Page 10 of The Last Dragon
“She’s angry because she cared. All of them did. Venom or not—a unit is a unit.” He places the cloth to the side. Heat radiates from the hearth. “You’re family. And you don’t abandon family.”
I stare into the fire. It crackles, and for a second, I imagine the hiss is from the venom under my skin.
“The general believes in you, right?” he asks, observing the freshly carved stock.
“He claims he does.”
“Then that’s enough for you to start believing in yourself. I’m not fond of the man, but he has a good eye.”
“I can’t lead them. I don’t know how much time I have left.”
“None of us do,” he says, voice low. “But while you’ve still got breath, you can choose what to do with it. And maybe… maybe they need you more than you want them to.”
I don’t answer. I don’t want them to need me. Relying on me is the biggest mistake they could make.
I reach for another bolt, testing the fletching with fingers. I glance over my shoulder at the shelves near the entrance—freshly carved bolts and arrows, grouped in tidy clusters of ten. Eryca’s work.
The scent of ash and oiled wood clings to the air. I used to take comfort in this place—the soft rasp of sharpening stone, the heat of the forge, Ligerion’s quiet presence. Here, I could pretend I was just another man with calloused hands and time to spare. Not a dying weapon waiting to crack.
My gaze lingers on the arrows. So clean and ready. And I wonder how many of them will be wasted if I go back—how many shots will be fired under my command. How many will die?
A familiar sting runs through my arm—subtle but deep, as if something inside me is tasting iron. The venom again. I press my palm flat to my thigh and try to breathe through it, jaw tight. I let out a sigh. How am I supposed to lead, command, hunt, andendure, when every breath could be my last? The pain fades. I blink through it, fixing my eyes on the rows of bolts again.
I rise slowly, brushing ash from my palms. The ache lingers in my bones, but I’ve learned to move with it. Work around it. Pretend it’s not there.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, voice rougher than I meant.
Ligerion doesn’t nod, doesn’t smile. Just meets my eyes and says. “Don’t think too long, lad.” He stands, crosses to his workbench, and picks up another crossbow.
“Here,” he says and hands it to me. “The new bow is just a prototype. It’s not ready for battle yet, and there are some adjustments I’d like to make. Take this one instead.” He nods toward the one he gave me. “It has the same modifications that your old one had. That one you can use on the battlefield. I’ll bring you the new one when it’s ready.”
I step toward the door with my new bow in hand and leave the prototype on the workbench. The night’s wind is already whistling through the outer halls. It snakes past me like a warning, sharp and cold and alive. My fingers brush the doorway. The stone is cool beneath my skin. Familiar. I glance back once at the soft glow of the forge, at Ligerion hunched over his work again, as if I was never here.
Then I step into the dark. And it feels like someone—orsomething—is watching me.
CHAPTER 4
Every year, when the Corps welcomes new soldiers, the outer training grounds fill with recruits, all ready for Division Day—the day they choose their Divisions based on recommendation letters from each Division’s commandant after Assessment Year. It’s when the general takes his time to debrief and introduce the newcomers. We all have to be there, new and experienced. It’s to remind us of our duties, why we are here, and to remove any doubt that builds up over the years.
The grounds stretch wide and open, lined with flags and blue banners of the Third that snap in the wind. At the far edge, the stone wall of the Stronghold rises high, its towers casting long shadows over the drill fields. And on that wall, the Corps’ watchword is carved in bold letters, visible to all who enter the training grounds.Glory for humanity.
We stand in line as General Grogol paces, speaking of the Corps and how humanity would have died out centuries agowithout it. A story I’ve heard countless times. And every time I’m met with the same curious new eyes. This year is no different. Cadets glance my way from the line with a mix of fear and awe. Either way, it’s a place I hate being at the most.
General Grogol faces the new recruits, with several of us older soldiers scattered in the line with them. To be role models for the initiates.
“Upon application for the Corps, you have been tested for speed, strength, accuracy, and decision making. You have spent a whole year training and improving before the commandants assessed you in the final stage.” The general’s voice booms. “Based on your results, you received a recommendation on which Division would suit you best. And today, you will choose said Division. Each one has specific roles within a unit, and duties one must complete for the sake of humanity.” He turns to face the five blue banners hanging on the stony wall, each bearing a different insignia.
“Hunter, skilled in accuracy and speed. Tracker, skilled in split-second decision-making and emotional control. Defender, skilled in strength and weapon maintenance. Medic, skilled in botany and pinpoint accuracy. And Scout, skilled in stealth and navigation. Some of you received more than one Division as a recommendation, but ultimately it is up to you which one you want to be part of.”
The general pauses, taking in the crowd as some shuffle their feet, uncertain which Division to choose, while others stand firm. After a brief pause, the general continues.
“One thing that is for certain here in the Corps,” he says. “Our focus is humanity. Our focus is survival, and we are the front of humanity’s survival. Only one dragon left. A Redsnout male that’s been alive for centuries. This beast is vicious—deadly.” His voice is firm, and the air fills with silence. Every cadet listens attentively, swaying with impatience or excitement. GeneralGrogol’s pale eyes sweep throughout the crowd, making sure that everyone is included in his speech. Because once this is said, he won’t repeat himself until the next Division Day.
“For training in strength, speed, and emotional control, lieutenants will be supervising you, teaching you, and making you sweat blood. They are crucial so that you feel prepared for expeditions. You saw the names carved in the wooden banner. A loss for us all. You will undergo intense training of both mind and body to ensure your name won’t end up there. But be warned,” he says gravely. “Anything can happen at any time. And that means the moment you applied, the moment you were sworn into the Corps, is the moment that you set aside everything you ever were, and became a soldier.Now, you are all soldiers.”
Confident shouts ripple through the crowd in agreement. A large number of cadets began training long before they turned eighteen. Others spent the years between eighteen and twenty preparing relentlessly—to earn a place in the Corps and be sorted into a Division the moment they arrived. By the time they’re first-years, most have already shed who they used to be. But some are still holding on—gripping tightly to scraps of their old lives, old names, old dreams, as if they haven’t yet accepted what this place demands of them. Some still flinch when the bell tolls in the morning. Some still sleep with letters tucked beneath their pillows. Some still hope they will return home when all of this is over—go back to their normal lives like none of this ever happened. But the Corps doesn’t train you. It reshapes you. Makes you the closest thing to inhuman. And they all chose to be here.
The general continues. “There are rules you must follow, tasks you must complete, and protocol you have to keep. One misstep, one doubt, can be the end of you. The end of us all. But there’sone rule you must never forget.” He surveys the newcomers who eagerly await the Corp’s creed, his hands behind his back.
