The first snow arrived quietly.
It fell in the night, a silent drift blanketing the rooftops, dusting the half-built palace in white. When Daniel awoke, the world outside his window shimmered in a soft glow. His breath clouded in the cold air of his unfinished chamber as he pulled a fur cloak tighter around him.
Outside, the streets of Cyzicus were slow to stir. Workers lit fires at dawn, merchants cleared pathways with bundled sticks, and citizens huddled around braziers with steaming cups of barley tea. For a moment, the city seemed peaceful, wrapped in winter's silence—but beneath the surface, problems were brewing.
The city was not prepared.
Many of the new neighborhoods lacked proper insulation. The granaries, though fuller than they had ever been, were still barely enough for the season. Firewood was scarce, and distribution uneven. Daniel had designed pulley-based lifts to aid in construction, but now they were repurposed to carry supplies across snow-covered areas where carts struggled.
His dinosaurs—particularly the Iguanodon and Protoceratops—had been invaluable. Instead of plowing, they now hauled large bundles of wood, lifted stones, and pulled sleds laden with food and fuel. People watched in amazement, murmuring prayers and songs about the strange beasts and their silent master.
But not everyone was impressed.
In the hall of the unfinished palace, as the snow piled outside, Daniel sat before a small council. His aides brought reports of noble discontent. Landowners, particularly those from Lydia and Aeolis, grumbled about increased work levies and "unfair taxation." They accused Daniel of hoarding power, of bringing foreign beasts and foreign ideas.
"They think me a usurper," Daniel muttered that evening, gazing out over the white city. "Even after all I've done…"
"You are not one of them," said Pyrrhos, a Sardian noble loyal to him. "That alone is enough for their hatred."
That night, as the snow continued to fall, a caravan arrived through the north gate. Their banners bore the royal symbol of Darius the Great.
The envoy, a tall man wrapped in Persian silk, was named Artaphernes. He brought word from Susa: Darius was preparing for war against the Greeks. The revolt in Ionia had been crushed, but Athens and Eretria had not been forgotten. The Great King was mustering armies, and Cyzicus would play a key role—a port, a supply hub, and a symbol of Persian strength.
"You are to secure this city, increase food production, and prepare your forces," said Artaphernes. "War is coming. Your loyalty will not be forgotten."
Daniel nodded slowly. "And if my loyalty is questioned by those who oppose me within?"
Artaphernes smiled faintly. "Then remind them who you are—and what you command."
That night, Daniel stood on the half-built balcony of his palace. Snowflakes landed on his brow and melted slowly. Below, fires crackled in the city, and people moved like shadows under the glow of torches.
He thought of his dinosaurs, his people, the nobles who plotted, and the king preparing for war. He wondered if he was building a dream—or being used to support someone else's empire.
But then he looked at the streets he had paved, the children laughing near the warming halls, and the beasts that now served not to destroy, but to build.
And he whispered to himself, "No. This city will be mine. And it will endure."
Spring arrived like a warm whisper in the valleys of Cyzicus. The fields began to turn green, and the trees shed their bare branches to dress in fresh leaves. The cold slowly withdrew, and with it, the long nights and the uncertainty of a winter that had tested everyone's will.
Daniel walked through the streets of his city, noticing how the air smelled different, rich with damp earth and newly opened flowers. The markets regained their colors, children ran between the stalls, and workers filled the workshops and quarries once more.
A year had passed since his arrival, and though the path hadn't been easy, Cyzicus stood firm. The city walls, now reinforced, shone with fresh repairs and new towers. The inner streets were wide and orderly, and channels had begun to be dug to drain water and secure the farmland.
Daniel climbed to the terrace of his still-incomplete palace. From there, he could see the city's life unfolding — fields stretching out toward the mountains and the nearby lake, which they had started diverting to irrigate the crops.
"Look at that, Theron," Daniel said to his loyal captain. "Where there was only mud and stones… now there are harvests and streets."
Theron smiled and nodded."The people are learning to work with order… though they still fear your beasts."
Out in the fields, two Iguanodons and a Protoceratops helped the farmers, pulling large reinforced plows. The people, slowly growing used to them, worked without looking away too often.
The city council, rebuilt after the winter, now consisted of craftsmen, merchants, and loyal soldiers. The fall of the old nobles had shifted the social order. Land ownership was being redistributed, and taxes reorganized — though not without secret resistance.
By midday, a messenger arrived from Sardis. Covered in dust, he asked to speak to Daniel in private. The message was short but clear: Persian troops were beginning to gather, and the campaign against Greece was in preparation.
Daniel stood silent, reading the clay tablet over and over. He knew what it meant—times of war… and opportunity.
That evening, while dining with his men, they spoke of what was coming. Not of grand strategies, but of how to defend the city, how to secure trade routes, and what to do with the young men now in training.
Daniel leaned back in his seat, watching the torches flicker."If war comes," he finally said, "let it be far from our lands… but if it reaches us, Cyzicus will be ready."
And in his mind, the plans kept growing.