the guarded hush that fell when his name was mentioned, even in whispers.

Mustafa.

The people had not forgotten him.

And neither had Atmaca.

The room was dimly lit, cloaked in the smell of oil and parchment. A map sprawled across the table before him, stained with ink and time. Hidden paths. Secret allies. Cities that still remembered.

Atmaca stood motionless, eyes fixed on the folded parchment in his hand. It was nothing extraordinary at first glance no royal seal, no ribboned crest

He opened the letter slowly, scanning each word as if they might disappear. His breath stilled.

He has been seen.
East of the Black Sea.
Wearing no crown, bearing no title.
But alive.

The silence in the room shifted. Behind him, a few trusted figures — merchants, former guards, old allies in plain clothes — waited for his word.

Atmaca's jaw tightened. They had moved carefully, deliberately. Their underground resistance had been built like a cathedral in the dark — one stone at a time, unseen but unshakable. Still, the time had never felt right.

Until now

The rebellion silent and buried was beginning to stir.

A young boy in the corner leaned forward. "Is it true?"

Atmaca didn't answer him directly. Instead, he said, "Get me eyes on the eastern routes. No one moves unless I say. And send word to the coast — they'll need to prepare."

He moved toward the door, then stopped, eyes narrowing slightly.

"And tell the men in Edirne... the prince's shadow walks again."

The words hung in the air long after the door slammed shut behind him.

Far from the palace. Far from the eyes of a complacent court and a content Hurrem, something was waking.

And the empire had no idea.