The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 71: The Vessel’s Confession

"You have to listen to me."

Camille’s voice was barely a whisper, a fragile thread breaking through the thick silence of the healer’s chamber. She sat on the edge of the worn cot, clutching a faded leather journal close to her chest as if it were the only thing holding her fractured world together. Her fingers trembled, tracing the embossed cover like a desperate prayer. The candlelight flickered softly, casting wavering shadows on the cold stone walls, shadows that seemed to dance with the ghosts of secrets long buried.

Savannah leaned closer, her eyes sharp and unwavering, searching for any sign of deceit in the pale face before her. But there was none. Only pain, exhaustion, and the weight of a truth too heavy for one person to carry alone.

"Tell me everything," Savannah urged, her voice steady but gentle, the kind that could coax a dying ember back to life.

Camille swallowed hard, her throat tight as she began to unravel the threads of a story that had been kept silent for too long. "I was never just a sister. Not a pawn. I’m a vessel. Born to carry the Hollowfang prophecy, the bloodline that was meant to decide the fate of our pack."

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, as Rhett stepped quietly into the room. His presence filled the space like a gathering storm, strong, determined, yet shadowed by uncertainty. His eyes locked onto Camille, the brother he thought he knew, now a stranger haunted by a destiny far darker than he had imagined.

"You mean what you said in your visions? That you were used?" Rhett’s voice was low, rough with disbelief and a simmering anger that had no outlet.

Camille nodded, tears threatening to spill over the edges of her weary eyes. "Sterling never cared about me. Not really. He used me to control the pack, to silence the true heir, you, Rhett. I was meant to bear his child, secure his reign."

Savannah’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "But you’re more than that. You’re fighting back. You’re not just a tool for their schemes."

Camille’s breath hitched, her voice barely audible. "I want to fight. But the power inside me is dangerous. It’s tied to something ancient, something no one truly understands."

Rhett’s jaw tightened, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like the cold stone beneath their feet. "Then we face it together. As family."

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft crackle of the candle flame. Camille looked from Savannah to Rhett, hope flickering in her eyes for the first time in days.

"We have to stop Sterling," she whispered. "Before the prophecy destroys us all."

Outside, the wind howled like a lone wolf mourning a lost pack, and the chamber seemed to hold its breath in ominous anticipation.

Camille’s confession was only the beginning.

In the days that followed, the weight of the prophecy pressed heavier on the pack. Secrets began to unravel in the shadowed corners of the estate. Magnolia found herself haunted by dreams filled with fire and blood, whispers of ancient Luna magic calling to her from beyond the veil. Rhett’s nights were restless, filled with visions of a throne soaked in betrayal.

The bond between Rhett and Magnolia deepened dangerously, a tether pulled taut between power and desire. Their connection was no longer just physical; it was spiritual, electric, filled with unspoken promises and unyielding struggles. Each touch sparked fire, each glance was a battle. They were bound by something far greater than either could understand, and it threatened to consume them both.

Camille’s warnings grew darker. Sterling’s plan to remove Rhett and rule through her had taken shape in terrifying clarity. The pack’s elders whispered of war, alliances fractured, and shadows gathering in every corner. Celeste, the wise Luna of the pack, approached Magnolia with ancient scrolls, forgotten relics of forbidden power. The parchment crackled with energy, its secrets dangerous and intoxicating.

Magnolia hesitated, knowing the knowledge could either save or doom them all.

As the prophecy unfurled, the pack stood on the edge of a precipice, between salvation and destruction. The forgotten pulse of the bond was awakening, and none could escape its call.

The night air was thick with tension as the pack gathered beneath the ancient oaks. Faces were lined with fear and resolve. Rhett stood at the center, the weight of leadership heavy on his shoulders. Magnolia by his side, eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight, a silent promise of strength.

Camille watched from the shadows, her own heart torn between loyalty and survival. She knew the path ahead was fraught with danger, betrayal, and heartbreak.

But the pulse of the bond beat stronger than ever.

And in its rhythm, there was hope.

"She was never supposed to tell you," Beckett said, voice raw, the forest canopy casting fractured light across his bruised face. "Camille. About the vessel... the prophecy."

Savannah didn’t look at him. She stood beside Rhett, eyes pinned to the disturbed patch of ground at their feet. The earth was still soft, as if recently overturned by something, or someone, desperate. Her hands, cold and trembling, flexed at her sides. She didn’t want to dig. She didn’t want to know what lay beneath that fragile skin of dirt.

And yet, she couldn’t leave it untouched.

Rhett crouched, one knee sinking into the moss. He brushed his palm over the soil. "There’s something buried here," he murmured. "Something old."

"Don’t," Beckett warned, stepping forward, but Rhett was already pulling the earth away in ragged handfuls.

Savannah knelt beside him, and they worked in silence. The forest around them hushed as if it too were holding its breath. It wasn’t long before Rhett’s fingers struck something harder than root or stone.

Bone.

Not white, not clean, but yellowed and blackened, etched with marks so deep they looked as if fire had cut through them. Symbols curved and spiraled along the ribs and femur, tangled in forgotten language. A jawbone emerged next, its teeth still intact, clenched as if the body it belonged to had died in pain, or fury.

Savannah recoiled slightly, not in fear, but recognition.

"These markings..." she whispered, tracing one with the pad of her finger. "They match the symbols Camille drew in her journal. The ones she said burned into her mind at night."

Beckett ran a hand through his hair. "They’re prophecy runes. Forbidden. Passed down through blood, not books. Only a Luna can interpret them."

Rhett stood slowly, brushing the soil from his hands. "Camille said she was a vessel. For what?"

"For the power that controls the Alpha Line," Beckett replied. "For the thing Sterling’s trying to bring back."

The silence that followed was unnatural. Even the birds seemed to sense the weight of what had been said.

"What is it?" Savannah asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Rhett turned to Beckett. "Answer her."

But Beckett hesitated, and that was enough. Savannah stepped toward him, her voice firm now. "Tell me what she meant. Tell me why Camille looked like she was terrified of herself when she left."

Beckett’s shoulders sagged, as if the truth itself had weight.

"Because she was," he admitted. "There’s an old legend, older than this land, older than the first Luna. That an Alpha born under bloodlight would be bonded not to a mate, but to a source. A vessel. A living conduit for something ancient and restless."

Savannah’s breath hitched. "You mean Camille."

"She was never meant to survive past the awakening. The prophecy was supposed to claim her before the bond completed," Beckett said, bitter. "But she lived. And now it’s changing her. She’s fighting it, but she’s losing."

Rhett stepped forward, eyes narrow. "What does Sterling want with her?"

"To rule," Beckett said simply. "Through her."

Savannah’s mouth went dry. "That’s why he wants Rhett gone."

Beckett nodded. "You’re in the way. But it’s not just about you. It’s about the bond between you two. He knows Camille’s presence disrupts it."

The trees swayed above them, though no wind stirred. Savannah looked at the ground again, the bones, the markings, the pain they radiated.

"What happened here?" she asked softly.

Beckett closed his eyes. "This is where the last vessel died. Where they tried to sever the prophecy. The earth remembers it. And now... it’s starting again."

Rhett glanced back at the grave. "How do we stop it?"

"You don’t," Beckett said. "Not unless you’re willing to lose everything."

A sharp crack snapped through the air, a branch breaking nearby. All three turned. In the silence that followed, Savannah heard it: breathing. Wet. Labored.

She grabbed Rhett’s arm.

Something moved just beyond the undergrowth.

Beckett stepped between them and the noise, one hand going to the blade at his hip. "We need to go. Now."

But it was too late.

A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black, face obscured by a bone-white mask. The mask bore the same spirals as the bones beneath their feet.

"They found us," Rhett muttered, and lunged.

The masked figure swung first, claws flashing, catching Rhett across the shoulder. Blood sprayed across the trees, sharp and sudden. Beckett tackled the attacker, the two tumbling into the dirt.

"Run!" he shouted to Savannah.

But Savannah didn’t run.

She reached down, snatched a thick branch, and swung as another cloaked figure lunged from the trees. The impact cracked bone and mask alike, and the figure crumpled with a shriek.

More were coming.

Dozens, slipping from the trees like ghosts. All wearing the same mask. All with the same mark scorched into their palms.

Beckett stumbled back, blood pouring from a gash in his side.

"We can’t outrun them," Savannah gasped.

Rhett grabbed her hand. "Then we go to the chapel. Now."

They tore through the trees, Beckett limping behind. The forest shifted around them, roots seeming to twist and writhe as if alive. One masked follower reached for Savannah, she ducked, slid under a fallen trunk, heart hammering.

They burst into the chapel clearing, its stone spire piercing the sky like a dagger.

Savannah yanked the doors open. Inside, it was dark, colder than it should’ve been. As the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, silence fell again.

Rhett leaned against the wall, panting. "They didn’t follow."

"They’re not allowed to cross sacred ground," Beckett said hoarsely.

Savannah turned toward the altar. Something glimmered behind it, a panel in the wall, slightly ajar.

She stepped forward, pulled it open.

A passage descended into darkness.

Rhett joined her, brushing dirt and sweat from his face. "What is this?"

Beckett stared at the entrance like he was staring into a grave.

"It’s where Sterling hid the truth," he said. "And if Camille’s right, it’s where you’ll find the rest of the prophecy."

Savannah took the first step down.

Beneath her, the stones were marked with runes.

The pulse of something ancient stirred in the dark.