CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
OLIVIA
M y gaze wandered across the family portraits that festooned the walls of Pasha Hassan’s study. An unmistakable air of love seemed to emanate from them; the tender way Roman’s mother was depicted, her smile serene and knowing—it was the same smile that now graced Roman’s face as he stood beside me. Then my eyes fell upon the likenesses of Pasha Hassan’s sons, Roman and Marcellious, their youthful exuberance frozen in time. It warmed something inside me, seeing how deeply rooted their bonds were.
“Olivia?” Pasha Hassan’s rich, resonant voice pulled me from my reverie. “You seem contemplative.”
I turned to him, the question gnawing at me finally spilling out. “Why are the blades so important? How are they so powerful? Why does everyone want them?”
Pasha Hassan leaned back in his ornately carved chair, his imposing frame dominating the space as he steepled his fingers thoughtfully. His deep-brown eyes glimmered with an ageless wisdom, as though he held the secrets of entire lifetimes within them.
“Why do you think they are so coveted?” he asked, his tone inviting yet enigmatic.
I hesitated, feeling the steady presence of Roman behind me. The sun and moon daggers had been a constant source of fear and wonder, their mysteries as vast as the cosmos.
“We don’t know much,” I admitted, my voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at me. “But we’ve heard they can destroy the darkness forever. They can cure even the most insatiable hunger for killing. And if they fall into the wrong hands...”
“Partly,” Pasha Hassan interjected, his expression inscrutable. Rising from his chair, he moved toward the stone fireplace, picking up an iron poker against the hearth. The flames danced, their flickering light casting shadows across his features.
Roman and I exchanged a glance.
“Could it be... for immortality?” Roman ventured, his tone tinged with both skepticism and curiosity.
“Or is it the promise of ultimate power?” I added, thinking of the legends surrounding such artifacts.
“You are both close but not quite,” Pasha Hassan said, his gaze sharpening as if challenging us to dig deeper into the well of our understanding. He stirred the fire to life with the poker, the embers glowing brighter, before placing it back where he found it and returning to his seat.
Frustration mounted within me like a wildfire, its heat and intensity growing with each passing moment. The puzzle pieces were tantalizingly close, yet they refused to connect. My curiosity burned just as fiercely, propelling me forward despite the uncertainty clouding my mind.
Taking a deep breath, I let my thoughts spill out, raw and unfiltered.
“Pasha Hassan,” I began, my voice trembling slightly, “ever since I first time-traveled to Ancient Rome, I’ve been caught in this relentless chase. Secrets, lies, and betrayal seem to weave through everything like an unbroken thread. With Balthazar and other darknesses hunting me at every turn, trying to kill me, I can’t help but wonder... What is the truth about these blades? How did they come to be? And who exactly are Salvatore and Lazarus, these mysterious fathers of darkness and Timebornes? I need to understand. No more half-truths. I want the whole story.”
Pasha Hassan’s gaze narrowed, his dark eyes glittering like obsidian in the flickering firelight. A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken truths. I sensed we were teetering on the edge of revelation, about to peel back a layer of this mystery that had remained shrouded for too long. Whatever he said next could illuminate the path ahead—or plunge us deeper into shadow.
Pasha Hassan leaned forward, his tall frame casting long, distorted shadows across the room. The firelight painted his features in a dance of light and shadow, accentuating the moment’s gravity. He beckoned us closer with the crook of a finger, his voice low and deliberate. I scooted to the edge of my seat, my heart pounding with anticipation. Beside me, Roman took my hand in his, the warmth of his touch grounding me amidst the turmoil swirling within. The room fell utterly silent, save for the soft crackle of the fire, as we braced ourselves for the truths that would shape everything ahead.
“Let me tell you a story,” Pasha Hassan began, his voice resonating like the toll of a distant bell. “Once, there was an ancient city called Ugarit. It was a jewel of its time, now lost to the sands of history—a place where chaos reigned. War, famine, and the despair of its harsh rulers gripped the land. Yet, it was also a major trading hub and cultural center during the late Bronze Age, famed for its early alphabetic script. The city thrived between 1450 and 1200 BCE, only to meet its ruin during the upheaval of the Late Bronze Age collapse. Invasions by the sea peoples, internal struggles, natural disasters, and the collapse of trade networks converged to seal Ugarit’s fate. Ultimately, it was abandoned, its glory days reduced to whispers of memory.”
Pasha’s voice softened, yet it carried the weight of time itself as he continued. “King Cyrus and Queen Seraphina ruled Ugarit with compassion and wisdom, but their crowns were heavy burdens. The suffering of their people ate away at them, and desperation led them to seek an answer beyond mortal means.”
He paused, his gaze seeming to pierce through the very walls of the study as if he could see the city of Ugarit in its prime. “In their despair, they turned to Lazarus—a powerful sorcerer whose command over time and magic was unmatched. His knowledge was vast, his power dark and enigmatic, a double-edged sword for those who dared to wield it.”
The air grew heavy with his words, the fire in the hearth crackling softly as if the flames were listening. Dust motes danced in a beam of moonlight streaming through a crack in the ceiling, suspended in the weighty silence that followed.
“Cyrus and Seraphina asked Lazarus if they could travel back in time and alter the course of history to save Ugarit before it was too late,” Pasha Hassan began, his voice steady but steeped in gravity. “Lazarus told them it was possible and agreed to help.”
I gasped, unable to contain the incredulity bubbling up within me. The story Pasha Hassan wove seemed more than a myth; it carried a strange resonance as if some part of it echoed through the very fabric of our existence.
Pasha Hassan’s voice grew taut with anger as he pressed on. “But Lazarus warned them that such a monumental and dangerous task required another—a sorcerer whose power rivaled his own. Salvatore, a name that even then struck fear into the hearts of many, was the only one who could match him. However, Salvatore had been imprisoned, his magic stripped away, and his tools destroyed. He was left to rot in a dark dungeon, yet even in his weakened state, his hunger for power burned with an intensity that could not be extinguished.”
The notion of two such forces joining sent a ripple of fear down my spine.
“Lazarus understood the tumultuous history between Salvatore and the king and queen. He knew their fear of him and hesitation would make convincing them a challenge. But they had no choice. Their desperation outweighed their caution. The monarchs approached Salvatore with their offer—freedom in exchange for his assistance in making the time travel possible.”
Pasha’s hands moved as he spoke, weaving the story before us with the grace of a master storyteller. “Salvatore, with the cunning of a predator who knows the scent of weakness, demanded more than just freedom. ‘I will help you,’ he said, ‘but only if I am guaranteed my freedom forever. I shall never be imprisoned again.’
“Faced with no other options, the rulers reluctantly agreed, releasing the sorcerer from his chains. Lazarus and Salvatore began their preparations, their combined power a force that even the gods might fear. Each step brought them closer to their goal, a feat that would alter the course of history itself.”
Roman and I sat transfixed, spellbound by the unfolding saga. The warmth of the study contrasted sharply with the cold inevitability that Pasha Hassan’s words seemed to carry. The weight of the tale pressed upon us, growing heavier with every detail.
“The preparations were not simple,” Pasha Hassan continued, his voice now laced with reverence for the magnitude of the task. “Lazarus and Salvatore waited patiently for the perfect alignment of the sun, moon, and stars—the night of the first-ever solar eclipse in the ancient city of Ugarit. On that night, under the shroud of cosmic shadow, their combined power reached its zenith.”
His gaze grew distant as though he were watching the events unfold before him in the flickering flames. “Together, they wove a spell of unimaginable complexity. It was more than mere magic; it was a reweaving of time itself, a bold attempt to reshape destiny’s threads and save Ugarit from the grip of ruin.”
A chill ran through me as Pasha Hassan’s expression darkened.
“But when the celestial shadow crept across the sun, and their incantations reached a crescendo, there was...a dissonance. An unforeseen flaw within the heart of their magic.” He paused, the silence stretching taut between us. “Instead of salvation, the spell unleashed devastation. Ultimately, volcanic wrath razed Ugarit to nothing but memory and ash.”
Roman’s grip tightened around my hand. We were ensnared by the gravity of Pasha Hassan’s words, by the cataclysmic error that had set forth such a chain of unstoppable events.
Pasha Hassan stood abruptly, his movements mirroring the restlessness of his tale. He paced deliberately, tracing the intricate patterns of the Persian rug that graced his study floor with each step.
“From the ruins,” he said, his voice quieter yet more resonant, “rose Solaris—a city untouched by the hands of Earthly architects. These blades created a realm parallel to ours, yet untethered from the reality we know. Everyone who had once lived in Ugarit now found themselves in a beautiful realm with a giant timepiece at its heart.”
I pictured the survivors of Ugarit, waking amidst the rubble to find a sky dominated not by the familiar sun but by an immense clock, its face a mirror of the moon.
“They were cast adrift in a world unrecognizable, surrounded by the remnants of their lives and a truth too peculiar to grasp. The solar eclipse hadn’t merely heralded destruction—it had torn open a passage to a new dimension of time. The women of Ugarit, whose birth was imminent, immediately went into labor during the eclipse in this new realm. Daggers appeared by their sides when the babies were born. These children became the first Timebornes, gifted with the ability to travel through time.”
His voice deepened with a sense of awe. “And on that fateful day, two powerful blades were forged—the sun and moon daggers. Near the entrance to Solaris, a giant clock was discovered lying on the ground, its face bearing the passage of time like a silent witness to the chaos. As we later learned, the clock’s hands were the Sun and Moon Daggers themselves. Their power was undeniable, yet shrouded in mystery.
“These Blades of Shadows hold unimaginable power,” Pasha Hassan said, halting before the fireplace, the flames casting erratic shadows over his sharp features. “These two artifacts you possess created Solaris and opened this new realm of time.” His voice dropped, tinged with reverence and caution. “And it was there that Lazarus and Salvatore, each nearly a hundred years old, found themselves not aging but growing younger—time itself reversing for them.”
A strange tension hung in the air, the weight of his words pressing against my chest. I could feel the duality of creation pulsing through every syllable—an essence born neither wholly malevolent nor benevolent yet inextricably bound to the destiny of the Timebornes.
“During the birth of the first Timebornes,” Pasha Hassan continued, his voice heavy with sorrow, “their darknesses—beings meant to protect them—appeared alongside them. But Salvatore, in his ambition and hunger for power, corrupted those darknesses, imbuing them with a sliver of his malevolence. He twisted them into instruments of evil, meant to one day destroy their Timebornes and spread darkness across the world.”
Roman tensed beside me, his hand brushing mine as though to anchor me. Pasha’s next words brought a flicker of hope amidst the despair.
“But Lazarus intervened,” he said, a spark of pride igniting in his dark eyes. “He tamed the darkness Salvatore had corrupted, training it to protect the Timebornes instead of harming them.”
Roman’s gaze found mine, concern etched deep into his features as I raised trembling hands to massage my temples. Pain blossomed like a dark flower in my skull, sharp and relentless.
“What is it, my love?” Roman asked, his voice gentle but laced with worry.
“I don’t know,” I murmured through gritted teeth. “I suddenly have a splitting headache.”
The ache hammered against my skull, pulsing in time with my racing heartbeat.
Pasha Hassan gestured toward the door. “Shall I call for a healer?”
Even as the throbbing grew unbearable, the desire for answers burned brighter. I shook my head—regret flooding in immediately as the movement sent stabbing pain through my skull.
“No,” I said firmly, though my voice was strained. “Please, continue with the story.”
Pasha Hassan nodded, his expression flickering between understanding and hesitation. “Solaris flourished into a haven, a sanctuary for those on Earth seeking to correct their mistakes. People journeyed there for redemption and restoration—a chance to undo accidental crimes or heal from tragic losses. Under the rule of kings and queens, each adding their prosperity and growth, Solaris thrived.”
He paused, his tone shifting to one of profound gravity. “But one queen in particular... She was the most powerful of them all. Her rule marked an era of unparalleled strength and prosperity. And yet...” His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “She vanished without a trace. History remembers her only as the lost queen of Solaris.”
The ache behind my eyes grew unbearable, a storm clouding my thoughts and scattering my focus. Pasha’s words blurred into the background as the pain drowned everything else.
“May I have something to drink?” I whispered.
Without a word, a servant seemed to melt from the shadows, carrying a cup filled with a steaming herbal concoction. The aroma wafted toward me—earthy with a hint of mint and something else, something soothing and unfamiliar. I took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through me, coating my throat, and seeping into my system. Slowly, the vice around my head began to loosen its grip, the relentless throb easing into a dull ache.
“Thank you,” I murmured, a breath of relief escaping me. My voice was steadier now, my resolve returning. I turned back to Pasha Hassan, ready once again to listen.
“In Solaris,” he began, his tone measured and reverent, “the Timebornes were known as the guardians of time. They possessed a unique and profound ability to traverse through time itself, aiding those in need by correcting past mistakes that could cause harm to others. Their purpose was not just to alter events but to mend the fabric of destiny, ensuring that time flowed as it was meant to.”
His gaze drifted toward the hearth, the flickering flames reflecting in his dark eyes. “With their unparalleled abilities, they could erase painful memories from an individual’s life or allow those memories to remain lessons for personal growth. Their decisions shaped the very essence of humanity’s experiences.”
He paused, his voice softening as he continued. “The Timebounds served as the Timebornes’ most trusted allies—steadfast companions who accompanied them on missions and cases, providing support and strategy when the path was perilous. And then there were the Timehealers,” he said, his tone carrying an almost reverent admiration. “These remarkable individuals specialized in using Solaris’ unique flora, crafting healing potions and antidotes that could mend not only physical wounds but also the fractures left behind by time.”
As he spoke, I envisioned these revered beings, their hands deft as they mixed elixirs, their knowledge vast as the stars above. They were the menders of broken timelines, weavers of second chances.
“The darkness’ biggest role in Solaris was to protect Timebornes and Timebounds at all costs,” Pasha Hassan continued, his tone edged with pride and sorrow. “They were professional, skilled assassins—warriors who eliminated evil, shielded the kingdom, and defended the realm against those who dared to defy its laws.”
I imagined these silent guardians, shrouded in mystery, their loyalty as unyielding as iron. They were the unseen force, the shield against the tide of time that threatened to sweep us all into oblivion. Their existence was both a promise and a warning, a delicate balance that preserved the sanctity of the realm.
As the weight of his words settled, I began to understand the gravity of what we faced—the delicate dance between light and shadow, past and present, memory and oblivion.
“But what of Salvatore? What happened to him?” Roman asked, his voice laced with an urgency that mirrored the pulsing of my own heart.
Pasha Hassan exhaled deeply, his gaze dropping to the richly woven rug under our feet. “Beneath the surface, Salvatore’s malevolent influence grew. He despised the bond between the darknesses and the Timebornes. It enraged him to see the darknesses protecting and even loving their Timeborne counterparts when his vision was chaos, destruction, and domination.”
He paused, his expression darkening as the tale unfolded. “Many darknesses fell in love with Timebornes, and their unions brought forth the Timebounds. Salvatore saw this as a betrayal of his ideals. He began to poison the minds of the darknesses, twisting their loyalty, controlling them, and corrupting them into weapons against the very Timebornes they were meant to protect. Like a cancer, his bitterness spread, unseen, until it was too late.”
The room seemed to hold its breath as he spoke the final words, each syllable heavy with foreboding. “Salvatore cultivated an army of darknesses, loyal only to him, with a singular, devastating purpose—to destroy their Timeborne counterparts.”
The idea of such treachery within Solaris’ walls was enough to chill the blood.
“When his plan was uncovered, Salvatore was cast out of Solaris,” Pasha Hassan said, his tone low and simmering with restrained anger. “But Salvatore was cunning. He evaded complete expulsion, secretly hiding in the shadows and continuing to corrupt the darkness, biding his time.”
My breath caught as I envisioned this master manipulator, an architect of chaos weaving his web of deceit and vengeance from the shadows.
“And then what happened?” I asked.
Pasha Hassan’s expression darkened further, his words like thunderclouds rolling across the room. “Many of the darknesses were once loyal to Lazarus, trained under his guidance to protect and serve the Timebornes. But as Salvatore’s influence grew, many turned away from Lazarus, lured by Salvatore’s promises of power, vengeance, and liberation from their perceived servitude.”
The bitterness in his voice was palpable, each word steeped in resentment. “Salvatore knew he needed more than brute strength to achieve his aims. He needed an army—a force capable of destroying his enemies—the Timebornes, Timebounds, and even the loyal darknesses who opposed him.”
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing through the flickering firelight. “So he turned his sights on the Timehealers. Their knowledge of Solaris’ unique flora and their ability to mend physical and temporal wounds was unparalleled. Salvatore twisted their minds, manipulating them with promises of power and dominion over those who wronged them.”
Pasha Hassan’s upper lip curled in disgust, his eyebrows furrowing as though the mere thought of Salvatore’s actions was enough to make his blood boil. His voice dropped, his words hanging heavy in the room. “With these newfound weapons—potions corrupted to harm rather than heal—Salvatore gained control over the darknesses, building himself a vast and mighty army that would obey his every command.”
The room seemed to constrict around us, the air growing heavier with each word. Roman released my hand to rake his fingers through his hair, frustration radiating from him like a storm brewing beneath the surface.
“Then, what of the balance, the order of things?” he asked, his eyes locked onto Pasha Hassan’s. “Salvatore created this army of vicious darkness, turned the minds of the Timehealers, and made them betray their people?”
Pasha Hassan’s gaze darkened, his features etched with a sadness that seemed to span centuries. “The monarchy fell after countless kings and queens had ruled Solaris with happiness, joy, and success. What was once a unified kingdom splintered into separate factions—the House of Shadows, the House of Timebornes, the House of Timebounds, and the House of Timehealers.”
Each name reverberated with power, carrying its gravity and purpose, as though their identities stitched together the very fabric of Solaris. Pasha Hassan’s fingers traced an intricate pattern along the polished grain of his Rosewood desk, the hypnotic motion reflecting the delicate balance Solaris had once maintained.
“The peaceful realm was no longer at peace,” he continued, his voice a low rumble. “Salvatore and Lazarus had once been allies, united by their shared vision for Solaris. Yet, Salvatore’s greed for power corrupted him, leading him to turn the darknesses against their Timebornes secretly. Lazarus, a powerful sorcerer and protector of the realm, eventually uncovered Salvatore’s treachery. He warned the leaders of Solaris of the growing corruption infecting their land. With an army of loyal darknesses, Lazarus set out to confront Salvatore and end his schemes.”
Pasha Hassan’s voice wavered, the weight of the tale pressing down on him. “But when they finally found Salvatore, it was too late. He had amassed an even greater army fueled by dark power capable of twisting and poisoning the minds of all who opposed him.”
Roman’s jaw clenched as the gravity of the revelation settled over us.
“And now,” Pasha Hassan said, his tone grim, “Salvatore’s ambitions had outgrown his hatred. His sights were set on the throne and the ultimate prize—the Blade of Shadows. The fate of Solaris teetered on the edge of ruin as this dangerous game of power and magic unfolded.”
The finality in Pasha Hassan’s tone left no room for doubt—Salvatore was an unparalleled threat to Solaris and the world beyond. As the echoes of his revelations faded into the crackling firelight, I realized that Roman and I stood at the precipice of a battle that would shape the fate of entire realms.
The shadows in the study seemed to stretch and deepen as if mourning the fractured history of Solaris. I sat stiffly in my chair, the weight of Pasha Hassan’s words pressing down on me, chilling me to the core. A history marred by betrayal and conflict was now ours to confront.
“Salvatore’s return from the shadows was like a plague,” Pasha Hassan said. “Death and destruction followed him as closely as a shadow clings on a sunless day.”
Roman leaned forward, his fists clenched tightly on his knees, his gaze fierce. His eyes burned like embers, radiating both frustration and disbelief. A low growl escaped him. “Those fools—King Cyrus and his queen—they should have listened to Lazarus instead of falling prey to Salvatore’s deceit!”
“But they did listen,” Pasha Hassan countered, his expression weighed down by sorrow and regret. The lines etched into his brow deepened, a testament to the burden of his knowledge. “Lazarus told them they needed Salvatore’s help. He believed freeing him was the only way to save their city. They trusted Lazarus, but even the brightest stars can be obscured by the mists of time.”
He shook his head, his voice dropping to a mournful whisper. “Salvatore was cunning. He knew how to play the role of the penitent. He knew when to bide his time and when to strike. The people who gave him a second chance could never imagine how deeply his thirst for vengeance ran. He mastered the art of masking his true nature, spreading dark lies with the precision of a blade to weave the chaos he craved.”
A chill crept through me, settling in my chest as I imagined the harmonious realm of Solaris fracturing under the weight of Salvatore’s schemes. I could almost see the realm tearing at its seams, its people divided by mistrust and fear, their unity shattered by the tendrils of his malevolence.
“And the daggers?” I asked, almost afraid to hear more.
“Chaos incarnate,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice grave. “When they were separated, it was as though the very fabric of Solaris was torn in two. A great expulsion ensued, casting us away from Solaris, with our memories stripped bare as we were flung to this harsh Earth.”
A heavy silence fell over the room, suffocating in its intensity. The enormity of what we faced loomed like a shadow, stretching across the fragile remnants of hope we carried. A legacy of strife and a battle unseen yet deeply felt now rested on our shoulders.
“Scattered like leaves in a tempest,” I murmured, my mind conjuring an image of lost souls drifting aimlessly, their ties to Solaris severed but not forgotten.
Pasha Hassan nodded, his expression burdened with sorrow. “In this world, the darkness is cursed with a never-ending cycle of violence and survival, constantly seeking to kill for sustenance. And amid it, all are the Timebornes, hunted by both the darkness and the Timehealers, who have been twisted into ruthless Timehunters. Their sole mission is to eliminate all Timebornes, Timebounds, and opposing darknesses. Our once unified realm now lies fractured, its people adrift, clinging to fragmented memories of a peace that feels as distant as a dream.”
Roman stood abruptly, his posture tense, his hands clenched at his sides. His gaze locked onto the dim torchlight flickering against the stone walls, shadows dancing like restless specters. His voice, when he spoke, was low and filled with resolve. “We must destroy Salvatore and his army of monsters.”
The finality of his words settled like a lead weight in the room. The truth was undeniable—we were remnants of a shattered realm, bound by fate and loss, thrust into a quest that seemed impossible and necessary.
The weight of Pasha Hassan’s revelation pressed down on me as though the air had grown heavier. I struggled to process the implications, my mind spinning with questions and doubts.
“These blades... they are to open the realm of Solaris?” My voice was barely a whisper, disbelief lacing every syllable. A chilling realization crept through me, twisting into my thoughts like an unsolvable puzzle. Could I be from Solaris? Or at least a descendant of someone who was? The thought gnawed at my consciousness, weaving its way into every corner of my mind.
But even more perplexing was my mother’s role in all of this. Born on Earth, I couldn’t reconcile how I—or she—fit into this ancient tale of realms and daggers, Timebornes and darknesses. The pieces of the puzzle seemed both tantalizingly close and impossibly far away.
Pasha Hassan nodded solemnly, his gaze weighted with centuries of untold truths. “That’s right. Mathias has always been a devotee of Salvatore, harboring his memories of Solaris while we’ve all been wandering in the dark. He fears the union of the blades—not for the power they wield, but for the truths they will unveil.
“Everyone wants to return there,” he said, almost reverent. “But our recollections are lost in the void. When the blades are reconciled, the veil lifts, and we begin to remember. Salvatore’s defiance against Lazarus altered the very fabric of our existence.
“This world is not our home,” Pasha Hassan continued, his voice softening with longing. “Our exile began here when the blades were separated. They possess the capacity to revive the realm of time, to mend what has been shattered.”
Roman swallowed hard, his face a mask of conflict. “You seek to obliterate the darkness, yet that’s not our ultimate goal. Salvation lies in Solaris. There, you can vanquish Salvatore himself.”
“Everyone has their motives,” Pasha Hassan said. “Balthazar yearns for the blades to reclaim his daughters and family—all prisoners within Solaris’ confines. Lazarus pines for his beloved Amara and his children. Even Raul and your grandfather Thomas, tangled in their webs of desire, are ensnared. My beloved wife, your mother Elizabeth, is trapped there.”
His voice softened further, carrying the weight of unspeakable loss. “Everyone who has died from that realm here on Earth is now a prisoner in Solaris. All of them—the good and the bad—wish to be released, to see Solaris restored to its former glory.” I felt Roman stiffen beside me as the enormity of Pasha’s words settled over us like a shroud.
“Nearly all of the Timebornes on Earth have lost their memories,” Pasha Hassan continued, his eyes glistening with the light of hope and despair intertwined. “Yet a yearning to go back persists in their hearts.”
A sudden chill ran through me as I caught Roman’s eye. Our gazes locked, and in that moment, it was as if we shared an unspoken understanding. Memories of a distant world flooded my mind—a world I had never known until this very day. It was as though a piece of my soul stirred, yearning to return to that unknown realm. A shiver passed through my body, the color draining from my face as the realization sank in. Were we connected by something greater than ourselves? And why could I remember so little?
“I know when you originally learned about these blades from the Great Chief, your sole purpose was to destroy Balthazar and all the evil darknesses out there. But destroying Salvatore is paramount,” Pasha Hassan said, his tone grave. “He plots to rule over Solaris, to twist it into a bastion of evil, creating destruction and chaos. Your mother covets dominion over that throne and wishes to rule alongside Salvatore. But once, life thrived there—it was harmonious and resplendent. We aided one another in unity until Salvatore sowed discord, turning us against ourselves.”
We sat there, stunned into silence, the weight of the truth pressing heavily on us. Words failed as the enormity of our heritage and destiny bore down. The only sound in the room was the soft crackle of the fire, its warmth failing to chase away the chill that seeped into my bones.
“In the wake of the blades’ separation and the banishment of our people from Solaris, Lazarus has been tirelessly piecing together a plan to regroup and build an army against Salvatore’s dark forces,” Pasha Hassan continued, his voice resolute. “We know that since those blades were torn apart, Salvatore has been actively seeking them out, harnessing his twisted powers to locate them and bolster his corrupted army of Timehunters. But now, thanks to Lazarus gifting us back our memories of Solaris, Zara and I have been working tirelessly to restore them and bring the lost souls back to where they belong—fighting for their true home.”
“And with you, Olivia, now possessing both blades, it is time to bring them back to life,” Pasha Hassan said, his voice filled with conviction. “Reunite our people, lead them back to their rightful place, and vanquish Salvatore and all his dark minions once and for all.”
My veins pulsed with a newfound determination as I locked eyes with him. The weight of his words settled deep within me, igniting a fire I hadn’t realized was waiting to be stoked. My voice was low, steely, carrying the promise of unwavering resolve. “Roman and I will stop at nothing to destroy him and restore Solaris to its former glory.”
But even as I spoke, frustration churned within me, a storm of unresolved memories threatening to boil over. They lingered just out of reach—fragments of a life I couldn’t fully recall. Why couldn’t I remember the whole truth? Why couldn’t I unleash the full fury burning within me? The pieces were scattered like shards of a broken mirror, and I was desperate to piece them together before it was too late.