Theron's roar peeled through the skies, his hair dancing wildly. Strands of illusory Mana seemed to dance within it, some of them flashing with lightning, and others becoming gales of wind so thick and strong that they looked real and tangible.
In that moment, it was the truest mane that Theron had ever formed. His hair wasn't hair any longer; it looked like the breadth of the heavens, carrying the moon and stars, the clouds and thunder, the vastness of space and the depths of the ocean.
All of the fatigue on his expression vanished as though he had opened himself up to the world.
His Cores churned, and his Mana was seamlessly passed between them and his soul and then back again as though there was no difference.
A question he had been hearing ever since his youth echoed in his mind:
Was Mana Life?
Was Mana Power?
Right now, it felt like the first was truly the more likely of the two. How else could Mana help restore a soul to this extent?
