The moment he saw the blade, he tensed. The muscles (or at least the ones that were still there) locked- it was an automatic reaction, and there was no consideration done into it to just how kind Wyl had been to him. No. That only factored in after as the tired things quickly relaxed as his amber eyes slide up and down the glowing blade. He'd never seen anything quite like it, but he'd heard about them. Well, he'd read about them at the very least.<br/><br/>He looked back to his face, searching there for any sign of insincerity. When he found none, he appraised the blade with a long lash of his gaze. He'd never seen something so well balanced, or anything he'd felt was as beautiful. Though that was probably a combination of delirium and the promise that he might actually get to breath anything but hot air. That he'd be able to eat. To lift his head up again without the strain. To just feel free, even if it was only an illusion of the moment.<br/><br/>The logic was there, and it was good enough for him. That gaze of his seemed eager. Up until the moment Wyl mentioned the people who put it there. His gaze sagged and he gave a nod of his head. Something in him looked vastly more wilted. He'd been shackled by those he'd previously called friends. The physical wounds might heal, the fetters might be unbound, but the gashes in his soul would be carried with him wherever he may go.<br/><br/>"Yes. Please," came the quiet words. "I would...be forever in you debt. I will owe one to you until you see fit to have this deed repaid. You have my word."<br/><br/>Not so long ago, his word was worth the weight of a kingdom backing it and the weight of the Church beside it. His word could summon an army to aid, and his word sealed treaties and raised militias for aid. But now? What good was it? He was nothing, and his word was even less.