His ribs ached. Were going to ache. Was she just parroting words that Vargis had spoken to her? Or was it something else? She sounded different when she said that she wanted money. It was a vehicle, an avenue to the end, but not the end itself. She sounded more like the voices in his heart when she spoke of a place - in some distant, imagined future - that would be entirely hers. Eragos knew that desire all too well. He was there, with her, until she said she wanted to be here. Until she kicked him. No one wanted to be here. Not even those who had created this nightmare. Not even those who had a hand in its advancing shadows. They wanted to be somewhere else, too. Eragos certainly did not want to be here. It was only that... there was no one else. And no one to apologize for the masses that would perish if he threw down his sword.
Was that what she felt?
His closed fist hammered into her face, hard enough to make Hasna choke back a gasp. He still heard the sound. Standing over Eithne with that same fist brandished like a weapon, he wondered if she was going to get up. That kick wasn't a playful jab. Only a little harder to break one of his ribs. So he'd given her the same courtesy. She'd probably have a bruise tomorrow, but so would he. Eragos stabbed his sword into the earth - another sound from Hasna, this time a grunt. When he sat on his heels in front of her she was watching him. Waiting for something? Waiting for him to say something, to do something? Or to go on acting like her teacher? He felt in that moment that he was no longer her teacher. She might still learn something from him, but there was enough in her voice to convince him.
Somehow, she'd found a way to belong. He couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with Vargis.
"Yes," he told her. "It was."
A pause.
What was it that he felt when he looked at her? She was beautiful, to him, even with her eyes narrowed and brows drawn down in an angry scowl. He shouldn't have felt that pull toward her, that kinship, a sharing of souls that he hadn't felt with anyone since he left Aetherius all those years ago. Some shared his values, and others his fighting spirit, but no one had the same anger living in their heart. She had it, perhaps more than him. Anger at the world for allowing itself to fall to this. Anger at those who dominated for lusting so mightily after power. Anger at those who were subjugated for failing to fight back. Anger for taking away all of the things which mattered. It couldn't be right, or just, but it was real. Yes, she had the same anger. She was his student; he knew her anger as well as anyone. But the rest... he shouldn't feel that, when he looked at a student.
He did.
"I'll never tell you that you don't belong here again, Eithne. You do. After everything, you do."