“They say he killed his brothers with their own weapons—”
“I heard he tore out his own heart to escape their control—”
“Some say he’s more orc than vampire now—”
Boarstaff realized with growing unease that Sebastian was becoming a symbol, to allies and enemies alike. A vampire who had betrayed his kind. A monster seeking redemption. Apowerful ally or a dangerous infiltrator, depending on who told the story.
It would be another weight on Sebastian’s shoulders when he finally emerged from the Heart Tree. Another expectation to bear alongside his own healing.
As night deepened, a scout reported that the desert allies had been spotted. They would arrive by midday the following day. The village would soon be filled to capacity with three different peoples united against a common enemy.
Boarstaff stood alone on the western wall, watching the village continue its preparations, dwarven forges glowing orange in the darkness, orc warriors drilling by torchlight, healers sorting herbs and bandages by the light of crystal lamps.
His gaze returned, as it always did, to the Heart Tree. Though he honored Sebastian’s request for solitude, the pull to return to the sealed entrance remained strong. Boarstaff resisted, remaining where duty required him, balancing the needs of the many against his concern for one.
The coming days would test them all. Boarstaff could only hope they would be ready.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The water had grown cold.
Sebastian floated in the sacred pool, as the temperature dropped around him. The crystal lights embedded in the wooden walls pulsed an insistent red. Where before they had bathed him in healing warmth, now they pushed at him, urged him upward and outward.
The message was clear: he could not hide forever.
Sebastian remained still for a moment longer, suspended in the water that had cradled him through his transformation. The worst of his wounds had closed, though his body remained a landscape of scars where he had torn out components. Some of the deeper injuries still ached, places where he hadn’t been able to fully extract his father’s “improvements.”
The Tree had helped him heal, had sustained him through the worst of the pain. But suddenly it was telling him it was time to leave.
Sebastian rose from the pool, water streaming down his body. He had lost track of how many days had passed. The concept of time had little meaning in the depths of the Heart Tree, where darkness and crystal light alternated according to no schedule he could discern.
“Thank you,” he said to the empty chamber, his voice rough from disuse. “For shelter. For healing.”
The crystal lights pulsed once in acknowledgment.
Sebastian made his way up the spiral staircase that led to the main trunk. Each step illuminated as his foot touched it, guiding him upward. His movements felt different, free of the mechanical precision that had defined him for centuries, but also lacking the unsteady weakness of his initial emergence from the citadel. This was something new. Something of his own making.
At the entrance chamber, he found clothes laid out on a stone bench, simple orc garments, practical and durable. No fine vampire silks or ornate clasps. Nothing reminiscent of House de la Sang. Sebastian dressed slowly, fabric sliding over scarred flesh, adjusting to the sensation of clothing against his transformed body.
The Tree’s entrance swung open without him touching it. Night air rushed in, cool and filled with unfamiliar scents. Sebastian stepped to the threshold, expecting the sleeping quiet of the settlement at night.
Instead, he heard shouting.
The settlement was awake and in motion. Torches lined the walls, illuminating warriors rushing to defensive positions. Orders were called from the eastern wall. The distinctive sound of weapons being readied echoed through the night.
Sebastian slipped from the Tree’s entrance into shadow, moving silently toward the commotion. His bare feet made no sound on the packed earth. He passed orc dwellings and newly erected dwarven tens without being noticed, a shadow among shadows.
He reached the eastern section of the settlement and scaled a storage building with fluid ease, gaining a vantage point from which to observe the eastern gate. There, the source of the disturbance came into view.
A contingent of vampires stood at the edge of the forest, just beyond arrow range. Their pale skin gleamed in the moonlight,their posture rigid with aristocratic arrogance. Sebastian recognized their standard—House Varten, allies to his father’s house, though lesser in standing. Perhaps twenty vampires in total, with only one mounted on a black steed, their leader, Lord Cassius Varten.
Sebastian had met him at countless diplomatic functions over the centuries. Cassius had always treated him with thinly veiled contempt, calling him “the soft son” when he thought Sebastian couldn’t hear.
On the settlement wall stood Boarstaff, Thornmaker, and several dwarves Sebastian didn’t recognize. Warriors lined the battlements, arrows nocked but not yet drawn.
“We come for Sebastian de la Sang,” Cassius called out, his voice carrying the practiced projection of vampire nobility. “Surrender him, and your settlement will be spared. Refuse, and what follows will be on your heads.”
“There is no one here by that name,” Boarstaff replied, his voice steady.
