Nobody was dead. Nobody had been maimed. Anagan was taking that as a win. Everything else, on the other hand… Gantlos seemed damn close to trying to throw Gregory to the Sun after the kid had ignored his and Ogron's teachings for the…well, Anagan had stopped counting in favour of helping Ogron through his almost twice-daily panic attacks.

'For the last time, let me finish!' Gantlos snapped, swatting Gregory's hand out of position before he could cast whatever the heck had been about to happen.

'I got it! I did the hands!'

'You did the wrong hands…' Ogron rubbed his temples tiredly. 'Wrong gestures, not hands. I don't know what this-' he mimicked Gregory's gesture '-does, but I can assure you that it does not turn the rock green.'

'Why do we only do things with rocks?' Gregory muttered, kicking at said rock. 'Aren't you three supposed to be all-powerful or something? I saw Gantlos stop a speeding train on the news; why can't I learn to do that?'

'There is no spell for stopping trains!' Gantlos rebuffed.

'Then how'd you stop the train?'

'Magic!'

'Spells are magic!'

'But not all magic is spells,' Anagan interjected calmly.

'…Huh?' Gregory tapped out of his argument, leaving Gantlos to breathe through gritted teeth and Ogron to nurse a visible migraine. 'What do you mean?'

'Well…' Anagan scrambled for an explanation, trying to keep this from escalating into World War Three. 'A spell has a specific goal. It accomplishes something particular. It has a thought process, and some element of mental or physical construction. Some magic is just raw, untamed emotion, spilling out with a vague objective. It has no guide for how that's achieved, it just happens. So when Gantlos stopped the train, he didn't cast a spell to stop the train, he just felt an instinctive need to protect Ogron, and his magic acted on that. There was no specific outcome. He wasn't doing a particular thing to the train. His magic followed his emotions.'

'Huh…' Gregory looked pensive, rubbing his chin as he thought it over. '…So, all that stuff I did the day we met…'

'No spells. Just emotion.'

'Interesting.' Gregory hopped up to sit on a crate, his earlier ire replaced by genuine, open curiosity. 'So are there spells that do that?'

'Well, yes,' Ogron replied, looking a tad taken aback by Gregory actually seeming interested in learning rather than blasting stuff. 'There are. The difference is that, for example, when you twisted metal, you'd use a particular spell to do it, rather than energy leaving your body with no directive other than destruction.'

'What would be better if I was in a fight?'

'Spells,' all three answered in unison. They exchanged a glance at their synchronised answer, Anagan laughing softly while Ogron and Gantlos both cracked tired, tentative smiles.

'Spellcraft is better in just about all areas,' Gantlos explained. 'Relying on raw emotion is a matter of panic and imminent danger. If you have to put your fate in the hands of blind emotion, the situation is already far too intense to get out of unscathed.'

'You got out of the train thing unscathed,' Gregory argued. In response, Gantlos held up the palm of his hand, peeling back his sleeve to show off dozens of slender white scars criss-crossing his skin.

'…Dude…' Gregory murmured, staring at the injury. 'That's from the train?'

'Mhm.' Gantlos covered back up, grimacing at the visible signs of weakness. 'If I'd been focused and clear, I'd have created a shield around myself, vaporised the glass as it came out of the windshield, or frankly, if I'd had enough power, used an intangibility spell on me and Ogron. That way the train would have passed right through us. But I didn't, so all my power was going off was 'save Ogron'. Which didn't include keeping the glass from slicing up my hands.'

'Huh. …Yeah, I can get why spells are better.' Gregory was quiet for a moment, glancing surreptitiously at Gantlos's scars. '…Can you show me the hand thing again?'

Gantlos and Ogron exchanged a surprised glance, before Ogron nodded. 'Certainly. You see, you need to position your fingers like so…'

'He's getting into the swing of things,' Anagan murmured quietly to Gantlos, sitting down on a crate next to the blonde.

'Ogron, or Gregory?'

'Both. Gregory's finally learning what it means to start from the basics, and Ogron…he's finally remembering how to teach.'

'Mm.' Gantlos nodded, watching the two as Ogron explained the spell in detail, making careful corrections as needed.

'Remember when he taught me?'

Gantlos snickered quietly, the sound making Anagan's heart swell as he welcomed the laugh back like an old friend. 'You were the exact opposite of Gregory. You hung on his every word and couldn't stop apologising when you got something wrong.'

'And I could barely get a spark in the first place…' Anagan shook his head as the rock exploded in a shower of green sparks. The relaxed air of the conversation made his next words spill out before any part of him could check them over for the million danger signs all over them. 'He reminds me more of Duman learning.'

Silence slapped them both in the face, and Anagan froze.

'Gantlos, I'm so-'

'It's fine.' It wasn't. Anyone with a sniff of a sense could see that. Whatever doors had been cracked open were slammed shut as Gantlos coiled in on himself. Windows were barred, chains were drawn, keys were turned.

'Gantlos, I didn't mean-'

'Please…don't.'

Anagan didn't have a choice but to silently nod, returning his attention to Ogron and Gregory training. It was going better, Gregory was managing a pale green sheen to the stone, but Anagan couldn't focus on it. Shit, what had he just said? There was an unspoken agreement not to talk about Duman! Especially not in front of Gantlos! It was like stabbing the wound with a salted sword, and he'd just dealt a blow.

'I think it might actually be going well!' It was the first time Anagan had seen Ogron smile, truly smile, in weeks. He was walking as though he actually had a destination, rather than gallows to be dragged to.

Anagan forced a smile as their gazes met, but the sound of Gantlos's footsteps trudging away, back to the solitary misery he'd finally been coaxed away from, dampened his levity enough to dampen Ogron's in kind.

'Anagan…?' Ogron stopped, frowning. 'Is everything alright?' That depended. Gregory was finally listening. Ogron was making headway. The young wizard was actually developing, and Ogron was set to escape another beating. They'd get back to it in half an hour, once Ogron had rested and Gregory had finished endlessly scrolling YouTube for people building giant water slides in their backyards. That was exactly the kind of nonsense Duman would have loved, and it just made Anagan feel worse.

'…Fine.'

Ogron's expression hardened. 'Anagan. You have told me ten million times that I need to talk about it when something is wrong, and that it is unhealthy to lie and say 'Fine' when asked. So, again, what's wrong?'

Anagan shook his head. There was too much on Ogron to bother him with a slip of the tongue. He was the group peacekeeper, really. He should keep the peace on his own. Or better yet, just keep his mouth shut.

'Anagan, you can tell me,' Ogron murmured, sitting down and patting the crate next to him. 'If I can trauma dump on you, you can do the same for me.'

Anagan sighed, sensing that he was a few words from becoming a raging hypocrite. With a groan, he flopped onto the crate, covering his face with his hands.

'…I screwed up.'

Ogron raised an eyebrow. 'How so? With Gre-'

'Gantlos.' Anagan's voice was barely a whisper, his words hesitant to venture out after their last blunder. 'I said…I said Gregory reminded me of Duman when he was learning.'

Silence.

'…'

Yet more silence.

…Some more silence. This was becoming concerning.

Finally, the silence was politely informed that it had overstayed its welcome, being chivvied out of the conversation by Ogron's own words. '…Oh.'

Anagan groaned into his hands. 'He was doing better…I'm right, right? He was doing better?' Ogron nodded wordlessly. 'And I…I just slapped him in the face with not only a mention of Duman, but I may have made Gregory a f*#king reminder of him!'

'No! No, you didn't!' Ogron finally found the words that had largely flown the nest following his shadow's possession, putting as reassuring a hand as he could manage on Anagan's shoulder. 'It'll be fine. I promise.' For the first time, Anagan wondered whether his own assurances that everything was okay sounded this obviously hollow. Well-meaning, but untrue.

'I should talk to him…'

A sharp intake of breath stopped Anagan's beginnings of a rise.

'What?'

'I just…' Ogron sighed, running a hand through his hair. '…Gantlos isn't…he doesn't…he's not good at…oh screw this, he's not a communicator. He talked openly with Duman, and we got to pick through the pieces and shove together a picture. I just doubt he'll take it so well if we shove more Duman at him.'

Anagan…had to acknowledge that was true. Gantlos wasn't a talker. He didn't want to address whatever came up. Would apologising for bringing up Duman just make things worse? Just rub more salt in the wound?

'But what if he does want to talk?' Anagan asked quietly, biting his lip as he balanced on the precipice of shattering Gantlos. He had to go one way or another, but neither path was signposted, so all he could do was close his eyes and run.

'What do we even say?' Ogron whispered, pulling his knees up to his chest. Anagan's heart ached as the hesitant light sparking in his eyes was flicked off by his blunder. 'Sorry? Sorry that we let him die?'

'We…we didn't…'

'I did. I let him die. I was more focused on ending it all, and I let him die.' Ogron clenched his fists as his hands started to tremble, and Anagan wished he'd never said anything.

'Hey…hey, you didn't let him die, okay?'

'I get that you want to comfort me, but…don't lie to me. Not even if you mean well.' Ogron took a shaky breath, brushing away the tears that threatened his facade. 'God…you were the one with a problem…how has it turned into me crying again? Shit, I'm such a mess…'

'You're not-' Ogron gave him a look, reminding him of his request, and Anagan sighed, changing tack. 'You have a right to be a mess. Nobody could be put together after everything you've been through.'

'…Have we really not talked about Duman once?' Ogron murmured after a minute, sounding utterly dumbfounded. 'God…how?'

'It hurts,' Anagan answered right away. 'It hurts, because he's never gonna walk in and awkwardly explain whatever stupid thing he did again.'

'Awkwardly?' Ogron snorted. 'Try proudly.' He sighed, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. '…We should have. We should have talked about this. But…the words…they won't…it's hard to… I don't want to talk about him in the past tense.' He hugged his arms around himself, retreating into himself. 'I don't want to face up to it all being my fault…'

'It wasn't all your fault. Nabu was the one that cast that spell. Neruman is putting you though enough psychological hell without you adding to the burden yourself.'

'Oh, one can never have too much psychological hell!' chirped a voice from the floor. 'Pile it on!'

Anagan and Ogron recoiled as Ogron's shadow resolved itself into that same leering face, and Anagan felt Ogron's grip on his wrist tighten.

'Lord Neruman…' Anagan didn't have an end to that sentence. He was too horrified at the creature at his feet, lazily stretching out in Ogron's shadow, casually demonstrating how easily he could own any part of Ogron.

'Yes, hello, Anagan.' Something about hearing his name spoken from those twisted, shadowy lips made Anagan want to retch. But Neruman moved on from him as fast as he'd shattered Ogron's spirit, turning his focus to his favourite little puppet.

'Ogron! I was just dropping in to get an update on my new weapon!' Anagan's expression twisted. Gregory was a person, not a weapon. Just as Ogron was a man, not a doll, and their lives were real, not amusing little interspersions between their master's orders.

Ogron's breathing shook as he spoke, but he managed to form coherent words. 'Lord Neruman, all is going well, I-'

'Yes, yes, I don't care what you do, I want to know about my hurricane in a man! How much can he destroy? What devastating spells have you taught him?'

Ogron and Anagan exchanged a glance. They…hadn't taught him anything of the sort. That simply wasn't safe. It was barely even feasible.

Neruman huffed, folding his spectral arms. 'What…what is this? Am I supposed to understand my new toy's status from you two exchanging looks like gossipy teens? Out with it, slave!'

'Lord Neruman, magic such as Gregory's is…'

'Powerful? Deadly? A valuable resource?'

'Dangerous. It needs to be tamed, tamped down, controlled, before you can even hope to-'

'Wait wait wait…' Neruman rubbed his temples, as though Ogron's signature migraine had passed to his shadow. 'You have had four days. What have you been doing with them, if not moulding Gregory into the perfect weapon?'

'We are!' Ogron blurted out, his breathing increasingly rapid.

'Ogron, breathe…' Anagan murmured, squeezing his hand.

'He's breathing just fine,' Neruman remarked snidely. 'Besides, it's rather a pleasure to watch him squirm.' Neruman was a shadow. He wasn't there. Punching him would only result in breaking his hand on the floor. But in spite of all that, Anagan's fist clenched.

'Well?' Neruman demanded. 'You say you are doing as I told you, so tell me what you've taught him! To summon a tornado? To cleave a country in two? I have felt a whisper of his energy; it's intoxicatingly powerful. You can do much with him. So, what have you done?'

Anagan hadn't seen Ogron shrink so much under a gaze since Yllidith. 'My Lord…we…we have been teaching him control…through small spells…'

The increase in tension was palpable. 'Small spells? I don't recall ordering you to teach him how to levitate a teaspoon, slave…' Neruman crept up the crates, his inky form slinking around Ogron, close enough to toy with him. 'Tell me that he has learned at least one attack. One way to ruin a life. One way to end one.'

Ogron shook his head wordlessly.

'…I see.' Neruman vanished in a heartbeat, and Anagan felt Ogron go rigid. The sharp sound echoed across the warehouse, and Anagan recoiled in horror as Neruman slipped back into Ogron's shadow, tutting softly as Ogron whimpered, hesitantly touching the new red mark blooming across his cheek.

'Whatever magic-school structure you think yourself intelligent enough to impose, burn it to ash,' Neruman whispered, his voice low and dangerous. 'A force of nature like that could be my ticket out of this shell, and if you so much as think about taming it again, you know exactly how much it will hurt.'

'Y-yes, Lord Neruman,' Ogron stammered, shaking uncontrollably under Anagan's touch. 'I…I…I'll…'

'Stutter like a pathetic child?' Neruman mocked, and Anagan heard words jailbreak his lips for the second time that day.

'Leave him alone.'

Neruman's gaze whipped around to Anagan, forced to acknowledge him as more than just a witness to Ogron's humiliation.

'Anagan, no…' Ogron whispered, and frankly, the sensible part of Anagan agreed with him. This was a bad idea. But he was committed now, and nobody got to treat his friend like that!

'Leave him alone. He'll do what you say, we'll all do what you say. You have your slaves, and we'll follow your orders. You don't need to hurt him, and you don't get to speak to him like that.' A shiver washed over him as Neruman slid under his feet, before creeping up the crate behind him.

'I don't get to?' Anagan was suddenly very aware that there was absolutely nothing to stop Neruman from cursing his shadow just as he had Ogron's. But, to his surprise, Neruman laughed. Just…laughed. As though Anagan had said something raucously funny.

'Oh, aren't you sweet…I get to do as I please with him!' Neruman slunk around, his shadowy fingers slipping over Ogron as he settled across from the two wizards. 'I can speak to him as I please. I can puppet him as I please. I can do anything my heart desires. I can kill him on a whim, or break everything I can find.' Neruman's mocking purr was like nails on a chalkboard, and Anagan felt his stomach churn at the way Neruman spoke about Ogron. Like a…like a toy, a plaything to be broken when he got bored.

'Now…perhaps I've neglected you and the other one,' Neruman acknowledged. 'You were far less arrogant, far less to break, so can you blame me? So, since I have things to do, let's get this over with quickly. On your knees, apologise, say I can speak to Ogron whatever way I desire, and we'll leave it here!' Neruman delivered the sentence as cheerfully as a used-car salesman, as though he was offering Anagan some incredible deal he'd be a fool to turn down.

Anagan stepped back, war waging in his mind. He wouldn't say that…wouldn't say Neruman could treat Ogron this way…but…what happened if he didn't?

'And if I don't?' he whispered. 'Then what? I become a shadow puppet too?'

Neruman chortled, shaking his head. 'Oh, no. Can't be bothered to cast the spell again. No, no, you do as I say or I beat the living daylights out of Ogron. I don't see you getting on your knees, chop chop.'

Anagan's eyes widened with horror, and what little colour Ogron possessed drained from his cheeks.

'You're a monster…'

'Yes, what else is new, kneel!'

Swallowing back bile, Anagan got down on his knees, bowing his head, more in shame than submission.

'Lovely!' Neruman clapped his hands like an excitable child. 'Now, I believe there were two more parts here?'

'…I'm sorry.' Never had a filthier lie left Anagan's lips. He wasn't sorry. He would never regret standing up for Ogron. Yet he was about to condone Neruman verbally and physically shoving him in the dirt, down on his knees like some kind of acolyte.

Neruman leaned in, his face splitting in two with a delighted grin as Anagan spat the words, 'You can talk to Ogron however you desire.' He wanted to be sick. No part of him wanted to believe those words had left his lips.

'Wonderful! Now that we've got that out of the way, I have to get going. The world does not revolve around you two, you know.' He leaned in close to Ogron, smirking. 'So, we're clear now. Force of nature, capable of wiping out a small - though preferably medium-sized - civilisation? Good? Good. Well, farewell…for now, at least.'

Neruman vanished, and both men just stayed frozen, shaking as sweat trickled down their foreheads.

'…I'm so sorry.' This time, the words were genuine. Anagan stood, trying to regulate his breathing. God…this was Ogron's life? It was hell. And he hadn't even felt half of it.

'You…you were just trying to stand up for me…' Ogron whispered, seeming to barely stay standing.

'I just…I just couldn't watch him treat you like that.' Anagan wrapped his arms around his traumatised friend, and he felt Ogron sag against him, shaking like a cornered rabbit. 'I'm sorry…I won't provoke him again…I promise…'

'It was nice having you stand up for me,' Ogron admitted. 'But I wish you hadn't…hadn't seen…' He winced, touching the new bruise rushing to claim one of the few unblemished parts of his body.

'That was abhorrent,' Anagan murmured. 'You need to ice that, c'mon.'

'We have ice?'

'We have magic. So, close enough.' A wet cloth and a spell later, Anagan presented Ogron with the closest thing he could manage to an ice pack.

'Thank you…' Ogron groaned as he pressed it to his face, and Anagan racked his brains for any way to break this shadow possession. There had to be a way. Had to be! …Right? Every spell could be broken. But some only by their original caster…in which case they'd be screwed. Dammit.

'…Will you…Will you help me make an new illusion for…' Ogron gestured to his new bruise, and Anagan nodded.

'Move the ice pack?' He quickly wove a new glamour, black and blue fading into white until the only sign of Neruman's abuse was the dead, broken look in Ogron's eyes.

'…Thanks…' Ogron groaned, putting the ice pack down and wearily getting to his feet, trudging to the gallows once more.

'Ogron…'

'You heard Neruman,' Ogron muttered, taking a deep, shuddering breath. 'We need to step up Gregory's training.'

'Ogron, that isn't…it isn't safe. He could lose control-'

'I'm going to wind up with several new joints if we don't.' Anagan couldn't argue back.

'You want me to find Gantlos?'

Ogron shook his head. 'No, if he wants to brood, let him. We have to focus on Gregory, and besides, he understands control better than us; he'll argue that teaching Gregory anything more than levitation or glamours is dangerous.'

'It is.'

Ogron sighed miserably, his fingers knitting into his hair as though he intended to yank it out. 'I know. But please, just…just stop pointing it out. I feel enough like hell as it is.'

Anagan nodded, but his stomach still churned like a washing machine of guilt and helplessness.

Gregory was still outside, watching whatever it was kids watched on YouTube. His eyes sparked with interest as Ogron and Anagan came outside, and Anagan groaned internally. Finally. They'd finally got Gregory interested in learning what was safe. He was finally really, truly listening to them. And now they were about to screw it all up.

'Hey! Was that thirty minutes?' It was more like an hour of threats and abuse, but the last thing they wanted was for Gregory to know what kind of monster he was being trained for.

'We gonna pick this back up? Because I heard what you were saying about picturing a specific green object, and I remembered this sick green guitar I have at home, and the colour is so clear in my mind, so I think I can do the spell thingy now.'

A slight, almost proud smile tugged at Ogron's lips, before being hit with the sledgehammer of reality.

'…No. No, we're going to move on.'

Gregory quirked an eyebrow, hopping down from the crate. 'What, like turning the rock blue or something? Cause I'm gonna need a minute to think of a blue thing.'

'No. We're going to study…study sparring.'

Gregory's eyes lit up. 'For real?! Like fighting and stuff?! Like you guys did with the Winx on the news, with earthquakes and fire and whatever the hell that pink stuff Aisha has is?!' Damn, this kid was excited for a fight.

'Yes, fighting.' Ogron paused. 'And stuff. Whatever that stuff is.'

'Sick!' Gregory punched the air. He was so excited… He had no clue what he was even being trained for.

Duman and Gregory were nothing alike in training. Gantlos repeated this fact to himself time and time again, his voice becoming gruffer and more frustrated with each assertion. It had been a sentence. This shouldn't be his reaction. He shouldn't be stalking through the industrial estate. He should go back. But he didn't want to. Didn't want any more reminders, no matter how accidental they were.

With a deep breath, he sank to the floor, trying to regulate his breathing so he wouldn't cry. He thought he had this under control! He thought…he thought…

'What did you think?' he hissed aggressively, as though trying to bully his tears back. 'That you could block it all out? That you could forget him?' The words felt like they'd gutted him. 'No…no, I don't want to forget him…' But he also did. He wanted to remember Duman, cling to his memory like a lifeline, but every time he took hold, he was dragged to the bottom of the very ocean of grief he'd been trying to escape. He wanted to remember every part of Duman, everything about him, his crooked smile, his laugh, the mischievous look he got just before messing with someone…but every memory sent tears tumbling down his cheeks.

Duman would have liked training Gregory. A kid that powerful, with all that wild potential? Duman would have been fizzing with excitement, feverishly listing every spell he could teach him, ignoring whatever Ogron had to say in contrast. It would have ended in disaster, a mess Gantlos would have had to pick up the pieces of, but he'd do it. He'd fix Duman's every disaster, just to see Duman's sheepish 'I need you' look one last time.

He felt his breath hitch, and aggressively wiped at his eyes. 'Shit…don't cry…don't cry…don't cry…' His tear ducts ignored him, turning grief into tears as fast as they possibly could, the heartache coming too fast and hard for them to handle, building in his chest as an aching, painful pressure.

He wished Duman was here. He'd never want him subjected to the hell of Neruman, but he'd be able to make it better. He'd have made Ogron smile. Have said something so utterly weird and random that Ogron wouldn't be able to keep from laughing.

They hadn't talked about Duman. Not once since they'd been unfrozen. It had been his choice, he'd begged to avoid the topic, but still, a wave of guilt crashed over him. Was this what Duman's memory deserved? Repression? He deserved to just fade away? Be forgotten? Because it was easier? It hurt less? Should he try and remember all he could, cherish what he had, no matter how much it ached?

Gantlos wished that, despite all the times he'd told them to leave him alone, Ogron or Anagan had come after him. He'd watched Ogron collapse into their arms and sob his heart out, and a part of him wanted to do the same. Scream and cry, express all his pain however he could, and let them make it all better. But he wasn't…he didn't…he couldn't…he just couldn't. He didn't cry. Not like that. He'd only cried that way a few times in his life, and it had been with Duman and Duman alone. He'd been his safe space, and now all of life was a field of barbed wire. Gantlos didn't know how to break. Not truly. Not enough to let it all out. He knew how to crack, enough for a tear to trickle through, but not enough to free a flood.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he dried his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. Crying wouldn't bring Duman back, or help Ogron. All it did was make him feel worse, leave him trapped in a quagmire of memories. He'd be okay. He would make himself be okay