The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 94: Camille’s Splinter

The apothecary chamber smelled of crushed jasmine, damp bark, and dusted roots. Night air whispered through the cracked windowpane, curling around glass jars like ghostly fingers. Camille sat cross-legged on the stone floor, her hands trembling over a basin of moonwater, silver liquid trembling under the sway of candlelight. Her voice was low, murmuring to someone who wasn’t there.

"She said I shouldn’t have told them. But they needed to know," Camille whispered, eyes fixed on her wavering reflection. Her fingers tightened around a rust-colored herb she no longer remembered picking. "Celeste is watching me now. But she doesn’t see it. She never sees it."

The silence answered her.

Then another voice, her voice, but not quite, rose from her throat, sharp and venom-laced. "You’re weak. They will burn you like the rest."

She flinched and dropped the herb into the moonwater. It hissed, frothing with crimson streaks as if it bled. Her breath caught in her throat. Sweat glazed her temple.

"No," Camille choked. "I am not you."

Behind her, a shadow stirred.

Celeste entered without a sound, moving through the doorway like a whisper carried on salt and iron. Her long braid swayed against the dark blue fabric of her robe, eyes catching the candlelight with their piercing clarity. Her gaze landed on Camille, then on the basin.

"You’re speaking to the mirror again."

Camille rose too quickly. The world spun. Her back pressed to the wall as her eyes darted to the tall mirror leaning against the apothecary shelves. It was covered in dust and moon glyphs carved into the wood, a relic of Luna rituals lost to time.

"I wasn’t alone," Camille whispered. Her lips trembled. "She’s in here."

"Who?" Celeste took a step closer.

"The Other. The one who remembers what I shouldn’t."

Celeste’s brows drew tight. She took another step, now closer to Camille than the distance needed to soothe. The tension between them was wound like a string pulled taut.

"Is she the one who shattered the healing crystal yesterday? Or the one who cursed my name in the storm cellar?"

Camille looked toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her. Then blinked.

Twice.

Camille hadn’t blinked.

The mirror shuddered. A high-pitched hum filled the space between breath and panic.

Celeste turned to the mirror just as it cracked down the middle. One clean line, like a scar splitting flesh. But what shone through was not just fractured glass, it was the shimmer of a second reflection. One standing where Camille stood, but eyes pitch-black, a smirk dancing across bloodred lips.

"She said she’s tired of waiting," Camille said. Her voice softened, dulled, almost serene. "She wants out."

Celeste’s hand went to her dagger instinctively. She didn’t draw it, not yet. But she took a defensive stance, her body angled between Camille and the growing anomaly.

"Tell me exactly what you feel."

Camille touched her chest, fingers pressing against her sternum. "Cold. Like ice crawling under my ribs. But there’s warmth too, like, like hands holding mine in fire. It’s... confusing."

The second reflection raised a hand.

Camille’s arm lifted too.

Only, Camille was crying.

The Other was smiling.

"There is a fracture," Celeste whispered. "No, a split. Not possession. Not madness. A tether. A twin soul."

Camille laughed, broken and bitter. "She says you’re clever for a priestess."

Behind the mirror, the flame of the candles flickered violently, though no breeze stirred. The glyphs on the frame began to glow.

Celeste moved quickly, chanting under her breath, words buried deep in Luna rites that no council dared speak aloud. Her fingers danced in the air, pulling runes into being.

The mirror groaned. Glass shards spilled forward and froze mid-air like caught in amber.

Camille screamed, doubling over. Her hands clutched her head as if splitting it open might make the voice quieter. "She’s inside! Celeste, she’s burning!"

"Hold on to your name!" Celeste shouted. "Your name, Camille! It is your anchor!"

"She says it’s hers now!"

The air snapped.

The shards fell.

Silence. Then the basin cracked. The moonwater leaked, crawling across the floor like mercury searching for blood.

Camille lay curled in the fetal position, hair damp with sweat, the smell of burnt myrrh clinging to her skin. Celeste approached slowly, kneeling. She reached to touch her, but stopped.

"Are you with me?" Celeste asked.

Camille lifted her face. Her eyes were violet, not her natural hazel. Her lips curved upward.

"She isn’t."

Celeste didn’t hesitate. Her fingers lit with searing white light and pressed against Camille’s forehead. The body screamed. The chamber blazed.

The mirror reformed in a scream of glass and wind.

Then, silence again.

Camille lay still.

Celeste’s hands were burned. Her face paled. "This is no longer a fracture of soul. It is an invasion."

From behind the apothecary shelves, a low voice echoed, one that did not belong to either woman.

"Camille opened the door. Now we walk through."

The candlelights snuffed. Darkness swallowed them whole.

The stone beneath the estate moaned as if something ancient stirred below. The corridor, narrow, damp, breathing with mold and secrets, echoed with Beckett’s every step. His torch flickered against the thick, vaulted walls carved from wolfbone-laced granite, the ancient kind found only beneath sacred Luna grounds.

Celeste walked beside him, silent, her long white braid trailing down her shoulder like a ghost’s whisper. She carried a pouch of crushed herbs and salt, knotted thrice, swaying with each step. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with a rare edge of fear.

"Do you smell that?" Beckett asked.

"Blood. Old, thick. From a wound that never healed."

They stopped before the final wall.

Etched into the surface was a swirling crest: a child howling beneath a crescent moon. Claw marks, real ones, not carved, scarred the base like an animal had once tried to dig its way through.

"It shouldn’t be here," Beckett murmured.

"Yet it is. Just as the prophecy warned." Celeste extended her hand. Her fingers brushed the stone. The wall responded.

It sighed.

A soft exhale. The stone vibrated beneath their feet, like something behind it breathed in reply.

Beckett swallowed hard. "This isn’t just a crypt. It’s a tomb."

Celeste unwrapped her pouch and scattered the contents in a circle at their feet. "And possibly a cradle. The line between birth and burial is thin here."

He stepped forward, hand raised. But before his fingers made contact, the whisper came.

"Beckett."

A child’s voice. Barely audible, but unmistakable. The sound scraped down his spine.

"Did you hear that?"

Celeste didn’t answer immediately. She had gone utterly still, eyes fixed on the door.

"Who was it?" Beckett asked.

She exhaled. "It said your name. Didn’t it?"

He nodded, voice dry. "Sounded like my sister. But that’s not possible. She died before I was born."

Celeste whispered, "Not all things stay dead. Not here."

He turned toward her, brows furrowed. "You think this is some kind of memory echo?"

"No. I think it’s alive."

Beckett frowned. "Alive?"

"Or something pretending to be." She knelt, drawing a rune into the dust with her fingertip. "Help me uncover the markings."

They worked in silence, brushing away years of soot, dirt, and offerings left by forgotten ancestors. Glyphs emerged beneath their fingers, curving, sharp, some glowing faintly at their touch.

Beckett paused. "This one..."

Celeste leaned closer. "That is a blood seal. The vault won’t open without sacrifice."

He scoffed. "Of course it won’t."

"Your line built this estate," she reminded him. "There is power in old blood. And deeper curses in broken oaths."

"So what do we do? Cut a finger and hope it likes the taste?"

Celeste handed him a ceremonial blade. "Not hope. Intend."

Beckett grunted but took the blade without hesitation. His wolf stirred within, restless.

He pressed the blade against his palm. The cut was quick, deep. Blood dripped onto the central glyph.

The wall groaned again. Louder.

A second whisper followed. "Help me, Beckett."

He stumbled back. "I swear it said that."

"It did." Celeste’s voice lowered. "And now it knows you’re listening."

The glyphs burned with light, then pulsed out in a wave, each rune igniting in a sequence like a lock uncoiling. The stone cracked, dust falling like bone flakes.

Beckett breathed out, heart thudding. "What now?" ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"Now we enter. Together."

The wall split, not like a door swinging open, but like skin parting around a wound. The space beyond was darker than dark, silent, and smelling of iron and ash.

They stepped through.

The chamber beyond was wide, domed, with a single stone altar in the center. Chains hung from the ceiling, some broken, some taut. The floor bore symbols in dried blood, ancient runes of binding, concealment, memory.

Celeste froze. "This was a holding cell. Not for a prisoner. For a god."

Beckett stepped to the altar, drawn. There lay an object. Small. Wrapped in wolfhide.

He reached for it.

"Stop," Celeste said.

Too late.

His fingers touched it.

A scream filled the chamber.

Not from Celeste. Not from Beckett.

From the walls.

The stone itself howled.

Beckett fell to his knees. Visions exploded in his head,

Fire. Blood. A woman with white eyes. A child with claws.

"Beckett!" Celeste shook him.

He gasped, eyes snapping open. His veins glowed faintly with silver. The object fell from his hand. It was a tooth. Long, curved. Not human.

"You shouldn’t have touched it."

"It wanted me to."

"Exactly."

He looked up, pale. "There’s something buried under here."

Celeste nodded. "And now it knows you."

The room shifted. The chains trembled. The tooth rolled across the altar and stopped, pointing toward a second door hidden behind an illusion of wall.

"There’s more," Beckett whispered.

"There’s always more," Celeste replied.

The whisper came again. This time, from behind the second door.

"Beckett, I’ve been waiting."

They turned. The door began to glow.

And the air thickened, pressing in.

Neither of them breathed.

Then the second door began to open.