I sit by Savage's body until dawn bleeds across the sky. Astrid sits with me while Dad packs everything together. Gobber's on guard somewhere in the shade of the trees.

I didn't ask Astrid to sit with me. But somehow having her there, quietly present without offering judgment, makes the ragged edges in me settle just a bit. The gloom lifts around us. I don't want to breathe anymore. I don't want to feel anymore.

There's a vicious longing in me that wants nothing more than to lie down. Lie cold in the ground. Although I may have lost my way, all paths lead straight to Skullette. How I long to be like Skullette. Lie cold in the ground like Skullette. There's room inside for two.

I let inside the loneliness. I want to stay in love with my sorrow. Here in the darkness, I know myself. Always find my place among the ashes.

Dad had explained everything to me throughout the night. Periodically pausing to make sure I'm listening. Savage had surprisingly turned over a new leaf. All those threats he made, all of those attacks, threatening Heather. All he did to save his own life. While it may appear selfish, Savage had no one else in his life. No wife, no child. No family. So it's understandable.

But I don't want to understand it. I don't if I do, the guilt will only eat me alive.

Dad explains that Savage was going to give me Alvin's old, but prized sword. So that I can kill him with his most prized possession for the execution. Dad and Gobber didn't know he would come here, but they meant to tell me when I was ready. But they've waited too late.

Now, I'm looking back and remembering I jumped up from my blanket with my knife already raised for battle while his was still trained at the ground. I lunged at him, blade out, before he even raised his sword.

He was trying to disarm me and defend himself. I killed him.

I struggle to my feet and run to the edge of the trees, where I fall to my knee and retch.

I killed him.

My stomach is empty.

I killed him.

I'm shaking, my teeth chattering against each other violently when Astrid's solid arms wrap around me from behind and hold me against her warm chest.

"You thought you were defending yourself."

I did think that, but it doesn't comfort me now.

"It happened fast. Did you make the best decision you could given the information?"

I twist around to look at her, her warm blue eyes steady on mine, her braided blonde hair haloed by the early morning light.

I know Astrid will try to take away my pain. And she just might make me smile. But the whole time, I'm wishing it was Skullette instead.

I can't believe how lost I've gotten without her. And in such a short amount of time. I hate feeling like this. Feeling totally lost. So tired of trying to fight it. All I dream of is waking to her. I miss her touch.

I don't want to live, I don't want to breathe, unless I feel her warmth next to me. She always takes the pain I feel. Her touch used to be so kind. It used to give me life. My dreams can't comfort me the way she makes me feel. I hate living without her.

In my gaping hole of grief, the demons lay in waiting. Tempting me away. The sorrow takes ahold. The icy silence feels colder. I never want it to be so cold. So alone. I can barely see it all.

The silence in me grows and I can feel myself falling in its blackness. Slipping through the cracks. Falling to the depths. Dreaming of the way it used to be.

Can I ever go back? No one can hear me scream from the abyss. There are only whispers in the dark.

She was my source of strength.

All the things she said, they keep running through my head. Being with her has opened my eyes. I keep closing them but I can't block her out.

I want to fly to a place where it's just me and her. Nobody else, so we can be free.

I can try to pretend.

I can try to forget.

But it's driving me mad. I'm going out of my head.

I look up and see my father standing behind Astrid.

Tell me father, what do you see? Yes, I've lost my mind. Will I ever be free?

The breief sense of home I had with Skullette is gone. I look away. I don't want their absolution.

"We're not offering any absolution, Hiccup." Astrid says. "Take the blame that belongs to you, and nothing else. I'm asking you to look it in the eyes and face it for what it is."

But I can't face it. Not really. If I do, if I let it cut me like I deserve, everything else will spill out too. Mulch. Skullette. Savage. It's all one big gaping pit of loss, destruction, and grief, and I feel it, I'll never be able to deliver judgment.

I don't even have to ask the silence to take it from me. It's already gone. Slipping into the emptiness before I make the conscious choice to send it there, and leaving me numb.

I push away from Astrid, and she lets me. Why shouldn't she? I mean nothing to her. I'm just a broken boy who's lost his lover and then killed a man. And I'm about to go kill another.

Gathering my belongings, I stow them away in my pack that Dad brought along. Gobber, Astrid and the others pack their things too. I look over and still see Savage's body. I can't abandon him for the forest animals to eat. Leaving my pack beside Skullette's grave, I use my knife and start digging a new one a few yards away. Soon, Dad and everyone drop down beside me and dig as well.

I don't want their help. I catch Dad's wrist in my hand and stop him. He looks at me in confusion.

"We can help, Hiccup. It'll get done much faster," Gobber says, but Dad lays a hand on his arm, and they pull everyone back.

I need to do this for Savage. Alone. A piece of atonement in the lifetime of penance I'm going to serve for my crime.

It takes me almost an hour. I use my knife and then scoop dirt out with my bare hands, letting the dust of his grave mingle with the stains of blood on my skin. Then Dad and Gobber help me lift him and lay him gently down. When Gobber picks up his sword to lay across his chest, I hold out my hand for it.

A reminder of what I'm capable of.

It's too long and heavy for me to carry all the way back to the village.

Afterwards, together we push the soil back into place until all that remains is a little hill of dirt. Astrid stands beside me, a solid, reassuring presence I refuse to lean on. Gobber stands adjacent to us, scanning the tree line surrounding us.

I should say something. A eulogy. A goodbye. But Savage deserves to be memorialized by someone other than the boy who took his life, and I don't know how to put it in words the cost of what I've done.

I turn away. I have a mission to complete. When it's over, I'll look for absolution. When it's over, I'll find what comfort is left to me.

I refuse to brush the dirt from my hands. Dad scoops up my pack and Alvin's sword, and I walk over to Toothless. As I mount, out of the corner of my eye, I see Snotlout, looking at me. Studying me. Shock punches a little frisson of panic through him. I try to picture myself without looking in the reflective surface of Gobber's shield.

My pale skin is smudged with ash. My cloak is torn and battered. And my hands. My hands are covered in dirt and dry blood, and now I'm clutching my enemy's sword like it's going to disappear if I let go.

But what probably the worst is my face. Cold. Fierce. Empty. Like someone snuffed out the Hiccup everyone knew and sent out a hollow shell in his place. I break our eye contact and we fly off back to the village.

Upon arrival, I'm instructed to go to Goathy's for my medicine. I'm glad. I need it. To help me escape the cruelty of this world. And take me somewhere where I'm not covered in someone's blood. Even though she can't vocally talk, I've been with her long enough to translate her writings without Gobber's assistance. She's glad too.

She thinks he's a bad translator.

I like her because apart from healing me and nursing me, she doesn't say stupid things like how I'm totally safe, or that she knows I can't see it, but I'll be happy again one day, or even that things will be better on Berk now.

But I can't help but feel that she's suspicious of me. She thinks I'm becoming addicted to the drug she feeds me. And not in the sense that it's for the pain, but for abuse. And it's true. It's not like I'm desperate for it, but I just need it sometimes to help myself erase the pain of both my grief and my sore muscles. But she's starting to be careful of how much she gives me. Not only for my own good, but I've seen some people get hooked on Goathy's drugs. And it's not pretty. They suffer horrible withdrawal. And she doesn't want me to be like that.

She's probably the closest thing to a grandmother I've ever had.

She tells me that today she'll give me enough to subdue the pain, but I can still walk around the village. But I don't know if it's a good idea. I tend to get hallucinations when I'm on the drug. I remember while I was in recovery from combat, I had horrible dreams. One being that the entire floor of my bedroom was littered with Fireworm Dragons.

Before everything, I was trying so hard to escape that drug-induced dreamland of mine. But now, it's all that I want.

It's the only way I can see her.

After I swallow the metal tasting liquid, I immediately leave as the effects take hold. I decide to head to my little room in the back of the blacksmith's shop. At least there I can have quiet.

I doze off a few minutes after I sit down. Images of the real world intertwine with mirages that the drug provides. I'm flying through the village, over the vast sea and see Mulch and Bucket gathering a fishing net in their boat. Filled with salmon, and some nice Islanded cod. My mother sits in her rocking chair on our porch, reading the Book of Dragons.

Over in the Plaza, people mingle and dragons help pull large wheelbarrows full of sacks of grain, fly above carrying boulders overhead. People wave and I see a blue Monstrous Nightmare fly with Hookfang.

In the woods, Astrid chucks axes at trees, Fishlegs is taking notes on the flora and the fauna. And I see her. I never expected to see her, even in my dreams. I don't question it. I fall the ground, them push myself up and sprint towards her not even caring.

She stands perfectly poised in blue. Her glorious hair, pitch-black from the scales of a Night Fury. My bloodstained hands hover over her beautiful face, afraid to touch her. Afraid to touch her with something so gruesome. Her green eyes wounded. I want to hold her until some of my pain recedes. She lifts her hand and presses it against my cheek. I tremble.

"Skullette." I lay a hand on her shoulder as if to make sure she's real.

"I told you I'd find you."

Her fingers clench around my shoulder, and she slowly curls toward me until she' lying face down against my chest. Her weight hurts, but I don't complain. Instead, I cradle her to me and feel the missing pieces inside of me slide firmly into place.

I can't believe how real she feels. I listen to her breathe, and I shake lie I've been caught in a snowstorm with nothing but a tunic. She feels so . . . alive. Warm and steady in my arms.

And yet, with Savages blood still on my hands, I'm not convinced. I try not to hold onto it since I'll just be disappointed in the end. The silence inside consumes me. I want to burrow into her and feel safe. Feel the grief, and anger, and most important the hope that I know hovers somewhere just out of reach within me.

Digging my fingers into her shoulder, I desperately try to feel real again. The world becomes gauzy, violet-tinted.

I love you. Always.

"Always."

In the twilight, she whispers the words to me. Suddenly she disappears. Her mage blows away like the ashes from the clearing. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, and catch the scent of lavender. Once I feel her hand on my cheek, I try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

When I finally begin to surface into the dull, candlelight room of the blacksmith's shop, I remember. All too well. I remember the word Skullette whispered to me before we flew off. Her soft feminine voice. Whispering gently in my ear. I let it swim up through my dreams to taunt me now. "Always."

The drug dulls the extremes of all emotions, so instead of a stab of sorrow, I merely feel emptiness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers used to bloom. Unfortunately, there's not enough of the drug left in my veins for me to ignore the pain in my body. I wake feeling sadder and lonelier than ever.

I leave the shop, dragging my feet across the dirt. The squeaking of my prostatic foot echoes through the village. The time draws near, although I can't give exact hours and minutes. Alvin's been tried and found guilty, sentenced to execution. Dad tells me, I hear talk of it as I drift past some Vikings in the village.

My Dragon Conqueror suit arrives in my room. Also my bow, looking no worse for wear, but no sheath of arrows. Either because they were damaged or more likely because I shouldn't have weapons. I vaguely wonder if I should be preparing for the event in some way, but nothing comes to mind.

I've been visiting Bucket recently, and he's in worse shape than I imagined. Guards were bordering the animal farm where Bucket likes to spend most of his time. I was a little leery about visiting him since everybody thinks he's mad. The last I heard about him was that he was allowed to feed himself some fish stew.

On the first visit, I decide he's less mad than unstable. He laughs at odd places in the conversation or drops out of it distractedly. Those blue eyes fixate on a point with such intensity that you find yourself trying to make out what he sees in the empty air. Sometimes for no reason, he presses both hands over his ears as if to block out a painful sound.

Sometimes we even just stare at the horizon together. No talking. Which is fine with the both of us. He's strange, but he was Mulch's best friend. And when you lose that, what else can you do? And I've made it a goal to help him get back as best as I can.

But deep down, I know he'll never be the same. Grief is something that scars us all. On our bodies. On our minds. And our emotions.

But I allow myself to feel a small glimmer of hope one day when he speaks one day during my visit. I had been visiting him daily for three weeks. Bringing him different flowers for him to collect, and also packing along the Book of Dragons something for me to work on while he just stares at the sunsets.

I was starting to think he was totally lost, but I made myself swear I would wait for him. The real Bucket is still in there. And I was going to wait until he came out. I was about halfway through the Book of Dragons at the time. And I had just finished reading about how Changewing's skin is softer due to its ability to change color and texture.

When I heard it.

"Hey Hiccup."

My head snapped up and Bucket was still staring unblinkingly ahead. But it was his voice. I know it. And a look at the guards confirmed my guess. They had shock and surprise all over their faces. He spoke. Bucket spoke. It was overwhelming.

But it wasn't enough to crack the silence within me.

Late one afternoon, after a long period in a cushioned seat, I emerge and turn left instead of right. I find myself in a strange part of the village, and immediately lose my bearings. Unlike my area of the infirmary, there seems to be no one around to ask. I like it, though. Wish I'd found it sooner. It's so quiet.

Thick rugs and heavy tapestries soaking up the sound. Softly lit. Muted colors. Peaceful.

As I creep down a nature alleyway, I catch the scent of roses. So pure. I turn a corner and find myself staring at two surprised guards posted in front of a greenhouse. Not Outcasts of course. These two, a man and a woman, wear the tattered clothing of pure Vikings.

Still bandaged and gaunt, they are now keeping watch over the doorway to the greenhouse. When I move to enter, their spears form an X in front of me.

"You can't go in, sir." Says the man.

"Soldier," the woman corrects him. "You can't go in, Soldier Hiccup. Your father's orders."

I just stand there patiently waiting for them to lower their spears, for them to understand, without my telling them, that behind those doors is something I need. Just lavender. A single bloom. To pin to my chest, just over my heart, so that Skullette will be there to witness the death of Alvin with me. My presence seems to worry the guards. They're discussing on calling my father when a man speaks up behind me. "Let him go in."

I know the voice, but I can't immediately place it. I turn my head and find myself face-to-face with Chief Boggs. He looks even more beat up than he did in the Outcast capitol. The sight of him fills me with relief and agony.

"On my authority," says Chief Boggs. "He has a right to anything behind that door." These are his soldiers, not my father's. They drop their weapons without question and let me pass. With two steps past them, I push apart the thick wooden doors and step inside.

By now the smell of the floral is so strong, it flattens out. As is there's no more my nose can absorb. The damp mild air feels good on my hot skin. And the flowers are glorious. Row after row of sumptuous blooms, in lush pink, sunset orange, and even pale blue. I wander through the aisles of carefully pruned plants, looking and occasionally touching the soft petals between my fingers.

I soon find it, crowning the top of a slender shrub. A magnificent violet stem that just opened its petals. I roll up the sleeves of my green tunic, take a pair of gardening shears, and have just positioned them on the stem when he speaks.

"That's a nice one."

My hand jerks, the shears snap shut, severing the stem.

"The colors are lovely of course, but nothing says happiness like purple."

I still can't see him, but his voice seems to rise up from an adjacent bed of crimson roses. Crimson. Delicately pinching the stem of the lavender, and holding it close to my heart, I find the courage to slowly move around the corner and find him sitting on a stool against the wall. He's immensely weighed down chain cuffs, ankle shackles, ball and chains, manacles. In the bright light, his skin's a pale almost sickly green. His spiked armguards are spotted with fresh blood. Even in his deteriorated state, his murderous eyes shine bright and cold.

This is why the guards halted me. This is why Chief Boggs let me in.

"I was hoping I'd see you in my quarters." He hisses.

I supposed he'd be secured in the deepest dungeon that Berk had to offer, not cradled in the lap of daylight. And yet dad left him here.

I look behind him and see multiple bushes of lavenders. This is an unusual way to treat prisoners of war. I guess Dad thought that by having him smell the scent that reminds me of my lost lover will torture him with guilt. But it's pointless. The man's a sociopath. He'll never feel guilty. And he'll never feel sorry.

"There are so many things we should discuss, but I have a feeling your visit will be brief. So, first things first." He begins to cough, and when he removes his spiked armguard, it's redder. "I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about you girlfriend."

Even in my deadened, drugged condition, this sends a stab of pain through me. Reminding me that there are no limits to his cruelty. And how he will go to his grave trying to destroy me.

"So wasteful, so unnecessary. Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when he released those dragons." His eyes are glued on me, unblinking, so as not to miss a second of my reaction. But what he said makes no sense. When he released the dragons?

"Well, you really don't think I gave the order, did you? Forget the obvious fact that we didn't even get a day's worth of your skill to controlling my dragons. But that aside, what purpose would it have served? We both know I'm not above killing my own people and soldiers, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for special reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Outcast citizens. None at all."

I wonder if the next fit of coughing is staged so that I can have time to absorb his words. He's lying. Of course he's lying. But there's still something struggling to free itself from the lie as well.

"However, I must concede it was a masterful move on Mildew's part. The idea that I was bombing own helpless citizens instantly snapped whatever frail allegiance my people still felt to me. There was no real resistance after that." Alvin wipes the corners of his mouth "I'm sure he wasn't gunning for you girlfriend, but these things happen."

I'm not with Alvin now. I'm back in Tower 3, where my Outcast alley handed me my arrowhead seconds before he took his last breath. Blood splattered on his uniform. Bubbling on his lips. Remembering his words.

"Take it. This'll shoot him down. Aim for the heart. Don't trust him. Do what you came to do."

"My failure," says Alvin. "was being too slow to grasp that old man's plan. To let the dragons destroy everyone. Both Outcast and Vikings. And then step up to prove the true evil behind the beasts. Make no mistake, he was intending it from the beginning. I shouldn't be surprised. I should've known that he branded me as an enemy the minute he knew I wanted to control dragons rather than eliminate them. But I wasn't watching Mildew. I was watching you, Dragon Conqueror. And you were watching me. I'm afraid we've both been played for fools."

I refuse for this to be true. Some things even I can't survive.

I utter my first official words since Skullette's death.

"I don't believe you."

Alvin shakes his head and chuckles in mock disappointment. "Oh Hiccup. I thought you were a smart boy."