Page 36 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

Fay continues to point at different dragon anatomies.

“Now, the Stonetail is the most dangerous out of all dragon species. Its thick scales act like armor, making it impossible to penetrate with our bolts.” She picks up processed scales from a glass jar, raising one up in example whilst passing the others around.

“Despite it being a dragon that is less likely to take flight, it can charge straight at you, and the impact can kill you.” She gathers the scales again, putting them in the jar.

“The scales are what we use to craft armor for our Defenders, since they are the ones that maneuver the poles that can penetrate the dragon’s skin.

Their best chance of survival is having the strongest armor.

The downside of the armor is decreased mobility.

” Fay gestures for a Defender to come stand in the middle to demonstrate the armor.

The armor is covered in gray-brown scales.

Fay signals the Defender to turn around, showing us the back, layered scale on scale.

When a Defender is forced to leave the ballistas to fight against a Stonetail, their job is to ensure that the beast doesn’t come any closer than it already has—to penetrate its skin with the poles crafted by Ligerion and Hetre.

They were designed for all dragons—but most effective for Stonetails.

Two more Defenders show up, carrying a pole with a sharp end.

The one demonstrating the armor grabs the pole and positions himself in a stance prepared for a Stonetail charge.

The thing looks heavy, locking him in place.

He presses the pole to his chest, wrapping it with his arms, and tilts it slightly forward.

For stability, there is a hook on the left shoulder that he can grab onto with his right arm, pressing the pole even tighter.

He places his left foot behind the pole’s backend, using his boot like a doorstop so the pole doesn’t slide off.

“This position is the primary defense system against the Stonetail if the ballistas were to fail.” Fay proceeds with the lesson.

“Once engaged, the Defender must hold the pole until the Stonetail is within range for a successful strike. The Defender may release the pole seconds before impact to ensure their survival, as the pole will stay engaged briefly before falling. But this must be done with precision.” Her voice becomes low, serious.

“If not, a Defender can be crushed beneath the Stonetail’s massive body. ”

“There’s a hook on the pole, too, allowing the Defender to move short distances with it,” Fay says as the Defender showcases the hook, grabbing it with his left hand.

“Lastly, the Defender’s left boot has a locking mechanism that secures the pole’s base. Once engaged, it holds the pole steady until released. This gives the Defender just enough time to retreat.”

The Defender demonstrates, and with no dragon to penetrate, the pole falls with a loud thud, deepening the cracks already etched into the wooden floor.

The locking mechanism seems improved. Before, to stabilize the pole, the Defenders were unable to free themselves.

Now they can, but with the risk of the pole falling too early and failing in penetrating the dragon.

Fay turns to the class, blowing away a graying curl off her olive-toned face and standing firmly.

“Any more questions?” The room goes silent, the pen scribbling stops, and instead, some chairs creak as cadets look around at each other.

A gentle movement attracts my attention to the lower rows—it locks with Nida’s.

Her brow furrows, her eyes steady before she swallows hard.

Don’t. I shake my head.

But no matter my subtle hints, she breaks her gaze and raises her hand.

Fay’s eyes gleam with excitement. “Miss Ward.”

“Yes,” she whispers slowly, lowering her hand. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders tensing up before she meets Fay’s eyes. “I was wondering if you could tell us more about the Silverscales.” Nida’s voice echoes, and the entire room holds their breath. So do I.

Fool . I focus on her, waiting for her to glance at me—hoping she would, so that she sees the look on my face and realizes how dangerous this is. But instead she untucks her hair, covering her face to avoid my eyes.

Fay clears her throat. “Oh,” she says, surprised, retreating a few paces. “Well, the Silverscale dragons have been extinct for more than three decades. Unsure why you’d want to learn more about those.”

“So are the Blightclaws,” Nida retorts, her head slightly down. “And the Stonetails. Yet we’re still learning about them.”

Fay gives a wry smile. “That’s because they were recent. The last Stonetail was slain two years ago.” The crowd begins to murmur.

Two years ago .

The Gate.

They have been extinct ever since. Scouts have searched every accessible cave, and the other Strongholds have confirmed they have seen none.

This was the only way to rule out the possibility that any remained.

Stonetails once traveled in herds, guided from above by Wingclaws—but the last of these too fell by the Gate.

That battle is the reason I don’t participate in expeditions anymore.

The reason I left my unit. That last Stonetail’s death was a victory for all of humanity.

But a huge loss for me. I will never forget those fearful eyes. Aris .

“Very well.” Fay turns on her heel and walks toward a pile of discarded posters.

“Help me with these,” she says, signaling to a few soldiers by the door near her.

They grab a poster, fling it open, and attach it to the stony wall.

The poster is larger compared to the previous two that we have seen—of the Stonetail and Redsnout.

It reveals a giant beast with four sturdy legs and wings large enough to almost reach its tail.

Two broad horns extending from the brow bone, and large spikes jut from the jaw, white as snow.

“The Silverscale,” Fay begins with a deep sigh.

“Unlike most dragons, this beast cannot truly breathe fire. Its scales are like tiny ice crystals, reflecting the light, making it impossible for the human eye to notice it. During the time of the lowest sun, when sunlight is limited and the soil covered in snow, the scales become frosted, making it easier for us to see. Behaviorists believed this was their weakness.” Fay drags the pointer across the scales all the way from the frosted pink-white snout to the tail.

“No scales to hide with, no fire to scorch the ground. However, the beast thrives in winter. It may not breathe fire, but it sure knows how to freeze the very ground beneath your feet. And you with it.”

Murmurs mingle with the scratch of pens and the soft flutter of turning pages. My pen lingers above the empty lines of my notes.

“Little is known about these dragons, which leads scientists into a disagreement over some of its features and aspects. That’s why it has many names.

Silverscale. Frosthorn.” Fay scans the cadets.

“ Stormbringer . Some legends say that this dragon is capable of unleashing a storm so vile and so cold that it can destroy life itself within days. None of which has been confirmed, of course.”

“You said they’ve been extinct for three decades?” Nida asks, pausing her notes.

“That is correct,” Fay says with confidence.

“But is it also true that Silverscales can be dormant for over several years? Say, forty?”

The scribbling halts. Every head turns to Nida, then drifts toward Fay. Fay’s eyes flicker across the crowd, and her stance wavers.

Shut up.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Well,” she says, voice low. “That is true, however—”

“Then how can we be certain they’re gone? They could be hibernating. And could awaken any minute. Wouldn’t it be dangerous for us to make these assumptions?”

I press my thumb against the pen, feeling the tension in the wood.

Fay inhales, jaw clenching, but quickly relaxes her posture.

“You are right on that,” she says, taking a step forward.

“If we missed any signs of their existence, then we would be making a grave mistake, and humanity would suffer for it. But even with this assumption in mind, we have not stopped looking for evidence that they are out there. We have only found signs that confirmed what we’ve believed these past thirty years—they’re gone. And they will not return.”

The chatter dies away, tension lifting, and questions die with it.

My chest quivers with every heartbeat like a Horntongue before an attack.

I glance over at nearly everyone in the room.

Everyone that I deem a threat. Everyone who might be able to decipher Nida’s hidden words.

Anyone who would try to hurt her, mock her, press her.

And those names and faces are engraved in my mind.

If they ever look at her the wrong way, I won’t stand for it.

Not when I know that this incident, this mention of a Silverscale, can get her killed.

Because at that moment— she showed doubt .