As Goss let relief wash over him, Kitty put his nose into the air, sniffing deeply. “Ah, we’re here.”

Goss slowed in his steps. Up ahead, a door easily large enough to fit several dragons side by side loomed, its face engraved with thousands of names. He had heard about this door. The tombstone. The mere sight of it made Goss want to shrink away, the only thing keeping his feet rooted in place being Kitty’s steadfast gaze. Swallowing, Goss stepped to the side, letting Ymir and Father walk up to it. Once they were close enough, Father pointed to a spot in the middle of the right side. Without having to say anything, Ymir rose onto his trembling hind legs, his stomach spasming from the pain of the gluttony brand. Once he found his spot, he carefully carved in his own name using his claw. Despite how nervous he felt, Goss noticed with interest that Ymir wrote down not just his name, but also the name he had as a goblin. Var-jeat, son of Lemn.

With the name inscribed, he let his body fall once more, grunting as he used both his arms and wings to catch himself. Then, without any command from Father, he put his knuckle to the door and rapped onto it.

The door slid open and light flooded inside the formerly dim hallway, blinding Goss where he stood. The sight made Ymir frown slightly, but he still entered, forcing Goss to quickly speed after him.

Until now, Goss had only been to the chasm of absolution twice. Once, when he was very new, to watch the last leader of the naturalist party get killed. And then, once, when he and the other whelps snuck inside to check it out. One of the other whelps had jokingly leapt down onto the actual ritual floor. They were turned to dust before they had time to gloat about it. Goss still remembered their horror, and how it had taken them weeks to gain enough courage to tell Father about it. Once they did, they held a proper wake for him, carving his name onto the tombstone gate.

And now, that floor laid before him.

The ceiling of the room was open, allowing the sky and its setting sun to be seen, and to light up the chasm as a whole. Above, on a circular balcony of sorts, stood the rest of the dragons, all watching down with varying levels of haughty interest.

“They’ll come for the execution, but not the wake,” Kitty muttered in his hand. Goss could only agree.

The ritual floor itself was the main piece. It was large enough to appear more like an arena, fit enough for all dragons of the mountain to crowd into. Not that they could. If they did, they would be turned to the same dust that made up the floor Ymir and Father now stood upon. Gulping, Goss mustered the courage to step out onto it, giving a brief prayer to the Goddess of Dragons that this wouldn’t be the last thing he did.

Thankfully, his prayer was answered. With a heartfelt sigh of relief, he looked down at Kitty, glad to find the human still in his hand and decidedly not dustified. However, he was looking straight ahead in the way he only was while viewing the so-called ‘status messages.’ “See anything, Kitty?”

“Uh, yeah, it says I’ve entered holy ground,” Kitty noted absently. “Fits what you’ve said so far, but it’s still interesting to see again.”

In response, Goss could muster only a nod. His attention had affixed itself onto Ymir and Father, who now stood in the middle of the arena alongside Kempt.

“Today, we will unfortunately say farewell to Ymir, of the suicidalist party…”

Goss realized with horror that Father was holding a speech about Ymir’s death, with Ymir’s executioner standing five paces behind them, awkwardly cowering in the corner. Goosebumps spread across every inch of his skin and he ground his teeth together. What was he supposed to do? Join them? He, a whelp? No way. But if he kept standing there while they were really introducing him, then…

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Goss,” Kitty said, far below, but close by. Goss looked down at the gently smiling human. “You’re doing great. Just keep looking like a fearsome and ferocious dragon executioner and you’ll be fine.”

With those simple words, Goss felt himself relax.

“But, uh… Make sure that you put me on top of the bleachers before you start doing your thing, alright? I’ve got a feeling that if you drop me, I won’t get away with a simple brain-splattering.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Goss replied. If he hadn’t been such a coward, he would have relieved himself of his one friend minutes earlier. Kitty shouldn’t even have been on the ritual floor. The Goddess of Dragons was watching him. What must She think about him allowing a human on Her sacred holy ground? There was no doubt in his head that She was gearing up to give him everything he had ever asked of Her.

“Nominated for this solemn duty is none other than Goss Fletchling. As he takes his place before our comrade Ymir, let us all join in the resting mumbler’s hymn,” Father announced. At the sound of his words, the dozens of gathered dragons began the hymn, their voices joining as one.

Goss felt his heart stop as Father turned to him.

Quickly ascertaining where the whelps had chosen to watch from, Goss drew back his arm, asked Kitty for forgiveness he already knew he’d receive, and threw the screaming human across the arena, the toy-sized being’s screech just so happening to be the exact same tone everyone was singing, making his shriek imperceptible. Before turning away, Goss made sure to watch Kitty’s flight just enough to see Frey catch him one-handed—very impressive.

With that done, Goss turned toward where Ymir stood, his wings bound and his body tethered to the ground, Father at his side.

While the hymn drew into a crescendo, Goss strode across the arena, his heartbeat acting as a drum, going faster and faster as the larger dragon came closer. Soon, Goss stood right in front of him. The aged dragon’s weary eyes stared blankly at him, his forehead scarred by the brand of pride, his chest rising slowly as hoarse breaths crawled out of his throat. Goss gulped.

A small hand fell on his little finger. Down below he found Father, looking up at him. “It isn’t too late,” he said warmly. “Nobody will fault you for leaving the rest to me.”

Goss drew away his hand. “I—I have to do this. I need to. I… want to.”

Going only by the way Father looked at him, Goss could tell his lie didn’t quite get through. Nevertheless, out of respect for Ymir, Father stepped away. Kempt likewise followed along. Soon, the two of them were far away, as was Kitty, and the whelps, and everyone else. It was just him, Ymir, and the hymn in the air. But soon, even that began to fade.

The final notes of the hymn came to a close. The last voice echoed away. Now, the only sound to be heard was Ymir’s labored breathing, and the heavy beating of Goss’ heart.

High above, a bell chimed. It was time.

Goss stood there. Alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as alone as he did then. There was only him, his victim, and his heart. He could feel it beating within his chest. Faster, faster. Tired eyes looking up at him. A hundred eyes looking down at him. A select few eyes, seeing him for the kid he really was. He could feel his breathing begin to hitch.

‘Ten deep breaths,’ he heard Kitty say, a memory away. ‘Count them, in and out. One in, one out. Two in, two out. When you get to ten, repeat it backwards. And if that doesn’t help… A bit of manslaughter never hurt anyone, right?’

One in, one out. Two in, two out.

Eyes, watching.

Three in, three out. Four in, four out.

Mouths mumbling. Asking. Questioning.

Five in, five out… Six in, six out…

Eyes on his back, eyes on his face, eyes on his side. Everyone, watching. Everyone seeing him be a pathetic little loser who has to do breathing exercises to muster the strength to kill an old skin bag.

Seven in… seven out… Eight in… eight out…

Why couldn’t he just do it? Nobody else had problems with this. Father could do it easily. He’d do it in a heartbeat, and everyone would watch the pretty dust. But you can’t. Because you’re pathetic.

Nine… in… nine… out… Ten… in… ten… out…

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. And you think you can be a four-winged dragon. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. The Goddess of Dragons is watching you, and She thinks you’re pathetic, even Kitty thinks you’re—

“Just kill him!” someone shouts across the arena.

“Come on, do away with that old skinnie!”

“What are you waiting for, you pathetic whelp? Show that suicidalist what he wants to see!”

Nineinnineouteightineightoutseveninsevenoutsixinsixoutfiveinfiveoutfourinfouroutthreeinthreeouttwointwooutoneinoneout—

Zero.