“Promise me you’ll take good care of Luna,” I said to Rosie, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart heavy with the uncertainty of what would come.
She nodded earnestly, her curls bouncing. “I will, Olivia. I promise.”
But then her little face scrunched with worry, and her innocent question struck like a dagger. “When will I get to see Malik?”
“Malik is on an adventure,” I said softly, forcing a smile that felt as fragile as glass. “You’ll get to see him soon.” The words tasted like ash, but I pushed them out, desperate to comfort her.
Hope flickered in her eyes for a moment, but it quickly gave way to tears. “I want to see my Malik!” she wailed, her small frame trembling with sobs that echoed the fear I fought to suppress.
“Shh, love,” I soothed, gathering her close and stroking her hair. “I promise you’ll see him again.”
The promise rooted itself deep within me, a vow to face whatever horrors lay ahead, no matter the cost. My determination solidified like steel, an unyielding armor to shield us from the dangers looming over our family.
“Olivia,” Reyna interrupted, her voice urgent. “We have to get back.”
I gently kissed Rosie’s forehead, my heart weighed down by a sense of impending separation. My eyes swept over the peaceful nursery, taking in every detail one last time. Then I turned to baby Luna, nuzzling my nose against her tiny one and planting kisses on her soft, velvety cheeks. The quiet stillness of this moment would have to be my source of strength as I faced the difficult trials ahead.
We scurried down the dimly lit hall, our heads bowed in deference. Reyna guided us to the doorway of the dank room.
The children’s memory was all I had to give me hope and the will to succeed. I reached for Roman’s hand and squeezed it.
“Rosie and Luna look well cared for,” Roman said.
“They do,” I replied, my voice cracking.
The door burst open with a resounding crash. Three warriors cloaked in black swarmed into the room. Their heavy steps echoed on the stone floor as they advanced. The tallest among them gripped a large hourglass in his hand, its sand shifting and swirling ominously.
My heart lurched in my chest, knowing this was the final countdown. The air was thick with tension and the acrid smell of metal and leather.
It was time to face our first challenge.
One of the guards stepped forward, his voice a deep rumble that echoed through the chamber. His eyes, cold and unyielding, settled on us as he spoke.
“You must enter the snake pit, find the largest one, drain its venom, and pour it into a chalice. Fail, and you will not leave this pit alive.” The guard’s smirk was barely noticeable, but the challenge was clear.
Roman’s hand, rough and calloused from years of wielding a sword, felt like a lifeline in mine as we were ushered into the serpent’s den deep in the bowels of the underground palace. The room was suffocating, the air heavy with an earthy stench that turned my stomach. Dull torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting elongated shadows that danced macabrely across the floor—a floor that writhed and pulsed with the sinuous bodies of countless snakes.
My breath hitched at the sight of them, each creature a master of death in its own right. Memories of Seattle and Lee’s teachings surged through me—spot the gleam of danger in an animal’s eye or the subtle warning signs in their stance. Those lessons, once tucked away in the recesses of my mind, now resurfaced, sharp and vital.
My gaze locked onto the Inland Taipan, its scales a mesmerizing mosaic of brown and tan, blending seamlessly with its surroundings—a natural camouflage for a creature whose bite could unleash toxins potent enough to decimate a platoon. Every breath I took felt measured, like the air could betray me.
“Olivia,” Roman murmured, squeezing my hand, “remember what I said about fear.”
His voice was an anchor, steadying me against the rising tide of panic. He was right. My thoughts flashed back to the cave with Lazarus and the snakes guarding the dagger—the cold, damp air, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the pulse-quickening terror. I’d been scared then, too, but I had survived. And survival now depended on the same principle—mastering the fear, taming it before it tamed me.
“Right,” I whispered back. The cave before us wasn’t just teeming with serpents—it was a living, writhing tapestry of neurotoxins, hemotoxins, and nephrotoxins, all coiled into lethal elegance. Coastal Taipans lay poised, their stillness as deceptive as their speed, while Black Mambas moved with an unsettling, serpentine grace. Each subtle shift, every flick of a forked tongue, was a deadly promise.
“Focus on me,” Roman said, his voice a lifeline as my pulse hammered in my ears. “Don’t let them sense your fear.”
I nodded, fighting to steady my ragged breathing. Concentrating on the warmth of Roman’s hand, I willed my body to relax, forcing the tremors threatening to betray my fright to still. Fear would be a beacon, an invitation to strike to these serpents. If they did, their venom would deliver a swift and excruciating death.
With every controlled breath, I banished the images of fangs sinking into flesh, of venom coursing through my veins. Instead, I conjured Rosie’s laughter and Luna’s serene slumber. They became my shield, my strength. For them, I would face this pit of horrors and emerge victorious.
“Steady,” Roman said again. His unwavering calm spread to me like ripples on water, grounding me in the moment.
“Steady,” I echoed, locking eyes with him. Together, we turned to face the writhing sea of death, determined to do whatever it took to survive.
The hourglass loomed before us, perched on a jagged stone podium like a throne of fate. Its slender glass walls encased a cascade of golden sand, each falling grain a grim countdown to our impending doom.
