If Sebastian woke with no memory of his purpose, of the intelligence he held, of the child he claimed to want rescued from his father's citadel, what then? What value would he hold beyond the obvious dangers?
"I'll return in a few hours," Boarstaff said. "Continue monitoring his condition. Send word immediately if anything changes."
The council chamber was in session when he arrived, the table crowded with maps and defensive plans. Evacuation routes had been finalized, warriors assigned to critical positions. Moonsinger looked upas he entered.
"The transformation progresses," Boarstaff said, before she could ask. "The blood sustains his systems while his mechanical components continue to change."
"Into what?" Rockbreaker demanded. "What becomes of a vampire when our magic strips away everything artificial?"
"Something the texts never described," Boarstaff replied. "Something between states."
The council fell silent, weighing implications beyond immediate survival. If Sebastian's transformation succeeded, the knowledge could shift foundations both peoples had built their societies upon.
"Regardless of what he becomes," Thornmaker said, returning focus to immediate concerns, "his brother approaches with hunting parties growing more determined each hour. We must complete the evacuation by nightfall."
The discussion returned to defensive preparations and strategies for slowing vampire advancement. Throughout it all, Boarstaff maintained the steady presence expected of a warchief, while part of his attention remained in the chamber below, where transformation unmade everything a father had built into his son.
By midday, Boarstaff returned to the sacred chambers. Ochrehand looked up as he entered. "His transformation reaches completion," she said. "The deepest components, the ones that regulated his hunger for centuries, undergo final change."
Boarstaff noted how Sebastian's expression had tightened again. Not the agony of before, but something more focused. The transformed brass throughout his body pulsed with urgent rhythms.
"He needs blood again," Doechaser confirmed. "More than before. The final phase requires greater sustenance."
"How much?" Boarstaff drew his knife.
"Eight drops," Doechaser instructed. "The ancient bindings will hold him."
As Boarstaff knelt beside the binding circle, he noticed Sebastian's eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids, not random fluttering, but deliberate tracking. As if he watched something only he could see. As if consciousness approached more quickly than anticipated.
"He nears waking," Ochrehand warned. "The blood you give himnow may be the catalyst that brings him back."
"Then we prepare," Boarstaff replied. "Strengthen the bindings. Be ready for whatever emerges when he opens his eyes."
The first drop fell onto Sebastian's lips. His response was powerful, his body arched upward, a sound escaping that almost resembled speech. The brass at his collar rippled, sending waves through his entire form.
The second and third drops followed with stronger reactions. Sebastian's fingers curled against the wood floor, the movement clearly deliberate.
When the fourth drop touched his lips, Sebastian's eyes began to move beneath closed lids. The altered brass throughout his body radiated heat, steam curling upward in unusual formations.
The fifth drop caused Sebastian to turn his head toward Boarstaff's wrist, hunter's instinct drawn to the source. His fangs emerged fully.
At the sixth drop, his body pulled against the bindings. Not from agony, but with intent. The magic brightened in response, maintaining its hold.
The seventh drop triggered a shift in Sebastian's breathing, it grew deeper, steadier, following the pattern of one nearing wakefulness. The brass at his temples shimmered like wind-touched water.
The eighth drop fell, and Sebastian's eyes flew open.
Not with recognition. Not with dignity. But with raw, animal hunger that made the chamber's crystals pulse crimson with alarm.
A sound tore from his throat as his body convulsed against the bindings, the brass at his collar flared with heat. His eyes darted wildly, pupils dilated with disorientation and need, finding no purchase in a reality he couldn't comprehend.
"Hold the barriers!" Boarstaff commanded as Sebastian thrashed against his restraints. "Consciousness returns without context."
Sebastian's fangs snapped at air, seeking blood with single-minded intensity. Steam erupted from his collar, carrying scents of mountain stone and need. His transformed brass components rippled with dangerous energy as consciousness returned without the artificial regulations that had contained such hunger for centuries.
"The bindings hold," Doechaser assured, though strain showed inher voice. "They were designed for this moment, when vampire nature wakes to its full power."
For several heartbeats, raw panic and predator's instinct ruled Sebastian's every movement. He fought against restraints he couldn't comprehend, driven by hunger no longer controlled by mechanical improvement.
