Page 12 of The Last Dragon
There’s whispers and gasps and exclamations echoing from the throng as someone forces their way through the lineup.
“Bullshit!” a roar breaks out. Murmurs fade, and several cadets turn their heads to face the loudmouth.
“Do you really expect me to believe this crap? It’s just a way to get into your head. ‘The one who survived the dragon claw,’how fuckingamazing,” he mocks, stepping out of the line, finally revealing himself.
I scan him—raven dark hair, skin etched with fading ink. Thick eyebrows with the left one pierced, earrings dangling from each ear, one long and the other hooped.. Now I know he’s not from the Front. There’s luxury written all over him. People in the Front can never afford that. He’s from the Middle. Though a small split on his lower stands out to me.
“Get back in line, Alex!” a cadet yells out from the assembled group.
His eyes flick to the cadet, body tense. “Hey, fuck you!” Alex tosses the remark, then looks back at me.
“We all know there’s no way to survive a dragon—let alone a damnBlightclaw—for this long,” he emphasizes. He’s stepping closer, and every time he grows nearer, my vision blurs and heat intensifies in my body. He needs to shut up—and soon.
“I think you’re a fake. Or aDemon,as many say. Just aprettyface of the Corps to make us believe that this is worthwhile. I know you. I’ve seen your face plastered all over Velerum,encouraging young fools to join a path that almost always leads to certain death.”
“You joined,” the girl who looks like Eryca says mockingly, stepping on her toes for a better view.
“I joined for myownreasons. My ownwill. Not to seeKnight and Shiny Aaranin all of his glory. Like most of you fuckers here—”
My muscles tense up, and the moment he’s within reach, I grab his throat, pulling him closer.
“You want to continue talking?” I threaten, my grasp tightening. “Or do you want to keep your mouth shut to not embarrass yourself further?” Adrenaline surges through me as my hold around his neck tightens. Alex wheezes, clutching my arm to pry me off, but I only hold tighter as the crowd watches in stunned silence. His golden eyes peer into me, slicing through me, like he’s not going to give up.
One more second.
Two.
Tighten my grip.
“That’s enough,” says the general, standing in a firm stance with an unamused expression.
I ease up and let go of Alex’s throat.
He scowls at me. “What the fuck—” he gasps.
I slowly turn toward the recruits. “Consider this a warning,” I say, staring at the new guy still gasping for air. “If you get cocky on the battlefield, a dragon will surely take advantage of that. If that was a dragon’s talon, you’d be dead.”
Alex stands, his hand wrapped around his neck, a grudge forming in his eyes.Middler. He stumbles to his place in the lineup, cadets letting him merge with the crowd but keeping their distance. I want to keep this brief.
“I believe I have gotten everyone’s attention,” I say, adjusting my stance. “Kazelius Aaran. Hunter. Unit Seventeen. Fourth-year. Two years ago, I led the defense expedition that killed five dragons. Some of you may have already heard that.”
Excitement ripples through the murmuring assembly, and the giggles of girls soon follow.
“I know many of you dreamed of joining the Corps to fight for humanity’s freedom. Which means some of you have trained at a young age, gotten strong, and gained muscle. And you are willing to give everything you have to slay dragons.” I scan the crowd until I meet a pair of amber eyes. Nida—her focus fixed on me. “I know I did,” I say. In a way, it is to answer her questions of where I was and why I didn’t show up all these years.
“But some of you,” I continue, “are new. Worried or scared. First lesson: learn how to control your emotions. Better yet, you need toshut them off. Any doubt, any flinch, any hesitation can be the difference between life or death. That’s what Disciplinary classes are for. I encourage you to fill your free time with that, if you want to” —I swallow hard, my posture remaining still— “be like me. That is how you survive.”
Cadets puff out their chests again. Proud and stoic. Even if it’s just on the surface. The general pats my back, not a single amount of criticism gleaming in his eyes. He was right—it does motivate them to see me.
Just showing up, he used to say.Just letting them see your face, that you survived and thrived and live is the first step to ensuring they become soldiers. They will want to copy you. Be you. Try to surpass you.That is his first step in breaking their mind.
“Each Division is led by a commandant,” says the general, his hand still on my shoulder. “Some of the strongest and most skilled soldiers in the Corps.” He moves forward, finally lifting his hand. “The commandants are experienced and have been on the battlefield many times. They’ve survived horrible things. Now they are here to guide, teach, and train their own Division.They are also the ones who observed you during the Assessment Year and have given you recommendations on which Division suits you best. Listen to them. Your survival depends on them.”
He turns, facing the neatly lined-up commandants wearing their red coats and the division emblem on the right side of their chest.
“Commandant Sayna Clay of the Medics,” he says, and Sayna takes a step forward, brushing her brown hair from her face. The crowd salutes in unison.
“Commandant Seis Lorren of the Hunters.” Seis steps forward, with a smile on his scarred lip, dark blue eyes scanning the cadets. He tucks his long, greyish hair behind his ears and salutes.
