Page 46 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T he night looms over us, shadows dancing on tree branches from the firelight, and the dark caresses me with its cold embrace. We stopped for the night to recharge, planning to head toward Medyn at first light. Scouts stalk around the field, ensuring our safety, or doing their best at least.

Around the camp, the soldiers settle in silence. Some chew on hard bread—too stale to break easily—dipping it in water to soften the bite. Others stretch their feet toward the warm fire, steam rising from wet socks. No one speaks unless they must. Voices carry too easily in a place like this.

The trees creak above us, tall and brittle, their bare limbs tangled against the sky like fingers grasping at stars. I only glance at them for a minute before my gaze returns to the fire. It’s strange how one thing can give you fear and comfort at the same time.

The grass is dry and cool beneath me. It presses against my palms, grounding me.

Beside me, Raumen hunches over a dented tin cup, hands wrapped tight around it like it might run away.

The rest of the unit jumps between campfires, either checking on everyone or just passing time.

Alex sits on his own, poking the fire with a stick he found—desperately trying to keep it alive. No one wants to be near him.

“You think they’ll make it?” Raumen asks, voice low. “The villagers.” His breath fogs the air. I don’t answer right away. I glance back at the direction of the village. It’s too far away now to even notice a glimmer. Just the wind keeping us company.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I hope so. They survived this long.”

He nods like he didn’t expect more. He stirs the cup slowly, the thick grain mash clinging to the sides, grayish and plain and hot. A sack with a few pieces of bread lays between us. I don’t reach for it. It just doesn’t feel right.

Out of the bushes, Ilian emerges with a grin.

“Look what I caught,” he says, and he wiggles a squirrel between our faces, its puffy tail soaked in blood. I lean to the side as he squats behind us.

“Don’t waste bolts,” I grunt.

Ilian whisper-chuckles. “I made a snare,” he replies. “Didn’t take long for this little guy to get caught.” He sniffles, letting out a satisfying sound as he observes it.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out blueberries.

“Found these too. Here.” He holds out the berries.

I hesitate at first, but then stretch out my hand, feeling five small pebbles falling into my palm.

Then he reaches toward Raumen and gives him a few too.

I watch him trot away and hand some to other soldiers, including Nida, Eryca, and Sam, who are sitting a few meters across from us.

“Makes you angry, doesn’t it?” Raumen says, watching Sam hand a few of his rations to Nida, who’s been quiet ever since we left Pirlem.

“Hm?”

“Everything that’s happened—without you knowing.”

I shake my head. He’s talking about Pirlem. He didn’t know what happened either. None of us did. But I have to focus on the mission to make sure nobody doubts anything. Even when they probably should.

“Anyone who can’t shut off their emotions shouldn’t be a soldier,” I spit the words, stretching my arm toward the fire. The flames lick at my skin, but the night’s bitter cold clings to my bones.

“That’s where you’re wrong, bud,” Raumen says, his armor shifting with a quiet clink as he adjusts. “Emotions… they’re what make you a better soldier.”

I glance at him. That familiar grin he always wears is gone, replaced by something far more somber. Firelight flickers across his face, casting shadows that make him look older.

“Love. Hate. Hope,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the flames.

“They’re all things that make us human. When we love someone, we do everything we can to protect them.

When we hate something, we use that hate to fuel us and stride into battle, determined to win.

And hope…” His voice softens as he leans forward, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “Well… hope is the reason we’re soldiers.

The reason why we sacrifice. Because we hope that one day this nightmare will end.

And that we’re the ones who get to end it. ”

I remain quiet for a moment.

“I guess that’s why most people join the Corps,” I say, as I tug on the grass under my fingers. Grogol does talk about hope—but I never realized there’s something deeper to it than just the word itself.

His lips twitch, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I have a family back in Nedersen. A struggling father, a sick mother… And a little brother I haven’t seen in years.

I joined—not for the sake of being a hero, or slaying the most dragons—to protect them, and to try my best to give them a life I know they deserve. ”

“I haven’t really thought of it like that before,” I say finally. “I was taught that emotions are dangerous. A weakness.”

Raumen smiles, creasing the corner of his eyes. “Try it,” he says gently.

“Try what?”

“Let yourself feel. It’s beautiful, really. During battle, feel free to shut it all off—the way we are taught. But not when you’re amongst people that care about you. Who know you.” He looks at me as he rests his head on his gauntlet. “ You —not some molded soldier. No judgment. But you—all sides.”

I stop tugging on the grass. I never had anyone tell me this before.

All I ever had was anger within me. Vengeance.

To destroy dragons for what they’ve done to my mother.

My home. It was Grogol who taught me that emotions are a weakness, a way to lose track of your true goal once they take control.

But I never thought they could fuel motivations beyond the need for survival. I never thought there was more to it.

I stay quiet, staring into the fire as his words settle like dust around me.

What do I have? My home is gone. My family is buried in ash.

I didn’t join to protect. I joined to destroy—to burn down what burned me.

What took everything from me. But what’s left?

What’s even worth protecting if not what remains of humanity?

A soft laugh carries through the camp. My eyes shift to Ilian, weaving around another campfire with a squirrel in hand. It’s Nida who releases that soft laugh with dimples marking her cheeks. I meet her eyes. Just a glimpse. Just a heartbeat. And something stirs in my chest. Stronger now.

Hours pass, and the night grows chilly. The fire flickers in front of me, fighting the night’s chill.

It’s not late enough for soldiers to be asleep yet.

Some are too nervous or scared to doze off.

Some probably don’t want to sleep on what might be their last day of life.

I run my hand over my hair, massaging my temples to ease the growing tension.

Hundreds of lives on my shoulders.

A sudden clamor in the distance pulls my focus—Alex and a few other cadets standing near a larger campfire, his blade unsheathed.

The hell is going on?

Alex waves the knife around, facing a third-year cadet with ash blonde hair. Two other cadets are behind the third-year in support. They shout at each other, but I can’t make out the words. A few moments later, Ilian butts in, separating Alex and the other. It’s a heated argument.

I sigh, annoyed, and lift myself up from the cold ground. When will they stop being children? I walk toward them, and their argument becomes clearer.

“I’m sorry, did I ask for your opinion?” Alex says to the cadet behind the third-year, his voice seeping with anger. The cadet takes a step back, muttering under his breath.

“Dust my damn fucking ears because I could’ve sworn you said something.” Alex waves a knife at the slim man. Must be a first-year.

Ilian presses his arm against Alex, pushing him to the side to create distance. “No one is willing to deal with your delusions,” Ilian says.

And now there’s a crowd gathering. Great.

“Delusions?” Alex exclaims, taking a step back and shoving Ilian’s arm away. “Yes, of course I have delusions, but I’m more fucking sane than this bunch right here!” He points his knife at the gathering crowd behind the third-year.

“What’s going on here?” I say, pushing past the cadets.

“This guy decided to run his mouth like I wouldn’t hear it.” Alex jabs his knife toward the third-year.

“You started it!” the cadet shouts.

Alex’s eyes are blazing. He mutters something low and fast under his breath, like a spark crackling before it turns into wildfire.

Then he steps forward, chest bumping the cadet just enough to ignite tension like dry kindling.

“You wanna say that again? Huh?” Alex says, voice low, tight, and laced with warning. “Say it slow this time. Let it land.”

The crowd shifts like wind through dry leaves, nobody daring to cut in. The third-year holds his ground. Alex’s face is close, teeth clenched like he’s chewing through restraint. Ilian pulls Alex again, while the third-year’s goons hold him back.

“You want a knife between those off-centered eyes?” Alex tightens his grip around the knife, glaring at the third-year as he elbows Ilian into the stomach, freeing himself.

“Hey, stop this!” I grab Alex’s shoulder, turning him to face me. He glares at me, and then back at Ilian.

“Control your damn unit,” he says, wiping his mouth with the hand that’s holding the knife.

“You’re part of this damn unit,” I snap. He stays silent, breathing heavily.

“The fuck, man,” Ilian mutters, clenching his stomach. I glance at Ilian, circling, pacing behind me.

“You alright?” I ask, and Ilian nods. I turn back to Alex, his eyes still blazing at the third-year.

Eryca checks Ilian, and Nida checks whether anyone else got hurt.

This guy isn’t going to be easy to handle.

But there has to be something. I need to figure this out.

I can be a commander, but I’m also a leader of this unit.

“All of y’all are pricks,” Alex mutters.

“Maybe if you were just a little bit kinder, people wouldn’t be assholes. Try being proper? Noble?” Nida says, rolling her eyes. Alex glances over his shoulder, taking a step closer to her. My fist is already forming in case he tries anything.

“Look, sunshine. I don’t do noble. I do breathing . And the only way for me to keep breathing is putting down anyone who wants me dead before they get the chance.”

“Not really having humanity’s best interest here,” I say, my voice low, hoping that he would get the hint. “If you’re going to keep talking like that, you’ll paint a target on yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, voice low, turning to me.

“Yeah.”

“What are you gonna do, Zel? You’re gonna kill me? Huh? You’re gonna run to the general and tell him I don’t have humanity’s best interest?” He says, pressing his lips together, like he’s trying to hold the words from slipping.

“Well, newsflash, pal,” he says, licking his lips like he’s tasting something bitter. “I don’t. And I don’t care who knows it.” He steps back, meeting the eyes of the gathered crowd. Then his gaze returns to mine.

“Fuck humanity. There’s nothing left but bones and ribs protecting something that’s void.” He turns and walks toward a wall of cadets that move out of his way, letting him leave.

“Who puked in his food?” Ilian scoffs.

“Just let him be,” I say.

I watch Alex walk away, slicing the air with an unsheathed knife, kicking a rock before he fades completely out of view, the night cloaking him.

The rest of the soldiers return to their own camps, rummaging in their bags as if nothing happened.

Why is he this way? Always agitated, always thinking someone is out to get him. There has to be something.

My mind flashes back to the first week after Assessment Year, where soldiers picked their Divisions and the dialogue of the cadets with the crooked nose and nine fingers echoes in my head.

Those types of Lords.

Shit. It wasn’t just any lords. It was the cruelest lords in the Middle.

I let half an hour pass, hoping Alex will cool down before I decide to approach him. He sits on a collection of boulders and stones, carving out a branch, with a knife. He doesn’t even meet my eye.

I sit next to him, noticing the tattoo swirling across his arms and traveling all the way to his wrist. There’s a scar below his neck, just above the leather collar. Easy to miss if you don’t focus. He glares at the cadets ahead, who are mocking Alex’s words with sing-song voices.

Remember what Raumen said. Kindness.

“Just ignore them,” I say. “They might not understand, but you don’t have to explain it either.”

Alex stops carving the wood with his knife and tosses a look at me. “The fuck are you on about?”

I point to the scar on his neck. He sneers.

“Want to talk about that?” I ask carefully, leaning forward, getting comfortable in case he does want to talk. I don’t know what he went through, but I do know that those lords tend to do disgusting, vile things. I never cared about the Middle, but he’s proof that I should start.

He scoffs, furrowing a brow. “Why? So you can lecture me about it? No thanks.”

“Alright,” I say softly, lifting myself up from the stone. “Well, you know where to find me if you want to talk.”

His frown drops. He looks at me with confusion, unsure if he should be scared or angry. “Why are you being nice to me?”

I pat my pants, removing the wood shavings that came off his carving. “You may be an asshole, Alex, but you probably have a reason for it. And whatever reason that may be, I hope at least the unit can prove that not everyone you meet wants you dead.”

He clicks his tongue, scoffing. “You’re starting to sound like Raumen.”

I guess I am. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

I offer Alex a smile. ”Well, now you have two people you know that aren’t assholes.”

“You mean one and a half,” Alex comments, pressing his lips together as if he didn’t mean to blurt those words out.

I chuckle. “Half an asshole.” I nod. “Good enough for me.” I begin to head back to the camp before I remember something.

“Oh,” I say, turning back to Alex as I shove my hands in my pockets.

“Thanks for teaching Nida how to throw knives. She wouldn’t have made the hit if you didn’t hand out pointers. ”

“Yeah, well,” he says, raking his hands against his midnight curls. “She’s a quick learner, I guess.”

I smile. Letting it linger for a minute before I move back to the camp for the night.