“…you will be leaving then?” Her voice had taken an almost haughty tone. Aeorys halted in the doorway, turning ‘round to face her for what seemed to be the last time, an invisible fist clenching about her heart. She felt strings of the pact strain and fray as she bowed.

“Yes, my Lady,” replied the mage, grateful for the polished mask that hid the anguished expression on her face. She did not dare look up.

“For good?” Halo arched an eyebrow.

“Yes…my Lady. I will be returning to my homeland in Ardor following the end of my servitude. I believe I may still have some relatives yet,” ‘Ronth’ lied smoothly, “I wish my Lady a swift and full recovery. Thanas bless you, Miss Lierageren.”

It took every ounce of willpower to prevent her from running out of the manor.

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Halo released a heavy sigh, allowing her hands to loosen their white-knuckled grip from the embroidered coverlet. A dull ache had persisted throughout the conversation, intensifying sharply as the man bowed. She would not allow him, no matter how personal of a retainer he claimed he was, to see her pain. She did not trust the man; it was all the better he left anyway. Still, the hurt persisted, reaching an agonizing climax as Ronth exited the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

The paladin clutched her chest, biting her lip ‘til it bled. She doubled over in pain. Why? Halo muffled a cry as the bond broke, and suddenly, the pain returned to a blunt, almost imperceptible throb.

“What happened…?” she gasped to herself as she straightened, wiping the blood from her cut lip. “Why am I...?” Tears streamed freely, though no sob formed in her throat. The knight could not cease the flow, and she wiped vainly at the continuous torrent of tears that welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “What have you done to me, Ronth?”

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“…Eyes…”

Aeorys stood briefly outside the massive scroll-worked gates of the Lierageren estate. So that’s all, is it? She knew what was coming. The Pact was breaking. Her first steps away were measured, deliberate as she walked away, her steps increasing, ever increasing in frequency until she was running, the ache in her breast like a thousand lances piercing her heart.

“Eyes…” She cursed again, heading into an alley at a breakneck pace, alighting briefly upon a crate before boosting herself onto the rooftops. The pain ensued, and the Scyrian continued to run, her heavy boots thudding as she traversed Elden’s sea of roof tiles. The mage leaped gaps, startling those below as her shadow passed over them. The film of firesmoke that was invisible from below caused the mage to grimace as she glanced at the horizon in hopes – though she knew it was impossible – of a sight of the mountains. “Heh…what relatives…?”

Aeorys tore the mask from her face, holding the wooden thing in a crushing grip as she sped on, as if to escape the punishment of Breaking. Her consciousness of Halo faded, though she knew she felt pain as well, though not nearly as intense as she. Breaking. The image of a rope being sawn in two by a dull blade entered her mind. Such an analogy could not fit the Breaking better, though it did not portray the absolute hurt those of the Pact would experience.

She had run in a circle, as she now realized, and was nearing the Greyhart residence. With a bound, the mage left the rooftops behind, levering off the arched gateway unto one of several balconies. Using magic hurt, and the concentration required helped alleviate the Breaking if just a little. The framed glass door was unlocked – she knew it would be – and she stepped inside, tossing the mask carelessly onto the dresser by the wall.

Suddenly exhausted, the mage collapsed in a chair, her breathing heavy and ragged as she fumbled with the high collar of her black coat, chest heaving. Burning lungs added to her suffering, and she ground her teeth, tensing in her seat as she waited for the pain to subside.

The Breaking ended abruptly, so suddenly that she believed herself dead for a moment. Tears...the second lash. Would it still be possible? The Eye kept her emotion in check, and she had not once recalled crying since she was a child, yet her eyesight blurred, and she felt the tears come.

She felt nothing, in truth, only a trickle coursing down her cheeks, physical, tangible. Within, she was empty. The Scyrian let them come, leaning her head back against the wall with closed eyes. The tears would not last longer than a few minutes – a few minutes worth of time to think. She closed the balcony entrance with a draft of air, the act of magic a subconscious effort now.

There would be whispers in the streets for the next week or so of a shadow dancing over the rooftops. I’ll need to apologize to the Greyharts later; no doubt they’ll have some odd folk asking about me … Other idle thoughts filled her mind, and she purposely ignored the image of a blue-haired individual that continued to tug at the edge of her consciousness.

Her obstinate refusal to acknowledge her matter with Halo did not last long, all other notions roughly shoved aside as the paladin emerged. As a general whole, it was difficult to think of anything else but her when she entered her mind.

“Halo…”