Page 11 of The Last Dragon
He straightens. “Do not doubt.” The words linger in the air. Words that have been drilled in me ever since the start and have become the foundation of who I am today.
“If you let yourself feel—you doubt. If you doubt—you’re dead.” With those final words leaving the general’s mouth, cadets proudly shift their stance, puff out their chests as if already shedding any doubt they had before lining up. Their eyes carry pride—something I never felt. For me, it was hatred for the beasts, not the honor of being a soldier.
Among the crowd, I catch a flash of familiar red curls. Shifting slightly, I lean back to peer around the head of the man blocking my view, craning for a clearer look.
Nida.
Her eyes track General Grogol, focused and alert. She’s taller. Her hair is longer. Different. My trance shatters the moment she glances back and meets my eyes. We hold it—just for a breath—until the General’s steady pacing pulls my attention away.
“Now you think about that well,” he says, satisfied with the cadets’ reactions. He steps to the side, fully revealing the words engraved in the old brick wall. Words all soldiers must live by.
Glory for Humanity.
“Let this remind you why you stand here today. And you will carry them with you until the day you draw your last breath.”
Proud cheers and salutes thunder across the courtyard. For decades, the Corps has recited those words, reminding us all of what we fight for.
“Any questions?” asks the general when everyone settles down, and hands shoot up in the air. The general turns to a new recruit in the first row, whose hand shakes with doubt. The general nods at him.
“When will we know what unit we are assigned to?” he asks, his voice shaking and faint. The general purses his lips and straightens himself, turning to face the entire crowd.
“New units will be formed a week after the Division slips have been handed in. This gives us time to assess how many have chosen which Division and adjust as needed. Some units have lost members. Perhaps there’s a Tracker in need of a Hunter. This means you might have a chance of being placed in an existing unit. Each unit, as always, includes three Trackers and Hunters, with all other roles limited to two per unit.”
Unit seventeen—my current unit—is still short on a few roles. It’s always been hard to fill since the new cadet needs to match our level to a certain degree. As long as we’ve got at least two Trackers and Hunters, we’re functional. But there’s always a chance for a new cadet to be placed in our unit—another one to circle me like a vulture, breathing down my neck, trying to know me.Can’t wait.
Another hand shoots up behind me. I glance back. A young woman stands tall, posture firm, determination written all over her face. She’s built like Eryca—same sharp frame, same fire. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were sisters.
“Will the rest be sent out to the other Strongholds?” she asks.
The general pauses and narrows his eyes as the crowd’s low voices churn with excitement. “If it comes to that, yes,” he says flatly. ”But we need all the soldiers we can get after losing so many in the previous expedition.” His eyes scan the crowd, and the whispers rise about the other Strongholds. Every year, the Third sends cadets out to reinforce the other four, offering protection from dragons. Since the Third specializes in weaponry and armor, we’re trained faster, sharper, and deployed in smaller, more efficient units. But those who are sent out rarely come back. People say they’ve built new lives out there and have forgotten this one.
In return, the other Holds send us materials—wood, stone, grain. Lately, though, those shipments have thinned. Even I noticed that. Less food. Less support. But soldiers get priority to grow stronger, while villagers give what they can, helping humanity to expand into the Unknown, knowing they were dragon bait. Just like my village. Just like my mother. Just like me.
Murmurs roll across the crowd, questions flying. I scan the newcomers, wondering who’ll be the first to die—because someone always does. Though their sacrifice will be honored. For a day. Then, they’ll be forgotten, just like all the names carved in the board that eventually gets burned.
The general’s eyes lock onto mine, searing with unspoken command. I freeze, every instinct screaming to resist. My chest stirs knowing what he expects of me.There will be eyes on me.
“Now, I know many of you are curious about a soldier—thefaceof the Corps, as many of you call him.”
Perfect, he’s using that. I click my tongue in annoyance.
“I’d like you to hear a couple ofencouragingwords from someone who has battled dragons and has exceeded the Corps’ expectations,” says the general, pausing to glance at everyone. He sharply inhales and says, “Kazelius Aaran.”
CHAPTER 5
Time nearly stops at the sound of my name combined with the phrase I desperately want to shake.Face of the Corps.I didn’t want to hear it, but for whatever reason, soldiers get motivated. The stories of the one who survived.
I feel everyone’s eyes burn into my back as I step forward from the lineup and stand next to General Grogol. I led an expedition that brought us closer to freedom. But hundreds died and made the brink of freedom feel like nothing. I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t saveher. Yet they still see me as a hero.
Whispers bounce from the stone walls. Words I’ve heard countless times.
“It’s him,” breathes a young woman with dark brown hair to another cadet.
“Who?”
“The one whosurvived,” says a young man from the other side of the line. “The one who survived aBlightclaw.”
I can feel their stares before I hear their voices. Some women giggle when I glance at them. Hushed voices grow louder, curiosity shifting into awe—or suspicion. I dig my nails into my palms, as their judgments settle like ash around me. False thoughts. False ideas. Demon or Divine. I let them enjoy their view. If I shut this down now, their curiosity will overwhelm them, and they won’t be able to concentrate on their training.
