Page 53 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

“She cursed under her breath three times before she said she was grateful you stepped in.” A warm chuckle escaping her.

“That must’ve left a bad taste in her mouth,” I say, a smile gently pulling at my cheeks.

“I hope they find the bastard who did it.”

“I hope so, too.”

The silence stretches for a while, the breeze cooling down my warm skin, bringing a soft aroma of soil and rain and sand. This place should give me peace, but for some reason, with Nida here, I can’t fully relax. It’s as if I’m anxious instead.

“It’s peaceful here,” Nida finally says, breaking the silence.

“I come here to clear my thoughts.” I gaze at torches flickering of soldiers patrolling the grounds.

“I can see why.” She says. “I might join you more often. Reminds me of the nights back in the village. It’s somewhat serene here with you.”

“I thought you couldn’t stand being three feet near me.” I scoff. She buries her head in her arms, her long, wavy hair cascading everywhere, like liquid fire spilling over her shoulders.

She peeks up. “Oh, I can’t,” she says with a smile. “That’s what you get for not showing up for eight years.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I say, guilt roughening my voice.

“I know why you did it,” she says, blowing a curl out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “I would’ve done the same if I thought it’d keep people safe.”

I sigh. “Eight years is a long time.”

She shuffles her feet. “Not long enough to make me forget about you.”

I trace her lips with my gaze, then flick to her eyes before returning to her lips again.

A gasp gets stuck in my throat, and a subtle ache appears in my chest, disappearing just as quickly.

A feeling so familiar yet so distant. Unwanted.

But at the same time, I don’t want that feeling to stop. I catch another glimpse of her eyes.

Shit.

I’m staring.

I look away, rubbing the sole of my boot against the rough tile in an attempt to break the silence. I swallow hard before clearing my throat.

“To be honest,” I say quietly. “I thought you would’ve heard about me in the Front.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Only during Assessment Year. Newcomers talked about you, or, well” —she looks at me, scrunching her nose— “they talked about a soldier, pale as snow, who killed dragons with daggers. They knew about you because of posters plastered all over the Middle. Only ghost stories in the Front. Not even your name reached there.” She rests her chin on her arms, pulling her knees closer to her chest. I almost forgot how differently everyone is treated in front of versus behind the Stronghold walls. It’s like two entirely different words.

“I wasn’t sure it was you until the day I was allowed inside the Third.

They never said your name, as if…” She trails off.

“As if they were afraid of saying it.” Her voice is lower, softer.

Like she wants to take those words back.

She must’ve spent an entire year wondering if it was me.

And I can’t help but wonder, if she had known I was alive years ago, would she still have joined the Corps?

She straightens up, forcing me to look at her again, and leans against her wrists, tossing her head high.

“The stars look beautiful,” she says.

I blink. “What?” I furrow a brow and raise my chin up, squinting at the looming dark, full of tiny flickering lights.

I rarely come out here at night. Probably because I never thought there was anything worthwhile. Sitting on the rooftop in broad daylight helps me see everything across the dead land. But it forces me to forget the beauty that’s right above me.

She lies down, her hair brushing against the coarse tiles of the rooftop, and I soon follow. The wind carries her scent, weaving the illusion that she’s closer than I thought. Another flutter in my chest.

Stop it.

I command my mind to ignore this feeling. But there’s no use. It’s as if I’m giving instructions to the wrong part of me.

“Have you ever wondered how many there are?” Her voice is soft, mixing in with the sound of the quiet night.

I shrug. “Thousands? Could be more.”

She raises her arm, slightly curving her finger in an attempt to count them.

“Never mind,” she says with a chuckle. “I’d have to spend several nights counting them.”

I laugh. Really laugh. The kind of laugh that doesn’t stop, no matter how much I try to command it.

“What?” she says, lifting herself up, brows furrowed.

I don’t stop laughing, coughing out the words. “Did you honestly think you’d be able to count them? There’s thousands of them! Some of them are so small you can’t even see.”

She puffs her cheeks. Then, she bursts into laughter too. It makes me think of those carefree childhood days. Running around the fields of our home and getting yelled at by scrawny old men for disturbing their crops. I almost forgot what it was like to laugh. And how good it feels.

She lies down again, watching the stars glimmer in the night sky. It’s quiet. It rarely is these days. I never had the chance to enjoy it like this before. Enjoy it with her.

A bright light slashes through the night sky, like a sharp knife leaving an open wound in the darkness.

“A shooting star!” Nida exclaims, pointing her finger toward the fading light.

“A what?”

She chuckles. “I’ve heard from old stories that people used to whisper their true desires to a falling star, in hopes it would guide them to it.”

I raise a brow. “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know.” She smiles, her arm falling back onto her chest. I turn to face her, observe her as she slowly closes her eyes.

“I desire peace,” she murmurs to the stars. Then she faces me, her amber eyes glimmering. “You try it!”

“Uh,” I stutter, facing the night sky once more. What in the soil do I do?

“What do you desire, Zel?” she whispers.

I simply shrug, the numbness in my legs reminding me that my desires are wasted upon a falling star. I know it will never come true. Why would they guide someone who has barely anything to live for, aside from the safety of others?

“What if you lived?” she says carefully. “Forget about now and everything.”

I never thought about that—never let my mind wander past the edges of survival.

Never wondered what life would be like if I didn’t have this venom coursing through me—taking away what’s left of me from the inside out.

But maybe that’s the point. I desire to live.

Not just to breathe and wait for the end.

Not just to endure the pain and guilt that comes with it.

I want to tear this curse out of me, claw it free, and feel what it’s like to exist without it once more.

To wake up one day and not feel the weight of something rotting beneath my skin and pretend that it isn’t.

Just because others expect me to be stoic. A soldier. Inhuman.

A dragonslayer for the Corps. The face they parade.

The name they invoke when they need hope carved out of blood.

Someone capable of leading an entire expedition.

I never wanted that. I was young. Foolish.

But in a world like this, dreams don’t matter.

Desires get buried beneath duty. Yet this feeling blooms in my chest, growing like wildfire, scraping at my ribs like it’s always been there.

The ache to live freely. And for the first time, it feels like a dangerous thing to want.

Especially now.

Especially with her here.

Nida watches me carefully. I don’t want to admit it. But what I desire is for this moment to last forever.