CHAPTER FOURTEEN
OLIVIA
T he damp air clung to my skin as I huddled in the caves near Mathias’ estate. My breaths came in ragged gasps, and a scream ripped from my throat as another contraction tore through me, stronger and more unforgiving than the last. The pain felt alive, an unrelenting force clawing its way through every fiber of my being.
“Olivia!” Reyna’s voice echoed through the cavern, fragmented and distorted as it bounced off the jagged stone walls. The disorienting sound deepened the void around me, amplifying my isolation. “I can’t find you! Roman is coming, too.”
“Reyna!” I cried out, my voice hoarse and strained between the crushing waves of pain. The sound ricocheted back at me, an eerie reminder of our loss. I pressed my palms against the rough, cool surface of the cave wall, leaning heavily into it as if it could bear the weight of my agony.
My gaze fell to the daggers on the damp cave floor, their metallic sheen muted in the dim light. No one could see them—not Reyna, not Osman, and certainly not my mother or Mathias. I couldn’t let them fall into the wrong hands. With trembling fingers, I scooped them up, fumbling to secure them in the holster strapped to my thigh.
The pain consumed me, each contraction melding into the next until time itself seemed to unravel. I was adrift in a void of suffering, the boundaries of reality blurred and shifting.
Through the haze, Reyna’s hand suddenly found mine. Her touch was firm yet gentle, a lifeline anchoring me back to reality.
“Everything is going to be alright,” she said, her voice steadier now that she had found me. Her calm tone clashed with the chaos I felt within. “Let’s get you out of here.”
With her arm wrapped around my waist, Reyna tried to guide me through the labyrinthine tunnels, but the cave seemed to conspire against us. Each path led us in frustrating circles, the oppressive darkness closing in like a living thing. My legs shook, barely able to carry me as another contraction bent me double, the force of it robbing me of breath.
“Focus on your breathing,” Reyna urged, her words a tether pulling me from the edge of despair. Her presence was my only solace amidst my body’s rebellion.
The cave refused to release us, and despair gnawed at the edges of my resolve with each dead end.
“Almost there,” she whispered repeatedly, though we both knew we were no closer to escape than when we started.
The contractions intensified, a relentless tide, and Reyna’s words became a distant echo, drowned out by the sound of my screams.
Panic clawed at my throat, each breath shallower than the last. “I can’t do this,” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper against the echoing void. “I’m going to give birth here, in this cave. We’ll never make it out in time.”
My voice broke as reality crashed down on me. The cave walls closed in.
“Olivia, listen to me.” Reyna’s voice cut through the despair. Her hands were firm on my shoulders, grounding me. “You’re strong—stronger than anyone I know. You can do this.”
Strength felt like a distant memory, a tale from another life. I sank to the cold ground, the unforgiving stone a harsh reminder of our plight. Overhead, another crack sliced the stone, revealing the waning night sky. My mind raced to the child within me, their life hanging in the balance of these shadowed corridors.
“Pray, Olivia,” Reyna said. “Someone will find us.”
She sounded sure, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt.
I closed my eyes, lips moving in silent supplication to any deity that might be listening. Then Reyna was there again, her voice a soft command. “Take off your gown. I’ve seen births before. Our healer taught me a few things through observation.”
With trembling hands, I obeyed, the fabric slipping away from my loose chemise. I clutched the discarded dress to my chest, a feeble barrier against the wave of vulnerability that engulfed me. The stone beneath me felt impossibly cold, yet it was nothing compared to the fear coursing through my veins.
Then, a familiar roar pierced the labyrinth, a primal sound reverberating off the walls. Roman . His voice carried the same raw fury that had electrified the air the first time we met in Rome. He must have been furious—furious that I had left and had ventured into this treacherous underground maze without him.
“Roman!” I tried to shout back, but my voice was weak, a frail echo of his intensity swallowed by the vast expanse of the cavern. He would find us; I clung to that hope. Yet fear gnawed at me. His anger—was it for my reckless departure or for what awaited us both? For the unknown fate of our child, conceived in love but now overshadowed by darkness?
“Focus, Olivia.” Reyna pressed her hands to my back. “He’s coming for you, for both of you.”
Her words were a lifeline, tethering me to hope amid fear and uncertainty. Another wave of pain surged through me, threatening to drag me under. But Roman was near—I could feel it deep in my bones. He would find us, and we would face whatever came next together.
“Roman!” The name escaped my lips in a hoarse gasp, echoing through the cavern only to return as a haunting, distorted whisper. My plea felt as futile as trying to grasp the fleeting shadows that danced with each fresh stab of pain. Overhead, the first delicate rays of dawn filtered through a narrow fissure, teasing the oppressive darkness with the faintest promise of light.
Time stretched, each moment an eternity marked by the unrelenting rhythm of my contractions. The faint trickle of sunlight grew bolder, its golden streaks illuminating the rough stone walls. Yet even as daylight inched forward, a cold premonition settled in my chest—the solar eclipse was near. Its arrival would cast the world into an unnatural twilight, a veil of foreboding that seemed to mirror the chaos within me.
When despair threatened to consume me, a silhouette emerged from the gloom. Roman. His presence cut through my haze of agony like a beacon, his eyes locking onto mine with unyielding determination. Behind him, Malik staggered, his face pale and etched with suffering. The eclipse was already clawing at his strength, stripping him of the power that made him who he was.
“I’m in so much pain,” I whispered, my voice crumbling under the weight of distress as tears blurred my vision.
Malik’s knees buckled, his form crumpling to the cold, unforgiving ground.
“Malik!” Roman’s voice was edged with panic as he knelt beside his friend, but his gaze never strayed far from me.
“Roman,” I gasped through gritted teeth. “I can barely take it.”
Pain lanced through me with renewed ferocity, commanding every fiber of my being. Each breath felt like a battle; every moment stretched into an eternity.
The air hung heavy, saturated with the mingling scents of damp earth and fear. Reyna crouched beside Malik, her arms steadying his trembling form. The once formidable figure now quaked like a shadow of himself slumped against her.
“Stay with me,” she said, her voice a steady drumbeat against the chaos.
“Take him away, Reyna,” Roman commanded, his tone sharp but laced with urgency.
“No,” Malik rasped, his voice weak yet defiant, a flicker of fire burning behind his words. “You’re not taking me out of here.”
Reyna slipped her arm beneath Malik’s shoulders, hoisting him with a grunt. Malik swayed as he fought to catch his balance. Finally, with his arm around her shoulder, he staggered beside her. Their shadows merged into one as they disappeared into the labyrinthine paths of the cave, leaving Roman and me alone with the encroaching darkness and the storm of my labor.
Roman’s hands shook as he fumbled with a torch, striking flint until sparks caught and flame bloomed, casting a warm glow against the cold stone.
As another contraction ripped through my body, I couldn’t help but scream in agony. The sound was primal and wild, reverberating off the cave walls. Roman was by my side, massaging my back and offering words of comfort. His presence eased some of the pain, but I could still feel every sharp throb in my abdomen as I rode out the wave of contractions.
“I found the moon dagger,” I managed between labored breaths, my voice quivering but resolute. “I have them both now.”
Roman’s face, illuminated by the flickering torchlight, registered shock. “How?”
“The old man. He’s real,” I said, my words cut short as another contraction gripped me, stealing my breath and silencing any further explanation.
Confusion etched itself deeply across his features, his mind racing to make sense of my revelation.
When the spasm subsided, and I could draw a shaky breath, I said, “The old man was waiting for me. Roman, we’re in danger. I overheard Mathias and Mom talking. They want to kill us. The old man warned me—they’re my biggest enemies.”
The weight of my words hung heavy in the air, the gravity of the revelation pressing down on both of us. I braced for disbelief, for denial, but instead, Roman nodded. His gaze locked onto mine, steady and resolute. “I believe you, my love. But right now, I need you to focus on the baby and your breathing. We’ll face this together.”
The stakes were higher than ever. All we had was each other and a fragile life fighting to emerge into a world shadowed by danger.
Pain crashed over me in relentless waves, each one building higher than the last. Roman’s hands were gentle yet unyielding as he helped me shift against the rough cave floor.
“Pull up your chemise,” he said.
I obeyed, the coolness of the subterranean air brushing against my fevered skin. Through the narrow slit in the cave’s ceiling, the celestial dance of moon and sun drew nearer to an embrace. The light that trickled through wavered with the rhythm of the impending eclipse.
“You’re giving birth, Olivia. The baby’s coming. I see a head…” Roman’s face was a picture of awe and fear. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Roman!” I cried out, not in pain this time but in desperate need. “You have to help me deliver the baby.”
My plea echoed off the cavern walls, amplifying the direness of our situation. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of terror and determination.
“We need a midwife,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Stop wishing for solutions we don’t have!” The command burst from me with the force of another contraction. “I only need you, Roman! You’re the only one I can trust.”
He squeezed my hand with a promise that he wouldn’t let go.
His gaze shifted upward, his expression torn.
“I wish Amara were here,” he whispered, the name heavy with memories of comfort and guidance, her absence a palpable ache.
“Roman!” My voice rang out sharper than I intended, but urgency demanded it. The sliver of sky visible through the cave’s fissure darkened rapidly as the eclipse drew closer to totality. “The solar eclipse is coming fast.”
His eyes locked on mine again, steadying me. “Don’t worry. Just think about birthing the baby. Give me a push.”
Drawing every ounce of strength I had left, I bore down, focusing on the life within me. Silent prayers echoed in my mind—prayers for survival, hope, and the fragile future we desperately fought to protect. The darkness crept closer, an unwelcome specter at the threshold of our moment.
The pain swelled, consuming, threatening to splinter my resolve. Then, amidst the cacophony of anguish, a featherlight touch brushed against my sweat-drenched forehead.
A soft and sure whisper cut through the din of my cries. “You can do this, Olivia. You’ve got this.”
The familiar and reassuring words were a melody against the discord of my suffering. My tear-blurred eyes fluttered open, and the sight before me pierced through the fog of pain.
Amara . She stood before me, ethereal, her presence an impossibility.
“Amara?” The name slipped from my lips, laden with disbelief. “How are you real? It can’t be!”
Yet there she was, as real as the stark stone walls that encircled Roman and me.
Amara stepped forward without hesitation, an aura of quiet authority bending the air around her. She placed her hands on Roman’s chest, firm but gentle, and nudged him back.
“I will deliver the baby,” Amara said, her voice carrying the weight of timeless wisdom. She stepped forward, pressing the sun and moon daggers into Roman’s hands. “Keep these safe. Their power must not be left unguarded.” Her gaze softened as she met his. “Now, go. Be by your wife’s side, Roman. Comfort her.”
Stunned into silence, Roman and I exchanged glances, the impossible unfolding before us as we clung to hope amidst the shadows.
His mouth fell open, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Do you see what I see?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I struggled to comprehend the scene unfolding before us, utterly awestruck by the sight of Amara—our once-dear friend—returning from beyond the veil at the precise moment we needed her most.
“Give me one big push,” Amara instructed, her voice steady and clear, a lifeline in the tumult of my agony.
Summoning every ounce of strength left within me, I gathered it like a warrior preparing for battle. With a raw, primal roar, I pushed against the relentless tide of pain, willing our child into the world.
And then—silence. A profound stillness blanketed us as if the universe itself held its breath.
The quiet shattered with a sound more powerful than any thunder—a sharp, piercing cry, fragile yet fierce in its defiance of the void. My breath caught as my eyes sought Amara through the haze, her form glowing with an otherworldly light that seemed to radiate from within her. Tears streamed down my face, no longer from pain but from overwhelming relief and awe. I never thought I’d see this moment. I never thought I’d see Amara again.
“You have a daughter,” Amara said, her voice soft and reverent.
Joy burst into my chest, filling every corner of my being. Beside me, Roman let out a shaky sob, his tears mingling with mine as they traced paths of gratitude down our faces. Amara moved with a grace that defied reality, cradling our newborn daughter before gently placing her on my chest. The warmth of her tiny body against mine was a miracle; each breath she took was a testament to the trials we had overcome.
“Oh my god, she’s here,” I whispered, the words choked by overwhelming emotion.
Amara smiled down at us, her expression tender, her eyes shining with pride.
“You did so good, my love,” Roman said, stroking my hair. “You were incredible.”
Amara’s gaze shifted to the tiny life nestled between us. Her smile deepened as she said. “Looks like your daughter is a Timeborne.”
A chill rippled through me, starkly contrasting the warmth of my baby cradled against my chest. Beside me, Roman drew a shaky breath, his wide eyes reflecting the gravity of the moment. Amara’s gaze shifted to the glint of metal catching the dim light—the Timeborne dagger lying innocuously at my side.
Amara picked up the blade with hands trembling from both exhaustion and reverence. It was more than a weapon; it was an artifact of destiny, a symbol of our trials and triumphs, now destined to pass into the hands of a new generation. She turned to Roman and extended it toward him.
Roman accepted the dagger, his fingers curling around its hilt. The weight of the blade was a sharp contrast to the fragile life he had just helped bring into the world. For a moment, he stood still, the gravity of its significance sinking into his soul.
Darkness enveloped us, but a light stronger than any eclipse bound us together—a family forged through time and trials. Our tears fell silently, an unspoken ode to the love and wonder that held us in this sacred moment, deep in the heart of the earth.
As I held our newborn daughter close, her tiny breaths a miraculous rhythm against the stillness of the cavern, I nuzzled her soft, delicate nose. “Welcome to the world, little one,” I whispered, my voice filled with awe. “Your day of birth is February 25, 1598, and you shall be a woman who is not bound by time’s constraints.”
“All that matters is that you’re safe and the baby is here,” Roman said, his steady voice grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my forehead and my cheek. His eyes, warm and unwavering, radiated a love so profound it felt like a force of nature—unbreakable, eternal. It consumed us both, growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. We were rooted together at that moment, intertwined like ancient trees, reaching deeper into the earth.
“What shall her name be?” I asked softly, the question rising instinctively. A name held power, especially for someone destined to transcend the boundaries of time.
Roman’s gaze fell to her tiny face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. His features softened as he considered.
“Luna,” I proposed, struck by the poetic balance of light and darkness, the celestial dance that had heralded her arrival.
He nodded, the faintest smile playing on his lips. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, “She graced her way into the world amidst chaos. We should name her Grace.”
“Luna Grace,” I whispered, feeling the name resonate deeply, as though it was always meant to be hers.
“Luna Grace it is,” he said with a tender smile, blending the serenity and tumult surrounding her birth.
As we basked in the glow of new life, Roman turned to Amara, his brow knit in confusion. “How is it you’re here, Amara?”
Before she could reply, a resonant voice filled the cavern, reverberating off the ancient rock walls. “Amara, my love, it’s time for us to go.”
My heart stuttered as I recognized the voice before even seeing him—the old man.
Amara moved toward him. “Lazarus, can you believe it? They have a daughter, a Timeborne, just like you said.”
“Exactly as it was meant to be,” he replied, his tone steeped in an ageless wisdom that transcended comprehension.
Roman and I exchanged a startled glance, the weight of their words crashing over us like a tidal wave. Their connection and intimacy spoke of a bond that defied the boundaries of life and death, of time itself.
“Lazarus?” Roman’s voice faltered, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “I knew you as Gaius in Ancient Rome.”
The old man—Lazarus, Gaius—turned to Roman, his gaze piercing and timeless. “Roman,” he said, his voice carrying a resonance that bridged centuries.
“Both of you… you’re here—Gaius and Amara.” Roman’s voice cracked as he held Luna Grace closer to his chest, protective instincts flaring as though their presence might whisk her away into the realms of time they navigated so effortlessly.
The excruciating pain of childbirth gradually faded into a state of profound astonishment.
Lazarus—once known as Gaius—stepped forward, his face etched with the shadows of sunlight no longer obscured by the moon. The faint glow highlighted the scars and lines of a life wrought with danger and hardship.
“In Rome, I was Gaius to you, Roman,” he said, his voice steady yet burdened with truths too vast to grasp. “But that name was a mask, a deception crafted to shield me from my enemies. My true name is Lazarus.” His words carried the weight of centuries, layered with secrets and untold stories. “There’s much I wish I could tell you, but my time here is short. I must take Amara back to where she belongs before it’s too late. Protect your wife, your daughter, and yourself. Great danger surrounds you, and the final battle is closer than you think.”
His voice wavered briefly as if bearing the sorrow of what lay ahead. The gravity of his warning settled deep in my chest, igniting a fierce resolve to protect my family from the shadows creeping ever closer.
Lazarus and Amara began to fade as his words lingered in the air, their forms dissolving into shimmering translucence. Their departure was quiet, like a sigh carried on the wind, but it left behind the unmistakable weight of an impending storm.
“Wait!” Roman’s voice cracked with desperation, echoing through the cavern.
But they were gone, leaving only the flickering shadows on the stone walls and Luna Grace’s soft, insistent cries.
My strength ebbed, the events of the day—both physical and emotional—demanding their toll. Exhaustion gripped me, and my body trembled under its weight.
“Olivia?” Roman’s voice reached me, distant and tinged with alarm.
The edges of my vision blurred, the cave narrowing to a dark tunnel as I struggled to stay conscious. Roman’s figure became a smear of light and shadow, the torch’s glow dimming to a faint glimmer before plunging into darkness.
“Olivia!”
The deafening sound of Roman’s terrified scream echoed in my ears as the suffocating darkness swallowed me. My body convulsed, every muscle screaming in agony as I was dragged into the abyss. My heart pounded frantically, love and fear intertwining until it finally shattered like glass. At that moment, I was certain that I was dying, falling into a slow, agonizing descent into nothingness.