Oswald awoke, and he had no clue what island he had marooned himself on. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his aching forehead to relieve tension.

When he dared look around him, his hand began to instinctively reach for his sword, but found it missing. He noticed a pale green snout laying across his shoulder, leaning over him from a much larger body. Oswald scrambled until he was standing. He must have looked totally out of his realm, staring at the pale green body of a dragon-a Scauldron-weaponless, because it graced him with what he only assumed was a look of pity.

Oddly Oswald felt a strange sort of calm when staring at the face of pity on a dragon. He noticed something about the Scauldron that he was admittedly too panicked to take notice of in his previous state. Even though the Scauldron was lying in a shallow pool of water it's glow of vitality was draining from it's scales. Rather than the healthy green, it's scales were fading to a very sickly pale brown bordering on gray. Despite the shallow pool, it should have been enough for the Scauldron to sustain the green color. Unless the unthinkable was happening before him, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Oswald felt nothing but despair when the magnificent creature breathed its last.

He wasn't sure where the despair came from. But there is something else he cannot explain away himself. Something breathing down his neck.

It hit him like a bludgeon, and burned him hotter than dragon fire. Hotter than the water a Scauldron could spew at him. It was a memory. A dreadful memory of the events that transpired. He will never forget it now. It will stick with him the rest of his life. There is no escape.

He had drowned his three year old son, little Dagur in a fit of madness. Oswald felt tears prick his eyes as he beseeched the heavens for his misfortunes, brought down on him by himself. There is no deity he can blame. There is no escape.

Oswald has absolutely no family now. No one left. His wife had died giving birth to a stillborn. His daughter never even got to live. The only person he had left- in terms of blood- drowned because his father, the man he looked up to, couldn't control himself in one utterly sickening moment of psychopathic, murderous rage.

His guilt was all consuming. He bent his head low, hiding his face in his hands as he allowed his grief flow from his eyes in the form of fat, salty tears. He felt a deep coldness settle inside him. Within the hollowest chambers of his heart.

Oswald was so wrapped up in his broken emotions that he didn't notice the sentries surrounding the island open their eyes and flock around the him and the now dead Scauldron.

The Sentinals eyes began to glow, resembling starbursts. The Scauldron's body disintegrated, leaving behind a fine silvery powder. All that was left was the dragon's soul, whose form was made of water.

When Oswald finally glanced up and took in the sight before him, he got an idea. If this dragon saved him, then surely it could help him at least begin to repent. The spirit was making a glowing stream as it made it's return to the sea, for the Sentinels deemed him worthy of a second life. "Wait please. I don't know for certain if you can understand me, but I know what place this is. The final resting place for dragons. Vanaheim." Oswald glanced around at the sentries for confirmation. "And you lot must this places guardians." At his observation he was met with several pairs of eyes blinking at him in unison. That was confirmation enough for Oswald, so he continued. "Please, I ask a favor of you, magnificent Scauldron. It is wrong of me to ask of you, for I have done a despicable thing. I have drowned my only son in a fit of uncontrollable madness. Please I ask you to seek ot his body, so I may give him a proper burial."

Oswald knew dragons were intelligent creatures. That's why he boycotted the hunting and killing of such creatures on Berserker Island. He wholeheartedly believed dragons could even understand human speech to a degree. But when he tried sharing his ideas on how to utilize dragons as powerful allies with various neighboring tribes, such as the Hooligans, he was regarded as a lunatic.

When one of the Sentinels opened its mouth and words began pouring out, words he can understand, Oswald wondered if he really was crazy. The leader of Vanaheim's Sentinels - Oswald assumed- regarded the water spirit dragon. If Oswald really wasn't imagining things, the the conversation between the two went something like this;

"So this dragon killing viking actually expects you to find the body of his dead hatchling, who is only dead because of him mind you, after confessing his sin on our sacred land no less."

"I don't believe he is a dragon killing viking at all. He doesn't reek of violence or bloodlust one bit."

"How would you know that?"

"I dragged him here didn't I, and I did not sense any such things about him."

"But he seems so ungrateful. Would you really grant someone such as him a favor of such great magnitude?"

"I really do believe he is being genuine, and that he really is ready to repent. This is a way humans at least begin to repent. They must bury their dead properly."

"I don't really understand how burying the corpse of his hatchling in the earth is any kind of repentance, but it's your second-life, do what you want."

Then they turned to Oswald, who was gaping at them. Both the Scauldron- Yes Scauldron and not spirit. He morphed into a new body during their conversation- and the leader of the Sentinels of Vanaheim were gaping at him. Humans are not supposed to be able to understand dragons. This was a very special human indeed.

The Scauldron was the first one to recover. "Well judging from your open mouthed expression, you understand that I will try to assist you."

Oswald was only able to give a hesitant nod.

"Incredible," one of the Sentinels muttered.

"Humans aren't supposed to understand us. What's this guy's deal?"

The Scauldron, noticing Oswald's still befuddled expression asked, "Did you not know you possessed this ability?"

"No, of course not. I didn't even know dragons could understand human language. Incredible."

Some of the Sentinels rolled their eyes at him. Others just ignored him. That didn't deter Oswald. "So, if this place is Vanaheim, then you must be it's guardians. Sentinels.

"How did he know that?!" The one on the right of Oswald exclaimed.

"I have heard legends, passed down from generation to generation in my tribe about Vanaheim, but no one knows this place is here or if it even exists."

"And that is how it will stay," their leader said. "If the wrong person finds this place, it spells disaster for us all. That is why you must remain on Vanaheim for the rest of your days."

Oswald didn't really didn't know how to respond, or even if he should. He opted for a show of respect. "I am content with your decision wise one." Oswald then turned to the Scauldron, and said in a quieter tone, "Please find my boy so that I may bury him properly."

"What if he still lives?"

"Then please tell him, that I am sorry, and that I love him." The Scauldron opened his, a question about to form. "Yes, Dagur should be able to understand you. I have overheard him talk to Terrible Terrors, I just never realized they were talking to him."

"You can only understand our dialect if you are very open minded. Unfortunately, many of your kind are very closed to our kind," The Scauldron replied.

Not knowing what else to say to each other, the magnificent Scauldron rose into the sky, and Oswald whispered into the nothingness, "Please find him."