Page 13 of The Last Dragon
“Commandant Warren Tenwill of the Trackers.” A tall man steps forward. He’s known to be one of the few trackers, if not the only tracker, who managed to escape Redsnout’s fire and survive. He wasn’t directly hit, but he was close enough to have the right side of his face burned. He’s the youngest of all the commandants. One of his most taught lessons is emotional control. An eerie feeling clouds the battleground the moment he steps forward. He, like the others, salutes.
Later, Commandant Moris Vine of the Defenders steps forward. Unlike the others, he wears his scaly armor—proud in leading the Defenders—and a smile on his face. Unlike other commandants, he’s not afraid to show his emotions and believes that’s the way humanity will survive. Lastly, Joane Ateis, Commandant of the Scouts, steps forward, her height rivaling even Commandant Tenwill. Her hair is tied in a tight bun, calm eyes watching the cadets who salute her. A smile curving on her mouth as she watches one of the recruits in the crowd—a spitting image of her.
“Thank you, Commandants,” the general says, saluting them.
The chatter dwindles. I scan the lineup, looking at the faces of soldiers both old and new. Lieutenants scatter to the sides of the arches, watching everyone, most likely picking the ones they’d personally want to train, to test their limits. Lieutenant Wain is there, and by her side, Lieutenant Rylan, one of the most ruthless lieutenants I know. Some cadets quickly look away as our eyes meet.
Monster.
Their eyes are filled with familiar anger. But when I look at Nida, her eyes are different. They don’t speak the words I’m used to hearing. I can’t fully read them. Yet beneath that unreadable surface, I see pain. I clench my jaw searching for the child I once knew in her amber eyes. But it’s no longer there. Instead, I’m met with the same hollow, haunted look I find every time I catch my own reflection.
Once everyone gets a good look at me and the general finishes answering their questions—anything from schedules to Divisions to daily meals—several cadets begin pulling out their slips, the ones who have already decided which Division they’ll accept.
Out of the crowd, one by one, cadets approach the general, handing their slips face down. The general casts a quick look at the slips, then sorts them into five piles. I watch him, trying to work out which pile means what, but he always arranges them differently.
Instead, I shift my focus to the build of the cadets who hand in their slips, trying to discern what their strengths and weaknesses are. Those with a strong and solid frame, tall, muscular, and broad-shouldered, like Raumen, almost always become Defenders. Cadets who are slim and small are either Medics or Scouts. Hunters and Trackers are tall, slim, and muscular, built for speed in the field.
From the crowd, the cocky Middler from earlier steps forward—Alex. He pushes through like he doesn’t care who’s watching, but he’s making damn sureInotice. His jaw flexes the moment our eyes lock, blowing away a dark curl, tousled and untamed like a raven’s wing. He sneers at me, golden-honey eyes sharp enough to cut glass. I observe him, from every black hair strand, to the tattoo curling across his neck, to every pocket in his black leather, and the strings of his boots. My eyes narrow at his slip, a folded corner catching my attention. His long silver earring glimmers in the morning sun as he turns his head to face the general, but his eyes never leave mine, promising a threat. Alex slips back into the crowd, and I watch him melt into the mass of people.
Red flickers at the edge of my vision, and my eyes snap to Nida’s. She parts her lips, as if attempting to whisper a few words to me. I inhale slowly, casting a quick look at her slip—perfectly pinched between her index and middle fingers. No folded corners, no wrinkles in sight. There are no second thoughts etched in that paper. The moment she received the recommendation, her name settled in ink on the Division she had chosen. I analyze it from every angle, but I still can’t tell which.
My heart pounds in my chest, her eyes still on me. Is it Tracker? Considering that she is slim yet muscular. Hunter? I hope not. She’d have to rely on someone else. I can’t tell the amount of muscle she has under that leather jacket, but I doubt she’s applying for Defender. She’s not built for that. Medic? It would makes sense—her mother is a botanist, and she knows a great deal about plants and herbs.
She lets out a sigh, the wind teasing her long, wavy hair, twisting it into soft knots and carrying a faint scent of fresh earth my way. Her eyes drift away from me, but something in my gutstirs—a quiet restlessness that lingers just a moment longer than it should.
CHAPTER 6
Once the general has collected the last of the slips, he turns to face the cadets, neatly lined up again and patiently waiting for his command. Some tap their feet, anticipation written on their faces.
General Grogol stands firm, hands behind his back, shoulders squared like the weight of the entire Corps rests there. And it does. He’s going to spend the next few days forming units and planning the next expedition. I wonder if he’s going to want me to join it. He paces slowly, his boots crunching over the charred ground.
“You’ll be assigned exploration rotations,” he says. “Learn the terrain. Know the halls, the towers, the blind corners. No excuse for getting lost.”
A few uneasy shuffles follow. I stay still, silent beside him.
“If you need to study based on your Division,” he continues, “the archives are open. The library is fully stocked. Use it.” Hestops pacing and turns toward the line again, meeting their gazes as they straighten their spines. “You’re soldiers now .Glory for the Corps!” the general shouts, snapping his boots together in salute.
“Glory for Humanity!” The soldiers echo, voices loud and unified as they follow the movements of the general’s posture.
I mouth the words in silence, the same ones that always leave my lips feeling numb.
“You are free to go to the common grounds,” he says, turning on his heel.
The soldiers begin to scatter. From the corner of my eye, I spot Sayna, approaching me with a smile on her face. I salute.
“No need for formality, Zel,” she says softly, pulling out a slip. “I heard from General Grogol that you wanted a medical assessment.” She hands it to me, and I open it to see the date and time.
“Three weeks from now,” I say.
Sayna nods. “We need time to properly assess the newcomers.”
I fold the slip and tuck it in my pocket.
“You’re looking well,” she adds, her eyes scanning my body and veins like the medic she is, as if her assessment has already begun. “The rest must’ve helped.”
“I’ve been feeling calmer,” I say, and she nods once. Then twice.
“That’s good,” she replies, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Make sure to stay that way. See you then.”
