"Sarah," the woman said more firmly. "We must go now."
"It's all right," Sebastian told the coordinator, surprised to find he meant it. He looked back at Sarah, meeting her tearful gaze. "I promise to do everything in my power to return. And I keep my promises."
His loose promise seemed to satisfy her, though tears still tracked down her face. She allowed the woman to lead her away, looking back over her shoulder until they disappeared into the crowd heading toward the tunnel entrances.
Sebastian remained kneeling for a moment longer, unsettled by the encounter. The child's concern for him was... unexpected. Inefficient. She should be focused on her own survival, not his. Yet her fierce demand had awakened something in him that felt dangerously close to responsibility.
Rising to his feet, Sebastian continued his survey of the preparations. Across the clearing, he spotted Boarstaff deep in conversation with Khalida and several other leaders. The warchief's posture was tense but determined as he pointed to various positions on a rough map spread between them. Even at this distance, Sebastian could read the strain in his shoulders, the careful control in his movements as he maintained the appearance of confidence for his people.
Something twisted in Sebastian's chest as he watched him. It was an unfamiliar sensation, reminiscent of what he had once felt for his brothers, but different. Deeper. More complex. In all his centuries, he had never cared for anyone as he cared for Boarstaff.
And he had killed his brothers.
The thought hit him with unexpected force. He had murdered the only beings he had ever truly cared about. Whatdid that suggest about Boarstaff's chances? Was Sebastian's care a death sentence? A curse?
He continued watching as Boarstaff clasped arms with the desert warriors, as he checked weapon caches with the dwarves, as he paused to comfort a young orc child being evacuated. Every interaction reflected a leader prepared to die for his people.
The realization crystallized in Sebastian's mind with cold clarity: Boarstaff would not survive this battle. Not against Cornelius. Not against the forces gathering against them. He was too brave, too selfless, too willing to place himself between danger and those he protected.
Unless Sebastian removed the threat entirely.
The thought formed with dangerous precision. He knew the citadel better than anyone alive. Knew its weaknesses, its secret passages, the blind spots in its defenses. Knew his father's habits, his vulnerabilities. A direct assault on the settlement would cost hundreds of lives.
But a single assassin, striking at the heart of the vampire forces? One life risked—his own—against hundreds saved. The calculation was simple. Efficient.
Cornelius would appreciate the irony, in his final moments.
Decision made, Sebastian walked through the bustling settlement with careful nonchalance. No one paid him much attention, too focused on their own preparations. He made his way toward the armory, a reinforced structure near the training grounds where the settlement's best weapons were stored.
He would need specific tools. Weapons designed to kill vampires, not merely wound them. His bare hands could kill most creatures, but Cornelius was different. Older. Stronger. More extensively modified. Sebastian would need every advantage.
The armory was temporarily unguarded, its keeper likely called away to assist with evacuations. Sebastian slipped inside,his eyes adjusting instantly to the dimmer light. Racks of weapons lined the walls, spears with hardened steel tips, blades forged from the highest quality metals, bows with arrows designed to penetrate even armored targets.
Sebastian selected with careful precision. A pair of curved daggers with perfect balance for his fighting style. A thin wire garrote that could sever a head with enough force. A small crossbow that could be strapped to his forearm, giving him a ranged option that wouldn't require him to change stance.
As he secured the weapons to his body, Sebastian calculated his route. He would need to leave immediately, while the evacuation provided cover for his departure. Move through the forest rather than open terrain. Approach the citadel from the northeast, where the defenses were weakest.
He would not say goodbye. Could not risk Boarstaff trying to stop him or, worse, insisting on accompanying him. This was a mission for one. Clean. Precise. Final.
"Planning a private war?"
Sebastian turned sharply, weapons in hand. Boarstaff stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the exit. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes missed nothing, the daggers secured at Sebastian's hips, the crossbow strapped to his forearm, the garrote wire coiled and hidden beneath his bracer.
"You're needed elsewhere," Sebastian replied, neither confirming nor denying. "The evacuation—"
"Is proceeding as planned," Boarstaff finished for him. He stepped into the armory, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Unlike whatever this is."
"Tactical adjustment," Sebastian said coolly. "The defense of the settlement has too many variables, too many potential points of failure."
"So, you're leaving."
"I'm eliminating the threat at its source," Sebastian corrected. "Cornelius expects an army. He won't expect me."
Boarstaff moved further into the space, his gaze never leaving Sebastian's face. "And when were you planning to share this strategy with the council? With me?"
Sebastian remained silent, which was answer enough.
"I see." Boarstaff's voice had gone dangerously quiet. "You weren't."
