CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
OLIVIA
A fter the funeral, Roman and I returned to my father’s home, our hearts heavy and our faces streaked with tears. Grief clung to us like a physical weight, dragging us down with each step. Beneath the sadness, anger simmered—a deep, unrelenting frustration at the powerlessness I felt. Mathias had taken my father, and he could be anywhere, in any century, hidden beyond my reach. The sun and moon blade was missing, too, and with Lee’s sudden death, the despair surrounding us grew like a suffocating fog. It felt like all the light and hope had been drained from our world, leaving only shadows behind.
We sat together in the sunroom—a space unfamiliar to my teenage memories of this house. It was a new addition, just as alien as the sorrow filling the air. I cradled the iced tea Roman had made, its tartness softened by a hint of sweetness. The soft ice clinking against the glass was a faint comfort in our silence—a silence brimming with echoes of loss and the unspoken fears of what lay ahead.
“He must have updated it since I was last here,” Roman murmured, his gaze tracing the wooden beams of the ceiling and the expansive windows that invited the forest inside. “I don’t recall it looking like this.”
My father’s simple home in the woods bore the unmistakable marks of change, just as we did. Once cramped and outdated, the kitchen now gleamed with stainless-steel appliances and smooth granite countertops. But the renovations felt hollow without him here to share the moment, to witness our reactions.
“Roman,” I began, my voice breaking through the stillness, but the sound of crunching gravel cut me off.
Our eyes met, and without a word, we rose and stepped out into the cool embrace of the forest air. A beat-up van rattled down the narrow path toward the house, its worn exterior bearing countless stories of travel and survival. Behind the wheel was Marcellious, Emily beside him, their expressions unreadable as they approached.
As they stepped out of the van, exhaustion clung to Marcellious like a shadow. Dark circles under his eyes resembled bruises, remnants of battles fought silently. His hand kept drifting toward Emily—brushing her arm, encircling her waist—as if touching her anchored him to the present, to the fragile wholeness of their family in the aftermath of so much loss.
“How are you holding up?” Roman called out gently.
Marcellious managed a weak smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d just gotten him back,” he said, his voice trembling. “Lee healed me, brought me back to life after Raul tried to break me. He meant everything to me, and now he’s gone.” The last word cracked as it left his lips.
A heavy silence followed, pressing on us like an unseen weight. The enormity of what had happened hung in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.
“I wanted to tell you something, Marcellious,” Roman said after a moment. “I met our father—in the Ottoman Empire, where we studied the scriptures and merged the blades.”
The revelation struck Marcellious like a physical blow. He staggered back, his body tensing, his face a mix of shock and anger.
“The only father I ever had was Moon Lee,” he spat, his words sharp and deliberate. “The man who gave his seed to our mother is dead to me—has been for a long time.”
Roman flinched at the venom in his brother’s voice. I stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm, hoping to offer comfort.
“I’m sorry, Marcellious,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. “It’s my fault Lee is gone. He took the bullet meant for me. He sacrificed himself to save my life. And now—he’s gone because of me.”
My confession ignited something deep within Marcellious. His face reddened with fury, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he gripped my shoulders tightly, his voice low and seething with determination.
“Do not blame yourself for what happened to Lee,” he said, his tone a mixture of comfort and menace. “Your mother is the one responsible, and she will pay for her actions. I swear on Lee’s memory—I will see to it personally that justice is served.”
His words both comforted and unnerved me. I knew Marcellious would stop at nothing to avenge Lee’s death, even if it meant putting his own life on the line. Yet, in that moment, I was grateful for his unyielding resolve. Together, we would face the painful truths of what had transpired. Our journey to find my father and seek retribution for Lee had only just begun.
Emily stepped forward, the strain on her face softening as she addressed us. “I’m going to prepare us all a meal. Come on over in a while.” Her gaze lingered on Marcellious, a blend of affection and concern shining in her eyes. “I’m going to let Marcellious rest while I cook.”
I offered her a small, weary smile, my heart still aching with sharp pangs of loss. Yet, I felt a faint solace in her simple gesture of sharing a meal.
“Do you need help?” I asked, eager for the company and the understanding of someone who shared in our collective heartache.
“Thank you, sister, but no,” she replied with a gentle shake of her head. “I’d like to do something to help us all heal. You remember, when you met me, I was an herbalist. The tribe sent us home with many healing herbs.”
She wrapped me in a brief hug before turning to guide Marcellious back toward the van. Her steady and nurturing presence was a small balm for the storm that raged within us all.
When we entered Lee’s humble abode, the air was rich with the scent of herbs and spices. Malik, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration from what I assumed was a recent return from the hunt, joined Roman and me. Emily busied herself in the kitchen, where the rhythmic sounds of sizzling and chopping filled the room.
The countertops were a vibrant display of tradition and care, lined with colorful vegetables and marinated meats. Savory roasted root vegetables were nestled beside a platter of cedar-planked salmon, its pink flesh glistening under a glaze of maple and Dijon. A quinoa salad flecked with cranberries and toasted pine nuts offered a refreshing contrast while the aroma of freshly baked rosemary bread wafted through the room, promising warmth and comfort.
“Food will be ready in less than an hour,” Emily said, her voice steady as she continued her work, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables punctuating the silence.
In Lee’s front room, Marcellious sat slumped in a well-worn armchair, the weight of sleepless nights and relentless grief etched into his features. Malik stood beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder in quiet solidarity, murmuring words too soft for me to hear. In the corner, Leo, Luna, and Rosie played with blocks, their laughter a faint reminder of innocence untouched by the sorrow that enveloped the rest of us.
Roman and I leaned against the cool wall, finding a fragile refuge in each other’s presence. The room felt both heavy and hollow, a space brimming with loss.
“I feel like a failure,” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of my thoughts. “So much death has followed me since my travels through time began. Amara was killed. So many of the Native Americans lost their lives because of me. Tristan was beheaded. He was a terrible man, but even his death was horrific. My father’s gone. He has the scrolls. What if Salvatore?—”
“We will find Jack, my love,” Roman interjected firmly, his voice cutting through the whirlwind of my despair. His steady gaze met mine, grounding me. “Don’t worry. We will get through this difficult moment.”
His words were a lifeline, yet they couldn’t quiet the storm within me. The enormity of everything that had happened—everything that still loomed ahead—threatened to drown me.
“I can’t believe Lee is gone,” I murmured, the ache in my chest sharp and unrelenting. “I need some air. Let me know when Emily’s dinner is ready.”
Roman nodded, concern flickering in his eyes but allowing me the space I needed. I slipped out of the house and made my way toward the creek, my feet carrying me almost instinctively to the familiar sound of flowing water. The creek moved with a gentle insistence, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the evening light. Trees lined the bank, their leaves whispering secrets to the soft breeze that rustled through their branches. Kneeling by the water’s edge, I let my fingers trail through the cool stream, watching as it slipped away, unstoppable and unyielding—like time itself.
A sudden chill brushed the back of my neck, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I straightened, a sense of unease prickling my skin.
Then I felt it—a soft touch on my back. My heart lurched as I spun around, my breath catching.
Standing before me, her presence, as unexpected as it was undeniable, was Amara. Her gaze was calm, her expression serene, but her eyes bore the weight of something far greater. “I know the pain is strong in your heart,” she said softly, her voice carrying a familiar warmth. “But now it’s time to fulfill your destiny.”
“Oh, Amara… You’re not real,” I spluttered, disbelief clashing with the evidence before me. “You died a long time ago. All because of me. My darkness killed you, and now your ghost is haunting me.”
Memories flooded my mind, sharp and vivid—the impossible vision of her in the caves in Wales back when we were living at Mathias’ estate. The weight of guilt pressed harder against my chest.
Amara’s gaze didn’t waver, steady and piercing. “My dear child, I may have died, but your father—my son, Jack—needs you. You must save him before it’s too late and before Salvatore does his worst to him. It’s time to pick yourself up and fulfill your destiny.”
“What… what did you say?” I swayed where I stood, my knees threatening to give way.
“My son, Jack, needs you,” she repeated firmly, her voice like a lifeline pulling me out of my despair. “I’ve already lost my other two children, John and Theodora. I can’t lose him, too.”
Her words echoed in the stillness, a call to action that quickened my pulse and steadied my resolve. With a deep breath, I braced myself for what lay ahead.
“Amara… you’re my grandmother?” I stammered, the revelation striking like a bolt of lightning. The woman before me—so familiar yet enigmatic—nodded, her ethereal gaze clouded with sadness.
“Yes, child,” she whispered. “In Rome, I knew, but the silence was my shroud. John James, Jack James, Theodora are my lineage, my children, my legacy.”
Her words unraveled a knot in my mind, revealing threads of the past and present, intertwining into a tapestry too intricate to grasp fully. An uncle I had never known as such, a father in peril—all these fragments of knowledge spun within me, whirling like leaves caught in an autumn gale.
“Remember the words I gave you when I was dying,” Amara said, her gaze intense, imploring me to search through the fog of my memories.
“Tell me,” I whispered, desperate for clarity.
“You have a great destiny ahead of you,” she said, her voice steady yet tinged with sorrow. “You have weathered countless hardships, trials, and losses, yet you remain a pillar of strength, a beacon of bravery. It is something I admire greatly. Despite the darkness that may surround you, never forget the shining light of your husband, your daughters, and your family. They are the fuel that propels you forward. And in your journey to find your father and reclaim what is rightfully yours, know that I will always be with you, supporting you from afar. My love for you knows no bounds.”
Her form began to dissipate, the edges of her presence softening as though the very breath that carried her words was scattering her into the wind.
“No! Wait! Please stay!” My voice cracked as I reached for her, but my fingers closed around nothing but the cool evening air. She was gone, leaving behind an aching hollow where her presence had been.
Turning back toward the creek, I felt the world tilt beneath my feet, the weight of grief and revelation threatening to pull me under. Then, in the shadows of the trees, I spotted Zara. Without hesitation, I sprinted toward her and enveloped myself in the sturdy comfort of her embrace.
“Oh, Olivia,” Zara said, her voice soft as she held me close. “I’m so sorry for Lee’s passing, but don’t worry. Stay strong. I will stand and fight by your side until my last dying breath.”
Her words were a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge. Before I could respond, a shimmer in the air caught my eye. The space beside us seemed to ripple and coalesce, taking shape until a figure emerged—a figure I knew all too well.
Balthazar.
He materialized with a quiet grace, his every movement calculated yet humble. When he bowed low before me, it was not with the arrogance I had once known but with something far heavier—remorse. When he straightened, his eyes met mine, filled with a sorrow that seemed to reach into his very soul. “I hope you will one day forgive me,” he said, his voice low and weighted with regret. “I have made many terrible mistakes. Let me make peace with you and help you fight your battles—against Mathias, Salvatore, and Alina.”
His head hung low as if his guilt was too much to bear. “Once the blades are activated, kill me, and put me out of my misery. I want to reunite with my dead children. Make my death painful—for all the pain and torment I caused you.”
The gravity of his request left me reeling. Did he deserve mercy? Redemption? What he asked was not something you’d request of an enemy but of someone you trusted—someone you loved.
I swallowed hard, trying to ground myself. “Let’s focus on the now,” I said, unable to process the enormity of his plea. “I believe you when you say you want redemption. We will face what comes together.”
Balthazar nodded solemnly, his acceptance both comforting and unsettling. Looking at him, I felt the weight of destiny pressing on my shoulders. But I wasn’t alone. I had allies—a family forged by blood, shared trials, and unwavering loyalty. Together, we would confront whatever lay ahead.
A sharp rustle cut through the solemn quiet of the creek side, sending a chill down my spine. I instinctively pressed closer to Zara, the warmth radiating from her a steady reassurance as she shifted into a protective stance, her body taut with readiness.
Shadows shifted and coalesced into figures, and from their midst, Roman emerged at the forefront of an imposing procession. Behind him moved a phalanx of black-hooded men—a fraction of Amir’s formidable army of darkness. At the head of the procession stood Amir, with Reyna by his side, their commanding presence unmistakable.
“Roman?” My voice quivered with confusion and disbelief.
Before Roman could answer, another figure stepped out from the ranks—a man leaning heavily on a gnarled cane, his frail form belying the gravity of his presence. Lazarus.
“It’s you!” I gasped, the shock of seeing him here robbing me of breath.
Lazarus lifted his gaze to mine, his voice heavy with a resonance that seemed to echo through the air. “Olivia,” he said, his tone carrying an undeniable weight, “the time has come for you to remember.”
I shook my head, a mix of weariness and desperation coursing me. “What exactly is it that you expect me to remember? I’ve told you and everyone else countless times—my past is lost to me. No amount of forcing will bring back memories that are no longer there. I’ve tried, but my mind refuses to cooperate. I’ve lost everything and everyone dear to me. Lee is dead. My father is in the clutches of Mathias and Alina. My mother tried to end my life. And now, even the blades that were once in my possession are in the hands of my worst enemies, all because of secrets, betrayals, and lies. My heart has endured too many losses. My soul has suffered greatly. How can you expect me to remember amidst all this chaos? And Lazarus, why do you keep secrets from me instead of just telling me about my memories?”
Lazarus’ expression darkened, his voice grave as he replied, “But you did this to yourself. You knew the consequences.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, my heart pounding with unease.
“You, Olivia, were the one who brought us all here from Solaris. It was your power that separated the Blade of Shadows,” he said, his piercing gaze never leaving mine.
A wave of memories surged through me, unbidden and fragmented. I recalled the dream—the battlefield, Salvatore chasing me for the blades, my desperation as chaos reigned around me. The fragments blurred together, sharp and vivid, until I felt a chill run down my spine. Something slithered across my feet. I looked down in horror as snakes coiled around my legs, climbing higher, their scales cold and unrelenting against my skin.
“Please stop this, Lazarus,” I shrieked, terror lacing my voice as the snakes tightened their hold.
“No,” he said firmly. “I will not stop. Fear is what will trigger your memories and unlock the truth.”
The fear inside me threatened to consume me as Lazarus’ words echoed in my mind.
The snakes coiled tighter, their cold, unyielding scales pressing against my skin. They slithered around my arms, torso, and legs, their movements deliberate and unnaturally synchronized. Their sharp fangs pierced my flesh, a searing pain that sent a jolt through my body. I gasped for air, but the serpents continued their relentless advance, winding around my neck, covering my mouth, and suffocating me with their cold, unyielding grip.
With each desperate gasp, their constrictions mirrored an unnatural rhythm as though they breathed in tandem with my faltering lungs. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind as the crushing pressure mounted—a silent crescendo of terror. I tried to scream, to cry out for help I knew would never come, but the sound was trapped, swallowed by the serpents sealing my lips. Darkness crept into my vision, an encroaching tide that threatened to pull me into oblivion.
As my consciousness faltered under the weight of impending suffocation, a voice cut through the blackness. It was not a shout but a steady, calm presence—emanating from within, vibrating through my very bones.
“Are you ready to accept your destiny, Olivia?” The voice was authoritative, almost serene, and its resonance struck me.
Lazarus?
“Destiny.” The word hung heavy, saturated with prophecies I had tried to ignore, battles fought in shadows, and secrets whispered in the dead of night. It was the legacy I had been running from, the birthright I had tried to deny. But here, in the clutches of darkness, with my breath stolen and my life slipping away, there was no room left for denial. There was only the unrelenting truth that acceptance was no longer a choice—it was an inevitability.
I could fight no longer. Fate’s inexorable march had crushed my resistance. My heart pounded a confession in the silence—a surrender that echoed through the void.
Yes, Lazarus. No matter how dangerous or brutal the answer is, I am ready.
As if my silent vow had triggered some ancient mechanism, the serpentine coils began to unravel from my body. The crushing weight on my chest lightened, the constricting bands around my throat eased, and air flooded into my lungs in a ragged, life-giving torrent. My eyes flew open, and the world became focused with a sharpness I had never known.
A sudden, piercing pain lanced through my body as something bit into my flesh. Lazarus’ hand descended upon my eyes, his fingers cool and firm against my temples. A blinding brilliance erupted within me, a light rivaling the sun, forcing my memories to emerge with an irresistible, searing power.
Balthazar and Zara appeared first, dark figures standing sentinel in the tapestry of my past life. Guardians—fierce, unwavering, and bound to me by more than duty. Their presence gave way to flashes of Armand, his lips meeting mine amidst a sea of wildflowers. Love bloomed in the meadows where we had lain entwined, a fleeting yet eternal bond etched into my soul.
Then came the shattering truth—the revelation that tore through me like a blade. My mother, the once-revered queen of Solaris, had been an evil ruler all along. Her scheming, her manipulations—they had poisoned the very kingdom that was meant to be my birthright. The people, pushed to their breaking point by her tyranny, rose in defiance, overthrowing her in a tide of anger and despair. Amid the chaos, I was thrust into the role of queen, a crown heavy with betrayal and guilt. Armand stood steadfast by my side, guiding me through the treacherous waters of royalty. Yet even with his support, the crown slipped through my grasp, grains of sand trickling between trembling fingers.
Salvatore emerged next—his darkness a reflection of my own, his blade clashing violently with mine. We fought with ferocity, but I knew he held the upper hand. Desperation overtook me, and in a moment of courage and despair, I severed the blades—their power splitting apart, cascading into the abyss, a desperate act to protect what remained of Solaris.
The memories swept me further, carrying me from the familiar streets of Solaris to a foreign realm—a place of rolling hills and sprawling forests, both beautiful and treacherous. Earth. In this strange new world, I found Armand again, his soul intertwined with mine as if the universe had willed us together. Our love grew like tangled vines, resilient and unyielding. But just as we had built a fragile sanctuary, it was ripped from us. A fiery blaze consumed everything we had created, ignited by the treachery of Mathias—a man devoured by his darkness. He destroyed not just our home but a piece of my soul, leaving me adrift in a world that felt more alien than ever.
Each memory collided within me, forming a mosaic of beauty, tragedy, hope, and despair. They whispered of a legacy in my veins, a lineage of immense power that had coursed through generations uncounted. I was more than Olivia James Alexander; I was the bearer of a bloodline that commanded the very fabric of time—a legacy I could no longer deny.
“Who are you?” Lazarus’ roar cut through the storm of thoughts, reverberating like thunder around me. His question demanded an identity that transcended lifetimes. The weight of his gaze pinned me to the spot, forcing me to confront the fractured selves within me.
The answer slipped from my lips like an incantation, my voice steady despite the tempest raging in my mind.
“Once upon a time, I was Isabelle Farcourt in my past life. In this life, I am Olivia James Alexander. My blood is Timeborne, Timebound, darkness... and I can wield the power of a Shadow Lord.”
Each syllable resonated with the echoes of my former life, weaving together the threads of my existence into a tapestry of undeniable truth.
Lazarus nodded slowly, a gesture heavy with gravity that sent ripples through my soul. “Yes, you are,” he said. He leaned closer, his piercing gaze unrelenting. The corners of his mouth twitched—was it approval or merely the weight of expectation?
“But you forgot to mention one more thing...” His voice hung between us, a riddle poised at the edge of revelation. I could feel the answer welling within me, pressing against the confines of my consciousness, eager to be spoken and complete the incantation that bridged my past and present.
Summoning the remnants of my courage, I raised my chin defiantly. The storm within me quieted as clarity took hold. With unwavering determination, I met Lazarus’ expectant gaze, the final piece of my truth burning on my tongue.
In one sweeping glance, I took in the sea of faces surrounding us—the army of darkness that had once been the shadowy specters of my nightmares. They stood before me, real and tangible, their eyes glinting with readiness, waiting for the command I hadn’t yet realized I held the authority to give. This was the moment to unite the fractured pieces of my existence and embrace the destiny that had pursued me throughout my lifetimes.
The power within me stirred, rising like an unstoppable tide. It filled every corner of my being, igniting an unrelenting force I could no longer deny. Drawing a deep breath, I broke the silence, my voice cutting through the charged air like a blade.
“I am the lost queen of Solaris,” I declared, each word imbued with the authority of my reclaimed title. “And it’s time to reclaim our realm and fight for our legacy. Together, we will restore the lost kingdom of time.”
The army stood still, their breath collective and suspended as though the universe awaited what would follow. Within a heartbeat, Salvatore materialized before me, his presence suffocating. His piercing eyes burned with unbridled rage, his aura so dark and oppressive that it choked the air around him. The world around us seemed to shrink beneath the crushing weight of his power.
“Where is my father? What did you do to him?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of anger and desperation. My words echoed through the heavy air, each syllable a plea for desperately needed answers. But Salvatore didn’t flinch. He remained still, his cold indifference cutting deeper than any blade could. It was as though my plea was nothing more than a whisper carried away by the wind.
Before I could speak again, Lazarus stepped forward, his presence a defiant counterpoint to Salvatore’s suffocating darkness. His voice broke the silence like thunder, unwavering and filled with the force of a man unbowed by time.
“After all these years, we meet again, Salvatore,” he said, his tone sharp, each word challenging. Though he no longer carried a blade, his resolve was sharper than ever.
Salvatore’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, his dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Oh, Lazarus,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “Look at you... how old and frail you’ve become. A shadow of the man who once dared to challenge me.”
Lazarus’ laughter was low and dangerous, slicing through Salvatore’s mockery like a finely honed weapon. “And you,” Lazarus said, his voice steady and cutting, “you shroud yourself in power and arrogance, Salvatore, but I see through the cracks in your carefully constructed facade. Beneath that illusion lies a truth you cannot hide—you are neither invincible nor untouchable. Weakness has already begun to fester within you, and no amount of posturing can conceal it.”
Salvatore’s smirk widened, his dark confidence filling the space like a suffocating fog. He raised the Blade of Shadows with a flourish, its energy crackling and humming with raw power. “Weakness?” he spat, his voice a commanding roar. “You speak of weakness, yet I hold the blade. I have your son, Jack—yes, the keeper of the scrolls, hidden in plain sight all this time. You will never see him again. He is mine now, as is Solaris. I will reshape this world, claim what was always meant to be mine, and rule with a darkness that will extinguish every glimmer of rebellion.” His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a venomous growl. “You’ve lost, Lazarus. I am the most powerful of you all. I am the greatest Lord of Shadows. And soon, the entire realm will bow at my feet.”
Lazarus’ expression didn’t falter. He stepped closer, his presence unwavering and his words calm but razor-edged with defiance. “Good luck, Salvatore. Continue your desperate climb to power. But know this—I have trained my son, Jack, for years, and his strength already surpasses yours. You may hold him now, but his loyalty and power are beyond your grasp. I’ll see you in Solaris, Salvatore. And when I do, you will face the consequences of your arrogance.”
Salvatore’s mask of confidence twisted into something darker, something feral. He turned to me, his gaze as sharp as daggers, piercing through every barrier I tried to summon.
“You dare challenge me for the throne?” he snarled, his words cracking like a whip. “You think, even for a fleeting moment, that you can stand against me? Against this power?” He raised the Blade of Shadows higher, its energy rippling like a thunderstorm ready to strike. “My army is unstoppable. My dominion is inevitable. And you—” his voice dripped with scorn, his eyes boring into mine, “—are nothing but a fleeting spark in a storm I have already unleashed. You will fall, Olivia, just as everyone before you has fallen. And this time, there will be no rising.”
My heart thundered in my chest, fear clawing at the edges of my resolve, but I refused to let it consume me. I glanced at Lazarus, his presence a storm of righteous fury, grounding me as the moment’s weight pressed down on us both. He stepped forward again, his voice now a cold, dangerous growl.
“I have waited a lifetime for this,” Lazarus said, his words like steel cutting through the tension. “You may wield the Blade of Shadows, but it will not save you. Your reign will be nothing but ash, Salvatore. Solaris will never bow to you.”
Salvatore threw his head back, his laughter exploding like a bomb of malevolence, sending a chill down my spine. It was a sound of pure darkness, a declaration of his unshaken confidence.
“Stop me?” he mocked, his tone thick with disdain. “You, Lazarus, are nothing but the echo of a long-forgotten man. And you, Olivia,” he turned his fiery gaze on me, burning through the last of my defenses, “are the embodiment of futility. A fool clinging to fragile hope in a world that already kneels before me.”
He leaned closer, his whisper venomous and intoxicatingly cruel. “When this battle ends, you will understand what it means to lose. Solaris will not crumble; it will thrive under my rule, reborn in darkness. Its light extinguished, its people my servants, its throne a testament to my eternal supremacy.”
Before I could reply, before the storm raging in my chest could erupt into words, Salvatore’s lips curled into a grin—a wicked, calculated expression that dripped with the promise of chaos.
“Let the final battle begin,” he hissed, his words heavy with unshakable certainty. Then, in a swirl of shadow, he vanished, leaving mocking laughter lingering in the air like a curse.
The weight of his declaration pressed down like an avalanche, but I refused to flinch. This wasn’t just his fight—it was ours. For Solaris. For freedom. For everything we held dear. And we would not fall.
The Journey Continues….