Though the internal pressure in Carlisle's head is still on the rise, the external force that balked against his influence wanes. He'd hesitated before, tried to get Glacius to run; the results of his mistake are laid before him, and he knows he cannot fail again.

He hasn't even time to murmur an apology to this other Glacius, a being created by the false gods, but so influenced by the original's memories within him that he would listen to the clergyman's pleas, even if only long enough for Carlisle to get a grip on him with his cursed gift. Within this shade is Glacius' thoughts, his memories, his feelings, their camaraderie; that fondness for Carlisle is his downfall, and they both know it.

Carlisle's command is soft, but firm, a quiet whisper against the storm brewing in his head: Leave this place, and do not come back.