
by Phoenix Fryre
Constans is a boy his contemporaries have already decided to call unfortunate. In the City, they say it dress it gently with piety, providence, and purple. In the provinces, they say it like a verdict, an inheritance of lost grain, lost land, and lost time.He inherits an empire cut in half and a court that would rather rule him than follow him. The frontiers are leaking. The treasury is hollow. The faith is split in two. There is a constant need for a "necessary" war, and none of them can be paid for.So he makes a choice that sounds like cowardice and smells like survival: no premature glory in Egypt, no gifts to enemies for peace, no surrender of the Balkans to fate. Hold the sea. Hold Africa by ship and oath. Hammer Thrace back into order. Wait for the Caliphate to crack.When the world finally fractures, he intends to be ready.
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