It was a cold night, enough to make one reluctant to step outside.
At that hour, the Prince gazed up at the scattered star sky, lost in thought. It wasn’t just because of Sophia’s parting words.
There were far too many issues weighing on his mind.
But the most troubling among them was the piece of news he had unintentionally learned through Sophia—something concerning the co-emperor.
“Co-emperor, huh…”
The conflict between Emperor John and Prince Dragases of Morea had only deepened the divide between the capital and Morea.
Even under normal circumstances, the central government and the provinces were distant from each other, both geographically and politically.
That was precisely why Manuel had attempted a system of divided rule, giving power to Dragases and his two brothers—because the crumbling authority of the empire could no longer govern the provinces on its own.
The Prince had always feared a complete split between the empire and Morea, which was why, until now, he had avoided any civil war in pursuit of the throne.
And yet, the capital had now completely changed its course.
The message sent through the Pope’s letter—that Morea would no longer bow to the capital’s will—had made a far greater impact than expected.
But what concerned him most was the uncertainty of the motive behind it.
Had the capital truly resolved to establish a co-emperor? Or was this merely a ploy to remove him from power?
The Prince couldn’t help but lean toward the latter possibility.
“What exactly is their true intent?”
Two images of John surfaced in his mind—one, the emperor passionately advocating for war against the Ottomans, and the other, the emperor watching him with relentless suspicion.
The rise of war faction in the capital was understandable, given that Timur’s invasion had shattered the Ottomans.
But their wariness of him? That stemmed from the fact that Morea, despite being a mere province, had grown far too powerful—surpassing the capital itself.
Naturally, the nobility in the capital grew uneasy, and now, with a new emperor rooted in the city, they had likely chosen to stand by his side.
The capital’s pressure had been severe enough that he had once joined hands with his elder brother, Theodoros, just to withstand it.
But now, the political landscape had completely changed. Theodoros, his former ally, had vanished, and the emperor—his longtime adversary—was suddenly offering to share power.
If only he could believe those words.
But he couldn’t.
The moment he set foot in the capital for the coronation, he would be left with only two choices.
—Civil war, or surrendering everything.
Either option would be enough to undo the eight years he had fought to secure.
And while the empire wasted precious time, the enemy it had barely driven back would finish its preparations and advance once more—this time, fully ready to bring an end to the empire and rise in a new era.
They had learned from their greatest weakness—the instability of their succession—and would have already devised ways to prevent it from hindering them again.
The empire had already exhausted all its schemes. There were no longer any tricks left to hold its enemies at bay.
Yes. From now on, it was a battle against time.
He needed to rebuild an army that had nearly collapsed, fortify a foundation that would withstand war, and prepare for the future—no matter how faint the hope beyond it might be. Before everything came to an end.
Now, more than ever, it was time to gather strength and forge alliances.
But how? How could he amass power? How could he form alliances? Morea was the only force that had to accomplish all of this—without plunging into civil war.
“…I must prepare for the worst.”
Even his younger brother, Thomas, the Prince of Epirus, had ended up pledging fealty to the Ottomans, reduced to little more than their vassal.
At this point, it was impossible to tell how many among the capital’s influential figures could still be trusted.
And yet, there were a few individuals in whom he could place his faith.
That was his final hope.
Among them, the most prominent was his father and predecessor, Manuel II.
From the beginning, Manuel had taken notice of him, and even when it led to his own imprisonment, he had done everything in his power to support him.
But it wasn’t Manuel II whom the Prince sought to contact this time.
Rather, it was someone with whom he had so little connection that he might as well have never met him in person.
Yet, despite their lack of direct interaction, a strange sense of understanding had begun to form between them through the letters they had exchanged.
Their passion might not have been identical, but the Prince had developed a strong conviction that this man would help him.
“You, of all people, will be able to tell me.”
At this moment, the one who held the Prince’s expectations was Andronikos.
Once the ruler of Thessalonica, he was also the prince who had agreed with the Prince’s strategy of handing the city over to Venice.
No one had ever seriously considered abandoning Thessalonica, so he had stood alone, bearing the relentless pressure of the Ottomans and sustaining the city against all odds.
Andronikos, who had carried out his lonely struggle, unacknowledged and unnoticed by the public, and had always included words of concern for the Prince in his letters.
“One man alone cannot do everything—use people wisely.”
“Do not trust too easily, but do not hesitate to make use of others.”
“I will not tell you to never give up. But at the very least, promise me you will not break under the weight of it all.”
They might have seemed like ordinary words of advice, but the Prince could feel the raw emotions behind them.
No doubt, Andronikos, too, had once sworn to aid his father with the conviction of saving the empire.
But Thessalonica had been powerless. Once the heart of the anti-Ottoman front, the city had crumbled after its first fall, slowly wasting away.
This was precisely why the Prince had chosen to abandon Thessalonica—it was indefensible.
Through countless trials and hardships, Andronikos must have come to understand the empire’s wretched reality.
The bitter truth that they no longer even had the power to decide their own fate.
A state so weakened that it was nothing more than a small boat adrift on a stormy sea, helplessly tossed by the will of foreign powers.
That was what the empire had become. And so, the letters Andronikos sent were filled with longing, admiration, and concern.
Rather than lamenting his own failures, he had chosen to place his hopes on the one who would come after him.
He would help.
As certainty took root in his mind once more, the stars overhead flickered. The Prince watched them for a moment before turning his back to the night sky. As always, his destination was his study.
TL : In real life too, Andronikos surrendered Thessalonica to Venice way before the fall of the Byzantine Empire due to the prolonged blockade on the city, which lasted for 7 years even under Venetian rule.
Historically, at this period of time, mc is 19 years old but I am not sure since things are unfolding much earlier in his world.
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