The Threadbound series : Unraveling

Strings Attached

Alex

"What the... Is that Commander Dantes..!?" Tristan exclaimed as he watched the scene.

A portal had just opened in mid-air, and the golden boy, Apollo Lark, fell from it to the ground, with Dantes on top of him. That must have hurt, I thought.

"Yeah, that was Sashelle Dantes", I replied.

"And Apollo Lark," Tris said.

"They grew up together", my words came out strained. If he noticed, Tris did not comment.

"I have always wondered why Lark didn't choose him. Apollo Lark looks like a perfect puppet", he commented.

"Maybe because Apollo doesn't have any strings attached to him", I replied.

"Also, why did he ask you to meet him here in broad daylight? Couldn't he just talk into your mind in that awful voice of his? Anyways, may the Weaver be with ye, or is that an awful thing to say now?" Tris was rambling, which meant he was tense.

"This is not the first time, and this certainly isn't the last. You don't worry about me."

Tristan may not understand this, but I do. Lark loved having power over us, playing like a puppeteer, pulling our strings and making us do whatever he wants—even in broad daylight. This was his tactic to show us that we were entirely at his mercy.

"Here he comes," Tristan pointed to the apprentice of Lark, Lionel Stride, approaching us. He looked young, maybe Dantes's age, around twenty-three. He was wearing a dark suit, and his shoulder-length auburn hair was tied in a low ponytail. He had a lean frame, and his features were sharp.

"Hunter Raaha, make the portal; time is of the essence," Stride spoke in a cold voice.

Tristan made a portal to Thalassoria, and Stride stepped in. A cool breeze hit my face as soon as I stepped onto the beach. The evening sun was setting into the sea, painting the sky with vivid colors. It was breathtaking. Soon, I saw a boat approaching us.

"The boat will take us to Bone Island," Stride explained. The Bone Island, as legend has it, is made from the bones of the Veil Gods, those who fell during the Threadwars. Magic is weak there, hence the prison is built on that island.

The boat arrived, and the boatman was an old man. Stride and I entered the boat. Would this boatman be a witness against us? Would he report to someone? Or would Lionel kill him? Or did Lark want me to kill him? My thoughts churned relentlessly like the waves crashing on the beach.

Then the cold voice of Lionel Stride filled my head,

"Do not worry your pretty little head, threadhunter; no one will speak a word of it."

However, his words sounded more like a warning than a reassurance in my mind.