"Saintess…" Oathran's plea was impossibly soft. "Here. Fix my birthday cane. Add whatever you want. Do whatever you want." He placed the elegant wood on her lap and had to physically stop himself from kneeling beside the bed like a supplicant, forcing his body back into the chair.
"But I still can't fix my body yet," he continued, his voice earnest. "I don't have enough mana. It will need two or three weeks more to regenerate fully. I had intended to save for three or four months, as I calculated the immense amount needed to replace your heart. See? What I need for my flesh is nothing compared to what you require for your life."
He laid his justification bare before her.
Cecilia turned to him, and her sea-glass eyes made his very soul tremble. Thanks to the new Sense Sharing bond between them, she could feel it. He was telling the truth. He was too sincere.
"What if I give you enough mana?" Her eyelids fluttered down, then back up to meet his gaze.
