A Gamer's Guide 219 (Patreon)

It doesn’t take long to retell our day’s adventures, and by the end of it, Ymir has decided to join in on it as well.

“So, after all that, now, you suspect you may be one of mine. A suicidalist.”

Goss lifts his head off the seat. “I—I’m not! I was just—”

“We’re considering it,” I clarify. “In all honesty, so far… Well, I’m not sure if it’s my place to say it, but nobody seems to have any clue why they turned into dragons.”

Fr. Moonlight shares an almost imperceptible smile with me. “A most astute observation.”

“If I didn’t know better,” I continue, “I’d assume that all this about types was a load of hogwash.”

The priest’s smile widens.

Ymir, for his own part, appears far less amused. “And you expect my testimony to prove your suspicions?”

“I don’t expect anything. All I want is to hear your thoughts and experiences, and if what you say resonates with Goss, then we have our answer. If not… who knows? I’m not here to figure life out for you. Your business is yours, and my business is mine. Blaming random people and things for your own actions is dumb, but if you guys want to do that, who am I to stop you?”

The old dragon’s wrinkly face twists into a light smile. “I can see why Father spoke so warmly of you.”

…He did what-now?

I turn to look at Fr. Moonlight. In the time I was monologuing, he took a seat next to Goss. He smiles at me sheepishly. Can he do nothing but smile? Still, I can’t find it in myself to be annoyed at him.

“So,” I say, “spill the beans.”

His heavy brow wrinkles down. “Spill the…?”

“Tell me your story. Why should Goss be a type five, why are you a type five…” I wave my hand in the air. “Everything like that.”

“Ah, I see.” Ymir shifts his head. “The simple answer is that, had they not been too far-sighted to see their reflection in the mirror, all dragons would be suicidalist. It is the only true choice.” His voice is heavy, but unlabored. “Yes, I could blame society. Or even my poor parents, my comrades, perhaps even the opposing army… Perhaps it is the fault of my king and their king, who started such a meaningless war. Or it is the fault of the goblin who invented spears and arrows.” He speaks evenly, voice apathetic to the horrors he must doubtlessly have experienced. “I wasn’t the worst off. Dennetter, my comrade, lost his leg. I returned to a pair of parents who may not have loved me as much as my brothers, but at least they were there. I may not have had all that a prince might, I had my share of losses, but in the end, I could have been happy.”

Somewhere in the back of my skull, I can feel something itching, like a cluster of termites, gnawing at the inside of my head, reminding me of everything that’s happened, everything I did, every voice that uttered the same question. I swallow down the memories, turning to him with barely hidden desperation. “Then, why did you…?”

“Because I wanted to.” His words slice through the air like a knife through my chest.

I stagger where I stand. Blinking doesn’t remove the film of RED falling over my eyes. “Because you… wanted to…?”

“Yes,” he says, the serpentine word slithering through the air to bite at my already opened wound. “That is why. I killed my mother, and my father, and my siblings, and I burnt the town to cinders, and I tore my priest to pieces, and when my former comrades took arms against me, I laughed in their faces.” His lips twitch in disgust. “I was a pathetic creature back then.”

“But—but you…” Something cold burns in my chest. My heart is on fire. I can feel my hands, clenching and unclenching. My head buzzes. “How—how could you? Weren’t they your friends?! Your family? And you killed them, all for—for your selfish wants? That’s it? That’s your grand explanation? Your majestic, all-encompassing justification for why you did what you did?” I pace up to him, hands trembling, jaw clenched. “And now it’s all okay, because you blame yourself? Do you seriously think that that’s enough to be forgiven?”

I’m close to him now. His massive head, his infernal breath. His eyes, cold and all-encompassing as they stare down at me, what little surprise he had suddenly melting away into apathy. I stand, chest rising and falling quickly, watching with wide eyes as his head slowly slides out of the seat, disappearing out of the window and into the darkness of the cave outside.

I blink at where he was mere moments earlier. Th—that’s right! Run away, you pathetic little—

A massive clawed hand reaches inside, the thumb and forefinger pinching around my chest, pushing my breath out of my lungs as my ribs make a sound similar to hard candy being crushed between teeth.

“K—Kitty!” Goss shouts in vain as the hand pulls me outside.

Gh… ghhhh…!

<You have learned:

Fracture Protection Lv.8>

Haah, haah, haah, alright, okay, I deserved that one, I get it, so…

He dangles me in front of his massive face, both rows of man-sized teeth bared. His eyes burn, endless darkness burrowed inside them, deeper than any tunnel. Face twisted in something that might be rage, might be grief, he takes a deep, shaking breath. “Do you believe that I’ve forgiven myself?”

Ragged breaths are about all I can take now. My heart pounds against the cracked remains of my sternum, mere inches from his massive finger. The world is starting to look blotty. I look up at him.

His shallow, quick breaths hit me. His featherless wings are flared in a show of threat. Eyes wide, heart pounding quickly…

Ah, that’s it. I get it now.

I smile at him. “You’re just like me.”

He blinks at me. The fury fades from his face, his wings slowly fold themselves, and his lips fall to hide his fangs. “Yes,” he says, softly. “Yes, I am.”

“Kitty!” Goss shouts from across the cave, finally having gotten his head out of the church. “Kitty, I’ll save you! Are you—” He notices the look on Ymir’s face. “Oh. Oh.” He retreats a little. “S—sorry, I didn’t know that…”

“Hold out your hand.”

“Huh?” Goss says, looking back up at Ymir. Nevertheless, he follows his demand, holding out his right hand, and then watching with some surprise as Ymir drops me from a hundred or so feet in the air and into it, both of my legs breaking on impact. Ow. I look up. The sight of Goss’ jaw falling a little brings a smile to my bloodied lips. Apparently, this only made Goss more worried, as his wings beat in terror. “Kitty! By the—Ymir, why would you…?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I say, pulling myself to my feet, biting off my fingers to heal my legs as I do. “I’m fine.”

“But…!”

Before he can protest anything else, a voice from up above makes itself known. “Hey, mind if I join in?” Fr. Moonlight asks, leaning out of one of the church’s windows.

Ymir looks up at him. “Of course—pardon me, Father.” He holds up a hand, letting Fr. Moonlight step onto it before lowering him down, very softly, without breaking a single one of his ribs. Ah, the perks of the clergy. Maybe those Frenchmen in the late eighteenth century had a point after all… Turning to me again, Ymir squints slightly. “As I was saying, I was a pathetic creature back then.”

Goss perks up a little. “But you got better?”

Reading the facial expressions of dragons isn’t exactly easy, doubly so when the emotions being conveyed would be too nuanced for even a normal human face to show properly. I think he’s frowning in some kind of misery, maybe even regret, but… Deep in his eyes, there’s also what I think might be relief. “No,” he says after a long pause. “I have not.”

The words make Goss’ expression fall. “B—but hasn’t it been almost forty years since then? Surely, you must have—”

“I haven’t!” Ymir snaps. His clawed hand grasps at the barren rock below. “I haven’t.” In his other hand, I see how Fr. Moonlight gently places his hand on the far larger dragon’s thumb. Ymir turns to him briefly, his jaw working as he keeps his eye away from us. When he turns back to look at us, there is resolution in his eyes. “I haven’t, because I can’t.” He lets his wing flare out, barren, featherless, and grotesque. He scowls at it. “No matter what, I will always be a dragon. Ever since that day. I am not forgiven, because I can never be forgiven.”

Fr. Moonlight looks up at him, his face transparent in its worry. “Ymir…”

The dragon almost winces away from the tiny priest in his hand. His tail beats behind him, thumping into rock. “I am sorry. I have told you this before, Father.” His eyes burn sadly as he looks at us. There is no hope in his face. If anything, all that can be seen in his eyes is the absolute certainty of a sinner. “Even if I become a former, I will still have my wings. I will still carry this unforgivable burden on my shoulders. They are dead at my hands. As there is nothing I can do to bring them back, there is nothing that can forgive me.” He looks down at me, face set in a snarl. “Especially not myself.”

I feel something tighten in my chest.

Unforgivable. The mere word hurts. It stings like nettles, burns like a mother’s gaze. But at the same time… It feels good. Comforting. The embrace of an iron maiden. Being unforgivable… It means you don’t have to try anymore. Like Ymir. He’s a dragon. But even more than that, he’s a monster. He always was, and he always will be. That’s right. Even a former is defined by what they once were. There is no forgiveness.

I almost chuckle. How wonderfu—

Something hits me and my head snaps to face Goss. His lower lip is trembling. I grab onto one of his fingers. “Hey, Goss, listen, this isn’t—”

Before I can say anything else, he closes his hand around me, pressing me close to his chest as he runs away, wings desperately flapping, bringing us away and away and away, out into the tunnel and around a bend, until they can’t see us or hear us.

The second he releases me, I grab a hold of his fingers. “Goss, that wasn’t—” I swallow thickly, trying to get rid of my twisted and knotted-up feelings. “He was wrong. You hear me? That isn’t true. He’s only saying that because he doesn’t know—”

Goss smiles at me. Tears are streaking down his face, glinting in the darkness.

“I get it now,” he says. Taking a deep, heaving breath, he wipes at his face with his wing. When it pulls away, his REDdened eyes turn upwards, at the darkness of the tunnel. “I’m a type five. I just didn’t want to accept it before. But—but I know better now.”

“Goss, you don’t—”

“I do!” he says. He takes a few shallow breaths. “I do. I did it because… Because I’m me. It wasn’t about mom, or my brother, or even the village. It was because of me. There’s no one else to blame.” He leans back, hiding his face with his wings. “There’s only me.”

And worst of all, I can’t find it in me to disagree with him.