Dark Origins – The Dark One Saga World Read Online Rachel Van Dyken

Categories Genre: Dark, Fantasy, Insta-Love, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)

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Dark Origins - The Dark One Saga World

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Rachel Van Dyken

Book Information:

Find out if love is worth the fall in #1 New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken’s paranormal standalone, Dark Origins. My only job was to watch.
Two hundred of us stood on the mountain and watched the humans suffer, and then one day I couldn't do it anymore, and all because I saw her.
My destiny. My dream. My new reality.
I'm an archangel. I am also fallen.
One day people will know the story of how one of the most powerful angels in history decided to take a step away from his purpose and fall in love. Today is that day.
I am no longer a Watcher. I. Watch. Her.
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Rachel Van Dyken



The wind whips at my cheeks in an angry manner that I feel all the way down to my core. It won’t hurt me, the wind, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel its effects. If I was home, in my birthplace, I would feel nothing but the pressure of it against my face and the pleasure of feeling it sing through the air.

Not the case on the mountain.

On the mountain, you feel everything—emotional, physical, painful.

Sometimes being a Watcher sent by the creators feels more like a punishment than a reward.

They sent down their best archangels—my brothers and me—to guard a mountain deep in Siberia.

Or at least what would one day be called Siberia, according to the creators.

They said it was important.

So here we stand.

Here we’ve been standing for already a thousand years.

Time goes by slower down here than it does in the heavens; what feels like a thousand years down here feels merely like a year up there.

I know I’m not the only one amongst my brothers who feels forgotten, but we trust in the creators. It’s an honor to be given a job in the first place, guarding their precious planet.

I almost scoff; nothing precious about this bitter cold.

I bite my tongue and blink, staring down at the humans as they carry about their days.

Sometimes I play games in my head and make up stories about their lives, and other times I just go into a trance while standing as still as possible.

I know they can see us because every year when the cold chill melts and life begins anew, the village gathers at the foot of the mountain. A fire is lit, and one of the elders tells the story of how we became their protectors.

The story has changed over the years from us being gods to angels, and back again, this year we’re the gods of old sent to protect their magical little village because they have a great purpose, bigger than anyone else in the world.

So typical of humans.

To think that they’re more special than any other creation. As if these humans have seen the billions of stars that sing at night—because, of course, they never stop long enough to truly look up, they will never be still enough to hear.

They don’t know that they’re constantly surrounded by a planet that sings the praises of its creation—it’s wasted.

I bite my tongue again.

They’re getting the village ready for our origin story, and even though all of us are used to it, I can feel the tension radiating from all one hundred and ninety nine of my brothers as we stand even more still.



More radiant.

Our golden armor shines against the stars in the sky, reflecting the way they burn and shine.

Just like their purpose is to sing.

Ours is to watch.

I hold my sword tightly between my fingertips, my black hair falls across my back, blowing in the wind.

I imagine we look like a golden army set to destroy them when we’re a golden army sent to save them.

From what?

It’s the question we all ask from time to time. My brothers and I have connected thoughts if we will it—thank the gods; otherwise, we’d be bored.

I’ve been playing a guessing game with Bannik going on a hundred years—he’s losing.

No matter how well we guard—the creators don’t come.

I flinch—not many would notice it; the humans certainly don’t as I see her out of the corner of my eye. I’ve seen her hundreds of times, actually thousands, quite possibly ten thousand-seven-hundred and twenty-seven times.

And each time—something in my chest feels like it’s going to burst. My heart beats faster, my soul takes flight—and alarmingly enough, the songs of the stars become harder to hear, my focus weakens because all I can concentrate on is her laugh.

It’s beautiful.

It reminds me of the songs of the stars, and for one brief second as she moves to sit in front of the fire and hear whatever story the elder is about to tell—I feel free.

She looks up at me often.

As if I’m her own guardian angel rather than a part of an army sent here to watch.

I blink.

I feel she sees it.

I am a Watcher.

So I watch—her.

I know I have been called. I just wish I knew my destiny, my purpose—even though my soul screams at me that I already know my purpose.

So why do I want to take a step toward her?

Just as the children sit around their parents and the girl I watch sits by the fire, a noise breaks out.

She screams.

I flinch again.

I hear the cries of my brothers in my mind as we watch in horror. Someone is burning down their village.

“We must do something!” Bannik shouts in my mind.

Azeel starts to wail. “The children, they’re taking the children!”

“We can’t!” Uzza shouts. “We will be punished!”

“They’re being punished!” I hear their screams. I watch them die.