Malik held his gaze, his voice unwavering. “I promise, Roman. You will hear everything.”
Pasha Hassan interjected, his tone calm yet commanding. “Let us settle this now. Sit, and I will tell you everything.” He gestured toward the ornate seating area, his expression unreadable.
Roman’s voice boomed with authority as he stood beside me. “We demand the truth. No more lies, no more secrets. We need to know everything—no matter how painful.”
His piercing gaze bore into Pasha Hassan, an unspoken challenge laced with the weight of years of confusion and hurt.
“Only the truth, my son,” Pasha Hassan assured as he motioned once more for us to sit and begin unraveling the tapestry of deception that had ensnared us all.
I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
ROMAN
Pasha 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.”
