Cheers rose behind me, but I couldn’t look away from the dragons as they spiraled through the air, circling into a small tower like the dragons at the ruins had. Colors flashed. Fire spouted. Roars made the whole world tremble.

It was a fierce and joyous sight, making my heart tangle up with gladness and relief and awe.

I’d saved them. In spite of the distance from our gods, and the illness that had ravaged their minds and bodies, and the toxic leech of the giant noorestone, I’d healed these dragons. They were alive. Happy.

They were incredible.

Then . . .

Through our connection . . .

I felt the change the moment they did.

Far to the west, in the middle of an ocean with nothing else around, seven Fallen Gods waited. Three had risen. The other four were still pressed against the bottom of the sea.

But imperceptibly to everyone but the gods’ most beloved children, one of the Fallen Gods began to shift.

And the dragons began to scream in horror.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE RUSH OF FEELING CAME IN GREAT, UNFORGIVING waves.

First, the horror.

Together, we screamed at the knowledge of another god preparing to leave and tens of thousands of lives about to be lost. It was a nightmare, the kind of dread that should have disappeared at dawn, but there was no waking from this. No respite. No certainty that everything would be well in the end.

Second, the pain.

It was a deep, soul-wrenching agony I’d never experienced before—not in my darkest moments. It felt like ripping, like fire, and scream after scream ground out of me as I grasped for something—anything—to hold myself together with. My fingers dug into the brittle, scorched grass, and the muddy dirt beneath, but that was too insubstantial. I was falling apart. We were all falling apart.

Third, the grief.

Nothing had happened yet, but that didn’t ease the onslaught of emotion. It was like hearing a death sentence: inevitable, final, and completely devastating. And, because this was merely a warning, there were hours and hours of this to live through, and when the god—Khulan, my dragon soul told me—finally rose, it would still somehow be a shock.

The change was terrible. One moment, the dragons had been soaring over the park, rapture in their hearts, wings snapping with the rolling thunder.

And now: horror, pain, grief. The emotions ripped through them and surged into me before I had a chance to break off my connection.

I staggered backward. My feet skidded over a darkened noorestone, and I tripped. I fell. Dull, lightless crystals gouged at me through my clothes, but I barely felt it. I shifted around to all fours, then lifted my head to scream at the sky, still caught up in the dragons’ fury.

Soon, Khulan would rise.

The god of warriors would abandon his people.

Another nation would be lost.

It was unthinkable, but it was happening. Again and again until there were no more Fallen Isles left. And I was here in another part of the world, safe with our ancient enemies, instead of helping. I needed the bones of the first dragon. I needed to go home. I needed to renew the bargain with the Fallen Gods.