Chapter 17: The Weight of a Thread
713 Words
Sienna lay on the cool grass, staring at the night sky as her breath evened out. The stars above felt almost unreal after the suffocating darkness of the ruined city.
But the golden thread in her hand was a heavy reminder—they weren’t free. Not really.
Darian sat up, rubbing his temples. “Tell me that’s the last time we’ll be running from ghosts.”
Sienna forced a laugh. “I’d love to. But I don’t think they’re done with us.”
She held up the thread, watching it shimmer between her fingers. It felt fragile, yet impossibly strong—like a piece of light woven into something tangible.
Darian frowned. “What even *is* that thing?”
Sienna hesitated. “A memory.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know how I know,” she admitted, “but this thread… it’s a piece of that city’s history. It holds something important.”
Darian exhaled sharply. “Right. So we risked our necks, got chased by mist creatures, and now we’re carrying a cursed thread that something definitely wants back.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Fantastic.”
Sienna rolled onto her side, looking at him. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”
Darian snorted. “Oh, please. Like I was gonna let you go into a haunted city alone. What kind of friend would I be?”
Sienna smiled, warmth flickering in her chest.
Then, a rustling noise broke the moment.
Both of them tensed.
Darian’s hand shot to his dagger. Sienna clutched the thread tighter.
The bushes nearby shifted, and a shadow moved within them.
Then, a voice—low, feminine, and teasing.
“Well, well. You two look like you’ve had an *eventful* night.”
A figure stepped into the moonlight.
A woman.
She was tall and lean, with sharp green eyes and dark auburn hair tied into a loose braid. A bow was slung across her back, and a curved dagger gleamed at her hip.
Darian stiffened. “Who are you?”
The woman smirked. “Depends on who’s asking.”
Sienna’s grip on the thread tightened. “We don’t have time for games.”
The woman tilted her head. “Then I’ll keep it simple—I’m *Lorien.* And if you value your lives, you’ll hand over that thread.”
Sienna’s stomach dropped.
Darian stepped between them. “Yeah, not happening.”
Lorien sighed, almost disappointed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
She moved.
Fast.
Before Sienna could react, Lorien had drawn her dagger and lunged.
Darian barely managed to parry, their blades clashing with a sharp ring. Sparks flew.
Sienna stumbled back, clutching the golden thread as the two clashed. Lorien was quick—too quick. She moved like she *knew* every attack before it happened, her strikes forcing Darian backward.
“You’re good,” she admitted, ducking under his blade. “But you’re tired.”
Darian growled. “I’m *fine.*”
He wasn’t.
Lorien dodged his next swing with ease, then slammed the hilt of her dagger into his ribs. He gasped, staggering back.
Sienna’s heart pounded.
*Think, Sienna. Think.*
Then she realized something.
Lorien wasn’t trying to *kill* them.
She was after the thread.
And if Sienna ran—
Lorien’s eyes snapped to hers. “Don’t even think about it, Keeper.”
Sienna froze.
That word again.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” she demanded.
Lorien twirled her dagger. “Because that’s what you are.”
Sienna’s breath hitched.
Before she could respond, Lorien moved again—too fast to stop.
A flash of silver.
A sharp tug at her hand.
Then—nothing.
Sienna gasped, staring at her empty palm.
The golden thread was gone.
Lorien smirked, twirling it between her fingers. “Much easier than I expected.”
Sienna’s stomach twisted. “Give it back.”
Lorien raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
She took a step back—then another.
Darian gritted his teeth. “Sienna—”
Too late.
Lorien turned and vanished into the trees, taking the thread with her.
Sienna’s hands curled into fists.
The thread—their only clue—was gone.
And she had no idea how to get it back.
- Writer
