[Emma's POV]
The oppressive silence of the stone chamber was now filled with a sound that seemed to originate from before language itself. Damon’s voice, usually so controlled and smooth, had dropped into a guttural, rhythmic chant. The words were ancient, each one a rough-hewn syllable of power that didn't just travel through the air, but pulled at it, distorting the very space around Emma’s bound form. The petrified wood of the throne she was lashed to began to resonate with the sound, the etched runes glowing with a malevolent, violet light that pulsed in time with the chant, a heartbeat of dark magic.
The initial, blind panic had been a fire, burning white-hot and consuming all thought. Now, it had cooled into something harder, sharper: a diamond-edged desperation. She was utterly vu
