Belialthorn laughed. It was good to hear his full name. "That I did."
Rota was already beside him, her hands tracing his wings. She gave an impressed whistle. "It's not burning my hand."
Belialthorn frowned at the wings, last he saw them they were black and leathery. Not made of fire, why had this happened? It must be connected to the Incarnatio. Storyteller.
What surprised him more was that he could use the wings like the real deal, even better because his flight had been smooth. He could feel the air danced against them and Rota's had as it traced it. He could feel it all.
"It's a new wing. I don't know why I have it. Even my mother's wings are black, with red mixed." Belialthorn told her.
