A gulp of inrushing air fills the void where a Rider had been as the tension finally resolves in the desired manner: the distance between your soul and the Rider becoming zero, marked by a sensation somewhere between being punched in an organ you don't have and getting a cramp in a phantom limb, and you manage to keep from staggering as your body tries to compensate for a shift in the balance of your soul.
"Was that you getting it?" Johann asks.
"Yes, I got it," you say, and Johann shifts his attention to you. In theory the willpower of a Lady Magister of the Grey Order should significantly outmuscle the drives and instincts of a single specimen of one of the lowest tier of Aethyric fauna, but if it did manage to catch you off-guard, you'd rather deal with the bruising from Johann wrestling you into submission than the embarrassment of going raving through the hallways of your alma mater.