Page 40 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

“A little bird told me about your skills in the previous encounter with the dragon,” he says, sounding surprisingly satisfied.

“It’s interesting how nobody else noticed that the dragon was going to ignite, but you showed good observation skills and, with that, good decision skills.

You’ll be more useful out there, seeking out the dragon, instead of sitting here idle and waiting for a report. ”

I sigh, words failing me. The general rises from his chair and moves toward the left side of the room, where a map of the world lies spread out on a table. I follow silently as he begins recounting the events of the previous expedition.

“The recent report of a dragon sighting came from the Western Front. It seems the beast has migrated.” He presses a stained finger lightly on the map, careful not to smudge the ink—though it’s already a few days old. “This is where you’ll be going.”

I study the map. Next to it lies a smaller one, marked with intricate lines crisscrossing diagonally and horizontally, forming a V-shape that fans out into small squares. Numbers dot each square where the lines intersect. The grid stretches from Karalia, past the Third, and into the Unknown beyond.

The Scouts’ map.

I focus on square thirty—where the Third sits—and the one after that—square thirty-one—the Front. That’s where the village of Garta lies. A small black cross marks it, signaling the area is clear. But the square next to it, thirty-three, bears a red dot—a sign that a dragon was spotted nearby.

I’ve only seen the Scouts’ map a few times, and its complexity isn’t easy to grasp.

Still, it’s our best way to communicate between Scouts and the Corps in case of dragon sightings or other unusual discoveries.

All they need to do is write the number of the square and a letter ‘D’ if a dragon has been sighted.

After that, an expedition is formed and soldiers march to the area where it’s been spotted.

Sometimes, the General sends out hawks to Scouts for confirmation—or to check if the Scouts are alive if we haven’t had a report in a long time.

If there is no response, new Scouts are sent out, oftentimes to look for a body.

But those are rare occasions. It’s the general who regulates the Scouts.

He’s the one responsible for sending them out, taking in their information, and planning expeditions and their routes.

His hand traces slowly across the map, moving toward the unfinished section—the Unknown. Scouts are responsible for mapping the world for us, too, and the Unknown is a place no man has ever been before—a place we are trying to learn more about so that we can continue to expand.

“The last expedition, unfortunately, resulted in the loss of many Scouts who were patrolling and mapping the outskirts,” the general says, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“However, a small portion of the new map was retrieved from one of the Scouts now operating in the western part of the forest.” He brushes his finger across the map, tracing from the Third through five adjacent squares.

“The sighting occurred last night at exactly three thirty-seven past midnight, right at the border between the second and third squares of the forest.”

I glance at the mechanical clock ticking above us.

“Why would the dragon migrate?” I ask. A dragon traveling all the way from the eastern to the western edge of the Front is unusual—especially for a Redsnout. They’re extremely territorial.

“Our theory is that the Redsnout is expanding its territory. With no remaining threats to challenge it, the beast has adapted to its surroundings and begun exploring nearby regions. We’re still uncertain about its exact location—it may be somewhere beyond the mapped areas.

However, we believe that our continued efforts to explore the outskirts have drawn its attention. It may be stalking us.”

“Stalking us?” I say, surprised. “You mean—like prey?”

He slowly nods, releasing a grunt indicating slight worry.

Shit.

Now, instead of us hunting it , the dragon is hunting us .

I cross my arms and lean closer to the map, observing the areas that have been marked with red dots and black crosses.

A worry fills my gut when I notice the red dot on the square where the Third is—a result of the Redsnout attack.

Right before I’m about to tear my eyes away from the map, I notice something.

The marks seem scattered and inconsistent.

There is no pattern to the dragon sightings. Something’s wrong.

“What do you hope to achieve with this expedition?” I ask, attempting not to let the growing worry affect my stance as I straighten myself.

Shut it off.

Don’t think about it.

The general raises an eyebrow, questioning whether or not I’m serious with my inquiry, but his concern quickly fades away.

“The expedition has two goals,” he says. “First, it’s crucial we gather intel on the Western Terrain—learn where the dragon resides. If more sightings occur, we might pinpoint where it spends its nights.”

Right. Redsnouts aren’t nocturnal. They’re most dangerous during the day and easiest to scout at night.

“Once we determine whether the sightings are consistent in that region,” he continues, “we can take action. Which brings us to the second goal. Killing it.”

“And how would you want me to proceed?” I ask, and a faint smile appears on his face.

“Instead of heading straight to the Western Terrain, this will be a patrolling expedition,” he says, pointing to the Eastern Front—where my village lies.

He drags his finger across the map as he explains the route.

“You’ll begin in the Third and march all the way to square twenty-nine, where the patrol will start.

From there, you’ll track back toward the Stronghold, passing square thirty-four—where the village of Medyn is.

If there’s any sign of a dragon, you are to engage immediately.

The entire route will take two days.” He grabs a handful of small wooden figurines carved in the shape of arrows and places them across the Western Terrain, marking the path.

“We will split this expedition into two. Your army” —he places the figurine on the map— “and reinforcements. It’s smaller, so you do not need to worry about leading a full expedition unless you’re attacked. ”

The weight shifts from my shoulders. It’s lighter. Fewer soldiers to lead. More control. He thought of everything.

“You’ll have carts, rations, and a handful of horses. The rest will go to the second army in case you need reinforcements. You’ll have Scouts at your disposal for communication with the other army.”

I nod. Slowly, I’m being convinced of this expedition.

Yet the lingering thought of having to bring my unit still bothers me—I’d rather not have them with me.

I would argue, but he will use Nida against me.

I’ll need a Tracker. And she’ll need Eryca and Ilian.

I let out a sigh. It’s risky. If the dragon is expanding its territory, then for the entire expedition, we’ll be inside it—without knowing exactly where the beast is.

And if it’s stalking us, hunting us like prey, there’s a slim chance it’ll be right on our heels the whole time.

I pause, replaying the plan over and over in my head, searching for any angle that doesn’t end in death.

But one thing the general said is clear—this is our best chance at taking the dragon down.

Still, one concern lingers— which dragon are we killing?

Maybe having Nida on this patrol is a good thing.

If there’s a sighting, she can track the beast and identify it.

Only then will I know if my suspicions are right.

But do I mention this to him? Do I bring this up?

No. I have to be sure first. Nida’s book isn’t evidence enough.

It could be falsified information from years ago or misinterpretations.

Seconds pass, each thought convincing me that Nida’s wrong.

The book is wrong. The records—human error.

This plan that he’s presenting has humanity’s best interest written all over it.

It’s carefully crafted—a safer option for us to learn more about the Redsnout, and he even considered splitting the army into two for me.

It’s brilliant. Tactical. Not a shred of doubt from months of planning.

It’s why he’s the general. But there’s something—still something—that doesn’t sit right with me.

And when I try to figure it out, process what I feel, my head stings.

“You seem concerned, boy,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glance up—he’s standing with his arms crossed, waiting for my response.

“There are many risks to this expedition,” I say, my voice a notch lower than usual. He exhales, a grunt of agreement following close behind. This is no easy task—but no one ever said serving in the Corps would be.

“I have faith in you, Kazele ,” he says, his voice softer than most days, his eyes gleaming.

“Ever since you showed up at my door as a child, you’ve shown nothing but promise and determination for the Corps.

I assure you, those long nights wrapping your bloodied fists won’t be in vain. This is our chance.”

I remain silent. Deep down, looking at the map, I know I’ll have to cross Pirlem. For the first time, I’m uncertain if I want to go there. It’s a place I’d want to avoid. I’ll have first-years with me too—some from there.

“Unlike those out there,” the general says, voice low and steady, “you don’t fear death. And that’s what people will follow.” He pauses, eyes hard. “I’ve said it before, son—if I give you a task, it’s because no one else can carry it out the way you do.”

Silence swells between us, thick and deafening.

I’ve learned to live without the fear of death.I think back to the night I tried to save my mother from the beast that tore her apart.

Something broke in me and buried itself beneath a numbness.

A shield. An inability to fear. But bravery has its price.

I’ve lived long enough to know that. Because I do fear death. Just not my own.