Page 27 of The Last Dragon
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, everything else fades—the cold air, the distant clattering of metal against metal from the training ground, even the weight of what I just said. I can’t tell if it’s anger or something else written on her face, but it unsettles me more than I expected.
Why does this get under my skin?
I don’t usually care what others think. I don’t let their fire reach me. But there’s something about her—maybe it’s that stubbornness, that refusal to break, even when I’m sure she should. It reminds me of my old self a little bit too much. But I’d rather see her break—desert—than face the battlefield. Not when she’s like this. Emotional. At times she could be spiteful and wild. But whenever someone got hurt or screamed in pain, she would let her softness break through and be the first to offer a helping hand. That’s what’s going to get her killed. It’s in her nature—like her mother.
I let out a sigh. I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. Instead, I’m pulled further away, straight across the hall. Further. Just a little further. A click echoes. Her steps.
“So what? You’re just going to walk away?” she says bitterly.
“Go back to Pirlem. You’re better off in a place that thrives instead of—”
“Thrives?!” she yells out. “What the hell are you talking about? Pirlem doesn’t…” Her breath hitches, rage forcing the truth up. “I starved every night living in rot and ruin!”
Her words are like a dead end in a long and treacherous corridor. For a heartbeat, I’m caught—the silence in my skull suddenly loud. Only then do I really see her. The flicker dying in her eyes, dirt packed beneath her nails from clawing bark and grass to quiet the hunger, the bruised crescents smudging under her lashes from sleepless nights, lips cracked like brittle parchment. Color faded like paint that’s seen too much sun.
I swallow hard. My tongue feels carved from wood, and the words catch in my throat and lodge there like a splinter I can’t cough free.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused.
She lets out a dry scoff, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she slowly shakes her head. “You mean you don’t know?” she says, folding her arms. “About Pirlem?”
My brows knit together. “What about it?”
“Pirlem was never rebuilt.” Her voice is careful—gentle—but no words have ever stung this much before. “We were left to fend for ourselves,” she continues, taking a step forward, closing the distance between us. “After the dragon that gave you your mark. We arranged funerals—buried empty caskets… buried you.” Her eyes flick to mine.
My heart pounds, sinks, screams—I can’t tell. I thought Pirlem was fine. I thought my home was rebuilt.
“I didn’t know,” I force myself to say, swallowing dry. “If I’d known I would’ve—” A lie. Or is it the truth? Would I have returned to Pirlem if I knew? Would I have actually tried to do something? I did try. I did try to do something.
He promised me.
I stare at her, the words lodging in my throat.
“I thought you knew,” she says.
I shake my head. “No. I—” I trail off, trying to tug at a distant memory, and I struggle to to push it away.“I haven’t seen the place since I left.”
“More than half of the resources we had were destroyed, Zel. And the rest were taken by the Corps so that they could use them to expand. We had nothing,” she says, her voice tinted with deep-seated pain.
That doesn’t make any sense. He promised me. Grogol promised me he would rebuild.Pirlem is crucial for our survival,he said.
“But we haven’t expanded,” I say, furrowing a brow, the words like bitter ice in my mouth. Anger surges through me like wildfire. If Pirlem was never rebuilt and we didn’t expand, where did all the resources go? For eight fucking years. I have to know the truth. I need to know the reason I believed a lie for so long.
I turn on my heel and head toward the general’s chambers. A soft gasp catches my attention, halting me in place.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her hand hovering under mine as if she’s ready to grab me. Stop me.
I meet her gaze. “I have to know something. Go back to the others.”
She doesn’t say anything or follow me as I take determined steps throughout the hall. Up the heavy stone stairs. My hand twitches and my jaw aches from gritting my teeth.
This is the closest I’ve ever come to losing control.
Berim jolts upright as I barge into the general’s quarters. His knee slams the coffee table—wood scrapes stone, crystal glasses clatter. I don’t look at him. My eyes lock on General Grogol.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand, my voice firm, desperately trying not to let any emotion slip through. Each step I get closer, I try to convince myself that there’s a reason. A proper reason. “About Pirlem.”
His shoulders roll back as he inhales a sharp breath. He holds it for a moment. Yet his expression is carved from stone, the same way it always is when he’s deciding what Ishouldknow instead of what Ineedto know.
