Page 2 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

For the past year, I’ve done everything I could to stay out of a unit.

I was technically listed under unit nineteen at the start of the year, but it was a name on paper, nothing more.

I never deployed with them. Never met half their faces.

It was just a formality. Instead, I carried out solo missions at the general’s command, in service of the Corps.

But now... now I hear it in his voice. This time is different.

This time, I’ll have people. Real ones. Names.

Faces. Lives I’ll be expected to protect.

Again. And if he’s truly naming me commander, not only will I have a unit to protect, but during expeditions, I’ll have a whole army weighing down on my shoulders.

“Sir,” I say, clearing my throat, but he doesn’t flinch or move or glance my way. His decision is final.

I dig my nails into my palm, my knuckles still stained pink from cleaning the crossbow. Frustration is lingering in my throat as I clench my jaw. Memories flash in my eyes, screams echo in my head, and the faint taste of iron still laces my tongue. Her blood. His blood. Their blood.

“I’m putting you in unit seventeen—your old unit. They know you well, so I’m certain it will be easy for you to adjust,” he says. “You’ll lead the unit.”

My stomach knots. Shit. Of all the things I need right now, this is at the very bottom of the list. They don’t know me. Not really. Not anymore. And what they do remember—they hate.

My body tenses up as I open my mouth, expecting some logical reasoning to spew out of me, hoping to convince him otherwise. But nothing comes out. Instead, I stand there, thinking about the four years I’ve been branded a soldier—trained to follow orders for the sake of humanity.

“You have skill. Potential. And I hate to see you waste it—”

“I don’t waste it,” I say through my teeth. “I’m perfectly content handling things on my own. Hunting on my own.”

“And look where it got us,” he snaps, his piercing gaze finally meeting mine.

“You joined the Corps, and two years later—one dragon left. We got here today because of you. Because you were in a unit. You fought with the rest of them. Led an army that was composed of cowards and nearly gave humanity their freedom.” His voice lowers.

“I need you out there.” He adjusts himself back to the stoic composure he wears so well.

“Leading expeditions, turning weaklings into soldiers. You inspire them.”

“I can’t,” I say.

A flicker of disappointment glimmers in his eyes, but he quickly blinks it away, returning to the man I know as The General.

He tugs on his gray beard, his eyes narrowing.

He’s broad-shouldered—a man who moves with controlled strength.

His weathered face is framed by a thick gray beard, streaked with silver that hints at years of hard experience.

And here I am, trying to fight back, thinking I can somehow convince him otherwise.

I bite the inside of my cheek, the metallic taste floods my senses.

I tear my eyes from the general, facing the crowd of grieving soldiers.

A familiar face peeks out, her dark complexion contrasting with those around her.

The moment she sees me, she moves, tapping the shoulders of cadets to make way, her blue greatcoat following her every motion.

She barely needs to push forward. As she approaches, her dark eyes dart toward the general.

“General Grogol,” she says, dipping her head.

“Lieutenant Wain,” the general acknowledges.

Wain’s eyes return to mine, her back straight—almost elegant. “It’s good to see you, Kazelius. I assume you’re well prepared for Division Day after your rest?” Wain’s eyes slowly trace back to the general, as if looking for permission to speak further.

I respond with a nod, straightening up. “As much as I can be.”

The general studies me for a moment and smiles softly. He taps my shoulder and nods toward Wain.

“It’s a shame you weren’t in this expedition, Kazelius,” Wain continues. “We could have used your… expertise in this matter. Perhaps our losses wouldn’t have been this severe.” Wain brushes a dark curl from her face, her fingers seamlessly blending in with it.

The general raises his brows with a smirk.

“I assure you, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Everyone there did the best they could,” I respond, flicking my eyes between the crowd and Wain.

She offers a soft smile. “I believe otherwise. You are, after all, my finest pupil.”

“Well, I have General Grogol to thank. Unlike most soldiers, I got a four-year head start in my training before my Division Day. I’m sure anyone with that opportunity would be equally as strong, if not stronger.”

I tense as General Grogol’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Yet your will and discipline are what got you this far. If one does not have that, then there is no way of becoming a soldier,” he says.

I slowly breathe in, letting my focus drift to Lieutenant Wain. “If you don’t mind, Lieutenant, were you part of this expedition?”

She shakes her head. “No, but Lieutenant Abern acted as Field Officer. It’s a miracle he survived.”

“Minor bruises. Commandant Sayna will take good care of him,” the general adds.

“Let’s hope that in the next expedition, Kazelius will be the one to lead.” Wain offers a gentle smile to both of us.

“Depends on several factors, however, that is not what I intend to do any time soon.” Or ever for that matter.

“In due time,” the general says.

Two cadets start arguing near the banner, throwing insults at each other. Wain excuses herself and pushes herself through the crowd, attempting to stop the altercation. I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling as Grogol’s hand slips from my shoulder.

“Once again, your results from two years ago speak for themselves,” says Grogol.

“Two years ago, things were different,” I say calmly.

“Yet soldiers still see you as an inspiration and a reminder. A perfect asset to a unit.”

“Putting me in a unit defeats the purpose of plastering my face across Karalia and calling me ‘ the face of the Corps ’. A force of one.” I scoff silently.

“It’s an honor to join the Corps,” he snaps, his shoulders slightly tense. “ That’s what makes men and women join.”

“Yet everyone from the Middle and the Center keeps calling me that.”

“I don’t need you to be the face of the Corps right now. I need you alive . And one way for me to keep you alive is if you’re in a unit—not alone .” He pauses as a group passes close by, as if not wanting anyone to hear of our conversation.

“Look around you,” he begins, his voice calm. “What do you see?”

I glance at soldiers standing together in clusters of five, mourning their fallen comrades. Faces sunken from days without sleep, dirt and dry blood clinging to their bodies. I don’t say anything. I let him speak. Right now, my words won’t matter. He’s not going to listen.

“I see soldiers who feel defeated. The people need a leader. They need hope.” The general’s piercing gaze meets mine.

I shake my head. I won’t give in. I can’t.

He saved me once. And from day one, he turned me into one of his soldiers.

But with that, he made me believe I could lead. But he was wrong. I was wrong.

“I can’t,” I repeat, yet quieter this time. As if deep down, he’s convincing me.

He sighs, patience running thin. “Fine, then I will just have to place you in a unit where you’ll have the title of commander.”

I meet his piercing blue eyes, closely resembling my good eye, reminding me of the similarities we both share.

Same mindset, same height, same morals and values.

Shoulders perfectly aligned. But the patch of the Hunter’s Division and the general’s emblem with a star and two arrows couldn’t divide us more.

The dark red tones on his double-breasted coat and the black hues of my leather jacket.

The medals below his collarbone and the empty space on my chest. Yet here he is, willing to replace my insignia with three sharp lines I never asked for.

To bring our ranks closer. So that I would be what he always wanted me to be.

“I won’t do it,” I say.

His aging eyes never leave mine. He takes a slow, deep breath, clenching his jaw.

“You do not have a choice.” His voice clings to my ears, bitterness lingering in the air.

I know I didn’t in the first place. But I hoped he would listen.

Yet what crawls under my skin is how persistent he is.

Oftentimes, he’d find my arguments valid, but this time, he’s more strict.

I wonder if the results of this expedition are what make him want to put me on the front lines again.

Is he under pressure from The King? Have other Strongholds and their generals see him unfit for the Third?

He won’t ever tell me that. But I can always assume that what he does is in humanity’s best interest.

I frown in thought, and he clearly takes note of that, raising his eyebrows, jerking his head toward the crowd and the banner of names that soon will burn for the Divines to claim what is rightfully theirs.

“Five commanders died. I only have a few left that are as skillful as they were, including you . Humanity depends on this.”

“Fine,” I finally say, digging my nails deep into my palms. “But I won’t take up the role as commander. Not until I meet up with Sayna to assess my condition.” I’m hoping he bites, and Sayna’s medical assessment will relieve me of duties.

He gives an approving nod. “Very well. I’ll make sure she makes time for you.”

A moment passes. Familiar silence stretches between us. He gives me a slight nod, then turns his attention to a lieutenant standing farther from the arch, before slipping into the crowd.

Sobs continue to echo from every direction, yells of anger and spitting curses.

I trace their familiar faces, though they feel foreign as they blur together.

Colors of different hues—ebony, copper, and porcelain—swirl and move all over the Great Hall.

Strands of hair remind me of the dark, harsh nights at the Hold, or the rough sands at the Front—and for a moment—the flickering heat of a blazing fire.

And then it gets me thinking of the colors that are missing, that are no longer here and never will be.

Until there’s only one color that hovers above all of them.

The dark blue banner of the Third Stronghold hangs high from the ceiling.

People push and shove under it, reminding me of what they are.

Soldiers. And that’s all they ever will be.

That’s all I’ll ever be. I’ve built a wall around me, piece by piece, layer by layer, that not even a Stonetail can break through. Nothing. No one.

I am a soldier first.

I walk out of the room, sobs fade away the further I go. Sobs that give me relief knowing that I will never be the one to cause them ever again.