The brothers pack up their meager belongings, getting dressed and preparing for whatever the day holds. They depart the inn, stepping out into the crisp morning air. The sun breaks the horizon, spreading golden light across the eastern sky like a painter on a canvas, painting the world in brilliant, warm colors. The brothers walk side by side through the bustling port, the sound of traders and sailors shouting and calling to one another filling the air. The scent of salt and sea permeates the air, mingling with the smells of food and spices from the many merchants who sell their wares. The duo makes their way through the port, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of the recruiter they met two weeks prior. They eventually spot his tent set up by the edge of the port. The recruiter looks up as the brothers enter, his eyes lighting up as he recognizes them. The twins step into the tent, and he looks pleased to see they have returned.
“We saw the ship has arrived.” Oleksandr says. The recruiter nods in understanding, his smile widening slightly.
“Ah, yes, just on schedule. She is quite a sight, no? A true symbol of the might and wealth of Constantinople. The next step for you boys is to make an appearance before the ship’s crew and inspectors. They have a list of applicants, and will be checking attendance at noon to see who’s ready to board. You’ll need to make yourself known.”
“We’ll be there at noon then.”
The brothers, sitting at the beach, glance at each other as the sun hits its zenith, signaling the arrival of noon. They straighten their clothes and square their shoulders, mentally preparing themselves for the upcoming meeting with the crew. They make their way through the busy port and reach the docks, their eyes fixed on the grand ship anchored before them. The ship, a dromon, is a marvel of naval engineering, its sleek, elongated hull painted a deep, rich blue that shimmered in the sunlight. A large, square sail adorned with intricate gold and crimson designs billowed in the breeze, while rows of sturdy oars protruded from the sides, hinting at the manpower hidden within. The prow was carved into the shape of a fierce, mythical creature, its eyes seeming to watch over the sea with a protective gaze. The deck was busy with sailors clad in simple tunics and cloaks, their movements quick and precise as they prepared for the next leg of their journey. Above, a tall mast soared, topped with a fluttering flag of Eastern Rome, its twin-headed eagle emblem a symbol of the empire's power and reach. The brothers, captivated by the ship's grandeur, could not help but feel a sense of awe and wonder at this floating testament to Roman craftsmanship and maritime dominance.
They approach a group of crewmen and soldiers gathered near a table with several pieces of paper spread out on its surface. Some of the soldiers are going through the belongings of other recruits, inspecting their possessions, likely to ensure that the men don’t bring any unwanted contraband on board. The brothers nod at the men at the table in greeting, before sharing their names.
“Oleksandr, Thekkur.” Oleksandr says, motioning to himself then his brother. The man looks up at the twins, his eyes scanning the list of applicants before him.
“Ah, Oleksandr… And Thekkur. Found you.” The man mutters looking down at the applications. The man and a couple of soldiers look the brothers up and down, taking in their sturdy and battle scarred appearances.
“Yes, you’re both strong lads,” the recruiter comments. “You will do us well. Says here you hail from Siberia. Care to share your surnames?” Oleksandr shakes his head before responding.
“No surname.”
“No surnames, you say?” The man asks, his voice tinged with curiosity. “No family names?”
“No.”
“Ah, I see. Well, we can't very well have two applicants with no surnames… So I suppose you will both take the name 'Sibir' from ‘Siberia’ from now on.” The recruiter writes down the brothers' new shared surname on their applications, a grin playing at the edges of his lips.
“You're both obviously experienced fighters,” he says with a nod. “You will serve the empire well. Now, you will permit us to search through your belongings, yes?”
“As you wish.” Oleksandr responds as they hand over their packs. The soldiers nod and approach the brothers, their eyes sharp and observant. One of them takes the brothers' bags, while the other one begins to pat them down, searching their bodies for any concealed weapons or items. The soldiers take the brothers' scimitars and daggers from their hips, as well as the Griffin's spear. They look at the weaponry in their hands, clearly impressed by the quality and craftsmanship. The other soldier goes through the brothers' packs, pulling out various items and inspecting them closely.
“These will be returned to you,” the first soldier says, gesturing to the confiscated weaponry. The other soldier pulls out two small pouches from the brothers' bags, examining them carefully. One contains tobacco, while the other contains a block of a pressed crumbly, sticky substance. The soldier holds it up, his curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar substance.
“What is this?” He asks, his tone laced with curiosity as he looks at the block in his hand, taking in the earthy brown color and the strong spiced aroma. The brothers respond in unison, Oleksandr's voice deep and calm, while Thekkur's voice is a little more animated.
“Hashish.” The soldier looks at them for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glances back and forth between the brothers. He frowns, his expression a mixture of surprise and skepticism.
“Hashish, you say?” He mutters, looking at the block in his hand. The other soldiers nearby glance up from their tasks, their interest piqued by the mention of the substance. They murmur amongst themselves, clearly not expecting to find such a substance among the brothers' belongings.
The soldier shakes his head and drops the hashish back into the pouch, then places it back in their bag. The other soldiers murmur amongst themselves, clearly intrigued by the substance.
“You may keep it, but don't share it,” the soldier says, his tone firm. Thekkur and Oleksandr nod in understanding as the soldier puts all the pouches away. “Alright, you're cleared. Your weapons will be stored safely with the rest. Take your belongings and get on the ship.” The brothers nod and pick up their bags, their faces betraying no emotion as they look at the ship, its massive hull towering above them like a floating fortress. The brothers glance at each other, sharing a look of anticipation and excitement. They sling their bags over their shoulders and take a step forward, ready to embark on the next stage of their journey.
They make their way towards the gangway leading onto the deck of the ship, their eyes taking in every detail of the vessel and its crew as they walk. The soldiers and sailors nearby watch them intently, assessing them as they pass by. But the brothers remain composed and unfazed, their gazes fixed on the ship ahead of them. Nearby, they find a raised portion of the deck and settle down on the floor, their backs against the bulkhead.
They look around at the other recruits aboard the ship, taking in their appearances and mannerisms. Most of them appear to be Georgians, local to the region. Some of the nearby recruits glance at the brothers curiously, sizing them up and making brief, non-verbal evaluations. They ignore the curious glances, their faces impassive as they lean back against the bulkhead and observe their surroundings. The deck of the ship is filled with other recruits, all of them waiting for the ship to set sail. Some sit quietly while others chat amongst themselves, their voices mixing with the sounds of the sailors moving about on the deck. The brothers sit back and light up their pipes as they watch the crew and dock workers go about their tasks. The sailors and dock workers work efficiently, loading and unloading supplies and cargo with practiced ease. The brothers watch them intently, taking in the coordinated movements and the bustle of activity as the ship prepares to set sail.
“How long do you think this trip across the black sea will take?” Thekkur quietly asks Oleksandr. He takes a deep draw from his pipe before exhaling a plume of smoke as he considers Thekkur's question for a moment, his eyes fixed on the sailors as they work.
“I'm not sure,” he replies after a moment. “It can be unpredictable, but if the gods are kind, it should take us about three or four days I'm guessing.” As the sun dips below the horizon, the last of the cargo is loaded onto the ship. The crew moves swiftly and efficiently, securing the final items and preparing to set sail and row. The brothers smoke their pipes as they watch the activity, waiting patiently as the ship creaks and groans under the weight of its cargo.
As the darkness of the night envelops them, the sound of oars moving through the water echoes through the hull as the rowers below begin to push the ship from the dock. The vessel slowly glides through the water, leaving the shore behind as it sets out into the Black Sea. The brothers look out at the darkness, their eyes watching the port and Caucasus mountains in the distance grow smaller as the ship moves farther and farther away. The stars above twinkle softly in the sky, their light illuminating the water's surface. The only sound besides the creaking of the ship is the rhythmic sound of the oars moving through the water, pushing the massive vessel across the sea. The night passes slowly as the brothers sit in silence, their thoughts and emotions buried within them as they take in the sights and sounds of the ship. The crew above deck tends to the sails and other duties, while the rowers below push the vessel through the water. The journey has only just begun, and the brothers sit back and allow themselves to relax and rest, knowing that the next few days will be long and exhausting.
The brothers wake to the first light of the sun filtering through the darkness, the bustle of activity on the deck of the ship waking them from their sleep. They sit up, stretching and rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they take in their surroundings. The gruff old captain stood on the deck with an air of authority, his weathered face etched with lines from years at sea. His piercing gray eyes, shaded by bushy brows, missed nothing, and his grizzled beard framed a mouth set in a perpetual scowl. He moved with a deliberate confidence, barking orders in a voice that carried over the crashing waves, commanding respect from his crew. The captain stomps over to a group of nearby recruits, and he hollers at them, telling them to get up and to report to the lower deck to begin rowing. The recruits quickly scramble to their feet, their eyes still half-closed with sleep as they hurry to obey the captain's orders. Thekkur and Oleksandr listen silently, their faces impassive as they watch the recruits hurry to the lower deck. He looks over to the brothers.
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“That means you too!” With that, the brothers rise to their feet and follow the other men down to the dank and hot lower level, where they take their places among the other rowers, grabbing onto the oars and settling into a steady rhythm.
The brothers row continuously, their pace never flagging or slowing as the hours pass. The other men around them tire quickly, their strength sapped by the monotony of the repetitive pushing and pulling. But the brothers keep going, their movements mechanical and methodical as they use every last ounce of their endurance to keep rowing. The other rowers falter and drop out one by one, their bodies spent and exhausted, and they are quickly replaced by other rested men. but the brothers keep going, their faces stoic and resolute as they set a pace that is matched only by the steady beat of the drummer. The sun rises to its apex in the sky, then begins to dip low once more as the day slowly draws to a close. The hours pass, but the brothers barely notice. Their bodies are numb with exhaustion, yet they keep going, their pace now bordering on maniacal. The other rowers glance at them with a mix of awe and exhaustion, their own bodies straining and shaking with the effort of keeping up with the brothers' relentless pace.
They eventually decide they've had enough when they feel the familiar pang of hunger, and stagger up from the lower deck, their bodies shaking with fatigue after hours of rowing. Their tunics, soaked with sweat, are draped over their necks, and their skin glistens in the twilight, their muscles straining and twitching after hours of use. They take in a deep breath of fresh air, a welcome refreshment compared to the hot and dank lower level. The scent of the ocean and the salt breeze waft over them as they make their way across the deck to find some food, and they pass the captain, who gives them a curious glance as he puffs on his wooden pipe. He looks at them with a scrutinizing gaze, his eyes narrowed as if trying to figure out a puzzle. After a moment, he speaks up, his voice hoarse and authoritative.
“You boys have a lot of stamina.” The brothers nod in acknowledgement as they pass by the captain, their faces betraying nothing of the exhaustion they feel. They make their way across the deck, collecting some wine, bread, and fish from a nearby table, as the captain's eyes follow them with a hint of curiosity. The brothers stop in their tracks as the captain addresses them once more, his voice gruff yet curious.
“You two have been rowing since the crack of dawn, haven't you?” He remarks, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinizes them intently. The brothers reply with a simple "aye" in response, their faces stoic and unemotional. The captain studies them quietly for a moment, then speaks up once more.
“I must say, most men would have collapsed by now, yet you're still standing.” The captain gazes at them for a moment longer as they nod in acknowledgement, studying their blank expressions and cryptic demeanor. He seems slightly intrigued by their indifference to his praise, used to men who preen and boast under his scrutiny.
“Hm. You boys are a rare breed, I'll give you that. Where are you from?” He asks, his voice stern.
“Siberia.” Oleksandr responds with a mouthful of fish. The captain's eyebrows raise a fraction at Oleksandr's response, his eyes now slightly more interested.
“Siberia, you say? Aye, that's a long way from the Black Sea. And what brings two Siberians all the way to my ship?”
“Eh... Work. In Constantinople.” Thekkur responds, his voice low from fatigue. The captain's gaze narrows slightly as he considers the brothers' response. He knows that many Siberians make their living as mercenaries and soldiers, and he's never heard tales of them working in Anatolia.
“Work, hm? You two looking to fight, eh?” He asks, sizing them up once more with his calculating gaze. “I have never seen stamina such as yours.” He can also sense their disciplined and controlled demeanor, their stoic expressions and measured responses hinting at a level of training and experience that sets them apart from mere common laborers or simple mercenaries. The captain crosses his arms in front of his chest and continues to study them, mulling over his next words.
“I've hired many men for my crew over the years, but I've never seen anything like the two of you. Your endurance and strength are extraordinary. I’ll admit, I'm intrigued.” The brothers exchange a glance before Oleksandr responds.
“We have plenty of experience in laboring.” The captain grins at Oleksandr's response, clearly amused by their understatement. He can see and feel the strength and power exuded by the brothers, their muscular frames and calloused hands hinting at a lifetime of hard labor and toil.
“Experience, you say? And exactly what kind of experience are we talking about here?” He asks, his voice giving way to a hint of mirth.
“Slavery.” Oleksandr says bluntly. The captain's eyebrows raise slightly at this revelation, his demeanor momentarily softened by surprise. He glances at the brothers with a new level of respect, his mind quickly reassessing his initial impression of them.
“Slaves, eh? That explains a lot…” He mutters, his gaze roaming over their forms once more. The brothers nod, and he watches as they eat their food in silence, their faces expressionless and stoic. He can see the toll that slavery has taken on them, their bodies lean and muscular from years of hard labor, but also hardened and scarred from the abuse they have endured. He can sense the strength and resilience that is beneath their stoic exterior, the kind that only comes from a lifetime of hardship and struggle. The captain rubs his chin as he ponders their situation.
“Very well... help yourselves to some more wine. You lads earned it.” The captain nods at them and returns to his quarters as the boat settles down for the night. The brothers nod in acknowledgment as the captain exits, their faces stoic and emotionless. They help themselves to some more wine, savoring the taste and the way it dulls the ache in their limbs. They eat and drink silently, their eyes watching the crew as it prepares for the night, some men going to their hammocks, others settling down amongst the rows of oars.
Over the next few days, the brothers fall into a routine, working tirelessly during the day and resting and recovering during the night. They adapt to the life onboard the ship, their bodies adjusting to the repetitive routine of rowing and resting. They say little to anyone on the ship, keeping to themselves and speaking only when necessary. One morning, they sit quietly on a secluded point of the deck, smoking and watching the waves fall away behind the boat. Their bodies are still sore and exhausted, despite the time that has passed, but they feel a sense of relief at the thought of finally being close to their destination, judging by the vast amount of ships in the area.
Their ears perk up as they hear the distant call from the men. “Approaching, Constantinople!” They exchange a brief glance, their eyes lighting up with anticipation. The brothers stand and peer out to the horizon, their eyes widening as they take in the sight of the approaching cityscape. The tall buildings and ancient architecture of Constantinople comes into view, the city sprawling out along the coast like a giant, shimmering jewel.
As they drew closer, the distinct silhouette of the city began to take shape against the backdrop of the sprawling Black Sea. At the forefront, the towering walls of Constantinople rose like ancient sentinels, crafted from stone that seemed to absorb the hues of dawn, casting a golden hue against the early morning sky. These formidable fortifications, dotted with turrets and battlements, spoke of centuries of defense against countless invaders who had sought to claim the city's strategic location. They stood like the indomitable spine of an ancient titan, their colossal stones weathered by centuries yet unyielding to time. Towering over the city, these impregnable fortifications, with their towers and battlements, guarded the capital like silent sentinels, their presence a testament to the strength and resilience of an empire that refused to fall. Beyond the walls, the city unfolded in a breathtaking panorama. The majestic dome of Hagia Sophia, the crown jewel of Greek architecture, dominated the skyline, its grandeur visible even from a distance. The sunlight caught the intricate mosaics that adorned its exterior, glinting like precious gems, contrasting with the solid bulk of the ancient churches and palaces that nestled amidst the labyrinthine streets and bustling markets.
As their boat glides closer, the brothers could discern the vibrant colors of tiled rooftops, the vibrant greens of parks and gardens, the streets bustling with merchants, craftsmen, and residents going about their daily lives. The air was filled with the mingling scents of sea salt, spices, and the promise of adventure that beckoned to those who sought their fortunes within the city's walls. Above it all, the fluttering banners of the empire waved, a visual testament to the city's pivotal role as the nexus of empires and cultures. Constantinople, in all its grandeur and complexity, lay before them—a city steeped in history, ambition, and the echoes of empires past and present.
The brothers look on in awe as the boat passes under the massive arched wall and glides into the heart of the city. They are overwhelmed by the new surroundings, having spent most of their lives in the vast and open wilderness of Siberia, where small villages and towns were the norm, if anything. Now here they are, in the center of the most powerful and densely populated city in the world, and the sheer scale and beauty of it all is almost too much for them to process. They scan the surroundings, taking in the massive buildings and towering structures, the bustling crowds and noisy vendors. The brothers continue to take in the sights and sounds of Constantinople, their stoic expressions now replaced with looks of bewilderment and awe. As they glance at each other, they are momentarily surprised at the change in each other's demeanor. Their usual unreadable and impassive faces now bear an expression that is foreign to them.
They are pulled out of their awestruck by the boat pulling into the teeming port. They stand, slightly dazed, and watch as the boat docks, the sailors and dockworkers milling about as the ship comes to a halt. The brothers watch as the men begin to haul off the cargo from the boat, one of the crew members taking out a list and calling out names. They see the confiscated weapons being returned to the men in the center of the ship, and begin to wait for their names to be called. When they finally hear their names called, they step forward and collect their weapons, their packs slung over their shoulders. They step off the boat and join the other recruits on the dock, listening as the organizer welcomes them to Constantinople and begins taking attendance. The brothers keep to themselves, their eyes taking in the new surroundings and the new faces around them, their stoic expressions betraying nothing. After the organizer finishes taking attendance, he gathers the recruits together and starts to address them. He tells them that they are now part of the Roman army, and that they will be training to become soldiers in the service of the empire. He then tells them to follow him to the training grounds, where they will be given further instructions. The brothers listen intently, their faces showing no sign of fear or anxiety. They exchange a brief glance, a silent communication between them, before they fall into line and follow the organizer and the other recruits toward the training grounds.
As they follow the organizer and the other recruits through the city, the brothers are awed by the sights and sounds of Constantinople. The people often stop to stare at the unusual twins who stand a whole chest and head above everyone else, their strikingly blonde long hair a rare sight, but the brothers are too bewildered to notice or care. They pass through narrow streets and bustling markets, the air filled with the sounds of bartering and laughter. They see merchants selling wares, people going about their daily business, priests and monks on every corner, and an overwhelming number of soldiers patrolling the streets. They look up at the tall buildings and imposing structures, some ancient and crumbling, others newer and more pristine. They pass numerous unique churches like they had never seen before, the sounds of chants and prayers mixing in with the general commotion. The city's massive walls tower above them, and beyond it they see the shimmering waters of the Bosphorus. They pass the Hippodrome and the Hagia Sophia, the ancient structures standing tall and proud despite their age. All in all, the brothers are in awe of the city's grandeur, its rich history and culture on full display as they make their way toward the training grounds. The brothers follow the organizer and the other recruits through the city, their eyes taking in the sights and sounds around them. The trip seems to stretch on for hours, but eventually they reach the outskirts of the city and are led to a military camp.