Page 72 of The Last Dragon
“We’ll start slow!” Tenwill exclaims and signals one of the cadets to begin rotating the machine. Another soldier grabs the large lever, pulling it up and down and forward and back, engaging both the cogwheels for rotating the tail.
The cushioned tail begins to swirl. Ilian squeals as he attempts to dodge it, only to get the tail right into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He clings to the tail to keep from being slammed to the ground. Everyone winces as Ilian struggles to catch his breath, then lets go and rolls away. He leaps to his feet. Resilient, I’ll give him that. As the Commandant said, this machine doesn’t fully mimic real-life situations. But learning to rely on more than just your eyes—engaging your whole body—might offer its own advantages.
Ilian tries again, but with the same result—the tail knocks him down. He clenches his fist, a curse escaping his lips, and the room fills with snickers. The stress is getting to him.Focus,Ilian. Third attempt. Third time he’s dusting the floor. A sharp grunt escapes his lungs as he stumbles backwards, clutching his chest where the tail impacted.
“Control your emotions!” yells out Lorren. “You’re in control, not them. Shut them off andfocus!” He normally doesn’t speak much, but his command sticks close, especially for us Hunters.
Shut them off.
Shut all your feelings off—all of your emotions. It’s what we are taught from day one as trainees. Emotions generate doubt, and doubt takes up far too much time to make a decision. If you’re unable to decide because your emotions have distracted you, then you’re a dead man breathing. Even General Grogol pushes this ideology. Sometimes even more than the commandants or lieutenants.
Ilian relaxes and slows down his breathing. His grip loosens and he turns his head slowly—listening. Commandant Lorren raises a hand, signaling the soldiers to engage. They pull the lever, sending the tail hurtling straight toward Ilian’s legs. Everyone holds their breath. He leaps forward, vaulting to the side and sliding under the tail. He jumps to his feet, and the crowd claps. Cheers of his name ripple across the trainingground, and he removes his blindfold—eyes wide in surprise. He throws his hands up in the air, cheering together with the crowd. Beside me, Nida roots for him—louder than anyone else, clapping her hands together.
“You go, Ilian!” she yells, a subtle smile blooming on her lips, and Ilian turns her way, pointing at her with a wide grin. It makes me think, perhaps cheering on your squadmates isn’t such a bad thing. Even if it means turning on your feelings. Even just for amomentMaybe that’s what separates us from the beasts beyond the outskirts of the Hold. We don’t need to shut off our emotions all the time. Only when necessary.
I join the cheer, and push forward through the crowd.
“Well done!” Tenwill claps. In contrast to Commander Lorren, Commander Tenwill is a cheerful man and encourages us to cheer each other on and celebrate small victories. He’s against the idea of having to become a monotone, emotionless vessel. Instead, he believes that emotions help us evaluate how survivable a situation is. Even the bravest of men can become cowards. But not many follow his teachings. Lorren, on the other hand, together with General Grogol, has been hammering their teachings that have been passed over for centuries. That’s the only way you can beat somebody as vile as a dragon—a creature with no remorse. A savage.
I approach Ilian, rolling my eyes at his smug grin.Told you I could do it, I can practically hear him say. Not that I ever doubted him. Not for a second.
“Would you look at that,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “He can dodge.”
He chuckles, but it fades into a soft grunt—a sharp reminder of the pain from taking too many tails to the chest. I hope his ribs are intact—though the tail did go slow. He shakes his head, and Eryca grabs his arm to hold him steady.
“That must’ve been exhausting,” she says with a grin.
“Normally you’d stay as far away as possible from a dragon, ain’t that right, Zel?” His eyes glimmer, and I nod at his remark. He shifts slightly, tilting his head toward the machine. “Your turn?”
I shrug. Might as well try this thing. Since I’m the one who’s been closest to a dragon out of all of them. Eryca and Ilian stride off to the side as I gesture to the Commandants that I’m willing to try it out next. Lorren seems pleased when I step on the platform—a sly smile forming under his graying mustache. He gestures to the soldier to prepare the machine before turning to me again.
“Since it’syou,Zel,” he says, patting my back. “I think we will start a bitfaster.”
“Wait, what?” I say, furrowing my brows and pausing mid-step toward the machine. I turn to face my unit. Ilian is clearly pleased with the commandant’s decision.
“Adapt and improve, Zel,” he says with a sinister grin. I puff air out of my lungs in a sigh, not sure if I’m willing to get beaten up by this…thing.
I glance at the crowd, scanning the cadets who are in awe, unsure what to expect. Ilian tries to hide his laughter by pinching his nose, an occasional snort escaping. Eryca rolls her eyes, whilst Nida watches my every move. At first, as I approach the contraption, I am not sure what I want to prove. But knowing that she’s watching me makes me want to give it my all.
I relax my muscles as the blindfold is tied. I feel a gentle pat on my shoulder.
“Don’t hold back.” A faint whisper reaches my ears from Commandant Lorren.
I shift my weight, grounding myself. My focus shifts to my fingertips, feeling the steadiness of my hand. No twitch. No pain. Then I focus on my feet—the smooth ground beneath my boot. Finally, I listen to the machine—a subtle click of thesoldier’s lever reaching my right ear, and I shift my body toward the sound. I hear everything. The pause before the release of the lever. The muscle contraction of the soldier who controls the machine, maneuvering the tail in different directions. The grinding of two cogwheels, manipulating the speed. And before the release, I know from which direction the impact will come.
At a slight scrape of metal, I duck, grinning as the tail hisses over me. My body moves again before I can think, sidestepping the sudden upward swing. The tail slams down, shaking the ground beneath my feet. My heart pounds, adrenaline making its way through my body, heightening my senses. I can hear it—feel it—as the density of the air shifts before a sudden lift of the tail. I feel it behind me as I stand up, cutting the air like a sharp dagger. It rushes toward me again, and I step two paces to the side, letting the tail crash into the ground. As it lifts, I’m already ready for it. Once more, it hisses, and I quickly duck—only the air grazes me. I breathe out, and I hear a boredtskfrom Commandant Lorren. The crowd gasps, mutters fill the grounds, and the screeching cogwheels halt. The contraption stills.
Commandant Lorren steps in, patting me on the back—proud. I inhale another breath, removing the blindfold, bright light briefly blinding me. I scan the crowd, looking for the amber eyes—silently hoping they’re watching me. And they are. Wide with surprise, amusement—perhaps a hint of fear. But I’m not bothered. She’s watching me. There’s a brief flutter in my chest.
CHAPTER 25
Two weeks came and went. Now, I’m outside the Third’s gates, waiting for soldiers to form up, load the rations, and bring in the wagons with horses.
The formation is smaller. Splitting up the army into two is a better plan than sending all of us against this Redsnout. The previous expedition proved that. I’ll lead the first formation together with Lieutenant Wain—acting as field officer with two other lieutenants—and two Scouts acting as messengers to the second army.
Ilian packs his bag, dropping an item or two with his shaky hands and cursing under his breath. It’s his first mission in two years. The only time he saw a dragon up close was during the battle at the Gates two years ago, and the thought of seeing one again clearly gets under his skin.
“This is a suicide mission,” he says, his voice shaking. I look at him as he crouches over the bag, rapidly packing rations andattempting to make himself as small as possible. The morning sun casts my shadow over him.
