Page 63 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

“Dangerous? That’s a common excuse from both of you,” Eryca seethes, brushing Nida’s hand away. “And what if you got caught? What do we get? Ursa Wain coming to tell us that our Tracker and Hunter are dead.” Her dark brown eyes are sharp as daggers. “By unknown causes.”

Ilian takes a deep breath. “Two Redsnouts,” he says. “Alright.”

“There could potentially be more, if there’s a male and a female,” Eryca says. “Not to mention the damn Stonetail that appeared out of fucking nowhere, killing Raumen! Now the entire Corps is falling apart.”

“If there was a Stonetail, we can only assume there’s more,”Sam says, hidden in the corner at a table with his books and notes. “All of them. Wingtails, Blightclaws.”

Silverscales.

I have to confirm what I saw.

“Nida,” I say. “The Redsnout from today, what gender was it?”

“This one?” she takes a breath, before squeezing her eyes shut. “This one was male.”

“Shit,” I whisper. I knew it. It cocked its head.

“So wait,” Eryca says. “That time with the faulty bolts, that was female?”

I nod.

“Are you f—How did we miss that?” Eryca’s voice booms through the room.

I glance at Nida. Her jaw tightens, shoulders lifting slightly as if weighing whether to speak. After a long breath, she exhales.

“A book I have,” Nida says calmly. “It’s older than the ones we are using. There’s information about Redsnout behavior and how it differs from female to male.”

“Why’s this something we don’t know?” Eryca asks, confused. Everyone stays silent. There’s no proper answer to this. And we know it.

“The books have changed—the information, everything.” Nida lowers her head.

Eryca sinks into the chair, rubbing her temples in slow, tense circles. Her fingers linger there for a moment before she freezes, shoulders stiffening. Then her head tilts toward me, eyes narrowing slightly, as if a thought just clicked—or a suspicion formed.

“Zel,” she says, swallowing hard like she’s afraid of me, or of what she’s about to say. “I’m going to ask you something. You might not have the answer—I don’t care. I just need to hear it.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Why is Morton dead?”

When I open my mouth, I expect words to come out—but nothing does.

It’s like a door slamming shut in my mind, leaving only a hollow space where the answer should be.

Everything I thought I knew vanishes. I just stand there, gaping, before shaking my head—a headache rising. Eryca turns to the others.

“Doesn’t anyone know why he’s dead?” Now her voice is trembling, irritation seeping through it like she’s about to explode in a fit of rage. Nobody answers.

“Why can nobody remember why he’s dead?” Nida asks.

“I don’t remember him being on an expedition,” Sam replies.

“When was the last time anyone saw him?” Ilian asks.

I try to remember—when was it? The more I force myself, the further it slips. I can’t pin down where, when, or how…but I know I’ve spoken to him. I catch one detail, and blurt it out before it dissolves like smoke.

“Three weeks,” I gulp. “—before I met Nida.”

Eryca nods. “Yeah—Yeah, me too.” Her tight curls sway as she turns her head to Ilian.

“Three weeks,” he repeats with a sigh.

“Do you think he knew?” Eryca presses, leaning forward. “Do you think he knew there was more than one dragon?”

My stomach twists. “I think all of us did.”

“How come everyone saw him exactly three weeks before Division Day, but nobody remembers anything after that?” Nida says.

Sam clears his throat, the sound cutting through the quiet as he steps forward.

“I have a theory.” His voice is steady, just loud enough to reach us.

The candlelight dances across his face, catching in the curls of his blond hair and the sharp green of his eyes.

For a moment, he hesitates, his attention shifting between us as if weighing whether to speak the words at all.

“Sam?” I say, to encourage him to keep going.

He clears his throat again. “Disciplinary,” he says, head low. “I think—I think it— fucks with us.”

Everyone’s eyes grow wide as we process Sam’s words.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Ilian comments, his body stiffening. I agree.

Sam stares and Ilian. “I didn’t think I’d… say it either.”

“Sam, how can you tell?” Nida asks.

Sam looks at Nida, then tugs at the corner of his collar.

“We all have this,” he mutters, fingers tugging at the loose strings of his white, lace-up shirt.

The fabric parts as he pulls it down along his collarbone.

There, a small black dot is branded into his skin.

“I noticed it a few weeks before Zel returned to our unit. I don’t remember having it there before that. ”

Everyone else checks each other’s necks. My fingers are tracing my own.

“Nida doesn’t have it,” Eryca says, tugging on her leather collar.

“She’s a first-year,” Sam comments. “First-years haven’t done anything that shows they’ve questioned the general’s authority.”

Alex jumps back, frowning as he tries to see his own neck but can’t. Frustrated, he leans toward Ilian, who simply shakes his head.

“The fuck—” Alex mutters under his breath.

“Raumen had one too,” Sam says, voice laced with sorrow.

The mess hall.

Now I remember. Sam asked me how my three weeks of rest were. He must’ve already figured out something was wrong.

“He’s been playing with our minds,” I grunt, looking around, my head aching.

What is it that I don’t remember? “Erasing everything that gives us any type of emotional distress or something that could bring doubt to the Corps. Because then you’re least in control and he needs you to master your emotions…

damn it. Every soldier goes through Disciplinary,” I say slowly, thinking out loud, trying to fit the puzzle, “To make them—”

“Tools,” Ilian murmurs.

A soldier is a tool, not a sentimental being.

“The hell do we do now? If we say or do anything, it’s either gonna get us killed or our minds get wiped again—completely,” Eryca says.

I still don’t fully understand. Even if Disciplinary is meant to mold soldiers into tools, it doesn’t explain the dragons. I step closer to the table, scanning the notes with a sinking fear—this might be a day we forget. Soldiers. Dragons. Dragons. Soldiers.

If we are soldiers, carved into the ultimate tool. What exactly are we carved for? Is it the dragons? Or is it something else?

Female Redsnout. Male Redsnout. Stonetail.

How many of them are there?

“Zel,” Sam whispers, a small tear falling across his cheek. “What do we do?”

All of us went through it. All of us have forgotten something that made us who we are.

No. Not forgotten. It was erased . Purposely.

If our memories get affected again, we won’t remember a crucial detail that is not only important to us, but humanity as well.

That there’s two Redsnouts. And there could be more.

Way more. My unit shouldn’t have to go through this.

Not anymore. If there’s anyone who has to face this, it should be me.

I have to protect them. If I get killed, if I disappear, I know that they’re smart enough not to say a word or do anything to attract attention.

They would live. They would get to survive.

“The general,” I say, eyes snapping to Nida again. Her gaze begs me not to move a muscle. But I know what I have to do. I shake my head, refusing her plea, before taking a few more steps toward the door. “I have to know.”

She doesn’t try to stop me, instead she sighs. This can get me killed. But at least it’ll just be me. Not them.

“Whatever you do,” I say, reaching for the handle. “Don’t say anything .” Everyone gulps, silently agreeing. Even Alex doesn’t throw a comment. I take a look at them one more time. And then at Nida. Whatever happens, I hope she’s the one thing I won’t ever forget.

I fling the door open. I’m met with a dimly lit hall, and I stride toward the general’s quarters.