He pulled her into his arms. "Always. No matter what happened or will happen. No matter how much pain we suffered or will suffer." He held her close and kissed her feverish forehead. "I swear to you. We might still bleed, and we might face wars and horrors, but no matter what the world tosses our way, I'm here with you. I would fight all the demons of the Abyss for you."

She raised her chin. "Then fly with me. Fly now. Fly for our stars—for dragons."

They flew.

They flew over fields and deserts, over mountains and rivers, from city to city. They crossed the vast southern land of Terra, a realm of ancient civilizations, of thirteen city-states crumbling under the nephilim. A city on a mountain, towering and pale. A city in a vale, lush and green. A city upon the water, rivers forming its streets, thick with boats. A desert city of sandstone and caves, its towers tall, its dungeons deep. A city carved into a canyon, its hundred gateways leading to a hundred labyrinths. Cities of soldiers, cities of poets and singers, cities of learning, cities of might. And wherever they flew, they found them—more dragons.

"I raise this nation for you, my stars," Issari would say in the night, lifting her eyes to the Draco constellation.

"For Requiem," Tanin would always add. For his home. For his fallen sister. For a dream of peace.

A thousand dragons of every color flew behind them, covering the sky, a dragon nation risen from the south, a nation of starlight.

As the full moon shone, the thousand mustered in a vale, and they lit many fires, and Tanin and Issari looked north at the distant darkness.

He held her hand. "It's time to go home. It's time to go to Requiem."

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "Not yet. Not before I return to my other home . . . to Eteer. And to my father."

LAIRA

 
LAIRA

They trudged through the snowy forest, fifty men and women wrapped in fur, seeking the lost halls of Requiem.

Laira looked around her at her fellow Vir Requis, and she barely recognized them. Their heads were all clean-shaven, even the women's, and tribal paints covered their scalps and faces. They all carried sharpened wooden sticks and shields of leather stretched across wooden frames. If not for her constant cursing, Laira would never have recognized Maev; green and black stripes covered the wrestler's bald head and hard face. If not for his wide, lumbering form, Laira doubted she'd even recognize her husband; for the first time in many years, Jeid wore no beard, and his long shaggy hair was also gone. Red and white paint covered him, and without his wild mane, he seemed smaller to Laira, thinner, more fragile. When she looked across the rest of their group, she saw no Vir Requis; she saw a new tribe.