As they lay immobile and helpless, Patrice tries with every ounce of energy he has to summon up some sort of wandless magic trick to knock away at least one of the figures. He knows this isn't a dream. Or thinks he knows, anyway. This has a different feeling than when he was wandering through a forest just moments before, and he's willing to stake someone's safety on it with his attempts at magic. It doesn't matter though. He's not skillful enough to do anything, leaving him only capable of action once he can actually move again.

He's quick to rip off his own mask, his attention turning to Atlas at his utterance, and then to Xenia. This attention to the others is fleeting, though - he starts trying to scrub out a line of the chalk sigil on the floor with his hand to break it, not liking it still being around even if it's not glowing and has possibly already served its purpose.

"'Set him free,'" he says under his breath, recalling what he'd heard in his dream. Then, louder, "Everyone alright?"