ChapterTwo
AMIR
Iclung to the rough fabric of the tunic before me, my twisted fingers digging into the coarse fibers as the horse’s persistent gait jostled us forward.The pain had become a living thing inside me, a parasite coiled around my bones, contorting my limbs into warped echoes of their former strength.Sweat slicked my brow from exertion and the searing agony that pulsed with every movement.The opium meant to grant me mercy had only dragged me deeper into a fevered abyss, fueling tremors and visions that blurred the line between reality and nightmare.
The road to Anatolia stretched endlessly ahead, an unforgiving expanse between my torment and the fragile promise of refuge.My body—once a vessel of war, of command—had betrayed me, leaving my mind to drift between the shadowed borders of consciousness and oblivion.
“When can we time travel?”The words escaped from my lips, raw and strained, a fleeting spark of lucidity emerging from the fog of suffering.
“Soon, Pasha Hassan.The full moon is in two days.You must hang on,” came the reply.
Moon Lee.A warrior of the Sioux tribe.My closest friend.He had fought beside me in our mission to eradicate the Timehunters, his unwavering loyalty as steadfast as the walls of Solaris before its fall.Now, he was my anchor, his back a pillar of strength against my failing body, carrying me forward as the darkness threatened to consume me.
We moved swiftly, yet not fast enough to outrun the perpetual onslaught of my torment.
“We’re seeking healers along the way.No one has any remedies,” Moon Lee said, the helplessness in his tone mirroring the despair coiling within me.
“No more opium,” I hissed, each word a battle, each syllable a fresh wound.“It doesn’t help.Nothing helps.”Speaking was agony, each breath dragging through me like shards of glass, my resolve crumbling like ancient ruins beneath the siege of my affliction.
“Has the full moon come yet?”The question scraped from my throat, as torturous as the air charring my lungs.
“In two days, Amir.Two days.Hang on, my friend.”
Moon Lee’s voice softened, but desperation threaded through it.“Don’t leave this world just yet,” he pleaded.“I couldn’t bear to lose you.It would be like losing a part of myself.”
He attempted to lighten the moment with a joke, but the weight of reality crushed it before it could take form.Yet in the darkest hour, he was a constant—a lighthouse in the storm, guiding me through the violent waves of my suffering.His words, his sheer will, were a force against the creeping oblivion, a tether pulling me back from the abyss.
I focused on the rhythmic cadence of the horse’s hooves, the beat offering a fragile semblance of stability.But this was a double-edged sword, each step a reminder of the miles yet to cover and the unknown that awaited beneath the looming specter of the full moon.
At last, moonlight pierced through the canopy above, silver beams slashing through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that twisted and danced along the ground.My men laid me down with a gentleness that belied their warrior hands, their faces etched with silent concern.
Each breath was torture.Each movement sent fire through my veins.Bone and sinew rebelled, a grotesque war waged within my flesh.
Then, Moon Lee’s voice rose—not the voice of a man, but something ancient, something vast.His words thundered through the night, carrying the weight of forgotten power as he chanted the sacred verses that bound time and reality.
The cool bite of steel kissed my palm, potent enough to anchor me in reality—if only for a breath—before surrendering me to the abyss.The air shimmered, rippling as if torn apart by an unseen force.With each utterance from Moon Lee’s lips, my body twisted and contorted, shedding its broken form.I became something else—something unbound—a vessel of pure energy, ready to slip through the fabric of time itself.
And then, the sweet void of time travel took me once more.
A voice—my own, distant and raw—broke the silence as I resurfaced.
“Someone did my job in France,” I complained, the words heavy, fractured, flickering like the last embers of a dying fire.
Lazarus stood above me, his towering authority reassuring and foreboding, a sentinel of shadow and stone.The underground palace loomed around us, its ancient walls breathing with the weight of forgotten ages.Beyond him, the vast Anatolian sky stretched endless and blue.
“Save your strength,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the earth itself.“The more you speak, the more energy you waste.It won’t help you.”
His hands hovered over me, sweeping across my ruined form with the adept knowledge of a man who had mastered fate.Yet his expression darkened.
“I’ve examined you as you fought to regain consciousness,” he admitted.“The poison in your system is beyond my reach.It blocks my healing power.”
The words struck harder than the pain.The one who could bend destiny, who had defied death, was powerless against the toxin that coursed through my veins.
Orders rang out.Shadows moved.Strong hands lifted me again, the world tilting as the darkness at the edges of my vision finally closed in.
I surrendered to it.
And I knew no more.
