Page 68 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
DANCING FIRE
I stepped softly through the thick underbrush, the bow in my hands a familiar weight that grounded me.
The forest wrapped around me in its quiet embrace—whispering leaves, the scent of pine and damp earth, the faint rustle of prey in the distance.
This place was my refuge. Here, time moved differently, and for a fleeting moment, the heavy mantle of being a Timeborne could be set aside.
My eyes traced the green canopy above as shafts of sunlight pierced the dense foliage, casting shifting patterns across the forest floor—light dancing with the breeze.
The hum of life surrounded me—birdsong, the chirp of insects, the distant murmur of a stream.
When one carried burdens from other worlds, this world’s heartbeat remained unbothered.
The hunt had always been a meditation—a way to find stillness amidst chaos.
Every step careful, every breath purposeful.
But today, the tranquility was broken, fractured by thoughts of Elizabeth.
Her eyes, the color of a storm-washed sky, wide and watchful, mirrored the vastness of her spirit.
Soft but certain, her voice held a strength that resonated beyond words.
Thoughts of her wove around my heart like vines, binding me to her in ways I still struggled to understand.
She was the source of the disquiet that shadowed my every move. I had saved her once—pulled her from the edge of danger, not because the spirits demanded it, but because something within me recognized her.
Not her face, not her voice, but the flame behind her eyes.
It was familiar.
As if she carried echoes of another time—of a promise made long ago, before either of us had names. A thread woven through the stars that tugged at my spirit with quiet insistence.
Since then, she had become part of our tribe. She was a balm over wounds I thought had long since scarred. But they hadn’t. Not truly. And now, with each passing day, I could feel her becoming more than just a guest.
Yet she belonged to another—Amir, my closest friend.
Amir’s dark eyes missed nothing, and his sense of honor was as steadfast as the ancient stones that anchored our land.
When he came to me, his request had been simple and solemn—watch over Elizabeth and protect her.
I had freely given that oath, an extension of the brotherhood that bound us.
But oaths, no matter how sacred, could not silence the heart’s longing for what it must not possess.
Elizabeth brought something new into my life—a light that reached the darkest corners, a warmth I could neither ignore nor embrace.
How could I reconcile these growing feelings with the loyalty I owed Amir?
He spoke few words, yet every one he spoke with purpose.
Beneath his clipped commands lay the quiet weight of a homeland lost and a love for Elizabeth so deep it defied expression.
I paused beneath the towering oak, leaning against its rough bark, grounding myself in its solidity.
I closed my eyes, letting the forest speak—wind in the leaves, the distant cry of birds, the pulse of life untouched by conflict.
I needed this hunt, this momentary escape, to still the turmoil rising within me.
As the leaves rustled overhead, I reminded myself that my path was clear. I was her guardian, sworn to keep her safe. The longing that threatened to consume me had to be crushed before it could take root.
There would be no betrayal of Amir. No yielding to desires that could only lead to ruin. I was Dancing Fire, a warrior shaped by tradition and time itself. My path was one of sacrifice—that was all I could see for now.
The forest embraced me, its ancient trees standing sentinel as I moved silently among them.
My bow rested in my hands, an arrow nocked and ready.
I was a shadow over the earth, a whisper in the wind.
Yet the most practiced hunter could not silence the soft crunch of leaves beneath his feet—a sound that now betrayed the approach of another.
“Ah, Lazarus,” I greeted without turning, recognizing the deliberate tread. “I am honored by your presence.”
“I’m glad,” came the low rumble of his voice—deep, commanding, yet not unkind. “I’ve come to ask how Elizabeth fares.”
I hesitated, her face rising in my mind like a flame in the darkness—sky-blue eyes reflecting quiet purpose, her existence a strength within our community. “She’s adapted to our ways,” I replied, masking my tangled emotions beneath a warrior’s stoicism. “She is preparing to have her twins.”
“Twins…” Lazarus murmured, almost to himself, before his gaze met mine. “Does your father believe they will be Timebornes?”
“Father sees great potential in them,” I answered, pride flickering despite the storm within. “He believes they will be powerful warriors.”
“Your father is correct,” Lazarus said, his tone weighted, pressing on the air between us. “But I did not come merely to speak of prophecy.”
He stepped closer, and the forest seemed to still around us, holding its breath. When he spoke again, his voice was like stone breaking.
“When Elizabeth gives birth… you will give her only one son.”
His words struck me—not a blow of flesh, but of prophecy, cutting and sudden, threatening to shatter the fragile balance I had fought so hard to maintain. The forest, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. The trees loomed like prison bars, binding me to a fate I could neither accept nor escape.
My legs gave way beneath its weight, the words reverberating like thunder. “No!” Raw and unrestrained, the denial tore from my throat. “I can’t do that!”
Lazarus stood unflinching, a monolith amid the storm of my anguish. “You will,” he said, voice as immutable as the turning of seasons. “This is a command.”
He stepped into the shattered silence between us, his gaze cold and unwavering. “One of the twins will carry darkness—like his father. The other… is the reincarnation of Armand. That child shall remain with her.”
The world spun. Greens and browns blurred into chaos, the forest twisting into something unfamiliar. My bow slipped from my fingers, the arrow thudding silently into the loam. I could feel it then—the crushing weight of destiny pressing upon me, heavier than any burden I had borne.
“Please, Lazarus…” The plea escaped me like a breath stolen by the wind, barely audible.
“I can’t betray her like this.” Her image filled my mind—Elizabeth, strong yet delicate, like a prairie bloom resilient against the storm.
Her soft voice, her healing touch… she had become part of me, woven into the fabric of my soul.
But Lazarus was relentless. His hard and unflinching eyes pierced through my despair. “You must see the larger picture,” he said, his voice like iron. “One will stay with her. The other will be mine.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle into my bones like stone.
“That is not a request. It is an order.”
An order. The word opened like a chasm at my feet, threatening to swallow me whole. To defy him was to risk everything—our people, mission, and chance to reclaim what was lost. Yet in the deepest part of me, where the fire of my name still burned, I knew this command would scorch her world to ash.
The forest spun around me, the familiar trunks of oak and birch blurring into a haze as Lazarus’ voice echoed like a curse in my ears. “I can’t do this,” I gasped, reaching out to balance myself, fingers digging into the rough bark of a nearby tree.
Lazarus stepped closer, his authority both an anchor and a burden. “I know you care for her, Dancing Fire,” he said, the timbre of his voice firm. “But we are fighting for the greater good. To restore Solaris, to reclaim what is rightfully ours—this is the path we must walk.”
His words were meant to fortify me, to harden my resolve—but they only twisted the knife deeper. I closed my eyes, seeking refuge in the memories of her—the way her laughter drifted like music across the prairie, the strength in her gaze that outshone the evening star.
I remembered the day I found her—wounded and alone—how I had gathered her into my arms, her fragile strength trembling against my chest. Her spirit had reached into mine, igniting a flame I could neither deny nor extinguish.
And now, that fire threatened to consume me.
And the bear… that monstrous beast, towering above us, death gleaming in its claws.
I could still feel the searing rush of blood from the gashes in my side, the terror that gripped my throat like a vice.
But her hands had saved me. With her healer’s touch and unshakable tenacity, Elizabeth had faced fear and defied it.
In those moments, under the shadow of death, I began to fall—not from weakness, but into a love I could never speak aloud.
“Her life is entwined with yours,” Lazarus’ voice said, pulling me from the tide of memory and grounding me in grim reality. “But the path ahead requires sacrifice.”
Sacrifice. The word settled in my stomach like a stone. How could I cause such pain to someone who had given me nothing but healing? Elizabeth—whose touch had closed my wounds and opened my heart.
“Please, Lazarus,” I whispered, each word a struggle against the storm swelling inside me. “There must be another way.”
But deep down, I knew there wasn’t. Not if we were to save our world. The fate of Solaris demanded a price, and I was being asked to pay it—not with blood, but with betrayal.
With a heavy sigh, I turned toward the path home, my steps leaden with the burden I carried. Elizabeth’s image in my mind—a beacon calling me back, and now, a reminder of the storm I would bring to her doorstep.
As I emerged from the dense thicket, the village unfolded before me—a living tapestry of warmth and life.
The scent of roasting venison filled the air, mingling with the crackle of the central fire and the rhythmic chants of the evening gathering.
Children’s laughter echoed through the trees, the sky above gold with the last light of day.
And then I saw her.
Elizabeth sat among the women, her blond hair cascading over her shoulders like strands of sunlight, catching the firelight and turning it to gold. She laughed softly, radiant in the flickering glow—unaware of the sorrow I carried, unaware that I might be the one to break her heart.
Her hands moved with effortless grace, kneading away the weariness from a woman’s shoulders with a gentleness that seemed to seep into the soul.
Children danced around her, their giggles rising above the hum of conversation, drawn to her as moths to flame.
They spun and leaped, small feet kicking up dust, until, as if sensing I watched, they paused—bright eyes turning toward me.
“Dancing Fire! Dancing Fire!” they called, their voices a chorus of joy and affection.
But I could not share in their delight. A knot tightened in my chest, each chant of my name a reminder of the betrayal clinging to my shadow.
I lingered at the firelight’s edge, trapped between duty and devotion, the weight of my oath pressing against my chest like armor.
To hurt Elizabeth would be to sever the last thread of humanity that bound me.
Her spirit had become part of our tribe’s soul, her touch mending more than wounds—restoring hope where none should remain.
She was a healer not only of bodies but of hearts.
She taught us to believe again, when belief felt like a forgotten dream.
The thought of betraying her trust was unthinkable. My hands—once steady in battle, unwavering as I drew my bow—now trembled at the thought of delivering pain to the one who had saved me from death’s cold grasp.
“Dancing Fire, come sit!” Elizabeth’s soft yet strong voice rose above the din, through the noise to find me. Her blue eyes met mine across the firelight, reflecting not just its warmth but the unspoken bond between us—a bond I was being commanded to break.
I took a breath, steeling myself. Each step I took toward her was a silent vow—I would be her shield, even if the storms I stood against were ones I had been ordered to summon. This I swore—not as a Timeborne, but as a man whose heart had been touched by an angel in mortal form.
She smiled as I neared, welcoming, radiant, unaware of the tempest hiding behind my heart.
“Join us,” she said, patting the ground beside her.
And though my place was at her side, my mind was leagues away—trapped in the war between the love that gave me strength and the destiny that demanded I sacrifice.