Page 44 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T he trek to the village in the Eastern Terrain takes about eight hours on foot.

For most of it, soldiers remain at ease, believing this to be the safest part of the expedition.

But the Redsnout attacking the Stronghold put fear in their eyes.

And it does the same to mine. If a dragon can ignore the villages that are there for bait and head straight to the Strongholds, our whole scouting system is thrown off, leading to a lot of doubt. Scouts become less accurate, too.

Hours pass, and the clatter of horses and carriage wheels on cobblestones fades as hooves meet dirt. We move farther from the Stronghold, out into the open fields beyond. Nida tiptoes beside me, though she should be several meters back, watching for danger.

“We’re not far,” she says, her amber eyes gleaming with a mixture of joy and sadness, a feeling that is contagious even to me.

Pirlem . A frown tugs at the corners of my lips as we approach a small field with only a little amount of grass peeking out through the dirt.

Everything looks like the way I left it. It even smells the same.

Burned.

The field still blooms, forget-me-nots scattered through the grass, delicate patches of blue in a sea of green—clinging to life in defiance of the world burning beyond. As a kid, the colors seemed far more vibrant than they do now.

Nida slows down, her eyes tracing a rogue forget-me-not blooming on the side of the path. She leans forward, her hair falling across her shoulder and chest, and picks it up. Then she tracks back to my side.

“Do you remember these?” she says, tracing the sky-tinted petals with her fingers. “We used to pass these fields when we were kids in search of different herbs for brewing our made-up concoctions.” She laughs, twirling the flower in between her fingers, dimples appearing.

“I remember,” I say coldly. She needs to stay focused. More importantly, I need to stay focused.

But her smile never falters. “You used to pick these for me and leave them by the doorstep.” Her eyes gleam with memories.

Heat blooms across my cheeks, sudden and scorching like sunlight at midday, and I tear my attention from her. “That was ages ago,” I say, pursing my lips.

“Some things never change,” she murmurs.

I shift sideways, putting a sliver of distance between us, and promptly stumble over a rock that seems to materialize beneath my boot.

I crash into Raumen. Nida’s eyes snap to mine.

Confusion clouds her face, mirroring the chaos in my own.

My heartbeat thunders against my ribs. I swallow hard, clear my throat, and tear my gaze from hers once more as I straighten my spine.

What is this? Am I sick?

From my left, Raumen casts me a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth twitching with the effort not to smile.

I shoot him a look—a warning. I know he’s going to bring this up later.

He always does. But for now, he presses his lips tighter, keeping silent.

I roll my eyes and fix them on the path ahead.

Immediately, I notice the entire formation has halted.

I signal the rest of the unit to stay alert and make my way toward the front.

As I move forward, I scan the units—checking posture, eyes, hands—making sure they’re ready for anything.

Vera and the others at the front have already taken defensive stances.

Lieutenant Wain stands with her back to the outskirts of a field not far from the village, eyes locked on me. My heart pounds harder with each step, my pace quickening as the tension coils tighter in my chest.

“Wain,” I say, just a few steps from her, but the rest of the words die in my throat, the air snared in my lungs as I glance down.

Tracks .

They’re recent. The creases and edges are well-defined.

If the tracks were days old, the wind would have smoothed the corners of the claw marks, making them barely visible.

But the ground is perfectly pierced with the tip of claws.

The outline of the print is large enough to make any soldier feel small, forming a basin deep enough to go all the way to my knees.

I crouch and brush my hand on the edge of the track’s outline—it’s sharp and slightly warm.

Wain doesn’t say a word.

I kick the dust close to the tracks, puzzled with the thought that it’s behind the village, without anyone informing us about it.

I scan the scorched earth, heart thudding in my throat. My eyes hunt for something—anything—that might hint at the beast’s whereabouts. The soldiers around me stand in perfect, unnerving silence. Watching. Waiting for my command.

Two hundred of them.

Two hundred lives stacked on my shoulders. Heavy stones I can’t shake off. I’ve trained some of them. Trained with them. Some have only recently learned how to properly hold a bow.

I can’t afford to fail them. Not again.

My gaze snaps back to Wain. She stands tall, spine straight, hands behind her back. Her face is unreadable—but I know her well enough to note the tension behind her stillness.

“Has there been a report about this?” I ask, my voice low. My eyes cut back to the massive claw print pressed deep into the dry, cracked earth.

“No,” she replies, a subtle tremble slipping into her words. “As far as I can tell, we’re the only ones that know about it.”

The silence after is heavier than the heat from the pressing sun. Her answer twists in my gut. I wipe a drop of sweat forming on my brow as I glance back at my unit. Eryca’s eyes beg the question of approach, and I let her.

An unreported dragon sighting—whether fang, flame, or footprint—can ruin everything. Not just the expedition. Not just the mission.

It can kill hundreds.

It can make us extinct.

I breathe in slowly, trying to steady the sudden chaos that’s clawing at the edge of my mind. Is it safe to keep moving? Or do I risk pulling the entire force back and ruin weeks of strategy? Either choice is going to cost us something.

Beneath it all, another thought gnaws at me. Where the hell is the Scout who should’ve found this first?

Is there a dead body I should be looking for? Or worse. Ashes .

I shift my stance, Eryca and Nida by my sides. They both examine the claw print, dragging their fingers across the edge of the mark.

Nida furrows her brow. “It’s coming from the direction of the Third. It’s fresh. Redsnout—”

Eryca looks at Nida, brows drawing together as if she’s confused.

Then her focus returns to the print. “It took a long detour. There’s no surprise a Scout missed it,” she adds.

It’s just like General Grogol said. It’s stalking us.

Like prey. Observing us and taking risks.

This isn’t behaviour I’ve ever seen before.

“Do you have an idea of where Scouts are stationed?” I ask Wain. She snaps her fingers to a young soldier with a chart tube slung awkwardly over his shoulder. His uniform hangs a little loose, like he hasn’t grown into it yet. There’s a smear of ink on his cheek, a smudge of sand on his collar.

His eyes widen as he hurries forward, flicking between us.

While still in motion, he removes the chart tube from his shoulders and unscrews the threaded lid.

He pulls out a rolled-up map—the same map I saw in Grogol’s quarters—revealing Scout positions.

The young soldier holds it up for Wain, his arms barely stretching long enough to make the map taut between his trembling fingers.

At a quick glance, he reminds me of Theo.

Wain scans the map. “There may be one stationed at the far northeast corner,” she says, dragging her finger over the map. “They’re in area thirty.”

“For how long?” I ask, glancing over the precise and detailed markings.

“About a week.” Wain dips her chin slightly, dismissing the boy. He quickly rolls up his map and returns to his spot. If the Scout has been out there for a week, he most likely didn’t see the claw mark when patrolling.

“Send a hawk to the Scout,” I command. Wain adjusts her posture in a quiet salute, acknowledging my words.

“I’ll send Sarga.”

“No,” I say, my eyes straying to Eryca beside me. Her look cuts straight through me, as if she can read my mind. “Send out Laukin.”

Wain’s eyes flick toward Eryca, then back, and she gives a nod.

Eryca sneers, shaking her head with disapproval. “You want to send my hawk? Not willing to sacrifice your own?”

“He’s more loyal,” I reply. “Sarga’s protective. If she senses that there’s any danger, she’ll come back to protect me before even making her way to the Scout.” Slowly, the stiffness drains from her posture, and the crease between her brows smooths out.

“You’ve trained him well,” I comment, assuring her that Laukin is the only hawk that can send a message without any doubt. And I don’t doubt her or her training skills for even a minute.

She presses her lips together, giving two slow nods of approval, and whistles—calling Laukin to land from circling the sky.

The hawk swoops down, wings slicing through the air as he releases a soft screech.

Razor-sharp talons gleam against sunlight as they dig into her leather glove.

Eryca chuckles, greeting her hawk with a gentle scratch under the chin.

The bird’s dark spotted chest rises and falls with steady breaths.

Wain quickly drafts a note and tightly attaches it to Laukin. Eryca instructs Laukin to send the message directly to the Scout in area thirty, and lifts her arm up to release him.

“Proceed,” I say, waving my hand, and return to my spot at the back. Lieutenant Wain echoes my words, followed by the other two lieutenants.

My heartbeat hasn’t slowed, and sweat forms on my back and palms. There was no report. I inhale deeply, shaking away the thoughts, and focus on the mission.