Page 13 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T wo days slipped by after the general assigned Nida as my Tracker. But I haven’t spoken to her or said anything to my unit. Nor do I intend to. Only because I still think I can get myself out of this. Nida hasn’t said a word either.

I watch how two cadets argue with one another in the cafeteria as I silently chew on my food. I can’t make out what their argument is about, but one of them is getting more annoyed by the minute.

The rest of my unit sits with me around the table.

Eryca, as always, narrows her eyes at me the moment I look in her general direction.

Sam sits quietly beside me, and Ilian and Raumen are discussing the essentials of skinning fur to keep oneself warm during winter.

Not exactly the ideal topic around the lunch table.

Eventually, the daily food complaint finds its way to the conversation.

“What is this?” Ilian grimaces, pulling out a spoon wrapped in gruel. “Horse shit?”

“That’s an insult to the horse,” Eryca says.

Ilian sighs with acceptance. “At least we get your bellies full here. Back in the Front, I’d gladly eat horse shit just to get my belly full.” Ilian shoves half the spoon into his mouth, as if hoping to keep it from touching his tongue. “But this is the closest thing to horseshit.”

Eryca wrinkles her nose, her face turning nearly green. “That’s after you run out of grass and tree bark.”

“I bet folk from the Middle get to fill their bellies with so much good food. Like potatoes and cooked venison,” Ilian says dreamily.

“At least we have bread,” Raumen says with a mouthful, waving around a piece of bread he just bit from. “Besides, Nedersen has restored trade routes with Velerum again, and we get more wheat and whatever leftovers they can spare.”

“Your village is closer. It’s like a small Middle,” Ilian counters, a smile forming.

But it disappears quickly and turns to pure disgust. I guess the food touched his tongue.

But he drops the spoon to the gruel again and grabs another bite.

“In a few years’ time, it will be the new Middle.

” He pauses, munching, then swallows and says, “and the current Middle will merge with the Center.”

Eryca rolls her eyes, nostrils flaring. She despises the Middle just like the rest of us. “Great… we shouldn’t expect anyone to be enlisting from there.”

“I heard the King is considering conscription,” Sam comments. All eyes shift to him, and he flinches, trembling slightly—like a rabbit caught in the open.

“What? Why would he do that?” Eryca’s eyes are blazing.

My eyebrows furrow. Why haven’t I heard that before? Surely the general would have mentioned this. I wonder if he was considering this and for how long.

“I don’t know.” Sam shrugs, his head tipping forward. He rolls his spoon in the grayish mush. “But the general refuses to comply.”

I guess that answers my question.

“It’s probably because there’s only one dragon left to slay,” I say, breaking the silence, and all heads snap to me. “There’s no point in forcing more soldiers into the Corps and wasting our resources.”

“Oh, look,” Eryca says, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, voice like bitter venom. “He speaks.”

I don’t respond to that. She can stay bitter for as long as she wants. Eventually, she’ll give up when she realizes that we have to rely on one another in battle.

A little to the left, Nida sits at the edge of another table with some first-years. I pause my chewing as our eyes meet. Only for a moment. And then I break my gaze. The red blurs, and my eyes drift back to her. She stands, jaw tight, approaching us with her food tray in hand. Shit. Shit .

I just had to look, didn’t I?

“Hi,” she says when she’s behind Eryca. “Mind if I sit with you guys?”

My stomach twists at her voice, and I instinctively rub my fingers against my forehead.

Eryca turns toward Nida. “Shouldn’t you sit with your unit?”

Nida clears her throat. “I am in your unit.”

Everyone looks at each other, attempting to read one another’s faces. Then, their eyes turn to me.

“But I guess Zel hasn’t told you that yet.” Nida’s voice is laced with slight disappointment. A familiar feeling of guilt tickles my throat. Maybe I shouldn’t shut her out of the rest of the unit, just because I don't want her here.

“I’m his—”

“Tracker,” I interrupt. The word stings my lips. “She’s my Tracker.”

Raumen’s mouth drops open, a wide smile spreading across his face, excitement beaming in his eyes. He taps a few times on the table, inviting her to sit.

Nida grins and sits next to Eryca, who rolls her eyes and says, “You get used to him not telling us everything. Or anything, for that matter.”

“Well,” Nida clears her throat, shoulders tight, almost reaching her ears. “At least when he says things now, they’re straightforward.”

Everyone watches her as she lets a few seconds pass.

She clears her throat again. “When we were kids, I had to decipher what he meant. He’d take five minutes to say something that could’ve been said in one sentence.”

Everyone releases a chuckle, aside from me.

“You knew him when he was a kid?” Raumen asks, looking around the table in excitement.

Nida nods. “Yeah, we’re both from Pirlem.”

“You must know some stories then.” Sam smiles.

My head snaps to the side. “You too?”

Sam gives a sheepish grin, almost reaching the corners of his green eyes, and shrugs.

The tension headache just worsens.

“What’s wrong, Zel?” Eryca asks. “Afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I snap.

“Oh, please.” Nida chuckles. “He used to be afraid of dipping his toes in the pond. I had to pull him out when he slipped. It was, like, ankle-deep.”

“Oooh, I like this!” Eryca laughs.

“That’s enough,” I say, pressing a tankard to my lips. But my words don’t reach them.

“Hey, Nida,” Raumen calls out, leaning forward, “I doubt you know what he did during his first year.” A smirk spreads wide on his face.

“Raumen…” I manage, but whenever he gets going, it’s nearly impossible to make him stop. And quite frankly, I don’t have the energy for it.

“Do tell!” Nida exclaims, resting her elbows on the table and chin on her hands.

Raumen rubs his hands together, and I can feel irritation boiling on my face. This isn’t the time for this. I should control this. Stoic. Stoic .

He nudges Ilian. “Hey, remember when Zel loaded his crossbow and the bolt snapped because he put too much pressure on it?”

Ilian barks a laugh, nearly choking on his food. Then he swallows before he speaks. “He was so mad he broke another one!”

Everyone howls in laughter, and I feel like sinking into my bench.

“Yes. Funny. Hilarious ,” I drawl sarcastically.” I was a first-year .”

“Interesting how you remember that but forgot to mention you have a new tracker,” Ilian says, pointing at me and Nida with his fork, his face completely blank.

Raumen wipes a tear forming in his eye. “Oh! Did you know he’s afraid of hei—”

“Can we just not?” I interrupt, slamming the tankard hard enough to leave a mark on the wooden table. I knit my eyebrows together, hoping it’ll clear the increasing tension between my eyes.

“That’s what you get for not telling us anything,” Ilian comments, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth. “A unit needs to stick together.”

“He wasn’t as broody and legendary as people think.” Raumen grins. “He used to be funny.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nida replies with a smile.

The table falls silent. All eyes settle on me as I finish the last sip from my tankard. Then Raumen’s cheeks puff out, reddening like a squirrel about to burst.

“But I guess even a legend can have his less glorious days.”

Everyone laughs.

“Is this really necessary?” I say, irritated.

Raumen leans in, eyes locked with Nida. “Welcome to Unit Seventeen, Nida.” A soft smile appears on her face.

“You’d better get her geared up,” Ilian says, taking a sip of water from his tankard.

Right. I have to make sure she has proper equipment now that she’s my tracker. I sigh at the thought. My Tracker.

There are no windows in the armory, only towering shelves of stone stacked with blades, bows, and battered gear.

At night, it’s the darkest place in the entire Hold.

The only light comes from the moon, filtered through the high glass ceiling.

The armory is close to lieutenant quarters—a place built for sparring, testing, choosing.

Every Tracker selects their own weapons here, with their Hunter’s supervision.

Today, it’s Nida’s turn. I need to know what she has so that I can adapt my way of fighting based on her tools. Defensive, or offensive.

She runs a finger over the compass in her palm, tracing the engraved Tracker emblem etched into the metal. Her face gives nothing away, but I know what this means.

“They’re not necessary unless you’re planning to scout,” I say, grabbing a couple of daggers from the shelves, replacing the ones that are dull.

“We won’t be going out?” Her voice is tinged with unease, her eyes widening.

I slowly shake my head. “Since there’s only one left, not many Scouts are sent out.” I reach for a round glass vial and hand it to her. “Not many expeditions either.”

“What’s this?” She scrunches her nose, the light from the torches illuminating her expression.

“Water. It’s concealed in a glass container, hard as a rock but fragile as an eggshell if it comes in contact with heat. Useful against a Redsnout. You either aim at the dragon or at whoever is on fire.”

She raises an eyebrow, puckering her lips, and shrugs. “That makes sense,” she says, observing the vial. “I’ve read that dirt works, too?”

“It does,” I respond. “But not as effectively. Water blocks the glands for longer compared to dirt.” I grab a dagger harness and pass it on to her too quickly, and she nearly drops the vial.

“You need to wear that—keeps your daggers and vials in check. Try it on and adjust it to your liking.”