'Um………' This was a humiliatingly long pause. Ogron seldom fell back on filler noises, but every word in his vernacular seemed to have thoroughly deserted him in this moment, moved out to join his magic.

'We need you three to tell us everything you know about Neruman,' Tecna said firmly, setting up her tablet to record audio. Something about the knowledge she'd be able to replay this at any time she so wished just made Ogron feel worse.

'O-okay…' Great. He was already stuttering. 'He…….he…..' Amidst all the knowledge currently renting space in Ogron's cluttered mind, he couldn't dredge up a single word. Not a single thought. He grasped at half-tangible ideas, but not one seemed suitable to start from.

Seeing his difficulty finding words, Stella intervened, her voice calm and soothing. 'Hon, why don't you just start from the start? Like, how'd you end up working for this creep anyways?'

…That, he could do. With a deep, deep breath, he grabbed onto the first thing he could recall of this nightmare. '…We were in Omega. For…about a year, I think. I'm not certain, it's hard to keep time there…impossible, really…' He was getting off-topic. Stick to the question. He'd been asked about Neruman. Talk about Neruman. 'Neruman came…I don't know how, he broke the ice, freed me…he said he wanted us to work for him…and in return he'd free us. …I accepted the deal. At the time, it didn't even seem like a choice. There wasn't anything he could do that would be worse than Omega…' Under his breath, without really meaning to, he muttered, 'Now, I don't know anymore…'

Tecna and Stella exchanged a glance, Stella's gaze soft and concerned, Tecna's hard and suspicious, though glinting with sympathy.

'He freed Gantlos and Anagan, and took us back to his lair…it's in the Dark Dimension…I think…I…don't know where.' Tecna frowned, and his breathing sped up. 'I truly don't know where, I swear!'

At the raw panic in his voice, Stella's brow furrowed in concern. She reached out, hands up in a placatory gesture. 'Hey…hey, we believe you, don't worry. Calm down, it's okay…'

Tecna seemed set to say something on such soft treatment of their prisoners, but visibly held her tongue, simply moving on. 'Okay, so, he took you there, and then what?'

'He…um…locked us up, then a…week or so later, he gave us a mission. He wanted us to set the bar on fire, and break into Klaus and Morgana's house to steal her necklace.'

Stella sat up straighter; looked like she still wanted the necklace back for Roxy.

'It was later explained to us that one of Neruman's henchmen, a man named Balazar, has created a portal spell to allow Neruman to return from his banishment. The spell requires the essence of a queen…hence why he needed the magic stored in the necklace.'

'I see…' Stella bit her lip, chewing it thoughtfully, blissfully unbothered by the lipgloss getting on her teeth. 'So…do you know where the necklace is now?'

Ogron's stomach dropped. No. They didn't. They had seen neither hide nor hair of Balazar since the night they'd given him the necklace, and where he might be planning on setting up his portal was a mystery to them all.

'We…' he faltered, staring down at his hands as they froze in his lap. 'We don't know.' Silence. 'I swear we don't, he didn't tell us anything-!'

'Ogron, calm down, we're thinking, not planning your execution,' Tecna remarked dryly. The offhand remark made Ogron sick to his stomach, but he forced himself to swallow his fear, staring nervously at his captors.

'So…even if you don't know where the necklace is, can you tell me anything else pertaining to it?' Tecna held up her tablet to display a digital display of what was certainly a younger, better-kept version of the trollish little man to whom he'd handed the necklace. 'According to official records, this was Balazar during his time on the Council of Light, as a low-ranking attendant to Neruman. He was later assigned to another after his master's banishment, but was stripped of his title and position when he was discovered to be aiding Neruman, including attempting to murder his new lord to keep Neruman's seat open.' She held out the tablet. 'Is this the man you gave the necklace to?'

Ogron nodded, quietly intrigued by the rap sheet of the unassuming gnarled henchman. 'Y-yes…though he looked…older. Less…put-together.'

'Describe the changes,' Tecna instructed, swiping up on the image to project it in front of them as she tapped away. 'This is a state of the art AI that can take your descriptions and use them to adjust my image. If we know how Balazar looks now, we can better find him, the necklace, and any plans Neruman may have to get back.'

'Uh…' Ogron stared at the image, trying to articulate the differences he could see so clearly in his head.

'His horns were blunted,' Anagan jumped in, pointing to the sharp white horns atop the councilman's head. 'And yellowed, either with age or just a lack of care.'

Tecna's program evidently registered Anagan's description, as the horns in the image blunted and yellowed, seeming out of place amongst the neat hair.

The hair. 'His hair was thinner,' Ogron managed to mumble, toying with his own locks. 'Balding on top…sort of like…like a monk's hair.' He doubted a Zenithian AI would know what a monk looked like, but, to his surprise, the hair in the image shrivelled up until Ogron could recognise the man far easier.

'…More…wrinkled? And…his skin was pinker. He had a…a sort of ermine robe? Surprisingly nice…' As he spoke, with Tecna's gaze on him, eyes still narrowed in quiet, yet evident distrust, Ogron found himself spilling every minute detail he could recall in the hazy image from that night. If they found he'd left anything out…no, no he had to say everything! Had to mention how his shoes didn't seem to quite fit, that his nails were long, yet obviously trimmed, not bitten down, that when he'd looked at them, Ogron had been able to feel his devotion to his master…the master he'd told them they'd come to mindlessly submit to.

'Whoa! Ogron, chill!' Stella's voice snapped him out of it, and he blinked in surprise as he caught sight of Tecna quickly making adjustments to the program, glowering at him.

'Well done, your fashion-critic analysis has managed to almost fry the AI; it's not a race, calm down.' Her insistence to calm himself felt less like a reassurance that he could, and more like an order he'd be best-placed to heed. He was used to orders by now. He calmed down. As best he could.

'Anyway, I think we have him…' Tecna brought the image back up. 'Is this correct?'

Ogron managed a weak nod, fighting the urge to back away, afraid this man would tell Neruman of his betrayal. Asserting to himself that it was only an image, he said, 'Yes. Yes, that's him.'

'Excellent.' With a swipe of Tecna's finger, Balazar was gone. Finally… 'Now, after that, if I'm correct, you set the trap for us at the fake bar, yes?'

'Mhm…'

'Neruman wanted us dead?'

'Yes…we were set to glamour many of his creatures, along with the club itself. …As you know, that…well, didn't end so well.'

'Actually, I think ending a day without an axe in my head is a pretty decent ending,' Stella chirped, cracking a grin. Anagan stifled a quiet laugh, and Ogron almost smiled at the sound. He missed that sound…

'So Neruman wanted us dead…' Tecna mused thoughtfully.

'Why do people always want us dead?' Stella mourned, flipping back against the cushions dramatically. 'I mean, we're so loveable!'

Anagan snickered again, and Ogron's lips twitched.

Ignoring Stella's antics, Tecna continued. 'Do you have any idea why he would target us?'

'He…needs negative energy to hold himself together,' Ogron replied, thinking back over his conversations with Neruman. 'Earth was a good source, for a very long time, and then you showed up and started making people happier, creating balance. It was…a problem for him. …Also…I think he viewed you as a threat.'

'Well, when a girl takes out Valtor, that's not a bad assumption.' Stella had a point.

'So did he have further assassination plans?'

'…No…if he did, he didn't tell us…'

'What did he want from Gregory?' Tecna continued. 'He gave us what he knew, but what did Neruman tell you?'

Ogron looked away, feeling guilt prick at his skin at the mention of Gregory. 'Gregory…had an unusual capacity for negative energy. Furthermore, his powers were so destructive that they could be used to demolish societies…the subsequent suffering would fuel Neruman. It was our job to train him to use that power, so Neruman could…could weaponise him.'

He could feel the disgust in Tecna's gaze, even in Stella's. He felt it within him as well. He'd taken a child and forged them as a blade against innocents just like him. But…but he hadn't had a choice!

'You sought to weaponise a vulnerable boy to level civilisations.' Tecna phrased it as a statement, not a question. Her distaste was evident, her body pulling back from them.

'We…we didn't…I…' Ogron struggled with his words, eventually opting to simply hang his head in shame.

'It wasn't like that!' Gantlos snapped, his words deciding now, when they heard the call to battle, was the time to emerge from his brooding silence.

'Really? Because that's just what Ogron described,' Tecna countered.

'It's not like we planned on it!'

'It was your plan; you planned on it.'

'Well we hardly had a choice!' Gantlos jumped to his feet, practically snarling.

'Gantlos! Calm down!' Anagan muttered, grabbing his arm and guiding, then yanking, him down to sit on the couch. 'Cool it!'

'What do you mean?' Stella's voice, calmly curious, cut through Gantlos's ragged, furious breathing, snapping Ogron out of his rapidly-devolving panic at Gantlos's outburst.

'What?' Gantlos asked, staring at her in confusion.

'What do you mean you hardly had a choice?' Stella repeated, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

'I…' Gantlos exchanged a glance with Ogron, who was rapidly beginning to curl in on himself. He couldn't tell them…he couldn't tell them about his shadow…except… He glanced up, meeting Stella's gaze. She already knew. She'd been conscious under hypnosis. She'd seen why he had no choice.

'…You already know…' he whispered, hugging his arms around himself and staring at the floor as though the smooth tiles could somehow rescue him.

'Hm?' Tecna looked to Stella in confusion. 'Stella?'

'Yes…' Stella nodded, sighing sympathetically. 'I do. And I need you to explain the situation, please. It'll be really important when it comes to keeping you here rather than Omega, getting the complete picture…'

Ogron shook his head mutely, clenching his hands into fists to try and stop the trembling. He was free now. Free of Neruman, he wouldn't talk about this…he wouldn't go back there, back to the hell of Neruman's control, not even in a story. He just wanted to pretend it had never happened.

'Ogron, if we ask you a question, you need to answer it,' Tecna said sternly, sending a shiver down Ogron's spine. He had to speak…what if failing to answer even one question would get him sent back to Omega…?

No!

'Neruman…he….he…he…he…' Ogron seemed to buffer at 'he'. No further words would clarify in his mind. It was as though his vernacular had simply…shrivelled up and died.

'He what?' Tecna prompted, getting gently elbowed by Stella as her needling brought on a rapid increase in Ogron's breathing.

'He had control…' That was the only way Ogron could make himself phrase it. 'Of…of…of me…'

'Through your deal?'

Again, he shook his head, lips moving soundlessly as he tried to dredge up an explanation. '…No…well…yes…but also…no…he….he…he…'

Seeing his distress, Anagan placed a steady hand on his arm, attempting to soothe the building panic. 'Ogron, it's okay, you don't have to-'

'I do!' He flinched as he snapped, but couldn't force out an apology. 'I can't- I can't go back- I-' He sucked in the deepest breath he could manage, his mind a tangled mess of fear and memories. 'I didn't submit to Neruman when he issued our first orders; I couldn't, I hated to become someone else's pawn, their slave, I didn't think I was one, that I could sink so low, and Neruman didn't like that, he wanted obedience, so he cast a spell-' His mind flashed back to watching his shadow slip out from under him. '- on my shadow-' Watching Neruman pet the inky shape, mould it to his will. '- to let him-' Feeling his legs drop out from under his against his will. His arms going to his sides. That complete and total paralysis that would have locked him there until he died had Neruman so willed it. '-to let him control me.' His breathing started coming in shallow gasps as he struggled against the images, the feelings drowning his psyche; he could barely tread water, sinking deeper and deeper, words flooding from his lips as he fell through the awful memories. 'He could use me like a- a puppet, his shadow puppet, make me do whatever he wanted, it wasn't too bad at first, he didn't hurt me, just made me bow to him, for hours, hours, I couldn't move, just…just…just obey… He could speak to me through it, appear and possess my shadow, remind me that he owns me, he can do what he wants, and he did, used it as a punishment, after you got out of the trap, he hurt me, but he didn't, I did it to myself, because he just puppeted me, it was a threat, control, I- I- I-…so no, I didn't have a choice, but I did, I just…I chose to do what he wanted rather than get hurt, I can't, I can't, I can't live that!' His voice reached a fever pitch as he completely dissociated from the situation, hyperventilating in a blind panic, fingers knotting into his hair, tears streaming down his face without permission.

'I can't…I can't…I can't…I can't be his puppet…' he mumbled, unaware of anything other than the phantom sensation of lost control. Of Neruman toying with him…using him…treating him like his little toy…

'Ogron…' He felt a hand on his arm and almost screamed, recoiling and shaking uncontrollably. 'Ogron, breathe…breathe, you're okay. Stella's spell burned away the enchantment, remember…? You're not his puppet…not now…not again…you're safe…you're safe, I promise you're safe…'

'…Won't be his plaything…'

'No…no you won't. You're safe from Neruman, okay…? Just breathe…slow and steady, you're okay…' Ogron felt utterly incapable of heeding the words, but slowly began to sink into the gentle background noise of Anagan's voice, letting it wash over him, slowly penetrating the endless loop of Neruman's abuse playing in his mind. Safe…safe…safe…Anagan said he was safe. Anagan wouldn't lie to him…if he said so, he had to be…just take deep breaths, deep breaths, he could take deep breaths, he'd be okay… Amidst everything, he managed to focus on the rapid, ragged gasps his panicked lungs drew, hearing it, concentrating on it. Slower…slower…slower, he had to breathe slower before he passed out. He heard Anagan breathing deeply beside him, concentrating on easing his breathing to match the steady inhale-exhale. Gradually, with more effort than he'd though himself capable of, he managed to breathe steady again. His vision began to clear, and, utterly spent, he collapsed exhaustedly against Anagan, vaguely aware of Stella speaking, but not bothering to try and understand the words.

'There…' Anagan murmured, stroking his hair tenderly. 'There we go…there we go. You're safe…I'll take over the questions, it's okay, just breathe…'

'You're all meant to answer-'

At Tecna's words, Anagan shot her a look that, had he more magic, likely would have killed. 'I'll answer any more questions. I think we've established he's been through enough.'

'You're right,' Stella agreed. 'And Ogron, we are so sorry, I didn't realise we'd push you to this point; we didn't mean to.'

Ogron managed a tired forgiving sort of noise, refusing to lift his head from Anagan's shoulder, where it rested so comfortably…so safe…he liked being safe…here on Anagan…safe…

'I sure as hell hope you didn't mean to,' Gantlos growled. 'What is your problem? If you saw everything while you were hypnotised, you know Neruman had Ogron under his control, and you know he was abusive as hell, you didn't need to drive Ogron into a panic attack!'

'Gantlos, calm down,' Tecna said calmly. 'Bear in mind that having three major criminals kept out of Omega isn't a hugely common occurrence, and Stella's already fended off six different mages from the Council of Light trying to send armed guards to escort you all back to where they deem you belong; I apologise for my questioning distressing Ogron, but the deal was that you all tell us everything, and I needed all the data.'

'Do you even care?'

Tecna flinched slightly; Ogron got the sense that this was perhaps a sore spot for her. She did care…he could see it in the quiet guilt and concern in her eyes. She was just concealing it. He did likewise most days.

'Gantlos, it's fine…just…calm down,' he muttered, and Gantlos shut up with a glare at the Winx.

'With all that in mind, your actions in Neruman's service are obviously cast in a different light…' Tecna muttered thoughtfully. 'So I doubt they'll count much against you in keeping you out of Omega.' Casting a glance to Ogron, she continued. 'Let's…let's move on. What was Neruman hoping to accomplish in extinguishing the Second Sun?'

To Ogron's eternal gratitude, Anagan took the question, letting him sit in peaceful silence, half listening, half fighting sleep.

'Extinguishing the Second Sun would have left huge swathes of the dimension without sufficient light and warmth,' Anagan explained, continuing to stroke Ogron's hair. 'The distress that would have caused would have allowed Neruman to gather huge quantities of negative energy, letting him return to his human form very quickly. And the chaos in the aftermath would have let him take power more efficiently.'

Tecna and Stella exchanged a glance.

'Um…hon…I get that we'd all be in chaos, and Neruman is super powerful, but…I don't think he could just take power, just like that.' Stella glanced to Tecna. 'Wait, could he?'

'He has a one in twenty three chance,' Tecna relayed, apparently just…having that statistic. For some reason. …Were it not for their respective criminal and hero statuses, he and Tecna might have got along rather well.

'Yeah…so, going off that, how was he planning to take over? I mean, if you don't know, that's fine, but we could really use that intel.'

'Oh yeah, he told us everything right along with when he gave us the back door key to his lair, and a comprehensive list of his weaknesses,' Gantlos snapped, rolling his eyes. 'We don't know, turn everyone into his shadow puppets? Best I can think of.'

'…Actually…' All gazes swivelled to Ogron as he forced himself to sit back up, staring at the floor in an attempt to stay grounded and calm, red hair tumbling across his face in a protective curtain.

'Ogron, you don't have to-'

Ogron pushed ahead, ignoring Anagan's offer to stop. He did have to. He had to speak to stay out of Omega, and…and…for the first time, he thought…he wanted to tell them. He wanted them to take Neruman down. His words had the power to hurt Neruman, however indirectly. And…in that moment…he wanted to make him hurt. He wanted the Winx to topple him, to destroy everything he'd built. He wanted Neruman to feel the fall into the muck of failure, to drown in his own shortcomings just as Ogron had been forced to. And that…that made this easier. It almost made it feel…good.

'Neruman has moles inside the Council of Light.'

There was at least half a minute of dumbfounded silence. Not even a pin dared drop.

'…Are you sure?' Tecna asked, staring at him wide-eyed, evidently already running the dozens of ways this toppled everyone's world.

'He told me himself,' Ogron responded, still staring at the floor. Oddly, it made a far easier conversation partner than the Winx. And if he focused on speaking to the floor, he could manage to speak. 'So…I don't have concrete proof, no. But that's what he told me.'

'Well…' Stella sat back, staring at the ceiling in quiet contemplation, the evident calm before the storm of diplomatic upheaval. 'That…would explain why the Fortress has been contacting me so insistently to have you taken into their custody.'

'…Possibly even why they've been so useless all these years,' Tecna muttered. 'If people in the government are serving Neruman's goals, then that would explain why they've failed to step up and aid us in so many areas in the past…'

'What, you mean you just thought it was completely expected for a group of teenagers to do the job of the guardians of the dimension?' Gantlos muttered dryly. Which, honestly, sort of fair, it struck Ogron as incredibly strange that a group of college students had been placed in charge of dimensional security for no real reason.

'We need to tell the others,' Stella announced, sitting forwards again and grabbing her phone. 'I'll text and let them know we've got a problem.' She glanced to the wizards, her gaze equal parts worry and gratitude. 'Thank you, this is very important info…is there anything else we should know?'

Ogron paused, thinking it all over. As his mind flashed through the darker memories, he flinched his way through, but turned over nothing of note. '…No.'

'Alrighty then…' She stood, her phone already bleeping and buzzing like a bee witnessing a world-ending crisis. 'Then we have what we need; thank you.'

As she and Tecna hurried out, Ogron felt a hand on his arm. He forced himself to focus on the words coming from Anagan. 'Ogron, breathe…' Breathe? …He had just stopped breathing. How long had he been holding his breath? Didn't matter…he managed a long, slow exhale, still keeping his gaze firmly fixed beneath him. He flicked his eyes to his hands, wringing in his lap, utterly unaware that he was no longer in danger, much like the rest of him.

'Hey…Ogron…' Anagan brushed the hair out of his eyes, guiding him to look at him. 'You did so good…I'm so proud of you. It's done now…all done…'

'…Do you think it's enough?'

'You told them what they wanted to know; according to Stella's deal, that's enough.' Gantlos had a point…but Ogron couldn't stop fearing the worst. Fearing that, partly in light of their past misdemeanours (war crimes), the Winx would screw their word and send them back to that frozen hell. What if they did? What if they froze again?

His entire body went rigid. Neruman could get to Omega. Neruman could get to Omega. What if they were truly sent back?! Neruman could get to them! Oh, what had he done…what had he done?! If the Winx did send them back, they were all dead…no, Neruman wouldn't be half so merciful…he'd live and suffer for his betrayal…

'Oh god…' he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. 'What have I done? If Neruman finds out what I told them…they weren't even asking about that, I didn't have to tell them that, I didn't, he'll kill us!'

'He can't get in here,' Gantlos said firmly, taking Ogron's hands from his face and looking into his eyes. 'He can't, Ogron. As much as I hate to put our safety in the hands of the Winx, we are safe.'

'And you know Gantlos wouldn't say that if it wasn't true…' Anagan added, softly running a hand through Ogron's hair.

'But…what if he wins?' The idea sent shivers scurrying down Ogron's spine. If Neruman won, regardless of their capture…he'd be able to get to them. Was this…was this going to be forever? Fearing and obsessing over if Neruman would come for them? God, he felt sick…

His panicked haze was shattered as the door swung open with a clean whoosh, four guards stepping through. They weren't as heavily armed as the last…but with the state Ogron was in, he could have been taken down with a feather duster. Or if someone blew on him. Or…said something critical, really.

Ogron shrank back into the couch, his hands scrabbling at the fabric as though he could tunnel through it and into the next room, into the outside world, no, not the outside world, Neruman was there, he had to stay here, where there were guards, the guards could hurt him, but Stella said they wouldn't, wait, did she, could he even trust Stella, he was still a prisoner-

'Come with us.'

'A please would be nice,' Gantlos muttered, making no move to follow them.

'Magic on Earth would've been nice, sometimes things don't work out.'

Ogron flinched. Harsh…but…maybe…not undeserved. Clinging to Anagan's hand like it was the last life raft on the Titanic, Ogron allowed his friend to guide him up and off the couch, focusing hard on keeping one foot moving in front of the other. The rest had helped a lot…he could walk better now. His head was still swimming, no, really more drowning by this point, and his muscles ached, but it was…better. He felt at least semi-stable.

As they followed the guards out, Gantlos only getting up when a guard actually started dragging him up himself, Ogron tried to summon the words to ask where they were going. A cell? A transport back to Omega? No…no, they weren't going back…Stella had promised…she'd promised… But the words wouldn't come. Nothing would come to him but a steady, blurring stare at his own feet, allowing himself to be led wherever his captors so desired.

He only snapped back from his steady spiral into what Neruman would do were he to get ahold of them again when he felt the fingers interlocked with his start to tease away.

Lost and scared, his head snapped up, eyes staring at Anagan in confusion, unable to dredge up the question of why he was pulling away.

'Ogron…' Anagan slipped his fingers away, and Ogron's hand clumsily snatched at them, fighting to cling on. 'Ogron, they want us to split up…okay?'

Ogron glanced around frantically, watching with growing dread as Gantlos was chivvied through a door, swatting the guards away and growling that he could walk on his own. Split up…? No! No, were these cells?! Was this them being separated?! No, Anagan wouldn't be so calm…

'Come on,' ordered the guard, and Ogron recoiled to feel the hand on his arm. He snatched at Anagan's hand again, trying to plead for an explanation, but nothing would come.

'It's okay…' Anagan soothed gently. 'It's okay, I'll see you again later…deep breath, okay?'

Ogron managed to force in a deep breath, before he was turned and walked through a door, craning his neck to try and keep Anagan in his eyeline.

The door was shut on the room Anagan walked into, and he fought the urge to cry out in panic; what if that glimpse of the back of his head was the last time he ever saw him? The prospect brought tears springing to his eyes, and he stared at the wall, refusing to make eye contact with any of the guards. He caught sight of clean white tiles, some part of his mind sluggishly crawling into action to try and process where he was. It…it didn't look like a cell…

With quite some effort, he turned to look around in confusion, gradually coming to the conclusion that he was in a bathroom. A surprisingly clean one, given his prisoner status. A bath…a shower…a mirror he'd be certain not to look in at all costs…

'The princess said you were to wash.' The guard looked Ogron up and down, the quiet disgust evident in his gaze. Ogron supposed that was fair…he certainly looked a wreck. He could feel the thick layer of grime coating him all over, his skin crawling as he actually thought about it. Blood, sweat and dirt caked his every inch, and he felt a weak gratitude to Stella; he…he really needed a wash.

He just stood there awkwardly for a minute, waiting for the guards to leave. The awful thought that perhaps they intended to wash him crept into his mind, drawing bile into his throat and pulling him back a few steps, but, presumably when they'd realised they weren't getting a response, they turned to leave. Thank god…

The lock clicked as Ogron just stared at the closed door, a small part of him suggesting he go and begin cleaning himself, but the rest of him locked in some stupor. The temptation to simply stay standing there for all eternity was strong. Doing things just seemed so very, very insurmountable…the very act of turning his head utterly overwhelming. But the dirt clinging to his skin like a plague was sickening, and, with the steadiest breath he could manage, he turned, stumbling across to the sink. He could clean the filth from his face…maybe his hair, with a little effort.

Of course, the bath stood, deep and inviting, coaxing him to spin the taps and sink into the warmth, let the dirt wash from every inch of skin, but no force on this planet was making him undress himself in a prison bathroom. He wouldn't be that vulnerable. No way, no how. These clothes stayed on him like armour.

Steadfastly refusing to glance up at the mirror, he turned on the tap, splashing water on his face the second it came from the faucet. He regretted it a heartbeat later. Cold! Cold cold cold!

He staggered back in a blind panic, gasping, his hands clawing at his face, scrambling to wipe the water away, only exacerbating his panic as the cold water on his hands met his skin, everything whipping away in a frozen gust, taking him back there as he dropped to his knees. Back…back to ice, to paralysis, to endless psychological torment…

'No!' The word managed to rip itself from his throat as he struggled to breathe, unable to see anything but endless, endless ice. 'No!' He slammed his fists into the ground under him, fighting for some semblance of control. He had to pull himself together…had to…he couldn't let the guards come in and see him like this…

Red flickered into his vision, and he realised, in punching the floor, he'd managed to break open a few of his knuckles, blood trickling sluggishly down his hands and dripping onto the tiles with an apathetic inevitability. He couldn't stay like this…bleeding on the floor…he couldn't let anyone see him like this.

Shaking uncontrollably, he approached the sink again, fingers trembling as he fearfully teased at the edge of the stream with his finger. It was hot. Almost hot enough to scald, but he didn't care. He wouldn't lose that heat.

Gritting his teeth, he submerged both hands, hissing as the water flowed over both his fresh and aged cuts, running red as it swirled its way down the drain, off to be someplace else's problem.

Okay. Okay, this was fine…this was fine…it was fine. It was fine. It was fine.

Until he looked up.

He almost thought himself staring into the eyes of some ghoul. Wild and terrified, they stared out at him, wide and hungry, and so, so…dead. Behind the maelstrom of shattered panic, they were just…lifeless. As though they'd ceased to see the point of anything. Once a sharp, shining blue, now they were a dull grey, shot through with stark veins, shadowed by dark circles that blended with the bruises across his skin. His skin was like that of a cracked porcelain doll, left to gather dust and die in the dark, though barely visible under grime and blood. His hair was more a solid, grease-soaked object than a part of him, hanging over his face and obscuring some small patches of skin, though its visage was no kinder on his eye. What…what was he?

He raised a hand to the mirror, praying it would vanish on touch and prove itself an illusion, but fate continued to mock him as the action did naught but smudge the mirror with his filth, leaving a thick, dark stain across his face.

He'd known he had to look like this…he'd known…but seeing it…seeing it stole his breath. It truly snuffed the final flame of hope he'd kept burning in the darkest recesses of his mind: that he, the man he'd been, was still alive somewhere deep within him. But no...his former self...his strong, powerful self...he was...he was...dead. Beaten and broken beyond belief, leaving…leaving…leaving…he didn't even know what to call the creature staring back at him, tears starting to stream down its cheeks, carving paths through the grime like a river through a great canyon. More and more sprung forth from wide, frightened eyes, less recognisably human, more akin to a beaten dog cowering in the brush.

At some point, his legs must have given out, as he found himself on the floor, just…staring. At nothing, the image of his own frightful, broken visage still crystal clear before his eyes, mocking him, taunting him, cementing Neruman's victory over him even in his newfound 'freedom'.

His body moved without his say so, curling up to protect itself from the horrors that had wrought its nightmarish appearance, pulling him under the sink, his knees to his chest, until he brought his head to rest on his arms and just sobbed. He couldn't have given any one reason. It just…everything just hurt. Emotionally, physically, magically, everything hurt. Everything was too much, even for a strong mind to cope with. And his…his was only holding on by a frayed thread.

Half-formed thoughts and visions tumbled through his mind, none staying long enough to resolve themselves into any sort of clarity beyond an abject sense of distress and terror. Neruman and the Winx and his broken body and his magic, oh god, his magic…his magic was gone, dead, likely never to return to him after he'd abused it so in the name of his fear. As such, at the heart of this maelstrom of emotions, there lay a cold, stark emptiness, painful in its absence. As he felt the empty chill under his skin, agony in its contrast to the warm buzz he'd known all his life, he sobbed harder.

He didn't know how long he stayed there. He didn't pass the time through the gasps of his breath nor the flowing of his tears, he just existed in the meltdown. Nothing outside existed. Just this. The pain of his own life, of his losses. His throat grew raw, and his eyes stung, but still he didn't move, barely registering the discomfort. What was it to one such as him, who had already collected such a fine array of pains and agonies?

As though from a very long distance away, he heard the click of the lock. Too deep in his emotions to care if the guards saw him like this, he didn't bother to glance up. He could swear he'd heard the lock once before, but he couldn't say. Perhaps the guards were simply waiting for him to pull himself together. If that were the case, he'd advise they simply chain him to this sink and turn this bathroom into his cell, as he was so utterly ruined that he wouldn't even know how to start on putting himself back together.

'Hey…' That voice…that wasn't a guard. 'Hey, Ogron…' He felt a hand gently run itself through his hair, soft and soothing as a warm weight settled itself in beside him. 'Hey, it's okay…it's okay…everything's gonna be okay…'

Ogron didn't even bother to question what Anagan was doing in here. The offer of comfort was too much to ignore, even in his current state, and with a breathless sob, he turned and buried his face in Anagan's chest, sobbing his heart out and clinging on with all his might.

'There…there, let it all out…let it out, I've got you…'

Lost and scared, Ogron obliged, letting it all out. He sobbed and screamed into Anagan, choking out garbled attempts at explanations. Anagan gently shushed him, asserting calmly that he didn't need to explain, and, slowly, very, very slowly, at a pace that would have set a snail rolling its eyes, Ogron began to feel a small semblance of clarity return.

As Anagan stroked his hair, he leaned into the touch, pleading for the comfort that Anagan gladly gave. Some part of him thought it would never be enough, there was no emotional salve strong enough to ease these wounds, but Anagan…he did well.

'There we are…' Anagan pulled back just enough to be able to look into Ogron's eyes, tears still trickling out, but their progress was slowed, more sporadic. Anagan brushed them away, his touch light and reassuring. 'You're okay…everything's gonna be okay, I promise.'

'H-how can y-you pro-promise?' Ogron gasped out, still shaking slightly under his hands.

'Because I care about you too much not to make it so.' Anagan spoke with such sincerity that Ogron actually believed him. If Anagan said everything would be okay…then it would be. It would be.

'Okay…' Anagan murmured, brushing the hair back from Ogron's face. 'Let's get you clean, okay?' He carefully eased himself away, moving for the bath. Distressed, Ogron whimpered, reaching out for him.

'It's alright…I'm not going anywhere, I just need to get you clean.' Anagan leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Ogron's forehead, unperturbed by the dirt caking it.

Soothed, however slightly, Ogron managed to relax and let Anagan walk the few steps to the bath, watching in silence as he ran the water, steam rising merrily as the tub filled.

Accompanied by the quiet, cheerful gurgle of the taps, Anagan gently guided Ogron to stand, supporting him carefully. 'I'm gonna take these off, okay?'

Ogron nodded mutely, allowing Anagan to help him undress, shooting nervous glances to the door.

'They aren't gonna come in again,' Anagan reassured him softly.

'…Again?'

'They did before; you'd been in here for hours, and we were worried about you; since you're injured, they had to make sure you hadn't hurt yourself.'

Ogron shrivelled inside as he realised the guards had seen him sobbing in the corner. His cheeks burned.

'They thought I might be able to handle whatever was going on better than they could hope to, so they let me in,' Anagan continued, guiding Ogron towards the water. He offered him a hand, which Ogron shakily accepted, managing to ease himself into the water. Despite the vulnerability he felt, despite the lingering panic and distress clinging to him, he had to admit one thing: this felt like heaven. This was warm. He was warm. For months, he'd been able to feel it. The ice of Omega, clinging to his skin. And now he felt it begin to melt away, chivvied from his body with the grime.

He sunk deeper with a slow sigh, his eyes fluttering closed in a moment of quiet bliss.

'Feel any better?'

He managed a quiet nod, tempted to just fall asleep here and now. In the warm…

'That's my Ogron. Let's try and get you clean, alright?'

Ogron sat up a little more, nodding in agreement. Now that he was in the water, he could no longer deny the pleading desire to finally rid himself of Neruman's dungeons, of Neruman…

He scrubbed at his skin, almost rubbing it raw as the water turned brown, Anagan letting it drain and refill three times over to allow the dirt to finally, finally be chased from his body.

'Ogron…' Anagan said softly, gently easing his hand away from where he was aggressively scrubbing at his skin, now back to its own pale milk hue. 'Ogron, you're clean…'

Ogron shook his head, trying to keep going. He wasn't clean…Neruman was still all over him…still binding him…still owning him. He had to get him off his body…

As he almost drew blood, Anagan evidently decided enough was enough. 'Ogron. Ogron, stop, you'll make yourself bleed.'

Ogron looked up, meeting his eyes. '………He's……he's still on me….' he choked out in a wretched whisper. 'I can….I can feel him…'

'He's not…Ogron, I promise he's not. The Second Sun burned away his power…you're free of him, I promise, please, please don't hurt yourself. You're making your burns worse.'

Ogron grimaced, refusing to glance at the angry red skin where the Second Sun's light had burned him. His obsessive scrubbing had managed to inflame the patches' temper, and now they stung, glaring up at him with a bright, incensed scarlet.

'Your skin is clean…' Anagan promised, resting a hand on his shoulder. 'I can't say the same about your hair, not just yet. You think you can manage to go under for a moment?'

Ogron stiffened at the suggestion. He hated being underwater…his body, in a bath, that was okay, but one's breathing orifices were not meant to journey away from the air they drew in to provide life!

'I need to wash your hair…' Anagan murmured, guiding him. With a tense, shaky breath, Ogron ducked his head under the water, feeling Anagan run his fingers through the greasy mess that had been calling itself hair.

He surfaced a moment later, gasping as though being dragged from drowning. Anagan didn't say a word at the dramatics, just massaging a sweet-smelling conditioner through the locks. Ogron had hardly expected a prison to provide such nice supplies, but he wouldn't question it. This felt so nice…he used to take such very good care of his beloved crimson tresses; however, they had suffered right alongside him as of late.

'Okay…deep breath, once more…'

Ogron drew a deep breath, rather accustomed to the activity by now, ducking his head under the water and letting Anagan wash out the conditioner. A dark stain spread through the water as the grime was chased from his hair, and Ogron caught sight of a few scarlet strands drifting into his field of vision. He'd missed that red…

Anagan finished, and he surfaced, dripping hair falling into his face. The barest hint of a smile teased at his features as he saw the blood red in all its glory, the strands cautiously attempting an imitation of their former bounce.

He played absentmindedly with a strand as Anagan let out the water for what was likely the last time. Watching the grime spiral away down the drain, so small, so insignificant, felt like shrugging a weight from his shoulders. Neruman was off him now…never again would his tendrils poke and prod at Ogron's soul, teasing it and moulding it into whatsoever he desired. His body was his again…he could do as he wished with it. …If only he still retained some snatch of a clue of what that was.

'Mmf!' He let out a quiet huff of surprise as Anagan caught him off-guard with a towel, starting to dry his wet hair. 'Hey…I can do it myself.'

'I'm quite sure you can, but do you want to?'

'…Continue.'

'There we go.' Anagan finished, towelling Ogron's hair off as best he could, sweeping it up into one of those turbans that had always managed to evade Ogron for some odd reason. He offered Ogron a hand, which Ogron gladly accepted, allowing Anagan to help him out. Though offered a towel, he shook his head, glancing around for his clothes. He disliked being undressed in here…it had felt different in the bath, but now he very much wished to be covered, and quickly.

He started to reach for his own clothes, but Anagan shook his head, covering Ogron with the towel anyway. Frankly, a helpful move, as it was rather chilled out of the water. 'Ogron…I know we all love our clothes…but there is no way in any universe that I am letting you put those back on when you just got clean.' Ogron had to concede that he didn't much want to wear the clothes. Alright, the prospect of donning the bloodstained, grimy garments once again set his skin crawling, but what else was there to-

'Here…' Anagan crossed the room, grabbing a folded bundle of fabric from by the sink. 'These are clean. Nothing special, but…' He held out the clothes, and Ogron took them in. Certainly not as attention-grabbing as his old outfit, but he was alright with that. Attention was hardly on his mind now…

He shed the towel, and Anagan helped him balance as he eased the fresh fabric over his wet skin. It was just clothes, really. A plain grey shirt and matching trousers. Prisoner clothing. But it was soft, and it was clean, and those qualities almost set him crying. How he'd missed feeling truly clean…

'There's my handsome wizard…' Anagan said softly, gently taking his hair down from the turban. 'I missed him.'

'…As did I.'

Anagan procured a brush (who knew how he knew where everything was in here, Ogron was just grateful for his presence), running it through the damp hair. He met many tangles, but each was unpicked and smoothed until every strand was back to normal.

'Come on…' Anagan guided him towards the mirror, and Ogron dug his heels in in panic. He couldn't look again…couldn't see the ghoul he'd turned into.

He started to protest, but Anagan shushed him gently. 'Ogron…just trust me, okay?'

Biting his lip, Ogron nodded. His steps were cautious, almost leaden as he crossed the room, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the mirror came into his eyeline. Anagan squeezed his hand, and he peeked.

He stared back at himself. Blue met hesitant blue as he finally saw a familiar face rather than the visage of a broken stranger. His skin once again resembled that of an unusually pale ghost, perhaps paler than usual, were such a thing possible, but it was his own again. Bruises and burns still stood stark against it, but for the first time, they seemed like things that might perhaps…heal.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, and his lips twitched with delight as he felt its own soft waves once again.

'…I…I look like me…' he whispered, unsteady, hesitant, but with a quiet, though cautious, conviction.

'Welcome back.' Anagan hugged him from behind, and he allowed himself to sink into it, not breaking eye contact with the man in the mirror. He was so very, very broken…but maybe…maybe not quite beyond repair. And if his reflection could heal…did that mean…he could do likewise?