Her yellow slit pupils fixed on the black dragon in the air, whose powerful build made him seem like a stranger.
A low, hoarse growl rolled from her throat.
"Berlay Tobias Croady?"
She spat out the almost-forgotten draconic true name, one word at a time.
Every syllable sounded as though it had been ground between her teeth.
"You're still alive?"
Little Blackie's molten-gold eyes barely changed.
His mother's reaction was exactly what he had expected.
Shock, followed by intense rejection and doubt.
He remained hovering, his enormous wings beating slowly, their air currents churning the poisonous miasma in the canyon below into a boiling frenzy.
"Thanks to you."
His voice remained steady, but to the Black-Winged Tyrant, it carried a note of mockery.
"After all, when you drove me out of the nest, you said the wilderness was the best grave for a waste of space."
The scales on the Black-Winged Tyrant's neck rose slightly, an instinctive reaction when dragons were angered.
She had indeed said something like that when she threw the congenitally deficient dragon egg out of the nest, along with the trembling hatchling that had only recently emerged from it.
But she had never imagined that this failure would not only survive, but grow to such heights.
That physique, that overwhelming presence—even she seemed faintly outmatched.
It was impossible, unless...
"You received the Dragon Mother's blessing?"
Her voice was a hiss, her gaze sharp as a blade as she tried to cut open the secrets beneath every one of Little Blackie's scales.
"Or did you join some human faction and become those vermin's lapdog?"
"Lapdog?"
Little Blackie suddenly laughed, the low sound echoing through the canyon.
"Mother, aren't you discussing how to deal with those human kingdoms with your ally right now?"
His gaze turned to the