Elian stood frozen, his horse shifting beneath him as he watched the wave of pure, unfiltered sincerity wash over the valley, healing the sick and pushing back the miasma.
He had spent his entire life around 'holy' men, but he had never seen anything like this. This wasn't a practiced spell or a ritual. This was a man pouring his entire soul out for people he didn't even know.
Elian's cold, calculating expression softened. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face as he looked at Julian, who remained kneeling in the center of the miracle.
Truly remarkable, Elian thought, feeling the same warmth he had felt the first time he held Julian's hand. This is the Saint. Not the scholar, not the prisoner... but the Saint with the purest heart.
But then, Julian's shoulders began to sway, his breath hitching as the golden glow finally began to recede from the valley.
