Page 99 of The Last Dragon
“Sam,” I say again, firmer now. The knot in my gut tightens. Sam never hides the truth from me. Even when it shatters him. Even when it breaks me. But once—years ago—he told me there might come a day when the hardest thing he’d ever do was tell me that—
“It’s Pirlem,” he stutters. “It’s gone.”
My world flips upside down, and it’s as if all the air is sucked out of the hall. Nida takes a step, her breath hitching, body shaking. And like her, I hope I misheard Sam’s words. But then,from behind, Lieutenant Wain emerges. The look on her face confirms it.
We haven’t misheard.
The long walk from the room to the quarters is filled with silence. Only our footsteps echo from wall to wall. Lieutenant Wain’s tense posture makes me feel uneasy as she walks.
We reach the Commanders’ Quarters, where other commanders stand around a giant round table.
I glance around the room and notice several cadets, commanders, and analysts from various units—people Sam and I have worked with briefly. Sam moves toward the table, avoiding my gaze.
“How many?” I ask.
“Most likely, few to no survivors,” Wain says.
“Dragon attack?” I ask. Sam looks at me. Then he nods.
“How did we not know it was there?” I seethe through my teeth.
“It happened last night. It… killed our Scouts. There was no way of knowing. We found out this morning. A Scout responsible for switching posts with one of the others discovered what happened. She was the one to send us the message. ”
My stomach drops. For how long have they suffered? Now we have to plan an expedition. We’ll have to go to Pirlem, not to kill a dragon, but to bury people. Our people.My people.
Nida draws in a shaky breath, her eyes darkening, but she’s trying to contain herself, and I can already guess what’s going through her mind.
A soldier is a tool. Not a sentimental being.
Shut it off.
Not a sentimental being.
But we are.
“Are you sure there aren’t any survivors?” I ask, hoping that their answer will change.
But Wain shakes her head. “We’ve sent out scouting units around Pirlem and to other villagers. Hawks returned not too long ago. They found nothing.”
Nida stares at the map on the table, then shifts her gaze to Sam, who refuses to meet hers. Wain catches on and loosens her posture.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says. I’m grateful for her words. As a high-ranking lieutenant, she’s not allowed to show any emotions—even during The Memorial. But she’s willing to put that aside and offer comfort. Nida gives a nod, her muscles tense as if every fiber in her body tells her to scream and yell and rip everything apart. But now she has to pretend that none of this hurts her. Pretend that none of this even happened. Hold on to false hope that she’ll see her family again. I’ve been there. I’ve felt the same way. But is she strong enough to contain it?
If Pirlem is destroyed, it sets us back years. Everything they had, materials or food or any hope in rebuilding gone—lost in dragon fire. No Pirlem will make it difficult to expand. My fingers dig into my palms. I’m sure there are survivors. Even though my gut urges me to trust Sam and Wain, I refuse to abandon hope. Maybe some villagers escaped in time. They must have. I beg the Divines they did.
Without Pirlem—without our protection from the northwest—the Stronghold is far more vulnerable now.
“You and Sam will have to go through these reports,” Wain says, tapping the stack of papers on the table. “All soldiers will have extra duties until we get a clearer picture. Until then, Zel, you’ll plan the next expedition.”
I swallow hard, the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. My mind races—there’s no room for mistakes now. I nod, forcing myself to focus. This isn’t just about survival anymore. It’s about leading them through what’s coming next.
“Understood,” I say, voice steadier than I feel.
Soldier first. Soldier first. Soldier first.
The walk back toward the training grounds is excruciating, shattering every bit of hope I had left. Tainting the only moment in my life that felt real, into something horrifying. Nida hasn’t said a word. I just follow, trying to find something to say. But nothing comes out. Instead, I watch her red waves sway over her back, and she passes hall after hall like a ghost, until she’s met with a dead end. Her cries pierce the air. I want to say that there’s still a chance they’re alive. There’s still hope. But that’s a lie.
“I lost them, Zel,” she says with a cracking voice. It breaks my heart. Sage. Bram. Her little sister—Isra, I think her name was. She was nine years old. Divines, Maira. I can’t even imagine what Ligerion must be feeling. Does he even know?
