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.
