The torn stump where the black dragon's wing had been twitched—then sprouted. Flesh knitted with sickening pops, bones reformed, and sinew stretched taut, and within moments, the wing was whole again, black scales gleaming.
Its molten eyes locked onto Raven, disbelieving and seething.
"You—! How is this possible?!" The beast roared, its voice shaking the sky itself. "You are no false imitation. You are a dragon. Your mana, your blood—everything is dragonic."
The black dragoon couldn't believe how a human could become a dragon.
That had never happened—no, it was impossible. Without a dragon heart implant, it was impossible.
And an implant of that caliber could only be done by an elder dragon.
But as it thought of a dragon heart, it noticed something.
Its eyes narrowed, pupils tightening to slits as it studied Raven's furnace-lit body.
"...you lack a dragon heart," it muttered.
