The response was not dramatic... apart from the wound.
That was the thing about this particular trump card that his father had tried to explain and that Silas had never fully understood until right now, standing in a dungeon boss room with his chest open and his mana sinking into the floor and a crumbling blade above his head.
His father had said;
it doesn't announce itself. It doesn't feel like power. It feels like suddenly knowing.
That was exactly what it felt like.
The world didn't slow. The light didn't change. There was no surge of mana, no visible discharge, no dramatic visual indicator of what was happening. The blade above his head didn't glow. His wounds didn't close. He didn't feel strong.
He was just, present.
