<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 26px">Valentine, the Glue</span></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><u>Location: </u>Battlefield, beside Mystera and the others<br/>
<u>Status:</u> Injured, semi-conscious</span></span>​</div><hr class="bbc-hr"/>Valentine allowed Dayyan to move him, giving Mystera a small but genuine smile. He tried to pull himself to his feet but crumpled to the snow as he took a step.<br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">"Professor-"</span>he yelped as he collapsed, his head swimming as glittering lights danced and flashed across his eyes.<i>I'm hot. It's too warm, why is it so warm? </i><br/>Valentine's eyes fluttered open and shut as he lay in the snow, allowing the chill to touch his too-warm body and letting his now-ruined clothes become damp.<br/><i>Wet will kill, Valentine. Get up</i>. He'd always been told to stay dry as a child, even a wet glove would kill someone if they didn't remove it immediately. But he was so tired, he was too tired to move, to even care about his clothes or even his injuries at this point.<br/>Valentine closed his eyes, letting himself sink into that comfortable, warm blackness that had been threatening to take his consciousness. He fell deeper into the darkness, even as a concerned shout echoed through his ears.<br/><i>That was Mister Dayyan or Professor, you have to get up. They're concerned for you. <br/>
I'm too tired. They'll understand I need a nap. They would want me to rest.<br/>
What about the others? They'll be worried.<br/>
I need to sleep, I have to sleep. </i>