Please.

And then, with a voice like stars colliding and oceans boiling and mountains shattering apart, the goddess of destruction said no.

No.

No.

No.

Shock and despair ripped through me. I shot straight up, out of the in-between world, and screamed as my connection to every single one of the Archland Ruins’ noorestones stretched—and snapped. Then all of them—all one thousand two hundred and three of them—went black. Not just dark, but black, burned out from the inside.

Shrieks of terror rent the air as red dust billowed, and people began to flee south—toward the harbor. But we were too far inland; even if there was space aboard ships for this many people, they’d never make it there in time.

The ground gave a mighty lurch, throwing dozens to their hands and knees.

This didn’t make sense. I’d brought the first dragon here; I’d become her; I’d begged the Fallen Gods—all before the eclipse began.

I’d been willing to give up my humanity to save these people. Wasn’t that enough?

Hopelessness clawed at me, beckoned me toward it—but I pushed away the temptation to sink into the spiral of fear and regret and self-blame. Anahera was rising now, which meant these people would die unless someone acted.

Me. I had to do something.

I clenched my jaw and reached for every dragon I’d ever met. Big, small, everything in between. It was hard to break through the howling grief, but first I found Kelsine, shrieking below, and then Hush. Others came more quickly, then: Lex, Siff, Tower, the seven empire dragons, and dozens of others whose names I didn’t know, but whose hearts I did. Their roars reverberated through my soul, and then they were coming.

In front of me, LaLa squawked and flapped her wings, and through our connection, I could feel her urgency.

“Go,” I whispered. “Find your sister and get to safety.”

She bumped her nose against the tip of my finger and pushed off in a flurry of gold wings, and I—the first dragon, the last dragon, the Drakontos celestus—leaped off the roof of the ruins and landed with a thud on the trembling ground.

I found Aaru first. He wore an expression of anguish, as though fighting the urge to put his hands over his ears to block the noise of Anahera struggling to rise. But when I called for him, when I stretched out my hand, he came, climbing onto the dragon.

Thumps sounded as more big dragons arrived, bending low to accept passengers. And they weren’t alone. All across the island, dragons swooped in to find families and allow people to climb onto their backs. Only a few hesitated; after all, the Mira Treaty had made riding dragons illegal, and most people had never seen one up close. But in the end, they scrambled up and held on tight as the dragons pushed into the air.

I could feel them all—every single dragon in the Fallen Isles—soaring over the mountains and plateaus and canyons and cliffs, their keen eyes searching for movement on the ground. A child. A man. A person reaching up, desperate for help.