Page 35 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T he next day, Alex glares at me from across the room.

Dragon Anatomy class. Mandatory at least a couple of times a year—no matter how many years you’ve bled for the Corps or how many times you’ve memorized every tendon and bone and wing socket.

It serves as a reminder of what we’re up against. Sometimes we get updates—just in case the beasts evolve or change in ways we’re not prepared for.

The Corps drills it into us until there’s no need to think in crucial situations.

Instead, it all becomes instinct. This is my eighth time sitting through it.

And still, it sets something crawling under my skin.

I wonder if we’ll hear anything new about the Redsnout today.

Sunlight filters through the slit windows, casting fractured beams onto the worn-down banners lining the walls. Chairs scrape against the worn wooden floorboards, a low chorus of movement as hundreds of cadets settle into place, pen and paper in hand. Every grind against the ground hurts my ears.

Marina Fay, the educator and dragon behaviorist assigned to this class, stands beside the board, half-hidden behind a towering stack of rolled-up dragon anatomy charts that dwarf her small frame.

Midnight blue robes drape over her, her dark skin catching the lantern light in warm bronze hues.

Coils of white hair halo her head like smoke.

When the room finally stills, her voice slices clean through the air—calm and commanding.

“Let’s begin.”

Her heels echo, and she unrolls one of the posters hanging off the large wall, revealing the anatomy of the Redsnout—the last remaining dragon. What we’re told is the last one, at least.

Different notes are scattered across the chart, with information crucial to us all. Wingspan, size, areas around the body to avoid in case of an encounter, and exactly how many seconds one has before they’re burned to dust if they’re too close.

“Highspine Redsnout,” Fay begins, her voice steady.

Books snap open, like a chorus of wings unfurling.

I trace the worn corners of the book with my fingers—its edges just beginning to soften after years of countless hands.

Without lifting my eyes, I open to page thirty-four, where the Redsnout’s information is carved in fresh ink.

It reminds me of a book tucked deep in my bag—a gift my father gave me when I was a kid.

Stories of how blacksmiths forged tools that were the difference between life and death for soldiers facing the dangers beyond the Front.

But this book doesn’t stir the same warmth I felt then.

It gives me a sense of duty. But never a sense of belonging.

“The Redsnout is one of the most vicious and aggressive dragons of all,” Fay’s voice booms across the room, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Its wingspan stretches several meters, though narrower than most dragons’.

This allows it to launch straight into the sky without warning, making it exceptionally difficult to kill.

” Fay points at the reddish wing membrane.

“The tail, medium length, but still just as dangerous. It thins out at the end, like a sharp rope that will cut you in half.”

She leads the pointer all the way from the wings to the tail, before bringing it back to the dragon’s front. “One thing you must look out for the most is the head.” Her eyes gleam with excitement as she turns to the crowd.

I only got a chance to speak briefly with Fay during my first year. She’s studied dragons and their behavior for nearly two decades, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so invested. This makes her the best educator in the entire Stronghold.

She proceeds. “The Redsnout doesn’t breathe fire like other dragons. It needs a spark first. Without that, it’s useless.”

“How do they breathe fire then?” One of the cadets blurts out.

Fay offers a small grin. “That’s where the tongue comes into play.

You see, it’s like flint . A Redsnout’s mouth is extremely dry.

It creates sparks by flicking its tongue across the hardened palate.

Meanwhile, highly flammable gas stored in the glands is released.

When it ignites, it’s hot as fucking hell. ”

The crowd mutters, everyone in awe as they take notes.

“The downside—fortunately for us—is that it takes three seconds to ignite. During that time, you’ll hear faint clicking noises,” she says and clicks her tongue several times to demonstrate. “When you hear that, you’d better run like your life depends on it. Because it will.”

Low voices mumble around me. I can’t help but remember the first time I held this very book—soaked to the bone, sitting across from Grogol in his office.

My hands were small, barely able to handle the weight of it.

That night, I studied every crease, every word etched on the fragile parchment.

I memorized every inch of every dragon, every weakness.

Back then, all I felt was one thing—pure, unyielding hatred for those beasts.

But now, I’m unsure if what I learned was true—or half the truth.

“Any questions?” Fay’s voice chimes. Dozens of hands shoot in the air, some more excited than others.

“You,” Fay points at a cadet, with a hand straight like a column.

She stands, flipping her golden hair away from her tawny face, and clears her throat.

“What is the best way to distract a Redsnout? To get them to expose their weak points?” The girl lowers herself into her seat again, quick and precise, snatching up her pen like she’s afraid to miss a single word. Her eyes never leave Fay.

“Excellent question.” Fay’s voice carries, crisp with approval as she glides to the long table at the edge of the stone-floored hall. She picks up a red cloth, her movements fluid with grace and ease.

“Rapid movement,” she says, the crimson fabric trailing from her fingertips as she returns to the center of the circle. “You make yourself the bait.”

The class shifts. Uneasy murmurs rise, boots scrape against stone. She makes it sound like a simple trick. But it’s not. One mistake, and you’re gone.

Fay grins, a little too wide, a little too thrilled.

“You wave it, you move your body, you make yourself impossible to ignore. If you’re good at it…

well” —she lets out a chuckle— “you’ll be roasted first.” She waves the flag in demonstration, jumping around and standing on her toes, making sure that even those in the back see it.

“That’s why there’s at least two trackers in every unit,” she continues. “One on the left, one on the right. The third usually focuses on the back.”

She paces slowly, the cloth catching the light like flame. “It only has a direct line of sight. For it to know what’s going on to the left or the right, it turns its head nearly ninety degrees, completely ignoring the hunters in the front—a safe spot. But you’re the meal it’s interested in.”

Another cadet stands up. “And then what? We let it roast us?” Her voice subtly shakes.

Fay chuckles with amusement as the cadet slowly sits down.

“When the Redsnout’s attention is on you , you freeze.

Tuck the flag behind your back. The second tracker on the other side starts moving.

Frantic, screaming, like they’re about to be torn apart.

That chaos doesn’t just distract the beast…

it confuses it. It will move its attention to that chaos. ”

Fay tucks the cloth neatly into the pocket of her ash-gray coat, a faint smirk still curling her lips. She was always more fascinated by dragons than people. It shows in the way her eyes light up with cold fire whenever she speaks of them. Mad, really. In a way, it reminds me of Ligerion.

Everyone leans forward, scribbling notes like their lives depend on it. Ilian sits beside me, pen in hand and a blank page in front of him. He stares at it, jaw clenched. It’s as if he’s here physically, but somewhere else entirely in his mind.

“More questions?” Fay’s voice booms. She picks cadets from the crowd, one after another, and they shoot questions.

They ask about its weaknesses and strengths, behaviors, and what a Tracker can do in different situations.

I lean back in my chair, my eyes straying.

A flicker of red further away catches my attention.

Nida—violently scribbling and flipping through pages, focused.

My eyes flick back to Fay, rolling up the Redsnout’s poster and opening up a new one.

Stonetail.

I inhale sharply, my body tensing up as I adjust myself back in my chair and lean forward. My nails dig into my palms and I observe every inch, every scale of this monster . I relax my jaw after realizing that I have been gritting my teeth together.

“The Stonetail.” Fay sighs, her mouth curving.

“Why are we learning about dragons that have already gone extinct?” one cadet asks from the front row.

“Great question,” Fay says and tucks her hands in the side pockets of her robe.

“It’s for historical purposes. Everyone needs to learn this to be reminded of what we’ve accomplished.

To honor the fallen. Additionally, of course, Stonetails and Redsnouts are both equally aggressive and have a nearly similar threshold in distraction. ”

No one asks questions after that.