Elianas raised his arms high and flung his head back. His dark hair trailed downward and his great Shadow Wings soared out.
They were beautiful.
A Siric held glory in wings, a Centuar arrogant style, and many other races likewise proved their worth in wings, some feathered, others scaled and others more leathery, while a few were mere decoration, a prettiness that was useless.
The avian species, naturally, used their wings as a necessary tool, and beauty and prettiness was immaterial to that, and therefore was their beauty the greater.
Elianas’ wings, as Torrullin’s, were something unique. They were created by personality, by will, by power, by desire and by necessity. They were there to be utilized and were thus beautiful in practicality. They were beautiful too in the power their creation implied. Yet it was in substance where true mastery lay, therefore true beauty.
Shadow Wings were exactly that, shadow. They were not tangible, yet could be seen. They were not real, yet could beat the air and be felt in the movement of disturbed currents. They were because they had been made in the imagination.
Wings of power.
Elianas flapped his wings out, held them wide, and for a brief time the whole of all universes held a collective breath. In his hands then lay great power, the clay to shape every future … and he turned his back on it.