Page 143 of The Last Dragon
I’m the beast.
The fire crackles, and I stare into it, jaw tight. Waiting for a familiar voice. Thoughts of the past consume me, taking me to the days I want to forget. The forge with my father. The blue fields with Nida. The inn in Nedersen with Raumen and the rest. If only I pushed harder. If only I refused Grogol’s proposal of being in a unit. If only I said no. I mean—I did. But not hard enough. Instead, I let others convince me—force me—to do something I didn’t want to do. Now, everyone I care about, everyone I love, is either dead or will have a bounty on their head.
Suddenly, a faint whisper echoes through the dark cave—like the air itself has come alive. I freeze, muscles tense, slowly reaching for a branch in the fire, illuminating the passage in front of me. Nothing. I listen harder. Silence.
Then—another whisper.
Cautiously, I rise, grabbing my bow with the other hand, and move forward. A massive shadow blocks my path—stone-like,unmoving. But as the light catches on it, I see the glint of silvery scales.
That’s no stone.
That’s a dragon.
A gasp catches in my throat, the cold air biting into my lungs as my heart slams against my chest. I instinctively aim my crossbow at the creature, locking eyes with the dark slits in its icy blue eyes.Silverscale.
Don’t breathe. Don’t move.
Silverscales are defensive, not offensive—I repeat in my head, willing myself not to panic. Carefully, I slide one foot forward through the dirt, keeping it low to avoid noise. Every movement is slow, deliberate. I study its posture—wings folded tight, head slightly raised. No visible weak spot.
Wait.
The knees. A narrow opening.
That’s my shot.
I steady my aim, but before I can fire, a soft roar rumbles from the creature’s throat. A gust of cold air brushes my face, lifting strands of my hair. I flinch, bracing for the frost or claws. But nothing comes. Just a chill… and a whisper of a growl, low and almost melodic.
I pause. That wasn’t a threat. It sounded like…
My gaze sharpens. I study the shimmering scales, the way its pupils narrow not with rage, but focus. Recognition.
It’slookingat me.
Not like prey.
Like itknowsme. The type of look I’ve seen in domesticated creatures. The type of look I’ve seen in the village dogs.
In Sarga.
Did the beast justspeak?
I shake my head, letting out a cloud of icy breath that vanishes into the chilly air. My heart pounds, and my mind brings forth afresh memory—back to the Redsnout in the cave and the violent, rumbling voice inside of my head.
“What?” I whisper as I press the crossbow closer to the side of my body. The beast lowers its head with eerie grace, silver scales catching the light in glinting patterns as it draws closer. Its massive snout hovers inches from me, and a low sound escapes its throat. A quiet,hauntingrumble that vibrates through my bones. This time, I can hear it clearly. With every chuff and roar, with every cold breath, inhale and exhale, a single sound slips through the dragon’s clenched maw.
Kazelius.
My name?
I lower my crossbow entirely, and with it, the beast’s head lowers into a near bow, now completely aligned with me—its snout slightly forward, still approaching me slowly. My heart is pounding. Did it just saymy name?
My mind races, each thought more confusing and unrealistic than the last. A dragon that talks, communicates in our language andit knows my name.The beast’s eyes seem relaxed,pleading.
I slowly raise my hand, reaching out for its snout, hesitant. Gripping the bow tighter, its once familiar weight now feels foreign in my hand. The coldness of the hilt is unsettling, as if it no longer belongs to me. I can feel every scratch, every crooked screw, every stain that wore out over time. But now it feels out of place, like a pair of shoes that I have outgrown.
Like it is resisting me. Or I, it.
I inhale a sharp breath as I approach the dragon with my hand, gently, carefully, placing it on its muzzle. The moment my hand and its muzzle connect, a surge of excruciating pain courses through my body, leading all the way from my hand to my elbow, to my eyes and face and chest. I yank my hand from the beast, slamming it onto my head. My ears ring. Painful. I roar in agony.
