Page 39 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

“ T he trick is to not be afraid,” I say, strapping the fingerless leather glove around Nida’s wrist. Sarga coos from the mew, with other hawks clawing and walking on the branches. Laukin is there—Eryca’s hawk.

Today, Nida gets to know about tracking with hawks.

“Normally, she wouldn’t approach anyone but me, but since you’ve been around me long enough, she might get on your arm.” I continue to strap the leather glove, ensuring that when Sarga lands, Nida won’t get any injuries. Once I’m done, I strap a satchel around her, full of raw rabbit meat.

“Do you think she’s going to listen to me?” she asks, side-eyeing Sarga as if she doesn’t want her to hear.

I chuckle. “That’s what the rabbit is for.

” I reach for her pouch, grab a raw piece of rabbit, and extend my arm.

“A long and then short whistle,” I say to Nida, and purse my lips to whistle.

Sarga immediately launches toward me, wings flapping, digging her claws into my leathered gauntlet as she lands.

I smile, showing her I’m pleased, and carefully approach with raw meat in hand.

She nibbles on it before grabbing the piece in one chomp.

“She’s far more gentle than the other hawks,” I say, scratching her feathers.

Nida clears her throat. “Well, I’m glad to hear she won’t nibble on my fingers.”

I raise my brows. “Believe me, she has.” That doesn’t seem to give Nida a confidence boost. “You try it,” I say once Sarga is done with her meal.

Nida blows a hair strand from her face—a bit nervous. She takes two small steps closer, extending her arm, but slightly pulling her body away.

“Don’t be afraid,” I say. “She can smell fear.”

Nida squeezes her eyes shut, ready to call for Sarga.

“Be gentle, girl,” I whisper to Sarga, a smile forming as I watch Nida finally be scared of something.

She opens her eyes and lets out a sharp, practiced whistle.

Within seconds, a rush of wind and feathers cuts through the air as Sarga lands on Nida’s outstretched arm.

Nida lets out a soft, breathy laugh, surprised by how smoothly it went.

Sarga stares at her with sharp yellow eyes, unblinking, head tilting with expectation.

Nida reaches into her satchel and pulls out a thick strip of meat.

“Oh, she’s going to love you for that one,” I say as Sarga unfurls her wings halfway at the sight of the large piece.

“Well, she deserves this and more.” Nida smiles.

We try a few more times, gradually working on training the hawk to return to Nida.

It doesn’t go quite as planned. Sarga is more fond of me, often attempting to land on my shoulder—even when I haven’t extended my arm.

But over time, she warms up to Nida, mostly because Nida’s far more generous with rewards than I am.

“Go on in, girl,” Nida murmurs, ushering Sarga into the mew.

The hawk hops forward, feathers ruffling as she steps inside.

Though all hawks stay at the mew, Sarga often creeps in through the window of my quarters whenever she pleases.

After Kayus’ death, I asked Ligerion to help build a small perch by the window—something sturdy and sun-warmed.

“I think she’s not ready for me to make the calls,” Nida says, closing the latch for the mew.

“It takes time. Normally, hawks are really hard to re-train with a new Tracker or Scout,” I say.

“I heard they kill them if their Scout or Tracker dies,” she says solemnly, her eyes on Sarga—perfectly perched on the branch.

“Their grief is as real as ours,” I say.

“They become too unpredictable in battle or even to send messages. Sometimes they attack other hawks, and when they try to set them free, they just keep returning.”

“That’s terrible. Did Sarga have to go through that?” She looks at me, and her voice sounds like she’s afraid of what I’m going to say.

“Yes, but not as extreme. They tried to send her away first, but she kept returning. Most hawks look for their master, but she looked for me instead. I think she got used to me and Kayus, associating me with him. Kayus taught me everything about her.”

“He was your Tracker, right?”

I nod. “He was.” The tone of my voice is reserved. She catches on to that and doesn’t ask any more questions. I appreciate that.

When we return to the courtyard after spending three hours with Sarga, Nida insists on sparring with Eryca.

I eye Nida as she spars, giving her pointers on how to improve her stance.

But she’s a quick learner, and surprisingly, she has her own moves that hit like a sharp knife.

I rarely need to repeat myself. Sometimes she does her own thing, tricking Eryca into believing she’s going to attempt a specific move, only to change it at the last minute.

I’m not sure if she planned it ahead or genuinely changed her mind as she attacked.

Her trickery reminds me of Valous. The only one that’s capable of landing a blow on me, but I won’t admit that out loud.

A few steps away, I spot Seis Lorren, Commandant for the Hunters, patrolling and observing the sparring area, occasionally jumping on mats and forcing cadets into a proper stance. He hooks their legs from the front before slamming them into the ground.

Just like the old days. My mind wanders back to my first year at the Corps.

That was the first move I learned when I got here.

Took time to make it right. Now, when I think about it, I’m nothing like the way I was back then.

Looking at my hands, I search for any trace of the past. Nothing.

They are steady. I hope they’ll stay that way for just a tiny bit longer.

“Aaran!” Lieutenant Wain’s voice cuts through the sounds of leather against leather and grazing metals.

I tear my gaze from my steady hands and look in the direction her voice is coming from.

Then, I stand firm. I lower my head slightly, but still peek up.

Her dark blue cloak, adorned with dark golden embroidery, caresses the back of her sturdy boots as she halts in front of the mat, glancing over to Eryca and Nida.

“Lieutenant,” I say in acknowledgement. She darts her piercing eyes at me, the sun from the windows highlighting the prominent scar on her right cheek, a stark contrast against her ebony skin.

“General Tamis Grogol has requested you in his quarters,” she says firmly, placing her hands behind her back as she stands straight. “Now.”

I shift my eyes to Nida, her eyes burning into me and brows wrinkling in thought. I acknowledge the general’s request and walk toward the exit, with Nida and Eryca hopping off the mat and attempting to follow me.

Lieutenant Wain halts them. “Only him.”

Nida and Eryca freeze. I pass through the expansive room with several eyes watching me. The lieutenant walks behind me, her heels echoing. I grab my leather jacket from the hangers by the entrance and enter the long, dark hall leading to the general’s quarters.

By the time I reach the quarters, several lieutenants are already filing out. One of them is Lieutenant Rylan. A few tankards sit abandoned on the coffee table in the corner. I count three, though only two lieutenants have left.

I stand firmly by the general’s desk as he instructs Lieutenant Wain to leave us. He squints, as if trying to ease the sting in his eyes—an irritation that’s hard to miss. What could this be about? Does he know about the Redsnout?

He slides a small patch toward the edge of the table, opening his palm to draw my attention to it. “Do you know what this is?” he asks.

I study the patch for a moment. My eyes stray on the three bolts lying on his desk—not far from the empty ink vials. I straighten up and look at the patch again.

“It’s an expedition Commander’s emblem, sir,” I say.

“Do you know which commander?” he asks, leaning against his leathery chair. But before I can respond, he says with a huff, “Jarris Hayrim. It was retrieved this morning by a Scout from the Eastern Front.”

My stomach drops. Eastern Front . That’s where my home is. Or used to be, before the dragon torched nearly everything, including my house. “It’s now confirmed that he succumbed during the expedition a few months ago.”

I remain silent. Waiting, fearing what this means—the reason he called me here.

“The problem, Commander Aaran, is that no other commanders are willing to lead an expedition after what happened during the previous one.”

I feel the blood slowly leave my face.

“I want you to lead the next expedition to the Western Front that will take place two weeks from now .”

I gulp. What ? I look him straight in the eye, letting my stance slightly falter as I become more human, but try to keep myself together.

“Sir,” I say firmly. “I have no experience in leading an expedition this size,” I state the facts.

He can’t be seriously thinking I would be fit to lead an expedition.

Not with my condition, and definitely not when I know that Nida will have to go with me.

My entire unit will have to. The expedition I led by the Gates wasn’t an expedition at all.

It was a defense . Hundreds of rookies died under my watch.

All I did was shout a few words of encouragement and tell them where to go, what to do.

I’m not ready for this. I need more time.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t a request. You will be in good hands with Lieutenant Wain, who will be joining you as a Field Officer to help carry out your orders, as well as several sixth years.”

My eyes wander, my emotions slowly leaking through my body, making my hands twitch. No. I can’t let this happen now. Even with skilled and experienced units, this expedition could be deadly for all of us.

“What made you choose me for this expedition?” I ask.