“Is this the same path you take every day?” she asked, her eyes wide with fascination and lingering frailty.
“Every day,” Roman said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a rare smile as he indulged her curiosity. “We have marked the safe routes with these symbols here.”
He gestured toward faint etchings carved into the cave wall.
I trailed behind them, watching their exchange. At first, I was content to listen, feeling a vicarious thrill through Alina’s wonder. But soon, the sameness of the conversation—the endless cycle of questions and answers—began to dull my senses. My mind wandered, restless for something beyond the reach of their chatter.
As I squinted through the darkness, a faint flicker caught my eye. It danced along the edge of my vision, a stray beam of light that seemed out of place in the pitch-black cave. Driven by an impulse I couldn’t quite explain, I veered off the marked path, letting the allure of the strange illumination guide me. The voices of Roman and Alina became a distant murmur, dissolving into the stillness that enveloped me as I ventured deeper.
The passage narrowed, then opened into a hidden chamber. The source of the light revealed itself—not a torch or lantern, but a crack in the cave ceiling where daylight seeped through. The golden light filtered down, cutting through the darkness with an ethereal glow that transformed the room. The space felt otherworldly, the soft illumination lending it an almost sacred intimacy.
“Interesting,” I murmured, my breath misting in the chilled air of the secluded chamber. An entrance yawned open from the opposite wall, beckoning me further into the earth’s shadowy embrace. Compelled by a strange mix of discovery—and perhaps a touch of rebellion—I crossed the threshold.
The passage led to another chamber, bathed in an impossible brilliance. Natural light poured in from some unseen source, filling the space with a serene, almost scared glow. I stood motionless, transfixed by the silence that seemed to ring louder than any sound, pressing against my eardrums with its weight.
“How odd,” I whispered, my words dissipating into the stillness like smoke. “It’s so quiet.”
As I stepped deeper into the chamber, my breath caught in my throat. Before me lay a pit, its depths alive with serpents; their scales shimmered in the ethereal light, shifting and writhing in a mesmerizing yet menacing dance. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat a primal echo of fear. My hand instinctively shot out to the wall, fingers grasping the handle of a lit torch carelessly propped against the cold stone.
The pit hissed and undulated with life, and every movement sent a wave of terror clawing up my spine. The air was heavy with the musk of reptiles and damp earth, the scent clinging to my nostrils and threatening to suffocate me.
“Child...” said a voice, ancient and sibilant, slithered through the chamber, weaving through the symphony of hisses and coils. It called to me, yet my body remained rooted in place, paralyzed by fear and awe.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to find the source of the voice. An old man stood on the far side of the pit, leaning heavily on a twisted cane. His eyes held the weight of eons, and they locked onto mine with unsettling intensity. His short, wild hair jutted out in untamed spikes streaked with silver, hinting at a lifetime of unrestrained chaos. Round glasses, slightly askew, framed his piercing gray eyes, which glinted with a cold, calculating intelligence. His appearance was striking, like a raptor transformed by years into something more enigmatic and foreboding. And the way he moved…
A torrent of images surged through my mind, vivid and unrelenting, as though my memories were clawing their way back to me. The dank stone walls of a dungeon materialized. First, the clang of metal reverberated as a shadowed figure pounded on the bars of his prison, desperate for freedom.
Next, I ran—lungs burning with exertion, a blade gleaming in my hands. The Blade of Shadows, its edge dripping with power, pulsing with its thirst for conflict. I tore through an unrecognizable landscape, pursued by unseen assailants whose malicious shouts echoed like war cries.
Finally, a crown appeared, resplendent yet oppressive in its weight. It simmered before me, a tantalizing mirage always just beyond my grasp. I reached for it, but it dissolved into nothingness, leaving only its burden etched into my soul.
“Do you remember?” the old man asked, his voice a thread connecting me to these fragmented glimpses of another life—my past life.
Shaking, I clutched the torch like a lifeline, the heat of its flame grounding me back in the present, away from the phantoms of who I once was.
Ahead, the pit of snakes writhed with sinister purpose, their scales glinting like shards of malice under the eerie glow. My heart raced, a staccato rhythm of panic and defiance. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them as they slithered closer, their movements hypnotic and horrifying. A part of me burned with curiosity, drawn to their serpentine intent, but fear and dread coiled tightly within me. Should I stay and face them or run for my life?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OLIVIA
The snakes writhed, their scaled bodies weaving an eerie, living tapestry before my eyes. My pulse quickened as the mass of serpentine forms coiled and twisted, their movements almost sentient, as though they were more than mere guardians—they were protectors of secrets buried deep within this hidden chamber.
“Child, don’t be afraid of my pets. They won’t harm you,” the old man rasped, his voice dry and brittle, like the rustle of ancient parchment. It mirrored the sound of his slithering companions, adding an unsettling harmony to the air.
I stood frozen, fear grabbing me icily in my chest. His voice stirred something deep within me, a distant thread of familiarity tugging at the edges of my memory. I knew him, but how? From where? The room seemed to shrink, its walls pressing in with the weight of history I couldn’t name but feel in my bones.
“I need to get help from my husband,” I stammered, the words tumbling out as I took an instinctive step back. “You stay there.”
The hissing rose like a whispered warning, a chorus of serpentine voices that sent a chill skittering down my spine.
Then, the mass of snakes shifted, parting like a dark sea to reveal what lay beneath their undulating forms. The moon dagger. Its hilt glinted faintly in the dim, otherworldly light, its blade nestled within the heart of the writhing nest.
My breath hitched. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The moon dagger was right there.
“The old man and the snakes are protecting it,” I whispered, the realization landing heavily within me. Fear and something far deeper—a strange, electric pull—shivered through my veins. Destiny. That was what it felt like, pulsing through me as though the dagger itself called to me.
“Olivia?” The voice echoed through the cavernous space, faint yet familiar.
