"I hate the sea..."

"WHAT?!" Iago cut her off before she could even start her story. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected that reaction; after all, she'd seen it before, just like this. "What do you mean you hate the sea? How can anyone hate the sea? Its majesty? Its beauty? How can you hate everything it has to teach and share with you? I need a moment to process this... Actually, no. I don’t think I can process this!"

"Are you done?" Ariadne asked, completely unfazed. She stretched lazily against the railing, watching his shocked face. "If you let me get through more than one sentence, you'd understand. Yes, I hate it. I hate it because it promised me so much, and in the end, it took away everything I had."

"But... but..."

"Iago. Shut up," she interrupted sharply, turning her back to him. "I promise you'll understand. You did the last time you heard this story, after all."

Stories of the past hailed Constantinople as the jewel of the world. Ariadne could never grasp what these tales meant. In her sixteen years, the city had offered her nothing but hunger, destitution, and war. She had never witnessed its famed grandeur. The city, brimming with promises, had shown her only cruelty, molding her into exactly what she had become: an orphaned urchin, prowling the cobblestone streets, day and night, searching for a way to survive just one more hour. In this decaying society, she learned to live on the fringes, narrowly escaping—often at the last possible moment—situations that would have preferred her dead.

Deep within, she harbored only one dream, one desire so fiercely protected that no one could steal it from her. One day, she would escape that decaying swamp. This thought sustained her each time her gaze strayed toward Bosporus. A place on a ship. A journey into the unknown, toward a future. A sea that stretched far beyond this dying empire.

For all these reasons, she never refused an opportunity. Despite being a woman, she had learned to fight. She could wield her knives and her rusted dagger better than most men. And though many would have called it treason, she seized the chance to learn Arabic without a second thought. Anything she could steal as a tool from that place, she would take. She owed that much to Leto.

In January of 1444, the opportunity she had longed for, finally appeared. It began as a whisper among thieves, a rumor among people like her. Word spread about a wealthy, newly arrived lord who had put the word out in the city's alleys: he needed the services of the city's outcasts. Anyone who sought him out would be rewarded. No one knew what he required, but it didn’t matter to her. The words "lord" and "reward" in the same sentence were enough.

When she reached the meeting place, doubt flickered in her mind. The door to the old warehouse was locked, and her knock received no answer. Most of the windows were boarded up. The bells of Hagia Sophia had just rung, summoning the faithful to evening prayers. Minutes passed before she spotted the only possible entrance—a narrow, broken window on the second floor. She glanced around quickly, and, certain no one was watching, took her chance. Climbing swiftly up the crumbling, weather-worn walls, she slipped inside the seemingly deserted building. At the far end of the large, dimly lit room, a few candles flickered in the darkness. In the dancing shadows, she saw figures—just as hesitant as she—to move closer.

"Time's up."

The voice that came from behind the heavy desk spoke in Greek, though with an odd accent Ariadne couldn’t place. The man rose, and despite the dim light, it was clear he was indeed a noble—an aristocrat, or at the very least a wealthy merchant. Alongside three other figures Ariadne took the final, fateful steps that brought her before the desk. All four street urchins gazed at their unknown benefactor with anticipation, while he remained utterly empty.

"Thank you for answering my call," the strange man stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. He had a thin, goatee-like beard, streaked with gray, and his dark eyes glistened in the candlelight as he continued, "Unfortunately, I require the services of only one of you. However, I have no desire to put myself in the uncomfortable position of choosing. So, I ask: which of you will help me?" As he finished that sentence, the mask of his impassive face cracked, replaced by a sardonic smile that erased it entirely.

The children in the room didn’t immediately understand what he was asking of them, but soon their judgment cleared. It might have been cruel, but in their world, there were no rules—anything was allowed, no matter how heinous. Moments later, the strange man broke the uneasy silence, freeing them from their dilemma.

"I don’t have all night, young ones. Allow me to be clearer. Which of you wants this the most?"

With a swift motion, he dropped a thick, leather pouch onto the edge of the desk. The heavy clink of coins rang out, revealing the concealed daggers that had been hidden all this time beneath the rags they wore as clothing. For the first time, Ariadne turned to look at those beside her. She recognized two of the three, though for one of them, she wished he hadn’t decided to come. It was Manuel, and to Ariadne, he was the closest thing she had to a friend. He was almost ten years older than her, the one who had taught her everything she needed to survive the streets of the city. Countless times, he had helped both her and eleven-year-old Leto.

She didn’t have time to think it through. She dove clumsily to the side just as one of the three men lunged at her, clearly believing her to be the easiest target. Her tall frame crashed heavily into a chair, avoiding the first strike just for some inches. But the man charged again, aiming his knife at her throat. She tried to crawl away, but it was futile. On her right was the heavy desk, while to her left, the broken pieces of the chair blocked her only escape. She could hear the heavy breathing of her pursuer; the stench of sweat and grime stung her nostrils. Trembling with fear, she opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was a pool of warm, crimson blood forming at her feet. Yet, the blood was not hers.

The body of the unknown boy lay lifeless on the floor, and Manuel stood over him, panting, gripping his old, bloodied dagger, the blade drenched to the hilt.

"Watch out!" Ariadne suddenly yelled, snapping time back into motion. Her friend ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding the last remaining competitor in that gruesome contest, who tried to stab him in the back. With a leap, Ariadne jumped to her feet and cornered the fourteen-year-old boy, whose name she still couldn’t remember, while Manuel covered her back. It was two against one, and in the end, their opponent fell dead between them. They looked at each other, confused, unsure of what to do next. Finally, they turned almost pleadingly toward the lord who had been watching the whole scene unfold, completely unmoved.

"What are you waiting for, you two? I already said I only need one."

"Sir... um, my lord, rest assured, we can both help you," Manuel ventured, his voice trembling, stuttering over his words. "We don't want more money... we'll... we'll share it. Right, Ariadne? Tell him!"

The man glanced between the two, as if trying to weigh their strengths and reactions. Finally, a chilling smile spread across his plump, healthy face before he spoke again.

"Which one of you will it be?"
His tone left no room for disagreement. She gripped her dagger tightly, her mind racing. She needed that money. The thought of her weapon slicing through the flesh of her dearest friend and stealing his life flashed through her mind like lightning. Manuel had already made his decision.

"If that’s the case, then I’ll go... I don’t want the job."

He quickly hid his weapon and stepped back, spreading his hands defensively, making it as clear as he could that he was withdrawing from the contest. But before he could disappear from view, the lord spoke again, this time rising from his seat, his voice slightly irritated.

"Your stance, young man, is commendable. But what you ask is something I cannot allow. Either I leave here with one of you, or I will leave alone."

Manuel froze. Ariadne, on the other hand, felt torn between what she needed and what was right. If she died here, Leto was doomed. Her entire life had been a struggle to make sure her little princess felt safe and happy. She took on every filthy job she could find, hoping her sister would never have to do the same. She had no choice. The only thing she could do was make sure it ended quickly and as painlessly as possible.

As she took the first step towards him, her eyes filled with tears. She heard him murmur her name. She tried to ignore it, to push the sound of his voice into the background, but it was impossible. His words echoed painfully in her ears. He was shocked. His hands were still spread at his sides. She didn’t want to think about how he was the man who had taught her to fight and survive. She couldn’t bear to look at him and remember that only because of him she and Leto were still alive. Guilt flared inside her like a wildfire before her blade even pierced his neck.

"I’m sorry..." she whispered weakly in the end, collapsing to her knees in exhaustion. Only then did she realize that her friend had never drawn his knife; not even to defend himself. He had chosen to give up rather than hurt her. The gaze of God fell heavily upon her, and in that moment, she knew she would never escape this sin. She had killed him. The only person who had shown her even a small glimmer of love—she had murdered him. She had condemned her soul to Hell, and she had done it willingly.

"About time," the lord said coldly, pulling Ariadne abruptly from her thoughts. As she turned, dazed, he added mockingly, "I must admit, you were a pleasant surprise. You’ve earned this position with your sword... or, more accurately, with your knife. This is yours." The purse felt ten times heavier in her hands. It must have been the same for Judas before he hanged himself.

"Once you fulfill my request, you will receive an equal amount."

"I don’t want money, my lord."

The man’s small, rodent-like black eyes widened at her words. Ariadne quickly returned the purse to his desk and continued, "They say you’re not from around here. If that’s true, I want you, after I’ve done what you need, to help me leave. I want you to promise that you will take me and one other person with you."

The man’s brow furrowed as he drew closer. Around them, the three corpses bled out on the decaying, worm-eaten wooden floor, still warm. Now that she observed him more closely, she could tell he was extraordinarily wealthy. His clothes were finely made of deep green silk and organza, and his shoulders were draped with a heavy, velvet black cloak. As he began to circle her like a predator, Ariadne tensed. She was familiar with that ravenous gaze of men—especially nobles.

Though she was merely another street urchin, she always stood out. Her beauty was unconventional. Her skin, though sunburned and weathered by hardship, remained smooth and, due to her youth, firm. Her face was long and symmetrical, with full, well-formed lips, and her piercing eyes had the most strange color; they were an icy- almost gray- blue, pale, yet on the same time striking. Her hair, dark as ebony, was dirty and tangled but straight and almost reached her waist. Her body, though slender, was toned and resilient. But above all, her height was what stood out the most. Standing at nearly one meter eighty, she towered over most men of her era. This unique trait often got her into trouble with those who wished to take advantage of it. She was certain this was precisely what was happening now. The mysterious man approached her from behind but didn’t touch her. Instead, he leaned over and inhaled deeply, as if trying to imprint her scent on his memory.

“This kind of audacity will cost you in the future, little one. What’s your name?”

“Ariadne.”

“And who do you want to leave the City with, Ariadne?”

“My sister. I’ll do whatever you ask, whatever it takes… as long as you take us out of this place. I beg you…”

The man sniffed her again, this time intertwining his hands in her hair. With an inscrutable expression, he bypassed her and knelt gently in front of Manuel’s body. His left hand held open one of Manuel’s eyelids, while with his right he drew a small, silver tool from his pocket that resembled a spoon. Before Ariadne could grasp what was happening, the strange tool was forcefully plunged into the dead skull, and with a chilling sound, the eyeball was dislodged from its socket and rolled, bloodied, into the man’s open palm.

“Are you insane?! Why? Why did you do that?”

The man ignored her. With an air of reverence, he took out a peculiar stone case covered in symbols from a bag and placed the empty of life, brown eye inside. Ariadne struggled to breathe, but it felt as though her lungs were shrinking with each breath. When he finally stood before her, every effort to find air seemed futile. Her eyes were clouded with tears and terror. The strange lord extended the mysterious case towards her.

“There will be a merchant ship from Palermo at the port tonight. I need you to enter it unnoticed and hide this object in the hold, among the cargo. Do as I say, and you have my word that you will leave here safely, both you and your sister.”

Ariadne took the box in her trembling hands, which was heavier than she expected. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she finally managed to speak, though breathlessly.

“If… if I do this… where will I find you again? Who are you, anyway?"

“Interesting…” the man commented, touching her gently under the chin. “You have courage as well as audacity. My name is Lothar. Lord Lothar to you, of course. Do as I’ve asked and return here. You have until dawn. But be warned… If you fail or try to deceive me, I will personally ensure that you never leave here. Neither you nor your precious sister.”

“Of course, my Lord. I… I won’t disappoint you, sir. I promise.”