Page 60 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

M y legs feel like they’re on fire, my lungs filled with water. I barely feel the ground beneath my boots as I run toward the Stronghold.

Half of the Stronghold’s soldiers are behind me.

Half of the soldiers that are not there to defend against a dragon laying waste.

My heart pounds like war drums in my chest. How many of them are dead already?

From behind a ridge of stone and soil, the Redsnout comes into view, whipping its tail around, the ground trembling under the force of each blow. It’s pissed.

The field outside the Stronghold is littered with safety barriers, large enough for several soldiers to take refuge.

The ground ballistas are massive—there’s no way they can drag them out in time.

The outer gates lie in ruins—jagged wood and splintered posts strewn across the path, turning every step into a trap.

The Redsnout’s wings are clamped tight to its sides, head low, jaws locked shut. Every vulnerable spot—guarded. Its eyes sweep the field, hunting for someone to torch.

Damn it.

For now, crossbows and bolts will have to do. But what we need—what might actually stop this thing—are the ballistas. Defenders race past me, fanning out across the field, searching for solid ground to anchor the ballistas.

I signal for Nida to take cover behind one of the barriers and sprint off to locate the rest of our unit. The others who came with me have already done the same. I run as fast as I can, then drop behind the nearest barrier, whispering a thanks to the heavens that the beast hasn’t seen me.

But it sees the others. Their screams rip through the battlefield as the dragon’s tail whips wide—five soldiers gone in an instant.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, voice trembling as I peek over the stone barrier. I look away from the beast and press myself against the warm rock, heart pounding. To my left, soldiers—new and experienced—cower on the ground, eyes wide. One of them isn’t moving.

The dusty ground is soaked with blood, forming dark puddles, as if it were days after heavy rain.

The soldiers are all covered in dust and dirt, their eyes the only color one can distinguish them by.

I lean away from the edge of the barricade and notice dark, frizzy curls and a pair of trembling shoulders peeking out from a trench.

“Eryca!” I gasp, relief crashing through my chest. She lifts her ebony eyes to mine, her face caked in blood and mud. A shaky breath escapes her as she peels her hands from her ears, the battlefield noise still ringing around us.

“Zel,” she breathes, fear shining in her eyes—something I never thought I’d see during battle.

“What happened?” I ask, crouching beside her, my hand settling on her shoulder in a useless attempt to calm her. “Where’s Ilian?” I glance around. He should be here.

“We were separated by the outer gates,” she says. “The dragon rammed straight into it.”

“Rammed?” I ask, eyes wide. Why would a Redsnout ram into something? It prefers its distance.

Eryca nods, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“We did everything we could to prevent it from coming any closer to the Stronghold’s inner gates, but distractions only went so far.

This thing’s smart. It’s barely giving us any openings.

Hunters are completely vulnerable, and no Tracker managed to force out a behavior. It’s ignoring us.”

Is it the same dragon? Is it female?

“Alright,” I say, thinking through all the possibilities. I gently rub Eryca’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”

She nods, taking another breath, and slowly rises.

“Can you get yourself back to the inner gate? I’ll cover you.” I dart my eyes to the rest of the soldiers hunching and cramming themselves in the trench. Crying. Scared.

“What are you thinking?” Eryca wipes sweat from her forehead. “You can’t fight this alone.” Her voice is firm—this time more determined, having had a moment to steady herself.

“You need to get to safety,” I snap.

“And you don’t?”

“Eryca, you need Ilian.”

She doesn’t argue—she knows without him, she’s only half a soldier.

Another blazing screech shreds the battlefield, followed by soldiers’ shouts swallowed in an instant. They’re burning.

I hug the barricade, crossbow strap tight in my hands, gaze drifting down to the trench where Eryca’s head peeks up at me. A first-year presses himself closer to Eryca, squeezing his eyes shut as he hugs a water bucket to his chest.

“Hey!” I yell, snapping him out of his pathetic trance. His eyes find mine, body tensing as a few drops spill onto the soldier beside him, drawing a curse. “Why aren’t you making the water bombs?!”

He stammers, unable to get a proper word out.

I point to a third-year. “Empty glass vials, soaked dirt, damped cloth— anything is a water bomb. Make them.” He nods and takes the water bucket from the first-year, spilling some on the dirt, shaping the resulting mud into small balls.

I peek from the barricade and scan the battlefield, searching for an opening—anything to rally the soldiers back into formation.

But the lines were shattered long before I arrived.

This dragon is vicious. It doesn’t just burn everything—it tears through obstacles with claws, leaving us no chance to strike.

Its head stays low, shielding the nostrils and eyes, and its wings tuck tight, hiding the joints.

I press my lips together. Sweat runs down my temples, stinging my eyes. My heartbeat drums louder in my ears, drowning out the world around me.

To my left, I spot Nida waving, with Ilian beside her huddled against the second barricade, a wide open gap separating us. She signals to aim for the throat. I peek again, noticing a small cut on its neck—and it’s fresh. That’s my shot. My only shot.

“Keep track of it,” I say to Eryca.

She looks up. “Track it?”

“Distract if necessary, I’m going in.”

“Now?!”

“Yes, now,” I grunt. “Get back to your brother the moment its eyes are on me, alright?”

Eryca stares at me, blinking, her lips pressed tight as if trying to find an argument. But she doesn’t say anything. She nods and quickly climbs out of the trench, the barricade her only cover.

I grab my bow from my back, uncock the string, and prepare a bolt. I shake it under my nose and catch the acidic smell of the tranquilizer. It’s laced.

I wait for another burst of dust to lift into the air, then I’m running—running until my feet feel on fire, as if I’m digging them into embers left by the Redsnout.

Running until my lungs fill with dust, but I don’t have time to stop and cough it out.

Running until I am face to face with what I hope is the last dragon—the dragon whose death will mean freedom. For all of us.

It’s agile, aggressive, and seething with rage. Its sharp eyes narrow on me, black slits becoming more prominent—like a cat on the hunt. The clicking sound of its tongue cuts across the loud battlefield, an attempt to ignite. And that’s when I see it.

It cocks its head.

Male.

I roll under its wing as it unleashes blazing fire from the depths of its throat.

The dust and smoke sting my eyes, forcing me to look away.

I aim my crossbow, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

But I don’t have much time. The dragon is searching for me, and I know I have to move before I can find a weak spot.

I peek into the sky, spotting Sarga frantically flapping her wings.

Spiked barriers are close—I can take cover there, assess, and then, if needed—call Sarga.

Hunters scream and yell across the battlefield, but a distant deep roar freezes me in place before I can run. The battlefield falls silent. Soldiers lift their heads, and the Redsnout shoots into the air, leaving me fully exposed.

“Wh—what is that!?” yells a Hunter, pointing toward the mountain cliffs miles away. I stand, facing the horizon.

A shadow grows on the horizon, and the ground shakes under the weight of something massive stomping toward us. And panic claws at the edges of my thoughts. There’s no denying it.

It’s another dragon.

I dash to the side of the spiked barricades for shelter and cock my crossbow. Ready. The ground shakes heavily beneath my feet as the second beast lands, sending several small, slow, rhythmic vibrations followed by a deep, deafening roar.

It can’t be.

I peek out through the only protection I have and see gray, thick, stony scales, with a tail powerful enough to make the stone I’m hiding behind feel like cracked glass. My eyes widen, and I hold my breath—then release a deafening roar of my own.

“STONETAIL!”

I turn to the rest—those who are behind me—those who are just as defenseless as I am. I slice my arm through the air with a command.

“Retreat!” I yell as I run toward them, toward Nida—her eyes helpless, her body stiff, frozen in place.

The Stonetail’s heavy vibrations crack barriers, scattering stones and dust across the ground, throwing me off balance as I run.

My heart races in my chest. My eyes dart, tracking every movement around me, even as my back stays exposed to the most notorious dragon of them all.

In a moment when I’m supposed to be calm, I’m not.

We’re going to die.

The ground trembles beneath me, every step a struggle to stay upright.

The dragon stomps, its large claws crushing three soldiers at once.

Blood and bones and everything a human is made of spill everywhere as it rams into those close to it.

I dare to look. The Stonetail lunges, jaws snapping shut around a Hunter, then whips its head to the side in a brutal shake and throws what remains of the soldier with a violent force. Terror. All I feel is terror.

Dust swirls in the air, blurring my vision, but I push through the chaos. I stumble to my feet again, forcing myself forward until I’m hunched over Nida. I cup her face, scanning her for injuries. “Are you hurt? Are you alright?” I manage, pulling her close.

“I’m fine—”