They aim for her eyes. The bullets riddle Durga, and blood sprays from her already-ragged flesh. She roars again, the sound rippling the ocean’s surface, and turns on the ship. Smoke from the artillery pours out over the waves until all I can see is her looming shadow and the outline of the Nereid. Somewhere in the haze, her beak snaps shut, the sound rolling over the ocean like a thunderclap. I stumble back down the platform, still holding the beacon high, my eyes running. I can’t tell if it’s the smoke burning my eyes, or if I’m just crying.

A wave lifts the platform, knocking my feet out from under me, and I plunge into the water. My hold on the homing beacon slips, and it sinks away into the vast dark of the ocean below. Lungs burning, I kick for the surface and come up clinging to the platform. I choke in a breath as I feel the water around me thicken.

A shadow crosses me. Someone has strode out onto the platform, a wide-brimmed hat shading her features and a rocket launcher hoisted over her shoulder. She takes aim at Durga, braces herself, and squeezes the trigger. The whole platform vibrates from the recoil and I almost lose my grip.

The rocket explodes into Durga’s side. She screams, her leathery skin rippling as she wheels to face the pirate, who only frowns, takes aim, and shoots again.

I haul myself out of the water and lunge for her, but a pair of arms grabs me from behind and holds me back. The second rocket strikes Durga’s shoulder, taking out a chunk of flesh so large that her foreleg goes limp instantly. I struggle against my captor, but it’s no use. I’m not a fighter.

Durga’s the fighter, and she lunges for the woman with the rocket launcher even as a third shell barrels into her chest, right where her keratin plates should be. The sickening stench of Reckoner blood and decaying flesh fills the air with an increasing inevitability, overpowering the smoke of the guns.

The fourth rocket hits her head.

And …

I’m five years old and sharing a kiddie pool with a newly hatched Reckoner pup. I’m eight, standing on her back for the first time. I’m thirteen, and the only refuge from my first breakup is in floating alongside her, holding onto the ridge above her eye where my hand fits perfectly.

I’m seventeen years old, and I can do nothing but watch as Durga’s thick blood paints the sea.