Dill’s POV:

It takes me a moment to realize that the scream is my own and another minute still before I realize there is nothing I can do to stop it. 

Heat flares everywhere, rolling across my skin in pulsing waves as six peoples’ magic roles over me. Taring and slicing at me as if it were eating me from the inside out. Like some beast trying to claw its way through me until all I can do is scream. It hurts so much that I lose all sense of conscious thought, the pain is overwhelming, my eyes blurring.

Before I know it, I am falling, my vision going blank before I even come into contact with the floor. 

I barely feel the moment my body strikes the ground over the agony their curses cause. The sound of screaming still permeates the room and it sounds so distant, so disconnected from my body that I have to consciously remind myself that it's me, I'm the one screaming.

The torment grows in severity so fast that I don’t have time to adjust before it consumes me. Hot and pulsing and alive, wriggling beneath my skin and squeezing me in a vise like grip until all the bones in my body feel like they are going to snap under the pressure. It's too much. 

I stop breathing, the air refusing to refill my lungs no matter how much I try. The screaming chokes off, my lungs completely deflated, body convulsing, eyes bulging. I struggle as hard as I can, but the air doesn’t come. I burn with the need for oxygen and can feel myself shaking with effort as I do my best to draw breath that just isn't there. 

Vaguely, I hear people screaming in the background, but their voices are so muffled I can't make out what they are saying. Even if they weren't, my body hurts too much for me to have been able to understand it anyway. 

Then just as suddenly as it started, it stops. The world slamming back into focus with a force of an avalanche and sweet sweet air pours into my lungs. I lie there helplessly gasping on the floor, like a man kissing the ground after being lost at sea, the world spinning around me. Feeling slowly comes back into my hands and feet, both places I had forgotten existed while the torrent of agony washed over me.

I can hear the yelling now, much clearer and louder than before, along with a roaring sound that resembles the hum of magic, except much more pronounced.

Slowly, I push myself into a seated position and let my eyes sweep over the room. It doesn’t take me long to find the cause of the sound.

Six people are pinned to the wall directly across from me; Samuel, Vira, Kasandra, Sandra, Dominic, and Ren. Their faces twist in shock as they struggle against the soft blue magic holding them in place. It's almost comical watching the six pull at their bounds like flies caught in a spiders web, so much so that I almost laugh. Almost being the key word. 

I don't because I still haven't recovered from their curses and though I may be dumb, I am not dumb enough to waste what little strength I have laughing at their sorry asses. No matter how tempting the thought may be. 

“What in the hell is wrong with you all?” Pheles growls and to my surprise the magic holding my siblings to the wall tightens. His magic is such a nice color, so pretty. It's such a shame it doesn't match him at all. I think with a little smile before focusing my attention back on the prince who is still speaking, voice booming through the room. “What gives you the right to torture someone like that?”

“You don’t understand!” Samuel tries to explain, but Pheles doesn’t seem to want an explanation, he is practically boiling over with anger.

“Shut the fuck up.” He rumbles again and Samuel, for once, goes quiet. “I am going to release you now and when I do I want you to leave. Do you understand?” He continues and everyone on the wall nods their heads affirmative.

“Good.” The prince says as he lets them fall in a heap to the floor. “I never want to see any of you again.” His voice is filled with something dark and vaguely animalistic, eyes deadly. “All of you, get the hell out of here.” He orders the rest of the room and everyone leaps to their feet in order to comply. “Wait, not you.” Pheles says as Creole reaches the door. 

“Your majesty?” He asks a bit unsure before his eyes fall on me and understanding as well as guilt seems to dawn on his face.

“You are a medic aren’t you?” The prince challenges as he stalks towards me. “Help me get him on the couch.”

Creole doesn't hesitate a moment longer and I don’t even have time to blink before their hands are on me and I am being lifted into the air. Pheles's words striking a cord with Creole that the prince probably doesn't even realize he's touched. I feel a little bad for him honestly remembering all the shit he got when he said he wanted to become a medic, rather than a member of the guard or into politics like the rest of our brothers and sisters. 

“I'm so sorry Dill. So sorry.” Creole mutters quietly as they place me gently on the couch. 

It's not your fault. I tell him softly with my eyes but he just shakes his head softly. 

“No it isn't." He whispers back, his eyes now staring directly into my own. "You know I became a medic so I could help people, keep them safe. What kind of a medic am I if I can't even protect my own little brother?" He asks with such sadness that I have to reach out and touch his shoulder.

You of all people know there is nothing you could have done. I argue, but he doesn't seem to want to listen. 

"I should have challenged them, I should have tried to stop them. I shouldn’t have let them do that to you again.” He argues right back with a sternness that reminds me of the Head Miss. 

“Again?” Pheles's outraged cry bursts forth upon overhearing our conversation. “How many times has this happened?” His demand is strong and Creole answers him without delay.

“Once a year since he was nine.” His hands come to rest on my face as he talks and I lean into him, liking the cold chill of his hands against the burn of my cheek.

“You just stood by and let this happen to him? For years?” The growl in Pheles’s voice is less obvious than it was before, but still very much there.

Careful not to move to much I make a gesture for my paper and quill that rests on the ground where Creole kneels and he hands them to me without a word. I love Creole, but sometimes he can be so self deprecating, never bothering to defend himself even when he should. I often get the feeling he thinks he deserves it, like he is making up for not being the perfect son everyone wants him to be. Or making up for the fact that he can't protect me as well as he wants to. 

I never really understood that though. I mean the guy practically raised me after my mother died and everyone turned on me. Out of everyone, he has the most reason to defend himself, but I know he won't, which is why I do it for him. 

“It’s not like he could stop them.” I write as Creole continues his check up. “Creole doesn’t have any offensive magic. Or any defensive magic for that matter.” I add the last bit as an afterthought. “His magic only heals or assists, it’s useless against the rest of them. He aligns with Aerona and Support magic.” 

“Then why haven’t the others intervened? I doubt the rest of your siblings have such an unfortunate alignment.” He demands sharply and I narrow my eyes, ready to go off on him before I feel a hand rest on my arm, steadying me. I don't need to look to know that the hand belongs to Creole and that he is silently trying to calm me down. 

I don't want to, but I also know it is probably for the best that I don't get too worked up right now. Who cares if the whole world sees medicinal wizards as weak or expendable, I mean it's not like injuries happen or diseases are a thing right? Fucking jackasses. 

“They’ve tried.” I drag the quill across the page a bit rougher than I had originally intended, which definitely does nothing to hide my irritation. “It only makes it worse.”

“How could that make it worse?” The prince demands and I give him a slightly exasperated smile. Trying to will him to understand so I don't have to keep writing everything out for him, but it doesn’t work so I bring the quill back to the page.

“They always lose. Like last year.” I explain, my throat growing tight regardless of the fact that I am not actually speaking. My anger, luckily or unluckily, melts away at the memories that sentence brings back, making way for more watery emotions. “They tried to challenge them, but it didn't end well. Everyone got hurt. Bean and Brie were bedridden for days. My father was outraged and blamed me for their injuries. He used his magic on me for a week because of it.”

I sort of wish I could remain mad at Pheles, but the emotion doesn't seem to want to come back. The pain and sadness I feel when remembering what my little brother and sister looked like spread across the floor still to fresh to let any other feelings override it. 

“I-” Pheles cuts himself off and chooses instead to stare at me with wide eyes. He looks at a loss for what to say next, but it doesn't last long and before I know it he is speaking again, attention shifting from me to the man sitting on the floor still running checkups. “How is he, um... Creole was it?” He asks between a swallow. “Good enough to go out?”

“Huh?” Creole asks before meeting the prince's gaze. “Oh, yeah… Yes he's fine. The magic didn’t leave any lasting damage this time. You stopped it quick enough. It will take about an hour before he is able to go anywhere though.” 

“That’s perfect. It’ll give us time to get ready.” Pheles says while looking me in the eyes.

Ready for what? I ask with an incredulous look and he gives me a pleased grin.

“We’re going to party.” His eyes twinkle as he says this and I have to force myself not to groan.

“No, I don’t really feel like it.” I chose to write out because I am starting to suspect he doesn't take me seriously when I rely on other means of non-verbal communication, but he ignores me anyway, so maybe the problem is me and not the way I communicate.

“Trust me, it’ll be good. I know I could use some time to relax after what happened with my mother and I can only assume you need it too after… All that.” He sends me a grin, but I can tell he is still a bit shaken by what happened. 

So he's shaken by what just happened, but couldn't care less about his comment towards Creole earlier. I wait for the anger to come back, but instead I get a weird feeling of resignation at the thought. I don't know why I'm surprised, it always was hard for me to stay angry for long periods of time, once the anger disappears that's it, its gone. So with a sigh I turn my attention on my paper. 

“I don’t think a party is going to be very relaxing.” I try again to convince him, but he just shakes his head.

“Trust me, this one will be.” His voice is so sure as he says it and he looks so pleased with his decision that I almost don’t want to disappoint him, almost.

I am about to crush his spirit when he says the words needed to convince me. “At the very least it will provide a distraction.” 

The words get me and I can tell by the triumphant gleam in his eyes that he knows it. I could still say no, of course, but I don't really want to. The words touch some distant part of myself that yearns for an escape and I know there can only be one answer. Creole doesn't even try to stop me, he only sighs, already knowing what I am going to say.