In some ways, he should not have been surprised. Wasn't this what he deserved, after all? Wasn't this what he was, all along? He knew Nastin was avoiding him. Prolonging the decision. That only affirmed what it would be and so Eonthane quietly made his preparations to leave. There were things he had to be done… and this time there was little that would hold him back.

Just the holy magic in his veins. He hissed as there mere thought of it sent agony coursing through his blood. He wasn't sure if it was the remnants of what had been done to him by the Silvermoon priests or if it was his own doing, drawing off of shadow for so long, but either way, it felt like the last line he had. Keeping him from drowning. Well, whatever had been holding him back was gone.

His hands trembled slightly as he packed his things. He'd leave his notes behind and hope Raineigh took his advice and submitted to the Silvermoon authorities. She had little choice and he knew he'd revel in killing her. That was what he'd been trying to avoid all this time, that feeling of exultation. He'd managed it, somewhat, but deep down Eonthane knew that he'd finally succumbed.

Before the Remnants… he swallowed hard. There had been a paladin, injured, in Tranquillien. No one had been around. And he'd asked for help and Eonthane had instead felt his pain, felt it so keenly, and felt the pain of his own addiction. And quietly, without a sound, he'd ripped the elf's mind apart where there was no one to hear him scream.

The first of many deaths by his hand. And he reveled in their suffering. That was before the Remnants.

Eonthane took a deep breath to steady himself. He had the holy magic now, burning in him like fire, and that might be a reminder to keep that part of his personality under check. He was vulnerable to the addiction as well and vulnerable to his own addiction that he used to supplant the arcane one. And part of him keenly remembered how it had felt, picking at the nerves and fibers of Raineigh's mind, feeling the power that came from forcing her to reveal to him the location of her notes.

She was a traitor as well. Eonthane frowned and shut his backpack. Worse yet, he wasn't sure if she was a watchdog or a victim like himself. He knew they wouldn't trust him. It was only his brother… and his sisters that was keeping him in check. And the threat of what they had done to Raineigh.

He didn't know what threat had been given to Raineigh. But no doubt they were watching each other. He certainly was, but for entirely different reasons. He smiled, remembering the notes he'd burned. He'd be their watchdog. But he'd betray them in the end.

Eonthane could not help but think of Uther's Tomb as Nastin asked for him to leave. It was a place he had visited often, a place he had gone when he had finally forsaken the shadow. That had been painful, made even more so by the knowledge that there were no heroes left int his world. That even Nastin would not forgive… and now he was right. Nastin would not forgive this. Part of Eonthane wanted to beg forgiveness, tell him he had no choice, that they had won out… but no. He wanted to see if there was someone – anyone – in this world capable of such a thing. Apparently not. So he picked up his staff and left the hall, a quiet resolve on his soul. Let Raineigh do as she will. He would kill her, quickly if he could, when she succumbed. The others were no longer his concern.

Two days passed. It was time for him to report to his brother, as had been the agreement. He would watch Raineigh and some of the more 'dangerous' members of the Remnants. It wasn't so much as they were a threat but Silvermoon wanted to know his loyalties. Well, he would show them. Eonthane took a deep breath and paused outside the door of his brother's house in Silvermoon.

It was warded. Eonthane smiled softly, knocked, and his older brother answered and silently let him in. There were refreshments laid out and Eonthane settled himself, putting his staff by the door and arranging his robes.

"I'm glad we can sort this mess out," Akedas said, sitting opposite his brother, "This will go a long way towards redeeming the sa'Lara name."

"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Eonthane asked softly. Beneath the table, he gently caressed a knife.

"Partly. You understand our situation… but Silvermoon is concerned. I only did what I could to help. I wish you had been more understanding."

His brother frowned severely. Eonthane returned the glance with a faint smile.

"I see you have your house warded," Eonthane said mildly, "You're getting paranoid. But of course, you always were only a second-rate mage, shamed by your brother who has squandered his power."

Akedas turned aside quickly at the jab, his frown deepening. Eonthane laughed and stood, the knife hidden in the folds of his robe.

He had much to settle and nothing holding him back anymore.

"It's a shame, really," Eonthane continued, "Our sister has devised her own methods of surviving and they will not benefit our family. Our younger sister is hiding with the rangers and will someday marry outside of our household. That leaves you and I to continue the family heritage, no? A pity."

"You've taken steps," Akedas said stiffly, "Although reluctant you finally did acquiesce. I hope you continue to cooperate. Now, do you have the report I asked?"

His heart fluttered. This was the line. He remembered the pendant his brother had given him, when he'd first taken the oaths as a rpiest. Things had been different then… they'd hoped they could save their parents. Keep them from descending into madness. And he'd failed. Eonthane had failed and realized as his household crumbled around him that no one kept promises, even if they had the best of intentions.

The broken house of sa'Lara.

"It was wise of you to ward your house," Eonthane whispered, "I burned Raineigh's report and I have none to give you myself."

Akedas took a step backwards, surprised, and then a grim mask settled across his face.

"I'll have no choice but to-"

"Hand me over to the authorities to be tortured again? Because that went so well last time."

And Akedas stumbled, at a loss. There. He'd been hit where it hurt the most, because despite his grab for power, Akedas did want to see his household prosper. Even Eonthane.

The priest took two steps, holding up the pendant that was given to him. Renew, Protect, Heal, Give. Akedas's eyes flickered to it, dim recognition in his eyes. He did not see the knife until it was too late.

The Magister gasped and doubled over and Eonthane gasped too, the weight of his dying brother suddenly falling on his arms. He was not very strong. He quickly slipped the dagger free of the lungs and stabbed again, aiming for the other one so that they'd quickly fill with blood and Akedas would drown in it within seconds. Then his brother slumped at his feet, trying to speak, to say anything, but his mouth was filled with his own blood. Eonthane dropped the knife, breathing hard, and held his brother up by the back of his robe. There was blood on his pendant.

"You may have warded this house against magic," Eonthane panted, "But I've been practicing. Just for you, dear brother. Let our house remain broken… it's better this way."

And he let go of his brother, who died as he hit the floor, and became what he feared and hated the most. No one meant anything to him anymore, not even his own family.