Some Vir Requis stared with dark eyes. Others cried out in approval, fists rising.

Jeid continued speaking. "It was Raem who sent the Goldtusk tribe to attack our old home in the escarpment. It was Raem who drove us to Two Skull Mountain and slew many of us upon the slope. It was Raem who sent the Widejaw tribe to shatter our columns. So long as Raem lives, we will never have peace in Requiem. So long as Raem lives, he will hunt us. We can no longer hide from him, no longer sit and wait for him to attack again." Jeid raised his chin. "We must join the southern dragons, and we must fly into the Abyss, and we must slay its lord."

A few Vir Requis stared at one another fearfully. But most stared back at Jeid, shoulders squared, eyes proud.

"We fight," Dorvin said. He stepped forward and stood at Jeid's side. "I will always fly with you, my king."

Maev nodded, eyes stern. Her dragon tattoos danced as she clenched her fists. "We fight." She came to stand at Jeid's other side. "I will always fight for Requiem."

Laira joined them—smaller, shorter, her magic gone—but she stood proudly, head held high. She spoke in only a whisper, but her voice carried the gravity of a great battle cry. "I've been fleeing my father my whole life. If you would let me ride upon you, King Aeternum, I would fly with you into the very pit of the Abyss, and I would face my father again. And I would tell him: My magic is gone, but forever I am a daughter of Requiem, and I will not let you defile her hall again."

The others stepped forward one by one—a few dozen people, all that remained of their kingdom.

But we're not alone, Jeid thought as they gathered around him. He turned his head and stared south between the trees. My son lives. Issari lives. And they found others, a great nation of dragons in the south. We will fly together.

RAEM

 
RAEM

The craving filled him, overwhelming, maddening, tearing at his insides. He was a starving man. Dying of desire. The curse clawed inside him, begging for release.

The curse of dragons.

He gripped the arms of his throne—the wriggling, wet throne of the Abyss, a towering seat woven of thousands of living tongues. His fingers dug into the fleshy, wet armrests.

"Bring me another!" Raem shouted. "Another!"