The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 63: The Boy’s Fire

"You’re burning up, Beckett. Damn it, stay with me!"

The voice cut through the blur of fire and frost that consumed Beckett’s mind. He didn’t recognize it at first, only the urgency, the shuddering panic wrapped in it. Heat spread through his side, not from the gaping wound left by the Syndicate claw, but from his blood boiling beneath his skin. Poison. He could feel it pulsing through every vein, searing like wildfire.

He tried to speak, but his tongue was a stone in his mouth, heavy and useless. All he could do was moan, weak and low, as another convulsion rippled through his body. His vision cracked with white, then red, then darkness.

Boots scraped the edge of the ravine.

"Magnolia! Over here!"

The voice again. Familiar this time. Kai. The estate medic. Younger, not yet ranked, but loyal to Rhett and fiercely protective of those under the Callahan crest.

"We need to get him up the ridge," Kai muttered, breath ragged. "He won’t last much longer down here."

A second set of hands dropped into the hollow.

"I can’t find a pulse!"

Magnolia. Her voice was louder, clearer, as if tethered to Beckett’s fading soul. He could sense her close now. That strange tether between them, one he never admitted to aloud, pulled tighter, igniting something ancient inside his chest.

She pressed her hand to his heart.

"He’s not gone. Not yet."

Beckett’s eyelids fluttered open for a split second. Her face hovered above his, curls of chestnut hair streaked with dirt and blood. Her eyes, those bright green flames of defiance, were brimming with terror.

"Come on, Beck. Don’t you dare leave me. Not like this. Not without a fight."

Something shifted inside her. As if the plea alone cracked something primal wide open.

Then it happened.

Heat exploded from her body.

Not metaphorical. Literal.

Her skin shimmered, glowing beneath the moonlight like embers beneath the bark of a tree. Her veins lit up gold. Her breath came in ragged bursts as her spine arched unnaturally, and her eyes turned from green to blazing amber.

Kai fell back, stumbling in shock.

"She’s... shifting. But not like a wolf. What the hell?"

Magnolia didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did, but the voice of instinct drowned all else.

Her body cracked, but no fur grew. No snout, no claws. Instead, she became something between forms. A creature ancient and wild. Feral energy pulsed from her skin, throwing dust and leaves in a circle around her.

She grabbed Beckett’s body with one hand and gripped the edge of the ravine with the other. With a roar that shook the canyon walls, she hurled them both upward.

They landed with a thud on the grassy plateau.

Beckett wheezed. Alive.

Barely.

Kai stumbled toward them, wide-eyed. "Magnolia... your eyes... your whole body... What are you?"

She didn’t answer.

She knelt beside Beckett, still glowing faintly. She placed her palms on either side of his head and whispered something in a language neither Kai nor the spirits around them could understand. The glow sank from her hands into Beckett’s body.

His breathing evened.

His convulsions stopped.

Kai gasped. "Did you just... heal him?"

Magnolia’s body collapsed beside Beckett’s, the glow now completely gone.

Kai moved quickly, checking both of them.

Beckett groaned softly. "She... saved me."

Kai looked down at Magnolia, now unconscious. "She did more than that. She changed everything."

The wind carried the scent of blood and burnt energy back toward the estate.

And with it, a warning.

Whatever Magnolia had just awakened... it wasn’t going back to sleep.

From the treetops, a pair of eyes watched silently.

A whisper into a hidden communicator followed.

"Subject Nine is active. The timeline is accelerating. Alert the Circle."

"We’re not supposed to be down here."

Savannah’s voice echoed through the damp air as she ducked beneath the crumbling archway of the hidden tunnel beneath the estate chapel. Her fingers grazed the damp, dust-laden stone, and the lantern in Rhett’s hand cast long, trembling shadows along the walls etched with forgotten carvings.

Rhett didn’t stop. "Then it’s the perfect place to find answers."

The tunnel groaned with time, holding secrets buried long before either of them were born. Savannah followed close, her boots crunching over broken bits of stone and wood. The air smelled like old parchment and something deeper, like rusted iron and silence.

They had discovered the hidden entrance by accident. Or rather, fate had pushed them to it, after Lucia Thorne’s warning, Rhett had grown more paranoid. He had spent hours in the chapel, retracing Sterling’s old routines, staring at the altar, feeling the cold stone floor beneath his palms. Then Savannah had found the scuff marks near the base of the pulpit. The scrape of something shifted often. The subtle gap in the floor. The trapdoor beneath the altar.

Now here they were.

Rhett’s lantern flickered. He knelt beside a wooden crate embedded in the wall, pried it open, and pulled out a bundle of papers wrapped in wax cloth.

Savannah stepped forward. "What is it?"

He unwrapped the cloth slowly, revealing pages, yellowed, fragile, some torn at the edges. On each page was the same symbol: a crescent moon crossed by a fang.

Savannah’s breath caught. "That’s not the Syndicate mark."

Rhett nodded. "No. This one’s older. From a faction before the Syndicate splintered. Look."

He held up a crumbling scroll sealed with a nearly disintegrated ribbon. The words were handwritten, ink faded, but legible:

The Hollowfang Circle.

"They were exiled," Rhett said. "Sterling was one of them. Before he turned Syndicate. They believed in balance between wild nature and structured order. But something fractured. They broke apart, Sterling led the split."

Savannah’s hands trembled as she flipped through more pages. "If these are real... this changes everything. The Syndicate’s origin story, it’s a lie."

Rhett stood, eyes darkening. "It means Sterling wasn’t just a warlord. He was a traitor. He buried the truth and rewrote it in his name."

Savannah turned to the final page. There was a name scrawled at the bottom, underlined in faded red ink: Elias Thorne.

Her blood chilled. "He knew. Rhett, your grandfather knew about the Hollowfangs. He may have even been one."

Behind them, a sharp clang echoed. Both turned.

The tunnel was no longer empty.

A woman stepped out from the darkness, wrapped in a hooded cloak, her eyes glowing faintly under the lantern light.

"You shouldn’t have come here," she said, her voice rough like gravel.

Rhett raised his weapon. "Identify yourself."

She pulled back the hood slowly.

Savannah gasped. "Isla."

It was one of their former allies. Or so they thought.

"You always did dig too deep," Isla said, her voice now calm, almost mournful. "I warned Sterling we couldn’t bury this forever."

Rhett’s grip tightened. "You were one of them. You were Hollowfang."

Isla nodded. "Still am. And if you don’t leave now, you’ll both be entombed with these ghosts."

Before either of them could move, she vanished, disappearing into the shadows like smoke.

Savannah stood frozen.

Rhett’s voice cut the silence. "Now we know why the Syndicate wants us silenced."

Savannah turned to him. Her voice barely a whisper. "We know the truth."

Rhett’s eyes gleamed with fire. "Then it’s time we expose it."

Behind them, the scrolls began to curl as the lantern flickered.

Smoke.

The chamber was filling with it.

Savannah turned. Flames danced along the edges of the papers.

"It’s a trap!" she shouted.

Rhett lunged for the exit, grabbing her hand as fire erupted behind them. They sprinted through the collapsing tunnel, choking on smoke and ash, the weight of centuries chasing them in fire and silence.

As they burst out into the chapel, coughing and gasping, the floor beneath them cracked.

The altar collapsed inward, swallowing the entrance forever.

They lay there, side by side, burned and shaking.

Savannah whispered, "Now what?"

Rhett stared up at the shattered cross above them. "Now, we dismantle the lie, piece by piece."

"Are you sure this is the way?"

Savannah’s breath caught in her throat as she ducked under a low-hanging branch, the scent of pine and moss thick in the air. Rhett didn’t answer immediately. His eyes swept the trail ahead, sharp and focused, each step deliberate. The moonlight filtered through the forest canopy in slanted beams, spotlighting their path as though nature itself conspired to reveal secrets buried in the dark.

"No," Rhett finally replied, voice low and grim. "But it’s the only path Sterling never spoke of. That alone makes it worth following."

Behind them, the rest of the scouting party moved in silence. Beckett limped slightly, his side still bandaged from the attack. Magnolia flanked him, eyes glowing faintly, watchful, primal. Every sound, the snap of a twig, the rustle of unseen wings, sent pulses of tension up Savannah’s spine. Since the pendant warning and Lucia Thorne’s name had surfaced, the air around them had felt... thinner. Haunted.

"The Hollowfang Circle’s not a myth, is it?" Savannah asked, her voice barely audible. "You knew about them. Before."

Rhett nodded without looking at her. "My mother told me stories. Back when she was still mine. Before the fire. Before the Syndicate erased her."

The trail ended abruptly at a slope of loose gravel and charred stumps. Rhett knelt, brushing away leaves and soil until cold metal met his fingers. He cleared more of the ground, until they all saw it: an iron slab embedded in stone, rusted at the corners and etched with a sigil no one could place.

Beckett narrowed his eyes. "It’s not Sterling’s. Too old. Too wild."

"It’s Hollowfang," Rhett said. "My mother’s real bloodline. The one they tried to bury."

He pressed his palm against the sigil. A jolt of energy burst through the slab like lightning igniting stone. Gears clanked beneath the earth. With a growl of shifting metal, the slab slid open, revealing stone steps winding down into darkness.

"What is this place?" Magnolia whispered.

Rhett stared into the pit, jaw tight. "Her archive. The last sanctuary she built before they came for her. If the map exists, it’ll be down there."

Without hesitation, he descended. Savannah followed, her heart thudding with every step. The scent of ash and old magic grew stronger. Torch sconces lined the walls, lighting as they passed. The corridor narrowed, then opened into a massive chamber, a vault made of bone-white stone and obsidian veins. Runes glowed faintly along the walls.

In the center stood a pedestal. Upon it, wrapped in blood-red cloth, was a scroll.

Rhett approached, reverent, wary. He unwrapped it slowly. Inside was a map, drawn in ink that shimmered like gold and crimson veins. Not just of terrain, but of power lines, ley paths, and Syndicate strongholds. It pulsed in his hand.

"This... this is how she survived," he muttered. "She knew where the magic lived. Where to hide. Where to strike."

Magnolia stepped closer. "And where they’ll try to bury us."

A sound split the silence, a howl. Distant. Wrong. Metallic.

Rhett froze. "They followed us."

From the far tunnel, the shadows writhed. Figures emerged, tall, cloaked, masks of bone and ink. One stepped forward, voice like broken glass.

"You’ve trespassed. The Hollowfang Circle does not forgive."

Savannah raised her chin. "Then maybe you remember her. Lucia Thorne."

A pause. Then a low laugh. "Lucia was the last flame. You are the embers. We’ve come to smother you."

Rhett’s hand found Savannah’s. The scroll pulsed again.

"We’re not leaving without the truth."

The lead figure raised a blade carved from obsidian.

"Then you die with it."

The chamber erupted in movement.