Rage surged through me like wildfire—rage at Reyna, at Pasha Hassan, at this cruel world that allowed such darkness to thrive. My family, once my fortress, was crumbling before my eyes, splintered by betrayal and the iron grip of power.
The warriors’ hands were firm as they shoved me back into the carriage with the children. I clutched Luna tightly against my chest, her small, fragile body grounding me in a sea of chaos. Rosie nestled close, her sobs resonating with the aching helplessness in my own heart. Outside, four warriors took up positions beside the carriage, their silent vigilance a grim reminder of the peril that stalked us.
As the carriage lurched forward, the wheels creaking against the dirt road, I felt the weight of an uncertain future pressing down on me. It was as if we were being dragged deeper into an intricate web—a trap from which escape seemed impossible.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
ROMAN
The rocky earth crunched under my boots as I approached the carriage. Olivia’s silhouette trembled, her anger rippling like an electric storm. A sea of black-clad warriors surrounded us, their presence a menacing shadow across the grasslands near Sofia, nestled in the northwestern part of the Ottoman Empire within the Balkan Peninsula.
“Olivia,” I whispered, my shadow merging with hers as I stepped closer, blocking the faint glow of starlight that dared to soften the darkness of our situation.
Her eyes burned with wildfire fury, consuming any trace of warmth or affection that might have lingered. The weight of her anger struck me harder than any blade ever could.
“I know you’re angry with me,” I began, my voice low and guilty. “But please understand—I had no choice. These Timehunter tests are necessary for our survival.”
My voice cracked under the burden of my uncertainty. I wanted to sound confident and resolute, but the truth weighed heavy on me.
“How hard can it be?” I added, forcing a note of defiance into my words. “I’ve faced countless trials and challenges before. My time as a gladiator in Rome taught me to endure unimaginable pain and suffering. I’ve killed without hesitation. Surely, these tests won’t be beyond me.” The words hung in the air, hollow and unconvincing, even to myself. Deep down, I knew these trials would push me to the brink—and if I failed, the cost would be unthinkable. Yet I couldn’t let Olivia see my doubts. Not now, when we needed to be strong.
Her voice, sharp and cold as steel, cut through my thoughts. “Why did you open your mouth? We could have gotten away.”
“No,” I replied, steady but gentle, forcing the courage I used to know back into my tone. “They would have killed us anyway. I can prove to them that I’m a Timehunter.”
It was as much a plea as a statement. I needed her to believe in me, to trust that this was the only path forward.
The fragile calm shattered, and the warriors converged around us like vultures circling a dying prey. Pasha Hassan pointed at Olivia, his command unspoken but undeniable. With a heavy heart, she climbed into the carriage, little Luna nestled on her hip. Reyna and Rosie followed her, their movements hesitant, shadows of dread etched into their faces.
I mounted my steed, a creature of sinew and muscle, its strength mirroring the determination coursing through me. The warriors surged forward, a dark tide rolling over the rugged landscape. Their vast numbers, though formidable, did not intimidate me as much as the memories of foes I had faced in the bloodied arenas of my gladiator days. Those battles had forged a hardened will, but now, with my family at risk, the stakes were infinitely higher.
We rode in silence, the rhythmic pounding of hooves, a somber drumbeat echoing the dread clawing at my insides. The anticipation of violence simmered, a tempest waiting to erupt. For now, it remained a distant storm, its thunder muted by the inevitability of fate’s cruel design.
As we approached Anatolia, the sun dipped below the horizon, its shadows surrendering to the glow of torches that lined a path leading into the earth. What awaited us was unlike anything I had ever seen. The entrance revealed a sprawling underground palace carved into the ancient bones of the land. Its grandeur mocked the rugged terrain above, an opulent secret hidden from the world.
“Impossible,” I whispered, my breath stolen by the sight of towering pillars etched with stories of time and conquest. They supported a ceiling adorned with intricate designs, from which chandeliers hung, their crystals scattering light like stars across the gleaming marbled floor.
“Keep moving!” one of the warriors barked, shoving Olivia and me forward.
We were thrust into a chamber that could have rivaled the courts of any surface monarch. The walls were adorned with tapestries woven with silver and gold threads, depicting the chronicles of Timehunters—men and women whose lives were intertwined with the eternal dance of power, sacrifice, and bloodshed. Every thread told a story, every detail a testament to their ruthless legacy.
Before I could absorb the splendor, the air shifted with a cruel finality. My attention snapped to Olivia, whose arms were suddenly empty. Baby Luna and Rosie were spirited away by two impassive warriors, their movements as precise as they were unyielding.
“No! Please, they’re my babies—they need me!” Olivia’s voice broke, each word laced with a raw, desperate anguish as she lunged forward, arms outstretched toward our daughters.
“Silence,” the lead warrior commanded, his eyes void of empathy.
The door slammed shut, sealing us in an isolation that was as suffocating as it was deafening. Olivia’s choked sobs filled the silence, a haunting symphony of despair.
We stood frozen, enveloped in the weight of what had just transpired, the air thick with unspoken fears. Then, with a loud creak, the massive doors parted once again.
Pasha Hassan stepped into the room, his presence as commanding and sharp as a blade.
“You knew the bargain,” he said, gaze locking onto mine. “You know you must prove yourselves as Timehunters—even you, Olivia.”
I stepped between him and my wife, my protective instincts flaring.
“No, that’s not how it works in England,” I countered, though my voice betrayed the gnawing anxiety within me. “The wives don’t need to be Timehunters.”
