Inside the dimly lit tent, Uluç sat in silence, the weight of years pressing heavily on his broad shoulders. The flickering flames of the fire cast shadows on his face, accentuating the deep lines that had formed over decades of leadership, battle, and burden. He had spent much of his life forging his rule with an iron fist, enforcing strict control over his people, and maintaining unity through fear and respect. But now, as he sat alone in the quiet of his thoughts, something shifted. Uluç was coming to a realization—a slow, dawning awareness of his father's wisdom.
His father, Timurtaş, had ruled differently. Uluç had often criticized his father's methods, dismissing them as weak and overly focused on culture and diplomacy. He had viewed Timurtaş's strategies of forging alliances and nurturing cultural connections as frivolous, even indulgent. After all, what need was there for festivals and feasts when the strength of the empire rested on its warriors and its iron will?
But now, years after his father's death, Uluç could see the bigger picture. The empire had not only survived under Timurtaş's rule but thrived. Timurtaş, despite being criticized for not ruling with the same harshness as his son, had held the empire together through unity, culture, and diplomacy.
Uluç muttered to himself, "I criticized him for moving the capital to Constantinople, for leaving our ancestral homeland, but now I see why it was necessary." He clenched his fists and looked down at the rough map of the empire laid out before him. "Our Türk-İl empire had grown so vast, stretching from the steppes of Central Asia to the cities of Europe. It had become impossible to maintain our influence from a distant, remote capital."
He thought back to when his father made the controversial decision to relocate the capital from the heart of Anatolia to Constantinople. Uluç had protested vehemently, but now he understood. "We had become a western-facing power. The majority of our population lived in the cities of the West. Ephesus had been ours for generations, Alexandria under our control for years. These cities had become the bustling centers of our empire, where trade, culture, and power flowed. They were not just outposts—they were the heart of the empire."
Uluç let out a long sigh as the memories of his father flooded back. He could remember the grand festivals Timurtaş would organize in these cities. For 60 years, his father had held festivals that celebrated the empire's vast cultural diversity, introducing the people to Turkic traditions, weaving them into the fabric of daily life in these cosmopolitan cities.
"And Wolfram's mother," Uluç whispered, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "Do you remember how he met her? It was during one of those grand tournaments, wasn't it? It was those festivals that brought people together. Wolfram... It all started with those celebrations. And I mocked him for it."
Uluç's mind wandered to his father's conquest of Constantinople, when Timurtaş had stormed the ancient city at the age of 60, claiming it as the empire's new capital. Uluç had been young, brash, and dismissive of his father's insistence on blending diplomacy with military might.
"I am 66 now," Uluç murmured. "I'm older than my father was when he took Constantinople. Yet my father lived another 60 years after that, ruling until the age of 120. And now, as I sit here at 66, I cannot even imagine another 60 years of life, let alone rule." He chuckled darkly. "And yet, my father did it."
Uluç's gaze shifted to the letters and decrees scattered across the table. He picked up one in particular—a document he had sent to Ilkay Hatun. It was the Uluç Yasa, the law he had written to maintain stability in the empire after his father's death. The weight of the responsibility pressed down on him now more than ever.
He read the words again, understanding their importance more deeply than when he had first written them:
"Festivals must continue, trade routes must remain open, and the roads must be kept safe. Baybars will lead the 40,000-strong Tarkan army in Bukhara, and he will assist China when necessary. If the Mongols threaten China, we will protect them, for the security of our trade routes depends on it. War is not only fought with swords, but with gold, and trade must flow unimpeded. The education centers, the training grounds—they must remain open. The life of the empire must go on. And the people must continue to live under the laws and customs of the Tengri."
The words echoed in Uluç's mind. His father had known that an empire could not survive on military strength alone. It needed culture, trade, and diplomacy. And most of all, it needed stability.
"Isaakios," Uluç said aloud, thinking of the trusted advisor who was now overseeing the building of the second capital in Thessaloniki. "Isaakios will continue the work my father began. Thessaloniki and Constantinople—two capitals of the West. Antioch and Alexandria will become centers of power as well. These cities must be fortified and defended."
He stood up from his seat, his mind racing. "If the Western Front remains peaceful, if Wolfram and Isaakios can maintain diplomacy along the border, then the empire's attention can shift to the East. We can protect our eastern lands, secure the trade routes, and prepare for the inevitable."
Uluç paced the room, his voice growing stronger as he spoke. "The West will hold, and with it secured, we can focus on defending the empire from the real threats. The Eastern Frontier must become our stronghold, and the unity my father built through culture and festivals will be what keeps us alive."
His eyes darkened with resolve as he looked out of the tent toward the horizon. "I see it now. My father was right. He ruled with diplomacy, culture, and patience, and I must carry that forward. The trade, the festivals, the unity—it is what will hold our empire together while we prepare for what's to come."
With newfound clarity, Uluç prepared to send out his next set of orders. He knew what needed to be done. The future of the empire rested not only in the strength of its warriors but in the strength of its culture, its people, and the unity that had taken generations to build.