A Thread in the Dark
1059 Words
Absolutely — let's rewrite the chapter from the start, with the tone more grounded, immersive, and true to your vision. We'll slow the pacing just enough to build tension without losing momentum, and lean into Dominic’s perspective, his leadership instincts, and the emotional weight of Sarena’s
*Dominic’s POV*
The storm had passed, but the air still smelled like it hadn’t decided to leave. Damp. Heavy. The kind of night where silence pressed in a little too close.
I stood in the west tower of the Walton estate, a phone pressed to my ear, eyes fixed on the far hills beyond the city of Kelam. The moment Annabelle picked up, I didn’t waste time.
“Pack your things. Come to the manor. Bring your best wards.”
A pause.
“Yes, right away.”
No questions. Just a calm, “Yes, Sir,” before the line went dead.
Good girl.
Next, I called Luke. I knew he’d be up. He didn’t sleep much these days.
“You’re needed,” I said.
He grunted. “I figured. You sounded like hell yesterday. What’s happened?”
“I’ll explain when you’re here.”
A sigh. “On my way. Want me to bring anything?”
“Just bring your patience.”
That earned a low chuckle. “You know I don’t have any.”
I ended the call and let the quiet settle again.
It had been two days since I’d seen her.
Sarena—what was left of her—had looked straight at me with eyes that didn’t belong to her anymore. A stranger with her face, her skin… but not her soul.
The tether between us—the mate bond—had once been faint, barely noticeable. But in that moment, twisted and cold, it had flared like a scream in my chest. Not warm. Not comforting.
It had felt like decay.
---
Luke arrived first, smelling like leather, steel, and old blood. He was always half-ready for war, even when there wasn’t one yet.
“Nice to be summoned like the good old days,” he muttered as he stepped into the study. “What’s the crisis?”
I motioned toward the massive table in the center of the room, already stacked with maps, documents, and a few rare texts I’d started sorting from the private Walton vault.
“Annabelle will be here shortly.”
He whistled low. “Calling in the witchling, too? Must be serious.”
I didn’t answer.
He got the message.
---
Annabelle arrived not long after. She looked smaller than usual beneath her cloak, but her posture was sharp—precise. She bowed her head slightly before stepping fully into the room.
“Mr. Walton. Luke.”
“Annabelle,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”
She nodded politely. “Of course.”
I gestured for them both to sit.
“I need to bring Sarena back,” I said, voice low. “But whatever has taken over her… it’s not possession as we know it. It’s deeper. Corrupting her soul. I felt it.”
Luke raised a brow. “You’re certain she’s alive?”
“I’m certain something is alive in her body,” I said. “And our bond—what’s left of it—is still there. Barely. But it’s fading.”
Annabelle shifted slightly. “Do you believe she’s trapped?”
I looked down at the grimoires in front of me. “I believe she’s still inside, and whatever is controlling her is feeding on what’s left.”
Luke leaned forward, the tension in his shoulders rising. “You’re thinking soul binding. But this sounds like something older.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “That’s why I need both of you. We’re not chasing myths anymore. We’re searching for a truth no one wants to admit exists.”
They nodded. No hesitation.
---
We worked through the night.
The Walton archives were vast, stretching into parts of the estate even I hadn’t fully explored. Books moved on their own. Some resisted being opened. Others turned to ash if read too slowly—or too fast.
Luke and I tore through the tomes with vampire speed, but the deeper we went, the stranger it got. Texts were encrypted with forgotten tongues. Some books were written backwards, others sealed shut by bloodline magic that even I couldn’t bypass.
Annabelle handled the more volatile volumes. Her magic was young but adaptable, and there was something about the Walton library that seemed to recognize her, she was from Walton blood line same violet eyes dark hair like us—though she didn’t know that yet. I wasn’t going to tell her. Not now.
After hours, we had little more than scraps. Mentions of corrupted bonds. A few vague records of witches being used as vessels for ancient entities. Nothing concrete. Nothing useful.
And nothing that gave me hope.
---
At one point, Luke slammed a particularly stubborn book shut, the impact making a low thud that echoed too loud in the silence.
“This is madness,” he muttered. “We’re fighting an enemy we don’t understand, searching for someone we don’t even know how to reach.”
I didn’t disagree.
Annabelle looked up from her corner, her voice soft but steady. “Maybe we’re not meant to understand it yet. Maybe we’re only supposed to find the thread.”
I looked at her. “And have you found it?”
Her fingers brushed a sigil on the spine of a thin book I hadn’t seen before. Her touch glowed faintly—the book reacting to her. Something clicked.
“Not yet,” she said, “but I think I’m close.”
---
By dawn, the fire in the hearth had burned to embers. Luke was stretched across a chair, head tilted back in frustration. Annabelle sat on the floor surrounded by scrolls, her brow furrowed.
I stayed standing, hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at my hip—an old, worn thing that once belonged to my father. Not magical. Just solid. Real.
“I’ll find you,” I whispered under my breath, barely audible. “Whatever they’ve done to you, I’ll undo it.”
No one heard me.
But I knew the words mattered.
And I knew the war had only just begun.
---
- Writer
