The bitter sting of Rhydian's words lingered in Jonan's chest like a blade that refused to budge, yet even in its cruelty, it carried an undeniable truth. In this world, power was not granted through charity, nor would mercy or sentiment safeguard one's future. A secret technique—even an incomplete one—was worth blood, life, and death. To receive such a thing demanded worthiness proven through action, not plea.
Jonan's fingers clenched at his side, nails digging into his palm as he reflected. "I thought Father knew everything. I was certain he realized I'd broken through the Intelligence attribute limit. But perhaps not… or perhaps he's chosen to remain silent."
The uncertainty gnawed at him, revealing it to Rhydian now might earn his respect—or his suspicion. To be high-profile was dangerous, not just from enemies, but also from those closer to him; he couldn't guess other's intentions, he would have to be careful about revealing his true attribute limits.
