Page 28 of The Last Dragon
“You stood there. You looked me in the eye and told me that Pirlem and everyone who lived there would be safe,” I say calmly. “You said you would rebuild.”
Long, powerful strides echo behind me. The keys from Berim’s belt chime as he stalks toward me. But before he can reach me, the General lifts his hand, gesturing toward the door.
“Leave us.”
Without a word, Berim halts, salutes, and exits, shutting the door behind him.
The general exhales and then softly clears his throat. “This was not my decision to make,” he says, lifting his head. “The King made the decision to halt the efforts of rebuilding Pirlem. The focus shifted to expansion. We did not—and do not—have the materials to expand and rebuild at the same time.”
“We never expanded,” I say. Is helying? Is that something he’s capable of?
He nods. “Yes, the expansion had to halt, too. But that’s only because there’s one dragon left. I didn’t tell you becauseI wanted you to focus on your duties, not worry about your village.”
“So you made me believe a lie?” I say through clenched teeth, anger burning in my chest.
“No. That was never my intention. I still intend to keep that promise.”
I scrunch my nose. “A bit too late for that.” My head snaps away from him. I hate even looking at that man right now. A man I trusted with something so vulnerable. It stings. Pirlem and its safety are the only things I care about. People I passed by in the streets. Friends. Families. Children. I thought I left a town that would be just as the way it was when I was born—thriving. But now, if what Nida says is true, it’s in ruin.
A strange feeling swirls in my gut, something I know I shouldn’t be feeling. Something that can kill me on the spot. Even though it’s small—easily suppressed—it makes me let go of that anger and turn it into something else. Something more dangerous in a world like this.
Doubt.
“We didn’t have the resources. The lands are dying. The King wanted to expand, he wanted us to push up the expansion for a bigger one at that. We had to save resources for that. My priorities lay there. I’m sorry, son.” He leans forward in his chair, shoulders slumping as if he means it. But I don’t believe him.
“Resources or not. You could’ve told me,” I say, stepping away toward the door, wrapping my hands around the cold handle. “And I’m not your son.”
I leave with those words hanging in the air, and I know they are as sharp as a knife to him. But they are to me, too.
He’s the general. Everything from expanding in the Front to looking over the Third is his responsibility. Everything behind the Third—the Center and the Middle—is the King’sresponsibility. He’s the one who made this decision. And the King only complied. The King is just funding. Resources. The other Strongholds provide material. The Third is always the one that expands first. If we don’t have material or resources or funding—then where is it?
This breaks something in me. Something I can’t let anyone see. But it’s something I won’t attempt to patch up. I want to keep it for myself.
CHAPTER 11
The pungent smell of spice and honey fills my nose as I sit on the corner of the soft, clean bed in the Medic Chambers. The white walls seem to expand, making me feel small. Occasionally, I wipe away the water in my eyes from the light peeking through the large windows. Even with the stained glass dulled by a layer of dust, the sunrays are persistent—streaming through like they’re unbothered by the attempts to slow them down. It’s the time of the highest sun, a day when it shines the brightest. Four weeks have passed since Division Day, but it feels like all that time disappeared in the blink of an eye.
A middle-aged man with graying brown hair approaches the windows to adjust the metal blinds, redirecting the strong rays toward the ceiling. This place needs as much light as possible when tending to patients.
The cushioned bed creaks as I sit up, my legs dangling off the edge, the soft linen blankets brushing against my bare arms.My limbs feel heavier than usual, making me slump slightly forward. Even my head feels heavy, and I occasionally shut my eyes for a brief moment, focusing on the sound of the wind outside the window. Another sound pierces the quiet—footsteps approaching the heavy door.
I open my eyes, shaking myself awake. A medic dressed in murky white robes steps through the door, scanning the room until our eyes meet. Sayna is no younger than the General—soft crow’s feet and the bags under her eyes speak of long nights. She swirls her long, dark hair into a quick bun, a few stray strands slipping free to frame her face. She pushes the heavy wooden door shut, the scraping of metal against metal from the hinges aggravating my ears.
More sensitive than usual.
I try to conceal the sharp pain lingering in my head so Sayna doesn’t notice. Instead, I take a deep breath through my nose, soaking in the scent of honey and resin, before slowly exhaling through my mouth to calm my loudly beating heart.
“Apologies for being late,” she says without meeting my gaze, striding toward the bench where equipment lies scattered in disarray, rubbing her damp hands against her robes.
“It’s alright, med,” I respond, barely a whisper, but she manages to catch my voice.
She reaches into the right-side pocket of her stained robe, taking out a vial of bright, bubbling liquid. I lean closer as she raises the vial higher, aligning it with the sun rays streaming through the window to illuminate the pinkish goo. She shakes her head, releasing a disapproving huff before shaking the vial again.
My arms rest on my thighs, palms facing upward as if cradling the air. I watch my fingers slowly curl, sometimes a twitch catching me by surprise. When I notice Sayna approaching closer, I clench them into fists and place them at my sides.
“How’s everything out there?” she asks as she sits on a stool beside the bed.
“Same old,” I respond. “Like a battlefield without a dragon.”
