“Ready?” Roman’s voice was clipped, laser-focused.
“Let’s do it,” I replied, sounding far braver than I felt.
Roman brought the serpent’s head close to the chalice. My pulse raced as I leaned in, the weight of the moment pressing on my chest. With a deep breath, I tapped the snake’s nose—quick and light. The serpent recoiled slightly, its sleek body tensing before lunging forward. Its fangs pierced the fabric membrane, releasing a lethal stream of venom into the chalice.
“Steady,” Roman murmured, though I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the snake.
Time stretched unbearably, each second an eternity as the liquid death pooled in the chalice. My hands trembled, and I tightened my grip, forcing the vessel to remain steady. Finally, the flow ebbed, and Roman began to ease the snake away, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Did we get it?” I asked, scarcely daring to hope.
“Enough to save our skins,” he replied, a hint of triumph breaking through his grim tone.
Roman hurled the irate Taipan toward the pit’s far corner. It hit the wall with a dull thud before slithering into the shadows, leaving us momentarily free from its lethal gaze. I let out a shaky breath, staring at the venom-filled chalice in my trembling hands.
“Olivia,” Roman said, his voice steady yet tinged with awe, “we did it.”
I looked at him, the flickering torchlight casting wild shadows across his sweat-slicked face. Our eyes met, and without a word, we embraced, the chalice carefully cradled between us. His heart pounded against mine, a rhythm that spoke more of relief than triumph.
“Let’s not celebrate just yet,” I said, glancing back at the chalice. “We still have to deliver this to Pasha Hassan.”
Roman nodded, and together, we turned toward the exit. Behind us, the pit writhed with life, a deadly sea of serpents we had somehow navigated. Ahead, the sands of the hourglass trickled down to its final grains, marking the narrowness of our escape. The three warriors waited at the pit’s edge, their expressions unreadable as they flanked us. Without a word, they led us through the labyrinthine corridors of the underground palace. The weight of the chalice grew heavier with each step, as though it carried not just venom but the burden of our survival. Finally, we reached the ornate door to Pasha Hassan’s office. The guards opened it with a flourish, and there he stood, his gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over us.
“Timehunters,” Pasha Hassan mused, a sinister smile curling his lips as he eyed the chalice. “Or just lucky fools?” His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. “You’ve brought me what I requested, but you don’t seem shaken.”
“Should we be?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though the adrenaline from the pit still thrummed through my veins.
Pasha Hassan’s sly grin deepened. “Well, well, maybe you are Timehunters. Or perhaps...” he trailed off, circling us like a predator toying with its prey. “A sorceress, maybe?”
He walked over to the desk, the rich fabric of his robes brushing against the floor with a quiet menace. “Let’s celebrate your... success,” he said, reaching for a decanter on his desk. He poured wine into three goblets, the deep crimson liquid swirling in the flickering torchlight. He handed one goblet to each of us before raising his own in a toast. “To the victors,” he declared, his voice smooth, almost mocking.
Roman and I exchanged a brief glance, and we raised our glasses together. The wine was velvety and warm, starkly contrasting the icy dread pooling in my stomach. A metallic tang lingered on my tongue as I drank, but I dismissed it, chalking it up to my own nerves.
Then it hit.
A stabbing pain shot through my skull, as sharp and merciless as a dagger. My vision blurred, the world around me spinning into a distorted haze. The goblet slipped from Roman’s trembling hand, clattering to the floor with a hollow ring. He staggered, clutching at the table for support.
“What’s... happening?” I gasped, pressing my palms against my temples as if I could somehow push away the searing pain.
Pasha Hassan stood before us, his expression of cold amusement untouched by the chaos around him. “The next test,” he announced, his tone calm and measured. “The Venomous Chalice was merely the beginning. Now, you must face the Alchemist Crucible.”
His words hung in the air, chilling and final. “You have eight hours to concoct an antidote. If you fail, the poison will claim you both.”
“Roman,” I rasped, reaching out blindly until my hand found his. His grip was weak but steady enough to anchor me. “Stay with me,” I pleaded. “We’re not done yet—we have to fight this.”
My knees buckled, and the stone floor rushed up to meet me. Roman crumpled beside me, his breaths ragged and uneven. One realization burned bright through the fog of pain and betrayal—we had escaped the snakes only to fall into an even deadlier trap. The venom in our veins was not just a test of survival—it was a test of our resolve, intelligence, and will to fight against impossible odds. And we would fight. We had to. For Rosie. For Luna. For us.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
ROMAN
My eyelids snapped open, panic surging through my veins as potent as the venom coursing within them. The room swam into focus, a dizzying array of blurred shapes and dim light. It resembled an apothecary, its shelves lined with vials and herbs, echoing the ancient healing chambers Amara once commanded in Rome—though her reassuring presence was absent.
“Amara?” I croaked, desperate for a lifeline, for the comfort her wisdom always brought. But the silence that followed was deafening, a stark reminder that she was not here. Only Olivia and I writhed on makeshift beds as the poison tightened its grip. My body was drenched in sweat, every nerve aflame with a feverish agony.
Beside me, Olivia convulsed. Her lips were tinged with an unnatural blue, her once-vivid complexion fading to a frightening pallor. Her eyes fluttered open, filled with a terror that mirrored my own. Then, from somewhere deep within the room, a voice echoed, cold and precise, as if spoken directly into our minds.
“The second test is the Alchemist’s Crucible. Both of you were given a deadly poison. You’ll have eight hours to create an antidote. Fail, and you die.”
