Page 4 of The Last Dragon
I glance at soldiers standing together in clusters of five, mourning their fallen comrades. Faces sunken from days without sleep, dirt and dry blood clinging to their bodies. I don’t say anything. I let him speak. Right now, my words won’t matter. He’s not going to listen.
“I see soldiers who feel defeated. The people need a leader. They need hope.” The general’s piercing gaze meets mine. I shake my head. I won’t give in. I can’t. He saved me once. And from day one, he turned me into one of his soldiers. But with that, he made me believe I could lead. But he was wrong. I was wrong.
“I can’t,” I repeat, yet quieter this time. As if deep down, he’s convincing me.
He sighs, patience running thin. “Fine, then I will just have to place you in a unit where you’ll have the title of commander.”
I meet his piercing blue eyes, closely resembling my good eye, reminding me of the similarities we both share. Same mindset, same height, same morals and values. Shoulders perfectly aligned. But the patch of the Hunter’s Division and the general’s emblem with a star and two arrows couldn’t divide us more. The dark red tones on his double-breasted coat and the black hues of my leather jacket. The medals below his collarbone and the empty space on my chest. Yet here he is, willing to replace my insignia with three sharp lines I never asked for. To bring our ranks closer. So that I would be what he always wanted me to be.
“I won’t do it,” I say.
His aging eyes never leave mine. He takes a slow, deep breath, clenching his jaw. “You do not have a choice.” His voice clings to my ears, bitterness lingering in the air. I know I didn’t in the first place. But I hoped he would listen. Yet what crawls under my skin is how persistent he is. Oftentimes, he’d find my arguments valid, but this time, he’s more strict. I wonder if the results of this expedition are what make him want to put me on the front lines again. Is he under pressure from The King? Have other Strongholds and their generals see him unfit for the Third? He won’t ever tell me that. But I can always assume that what he does is in humanity’s best interest.
I frown in thought, and he clearly takes note of that, raising his eyebrows, jerking his head toward the crowd and the banner of names that soon will burn for the Divines to claim what is rightfully theirs.
“Five commanders died. I only have a few left that are as skillful as they were, includingyou. Humanity depends on this.”
“Fine,” I finally say, digging my nails deep into my palms. “But I won’t take up the role as commander. Not until I meet up with Sayna to assess my condition.” I’m hoping he bites, and Sayna’s medical assessment will relieve me of duties.
He gives an approving nod. “Very well. I’ll make sure she makes time for you.”
A moment passes. Familiar silence stretches between us. He gives me a slight nod, then turns his attention to a lieutenant standing farther from the arch, before slipping into the crowd.
Sobs continue to echo from every direction, yells of anger and spitting curses. I trace their familiar faces, though they feel foreign as they blur together. Colors of different hues—ebony, copper, and porcelain—swirl and move all over the Great Hall. Strands of hair remind me of the dark, harsh nights at the Hold, or the rough sands at the Front—and for a moment—the flickering heat of a blazing fire. And then it gets me thinking of the colors that are missing, that are no longer here and never will be. Until there’s only one color that hovers above all of them. The dark blue banner of the Third Stronghold hangs high from the ceiling. People push and shove under it, reminding me of what they are. Soldiers. And that’s all they ever will be. That’s all I’ll ever be. I’ve built a wall around me, piece by piece, layer by layer, that not even a Stonetail can break through. Nothing. No one.
I am a soldier first.
I walk out of the room, sobs fade away the further I go. Sobs that give me relief knowing that I will never be the one to cause them ever again.
CHAPTER 2
The line in the mess hall for yesterday’s reheated bread is tedious, to say the least, and the smell of whatever liquid is being served today doesn’t make it any better. The benches are perfectly aligned in rows, each one set with precision to make the most of every inch of space. It’s a careful balance—tight enough to feel the energy of everyone around, but with just enough room to breathe and feel the subtle tension humming in the air.
A harsh, high-pitched noise fills the room as chairs scrape against the wooden floor. It digs into my skull, each sound like nails on a chalkboard. As I wait in line, the weight of foreign eyes bores into the back of my head. It’s always like this when new recruits arrive—curiosity laced with thinly veiled fear. I’ve long since learned to ignore it, but deep down it still bothers me.
I glance over my shoulder. A cadet stands two steps behind, keeping his distance and leaving a gap in the line. He stares atmy neck, where black veins crawl up, barely visible above my collar.
Shit. I didn’t realize they’d spread that far.
Our eyes lock. He draws a sharp breath, shoulders going rigid like he’s weighing whether to run or draw his blade and take his chances.
Demon,his eyes say. And he’s not the only one carrying them.
Eight years ago, after my village was nearly reduced to ash, I was left with the mark of a dragon—a scar of survival. At first, they called me a Divine—an immortal being humanity once prayed to. All because I survived the impossible—venom injected by a Blightclaw, one of the deadliest dragons known to exist. But the longer I breathed, the more the word Divine twisted into something far darker. Demon. A curse walking on this very soil. Then came the defense expedition I led two years ago, which only added more fuel to the fire. I swore I’d never lead again. No one wants to be under the command of a monster. But all that is falling apart now that General Grogol wants me as Commander. I hope it won’t come to that.
“Look what the dragon dragged in!” A familiar voice comes from behind me, and an arm presses down on my neck and shoulders. A sharp breath escapes me, my body tensing at the unexpected weight of his pale brown, scaled armor. Glancing to the side, I’m met with soft blue eyes staring back at me.
“Raumen,” I say with an exhale. I tap his arm, signaling for him to move it from my shoulders, and rub my neck to relieve the sting.
He blows away a few strands of tousled brown hair from his eyes, stretching his broad shoulders to a sturdy posture. “Glad to see you back up and running. I thought you were dying in that room for weeks. The General wouldn’t let us come see you.”
“Well, he has a twisted way of seeing rest, I suppose,” I joke.
“I heard you’ll be returning to our unit again,” he comments, an excited smirk playing on his face.
“News travels fast.” I sigh.
“Sam told us. He found out from Sayna when she gave him your medical records.” I’m not surprised. All Medics get access to their unit’s health files, so they know how to treat them if they get injured in battle.
