The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 79: Echoes of the Spellbinders

The torchlight flickered across the dust-caked vault walls, throwing distorted shadows as Magnolia stepped inside. Her breath caught. The air felt older than time, thick with magic and memory, humming through the stone like a buried song.

"This place... it remembers," Celeste murmured from behind, her boots crunching softly over the ancient floor. "Everything we’ve forgotten, it still holds."

Magnolia turned, her pulse echoing in her ears. The vault smelled of old herbs, wax, and something sharper, blood, maybe, or fear. Set into the far wall was an altar, shaped like a crescent moon. Upon it lay a blackened book wrapped in iron thorns, pulsing faintly beneath layers of time.

"That’s it," Celeste whispered. "The Luna Codex."

Beckett’s brows knotted. "Sealed with blood magic. That’s not just a lock, it’s a vow. Only one of their line can open it."

Magnolia stepped closer, the air growing heavier around her. The iron bindings hissed as she neared, reacting to her presence. "You think it’s mine to open?"

Celeste nodded once. "Your blood called it awake. The Spellbinders were Luna’s first witches, her high daughters. The mark on your back, the one you’ve always hidden... it’s theirs."

She didn’t respond. Her hand hovered above the thorns. The Codex throbbed beneath her like a living heart. She remembered nights she couldn’t sleep because of that mark, how it burned during storms, how it pulsed when she cried.

Beckett tensed. "Wait. Once you touch it, there’s no turning back. That book isn’t just knowledge. It’s inheritance."

"I’m not turning back," Magnolia said. "Not anymore."

She pressed her fingertips to the cover.

A white-hot pain seared through her skin. The thorns writhed, then melted into smoke, drawn into her veins. The book opened on its own with a low groan, pages fluttering as if wind swept through them from another world.

"Stars..." Celeste breathed. Her green eyes widened. "It’s written in Moonscript. Only the Luna blood can read it."

The words shimmered and shifted before Magnolia’s eyes, turning from symbols into phrases she somehow understood.

"They called themselves the Ash Circle," she murmured. "They defied the first Alpha Kings, cursed them to never control true magic again. This was their rebellion."

Celeste leaned over her shoulder. "And the cost? What did they pay for that rebellion?"

Magnolia’s voice faltered. "Their children."

Silence. The air thickened with grief. Beckett swallowed hard. "All of them?"

Magnolia nodded, tears stinging her eyes. "To protect the Luna legacy... they sent their children into hiding. Erased their names. Even from memory."

Celeste reached for her, hand brushing hers. "And one of them survived. You."

The book flipped another page.

A symbol appeared, her mark. The very same shape she’d hidden all her life.

"It’s a map," Magnolia whispered. "A bloodline map. Not just names, but abilities."

She scanned it quickly. The Spellbinders weren’t just seers or spell-casters. They were guardians, historians, even warriors. Their gifts weren’t bound to the moon’s phases, but to truth itself.

"There’s more," she said. "The Ash Oath. It’s a vow of loyalty, not to the Alpha system, but to something deeper."

"To what?" Beckett asked.

"To balance. To Luna. To blood earned, not inherited."

Celeste stilled. "That’s the vow Rhett took in secret. The one his father forbid."

The Codex glowed faintly under her touch. A heartbeat later, the vault trembled.

Stone grated against stone behind them. Beckett turned with a curse. "We’re not alone."

From the dark corridor beyond the vault entrance, shadows moved.

Celeste stepped forward, drawing her blade. "Guardians? Traps?"

"No," Magnolia said, standing. Her voice had changed, stronger. "They’re memories."

The shadows coalesced into the forms of women, tall, robed figures with silver eyes and braided hair streaked with starlight. None spoke. But each bowed, hand over heart.

Celeste dropped her blade. "Spellbinder spirits."

The lead spirit stepped forward, her gaze piercing. Magnolia could feel her thoughts like wind against her skin.

"You hear me," the spirit said, voice inside her head. "You carry our blood."

"I didn’t know," Magnolia answered, mouth dry. "I thought I was nothing."

"You are all we hoped to save. The line endures through you. But our time is done. The war returns. You must choose who inherits this world."

"How?"

The spirit pointed to the Codex. "Unlock the next gate. Read the Ash Oath aloud beneath the moon. And prepare."

The others stepped back into shadow.

The vault stilled.

Magnolia turned slowly to Celeste and Beckett. Her voice held an edge it hadn’t before. "We have the truth now. But truth is only power if we use it."

Celeste nodded, eyes bright with fear and awe. "What now?"

Magnolia looked toward the surface, heart thudding. "We light the fires. We call them. All of them. This war won’t wait."

From above, the howl of a wolf pierced the silence.

And the Codex snapped shut.

"You’re holding back."

Rhett didn’t flinch. The growl came from across the clearing, thick with sweat and challenge. The circle of wolves surrounding him, hardened, scarred, some half-shifted, closed in tighter, as if smelling weakness.

"I’m holding mercy," he said, tossing his shirt aside. "You’d know the difference if you’d ever been in real war."

The challenger was broad-shouldered, silver in the beard, and smelled like old loyalty, his father’s. Cael. The man had served the Callahan bloodline for decades and bore its insignia across his chest like a sacred brand. But there was no reverence in his eyes tonight.

"I serve strength. Not memory," Cael spat. "Your father would’ve broken me already."

Rhett stepped into the dirt, bare feet rooted like stakes. "Then let’s find out who breaks first."

The other wolves growled low, forming the circle. Firelight from the torches danced against the trees of the old encampment, deep in the woods, far from the estate’s reach. These were wolves who’d turned their backs on the polished floors and silk-cloaked councils. Here, you earned your name through pain and blood.

Cael lunged first, quick for his size, aiming for Rhett’s throat with claws half-drawn. Rhett dodged, barely, sliding under the man’s arm and sweeping his leg. Cael hit the dirt hard but rolled, back on his feet before the dust settled.

"You think command lives in your name?" Cael barked, circling. "It lives in the marrow. In the kill."

Rhett struck fast, fist, elbow, knee. Cael blocked one, two, but the third landed in his ribs with a crunch. Still, the old wolf didn’t stagger. He grabbed Rhett by the shoulder and slammed him into the trunk of a tree. Bark split. Bones jarred.

Rhett’s eyes flashed gold. He tasted blood. Smiled.

Cael blinked.

Too late.

Rhett twisted, elbowed the man’s jaw with enough force to send him reeling. He tackled Cael into the dirt and straddled him, forearm crushing his throat.

"Still think I’m holding back?" Rhett hissed.

Cael growled, fingers clawing at Rhett’s arm, but the pressure didn’t lift.

"You came out here to test me," Rhett said. "You thought I’d flinch at the old guard. That I’d fold like my father’s spine when power whispered soft lies into his ear."

He leaned down until their noses nearly touched.

"Wrong bloodline," he snarled. "I don’t serve dead men’s ghosts."

Then he stood, letting Cael choke on the dirt beneath him. The circle was silent.

Rhett looked at them all, his would-be warriors. Eyes met his, assessing. Measuring.

"Get up," he told Cael.

The man staggered to his feet, bleeding from the mouth. He didn’t speak. Just watched.

Rhett walked to the crest-fire, where each wolf had cast a piece of their past into the blaze, sigils, crests, emblems of families long since corrupted. He reached into the pile, drew out Cael’s scorched iron badge, the sigil of Callahan, still smoldering.

He held it out.

"Take it," he said.

Cael hesitated.

Rhett turned the badge over in his palm, then dropped it into the fire.

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

The flames answered.

Around the circle, wolves knelt, not in submission, but in unity. A low rumble passed through them like thunder.

Cael knelt too, not for Rhett, but for the truth in his words.

"You’re not your father," the old wolf said.

"No," Rhett murmured. "I’m the one who’ll bury him."

He turned toward the night. The air was thick with scent, oak, ash, fury. But underneath, something else stirred. The whisper of war. The ghosts of old wolves beginning to stir from the bones of forgotten fields.

Celeste appeared at the edge of the camp, hood drawn low, hands gloved in leather and spell-ink. She hadn’t watched the fight, but she’d felt the shift in the wind.

"You’ve burned the sigil," she said.

"I had to."

"And now?" Her voice was calm, but sharp.

"Now I lead without a leash," Rhett said. "And the old rules can burn with it."

She came closer, her boots crunching over pine needles. "The others are watching, Rhett. Not just these. The moment you declare yourself outside the blood, the High Council will brand you rogue."

"Let them." He turned to her, jaw tight. "This was never about their council. It’s about stopping Sterling. Saving Camille. And protecting Magnolia from whatever prophecy has her marked."

"And if the council comes for you?"

Rhett’s voice was low. "Then they’ll learn what happens when loyalty becomes a weapon."

Celeste tilted her head. "You sound more like the Spellbinders than the Callahans."

He gave a humorless smile. "Maybe that’s the point."

Behind them, the fire cracked. One by one, the rogue wolves stood. They’d heard the vow. They’d seen the crest burn. And now, they followed not a bloodline, but a flame.

Later, under a bone-white moon, Rhett stood at the cliff’s edge. Alone.

The sea below roared like a caged god. He’d come here often as a boy, when the weight of his father’s name became too much for his shoulders.

Tonight, it wasn’t weight he carried. It was fire. A future burning at the edges.

Camille’s face came to him first, pale, trembling, eyes wild with something ancient. The baby she carried. The power within it. And the price.

Then Magnolia. Her hands glowing with the same symbols etched into stone long before kingdoms rose. Her bloodline awakening.

He clenched his fists. There was no one left to trust. Except the wolves who’d chosen him. And the war waiting on the horizon.

He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

"You lit a fire that can’t be unburned," said a voice.

Rhett turned.

Beckett.

"Good," Rhett replied.

The older man studied him for a long moment. "The vault opened."

Rhett’s breath caught. "And?"

"Magnolia’s blood woke something. We don’t understand it yet. But it knew her." Beckett stepped closer. "And it’s not just a vault. It’s a grave."

Rhett’s jaw tensed. "Whose?"

Beckett looked away. "Yours. If you’re not careful."

The night darkened. Below, the waves clawed at the cliffs.

Rhett stayed long after Beckett left, the wind gnawing at his thoughts.

He didn’t need a legacy.

He didn’t need a father’s name.

All he needed... was to win.

And to do that, he’d burn every law, blood, and oath that tried to chain him down.

He stared into the sky where clouds raced like wolves, and he whispered to the gods:

"Let them come."

Then he turned and walked back into the night.