"Magic." Nyx finally rolls onto his side to try and get to his knees, groaning. Internal check: he's not burning. His arm's not on fire, the scars are still just marks across his skin. There's a measure of relief on Nyx's face as he looks at his hands. It was all in his head. Another flashback.

The exhaustion's real, though. He might as well have warped twenty times, not just the once. The landing had been less than graceful, too. Normally he can see where he's going, but that's not really an excuse. He's not just rusty, though. Whatever that wall was really took it out of him. If they'd been any closer...

"Call it a rare talent. Usually reserved for the royal family and occasionally borrowed by their soldiers." A severe understatement and hardly the case anymore.