Page 17 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T he pungent smell of spice and honey fills my nose as I sit on the corner of the soft, clean bed in the Medic Chambers.

The white walls seem to expand, making me feel small.

Occasionally, I wipe away the water in my eyes from the light peeking through the large windows.

Even with the stained glass dulled by a layer of dust, the sunrays are persistent—streaming through like they’re unbothered by the attempts to slow them down.

It’s the time of the highest sun, a day when it shines the brightest. Four weeks have passed since Division Day, but it feels like all that time disappeared in the blink of an eye.

A middle-aged man with graying brown hair approaches the windows to adjust the metal blinds, redirecting the strong rays toward the ceiling. This place needs as much light as possible when tending to patients.

The cushioned bed creaks as I sit up, my legs dangling off the edge, the soft linen blankets brushing against my bare arms. My limbs feel heavier than usual, making me slump slightly forward.

Even my head feels heavy, and I occasionally shut my eyes for a brief moment, focusing on the sound of the wind outside the window.

Another sound pierces the quiet—footsteps approaching the heavy door.

I open my eyes, shaking myself awake. A medic dressed in murky white robes steps through the door, scanning the room until our eyes meet.

Sayna is no younger than the General—soft crow’s feet and the bags under her eyes speak of long nights.

She swirls her long, dark hair into a quick bun, a few stray strands slipping free to frame her face.

She pushes the heavy wooden door shut, the scraping of metal against metal from the hinges aggravating my ears.

More sensitive than usual.

I try to conceal the sharp pain lingering in my head so Sayna doesn’t notice. Instead, I take a deep breath through my nose, soaking in the scent of honey and resin, before slowly exhaling through my mouth to calm my loudly beating heart.

“Apologies for being late,” she says without meeting my gaze, striding toward the bench where equipment lies scattered in disarray, rubbing her damp hands against her robes.

“It’s alright, med,” I respond, barely a whisper, but she manages to catch my voice.

She reaches into the right-side pocket of her stained robe, taking out a vial of bright, bubbling liquid.

I lean closer as she raises the vial higher, aligning it with the sun rays streaming through the window to illuminate the pinkish goo.

She shakes her head, releasing a disapproving huff before shaking the vial again.

My arms rest on my thighs, palms facing upward as if cradling the air. I watch my fingers slowly curl, sometimes a twitch catching me by surprise. When I notice Sayna approaching closer, I clench them into fists and place them at my sides.

“How’s everything out there?” she asks as she sits on a stool beside the bed.

“Same old,” I respond. “Like a battlefield without a dragon.”

She lets out a gentle scoff, breathing in through her nose.

“I can imagine that. All the new recruits want to get a good look at you. The one that survived. ” She gently tucks a finger under my chin, tilting my head slightly to the side.

Her stare lingers on my cloudy eye for a moment before she looks away to scribble notes on her tablet.

“In a way, I have you to thank for that,” I say softly, forcing her to smile.

“I was only there at the right time,” she responds, her eyes drifting to the back of my head, where two scars peek through my hair. “How are the others?” Her focus returns to the note. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

I raise a brow, and she catches on it. Why does she think I’d know this?

“Sam told me you’re back in their unit,” she says, removing my suspicions.

Of course, it was Sam.

“In a way, I’m not surprised,” I reply.

“Well,” she narrows her eyes, turning my chin further to let the light hit my scars. “He’s the only one I get to see.”

“Visits often?”

“Not as much.” She presses her lips into a thin line. “Lately, whenever he has something on his mind, he can figure it out on his own. His skills have grown. I might take him in as my second.”

“He deserves it,” I say. “More than anyone.” She nods a few times.

Sam is the most skilled Medic there is—if you don’t count the commandant.

Though he’s shy, when he does speak, meaningful things come out.Sayna quickly scans the notepad before grabbing the vial with the serum and syringe.

It’s a suppressant, so my symptoms are less noticeable.

Though lately it hasn’t been of much help.

“But how are you feeling?” she asks, shaking a vial in her right hand, holding a syringe in the other.

I shrug, quickly collecting my thoughts. “The same.”

Her thin lips curve into a soft smile. She tucks a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear, gently biting the vial to hold it, freeing her hands.

Her cold fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling it closer.

A soft hum escapes her as she examines the black veins twisting and intertwining.

They run all the way from my wrist to my neck, where the lines fade in color, merging black with the hue of my skin.

She lifts my arm, peeking at the side of my ribcage and chest. Her eyes narrow, darting across my body.

“It’s spreading,” she mumbles with the vial still in her teeth, placing my arm down on my lap. “Faster this time.”

I shove my right arm back into the loose blouse, covering my bare chest and veins. I don’t like it when people look at them for too long—even when it’s Sayna. My heart thumps in my chest, my muscles tensing up as I wait for her to speak up.

“Can you contain it?” I ask bluntly, massaging the palm of my hand to calm myself before the sinking feeling takes over.

If I don’t, I risk the spread becoming worse.

Sayna pauses for a moment, removing the flask from her teeth and studying it with a frown, as if the plain glass will reveal all the answers. She takes a deep breath.

“Only for a while,” she says solemnly, piercing the syringe through the top of the vial, extracting the serum from it. “But you won’t be able to fight for long, Kazelius. Not with the amount of pressure on you.”

“I’ve defied the odds before,” I say, rolling up my sleeve.

“This is different, ” she snaps. “If you strain your body too much, you won’t be able to hunt, let alone walk .”

Her words pierce through me, and I’m left with nothing but an open mouth, trying to find something to say.

I don’t want to accept those words, and I’m not willing to either.

I’d wanted to avoid the responsibilities of Commander, not stop fighting all together.

I swore an oath. An oath I’m not intending to break until my dying breath.

To protect the people of Karalia. I’ll crawl across the battlefield if I have to, as long as it means freeing the innocents—and those still to come—from this nightmare.

But as long as I get to do it alone—without anyone getting in harm’s way.

Her thin, frail fingers wrap around my wrist. Then, she aims the syringe into my vein.

For a beat, it feels like a sensation of tiny, sharp needles coursing through my entire arm, all the way up to my shoulder and across my chest. I wince at the pain as it spreads throughout my body, though it quickly fades into a warm feeling.

My muscles relax, and I blink away the blurred vision caused by the serum.

“I’ll give you a double dose.” She pulls out another vial and shakes it, the bubbling liquid sloshing against the glass. “The General asked me to assess you for the Commander position?” she asks.

I nod. “He’s been trying to name me Commander for months now. This is the only time he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

She presses her lips together in thought.

“Hunting and tracking can put a lot of strain on you if you have an additional responsibility as a Commander,” she comments, attaching the vial to the syringe.

The liquid hisses as the syringe pierces its surface, drawing it in.

“Even a regular human being wouldn’t be able to handle that. ”

“Well, you’ll be glad to hear I have a Tracker now,” I say, watching her slow movements.

Her eyes widen. “Is that so?” A subtle smile appears on her lips. “That changes things.” She presses the needle into my vein, letting the serum enter my bloodstream once more. My vision blurs. This time, it stings more.

“If you have a Tracker, that removes pressure from you. You can focus on commanding and hunting. While you let the Tracker do the tracking.” She pulls out the needle, patting my vein with a cotton ball.

“Additionally, you can focus on honing your hunting skills instead of constantly working on both. That eases pressure further.”

“And if I do all three?” I say, denial creeping up.

She looks at me like she’s about to scold me. “Your symptoms will get worse,” she says, furrowing her brow. “Mentally and physically. You need to balance this out.”

“What will they be?” I ask. “The symptoms.”

“It’ll start with hallucinations. You’ll begin dissociating from reality, unable to make out what’s real or not. The body will remain intact—for now. But your mind will deteriorate.”

“Anything else?”

Sayna’s stares tells me to take this seriously.

I roll the sleeve back down, covering my arm, and button up the shirt.

My eyes dart to the side, still considering her words.

Hunting and tracking means I’ll be doing it myself, without having to rely on anyone else.

Commanding means I’ll not only have to rely on someone else, but also carry the lives of hundreds of soldiers on my shoulders.

Not to mention that Sarga helps with tracking, and she isn’t willing to aid another Tracker.

I shake the thoughts away and shift my legs toward the door, a slight heaviness settling over me again.

“I believe we’re done here?” I ask coldly, though it sounds more like a statement than a question.

Sayna lowers her head with a sigh. I appreciate her concern, and the role she’s played over the years.

A caregiver, scraping together leftovers for a homeless pup.

She was, and still is, one of the few people I can trust. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be alive.

But eight years of constant training and brutal experiments turned me from a pup into a wolf—with an instinct to stalk my prey to the very end, if necessary.

“You may go,” she says, nodding toward the door. “But I’ll be signing off that you’re not allowed to track. Leave that duty to your Tracker. You can still command and lead an expedition. Now go. It’s Market Day, after all!”

I turn to her, offering a silent thank you with my eyes.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again, Aaran.” Her hazel eyes glimmer as they trace the right side of my face, like she’s seeing a future she doesn’t want to share—something I’m not sure I want to know either.

I trust Sayna’s assessment. Commanding isn’t something I want to do. But it’s my duty. For the sake of humanity—I have to accept it. I just hope General Grogol knows what he’s doing. I’ve been having a hard time trusting his words and judgment after he lied to me about Pirlem.

I make my way to the door and pull on the rusty handle, revealing a long, dark corridor leading to the east wing.

I close the door behind me and lean against it as my weak legs give out—the serum’s side effects kicking in.

For the next few hours, my legs will feel numb, like I’ve been drinking for days.

And of course, it’s Market Day. I’ll be limping through it for everyone to see.

Damn it.