"All done!"
Lilyca withdrew her purifying beam, the golden light fading from her small palms as she rocked back on her heels. The eight-year-old Saintess looked immensely pleased with herself, her silver-white eyes bright with accomplishment.
But then she tilted her head, her expression shifting to something more thoughtful. "Wait! I think you should bathe in holy purifying water too. Also drink some. Also... drink more for the next twenty-four hours?"
Cecilia, who had been kneeling beside Oathran's battered form, looked up with a frown. "Is his condition that severe?"
Lilyca shook her head, her dark braid bouncing with the motion. "No. Just that I feel some weird divine power in him. It's a bit... icky?"
Cecilia's mind flickered back to the black flame.
The first time she had seen it was at the dam, a dark, hungry fire that had consumed the rift core and left nothing behind. When she saw it again now, pouring from the leviathan's wounds, she had finally made the connection.
