The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond

The sound of the chamber doors slamming open echoed like a gunshot.

Robes rustled. Elders straightened. Gasps rippled through the room like wind before a storm.

Camille Blake stood in the threshold, her eyes wild, her braid half-loosened, strands of her raven hair spilling down her face like spilled ink. Moonlight shimmered across her skin, casting shadows that didn’t quite follow the laws of light.

She walked like fire, uninvited, unannounced, unafraid.

"I wasn’t summoned," she said, voice too calm for the chaos she brought, "but I speak all the same."

"Camille," Celeste whispered, half-rising from her seat. "Don’t."

But Camille was already halfway down the aisle, robes flowing behind her like the wings of a fallen seraph. The elder guards stepped forward, hands reaching for blades, but Beckett moved fast, blocking them with a raised palm.

"Don’t be foolish," he muttered. "She’s not a threat."

"She’s a Blake," Sterling said, his voice cold. "Which is the same thing."

Camille ignored him. Her gaze locked on Magnolia.

Magnolia, who stood tall despite the weight crushing her shoulders. Her eyes met Camille’s for only a second. It was enough.

Sister to sister. Broken to broken.

Camille turned to the elders, her voice sharp. "You want to judge her for what she carries? Then you judge me too."

Sterling raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you claim to carry, child?"

"I carried her screams," Camille said, stepping onto the ceremonial floor. "I held her when she couldn’t shift, when her veins burned from the inside and no elder answered our calls. I watched her carve her name into her own arms just to remember she existed."

The air tightened. Several elders shifted uncomfortably.

"You didn’t see the visions," Camille said, her voice rising. "You didn’t hear the wolves that circled our house every full moon. You didn’t smell the sulfur when our mother wept in her sleep. We were born cursed? No. We were born chosen. And you turned your backs on us."

Elder Dymos rose. "This is a sacred trial. Not a platform for hysteria."

Camille’s laugh was bitter. "Oh, forgive me. I didn’t realize sacred meant orchestrated."

Sterling stepped forward. "Your tongue has always been sharp. Do not mistake our patience for permission."

"And you," Camille snapped, her eyes flaring silver, "have always mistaken cruelty for strength."

Rhett moved to speak, but Celeste shot him a look. Don’t interrupt her. Not yet.

The eldest high priestess, a woman called Virelle with skin like parchment and eyes like polished jet, stood slowly. Her voice was thin but unyielding.

"Camille Blake, daughter of the Spellbinder line, you have no authority to speak in this chamber."

"I don’t need authority," Camille replied. "I have truth."

Virelle raised her staff, a ceremonial thing made of moon-bone and wrapped in silver thread. "Then speak carefully, girl. The walls remember."

Camille’s shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. "Magnolia isn’t cursed. She’s the result of what you buried. You erased the Binding War from your records, but it happened. You burned Luna’s chosen because she carried power you couldn’t understand. That bloodline still lives. In us."

The room erupted into murmurs. Some of the elders looked at each other, frowning. Others folded their arms. Sterling said nothing.

Beckett stepped forward slightly. "What do you mean by ’Binding War’?"

Camille’s gaze swept the chamber. "There was a woman, a Luna, who bore twins. One of light, one of shadow. The shadow was exiled. The light was crowned. And every generation since has paid the price of that choice. The seal that was locked with blood has begun to open."

Celeste’s lips parted, stunned. "You read the text in the forgotten vault..."

Camille nodded. "And I memorized every word."

Sterling’s smile was cold. "Convenient, then, that you appear now, just as your sister’s blood threatens to split the pack in two."

"I came because she needed someone to speak for her." Camille’s voice cracked. "And because I know what happens when the wrong Luna is cast aside. It doesn’t just doom her. It dooms us all."

"Enough," Virelle said.

"No," Camille said softly. "Not enough. Never enough."

She walked to the altar, palms open. Her hands glowed faintly, blue-white. Her body shimmered with the presence of old magic, the kind even the elders feared.

"I was born with the same blood," she said. "Test me. Judge me. Tear me open and find the curse, if that’s what you want. But I won’t let you bury her alive just because her light is inconvenient."

Sterling turned to the elders. "You see now. They speak of prophecy, of twin souls, of spirits. It is heresy wrapped in drama."

Camille smiled. "You fear her. Because she doesn’t bow. Because she shines where others shrink. But fear is not the same as fate."

Rhett stepped forward. "Enough posturing. She speaks truth."

Sterling’s eyes narrowed. "You’ve already lost your voice in this matter."

"Then let my silence speak for itself," Rhett said, standing beside Magnolia.

Camille turned to leave, but her power surged. The floor cracked beneath her. The moonlight above trembled. And then, without warning, her magic flared.

The elder’s staff, Virelle’s, shattered in her hand.

A sound like a scream of wind tore through the hall. The elders ducked. Some shouted. Celeste rushed forward.

Camille stood in the center, chest heaving, eyes glowing silver, surrounded by shattered shards of bone and silver.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "The bond is real. And it’s waking up."

Sterling didn’t move. He just smiled.

Quietly. Slowly.

As if something in his plan had just fallen perfectly into place.

Celeste moved through the corridors of the Lunar Archives like a storm in still waters.

The others had scattered, some in rage, some in fear, but her mind remained fixated. Not on Camille’s flare of power or even Sterling’s smug reaction. It was the word Camille had spoken: seal.

It echoed in her skull, pressing against memories she had locked away centuries ago.

The archives were older than the council itself, built into the belly of the mountain, where sunlight never touched and secrets fed on shadows. No torch was needed here; the stones themselves remembered light. They glowed faintly when someone of Luna’s line passed through. They glowed now under Celeste’s feet.

She reached the lower chamber, a forgotten vault, sealed not by lock, but by blood.

She drew her palm over the etched stone door. It did not open. It quivered.

"You remember me," she whispered.

Then, without hesitation, she drew a blade from her robe, sliced the edge of her thumb, and pressed her blood into the seal.

The door sighed and opened like an old wound.

Inside, dust rose in waves. Scrolls lined the curved walls, but it was the center that drew her, the pedestal carved from onyx, and atop it, a tome. Bound in shadow-beast hide. Inked in the blood of the last Spellbinder matriarch.

The Book of Binding.

Her fingers shook as she opened it. The first page still bore the warning:

"Here lies the truth the moon tried to bury."

She turned page after page. Spells. Prophecies. Lineages long erased from history. Then she found it, scrawled not in the elegant hand of scribes but in the erratic ink of a dying seer.

"She will come marked in blood not her own. Branded by whispers. Carved in dream. When she stands, the gate will tremble. When she breathes, the seal will strain. And when she loves, the war will rise again."

Celeste’s throat tightened.

Magnolia. It was her.

Her arms bore the runes that had once been feared. Her bloodline, traced now with fire, matched the forgotten descendants of Luna’s second-born daughter. A line banished from history after the Binding War.

A line they tried to cleanse.

She copied the passage onto a fresh scroll, fingers numb, heart thudding. As she moved to leave, a sound stopped her.

Beckett.

He stood at the entrance, the glow from the stone highlighting the tired strain in his face.

"You felt it too," he said.

Celeste nodded.

"You think it’s her?"

"I know it is."

He stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Camille wasn’t lying, was she?"

"No." Celeste handed him the scroll. "She was more right than she knows."

Beckett read in silence. When he looked up, his voice cracked. "This prophecy... the last line..."

When she loves, the war will rise again.

"She and Rhett are bonded," Celeste said quietly. "Even if incomplete. The mark is already feeding."

Beckett shook his head. "The elders won’t accept this."

"They’ll have no choice."

"Sterling will twist it."

"He already has."

Celeste walked past him, her grip on the scroll like iron. "Come. We must present it before Sterling poisons the rest of the truth."

Beckett followed without question.

They arrived back in the upper chambers just as the council reconvened. The arena had shifted, half now ringed with banners of judgment. Magnolia stood at its center, robes marked with ceremonial ash, her hands bound in silver thread. Rhett sat restrained behind her. Camille, nowhere in sight.

Sterling turned as they entered. "What brings the high seer and the blade-master so quickly?"

Celeste said nothing. She stepped into the circle and raised the scroll.

"This prophecy is unsealed. I present it as proof of ancestral bond and rebirth."

The room buzzed. Elder Dymos stood. "Where did you find this?"

"In the forbidden vault," Celeste replied. "It was sealed by your fathers to prevent this very truth."

Sterling’s eyes narrowed. "Forgery. Hysteria. Ancient texts mean nothing if not sanctioned."

"They are sanctioned," Beckett growled. "By Luna’s blood."

Celeste moved to Magnolia, held the scroll beside her. "Read the mark on her arm. Then read this."

The oldest priestess moved forward. She examined Magnolia’s exposed skin. Her fingertips brushed a scar, once thought accidental, now shaped like the gate glyph described.

"She bears the Seal of the Womb."

Gasps followed. One elder stepped back as if burned.

"She’s not cursed," Celeste said. "She is the lock."

"She is the harbinger!" Sterling shouted, stepping forward, face wild now. "The prophecy doesn’t end with peace! It says war will rise again!"

"And it will," Celeste said. "But that war can be guided, not feared."

Sterling’s eyes glittered. "You would gamble our future on her?" freēwēbnovel.com

"I would bet the past already chose her."

Sterling’s voice dropped. "Then let the record show... she is no Luna. She is the blade."

And with that, he reached into his robe and withdrew a second scroll.

He unrolled it, holding it high.

"This prophecy," he said, "was found in the Temple of the Hollow Moon. It describes a woman of flame. A woman whose blood opens the vault. Who cracks the mirrors. Who brings ruin."

Celeste’s blood turned cold.

Beckett stepped forward. "That prophecy is incomplete. It was forged by the traitor priests during the Rebellion."

Sterling ignored him. "Listen to this." His voice rose like a preacher’s.

"She will rise in silver breath, eyes of ash, lips of ember. She will weep in crimson, and through her sorrow, the gate will scream. Her love will bind the war, and break it."

He turned to Magnolia. "Word for word. Tell me, when you look in the mirror... what do you see?"

Magnolia met his gaze. Her voice was soft, but unshaken.

"I see someone you fear."

Sterling stiffened.

"I see the moon’s mistake," she continued, "and her correction."

Celeste’s voice followed, rising. "You read the words of fear. I bring the words of remembrance."

"Let the council vote!" Sterling shouted.

"No," Camille’s voice rang from the balcony above.

All heads turned.

She stood there, eyes burning. In her hand... the twin scroll to Celeste’s.

"You want a vote?" Camille asked. "Then vote knowing the truth. I found this with your scroll. The one you hid."

Sterling’s face paled.

Camille unrolled it.

And began to read.