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In a city where the past meets now,
Legends walk and show us how.
Dragons turned to loyal friends,
Together, hearts and strength transcend.
In Dragon City, where dreams take flight,
A beacon shining in the night.
Five districts strong, we stand as one,
In Dragon City, our hearts are won.
From every street to every park,
Dogs of dragons leave their mark.
Self-sufficient, proud, and free,
In unity, our destiny.
In Dragon City, where dreams take flight,
A beacon shining in the night.
Five districts strong, we stand as one,
In Dragon City, our hearts are won.
In the heart of our domain,
Different roles, yet all the same.
Together, we forge our way,
In Dragon City, come what may.
In Dragon City, where dreams take flight,
A beacon shining in the night.
Five districts strong, we stand as one,
In Dragon City, our hearts are won.
Kara didn’t mind babysitting—not really. She loved Una Haddock like family, because she was family, just not in the traditional sense. Hiccup was tied up in a study session at the library, and Valka had taken Boden to the dentist, so Kara offered to step in for the afternoon. Just her and Una. A grocery run, maybe a snack, and some time to hang out without homework or appointments.
Una, five years old with a high ponytail and a dinosaur bandage on her knee, came armed with her most prized possession: a hand-stitched dragon doll made from rainbow fabric and soft felt wings. It was obviously well-loved—the kind of toy that didn’t get tossed on the shelf at bedtime but tucked under the arm like a heartbeat. Valka had made it herself.
They were halfway through a produce aisle at a local store when it happened. Kara was comparing salad mixes when she heard it—Una’s cry. Sharp. Immediate. Real.
She turned fast. “Una?”
Una was pointing down the aisle, eyes wide and streaming, hands outstretched.
“My dragon—she took my dragon!”
Kara’s stomach flipped. About twenty feet away, a woman—mid-fifties, blonde bob, clutching a designer tote like it held state secrets—was walking briskly, pushing a cart. Tucked inside it, nestled between paper towels and a clearance rack purse, was the rainbow dragon doll.
Kara didn’t hesitate. She scooped Una up, abandoned her cart, and jogged after the woman.
“Excuse me!” Kara called. “Ma’am, that toy doesn’t belong to you.”
The woman barely glanced over her shoulder. “I found it. My granddaughter’s been wanting one just like it.”
Kara didn’t blink. “That’s not a store item. It’s handmade. It belongs to her.” She nodded to Una, whose little face was crumpled in shock.
“You have no proof of that,” the woman replied flatly. “It was sitting on the ground. Abandoned.”
Kara stepped in front of the cart. “She dropped it. She’s five.”
By now, the tone had drawn attention. A teenage cashier peeked from the self-checkout station, and a security guard had started walking over.
The woman rolled her eyes. “You people always assume the worst.”
Kara pulled out her phone. She had photos—dozens, actually. Una and her doll at the park. Una holding it on the swings. And several others with Valka sewing nearly identical ones for Boden and the cousins.
“Look,” Kara said, keeping her voice calm but firm. “I’m not trying to cause a scene. But you don’t get to take a child’s toy and pretend it’s yours.”
The security guard arrived, and the manager trailed behind him—young, clearly overwhelmed, and not particularly decisive.
“Well,” the manager mumbled, after hearing both sides, “there’s no tag on it… maybe we should let the customer buy it, and if it turns out—”
“She’s not a customer,” Kara snapped. “She’s trying to walk out with a handmade doll that belongs to a child. You really want to back that play?”
The cashier raised a brow. “We don’t even sell dolls like that. That’s clearly homemade.”
The security guard agreed, gently taking the doll from the cart and handing it back to Kara. “You should probably check the cameras,” he told the manager.
But the woman wasn’t done. “This is ridiculous,” she huffed. “I was going to pay for it. It’s not like I was stealing.”
“She dropped it for thirty seconds,” Kara said. “You saw an opportunity and took it. That’s not confused. That’s calculated.”
Just then, the woman’s phone—dropped during the argument—lit up on the floor. Kara noticed the name flashing: Rachel, my wife.
The guard picked it up and asked who Rachel was. The woman, looking cornered, hesitated and finally muttered, “My wife.”
That’s when another shopper stepped forward—older, no-nonsense, and clearly familiar with the woman. “Oh for god’s sake, give the kid her toy back,” she said. “What is wrong with you?”
Finally, the woman relented. Kara took the doll, inspected it. A small tear had opened near one of the wings, but it was nothing Valka couldn’t fix. She held it out to Una, who clutched it to her chest and wouldn’t let go.
The manager, now catching up to the disaster he’d almost helped create, muttered something about store policy and walked away.
The security guard offered Kara an apology. “We’ll be submitting a report. She’s not banned yet, but… she might be.”
Back in the car, Una was still quiet, thumb pressed against her dragon’s cheek. Kara reached over and touched her hand gently.
“We got her back.”
Una nodded. “She was really mean.”
“She was,” Kara said. “But your mama’s going to stitch her up good as new.”
And she would. Kara had no doubt. There were some things you didn’t mess with—one of them being a kid’s favorite dragon.