And then, rising above the cacophony, a lanky guy with a bleached-blond Mohawk in the style of some long-retired punk rocker stands up on his seat and stomps down hard. I guess the sturdiness of his combat boots translates to the dreamworld because the sound is loud enough to shut everyone up.

“You lot are in America, right, mate?” the punk asks John, speaking with a thick English accent. “Let’s say I did want to join the fight and take it to these pasty wankers. How the hell am I supposed to get to you? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no bloody transatlantic flights on account of the giant spacecrafts.”

John rubs the back of his neck, uncertain. “I . . .”

Ella’s hands tense on the table. “I can answer that,” she says, her voice ringing and melodious, definitely not Ella. This is Legacy speaking through her.

Above us, dots of light on the world map steadily brighten. Everyone turns their attention to the ceiling. I remember the brightest ones as the locations of the Loralite stones we used to teleport, but there are more, dimmer lights taking shape all over the globe.

“These are the locations of Loralite stones,” Ella says. “The brightest ones have existed on this planet for a very long time. The others are only now beginning to grow as I bond with the Earth. Soon, they will surface.”

Marina speaks up. “We needed . . .” She falters, gathers herself. “We needed a teleporting Legacy to use those before.”

“Not anymore. Not now that I have awoken,” Legacy intones via Ella. “The Loralite are attuned to your Legacies. When you are close, you will feel their pull. All you need do is touch one of them and picture the location of another stone. The Loralite will do the rest.”

“Is that Stonehenge?” the Brit asks, squinting up at the map. “All right, then. That’s doable.”

“Uh, I think one of those is in Somalia,” says someone else.

“There will be more changes to your environment—,” Ella continues, but cuts off suddenly, shaking violently. Her hands grip the table and actually melt into the wood, sparks hissing out from her. When she next speaks, it’s with her own voice, not Legacy’s.

“He’s breaking through!” Ella screams.

The glowing chains binding Setrákus Ra to his seat shatter. The broken links clatter across the table yet harmlessly pass right through us. Ella must’ve lost her telepathic hold on Setrákus Ra’s mute button. He’s no longer isolated from the rest of us. In one fluid motion, the former Elder and current leader of the Mogadorians stands up, his chair toppling over behind him, and whips off his hood. People in the gallery scream and begin to scramble out of their benches, although there’s nowhere for them to go.