Nathaniel felt relief, as if a great crushing weight had lifted from his shoulders. Granted, he didn't feel much else just then. His vision flickered, and he knew he was losing time, seconds or minutes with every flash of black. His magic was gone. He'd poured every drop into his patient. After... care... long term dam... damage. He turned to the Lizalfos. The one who was still awake. "Magic... gone..." he said. His vision flickered again. "Potion... my bag..." Flicker. "Glass bottle..." Admini-... Adm-... Give it to-... He fell to the ground, staring up at the sky. If his vision was flickering, he could no longer tell. The vast gears of his mind were slowing down and grinding, like a great clock was winding down. He'd pushed himself too far, too fast, too hard. It was like trying to drink deep from a teaspoon. pro-... proc-... p............. His eyes closed as his strength failed and his mind ground to a halt under the crushing weight of adrenaline crash and magical void. He dreamed in vivid memories that night. He dreamed of his childhood, of his very first teacher. The teacher he hated with every fiber of his being... and yet had managed to teach him more than any other.