Page 64 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

M y rapid footsteps echo through the hall as I stride toward the common area where most of the superiors reside.

The corridor stretches on, ending at the general’s quarters shut door.

I know Berim stands guard on the other side of the door like the lapdog he is, and I don’t even consider knocking to give him a warning I'm coming in. I halt, staring at the faded carvings on the wooden door—marks where cadets’ bloodied hands once pressed against it.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the anger surging through me, but it only burns hotter.

I can’t wait any longer.

My hand grips the handle, and I fling the door open, forcing my way inside.

A loud thud from the corner of the room rings in my ears.

As the lieutenants Abern and Akylas unsheath their daggers, one of them bumps the table, shattering an empty liquor glass.

They take up defensive positions but I pay no attention to their presence.

Berim sits across from the General, tossing his long hair over his shoulder.

The general lounges in his chair with a glass of the same liquor as everyone else. My intrusion doesn’t faze him, like he was expecting me.

He takes a sip, savoring the taste, and slowly places the glass on the corner of the table.

“Kazelius,” he says with a smile that fades in the blink of an eye. “A pleasant surprise, I might add.”

I take confident steps deeper into the room. Berim and Akylas are ready to engage, but a single raise of the general’s hand halts them in place. My blood boils, but I have to stay calm, somewhat calm. I focus on not trying to shove the lieutenant’s dagger into his throat.

“How many are there?” I ask, my jaw clenched, throbbing .

“Pardon?” He raises a brow, still licking his lips from the liquor.

“Dragons,” I say louder. “How many dragons are there?”

He sits in silence, his focus pinned on me, every second dragging like a blade.

“I need you to tell me exactly how many of them are left,” I say. “If you want to keep my loyalty.”

“Kazele,” he says with a sigh as he rises from his chair. “There are some things you need to understand.”

He let this happen.

I turn toward the door, my thoughts like water leaking from a punctured bucket.

He knew . He knew there was more than one.

This fucking lie has gutted our security, our credibility—everything we’ve fought for.

So many dead. Aris. Morton. Kayus. Caspian.

Hayden. Raumen. I squeeze my eyes shut as their faces burn through my mind—right before the end, right before that last spark in their eyes was snuffed out.

Before I can exit, Lieutenant Abern slams into me.

A brute among brutes, and unfortunately, the most loyal to General Grogol.

His good eye darts between me and the quarters.

The other hides beneath a worn leather patch.

A scar cuts across his face as he brushes ash-brown strands over it.

He grips my arm hard, wrenches it behind my back, and shoves me toward Grogol.

I fight for balance, my boots snagging on the dusty carpet as I draw a dagger.

Berim and Akylas move fast—one twists the blade from my grip, the other locks my arms behind my back.

Abern presses his dagger to my throat. Sweat slides down my forehead.

Grogol leans back in his chair, frowning, waiting for me to calm down.

He fiddles with a flat piece of black stone in the shape of a petal and places it carefully on the table.

He shakes his head and moves from the chair, each step heavy and deliberate as he crosses in front of the desk.

“You never were patient,” he says. With every step, the weight of his presence presses down on me, and my blood roars in my ears. “Maybe now’s the time you learn what patience means.”

I grunt, twisting against the two brutes holding my wrists and shoulders, but it’s useless. I’m fucking stuck.

“We have dedicated our lives to the Corps,” he says, his eyes glimmering. “But what does the Corps actually stand for?” He faces the wall with the motto Glory For The Corps. “Without the beasts, we wouldn’t need to exist.”

I hold my breath. My body shakes from anger, but I muster the strength to listen to his poisonous words.

“You’re fucking out of your mind,” I whisper as he approaches me.

“These creatures are the reason why the Corps was formed in the first place. However tragic it may have been in the past with their cruel nature, the Corps has grown outside the power of the Center. We have our own power. We are the ones that control the Center, they are the ones that are dependent on us .”

I stand there, trying to process what he means, but it makes no sense. The Center has always been the Corps’ main source of income and support. Without them, the Corps wouldn’t have enough resources to feed or protect those outside the Hold—those in the Front.

“Whatever your twisted idea of the Corps is, I couldn’t care less. What I want to know is the reason for all your lies.”

He takes a deep breath, pursing his lips with a small nod.

“As someone from the Front, I thought you’d understand.

You came to me as a child—no home, no mother or father.

The Center spat in your face, forcing survivors into endless labor to rebuild.

We both lost something. All because the Center refused to act. ”

“That doesn’t explain your lies!” I seethe, trying to twist myself out of Akylas’ grip, but I fail. “People deserve to know the truth!”

Grogol scoffs, disappointment clouding his face. “You need to understand, Kazele , that in the world that we live in right now—”

“I spit on your ideology about the world, Grogol,” I hiss. “You knew that there were more dragons. And you lied, for what? Control? Greed? What, do you think of yourself as some Divine?”

I try to think of a reason why he would do this. But nothing comes to mind. One dragon. He said there’s one dragon. That led to…a mass recruitment.

He’s forming an army.

But for what? I should’ve seen this. I always carried a strange feeling from the day I met him. But the hatred for dragons took control of me, and he used it. I was blinded by it. I couldn’t see that he tried to mold me into something he could use as a weapon. The face of the Corps.

“Join us, Kazelius. I am certain it will be worth your while.”

Us, he says. There are more of them that have infiltrated the Corps, and at this point, I don’t know who I can trust. I glance around his room.

I have two Lieutenants nearly dislocating my arms—this conversation is not fazing them—and Abern stands guard.

So they know what Grogol is planning. Others may be in on it.

Is this what happened to Morton? Did Grogol approach him? Did Grogol kill him for finding out this secret?

“Never,” I respond. He sighs deeply and signals the two Lieutenants—what I can only assume is an order to end me.

Just as Akylas raises his hand, I surge forward, trying to slip from his grip.

With all my strength, I smash my elbow into his face.

Berim moves to restrain me, but before he can, I slide through the gap between him and Akylas and make a break for the door—just barely slipping through Abern’s attempt to restrain me.

I slam into it with a loud bang, fling it open, and dive to the side of the hall.

I freeze as a flash of red catches my eye.

Nida.

Her eyes grow wide, lips trembling, when something smashes into the back of my skull. Pain explodes, and the world tilts—then plunges into darkness.