"I am Laira, Chieftain of Goldtusk, Daughter of Ka'altei. I am Laira, Widow of Oritan, Chieftain's Wife of Leatherwing. Today I stand before a united tribe, and you await my commands." Her throat felt too tight, her eyes too dry. "I came north as an Eteerian exile. I suffered for many years as a slave. I rose to lead your tribes, to become a huntress, a warrior, a chieftain. Flying with you has been an honor I will never forget." She took a deep breath, collected her magic, and rose into the air as a golden dragon. She spoke louder. "Yet today, as we celebrate our victory and mourn our loss, I must choose a home. I must choose one path for my heart. Today I am not Eteerian nor a chieftain." She looked at Jeid; he stood across the crowd in human form, looking at her with gentle eyes. She spoke softly, more to him than to anyone else. "Today I am a daughter of Requiem." She looked back at the tribesmen. "Choose a new leader amongst yourselves. Fly as one tribe, and I pray you find your own sky. Mine lies above the forests of Requiem and the marble column that rises in the starlight."

She rose higher in the sky, letting the wind flow across her, fill her nostrils with the scent of the free air, and billow her wings. The other dragons rose around her. Thirty remained alive, no more. Thirty souls to forge a kingdom. Thirty souls to birth a nation. Jeid flew at her side, the largest among them, the sun bright against his copper scales. Maev flew at Laira's other side, solemn and silent.

Behind Laira, every other dragon held a body in his or her claws.

Fur cloaks shrouded the dead, the fallen Vir Requis. In death they had regained human forms, their magic forever gone, their lights forever dimmed. Laira looked at them—survivors and fallen. She met Dorvin's gaze, and he stared back at her with wet, red-rimmed eyes. In his claws, the silver dragon held the body of his sister, of the druid Alina, and Laira felt lost, for the guiding light of Requiem had fallen dark.

They flew on the wind.

They left the mountain and tribes behind. They sailed over swaying plains, rolling hills, silver rivers, and misty forests of birches and maples. They flew through day and night until they saw it ahead—King's Column rising from the forest. The heart of Requiem.

They landed on a hill, the column rising in the horizon, a golden pillar in the sunset. And here they dug more graves. And here they mourned a loss too great to bear. By the graves of Requiem, a young dragon slain too soon, and Eranor, the first priest of starlight, they buried their new dead. And now her tears did flow. Now Laira wept, kneeling before the graves, her hands upon the soil.