Page 33 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

A fter three days of more training, studying, and briefings that tell us there’s no dragon nearby, I find myself in the library.

Not many come here anymore. Soldiers spend their free time drinking booze made of fermented grain and old fruit, or standing guard until their legs give out.

But that’s their balance in duty and leisure. Never mine.

When I joined the Corps, the library was a place to learn everything about the dragons, hoping the knowledge would one day save my comrades.

But now it’s abandoned. Quiet. Professor Marina Fay—a dragon behavior specialist—is one of the few people who walk amongst the bookshelves while subtly cursing under her breath when a book is misshelved.

Sam comes here too for herbology books, occasionally complaining that one is missing.

The one he desperately needs. He never really told me for what.

The library is small, with books scattered across the floors from lack of shelving.

Some shelves cling to life on rusty nails, barely holding up books that had survived for centuries, teetering on the edge of collapse.

They’re delicate. Years of accumulated dust and bitter cold nights turned their papers brittle.

Maybe I can find some answers to my questions about the Redsnout here.

The moment I turn the corner and scan for a seat, I spot Nida already settled at a table tucked beneath tall shelves marked Tracker Section. She’s flipping through pages, fully absorbed.

A small light on a long wooden table illuminates the spines of the books a few meters away and the red strands of Nida’s hair. Everywhere else it’s dark.

“Are you always at the library when you’re not punching bags?

” I ask, taking a seat across from her. I push the tower of books to the side to get a better look at her.

She tosses her long, wavy hair to the side, whilst leaning on her right hand.

She looks up for a split second, but then quickly returns to the book.

She doesn’t say anything. I lean in and read the title.

“Tracker’s Guide?” I mutter.

She nods, releasing an irritated sigh and pushes the book to me, the silhouette of a Redsnout dragon staring back at me.

She grabs another book stacked neatly with the rest. Dragon’s Atlas —the exact same one I have in my room.

She skims through the pages and shows me another image of the Highspine Redsnout.

“Notice anything?” she asks.

I drag my eyes over the two books with nearly identical information. “Am I supposed to?"

“These books are new editions,” she says, dumping the book down onto the wooden surface. I raise a brow, while she leans under the table, reaches for a leather satchel, and pulls out another book. It’s another Dragon’s Atlas, but the title has faded from years of neglect.

She slams the first book in front of me and puts the identical books side by side.

“This” —she says, pointing at the book she pulled out— “is an older edition. It belonged to my great-grandfather, who enlisted in the Corps. The same book my brother studied from. While this ” —she points at the fresher looking book— “is new. Revised . It came out, what… thirty years ago?”

Both books are nearly the same, but the green shade of the newer version contrasts with the grayish-green of the older book. “Okay,” I drawl. “What about it?”

Nida opens both books to the information about the Redsnout and points at similar locations in each. She traces the worn edges of the page in the older book and drags her finger across the words above the red beast.

“ When breathing fire, a male Redsnout will cock its head to reach the palate due to its shorter tongue length. Females maintain a direct line of sight .”

The sentence is there. Clear. Simple.

She then points at the newer version of the Dragon’s Atlas . Nothing. No mention of head movements, tongues, or sex differences. Just diagrams.

My heart pounds. A brief flash of the Redsnout swirls in my head. It didn’t cock its head. It looked her straight in the eye.

“It’s female ,” we whisper in unison. She locks eyes with me.

“The information in these books that we’re learning from is false,” she says. “There’s barely anything about the Silverscales either.”

I lean back in my chair, letting out a long sigh as I drag my hands over my hair. This is bad. Why wouldn’t such vital information be in these volumes?

“Is this what you’ve been studying from?” I lean in, tapping on the dulled green cover.

“Yes,” she responds, pulling it closer. “It’s over eighty years old, if not more.”

“And I’m assuming so did Joseph?” I ask carefully, hoping not to press any bad memories.

“I helped him with it. I helped him study—created questions and challenged his knowledge every night. I did everything I could for my brother to become a good Tracker.”

“Do you think he knew? About the Redsnout potentially being female, that is.” I lean back, crossing my arms. A sharp sting travels across my head, forcing me to briefly squeeze my eyes shut.

“I don’t know,” she responds, bending the corner of the page over and over again. I can tell she misses him, and I can’t help feeling guilty about it. I wish there was something I could say or do. But there isn’t.

“Don’t you think that all of this is strange?” Her voice breaks the silence, and I meet her gaze.

“Maybe the dragon evolved.” I rub my temples, trying to ease the sudden sting. “It surely evolved when it comes to protecting itself.”

She shakes her head. “Evolution doesn’t work that way. Sure, its behavior may have changed, one can learn that quickly. But from a biological standpoint, it’s impossible. Dragons live for centuries . For a behavior linked to anatomy, a change would take thousands of years. And several generations.”

I narrow my eyes at the book, taking in her every word. “If what you’re saying is true, then why wouldn’t we know this? The dragon I fought always cocked its head.” At least I think it did.

She lets out a thoughtful hum. “Could there be a possibility of…” she hesitates, scanning me, as if debating if she can truly trust me or not. “Two dragons? The one you fought, and the one I saw. Male and female.”

I tense. If that’s true. If there is a male and female Redsnout. There could be far more. No. That can’t be. There would be signs.

Her eyes dart to the side in thought. “I think the general knows.”

“What?” I blurt.

She violently taps on the book. “This book was still being used when Grogol became General. There’s a chance he’s read it. There’s a chance he knows.”

I lean in, fingers trembling. “You’re asking me to believe the general is lying.”

“I’m asking you to believe me.”

More dragons? He wouldn’t lie about that…. Would he? My stomach drops. He lied to me about Pirlem. Withheld information. But that information felt like it was hidden to keep me focused. A personal lie. This information is hidden from everyone . And I can’t think of a reason for it.

We stare at each other in silence—the flicker of the candlelight growing louder, more noticeable. Then I think back on the records. She stares at me, as if she’s expecting to have some answers—reading me.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair, my thoughts winning, and I feel a sudden weight shift, like my shoulders have grown lighter.

“I checked the records,” I say, knocking on the wooden table. A nervous tick. Nida’s breath hitches like she doesn’t want to miss a single word I’m about to say. “I even looked up my previous Tracker. Kayus.”

“His death?” she asks gently.

I nod. “Yeah…Yeah, his death.” I sink into my chair, tossing my head up, knuckles still pressed against the table. The shadows of an unlit chandelier dance across the ceiling from the candlelight.

“I… named him,” I say, slowly straightening myself up.

“I saw his body. I made the report.” I pause, my mind drifting to that night in the record room.

The sensation on my arm returns, as if I’m writing it all over again.

Like the pen is still moving across my skin, tracing the words from pen to flesh.

Nida waits patiently, leaning forward like she’s trying to reach for me across the table.

I look at her, and everything she’s said ever since we’ve reunited consumes me.

Like a force I can’t resist—but a force I should resist.

Doubt.

“The thing is,” I continue, reaching for the pages of a closed book inches away just to keep myself calm. I brush the edges with my thumb. “The general said that… he was killed by a Redsnout. But…” I hesitate. “I saw his body. But… Redsnout fire—”

“Doesn’t even leave ash.” She finishes my sentence. I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. Silence grows, and it grows heavy. My chest tightens.

“It said in the report that the march to the Second Stronghold was ambushed by a Redsnout,” I add, puffing out air like I’m exhaling toxins from my lungs.

There’s a growing lump in my throat that makes it hard to speak.

Years of service. Years of trust. And now all of it fades in one moment of doubt.

“I think you’re right. I think there’s something strange going on here.

But—” the lump grows to the point where I have to swallow.

Clear my throat. Pull at my neckline to loosen up.

To breathe. “I can’t… understand it,” I manage, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Or it’s hard to understand it. It’s like something inside me doesn't want to doubt anything the general says.”

“Do you think this is all connected? The shawl, the records, Pirlem, and now this ?”

I shrug. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. But it gives me a headache every time I think about it.”