Trafalgar came the rest of the way out of the wall onto one knee and stayed there, chest heaving, and let the cavern pour itself into him.
That was the mercy of this place. The mana hung so thick in the air that his body could gulp it down faster than the fight had spent it, and even slumped in a crater with his ribs singing he felt the well filling back, the ache draining out of his arm, the torn edges of him knitting closed. A minute. Give him a minute and he'd be whole. So he took it, and while he took it, he watched.
He braced for the pain first. Last time the captain had reached for the bottom of himself, the sight of it had tried to split Trafalgar's skull, his gift clawing to carve the technique into him whether he wanted it or not.
