Morning came quickly, though, by the time I was awake, Goss was already up and about, calling me a sleepyhead, a snoozer-loser, a nightcap-haver… Every slur in the book. I would’ve been more upset if he hadn’t been right. Yes, indeed—for once, I was as snug as a bug in a rug.

Being an effective worker to a tee, I wanted us to start lobbying straight away. Unfortunately, Goss—my ride and guide—wanted us to go hunting first. With yesterday’s failure in terms of food brought to the feast, Goss was desperate for us to have something better to offer.

And so, at four in the morning—yes, that’s before the sun goes up—we went out hunting. Naive as I am, I expected us to hunt in the nearby area, but not so. Goss took us to the neighboring country, and then circled around until he found a forest lush enough to hunt in. As he explained it, to keep themselves from completely wrecking the local ecosystems, they limit themselves both in terms of their prey size and amount. So, no bigger than a dog, and they have to grab it from a new region every day, resetting weekly. Apparently, this gives them a fair bit of variety. Neat.

So, we hunt for a bit. With my help, Goss is able to capture a number of small-to-medium-sized animals. Since he had no sense of how to keep meat tender, I had to teach him to slit their throats and suck out the blood to let them hang a little. How does Fr. Moonlight survive with these beasts around him? Ah, then again, he doesn’t have to eat any of it himself. It’s not like the whelps themselves are gourmets or anything, but I prefer my meat either fresh or old enough to no longer be in a state of rigor mortis.

With little effort and only a bit of bloodshed, we’re able to leave the forest with a few hares, two winged drakes and a single dog-sized tarantula. Mmm, tarantula… Goss was hesitant, but I promised to teach him how to cook it so it becomes yummilicious, which convinced him.

Before we fly home, I get Goss to take us on a little detour, flying high above the nearby surroundings. I know he sees it as casual, being a dragon and all, but I can’t get over the novelty of it. It looks way too cool. Even if I hadn’t adored dragons, this sight alone is enough to make me bitter about humans not being able to transform into dragons.

…Then again, considering all the dragons I’ve met so far, maybe being a dragon isn’t all it’s hyped up to be.

I glance up at Goss. Well, aside from this guy, that is. The more I think about it, the more amazing it is that he’s still got all that childishness. Not in the way where he’s immature or anything, though. It’s more that he lets himself be a kid.

Something cold and hard forms in my chest.

By the time early noon rolls around, we’ve returned once again to Loathe Summit. For Fr. Moonlight’s sake, we drop off our loot straight away. As soon as we do, though, I have a thought. “Hey, Father?” I ask, sidling up closer to him as we walk in the tunnel to his workshop.

“What is it, son?”

I pause a second to regain my strength. “Well, uh… So far, it looks as though I’ll be staying here for a while. A few weeks or so, maybe.” My statement makes Goss, who’s walking a little behind us, noticeably light up. I pretend not to see it. “I was just wondering if, while I’m anyways here…” The words are elusive, but I’m able to grab them by the throat. “...Maybe you could teach me how to tan leather? A—and sew with it, and such?”

“You want to learn tanning?” he asks, eyes widening incrementally.

“Why?” Goss shoots down from just above us. I try to telepathically tell him to keep quiet with a look, but it doesn’t really work, and he just ends up even more confused. Nevertheless, he isn’t speaking, so I overcome my hesitation and continue talking.

“Yeah,” I say. “So far, I’ve been skinning things and keeping the hides, but it’s not like I’ve actually been able to tan them properly, so after a few weeks or months, they kind of… break down.” For his own sake, I avoid going into detail about what kind of activities I partake in to cause such wear and tear.

He blinks at me. I feel myself sweat. D—did I say something wrong…? “Do you really want to learn tanning? From me?”

Oh, lord, here it is. I turn away from him. “It’s not like I know anyone else who’s as good at is as you, but if you’ve got your hands full, then it’s not like I can force you to—”

Before I have time to finish making my excuse, he’s crossed the distance between us and slung his arms around me, his head pressed against my chest. I freeze in place. Wh—what is—

Taking a step back, he removes himself from me, wiping at his eyes. “Thank you—yes, of course, I would be delighted to teach you all that I know.” Smiling warmly—way too warmly—he touches a hand to the leopard hide I’m wearing. “I had noticed the tattered things you wear, so hearing that you’d like to learn how to dress better…” He chuckles—no, snickers to himself. “I will gladly be of service to you, my son.”

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“Th—thank you,” I croak, the words only barely overcoming a sob to force their way out. “It… it means a lot.”

“Not as much as it does to me,” he sighs.

We bring the meat for the feast to his workshop, and then Goss and I get guilted into joining Fr. Moonlight for high mass. Okay, that’s a bit harsh, we could definitely have refused at any point and he’d have been completely fine with it, but the thought of him telling mass to a single attendee overpowered any such wants. Also, since Ymir was set to die in like a month, it would do Goss good to talk more with him. That way, we could extract more information, Goss could get closer to ascension, and I would be privy to more odd stories.

We attend the high mass. It was, dare I say… pleasant.

Unlike yesterday, there were three more dragons in attendance, a number that included Kempt, allowing the parish to reach a full six members, myself counted. The difference between three and six members doesn’t seem like much, but it made a massive difference in the hymns sung, alongside the overall reverie.

Dragons, as I have come to learn, actually have two throats, one being for fire-breathing and the other for normal speaking affairs. The funny thing, then, becomes how they use both of these throats to sing, creating music I’d describe as strange, but far from bad. It was… interesting.

We remained, and afterwards, Goss took the time to talk to Ymir. It wasn’t really my place to listen in on their private conversation, so I dislodged to go learn tanning from Fr. Moonlight.

By the time evening and the feast arrived, I had learnt the basics of tanning, been taught how to properly cobble simple loafers, and forgotten all about lobbying. Shoot.

The feast would have been nicer if Kempt hadn’t sat smirking at Goss and me the entire time. Gloating little tick. I wanted to tell him off, but Goss wouldn’t let me, insisting that if we blew up at him, he’d be the winner. I was loath to find him correct.

To update on the tarantula situation, Goss liked it. Everyone else thought he was a freak for not only eating but also liking it, but we didn’t care. Tarantula is good. Can recommend.

After the feast, we finally got around to lobbying. With so much time leading up to it, I had given plenty of thought to what arguments could be used to sway each party. However…

“You’re okay with it? Just like that? But I didn’t even explain the economic reasoning behind—”

“It’s fine,” Hart says, waving his hand casually as he continues carefully assessing a golden plate of some sort. “I really don’t care.”

Goss glances between me and Hart. “Don’t… care?” His countenance takes on all the properties of a wronged puppy. “But isn’t he your fellow party leader? You must have known him for over ten years by now!”

“Yes, I have known Ymir for… close to fifteen years now, I believe,” Hart agrees. His massive eye turns to look at us with what can best be described as boredom. “Why do you ask?”

Goss paces where he stands. “B—but if you’ve known him for that long, then…”

I hold up a hand, silencing him. Then, I take a step forward, hoping that even though he’s now turned back to the little plate in his claws, he might still listen to me. “What we’re trying to say, party leader, is that considering how this is usually a very ritualistic practice that’s been going on for hundreds of years, we had expected a bit more resistance from you leaders.” I pause, checking to see if he’s listening at all. “So, if it isn’t too much of a bother… Could you elaborate a little?”

He turns to us in equal parts confusion and frustration. “Are you deaf? I don’t care how that saggy old skinwing dies as long as he croaks before he starts mumbling.” Sneering, he puts the plate in his hand, absently rolling it around with his thumb. “If you really want to hear my thoughts,” he says, giving Goss a meaningful look, “I wouldn’t care even if you decided to let that little pet of yours do him the honor.”

Not sure whether to thank him or question his morals, we instead decide to keep our silence and leave.

Within a few minutes, we reach the religists and gear up to do our well-researched pitch, only to be met with the same reaction.

They don’t care.

Not how he dies, not who does it, or even why. Their attitude alone told me that they wouldn’t have cared even if I personally decided to tear him apart and use his blood as a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. They just… didn’t care.

None of them did.

Not even Ymir.

“You’d be fine with it?” Goss asks, his voice hoarse. “With me k—killing you?”

The aged dragon simply shrugs where he sits, absently basking in the sundial’s sunray. “Why would I not be?”

“It’s your death rite,” Goss enunciates. But both he and I know that the ritual nature of his death doesn’t make any difference. “And—and Father Moonlight is your friend, so I don’t see why…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says simply, in the same bored, indifferent way as everyone else. “To die is to die. Whether it comes at your claws or his kiss is unimportant. In the end, I will return to dust, and my sins die with me.” His aged, deep-set eyes slowly move from Goss to me. “However…”

That small word gives Goss hope, as he looks back up at the larger dragon, eyes twinkling tentatively.

“—I would rather not be killed by someone who is unwilling.”

“Unwilling?” I parrot. “What’s that supposed to mean? Goss is beyond willing to do this. I mean, look at him! He’s practically trembling with excitement!” As a matter of fact, now that I’m dramatically pointing at him, I notice that Goss is actually trembling for real. I hide how flustered I am with a weak chuckle. “Heh, um… Yeah. He wants—no, needs to ascend, and he’s willing to fulfill the ultimate type-five thing to do so. You understand, don’t you?”

Turning to look at Goss, Ymir lets his nose crumple up into an expression of distaste. “I see how it is.” Without waiting for me to explain the facts and how everything really is, Ymir stands up, turning his massive back to us. Before leaving fully, he turns to look over his shoulders and folded wings, brow furrowed over his eye. “I do not care if it is you, or that priest, or even your human friend who should kill me. Neither, I suspect, do my fellow party leaders. However, if you decide to take Father Moonlight’s role, I expect that you should be able to follow through as well. Otherwise, your sins will only weigh heavier.”

And with those words, he walks away, crawling into a tunnel and out of sight.

I nudge Goss’ arm with my elbow. “I’d say that went pretty well! I was afraid he wouldn’t be up for it, so it’s great to hear that he’s cool with it. Right, Goss?”

As I turn to look at Goss to examine the reason for his silence, I instead find an answer to a question I didn’t even know I had.

Apparently, even dragons can turn pale with dread.