“Roman,” she gasped, her voice barely audible, trembling with the effort it took to speak. “They’ve poisoned us... we’re not going to survive this. I—I don’t know an antidote. I can’t even think right now.”
Her words hit like a hammer, but I kept steady. My heart clenched, a vice of terror and helplessness threatening to drag me under. Not now. Not like this. Not after everything we had endured. This was only the second test, and already, it felt like the walls of fate were closing in.
A cold shiver crept down my spine, defying the feverish heat consuming my body.
“Olivia,” I rasped, forcing my voice to carry strength I didn’t feel, “we’re going to help one another. Together, we can solve this.”
Her trembling hand reached for mine, her grip weak but determined. Despite the poison ravaging her, there was still a spark of resolve in her touch. It was enough to stoke the embers of my own will.
We had faced the impossible before. I refused to let this serpentine kiss of death claim us without a fight.
Gritting my teeth against the dizziness threatening to pull me under again, I forced myself to sit upright. The room shifted and spun, the walls seeming to breathe, closing in, then retreating as if mocking my disoriented state. I blinked hard, trying to stabilize my vision, the effort like clutching at sand slipping through my fingers.
My gaze swept over the wooden shelves, each lined neatly with containers of varying shapes—clay, glass, and metal—meticulously organized in a way that mirrored the sanctuary Amara had once created.
The air was heavy with the scent of dried herbs, mingling with the earthy aroma of the clay brazier standing solemnly in the corner. Blackened remnants within its fire basket bore silent testimony to recent use. Beside it lay a tinderbox and a basket brimming with kindling, poised to breathe life into flames at a moment’s notice. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by oil lamps and candles that flickered and sputtered, their warm glow holding back the encroaching darkness of night.
With unsteady legs, I pushed myself off the bed, every muscle screaming in protest. The floor met my feet with unexpected solidity, and I swayed, nearly collapsing before catching myself on the edge of a shelf. My trembling hands held me as my eyes scanned the labels etched into the containers—Rosmarinus. Salvia. Papaver. Mel.Each name whispered of a past steeped in healing and comfort when the world wasn’t as heavy as it felt now.
Then my gaze landed on the unfamiliar, the esoteric—Cicuta Malefica. Solanum Infernum. Mandragora Noxia. Aconita Sanguinaris.The words curled and distorted before my poisoned sight, ominous and foreboding. Desperation clawed at my throat as I reached out, fumbling with the lids of clay containers, inhaling deeply in search of salvation—or even solace.
Some scents brought flickers of memory—Amara’s gentle hands preparing poultices and elixirs—but others were vile enough to make bile rise in my throat. My knees buckled beneath the weight of the venom coursing through my veins, but I dragged myself upright, driven by a single need—to save Olivia, to save us both from this calculated execution.
“I’m coming to help,” Olivia wheezed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her body swayed with each labored step as she crossed the room, faltering like a sapling caught in the relentless winds of a storm.
“Olivia, stay put. Let me create the antidote,” I said.
She shook her head, locks of hair clinging to her sweat-slicked forehead. “We’re in this together.”
I couldn’t argue; it wasn’t our way. Together, we scanned the labels on the bottles, but our minds were as muddled as a sailor’s after a tempest. My fingers brushed against the spine of theBook of Alchemy, its cover worn and cracked from years of use. The book fell open, its pages fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird, revealing scripts written in both Turkish and English. The letters danced before us, mocking our desperate need with their indecipherable waltz.
“Focus,” I muttered, willing my eyes to stop swimming. The words on the page rippled and floated away like oil on water.
Olivia collapsed onto her knees, bracing herself with one arm while clutching her stomach with the other.
“I can barely stand up,” she gasped, her breathing ragged and uneven.
Panic gnawed at my insides, spurring me into frantic action. I grabbed the nearest containers, my hands shaking as I combined their contents with reckless haste. Droplets of liquid splashed onto the wooden surface as I poured them into a vial, my thoughts a silent plea to any god who might be listening that I wasn’t about to hasten our deaths.
“Drink,” I said, pressing the vial into Olivia’s trembling hands. She brought it to her lips hesitating.
Her eyes met mine, wide and questioning.
“What did you put in this?” she asked, the fear evident in her tone.
“SomeAconita Sanguinaris, somePapaver...and someCicuta Malefica,” I answered, my voice faltering slightly.
The vial paused an inch from her lips.
“Cicuta Malefica,” she echoed, her voice hollow. “I remember Amara telling me—it’s called the Poisoner’s Plant. Extremely potent neurotoxin...causing convulsions, severe pain, and rapid death.”
My heart plummeted. In my blind attempt to play the healer, I had nearly sealed our fate. With a surge of clarity piercing through the poison fog, I snatched the vial from her weakening grip and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the stone wall, its deadly contents splattering harmlessly away from us.
“Forgive me,” I whispered, my throat tight with shame and fear.
We were far from safe, but at least I hadn’t been the one to extinguish the flickering flame of hope that stubbornly clung to life within us.
Olivia staggered forward. Her knees buckled, and she crashed into the ancient shelves with a clamor that resonated through my very bones. Bottles toppled and shattered, their contents bleeding out onto the cold stone like the lifeblood of some ethereal creature. The air thickened with an acrid stench so potent it felt like a tangible weight pressing down on us, making every breath a struggle.
