Me.
My mind swirled with a thousand questions, yet the overwhelming sensation in my chest wasn’t fear, but something else entirely.
Wonder.
Could I truly pass through centuries? Witness worlds long gone? Uncover the secrets buried in time itself?
I felt the thrill pulse like lightning, my doubts drowned in the rush of possibility.
My lips curled into a startled smile. The heavy veil of my life—my father, my village, even Balthazar—suddenly seemed thinner. Less binding.
This dagger wasn’t just a weapon.
It wasfreedom.
“Tell me more,Signor,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart beat with nervous anticipation. “Can I truly just… leave Florence? Escape into another time?”
“Please,” Signor Zampa said, gesturing toward the drawing room. “Let us sit, and I shall tell you everything I can.”
I swept past him, my fingers trailing along the arch of the doorway as I entered the salon—a grand chamber filled with history. I sank into one of the velvet-cushioned settees, its carved wooden frame cool beneath my fingers.
The room whispered of old wealth and older secrets.
Tapestries and frescoes covered the walls, each alive with mythological figures, landscapes of forgotten cities, and gods locked in eternal battle. Intricate plasterwork curled across the ceiling like vines frozen mid-bloom. A fireplace crackled in the corner, its glow too dim to warm the chill settling in my bones.
Zampa sat opposite me, his thin frame dwarfed by the high-backed chair. The silence that followed was long. He tapped a finger against the armrest softly and rhythmically as if considering his words.
He finally spoke when I thought he might have forgotten why I was there.
“Yes,” he said, eyes not on me but on the flames. “You can travel to other eras. Other places. But know this, child—every journey you take will feed the darkness inside you.”
His words were quiet. But they struck with the weight of thunder.
A chill ran down my spine, tightening my chest.
Darkness?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What do you mean?”
Zampa turned his gaze to mine, and the wisdom in his eyes was shadowed by something older—regret, perhaps. Or fear.
“Time travel is more than a gift,” he said. “It is a force. It reshapes everything it touches. For some, it becomes a path to enlightenment. For others… it becomes a door to ruin. Every step through time, every interference, draws the darkness closer.”
I remained still, letting his words soak in like rain into cracked earth.
I had only just begun to believe this power was real, thatIhad it. But how he spoke of it—as dangerous, even corrupting—gave me pause. It was not the wondrous escape I had imagined. It was a blade with two edges.
“But what is this darkness?” I asked, more quietly now. “And how is it dangerous?”
Signor Zampa’s eyes darkened, hollowed like ancient caves. When he spoke, his voice dropped into somethingolder.
“The darkness isn’t awhat,Lady Tocino. It’s awho.And there are many.”
I stilled.
“The darkness is created at birth,” he continued, “and resides inside your dagger. Like a genie in a bottle.”
I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “That old fairy tale? Of course I’ve heard it.”
