Chapter 26 #3
These blades—
Each one a stolen life.
A quiet horror gripped me as I scanned the collection. These were not just weapons. They were relics of Timebornes Malik had slain.
My chest tightened. How many had he taken?
Malik carefully inspected the array of knives with his back still to us.
Then, after a long, deliberate pause, he turned—two blades glinting in his hands.
He stepped forward, offering them out like sacred artifacts.
“These were your blades in your past incarnation—Armand’s and Isabelle’s.”
Roman extended his hand first.
Malik placed one of the knives in his palm, and Roman turned it over, studying it with awe. “You kept these… after the fire?”
Malik nodded gravely. “I did. I couldn’t let them fall into the wrong hands.”
He exhaled, his gaze locking onto mine. “And now, Olivia, I shall prove the existence of your past lives to you.”
He held out the second dagger.
I hesitated, staring at it.
Something inside me shifted—an echo, a whisper of something forgotten.
I reached forward and wrapped my fingers around the hilt.
A shiver ran up my arm. The blade fit against my palm with an eerie familiarity, as if it had been waiting for me to return to it.
But… nothing.
No rush of memories. No visions.
Only silence.
I frowned, tightening my grip. “I wish I could remember something.”
“You will,” Malik assured me. “One moment, and you will.”
He turned back to the cupboard, his fingers searching for something unseen.
Roman and I exchanged a glance before settling onto the green velvet sofa.
When Malik spun around, a small glass vial rested in his hands, the liquid inside shimmering a deep, dark crimson.
Blood.
My stomach tightened.
Malik’s voice was soft, reverent. “This is Rosie’s blood.”
Rosie’s blood? My mind spun with questions, but I stayed silent, waiting for him to explain.
“You will hold your daggers like this,” he continued, demonstrating, “one on top of the other.”
His emerald gaze flicked between Roman and me, gauging our reactions.
“I will pour the contents of this vial over the blades. When the blood coats the metal, you will come into contact with your past selves—you will see the truth.”
I turned to Roman, locking eyes with him.
For a brief moment, we didn’t need words.
We understood each other.
We sank into the depth of our connection, silently bracing ourselves for whatever was about to happen.
Malik’s voice cut through the stillness. “Are you ready?”
Roman and I nodded and positioned our daggers as instructed.
Malik inhaled deeply, then began reciting the sacred scripture.
The very air in the room shifted.
The walls seemed to expand, stretching into something infinite beyond time.
And then—
Malik carefully tipped the vial, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the blades.
The world around us shattered.
A vision surged through me like a bolt of lightning—
A cottage appeared before my eyes, nestled in the English countryside, the air thick with the scent of earth and blooming wildflowers.
I let out a soft gasp, my breath hitching.
A woman stood in the garden, toiling among the plants.
She looked exactly like me, except her hair was raven black, cascading down her back in thick waves.
Three children scampered around her, chasing butterflies in the golden afternoon light.
She looked… happy.
I smiled despite myself, mesmerized by the scene.
The woman, Isabelle, rose to her feet, stretching her back as galloping hooves thundered in the distance.
She turned just as two figures crested the hill on horseback.
Armand and Malik.
They raced side by side, each urging their horses faster.
“I win!” Armand shouted, a triumphant grin splitting his face.
“You did not!” Malik shot back, his voice full of mock outrage. “It was a tie.”
The memory was alive, pulsing through me, making my heart pound like a drum.
Malik and Armand leaped from their horses, shoving one another in playful competition, their laughter ringing through the air.
Armand turned toward Isabelle, his face lighting up with unrestrained love.
He looked just like Roman—the same piercing eyes, strong jaw, and undeniable presence.
With a boyish grin, he strode toward Isabelle and pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly.
She melted into him, her laughter swallowed by his lips.
I felt it—the connection between them, just as fierce, just as consuming as the love Roman and I shared now.
But then, my gaze focused on Malik.
He stood just a few feet away, watching them silently.
He was leaner, younger, but the expression in his eyes was unmistakable—longing.
It was written across his face, etched into every part of him.
But before I could fully absorb it, Malik abruptly spoke, his voice breaking the moment.
“Look!” He gestured, forcing a grin. “We killed a deer.”
Isabelle turned to him, her smile warm. “Bring it into the shed, and I shall skin it. We’ll salt and pickle the meat.”
The scene shifted.
Faster than a blink, the sunlit memory melted into something darker.
Armand and Isabelle lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, wrapped in each other’s arms.
A confined, dank-smelling space surrounded them.
I jerked back, my breath catching. “Why this image? Where are we?”
Malik’s voice was unreadable. “I don’t know.”
I turned to Roman. “Are you remembering anything?”
He shook his head, his brows knitted. “Not one thing.”
The images continued, shifting like scenes from a half-forgotten dream.
Yet through them all, one truth remained unshaken—
Armand and Isabelle loved each other. Deeply. Fiercely. Just as Roman and I did now.
And yet…
We also loved Malik.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t questioned.
It was natural.
Like he had always belonged with us.
Then, the vision turned.
The warmth of love vanished, replaced by a thick, oppressive darkness.
Acrid smoke burned my lungs.
A wicked orange glow flickered outside the window.
Fire.
I knew where I was.
I was inside the cabin, Isabelle’s body curled protectively around our newborn child.
The distant clash of steel sliced through the night.
Outside, Armand fought, a dagger flashing in his grip, his movements brutal, desperate.
But he was outnumbered.
Figures surrounded him, shadows of men with cruel, hungry eyes.
A knife swung—
Armand dodged—
But another man lunged from behind.
The blade sliced clean across his throat.
Shouts and screams tore through the night, yanking Isabelle from sleep.
Terror flooded her veins.
She bolted upright, heart hammering against her ribs, the acrid scent of smoke choking the air.
She barely had time to think.
Armand.
She raced outside—only to find him on the ground.
Lifeless.
His throat slit, his blood soaking into the earth.
A sound tore from her throat—a scream so raw, so guttural, it could have cracked the heavens.
She dropped to her knees, cradling his head in her lap, her sobs breaking through the chaos around her.
And then—Malik.
He appeared through the haze, his form a dark silhouette against the flames.
Isabelle turned wild-eyed to him, desperate, broken.
“Please, Malik. Save my baby!”
The baby.
A horrifying realization slammed into her. She had left her newborn inside.
What kind of mother had she been to abandon her child in the flames?
“Please!” she begged, her hands clutching at Malik’s tunic. “Save my baby!”
But then, a figure lunged from the shadows.
A Timehunter.
Flaming torch in one hand. A gleaming knife in the other.
He barreled toward Isabelle, his blade flashing in the firelight.
Before she could react and before Malik could stop him—
He drove the dagger straight into her chest.
A sickening gasp wrenched from her lips.
Her body jerked.
She collapsed over Armand, dying beside the man she loved.
A strangled sob escaped my lips.
I sat frozen, tears streaming down my face, unable to move, unable to breathe.
And then—
A shift in the air.
A glow, faint at first, growing stronger.
I looked up.
Isabelle and Armand stepped out of the vision.
They stood before us, transparent, ghostly echoes of who they once were.
Their gazes were soft, knowing. They looked at each other first, then at Roman and me, their expressions filled with something unshaken, something eternal.
A second chance.
“You’ve been given another chance,” Armand said, his voice like distant wind through trees.
“You must defeat the darkness and the Timehunters,” Isabelle whispered. “Do not make the same mistakes we did.”
Armand nodded. “Do not repeat history.”
I bolted to my feet, hands outstretched toward them.
“Help us remember.” My voice was raw, desperate. “Where did you hide the Moon Dagger?”
Armand and Isabelle exchanged a look—a quiet understanding passing between them as if they held the key to a secret we weren’t ready to know.
“Please.” My chest tightened, frustration building inside me. “You’re the ones who hid it. Surely you remember where you put it.”
Still, they only smiled.
A maddening, mysterious smile.
The silence clawed at me.
“You tell us not to make the same mistakes,” I pressed, “but how can we stop history from repeating if we don’t know where the dagger is?”
Isabelle’s eyes gleamed. “It’s in the same place where it all started for you.”
The air grew colder.
My breath hitched.
“Somewhere deep and dark,” she continued, “like where you were born.”
Her smile widened as she spoke the final words—
“It’s in a cave in Wales. La Caverne de la Viergueux.”
The moment the name left her lips, their forms began to fade.
Like mist dissolving into the night.
And with them, the warmth in the room vanished.
A bone-deep chill seeped into my skin like the past had touched me.
I rubbed my arms, shivering. “Roman!”
His gaze snapped to mine, his face pale. “I feel it too, my beloved.”
He exhaled, clenching his jaw. “The dagger is within our grasp.”
He looked toward Malik, who stood still as a statue, absorbing every word.
“But how do we find it?”