Page 38 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

She’s ready, but so am I. This time, I don’t wait for her to get into a comfortable stance.

This time I’m testing her for speed. Reaction.

I charge, aiming for the midsection, but she’s quick—quicker than I thought—and side steps.

That’s what I expected. I twist my body, turning the feint into a sweeping kick under her legs, and she tumbles to the ground.

She twirls her legs between mine like vines and attempts to slam me into the mat.

I vault myself forward, away from her, while she’s still on the ground.

She leaps up, grinning. She’s enjoying this.

And I can’t help but enjoy this myself. She’s fast. Strong.

But I can’t let her think she’s winning.

Because she’s not. I concentrate, taking deep breaths while listening to hers.

The mat beneath her feet. The tension of her muscles.

I can hear it. Feel it. A faint shift in the atmosphere, a sharp inhale of her breath.

She hurls herself forward, aiming for my neck, but I catch her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

I don’t even flinch. She gasps, her eyes locking with mine for a brief moment—those big, beautiful amber eyes.

“How the hell—” she blurts. Then her eyes stray away from mine, slowly tracing the growing smile on my lips.

“So you were going easy on me,” she breathes, her fist still clenched, inches away from my face.

“Maybe,” I drawl, releasing my grasp.

“I thought I told you not to hold back when we spar,” she retorts, blowing a curl from her face.

I chuckle dryly. “Not much for taking your own advice, are we?” I release her arm, and she takes a step forward. She’s close now, her heavy breath tickling my throat.

“I held back cause you did,” she hisses, rising onto her toes.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that is so.” Her voice is slightly louder now, and I curve another smile.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t hold back.” I raise a brow, crossing my arms.

“No, I don’t think you should,” she stammers, shutting her eyes for a moment. I grin. Silence. One beat. Two. I quickly glance down at her legs, then back to her again.

I shrug. “Okay.”

My leg curls over hers once again, and I knock her on her back, flat against the mat. She winces, completely breathless.

“Shit!” she curses.

“I swear you two,” Eryca mutters, and I don’t really understand what she means.

Ilian plops over a high bench close to the mat to observe sparring. Not long after, Alex appears from his throwing knife session.

“You spend a lot of time throwing knives,” Ilian comments the moment Alex is close enough. Alex just sneers as Ilian pulls an apple out of his satchel.

He twirls it before taking a large bite. Two. Three munches. “You should practice your crossbow skills, you know? Something that’s more useful?” Ilian says.

Alex slowly turns his head to Ilian, who’s growing a wicked smile on his face.

“How ’bout you be useful,” Alex says, teeth gritting. “Before I use you as target practice.”

Here we go again.

Ilian stops munching, cheeks puffed—a large piece of apple still in his mouth. He stands up, furrowing his brow, sneering, nostrils flaring, and moves closer to Alex. He takes deep, long, heavy breaths as he stares at Alex like he’s about to throw a punch.

“Are you gonna stop this?” Nida asks, tugging on my shirt.

Before I can say anything, Raumen’s already sitting on the mat with a wide smile.

“No, let’s see where this goes,” he mutters to us.

Nida rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. I should intervene as the leader of this unit, but they clearly have things to sort out.

It’s a way for Alex and Ilian to shift in their dynamic.

Learn a thing or two about one another, even if it means spitting insults at each other.

If Alex wants to be in this unit, he needs to find a way to deal with us not dealing with his shit.

Eryca, on the other hand, wants no part of it, looking for a free cadet to spar.

“You know,” Ilian says, a piece of apple flinging out of his mouth and right onto Alex’s cheek. Alex sneers in disgust, wiping it off, while Ilian grabs another bite, munching loudly. “I bet your aim is shit.”

“Funny.” Alex scoffs, playing with a throwing knife in his hand. “I still hit more targets than you’ve had original thoughts.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s cuz they’re standing still. Easy to hit.” Ilian scrunches his nose, leaning forward with a mocking grin as he swallows. “Dumbass.”

In one fluid, lightning-fast motion, Alex yanks the apple from Ilian’s fingers and flings it hard against the wall. Then the knife flies. Silver flashes in the dim light, piercing the apple and sinking deep into the wooden sign that reads Glory for Humanity .

One good thing came out of this—and one good thing I’ve learned about Alex.

No matter how pissed off he gets, he doesn’t take it out on others.

At least not physically. He directs his anger toward something else as long as it’s through a blade.

So now I wonder, if it really was him who killed the two lords in the Middle, what exactly prompted him to do it?

And was the choice embedded in survival?

“What on the soil—That’s my apple!” Ilian exclaims, pointing at the juices trickling down the wooden sign.

“Yeah, now your apple’s gone.” Alex sheathes his other dagger and steps sideways to keep walking. “You’re welcome, dumbass .”

Ilian turns, but before he can say anything, I click my tongue, catching his attention. I shake my head. Just leave him be. Ilian sighs like a toddler denied his favorite toy after too much play, then lets Alex go.

Raumen whistles. “That guy’s skilled with a knife,” he says, launching himself from the mat.

“Hopefully, he’s just as skilled with a crossbow,” I respond, eyes locked on Alex as he walks away, quiet and controlled.

“You were right to add him to our unit,” Raumen says, smiling. ”Hasn’t been much life since Morton’s death and Valous getting kicked out of the Corps.” He looks up at me, soft eyes scanning my face, a dusting of brown stubble visible along his jaw. “It’s nice to get some action once in a while.”

“I’d rather have that action with my unit focused,” I reply.

Raumen laughs. “You forget the unit consists of several, real , very different humans.” It’s like listening to Commandant Moris Vine all over again.

He stands up, giving a wave as he heads back to his heavy-lifting training.

But I can tell from the way he moves—this heat and training are taking a toll on him, too.

“Let’s take a break,” I say, grabbing a towel and throwing one to Nida. “We can observe others, too.”

I rub the towel over my forehead, then over my mouth. It comes away pink. I’m still bleeding.

We approach another mat, with two of the older cadets sparring. Right next to it, a sixth-year—Vera—is training one of her recruits. He seems to be quick on his feet—a good addition to their unit.

“Watch her,” I say to Nida as she stands close to me.

“Vera is fast and has a good grip.” Vera enters her defense stance, ready to make the other kid regret ever engaging her.

Instead of forming a full fist, she only forms it halfway, ready to grab if he engages first. A chuckle escapes her as she tilts her head, the buzzcut on one side coming into view beneath the bright, bleached strands.

“Once you have control over your emotions, it becomes easier for you to see what’s important—what’s in front of you,” I say. A faint smell of soil and smoke and rain washes over me as I lean in closer for Nida to hear.

The cadet jumps forward to strike Vera in her chest, but she dodges. Vera grabs him by the arm, and pulls him under her armpit, choking him. He squeals in pain. Vera drops him to the ground, quick as a lightning strike.

“Never concern yourself about who’s going to get hurt,” I say. The squealing continues until he taps the mat for a reset. “As long as it’s not you.”

The cadets applaud Vera as the guy stands on his feet. Nida watches her attentively. I keep my eyes on her for a second longer. I want to pull away but…

Just… a little longer.

There’s a loud thud on the ground, and the guy is eating dirt from the mat again.

“One of the Corps’ common sayings is that if you let yourself think too much about your next move, you lose the valuable seconds of making sure that you do your job,” I say.

She swallows tightly, her body tensing. My gaze follows her bobbing throat.

I hold my breath. She turns to me, and only then do I realize how close I’ve gotten.

Something tightens in my chest. I never noticed her eyes like this before—brown like warm embers, with bright flecks swirling like a blazing fire.

Freckles splatter her skin in such intricate detail, it’s as if she were painted in the Center.

She’s so… different. Yet nothing has changed.

There’s another loud thud, drawing my attention to Vera pressing the cadet’s face into the mat, his arms locked behind his back.

“Damn… Vera’s a beast,” says Ilian.

The first things I learned here were the importance of emotional control and loyalty—two things I knew were going to keep me alive. Both out there in the battlefield, and in the Corps. But for some damning reason, right now, my emotions are anything but in control.

Even after training, my emotions haven’t calmed.

Night falls, bellies half-full, and I’m already shivering in my room.

The general put me here—away from the barracks—so I can get peace and quiet.

To rest. But lately, I’ve been wanting to go back.

To the corner where my unit sleeps, with bunkbeds stacked tight and the low hum of whispered jokes drifting through the dark, large wooden dividers separating us from the rest of the units.

Where the heat of bodies and the rhythm of breathing make the night feel less empty.

Out here, in my own space, the silence is thicker than the walls.

I glance at the nightstand, the drawer mocking me. I hesitate. I don’t want to open it—I haven’t for years. But my hand twitches as if it’s pulling me toward it.

And I give in.

Quickly, I reach for the metal knob and pull, the wood gently creaking.

Inside is a bracelet. Nida wove it for me when we sat by the river, the smell of salt and soil and moss filling the air.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of it.

It’s just how I remember it. Beautifully braided—tightly—without a single twine peaking out—unlike the one I made her.

I take it out, feeling the coarse fabric between my fingers.

Memories swirl in my mind of a life I had before the venom, before the Blightclaw.

Her laugh mingled with mine and the annoying little birds chirping above us.

This piece of fabric may be the only thing that tugs me back to the past—a past I haven’t been able to shed, no matter how hard I tried.

No matter how hard the Corps tried. Deep down, I know I never wanted to let it go. And I never will.

I gently unravel the knot and cuff the bracelet over my wrist, the fiber tickling my skin.

Yet the feeling is comforting, like something had been missing without it.

In a way, it fills me with warmth. Like I’m home again.

I tie the bracelet tightly, tucking it under my sleeve.

Never—not in a thousand years—will I ever take it off again.