CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
ROMAN
P asha Hassan’s study was a treasure buried beneath the earth. The domed ceiling was a celestial map, constellations picked out in gold leaf against a backdrop of azure. My eyes traced the patterns, feeling the weight of history pressing close, each star a reminder of the vastness of the secrets surrounding us.
“Roman, Olivia,” Pasha Hassan’s smooth voice broke the silence, pulling us back to the present. “Would you like some refreshments?”
Olivia nodded, her gaze lingering on a tapestry depicting a battle long past, its threads vivid and haunting. “Yes, thank you.”
Silent as shadows, servants materialized with trays bearing cups of sherbet and plates of sweetmeats. The sherbet was a chilled pomegranate on the tongue, but its sweetness was short-lived. The urgency pounding in my chest turned the flavor bitter. Pleasantries could not mask the storm brewing within me.
Setting my cup down deliberately, I leaned forward, eyes locking on Pasha Hassan. “We need answers.”
The room seemed to pulse with my declaration, the air thickening as if it awaited his response. Pasha Hassan regarded me with a measured calmness, his expression betraying none of the gravity of our meeting.
“I want you to know one thing,” he began, his voice low and intense. “The Timehunters were never your enemies but your allies. They were once a noble society of healers, using their mastery of time to create tonics and potions to aid those in need. But along the way, Salvatore twisted their minds and made them killers, turning them against us darknesses, Timebornes, and Timebounds.”
“Why?” I asked, struggling to make sense of his words.
Pasha Hassan’s eyes blazed, his fury barely contained. “Who knows? Perhaps the seeds of corruption lay dormant in Salvatore until he could take no more. The Timebornes and darknesses were once allies, united in purpose. But Salvatore poisoned the Timehunter society, manipulating them into destroying us and weakening our powers.”
I stared at him, disbelief surging through me. “But you’re a Timehunter yourself, and you lead the society of Anatolia.”
“I am a Timehunter, but I am not like the others. I use my abilities for good, not evil.”
His statement left me momentarily speechless. “What do you mean?”
“The Timehunters were originally known as Timehealers,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice tinged with sorrow. “The ruthless, dangerous, and corrupted Timehunters are Salvatore and Mathias. All the trials you have endured are to prepare you for what’s to come. The formidable warriors you have faced were once wild and untamed, brought under my control. Each one, a fierce soldier for the Sultan, honed to be unbeatable in battle.”
His voice carried a sense of pride as he spoke, his piercing dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that demanded my full attention. The weight of his gaze was almost physical, bearing down on me, forcing me to confront the gravity of his words.
“I have been building your army,” he continued. “An army not corrupted by Salvatore or Mathias. I’ve been here under disguise until I could meet you as my son. I have been waiting for this moment for a long time, Roman. Everything you have been told about the Timehunters being so powerful is true, except we are the rightful Timehunters—not the corrupted ones Salvatore created and trained under Mathias.”
His words lingered in the air like smoke, curling into the recesses of my mind and muddling thoughts I had once held as unshakable truths. I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking under my shifting weight, feeling unsettled and strangely vindicated. The search for clarity had brought Olivia and me to this gilded chamber, to this man who claimed both paternity and subterfuge in the same breath.
“Who is commanding you, then?” I pressed, my voice firm despite the unease creeping through my veins.
Pasha Hassan reclined in his ornate chair, his posture unbothered by my growing impatience.
“Lazarus has given me the orders,” he replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
“Who is Lazarus?” I asked, my patience waning under the weight of riddles. “I knew him as a man named Gaius in Ancient Rome. He was a man who saved me from death many times.”
“Yes, you knew him as Gaius, but his true name is Lazarus,” Pasha Hassan said. My frustration simmered beneath the surface as he leaned forward, locking eyes with me.
“Let me start at the beginning. Listen carefully. I was a student at Mathias’ school of darkness long ago.”
His words slithered through the air like smoke, hard to grasp, harder still to trust. “Mathias is dangerous. Powerful and dangerous. He is under the guidance of Salvatore, the father of darkness. I was trained by Lazarus, who is the father of Timebornes. We are on the good side of things.”
“What do you mean you’re on the good side of things?” I asked, unable to mask the skepticism in my voice.
Pasha Hassan rose from his chair, pacing the room like a caged animal suddenly unleashed. His energy crackled with tension.
“My job,” he said, turning to face a portrait of a stern-faced man that hung upon the wall, “was to spy on Mathias and watch him closely.”
His gaze lingered on the painted eyes before he turned back to me.
“There was a time when Balthazar and I were good friends,” he admitted, his voice softening as though he spoke of a cherished memory now twisted by time. “But then Balthazar went off the rails with his vengeance against Mathias. He became a different person. I destroyed Mathias’ school of darkness.”
He took a deep breath, his words heavy with the weight of his past.
“After his school fell, Mathias spread his influence, creating new Timehunter societies in every country with his army of shadows and twisted followers.”
The dire implication made my heart race, painting a grim picture of an ever-growing force of evil seeping across the globe.
“Lazarus ordered me to destroy every Timehunter society built by Mathias,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice low but unyielding. “I destroyed them all.”
The study seemed to shrink around us as his claim reverberated in my mind. The conviction in his tone made it difficult to dismiss the enormity of what he said.
I glanced at Olivia, whose scowl mirrored the same confusion gnawing at my insides.
“My partner who has helped me destroy these societies,” Pasha Hassan continued, “is Zara.”
“Zara! The one who saved me from the fire,” Olivia exclaimed.
Pasha Hassan nodded.
“She is bound to protect you,” he said kindly, acknowledging Olivia’s bewilderment but not fully addressing it.
Olivia parted her lips, no doubt brimming with curiosity and burning questions, but Pasha Hassan raised a hand, signaling her to wait.
“My dear Olivia, I understand your need for answers and will provide them all. But first, Roman must know the truth about my past.” His eyes held a glint of sadness, shadows of secrets yet to be revealed.
He turned back to me. “Raul Costa’s society was the last I needed to destroy. So I sent Reyna and Osman to finish the job,” Pasha Hassan began. His voice grew quieter, the calm before an emotional storm. “Your grandfather, Thomas Alexander—your maternal grandfather—was England’s biggest and greatest Timehunter leader. He was despicable and deeply corrupt.”
The world I once knew shifted again, slipping away like sand beneath my feet.
“My job was to destroy that society. I didn’t expect to meet your mother,” he said, and for the first time, a tremor seemed to ripple through his resolve. “Your mother slipped into my home one night and confided in me. She told me she was betrothed to someone evil, a Timehunter three times her age. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen. I loved her too much. My heart ached for her and what her cruel father had arranged for her.”
He paused, his hand instinctively clutching his chest as though the memory had lodged like a dagger.
I winced, the thought of my beautiful, kind mother trapped in such a situation twisting my insides. The image of her marrying a ruthless, evil Timehunter was unfathomable.
“We fell in love,” Pasha Hassan continued, his voice heavy with emotion, “but I kept guarding my heart, knowing that my life was dangerous, and she deserved better. Yet, desire and temptation took over, and we began our affair. Then, you and your brother were conceived.”
He stopped, his words hanging in the air like an unspoken apology.
“During our time together, we destroyed the society,” he said, his voice firm but tinged with sorrow. “Everyone died, and your grandfather was left crippled.”
The words struck me like a blow.
“But then, what about her being disowned?” I interrupted, the mismatched pieces of my past clashing within me. “When she was alive, she mentioned that to me.”
Pasha Hassan’s jaw tightened, his expression shadowed by old wounds. “When I destroyed the Timehunter society,” he said, “your mother found out she was with child. Her father, already furious—his society destroyed, himself crippled, and her betrothed dead—could not handle another scandal. So he disowned her for shaming the family and for sleeping with the enemy—namely, me.”
His voice carried an undercurrent of bitterness as he began to pace the room, his footsteps purposeful yet restrained.
“When I found out Elizabeth was carrying my child, I offered assistance and support. But she refused because of the dangerous life I carried. My life was always filled with danger and death, and I wanted to protect her from the brutality.”
He sighed, his gaze growing distant as if he were peering into the tapestry of his memories.
“So I left and returned to my home in Anatolia to continue my duties. But my thoughts and heart were never far from Elizabeth,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “After I left her, I traveled to the Americas and met Dancing Fire. Little did I know that my best friend would fall madly in love with Elizabeth one day.”
A small, wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “But fate works in mysterious ways. Dancing Fire and I agreed that Elizabeth could be with whom she chose.” His tone grew more somber. “Your mother birthed you in the Americas. Your twin brother and you were separated because Lazarus instructed the Great Chief to do so—to protect you both from Salvatore. Salvatore was always watching, searching for Timebornes to corrupt or destroy those who refused to follow his ruthless and vicious ways.”
Pasha Hassan paused, his gaze heavy with emotion.
“Your brother was raised by Dancing Fire, safe from Salvatore’s reach. You, on the other hand, returned to England with your mother.
A heavy sigh escaped him. “When she returned to England, I went back to her. We couldn’t stay away from each other—she understood my dark nature. Our love was powerful, just like the love you and your wife share. I stayed with Elizabeth until you were one year old. Lazarus commanded me to return to my duties. I begged Elizabeth to come with me, but she didn’t think it was safe.”
I sat there, trying to absorb the flood of information, the weight of my unknown history washing over me like a relentless tide.
The air in the study solidified, pressing against me from all sides as Pasha Hassan’s revelations unfolded. I reached out unquestioningly, my hand finding Olivia’s, her touch a lifeline tethering me to reality as my mind threatened to spiral into disbelief.
Pasha Hassan’s voice remained steady as he continued, but there was a subtle bitterness beneath his words. “Your mother knew. She knew of your true destiny, and that one day, it would be time for you to fulfill it. And when you came to her and said you were joining the army, ready to fight for your country in the late 1700s, she was afraid of losing you. You were her last hope, the only one left.”
His eyes met mine, brimming with sadness stretching back through generations. “She was so upset when you had to go.”
“Upset?” The word felt feeble, inadequate to describe the chasm of loss and deception that yawned open before me. My throat tightened as shock gave way to a deep-seated ache. “What about Reyna?”
“Everyone abandoned your mother,” he said, lowering his gaze. “Reyna is your full-blooded sister. When you left for the Americas, I returned to comfort your mother. She and I rekindled our love for each other, and we had Reyna. Together, we raised her until things became dangerous.
His voice faltered momentarily, the weight of the past pressing down on him.
“You and your brother had time-traveled to the past in Rome. Olivia—your Olivia—was soon to enter our lives. And Salvatore... Salvatore was growing furious.” Pasha Hassan paused, his expression darkening as if dredging up a memory too painful to voice.
“He killed your mother,” he finally said, his voice breaking. “To save Reyna, I took her away.”
My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the distant echoes of the opulent study.
“But Lee told me a different story,” I managed to say, each word scraping raw the lining of my soul.
“Lee and I concocted that story,” Pasha Hassan said, his tone heavy with guilt. “To protect you.”
“Protect me?” I asked hollowly. “Lee said he married Elizabeth and then buried her when she died.”
Pasha Hassan’s face twisted in anguish, his voice strained and tense. “Lee and I have been your protectors for years, shielding you from Salvatore’s grasp. We lied about our alliance with Lazarus because Salvatore has been watching Lee for some time now. He suspects that Lee is working with Lazarus—and he is—but Lee cleverly plays the role of an innocent pawn to divert suspicion. “Your mother meant everything to Lee. He loved her deeply, but she chose me. She was my wife, the love of my life. And it was Salvatore who took her life when his plans began to unravel.”
His words punctured the last fragile thread of hope I had clung to, and the tears I’d held back broke through the dam of my willpower, flooding my vision.
I bowed my head, weeping for the goodbye I never had, for the mother I thought I knew but didn’t, and for the woman whose memory was now a fractured tapestry of truth and deception.
“Your mother is gone from this world,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice heavy with regret. “But she is now a prisoner in another world. One day, you may have the chance to see her again.”
“Another world?” Confusion mingled with my grief, forming a maelstrom of emotions I could barely navigate. “What do you mean?”
“Time has layers, Roman,” Pasha Hassan explained, his voice steady yet haunting. “Some battles are fought beyond the realms we see and understand.”
Olivia’s hand tightened in mine, grounding me as his revelations unraveled everything I thought I knew.
“I have always been a part of your life,” he said, his tone unwavering, as though this admission carried the weight of a thousand hidden truths. “I have watched over you and your brother, ensuring your survival.”
The room seemed to tilt under the weight of his words.
“Watched over me?” I managed, my voice strained, teetering between disbelief and yearning.
“Indeed,” Pasha Hassan said, rising from his chair. “The original Timehunters were guardians of balance, sworn to mend the fabric of time torn by the Timebornes. But corruption seeped into their ranks, twisting their purpose. The darkness was never meant to harm their Timebornes. Yet power…” He paused, his gaze hardening. “Power corrupts even the noblest of intentions.”
He strode toward the towering bookcase lining the study, his fingers brushing along the spines of ancient tomes as though searching for a forgotten truth. At last, his hand stilled. He pressed a hidden mechanism, and with a soft click, the bookshelf swung open, revealing a chamber suffused with an ethereal glow.
He stepped inside and emerged moments later, holding two blades—one radiating sunlight, the other cloaked in the cool luminescence of moonlight.
“Here they are,” he said, his voice reverent.
My hands trembled as he placed the sun and moon daggers in my grasp. Their energy pulsed against my palms, alive and charged with ancient power.
“And as you know,” Pasha Hassan continued, his gaze locking onto mine with a gravity that chilled me, “I possess the knowledge to awaken them.” The weight of his words settled over the room like an oppressive shroud. He paused, letting the silence stretch as if daring me to absorb their significance fully.
“I am grateful that you and your wife survived Raul Costa’s masquerade ball and retrieved the sun dagger,” Pasha Hassan said. “Balthazar did us all a favor by eliminating most of the Timehunters at that party. Only a few survived—Raul and ten others.”
“Reyna...” I murmured, the name slipping from my lips like a plea.
“Reyna wanted to prove herself,” Pasha Hassan said, leaning forward in his chair. “She is more involved than you realize.”
The air in the room seemed to hum with tension as Pasha Hassan pressed on, unraveling the intricate web of events that had led to Marcellious’ capture and Reyna’s instrumental role in dismantling Raul’s regime.
“Marcellious’ capture wasn’t a betrayal by Costa,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice heavy with emotion. “It was all orchestrated by Mathias and Salvatore. Their ultimate goal was to dismantle your entire team, piece by piece.”
His voice cracked as he continued, the weight of his revelations bearing down on us.
“Reyna stayed longer than was safe,” he said, his eyes shadowed with grief. “She risked everything to save Marcellious and ensure Raul’s society fell. I know you and your wife have accused her of betrayal, of trapping you both, but that wasn’t her intent. I sent her to England with Osman because I trusted her to guide you back to me. Losing Osman was a tragedy I will never forgive myself for, but I couldn’t allow either of you to stay near Mathias and Alina any longer.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Amid the swirl of revelations, one thought crystallized—the answers I sought—about my role, purpose, and very identity—were within reach. Was I a darkness? What was my place in this vast, tangled web of alliances and betrayals? Perhaps, at last, I would discover the truth.
“It all makes sense now,” Olivia said softly, breaking the silence. “Why she saved Marcellious. He is her brother.”
Pasha Hassan nodded, his gaze distant as he perched on the edge of his ornate desk. His fingers traced absent patterns across the polished wood; his voice filled with the weight of secrets too long kept.
“Malik knew,” he said, his tone almost wistful. He glanced at the map pinned to the wall, its surface marked with the scars of battles fought and yet to come. “Your mother and Mathias are dangerous. Every move must be shrouded in secrecy, or they would have destroyed us before we could fight back.”
His eyes shifted to the sun and moon blades resting in my arms, their energy thrumming against my skin like a heartbeat.
“We are ahead of the game right now. You possess the blades,” he said as if to anchor me in the moment. “And I possess the knowledge that you seek.”
He had an undeniable magnetism, an enigma that drew me in, his words hanging in the air, tantalizing yet just out of reach.
“Forgive me, my son, Roman, for the trials and tests I put you through,” he continued, his voice softening, tinged with a regret that seemed to ripple through the space between us. “It pained me to watch you and your wife fight for your lives, but I was following orders from Lazarus. My love for you and your brother knows no bounds, and it hurts me deeply not to be part of your lives. I longed to teach you how to fight, ride, and hunt, but my duty always came first.”
The weight of his confession pressed against the room’s stillness, filling it with sorrow and longing. His words were an unspoken apology, a bridge across the years of absence and distance.
“Do you know why these blades are so important?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to echo in my very bones.
Olivia and I exchanged a glance, the gravity of the question pulling us into its orbit. Slowly, we shook our heads.
I turned to Olivia, who sat a few feet away, watching me with awe and quiet strength. She had been my guiding light through the darkness, helping me piece together the fragmented truths of my past and leading me to this very moment. Without her, I would still be lost.
Wordlessly, I extended the daggers to her, offering them with a small bow. She accepted them with a gentle smile, her fingers brushing against mine in the exchange, a spark of connection that grounded me. Then, I turned to my father—a man who had only existed in my imagination until now. Tears blurred my vision as I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace. It was a moment I had never dared to dream of, and now that it was here, I was utterly overcome.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with raw emotion. “For everything.”
For a fleeting moment, peace enveloped me, warm and comforting. But even as I held him close, the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to whisper of unfinished business, of looming dangers waiting just beyond the edge of this fragile reprieve.
This was far from over.