Page 54 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

A sting pecks on the side of my cheek, followed by a brush of something soft. The smell of dust enters my nose, and I let out a cough. Bright light hurts my eyes.

I grunt, only for thin strands to brush against my lips—as if trying to quiet me down. I blow them away. Another peck. And then a coo. Sarga ?

I gasp for air and push myself upright, my eyes quickly adjusting to the light.

It’s morning.

I slap my hand over my face and rub my eyes. I must’ve fallen asleep on the rooftop. Sarga coos beside me, her feathers brushing against my knuckles.

I glance over my shoulder. Nida’s asleep beside me. So that’s what was in my mouth. Her hair. I let out a scoff. I want to enjoy this moment for a little longer, but the sun barely touching the horizon reminds me that we have a briefing in just a few minutes.

Shit.

We’re going to be late.

I reach for her shoulders, shaking her awake. She grunts, nearly throwing a fist at me—I assume a habit she developed living in Pirlem.

“What time is it?” she mumbles as she squints toward the horizon, where the golden sun paints the sky in firelight. She brushes curls from her face,each strand of aglow like molten copper.

“Later than what I’m used to.” I feel guilty for enjoying this. I should be at the briefing, but I don’t feel the same sense of urgency I used to.

“The briefing!” Nida exclaims, brushing her hair back with sharp, quick movements. I pull her to her feet, steadying her.

“Watch the sill,” I say as she stumbles over the window, nearly falling onto the stone floor, headfirst. She curses under her breath, and we sprint across the hall to the briefing.

When we step into the chamber—where Dragon Anatomy is usually taught—the air is already thick with the scent of parchment and ash.

Cadets sit in tight rows along tiered wooden benches that form a half circle around the center of the room.

Positioned beside the platform at its heart, stands the general.

By the look in his eye, he’s not pleased to see me late.

I’m never late.

The room echoes with the scratch of ink on parchment, the soft rustle of pages turning—and the thunderous boom of the general’s voice as we take our seats.

“No expeditions will proceed until the dragon sighting is confirmed,” he says, his voice echoing throughout the large room.

“The Scouts will be stationed on the thirty-fourth line of the map, all the way through the corner of each square.” He points to the marked stations on the map, stretching from Pirlem to Nedersen.

Beyond that lies the deadzone—the territory of the Third Stronghold.

“Isn’t that line too close?” a cadet shouts, fear in his voice. “We won’t have enough time to properly station! The villagers will be too close.”

The general slightly raises his hand, signaling for silence.

“I understand your concern, cadet,” he says, his back still turned to the map, voice low but firm.

“But this is all we have. I cannot gamble the lives of those who’ve sworn to fight this war, for if they fall, there will be no one left to carry the fight forward. ”

The room falls into a heavy silence, thick enough to choke on. Slowly, the resolve on the cadets’ faces begins to fracture, shadows of doubt creeping in. This last dragon has thrown everything we’ve bled for into fire.

How is it possible that a single dragon still manages to wreak this much havoc?

Another cadet clears her throat, breaking the silence and briefly masking the cracks etched into the faces around her. “What are we supposed to do?” she asks.

Countless heads turn her way, then shift toward the general, all waiting for his response. He lowers his head for a split second, then gathers himself into a firm, resolute stance.

“We must not falter,” he says, his voice like a spark ready to ignite.

He turns on his heel to face us again, not a single crack in his unwavering demeanor.

“We remember why we fight,” he declares, louder this time.

“We fight for those who risk their lives every day so we can uphold our promise to them—a promise of freedom.” He straightens his chest, feet planted shoulder- width apart, hands clasped behind his back, elbows extending outward—a formidable stance.

“We are the last line of defense. If we show fear, then we have already lost—no matter how many soldiers stand with us. If we show fear, we doom humanity, our families, our children.” The cadets rise, murmurs of agreement spreading through the room.

The general proceeds. “If we show fear, we spit on the sacrifices of those before us, letting their deaths be in vain. This is where we must be brave. This is where we show the Divines who abandoned us that when they left, they took fear with them. And humanity” —his voice rises, fierce and resolute— “does belong here.”

The room breaks into loud rallies to the General’s speech, displaying their bravery, their determination—their will to survive. The general’s eyes gleam as he takes a moment to catch his breath before unleashing a deafening roar.

“Glory for the Corps!” he bellows, stomping his right foot.

“Glory for Humanity!” Hundreds of cadets shout in unison, stomping their feet as they roar like dragons themselves.

He basks in the chants of his soldiers, while I sit still, watching the empty promises they devour.

I glance over my shoulder to find Nida’s eyes on me, a brow arched in concern.

I shift my gaze to the other side—Ilian’s back, his head bowed slightly.

Then Eryca. Then Raumen. Sam. Theo. All who joined the expedition.

All who witnessed their comrades fall. Those who know a battle is coming. Inevitable. Unwinnable.

As the room falls into a hush, Lieutenant Wain steps forward, pen in hand and several parchments tucked under her arm. She sets them carefully on the table. As field officer, she noted every detail, every report from many cadets after we returned. Beside her, Marina Fay stands firm, unwavering.

“Alright,” Wain says, and voices quiet down.

“We have a report.” Immediately, hands shoot out, pens drip with ink, parchments unfurl with a soft rustle.

The scratch of hurried scribbling fills the air, punctuated by the occasional thud of a book opening.

Wain spreads a rough sketch of a Redsnout’s anatomy.

“Over the past five years, we’ve witnessed profound adaptations in the Highspine Redsnout,” she begins, pacing the room with eyes locked on the image behind her, as two cadets struggle to fasten it in place.

“These adaptations proved to be a devastating blow to our defenses, pushing us back years in our progression towards survival.” She steps toward the large table at the front, plucking a parchment from the corner.

As she unfolds it, her eyes lock onto the crowd.

Chairs creak and parchment rustles through the quiet room.

I sit motionless, pen poised, feeling the weight of ink as it hits the page.

“As many of you have heard, the general believes that launching further expeditions will be too dangerous to attempt again.” This beast is unpredictable and deviates from the normal behavior of its species.

” Wain approaches the board and nails several parchments to it.

It reveals different parts of the dragon’s body, all the way from its snout to the tip of its dark red tail.

The parchments lie spread out, their edges barely touching.

Across the dragon’s body, various X-shaped markings scar the image—most clustered around the front and back claws.

Wain twists on her heel to face the crowd, and Marina steps forward.

Marina points at the claws. “It seems the dragon has been using different parts of the landscape to sharpen its claws, including the rocky area along the outskirts of zones thirty-six and thirty-seven.” She waves her hand across the Scouts’ map.

My hand freezes—none of this has registered enough for me to write anything down.

“The beast also displays behavior that is more common in other dragons, such as the Highneck Wingtail and Stonetail,” Marina continues, pointing at the tail and wings.

“Generally, Redsnouts prefer lower altitude, rapid flight, but as it flew away, it shot directly into the air vertically—instead of climbing gradually as it flew.” She paces a bit, staring into the crowd, locking her eyes with mine.

Her brow slightly furrows as she observes me, as if telling me to write this down, but she quickly glances away.

“The tail,” she continues, “was used to demolish a giant part of the rocky hill, which is why so many of us were crushed under the boulders. But before that, it used its claws to weaken the stone, ensuring that a single strike from its tail would be enough to break it into pieces. Again, a behavior known to be common only in Stonetails.”

A rapid pulse drums in my chest. This dragon managed to adopt behaviors of other species. And it can pick and choose its behavior depending on the situation. Behavior , I remind myself, but not anatomy .

My eyes dart to Nida, and as if sensing me, she looks up. Her shoulders drop in relief, and I glance at her empty parchment.

“In the light of this information,” Wain’s voice cuts through the sound of flipping pages. “It is crucial to look over all the information we know about other dragon species and keep their behavior in mind.”

Questions rise into the air, answered by Wain, Marina Fay, and the general, but none of them grip my attention—until one question surfaces that makes my heart sink.

“How will the protection of the villagers be handled moving forward?” asks Eryca, her eyes locked on the general. There’s silence. Long silence.

He adjusts his stance and purses his lips. “The protection of the villages will be slightly… decreased ,” he says.