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.
