The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 107: The Fracture Beneath

"You’re unusually quiet," Beckett said, his voice echoing down the cold, narrow tunnel as he glanced over his shoulder.

Celeste didn’t reply immediately. Her hands brushed the moss-lined walls, fingertips glowing faintly with runes only she could read. "Something down here remembers. That’s what worries me," she finally muttered.

Beckett lifted the torch higher. The passage curved deeper beneath the estate, where old roots weaved through stone like veins under skin. It wasn’t the first time they’d descended into these depths, but it was the first time the vault door had opened without resistance.

And that wasn’t a good sign.

Behind them, Camille moved like a shadow, silent, drawn, her eyes too wide. She wasn’t meant to come, but she’d insisted, practically begged, and something in her desperation had silenced even Celeste.

"It’s reacting," Camille whispered, stopping in her tracks. Her hand flew to her belly. "It’s... pulsing."

Beckett turned. "What?"

"The heartbeat. I told you. It’s stronger now."

The chamber ahead yawned open like the hollow mouth of some forgotten god. Iron sconces still clung to the walls, though the flames in them had long died. And in the very center of the room, atop a pedestal shaped from bones and obsidian, sat a glowing, heart-sized stone.

It throbbed in a slow rhythm. One beat. Pause. Then another. And another.

Beckett stepped cautiously toward it. "I’ve never seen anything like this."

Celeste circled the relic, murmuring chants beneath her breath. Glyphs shimmered and crawled across the floor, drawn by her voice. "This was sealed here for a reason," she said sharply. "To guard it. Or imprison it."

Camille stumbled forward, entranced. Her auburn hair clung to her damp forehead, and sweat beaded along her collarbone. "It’s calling me."

"Don’t touch it," Celeste snapped.

Too late.

Camille’s fingers brushed the stone. A scream tore from her lips as magic surged through her body, brilliant, blinding. Beckett grabbed her, but the energy flung him across the chamber.

Celeste raised her hands, chanting louder now, weaving wards into the air, trying to sever the connection.

Camille fell to her knees, clawing at her own skin. "I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, something’s inside, it’s not me, it’s not, !"

The stone dimmed. Camille collapsed forward, unconscious.

Celeste knelt beside her and gently turned her face upward. Her eyes flicked to Beckett. "We have a problem."

He pulled himself up, rubbing his bruised shoulder. "That’s the understatement of the year."

"She wasn’t lying." Celeste’s voice had lost all edge. "There’s a heartbeat."

"What do you mean?"

Celeste glanced at Camille’s abdomen, then back to the glowing relic. "The stone is bound to a womb."

Camille stirred, her voice weak. "It... whispered. Said the gate is already open."

Celeste paled. "Then the child isn’t coming. It’s already here. Just... hidden."

Beckett’s eyes darkened. "You mean inside her."

"I don’t know." Celeste rose slowly. "But that inscription we translated? It wasn’t just a prophecy. It was a warning."

He retrieved the old parchment from his satchel and read aloud: ’The womb is the gate. The child, the war. What passes through her shall undo the moon.’

Camille moaned and clutched her belly again. "I’ve felt it move in my dreams. I thought I was losing my mind."

"You might be," Beckett muttered. "We all might be."

Celeste stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "This changes everything. Rhett must be told."

"No," Camille gasped. "Not yet. Please. I need... time. Just a little."

"You don’t have time," Beckett snapped. "If that thing is using you, if you’re carrying something dangerous, "

"I’m not carrying a monster!" Camille’s voice cracked. "I’m not. I swear it’s still me. I just... I don’t know what’s happening anymore."

Her hands trembled as she stared at the relic. "It knows me. And I think, I think I’ve known it too. Since before I was born."

Celeste walked to the pedestal. Her fingers hovered above the stone but never touched. "This was buried after the War of Tethers," she said. "Long before any of us were born. Only the old spellbinders remembered its name."

"What was it called?" Beckett asked.

Celeste hesitated. "The Ember Gate."

Beckett exhaled. "Shit."

Camille’s eyes fluttered closed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The womb is the gate... the child, the war."

"What if the prophecy isn’t about ending the war?" Celeste said suddenly. "What if it’s about starting one?"

A pulse of energy rolled across the vault floor. They all felt it, like a distant thunderclap that came from inside the walls.

Beckett looked up sharply. "We need to get out of here."

But Camille didn’t move. Her voice changed, darker, layered with another. "It remembers the light."

"Camille?" Celeste knelt again. "Who’s speaking?"

"I am," the voice said, hers, and not hers.

"What are you?" Beckett demanded, drawing a warding rune in the air.

Camille smiled, but it wasn’t hers. "We are not ready. But we are coming."

Then her body went limp.

The vault door behind them creaked shut.

Celeste drew her dagger. "We need to go. Now."

The stone pulsed again.

And this time, something deep within it pulsed back.

"Camille?" Beckett’s voice was low, wary, as he stalked through the thickets under the silver-spangled canopy of night. The forest was quieter than usual, no owl hoots, no crunch of small creatures beneath the brush. Even the wind held its breath.

He had seen her slip away from the post-marking gathering, her gown trailing behind her like smoke, eyes distant, unfocused. That same eerie aura again. Beckett had seen it before, in dying wolves, or the ones too broken to howl. But this was different. More deliberate. More dangerous.

He stepped between trees, hiding his scent with a dust of crushed sage leaves, Magnolia had taught him that. Then he saw her.

Camille stood in the center of a glade, barefoot, arms raised like a priestess. Her eyes were wide open, unblinking, staring into the trees as though they breathed back at her.

"You promised me," she whispered, voice too soft to be meant for Beckett.

A shape shifted in the dark, a ripple, not a form. But Beckett saw it. Something there. Listening.

"I kept the blood vow. You owe me more than dreams now," Camille said, head tilting slowly. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Then a voice, not hers, answered. Cold. Malevolent. "Your flesh is the door. Keep it open."

Beckett’s hand flew to his dagger. But his foot snapped a branch beneath him.

Camille turned fast, too fast.

"Who’s there?" Her voice was her own again. Sweet. Curious.

Beckett stepped forward. "Camille... what the hell was that?"

She blinked. "Beckett?"

"You were talking to, someone. Something."

"No." She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "You’re mistaken."

"You’re losing yourself, Camille."

She tilted her head again, this time with childlike delight. "But Becka... you died in that fire, remember?"

Beckett froze.

Camille’s face changed in an instant. Her lips curled into a grin that wasn’t hers. Her voice dropped an octave. "Burned up like dry leaves. And still you follow me. Why?"

Beckett staggered back. "That’s not you."

She burst out laughing, shrill, distorted. Then collapsed to her knees, trembling.

When Beckett returned to camp, breath ragged, he went straight to Rhett.

"She’s talking to something. I heard it speak. It knew things. And then, she called me my sister’s name."

Rhett frowned. "You’re shaken. She’s under stress."

"I know what I saw."

Rhett’s jaw clenched. "Watch her. Don’t confront her again."

"Why not?"

"Because if we’re wrong, we’ve already lost her."

They both turned as a scream echoed in the distance, Camille’s voice.

"Ivy Clearwater, step forward."

Alpha Rhett’s voice carried through the silent clearing like thunder cracking over the hills. The full moon cast a brutal spotlight on the circle of wolves gathered at the ancient trial ground, the Stone of Judgment at the center like a blackened fang buried in the earth.

Ivy walked forward in shackles, head high, hair wild and eyes blazing. She wore a white shift soaked in blood from the scuffle that took her down.

"You stand accused of attempted assassination during a sacred rite. What say you?"

"I say this pack is blind." Her voice was venomous. "You’ve marked a curse onto your neck, Alpha."

Gasps. Whispers.

Magnolia stood behind Rhett, face unreadable.

"I watched your mate grow. I saw the rot bloom inside her. You call it love. I call it death."

"Enough." Rhett’s voice was calm, but his eyes glowed.

"You think it ends with me?" Ivy hissed. "Ask your mate what she dreams of. Ask her why the sky cracked when you marked her. Ask, "

She coughed violently, doubling over.

The crowd shifted.

Ivy coughed again, and black blood sprayed across the stone.

Screams erupted.

"She’s cursed!" someone shouted.

A healer rushed forward, but Ivy convulsed, her body twitching.

"Don’t touch her!" Celeste barked. "Let it pass."

But it didn’t. Ivy fell forward, twitching, her mouth foaming black.

In the silence, a whisper passed like wind:

"Camille touched her."

All eyes turned to where Camille stood... smiling faintly.

"No... no, please!"

Magnolia thrashed in sleep, her body tangled in sheets soaked with sweat. Her breath came in ragged bursts.

She was running, no, floating, through a nursery filled with cribs. The walls were gray. The cries echoed from nowhere. She reached into one crib.

A child. But its face... blank. Smooth skin. No eyes. No mouth. Nothing.

Every crib. The same.

At the door stood Camille.

Her gown red.

Her hands dripping with crimson.

She smiled. "You can’t stop what’s inside me."

"No!"

Magnolia sat up, screaming.

Rhett was at her side in seconds. "Magnolia?"

Her arms wrapped around her stomach. "Something’s wrong."

He pulled back the sheets.

Across her belly, three thin scratches. As if made by claws.

They hadn’t been there before.

She looked at him, eyes wide. "I think... she’s feeding on our bond."

Rhett’s face hardened. "Then we sever her. No matter what it takes."

The forge beneath Celeste’s sanctum burned hotter than usual. The scent of ash and jasmine filled the air as she placed the fractured blade onto the anvil.

"It’s time," she whispered.

Magnolia stood beside her, silent. Watching.

"This belonged to your ancestor, Lira of the Silver Pulse. She severed her sister’s curse with it. Now you must do the same."

Celeste poured molten silver across the break. Runes flared to life.

Magnolia’s voice trembled. "You want me to kill Camille?"

"I want you to survive her."

Outside, Rhett drilled his warriors. Preparing them. Tactics, patrols, seals of defense.

He hadn’t heard what Celeste said next:

"You’ll need this to sever something not born of flesh."

The blade hissed, whole again.

Celeste handed it to Magnolia. "Do not hesitate. Or we all die."

In the silence that followed, Camille stood beyond the window, watching.

Smiling.

Waiting.

And in her hand, a bloody hairbrush. Magnolia’s hair tangled in its bristles.