CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
ROMAN
T he rocky earth crunched under my boots as I approached the carriage. Olivia’s silhouette trembled, her anger rippling like an electric storm. A sea of black-clad warriors surrounded us, their presence a menacing shadow across the grasslands near Sofia, nestled in the northwestern part of the Ottoman Empire within the Balkan Peninsula.
“Olivia,” I whispered, my shadow merging with hers as I stepped closer, blocking the faint glow of starlight that dared to soften the darkness of our situation.
Her eyes burned with wildfire fury, consuming any trace of warmth or affection that might have lingered. The weight of her anger struck me harder than any blade ever could.
“I know you’re angry with me,” I began, my voice low and guilty. “But please understand—I had no choice. These Timehunter tests are necessary for our survival.”
My voice cracked under the burden of my uncertainty. I wanted to sound confident and resolute, but the truth weighed heavy on me.
“How hard can it be?” I added, forcing a note of defiance into my words. “I’ve faced countless trials and challenges before. My time as a gladiator in Rome taught me to endure unimaginable pain and suffering. I’ve killed without hesitation. Surely, these tests won’t be beyond me.” The words hung in the air, hollow and unconvincing, even to myself. Deep down, I knew these trials would push me to the brink—and if I failed, the cost would be unthinkable. Yet I couldn’t let Olivia see my doubts. Not now, when we needed to be strong.
Her voice, sharp and cold as steel, cut through my thoughts. “Why did you open your mouth? We could have gotten away.”
“No,” I replied, steady but gentle, forcing the courage I used to know back into my tone. “They would have killed us anyway. I can prove to them that I’m a Timehunter.”
It was as much a plea as a statement. I needed her to believe in me, to trust that this was the only path forward.
The fragile calm shattered, and the warriors converged around us like vultures circling a dying prey. Pasha Hassan pointed at Olivia, his command unspoken but undeniable. With a heavy heart, she climbed into the carriage, little Luna nestled on her hip. Reyna and Rosie followed her, their movements hesitant, shadows of dread etched into their faces.
I mounted my steed, a creature of sinew and muscle, its strength mirroring the determination coursing through me. The warriors surged forward, a dark tide rolling over the rugged landscape. Their vast numbers, though formidable, did not intimidate me as much as the memories of foes I had faced in the bloodied arenas of my gladiator days. Those battles had forged a hardened will, but now, with my family at risk, the stakes were infinitely higher.
We rode in silence, the rhythmic pounding of hooves, a somber drumbeat echoing the dread clawing at my insides. The anticipation of violence simmered, a tempest waiting to erupt. For now, it remained a distant storm, its thunder muted by the inevitability of fate’s cruel design.
As we approached Anatolia, the sun dipped below the horizon, its shadows surrendering to the glow of torches that lined a path leading into the earth. What awaited us was unlike anything I had ever seen. The entrance revealed a sprawling underground palace carved into the ancient bones of the land. Its grandeur mocked the rugged terrain above, an opulent secret hidden from the world.
“Impossible,” I whispered, my breath stolen by the sight of towering pillars etched with stories of time and conquest. They supported a ceiling adorned with intricate designs, from which chandeliers hung, their crystals scattering light like stars across the gleaming marbled floor.
“Keep moving!” one of the warriors barked, shoving Olivia and me forward.
We were thrust into a chamber that could have rivaled the courts of any surface monarch. The walls were adorned with tapestries woven with silver and gold threads, depicting the chronicles of Timehunters—men and women whose lives were intertwined with the eternal dance of power, sacrifice, and bloodshed. Every thread told a story, every detail a testament to their ruthless legacy.
Before I could absorb the splendor, the air shifted with a cruel finality. My attention snapped to Olivia, whose arms were suddenly empty. Baby Luna and Rosie were spirited away by two impassive warriors, their movements as precise as they were unyielding.
“No! Please, they’re my babies—they need me!” Olivia’s voice broke, each word laced with a raw, desperate anguish as she lunged forward, arms outstretched toward our daughters.
“Silence,” the lead warrior commanded, his eyes void of empathy.
The door slammed shut, sealing us in an isolation that was as suffocating as it was deafening. Olivia’s choked sobs filled the silence, a haunting symphony of despair.
We stood frozen, enveloped in the weight of what had just transpired, the air thick with unspoken fears. Then, with a loud creak, the massive doors parted once again.
Pasha Hassan stepped into the room, his presence as commanding and sharp as a blade.
“You knew the bargain,” he said, gaze locking onto mine. “You know you must prove yourselves as Timehunters—even you, Olivia.”
I stepped between him and my wife, my protective instincts flaring.
“No, that’s not how it works in England,” I countered, though my voice betrayed the gnawing anxiety within me. “The wives don’t need to be Timehunters.”
Pasha Hassan’s lips twisted into a cold, mirthless smile. “The society you speak of was destroyed long ago. But perhaps you are of a distant bloodline. Prove it to me—both of you.”
His words lingered in the air, heavy with challenge and threat, weaving an inescapable trap around us. There was no denying the finality in his tone, no room to argue or plead.
“Guards,” he commanded, gesturing to the men around us. “Bring them to my office.”
Without another glance, he spun on his heel and strode away, his footsteps fading into the echoing corridor.
The guards closed in, their expressions stoic as they herded us down a narrow hallway lit only by flickering torches—the oppressive silence pressed against my ears, each step a resounding reminder of our peril. When we reached the end, the guards shoved us unceremoniously through a heavy wooden doorway.
Inside, Pasha Hassan’s office gleamed with an unsettling grandeur. The walls were draped in crimson velvet, bordered with shimmering gold inlays, the lavish decor glinting under the light of crystal chandeliers. At the room’s center, an ornate desk stood as a testament to his authority, its surface carved with intricate depictions of Timehunter conquests. Behind it, Pasha Hassan stood with arms outstretched, his expression disturbingly welcoming as though hosting honored guests at a grand feast.
“Let me offer you some refreshments,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward a side table piled high with decanters of wine and platters of exotic fruits. Given the stakes of our presence, the casual offer was grotesquely out of place.
I shook my head, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.
“No, thank you. What are the tasks? Let’s get this over with.” My words were sharp, flint against steel, slicing through the room’s ostentatious silence.
Pasha Hassan chuckled softly, the sound dripping with condescension. “How very brave of you,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “If you were Timehunters, as you claim, you would already know what the trials entail. Every true Timehunter knows.”
“Our society is different,” I retorted, injecting every ounce of confidence I could muster into my voice. “We follow different rules.”
“You are courageous indeed,” he murmured, his gaze sharpening as it raked over me. “You must take after your father.”
The mention of my father sent a jolt through my chest, but I unflinchingly met Pasha Hassan’s scrutinizing gaze, refusing to let him see the cracks in my armor.
“Did you know Amir?” he asked, his question laced with quiet malice. “The man who destroyed the Timehunter society of England?”
The name hit like a thunderclap, dredging up the memory of Balthazar’s revelation—the truth about my father’s identity. The words tasted bitter as I forced them past my lips. “Yes, he was my father.”
Beside me, Olivia’s hand found mine, her grip firm, her silent support grounding me. She understood the weight of that name, the history it carried, the wounds it left behind.
“Then you know,” Pasha Hassan said, his tone deceptively conversational, as though discussing trivial history. “You know how your father, Amir, dismantled and destroyed the Timehunters long ago.”
A surge of anger washed over me, hot and unbidden. “I despise my father and have no connections to him.”
Pasha Hassan studied me, his eyes alight with a calculating gleam. “And why is it that you despise your father? Is it because he destroyed your Timehunter society, which you claim still exists? “
I glared at him, feeling the sting of old wounds.
“I was raised alone,” I said, my words sharp with resentment. “He abandoned my mother. He impregnated her and left.”
The truth of my past, usually locked away, now lay bare between us—a vulnerable offering Pasha Hassan showed no inclination to respect.
His laugh was devoid of any compassion.
“Actions like that don’t matter,” he said dismissively, waving a hand as if brushing away an insignificant detail. “Let’s move on.”
His indifference to my pain stoked my fury, but I kept composed. This was his game, and he relished watching me squirm.
“You’re a powerful warrior,” he continued, his voice smooth, almost mocking. “I’ll negotiate. You know the Timehunters have ten tests, but I will only give you the five most difficult.”
I clenched my fists, feeling cheated.
“How is this fair? Even one test seems like an insult,” I challenged, though I knew fairness held no place in Pasha Hassan’s twisted logic.
His gaze bore into me, unyielding.
“If you are truly a Timehunter, you can do this,” he said, his tone devoid of doubt. “If you pass the tests, I will return the blades, and together, we can reawaken their power. And—” his voice turned sharp as a dagger, “I will safely return your children.”
Anger flared within me, a burning desire to strike back at this man who held our fates so carelessly in his hands. But raw emotion would not save us; we needed control now.
“You will complete the five hardest tasks,” Pasha Hassan continued, his sneer deepening. “If you fail, you will be given the worst death imaginable. But first, you will watch your children die.”
Searing hatred for Pasha Hassan scorched through me, a loathing deeper than any I had ever known.
“I know you’re Timebornes and are lying to my face,” he added, his voice laced with mockery. “But I’m willing to let you plead your case. Pass, and I will help you unravel the blades’ mystery. It’s that simple. Your tests will begin in a couple of hours.”
A heavy silence filled the room, each of his words reverberating with the weight of an impending storm.
“Stay here and prepare,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice echoing off the ornate walls of the underground chamber as he turned and left, his shadow lingering long after he disappeared.
When the door shut behind him, Olivia’s breath hitched, her wide, tear-filled eyes searching mine for answers I didn’t have. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and her trembling hands gripped my arm tightly.
“We’re not going to survive this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What if we’re asked to jump off a building? Why did you say anything to Pasha Hassan? Why on earth did you tell him we’re Timehunters?”
I took her hands in mine, feeling the tremor that mirrored the dread in my chest. The cold knot of fear in my stomach threatened to overwhelm me, but I pushed it down, forcing steadiness into my voice.
“I promise we’ll get through this together,” I said, trying to infuse my words with conviction for both our sakes. I held her gaze, hoping she could see the strength I was clinging to. “You’re a warrior, Olivia. We’ll survive this. We have to—for Rosie and Luna.”
She shook her head, fresh tears spilling over. “I am not the same woman I used to be. I’ve had a baby! Do you think we can pass these tests? We don’t even know what they are!”
Her vulnerability struck me harder than any blow I’d endured in the gladiator pits.
“Yes, you had a baby, but you’re still a warrior—a strong, courageous woman with whom I fell in love.” I brushed my thumbs over the backs of her hands, willing her to believe not just my words but the unspoken vow within them. We were in this together—I wouldn’t let our challenges end here without a fight.
Before Olivia could respond, the door creaked open, and Reyna stepped inside. Her presence was like oil poured onto the fire, reigniting our anger. The urge to strike mingled with the sting of betrayal.
Olivia lunged forward, but Reyna raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I know you’re mad at me. I can explain.”
“Explain?” Olivia’s voice cracked, her protest ringing through the room. “You led us into this! You put my children’s lives in danger!”
“Look,” Reyna began, urgency lacing her tone. “I risked my life sneaking in here. I came to tell you what the tests are.”
“Do you think we’ll believe you?” I spat, each word dripping with disdain. “You betrayed us. Your father is despicable.”
Reyna’s expression hardened. “That’s why I’m here. You have the power to overthrow him. You have two hours to learn and strategize.”
I locked eyes with Olivia, searching for a sliver of trust or willingness to listen. Our lives—and our children’s—hung precariously in the balance.
“The first test is called the Venomous Chalice,” Reyna said, and Olivia’s grip on my arm tightened.
“Please don’t tell us this has something to do with snakes,” Olivia whispered, her voice laced with dread, echoing the tightening knot in my stomach.
Reyna nodded solemnly. “You must enter a snake pit, find the largest one, drain its venom, and pour it into a chalice.”
Olivia’s breath hitched in a silent scream. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her close to my chest. My touch was meant to shield her from the terror of Reyna’s words, though my pulse thundered at the thought of facing those serpentine horrors.
“We will face it together,” I murmured into her hair, trying to imbue the words with a confidence I didn’t entirely feel.
Reyna continued, indifferent to the panic she was sowing. “The second test is the Alchemist’s Crucible. Both of you will ingest a deadly poison. You’ll have eight hours to create an antidote. Fail, and you die.”
“Die?” Olivia echoed, her voice trembling. The color drained from her face, leaving her ashen. She was no stranger to danger, but this... this was different. The stakes were higher than ever before.
Reyna pressed on, as relentless as the trials she described. “The third is called the Labyrinth of Shadows—a darkened dungeon with no light. You’ll hunt opponents you cannot see. The only way out is everyone inside must be dead before you can exit.”
Olivia’s body tensed in my arms, her fear so palpable I could almost feel it coursing through my veins. I tightened my hold on her, hoping to anchor her—and myself—in the face of the mounting horrors.
“We’ve walked through the darkness before,” I said softly, trying to reassure her, though I knew these shadows would be unlike any we had ever faced. “We’ll find our way out again.”
But even as I spoke, the same unspoken question lingered between us—How could we survive when every step ahead promised a dance with death?
“Has anyone ever passed these tests?” I asked, my voice a mix of curiosity and desperation. My grip on Olivia’s shoulders tightened as though sheer force could shield her from the truth.
Reyna’s response was maddeningly casual. “Of course. How else would we have the most powerful Timehunters here?”
I weighed her words, searching for a glimmer of deceit in her expression. The odds felt stacked against us, yet there was something in how she carried herself—an underlying belief that these trials, twisted and brutal as they were, might not be impossible to overcome.
“Number Four is the Duel of Fates,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts like a blade. “You will fight in a duel, but you will be tied to each other by your wrists. You’ll each wield a sword in your free hand. Your opponents will be several trained, black-hooded warriors armed with weapons infused with poison. One cut, and you will die.”
The words hit like a blow to the gut, and Olivia recoiled from me.
“No, Roman!” she cried, her voice laced with desperation. “This is madness.”
“Olivia, my love,” I said softly, stepping closer to cup her face. Her skin was cold, her fear radiating like a storm about to break. “We’ve faced the impossible before. Until our last dying breath, we will fight. Together.”
Her breaths came in sharp bursts, her chest heaving as panic threatened to consume her. But slowly, gradually, she nodded, her trust in me holding strong despite the terror we faced.
“Tell us the last test,” I said, steeling myself for Reyna’s answer.
Reyna hesitated for the first time, a flicker of something—was it respect or pity?—crossing her features.
“The fifth test is the Pit of Death,” she said finally, her tone devoid of emotion. “You must face the Executioner. He is the most powerful warrior in the world. You will fight him in the pit, and you may choose any weapon.”
Her gaze faltered, dropping to the floor as if she couldn’t bear to meet our eyes. “Those are the tasks.”
“Thank you,” I forced out through gritted teeth, the words bitter as bile.
Reyna gave a curt nod, then turned sharply on her heel and disappeared from the room, leaving us alone in the oppressive silence.
Every breath Olivia and I took seemed to cut through the stillness, sharpened by the anticipation of what would come.
“Roman,” she whispered, her voice trembling like a fragile thread stretched too tight, “do you think we can survive this?”
I looked at her, the weight of her question pressing down on me like an unbearable burden. But I could only give one answer, even if it felt like a lie.
“We must,” I replied, squeezing her hand with a conviction I wasn’t sure I possessed. But for her, for us, I would believe in the impossible.
The sound of heavy boots against stone echoed down the corridor, each step a harbinger of doom. Pasha Hassan appeared in the doorway, his towering figure cloaked in an air of authority and merciless resolve. He surveyed us with a chilling calm, his presence suffocating the room like a storm cloud blotting out the sun.
“I trust you are prepared for your tasks,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You have a couple hours left. Make it count.”
Olivia’s grip on my hand tightened as his words settled over us. I turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead and cradling her face. My gaze locked onto hers, and I poured every ounce of strength into the next words.
“I promise we’ll make it through this,” I vowed, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “For Rosie. For Luna. For us.”
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her vulnerability exposed, but I met them with the determination in my own. With every breath I had left, I kissed her forehead, a silent vow to fight for her, for our family. As Pasha Hassan disappeared into the shadows again, the oppressive silence returned, heavier than before. The weight of the coming trials pressed down on us like an iron shroud. I held onto Olivia, willing to believe we could defy the odds and emerge from the darkness. But deep down, I knew the road ahead would be more treacherous than I could ever imagine.