The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 34: Sterling’s Interception

Camille didn’t feel the cold anymore.

She walked barefoot now, her boots abandoned somewhere beyond the second stone, the frost crunching beneath her steps without sinking in. The pain in her feet was distant, as if her body no longer belonged solely to her. It was something she wore now, like a coat. Something she could step out of, if needed.

The bond mark on her palm burned.

Not with fire.

With memory.

Each step forward pulled more of it out images, sounds, fragments. Her mother’s lullaby. The weight of chains. A voice whispering you were never meant to wake.

The forest ahead opened.

And there he was.

Sterling.

Waiting like he knew she would come.

He stood in a clearing of stone and snow, cloak fluttering in the wind, hands behind his back. His silver hair was braided neatly down his spine, as if he’d prepared for this meeting long before she ever decided to run.

"You’re early," he said.

Camille didn’t stop walking until she was ten feet away.

"I’m not here for you."

"No," Sterling said softly. "You’re here for her."

Camille blinked.

"What?"

"The girl in the mirror."

Her stomach twisted.

He smiled.

"I knew she would call eventually. You always had her inside you. Even when they changed your name."

Camille said nothing.

Sterling tilted his head. "Do you know why they chose you?"

"Because I survived the trials."

"No," he said. "Because you didn’t fight back."

Camille’s fingers twitched.

"I’m not her anymore."

"But you could be," he offered. "You could be more."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You want me to join you."

"I want you to rule with me."

Camille laughed. It was harsh and hollow.

"You tortured me."

"I perfected you."

She stepped closer.

"You stripped my identity."

"I gave you one the world would fear."

She didn’t blink.

"You killed my future."

"I forged your destiny."

They stood in silence, tension stretched so tight it could slice.

Sterling extended a hand.

"There’s nothing left for you back there. No home. No mate. No peace. Only pain."

Camille looked down at his palm.

Then back at her own.

Her mark pulsed red, angry, alive.

"I’ve lived with pain," she whispered.

She raised her hand.

And burned the sigil he offered her.

The fire ate through the air between them, devouring his seal like dry parchment.

Sterling didn’t flinch.

He only smiled.

"I’ll see you at the gate."

Camille stumbled back from the fire’s edge, breath hitching. The flames swallowed Sterling’s sigil and died in the snow, leaving nothing but ash and a circle of scorched earth.

He didn’t pursue.

He only watched as she turned and ran.

The forest groaned behind her.

And the wind howled.

But Camille ran.

Branches tore at her arms. Roots caught at her feet. Her breath turned ragged, but she didn’t stop. Not even when her legs threatened to buckle. Not even when blood trickled down her calves.

Because something was coming.

And it wasn’t Sterling.

It was worse.

A low growl echoed behind her.

Not an animal.

Not a wolf.

A mimic.

She remembered them from the cradle chamber. Creatures forged to test her blood. Part shadow, part bond. They only mimicked one thing

Her.

The sound behind her became a heartbeat.

Hers.

Repeated.

Copied.

Until she was hearing it outside her body, around her, inside the trees.

She skidded to a halt at the edge of a ravine.

Too steep to descend.

Too high to leap.

And behind her, the mimic arrived.

It looked like her.

Exactly.

Same face.

Same hair.

Same mark.

Only its eyes were black as pits. Its mouth was smiling too wide.

"Found you," it hissed.

Camille’s hands trembled.

"You’re not me."

The mimic tilted its head.

"But I could be."

It moved fast.

Too fast.

Camille ducked, rolled, came up with her dagger.

It slashed her arm with claws that hadn’t been there seconds ago.

"You were supposed to die in the water," the mimic said, circling. "I was supposed to wake in your place."

"I’m awake now," Camille said.

The mimic lunged.

They collided with bone-jarring force, rolling into the snow. Camille stabbed blindly, slicing its shoulder. It screamed her scream and shoved her back.

"You’re too weak."

"I’m still here."

Camille’s blade found the mimic’s chest.

But it didn’t die.

It laughed.

Because it didn’t have a heart.

Not yet.

The fight turned brutal.

Hands.

Claws.

Teeth.

Camille fought with everything not skill, but fury. She used every lesson Elara had ever taught her, every strike she’d ever pulled, every blow she’d ever taken.

And finally, when the mimic pinned her, laughing in her face

She let go.

Of the fear.

Of the restraint.

Of the girl they had made her be.

She screamed.

The bond exploded from her chest in a pulse of red light that knocked the mimic into the ravine.

It fell.

And didn’t rise.

Camille collapsed in the snow, gasping.

But not sobbing.

Not this time.

Because for once

She didn’t feel afraid.

She felt free.

Magnolia reached the ravine at dusk.

Smoke hung in the trees like ghosts. The snow was churned with blood and claw marks. But Camille wasn’t there.

Just ashes.

And a body.

Not hers.

Magnolia knelt beside it. The face was hers. Or close enough.

A mimic.

She didn’t hesitate.

She drove her blade through its spine.

Behind her, the woods shifted.

Camille stood between the trees.

Alive.

Barefoot.

Bleeding.

Changed.

Magnolia turned slowly.

Camille didn’t speak.

Magnolia did.

"You fought it."

Camille nodded.

"I killed it."

"You almost died."

"I was supposed to."

Magnolia’s voice cracked. "You scared me."

Camille stepped forward.

"I scare myself."

They stared at each other in the dimming light.

Then Magnolia said, "Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?"

"Because I didn’t want you to stop me."

"I would’ve followed."

"I knew."

Camille’s eyes shone.

"But I didn’t want to be followed. I wanted to be found."

Magnolia stepped closer.

"Then let me find you now."

Camille’s voice was barely a whisper.

"Do you still love me?"

Magnolia reached out.

Touched her cheek.

"I never stopped."

Camille closed her eyes.

"But you kissed him."

"I kissed grief."

They didn’t embrace.

They just stood there.

Broken.

But not apart.

Magnolia whispered, "Come home."

Camille said, "I don’t know where that is anymore."

"Then we’ll build one."

"From what?"

"From this."

She took Camille’s hand.

And the bond flared again.

Not perfect.

But real.