Page 27 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)
“ F uck!” I exclaim halfway down the hallway, tossing my head back. I have to report this to the general. I spin on my heel and stride past the mess hall entrance, finding myself in a long corridor that ends at the general’s quarters.
I knock on his wooden door with rusty studs and wait for a response.
Heavy footsteps and jingling keys approach from inside, but the rhythm doesn’t match his.
A man with dark ash short hair and a scar on his left cheek steps out and blocks the half-open door.
Berim. He clearly doesn’t want anyone peeking inside.
“The general is occupied,” he says in a low growl, scanning me for any threat.
“I need to speak with him,” I say.
His eyes narrow, sharp as blades, trying to pierce me. He pulls the door closed tighter. My patience is wearing thin when the general’s calm voice carries out of the room.
“Let him through, Berim.”
Berim hesitates, letting out a disapproving grunt before pushing the door open, his grip tight on the edge. My eyes stay fixed on him, waiting for him to release the door.
The room is lit by dim candlelight, parchment neatly stacked, the ink still shimmering as it dries.
The general sits quietly at his desk, scribbling on a nearly dry sheet.
It amazes me how he can switch between a ruthless leader to a calm man, scribbling reports to the other Holds and the King.
I have yet to fully master control over my emotions—especially anger.
But I’ve seen firsthand how it can consume him.
The early years of my training and his demands were marked by nothing less than blood-soaked fingernails.
I stand firm, legs slightly apart, arms behind my back, eyes fixed just below his—just as I was taught years ago. A soldier’s stance. Silence stretches between us, broken only by the crackling fire and the soft scratch of the quill. Finally, a quiet sigh shatters the stillness.
“What is this about?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the parchment.
“I’d like to make some adjustments to my unit,” I say, trying to keep my voice clear and steady. I spot the King’s black-crowned crest stamped on the corner of the parchment.
“After the Redsnout attack, Nida has shown… potential.” I break my gaze, focusing on the painting behind him. “But not enough for me to feel like she’s on my level.” The words are bitter in my mouth.
He pauses, lifting his head, his body oddly relaxed before returning to the parchment. “Do you doubt my placement?”
“No,” I say quickly. “But I want to adjust how she trains from now on.”
He lifts his eyes—waiting.
“I’d like to be the one training her.”“So,” he dips a quill into the ink, dripping small, dark stains over the letter as he writes. “Do you want to take on the responsibilities of a lieutenant yourself?” I stand in silence. “Yes.”
The general releases a sigh. “That will put a lot of strain on you, Kazele . I believe Sayna discussed this with you already. Very well, you may train her, but only if Lieutenant Rylan gets to contribute. I don’t want you overworking yourself—”
“Not Rylan,” I interrupt him.
His gaze snaps to me. Then he leans back in his chair. “Not Rylan,” he repeats calmly.
It isn’t a question, but I know he’s waiting for me to explain why. What should I say? He’s ruthless? Inhumane? Reckless? Unfit to even be a lieutenant?
I clear my throat, choosing my words carefully. “His methods do not suit my preferences. If there’s one Lieutenant I’d entrust, it would be Wain.”
He gives a nod. “She did train you after all.”
Not before you did, I want to say.
“If you see fit,” he says. “Then you may train her. I’ll let the remaining lieutenants know what first-years they should focus on instead.”
I nod in thanks.
“You are certain you’ll be able to… break her mind the appropriate way?”
Break her mind. There are moments I’d like to think she’s unbreakable. But if she trained under Rylan, he would only give her back fragmented. And I’m not sure I can stand that. I want her whole.
“Yes,” I say.
“Very well.” He dips the quill again. “Anything else?”
“Alex Moitar.” The name burns in my throat and I feel like gagging. “He’s a Hunter without a unit. I’d like him to be a reinforcement for unit seventeen.”
He raises a brow. “That’s interesting. Why him?”
“He drew a dagger on me, sir.”
“A dagger?”
“Yes, as we sparred.”
“You sparred.”
“Yes, sir.”
He remains silent for a moment.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you.” My salute falters as my eyes flick to the stack of papers on his desk.
He notices, sets the quill down with a sigh, and rests his arms on the chair’s armrests.
“This dragon killed hundreds of soldiers in the past month,” he says.
His gaze settles on a map hanging above the long-neglected fireplace.
The room is always the coldest in the building—he claims others need the warmth more than he does, especially since he rarely spends time here unless reporting to the King.
“Instead of being out there helping, I’m stuck with administrative duties—playing the bridge between the Third and the Center,” he mutters.
“It wasn’t always like this. I used to fight beside my soldiers, lead them into battle.
Now I sit here, buried in paperwork, listening to reports of others risking their lives. ” His jaw tightens with irritation.
He clasps his hands and lifts his gaze. But they aren’t the eyes of the general I’m used to. These are the eyes I’ve only seen when the weight of his title slips away, revealing the man beneath.
He clicks his tongue, followed by a sigh, and turns to me.
“You know, I am hoping one day you will take my place as General,” he says.
His words are like a knife twisting in my stomach.
For years, I have followed his teachings, learning the importance of duty and sacrifice.
But deep down, I have always believed that his teachings, his efforts, were placed in the wrong hands.
Deep down, I knew that I would never live up to his expectations.
“You want me to be General?” I scoff. With what time left in me?
“Yes. That’s why I gave you the title of Commander, that’s why I’m throwing you to lead those out there. Because over the past decades I’ve been here, I don’t see anyone else doing it as well as you.” He stands and slowly approaches me.
“And how many more decades do you plan on being here?”
“Hopefully a few more—”
“A few more that I don’t have,” I snap back. “You put me as a commander to lead, but you fail to see that I cannot follow in your footsteps. I cannot take up a role in which I’m not fit for.”
“I’ll make sure you are fit for it. But understand this—every duty I assign you is deliberate, shaped by careful thoughts and plans I’ve run through in my head a thousand times.
And not once have you failed in them. You may have lost faith in yourself, but I haven’t.
” He places his hands firmly on my shoulders, a rare gentle smile revealing crow’s feet at the corner of his gray-blue eyes. I relax, letting out a sigh.
“Speaking of—” he breaks away and reaches for a book on the corner of his desk. “The last book in the series you were reading a few years back. If you have another sleepless night, give it a read.”
I take the book, its corners beaten down from years of passing around. A smile tugs on my corners and I give a slight nod.
“Happy birthday,” he says.
Shit.
Time has blurred together that I didn’t realize it’s been two months since Division Day. And that it’s my birthday.
Today I’m twenty-two.Once the doors of the general’s office close behind me, I sigh and lean against the wall.
I tap the back of my head on the wall several times before closing my eyes, taking deep breaths to calm myself.
My eyes travel along a crack in the stone opposite me.
It was never there before, but the impact of the dragon slamming itself into the Hold must’ve caused some damage.
It might take a while to patch it up. My mind races back to the battleground, combing through every mistake I made—not just today, but all the ones that came before.
The Gates. Blood. So much of it. Nida. Aris.
No. Don’t think about that now. Ever.
I stare at the book in my hand, wondering if I’ll ever have time to read it, to find out what happened to the boy, silently wishing I could grow old with it.