A/N: Semi-graphic depictions of injuries in this chapter. If you don't like that, well, you're out of luck; the story's rated M for a reason.

This chapter, we see more of Ellyn being a badass, and it leads into how she and Rumple are going to end up working together.

Chapter 6: Playing With Fire

"Guards!" Someone calls; one of the nobles, I'd wager to guess. The guards respond instantly, and I hear the pair posted inside the throne room run towards me, boots slapping the ground. With a wave of the hand a wall of fire springs up, crackling and spitting as it races out, stretching the width of the throne room from the floor to the high vaulted ceiling. The wall cuts the room in two uneven halves; on one side, the doors and most of the room, containing some of the gathered people and the guards. On the other side, the throne on it's three-step raised dais, me, and most of the people. For a long moment, the only sound is the crackling of flames, the guards forced to stop short or burn alive.

I sweep my gaze around the people, zeroing in on the man who called for guards. I was right; he's a noble, in every sense of the word. Arrogant, fat, and at the moment, pale as a sheet. "Ah, mortals." I say flatly. "What an annoyance." With a wave of the hand, everyone disappears; the guards, the nobles, the commoners, all gone, transported outside the palace. From outside, there comes the deep resounding clinking of heavy chains, that continues on for several seconds and ends with a reverberating 'thud' as the drawbridge closes. Unknown to the only two men left in the room, every other gate or side door out of the palace closes and locks, and behind me, the doors latch and the flames dissipate, leaving the room eerily silent.

"If you could excuse us, Ezra, I'd like a private word with Freddy here." I say, glancing to the man standing next to Frederick, the only person I didn't try to teleport away. He's young, with slicked-back black hair that comes to his shoulders, sharp and handsome facial features, and vibrant blue eyes. A faint scar runs down his left cheek, a souvenir from my escape from here. It's merciful compared to what I could have done.

"Ellie. Our sources warned us that you might come."

"Call me by my given name or nothing at all, Ezzy." I snap, purposely drawing out the nickname he despises. "Only my friends get to call me Ellie."

"Still holding a grudge, I see."

I hold down a wolf's growl. I have every right to hold a grudge; I mentored the bastard in magic, increased his knowledge of the art fivefold, got him his position here at court, and to repay me he turned around and used that knowledge to keep me imprisoned in this place for months as his lord tried to torture me into helping him obtain Dreamshade. Given how desperate he was for that action and information pertaining to it, I have a theory that if he ever obtains some, he plans to use it in a coup to seize the throne.

I sweep my gaze over Ezra. Of all the hedge-witches in all the worlds, I had to chose a viper as my apprentice.

"Still the lord's lapdog, I see." I reply in the same tone. Anger sparks in his eyes, and I smile icily.

"What do you want with one of my prisoners, witch?" Frederick demands before Ezra can reply. I turn my gaze to him; he's older, perhaps fifty, the hulking muscle of his youth still evident but starting to deteriorate. His voice befits a lord, commanding and confident. His eyes, however, are more that of a thief; cold and greedy, speaking of ambition in every way. Hate flares up in me for these men, sending anger burning through my chest.

"You know damn well what I want." I snarl.

"The Dark One." Fred says with disdain, disgust filtering across his features. "I met him only this morning. A vile creature if there ever was one. I should have guessed that you would be concerned for him."

I don't like how he says that, be concerned for him. The only reason I'm concerned for him is because I still need him to get to Neverland, (and, I admit to myself, because I don't want to see an... ally condemned to this place).

"Okay Frederick, I'm going to say this once: I don't give damn what you want with him or what information you're tryin' to squeeze out of him. I have use of him, so you'd better give him to me now, or I swear to every god there is that I will burn this place to the ground, with you and everyone else still inside." I let a lupine smile stretch over my face as I add, "Your children and wife just returned from visiting family in the capital, didn't they? It'd be a shame for them to die on their first day back."

The hate I have for the lord seems to be reciprocated back at me when I look in his eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

I let a flame jump to life in my hand, shifting and sparking, and let my self-control slip, just enough that I feel my eyes take on an ember glow. I smile again, fangs flashing. "Try me." I snarl.

Frederick glares down at me, and for a moment the calm and disdainful mask slips, and he's as afraid as I have ever seen him. After a second he turns to Ezra, pitching his voice low, trying to make it so that I can't hear him. What he fails to remember, however, is my inborn canine attributes, and I hear every word.

"Get down to the dungeons. I want that dagger and I want it now." The lord hisses. For the briefest flicker of a second, I'm smug with how much one sentence was able to unnerve him. The power of a sinister reputation at work, I guess.

Immediately after that, though, dread and anger simultaneously settle in me. There's no way Rumple is giving the source of his power-and freedom- up easily, not when he's seen firsthand how bad it was for Zoso and not when he values his power so highly. And I also know exactly what they must be doing to try and get him to relinquish it, as testified by the scars lacing my body, and I don't know how long he'll be able to hold out. If this weasel of a lord manages to get his hands on the dagger… well, I'm happy my sword absorbs and deflects magic, because even with my power, I'd need it.

Ezra nods, glancing to me in evaluation, not knowing if I'll let him pass. When he straightens and gracefully makes his way down the steps and goes to step around me, I mirror his movements. Ezra glares at me, fireballs leaping to life in his palms.

"Stay out of my way, Ellyn." he warns.

I laugh. "The pup shouldn't presume to threaten the alpha. You should remember, Ezra, that anything I taught you, I am exceptionally more skilled in. Fight me, and you will lose."

To demonstrate this, a thought takes the flame still in my palms and swirls it gently around, drifting to the ground where it slashes like water, and in an instant it zips upward again, hovering at hip height as the flame grows and elongates until by my side stands a snarling, crackling wolf made completely of flames.

Ezra's jaw drops; this wasn't a trick I ever showed him before. I smile cheekily at his expression. Perhaps he's finally coming to terms with how out of his league he is.

"Flame wraiths." I explain with a grin. "More flexible than a fireball and so much more my style, wouldn't you say?" I glance back over to Frederick as more wraiths spring to life, until three, four, five stand impatiently in a semi-circle around me, the small pack the limit of my control but still quite impressive, as demonstrated by the blood draining from the lord's face.

"Blood doesn't have to be spilt." the lord says, his fear finally overpowering his anger and creeping into his voice as he eyes the growling wolves; he's probably just come to the conclusion that, based on Ezra's expression, the magician can't protect him- or anything of his- from me. It's wonder the kind of common sense you can knock into bullheaded men with a little show of magic. "You said you have use of the Dark One, and that means our interests are aligned. Help me in procuring the location of his dagger, and I will command him to do whatever you ask." he says, then hastily adds, "We could be the best of allies."

I start to get angry; the first thing I think of is Zoso and how the capture of his dagger was the final straw that drove him to suicide. But the idea gives me pause; as it is, Rumple isn't going to help me with getting to Neverland. We might have something close to an alliance now, but it's going to take time to arrange a deal that will fully acquire his help, and I am sick of wasting time. If I can get the dagger from him, if he has no choice but to help me, I've have Killian within a year. And a year is the worst case scenario; if I'm ruthless, if I try my best to break him as fast as possible, then depending on how strong-willed he is, I'll have the dagger as soon as acouple months.

I eye the lord again. The only drawback with this plan, though, is the company I'll be keeping during it. It does not escape me that Frederick said I will command him. He plans to be the one to hold the dagger, and I do not trust that he won't use Rumplestiltskin against me. There's too much bad blood between us, and I am not stupid enough to think that that will just be forgiven if I locate the dagger.

The other drawback is the Dark One himself. I've done my research, and Rumple is clever, more clever than most anyone I've been up against. If I get the dagger, I'm not going to be able to keep ahold of it forever; Rumpelstiltskin will find a way to get it back. The obvious solution is to kill him with it, maybe even give it to Ian and let him have his revenge once I get him back from Neverland. The only problem with that is that whoever kills the Dark One gets his curse, and I am most definitely not letting that person be my magic-wary baby brother.

You could do it. You was Zoso's heir, it should have been your curse anyway.

Yes, yes, quite the fine plan, but that's assuming you get the dagger before Frederick. It's to much of a risk.

And there is, of course, one other kink in becoming an ally of the mortal in front of me. "Frederick, feel free to take it personally when I say that I would rather shoot myself in the foot than work with you." I draw my sword, flames racing down the blade. "Now hand over your prisoner."

I know from the look on his face that the lord, as frightened as he might be, isn't going to do that. The man would rather risk my wrath now than Rumple's when he's released.

"You can't get to him, can you?" Ezra asks suddenly, triumphantly, his voice echoing across the room. He's moved acouple steps to my right, probably trying to stay out of the way of my wraiths. I whirl to face him.

"Excuse me?" I growl. My old apprentice smiles icily.

"The Dark One. You can't get past barrier to get to him. If you could you would've just taken him from the dungeons and be done with it."

I glare at him, a muscle in my jaw working. Mostly because he's right; I know exactly the cell they must be keeping Rumple in. Ezra has a blood-magic barrier around it to keep any magician other than him from passing through the entrance.

"I curse the day I ever taught you about blood magic, Ezra. But since I can't change that, this is gonna go two ways. Either you can go get the Dark One-" I flick my eyes back over to the city lord, "-or I can uphold my promise, and force you to do it at swordpoint as I burn this place to the ground."

Ezra studies me for a moment before turning on his heels and mounting the stairs to the throne. He leans over and whispers into Frederick's ear.

"Sir, I'm going to hold her off. I need you to go get Captain Gregor to send every hand he has available." The young mortal glances over me before adding, "And tell them to use the silver arrows, and dipped in wolfsbane."

The lord nods, rising from his throne as Ezra steps back. Two of my wraiths advance, growling in warning, but Ezra makes his move, a ball of golden light slamming into one wolf, dissipating it as the other wraith leaps at him. He ducks under it deftly as the lord races for door, and the young magician manages to throw out a hand in between weaving away from the jaws of the wolf, the locked doors splintering and flying open as his magic slams into them. Frederick doesn't even have to hesitate as he races out into the hall.

Throughout these actions, I don't move a muscle.

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and the wraith trying to get ahold of Ezra instantly goes still, before turning and trotting back to my side. For a minute my ex-apprentice and I stare each other down.

"You do realize that fighting me is suicidal, don't you?" I ask, almost mockingly, after a moment.

"You're underestimating me, as always." Ezra responds smoothly, sounding almost bitter.

"I taught you most of everything you know, boy. Believe me when I say that you are overestimating yourself."

He smiles wickedly. "We'll see."

I sigh. Yes, we will.

For the next thirty minutes, the world is a blur of violence and pain.

Nearly a half-hour later and I've finally managed to make it to the steps leading down to the dungeons. I shove a stagger Ezra in front of me, uncaring when he falls to his knees. I've been using the point of my sword to keep him moving, unfortunately needing him to take down the blood-magic barrier around the cell, and I give him a solid whack with the flat of my blade. If I could speak I would tell him to keep moving, but as it is my throat is constricted from the effort of not crying out in pain, the wolfsbane and the half-dozen arrows stuck in my back taking their toll.

Ezra heaves himself to his feet with a agonized moan, only making it two steps before he crumbles again. A werewolf growl jumps unbidden from my throat as I reach down and grab his arm, hauling him to his feet and shoving him forward. He stumbles again but manages to stay upright, leaning against the wall for support. He pauses there, heaving for breath and glancing back at me with fear and hate. Burns lace the left side of his face and his neck and chest, black and blue bruises doppled across his torso and easily visible, his shirt not much more than a tatter of cloth hanging over his right shoulder. An arrow sticks out of his shoulder where I used him as a human shield.

I let him have his moment of rest, needing one myself. I let my sword point drop to the ground as I lean against the wall, facing Ezra's back, my left shoulder against the stone. One of the arrows embedded in my back scrapes against the wall, and I draw a sharp breathe in as the arrowhead shifts accordingly and cuts into flesh again.

Ezra glances back at me, smug at my pain. "Not feeling so swift?" he sneers. I growl at him again, but my vision swims, and I know we need to be moving, else I might lose consciousness before I get to Rumple. I pray we don't meet any soldiers between here and there, because what magic I can conjure is going to keeping myself on my feet.

My blade makes a whoosh as I hit Ezra with it again. He yelps as I make contact with a bruise on his arm. "Shut. Up." I snarl, poking him in the back with the point of my sword and prodding him into movement.

Acouple more seconds, a turn and down a narrow hallway brings us to the top of a staircase that descends below ground. Ezra pauses, drawing in a pained breath before plunging downward. I see what he means as I follow; pain shoots up my leg and back as my vision flashes black. We both emerge into the dungeon staggering, and I use my sword as a cane for acouple seconds as I gather myself.

I scan the room around us. Being underground, the room is dank and dim, the only light coming from mounted torches, and it reeks of blood and unsanitary conditions; it's walls are lined with cells on my left and right, but only one is occupied. Inside the left-hand cell closest to the door, (and subsequently, closest to us), a man slumps forward on his knees, unconscious, his arms stretched up over his head by the shackles chained to the ceilings. I draw in a shaky breath, for both pain and remembered pain; the cell they kept me in has not changed an ounce, save for whom it holds.

All this I take in in a second as I stand in the doorway. Acouple feet in front of me, Ezra is swaying on his feet, barely standing up. I ignore him as I summon a coin to my hand and throw it in between two bars of the occupied cell. It bounces of an invisible barrier that shines a shimmering red for a second before disappearing from view once again.

I take a step forward and dig the point of my sword into Ezra's back; his shoulders stiffen, telling me I'm causing pain.

"Take the barrier down." I growl; my voice is hoarse from the effort of both using magic and ignoring my injuries. Ezra turns slowly, and I let him, moving the blade away as he comes to face me and resting it threateningly on his chest when he does. The firelight reflects off the burns on his face, making them almost shine, and his breathing is loud and ragged.

He looks me right in the eye. "No."

He doesn't have time to react before I draw the sword back and slam the flat of the blade into the side of his head. He cries out and stumbles to the side, dropping to one knee. I yank him up by his hair and pin him against the bars of the cell to our right, pressing my sword against his throat.

"It isn't optional." I say, but I can see in his eyes that he's going to argue it is. I'm about to snarl out a threat when I hear footsteps to my left, light and approaching at a leisurely walk. I cock my head to the side, listening; the amount of time in between the steps points to a shorter person, the volume of the sound to a small amount of weight, probably a slightly-built woman. Her birsk but unhurried pace means that she probably doesn't know about the bloodshed that has been taking place above her head.

I glance to the direction of the sound, to perhaps forty yards down from me, where the room ends and two hallways branch out to the left and right. A young women, wearing a maid's apron and carrying a basket of bloody rags- I can smell them from here- rounds the corner from the left-hand hallway, coming to an abrupt stop as she sees us. Her eyes going as big as dinner plates as she takes in the scene, but I can't help but notice how her gaze immediately zero in on Ezra, not me, the blood-covered ember-eyed stranger with a weapon. Her entire face speaks of fear and concern, but for the court magician, not herself. She doesn't even bother to turn and run, seeming frozen to the spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her fear mirrored in the eyes of my ex apprentice.

I glance between her and the magicain acouple times before allowing myself an icy smile.

"Ah, I'm starting to catch on."

Ezra recognizes the look, and he twists as far as he can to face her without cutting his throat open on my blade. "Run!" he screams down at the woman, desperation evident in his voice. The maid, the serving girl he clearly has feelings for, doesn't budge. "Dammit Anne, RUN!" He shouts again, his voice more commanding than afraid this time.

Anne seems to get the message this time, dropping the basket and turning, but I throw a hand out and hold her in place with magic. Ezra shouts obscenities at me and shoves against me, trying to get me off him and get to the girl, but I move my blade away from his neck and replace it with my forearm, leaning into him and keeping him pinned.

I lean in, putting more weight onto my arm and, subsequently, his lower neck. I see him trying not to wince at the pressure on one of his bruises. "I'm going to tell you nicely one more time, and if the first word out of your mouth isn't yes, then your little girlfriend is going to be the one paying for it. Now take. Down. The Barrier."

This time, my old apprentice hesitates in his answer. "I- I, I uh,", he stammers as he glances over my shoulder to the sole prisoner. Like his liege lord, he is more afraid of Rumplestiltskin than he is of me. Also like his liege lord, he is sorely mistaken in that belief.

"Oo, wrong answer." I mock, and a surge of my magic causes the Anne girl to wail and crumple to her knees. I see the pure terror on Ezra's face as his lover convulses from pain, and I keep the spell going for acouple seconds longer before a wave of dizziness and darkness sweeps over me, heralding unconsciousness and the possibility of death if I don't quite pushing my limits in this state. I let the spell fade out, trying not to pant even though my lungs demands it.

Anne quits her infernal screaming when the spell ends, doubling over to all fours and heaving for breath. I alow us both a few seconds of rest.

"Take down the barrier." I command again. Ezra's eyes are wide, filled with shock and fear and hate, but he doesn't answer after several seconds, and I call upon my magic again. The girl screams, curling into herself as her body twitches and jerks. Her shrieks continue on for what seems like an eternity, and I see the panic on Ezra's face as he realizes I don't intend on ending the spell.

"Stop!" he yells. "Stop it!"

My vision swims. "Take down the barrier."

"For gods' sakes!"

I don't reply; the only thing keeping me standing is how much I'm leaning against Ezra.

"You're killing her!"

I blink the darkness from my eyes to regard the magician cooly, Anne's screams bouncing off the stone walls. "So I am." I say disinterestedly. Now Ezra really panics, glancing between his girlfriend and me desperately; wracking sobs start to sound in between her bouts of wailing.

I draw as much strength as I can from my beast blood, but I know my limits well enough to know I can't keep this up for more than a few more seconds. So now it's down to a test of wills; if Ezra's resolve will give out before my consciousness does.

I'm in luck; his does.

"Alright!" he shouts over his girlfriend. I immediately cut off the spell, and the screams cut off, replaced by sobbing; if I were more conscious, it would grind on my last nerves, but at the moment it's a miracle I'm still on my feet. I hide this, however, as I feel a smug look cross my face. I drop my arm off his chest and step to the left, putting myself between Ezra and his lover.

I gesture at the cell agitatedly. "Hurry up." I growl. He glares at me, defeated, before crossing to the door of the cell containing the Dark One. Like me, he doesn't have much magic left in him, but I know he summons it because he tenses, and a split-second later the barrier responds, glowing that shimmering red. He places a hand on it, and it dissipates from where his palm touches it, quickly moving out to the edges. In only seconds, the barrier has vanished.

Ezra wraps a hand around one of the bars, leaning into it and breathing heavily. He turns his head to look at me, his eyes foggy and unfocused as he speaks.

"There." his voice cracks. "Now let my Anne go." he adds, voice tired but angry and oh-so determined. I study him for a moment.

Then I raise my hand and vertically flick it at the wrist. There's the resounding sound of bone snapping, and behind me Anne slumps to her side, her neck at an unnatural angle. Ezra lets out a wail of pure animal pain and rage and throws himself at me; I don't know what he's intending to do in the movement, tackle me or shove me into the nearest cell perhaps, but my sword comes up and all the magician accomplishes is impaling himself through the stomach on my blade. His eyes go wide in shock, and he looks down at where steel penetrates through flesh as though not quite believing what his sight is telling him.

When he falls forward, I step out of the way and pull my blade out in one practiced movement, leaving my old apprentice to meet the ground face-first.

The minute Ezra hits the ground, I lurch forward, managing to stagger over to Rumple's cell and grab a bar to keep myself up as my legs buckle. I shouldn't have cast that last spell, I think dimmley as my vision flashes completely black. Everything comes at a price, especially in magic; mine is almost always energy. It's been a long, long time since I've used this much energy, though, a long time since I've worn myself so thin. Part of that is that practicing magic is like using a muscle for me; the more I use it, the easier it gets, and the less taxing it feels. The other part is that I've rarely ever had use my magic while under the effects of wolfsbane.
My moments of putting off my pain are over, I realize as I mechanically stumble towards the cell door. My insides burn with a ferocity, and the agony from the arrows in my back is almost blinding. I somehow get the door open and make it to Rumplestiltskin before I collapse to my knees right in front of him, putting us at close to eye level to each other.

My mind distantly takes in his state, and it's apparent to me how Frederick desperately wanted the dagger, because the amount of damage the interrogators have inflicted onto Rumple in less than twenty-four hours was spread out over the course of acouple days for me. His shirt has been reduced to nothing, exposing the extensive damage to his torso.

I say interrogators, plural, because there are three different styles evident in his injuries; the brutish beatings and broken bones, anything related to blunt force, is one, voiced by the bruises that are such an ugly shade of purple one winces just to see it, and by the savagely and unnaturally broken bones.

The knife injuries are another style; elegant and masterfully placed, some deep and some not, but all agonizingly slow and painful, and made by a left-handed person. This person's major contributions are gashes so deep that bone shows on his arms and chest and cheek, slices so efficient that some of his fingers hold on, but by mere threads of sinew. Almost every inch of flesh is covered in blood, and it's mainly because of this style of torture.

These first two types are the ones familiar to me, the ones that were drawn out on me for months. But there's a third style that's completely new to me and darkly creative. From this third person comes the whip marks across Rumple's chest and back; whoever it is took the ninetails to him, and it slices the flesh in some places and pulls it back in ribbons in others. This person also, I can smell better than see, ripped off the Dark One's fingernails, and had salt water poured over them, along with being responsible for angry welting burns from both fire and electricity. A mage at least assisted, then; probably Ezra.

All this I register in the back of my mind in a split second. I reach my arm up and place it gently on Rumple's shoulder, trying to find an undamaged patch of skin to touch but coming up unsuccessful. I shake him gently, needing him awake. He doesn't stir.

"Rumple." I say insistently, my voice barely above a whisper. I shake him again, alittle harder. "Rumplestiltskin."

He doesn't wake until I move my hand to his cheek and let my sword drop as the other comes up to his left shoulder. He jerks awake, flinching back from me, his unfocused eyes crazed and full of fear and hate. His breath comes in ragged, panicked gasps, and I let my hands fall to my lap, seeing that physical touch is only riling him up. It takes a second for him to register who I am, and though he's barely conscious, in no better state than I am, surprise plays on his face.

"Ellyn?"
I grin cheekily. "Wonderful day, huh?"

Rumple looks at me like I've gone insane. Perhaps I have.

"Now I'm gonna get you out of those cuffs, and if I do you're going to owe me a favor. Got it?" I say. The Dark One stays focused through most of my words, but his head lulls forward during the last part. "Hey," I say, putting my hands on either side of his face and gently pulling his head up to look at me. His eyes focus in on mine. "Got it?"

He nods, and I move my right hand to his chest as I take my sword off the ground with the left; then I swing up diagonally, cutting through the chain holding his right hand to the ceiling. Without it to hold him in place he slumps forward, and if weren't for my hand on his chest and the other chain he would've fallen into me and taken us both to the ground.

He grunts, his arm probably incredibly sore. I lurch forward and up, into a crouch, and draw Rumple's now-free arm over my shoulder and holding it there with my right hand, ignoring his moan and turning so I face the door and standing so I support his weight. My legs almost go out from under me at the extra load, but I use my sword as a cane again, and after a second I'm swaying but still standing. Then, before my body can change it's mind and crumble, I twist and reach over Rumple, severing the last chain with one swing. Rumple's legs go out from under him the minute the chain isn't holding him up, taking me with him. I barely manage to slump to my knees instead of falling forward, or worse, on top of the injured Dark One. For a minute, we're both simply breathing heavy and trying to stay awake; speaking for myself, my vision goes dark and my head spins. Not speaking for myself, however, Rumple's response worries me; a man in his condition should be screaming from the impact of an injured body onto stone, but he doesn't seem to be able to muster up such a response.

I force myself up agonizingly slowly and awkwardly sheath my sword. Then I adjust Rumple's arm on my shoulder and stagger to the door. I'm unaware of the space between this point and the outside of the cell, but the next thing I know we've passed the door and are free.

I turn and lean against the bars of the cell, facing Anne's body as I catch my breath.

"Is there somewhere safe I can teleport us to?" I ask the Dark One in between pants; I'm not going to stay conscious for much longer, and neither is Rumple, and we need somewhere safe to collapse in; my shop/residents on the Frontlands is to public for me to consider it a sanctuary in this moment.

"'Castle." Is all he says, his voice distant and almost non-existent. I figure he must mean the Dark Castle, but I hesitate at the prospect of going there; it's notorious for being warded to the extreme, and though the Dark ONe will most certainly be admitted by his own wards, I might not get the same treatment.

Darkness is closing in, making it hard to even see the cell bars my head is against, and I realize i have no choice in the matter; it's the Dark Castle or nothing.

I brace myself, slowly and painfully coaxing my last shreds of magic to the surface and into something useable. I distantly hear Ezra groan, and Rumple's head turns in that direction before going slack.

"Who do we have here?" he asks hoarsely, referring to the court magician.

I glance down at the only apprentice I would ever train, at the only friend I've had since my brothers were lost to me. Here was the first person I told about my Neverland-bound quest; here was the first person outside of family that I told about my curse.

"He's no one." I say.

Then I surge my magic and we disappear in a weak cloud of smoke. All I know after that is that I fall onto something soft as darkness takes me.

Back at Lord Frederick's castle, just as we disappeared, a small shred of magic sparks and catches fire, growing and spreading up through the still-magically-locked estate.

A/N: As always, review your opinions.