The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 84: The Ghost of Rhett’s Mother

The storm had passed, but the sky remained bruised with twilight. Rhett lay on his back in the tented corner of the Syndicate encampment, eyes fixed on the canopy above. The sounds of strategy murmurs, sharpened blades, and weary howls filled the valley beyond, yet his body ached for something deeper, something forgotten.

Sleep clawed at his mind, dragging him down like a tide.

His last thought before it took him was of Camille, her silences, the fire in her eyes, and the torment behind them.

Then the forest rose around him.

It was not the world he knew. Here, the trees breathed. Their trunks twisted in slow motion, leaves whispering names he’d never spoken aloud. Moonlight sifted through branches like liquid silver. The ground was damp, soft with moss, and the wind was silent, but watchful.

Rhett turned slowly, his hand brushing the dagger at his hip, though it felt symbolic more than real.

Then he saw her.

A woman stood beneath a weeping willow, her hair a river of dark curls, streaked with moonlight. Her eyes, his eyes, held sorrow too ancient to speak. She was clothed in silk robes, but the way they floated suggested she wore no weight at all. Her beauty was ethereal, but not cold. Familiar.

"Mother," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

"My son," she answered, her voice soft and steady as still water.

He staggered forward. "You’re dead."

She tilted her head. "Yes. That has not changed. But the veil is thinning. War opens doors even death cannot close."

He reached out, and his hand passed through her form like mist.

"Why now? Why appear to me now?"

She didn’t smile. Her expression was carved from pain.

"Because the world is bleeding, Rhett. And you are the blade pressed to its throat."

He stiffened. "I didn’t start this. Sterling, he’s the one corrupting the council, tearing apart the packs."

"But you will finish it. Or fail, and let the fire consume what’s left."

He shook his head, stepping back. "I don’t understand."

"You will," she said. "But first, you must know the truth about Camille."

At her name, his heart tightened.

"What truth?"

She turned, walking deeper into the forest, her form glowing faintly with each step. Rhett followed, branches parting before them.

"Camille carries more than a child."

He stopped. "What do you mean?"

"When she entered the fire chamber, the entity within her did not simply speak, it took residence. Your child... is part of that now."

Rhett’s breath caught. He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing.

"What are you saying? That she’s possessed? That our baby isn’t even ours anymore?"

"I am saying she is no longer one soul. She is two. One heartbeat belongs to her. The other to the Hollowfang rise."

Rhett’s pulse hammered in his ears. "Then we have to separate them. We have to get it out, "

"You cannot." Her voice cut through him. "To tear one would kill both. They are fused, and what becomes of one... shapes the other."

"So we’re doomed either way?"

She finally turned to face him, eyes brimming. "No. There is still a path. But it leads through blood, and pain, and choices that will make your soul bleed."

"Give me the path," he said hoarsely.

"First, you must accept that Camille is no longer just Camille. Her soul is a vessel. Her body, a gate. The fire within her burns for more than motherhood."

He dropped to his knees.

"Tell me what to do. Please."

She knelt before him, their forms inches apart, though never touching. "Love her. But do not trust the voice in her silences. Fight for her. But know when to fight her, too."

He closed his eyes. "Will I lose her?"

"You already have," she whispered. "Now you must earn her back."

A howl tore through the forest, sharp as a blade.

Rhett looked up. His mother was fading, her outline fraying like smoke.

"Wait," he begged. "Please, one more moment, "

She smiled for the first time, a soft, mournful thing. "I’m proud of the man you are. But beware, my son. When two hearts beat inside one skin... it’s the world that bleeds."

Her image vanished with the wind.

Rhett jolted awake.

The horns were screaming.

Outside his tent, wolves ran. Steel clanged. Magic crackled in the air.

The war had begun.

Camille stood before the desk in her dimly lit chamber, the scent of crushed violets lingering from the oils she’d used to calm her fraying nerves. The candlelight flickered violently, almost as if it shared the unrest within her. A quill trembled in her fingers.

"To Magnolia," she began aloud, as if hearing her voice might ground her. "I should’ve told you everything sooner. I should’ve warned you before it grew teeth."

Her hair, once tightly coiled and precise, now spilled over her shoulders in disobedient waves. Her satin robe slipped slightly from her collarbone as she leaned forward, scrawling ink across parchment.

"The voice came first. Whispering at night. Then the dreams. Always the same red forest, the silver-eyed child standing in the ruins. And I knew, Magnolia. I knew something inside me didn’t belong to me anymore."

A tear dripped onto the parchment. It blurred the word "child."

Camille bit her lip, tasting blood. She hadn’t meant to let it go this far. But the prophecy, the prophecy had teeth, and it bit deeper than anything else.

She paused, staring at the letter. Then, she began writing again.

"I feel it growing. Not just the child... the thing. The voice. The second heartbeat. It’s real. It watches me. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I hear it breathing. I don’t think there’s much time left before it takes over. If I disappear, promise me you’ll finish what we started. Burn the court. Break the chains. Free them. And if you have to... end me."

Her hand hovered.

"Forgive me."

She sealed the letter with the insignia of her mother’s ring, a fading crescent moon enclosed in a circle of thorned vines.

The door creaked.

Camille startled, whipping around. Sterling.

He moved like water, silent and effortless. His silver eyes gleamed, unreadable, his raven-black hair tousled but elegant, as if chaos couldn’t touch him.

"Late for confessions, aren’t we?" he murmured.

Camille instinctively covered the letter with her hand. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to know you were planning betrayal wrapped in poetry."

"It’s not betrayal," she snapped. "It’s survival."

Sterling stepped closer. His boots echoed on the stone floor, rhythmic, like a slow drumbeat.

"You think you can survive what’s inside you? Darling... it’s already feasting."

Her voice wavered. "You don’t know what it feels like."

He tilted his head, gaze softening slightly. "No. But I do know what happens when you let fear hold the quill."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Don’t touch the letter. It’s not for you."

Sterling reached out. His fingers brushed her temple. Light. Cold.

"I won’t touch it," he whispered. "But I will erase it."

Camille gasped, tried to pull back, but his magic was already slipping into her skin like frost. The air grew heavy, pressing in. She choked on her scream.

"Sterling, don’t, "

But he closed his eyes. A pulse surged from him like a breath stolen from the earth.

Camille stumbled back, grasping her head. Pain sliced through her mind. Her knees buckled. She fell, hand catching the edge of the desk. The letter flared with white fire and disintegrated into a pile of dark ash.

She cried out. "No!"

Sterling opened his eyes. Cold. Cruel.

"You weren’t meant to carry this burden. Let me carry it for you."

Camille trembled. Her body jerked once, twice, and then stilled. Her eyes rolled back. Her lips parted in a silent cry.

She woke up screaming.

The chamber was silent again. The candle had melted down to a stump. Her chest heaved as she sat upright on the cold stone floor. Her robe clung to her, damp with sweat.

Her gaze darted to the desk.

Ashes.

Just ashes.

Her fingers reached for them, trembling. The scent of violets still hung in the air, now tainted with something bitter, sorrow, or perhaps betrayal.

"What did you take from me?" she whispered.

No one answered.

No one ever did when Sterling was done.

But somewhere deep inside her chest, beneath her racing heartbeat, another pulse answered. Slow. Measured. Not hers.

And it was smiling.

Camille fell forward, palms digging into the ash. The texture clung to her skin like memory.

From the hallway, she heard footsteps again.

Not Sterling’s.

A softer gait. Smaller. Familiar.

Magnolia.

Camille rose, wiping her hands on her robe. Her legs quivered beneath her. The letter’s words echoed in her skull, torn fragments of memory fighting to resurface.

Magnolia knocked.

"Camille?"

She couldn’t answer. Her throat closed around the truth.

Magnolia tried the handle. "Camille, I felt something. Magic. Are you hurt?"

Camille stepped away from the door. She looked down at her palms again.

Ash.

Her mouth opened, then closed. She pressed her hand against her stomach.

Two heartbeats.

Magnolia called again, more urgent now.

"Camille, let me in!"

Camille whispered, almost too soft to hear. "It’s too late."

Then her knees gave way again. This time, she did not rise.

The last thing she heard before darkness took her was Magnolia’s voice breaking through the door.

"Camille! Open the door! Camille!"

But she was already somewhere else.

Somewhere deeper.

Where Sterling’s magic waited.

Where the second heartbeat ruled.

And it was ready to claim her.