The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 16: The Bond That Bleeds

Camille’s eyes opened as the first rays of dawn crept through the frost-laced windowpanes.

There was no grand flare of light. No scream. No flash of power or gust of wind. Just a slow, deliberate inhale like her lungs were waking after a long, deathless slumber and a silence so deep it split the room in two.

Across the estate, deep inside the eastern wing, Magnolia sat bolt upright in bed.

Her chest seized.

The bond silent since the collapse of the catacomb seal snapped taut across her ribcage like a noose yanked tight. The mark on her palm burned under the linen wrap. But it wasn’t pain. Not quite.

It was a whisper.

A word she didn’t hear with her ears.

Awake.

She didn’t panic.

Didn’t rush.

She rose, dressed in silence, and walked the stone corridors barefoot, her cloak dragging slightly behind her like the echo of a burden no one else could see. Guards straightened at her approach, lowering their heads without speaking. Even the walls felt like they were holding their breath.

She passed Rhett in the hallway. His arms were folded, his eyes shadowed, lips pressed tight as if he already knew what she would say.

She didn’t speak to him.

She didn’t need to.

She passed Beckett leaning against the railing outside the infirmary stairwell. He didn’t follow. He didn’t nod. He just exhaled and it sounded too much like a prayer to ignore.

The eastern ward door stood ahead, painted in soft hues of ash and silver. She placed her hand against it, her branded palm burning against the polished oak.

Inside, the air was heavier. Charged.

Camille sat upright on the edge of the bed, legs hanging over the side like a girl lost in thought. Her hair was unbound, draped over her shoulders in unruly waves. Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Lips chapped and colorless. And yet, her eyes

Sharp.

Alert.

Awake.

They met Magnolia’s instantly.

And the bond between them trembled.

Camille didn’t flinch.

Neither did Magnolia.

She stepped into the room without a word, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Silence stretched between them, a chasm only memory could cross.

Then Camille blinked. Her voice came out brittle but certain.

"I died."

Magnolia sat slowly in the chair beside her. "No. You drowned."

Camille tilted her head. "Again."

"Yes."

"But this time, I saw him," Camille said, voice almost dreamy. "He told me I was beautiful."

Magnolia’s breath caught.

"He called me the gate. Said you were the key. That’s why it always hurt when we were apart."

Her fingers lifted, brushing the edge of the linen wrap on Magnolia’s hand. Slowly, gently, she peeled it away, revealing the faint glow of the branded sigil beneath.

"He left a seed in both of us," Camille whispered. "But it’s growing faster in you."

Magnolia looked down at her palm. "Why?"

Camille’s lips parted in a bitter smile. "Because you’re stronger."

Magnolia shook her head. "That’s not "

"Don’t lie," Camille interrupted, her tone flat. "You held the seal. You cast him out. You didn’t just survive him. You wounded him. I saw it."

"I’m not proud of that."

"You should be," Camille said. Her eyes glittered, something fractured dancing behind them. "He respected you for it."

Magnolia flinched. "I don’t want his respect."

"But you have it," Camille murmured.

Magnolia rose from the chair and sat beside her on the bed instead. "You’re not him, Camille."

Camille nodded slowly. "Not anymore."

A beat passed.

"But I’m not just me, either."

Silence thickened between them again, more weighted this time dangerous.

Then Camille whispered, "Do you think it’s over?"

Magnolia’s chest tightened. "No. I think it’s just starting."

Outside the ward, Beckett stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed, posture tense. His ears strained. He didn’t move.

Rhett stood a few paces down, reading the expression on Beckett’s face like a battlefield map.

"She’s different," Beckett said at last.

"She always was," Rhett replied.

Beckett shook his head. "Not like this."

Rhett didn’t argue.

Because he agreed.

Saying it aloud would only make it real.

That evening, the estate held a private supper.

No ceremony. No public announcement. No guards, no outer circle.

Just the core.

The ones who had survived the mountain.

The ones who knew what was still coming.

Camille arrived last, wearing a gown of muted gray. Her face was blank. Not unreadable just unread.

Magnolia took her seat beside her.

Beckett sat two chairs down, knife untouched beside his plate.

Ivy stared at her wine as if hoping it would whisper the answers no one dared speak.

Celeste stood by the far window, her hand resting over her heart, watching the sky darken.

Only Rhett looked directly at Camille. And he never looked away.

The meal passed in silence. Forks scraped softly. Cups clinked. No one spoke of the obvious.

But when the wind howled through the walls high, mournful, ancient Camille smiled.

Just once.

Later that night, Magnolia found herself in the observatory tower. The stars were hidden behind clouds, but the old lens was still warm from use. Their father had loved this place. He used to tell stories about wolves written into constellations, fated to war and bond beyond the moon.

She stood at the window, arms crossed, lost in the rhythm of the wind.

Camille appeared beside her without sound.

No greeting.

Just presence.

"I had a dream," Camille said.

Magnolia’s eyes didn’t move from the sky. "Was it his?"

"No," Camille whispered. "It was mine."

"And?"

"I was standing in the river again. Same place. But this time... you were there. On the bank. Reaching." ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Magnolia said nothing.

"I didn’t take your hand."

Magnolia’s throat closed. "Why?"

"Because I wasn’t supposed to come back."

Magnolia turned. "But you did."

Camille’s eyes shimmered. "I’m afraid of what it means."

"So am I."

A long silence passed between them.

Then Camille’s voice softened to almost nothing. "Do you think if we had been born normal without this blood, this fate we would’ve stayed sisters?"

Magnolia stepped forward, eyes burning. "We are sisters."

Camille looked away. "Are we?"

Far below, in the private office Sterling once claimed, Rhett turned another page in the old journal.

Each line was more frenzied than the last. Sketches. Runes. Maps. Incantations. Rituals.

At the bottom of a half-torn page circled three times in dark red ink was one line:

Ashriel cannot be destroyed. Only divided.

He stared at it.

Then looked up toward the ceiling.

Toward them.

In the lower sanctum, Elara Winslow traced a finger along the rim of an ancient bowl filled with soot-black water.

All thirteen candles around her had burned low. The protective runes glowed pale. The air trembled with prophecy.

She touched the soil.

It hissed.

Whispers rose. Not words. Not songs.

Just screams.

Two shapes danced in her vision.

Two girls.

One wrapped in fire.

One cloaked in frost.

And between them...

A gate of bone and stars.

Elara opened her eyes, shivering.

"They will break," she whispered.

"Or we will."

It was the sound that woke Magnolia.

Not a cry.

A sob.

Choked and quiet and raw.

She shot upright in bed, heart pounding, the mark on her hand pulsing erratically.

Camille.

She raced down the hall, ignoring the guards, the shifting winds.

But when she opened her sister’s door

The bed was empty.

The covers thrown back.

The window wide open.

Curtains danced like ghosts.

And the wind?

The wind whispered her name.