A few seconds ago.
Looking at the pile of scorched flesh that had once been one of the kindest and bravest women on Angaria, Jonah felt like tearing his hair out and falling to his knees, sobbing.
He did no such thing. Swallowing emotions that could easily have broken lesser man had become an old game to him, and now, he played it with the grace of a seasoned veteran. He let nothing show on his face as the Bishop paced in front of him, reminding him ironically of his disciple who had the same habit.
In front of them, the gigantic body made of mist was still hammering on the continent-wide formation of Angaria. Jonah had been surprised to see that the Bishop didn't need to be inside to control it, but on hearing her mutterings, he had understood that it was only the case if the mist was doing something simple like repeating the same motion over and over again.
