Objectively, Clyde was fine.

  Still, with the manticore’s history of nervous breakdowns, it was decided that he could stay in the medical tract for two nights, just to make sure neither his mind nor body had sustained any permanent damage.

  They would’ve seen the manticore the very next day for a group therapy session, but Flynn thought it best for Oscar to face his fears before they could fester. And as such, he convinced the large dragon that Clyde would, in fact, want to see him again.

  Shortly after breakfast, they’d made their way to the medical tract on one of the upper levels of the Mythical Ward. It was a chain of lofty rooms with neat rows of sickbeds along the marble walls, emphasizing the large windows at the end of each aisle. Past the stained glass lay a commanding view over snow-covered mountain peaks and narrow valleys with lush vegetation. It was a recreational view that sought its equal, and offered entertainment and serenity to patients with eyes.

  One of them was Clyde.

  The manticore was lying on a spacious sickbed, his head wrapped in what looked like a thick white scarf made from bandages. His expression was relaxed, his lion paws pensively fidgeting with a ball of yarn.

  When he noticed them, his blue eyes lit up.

  “Oscar, Flynn!” he purred. “Good to see you.”

  Flynn smiled and walked over to Clyde. The large dragon was shy to follow.

  “Hi Clyde,” Oscar murmured semi-quietly.

  An uncomfortable silence followed, before the manticore seemed to overcome his own awkwardness.

  “It’s okay,” he said cautiously. “I know you didn’t mean to … you know.”

  Clyde gestured at the bandages framing his human face.

  Oscar flinched in embarrassment.

  “Are you feeling alright?” Flynn asked while looking the manticore up and down.

  It took Clyde a moment to take his eyes off of Oscar.

  “Yes, I’m quite okay. Only a few superficial burns, nothing major.”

  Flynn nodded. “Good to hear. You gave us quite the scare.”

  “You mean I did,” Oscar muttered behind him.

  “Oh, come over already, you big softie,” Flynn growled jokingly, and after a moment of hesitation, Oscar waddled closer.

  “I’m glad you’re doing okay, Clyde,” the dragon said once he’d joined Flynn by Clyde’s side.

  “Thank you! The doctor said I’m good to go by tomorrow,” the manticore said cheerfully.

  They already knew that, but they still acted positively surprised.

  “I see you’ve been popular,” Flynn quipped, pointing at the small nightstand next to Clyde’s bed.

  A large bouquet of kelp took up most of the tabletop. Flynn figured Patricia had stopped by earlier, also leaving behind a box of sweets she must’ve bought from the mythical grocery store on the ninth level. The manticore had already eaten half, and traces of chocolate crumbs adorned his head wrap.

  “Oh,” Clyde chuckled as he followed Flynn’s gaze. “Yes. Some of the others already stopped by, which was very nice of them.”

  Flynn raised his eyebrows. “Well, we would’ve been here sooner, but a certain dragon was feeling a bit insecure about the whole thing.”

  “Flynn!” Oscar hissed.

  The manticore purred. “I hope you didn’t think I’d like you any less!”

  The dragon looked down at his talons. “Does that mean we’re still friends?”

  “Of course we are!” Clyde exclaimed, emphasizing his point with a bob of his scorpion tail.

  A shy smile tugged at Oscar’s lips.

  “I’m happy to hear that,” the dragon rumbled.

  Flynn crossed his arms in satisfaction. “See? I told you.”

  They smiled at each other for a brief moment before the manticore’s expression got more serious again.

  “Sometimes these things just happen, even if you don’t mean for them to happen. It’s just the price of being a mythical creature.”

  Oscar furrowed his horns. “Still, I hope I will learn to control myself better in the future.”

  The manticore nodded pensively. “I don’t mean to sound negative.”

  Flynn cocked his head. “But you do. What’s up with that?”

  Clyde flashed a sad smile and gazed up at Oscar. “I know you think you’re the only one who can cause harm to others, but you’re not.”

  A tense silence followed, only interrupted by a nurse in a pink uniform scurrying past them.

  “What are you saying?” Oscar asked timidly.

  The manticore sighed, his paws partially unraveling the yarn.

  “I’ve been in the same spot as you are now. I also hurt someone I liked by accident. Only, they weren’t as fortunate as I am today.”

  Flynn’s surprise had him open and close his mouth several times.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “How?” he managed to ask.

  The nervous expression on Clyde’s face suggested he’d said more than he intended to, and his eyes scurried through the room in search of an escape.

  “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Oscar rumbled calmly. “Just like you are not judging me, we would never judge you. Whatever happened, we know you didn’t mean for it to happen. We don’t even need to know the details.”

  Clyde’s paws relaxed. “Thank you, friend.”

  The two mythical creatures exchanged appreciative nods.

  “Elli said if I want to be braver, I first have to accept myself … and my past.”

  The manticore let his words hang in the lavender-scented air while he shifted his weight.

  “She’s probably right,” Oscar offered.

  “She is a good therapist for sure,” Clyde agreed. “She helped me a lot when I first came here. I was a nervous wreck and would barely leave my room. It took me weeks to even find the courage to join a group session.”

  “Really?” Oscar asked in disbelief.

  Flynn could see that the large dragon’s brain was hard at work. Somewhere in that scaly head of this, Oscar was realizing that his arrival at the Mythical Ward hadn’t even been that bad by comparison. Hopefully, it would instill him with some much-needed confidence.

  “Oh yeah,” Clyde confirmed. “I was terrified of everything. I mean, I still am, but at least now I’m making some progress. And a lot of that is thanks to Elli.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that,” Oscar chirped, but Clyde’s expression had darkened.

  “Of course, I had a great therapist before her. She really tried to help me, even before my breakdown.”

  Flynn had an idea where this was going.

  “Is she the one …?”

  Clyde nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

  Oscar’s amber eyes widened.

  “Oh …” was all he said, before awkwardly lowering his head.

  “Just like you,” Clyde continued, addressing the dragon, “my body is more dangerous than my mind.”

  He gestured with his scorpion tail, waving the poisonous stinger in front of his eyes.

  Flynn suddenly felt the urge to assume a respectful distance from the black-shelled limb, but he forced himself to remain by Clyde’s side.

  “She was exploring a new treatment strategy when it happened,” the manticore said quietly, his eyes distant. “She told me that physical touch can do wonders for one's psyche, and she wasn’t wrong. When she hugged me, I felt better than I had in a very long time.”

  Oscar let out a sad growl, but the manticore wasn’t done.

  “I had never used my stinger on anything. I knew it was poisonous, but I didn’t know just how lethal it was.”

  “I assume you found out that day she hugged you?” Flynn asked cautiously.

  Clyde nodded.

  They fell silent for a long, tender moment. Oscar had gently laid a blanket-sized paw on the manticore’s flank, and Flynn stared pensively at the maritime bouquet.

  “I still miss her a lot,” Clyde whispered after a while. “She was the first person who saw more than some biological freak in me.”

  “You are not a freak,” Oscar protested under his breath.

  Clyde smiled bitterly. “That’s kind of you to say, but look at me — I’m nature’s joke. I am three different species, but none of them will accept me. I will never belong anywhere.”

  “You belong here,” the dragon rumbled softly. “You are no freak, you are special.”

  The manticore blinked away a lone tear.

  “Surely there are other manticores out there,” Flynn mused. “You can hardly be the only one. I mean, what about your parents?”

  Clyde briefly nibbled at his stinger, his eyes hazy.

  “I don’t really have any parents,” he said quietly, a slight purr to his words.

  Flynn furrowed his brows. “How is that even possible?”

  The manticore shrugged in defeat. “One day, I just hatched. I don’t know where I come from, or how the egg that spawned me came to be.”

  “But …” Oscar muttered as he tried to wrap his dragon brain around this questionable biological process.

  “Maybe I had parents, maybe I don’t. You hardly find any information about manticores, not even in the library of the Mythical Ward.”

  Clyde sniveled, then added, “I simply don’t know much about what I am.”

  “Have you ever met another manticore?” Flynn asked cautiously.

  The lion-human-scorpion on the bed shook his head.

  Oscar’s head hung low with palpable sadness. Flynn knew that the dragon felt guilty for assuming that he had it tough, with him being a dragon and all. But at least, he had met others of his kind — he had parents, even if they couldn’t offer what he was looking for. And there was plenty of literature by and about dragons, even if he was only finding out now. To hear that Clyde shared a similar fate was surely comforting, but knowing the dragon, he probably felt more sorry than reassured.

  “I have talked to Director Nemus about all of this,” Clyde said wearily. “I know that there exist other manticores, and maybe one day I will find them.”

  “Is that your goal?” Flynn asked. “To find other manticores?”

  Clyde nodded stiffly.

  “I love the family I’ve found here, but I need to meet others like me. I need to know how they deal with all of … this.”

  He gestured at his black chitin tail.

  Oscar nodded glumly. “I hope you will, Clyde.”

  A shy smile tugged at the manticore’s lips.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  Then, he cleared his lion throat and shook his head. “I’m sorry for bringing the mood down. I’m rarely good company.”

  Oscar puffed. “You are great company!”

  Clyde’s eyes softened, and the sadness slowly vanished from his face.

  “Why don’t you help yourself to some sweets?” he asked in an attempt to lift their spirits.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Flynn quipped with a wink.

  On their way out, they ran into Dora — literally. The black cat was standing in the hallway, and Flynn almost slammed the door in her frowning face. Luckily, her agitated purr prevented any serious injury, except for the emotional damage she caused Flynn with her devastating glare.

  The display of disapproval did not stop Dora from shooting Oscar a soft, sharp-fanged smile before waltzing into the room. Without turning back, she demanded that the door be closed with a condescending meow, and Flynn obeyed before he could think better of it.

  “I don’t get this cat,” he murmured, but Oscar didn’t hear him.

  “Sorry … what?” the dragon rumbled after a moment.

  Flynn shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Then, after a moment, he added, “Are you still thinking about Clyde’s words?”

  The dragon nodded. “It’s weird, you know? When I came here, I thought I was the only one who didn’t fit in — the only one with problems that were hard to fix. But I’m starting to see that I was very wrong. All of them have reasons to be here, and all of them are just as relevant as mine.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  Flynn pulled a face when he realized he sounded just like a therapist.

  Oscar furrowed his brows. “Truth be told, I don’t know. I feel bad for them, primarily.”

  “I figured,” Flynn acknowledged.

  “It makes me feel better and worse at the same time, somehow. I don’t want other people to suffer like me, but it also feels good to know I’m not alone.”

  Flynn nudged him softly.

  “You are never alone.”

  Oscar shot him a melancholic smile. “You know what I mean. Not alone with feeling like I don’t belong.”

  A soft pain erupted in Flynn’s chest, but he masked his feelings well.

  “Let’s get you some ice cream, hm?”

  The dragon’s eyes lit up.

  “Maybe,” Flynn added with a cheeky smile, “we’ll even get some for Rain.”