He looked…so scared. Barely even attached to reality. Stella's gaze softened slightly as she watched Ogron struggle to gasp in air, huddled against the wall in a terrified ball, Anagan and Gantlos doing their best to soothe him.

Smoke still drifted from her sceptre as she slowly lowered the steaming metal, glancing up at the singed wall where, only moments earlier, the leering visage of her temporary puppetmaster had whispered out to Ogron, the wizard just as much his slave as Stella had been. She'd sensed an awful, sticky darkness all over him for a while now, but only today had she finally identified it. It was no corrupted magic, not his own, at least. The spell had controlled him, and she'd watched it burn away in her light. He was free, and he was terrified.

'Dragon's Claws…' Bloom murmured, but Stella caught her friend's wrist before the spell could come to fruition and bind the wizards in a cage of flames.

'Stella, what-' Bloom's eyes filled with confusion as Stella shook her head, pushing Bloom hand back to her side.

'Bloom, no…' She spoke with her gaze more than her words, pleading for Bloom to understand the depth of suffering she'd seen, and step back. True to their bond, Bloom nodded slowly, standing aside and watching, alert but unthreatening as Stella slowly walked towards the wizards.

Gantlos looked around first, his eyes widening and muscles tensing, readied to tear her apart if she threatened his friends. But underneath the snarls of a guard dog, fear flickered in his gaze. The leaden knowledge that he'd lost. That he couldn't keep her from hurting Ogron and Anagan if she so pleased. Luckily for him, she so didn't please.

Moving slowly, the way Roxy had taught her to approach a scared animal, she slipped her sceptre back onto her finger, the metal deforming and sliding back into a ring, glinting on her finger as she gently held her hands up, signalling lack of malicious intent.

Gantlos still didn't relax, but his fists unclenched slightly, confusion warring with distrust in his eyes. His haggard, haunted eyes…they held nothing but fear and mistrust…a part of Stella's heart almost broke for him, so shattered, yet still staying between her and Ogron, a barrier, a last line of defence.

'I'm not gonna hurt him…' she murmured softly, stepping between Gantlos and Anagan and carefully easing onto her knees in front of Ogron. He shrank back with a sharp, breathless gasp, eyes wide in the light from her wings.

Slowly, the sunbeam glow faded from his face as Stella's bedazzled outfit faded into her not-quite-as-bedazzled civilian clothes. No magic. No weapon. No threat.

'Hey…' she murmured, holding out a hand that stopped just short of his personal space. 'I'm not gonna hurt you, Ogron…'

Ogron only whimpered in response, curling in on himself and trembling like an abused dog, his boots scrabbling on the floor as he tried to shove himself away from Stella, only to find himself up against a wall. Trapped. His breathing grew shallower, faster, more panicked, his eyes darting around in search of any possible safe space, while Stella just sat. Sat, and waited patiently. Didn't move closer. He needed his space, and it wasn't hers to take.

'Ogron…' She kept her voice soft, steady, a lighthouse beam across stormy waters. 'Honey, you need to breathe…you're safe, you can breathe…'

'M…mm-mm….' Ogron shook his head madly, fingers tangling into his hair. 'N-no…'

'No?'

'N-not safe…' He shook his head again, air barely making it past his lips as he started to lose the fight to breathe. 'O-o-omega…c-c-can't go…b-back…can't go back, won't go back-'

'Shh…' Stella whispered, her heart aching at the terror in his voice. She remembered the first time she'd seen him. Appearing from a shroud of black smoke, stalking into her life as the new threat to peace, challenging them time after time, to within an inch of her life. A forceful, prideful, dramatic man that wielded magic more effortlessly than most she'd seen in her rich years. She could no longer see him in the trembling ball before her. And something inside her ached.

Omega…he was afraid to return to Omega. It was his sentence, but…it was a punishment, one that, after witnessing the state he was in, the state he'd been beaten into…seemed…harsh. Too harsh. Could she, with all her purporting to uphold the values of a guardian fairy, just throw him back in that icy hellscape? Like this? Half-dead and traumatised?

No.

'Ogron…Ogron, I need you to look at me, please…'

Gradually, Ogron lifted his gaze, and Stella's heart twisted as she saw tears trickle down his face, hissing as they encountered fresh burns her spell had unintentionally painted across his skin.

Making a mental note to get him some of Flora's best burn ointment as soon as possible, she met his gaze, speaking softly and slowly over the sounds of each snatched breath. 'Ogron…everything is going to be okay…I'm not gonna make you go back to Omega…'

Everyone else inhaled sharply, Bloom, Gantlos and Anagan in surprise and confusion, Ogron in soft, desperate hope. Something almost sparked in his eyes, though it gave up and died a heartbeat later, as though scared to even exist. But it was something, a glimpse of calm waters in a sea storm.

'Stella…' Bloom started to question her, but Stella held up a hand. Now wasn't the time.

'I'm not gonna make you go back…' Stella repeated, slowly starting to move closer. Close enough to put a steady, grounding hand on Ogron's shoulder. 'I won't make you go back.'

Ogron stiffened slightly under her touch, staring at her in lost bewilderment, but slowly, he relaxed. Not truly, not fully, but enough. Enough to let air into his lungs.

Anagan and Gantlos didn't make a move, silent in the still, everyone scared to shatter it and Ogron's slow, shaky journey back to clarity.

'We're a lot more concerned by Neruman, and what he's going to do next than we are about what you three can do out of ice.' Maybe a tad insulting, but it only seemed to bring Ogron relief. 'We need you to tell us what he's told you, where he is, what he might be planning, any weaknesses you can think of, okay? And you're gonna stay in my dungeons, which I know doesn't sound super appealing, but it's better than Omega, alright?'

Ogron jerked his head in a trembling nod, and Stella quietly noted that his hair (which, honestly, was normally pretty fabulous) was hanging in greasy clumps; apparently Neruman didn't prioritise showering. Quick mental note: get this man clean.

'Okay…' She still didn't move, keeping her hand grounding Ogron and her gaze steady. 'Okay. So you're safe, okay? You're safe. You're not getting frozen, so you can breathe…you can breathe…like this, okay…? Breathe with me.' She drew a deep, steady breath, calmly watching Ogron struggle to do likewise, dragging as much air as he could manage into his lungs, expelling it in a ragged exhale before she'd even begun to breathe out. Unpeturbed, she continued, a constant rhythm that Ogron gradually fell into, the trembling easing as his eyes slowly cleared of panic, blinking at her in exhausted, wary confusion. And a very, very quiet gratitude.

'…We're…not going back?' His voice was ragged and rasping, each word an evident struggle.

Stella nodded, offering her sunbeam smile as a sign of reassurance. 'I'm gonna need anything you have on Neruman, but no. No, you're not.'

Silence enveloped them for a minute, before Ogron coaxed out, '…Thank you.'

Stella only smiled in response, getting to her feet and retreating to allow Gantlos and Anagan in to soothe the last few wisps of the breakdown.

Bloom was practically gawping at her as she rejoined her in the doorway, murmuring to a guard outside to bring an escort for the prisoners.

'…Stell…what the hell?'

Stella sighed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, trying to find the right words as she watched Ogron steady himself. The tapestry of suffering Neruman had woven across his body flashed through her mind, and she grimaced, finding her words. '…Neruman…is a monster.'

Bloom's eyebrows furrowed. 'Did he hurt you?'

'Not me…'

Bloom followed her gaze, biting her lip as she caught what Stella had seen all day. The slight, almost imperceptible pains visible in every movement Ogron made. How his whole body twitched at the slightest shift, lips pressing together in a thin, subtle line of pain. He was broken, and trying to hide behind a facade he'd cultivated for who knew how long. Bruises peeked from under his collar, free of the tattered illusions his weakened magic had shorted out.

'…You're…sure?' Stella couldn't blame Bloom for asking. To trust anything even remotely related to the man that had tricked them almost into their own deaths…would be foolhardy. But Stella knew. She'd watched Neruman hurl him into a wall, watched him drop to the floor, screaming and writhing as Neruman forced magic on him. That wasn't a ruse, it was abuse, and the liar they had to distrust on sight had been broken by it.

'…Yeah.'

'…Nebula won't be happy.'

'Psh.' Stella rolled her eyes, flicking the hair from her finger. And into her eyes. Smooth. 'Nebula's never happy; plus, she can't kick up much of a fuss, or we might stop glossing over when she tried to commit mass-murder.'

Bloom didn't respond, just watching Ogron exhaustedly lean into Anagan, his gaze flicking nervously to them. Stella waited with bated breath; she was never one to break a promise, and she'd hate to have to fight with Bloom for this one.

'…Okay. I know this is your planet, you can sentence them as you please…but I'll back you. Whatever you know…I trust it.' Thank the Dragon. Of course…she still had to persuade her father…but she'd saved him from that snake Cassandra, she had some gratitude and awe to cash. Sure, she'd been planning on a treehouse, but this was more important.

'Your highness.' A clinking of armour came to a halt outside the door, the captain of the guard sweeping Stella a stiff bow. 'We have come for the prisoners.'

'Over there. And…be gentle…'

Ogron glanced up from the flagstone he'd been tethering much of his sanity to, shrinking back in fear as half a dozen guards trooped in through the narrow door in a flood of glinting armour and sheathed swords. His breathing began to pick up again, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his clothes, finding familiar threadbare patches worn as a supposed refuge from his anxiety.

'Ogron, it's okay…' Anagan murmured, gently teasing his fingers from wringing a hole in his shirt. 'It's okay…Stella said we weren't going to Omega, remember?'

Ogron nodded, but couldn't help creeping back, trying to shrink behind Gantlos as the other wizard tensed, as though readying himself for battle.

Taking in Gantlos's stance, Anagan rapidly shook his head, dreadlocks flicking worriedly. 'Gantlos, whatever you're thinking right now, calm down. Stella doesn't have infinite mercy…'

Gantlos growled softly as the guards drew nearer, but his fists unclenched, eyes narrow and darting between each holstered hilt, awaiting the moment it might be drawn on them.

'Come with us.' The blunt command brokered no argument, and Ogron, completely broken into blind obedience, struggled to his feet with a groan. As soon as the burden of his weight rested solely on his aching, weary feet, they promptly went on strike, dumping their duties on the wall behind him, leaving him to sag back against the stone, sweat beading on his brow in a sheen of exertion, summoned by an act that should have been done subconsciously. He should be furious with his own body, but he could harbour no ire towards something so utterly broken.

He felt Anagan ease him upright, his feet forced into submission as he caught the stern glint in the guards' eyes. The fear of being dragged like a carcass quashed his body's rebellion, though every part of him trembled with the need to collapse. He'd give in soon…he'd give in soon, he promised himself.

His eyes widened, feet scuffling back as shackles clinked from the guard's belt, glinting with quiet malice as they were held out before him. He tried to force his hands up from his sides, but they refused to fall in line with their brethren, clinging to the stone behind him, nails clawing at the wall as though he could tunnel away from captivity.

The guard didn't even bother to speak, simply seizing his wrist and pulling it from its sanctuary. The metal flashed, and Ogron yanked his wrist away with a terrified whimper. He wouldn't be chained…not like in the cell…bound to the darkness…to the cold, the hunger, the solitude - no!

His chest heaved with panic, eyes darting wildly in search of a way out, away from the chains, but none revealed itself.

'Ogron! Ogron, calm down, it's okay…' Anagan tried to soothe him, but Ogron could only try to back away further from the bindings, heart racing so fast it was making him dizzy.

'Whoa, whoa, chill…' Stella hurried back over, frowning at the scene. Her eyes flicked between the shackles and Ogron, the sweat trickling down his face, his pinprick pupils, gaze pleading. Her lips pursed, and she placed a hand on the chains, slowly guiding them back to the guard's side. '…Leave them.'

Ogron's eyes widened, his mind scrambling to find some explanation for such a mercy. They were dangerous - or had been. Was she truly so concerned…? No. No, she wanted him coherent for information. All of this was for information…she wanted to know about Neruman, and the more trustworthy she seemed, the more he'd say. She was and always would be his enemy. She'd be foolish to afford true, genuine mercy with no ulterior motive. She'd have no reason. Sympathy flashed through his mind, but he shooed it away. Hypnosis victims didn't remember what had happened when under mind control. …They didn't, right? No…no way would Neruman have let her retain her memories…he couldn't be so confident in his spell…in them…in his threats…

'Your highness-' the guard began, glancing warily to the wizards, hand hovering over the chains. 'I must insist…'

'They won't fight…' Stella said softly, placing a hand over the guard's, pushing the chains to click back onto his belt. 'They won't fight. Just go slow.'

'Are you sure, Princess?'

Stella turned to glance at Gantlos, eyes narrowing slightly at the fighting stance he'd refused to drop entirely. 'Am I sure?'

Gantlos's gaze flicked to the floor, war waging in his eyes, before he forced out a frustrated 'Yes.'

'See, I'm sure.' Stella's firm tone shut the guards up, her cursory glance a sudden reminder that this woman was a future queen, capable of commanding the loyalty and respect of millions of subjects. 'Take them to an interrogation room, but one of the nicer ones, since I'll be dropping in as soon as Daddy is aware of the situation. I'd rather he hear it all from me than puzzle it out from the panic over the flickering Sun.'

'At once, your highness.' Ogron's chest tightened as the guards' hands closed around his arms, but he forced himself not to struggle, very aware that keeping a calm disposition was the only thing keeping him from shackles. He managed to put one foot in front of the other, then again, and again, and again, until he managed to walk all the way out of the room, swaying through a steady rhythm, lying to his body time and again that it was only a few more steps, when in actuality he had no clue how much further his tattered limbs were to be forced to walk. He briefly entertained the idea of leaning on the guards, letting them take some of the burden, as they surely had with other prisoners, but the idea…the idea of being…willingly reliant on his captors…nausea swirled in his stomach, and he swatted the prospect from his mind. He tried lying to his legs again, but, like any sensible person, they had lost any and all faith in his empty words, stumbling under him, leaden and weak, giving in to exhaustion before he granted them permission. He was so close to hitting the floor…his eyelids, formerly loyal, began to be swayed by his exhaustion's seductive ideals, fluttering closed, only to be forced open again by what little resolve he had left.

Lights danced in his vision, indistinguishable from the starlight gleaming through the palace windows, the diamonds in the inky sky somehow coexisting with the golden orbs Ogron had tried to extinguish earlier that day. Day and night, shimmering at the same time…this planet never slept…and apparently neither did Ogron, as the corridors went on forever. Down steps…down halls…through doorways, endless doorways…endless steps to stumble down…

They stopped. Finally. They stopped. Ogron almost dropped then and there, but he managed a deep breath, blinking through blurring vision at what was presumably a dungeon, but such a far, far cry from Neruman's that it wasn't even on the same map. Softly glowing orbs lit every corner, while the floor, a neat, slick tile rather than cracking, crumbling flagstones, was free of moss and dust, the walls painted with naught but paint, mould a concept not even considered. It…afforded some level of respect and…one might almost say dignity, to those kept within its confines. Were he less terrified, Ogron might have taken such information in. As it was, he simply allowed himself to be brought inside one of the rooms along the hallway, dropping to his knees the moment the hands released his arms. The sudden drop came as a humiliating announcement that he'd given in and allowed himself to lean on his captors, but the migraine threatening to cleave his skull in two thankfully pulled focus.

The sounds of mumbled conversation met his ear, the guards leaving a moment later, the click of the lock echoing endlessly in Ogron's mind.

'Come on…' He felt himself being scooped off the floor, not bothering to struggle or even glance at Gantlos. 'Let's get you comfortable…' Gantlos deposited him carefully on…a…couch? It was soft…comfortable underneath him. It was almost unnerving after weeks of sleeping coiled up on the dirty stone floor.

'I…don't understand…' he mumbled, struggling to try and sit upright, fingering the smooth fabric of the seat like it might fall away to reveal spikes or poison. It didn't. It was just…a couch. That his enemy had permitted him to rest on.

'Me neither…' Gantlos muttered, glowering suspiciously around at the room, refusing to follow Anagan's lead and sit.

'I don't really care…' Anagan mumbled, sinking to sit next to Ogron, letting his friend rest his head on his lap. 'I'm so tired…we're not in chains, and all we have to do is tell Stella about Neruman…'

Ogron stiffened at the name. Tell Stella about Neruman. He could do that. He could. Right? He had to. But…Neruman would be so angry with him…so, so angry… He could already feel phantom pain spiking through him in anticipation of his punishments. But…if he didn't tell the Winx everything…who knew what they'd do to him? Send him to Omega, most likely, but really, who knew what they were capable of, they truly hated him, they had every right, they might even be foolish not to, did this place have a torture chamber, would he see it? Oh god…

'Hey…hey, breathe…' Anagan soothed him, running his fingers through his matted hair. 'You're safe…' Was he, though? He was only of use as a source of information, and what was to keep Stella from revoking her promise? It wasn't like he hadn't set something of a precedent. And if Neruman knew what he was telling her…had Gantlos been right? Had he wanted them back so he could kill them? Now that he had half a heartbeat to breathe, he had to acknowledge the wise little voice in his mind nodding sagely in agreement. Of course Neruman wanted him dead. He was useless as a henchman, as a person, friend…dammit, he was useless, Neruman would kill him in a heartbeat. Or, rather, kill him after driving him mad with pain. But if he told the Winx his master's secrets…how much worse would he make it? But…could Neruman even get to him? His shadow was just a lack of light once more, no longer a medium through which Neruman could torment him. Was he safe to speak? Or would the Winx toss him back to Neruman if he tried taking them back, his purpose exhausted?

…Would they even believe him? He knew of Neruman's tendrils choking the uppermost levels of Magix government and security, would the Winx believe such a tale, or brand him a liar and toss him back into Omega?

As these thoughts raced through his mind, his body shook with trepidation and terror, unsure whom he was afraid of, just certain he was very, very afraid.

'Ogron…it's okay, you can calm down…it's okay, I promise…' Anagan shot Gantlos a glance, jerking his head to politely suggest to the other wizard that he stop his constant pacing and join him in calming Ogron down, as his agitated state was just exacerbating Ogron's.

With a final glare at the locked door his strength would no longer decimate to splinters, Gantlos flopped down on the floor next to Ogron and Anagan, apparently still too mistrustful of the supposed comfort offered by their new jailers to sit. Normally, Ogron would harbour the same trepidation, but he was so tired, and it felt so good to let something else take his weight without the ubiquitous rocks digging into his spine.

'So…' Gantlos groaned, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair, grimacing as it came away grubby. '…What now?'

'We tell them anything and everything we remember ' Anagan said firmly. 'We answer their questions as best we're able, and we pray they have mercy.'

'Fantastic…' Gantlos grumbled, picking at some loose stitching on his hat. 'Our fates are in the hands of praying. Because that always works out so very well.'

'Stop that…' Ogron shakily put a hand over Gantlos's, stilling his talons as they plucked at the thread. 'You love that hat…Duman made it for you…don't ruin it.'

Gantlos stilled, looking mournfully at the fraying edge of the fabric, wincing at his own contributions to the steady destruction.

'…It's falling apart. And we don't have a way to fix it.'

'Then just do your best not to make it worse,' Anagan advised, popping it back atop Gantlos's head. 'It'll hold together.' Ogron genuinely had no idea if they were talking about the hat or themselves, but he hoped to god it was the former, because he couldn't go any deeper into a metaphor by this point.

'You need to stop acting so…' Anagan began, and Gantlos's gaze whipped to him with an accusatory fire.

'So what?'

'Aggressive.' Anagan almost rolled his eyes. 'They're being unbelievably lenient with us here, G.'

'We're still locked up. And no way is this our new 'accommodation', we're landing in a cell, probably three cells.'

Ogron froze. Three? As in, separate? Not together? They might not stay together? The thought brought on a fresh bout of hyperventilating, and Anagan turned his attention from having a nonverbal argument with Gantlos to stroking Ogron's hair and offering soft sounds of nothing in an attempt at reassurance.

'Ogron…you have to try and calm down…we need to be able to talk when the Winx get here…'

Ogron nodded, but he still didn't even know if he was safe to speak.

'Shh…' Anagan ran his fingers through his hair, the constant, steadying motion grounding. As much as his mind raged and railed against it, his eyelids had had quite enough of listening to anyone for one day, and they started to fall shut, his lungs agreeing to breathe normally only on the condition that he pass out completely. And, well…how could he pass up a deal like that?

'Ogron…'

Ogron shook his head at the intrusion into his sleep, trying to burrow back into the sweet, sweet darkness. But Anagan was insistent, pushing him to sit up, blinking in the suddenly stark lighting. As his vision reluctantly focused, he had an actual opportunity to take in the room they were locked in. Nothing luxurious, very plain and stark by most standards, but it was clean, painted white rather than the traditional terrestrial colours of an interrogation room. There were a few couches set up, the one they sat on, another, and one more across the room, situated with a low table in front of it. It felt far more like a somewhat disappointing living room than an interrogation cell, but perhaps that was the Solarian way. It certainly felt more like Stella than grey walls and a one-way mirror.

The door swung open, announcing Anagan's motivation for rousing him. He was anticipating Stella, maybe a guard, perhaps even the king, followed by a panic attack, but…well, he was pretty sure this was none of the above. As far as he was aware, guards all wore armour, and the king of Solaria was not a slender blonde woman. He'd never seen a picture, but still.

'Hello.' The word was allowed to hang in the air for a minute as Ogron ran through a mental list of all the possible people she could be and Anagan very subtly put a hand on Gantlos's shoulder to keep him from getting up to be as threatening as possible.

'…Hi.' Anagan offered a hesitant, yet cordial greeting, pulling Ogron a tad closer.

'Who are you?' Gantlos blurted out, watching her with a sense of unease. Meanwhile, all Ogron's eyes could go to was the black bag clutched in her hand. What was in it? Truth serum? Were they being drugged? Or some other incentive to speak? He'd thought they were to be questioned by Stella, but perhaps this was their interrogator.

'My name is Luna; I was asked to treat and heal your injuries. I'm a doctor and licensed healer.' Ogron barely heard anything after 'injuries'. She…she knew? How could she possibly know?! No…no, maybe it wasn't so bad…maybe she just meant the burns from the sunlight…those were painted clear as day across his skin. Yes, surely that was it…sit still for a few ointments and healing spells and he'd be fine…she had no reason to ask him to-

'Would you mind taking off your shirt?' Bloody f*#king hell.

'Why?' Gantlos demanded, shaking off Anagan's hand and scrambling to his feet, eyes narrowed with sharp suspicion.

'Because I find it hard to treat broken or bruised ribs through leather.' She knew. How in Darkar's name could she-

'My ribs are perfectly fine,' he stated firmly, forcing the tremor from his voice. He wouldn't let this perfect stranger see him like this! He wouldn't let any of his new captors see just how weak and broken he truly was; his was a facade that, once seen past, could never be believed again. And how he needed his facade of calm…of strength, however faded that strength was.

'I can hear your breathing,' Luna countered, setting her bag down and planting her roots in this argument, room, and apparently Ogron's life. 'It's shallow and restricted, and you're wincing as you speak.'

'I was in battle.'

'Yeah,' Gantlos agreed, glowering at the bag as though he could still toss it and her from the room with his mind. 'Not to mention that you can't diagnose him from hearing a few breaths.'

'True, I can't, that's why I need to take a look.' Dammit, she was good.

'I do not require your assistance,' Ogron snapped, curling in on himself protectively. That was sort of true; he'd been coping just fine without her, or any medical professional. Well, just fine was mayhaps an exaggeration; he was still alive. Yes, his chest was on fire every time he inhaled, but the point was that he was inhaling nonetheless, and sooner or later, all his injuries would heal up on their own.

'I am quite certain that you do.' Luna sat herself down on the opposite end of the couch from Anagan, next to Ogron, looking at him with a patient expectance.

'Can you not just take my goddamn word for it?'

'I would, but you see, I already took my daughter's word for it, and our relationship is already a tad rocky, so, in the name of that, I'm afraid I can't currently accept your word.'

Ogron's eyes widened slightly, a frown crossing his face. 'Your daughter?'

'Stella.' Stella…Stella's word? Stella had told her? Stella knew? The reality hit him like a dozen of Neruman's punishments all at once. Stella remembered. Oh god…she remembered…remembered him taking his shirt off in a filthy back alley, remembered the bruises and blood painted across his skin, remembered him screaming and hitting the floor during Neruman's spell…remembered him being puppeted. He might be sick. Never in all his many, many centuries had he felt so utterly, utterly humiliated. Stella had watched him…seen it all…seen him as the weak, writhing mess he'd become. So…that was why. She spared him not just for information, for pragmatism, but…in pity. She pitied him. It made him sick. He didn't need anyone's pity, he wasn't so weak as to need the bleeding hearts of his enemies!

He looked away, his face burning with shame as he thought back to every pathetic gasp and whimper as Anagan had seen to his wounds as best he was able, knowing now that every sound had reached Stella's ears, carved into her memory. This was…humiliating. Like acid to his pride.

As though the universe was still not finished with his degradation, Luna repeated her earlier request. 'Would you mind removing your shirt?' It was phrased like a choice. He knew it wasn't, not really. She could snap her fingers and undress him if she pleased. Such a thought hastened him into a begrudging acceptance, cheeks burning as he slipped from the fabric that insisted on clinging to him like tar. He refused to meet Luna's gaze, folding the shirt up and clutching it to him to hide what he could manage. But it was futile. His state was perfectly evident at a glance.

The only recognition of his broken-toy appearance that Luna gave was a low 'hmm' and a slight chew on her lip, before summoning her bag over to her and pushing the shirt away from his chest.

'It's filthy and you're covered in cuts. You'll introduce infection.'

Her hands were chilled as they touched his skin, but he didn't flinch, utterly frozen in place. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and pray that this would end soon, that she'd cast this memory from her mind. Please…he begged that no one else would come in; if they did, he'd simply die.

His breathing hitched as Luna's hands brushed a fracture, her fingertips grazing over the swelling and sending a thousand razor-sharp signals to his brain. He flinched and pulled back, fingers digging into the couch.

'I'm sorry,' she apologised calmly, pulling back a moment to let him catch his breath. 'But I was correct; that is broken. Several are, in fact.'

Ogron grimaced, unable to respond. He'd known they were broken, he just…hated hearing it said aloud. Hated hearing this woman, this stranger, effectively announce that he couldn't draw a deep breath without pain lancing through his chest. No, not just a stranger…Stella's mother. Who would surely speak to Stella on this matter and tell her everything…Stella would hear that'd he'd flinched away like a small child. Why…why did Stella have to send such a confidant? Well, that was quite evidently why. She wanted to hear all of this. A court doctor might just give an overview; Stella surely wanted to know everything. Ogron winced at the anticipation of his humiliation deepening further.

'Right…' Luna finally completed her examination, pulling back and sanitising her hands. 'You have six broken ribs, bruising to your lungs according to a diagnostic spell, and several of these gashes are infected.' Wonderful. Lay it all out.

Anagan winced at the announcement of infection. 'I…I tried to keep them clean…'

'And you did a wonderful job; I would expect most of these to be very inflamed and likely discharging by now, but it's not too bad. Good work.'

Anagan managed a weak smile at the praise, and Ogron felt a great deal of gratitude towards him; he'd likely have developed a rather serious infection by now if Anagan hadn't drowned every cut, scrape and severe wound in antiseptic. That gratitude was rather drowned out by his abject distress, but he was acknowledging it.

'Right…' he muttered, shying away from Luna and whatever she was locating in her bag. 'Well, you've proven yourself correct and determined that I am a tad scraped up; so you can leave now…'

Luna ignored him completely, producing what seemed to be much the same antiseptic he was basically numb to by now. 'I'm going to clean these out, then apply a topical antibiotic to combat infection. Then I'll see about getting started on healing those ribs.'

Seeing no other choice, Ogron sat in silence the entire time, refusing to grimace or flinch, reminding himself time and time again that he'd felt far worse, he could hold back. How pathetic would he seem to assert he was fine, then devolve into a whimpering mess five minutes later?

However, he did shy away as Luna readied her healing spell. It was likely foolish, but…he disliked healing magic. Always had. Something…something about having someone else's magic knitting his skin, his tissues, his bones back together, doing whatever it pleased without his say-so, creeping and snarling through his veins, it just…it didn't sit well with him. However, the words to explain such feelings simply refused to detach from the back of his throat, not that he believed he'd be listened to anyway. This woman seemed set on fixing him, whether he approved or not, and…well, he was likely one transgression from chains. Not as though he were in a place to argue back.

'This may sting a tad to start with,' Luna warned, and Ogron offered a distracted nod, trying to think of a way to shoo her away from him without actually having to do so.

Her fingertips met his body, and his skin crawled at feeling such an unfamiliar energy creeping into his very being. Normally, his own magic would rage against such an intrusion, or at least come to greet this new arrival, to scope them out and investigate, but…it wasn't merely sleeping, it seemed…dead. Quite dead. No amount of coaxing or pleading could drag so much as a spark to the surface, each attempt feeding the cold dread setting up shop in his stomach. He was powerless, injured, and trapped, and all he felt as Luna's magic coursed through him was along for the ride.

True to her word, the spell stung slightly, but Ogron was too busy trying to mentally banish this foreign power from his person to care. However, after a few minutes, the stinging eased, and his breath caught. This…this wasn't too bad. No…no, it was…good. The searing pain that he'd come to accept as an unwelcome houseguest was being chivvied from his ribs, sent scrambling out the door and leaving a pleasant sort of numbness in its wake. He drew breath to speak, and found himself quite capable. It didn't hurt. He didn't have to remind himself not to try and cradle his chest. He could breathe again.

'…' He tried. He did, he truly tried to force out his gratitude. But…he just couldn't. To thank his captor would be acknowledging he was in her debt, and he wouldn't…he couldn't be in someone's debt, not again, not like Neruman, not a slave, not again…

'Thank you.' As Ogron's words had failed, Anagan's stepped in, quiet and sincere as he took in the receding bruises on Ogron's skin. 'Thank you.'

'No problem.' Luna smiled as warmly as her daughter, the resemblance evident for a moment. 'I'll sort you out some antibiotics to take care of the infection.' She passed Ogron back his shirt, though not without her lip curling slightly in quiet disgust at the filthy state of the fabric. Well, it rather matched him, so he was perfectly fine, thank you. Alright, he wasn't, it stank and barely felt like clothing anymore, but he wouldn't be half-naked in front of her any longer.

As Ogron wrestled his way back into his shirt, Luna turned her focus to Gantlos and Anagan. 'If it's alright, I'd like to check both of you over as well.'

'Of course.'

'No way in hell.' It…was quite obvious who issued each response. Anagan nodded politely, while Gantlos recoiled, nails digging into his sleeves, as though daring Luna to try and take the clothing from him.

'I…' Anagan glanced at Gantlos, sighing softly at the other wizard's furiously defensive air. 'I'll go first.'

Luna, thankfully, didn't find too much to patch up, though there were a fair few deep gashes left from Gregory's assault, along with some bruises turning a sort of mottled yellow. A healing spell had them beginning to fade to the same milky coffee colour as Anagan's skin, and the whole thing was over within a few minutes.

The same could not be said for Gantlos. The man outright refused to let Luna so much as come near him, actually snarling when her hands drew near.

'I can heal on my own, dammit!' He swatted her hands away, swiftly hiding his own in his lap when Luna's gaze caught on the bandages swathing the skin. Actually…why was Gantlos bandaged? Ogron, amidst all the chaos, hadn't really noticed, much less inquired. Some friend he was.

'May I see?'

'No you may not, you healed Ogron and Anagan, so you can leave now!'

'Gantlos.' Anagan's stern tone drew Gantlos's gaze. 'Gantlos, I have treated them with some antiseptic wipes and the last snatches of bandages, let her help.'

'Anagan-!'

'I swear to god-'

Gantlos huffed, but presented his hands with a barely-restrained growl, thrusting them forwards like a battering ram. 'Whatever, have at it.'

'Thank you.' Luna carefully unwound the bandages, keeping her expression perfectly neutral as stark, red gashes littered with splinters and bruises started to peek out at her. Ogron had no such composure, his eyes widening in horror.

'How the hell did this happen?'

'I was beating at the damn cell door, trying to get to you. Didn't work.' Oh…despite having had nothing to do with this, Ogron felt guilt prick at his skin. His hands were decimated; how hard had he tried to get to him?

Luna removed the splinters in silence, Gantlos grumbling that he didn't need this, he was fine, though his shoulders visibly relaxed as her healing magic started to seal the cuts.

The moment the injury had been bandaged back up, Gantlos folded his arms again. Several minutes of Anagan's coaxing later, he consented to allow Luna to examine his chest, healing up his ribs and a very ugly swelling from where his shoulder had been presumably jammed back in using Gantlos's old trick for fixing a dislocated shoulder - just slam it into the wall and it'll go back in. Which, yes, technically, it worked, but…well, it hardly looked painless.

Gantlos yanked his shirt back on in silence; if Luna was waiting on some voiced gratitude, Gantlos was refusing to oblige, still watching her suspiciously.

'Thank you.' Once again, Anagan offered thanks on behalf of his friends, whether they couldn't manage or just outright refused. 'Thank you so much.'

'You're welcome.' Luna gathered her things up, heading for the door. 'I hope you all feel better soon.' Highly doubtful. They were still set to be interrogated, and the knowledge that Stella was likely about to get a full report on just how broken they were was hardly a comforting thought.

'Well…' Anagan began once the lock had clicked back into place. 'That feels better…'

Ogron offered a mute nod, playing with his hair. Anagan was right, it did feel better…he still ached all over with a bone-deep exhaustion, and every moment coaxed him closer to complete collapse, but he did feel better. Physically, at least.

'Can't believe we let her do that,' Gantlos grumbled, kicking at the couch in frustration, still firmly camped out on the floor.

'Let her what, restore our ability to breathe easy?' Anagan asked with quiet sarcasm. 'G, I get you don't trust anyone here, but you gotta admit it feels better.'

Gantlos rolled his eyes, but the way he subtly rolled his healed shoulder made Ogron think he was more relieved than he'd like to let on.

'So…' Gantlos raised an eyebrow at both of them. 'We telling them everything?'

Ogron made himself nod, however much he wanted to shove his memories to the back of his mind and never think about them again. 'We have no choice…'

Gantlos drew breath to answer, but before a word could leave his lips, the lock clicked once again, and all three tensed up, Gantlos scrambling to his feet to stand protectively in front of Ogron and Anagan.

'G…' Anagan cautioned softly, though Gantlos wasn't listening.

The door swung open with a distinct lack of a creak, and all three wizards watched warily as Stella hurried through, hair more askew than they'd seen it to date, orange jacket and leather skirt traded out for something a tad more conservative and a tad less covered in battle dust.

'Hi…' She offered a slight wave and an awkward, yet oddly friendly smile. 'Sorry I took forever, the whole kingdom was in a panic. And my father was wondering what the hell was going on, and, Y'know, just stuff, life gets in the way.'

'Stella, keep your focus.' The calm monotone drew Ogron's focus, and he curled further in on himself as Tecna followed Stella inside, seating herself with the calm air of someone that was probably just going to interrogate them, but really, who knew what she was capable of. She brought reinforcements…a subtle way of saying she didn't trust them? He remembered such a sentiment leaving his lips in Sibylla's cave; at the time, the Winx had been wrong to trust them, and the words had simply been an attempt at gaslighting, but now…they could trust him, but they didn't, they shouldn't, and wouldn't. But he still had to speak.

'Okay then.' Stella sat down calmly, smiling with soft reassurance. 'Let's get to it, shall we?'