Page 15 of Captive
"The dreams intensify," Ochrehand reported. "His physical responses suggest they've grown more coherent, though of course we can only observe external signs, not their true content."
"What do you see?" Boarstaff asked, noting how Sebastian's expression shifted subtly, as if responding to something beyond their perception.
"Little with certainty," she admitted. "His unconscious reactions suggest distress, but we cannot know the specific content of his thoughts. Sometimes he whispers fragments, references to ceremonies, pleas that make little sense without context." She hesitated. "And occasionally his body responds as if to hunger, though he remains unconscious."
"The reason they chose processing," Boarstaff concluded. "To control that hunger."
Sebastian's breathing changed, deepened, steadied into rhythm that held nothing of artificial regulation. The transformed brass at his throat pulsed with each inhale, each exhale, as if it had become part of his natural function rather than imposed control.
"He nears waking," Doechaser said, her probing magic revealing shifts beyond their visible understanding. "The transformation reaches completion, or perhaps merely transition to something else. Either way, when consciousness returns..."
"He'll need blood," Boarstaff finished for her. The decision he'dpostponed could wait no longer. "According to the texts, how did our ancestors feed those contained here? What protocols protected them from vampire hunger?"
Doechaser's aged hands moved through patterns that activated runes etched into the floor. "The ancient ways were different. Blood given freely, but carefully controlled. Never direct feeding, the hunger was too dangerous, too consuming."
"And for him?" Boarstaff nodded toward Sebastian's transformed form. "Half-mechanical, half-awakened? What protocols apply?"
"None exist," Ochrehand said simply. "He becomes something between what vampires were and what his father's improvements made him. The old texts provide no guidance for this path."
The chamber fell silent except for Sebastian's steadier breathing and the pulsing of transformed brass. Outside, distant horns signaled scout movements, border patrols adjusting to vampire hunting patterns. Time pressed from all directions.
"I’ll do it," Boarstaff said finally. The statement felt momentous, though he kept his voice matter-of-fact. "When he wakes,I willfeed him."
"Warchief," Doechaser began, alarm evident in her tone.
"The responsibility is mine," he cut her off. "Ochrehand may have brought him here, but I permitted him to remain. I will face the consequences of that decision."
Before further argument could be voiced, a subtle change came over Sebastian's expression. His eyelids flickered. The transformed brass at his temples rippled like water catching sunlight. Consciousness approached, and with it, hunger that had been building through hours of transformation.
"Strengthen the bindings," Boarstaff ordered. "We're about to discover exactly what he's becoming."
Ochrehand and Doechaser moved to opposite sides of the binding circle, their magic flowing into ancient patterns designed specifically for vampire containment. Runes etched into jet glowed with power that responded to their will, to their determination that whatever Sebastian awoke as, it would remain contained.
Boarstaff studied Sebastian's face through the steam. Even unconscious. Even with mechanics failed throughout his body. Thevampire prince's suffering was evident in every line of his features. His transformed components pulsed with strange rhythms matching the chamber's crystal formations, not dying, but becoming something that existed between states.
"Will he wake soon?" Boarstaff noted a subtle shift in Sebastian's expression, a tightening around eyes that remained closed despite signs of increasing awareness.
"Not yet," Doechaser replied, her probing magic revealing shifts beyond their visible understanding. "The transformation reaches his core systems now. The mechanical heart that regulated his existence for centuries fights against awakening. This will be the most dangerous phase."
As if confirming her words, Sebastian's body suddenly arched upward, straining against the ancient bindings. A sound escaped him, raw agony that contained nothing of nobility or artificial control. The transformed brass at his throat flared with heat, sending steam rising in patterns that resembled mountain ranges caught in storm winds.
"He feels everything now," Ochrehand said softly. "Before, the mechanical regulators processed pain into manageable levels. Now, he experiences it directly. Completely. With nothing to filter or diminish its intensity."
Another convulsion wracked Sebastian's body, more violent than the previous ones. His mechanical heart, visible through brass that had partially separated from his chest, stuttered visibly, its rhythm erratic as transformation reached its deepest components.
"This will kill him," Boarstaff said, watching the struggle with growing concern that surprised even himself. Not sympathy, he told himself. Strategic necessity. "If his core systems fail before-"
"They won't fail," Ochrehand cut in, though uncertainty threaded her voice. "But he needs blood soon. The transformation accelerates his need even as it changes his nature. Without it..."
The chamber fell silent except for Sebastian's labored breathing and the grinding of transforming brass. Outside, distant horns signaled scout movements, border patrols adjusting to vampire hunting parties. Time pressed from all directions.
"Then we face difficult choices," Boarstaff said finally. "Choices that will shape not just his fate, but all of ours."
Sebastian's body convulsed again. An agonized sound escaped him that made the chamber's crystals pulse with answering energies. His face contorted with pain that transcended conscious thought, reaching deep into primal experience beyond artificial restraint.
In that moment, seeing such raw suffering stripped of mechanical precision, Boarstaff made his decision. He drew his ceremonial knife, the blade catching crystal light as he pressed it against his own wrist.
"Warchief," Doechaser's alarm was immediate.
