Page 61 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

The Stonetail’s large, thick tail blasts through the barrier like a warhammer.

Pain explodes across my body as the barricade shatters, sending large stones crashing down on top of us.

My ears ring, my vision blurs, my leg is crushed between the ground and stones.

I gasp for air, then cough up dust from my lungs.

Nida .

She lies still, her long hair losing its vibrancy as dirt and dust fall on her, like a dying fire.

I grunt, wedging my hands under the jagged stone, pushing it off, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. Then, I crawl forward. There’s a slight tick in my hand—a sensation that travels all the way to my neck. I need to stay calm. Calm. Calm .

But I can’t. All I’m hoping is that her fire isn’t snuffed out. My heart drops as blood trickles down her face. I try to shake her, to pull her back to reality. Back to me .

“Get up!” I yell, pushing away the stones crushing her body. She grumbles, murmurs, and then moves.

“Zel,” she whispers, squeezing her eyebrows together.

“I’m here, I’m here,” I repeat, helping her get up. “Come on, we have to get out of here, now.” I lift her arm over my neck, grabbing her waist and pressing her closer to me.

Her body feels heavy on mine as she attempts to drag herself. The Stonetail roars, its loud roar deafening those who are close. I look back. It’s closer to us than I thought. Is there a way out of this? Against a Stonetail, there’s nothing I can fucking do. I need a Defender.

The Redsnout circles the sky, rising higher and higher, dodging the bolts as it fades into the distance—as if it’s going to let the Stonetail finish the job.

Sarga whooshes past my head, attempting to distract the Stonetail to help me get away.

I coax a whistle through my split lip to call her back, extending my arm high enough for her to land.

She flaps her wings, diving straight toward me.

My chest fills with hope. But with a gentle nip from her talons into my hair, she refuses my call.

“Sarga!” I call out, but she is too stubborn to even circle back to repeat her refusal.

With Nida’s arm wrapped around me, I can’t afford to stop.

I have to keep going. My heart sinks with every step I take further away from Sarga.

All I can do is hear my hawk’s screech as the dragon’s tail lashes out with a brutal force.

I don’t want to look back.

The inner gates finally burst open, and ballistas are dragged out as Defenders scramble to their posts. Fucking finally. But I’m too far—still limping, exposed to the creature behind me. Am I going to make it? Am I going to die here? Can I save her?

Nida drags herself, panting heavily. She’s in and out of consciousness, her head and face covered in blood.

“Medic!” I yell, scanning the battlefield, looking for anyone to help. But there are bodies—blood everywhere. Charred, injured, crushed by stone.

“Please, I need a Medic here! I need one NOW!” I roar. Fires spread to the wooden infrastructure of the barricades, creating thick, heavy smoke. I can barely see anything.

“Zel,” Nida whispers. “Leave me.”

“No,” I hiss. “ We get to survive,” I say, pressing her closer.

My voice trembles, and I grip her arm tighter, adjusting her body for a better hold.

My legs feel like they’re about to give out.

But I keep going. I try to breathe. Yet the more I breathe, the harder it is to get air in my lungs. So I gasp for more. And more. And more.

I’m afraid.

I’m fucking terrified .

I’m terrified to make the same mistake again. I don’t want that to happen. I have to fight. I have to keep going. I have to save everyone.

I have to. I have to. I have to.

Five Defenders stomp past me—brown colors blurring together.

I glance over my shoulder. They’re carrying the metal poles that are specifically designed for Stonetail’s, poles that damage and pierce through their thick scales, opening up a wound large enough for Hunters to kill it.

The only way we can bring this thing down.

Sam rushes up, taking Nida from my hands, and starts assessing her injuries. Out of the corner of my eye, I recognize the tall figure of one of the Defenders. I whirl toward him.Scaled heavy armor. Digging the pole into the ground and holding it steady.

Raumen.

Sweat drips off his forehead as he attempts to quickly wipe it away. Soldiers are rushing past me, dust billowing into the air as I squint to get a better look at him. He looks at me with his soft blue eyes, forcing a small smile.

He straps his last belt to the pole with no chance to move aside. Then, he blinks and gives me a thumbs-up. He lowers his visor to cover his head, and turns his focus to the Stonetail. The beast stamps the ground, a low rumble in its chest, ready to ram.

“Raumen!” I yell, but my voice is swallowed by screams and the dragon’s deafening roar. My heart pounds in my chest, legs barely holding me in place. Smoke fills my lungs, burning with every breath.

Shut it off.

The Stonetail releases a deafening roar as it charges toward the gate. Raumen stands firmly holding the pole, preparing himself for a lethal impact. With no intention of moving. He wants to make sure the pole pierces through the dragon’s skin with absolute certainty.

“No!” I yell, dragging myself forward, as if that’s going to do anything.

But before the air leaves my lungs from shouting, the dragon slams into the pole with all its might, unleashing a horrid screech.

Raumen throws himself to the side at the last second—but he’s not fast enough—and the beast’s momentum crashes into him, crushing him beneath its weight.

Not him.

I stare at the beast in disbelief, Raumen’s motionless body crushed beneath its feet. Rage surges through me—then everything goes numb.

I snatch a crossbow from the ground a few feet away, edging closer to the dragon.

I aim at the wound, my grip tightening to steady my shot.

I whistle for Sarga—hoping she’s still alive—and a soft screech answers me.

She knows exactly what to do. Her smooth flight, weaving close to the dragon, draws its attention just long enough for me to fire.

The laced bolt strikes true. The beast roars in agony as the tranquilizer seeps through its veins, and it collapses to the ground.

The world goes silent. No screaming, no clattering of metal against metal, no rumbling or cracking from The Hold. Nothing. Even the gentle breeze of the wind gusting up the dust refrained from its whispers. Only a faint rumble of a dragon’s breath. Weak. Defeated.

I drop my bow and suck in a breath, still finding the strength to run toward Raumen. Raumen. My best friend.

“No,” I gasp with every step. “ No no no no no. ”

I fall to my knees, a sudden, choking noise escapes me as he blinks slowly.

“Raumen!” I scream, loud— painful.

His helmet is cracked from the impact, more than half of his face exposed beneath the shattered visor, hanging like a loose jaw, splatters of blood drying on his cheek.

I tuck my fingers under his bloody chin, gently lifting it so he can breathe.

His chest rises—barely—and panic surges through my body like lightning.

Blood seeps from his mouth. Another slow blink.

“You got this, buddy,” I say shakily, the words barely making it out. “You’re fine.”

I twist my body to glance behind me for a moment, but the gurgling noise drags my attention back to Raumen.

“Medic!” I yell, grabbing Raumen’s hand, peeking through a broken gauntlet. His warm fingers are unharmed, giving me hope that whatever lies beneath the armor is just as intact.

“Sam!” The name rips from my throat. I don’t need a Medic. I need Sam. Only Sam.

I can’t do anything. I can’t lift him. If I do, I’ll break him. I can’t hold him, I can barely even look at him. All I can do is watch how blood pools in his mouth, trickling down his chin as he struggles to breathe.

Don’t die.

Please.

For the love of all Five Divines.

Do. Not. Die.

He weakly lifts a hand, his fingers clawing at my sleeves as his glassy eyes dilate.

His eyes—Divines, his eyes. Dulled. I don’t even recognize him anymore.

He glances down at his lower body, then squeezes his eyes shut.

His brow furrows. I don’t want to look. I know what I’ll see if I do. But I glance anyway.

Legs. Twisted. Ruined. I didn’t even know bones could look like that.

“Zel,” he rasps, voice gurgling, chest heaving.

“You’ll be fine,” I lie. But I lie to myself.

I tell myself he’ll make it. Sam will be here.

He will help Raumen. He will chip away his scaly armor, take him out of the sunken breastplate, weighing him down.

He will get here in time. I tell myself this isn’t fatal.

That the blood pooling in his mouth doesn’t mean his lungs are filling.

I lie.

I lie.

I lie.

Because if I don’t, I’ll lose him before he’s even gone.

Sam drops to his knee beside me, his satchel of medical supplies hitting the ground with a dull thud, his breath sharp from having to sprint across the battlefield.

My eyes remain on Raumen—whose chest barely rises beneath the weight of his armor.

Sam presses his hand on his chest, gauging the truth I fear to name.

He has to live.

Nida approaches and kneels across from us.

Her fingers tremble as she brushes a bloody strand of brown hair from Raumen’s brow.

Silent tears trace through the dirt on her cheeks.

Her lips are parted and quivering—holding back a scream neither of us can afford to release.

Sam slowly removes his hand from Raumen, turning toward his lower body.

“Cut his armor,” I command, voice low as I nod toward Sam. My gaze doesn’t leave Raumen’s face. “Now.”

Silence answers.

I snap my head toward Sam. His eyes are locked on the twisted ruin of Raumen’s legs. Or at least where they should be. His eyes—too hollow for a man who saves lives for a living.

“I said cut his fucking armor!” My voice cracks, panic breaking free.

My heart claws at my ribcage, a useless rhythm keeping me from staying calm.

He can’t be dying. I won’t let him. Sam’s eyes drop, and my heart falls with it.

His silence tells me everything I need to know.

But I don’t want to believe it. I refuse to believe it.

But my body knows before my mind will accept it.

“No,” I whisper, turning back to Raumen. “No, no —” I gasp for air that feels too suffocating to take in. “ Why —”.

“It’s…fine,” Raumen rasps, voice wet, bubbling with blood.

“It had to be this way. I—” He breaks off, choking.

“My father—the shop—” His mouth works for words he no longer has the strength to form.

His eyes are still glassy, searching the sky.

Sarga’s shadow glides by. Nida looks away, squeezing her eyes shut.

I cannot bear this. I cannot look away. I don’t want to miss the last breath he’s going to take.

“Don’t say things like that,” I choke. My vision blurs. I don’t know if it’s the ash or dirt, or if it’s the tears finally breaking through, making me human. Even at moments like this, I’m supposed to shut my feelings off. Be a soldier and grieve when we are allowed to. And I try. I try . I try.

I try to shut it off. But I can’t.

Raumen’s fingers twitch against my sleeve. His eyes flick to mine. He looks tired.

“Keep them— safe ,” he whispers. Somehow, he’s still smiling. “Our unit…keep…safe.” He trails off and then—stillness. His grip slackens, tension draining from his face.

I don’t move. My fingers stay curled around his, like holding him tighter could somehow anchor his soul in place. I take a breath, and I shut it all off. For what I hope is the last time.

I rise, turning toward the beast that took away my friend.

Anger boils. The faces of the fallen flash through my mind—Hayden, Caspian, Aris, Kayus, Raumen—with every step I take.

I kick a crushed helmet off the ground as I try to collect myself.

The bolt hadn’t pierced the beast deep enough to kill it quickly—instead, it will be a slow, painful death as the tranquilizer seeps through its massive body.

I stop just a few steps away, a gasp catching in my throat.

It’s watching me.

Its deep golden eyes are locked with mine and filled with fear.

It’s strange. A creature so powerful, so uncontrollable and vile, has eyes like a kitten.

It curls its tail around itself as if trying to hide, to disappear into the ground—but its eyes never leave mine.

It releases a soft, pained rumble, and slowly blinks.

This feels… wrong . I watch as its pleading eyes follow me, using all of its strength to move its head the second I shift my feet to walk away.

It’s like the beast is asking me—begging me—not to leave, releasing a gentle chuff.

Its nostrils flare rapidly as it takes quick, deep breaths to ease the pain.

I watch it, trying to find the courage to tear my gaze away, but for those passing seconds, I can’t. Why does this feel wrong?

Guilt squeezes my throat, making it hard to breathe.

I clear my throat in an attempt to expel whatever it is I’m feeling.

Fool . I shouldn’t feel this way for a beast that has killed hundreds.

And yet, the way this creature is behaving on the dirt road as it bleeds doesn’t align with what I’ve learned over the past few decades.

In fact, none of the recent events align with what we’ve been taught.

A dragon.

Pleading.

Like a kitten that’s waiting for its mother.

We are taught in the Corps that a dragon is a feral creature, its only intention to kill and destroy. They view humans as a threat.

But I see no feral beast now. No roaring or screeching. Just silently waiting for its inevitable death.

The rest of the soldiers approach the beast rapidly, dragging heavy chainmail over it to lock its wings in place, preventing it from moving or attempting to fly as the tranquilizer begins to take effect.

They aim ballistas—each loaded with a giant bolt trailing heavy chains—directly at its stomach, ready to fire if the beast tries to escape.

They wrap its snout tightly with several layers of metal chains to prevent any dragonfire.

And finally, while the body is still fresh, the chiseling and ripping of the Stonetail’s scales begins.

After all, they are the most valuable scales to the Corps.