The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 117: The Aftermath

Chapter 117: The Aftermath

The quiet was worse than the battle.

It draped over the Callahan estate like a wet shroud, heavy and suffocating. The courtyard reeked of blood and smoke. The northern wall still burned in places, thin columns of dark smoke spiraling into the bruised sky. The fog had begun to retreat, exposing the carnage beneath it.

Bodies littered the ground, both theirs and the Elder’s.

Magnolia stood amid the wreckage, the wind tugging at her damp hair as she scanned the field. She could taste metal in the air.

The fires hissed where blood splattered hot stone.

And yet, in all this chaos, it was the silence that unnerved her most. The unnatural stillness that followed when something vital had been lost.

Rhett limped forward beside her, one hand pressed against his side where blood seeped through torn fabric. His face was pale, jaw tight against the pain, but his eyes remained sharp as ever.

"They’ve withdrawn," Beckett reported quietly, appearing at their flank. His armor was smeared with grime and ash, his breathing labored. "For now."

"For now," Rhett repeated hollowly.

Beckett glanced around at the wounded wolves being gathered into makeshift triage camps along the inner courtyard. "We held the estate. Barely."

"And we lost Camille," Magnolia whispered.

Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, but she forced herself still. Strong. The pack was watching. They always watched.

Rhett didn’t answer immediately. His silence was answer enough.

Celeste had been carried inside earlier, unconscious and dangerously pale. The healers worked furiously to stabilize her, but even the most skilled among them could not reverse what her body had given up tonight.

Magnolia’s gaze drifted toward the shattered entry to Camille’s chamber. The protective sigils scorched into the stone were blackened, their power burned out. The door that once held back the Ash Blood now hung crooked on broken hinges.

"Camille’s gone," she whispered again, as if saying it twice would dull the sting. "She broke the wards herself."

Beckett’s jaw clenched. "She was taken."

"No." Magnolia shook her head. "No one took her."

Rhett turned his bloodied face toward her, voice rough. "She left."

The words struck like a blow.

The Ash Child’s whispers still faintly echoed in Magnolia’s mind. She’d felt it the moment Camille slipped away, the bloodline pulse stretching thin like a snapped cord.

Beckett lowered his voice. "Do we know where she went?"

"No trail," Rhett said bitterly. "No scent. The passage she used hasn’t been opened in decades. She knew exactly how to vanish."

Magnolia’s throat tightened. "She planned it."

Rhett’s voice hardened. "Or something inside her did."

A cold wind pulled at the remnants of the courtyard banners, snapping torn fabric against charred stone. The flames crackled faintly beneath the cloud-covered moon.

Magnolia could barely breathe.

She had held her sister only hours ago, fragile but still hers. Still Camille.

Now?

Now she was gone into the dark, and they had no idea what she was becoming.

"She left us a hole we may not recover from," Beckett said quietly. "The pack’s already panicking."

Magnolia stiffened. "We hold them together."

Beckett eyed her carefully. "Do we?"

Rhett cut him a sharp glance, but it was Magnolia who stepped forward, her voice cutting through the thick air.

"Listen to me," she hissed. "We will not fracture. Not now. Not with them circling like vultures. Camille is my sister, and she is still one of us. The Ash Blood doesn’t own her yet."

Beckett studied her, the edge of defiance softening in his eyes. "You believe that?"

Magnolia swallowed, blinking back the sting behind her eyes. "I have to."

Rhett exhaled, voice low. "We regroup. We rebuild."

A single horn sounded from one of the remaining towers, short, sharp.

Magnolia tensed. "What now?"

Beckett turned toward the noise. A lone scout came running from the east perimeter, his coat torn, face streaked with dirt.

"Report," Rhett barked as the man approached.

The scout panted. "Elder’s forces have fully withdrawn east. They’ve taken captives."

"Captives?" Magnolia asked sharply.

"One confirmed. Sterling."

Her heart sank like a stone. "Sterling’s alive?"

"Yes, ma’am. Taken during the eastern push when our line collapsed. We couldn’t reach him."

Rhett’s shoulders stiffened, fists clenching at his sides.

The Elder wasn’t just taking territory. He was collecting leverage.

Beckett’s voice was quiet but grim. "They’ll use him against us."

Magnolia looked toward the dark tree line. The Elder’s forces were out there, waiting. Watching. The battle was not over.

It had only shifted into something far more dangerous.

Inside the estate, behind wounded walls and trembling soldiers, the heartbeat of the pack grew weaker.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, her sister drifted deeper into something neither of them could follow.

Not yet.

The council chamber smelled of damp stone and burned oil.

The torches sputtered against the chill that had settled through the estate like a sickness. Outside, the walls creaked as the wind howled through fractured mortar, but it was quiet here. Too quiet.

Magnolia stood at the center of the long oak table, her palm resting flat against the worn surface. She kept her back straight, her voice steady, though every muscle beneath her skin vibrated with exhaustion.

The surviving members of Rhett’s council surrounded her, scattered among the heavy chairs like uneasy ghosts. Their eyes darted between one another, too wary to speak first.

Rhett sat at the head of the table, his complexion pale beneath sweat and dried blood. His breathing was slower now, but he refused to rest. He would not leave her to stand before them alone.

Magnolia raised her voice to break the silence.

"We have wounded to tend, repairs to make, and enemies pressing on all sides. But make no mistake, this was not a loss."

Her words hung heavy, daring anyone to challenge them.

Marcus, the broad-shouldered lieutenant with the ever-flickering loyalty, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Camille is gone. Sterling’s captured. We’ve lost two of our strongest. How do you not call that a loss?"

Beckett spoke before Magnolia could reply, his voice sharp. "We still stand."

Marcus scoffed. "For how long? The Elder won’t wait. He’s drawing blood from inside our ranks now. The more we lose, the weaker we become."

"He didn’t break us tonight," Magnolia cut in, her voice sharper now, her eyes locking onto Marcus with steady heat. "We’re still breathing. And as long as we breathe, we fight."

Another councilman, older and thinner, leaned forward with thinly veiled concern. "Magnolia, no one questions your bravery. But this isn’t just about the Elder. Our own people are panicking. They fear the Ash Blood has already claimed Camille. They fear what might happen if she returns."

"She’s not lost," Magnolia said, though even she could hear the tremble behind her certainty.

"Isn’t she?" Marcus countered. "She broke the protective wards herself. She ran into the arms of whatever lives inside her."

"She ran to protect us!" Magnolia snapped, voice rising. "You think she wants this? She’s trying to keep the Ash Child from tearing through this pack. She loves us enough to leave."

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "Or she’s already gone."

The words struck like daggers in the room’s silence.

Rhett spoke then, his voice hoarse but cutting. "Enough."

His gaze swept the table, tired but firm. "There will be no fractures here. We’ve lost ground, yes. We’ve lost blood. But this is my pack, and no one will speak of abandoning Camille while I draw breath."

For a moment, no one argued. But the tension was thick, bending the room like a slow draw of a bowstring.

And somewhere behind that fragile truce, Magnolia knew the whispers were still spreading. Doubt grew like weeds in wounded soil.

Outside the chamber walls, wolves moved through the broken estate, some tending the wounded, others whispering behind hands.

In the eastern barracks, a younger guard named Elias paced nervously along the perimeter. His face was pale, eyes darting to the shadows with every gust of wind. The fear sat heavy in his stomach.

He had heard the Elder’s offer once before.

And tonight, after seeing Camille disappear and the northern walls shatter, that offer sounded less like treason and more like survival.

When the shadow slipped quietly from the far trees, Elias stepped forward. His voice was tight, his hands trembling inside his leather gloves.

"I’ve come to talk."

Gabriel’s scout stepped from the dark with a silent nod.

"Then listen carefully," Elias whispered, his voice shaking. "There are cracks forming inside. I can tell you where their weak points are."

The scout didn’t speak, but the gleam of approval in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Keep me safe when this is over," Elias added, "and I’ll help you bring them down."

The scout simply extended a gloved hand.

And with one small shake, the betrayal was sealed.

Inside the estate, the council meeting broke apart for the night, but the fractures remained, quiet, unseen.

And as Magnolia walked the halls afterward, forcing herself to appear strong, she felt it.

The rot had already begun from within.