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

Chapter 109: The Spellbound Scar

"Something’s wrong with me," 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 me."

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

The older witch stepped forward. Her movements were measured, 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 something 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 moment of great power, probably during the bond. It piggybacked off the ritual. Someone 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 shimmered faintly, silver reacting to the air. She picked it up and handed it to Magnolia.

"Hold it."

The blade was warm. The moment 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. Someone 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 flames 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 remember clearly."

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

Her stomach turned.

The scar pulsed again. And something flashed across her vision, a moment, 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 something inside me."

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

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

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

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

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 time."

They moved down the corridor in silence. The stones underfoot vibrated faintly. From far off, a melody seeped through the air. Haunting, melodic, 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 me?"

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

"Why the scar? Why embed something in me?"

Camille looked up. Her face was streaked with tears. "Because the bond wasn’t just yours. The moment 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 mean for it to hurt you. I just wanted to remember 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 met his eyes. "She’s carrying something ancient."

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

And everything shifted.

"Beckett! Come 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 shimmered in rhythm, matching the beat of something alive.

"This isn’t spellbound parchment," 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 immediately. Candles flickered, though no wind moved. And the first page read:

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

Beckett frowned. "The second soul... that phrase again. Camille mentioned something like that weeks ago."

Celeste turned the page. "Look, there are more letters. Each signed by a different Luna witch. And the same 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 mean?"

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 something 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 something 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 abdomen.

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

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

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 something out.

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

"It’s not me," she sobbed. "It’s someone else. Someone old. She’s inside."

"Inside?" Celeste crouched next to her. "You mean 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 me."

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

"I didn’t ask for it!" she screamed. "I didn’t ask for any of this. You think I want to be some cursed womb? I was just a girl, until they broke me 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 mean?" Beckett asked.

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

Beckett recoiled. "That’s impossible."

"No," Celeste breathed. "It’s not. If someone 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 me."

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 me."

She laughed, soft and broken. "It doesn’t have a name. 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 something... 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 me help."

They turned to her.

"I can hear them now," she said, voice low. "The witches. Their voices come 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 me 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, something watched.

Something that had always been waiting.

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