The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 82: War Drums in the Hollow

"He’s here."

The chamber quieted at once. Even the soft scrape of leather boots on polished obsidian ceased.

Rhett Callahan stepped through the arched threshold of the Syndicate’s high court, his coat torn, dark with dried blood along one sleeve. Dust clung to his jawline. The wolves seated around the curved council dias stirred with unrest. Their eyes, ancient and cruel, followed him.

He kept walking.

Sterling Callahan sat at the far end, flanked by two crimson-cloaked guards, his silver ring glinting like bone under the amber sconces. A grin touched the corners of his mouth, too sharp, too patient.

"I see exile hasn’t stripped you of your arrogance," Sterling drawled, rising slowly.

Rhett didn’t stop until he reached the foot of the dais. "I didn’t come back for pleasantries."

"You left with none. So it makes sense you’d return the same way," Sterling said.

Eyes turned to the side as Councilor Idris, an elder whose allegiance once bent with Sterling, rose from his seat. "This court has bled too long under shadows. Let the heir speak."

"Heir?" Sterling echoed, scoffing. "He forfeited that title the moment he turned his back on the Hollow."

Rhett’s voice cut clean. "No. I refused your war. I refused your blood-stained schemes. But I never refused this land."

Murmurs swelled. One of the younger council members shifted in his seat, fingers twitching over the hilt of his blade. A stir of fear, of choice, passed between the wolves.

Sterling’s laugh echoed, cold and too loud. "So dramatic. Tell me, did you learn monologues in the wild?"

"No," Rhett answered. "I learned how to bury men twice your size. And I learned something else too, our bloodline is cursed when loyalty is forced instead of earned."

"Careful, boy."

"Not a boy anymore."

Silence. Not one wolf moved.

Rhett raised his chin. "I’ve gathered the broken packs. Those you cast aside. They stand with me."

"And what do you plan to do with these mongrels?" Sterling sneered. "Scratch at my door with their fleas?"

Rhett’s hand went to his hip.

He wasn’t wearing a sword.

He didn’t need one.

Instead, he pulled a crest from his coat, a medallion of the Callahan line, passed down through generations, and dropped it onto the obsidian floor.

The clang echoed like a cannonshot.

Gasps followed.

"I don’t serve blood born in darkness," Rhett said. "Only blood proven in fire."

A figure stood, broad, crimson-eyed. Lord Veran, Sterling’s brother. "You dare desecrate the crest?"

Rhett’s stare held him. "Try me."

Veran didn’t hesitate.

In a breath, the man lunged across the floor, blade drawn in a blur of steel and rage. But Rhett was faster. He pivoted, sidestepped, gripped Veran’s wrist mid-strike, and drove his elbow into the older man’s throat.

The crowd rose in chaos. Veran gasped, staggered, then slashed wildly. Blood sliced Rhett’s forearm. Rhett didn’t flinch. He moved forward, grabbed Veran’s tunic, and drove his head into the marble pillar.

Veran crumpled.

Breathing heavy, Rhett stood over him.

"I asked you to try," he said.

The court was no longer still. The wolves were on their feet, some moving toward Rhett, others toward Sterling. Swords hissed from sheaths. An elder shrieked. A female warrior threw off her hood and pointed at Sterling. "I saw you sign death warrants with smiling ink!"

"Enough!" Sterling roared.

But no one listened.

A blade arced from the crowd, Rhett’s left shoulder jerked back as it nicked his skin. Then another wolf lunged toward him, before being intercepted by one of Rhett’s own, crashing into the court like wildfire.

And then Veran rose, bloodied, wild-eyed, and charged.

Too late.

Rhett’s fist crashed into his uncle’s chest. The impact rattled Veran’s ribs. He collapsed once more, this time unmoving.

A pool of silence followed.

Rhett’s voice was low. "The war you wanted? It’s here. And I’m not running this time."

Sterling’s eyes didn’t flicker. But his lips curled. "You’ll regret that."

Rhett bent and picked up his father’s crest from the floor. It was bloodied now.

He held it up. "This symbol means nothing unless we give it meaning."

Then, in full view of the court, Rhett drew a torch from the brazier, held it to the medallion, and let fire consume the metal.

It melted in seconds, blackened and shrieking.

"I sever all blood not earned," Rhett said.

And tossed the ash at Sterling’s feet.

Sterling didn’t blink.

But the ground beneath them shifted. Not literally, but something in the air. The wolves felt it.

Loyalties broke.

Lines redrew.

The court of the Hollowfangs, so long ruled by fear, was now fractured by defiance.

And war?

War had already begun.

"You’re not real."

Camille’s voice cracked in the dark, her breath forming fragile clouds in the cold air of the fire chamber. The ancient Luna sanctum, hidden deep beneath the estate, throbbed with heatless light. The walls were stone carved with lunar runes, breathing with old power, pulsing like veins under skin.

She stumbled forward.

"You’re not real," she whispered again, but the voice inside her only laughed.

You keep saying that, but I’ve always been here. You’re just now listening.

She gritted her teeth, dragging her palm along the wall. The stone burned. Not from fire, but memory. Her mother’s voice echoing. Her father’s silence. That first tremble of her hands the night Magnolia nearly died.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her she was breaking.

She could feel it.

And now, she needed silence.

Camille stepped into the heart of the chamber, where the Luna fire coiled in a low pit, ancient and uncontained. Unlike any flame she’d ever seen, it danced without fuel. It was silver and violet, crackling softly, whispering.

You think this will end me? the voice asked. You think fire burns what’s already inside?

She dropped to her knees. Her hands trembled as she undid the clasp of her velvet cloak, letting it pool beside her. The silk of her shift caught the firelight, glinting against her skin. She was pale, like starlight, not fragile, but sharp. Her eyes, once soft green, now flickered with something unreadable.

The chamber shifted.

She rose.

Her bare feet moved one step closer to the flame. Then another.

"I’m done pretending. I’m done fearing you," she said, voice louder now. "If I burn, I burn."

She stepped in.

Flames curled around her.

She did not scream.

Instead, she gasped. It wasn’t heat that met her, it was memory. Waves of it. Her childhood, her mother singing over a broken crib. Her first spell cast in secret. Magnolia laughing in the garden. Sterling’s fingers brushing her cheek with affection that twisted her spine.

You were born in fire, the voice whispered. You are not made of water, Camille. Stop trying to extinguish yourself. Let me in.

Her knees buckled, but the flames caught her. Held her.

Then she saw it.

A figure, shimmering, before her in the flame.

The child.

Small. Familiar. Its eyes glowed red like embers, ancient and endless. Her mouth opened, a whimper escaping.

"No."

Yes, the child-voice whispered. You are the second heartbeat. You are the key to the Hollowfang rise. Without you, they all die.

The chamber trembled. Stone shifted above. Magic coiled tight around her chest. Her fingers dug into her arms.

"Get out of me," she hissed.

I live in your blood, it replied. I am the other side of your soul.

Then another voice entered the chamber.

Sterling.

Calm. Unmoved. His boots echoed on the stone as he approached the pit.

"You shouldn’t have come here alone," he said.

Camille turned slowly, eyes wild, hair glowing with firelight. Her face was streaked with silver tears.

"You knew, didn’t you?"

Sterling stepped closer. The flames did not touch him.

"Knew what? That you’d eventually stop running from it? Yes. That you’d let her speak?"

He tilted his head.

"No."

Camille’s voice dropped.

"What is she?"

Sterling’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"Not what. Who. She’s the part of you your mother sealed. A heartbeat from before the Hollowfang betrayal. A soul spliced into yours."

Camille’s legs gave out.

She collapsed into the fire. But again, it didn’t burn.

Instead, it embraced.

"Why me?"

Sterling knelt beside the pit.

"Because you were born to balance the war. One part light. One part ruin. The Hollowfangs buried their truth inside you. Your mother tried to stop it. But she failed."

Camille looked down at her trembling hands. Her skin shimmered.

"Am I a weapon?"

Sterling’s gaze hardened.

"You are a choice."

The chamber groaned again. The ceiling cracked.

"Choose now," he said, standing. "Because the war doesn’t wait for your healing."

Camille closed her eyes.

The flames surged higher.

And inside them, the entity smiled.

"We are one heartbeat now. The second pulse. The rise begins."

Camille opened her eyes, and they were not just hers anymore.