Page 12 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

“ Y ou wanted to see me, General?” I stand in salute a few steps from his table.

After a long day at the training grounds, Berim—one of the general’s guards—called me into his quarters.

I was surprised. Usually, he doesn’t ask for an audience on such short notice.

Nonetheless, here I am, standing stiffly while the general scribbles something onto a sheet of parchment, barely acknowledging me.

The silence stretches. My shoulder begins to ache from holding the position, but I don’t move.

Finally, he sets the quill down with care, then lifts his gaze, sharp and unreadable.

“I did,” he says at last, voice low but firm. “Close the door.”

Something coils in my gut, a quiet instinct stirring. I do as I’m told, the latch clicking shut behind me.

My eyes stay fixed on the floor. That’s the rule—you never look a superior in the eye unless spoken to.

I learned that early. During my Division Day, four years back, I was the only one who dared to lift my eyes and meet his.

Unprompted. The room went still. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave me etched itself into memory.

That day made it clear—he was a general first, and anything else came after.

“There’s a matter I wanted to discuss with you. Regarding your unit.”

I lift my head. He studies me for a beat too long, as if weighing what I can handle, or what I deserve.

But quickly, his attention moves to a slip of paper in his hand, its surface marred by delicate creases, the kind left behind by careful, deliberate folding.

He examines it, then lifts his head and gestures to come closer.

I relax my shoulders, stepping forward. If this is about my unit, it could be anything from ripping it apart to—

“There’s someone who shows exceptional skills in tracking.

The results from the Assessment Year are impressive.

” He lays the results in front of me, with detailed descriptions of the soldiers’ skills, but any personal information, name or village, or origin, is blocked out.

“I dare say it’s nearly as good as your previous tracker, Kayus. ”

Of course. He’s looking for a replacement. I glance at the slip one more time, barely registering the information before I hold it out to him.

“I’m not interested.” The slip hovers in my outstretched hand, suspended in the still air between us. My eyes remain on it.

He stays perfectly still. Then, slowly, he leans in and takes the slip from my hand with deliberate care.

“Any reason?”

Hundreds. Thousands even. Though of those thousands, only one stands out: I don’t want to put my life in the hands of someone else. Not when the venom is claiming mine by the minute. But I won’t admit that to him out loud.

“I’m fine working alone,” I say. Another reason out of a thousand. Not to mention that no one can replace Kayus. No one is as good as him. His way of tracking is the only way I can accept. And this soldier is not him. That’s four reasons.

He gives a soft nod, accepting my vague response and neatly folding the slip. Yet the way he places the slip with the rest of them—even for a moment—makes me feel uneasy. Like he hasn’t fully let go of it.

I clear my throat, the sound too loud in the silence.

“If that was all,” I say evenly, turning toward the door.

One step. Two. Three. Measured and quiet.

Then, the chair subtly creaks. My fourth step falters, foot dragging against the floorboards as if my body remembered something my mind was trying to forget. He’s not done.

“Nidala Ward. She’s from Pirlem. Do you know her?”

I freeze, hand suspended just above the door’s handle, at the sound of her name in his voice. A twitch betrays me—small, but sharp.

We were best friends .

“No,” I lie, my tone cold as steel, spine snapping straight like a drawn crossbow. A near salute.

“No?” he echoes, brows lifting with faint surprise. “She’s your age. Would’ve thought you knew her.”

I’m caught in a lie.

“I knew her,” I admit, guilt blooming in my chest like a bruise. “But the last time I saw her was eight years ago. A lot has changed since then.” Words. Words I try to convince myself are true, even though a part of me knows they’re not.

No. They are true. Eight years is a long time.

“Hmm.” He tilts his head. Silence is the one thing that tells me he’s going to get his way. When he looks back, it’s no longer the soft, fatherly eyes that are willing to compromise. They’re entirely stoic. Authoritative. The General.

“For the system to work, you must have a tracker, Zel.” There it is. The cold voice I’ve grown to know so well. The tone he raised me with. “She will track for you. That is my final decision.”

His attention shifts away from me, and I’m told his mind won’t be convinced otherwise.

“Yes, sir.” I straighten up, boots clicking as I salute before turning the handle to leave.

When I open the door, I’m met with amber eyes staring at me. Nida is only a few steps away with one of the lieutenants guiding her to the general’s quarters. Sweat trickles down her forehead, her breath shallow.

I pause in my stride, and something jolts in my chest. I can’t tell if it’s irritation… or something else I don’t have a name for.Berim stands on the opposite side of the door, guarding it.

“He will see you now,” he says—words aimed toward Nida.

My legs take me across the hall quicker than I anticipated. Before I know it, I’m halfway from the general’s quarters. I don’t even need to analyze what’s going to happen behind those doors. I already know. Why her? It would be easier if it were anyone else but her.

At the end of the hall, I catch a glimpse of Eryca, deep in conversation with a blond-haired female cadet—likely a new recruit.

I don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.

I turn the corner, slipping out of her line of sight.

But instead of a damn break, I’m met with another pair of eyes I’d rather not deal with.

Alex—arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he owns it. Can’t I just get a moment’s peace?

“Well, well,” he drawls, pushing himself up from the pillar. “Looks like someone doesn’t want to be followed.”

“Move,” I say flatly, not even blinking.

He acts surprised, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, didn’t know anyone owned these halls.”

“You’re in my way.” I bare my teeth, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “What do you want?”

He shrugs. “You know you’re a real legend, as they say. The strongest soldier. Wanted to get a closer look at that for myself.”

A smug smile grows on his face, and I’m itching to wipe it off with a punch. Get some teeth out, too. Should have done that during Division Day. I glance at his shoulder but there’s no Division patch yet. Only a blank patch of cloth.

“Well, you got a look. Now keep walking before you don’t have legs to walk.”

His eyes widen, and then he releases a loud laugh. “Damn, Legend , I didn’t expect you to be so aggressive. What happened to for humanity ? I’m sure you’re smart enough to see I have limbs like a human and blood that bleeds the same.”

At this point, I’m already blacking out, fingers twitching as I eye every possible area on his body I can do damage. But I have to contain myself. At least for a moment.

I’m more irritated than usual.

“You’ve got a mouth, you know that, kid?” I say, gritting my teeth.

“So I’ve heard.” He smirks, crossing his arms. “Just no audience. Yet.” He takes a step closer, and my fingers twitch into a fist.

“Look, you don’t like me. Fine. I don’t need to be liked. And maybe we got off on the wrong foot. But you’re leading a unit known to dive head-first into dragon territory, and you’re gonna need people who don’t flinch when things get ugly,” he continues, his voice more serious.

“I already have enough in my unit,” I respond. “People who are reliable. People I trust.” Yet I’m unsure what to say about Nida.

“Cute,” he mocks. “Trust doesn’t stop teeth and fire. I’m offering skills.”

His words actually coax a scoff out of me.

Pathetic. “What could you possibly offer me? A way to talk myself out of being torched by a dragon? Or are you willing to be used as bait?” My voice is laced with quiet disdain.

“I doubt you even know how to aim a crossbow. And I bet you couldn’t tell a Wingtail’s tracks from a Horntongue’s if your life depended on it. ”

“Hey, I’ve g—”

“I don’t do charity,” I interrupt, stepping forward.

“You need to earn your spot in my unit, or any unit for that matter. And you already blew it on Division Day. Whatever unit the general cobbles together for you, that’s the unit you can leech off of.

But keep away from mine. If I ever see you near me or my unit, next time I won’t hold back on that fragile neck of yours. ”

That shut him up. He doesn’t even breathe, and for a minute there’s a flicker of satisfaction building in my gut.

His muscles are tense, in contrast to my relaxed stance.

I’ve met people like him before—had people like that in my unit.

The lessons I’ve learned from trusting them will forever be carved in my skin.

“Now move,” I say in a low voice.

Keeping his eyes down, he gulps and steps aside.

I pass him without a glance, the sound of my boots echoing off the stone walls. Each step feels heavier the further I go, like my body’s carrying more than just muscle. Like it’s dragging old ghosts behind me. And I’m silently hoping Nida won’t be one of them.

The hallway narrows, and the chatter of other cadets roaming the halls fades, but my thoughts don’t. They press in, louder than Alex’s voice, louder than Nida’s breath, louder than the general’s command.

What if I fail them? Again . What if I hold another comrade in my arms and watch them bleed out? Because of me . The names of every soldier I couldn’t protect haunt my thoughts, but I try to shake them away.

I was trained to kill. Not to think. Not to reflect. Not to feel.

So I shut it off.

I push open the door to my quarters and let it close behind me, the latch clicking like a final word. I’m alone. Just the way it should be.

Right?