"She says you must see this," Lunacall continued, her young voice steady despite her obvious haste. "The magic responds differently now. As if it recognizes something in him. Something changing beyond what the texts described."
"Go," Moonsinger urged him, her aged eyes reflecting concern. "This may be what the vision foretold."
Boarstaff made his way through the Heart Tree's winding passages, nodding to warriors who stood guard at each threshold. The air grew heavier as he descended, charged with ancient power that had accumulated over generations of ritual and containment. The worn steps beneath his feet had been carved by ancestors who understood the delicate balance between containment and transformation.
The sacred chamber had changed since his last visit. Crystal formations pulsed with colors he'd never witnessed in their depths, midnight blues and volcanic reds painting patterns across living wood. The air felt thicker, charged with energies that made his skin prickle.
And at the center of it all lay Sebastian, transformed almost beyond recognition from the vampire noble they'd first contained.
The mechanical components that had failed throughout the nightlittered the jet floor around him, brass pieces, copper threading, steel reinforcements that had once directed his every function. But unlike before, these components no longer resembled vampire engineering. The metal had changed, twisted into shapes that looked almost organic. Almost alive.
"It began during the night," Ochrehand explained, her magic creating protective barriers around Sebastian's still form. "The brass doesn't just fail now, it transforms."
Boarstaff stepped closer, studying what remained of Sebastian's mechanical collar. The metal had separated partially from his throat, but instead of tearing flesh as they'd feared, it had... changed. Tendrils of brass extended into his skin like veins, pulsing with strange life that carried neither the sterile precision of vampire engineering nor the raw chaos of complete rejection.
"What is he becoming?" Boarstaff asked, unable to keep wonder from his voice.
"We don't know," Doechaser admitted. "The ancient texts describe vampires returning to natural state when contained here, but this... This is something different."
Sebastian remained unconscious, but his expression had changed. No longer contorted in agony, his features had settled into something resembling peace. His breathing followed rhythms that matched the crystal pulses, not artificial regulation, but something deeper. Something older.
"He dreams," Ochrehand said. "Not fever nightmares now, but true dreams. We've glimpsed fragments, memories perhaps, or possibilities."
"What kind of memories?" Boarstaff asked, noting how the brass at Sebastian's temples had transformed into delicate patterns that reminded him of ore veins in living stone.
"His turning," Ochrehand said softly. "When he was still human. When they first began replacing natural function with mechanical precision." She traced patterns above Sebastian's chest, where his mechanical heart had once regulated every beat. "But also older memories. Things that lived in his blood before improvements. Things his father's artificers tried to make him forget."
Sebastian's body shifted slightly, not the violent convulsions ofbefore, but something almost deliberate. The transformed brass at his collar rippled like water, catching crystal light in ways metal should never reflect.
"The hunger remains," Doechaser warned. "We can feel it building beneath the transformation. Without blood, his organic systems will eventually fail, no matter how successfully the metal remembers its origins."
Boarstaff nodded, understanding the implication. The question of feeding still awaited answer, a decision that would shape not just Sebastian's fate, but potentially relationships between their peoples that had been defined by hatred for generations.
"How long?" he asked.
"Hours at most," Ochrehand replied. "The transformation accelerates his need even as it stabilizes his condition. Without blood, we lose whatever he's becoming."
Before Boarstaff could respond, a horn blast cut through the morning air, three sharp notes that signaled approaching threat. The border scouts had spotted something urgent enough to risk detection by sounding alarm.
"Stay with him," Boarstaff ordered the shamans. "I'll send word when we know more."
He climbed worn steps two at a time, mind already shifting to defensive strategies, evacuation routes, contingency plans developed over decades of border conflicts. By the time he reached the council chamber, Thornmaker was already there, expression grim.
"They found the trail," the spearmaster reported. "A larger hunting party moves from the east, following tracks that lead directly to our territory."
"How many?" Boarstaff asked, studying the map where Thornmaker marked their approach. "How are they continuing the search during the day?"
"At least twenty. Their most skilled trackers, supplemented with..." Thornmaker hesitated. "Something new. Or very old. Magic we haven't seen them use in generations. It's protecting them."
The implications settled heavy as forge-smoke. Vampire nobility hadn't employed magic since choosing mechanical precision over natural power. If they revived those methods...
"They use what works," Boarstaff said. "When machines fail, they adapt. As we do in similar situations." He traced potential interception points on the map. "How long before they reach the village?"
"Two days. Less if they maintain their current pace." Thornmaker's finger circled a section of deep forest. "We can slow them here. Force them to split their party, waste time on false trails."
"Do it," Boarstaff ordered. "But no direct engagement. We need time, not blood spilled."
Boarstaff returned to the sacred chamber as afternoon shadows lengthened. The transformation had progressed further in his absence, Sebastian's mechanical components no longer resembled vampire engineering at all. The brass had become something between metal and living tissue, pulsing with rhythms that matched the chamber's crystal formations.
