The execution platform had grown so quiet that even the faint rustling of robes could be heard.
Thousands of eyes were fixed on the two figures standing at its center.
The Saintess.
And the broken old healer.
For a moment, the old woman did not react.
Then—
Her body suddenly jerked.
The moment the Saintess' hands wrapped around hers, the healer recoiled instinctively, her frail shoulders tightening as fear shot through her like lightning.
"N-no—!"
Her voice came out hoarse and raw, as though her throat had long forgotten how to speak.
Her hands trembled violently in the Saintess' grasp as she tried to pull them back.
Years of suffering had carved that reaction into her bones.
Touch meant pain.
Questions meant punishment.
And kindness—
Kindness had never existed in the darkness where she had been imprisoned.
"Please—!" the old woman gasped weakly, panic trembling in every word. "I didn't say anything—!"
