Despite his unreadable face, he's shaking. He grabs his hand in an attempt to stop his trembling.

Questioning his faith was never a good idea, but he never thought he would fall because of his hesitance and doubt. He had crashed into the church, your church.

From the ground, he swallows his pride and reaches out to grab your robes. The aftershocks is clearly paining him, his wings twitching.

"Help me. Please," he pleads, his voice raspy. Surely the saintess would give him aide.