Tears brimmed in her eyes, her fingers tightening around mine as she rose.Her body trembled, the weight of history and destiny converging at that moment, our intertwined fates poised to unfurl across the tapestry of time.“Take me.”
* * *
The full moon cast a silver glow over the garden, illuminating Elizabeth’s pale face as I clutched her trembling hand.Her pulse raced beneath my fingertips—a staccato rhythm of fear.Her skin was ice-cold, her breath shallow—terror had wrapped its claws around her heart.
“Amir…” she whispered, her voice as fragile as glass, barely rising above the rustling leaves stirred by a restless wind.“I’m frightened.”
I turned to her, gently lifting her chin and anchoring her gaze to mine.“Look at me, Elizabeth.”Her wide and uncertain eyes locked onto mine, shimmering with dread and trust.
“You’ve braved horrors that would break the strongest of men—and you endured.This…” I said, brushing my thumb across her cheek, “This is just another step.And I will take it with you.”
She nodded, a flicker of courage lighting her features, and I took a breath, preparing for what came next.
Elizabeth had crafted the garments herself—woven with care, and a fierce love I didn’t deserve.Elizabeth—my Elizabeth—looked as if she had stepped straight from the heart of Rome itself.Regal.Timeless.Draped in a flowing stola, the fabric clung to her like water, cinched at the waist and falling gracefully over her shoulders.Her dark cloak billowed behind her like shadowed silk, her face partially veiled by the hood.
At her side, I wore the toga she’d made for me—dyed deep crimson, trimmed in gold, cut in the old ways to honor the time we were entering.
I reached for my dagger—the one that had tasted time and blood—and sliced my palm with ease.Blood welled instantly, warm and bright.With my other hand, I gripped Elizabeth’s tightly, pressing our palms together as crimson mingled between us.
“Hold on to me,” I murmured.
Then I began the incantation—ancient words spilling from my lips like a forgotten song, the language of time wrapping around us like a spell-woven shroud.The wind rose, sudden and biting, carrying with it the grit of time itself, stirring the garden’s leaves into a frenzy.
As the first tremors of the shift began, Elizabeth’s grip tightened, her nails digging into my skin—a desperate tether to the world we were leaving behind.
The garden, our sanctuary, blurred and dissolved around us—as if a painter had swept his brush across a vibrant canvas, wiping it clean.Color, sound, and sensation all vanished into the void.
“Amir!”Elizabeth cried out, her voice echoing into the darkness, striking against the silence like a hammer against a stone.
“I’m here,” I said, my voice an anchor in the sea of nothingness.“Stay with me, my love.Trust me… as you always have.”
And then, in a breath, the blackness shattered.
Blinding light exploded around us.
And we were gone.
The roar of a crowd surged in our ears, the heat of the Roman sun scorched our skin, and the scent—olive oil, sweat, dust, roasting meat—assaulted us with brutal intensity.We stumbled forward, disoriented, onto marble streets lined with towering stone buildings and flanked by a tide of humanity.
“By the gods…” Elizabeth gasped, her fear melting into wonder.Her eyes swept over the grandeur—ancient Rome’s ruthless beauty.Merchants shouted, coins clinked, and oxen bellowed.Life pulsed all around us in vivid, chaotic detail.
She clung close to me.
“Come,” I said, taking her hand and guiding her into the city’s beating heart.
Ahead, the Colosseum loomed, a titan of stone and blood.Inside, the air pulsed with the breath of thousands, the roar of anticipation thick and electric.Beneath our feet, the ground trembled—not from fear, but from the promise of violence.
The scent of sweat, blood, and oiled leather thickened the air, clinging to our skin as I led Elizabeth through the stone arteries of the Colosseum.The crowd’s roar—deafening, primal—swelled around us, masking the sound of our footsteps as we slipped through the chaos, my grip unrelenting on her wrist.
A rowdy knot of equestrians jostled past, laughing, coins clinking in their palms as they argued over wagers.I used the distraction, slipping through a narrow gap between two towering columns framing a row of privileged seats—seats paid for with influence, blood, or both.
I guided Elizabeth down onto the stone bench; my body angled as a shield while she adjusted the folds of her stola, the fabric trembling with her unease.No one spared us a glance.In their eyes, we were just another noble couple here to feast on violence.
But from our vantage point, we saw everything.
The sun blazed overhead, turning the sand into a golden sea.Iron gates creaked open, their sound lost in the roar of anticipation.And there, our sons stepped into the arena, blades drawn, eyes locked, unaware of the blood that bound them.
Elizabeth’s gaze followed to the sand-strewn arena below, her breath catching in her throat.Roman and Marcellious moved with lethal focus, blades flashing under the sun as they clashed in a dance of war and destiny.
