Not Gonna Die (A Skybrine Fanfic)

|Chapter 12| Going Downhill

Quick recap of what's happened so far in the book since it's been a while since the last chapter:
Team Crafted make a lot of treaties with other armies and tries to keep things peaceful. When they go to the snow country to meet the Snow Strikers, it turns out that snow hates Adam and he almost dies. He starts getting headaches and glowing eyes and so Ty and Seto take him back to the snow country to see Queen Anne and the sorcerer Aramis. Turns out that he can't be the son of Herobrine (Nice secret Anne) and they all go home, but Adam's senses are now going completely haywire.

I'm sorry if the next few chapters seem a bit forced, it's difficult to get back into the swing of writing.

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          Adam's headache didn't diminish in the slightest over the coming days but much to his relief, his hands didn't spontaneously catch fire again, nor did any other part of his body. He had always worn his sunglasses outdoors and had occasionally taken them off inside but now he kept them on from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep, not only because almost the entirety of his eyes were a solid yellow but also because even the dim light of low-burning torches were bright to him and the midday sun was almost unbearable. He could hear someone calling his name even if they were all the way on the other side of the training grounds and when someone talked to him normally, it felt like they were half-shouting.

          As such, he found it almost impossible to not wince every time Mitch or Quentin talked when the three of them were walking aimlessly around the corridors of the castle, the two chatting animatedly about the approaching Games they held every year at the base, aimed at bringing people together for a friendly competition to form new friendships. More than a few thought it was very cliche but it was effective, and all of the Generals participated enthusiastically, none more so than Mitch. He had been undefeated in the sword duels for five years up until last year, when a young man had snatched it right out from under his nose, and he was eager to claim back his title.

          "I can't want to verse him again," Mitch was saying with a grin to Quentin and Adam, who walked between the two. "He was pretty good last time and I assume that he's gotten better."

          "Which means it'll be easier for him to beat you," Quentin pointed out. Mitch put a hand to his chest like he had been hurt and gasped at Quentin.

          "Are you saying that I don't train?" he asked in a sort of overly exaggerated way.

           Quentin hummed non-commitantly and instead turned his attention to Adam. "Are you gonna take a chance to beat Mitch, Adam?"

          "Nah, I don't think so," Adam mumbled. "I'll just watch."

          "I wish I could do that," the other grumbled. "The amount of injuries we get during the Games is crazy! All of the infirmary staff are going to have to be available just so we can- Adam, are you okay?"

          For Adam had stumbled suddenly and fallen to his knees, leaning low over his legs, the knuckles of his hands white as he clutched his head, nails digging into his skin. He made a soft groaning sound, his fingers clenching tighter. Quentin and Mitch were both kneeling next to him in an instant, Quentin putting a hand to Adam's forehead, feeling for a temperature only to take his hand away quickly. The skin was burning.

          "Adam, are you okay?" Mitch asked, his hand on Adam's shoulder, his eyebrows creased in worry. "Quentin, what's happening? What's wrong with him?"

          "I..." Quentin shook his head, lost for one of the few times of his life. "It's like he's got a fever or something, he's burning up."