When Elian whispered the final line of the old prayer, the flame didn't waver. The priests helped him with the ceremonial wax, and left him in the confessional hall to speak with the Goddess of Wax.
Elian knelt for hours, hardened wax pooling around him like forgotten blessings. The Shadowrite Grimoire floated beside him, closed and silent. He bowed his head and said aloud, "I don't ask to be saved. I want to be seen."
These words weren't from any text, or from what Lucian learned.
There were no sanctions and no glyphs.
But the words were his, and they were said sincerely.
He had been praying to a large wax statue in a little alcove. She was a woman wearing a silk dress and hood, hands folded over her heart. The Saint of Tenderness had been silent and unmoving.
And then a crack formed from her brow to her cheek.
He looked up, mouth slightly open as he watched her open her eyes. Instead of pupils, her eye sockets had glowing amber flames.
