He doesn't have to get up. Devero's arms are long enough to wrap around him where he huddles, and he doesn't hesitate to do just that. He tucks the priest's head under his chin and holds him.

What can someone like him say in response to something like this? Koumyou's grief seems more profound to Devero than any loss he's ever suffered; the burden he's left to his son an incomprehensible one to a man from a world without magic. Not for the first time, he feels small in the face of who and what Koumyou is.

But he holds him regardless, and he whispers the only thing he can think to into Koumyou's hair: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."