A/N

Wow. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. Seriously, I don't deserve you guys. Sorry for the long update, I have two other published stories, and three others in the works. This chapter is not my best, or the longest, and I'll admit it, but I promise the next one will be much better! Please review if you have any ideas or suggestion, I'm open to anything!

"Jack! Wake up! JACK!" Someone was frantically shaking him, gripping his shoulders with bone-crushing force. He forced his eyes open, and sat bolt upright, scaring his mom and Ellen out of their wits. Ellen tackled him in a hug, and for the second time that day, he found himself laying on the hard cobblestone floor of the castle entry hall.

"Can't... breathe," he choked out, but he didn't really mind. He loved everything about Ellen, from her stubbornness, to her crushing hugs.

"I thought you were dead," she said, sounding as if she were on the verge of hysterics. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Jack. I'll kill you." Jack smiled at that. He remembered how terrified he had felt when she had been hurt in the Siege of Trinity. He hated himself for putting her through that kind of pain.

"I'm alright," he promised, fighting back a wave of nausea as he got to his feet, head pounding. "Just a little shaken up."

He stumbled and grabbed the table next to him, bracing himself against the sturdy oak. He closed his eyes for a moment, his fierce headache subsiding to a dull throb. He took a deep breath, speaking up before he lost the courage to ask. "Seph... is... is he...?" He couldn't bring himself to say it; he would never forgive himself if… No, Seph would be okay, he was stubborn. He had survived more than a year of torture under Leicester's hand, he would pull through. He had to.

His mom smiled at him sadly, obviously trying to look reassuring, but failing miserably. "He'll be fine, he's with Hastings."

Hastings. The name washed over the room like an impending storm. For the first time ever, Jack found himself questioning the wizard's abilities. He was one of the most powerful people he knew, but could even wizardry heal such a terrible wound?

"He'll be fine," echoed Becka, sounding as if she were still trying to convince herself.

Jack put his head in his hands. How could this happen? The war was supposed to be over. This felt like some cruel sort of joke, a painful reminder that they could never completely relax, never let their guard down. That the war would never truly end.

His headache struck him again, twice as vicious as before. Jack's vision tinted red. He staggered, reaching for his head as his legs collapsed from under him. The last thing he heard was Ellen and his mom screaming his name before he slipped back into the inky depths of unconsciousness.

Seph was only aware of one thing. Pain. It coursed its way through his body, consuming his entire being. It felt as if someone were driving a rusted spike through his chest. He would scream, but he lacked the energy. He drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of his surroundings. He lay on a metal table which should have been freezing cold on his bare skin, but was burning to the touch. That couldn't be good. Frantic voices were calling out to him, desperately begging him to remain conscious, but he was fighting a losing battle. The voices sounded eerily familiar, but he couldn't quite place them.

"He's losing too much blood! Shit! Linda what do we do!?" It was a man's voice. He sounded panicked and scared, and that unnerved Seph. Something told him that this man should not sound like this, that he should be calm and collected— undaunted in the face of danger. He wanted to reassure him, to tell him everything was okay, but he couldn't seem to form the words. A tiny voice fluttered in his semiconscious, whispering at him to just give in to the pain, to close his eyes, just for a moment… He fought against it desperately, but his body wouldn't obey his commands. His eyelids grew heavy, the voice growing louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore, and at last he gave in to the temptation.

The pain hit him the moment he closed his eyes. His eyes shot open, volts of electricity surging through him, as his body convulsed on the table. This time he did scream, he couldn't help it, the sound tore itself from his throat without his consent. The current finally petered off, leaving him panting and gasping for breath, but alive. The man stood next to him, gently stroking his hand, whispering apologies and soothing words into his ear. I'm sorry, he was saying. You were dying, it was the only way. I know it hurts. I'm so sorry Seph.

Seph tried to nod, but winced in pain as his wounded chest began to throb once again. The man noticed, and plucked a small vial from a nearby shelf. He uncorked the bottle with a pop, forcing the contents into Seph's mouth.

A prickly heat ran down his throat and exploded into his chest, knocking his breath away. Warmth filled his body, driving out every ounce of cold, leaving his fingers tingling with power. The sensation was familiar somehow... comforting. His head was clear once again, no longer muddled by the terrible pain. He felt rejuvenated… alive. He hadn't felt this good since he last took Wizard's… He trailed off, a terrible thought coming to mind. What if…? No! It wasn't possible. Why would Hastings— his own father— give him Wizard's Flame, fully aware of the consequences? He cursed under his breath, realizing that Hastings wasn't aware of the consequences; he had purposefully made sure of that. Hastings, completely oblivious to Seph's… issues… with the stuff, must have given him the drug as a numbing agent, thinking that he was helping his son, when in reality he was really doing the opposite. This was not good.

He struggled to sit up, but Linda place her hand on his shoulder, restraining him. "Come on, mom," he protested weakly, "I'm fine." She rolled her eyes at him, a feeble smile interrupting her worried features.

"You're not fine, you're hurt; badly. Now lie down and get some rest, or so help me, I will give you enough sleeping pills to last weeks." He scowled at her request. The enchanter's voice was laced with charms, her words impossible to forget. Now lie down and get some rest. The words floated through his head, enveloping his consciousness. She was using mind magic, and it was obvious— he had never been susceptible to that kind of thing. But despite the Flame-induced, raw power that coursed through his veins, he lacked the strength to fight back, and for the third time that day, he found himself falling under sleep's grasp.