Sometime after another training routine, I noticed Grynoth paced the room nervously, searching for something that only I knew. His hands shook as he searched the shelves, his tail flicking in agitation. “Where is it?” he muttered, his voice growing more frantic by the second.

At the end of the day, he finally asked:

“Have you, by chance, seen my tobacco, Gran?”

“Which one?” — I asked nonchalantly: “The one you smoked yesterday or the one you promised to cut on?”

He immediately fixed his eyes on me.

“Gran.”

“Wha?”

“Give me back my tobacco.”

“How about no?”

“Would you like it if I took your books away?”

“Do you have a good reason for that?”

I noticed Grynoth became agitated quite quickly, as his tale began flicking in irritation.

“It's not yours, Gran. Regardless of your intention, you have no right to take it away from me.”

“You know what is *also* not mine? The promise you made to me quite a while ago that you wouldn't do it again.”

I noticed Grynoth’s scale hardening, but to my relief, he decided not to escalate things.

“Forget it.” he sighed. After that, he took the bracelet off his arm and cast some kind of spell, making it look like a compass, and I immediately guessed my relief would be short-lived.

Regardless, I took a nonchalant stance again and started waiting. It was not long.

I watched with trepidation as the arrow on it spun with the speed of a car wheel, and then Grynoth stepped out of the house, moving to the backside of the house.

“GRAN!!!”

In my imagination, that shout looked much less threatening, but I obeyed and followed the call. I came to a place near my window... right near my lighter on a window sill.

“What the hell did you do?!” Grynoth asked me angrily, pointing at the ashes under my feet.

I crossed my arms and tightened my jaw, meeting his disapproving gaze with determination. "I made that decision for your own good!" I retorted, feeling the weight of his wrath pressing against me.

Grynoth's eyes flashed with anger, his nostrils flaring. "You had no right, Gran! Those were mine, and you destroyed them without my consent!"

I stood my ground, meeting his furious gaze. "Yes, and you know why? *You* said you were trying to quit, but I keep catching you smoking. Can’t you feel it draining away your life!?!"

"That's my choice to make, not yours!" Grynoth snarled, his fists clenched at his sides. "I am not a child in need of your meddling. I can handle my own vices. I… I had before!"

"Can you, though?" I challenged, my own frustration boiling over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're letting this addiction control you. And it's not just hurting you, it's affecting your ability to train me properly."

Grynoth's tail lashed, his scales bristling. "My training methods are none of your concern. I've been a warrior far longer than you've been alive, human. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" I scoffed. "Because lately, you've been getting winded during our sparring sessions. You're not at your best, and it's because of those damn cigarettes!"

"Enough!" Grynoth roared, his voice shaking the walls. "I will not tolerate this disrespect any longer. You are my student, and you will obey my rules. If I choose to smoke, that is my decision alone. Is that clear?"

I wanted to argue further, but the thunderous look on Grynoth's face made me hesitate. I clenched my jaw, my pride warring with my concern for him.

And then I said:

“No, and I’m not your slave. Farewell.” I returned to the house, ready to pack my things and leave for good.

I stormed into my room, my blood boiling. With jerky movements, I started shoving my belongings into my backpack. Clothes, books, and the few mementos I had brought with me from home. If Grynoth couldn't see reason, then I couldn't stay here any longer. I refused to watch him slowly kill himself.

Upon calming down a bit, I felt part of me dying inside. Leaving the once I’ve grown attached to you yet again… no longer having our banter, our cultural exchange. Training side by side…

‘Oh, well. I guess it wasn’t worth it in the end.’

Briefly exiting in a lounge for a few of my possessions, I noticed Grynoth standing there, sighing disapprovingly.

“Gran...” I heard Grynoth’s sigh.

“What?”

“You're showing your character in all the wrong places. You don't realize that you need to temper your pride and make an effort to learn something. If you don't learn it yourself, I can't help you.”

“You will find pride and temper worth fixing by looking in the nearest mirror,” I said, “self-awareness, my dude.”

“‘My dude’, huh? So this is how you are showing your respect to adults?”

“In my realm, you are showing respect to others by actions, not status.”

“How dare you!…”

Grynoth was becoming progressively more angry.

“I’m trying to turn you into a man — no, a decent human! I’m not even asking you much in return for the accommodations I’m providing you, and that’s not good enough to earn your respect!?”

“I will leave payment for your “accommodations” on the table,” I said, drawing my wallet and counting the required amount. “Be sure to ask smugglers to get you a lifetime supply of weed for it.”

“By the Bahamut’s grace, Gran, stop this foolishness!”

“Your God’s grace doesn’t apply to me, so sorry for that” I said, putting out money on the table and closing my bag, preparing to leave.

“Dammit, Gran!” I heard while leaving, “You think I’m not good enough? Then visit another dragonkin and see how they take your whining!”

“Maybe stop trying to shift your standards to *other* dragonkin!? How about that!?” I shot back furiously, looking him straight in the eye.

Grynoth's face was a mixture of indignation and confusion; his already large eyes widened even more and his eyebrows rose.

I glared at Grynoth, my chest heaving with anger. "I'm so sick of you comparing yourself to other dragonkin all the time! 'Back in the army, we did this', 'Other dragonkin wouldn't tolerate that'. Newsflash, Grynoth - you're not them! You're you, and that should be enough. Stop trying to live up to some impossible standard."

Grynoth blinked, taken aback by my outburst. He opened his mouth as if to retort, then closed it again, his brow furrowing.

“And I'm not a soldier or warrior! I don't want to suffer! I don't want to break down!”

...As I vented my anger, Grynoth's eyes grew more and more frantic.

“I warned you! I warned you it would be hard!” — he said.

“So what? Do you think that gives you the right to be an abuser?! Because if you think hurting yourself and others is the way to train warriors, I feel sorry for you.”

The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, sharp and ugly. Even as they echoed in the room, I felt a pang of regret. What the hell did I just say? I didn’t really mean that—did I?

At that, I noticed Grynoth's muzzle frozen in indescribable rage.

“Who am I again?! An *abuser*?! Why!… Why, you!!…”

As Grynoth advanced forward, his fist shaking, I tried to draw out a stun gun, but to my horror, I put it into the wrong pocket this time.

“I will show you real abuse!”

I start preparing for impact… When Grynoth stopped, staring stunned at the still clenched fist.

“I... I'm sorry”, he said.

“I’m sure you do,” I said and reached for the door.

"Wait… Wait!" Grynoth called, a hint of panic in his voice.

I paused at the door, my hand on the knob, and looked back at Grynoth. His anger had dissipated, replaced by a mixture of regret and desperation.

"Please... don't go," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.

For a moment, he turned his head away, the edges of his scales flushed with an emotion that wasn’t anger — something more vulnerable. "I don’t… I don’t want you to leave, Gran. I know I’ve failed you. It’s just…" He took a shuddering breath, trying to force the words out against his pride. "You’re the first person in a long time that I… well, that I care about enough to try this hard."

“Quite interesting methods you have got here, to show me your care. Oh, and by the way…”

I turned around, facing him eye to eye, with a deep-seated desire to get answers to some burning questions of mine.

“Pray tell me what makes me so *special*?”

Grynoth swallowed, his eyes drifting downward. His voice was barely a whisper, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can fully explain it, Gran.” He glanced back up at him, his eyes clouded, vulnerable. “You remind me of someone I lost. Someone I failed to protect.”

“So that’s it, huh? That’s the whole reason you care about me so much? Just because I happen to remind you of someone as their replacement? For your salvation?” I asked, barely feeling my cold, piercing voice.

Grynoth's eyes widened, a flash of hurt crossing his features. "No, Gran, that's not..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Yes, you remind me of someone I cared for deeply. But that's not the only reason I care about you."

“I’m sure it isn’t,” — I said, sarcastically, “Not only did you need me to project your personal wishes, not only were you deceiving me — but you also got the nerve to hurt and abuse people, calling it a “training”. You are worse than Dad. At least Sebas had the decency to not getfor not getting physical even once against me. Grynoth — you are disgusting.”

As I said those words, I saw Grynoth squinting his eyes, his whole body trembling. By this moment I finally was able to draw my stun gun and was preparing to zap him again if he wanted to try something funny.

But instead…

Grynoth stared at me, his fists trembling at his sides. For a moment, it looked like he might actually strike me, but instead, he froze — as though his own rage had startled him. His hand fell limply to his side, claws slack.

The silence stretched, broken only by his labored breathing. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, as if each word cost him something.

"I... I'm sorry, Gran."

He turned his head, avoiding my eyes. I expected anger, or maybe defiance — something sharp and loud to drown out the moment. Instead, I saw him press his thumb and forefinger against his brow, the way someone might if they were staving off a headache. Or tears.

"I don’t want you to go," he continued, his voice rough, gravel scraping against gravel. "You’re the first person in years to—” He cut himself off, biting the words back like they’d burned him. Finally, he exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping. “I care about you. And not because of the past.”

The admission hung there, raw and unfinished. A heavy thing he couldn’t take back.

I wanted to feel triumphant — to tell him how right I’d been, how wrong he was to push me so hard — but I didn’t. I just stood there, staring at this towering creature who looked so small in that moment. Smaller than I’d ever seen him.

"I don’t know what to say to that," I muttered finally. My voice felt strange, like it didn’t belong to me.

Grynoth’s head turned slightly, his eyes lingering somewhere near my feet, still unwilling to meet mine.
“I know I’ve failed you,” he said softly. “But I’m asking… I’m begging for another chance to do better.”

The words hit harder than any blow he could have struck me with. I clenched the strap of my bag, trying to remember why I was so angry — why walking out seemed like the only choice. But all I could see was the way his shoulders had hunched, like he was bracing for me to leave anyway.

“All right,” I said after a long pause. “But things need to change.”

He looked up, and for the first time, I saw something unfamiliar in his eyes — not pride, not strength. Hope.

“Understood,” he said simply.

“Good,” I replied, voice flat. “I’ll be in my room. Alone.”

I turned and left without another word, shutting the door behind me. My heart still thundered in my chest, but the anger had drained away, leaving only an ache I didn’t know what to do with.

With that said, I went back to my room and locked it behind me.

Grynoth's words echoed in my mind, a confusing mix of anger, hurt, and something else I couldn't quite identify. I threw my backpack on the floor, the contents spilling out haphazardly.

Sinking onto the bed, I buried my face in my hands, trying to process everything that had just happened. Grynoth's admission, his tears, his apology... It was all so unexpected, so raw. I had never seen him so vulnerable before, so human.

Hours later, I lay staring at the ceiling, replaying my words over and over. An abuser. Was that what I really thought? Or had I just been too angry to see straight? Maybe I wasn’t lashing out at Grynoth—I was lashing out at myself. At the feeling of always being second-best, of never measuring up. At my father, for pushing me so hard in ways that still haunted me.

And yet, the hurt and betrayal still stung. The knowledge that I was, at least in part, a replacement for someone else in his life. The realization that his harsh training methods stemmed from his own unresolved trauma and fears.

I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. My mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Part of me wanted to forgive Grynoth, to understand where he was coming from. But another part wanted to hold onto the anger, to make him suffer for the pain he had caused.

Undecided about which part should prevail, I finally gave up, closing my eyes and falling into a deep slumber.