He found himself standing in a cobbled courtyard. Walls rose around him, topped with battlements and archers. A single cypress tree swayed in the wind, a tower rose into blue sky, and through an archway, Tanin glimpsed city streets full of racing soldiers.

He inhaled deeply, eyes stinging. Air. Light. Freedom.

The archers upon the walls were firing arrows skyward. A distant roar sounded above. One archer noticed Tanin and spun toward him, calling to his comrades. Soon ten archers tugged back their bowstrings and fired.

Tanin rose as a dragon, roaring, beating his wings. The arrows clattered harmlessly against his scales. He blew fire, a shrieking inferno. The guards fell, screaming, comets of fire, and thudded against the courtyard below.

Tanin was weakened and thin, but he felt so heavy. He could barely beat his wings. With a few mighty strokes, he cleared the walls and rose higher. He strained, eyes narrowed, grinning and shedding tears as he kept flapping, ascending past the tower top and into the sky.

Goshar spread around him, a tapestry of yellows and browns: the coiling ziggurat like a mollusk shell, many streets lined with brick homes, domed temples, swaying palm trees, towering walls, and beyond them the mountains and the desert. Soldiers were racing along the streets, and archers were firing from roofs.

A cry rose behind him. "Tanin!"

He turned around. He saw her there.

The white dragon flew across the sky, the sunlight gleaming upon her scales. Her green eyes shone with tears. She appeared to him like a deity of starlight.

"Issari," he whispered.

Arrows arched around them. The two dragons flew toward each other and soared higher above the city.

"I was trying to find you," Issari said. "Thank the stars. Thank the stars, Tanin."

He nodded, his own eyes damp. "Now let's fly out of here. Let's fly north. Back to Requiem."

They glided upon the wind, too high for arrows. The city spread below them, nestled among the mountains. To the north spread the desert, and lush green lands spread to the south, lined with three rivers.

"My people, Tanin," Issari said. "The people of Eteer."

She pointed her claws. Tanin looked down. Beyond the city walls, the Eteerian exiles—myriads of them—labored in chains. They toiled upon the mountainside, chiseling stone, bustling across scaffolding, and crying under the whips of armored masters. They were carving a great statue into the mountain, he saw—a statue larger than any palace. Still crude, the statue was shaped as a man with the head of a serpent, the eyes large as dragons.

"The goddess Shahazar," Tanin whispered.