The leagues of water spread ahead, and still no sight of land.
"Will it never end?" Elory whispered, flying at her side.
Meliora glided on the wind and licked her dry palate. Her voice was hoarse. "It will end."
"You should drink," said the purple dragon. "We still have some canteens with water in the camp. Shift with me into human form and—"
"No." Meliora shook her head. "There are those who need water more than I do. The elders and children will drink first. Not us, the young and strong."
Young Meliora might have been, but it was hard to feel strong. Not after this endless flight from Tofet. She had not touched ground since her speech on the hill outside the walls of their captivity, and with each day, her strength waned. Her throat and mouth were so dry that even when she tried to sleep, riding on another dragon, the pain woke her up. Some of her cuts were infected, she thought. The welts leaked pale ooze. She had barely slept since leaving Tofet, barely eaten, and the weariness made her head spin.
But worse than all was her fear.
She feared that Requiem lay too far, that they would perish and drown in the sea, a nation of six hundred thousand souls drowning only leagues away from their homeland. She feared that even should they reach Requiem, that a great enemy would await them there, one too powerful to vanquish. She feared that Ishtafel would catch them, would end their dream of rebuilding their nation.
And she feared Leyleet's words, that curse that would not stop echoing.
You will never see Requiem, daughter of dragons. With my dying breath I curse you.
She forced those words out of her mind. Requiem surely lay just ahead, just beyond the horizon. Soon they would be home.
"Soon it will be over," Meliora told her sister. "After all your pain, Elory—it will be over. For all the children of Requiem. I cannot imagine the pain you went through in Tofet, my sweet sister. I cannot imagine the agony so many endured for five hundred years, while I lived in comfort." She lowered her head. "Leyleet told me that I would never see Requiem, and perhaps I don't deserve to lead our people home. Not I, who dined in palaces and slept on beds of silk while you toiled in the mud. It should be Jaren, or you, or Vale who leads this camp, not I."
The lavender dragon flew closer to her. Her eyes shone damply. "And yet it was you who gave us hope. You who gave me hope. You who marched with us, a multitude of slaves, into the City of Kings to demand our freedom. You who first flew as a dragon, soaring above us, letting us see your majesty. And you who led us out of the land of Tofet. And you will lead us home, Meliora. You will lead us through the gates of Requiem, and you will rebuild our land. And you will be our queen in the rebuilt marble halls."
Meliora's eyes stung. "I don't deserve a crown. I would see Jaren sit upon a new throne in a rebuilt Requiem. Or if not him, then Vale. Or you. Or Lucem, for he is a great hero of Requiem, one who gave our people hope long before I led you in a march. I just . . . I just want to undo all this. Everything that my family—my other family—has done." She stared at Elory pleadingly. "Do you understand? I caused you so much pain. I lived in a palace your hands built, wore clothes you wove, ate food you farmed, lived as a princess of an empire that rested upon your yokes. I need to atone for all that. I must be the one who fights this war, who fights for our freedom. But I deserve no honor. I don't deserve a place in songs of epics, and I should not be the first to enter the gates of Requiem, nor the first to wear her new crown."
Elory smiled thinly. "Let's focus right now on finding Requiem, and then we can argue about who'll wear the crown."
"I volunteer!" A red dragon shot toward them, wagged his tail, and grinned. "Let me do both. I'll be the first to set foot in Requiem, and I'll be her first new king. King Lucem the Lovable. Has a nice ring to it."
Elory rolled her eyes. "You are nothing but a peasant. Perhaps when I'm princess, you can be my lovable servant."
Lucem's eyes widened. "Peasant? Peasant?" The red dragon clutched his chest with his claws. "She wounds me! Do you hear how she wounds me, Meliora? Yet I heard what you called me—a great hero of Requiem. At least somebody respects me."
The sisters sighed and kept flying.
Requiem flew onward across the sea.
The sun set and the stars emerged. High above them, no longer on the horizon but rearing across the zenith, shone the Draco constellation. Meliora was prepared to shift back into human form, to ride for a while on her father or another dragon, when cries rose across the camp.
"The stars!" dragons cried.
"Praise the stars of Requiem!"
The cries swept across the camp, and dragons stared upwards, calling out in joy and awe.
Meliora looked up and gasped. Her eyes dampened.
"It's true," she whispered. "The stars bless us."
Above in the sky, luminous strands were coiling out from the Draco stars, flowing across the darkness like milk spilled from jugs. Slowly the strands of starlight connected the stars of the constellation and flared out in filigree, forming the shape of a great celestial dragon. The Draco constellation was no longer just stars but a beast of the sky, its tail coiling, its head rearing, its claws gripping the firmaments, all woven of light. Draco's eye shone brightest, Issari's Star gazing upon her children.
"The stars guide us home," Jaren said, rising up to fly at her side. "Requiem is close. Look, Meliora. Look ahead."
She gazed northward, and there she saw it.
Tears streamed down her scaly cheeks.
"Thank you, my stars," she whispered, trembling, and she could not stop shedding tears.
You were wrong, Leyleet. You were wrong. I see her. I see her ahead. I see Requiem.
The coast lay on the horizon, still many miles away. But Meliora could see Requiem even in the darkness. Lights lined the coast, shining like the stars. Great cities rose there—perhaps the cities of seraphim, perhaps even settlements of Vir Requis said to have survived the war five hundred years ago.
Once more, Meliora raised her pillar of white dragonfire, a beacon for her people to follow.
"Hear me, children of Requiem!" she cried. "Our homeland awaits us. Requiem lies before us. We are home!"
"We are home!" her people cried. "We are home!"
They flew onward, crossing the last few miles of dark water, the Draco stars shining above. The coast grew brighter ahead, the many lights shining, and joy swelled in Meliora's heart, and—
She gasped.
She narrowed her eyes.
Those were no city lights along the coast, she saw.
The coast was burning.
"Chariots of fire," she whispered. "Thousands of them."
Across the flight of dragons, cries of fear replaced the cries of joy. The dragons all stared ahead, and the firelight blazed, washing out the light of the stars.
Even in the heat of dragonfire, cold fear flowed over Meliora as the dragons flew onward—toward Requiem, toward the seraphim, toward war.
TIL
She flew, an orange dragon, rising above the beach, blasting her fire. Bim flew at her side, a small black dragon, his fire rising with hers.
Around them, the sky burned with the holy light of seraphim.
The immortals rose everywhere, covering the beach, the sea, and more flowing in. They hid the night sky. Their light bathed the world. Flaming chariots flew in rings, their firehorses thundering across the firmaments. Their seraphim chanted from within, raising their lances and bows, their halos shining. Above them all, in the center of the luminous maelstrom, flew the Overlord—a great light, a sun, a god. All other seraphim nearly drowned in his light, and his glory blasted down in great beams, falling upon Til and Bim, searing them.
"Til!" Bim shouted. "Til, what do we do?"
Die, she knew.
Die.
They had fled from seraphim before, but never this many. Here was an army. An army larger than the one that had crushed their rebellion five years ago, slaying all but her family. An army like the one th
at had destroyed Requiem five hundred years ago, crushing this ancient kingdom.
We die.
The seraphim surrounded them. Til felt that she flew within the sun, light all around her, searing her scales, nearly blinding her. Her brother screamed at her side. The city vanished in the light. The sea no longer whispered, and flames hid the sky.
A melodious voice spoke above, so fair, so holy that Meliora wept to hear it. The voice of a comforting angel, of a kind god, of a father, of a mother. A voice that promised to soothe all pain.
"Come to me, Meliora," said the Overlord. "Come to me, Bim. Fly into my light, children of Requiem, and let me relieve your weary heads. Come rest in my brilliance. Your pain is over."
Til found herself flying higher, ascending toward the light. Her pain could end. She could rise into the Overlord's presence, bask in his light, let him claim her soul, discard her broken body. She could forever seek comfort in his light, burned away, becoming part of his light.
We can ascend, she thought. We can rest. We can become illuminated.
As she flew higher, his figure came into focus, the light surrounding him with a great sphere. The Overlord stood taller than most seraphim, nearly the size of her dragon form. His long platinum hair streamed as if floating in water, and his golden armor shone. His halo hummed with holiness, and he held a great lance longer than a man, tipped with sunlight.
Til recognized that lance.
The lance that had driven into her father, piercing the dragon. The lance Father's human body had hung on.
The lance the Overlord would drive into her and her brother.
"Yes, we die," she whispered. "But not ascending into light. We die as dragons. We die in dragonfire."
She roared and blasted up that dragonfire, a great fountain rising toward the Overlord.
Bim roared with her, blasting his flames.
"For Requiem!" the black dragon cried.
"For death!" Til answered the cry.
For Father. For all those you killed. For a last stand and death in glory.
The Overlord swooped, lance plunging downward, light flaring. The two dragons soared to meet him, breathing fire, rising toward death in flame.
And from the south, countless voices answered their cry.
"For Requiem!" rose a first cry, distant, barely audible.
"Requiem rises, Requiem rises!" rose a thousand other voices.
"To war! To victory! To our home!"
All around, the seraphim shrieked. Their wings beat madly. They spun in the sky, breaking the sphere they had formed around Til and Bim. Their lances thrust toward the sea.
"Requiem!" rose the voices, and countless whips beat, and roars rolled across the sky, and an inferno of fire blazed across the world.
Til spread her wings as wide as they'd go, halting her ascent, and spun toward the south.
Her eyes watered.
There above the sea she saw them.
"Dragons," she whispered, tasting her tears. "Dragons coming home."
VALE
All his life, Vale had been fighting.
In the pits of Tofet, he had fought against the sun that burned him, the thirst that bloodied his throat, the whips that lashed him, the exhaustion that threatened to slay him like so many of his comrades. In the great uprising against the overseers, he had fought his masters, had battled Ishtafel in the sky, had blown his fire against many enemies across the southern continent.
But now, he thought, I fight a different battle. Now I fight for my homeland.
The sky exploded around him.
Fire flared in great streams.
Shadows burst and shattered.
The columns of Requiem had fallen, but great pillars of dragonfire rose.
They stormed forth—six hundred thousand dragons, roaring, breathing fire, crashing into the enemy, coming home.
The royal army was only days old, but it had already fought great battles, and it fought here with its greatest fury.
The hosts of seraphim crashed into them. Flaming chariots drove through the dragons, casting corpses down to the beach. The arrows of seraphim filled the air, their tips as long and sharp as daggers. Lances cracked through scales. The seraphim flew from all sides, and the darkness of night vanished under their light.
Yet the dragons still stormed forth.
Warriors. Elders. Children. They all fought this night, flying over the beaches, burning down the seraphim before them. The immortals fell with blazing wings. The chariots crashed down, slamming into the water and onto the ruins of an ancient city. Towers, roofs, and walls shattered beneath them, and fires burned among the bricks.
Vale blew his fire, knocking the seraphim down, leading the charge into their ranks. He soared through fire that washed across his scales. He fought with his family. He fought with his people. He fought for Requiem and he fought for the women who forever lit his heart, who would forever shine down upon him. For his mother, fallen in the slave pit. For Issari, a priestess of legend. And for Tash.
For the first time in five hundred years, the Vir Requis fought in their sky.
TIL
The sky rained blood and fire, and Til flew, her dragonfire washing across the battle.
Requiem is real. Her tears steamed in the fire. Requiem returns.
Her heart soared and she trembled as she fought the enemy over the ruins. For so many years, she had sought others, hoping against hope to find a handful of survivors, perhaps just one, just another sign of life in ruin. For so many years, she had feared that she and her family were the last, that soon they too would die and all of Requiem's light would perish with them.
But we found others in the south. She flew with them, with dragons who covered the sky, burning down the seraphim. We found a nation.
Her tears kept burning in her eyes. It had been years since she had seen other dragons—true living dragons, actual Vir Requis. Her people. Thousands of them—really here, not just in her dreams. Even though war blazed around them and hundreds were dying, pure joy filled Til, for she was no longer alone. Countless others knew her pain, her hope, her love of Requiem. She would never more hide in shadows.
Til knew at once who these others were. Not survivors of the ruins. Not other vagabonds like her. Here were the ancient people of Requiem, the descendants of those first captives. Freed slaves. Free warriors. New hope and light for their land. They fought for their ancient, stolen homeland. They fought for their freedom. They fought to rekindle the light of Requiem in her sky.
And I fight a second war, Til thought.
She stared above her, and she saw him still there, his light nearly blinding her. The Overlord.
The tyrant of Requiem's ruins, the seraph who had slaughtered thousands, fought in a fury. His lance thrust again and again, piercing dragons, sending them falling to the ruins as men and women. His shield swung, cleaving through dragons, sending scales showering through the air. His light blasted out and his halo shone, brighter than dragonfire. The warriors of Requiem fell before him.
"Bim, stay with the others!" Til said. "Fly to the back line!"
Her brother fought at her side, covered in scrapes, his black scales dented. He roared and blasted his dragonfire against two swooping seraphim, kindling their wings. Two more dragons—a one-eared lavender dragon and a red dragon with sliced horns—flew up to fly around Bim. The three fought together, back to back, burning more enemies.
Til beat her wings, whipped her tail, and flew higher. She charged through the battle, moving toward the light, knocking down those seraphim in her way. An arrow slammed into her leg, and she bellowed but kept flying. A lance scraped her side, and she whipped her tail, slicing a seraph in half. A chariot charged toward her, and Til soared and rained down fire onto its rider. The seraph screamed, armor and flesh melting. She flew onward, heading into the glare.
Ahead of her, the Overlord thrust his lance, piercing a silver dragon. The dragon lost her magic, returning to a human—a young girl, younger than Ti
l. The Overlord swung his lance, tossing the corpse onto another dragon. His shield swung, knocking the second assailant down. Blood stained the great seraph's armor, but his light still shone purely.
"Fight them, seraphim!" the Overlord cried in his deep, holy voice. "Fell the scaly beasts! Rid the world of the evil reptiles, and let the holiness of Saraph shine here again."
Til stared at him, growling.
He truly believes it, she realized. He truly believes that he's good. That we are evil. That he's doing holy work.
For the first time, Til realized that perhaps good and evil did not truly exist. All her life, she had imagined herself fighting a wicked enemy, imagined herself fighting for goodness. Yet in the Overlord's eyes, the seraphim were holy and righteous, while dragons were but monsters, creatures of fangs and fire.
For just that moment, Til doubted herself, doubted her battle.
Then the Overlord slew another dragon, and Til roared and charged, fire blazing.
Her inferno shrieked, spinning madly, and crashed into the mighty lord of light.
The Overlord spun toward her, the dragonfire washing across his breastplate. He screamed in the flames, a deafening sound. He rose higher, emerging from the inferno, and gazed down at her. Molten gold dripped off his armor, and he sneered toothily.
Til stared in horror. Her dragonfire had melted the flesh of many seraphim, yet it had washed over the Overlord like water around a boulder.
"There you are," he said, pointed his lance, and charged toward her.
The blade drove forth, coated with the blood of dragons. The blade that had killed her father.
Til roared out flame and released her magic.
The dragonfire washed across the Overlord again, and she plunged down through the sky, a human. The lance thrust over her head, slicing a lock of her red hair.
She shifted back into a dragon and soared, blasting out more flames. The fire crashed into the Overlord, washing over his legs, and he bellowed in pain.
Til snarled.
There. I hurt him. He can be hurt.
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