So...
What would you pray for?"
Xilan shook his head and smiled,
"I cannot tell you, only I and my God knows."
Casas and Antion turned their heads with difficulty, after tonight, they would be separated by death, their cheeks wet, Xilan's calmness pained them, yet they were powerless.
Finally, the figures of the two faded in the cell, they slowly left Xilan, bidding him farewell forever.
Xilan raised his face, looking at the silent cell.
The prison guards had fallen asleep, no one came to disturb him.
Outside the prison, he could still hear countless spit insults, curses.
Tomorrow, he would die.
Slowly, Xilan raised his hands, he gathered all his strength, enduring the pain as he clasped them together.
He was about to pray.
He was not asking how long his pain would endure, nor when he might be saved,
but as many times before, he whispered in prayer,
"God, do not grant me glory!
Clothe me in sackcloth, bestow upon me thorns."
The voice of that prayer fell.
