Tycondrius stepped into the ritual formation, allowing the concentrated mana to wash over him.
The mana flow was good-- in particular, the pressure of the stream. The purification circles were working perfectly, it felt good breathing it and against his bare skin. Where Sasha's rune work was admittedly average, she excelled at precisely measuring the requisite amount of mana for the formation to function, and maximizing its purity.
Tycon instilled mana down his arm, to the very tip of his finger... and drew a sigil in the air. In completing the inner seal, the mana lines began to light up, shrouding the room in a dim, golden glow.
"Young lady, if you would," He nodded to his daughter.
"Aye aye," She knelt down, placing her hands into the activation circle. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."
...
It was dark... but there were torches enough for Pale to see.
