Page 15 of The Last Dragon
She holds my gaze, like she’s expecting a fight I’m not interested in giving. Then I turn and leave, not giving her the satisfaction of a glance over my shoulder.
The corridor swallows me whole—tall vaulted ceilings stretching above, torchlight flickering against stone walls. My boots strike the floor in sharp, echoing steps, cutting through the murmur of voices. Soldiers cluster along the halls, leaning against pillars or hunched over maps and schedules. Most barely glance up as I pass. A few do, but I don’t meet their eyes. I head toward the eastern stairwell, the one that leads to the upper levels and my own room—quieter, colder, away from the noise. The scent of oil and old parchment lingers in the air from the library nearby, mingling with the musky tang of old leather.
No one follows.
No one calls my name.
Shedoesn’t.
Good.
When I’m on the upper levels, I pause and take a breath, opening and closing my mouth to release the tension that’s built up in my jaw. Then, I unlatch the window with a soft click and push it open, letting in a rush of warm air that sways the loosestrands of hair at my temples. The rooftop. The only space where I can breathe without holding back.
After rain, the sand and burned grass release that earthy smell back into the air. It reminds me that the world is still somewhat alive. My lungs definitely thank me for it.
The rooftop always holds me, its grip like claws sinking into my skin. A place where I can be alone, without a dozen eyes tracking my every move. I can climb through the window in my room or the one down the long corridor to get here, and let myself get lost in memories, in thoughts, or watch the desolate land stretching beyond the Stronghold outer wall. Barely any trees or greenery. Just dust and sand as far as the eye can see.
I’ve heard stories from decades ago—before the Third was built—about thick forests and lush grass surrounding this place. All chopped away to build this fortress of stone and ash and wood and metal. I wonder what it was like back then. If it was anything like Pirlem.
I take a deep breath, and a chuckle reaches my ears.
“I knew I would find you here.” Raumen flops down beside me, the stone tiles of the roof groaning under the weight of his heavy boot. He has a loaf of bread with him the size of my palm, heat and steam still rising from it—freshly baked. He breaks it in half, a mild, grainy aroma filling the rain-soaked air, and he hands a piece to me.
“Sneaked into the kitchen again?” I chuckle, breaking off a small piece of the bread.
He lets out a snort. “Had time to spare,” he says as he crosses his legs. “Most likely the only time I’ll get.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re doubling my shift at the towers starting tomorrow. No room for baking anymore. It feels like I’ll barely be here.”
He stares at the bread for a moment, twirling it in his hand as his brow furrows. It must be hard for him. When I first met him, I thought he was delusional for claiming he’d find a way to balance his duties as a soldier and trainee while taking classes and baking bread. But he did it forfouryears. Even though he knew it wouldn’t last long, he was still trying to hold onto the life he once had, while the rest of us had to abandon ours.
I take a bite—the same flavor that only his bread has—lacing my tongue.
He laughs softly before grabbing another bite himself. We sit in silence for a moment, staring at the outskirts or watching clouds pass by in the faded blue sky.
“So it’s just us two now,” he finally says, a half-smile forming without reaching his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say, grief tightening my throat, reminding me of how the rooftop won’t feel the same ever again. Not after Aris’ and Kayus’ death. For two years now, even with Raumen, the rooftop feels like something’s missing. But I wouldn’t exchange his presence for anything in this world.
“I heard you have an old flame here!” he exclaims, nudging me with his elbow.
I roll my eyes. “That was fast.”
“The others don’t know that yet.” He smiles, shoving a bite of bread into his mouth. “I’ll keep it a secret.”
“How did you even know?”
He shrugs, the smile never leaving his face. “A little bird told me.”
Either Ilian was eavesdropping, or the ruckus was loud enough for others to hear, too. Somewhere far off, a bell tolls, its clang echoing through the stillness, marking time in a place where every moment feels borrowed.
Raumen pats me on the shoulder. “My shift.” He stands up and takes another bite of his bread. “I’ll see you in the training grounds. Don’t be too hard on the first-years.” He jumps through the window, back into the hallway.
I’m alone again, staring at the stony tiles to the left of me. A place Aris used to sit. A jolt of sadness fills my chest…or is it guilt, or shame? I can’t tell. But whatever that feeling is, it’s been haunting me for a long time. The type of feeling that won’t go away unless I find ways to forgive myself. Something I find more difficult to do the longer the time goes.
CHAPTER 7
