The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond Chapter 109: The Spellbound Scar

"Sothing’s wrong with ," Magnolia whispered, staring into the fogged mirror above the basin.

She traced her fingertips beneath her rib cage. The mark had appeared only hours ago. A thin, raised scar, arcing like a crescent moon carved into her flesh. It pulsed beneath her touch, not painfully, but with an awareness. As if it responded to her thoughts. Her breath caught.

The room behind her reflected faintly in the mirror: the carved stone walls of the keep, the tall flickering sconces. Her nightdress clung to her thighs as she stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, the fabric whispering against her skin. Her palms shook.

Celeste entered without knocking. "You called ."

Magnolia didn’t turn to her. She simply raised the hem of her dress and said, "Look."

The older witch stepped forward. Her movents were asured, graceful even in urgency. She crouched and placed her palm just above the mark. Her pupils dilated. "This is not natural."

"I thought it was from the marking. Maybe sothing went wrong."

"It didn’t go wrong," Celeste murmured. "It was tampered with. This is branding. Magical branding."

Magnolia frowned. "Like a curse?"

"Worse. This was placed during a mont of great power, probably during the bond. It piggybacked off the ritual. Soone used your vulnerability to embed a command into your skin."

Magnolia stood, the scar throbbing in protest. "What kind of command?"

Celeste didn’t answer right away. She glanced at the Luna blade lying unsheathed on the dresser. Its hilt shimred faintly, silver reacting to the air. She picked it up and handed it to Magnolia.

"Hold it."

The blade was warm. The mont her fingers curled around the hilt, the scar beneath her ribcage flared.

She dropped it with a cry.

"It’s reacting to Luna magic," Celeste said. "This scar isn’t just branding. It’s a lock."

Magnolia blinked, shaken. "A lock on what?"

Celeste sat down across from her. Her face was pale beneath the golden light. "On you. Possibly on your powers. Possibly on your will. Soone has placed a restriction. You didn’t bond to Rhett alone that night."

A chill swept the room.

"Then who?"

Celeste didn’t answer. Instead, she stood and walked to the fireplace. She murmured a chant. The flas turned violet.

"Camille," Magnolia said softly.

Celeste turned. "It’s a possibility. There was too much magic in that room. And Camille’s presence has not been normal. She was touching your shoulder when Rhett bit you. I rember clearly."

Magnolia recalled it too. Camille had smiled, hand on her back, whispering support.

Her stomach turned.

The scar pulsed again. And sothing flashed across her vision, a mont, not her own. Camille standing in front of a mirror, blood trickling from her nose, whispering, "She’ll never know."

Magnolia gasped.

"What did you see?"

She clutched the bedsheet. "She put sothing inside ."

Celeste crossed the room. "Then we need to extract it before it matures."

"Matures?" Magnolia choked. "What do you an, matures?"

Celeste hesitated. "Magical branding can grow. If it fuses with your soul, it becos permanent. If it matures, it will override your free will."

Magnolia shook her head. "Why would she do this to ?"

Celeste gave no answer. Only a grim stare.

A knock thundered on the door.

It was Beckett.

"Trouble in the eastern wing," he said. "Camille’s singing again. In tongues."

Magnolia shot to her feet.

Celeste handed her the blade. "Don’t drop it this ti."

They moved down the corridor in silence. The stones underfoot vibrated faintly. From far off, a lody seeped through the air. Haunting, lodic, filled with mourning.

Camille sat cross-legged in the center of her room. The windows were flung open. Wind howled. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth moved fast.

Beckett stepped back. "She’s been like this since sunset."

Camille’s voice shifted mid-note.

Magnolia raised her voice. "Camille!"

The woman’s eyes opened. They weren’t brown anymore. They were gold, glowing, familiar.

"She knows now," Camille whispered.

Magnolia stepped into the room. "What did you do to ?"

Camille laughed softly, then cried, then whispered, "It was never supposed to be you."

"Why the scar? Why embed sothing in ?"

Camille looked up. Her face was streaked with tears. "Because the bond wasn’t just yours. The mont you marked each other, the veil thinned. I had to try."

Celeste’s hand rested on Magnolia’s arm. "She hijacked the bond. A fraction of her magic transferred with yours."

Camille nodded, weeping. "I didn’t an for it to hurt you. I just wanted to rember who I was."

Rhett appeared in the doorway, lips tight. "Enough. Lock her in the lower vault. No more rooms with windows."

Magnolia turned to him. "Wait. She’s part of this now. Whether we like it or not."

Camille smiled sadly. "The child’s heartbeat echoes in both of us. Isn’t that strange?"

Magnolia’s knees buckled. Celeste caught her.

"Child?" Rhett demanded.

Camille t his eyes. "She’s carrying sothing ancient."

The mark on Magnolia’s skin flared again, not pain. Life.

And everything shifted.

"Beckett! Co here, now!"

Celeste’s voice cut through the corridor like a knife through silence. Beckett, still dusted from training drills, turned sharply and sprinted toward the echoing cry. He found her crouched beside an ancient shelf deep within the library vault, one even older than the spellbound archives.

"What did you find?" Beckett asked, panting.

Celeste didn’t look up. Her slender, veined fingers delicately lifted a cracked leather journal sealed by lunar wax. "I wasn’t even looking. The shelves moved on their own."

Beckett crouched beside her, his gaze locked onto the journal. Its surface was etched with silver veins that shimred in rhythm, matching the beat of sothing alive.

"This isn’t spellbound parchnt," he murmured. "It’s, "

"Wolfskin," Celeste whispered. "Luna witches wrote on it during the Blood Age. Only the High Matrons were allowed."

Beckett hesitated. "Do we open it?"

"Only if you’re ready to read what can’t be unread."

He reached out, but Celeste slapped his hand lightly. "Together."

They broke the wax. The air around them thickened imdiately. Candles flickered, though no wind moved. And the first page read:

"To whover dares awaken the truth, know this: the second soul is not salvation. It is punishnt. Do not breed what you cannot bury."

Beckett frowned. "The second soul... that phrase again. Camille ntioned sothing like that weeks ago."

Celeste turned the page. "Look, there are more letters. Each signed by a different Luna witch. And the sa phrase appears at the end of every one: If the vessel bears life, the world bears death."

A chill laced Beckett’s spine. "What the hell does that an?"

Celeste kept flipping. Pages fluttered open like birds set free. Each was written in a mix of Old Tongue and shifting runes. Finally, she stopped at a passage underlined in rust-red ink.

"The womb is the gateway. The child, the war. If one soul births two, death will claim balance."

Beckett sat back on his heels. "Camille said she felt sothing inside her. Kicking. But not like a baby."

Celeste gave him a sidelong glance. "She might not be lying."

Suddenly, a scream pierced through the vault, shrill and guttural. Camille.

Beckett leapt to his feet. "That was her."

They ran. The corridors blurred past. The stone beneath their boots vibrated with sothing primal, panic, power, prophecy. Camille’s cries led them to the eastern wing, where she was supposed to be restrained.

She stood in the center of the room, hair wild, eyes dilated, hands pressed against her lower abdon.

"Get her a healer, now!" Beckett shouted.

But Camille’s voice sliced through the chaos. "Don’t touch !"

They stopped.

Camille stared at them both with a look of absolute horror. "It’s not mine," she whispered, tears streaking down her face.

Celeste inched closer. "What’s not yours, child?"

"The heartbeat," Camille croaked. "It doesn’t sound right. It, it doesn’t beat like a child’s. It... it pulses like it’s waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Beckett asked.

Camille turned her head slowly. "For war."

Her body seized. She collapsed, screaming, clawing at her belly as if trying to dig sothing out.

Beckett dropped to her side. "Camille, listen to , what do you feel?"

"It’s not ," she sobbed. "It’s soone else. Soone old. She’s inside."

"Inside?" Celeste crouched next to her. "You an you’re possessed?"

"No," Camille hissed. "Split."

Beckett reached for her wrist. "You’re not making sense, "

"I HEARD HER!" Camille shrieked. "In the vault. When you opened the letters."

The room fell deadly still.

"You heard... a voice?" Celeste asked cautiously.

Camille nodded slowly, her pupils shrinking. "She said, The vessel bears life, the world bears death. I didn’t read it. I heard it."

Celeste looked to Beckett, then whispered, "Then it’s already started."

Beckett stood, pacing. "We have to tell Rhett."

"No!" Camille barked. "If he knows, he’ll kill ."

Beckett’s face twisted with conflict. "If you’re carrying sothing that could end this world, "

"I didn’t ask for it!" she scread. "I didn’t ask for any of this. You think I want to be so cursed womb? I was just a girl, until they broke open."

Silence.

Celeste placed a hand on Camille’s shoulder. "Who broke you open?"

Camille closed her eyes. Her breath trembled. "The spell didn’t end with the marking ceremony."

"What do you an?" Beckett asked.

"There was a second spell," Camille whispered. "When Rhett marked Magnolia... soone else marked . In shadow."

Beckett recoiled. "That’s impossible."

"No," Celeste breathed. "It’s not. If soone linked Camille during the ceremony... and she was open... it could’ve bonded her to a different power."

"She’s the second soul," Beckett muttered.

"No," Camille said with a humorless smile. "I’m the vessel. The second soul is what’s inside ."

The air thinned. Beckett turned toward the door, his hand clenching into a fist. "Then we have to find out what it is."

Camille’s eyes locked onto his, filled with a haunted certainty. "You don’t want to know."

He froze. "Tell ."

She laughed, soft and broken. "It doesn’t have a na. Just... hunger."

Celeste stood. "We need to seal her room. Protective glyphs, salt circles, blessed iron, "

"No," Camille growled. "I’m not a prisoner."

"You’re not safe," Beckett snapped. "Not for yourself, not for us."

"I’ve never been safe," she said bitterly. "But at least I knew what I was. Now, I’m sothing... else."

Celeste’s face paled. "I need to return to the vault. There were more pages. Hidden bindings. If we miss one, "

"I’ll go with you," Beckett said.

"No," Camille murmured. "Let help."

They turned to her.

"I can hear them now," she said, voice low. "The witches. Their voices co through the pages. If I hold the letters... I might be able to open more."

Celeste hesitated. "That’s too dangerous."

"I’m already damned," Camille smiled, teeth stained pink with blood from her bitten lip. "Let be useful."

Beckett exchanged a look with Celeste, then offered Camille his hand. "One move out of line, and I’ll end it."

Camille nodded. "Deal."

But even as they made the pact, the room behind them shivered, quietly, barely perceptible. A crack slithered down the eastern wall. And in the shadow of the sconce, sothing watched.

Sothing that had always been waiting.