Fated and Claimed by Four Alphas
Chapter 77: The Patient: Verdant Pulse Syndrome

Chapter 77: The Patient: Verdant Pulse Syndrome

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Chapter 78

~Spring’s POV~

Verdant Pulse Syndrome

I took the elevator up, holding Rhys’s phone like it was made of glass. The floor was eerily silent. Every step felt louder than the last.

My sneakers echoed softly as I walked down the hospital corridor, following the directions the receptionist had given—after I’d threatened to report them to Rhys and my father.

The halls grew quieter and dimmer with each step. There was a weight in the air, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Just as I reached the frosted-glass door, voices drifted out again.

As I neared the closed door to Ward B, I heard them before I saw them.

"...His vitals are crashing," someone said. "We need to stabilise or move to life support."

"No, not yet," Rhys replied tightly. "We try everything first."

"His vascular flow is erratic. Lymph’s recoiling. He’s reacting to his own pulse."

"We’ve maxed out the inhibitors. The suppressants aren’t holding. Nothing’s responding."

Rhys’s voice was the most strained I’d ever heard it. "It doesn’t make sense. All the symptoms align—but we have no treatment record."

"Because it was only mentioned once. International symposium. No proper study, just a case note and a theory. It might not even be real."

"What’s it called again?" another doctor asked.

"...Verdant Pulse Syndrome."

My breath hitched.

Verdant Pulse.

No. It couldn’t be.

But the moment the name hit my ears, it all rushed back.

The boy writhing under layers of fever-drenched blankets. The shimmering green veins along his throat and arms. The cries. The sleepless nights.

Nile.

He was six—my cousin. My uncle’s only child. He’d been the first person I ever swore I wouldn’t let die—not while I still had breath to give.

And he’d survived. Because Linnae, the priestess of Lunaris, and I created a remedy from the old texts. From memory. From instinct.

From fear.

It wasn’t written in any grimoire—no formal documentation. Just whispers passed between healers who still listened to the land. Who still believed that roots held memory and moonlight could still guide trembling hands.

I blinked, breath caught in my chest.

How did this illness exist here, in this time?

I peered through the window. Rhys stood at the head of the bed, his hands gripping the sides, jaw clenched. Monitors beeped in irregular rhythms, and the child lying in the bed was pale. Too pale.

Verdant Pulse.

The illness mimicked a vascular disorder, but it was never in the blood. It was in the life force—the way a soul resonated against the earth itself—a curse of severed spiritual roots.

And modern medicine would never find it because they weren’t looking in the right place.

I wanted to scream. To push the door open. To tell Rhys what it really was. To tell him I knew how to treat it.

But I didn’t.

Because I couldn’t explain how I knew, yet.

The memories weren’t Spring’s. They were mine. Solstices, from a lifetime three to two centuries ago.

If I walked in there and said what I knew, what would that make me?

A fraud? A lunatic? A girl with too many secrets?

No... not yet. Not until I had more.

I backed away from the door slowly, clutching the phone in my palm.

It buzzed again—another call from our father.

That snapped me out of it.

I turned and nearly bumped into a nurse hurrying past. "Excuse me," I said, holding out the phone. "Dr. Rhys left this in his car. He’s in Room Three, right?"

She paused, eyeing me like I’d crossed some invisible barrier. "Who should I say gave it to him?"

"I’m his sister," I replied quickly. "Just make sure he gets it. It’s urgent—our father’s been calling nonstop."

She blinked, recognising who was calling. "Wait—Senator Kaine?"

I didn’t wait for her to ask more. "Yes. So, unless you’d like to explain to Dr. Rhys why his father’s call didn’t get through..."

Her face paled slightly.

She took the phone. "I’ll take it to him right now."

I nodded and walked away before the lump in my throat could spill out of my mouth.

Because if I stayed... if I saw Rhys look that heartbroken again, I might lose my restraint.

And tell him what I remembered.

That the cure exists. That I’d helped make it. That the roots and herbs still grow if you know where to look.

But I couldn’t yet until I figured out why this illness, lost to time, was back... and what it had to do with me.

By the time I returned to the car, the air outside had chilled slightly, the dusk sun slipping beneath the skyline.

I slipped into the passenger seat, closed the door quietly, and stared blankly out through the windshield for a few seconds.

I sat in the car, hands still trembling slightly as I stared at Rhys’s phone—no, my phone now. His had already been handed off, and now the device in my palm was the only tool I had to help him.

Help a patient.

Help save a life.

And possibly reveal too much of myself if I wasn’t careful.

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

There had to be a way.

A memory flickered—clearer than most—of a rainy night months ago. Eryx and I huddled beside his bed, legs tangled in a blanket as he opened three tabs on his laptop and declared dramatically, "Lesson One: How to make the internet think you live on Mars."

I’d laughed, unimpressed.

He’d grinned, unimpressed that I was unimpressed.

"You’re too innocent for the internet," he’d teased, showing me how to spoof IP addresses, route through temporary digital fingerprints, and register accounts without ever attaching a name or SIM to them. He’d even taught me how to mask my number using encryption add-ons and a server redirect.

I’d rolled my eyes at the time, half-amused, half-bored.

Now? I was grateful. Deeply, silently grateful.

I grabbed my phone from the side pocket of my coat, pulled up one of the apps he’d installed but I’d never touched—until now.

With a few clicks and rerouted data paths through a virtual proxy, my device’s identity became scrambled.

The phone number changed into a private sequence masked by a global relay app—one that disguised SMS origins and wiped all footprints after delivery.

I opened a private browser and created a secure message portal. Registered under a name with zero links to me. Spring Kaine no longer existed in that thread.

Only a ghost.

About fifteen minutes later, I had everything I needed: a blank number, a blank name.

I inhaled as my fingers hovered over the keyboard, and finally, I typed.

Verdant Pulse Syndrome.

Male, age 19, Type II progression.

Saturating root dose: Stellaris vine, crushed fresh.

Support blend: Ashvine root. Hollowleaf, Ironroot, and Beryl-sap bark brewed at twilight, infused with saline to draw out the Verdant strain. Boil 23 minutes. Not more. Not less.

You’ll know it’s working when the breath slows and the green hue fades from the skin.

Don’t wait. There’s still time. This will help him. Save him.

I read it over three times before pressing send. No names. No clue who I was.

Signed,

A friend of the forest.

I stared at it. It was short, mysterious but accurate. The message was sent with a blink and vanished from my outbox.

Nothing left behind.

Just the hope that he’d take it seriously.

I locked my phone, sank back in the seat, and watched the hospital lights flicker in the distance.

Let him think it was a miracle, a fluke, or the desperate reach of a lucky guess.

Let him never know it came from me because secrets were better when they saved lives, even if no one clapped for them.

Rhys finished up later, but he had called the driver to pick me up instead and return home. I hated that I had to go back, but I realised he was concerned for me.

The house was quiet that evening—eerily so.

No yelling from Rose, no humming from the kitchen, not even the usual hallway chatter from the maids.

Just the soft ticking of the antique clock in the living room and the occasional breeze ruffling the curtains.

I was curled up on the far end of the couch in my room with a fluffy blanket draped over my knees, nursing a mug of tea I had no real desire to drink.

My hair was damp from a quick bath, and I’d finally changed into a loose cotton tee and shorts after the chaotic day.

I’d expected silence to bring comfort.

Instead, it made space for everything I didn’t want to feel.

The ache in my cheek from where my mother had struck me, the chill of wine soaking through my gown.

The memory of fists clenched and words left unsaid, and then the sound of the door opening reached my ears.

I sat upright just as Rhys stepped in through the front door, shoulders slightly hunched, his white button-up shirt wrinkled, collar open and sleeves rolled past his elbows.

His tie was gone. His shoes barely made a sound as he walked inside. He looked... spent, completely and utterly drained.

I watched as he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as if he’d been holding his breath since the moment he left me in the car.

"You look like someone who just fought a war," I said softly.

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