The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 91: The Hollow Memory

The firelight danced across Rhett’s bare chest as he stood over the sacred basin. A jagged line of claw marks shimmered faintly, not from any beast but from the waking dream that had gripped him only hours before. He stared into the basin, watching the water ripple as if disturbed by a wind that did not exist. Behind him, the air thickened. A scent. Lavender and bloodroot.

Magnolia entered in silence. Her cloak whispered against the stone, her steps light as if the earth itself dared not weigh her down. "You should rest," she murmured.

"I can’t sleep. Not when I see her face every time I close my eyes."

"Your mother?" Her voice barely rose above the echo of the fire.

He nodded, his jaw flexing. "She told me to bleed for it. For the throne. But I don’t even know what it means."

Magnolia moved beside him, her fingers grazing the edge of the basin. "The old blood speaks in riddles. They want your body to remember what your mind has not yet learned."

Rhett turned, his eyes catching the low flamelight. "You sound like Celeste."

"I spent too many years learning from her not to."

His gaze dropped to her hand. A silver scar curled along her thumb, a mark he’d never noticed until now. "What happened here?"

Magnolia hesitated. Then, deliberately, she turned her hand over. "When I was fifteen, I tried to perform a binding rite alone. It was forbidden, and I was... impatient."

"Did it work?"

"I bled for it," she whispered. "But I didn’t understand what I was binding."

A long silence bloomed. Then, without thinking, Rhett reached for her hand. Their fingers brushed. Her breath caught. A memory surged, not hers, not his. Something older, darker.

The room rippled.

Rhett’s pupils dilated. "Did you feel that?"

Magnolia pulled back, clutching her chest. "It’s the prophecy waking."

"Through us?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we were never meant to separate."

She stepped back, shaking her head as if trying to erase the vision that had passed between them. Her voice came out strained. "Celeste warned me this might happen. The scrolls you touched, they don’t just awaken power. They choose where to root."

He ran a hand through his hair. "So this... bond. It wasn’t just born from the rite."

"It was older than either of us. We just stepped into it."

The basin behind them churned violently. Water leapt upward, crashing against the stone rim. A pulse of energy spread through the chamber.

Rhett took a step back. "What now?"

Magnolia’s eyes narrowed. "Someone else is watching."

The shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls. From the far corner, a shape stirred. Cloaked in darkness, a voice echoed. "You shouldn’t have touched the scroll."

Rhett moved instinctively in front of Magnolia. "Show yourself."

The figure stepped forward. It was Camille. But her eyes... they glowed silver. Not the hue of her usual sight, but something ancient.

"Camille?" Magnolia said cautiously.

Camille tilted her head. Her lips moved, but the voice that emerged was not hers. "The Moon remembers. The blood sings. And the child must decide."

"You’re possessed," Rhett said, his hands curling into fists.

"I am a vessel," Camille said in a voice that vibrated the walls. "Chosen to carry memory not mine."

Magnolia stepped closer. "Why are you here?"

"Because the Hollowfang line has been broken. The pact must be renewed."

"Through Rhett?"

Camille’s eyes shimmered. "Through both. But only if the heart holds true."

The room dimmed. A heartbeat echoed, not from within them but from the very stone beneath their feet.

"You risk awakening the worst," Camille murmured, more herself now. "That scroll you touched was not meant for your hands."

"And yet it answered mine," Magnolia said, straightening.

Camille studied her, and something like sadness passed through her features. "Then the war begins tonight."

With that, she collapsed. Rhett rushed forward, catching her before she hit the floor. Her body trembled violently.

"What do we do?" he asked.

Magnolia was already moving to gather herbs from a nearby shelf. "We need to purge the spirit before it settles. If we don’t, she’ll carry it into battle."

Rhett laid Camille gently onto the woven mat, brushing hair from her face. "She’s burning up."

"That’s not fever. It’s memory trying to root in flesh."

As Magnolia mixed a poultice, Camille’s lips parted. Her voice returned in whispers. "He will come... in shadows... wearing your brother’s face."

Rhett froze. "My brother’s dead."

Camille writhed. "Then beware the one who wears his grief like armor."

Magnolia pressed the paste to Camille’s chest, chanting low in the old tongue. Smoke curled from the mixture.

Camille screamed.

Rhett flinched. "You’re hurting her."

"No. I’m freeing her."

The fire blazed higher. The basin behind them shattered.

Then, silence.

Camille stilled. Her breathing evened. The glow in her eyes dimmed.

Magnolia sat back, trembling. "It’s done."

Rhett looked at the ruins around them. "Then why do I still feel like it just began?"

A howl pierced the night. Not from any wolf they knew.

Magnolia stood, her face pale. "Because something just crossed into our lands. And it carries your blood."

Rhett turned to the shattered basin. Reflected in the broken pieces was a face he hadn’t seen since childhood. Cold, laughing. And very much alive.

"It can’t be," he whispered. "Rowan?"

Night settled like a curse over the ridges of Hollowfang. Clouds hung low and restless, suffocating the light of the crescent moon. The air carried a strange scent, wet bark, scorched iron, and something ancient, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. Rhett stood on the cliff edge, eyes fixed on the dark valley below. In the distance, torches flickered like restless fireflies. His men waited, hidden in the thicket, ready to storm the outskirts of the council’s outpost at the stroke of his signal.

Magnolia approached behind him, her steps muffled by the moss-covered earth. "They’re late," she whispered, voice edged with unease.

"Or cautious," Rhett replied. His jaw tensed. "Camille’s message was vague. If Celeste’s still helping her..."

"She is," Magnolia interrupted, certainty in her voice. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, light and intentional. "I trust her."

Rhett glanced sideways. "Even after she kept the scrolls hidden from us?"

"Those scrolls could unmake a kingdom," she said. "I would’ve hidden them too."

Their silence pulsed with heat. The wind danced around them, lifting strands of Magnolia’s deep copper hair. She looked battle-worn and beautiful, her cloak draped over fitted armor that bore the sigil of her fallen pack, the phoenix in bloom. Her eyes, as golden as moonlight, searched his face.

"You still think you’re leading this war alone, don’t you?" she asked quietly.

"A crown doesn’t share its weight, Magnolia."

"Then let it break you," she said. "But know that I’ll carry what falls."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, not as Alpha and subordinate, but as equals drawn together by grief and prophecy.

From below, a raven’s call pierced the quiet. Rhett raised a fist, signaling his scouts. It was time.

As they descended the slope, Camille emerged from the brush, her face pale and streaked with ash. Her hood fell back, revealing eyes dark with magic. "The pact is ready," she said, breathless. "But once it’s invoked, there’s no returning."

Rhett looked her over. She was changed, her aura heavier, her voice layered with something not wholly her own. He stepped closer. "What pact?"

Camille reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a crimson shard, pulsing faintly. "A binding between bloodlines. A seal that awakens the old Luna in you. The beast within."

Magnolia’s heart thundered. "That’s suicide."

"It’s survival," Camille snapped. "Sterling has aligned himself with the Obsidian Circle. He means to consume the Hollowfang and rule through shadow. If Rhett doesn’t awaken the Crimson Pact, we won’t survive the night."

Rhett studied the shard. It trembled like it was alive. "What does it require?"

Camille’s voice dipped low. "Your blood. And hers."

Magnolia stepped back. "No."

Camille met her gaze. "If your bond is true, the pact will amplify your wolves. It will silence Sterling’s corruption. But if there’s doubt between you... you’ll burn from the inside out."

Rhett looked at Magnolia, something desperate breaking through the hardness of his stare. "Do you trust me?"

She hesitated. "That’s not the question. The real question is, do I trust myself?"

He took her hand. "I see you, Magnolia. Not the fighter. Not the Luna. You. And I want to fight with you, not for you."

Her chest rose sharply, emotion churning beneath her ribs. "Then let’s bleed together."

They knelt. Camille whispered incantations in a tongue lost to time. She sliced Rhett’s palm with the edge of the shard, then Magnolia’s. Blood met in a thin, crimson thread. The shard pulsed once. Then again. Light burst from its core, encircling them in a ring of glowing runes.

Rhett grunted, feeling his bones throb, spine arching with pressure. Magnolia clutched her chest, her wolf stirring violently inside her.

"Stay with me," she panted.

"I’m here."

Their wolves surged together, not merging, but orbiting each other, a magnetic storm of instinct and memory.

Camille staggered backward as the power shot upward in a column of red flame.

Then the forest fell still.

Magnolia gasped as the ring of light vanished. Rhett rose slowly, his eyes no longer storm-gray, but molten silver. Something ancient had awakened.

"It worked," Camille whispered.

"No," Magnolia corrected, trembling. "It began."

A howl shattered the stillness. Not from them. From the ridge beyond.

The first wave of Sterling’s army had arrived.