Damien stared at his palms in silent awe. What had just happened?
The silence that had followed Elyria's words felt like a curse. It crawled through Damien's veins, cold and vile, like a wrap of another skin.
The dragon sent by the gods… him?
No.
It was absurd. Impossible.
And yet, as he stared down at his own trembling hands, that same dark ripple that had erupted moments ago pulsed faintly beneath his skin with black veins tracing like smoke over his flesh before vanishing again.
Elyria was still panting across the room, grabbing her cheek where a thin cut bled. The mark healed and the skin mended before his eyes, but the anger still remained. Lio stood between them, flabbergasted by what had just happened.
"Do you still think this is a joke?" Lio's voice was quieter now as his serious eyes fixed on Damien who was still in disbelief.
