"Riders of Leatherwing!" Oritan shouted. "Leatherwing, fly!" The chieftain whistled, and his ptero flew toward the pillar, wings beating back smoke, the torchlight blazing against its golden horn. Oritan leaped into the saddle, dug his heels into the animal, and flew out of the mountain and into the night. A hundred other pteros detached from the ceiling and dipped to the floor, and riders leaped into their saddles. The swarm flew after its chieftain.

"Hunters of Goldtusk!" Laira cried. Her roc, the great vulture Neiva, sailed toward the stone pillar. Laira leaped off the stalagmite, sailed through the air, and landed upon her mount. "Goldtusk, fly for Ka'altei! Fly for the glory of our tribe and our god."

The rocs too beat their wings, scattering droplets of oil and spreading their stench through the cave. Riders of Goldtusk yipped upon them, clad in fur cloaks and bronze breastplates. Laira at its lead, the tribe flew out of another exit—one of the skull's mouths.

With the warriors of both tribes gone to battle, Jeid flew above his own people—twenty Vir Requis who huddled below. They were not warriors. They were the exiles of tribes, villages, and wandering clans, people who had come to him for safety, for peace. Now he would have to lead them to war.

He landed before them on the cave floor and resumed human form. They stared back at him, eyes frightened but determined. Three among them were children, no older than ten years old, yet their fire too would be needed this night.

"Vir Requis," Jeid said to them. "People of Requiem. I was a smith, exiled from a village that killed my wife and child. You were farmers, hunters, gatherers, shepherds. You too were exiled. You came to me to find a home, a kingdom where you can belong. You found that kingdom, yet now Requiem is threatened. Now our enemies will crush us just as we rise from darkness. Tonight we will tell them: We will stand. We will fight. We will find our sky. Tonight we fight Requiem's war of independence. Tonight we are no longer hunted and afraid. Tonight we are warriors of starlight."

They trembled. A few shed tears. One of them, a young girl, clung to her mother. But they all stared back at him, and courage shone through their fear. It was Bryn who spoke first. The young woman stepped forward, her hair a wild red mane, and met his gaze.

"For Requiem," she said. She shifted, took flight as an orange dragon, and soared in the cavern.

Jeid shifted too and the others followed. Twenty dragons, they rose in the cave to join Bryn. Beating his wings, roaring his cry, Jeid—King Aeternum—led them out of the mountain and into the night.

Fire, steel, and the stench of demons filled the sky.