“Guilt.”

  Elli let the word hang in the air for a couple of seconds.

  “We all experience it, and whether it’s justified or not, it gnaws on us.”

  She folded her hands and let her gaze wander through the room. Most of them were shy to return it — this particular topic did not instill anyone with enthusiasm.

  “We’ve touched on the subject many times before, and we've heard many stories from you that were related to guilt. But not all guilt comes with a story. Either way, today, I again wanted to give you the room to talk about what weighs on your soul. Maybe, in doing so, we can help you alleviate some of that weight.”

  Her eyes rested on each of them for a brief moment.

  Clyde had brought his ball of yarn and was already intensely involved with it, his mane a lot shorter than it used to be. Patricia was fidgeting nervously with a strand of pink hair, while Apollo was staring at an unremarkable spot on the stone floor. Surely, all of them were already thinking about their feelings of guilt, now that Elli had brought up the topic.

  “I know this is not something anyone enjoys talking about,” the therapist said with a gentle smile on her lips. “I won’t push anyone to go first, so if there are volunteers …”

  A pregnant silence followed.

  It was nearing winter, and the therapy room already felt a lot colder. The mermaid had put a blanket over her scaly legs, and Dora was wearing a burgundy scarf.

  After a few seconds, Elli ended the silence with a soft clap of her hands.

  “Of course, I would also like to extend the invitation to members outside the core of this group.”

  Suddenly, they all looked at Flynn, and his skin felt unusually warm.

  “Me?” he scoffed, more firmly than he’d intended to.

  “Of course,” Elli said encouragingly. “You are basically a part of this group now.”

  Dora meowed disapprovingly, while Patricia shot him a wide smile.

  “So if there is anything you want to get off your chest,” the therapist continued, “we are here to help with that.”

  Flynn was about to brush off the ridiculous offer, but then he saw Oscar’s soft eyes, and something inside of him shifted. Thoughts he wanted to stay buried surfaced with a violent eruption that made his mouth feel dry and stale.

  He’d never really talked about his feelings, and before coming to the Mythical Ward, he would’ve been content with keeping it that way. But seeing the therapy group discuss their innermost stirrings week in and out had, at times, almost made him envy their ability to share whatever they wanted to. To unburden oneself without the fear of judgment seemed like a distant dream.

  But maybe it wasn’t so distant after all.

  Of course, though, there would be judgment for what he was about to say.

  Elli seemed almost shocked that he didn’t immediately reject her offer, and the suspense in the room crackled while Flynn tried to make himself comfortable — even though he knew he wouldn’t find comfort right now.

  He cleared his throat.

  Once.

  Then again.

  Finally, he found the courage to say what had been weighing on his soul for what seemed like an eternity — precisely, for as long as he’d known Oscar.

  “There are a lot of things I feel guilty about,” Flynn began with a hoarse voice, “but one of them stands out among the rest.”

  He briefly glanced at the dragon, his heart aching already. It was not too late to stop, but some hidden power made him go on. It was like the words were being pulled out of his throat by invisible strings.

  “There was a time when I was quite unhappy with my life, when I realized it wasn’t shaping up to be what I’d imagined. I had plans, but those plans turned into hours at a desk going over numbers I couldn’t have cared less about. My job was anything but fulfilling, and I was struggling to get any work done at all, which was eventually noticed. I got fired, and just like that, I’d pretty much messed up all aspects of my life. My parents and friends grew distant throughout my financial struggles, and I felt … well, I didn’t feel great.”

  He tried to smile away the gravity of his words, but he only managed a grimace.

  Oscar’s large eyes were resting on him, glossy with sadness. Patricia had pulled out a tissue for herself.

  Elli patiently waited for Flynn to continue his story.

  “During that time, I tried a lot of different things, either because they could make me rich, or to finally feel fulfilled. Safe to say, none of them worked out for me, and I was left struggling to sustain my already sad lifestyle.”

  For a moment, he thought he saw a glimpse of sympathy in Apollo’s narrowed eyes, but then the griffin quickly looked away.

  Dora meowed into the brief silence that followed.

  “One day, I saw a note on a blackboard in the center of town. I'd always check it for short-term jobs and good deals. That day, I saw something that stood out to me. It was a royal note of hire. They were looking for someone with a lot of time on their hands and no ties to any people of influence or power, and really no ambitions in life whatsoever.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Flynn snorted. “Finally, a position perfect for me, I thought. And so I reached out to the royal herald and asked about the details of this employment offer.”

  He paused briefly, his mouth awfully dry. The air in the therapy room felt uncomfortably stiff.

  “Well, it's safe to say, it wasn't what I expected.”

  Every word was a struggle to get out, and Flynn tried his best to avoid eye contact with anyone, especially Oscar.

  When the silence lingered, Elli eventually asked, “What did they have you do?”

  Her voice was gentle and kind, which was more than he deserved.

  Flynn sighed, slowly forcing his lips apart. “They were offering me a handsome sum every month to …“

  He paused to rub his sweaty forehead.

  “They paid me to take care of Oscar.”

  A wave of unspoken outrage washed over him. He could feel the touch of scrutinizing eyes, taste the shock that filled the air. But his gaze remained on the floor in front of him, even when he felt Oscar shift next to him.

  “What?” the dragon puffed almost quietly.

  Flynn bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. “I'm sorry, buddy.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed and lingered.

  Eventually, Dora purred with a tone that said, “See? I told you.”

  “I'm sorry,” Flynn repeated, his eyes resting on Oscar's talons. “Not a day goes by where I don't feel guilty about it.”

  He raised his gaze and met the dragon.

  Oscar's expression wasn't angry, or even upset, just … fragile. It was like something deep inside of him was dangerously close to breaking. His amber eyes were wide and hazy, as if he was only seeing whatever imagery his confused mind was conjuring.

  It was painful to see, and Flynn could barely contain his own emotions.

  “But I would never change my actions,” he continued with a cracking voice, “because that's how we met. And choosing to be your caretaker was one of the very few good decisions in my life.”

  He swallowed hard and looked down at his sweaty hands. “The best decision, actually.”

  No one said anything for a long while. Even without checking, Flynn knew they were all staring at him.

  “It takes a lot of courage to admit guilt in the face of someone we care for,” Elli finally said, her voice soothing and calm. “You shouldn't be looking for absolution from this group, and the only one who can truly judge your actions is Oscar. We are just here to listen, and to offer advice. And we are thankful you shared this burden with us.”

  The murmur of approval was quieter than usual.

  “Do you feel better now that you have unburdened yourself?” the therapist continued.

  Flynn shrugged, gingerly raising his eyes. “The burden is still there, but it had to be said.”

  Then, facing Oscar, he added, “I meant to tell you sooner, but I didn't want to make my pain yours.”

  The dragon puffed quietly, his head low. “That's what companions are for,” he rumbled through his massive teeth.

  A jolt of pain shot through Flynn’s chest, leaving him with a faint ringing in his ear. It didn’t make his struggle to find the right words any easier.”

  “Of course they are,” he stammered. “But at first you were too young to tell you, and then … then I was too embarrassed.”

  “Understandable,” Bjorn commented.

  Elli shot him a scolding look.

  “So you were trying to protect Oscar?” Patricia asked quietly, drying her cheeks.

  Before Flynn could respond, Apollo clicked his golden beak.

  “Sounds to me like he was primarily protecting his dignity.”

  Something about the griffin’s belligerent expression made it impossible for Flynn not to argue.

  “Oh yeah?” he scoffed. “Dignity is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

  Apollo narrowed his sleep-deprived eyes until they were mere slits.

  “Gentlemen,” Leonardo interjected with a calming neigh. “I think we can all agree that life is a complicated thing, and none of us ever manages to navigate all its pitfalls flawlessly.”

  Apollo clicked his beak one more time and looked away. Flynn nodded stiffly and turned his attention back to Oscar. The dragon’s droopy tail was coiled behind his massive pillow, his shoulders slumped. His eyes were focused on nothing in particular.

  “Oscar?” Flynn whispered.

  “Hm?” the dragon murmured absently.

  The rest of the group was watching them quietly. A wave of regret washed over Flynn for telling Oscar about all of this in front of others. He should’ve done it in private.

  But would he have ever done it?

  “I'm really sorry, okay?”

  There was nothing Oscar could say to make the guilt go away, but Flynn still had to ask.

  “Okay,” was the dragon’s only response.

  His gravelly voice lacked resolve, his eyes carrying a sadness he would soon be playing down.

  “You did what you had to do,” the dragon tried to rationalize Flynn’s actions. “It wasn’t your fault that you were put in a tough spot. If anyone is to blame, it’s my parents.”

  “I still should’ve told you.”

  “You had your reasons for not telling me.”

  “They were bad reasons,” Flynn muttered.

  “At least you told me now. And like you said, if you hadn’t taken that job, we never would’ve met.”

  The dragon tried a lop-sided smile, but Flynn could sense the uncertainty behind the scaly mask. It pained him like few things ever had.

  Of course, now, he thought himself foolish for even letting it come this far. What had he been thinking? The truth was never going to remain hidden forever, and it was already a miracle he’d made it this far.

  But the younger Flynn had been a naive Flynn, who’d made a careless decision all those years ago — one that led to more happiness than made sense, more than he deserved. Greed had been his motive, not compassion. Even when they’d told him about the young dragon he’d have to take care of, he’d simply asked about the size of the payment. Not once had he thought about the implications on his own life and, more importantly, the life of the fragile creature he was going to take care of. His own struggles had blinded him to the hardships others had to endure. Arguably, Oscar’s troubled past, short as it was back then, had already been worse than all his setbacks combined. For what it was worth, he’d come to realize that fairly quickly, and he’d bonded with the large reptile faster than with any human before. The payment was always appreciated, but it became an afterthought — instead, the intrinsic desire to improve the life of the creature in his care became his primary focus, and the funds he received from the crown provided the necessary means to focus on exactly that. Oscar had never asked why Flynn barely had to work, or why they could move into a house in that small village he grew up in. Maybe, subconsciously, he never wanted to know.

  A prominent silence followed, forcing Flynn to listen in on his racing thoughts. Thankfully, Bjorn’s manly voice eventually broke the quiet.

  “Are they still paying you?” the cyclops grunted.

  His question was met with an uncomfortable amount of attention and curiosity from the group.

  Flynn squirmed. “Do you know how much dragons eat?”

  A collective moan reverberated through the room.