Vtorym, in Master Vrook's private quarters, suddenly collapsed to her knees in agony.
"What is it?" snapped Vrook sharply. "Knight V'stalt! What's happening? What's wrong?"
When the swimming red haze of her vision began to reform itself into familiar shapes and shadows that she recognized, she stood up. "Someone's been wounded. Badly." Without waiting for her Master, a serious yet understandable breach of protocol under these circumstances, she fled from the chamber, Vrook on her heels, his lightsaber ignited.
When the two reached what Vtorym believed to be the source of the pain, the raw disturbance in the Force, both Master and student were dumbfounded. Knight Sev Kershaw lay on the floor, half-curled into a fetal position, with not a scratch on him.
"Kershaw!" Vrook snapped. "Are you half-dead? Asleep? Stand up this instant, you fool!"
Vtorym, however, knelt down beside him. "Shhh," she said. "Knight? It's me...Vtorym..."