Now it was Nero's turn.
He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, steady breath. The air trembled faintly around him as his prana surged forth, flowing like molten rivers through his veins. With a sudden release, it erupted outward—flames blossoming behind his back, weaving themselves into the shape of wings.
They were not the same as the ones he had conjured back in the pocket world. These were fuller, sharper, alive with a brilliance that betrayed his recent growth. Each fiery plume shimmered with gradients of red, gold, and hints of deep crimson, like molten metal caught between forging and flame. When the wings spread wide, they crackled with energy, leaving embers drifting lazily through the night air.
Khione's ice-blue eyes lingered on them longer than she expected, and though her expression remained calm, there was the faintest flicker of recognition—he was no longer the same boy who had stood beside her then.
