The city of Damascus breathed with the pulse of a new empire.
Sunlight poured through the arched windows of the Citadel, glinting off marble pillars and casting long shadows across the war council chamber. Salahuddin stood at the head of the room, arms folded behind his back, his gaze distant. Behind him, a large map of the Eastern Mediterranean stretched across the wall, peppered with flags, ink marks, and hastily scrawled notes. The siege of Alexandria had been a victory, yes—but in its aftermath, vulnerabilities had emerged, stark and undeniable.
Taimur entered the chamber quietly, a folder of reports in hand. He stopped beside Salahuddin and waited. The Sultan did not turn immediately.
"What troubles you, my lord?" Taimur asked.
Salahuddin exhaled slowly. "Egypt is strong in steel and sea now," he said. "But it's weak in the spine."
Taimur raised an eyebrow. "You speak of leadership?"
"I speak of Cairo," Salahuddin replied, finally turning. His eyes were sharp, thoughtful. "We hold the city with strength, but not with structure. Without a steady hand, all that we've built will collapse the moment we turn our backs."
Taimur nodded, flipping open the folder. "Then we must leave it in capable hands."
"Al-Qadi al-Fadil," Salahuddin said without hesitation. "He understands the heart of Egypt. He served its bureaucracy before we took it, and he has remained loyal and competent."
Taimur tapped the side of the folder. "I anticipated your choice. I've already prepared the draft of his appointment."
Salahuddin gave a rare, small smile. "You know me too well."
"The governors of Egypt's key cities will report directly to him," Taimur continued. "He will oversee both civilian and military administration."
"And the troops?"
"We leave Cairo with a permanent garrison," Taimur said. "1,000 Asad al-Harb. 2,000 Desert Hawks. 2,000 Elite Light Infantry. Enough to secure the capital and maintain our presence. The rest will return here. Damascus must become the new bastion."
Salahuddin paced slowly. "And the Complex? The forge of our new weapons?"
"It must move with us," Taimur replied. "The research and development of cannons cannot be left behind. Alexandria was its cradle, but Damascus will be its citadel. I've already arranged covert transit routes."
"Good."
There was a pause.
"What of the navy?" Salahuddin asked.
Taimur's lips curved into a faint smile. "Husam ad-Din Lu'lu."
"Lu'lu?"
"Born in Syria. Fought with distinction on the Orontes. He trained under our best commanders. I had him placed in the Sea Wolves two years ago, quietly. His mind is sharp, and he has a sailor's instincts."
Salahuddin considered this. "You trust him?"
"Enough to promote him to Marshal of the Egyptian Navy. He will command both the Sea Wolves and the Coastal Wolves."
The Sultan nodded. "Send the appointment immediately. Let Egypt's coasts learn his name."
Taimur dipped his head. "It shall be done."
A silence stretched between them, but it was not awkward. It was a moment of mutual understanding—of weighty decisions passed in still air.
"We fought hard for Egypt," Salahuddin said at last. "But we are not Pharaohs. Our destiny is not to rule the Nile alone."
Taimur stepped forward, voice low. "Then let Syria rise."
Salahuddin turned back to the great map. His eyes moved across the Levant, across the patchwork of towns, forts, and uncertain borders.
"Aleppo is calm. Hama, secure. Baalbek holds firm. But these are stones on shifting sand."
"We must build a mountain," Taimur said.
"And guard it with fire," Salahuddin finished.
That night, letters were dispatched. Riders left Damascus under cover of darkness, bearing royal decrees to Cairo, Alexandria, Fustat, and the many garrisons of Egypt. Al-Qadi al-Fadil received his letter at first light, his hands trembling as he unfolded the parchment sealed with the Sultan's mark.
In the same hour, naval orders reached the harbors of Alexandria and Rosetta. Husam ad-Din Lu'lu, only twenty-nine, stood on the docks, flanked by veteran captains. He read his letter in silence, then looked out to sea.
"We are wolves no longer," he whispered. "We are storm and tide."
Back in Damascus, preparations moved with military precision. The relocation of the Military Complex began under Taimur's supervision. Engineers, alchemists, scribes, and blacksmiths were quietly escorted out of Alexandria by night, disguised as traders or pilgrims. The blueprints of the newest cannon prototypes were rolled into thick carpets, smuggled in merchant caravans.
A month passed. Then two.
Cairo stabilized under Al-Qadi al-Fadil's firm hand. He restructured the garrisons, streamlined the grain routes from Faiyum, and reinstated tax protocols from the Abbasid era with slight modifications. The Desert Hawks conducted regular patrols through the city, while the Asad al-Harb remained stationed around the Citadel.
In Alexandria, Marshal Lu'lu transformed the scattered fleets into a coherent naval force. Under his command, shipyards expanded, drills intensified, and morale surged.
In Damascus, the heartbeat of the empire quickened.
Within the new quarters of the relocated Military Complex, Taimur stood before rows of engineers. The walls were lined with sketches, formulas, and bronze models. One of the lead blacksmiths, a broad-shouldered man from Baghdad, stepped forward.
"The bronze for the long-barrel prototypes has arrived. Shall we begin the casting?"
Taimur nodded. "Begin immediately. The next war will not be won with blades alone."
He left the chamber and found Salahuddin in the palace gardens, surrounded by fresh-bloomed jasmine.
"How long until we are ready?" Salahuddin asked.
"By spring," Taimur said. "The weapons will be complete. The new cavalry formations trained. Supplies secured."
"And Syria?"
"Will be your anvil and hammer both."
Salahuddin smiled—not with warmth, but with the grim satisfaction of a lion sharpening its claws.
"Then let the world prepare," he said.
Above them, in the clear Damascus sky, a hawk circled high.
War was coming.
But this time, it would not come alone.
It would come with fire.
And it would come with purpose.
Two months had passed since the elite forces stationed in Cairo had been ordered to assemble in Damascus. The roads had been long, the terrain treacherous in parts, but today, they had all finally arrived. The capital of Syria, now under Salahuddin's unified banner, buzzed with military activity. Banners flapped in the wind. The gates of the city remained open to the returning soldiers, and the training fields to the east had been cleared to receive them.
Taimur stood at the edge of one such field, his eyes sharp and calculating as he watched column after column of troops file in. The banners of the Desert Hawks fluttered alongside those of the Light and heavy Infantry and the proud insignia of Salahuddin's personal guards—the Asad-al-Harb. The clanking of armor, the neighing of horses, and the steady beat of boots on soil formed the rhythm of a resurgent empire.
Salahuddin stood beside him, dressed in his usual subdued armor, face thoughtful. "They came faster than expected."
Taimur nodded. "Even so, their numbers aren't where they need to be."
He held a parchment in his hand, a detailed register of all troop movements and deployments.
"Asad-al-Harb," he said aloud, "Two thousand remain. Originally three thousand. But a thousand were transferred back to Cairo for permanent garrison duties. That was your order."
Salahuddin gave a slow nod. "They are the best. Cairo must remain secure."
Taimur didn't object. That much was true. If Cairo were ever compromised, the foundation of everything they'd built would begin to crumble. Still, the reality of their numbers now could not be ignored.
He moved down the list.
"Desert Hawks—twelve thousand were raised. Ten thousand remain. Two thousand were left behind to garrison Cairo. No reinforcements added since."
Salahuddin gave a faint sigh. "I'll admit, I didn't expect we'd need to drain so much for internal security."
Taimur's tone stayed calm. "It was necessary. Cairo is the heart of our war machine."
He continued, reading the next line with a deeper furrow in his brow.
"Light Infantry—twenty thousand raised. Fourteen thousand here. Six thousand stayed behind. Two thousand are in Cairo. Four thousand were sent to garrison Baalbek after its fall."
Salahuddin grimaced. "We had no choice. Baalbek needed firm control after the Zengid loyalists surrendered. And we couldn't afford any rebellion to boil over."
Taimur said nothing to that. The cities were stable now. But it had come at a steep cost.
He continued reading. "Heavy Infantry—five thousand. All accounted for. None lost, none left behind."
Salahuddin gave a satisfied nod. "At least one unit held steady."
Taimur looked at the final line.
"Engineering Corps. Two thousand. All accounted for. All present."
"They're irreplaceable," Salahuddin said. "We can't afford to lose a single one."
Taimur gave a curt nod. "You're right. Without them, we'd never have broken Hama or fortified Alexandria."
He folded the parchment slowly and looked out over the soldiers being sorted and reorganized in the training fields. Flags were raised, captains called roll, and new barracks were being prepared for temporary lodging.
Salahuddin broke the silence. "So. What's the final tally?"
Taimur answered calmly. "We are short. Very short."
He took a breath. "To be battle-ready for the next phase, we must replenish the Asad-al-Harb to three thousand, Desert Hawks to twelve thousand, Light Infantry to twenty thousand. That's six thousand more Light Infantry, two thousand Desert Hawks and one thousand Asad-al-Harb."
He paused, then looked at Salahuddin with a more serious expression.
"And most importantly—we have no garrison troops available for the next campaign. All twenty thousand garrison soldiers trained in Egypt are currently deployed across ten key Egyptian provinces and cities."
Salahuddin frowned. "All of them?"
Taimur nodded. "Yes. Al-Buhayra, Al-Sharqiyya, Al-Gharbiyya, Al-Fayyum, Aswan, Qus, Bilbays, Al-Sai'd, Al-Arish, and others. Every major trade and supply hub is secured. It was essential to prevent any disruption in flow or unrest."
Salahuddin didn't speak for a moment. Then he muttered, "And the cities we captured in Syria?"
Taimur replied, "All properly garrisoned. Some by local Syrians, others with elite units from Egypt. Aleppo, Hama, Homs, and Baalbek are stable and secured. But none of those troops are available for offensive deployment."
Salahuddin exhaled slowly. "And how many garrison troops do you estimate we'll need for the next operation?"
Taimur turned away slightly, his voice flat.
"Eighteen thousand. To secure the Crusader ports once we take them."
Salahuddin closed his eyes briefly. "So... to be fully operational, we need six thousand Light Infantry, two thousand Desert Hawks, one thousand Asad-al-Harb and eighteen thousand garrison troops. That's twenty-seven thousand new soldiers."
"Thirty thousand," Taimur corrected gently. "I've added a margin of three thousand to account for attrition and training failures."
Salahuddin looked at him with a tired smile. "And you believe we can raise that from Syria alone?"
Taimur finally allowed a hint of confidence to show. "Yes. Unlike Egypt, Syria isn't short on men. The civil wars, tribal skirmishes, and Crusader pressure have hardened many. The people are strong, and they've tasted peace under your banner. They're ready."
He pointed toward the distant hills beyond Damascus. "We'll open recruitment stations in every province under your rule. Homs, Aleppo, Hama, Baalbek, even the outer regions of Latakia and Idlib. Give me until spring, and I'll deliver you a full army."
Salahuddin nodded slowly. "Good. But you'll need commanders to oversee them."
"I've already selected veterans from the existing regiments," Taimur replied. "Each new recruit will be assigned under experienced captains. I'll fast-track the basic training for garrison troops, and assign advanced training to those chosen for elite roles."
Salahuddin was silent for a long while. He watched the organized chaos of Damascus's military grounds and finally said, "You've planned everything."
Taimur simply said, "We don't have the luxury of time. The Crusaders won't wait. We must strike before summer if we want to take their ports while they're unprepared."
Salahuddin stepped forward, watching the new troops forming into ranks. "And the Assassins? Any word of resurgence?"
Taimur shook his head firmly. "None. Their league was gutted. Whatever remnants existed have been absorbed into our network. Al-Mu'allim himself leads the Seventh Elder Council of the Sand Foxes now. There's no threat left in Syria."
Salahuddin nodded, clearly reassured. "Then it's time to prepare for war."
Taimur bowed his head slightly. "It already has begun, my Sultan. We're just setting the pieces."
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the training fields of Damascus grew louder with the barked orders of captains and the clash of weapons. Taimur watched it all unfold—an army returning, a nation bracing, and a plan set in motion.
Soon, spring would come. And with it, war.