“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.”
