Page 67 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

W e spent hours clawing our way out of that cave—bloodied, bruised, breathless.

And another hour stumbling through a thin forest, guided only by instinct.

The sky had long since turned black, the stars smothered behind clouds.

We didn’t know where we were. On our way, Nida found a bow and a few bolts for me.

I won’t be hunting with it, but at least I have something to defend us besides my bare hands.

By some stroke of luck, we found a patch of ground scattered with supplies, hidden beneath a thicket of ferns and stones. Scout gear. A bundle of leaf-woven blankets. Dried meat—rat. A tin container sealed with wax, holding more of the same. This will do, for now.

Now, we sit in silence beneath a sky on the verge of autumn.

The smell of drying leaves clings to the air.

The fire flickers low, its light catching on dewdrops holding on to the grass, and its warmth barely holding back the creeping cold.

Nida leans against a boulder the size of a carriage, her eyes half-lidded as she tends to the gash on my arm.

The herbal paste she mixed burns the cuts like hot coals—but at least it means I’m still alive enough to feel.

We don’t speak. We just watch the flames, both of us too aware that their light could draw eyes we don’t want finding us. But without it, the cold will take us. Or the fever. Or worse.

A small knife sits heavy in my hand. I drag the blade slowly across a branch, carving a crude point. Something to fish with. Hunt with. Defend, if it comes to that. Every sound feels like it’s Grogol’s footsteps.

The night grows darker, and the wind turns cruel.

We let the fire die to embers, red and glowing and cold.

Nida shivers. She stirs the coals with a stick, coaxing out what little heat she can.

The blanket over her shoulders blends into the landscape—Scout camouflage—but it does little to keep the chill out.

She curls into herself, arms wrapped around her legs, clinging to the heat her body still holds.

Now and then, she glances at me. I sit with blood still caked on my hands, scrubbing at it with damp grass, but it clings like guilt.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. The silence grows louder than any scream. Neither of us are ready to speak. Feelings, thoughts, and emotions completely shut off. I sense a question lingering on her lips, trying to find the right moment or muster the strength to ask it.

“What happened?” she finally asks, her voice laced with doubt—as if she wants to take back the question the moment it leaves her lips.

“I wish I could tell you,” I say, pulling on the grass.

“You were…fast.” Her voice trembles. “Strong. I’ve never seen anything like that. It was almost—”

“Inhuman,” I interrupt. Her head dips.

Guilt travels up my throat and strangles me again. My hands are weapons to kill instead of a tool to protect. The fire casts a red light over them—mocking me. Blood I can never wash off.

She lifts her head again. “Is this what happened two years ago at the Gate?”

“Yes,” I say, tugging at the ripped collar of my shirt.

“There was a planned expedition. Scouts found a nesting area and realized there was a horde roaming straight toward the Third.” She tenses, but I continue, “The general believed that our best chance of surviving this horde of dragons was to be stationed outside Nedersen. So, he evacuated the village and sent them to take refuge in the Stronghold, while stationing the strongest soldiers to protect Nedersen. Leaving only rookies and servants to tend the Hold.” I furrow my brow, memories flashing before my eyes as I swallow the increasing lump in my throat.

“He was wrong.” Anger floods me. Back then, it seemed like a mistake, but with everything happening now, I can’t help but wonder if it was calculated.

“The horde came from Medyn. Completely ignoring the village, anything, or anyone there. There were a dozen dragons. It was… a fucking bloodbath. I was in unit seventeen. Raumen, Eryca, Ilian, Sam, Kayus.” I pause for a moment, twisting my tongue in my drying mouth, before speaking again.

“ Aris . Nobody wanted to fight. We just… stood there,” I say, releasing a pathetic laugh.

“We stood there by the Outer Gates, watching a horde of dragons coming to kill us.”

She averts her gaze, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I don’t remember what I did that day. Or what I said.

All I did was yell. I let rage take over me.

I just ran straight into the horde with nothing but a crossbow and daggers.

I had nothing to lose after Pirlem. They did.

Everyone who was behind me. Soldiers. Young men and women. They followed me into that bloodbath.”

Tears fall down my cheeks. I blink, focusing on her fiery eyes. “They died because of me . People called me a damn hero after taking down nearly all of them—with only the Redsnout left. But I was no hero.” I look down, as if somehow it will hide me.

“You saved thousands,” Nida whispers. “Without you, the Third would’ve fallen. And so would the Middle.” She gulps. “The Center.”

I laugh. “I could’ve done better.”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because. I killed one of our members. Aris—a Medic in my unit—was tending to the villagers that got caught in the battle.” I throw a piece of wood into the dying fire.

“A Stonetail was preparing to charge at her, so I yelled out to distract it. When the Stonetail’s attention was on me,” I pause. “I froze.”

I stretch out my arm, curling my fingers into a fist. “The venom spread, and I couldn’t move.

All I did was watch how it charged toward me.

There was a Defender Pole inches away. Aris—” I choke, digging my nails deeper into my already bleeding palms. “She grabbed the pole, lifted it up—shit, I don’t even know how she did it.

” I relax my fist. “I watched her get crushed. I watched her die, her body get torn apart because I couldn’t fucking move. Just like Raumen.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” she says, her palm softly pressing my shoulder.

“But it was. I’m the one who encouraged them to keep fighting.” I meet her eyes, the warmth of the embers reflecting in her iris. Gentle and warm and beautiful. And fear takes over. Fear of it happening again—to Nida. That somehow, I won’t be able to save her.

“After she died, I killed three dragons with only daggers in hand. I don’t know how I did it, but whatever power or curse I have, it turned me into a weapon.

I guess a weapon Grogol’s been honing. I felt nothing.

No fear. No doubt. Just power . I plunged a dagger straight into their heads.

I cut their throats. Chopped their wings. I—”

Nida raises her hand, interrupting me. “You don’t have to relive this,” she says, anger flickering in her eyes. “You’re not a monster. They made you think you are.”

“Nida,” I say softly, leaning closer to her. “I don’t know what I am Monster is the closest word to describe me.”

“Zel.” My heart clenches in my chest. I hadn’t realized just how much it means to me—the sound of my name on her lips. How much I want to hear it again and again—like sweet honey, softening my name so it doesn’t sound like it belongs to a monster.

I think back on the soldiers in the cave, the blood that I have on my shaking hands. The hands that keep reminding me of what I am.

“I killed twenty people, Nida,” I say. “Twenty lives that I was supposed to be responsible for.”

She comes closer, cupping my face—inches apart, and I can feel my breath tangle with hers. “You didn’t bear that guilt alone.” Her voice is soft—reassuring me that what I did was right. “Once this is over, we’ll find the cure. There has to be one.”

I shake my head. “No. There isn’t one. I know I’m going to die. But at the very least, I can make sure you live.”

“Live?” she says. “In a world like this? Tell me, how can I live in a world like this?”

I smile, no matter how painful it is for me. “I’ll make it a better world for you.”

“A world without you isn’t a better world, Zel,” she says, her voice trembling. “It’s worse.”

“At least you’ll have peace.”

She scoffs. “The absence of you will cloud my mind every waking minute. That’s not peace. That’s chaos.”

“I’m chaos,” I say.

“Stop it.” Her fingers squeeze my shoulder.

“You’re the reason we get to live in peace.

Without you, nobody would know about Grogol.

Nobody would fight. They would think all the work was for nothing, that the return of the dragons is some Divine judgment coming to end humanity when you… you know why it’s happening.”

“Nida, the venom—”

“We’ll find Sayna. Maybe—”

“Sayna is with Grogol ,” I snap. “There’s no way she’ll do anything.”“You don’t know that. She saved you, spent years studying you.”

I grunt, not wanting to argue. “He’s been using me to hone this thing . To tame it. He probably wants to find a way to use it on others.”

“Then we warn them.”

A faint rustle interrupts my reply. My hand freezes over the firepit, breath still in my throat.

Nida goes rigid beside me, her eyes darting to the shadows just beyond the reach of the dying embers.

There it is again—like leather brushing against stone.

Someone’s out there. Watching. Listening.

I reach for the stick I carved, motioning for Nida to stay quiet.

She nods, barely breathing. Legs still numb, I creep forward, scanning the tree line.

Every bush, every flicker of shadow feels like a threat.

My fingers tighten around the wood. A bead of sweat slides down my temple.

But there’s nothing. The silence feels wrong and heavy and dangerous.

And we need to find a way to get some rest—recover. Out here, we’re too exposed.

I step back, crouching beside Nida. “We need to move,” I whisper. “Now.” She doesn’t argue and scoops dirt over the fire, killing the last ember with a muted hiss. Smoke curls up into the night sky. Another scoop—ensuring no more smoke comes out.

“There’s a cave just across that field,” Nida says, pointing to the right. Half-hidden behind the brush, a black mouth gapes at the base of a rocky rise. I know that place. I’ve scouted it before. I know where we are.

We’re not far from Nedersen.

Without a word, we move—quiet and low, skimming through the underbrush like shadows. My pulse thunders. I stumble over jagged stones protruding from the ground, but we don't stop moving. If someone’s coming, we’ll be long gone before they find us.