Excerpt:
He buried his head in His palm and whispered with difficulty: "You..."
The parted lips each touched the cold and smooth skin. Maybe it was too cold, so he only opened his mouth and took short breaths.
"Yeah."
"Lord," he had to say something, and the title crawled out of his throat smoothly.
"Yeah."
"Lord God."
"Yeah."
"Bluethorn."
"Yeah."
The scar heats up.
Determination: See the Lord and swear an oath.