Dawn rose, painting the sky and land red. Sunbeams fell between the clouds like pillars of fire. The dragons of Requiem—thirty had survived the slaughter—flew around Laira, gliding on the wind, the sunlight on their scales. Jeid flew at Laira's right side, eyes narrowed, and smoke rose from his nostrils.

"He's dead." Jeid grunted. "The last demons fled or perished. Let us return to Two Skull Mountain and seek what survivors we can."

Laira wanted to keep flying, to keep hunting, but Jeid was right. They had not seen a demon for an hour now, but perhaps some demons still remained at Two Skull Mountain, and perhaps some of their people—Vir Requis or tribesmen—lay wounded, needing aid. Reluctantly, the dragons turned in the sky. They flew back to a mountain covered in blood, shattered bones, and the corpses of men and demons. The fallen Vir Requis were almost indistinguishable from the dead tribesmen; in death they had returned to human forms.

Gingerly, Laira landed upon the mountainside beside Dorvin. She lowered her head, folded her wings, and shifted back into human form. She knelt, the pain almost too great to bear.

Dorvin looked up at her, eyes red. He held his lifeless sister in his arms.

"She gave her life for Requiem," the young man said, voice choked. "She was a brave warrior, but she was more than that too. She was a healer. A priestess. A great light." He lowered his head, and his tears flowed. "She was the dearest person I knew."

Jeid approached them, back in human form. The gruff, bearded man knelt by Dorvin and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Through Alina's sacrifice, Requiem rises. We are victorious."

Victorious? Laira looked around, seeing so much death. Half of Requiem had fallen here; sixty dragons had flown to war, and thirty lay mangled and burnt upon the mountain. Many warriors from Goldtusk and Leatherwing lay among them, their bodies crushed, and dozens of the great beasts—rocs and pteros—lay dead among them. Everywhere the corpses of demons rotted.

This is no victory, Laira thought, looking at the few survivors. There is no joy here. This is only a shred of hope. The wind blew against her, scented of blood and ash, and she shivered. We won a battle, but more fear than ever fills me today.

She closed her eyes, seeing her father again, hearing his cruel words, biting off his arms, staring frozen at the creature Stitchmark. They were still out there, maybe still alive, maybe still seeking her. A few survivors were chanting for victory, but their voices sounded too small, too weak in this endless world of despair. Kneeling in blood, Laira hugged herself and lowered her head.

RAEM

 
RAEM

Buzzing.

Clatters and whispers.

Sawing and spinning and trickling.