The old Way is lost, the Belonging corrupted. The skyriders are exiled, their dragons imprisoned in the stone lair, tormented by spine and spur, their webbed wings bent beneath iron bars. Treasa and Conall embark on intersecting journeys of self-discovery, forced to make choices about who they are and what they stand for.
Treasa dreams with the dragons, terrified of their fury and violence, and stung by their desperation and yearning for a sliver of blue sky. Her visions bring glimpses of an unknown past and hints of a future that is catching up with her, clues to her myth and the secrets hidden by a mother who has grieved her whole life.
The riders of the village sense the increasing savagery of the dragons, yet Conall longs to fly, to grasp their power, subdue them and soar. He is blind to his own brutality, until a curved talon rends flesh and crescent scale, rattling against white ribs, and the World shifts.
A pebble is cast into the surface of the Mirror. Ripples circle outward, expanding rings of light that have yet to return to stillness. In the water’s reflection, Treasa strokes smooth scale and sinuous wings, and Conall discovers that he must make a choice. Hearts merge into hearts, breath into breath. The dragons thrum the ancient songs, called down to the Mirror where old myths are revealed and new myths are born.