Seirion remained kneeling by the altar, his head bowed and his fingers interlaced around Erian's lifeless hand.
The human's body felt cold. Even so, Seirion did not let go of his hand. He prayed without pause, his voice barely a muffled whisper lost among the echoes of the stone.
Then, a faint movement made him lift his gaze. A faint twitch crossed Erian's brow.
It was so slight that Seirion thought he had imagined it, but then the young man's fingers tensed weakly, as if something were tormenting him.
Seirion's heart skipped a beat.
"Erian…" he whispered.
A spark of hope flared in his chest, but it quickly mingled with a deeper fear.
If Erian's body was reacting… what kind of torment must he be enduring within Seirion's memories?
He tried to think which part of his past could have disturbed Erian so deeply, but no clear image surfaced, only scattered fragments of memories too old and too dark.
