Page 66 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)
He took a breath, the weight of his choice settling on his shoulders like a mantle of stone. “Though the ritual drained me—though the pain was unbearable—it was worth it. I needed to bring back Armand first… before Salvatore could destroy everything we’ve fought for.”
His voice dropped, low and resolute, haunted by the burden of what he’d done. “Elizabeth won’t understand. But she will. One day, she’ll see why this sacrifice was necessary. And why it had to be her.”
A storm churned inside me—rage, sorrow, longing—all of it clashing in a maelstrom that threatened to tear me apart.
The desire to be with her like a wildfire, but I was shackled, bound by duty and vengeance, a prisoner within these ancient walls.
I was a caged beast, yearning for freedom, but knowing release meant destruction.
Lazarus rose slowly, his movements deliberate, the weight of centuries etched into his very posture. “I understand your pain,” he said quietly, a flicker of empathy in his eyes before the Shadow Lord mask slipped back into place. “But if you try to connect with her again… she will be destroyed.”
“Destroyed…” The word echoed through me, lancing my soul deeper than any blade could. Elizabeth—her gentle spirit, fierce will, the life growing inside her—how could I survive being the cause of her undoing?
“How do you endure this?” I rasped, my voice cracking beneath the weight of unspent grief. “You don’t understand. You can’t. You have no idea the pain I carry.”
“Amir.” His voice softened, almost faltered. For a fleeting breath, he was no longer the indomitable Shadow Lord, but a man weighed down by the same ghosts. “The sacrifices we make… they shape us. They are the price of the power we carry. Do not let your love become her ruin.”
Tension rippled through me, my hands curling into fists at my sides, mirroring the coiled tendrils of the luminescent vines twisting along the cavern walls—ethereal and untouchable, like the stars hidden far above.
My chest tightened, my breath shallow, rage simmering just beneath my skin at the cruel twist of fate keeping me from her side.
“Then what am I to do?” The words tore from me in a growl, raw and ragged, a demand hurled into the void, seeking anything to soothe the searing wound of my soul.
“Wait,” Lazarus said. The word hung between us like a blade—inevitable, inescapable.
“And prepare. There is a greater battle ahead.”
“Waiting is not action,” I snapped, the words laced with fire, my impatience clawing at my insides like a beast caged too long.
“Sometimes,” Lazarus replied, his gaze hard and unwavering, “it is the only action that can save us all.”
“Gods help me… I cannot simply wait,” I hissed, eyes squeezed shut as if darkness could silence the storm within me.
Without a word, he crossed the room with practiced ease, his hands steady as he reached for a glass jar.
Inside, a bloom as dark as midnight shimmered—its petals absorbing the surrounding light as if the flower were born from shadow.
Beside it, a leather-bound book rested, its cover etched with timeworn symbols that seemed to whisper with ancient power.
The Sacred Alchemy of Solaris: Secrets of the Celestial Forge.
My breath caught, shock lancing through me like a snapped wire. “How do you have these?” The words slipped out in a low growl, part accusation, part disbelief—laced with the bitter sting of betrayal.
Lazarus didn’t flinch. His gaze locked with mine, resolute, carrying the weight of battles fought and secrets kept.
“After I healed Elizabeth,” he said evenly, “I gathered everything from her alchemist’s cottage.
” His tone was factual, but beneath it simmered a quiet gravity—an unspoken acknowledgment of what these relics meant.
Drawn by dread and fascination, I lifted the glass jar. Inside, the Noctyss flower pulsed with a dark, unnatural beauty. “Why does Salvatore want this so badly?” I asked, the name like poison on my tongue—a reminder of the darkness poised to consume us all.
The air thickened, the shadows in the chamber seeming to pulse with tension as Lazarus’ expression turned grim.
“The Noctyss flower is more than rare—it’s dangerous to our kind in a way few things are.
In Solaris, it was one of the only substances capable of neutralizing a Shadow Lord’s power.
It can’t kill us—but it can strip us of everything that makes us what we are. ”
My grip tightened around the jar, the chill of the glass biting against my skin. “You mean… it can take your power away?”
Lazarus nodded. “Completely. Our connection to the shadows, the strength we wield, our very essence—it erases all of it. Salvatore and I kept its existence a secret for centuries. We knew if it ever fell into the wrong hands, we could be undone without a single blade drawn.”
I stared at the flower, its petals shifting slightly within the jar as though it breathed with a life of its own. “That’s why he wants it,” I murmured. “To use it against us—or destroy it before anyone else can.”
“Exactly,” Lazarus said, his voice low. “In the right hands, it’s the one thing that could stop him.”
The weight of his words sank into my bones like stone.
The Noctyss was no mere relic, no simple poison.
It was a weapon—silent and insidious—that could shift the balance of power, not through death but by unraveling what makes us who we are.
I turned the jar slowly, watching the flower sway in its prison of air and glass, absorbing the light and casting long, haunting shadows across the tomes and artifacts around us.
“How did it leave Solaris?” I asked, disbelief tightening my voice.
“Ah,” Lazarus began, pacing slowly, his robe whispering against the cold stone floor. “When Isabelle separated the blades, she did more than sever metal. She tore reality. Pieces of Solaris bled into this world, like blood from a wound. The flower is one of them.”
He paused, turning toward me with a gaze that held the weight of centuries. “The Timebornes were once bound to Solaris, tethered to our realm. But now… they can be born here. In this world.”
With care, I placed the jar back on the table, the cool surface lingering against my fingertips. “Elizabeth told me…” I began, my voice tight with realization, “she found the flower in the Carpathian Mountains. She never said more, but I’m certain that’s where it came from.”
Lazarus’ eyes narrowed, his attention snapping to mine.
“We have to go there,” I pressed, urgency rising in my chest like a storm. “If she found it there once, there could be more—or worse, Salvatore may already suspect it. We need to reach it before he does.”
“Indeed,” Lazarus murmured, a rare flicker of agreement passing over his features.
“Zara can hold the stronghold in our absence,” I continued. “If there’s an opening to Solaris anywhere, it will be there.”
“We’ll find something,” Lazarus interrupted, gathering a few ancient scrolls and tucking them into his satchel.
His eyes caught mine, reflecting a glint of something I couldn’t quite name.
Hope. Fear. Or maybe it was just grim determination.
“Whether it’s salvation… or destruction—that remains to be seen. ”
“Then let’s not waste time.” There was no room for hesitation—not with so much at stake. Not with Elizabeth carrying a future I had yet to understand.
With a nod that sealed our shared purpose, we stepped out of the palace’s shadowed confines. Our path lay ahead, leading toward the Carpathian Mountains and the unknown secrets they guarded like sentinels of fate.
We moved silently, our strides devouring the miles as the mountains rose on the horizon, jagged silhouettes against a darkening sky.
The weight of my thoughts was a constant companion, heavy and unrelenting.
Elizabeth’s image followed me with every step, woven into my mind like a thread I couldn’t sever.
Lazarus moved beside me, a figure of ancient power cloaked in mystery. He walked with ease that came not from youth, but from mastery, from centuries of carrying burdens no mortal should bear.
At last, I broke the silence, the words falling from me carefully as we climbed a steep incline, loose rocks grinding beneath our boots.
“Lazarus,” I said, breath ragged in the thinning air, “I’ve known you a long time.
I’ve seen what you can do—what you know.
You are… extraordinary. If I may ask—how does one become a sorcerer like you?
Were you born with this power… or did you learn it? ”
The air shifted. Cold. Sudden. As if my question had summoned a frost storm from within him.
Lazarus stopped abruptly, whirling on me with a force that stole the breath from my lungs. His eyes blazed with an ethereal fire—raw, otherworldly, ancient. The air around us seemed to sizzle, the temperature plummeting as the mountain recoiled.
He was no longer just Lazarus for a heartbeat—he was something else. Something vast. Something ancient.
And I knew, in that moment, I had touched a scar that had never fully healed.
“Never call me a sorcerer again,” he erupted, his voice cracking like thunder across the barren pass. “I am a Shadow Lord.”
The title echoed in the mountain air, heavy and unforgiving. It wasn’t just a name. It was a legacy, a curse, a mark seared into the soul.
I felt it then—the bitter sting of curiosity laced with unease. “How does one become a Shadow Lord?”
His fury ebbed, replaced by a cold stillness that seemed to freeze the wind around us. We resumed our march, but now, every step felt like a descent—deeper into shadow, deeper into the truth.
“During my time in prison,” Lazarus began, his voice hollow, “thousands of us clung to one dream—freedom. But freedom came at a cost—the Shadow Lord Trials. They promised liberation… but they delivered torment.”
His tone was stripped bare of emotion, as though detachment was the only way to survive the memories.