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Chapter Text

A brown Boulder Class dragon with numerous lumps and bumps lining its tough rocky hide rampaged through the arena, chasing down the viking teens and knocking down the wooden barriers placed down for the people in the dragon killing arena to hide behind.

These new “recruits” were a special class, separate from the usual rabble, coming from Berk’s richer families. The Hofferson family, the Jorgensen family, the Ingerman family, the Thornston family, and even the Haddock family, which was the family the viking chiefs were born from. All of these families had an heir in the ring right now, except the Thornston family, who had twins, meaning two heirs. These heirs had had their dragon killing training sessions every week, for the past week or so, at Gobber the Belch’s discretion and Gobber had given them their final training session a few weeks in advance, due to unforeseen circumstances nobody would have previously guessed: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, the son of Stoick the Vast reigning chieftain of the Hairy Hooligan tribe, was unexpectedly proving himself to be a prodigy with subduing the great scaled beasts Berk called ‘pests.’ 

Astrid, who had been observing the gronckle’s movements in order to get a strategic shot in with her axe, ducked and rolled to another nearby barrier, avoiding the dragon’s frenzied eyes.

She locks eyes with Hiccup, Stoick’s heir despite being very thin and sporting approximately zero muscles, and puts her axe head to his throat. “Stay out of my way, I’m winning this thing.” She growls.

The viking training sessions would all be over soon, for this group of individuals. This was the last session, and it was spectated by the entire village, including the village Elder, Gothi, who would be choosing who wins the honour of killing their first dragon in the ring publically.

“Please, by all means…” Hiccup muttered back to her, still forced back by Astrid’s axe, avoiding eye contact.

Astrid darted off, rolling to another barrier, hoping to get closer and land a hit on the dragon.

“You got it Astrid!”

“Yeah, woo!”

The arena filled with varying words of encouragement for Astrid, who was making her way to the dragon, her recently sharpened axe gleaming with a thirst for blood.

Stoick stood among the onlookers, beaming with pride; his son had made amazing progress in the arena and was now considered to be the best at subduing dragons. Stoick and Hiccup made brief eye contact, and Hiccup gave a brief, half-hearted smile as he adjusted his new helmet.

Hiccup sighed, turning to watch the dragon, who had lived in confinement for weeks, go through the same old routine of being screamed at, and charged at by energetic young humans who hoped to kill others of its kind. He banged the wooden barrier with the hilt of his own dagger, three sharp strikes that rang out with a dull thud that nobody from the crowd could hear. He wanted the dragon to get away from Astrid. And this little trick worked.

The scrawny child locked eyes with the dragon, which charged at him. Her pupils had dilated a touch, something Hiccup recognised as a more positive thing, unbeknownst to every other human there.

“Hey there, don’t mind me.” Hiccup reassured this female dragon as he applied pressure to a pressure point, and the dragon sprawled out in front of him, collapsing into a slumber. She wouldn’t get hurt that day, thankfully.

Astrid, a few seconds before, had started running at the gronckle screaming a war-cry, but as the dragon slumped at Hiccup’s feet in content slumber, Astrid’s ongoing war-cry turned into a livid yell, which Hiccup had only just noticed over the din of cheers ringing through the air.

“No, NO ! SON OF A HALF-TROLL RAT EATING MUNGE BUCKET !” Astrid yells in disbelief. Hiccup shrugs, realising what this meant for the next session in the ring. He was equally as distraught as Astrid, but, having ‘won’ he had to play off his distraught and hide it behind a somewhat happy mask.

The clang of a wooden staff on the metal cage above the arena rang out, and Gothi was seen tapping her staff for attention. While the crowd did quieten slightly, there was a thick curtain of muttering and whispering permeating the air.

“So, uh, I’ll see you later-” Hiccup began, getting ready to swiftly leave, as he had been doing more and more lately.

“NOT so fast, you.” Gobber beams behind his blond facial hair, yoinking Hiccup back by the scruff of his bearskin vest.

Hiccup looked up at Gobber, and tried to come up with an excuse to quickly leave. “I’m uhh… late? Late for…”

“What? Late for what, exactly?” Astrid yelled at Hiccup, absolutely livid by her ‘defeat.’ At the beginning of training to become warriors and dragon killers, she was the best in the arena, and Hiccup was dead last. Now, it seemed Hiccup was better than her, without really trying.

Stoick held up his hands to call for everyone’s attention, silencing the jabbering crowd slowly, as more people noticed. 

“Okay, okay, quieten down, the elder has decided.” He bellowed. He cleared his throat, and motioned for Gothi to show her verdict.

Gobber, in tense silence, pulled Astrid and Hiccup in front of him. Gothi, the village elder, was mute, so she couldn’t make the announcement out loud. It was tradition for Gobber to select the two best recruits and hold them in plain view of Gothi’s viewing platform, and the silent exchange between Gothi and Gobber only added to the anticipation and suspense.

Where Gobber’s left hand used to be, there was an iron hook, a prosthetic he had made himself a long time ago, and this hook was moved to be positioned above Astrid’s head, as this way, Gothi could choose by nodding or shaking her head.

In this case, Gothi shook her head, and her brows furrowed.

The crowd’s silent anticipation was suddenly broken up by murmurs and mutters, ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. Astrid Hofferson, the one who had been the top pick at the beginning of training, had been declined for the honour of killing her first dragon in the ring.

Gobber positioned his hook over Hiccup’s head. Her aged face crinkled into an enthusiastic, open-mouthed smile, and for added effect, since she was mute and relying on gestures as well as facial expressions, she raised a weak arm and pointed at Hiccup.

Hiccup had done it.

Astrid gave Hiccup a seething, deadly glare, and her snarling mouth twitched with rage.

“You’ve done it, you’ve done it, Hiccup! You get to kill the dragon!” Gobber yelled over the crowd, the way only a truly proud father-figure could. He even drowned out Stoick’s disbelieving “ha ha, that’s my boy!” The sound of a biological parent being genuinely surprised that their child had actually managed to beat the previous best warrior of their generation.

Astrid’s furious yelling was drowned out by other shouts.

“Hiccup, you get to kill it!”

“You’re a viking after all!”

“Wow, he’s so cool now!”

Among the resounding cheers, Hiccup responded with nods and waves to those around him. The celebratory atmosphere surrounded him, marking the most attention he'd ever received in his nearly eleven years of existence. The celebratory crowd, revelling in this historic moment, carried the underweight boy towards the Great Hall for the grand feast prepared in honour of the dragon arena's triumphant winner. The journey was a lively procession that, unlike his previous youthful expectations, proved long, loud, and somewhat grating.

Eager hands reached out, forming a collective of expecting viking hands that, despite Hiccup's lifelong desire for acceptance, felt invasive and unwelcome. His discomfort was evident as he squirmed within his own skin. The crowd's expressions mirrored a newfound respect, but it was a superficial acknowledgment of Stoick's heir, the 'viking,' rather than genuine recognition for Hiccup himself.

"You're finally a viking!"

"Way to go, Hiccup!"

"Congratulations, it's so cool seeing you succeed for once!"

Each mention of his name stirred a torrent of memories, a reminder of his permanent identity as a Hiccup. The past, marked by taunts and violence, echoed in his mind—Snotlout's past frequent beatings and vicious mockery, his own father's constant disapproval and beatings, the mockery and mean-spirited pranks from the twins, and Astrid, the only girl his age he 'liked,' giving him lot of pointed coldness and snide remarks. The only other viking his age who had never even been rude to him was Fishlegs, who was just distant and neutral. Distant and neutral was better than cold, mocking and violent after all.

Finally, after what felt like forever, his feet were able to touch the floor again, and when they did, he was pushed into the ‘Victor’s Throne’ that was elevated on a platform to overlook everyone else with its own table. There were other seats near him, on ‘his’ table, and it was up to him to tell everyone who he wanted by his side, at the victor’s table, an ornate wooden table reserved for the highest ranked arena participant and six others that the winner was to choose.

People were excitedly muttering, wondering which pretty women or mighty warriors he’d choose. Hiccup grimaced internally, but externally the corners of his smile were forced upwards at an unnatural angle. Though, nobody else saw this. Nobody had ever paid attention to him or his emotions, so it was received as though it was actually a warm smile.

“Go on son, you may take your pick.” Stoick encouraged. Hiccup swallowed bitterly at the new warmth he was being offered.

Hiccup didn’t need telling twice. He stood up and cleared his throat, the entire hall falling silent. For the first time in his life, something he said was going to matter, he was going to be heard. His ‘smile’ opened into a dark grin, his eyes glinting in the light of the central fire and the many lanterns and candles that were scattered everywhere.

“There may be six other seats here, it is true, however since the choice is mine alone, I wish to only eat with two people who genuinely deserve it. I don’t care about feasting with the strongest or the prettiest. Tonight, I couldn’t care less about those who have wronged me, and quite frankly that’s nearly all of you. Fishlegs Ingerman, come take your seat to my left. Quiet, smart and empathetic are all valuable traits, a combination that only you have. Thank you for being you .”

Fishlegs gawked at the other boy, getting dragged to the seat by Stoick. He was being glared at with jealousy by many, but he kept moving until he was with Hiccup, who smiled at him warmly. Previously, Fishlegs had always been neutral or avoidant with Hiccup, but that was actually the best treatment Hiccup had received from any of his peers. Stoick had his chest puffed up proudly, and was walking to the seat by Hiccup’s right, when his own son glared at him.

“I request that you sit back where you were. Gobber, get up here.” Finally, Hiccup was able to show his father what he actually meant to him.

Stoick stopped in his tracks, and returned quietly, visibly deflating. The crowd was shaken by the family drama, and pushed Gobber up to where Hiccup was sitting.

“Everyone, the man to my right has been there for me through thick and thin, helping me patch myself up after the violence I have suffered, and teaching me valuable skills nobody else saw fit to teach me, not even my ‘father.’”

Hiccup winced bitterly as the word ‘father’ played on his tongue. It tasted just as sweet as the years of his childhood he’d wasted, hoping to be someone he wasn’t.

“Bow your heads in shame, and get back to eating. That is all.”

Hiccup sat down abruptly after his previous ‘lecture’ and motioned to the spread of various platters of flavourful foods on the table around him. “You two, enjoy. You’re closer to being family than my own blood and I can’t thank either of you enough.” He continued quietly, a dark warmth filling his chest. That night would mark the end of an era of abuse for Hiccup. Not the feast, but the night itself.

“Hiccup, you could have used this as a chance to get to know more people. People respect you now-” Fishlegs was cut off by Hiccup, who spoke with a quiet but steeled resolve.

“Respect doesn’t happen overnight, especially when you’re a ‘Hiccup’.”

Glancing at the various foods, Hiccup noted the offerings of the feast. Various seasoned cuts of cooked meat, from beef, venison and wild pork to fishes like salmon, swordfish and cod, vegetables that were all prepared in a variety of ways, and a couple of pots of various sauces, spices and herbs. Salt and pepper, honey, gravy, thick cheese sauce, and more.

He put some lamb on his plate, some buttered roasted potatoes and some carrots before covering everything in a generous helping of rosemary and wild mushroom gravy, and ate alongside Gobber and Fishlegs, who were stunned at how the heir of Berk used the occasion to reveal his true feelings. The others quickly followed suit stacking their plates with food however, as it had been a long day, and the opportunity to partake in a huge feast was right there and then. The social intricacies of the night could be discussed in private, and preferably another day when nobody risked being drunk or sick.

Chapter Text

Hurried footsteps sounded through the shady cove, and a pitch black dragon lifted his head, looking for the source of this familiar sound excitedly.

“I am so… leaving. We’re leaving. Just like we planned, Toothless.”

A breathless figure emerged from the cove entrance, ducking under a shield that he had accidentally lodged there weeks ago and nearly stumbling over a stray stick in the dim light. The dragon, a night fury named Toothless, ran over to Hiccup and crooned with a mix of worry and excitement, giving his human a big lick.

Hiccup let out a soft sigh and muttered about the night fury’s saliva. “You know this is hard to remove, right?”

Toothless let out a rhythmic trill that mimicked some sort of laughter, before turning his attention to a satchel that had been stuffed under a rock the day before.

“Yes, we’re finally leaving. I said my goodbyes, kinda.” Hiccup told the dragon, then paused as Toothless tilted his head, sniffing the air.

“Okay, I didn’t say any goodbyes other than ‘I’m off now, goodnight’ to Gobber and Fishlegs, but still.”

Toothless crooned. Hiccup felt the powerful thought behind the noise, the sentiment behind the familiar sound he had grown to love. This noise, while it was always similar to other crooning noises, Hiccup was able to feel the intent behind it. Warmth, acceptance and care. Genuine feelings, and not the superficial ones most of his tribe had displayed recently.

Hiccup, having decided to leave instead of continuing life as a prisoner to the rocky expanse of Berk, had packed a satchel of bare necessities consisting of his warmest clothes, rations and his notepads, and it was the same satchel he had hidden under a rock nearby. The decision was made earlier in the week, all Hiccup was waiting for was this night. Hiccup scattered a few spare pieces of paper around, mostly invention designs and personal notes.

“Alright, bud. Blast a couple of the cove walls so that they think I’m… dead. We can go to the arena after that, free the dragons there, then continue.”

The last few rays of sunlight were disappearing over the horizon, the forest itself was nearly dark. The entire village was up in the great hall, celebrating Hiccup’s success in the arena, especially the past couple of weeks. The faint sound of singing could be heard even from the cove, and Hiccup found himself glaring bitterly at the floor. ‘That’s right, just keep singing.’ Hiccup thought darkly, dropping his helmet into the edge of the lake. It immediately settled on the mud a few inches under the water, and one of the horns poked up through the water surface. When people find the cove, Hiccup knew they’d see it pretty quickly after noticing his scattered papers.

He hopped onto the back of Toothless, nudging the satchels of supplies he had packed in order to check that they were secure. The bags remained in place, the only movement was the leather of the bags gently dipping as his foot nudged them. Toothless fired two small shots at the cove walls, which were briefly engulfed in bright light as they were charred and blasted, and spread his wings. After a powerful flap and Hiccup tilting his foot to control Toothless’ tail fin, they climbed high into the air, arcing upwards and towards the arena, before carefully landing at the already-open gate, courtesy of Hiccup’s pre-meditation.

“Remember what I told you?” Hiccup hissed quietly to his scaled brother. Toothless, with a gummy grin, nodded enthusiastically. Toothless hissed into the arena quietly, signalling his presence to the other dragons, who quickly became quiet, recognising this particular hiss as that of a night fury. The dragons behind the heavy-duty gates could be heard shuffling around in their stone enclosures, getting up off of the rough bare ground beneath them. They weren’t aware of Hiccup’s plan, but they would be, pretty soon.

Hiccup was crouching in a low hunch just behind the arena entrance, away from the eyes of anyone around the Great Hall where the entire tribe was gathered. Toothless bounded over to the gate levers with a quick, rhythmic stride, pushing them all backwards with a swipe of his tail, and bounded back to Hiccup to shield him if anything went wrong. The five gates clanged open simultaneously, unheard by the partygoers in the main hall thanks to the distance and the jubilant celebrations rendering the Hooligan tribe ignorant of the current situation in the arena.

The dull orange monstrous nightmare, aware of the other dragons, didn’t leave his enclosure in a burst of fire and fury as he usually would when surrounded by shouting and jeering people, but instead he scurried out quickly, quickly climbing the caged ceiling around the arena to assess the situation from above, before rapidly descending upon noticing no excited crowds or mocking leers. The nadder hopped out of her confined space like a bird would, looking around for a threat that didn’t actually seem to be there, after properly looking around and sniffing the air. She flexed the creamy yellow spines on her tail, clicking them happily upon realising no harm would befall her. The green and red terrible terror darted between the nadder and the nightmare, shielding his smaller figure from harm under the larger dragons, until he realised that there were no large crowds and more importantly, no weapons. The only company was a night fury, and what smelt like the same night fury with a hint of different grasses and dirt. The vaguely green zippleback cautiously peeked out from the darkness of his enclosure before scurrying toward where the other dragons were, followed by the gronckle who waddled behind the green dragon a bit like a giant toad.

The light greyish-blue nadder was the first to see the small human who was standing near the night fury, and she chittered quietly to the other dragons, cautiously. They recognised the smell, but that smell was often accompanied by other smells, like violence, fear, sweat and human fighters. This one never came with violence, like the other humans. It actually smelt of wildness alongside the night fury’s scent, instead of other regular humans and village smells, meaning this human was normally alone, without family or pack. And with the smells of violence and fear also not being present, this human is the only human there with them.

Toothless let out a quiet, encouraging trill, and the other dragons cautiously step forward to investigate Hiccup.

Hiccup had previously discarded his helmet and dagger, so he was unarmed. On top of that, he was coated in night fury saliva from being licked earlier, further warping his scent into something more wild and friendly to the dragons, akin to being a pack member.

“You don’t have to come to me if you don’t want to. Just know you’re free now.” He whispered, gesturing to the arena gate.

The dragons continued their approach, and soon huddled near Hiccup, observing how the human and the obsidian dragon interact. This human didn’t even act hostile, it wasn’t waving its arms or poking the dragons with anything. It even made calm noises. Complicated human vocalisations, but hushed and smooth, something that was deemed universally peaceful.

“Toothless, we can’t stay for long. If we go, these guys could just follow us, and we’ll all introduce ourselves later?” He asked Toothless, gesturing to the arena gate again, with a head tilt this time. He was still crouching, but in his preparation to leave, he stood up with a deliberate slowness, to avoid sudden movements. Toothless nudged him, to get the small boy up faster, and was thanked with a nod and a scratch from him.

Toothless motioned to the other dragons with his wings, and crooned. As he fluttered his wings in a ‘freedom’ type of motion, his tail also flexed, and the other dragons turned their attention to Toothless’ tail fin. One half was sleek and black, healthy like the dragon it belonged to. The other half was made of leather, and was attached with a fixed clamp, wires, other bits of metal and leather, and everything came together in a saddle and stirrups.

Only the original part of the night fury’s tail flexed, prompting concern and mild fear from the other dragons. A dragon with a damaged tail fin or wing was a dead dragon, after all. Toothless warbled, and pulled Hiccup closer. Cautiously, Hiccup got onto the dragons back, and slotted his foot in place, tilting it to adjust the tail fin.

Toothless did the tail flex again, and both halves worked in unison thanks to Hiccup’s input, much to the shock and apparent awe of the other dragons, who had never seen prosthetics before.

“Toothless, if they’ve been caged for too long, releasing them into the wild directly might be dangerous for them.” The human muttered as he leaned forwards to pat his friend’s forehead. The dragon acknowledged this with a couple of clicks and set off running towards the main gate, followed by the other dragons.

The dragon and rider were up in the sky again within moments. The arena dragons who were following them looked to Toothless. The night fury gargled a strange warbling sound, a sound Hiccup recognised as encouragement and reassurance, like the crooning, but more intense. Hiccup silently let the dragons ‘talk’, and soon enough, the dragons looked from Toothless to Hiccup expectantly. Toothless crooned this time, and raised an ear flap for Hiccup, listening for an ‘order’. He didn’t need to move his ear flaps to show that he was listening, but non-verbal communication was the only way Toothless could communicate with his rider properly.

“I mentioned making a statement the other day. I don’t intend on just leaving, that would be too good for this place. They’d celebrate me leaving, or dying. I want to hit them hard financially, I want to give them a blow to their pride.” He wanted vengeance. Inside, he always knew what he wanted, yet to say it out loud made it real, somehow.

“Toothless, can you explain to the other dragons that we need to disrupt the village’s life massively?”

Toothless nodded. A few noises later, the group of dragons split up, silently going off in separate directions, excluding the terrible terror and Toothless. Hiccup was beginning to grasp the basics of dragon behaviour and vocalisations, and from what he gathered, the terror was going to be a lookout.

“Right, take me down to the treasury, that ‘house’ there. I’m going to ‘take inventory.’”

The treasury looked like an unassuming building in the residential district, identical to the normal houses to either side of it. Only the council, Stoick and Hiccup knew what the building actually was, maybe Gothi and Gobber knew too. It, however, was the second most important building on the island, after the Great Hall, as it housed all of Berk’s funds, as well as old relics and documents, plus the portraits of past Chiefs and their sons when there wasn’t an enormous event going on. It just went to show how little people cared about Hiccup himself, if these painted shields weren’t hung up in the Great Hall.

He knew what he wanted from that building. There was a small box of old books and documents in there, as well as the Book of Dragons that was in storage for the night. Plus the entirety of Berk’s wealth, a small box that weighed roughly the same as a terrible terror, but instead of being full of copper and silver coins, all the coins in it were gold and platinum, the coins with the highest value. Ninety-nine percent of Berk’s wealth was in that box.

From where they were, Hiccup could see that the Great Hall was still lively and crowded, giving him the perfect opportunity to get what he wanted. Toothless, under the cover of the darkness that had just gotten darker as the night went on, dived down, silently landing in front of the treasury. Hiccup had already prepared Stoick’s treasury key, and the moment he slid off Toothless, he unlocked the door and let the night fury slip inside, following the dragon in, and closing the door behind them.

From inside, he heard the terrible terror land on the treasury roof. The scraping of claws up there indicated the start of their time. If the terror tapped loudly, it meant someone was in view of the door.

He let out a sigh of relief, not only from the daring revenge mission’s success so far, but also from his foresight in preparing what he wanted the day previously. Everything was strapped together, and to top it all off, the entire batch weighed no more than two sheep. Nobody had moved what he had assembled, luckily, so he strapped the bundles to Toothless’s sides, evenly dispersing the weight, and wiped his brow with a sleeve.

The strong smell of dust was beginning to get overwhelming, but Hiccup looked around anyway, taking in the architecture of Berk from the inside for the last time. Mid-height wooden buildings with arcing beams crossing at the front and back, the frames covered with planks which were covered in overlapping wooden tiles for extra protection from the elements. He had seen this architecture for his entire life, but considering that he was about to leave, it only made sense to lay his eyes on it properly one last time. After a few seconds, he sighed, an air of finality filling the room.

He gently tapped Toothless’s back, indicating that it was time to leave the building. Toothless pushed the door open with his snout and Hiccup followed his dragon outside, locking the treasury behind him. He mounted Toothless, and they were off. Tears streamed down Hiccup’s face as he grinned widely, exhilaration flooding his veins like his past flooded his heart. However, as they ascended, Hiccup felt the fragments of his past fall back down, raining down on Berk like shards of tumbling glass. Inside, he hoped somebody down there was unlucky enough to find themselves under one of these shards.

Behind him, he heard the buzz of a gronckle flying, as well as leathery flaps and buzzing of more dragons nearby, also hiding above the clouds. There weren’t just the few dragons from the arena. Hiccup turned his head and gawked at the flock that was accompanying them. From what he saw, there were six nightmares, eight zipplebacks, nine nadders, a small group of three gronckles and about ten terrible terrors, on top of the dragons from the arena.

Toothless warbled gently, and pointed his face in the direction of the forest, then the dock. Hiccup, in the dark, couldn’t immediately tell what Toothless was pointing to. A gronkle from behind them dropped a flaming chunk of lava into the ocean creating a fair amount of steam, but before the steam, Hiccup was able to make out the image of the dock being full of deer and boar carcasses, all being shredded quietly by scauldrons unable to pass up on the opportunity of free food. Most of the deer and boar on Berk were now dead and being devoured.

Toothless pointed to the fields this time, and Hiccup, for the brief moment the moon was visible, saw scauldrons spraying fields with water, presumably the extremely salty water from their stomachs and salsifters (the organ that filters salt from sea water so that scauldrons can use the salt and water separately for other purposes). The dragons, Hiccup assumed, realised that salt would negatively affect crops and plant life. They were right, and with the liquid from salsifters being used, it would mean the salt would be in the fields for years.

The gronckles behind Toothless gargled and threw lava down onto another area that began to glow and burn: the wooden walkway in front of the entrance to the mine. The entrance was fully collapsed, and from the bend in the pathway above the mine itself, the entire mine must have been collapsed by one of the gronckles.

Hiccup felt his heart in his chest beat faster. This would send the perfect message. Berk’s finances were gone, the main food supplies disrupted, wheat, vegetables and meat included, and on top of everything else, the mine was blocked. Then he saw something else.

It started as a single speck flying out of the forest, the faint glow from its mouth being the only reason Hiccup noticed it when he did.

A couple more specks erupted from the forest, faint clicks and croons that Hiccup could barely hear were sounding out from the forest, the mountain, the cliffs, the noises spread all over the island, carried by the wind.

Hiccup looked down at the Great Hall, worried, but upon noticing the continued activity down there and nowhere else, he relaxed a little. There were a few people milling outside with mugs, and a few more were joining them, but not with hostile intent or any intention to investigate.

Toothless slapped him with an ear flap and Hiccup looked down at his dragon, who had turned his head to the side to look at Hiccup. He was giving Hiccup a gummy grin, and pointed towards the forest again. More specs were coming out of the forest, and some larger ones followed. Toothless flapped once, warbling playfully as he and Hiccup were launched further upwards, and let out a roar.

This roar was not only carried towards the Great Hall, but was echoed in the distance by other dragons, who were also flying upwards, towards Hiccup and Toothless.

“A-Are those all of the dragons that live on Berk?” Hiccup asked. Toothless nodded.

Hiccup heard shouting, and Toothless glided into the nearest cloud followed by the dragons who were with them, who were also being joined by a stream of dragons from the island, the green rocky expanse Hiccup was prisoner to all his life.

“They’re coming with us?” Hiccup probed. Toothless nodded excitedly. Hiccup guessed there were about a hundred dragons with them, maybe a hundred and fifty.

Hiccup heard noises from below him, and realised that some people had finally noticed something was off. Not the entirety of the island, luckily.

“How about one last message?” Hiccup asked Toothless. Toothless tilted his head, listening intently.

“Let’s destroy their nets and bolas and all that, let’s hit the armoury and lookout posts hard.”

Toothless dived downwards with a whistling shriek, letting off a few blasts immediately.

This was followed by the other dragons, who all not only followed Toothless down in his dive, but also aimed and fired at where Toothless fired, shrieking, swooping and diving around. The precision attack happened immediately, and as soon as it started, it was over, dragons rained down from the clouds breathing fire and lava before regrouping above the grey canopy, silent once more.

Chapter Text

Stoick watched Hiccup leave the Great Hall and thought little of it. His heir had had a tough time in the arena, and was probably going to bed early. He figured he’d check up on Hiccup later, especially after his speech earlier, no doubt finding him in his bed or at the forge working on something new. He prayed Hiccup would just be in bed, and not where he creates those weird inventions that always backfired.

The Great Hall was shrouded in the sound of lutes and drums, a lively tune fit for how Berk felt at the newfound success of its future chief. Stoick smiled, finally proud of what his son was becoming. The boy seemed to have a way with beasts, being able to incapacitate them, put them back in their grimy enclosures with little effort, his newfound ambition seems to be slaying the night fury, what with his talk of shooting one down and all.

In future, Hiccup would be capable of slaying even a beast such as that, the unholy offspring of lightning and darkness itself, and when he does, Gobber will be the one to turn the vile creature’s hide into the perfect cloak, the skull the perfect helmet, the only thing fit for a chief, outside of Stoick’s own clothes and gear.

He shovelled a forkful of vegetables and lamb into his open maw and chewed thoroughly. It was a great feast, and he knew he’d be taking a few more platefuls that night alone, taking a couple more for Hiccup, and yet a few more for himself for breakfast and lunch the next day.

It was during this mouthful when he thought he heard an unusual sound. A ghostly mix of clicks and croons that were carried across the island by the wind. His senses, dulled by alcohol and goodwill, made him think he was hallucinating however, and he continued his meal not noticing how a few others seemed to react to this exact same imaginary sound, and slipped outside to check it out.

A woman called Agnes filled Stoick’s goblet again with cold mead, the sweet alcoholic beverage that was most popular on Berk, with beer close behind. In the background, a pair of flutes joined the drum and the lute in the light-hearted music of the night. Everyone except Gobber and Fishlegs had seemingly forgotten about Hiccup’s earlier speech, and that was probably for the best. Family drama wasn’t common on Berk, and when it happened it usually ended up with somebody dying, either one of the people involved or someone else got into a bar fight over it and things got out of hand. It was already bad enough between the Hofferson and Jorgensen houses.

The music was about to change, the final chorus of this song was being belted out by half of the people in the great hall. Stoick looked around contentedly as the rest of the village celebrated. The only ones who weren’t there were Gothi and Mildew, both preferring peace and quiet; Gothi because she just likes the calm and quiet more, and Mildew because he was a cranky fuck.

‘Well, to speak of the devil. Well, think .’ Stoick thought, as he watched the door to the Great Hall open.

Gothi marched straight to Gobber and placed a box of sand at the smith’s feet, wildly carving symbols into the rough grainy contents. Stoick could overhear the conversation.

“Anger?”

Thwack.

“Ah, danger. Sorry, sorry. What’s in danger?”

“Jer-”

Thwack.

“BERK, okay I get it. How, why?” Gobber asked, more agitated.

“Dragon? There’s a raid soon?”

Gothi wiggled her hand in a gesture that people had come to translate as ‘Sort of’. Before Gobber could ask, however, an ear-splitting shrieking whistle and a deafening explosion were heard, followed by roaring, shrieking, and more explosions.

People in the hall yelled, the few sober ones rushed outside to check on the damage. Stoick rushed over to Gothi and Gobber.

“How big is this raid?” He demanded. Gothi spread her arms wide, wider than they’d ever seen her stretch. She brought down her staff, and wrote a single symbol. ‘Catastrophe.’ Stoick, recognising this one symbol, rushed out with Gobber, both somewhat tipsy but still able enough to fight. By the time they exited the danger had passed. Stoick glared at the sky, and went back inside, followed by more people. Gobber rushed to Gothi to clear up the situation. More people followed Gobber, since as village elder, Gothi was recognised as being the wisest, and due to her nature as a healer and shaman, was often credited as having ties to the supernatural.

“You said this raid was big? How come it was over so soon?” He asked.

“Big number, fast attack? That makes sense, but there is little damage, it’s just concentrated.”

“Calculated, damage will show later, huge consequences. Cursed . Gothi, that’s extremely ominous. Do you know the specifics?”

Gothi shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes. So many questions, but recognising them as valid, she answered.

“Financial loss, food loss, fields will die. Massive, calculated attack, unprecedented damage.”

As Gobber translated, the air in the hall filled with tension. However, the last thing Gobber would translate that night would bring about the largest amount of emotions, each varying.

“Hiccup is gone.”

Chapter Text

The next day, as the sun’s rays first lit up the village, people began surveying damages to the island, properly taking note of what had changed. Fishlegs decided to search the forest for clues since Hiccup was known to retreat to the forest often. Everyone else was focused on the village and the damage done there, and the village saw no need to check the forests just yet.

Fishlegs walked to the edge of the forest along a narrow trail, most likely one created by small game, and entered. The chilly air seemed to stop as soon as he entered, and he stopped to follow the trail with his eyes. It was narrow, yes, but it was straight, meaning that whatever made it had a specific path. Fishlegs shuddered. Hiccup was known to spend a lot of time in this forest, and he had no idea how the other boy managed. Berk was freezing cold and very damp at the very least, so being in the forest even for a few minutes was a harsh task for the young and the small. At least in the village there were ways to warm up.

He continued walking stiffly, following this suspiciously straight trail that seemed to carve its way through the landscape in an unnatural manner. The forest was unusually silent, he could only hear the sound of the wind tickling the top of the dense trees all over the island, creating audible waves of damp papery rustling. There were no deer or boar, no birds, and above all else, no dragons growling and flapping in the distance.

His footsteps loudly announced his presence to the frigid uncaring wilderness, and as he continued walking he started noticing something up ahead. Twigs and branches were snapped, all pointing the same directions, and as he drew closer, his heart started thumping louder in his chest.

There was a thick gash in the mud where something had crash landed and skidded to a halt.

This gash, whilst not recent, wasn’t overly old either. The edges were starting to see plant growth, and the deepest part was covered in a thin layer of water turning green from algae. Where this thing had come into contact with stones in the mud, a scale or two had been pulled off, pitch black slivers of darkness cut from the night sky.

Fishlegs followed the gash out of curiosity, and noticed that the unnervingly straight trail he had followed to this place actually turned abruptly to follow this mark in the earth. Small footsteps could be spotted in some places where the nearby moss gave way to mud, and he instantly recognised the size as being Hiccup’s. These footsteps went both to and from a location just outside of Fishlegs view, and he tried to keep moving towards this place, but he stopped, frozen in his tracks.

On the floor, just next to the scarred moss and mud, was a bola, a set of two equal weights linked by a rope. The rope part had been cut with precision, with what was clearly a sharp object, and a large portion of it was coated in dried blood.

Fishlegs gulped, the implications of this scene were tangible. Hiccup had shot down the Night Fury and then cut it free. That or it had cut itself free. He didn’t know what was worse. He picked up the few scales and put them in his pocket, leaving the bola where it was for now.

“What’s this?”

Fishlegs whirled around, coming face to face with Astrid, who had snuck up on him easily as Fishlegs had been occupied with this new revelation.

He brought his hand out of his pocket and showed her the scales silently, holding them up for her to see. She gasped, and scanned the ground, her eyes falling upon the bola. The young shieldmaiden picked it up, and her stormy blue eyes darkened.

“Do you have more clues? Stoick needs to hear about this immediately.”

Fishlegs shook his head at the shield-maiden beside him. “I’m going on ahead to follow this trail. I think Stoick needs to see this for himself. Take these for him, too.” He replied, handing Astrid the scales. Astrid nodded, before jogging off, back towards the village. Fishlegs walked past the place the cut bola had been found and followed the original trail he was on.

He only walked a few more metres before he started seeing a large opening in the ground, which revealed a couple of scorch marks as he got closer, and he saw more of the cove. With every pace he took, the opening got deeper, and it was quickly becoming clear just how deep this sunken area was. It was home to multiple trees, and a lake, which Fishlegs immediately noticed wasn’t perfectly flat. There was a horn poking out of the water, with a metallic base just under the surface, the typical viking helmet for a young heir. Next to the lake, Fishlegs spotted scattered papers, and immediately, his gut feeling told him that these things were Hiccup’s.

Looking around, he only spotted one entrance: a thin opening between two parts of the cove wall, one that had footsteps all around it even from where he was. It didn’t take long to get there, and yank the shield away from the opening. He couldn’t go over or under, so this was the only way.

From inside the cove, he could see the full scene, not just the obvious scorch blasts on the walls, or the helmet or papers, but he was able to properly see the footprints of both Hiccup and this dragon. With how the footprints played out, Fishlegs noticed that the human and dragon had indeed been there at the same time. Not only that, but this phenomenon had happened multiple times. Hiccup had been in the cove with the night fury multiple times and survived.

He heard twigs snap above the cove and people calling out for him. Mostly Stoick and Astrid, but he heard Gobber as well, alongside a group of people.

“Everyone! Down here! You need to see this!” He yelled out. He quickly heard replies to this, and he began picking up the papers on the floor to hand them over to Hiccup’s father.

Stoick and the more able-bodied entered the cove by sliding down the cove walls and jumping down a few feet. Others took the small detour to the opening to the cove.

As Stoick approached him, he held out the papers for the chief to take. Stoick took them, and immediately gasped in astonishment.

“Um… Sir?” Fishlegs asked.

Stoick flipped through them, most papers were packed with intricate drawings but a few contained notes, lists and a few other things.

“Odin’s beard…”

The chief’s eyes scanned the papers rapidly, his brow furrowing.

“Are there any clues as to what happened?” Fishlegs asked, the sentiment mirrored by others nearby. Stoick nodded, silent. He looked up from the papers, looking around at the scene before him.

“My son...” Stoick began. “I can’t believe it came to this.” He added, after a pregnant pause.

“Chief?” Astrid asked. “What do you mean, where is he?”

“He’s… It seems he’s dead.” Stoick lowered his eyes and handed Astrid one of the sheets, the atmosphere in the cove heavy with anticipation and worry.

-Challenge one of the great warriors to a duel.

-Swim across the Ghost Sea.

-Make a deadly ‘mistake’ in the arena.

-Climb Berk Peak in normal clothes.

-Track down the Night Fury. (Survival will be impossible).

Astrid lowered her eyes after the contents of the list had settled in. Hiccup had written down a series of tasks that were guaranteed to result in injury, and most likely death, and the most dangerous one was crossed off. From what Astrid had seen previously with Fishlegs, Hiccup had not only shot it down, but also freed it, and the list only served to corroborate this, despite how impossible it seemed. The night fury, the ‘unholy offspring of lightning and death itself’ was infamous for three things: never stealing food, never showing itself, and never missing its targets. It was swift, precise and deadly, cutting through the night sky, causing major damage with its explosive blasts and disappearing back into the cover of darkness, seemingly melting back into the night.

A few weeks previously, Hiccup had tried telling everyone that he had shot down this legendary catalyst of destruction, but nobody had believed him at the time. In fact, Hiccup had been ridiculed more and more after that, excluding the respect he had just started to receive for his newfound talent with dragons. It appeared that this must have pushed him over the edge.

“What could the recent dragon attack have to do with Hiccup’s death?” Tuffnut asked, half rhetorically.

Multiple people turned to him. Breaking the sombre silence was seen as rude by quite a few, but the question itself was a valid one. Ruffnut, his sister, slapped the back of his helmet, and he fell silent again.

Stoick was about to speak, but he found himself interrupted by Ruffnut, this time.

“I propose that he was taken by a dragon and is still out there suffering.” She chimed into the oppressive silence. Her brother nodded. The twins had always been amused by things like harm and accidents, and it showed even at the most inappropriate times.

“I reckon he didn’t survive past the attack on the village, actually.” Snotlout added. He had been the most malicious of the group, and even meaner than seasoned adults. He quickly found himself staring down the blade and shaft of Stoick’s axe however and he chuckled nervously.

“If I may, Gobber was Hiccup’s mentor, and, please don’t take this badly, his main father figure. Perhaps it would be best allowing him to examine the papers Hiccup left. I might be of some assistance as well.” Fishlegs stated, barely louder than a whisper. Stoick’s broad shoulders slumped and he pulled his axe away from the side of Snotlout’s neck. The axe had been pressed against bare skin, leaving a slightly red mark, right above the jugular.

“Your reasoning is solid enough...” The chief murmured, handing the papers to Gobber, who had been standing nearby in a silent show of support.

Gobber began flicking through the papers, counting them. His brows furrowed and his moustache seemed to tense up as he clenched his jaw.

“Some of these are incredible…” He muttered into his facial hair. As he was flicking through them, he stopped on a particular drawing of an invention, the one that Hiccup had designed to fling bolas up into the air with precision, to make up for his muscular shortcomings and overall fragility. He recognised it as being the one Hiccup had used the night he claimed to have shot down the night fury.

He ‘hmm’ed, suddenly in deeper thought. A few weeks ago, in the arena, Hiccup had asked Gobber about the night fury, and if there was anything in the Book of Dragons about it. All the signs of him having encountered the deadly and elusive beast were there, out in the open, but they had been ignored and brushed off by literally everyone around the boy.

Stoick stepped closer to the lake, stepping into the mud that surrounded it in order to pick up his son’s helmet. It was small by most standards, but it had been given to him as soon as he was deemed ‘a viking’, so very recently, and the fact that it was lying in the lake meant either it had fallen off or he had thrown it off. Hiccup’s dagger was further in, and Stoick clenched his jaws as he waded deeper into the clear water, quickly having to change from wading to swimming as he stepped off of a sudden drop down that looked smaller from the surface.

With how far into the lake Hiccup’s dagger was, he must have thrown it purposefully, like the helmet. For a viking to throw a weapon and a piece of protective gear away from them, it must either have been deemed a safe location, the viking was angry enough to ignore the consequences of not having those things in an emergency, or they were suicidal, and being the heir of Berk, the son of the greatest viking chief in modern memory meant the third option was safe to ignore. It was impossible for someone in high society to feel the need to resort to self destructive measures, according to Berk’s logic.

Gobber was still scanning Hiccup’s notepad pages for clues. He had previously spotted that Hiccup was the type to number his pages himself so Gobber took the initiative to reorganise these documents that were now central to this investigation. By doing this, he could see that they weren’t exactly random scattered papers, all the numbers ranged from twenty-one to thirty-seven, with only one page being missing. This specific page was one of the last pages, being number thirty-five. He quickly realised that this specific page probably had something crucial on it. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to the others in the search party, since Stoick was busy in the lake.

“Everyone, we’re looking for a notepad page labelled as number thirty-five. It possibly contains crucial evidence on Hiccup’s most recent activities.” He yelled, in order to be heard better. He quickly realised that that was unnecessary, however, since the rest of the search party excluding Astrid was still standing nearby, waiting for orders. At Gobber’s suggestion, people split up to search the cove for the notepad page, and some even left the cove to check the forest floor above the sunken cove.

Astrid was analysing the footprints around the cove, more specifically those of the dragon. The footprints pressed down into the mud and dirt, but with how close they were together the dragon was relatively small, only being bigger than a large war-horse, but twice as muscular. The scales Fishlegs had given her earlier as well as those around the cove were all pitch black, as expected of the night fury, but being able to piece together as much information as possible on the one being that was now confirmed to be at the heart of Hiccup’s disappearance, at the very least, was crucial to tracking it down.

Astrid carefully followed the footprints, noting how the human and dragon footsteps seemed to coincidentally exist side-by-side most of the time, and sometimes the human footsteps weren’t even there, they just vanished. Astrid found this interesting and decided to make a mental note of this. It looked like the beast had been toying with Hiccup, and the thought sent shivers down her spine. The strangeness of the footsteps left her baffled, since there were no signs of aggression or hostility, despite what Hiccup’s list of dangerous activities implied about the black dragon killing him. She kept her head down in concentration, and kept walking around.

On a flat rock near the back of the cove was a huge scorch mark and scales, the scorching having been tampered with by what appeared to be something smooth and stiff, like leather. That rock was probably where the night fury slept. She examined it and kept moving, eventually making a full loop of the cove, back to where she started. She started looking at the human footprints closer, and was about to start following them when she bumped into someone small.

She immediately looked up to tell the person to be careful when she stopped and noticed who was actually there. Somehow, the village elder Gothi, the local healer, had managed to make her way into the forest to find the group. The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement, and she gestured to Astrid to call everyone in the cove to where the pair were.

As Astrid processed this gesture, she saw that Gothi was holding something: a glass bottle with a rolled up note inside. She called out to everyone, and within a few minutes, most of the group had gathered to hear what Gothi had found. Gobber was among the last to arrive, and as soon as he arrived, Gothi started writing words into the mud for him to read out.

“Read this note. He had vital clues, we have to piece them together.” Gobber read the words Gothi poked into the mud with her walking stick. The group murmured their confusion, but slowly hushed as Stoick grasped the bottle. He removed the cork and tipped the bottle up, putting the note onto his large calloused hands ready to be unrolled. With a deep breath, he mustered the courage to read it, and then proceeded, voicing each word carefully to avoid confusion and the potential to miss subtle hints.

‘My recent ‘success’ in the ring has created a stream of consequences for Berk as a whole.

This energy is growing by the day. I feel it, he feels it and the dragons of Berk feel it too. They’re behaving strangely, they’re more energetic and seem like they’re preparing for something huge, I think.

The urge to tell everyone is a lot. I want people to know that there’s something around the corner that will happen around the time of the Victor’s Feast, but I know people never believe a word I say. “You’re too young to know herbal remedies like that”, “you’re too weak to survive even LOOKING at a night fury”, “Go share your inventions elsewhere” There’s a pattern of dismissal and insulting there, and I am not subjecting myself to that again. If these feelings of mine are true and Berk is in danger I’ll be prepared enough to survive and they won’t. Simple.

I am tired of these people, I want whatever is coming to just come already, change our lives massively, and leave, so I can stop feeling these feelings of impending danger.

Nobody will believe a word of this, especially not about what I’ve seen and done. As I write this there’s an immense pressure on me. I will keep this note for a few days, this testament to my isolation and the torment I face, and if nothing happens soon, I will cast this note out to sea and feign ignorance of these feelings of apprehension. I’ll keep it for a few more days, and if nothing changes I can go back to trying to fit in around here, pretending to feel ‘normal’, whatever that is.

His life depends on this, my only actual friend here. It’s a dangerous path, but I have to keep going. In a few days, things around here will change, I feel it. The others don’t need to hear my thoughts on this. I know they’d just ignore me, or mock me or something. I suppose that’s ‘normal’ too.’

The group, once Stoick signalled that he’d finished reading, erupted into chaos. Some hung their heads with guilt, some scowled, but most of the group started all speaking at once.

“Silence!” Stoick yelled, before also falling quiet himself.

He was struggling, as well. His son had probably known something, and the tragedy of the situation was beginning to become evident. He didn’t tell anyone because people never believed him when he previously told them useful things, so this outlandish thing he knew would be something nobody would have believed at all, if it hadn’t have already happened.

Chapter Text

Guided by the warm light of a weak torch, Astrid, now 19, going 20, hurried along the dark pathways of Berk with a freshly killed rabbit and a small handful of nuts. She held the rabbit out of reach of the light and hid the nuts in her tunic pocket, fearing what other members of the village would think. In the years since the ‘Victor’s Feast Incident’ when Hiccup disappeared, and all of the dragons around Berk too, Berk had taken a heavy blow in finances and food supplies, among other things, and as such, there were more rules in place.

Astrid had hunted and foraged outside of the community supply hours, and as such had broken multiple of these rules. The penalty for such an act was one day of not having access to community food, or any food. She kept her torch up near her face and away from anything suspicious and turned left at the marketplace onto the final stretch towards her home.

The marketplace, once the heart of Berk, now sat derelict, still functional but absolutely bare-boned in its layout. Only a handful of stalls remained, and these stalls had limited stock. As she heard someone nearby, she held the rabbit tightly to her side, the neck wrapped tight to avoid the blood coming into contact with her clothes, and therefore avoiding suspicion.

One of the villagers passed her, holding a torch of her own. The pair eyed each other warily but said nothing. No hints of recognition, no suspicious activities detected by either of them. As they passed each other, Astrid muttered to the lady. “I left a few nuts in a barrel by the Gobber’s this morning. Take them for your child.”

The lady nodded and thanked Astrid quietly. Astrid knew others were struggling, and while she had to prioritise her family, she couldn’t help herself. She had to help the village children as well, however and whenever she could. She had never helped the chief’s son when he was emaciated, but after what happened, and after some introspection, she decided that helping others wasn’t too bad. If only she could go back in time and maybe give her rabbit to Hiccup. Her stormy grey eyes darkened at the thought, the guilt gripping her as it had often done recently.

She entered her home at last, and put the rabbit on the family’s large wooden chopping board to be butchered and put the nuts in a cup in the cupboard. Her mother heard her return, and the skinny woman was ready to prepare what Astrid brought home. This was a secret family ritual, one only Astrid and her two parents knew of.

Mrs. Hofferson cut open the belly of the rabbit and removed its internal organs, separating the heart, liver, kidneys and brain from the other organs. These specific organs could also be eaten, and while they were small they were still very nourishing. She skinned it and removed the bones before cutting the rabbit up into the different cuts to all be prepared for cooking. The bones could be boiled with salt and a few herbs the family had foraged earlier in the day to make a broth, and the fat scraped from the skin could be added to the roast to prevent the meat from getting too dry.

Astrid knew the routine. Her mother would put the meat in a layer of water and fat that just covered everything, and she’d add salt and herbs before putting the iron pot it was in over the fire with a tight lid to cook overnight. The next morning, the family could eat the rabbit with the few vegetables and bits of bread that were handed out, as the handouts from the leadership of Berk were getting smaller and smaller as supplies dwindled. As of the previous week, the daily handouts for a family of three consisted of a few onions, a couple of carrots,  and a single salted fish. For more food people were encouraged to go fishing, as that was the only source of food that was consistent. Bad, but consistent enough for a family to have an extra fish to share with dinner.

The next morning as Astrid headed out to collect the daily handouts for her family, Stoick was standing over the handouts alongside the council members. They weren’t there to collect handouts, but to ask people to attend a public meeting. Astrid was a member of one of the wealthier families, and therefore was always among the last to collect her rations. She was fortunate enough to be able-bodied and therefore able to hunt and forage alongside the collection parties, so she was able to claim an extra potato for her family and a small chunk of bread for herself as thanks for contributing often and consistently.

As she collected her food, Stoick turned his attention to her.

“Astrid Hofferson, one of the few I like to see in these trying times. Have you heard about the public meeting happening later?” He asked loudly. Astrid nodded.

“I’d like you to be closer to the front today, your voice will have to be especially present given your crucial role on this island. Get there early.” He told her.

“Yes chief, I’ll make sure I will.” She responded. She nodded in thanks to the person giving out the handouts today and he eyed her sleazily, tossing her a larger potato than normal.

Astrid didn’t comment on it, or the way he looked at her. The man's name was Ross the Red, and his name didn’t come from his endeavours on the battlefield or his hair colour. He was a known aggressor towards those who have even mildly inconvenienced him, and Astrid knew that as long as she doesn’t ‘wrong’ him she’s safe from him. Unfortunately, people like that, who took advantage of other’s circumstances, were becoming more common as people got more desperate.

“Thanks Ross, it’s been nice seeing you.” Astrid coolly told the man. He grinned.

“Likewise. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, little lady. Have a good day.” He replied, obviously cheerful at Astrid’s comment. Astrid internally cringed and quickly left, not looking back. She deposited her food at home and started getting ready to attend the meeting. From what she gathered it would be taking place in an hour, immediately before the collecting parties set off to hunt and forage for food.

Astrid left the house minutes later with her hunting knife in its sheath and her empty sack attached to her waist with a thick belt. She had decided on attending the meeting in her practical clothes so that she could go assist the hunters immediately after the meeting ended.

She was among the first to arrive, and as such she was free to choose where she wanted to sit. As Stoick had previously suggested, she chose a seat close to the front, specifically the aisle seat on the second row. If she needed to stand up and talk, being at an aisle seat could facilitate this, and with it being the second row she’s not directly under the front table, not directly risking getting drinks spilled on her. 

Fortunately for her, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Fishlegs were also early, along with Snotlout. They saw her and quickly sat with her. This ensured that she wouldn’t be forced to sit next to someone she didn’t particularly like, with the exception of Snotlout. He, however, was harmless, his only problems being his arrogance and how repetitive he was. Fishlegs was tolerable, as were the twins as long as it was a good day.

She greeted the group of her peers and let Fishlegs sit next to her, with the twins and Snotlout behind her. Fishlegs was also someone who could have valuable insights for the meeting so he was also encouraged to take a seat close to the front.

As everyone arrived, the meeting started. Any stragglers who were late had to either sit right at the back away from the action or right at the front in ‘the splash zone’, and they’d also miss the start of the meeting.

Stoick stood up and greeted the large group that was there. After the greeting, Stoick continued.

“As we all know, Berk has been suffering in the years since what is known as the ‘Victor’s Feast Incident’. Our fields yield less, the wildlife has decreased in quantity and our mines have been closed forcing us to rely on recycled metal, forcing us into a cycle of poverty that gets worse with each passing year. Not only that, but our lack of funds means that we can no longer trade properly, not with foreign traders nor with other tribes in the archipelago.”

The hall erupted with murmurs and mutters conveying the hardships of the village.

“It’s been hard, and we’ve exhausted every option available to us other than fishing, and we’re all becoming restless, we all want a miraculous solution. And I believe we may have found one such idea. The council and I have previously discussed sending a few able bodied people to scour nearby islands in the archipelago for food. When all of our gold was lost, we lost the means to buy food from nearby tribes, so we had to find it ourselves. We have fished these oceans dry, our forests have scarce amounts of wildlife now, the dragons, our greatest source of income, despite causing so much damage, have been missing for years, only a handful even come close to Berk now, every other month.

The mission we plan on sending a few of you on is crucial to our survival, given our predicament. Not only that, but it’s also heavily taxing for what we actually have. After great deliberation, we will be sending five young adults who are able-bodied and strong enough to bounce back should anything go wrong. These people will have two weeks worth of rations, as that’s all we can afford, and they’ll have to explore islands further than we have previously ventured. Nobody knows what is truly out there other than open seas and a few small islands, but beyond that? Some of you will be finding out what lies between the known world and the edge of the world.

The five of you who have been chosen will be risking your lives for the survival of your tribe, and should you return successful you will be hailed as heroes for generations, and heavily rewarded. Your families will be granted priority to access food and facilities, and once Berk starts rising out of its current ongoing crisis, you will be rewarded financially as well.

This is a high-stakes gamble, and I am not afraid to admit that. We are sending five of our strongest and most resilient on what seems like an impossible mission, and should it fail we lose multiple fine warriors, scholars and… philosophers. Not only that but we have lost a huge amount of rations and our finest fishing vessel.

Now that I have specified the details of the mission, and the stakes, let me call forth the five individuals who will be going.”

The hall erupted with anxious whispers. Despite the promise of hefty rewards, many people were sceptical about the mission, especially now the ‘high stakes gamble’ part had been laid out for them. Gaunt faces turned to each other, sharing panicked glances.

“Astrid Hofferson. Snotlout Jorgenson. Fishlegs Ingerman. Ruffnut Thorston. Tuffnut Thorston. You five have the honour of going on this dreadful yet necessary mission. After much deliberation the council has recognised you five as being our best hope, that matches the criteria we gave ourselves. You five must start preparing to leave as soon as you leave this hall, you will be sent off tomorrow morning.”

Whispers and hushed conversations rippled through the crowd, riddled with anxiety and scepticism, but also resigned acceptance. People looked at Astrid and her peers with admiration and also sympathy. The mission they were to go on was riddled with risks and potential dangers, and even though the rewards were plentiful, the worthiness of the risks was questionable at best. At worst, the mission could end with a long list of fates worse than death.

Astrid shuddered, but steeled herself in her grim resolve. After Stoick finished speaking, he allowed the villagers to address their concerns and ask any questions. She remained sitting, and listened to the village’s concerns. She knew that if she listened, she’d be better prepared to handle what she’d soon be facing. Glancing to her left, she noticed that Fishlegs was still biting his already short nails, seemingly chewing them layer by layer, as the surfaces were rough. She tapped his hands and focused back on the meeting, hoping that at least he would do the same. Astrid had little hope for the twins, and even less hope for Snotlout.

By the time she turned her attention back to the front, the meeting seemed to be over. People started leaving, mostly those who were to be in the hunting parties and those who helped to provide for the village by fishing in the few places where fish still seemed to exist. These people had better places to be, as their activities would provide the village, and therefore themselves, with much needed food.

The only people left after a few more minutes were the people going on the mission, their families, and the council who were talking to Stoick.

Chapter Text

Snotlout woke up early the next morning. Despite the slight tingle of his nerves and the cloudy sky he saw from his glassless window, he excitedly prepared his last minute preparations. He already had all of his belongings packed on the ship except a few redundant items he decided to leave behind, such as books and paper. He never wanted to read or write, just hone his skills in the ring as well as his speech skills.

As he packed up a secondary comb he also slipped a silver button into his pocket. It had come off his father’s best tunic a while ago, and the family had been planning on exchanging it for food before it was announced that Snotlout would be joining the scout mission. After the announcement, the family wanted Snotlout to keep the button on him, in case he had to trade with any outsiders.

He grabbed his personal travel pouch and slipped a small mirror into it, as well as a small pouch of nuts, a small iron dagger for emergencies and last but not least an empty water pouch. There was water on the ship, in barrels, but if they encountered an island with water on it, he knew he’d want some extra.

He took his things downstairs, and knowing he was early, made sure to eat the heartiest meal he could: a single boiled potato, a slice of bread and a glass of steaming water with a few local herbs in it. Berk was too poor to afford tea now, but this was close enough.

“Son, remember this,” Spitelout started as Snotlout was about to leave. “Return to us with food, and you’ll bring our family untold honour. Die out there, and Berk dies. Good luck.”

Snotlout nodded, his father’s grim reminder unnecessary but appreciated nonetheless.

At the docks, the others were waiting for him, having arrived even earlier. The day was just beginning as the horizon started getting lighter, and the entire village was there to see them off, excluding the hunting and foraging groups who were heading out into the wilderness of Berk for food. As he walked to the others in the group he took a deep breath of air, untainted with salt unlike how it usually was, and heard some unusual comments from people he passed.

“It’s a shame.”

“They’re so young.”

“Their sacrifice will be worth it.”

Snotlout gulped and kept his head up, pretending to not have heard the comments. He put on a confident grin and strided the last paces to Astrid’s side, by the boat in the dock. The sails were prepared, already picking up the strong gusts of wind.

“Are we ready for the grandest adventure anyone has gone in for five generations?” He asked the team. Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “I for sure am!”

Astrid rolled her eyes, but the twins seemed chipper in response to Snotlout’s confidence. Before she had a chance to scold Snotlout, Stoick addressed the group from a podium nearby. The village, previously all conversing anxiously, now turned their attention to Stoick and the five young vikings.

“You five heroic figures had no say in this, you weren’t prepared, yet you’re going anyway. I can see your determination to help the village survive, and by going on this mission, you are potentially securing Berk’s future. On behalf of the entire village, I thank you. You are in our thoughts and prayers, and will be until your safe return. Your families will miss you, but rest assured, any benefits they will gain from their kin going on this mission will be effective immediately upon your departure. Snotlout, my nephew, as the next in line for Berk, represent us well.”

Snotlout saluted energetically. This was the first time Stoick had publicly acknowledged their relationship, and he was eager to please Berk, as the next chief.

Astrid side-eyed Snotlout, then glanced at Fishlegs, who was doing the same. They made eye contact, and Fishlegs shook his head. Astrid shrugged. She knew she’d have to take over once Snotlout gets tired of responsibility, so for now she’d just have to entertain him.

The group boarded the ship. Snotlout had his chest puffed out as he waved to the gathered people who were there to see the young adults off. The twins, in their usual chaotic fashion, saluted lopsidedly, making some in the crowd smile despite the severity of their mission. Astrid and Fishlegs boarded rapidly, calmly waving to the villagers, but quickly starting to familiarise themselves with the mid-sized fishing-boat-turned-exploration-vessel.

They’d be alone manning the vessel as other fishermen and sailors were busy since they were some of the most qualified to go fishing, but Astrid and Fishlegs were publicly known to be able to sail capably, so they were deemed safe to operate the boat the group was on. On top of that, the winds were currently rushing outwards from Berk, meaning the first hours, or even the first day would involve minimal labour, which meant more time to explore the ship, and perform other tasks.

Immediately, Astrid double-checked the personal cargo they carried, outside of everyone’s travel bags and pouches. The wooden crates on board were full of food and clothes, each crate labelled by person since only five people were on board, and each crate had two barrels of water next to it as well. Fishlegs was checking the sails and the rigging to make sure everything was up to the few standards Berk could afford to have.

Snotlout was checking on himself in a small mirror he brought, and the twins were looking straight up at the seagulls flying overhead. The seagulls were behaving erratically, flying in circles for a bit then flying away to circle somewhere else.

At this time of year Berk was cold, but the freezing wind that pushed past the boat had Fishlegs looking to Astrid for reassurance. Astrid shrugged and yelled at Snotlout.

“Shall we set off?” She asked.

“Hell yeah!” Snotlout replied, giving her a double thumbs-up. 

Hours later, Snotlout still wasn’t tired of his responsibility. Astrid and Fishlegs often exchanged glances, waiting for when Snotlout would beg Astrid to take charge again, like he normally would, but they were severely unlucky today.

As Astrid turned away from where Fishlegs was, she felt an arm snake its way along her shoulders.

“Hello, babe.” Snotlout muttered. “Fancy ingratiating yourself to the future chief?” He smirked.

Astrid mimicked the action of throwing up, and stepped away from him. The twins snickered at this, always seeking amusement in the most boring situations.

“I guess that's ‘maybe later’?” He asked rhetorically.

Fishlegs decided to interrupt, uncomfortable with the energy Snotlout was giving off.

“More importantly, does anyone else feel uneasy about this mission?” He asked nervously. He had hardly spoken in the hours since they left Berk.

Snotlout shook his head. “You’re just being sensitive.”

The twins shrugged. They were more amused watching fish under the surface of the sea.

“Actually, the weather has been feeling odd today. You’re not wrong, Fishlegs.” She reassured the only other ‘sane’ person on board.

“Astrid, I know it’s early evening now, but I think you need some sleep. You could do with some if you’re siding with fishbone over there.”

Astrid’s face reddened as her scowl deepened at Snotlout’s comment.

“I might have to, to avoid throwing you overboard.” She replied, coldly walking off. She took her personal belongings from the deck with her, dragging her crate and barrels through the door into the lower areas. 

Fishlegs frowned and busied himself in the newfound silence. He retrieved some ropes and left the deck with his own crate, plus another couple of sealed water barrels for good measure, making his way down into the belly of the ship to secure anything that needed securing. As he walked past the bedrooms he heard Astrid securing her personal possessions, pulling knots tight with little effort. She seemed to take the threatening weather seriously, at least. He smiled knowing that he and Astrid would be prepared on the off hand chance anything bad did happen. Fishlegs had already secured his personal belongings, meaning all he had to do was secure the things in the cargo hold, the community storage.

He arrived in the cargo hold full of crates and started fastening all of them in place, as well as the spare barrels of water, the crates of various pots and pans the village had packed for them, and the spare bedding. The team would thank him for trying to warn them later.

Outside, the sky had significantly darkened, and the waves that had been previously non-existent were now getting rough, moving the boat around with increasing force. Snotlout was at the steering board near the back right-hand side, riding the high of being in charge, and the twins were out on the deck pretending to sword fight with brooms. A gust of freezing cold wind laced with salty water droplets halted their activities however, and the three who were still out on the deck shivered from the sudden chilly contact.

“Alright, I’m starting to think being inside would be a better idea.” Snotlout admitted, after hours of stubbornly staying out on the deck pretending to not be cold.

“Ugh, finally, I was wondering when it would be socially acceptable to go near Astrid again.” Tuffnut retorted.

The trio entered the communal lounge to sit out the rain that was arriving. It was dimly lit with lanterns, and the aged wood warmly reflected the light. It smelt of salt and dust, and the few benches that were there were well worn, and had obviously been repaired many times, the straw cushions frayed and flattened from months of use.

“Wow, so luxurious.” Ruffnut, Tuffnut’s sister sarcastically remarked. Tuffnut offered her a cheeky grin and agreed jokingly. Snotlout looked down at the straw mat on the floor that served as a carpet of sorts. He was from the Jorgensen family, one of Berk’s six major families. The second richest family behind the Haddock family, and just ahead of the Hofferson family, the Ingerman family and the Thornston family.

“I-Is this how the poor people live?” Snotlout asked the twins.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Ruffnut told Snotlout. “It’s crazy how little people can live with.”

Snotlout was used to proper fabric carpets, or at the very least wool, same as the others.

“Man, Hiccup was wild living like that.” Tuffnut added. Shocked, Snotlout turned to the other male there with him.

“Hiccup, as in Hiccup Haddock? He lived like this?” Snotlout demanded.

“Yeah, he spent most of his time in a cave he furnished with his bare hands so he could be away from the village for longer. I saw it once and left it untouched, I was so shocked. Crazy, huh?” Tuffnut continued. “I was hoping to prank him but he was so elusive, he vanished around every corner he turned. Tracking him down was tough since he lived without routine.” 

Snotlout was going to comment on this revelation, but before he could vocalise his thoughts he was thrown to the floor as the ship jerked violently. The twins were also knocked over as the floor under their feet rocked.

“Hehe, rogue wave.” Ruffnut got up and brushed herself off. Her eyes were drawn to the lanterns on the walls that were knocking the back walls behind them, but paid no mind to them. Lanterns were loosely fixed to the wall so that as the ship tilted they’d be able to right themselves and stay level, normally. They’d hold up for the entire journey if the rocking stayed as it was.

As Tuffnut started to get up, the ship started rocking more as the waters outside churned. The previous rain started pelting down harder onto the poor viking vessel, in huge frigid pebbles of water.

Astrid and Fishlegs are heard groaning from deeper in the ship, affirmations that their previous fears were true, and that the weather was indeed turning. Out on the deck all of the ropes and nets and everything else would be wet. That’s when the three young adults in the communal area heard footsteps, and the door to the stairwell opened.

“Did you three secure all of the deck equipment earlier?” Astrid asked menacingly.

The three men visibly paled. They hadn’t secured anything.

“We thought you did it?” Snotlout lied tentatively.

Astrid's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the guilty expressions on their faces. Rain continued to hammer down outside, adding to the chaos of the storm that was starting.

"You thought I did it?" Astrid's voice seethed with disbelief. "Well, it seems like we're in for a rough time, then. We need to secure everything now before we lose anything!"

With a collective, anxious gulp, the vikings scrambled to their feet, their hearts pounding with dread. They knew that their procrastination had brought them perilously close to Astrid’s wrath. They were just lucky that they had more urgent matters at hand.

Together, they rushed out onto the rain-soaked deck, where the howling wind and now crashing waves added to the fury of the storm. The ship was now at the mercy of the furious sea, and they had to work frantically to salvage what they could before it was too late.

The ship rocked violently as Astrid, Snotlout, and the twins desperately tried to secure the loose equipment on the rain-soaked deck. The wind howled, drowning their cries, and the relentless rain blinded them, stinging their faces. Panic gnawed at them as their efforts proved futile.

Despite their frantic attempts, crates and barrels skidded dangerously across the slippery deck, ropes slipped through their cold, trembling fingers, and their strength waned with each passing moment. Snotlout struggled to control a rogue barrel that threatened to knock him overboard, while the twins grappled with a stubborn crate that refused to stay put. The sea roared beneath them with its towering waves relentless. It was as if the ship had become a tiny, fragile plaything tossed amidst the fury of the raging ocean.

Astrid's face, usually a picture of determination, now reflected the same desperation they all felt. She fought to maintain her grip on a slippery rope, but it slipped away, mocking her efforts. Snotlout's bravado had vanished, replaced by a wide-eyed terror as he clung to the now somewhat loose railing. The twins' attempts to keep the stack of barrels upright were futile as they watched it teeter dangerously.

The storm showed no mercy, and their situation grew direr with each passing second. The ship felt like a flimsy leaf caught in a maelstrom, and the reality that they were powerless against the tempest sank in.

“Everyone, we need to prioritise our lives. Get back inside!” Snotlout yelled, pointing to the door to the lower levels. 

As everyone rushed towards the lower deck, the feeling of despair and helplessness intensified. The storm's relentless assault made it clear that their predicament was growing more perilous by the moment. Rain lashed against the ship, and the deafening roar of the wind and sea drowned out any attempt at communication.

Astrid, Snotlout and the twins moved quickly, their steps unsteady as the ship bucked and swayed beneath them. Fear gnawed at their hearts as they descended into the dark lower levels, where now dead lanterns swayed wildly from rusted nails on the flimsy wooden walls.

Fishlegs, who had come up from deeper in the ship, clutched a wooden support beam tightly, his knuckles white from the strain. "This is bad, are you guys okay?" He asked the others, the worry lines on his face deepening.

Astrid had seen her fair share of storms, but this one felt different, more malevolent. The air was heavy with tension as they huddled together, seeking refuge from the tempest. She shook her head, in response to his question.

“We’re alive.” Astrid replied, her panic beginning to flatline into acceptance of the situation. Internally, there was another thing she wanted to say, but stopped herself.

‘But not for long.’

As they huddled in the lower decks, Snotlout couldn't help but feel a nagging sense that something else was amiss. The ship's violent rocking and the howling winds were one thing, but there was an odd odour in the air, a pungent mix of decay and seawater. He couldn't quite place it, but it unsettled him deeply.

"Stay close, everyone," Astrid said, her voice barely audible over the storm. "We'll wait this out, and when the weather clears, we'll figure out our next move."

But fate had other plans. It unleashed a new level of fury upon them. Hailstones battered the boat like a thousand tiny cannonballs, and the ship was suddenly lifted into the air by a monstrous wave. The world spun around them as they were tossed about like ragdolls, and the unlit lanterns on the walls swung wildly, their chaotic dances scratching and scraping the wooden walls behind them.

Then came the sickening crash as the ship descended from its sudden flight. They landed with a bone-jarring dull pop, the impact travelling through the ship's whole frame. The massive wave had carried them onto a large, submerged mass in the water. The force of the landing was brutal, and the ship's rear struck the submerged object, shattering the steering oar at the back-right of the boat.

Their already dire situation had taken a catastrophic turn, and they now found themselves stranded with this mysterious mass, their ship crippled and their hope of escape dwindling with each passing moment.

As if the situation couldn't get any worse, the ship's deteriorating condition led to another problem: the slow seepage of water through the gaps in the planks at the very bottom of the boat. Unbeknownst to them, the ship began to list ever so gradually, tilting to one side. The relentless deluge of rain had created a deceptive illusion of a merely heavy downpour, concealing the perilous truth beneath the surface.

It wasn't until the ship had already tilted considerably that the group realised their predicament.

“Outside, now!” Astrid hollered. Everyone seemed to hear her, and scrambled after Snotlout who made sure he was in front of the others. They all desperately clung to ropes and anything they could find for stability before they had to abandon ship completely. The ship continued to list, teetering on the brink of capsizing.

With a final, heart-wrenching groan, the vessel flipped completely upside down. The five vikings were plunged into the churning waters, struggling to find their way back to the surface.

Astrid, as she swam the direction the bubbles around her rose, grabbed onto Fishlegs and dragged him up with her.

Snotlout was somehow already on the boat gasping for air and the twins were just surfacing at the other side of the boat. Astrid, Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut made their way to the only part of the boat that was above the surface, their fingers roughly grabbing at barnacles and limpets which proved to be surprisingly ineffective grips.

The ship, now a floating hulk below them, had transformed into their lifeline, a makeshift lifeboat bobbing in the relentless tempest. Their futures hung by a thread in the midst of the unforgiving storm. The hailstones that were still battering down onto the vikings persisted, to make matters worse.

As the teens clung desperately to the overturned ship, their ears were assaulted by an eerie cacophony of hissing and chittering sounds that reverberated through the mountainous waters. The noise grew louder and more unsettling with each passing second, and dread crept over them as they realised the source of the disturbance.

Emerging from the turbulent depths, a large pod of scauldrons, numbering nine, appeared on the scene. The sea dragons moved with an eerie grace, their sleek bodies gliding effortlessly through the water. The teens watched in terror as the scauldrons circled their overturned vessel, the dragon’s intent unclear as they ignored the current weather and focused on their targets.

These creatures, known for their boiling water spitting and aquatic senses, had sensed the chaos unfolding on the surface and were most likely drawn by the promise of a potential feast. The teens clung to the remnants of their ship, trapped between the relentless storm above and the menacing sea dragons below, their perilous situation taking an even darker turn.

The teens silently clung tight to each other, all sharing the same thoughts, thoughts about death, their families and Berk itself.

The pod of scauldrons split into two groups, their intentions starkly different. Four of the sea dragons plunged into a frenzied feeding frenzy around the remnants of the popped whale carcass. Their enormous jaws snapped shut on the decaying blubber and whale insides, sending a reddish brown liquid scattering through the water alongside chunks of gore and viscera.

Meanwhile, five other scauldrons, seemingly more interested in the overturned boat than the gruesome feast, circled the teens' precarious perch. With synchronised movements, they began to nudge and push at the upturned vessel. The weakened and exhausted teens, their bodies numb from the biting cold, could only watch helplessly as the scauldrons slowly dragged the ship away, further into the roiling sea.

As the relentless storm continued to rage above and below, the teens succumbed to their exhaustion and cold, their consciousness fading into darkness. The last thing they heard was the haunting calls of the scauldrons as their world plunged into an abyss of uncertainty.

Chapter Text

Click  thud.

Click  thud.

Click  thud.

A masked figure covered from head to toe in midnight black armour left the cool shade of his hut, one foot clicking and the other making normal sounds of footsteps. There had been a tropical storm lately, but as the person soon realised from the dragon’s behaviour, it had been multiple storms travelling together fostering unnatural strength. The dragons had all hidden anywhere they could, and those who didn’t like caves had folded their wings over each other in a large dogpile in the middle of the small ‘village’ that was placed on the island, on one of the highest flat areas.

Now that the tropical storm was confirmed to be over, activity spread through the jungle island as dragons retreated from their hiding places and the caves they had inhabited during the storm. Nano dragons, who had all hid with larger dragons in caves or in the main buildings, were now scurrying through the grass looking for worms and other tasty snacks. The boulder class dragons, that could easily withstand torrential downpours with minimal discomfort, had been moving around for a few hours at this point, surveying the damages for the island’s protector and caretaker, Hvergi, the masked amputee in black armour. Meatlug, a brown female gronckle, was one such dragon.

Hvergi dodged to the left of the doorway as a jet black dragon darted past him, sporting a gummy grin.

“ Toothless, wait up !” He called to the dragon, his guttural voice muffled by the masked helmet he wore.

The night fury bounded around in the middle of the collection of buildings on the island, spreading his wings and getting ready to playfully pounce on his adopted brother, the only human on the island.

Hvergi crouched low to the ground ready to meet his best friend in a vicious battle between man-dragon and dragon, and the black dragon leapt onto him, rolling over playfully and rubbing his back in the grass. Hvergi, who had been close to the floor to avoid any accidents, laughed and sat on the wet grass with his brother.

More dragons stirred nearby, the nadders and nightmares of the island, two dragon types that usually became active last after storms. Two individuals rushed to Hvergi to check up on him.

“ Hookfang, Stormfly! Slept well ?” The human asked energetically. The dragons shook themselves and stretched, responding to the questions with purring and soft crooning, before standing up fully, looking around expectantly.

“ Yeah, you’re right. Food’s a good idea .” He told the duo, who perked up at the mention of food.

“ Alright, today’s plan is to get food now, then get to work cleaning up after the storm. ” Hvergi announced loudly. His human voice didn’t travel far compared to a dragon's roar, but as dragons around him and in the treetops heard the announcement, their reactions alerted dragons further away to the island’s plan.

At the announcement, the already lively island seemed to buzz with life, as well as the ocean around it. Hvergi leapt onto the black saddle on Toothless’s back, and with a flick of Hvergi’s prosthetic the duo was in the air. They flew out over the ocean, and looking back the young adult saw an enormous black cloud of flapping wings, claws and happy roars following them.

Stormfly, a sky blue deadly nadder, and Hookfang, a reddish-orange monstrous nightmare joined the vibrant green zippleback that had closely followed Toothless in his flight. The zippleback, having two heads, had two names. When Hvergi first named the dragon he thought about what two specific people his age would name them, and the names Barf and Belch came up. Barf and Belch seemed to like the simple sounds these names had, and appreciated being one of the first dragons Hvergi named, alongside the other dragons that had been trapped in Berk’s dragon killing arena at the time Hvergi had left.

Massive bubble columns rose up from deep under the surface of the ocean as the colony of dragons flew overhead. Gargantuan spines and horns combed the surface from underneath, marking the awakening of a colossal tidal class dragon, a bewilderbeast. In total there were two, however one of them, being younger and more fragile, was known to lie dormant for days after storms, just to ensure they fully passed.

“ Rise and shine, Glaciris !” Hvergi hollered down at the water. Huge eyes met his from under the green expanse, and the bewilderbeast finally decided to stand up, her mouth barely above the surface of the waves. Schools of fish and a torrent of water fell off her as she breached, a testament to her sheer size. The female bewilderbeast crooned, a loud low rumbling sound that not only sounded relaxing, but the enormous dragon’s icy breath created a small amount of snow.

Hvergi was greeted by the equivalent of a bucketful of snow falling down into his armour from the mountainous creature, and he laughed.

“ Good to see you too, Glacie .”

Toothless grumbled and came to a halt just above the bewilderbeast’s head, and the entire dragon colony followed suit. As was routine, the bewilderbeast dipped her head under the water and sucked in a huge amount, careful to avoid any smaller sea dragons, then expelled the water, filtering out the fish. She then flung her head back, the dragon colony just out of reach of her ginormous tusks, and she sprayed the fish everywhere for the colony to catch in a sort of game.

Toothless dived forwards and Hvergi, who had done this many times before, clung to the saddle with his legs and leant forwards to go with the dive. Toothless was swift enough and agile enough to catch mouthfuls of falling fish at a time, gulping them down greedily before catching another mouthful. Hvergi was able to grab a single decent-sized cod, which was a nice find among the mackerel and other assorted fish.

When he saw that all of the dragons had eaten their fill, he nudged Toothless, who got the message and started heading back to the island in a calm, casual glide, followed by most of the colony. Those who stayed behind were those who had duties elsewhere, such as patrolling the seas for threats, or dragging shipwrecks to the pier to be searched for useful goods for the draconic community.

The shipwreck squads consisted of scauldrons and other sea dragons, any who were able and willing were assigned this particular job. Currently, there was a small pod of four scauldrons nudging something closer to the island, something that mostly sat under the surface of the water.

The night fury with Hvergi on his back landed with grace on the fine grey sands of the island, the grey sands of a volcanic island. It was littered with rocks, sticks, driftwood, and various debris washed up by the tropical storm that passed over the ocean a few days ago. Since the breakfast game was finished for the dragons, most of them started carrying the rocks and fallen trees to their designated storage areas for future use, some of the dragons waited for more specific orders, staring at Hvergi intently, heads tilted and lowered slightly.

“ Looking for things to do? Clearing the beaches would be a good idea. Rocks and wood go to the storage, any wrecks can be emptied by me and any smaller dragons, and if you see anything of particular interest, let me know, alright? We’ll check on the damages back home later .” 

The dragons trilled, and set off working. Hvergi, who still needed to eat, got off of Toothless and started scraping away the skin of his cod, before cutting its belly length-ways and removing the guts. Such an activity would have made him faint earlier in life years ago, but now, where survival was vital, he had adapted. He cut the meaty sides of the fish away from the skeleton in fillets and rinsed his work off in the sea, which was a few feet away from him, crouching down as he did so.

“ Time to dig in !”

Still hunched over slightly, he unclipped the lower half of his helmet, designed to look like jagged teeth, so his mouth and chin-guard were visible, and brought the raw cod fillets to his mouth, clamping down on the juicy tender flesh of the fresh catch. In his years with dragons, he had adapted his habits to be more draconic where it mattered, the most changed habits involved eating, sleeping and acting. Being a caretaker and protector became easier as he adapted, and so he did.

The bewilderbeast in the background rumbled as she finished her own meal, and sank back underwater to swim around, looking out for threats to the island she can destroy, and treasures she can drag back up to the shoreline.

Hvergi noticed a commotion coming from a rocky outcrop in the water, and he made eye contact with Toothless. After a silent exchange, the human hopped on the dragon’s back and the dragon bounded the short distance to the outcrop, easily hopping along on the large boulders that had been placed and piled there as a sort of pier. At the end, it was deep enough for medium sized dragons like scauldrons to swim in the water and interact with anyone or anything on the pier, and that’s exactly what was happening.

Hvergi sat cross-legged on a boulder on the end of the pier, despite it being wet and coated in barnacles, and allowed the dragons in the water to come to him. Four scauldrons nudged his gloved hands gently, and he scratched each one individually. It was only a minute or two later when he noticed the large thing in the water behind them. A completely capsized boat, medium sized on closer inspection.

“Oh, our first boat of the week! Alright, Toothless?” Hvergi asked, his voice not muffled since he still had the mask jaw open. Toothless let out a low shriek and a mixed group of dragons arrived, the dragons who were both in the vicinity and available, ready to help. A razorwhip, two nadders, two nightmares, a small family of terrible terrors, seven gronckles and a crimson gorecutter, a large dragon with striking colours and a phenomenal crown of antler-like horns. 

“All right, thanks for coming. I think you’re a good selection for the task at hand. We’re removing this boat from the water, so we can salvage any metals and resources from it. Who wants to volunteer-” Hvergi started, but was cut off by a loud bellow from the crimson gorecutter, who stamped impatiently on the boulder he was perched on. This large boulder class dragon that was four times taller than Hvergi leapt into the water. The splash this caused knocked the human backwards onto Toothless, who growled at the much larger dragon.

This individual gorecutter was a mix of ochre and reddish hues with a cream underbelly, a striking and intimidating colour scheme, and he managed to look incredibly sheepish with the way he looked apologetically to Hvergi and Toothless.

“Relax Goldrust, Toothless was here to catch me, you’re good.” Hvergi reassured the large dragon.

From there, the colourful giant stayed vigilant of his movements, wading in the deep water on his hind legs. He was one of the dragons able to wade in the deeper coastline waters, and was able to use this to push things from the pier to the actual beach where they can be assessed for their usefulness to the colony.

The gorecutter ducked under the ship and used his huge rack of antlers to half-lift-half-pull it slowly to the shore, with the weak wood creaking and straining. The gronkles saw the opportunity to help, and they grabbed the end of the ship that was poking out of the water in order to provide stability. The terrible terrors, being some of the smallest dragons out there, were only able to help stabilise a little bit, but by having the group helping the gronckles, the job was completed with relative ease.

Hvergi and Toothless thanked the scauldrons for bringing the capsized boat, and he gave them one last scratch each before heading back to the beach to examine the ship. As the human approached the boat, he felt an odd shiver through his body. He recognised that ship from somewhere. The style, the way the planks were arranged, the overall shape, it seemed to specialise shallow water travel and fishing, so there was no reason for it to be all the way out there, near the cliffy shores of his sanctuary. The ocean around the island was known to be among the deepest ever found, allowing bewilderbeasts to swim around freely, after all.

Hvergi made the last few steps to the boat and stopped. Toothless sniffed the boat, and not being able to smell anything dangerous, allowed Hiccup to touch it. The air smelled faintly of decomposition, so Hvergi was mentally bracing himself for an unwelcome sight, but the dragons nearby seemed to be fixated on where the smell was coming from. A piece of rotting viscera had clung onto a plank that had splintered then straightened, trapping the clump in place. From the smell, the human knew it was from a whale. He had worked with whale bone in the past, and had even eaten whale meat, making sure to use every part of it for something.

“Looks like I can expect more building supplies soon, huh?” Hvergi said, gesturing to the putrid clump. Whale bones were a common find, and as such were a decent building material, for support beams, doorways, and the smallest bones could be incorporated into the flooring. Since there was a bit of whale flesh on the ship, it could be expected that a whale would soon be brought to the island, or even just the whale bones.

Running his hand over the wood, he made more comments.

“Fully submerged for multiple days.”

“Patches of barnacles missing from the bottom.”

“Much wear and tear, may only be suitable for limited usage.”

“Brightdart, can you whip open the side please?” He asked. The razorwhip, whose tail was the dragon’s best defence, could cut through most things with ease and accuracy, and this silver dragon cleanly sliced deep gashes into the wood. The wood, already in a weakened state, was able to be pried apart to let some light into the upturned ship. He managed to squeeze through the opening, and assessed the carnage. The ship was upside down, still, so everything had been dislodged and free-floating, and now that the water wasn’t in the ship, it was a mess.

Water still dripped from above, and at some point a few clumps of seaweed had entered through the door as the boat was being moved. Hvergi bent down over the nearest crate, and by holding it against his leg with one hand and prying the lid off with the other, making use of the retractable claws on his gauntlets, he was able to open it.

It was full of water, and contained spoiled vegetables and rations. Hvergi moved on to the next crate, but stopped.

This crate, being turned and angled towards where Hvergi was, was exposing a crest, one he knew well. It was Berk’s crest.

“Oh gods…”  He muttered.

Outside, Toothless crooned, and poked his head into the hole in the boat. The black dragon saw this crest, and sarcastically made a gagging sound.

“Agreed, this trash doesn’t need to be here. Why don’t we just empty the ship then get rid of it? Anything with the Berk crest can be destroyed as well after being checked thoroughly.” The human told his scaled friend.

Outside, the dragons who heard this exchange chittered among themselves curiously. Hvergi mentioning the destruction of a ship was rare. Even the bloodiest and most dangerous dragon hunter warship was usually able to be repurposed after being emptied, cleaned and prepared for its new use. They usually got turned into dragon roosts where dragons could roost for the night or day, and smaller vessels could be turned into small community roosts or even nests for some of the larger dragons that prefer solitary quarters.

This boat, a fishing boat turned exploration vessel, would probably have been used as storage, or it could even have been filled with dirt and soil and used as a small plot to grow food, like how some other boats had been used.

Hvergi left the ship, and began talking to the dragons that were there.

“Alright, so I have a different plan, since this is a ‘special’ ship,” Hvergi noticed Toothless, seeming to snicker at his use of ‘special’. “Can I have your family help me empty the ship, Sharpshot? You’re small enough to navigate the interior easily. After that, I can sort through what we can keep and what we can get rid of, and then we can burn the rubbish pile to the ground along with the ship, then sift the ashes for nails and bolts.”

Sharpshot, a green terrible terror, stood to attention when his name came up and puffed up proudly when he was directly asked to help. Terrible terrors were among the smaller dragon species and had no truly unique skills, so giving them tasks was important to keep them mentally satisfied. Not only that but Hvergi was able to give them challenging tasks like this one which they enjoyed, being stronger than they looked and being able to prove it. The little dragon and his group diligently made their way into the ship and started dragging out anything that wasn’t bolted down.

Hvergi immediately got to work sorting through items as they were set on the beach. The group of terrible terrors dragged out crates, straw mats, loose benches, and eventually the terrors emerged dragging larger crates with more in them, presumably from deeper in the ship, and also pouches and sealed barrels.

Immediately, Hvergi started throwing aside the more useless things like mats, straw padding and the fresh water from sealed barrels. Water was not an issue on the island as there were multiple freshwater springs, and rainwater collection systems. Crates got pried open by Brightdart, who decided this would be a good time to help out again, and the contents were helpfully scattered by the dragon to assist in sorting them.

The pouches themselves were always handy, plus the barrels that previously had fresh water in them were watertight, which made them useful by default. Hvergi got to work opening the pouches and scattering the contents for evaluation. The first pouch already proved lucrative. It had a few silver and copper coins in it, as well as a couple of handheld mirrors, combs and a single silver button. Another was somehow tangled in a mess of seaweed that also tangled together a pair of helmets, ones that Hvergi knew personally. He growled at the headwear but kept them on the pile to keep, since they were metal, and metal could always be recycled. Who they belonged to didn’t matter to him, neither did anything from his past with these people.

Another pouch contained a small knife, a ball of string, a couple of hair pins and a spine from a deadly nadder. He remembered an old acquaintance of his, Astrid, grabbing one during the final training session where Gothi picked the winner of the training season to kill a monstrous nightmare. A teen killing their first dragon in the arena was supposed to be a huge honour, but Hvergi, having been offered that honour in the past, had swiftly left with the monstrous nightmare and other dragons instead of killing it.

A shiver creeped down his spine as he remembered Berk properly for the first time in weeks. The dragon-killing culture, the child abuse, mockery and neglect he faced since he was ‘weak’ according to all of the viking traditions. ‘Survival of the fittest’ was a valid approach in the wild, but for a ‘civilised’ village, Hvergi always knew that that specific survival mentality didn’t sit right with him. The weak needed more resources and guidance to become strong, two things that, traditionally, vikings were very stingy with, hence the focus on the naturally strong and gifted.

Hvergi gave a quiet, bitter laugh at the way vikings lived on Berk, and the harm he had probably done to them in the attack he orchestrated and performed as he left. That final day on Berk went perfectly, and he often found himself reliving that life-changing day. He had trained in the arena, pretending to have become more talented at violently subduing dragons and had somehow won the honour of killing his first dragon. There was a feast immediately after, celebrating his victory over Astrid where he had eaten his fill, and then as people were starting to get drunk he had snuck out of the Great Hall to go meet up with Toothless, who nobody knew about. A dreamy grin spread over his face as he remembered what happened next. He had released the dragons from the arena which were Hookfang, Sharpshot, Stormfly, Barf and Belch and Meatlug, and he had orchestrated a grand attack as retaliation that lasted mere moments before leaving for good.

He never regretted leaving Berk, it had been his dream since he was small, to go out and explore the world. And now, he had a huge lush dragon sanctuary that seemed to attract more passing dragons by the day. Dragons were allowed to come and go as they pleased, free from harm with plenty of varied foods, fresh water, open skies to practise aerial manoeuvres and open seas to swim in, play in and wash in.

Hvergi’s dragon sanctuary paradise island life was a far stretch from his old life as the useless weak little heir of Berk, and he was better off for it. Not only that, Berk had the chance to choose a ‘better’ heir than him, one stronger, more violent and bloodthirsty. He had done everyone a favour by leaving, but above all himself.

His hands had lingered on a pouch for a few seconds as he got deep into his reminiscing, but he snapped back to reality as Goldrust used the dip in his antlers to carry seawater over to Hvergi and pour it on him. Boulder class dragons got irritated when their skin got too dry, and the large dragon had done the only thing he could think of to ease Hvergi’s current emotional struggles.

Hvergi spluttered and coughed, but ended up laughing along with Toothless, who had realised what the gorecutter was up to, and who had decided not to warn his brother for fun. Goldrust pressed his nose gently against Hvergi’s head and blew out a warm breath through his nose lovingly. Hvergi scratched the dragon under his chin and the ochre and red reptile thumped the ground with a back leg like how a dog would, before slumping down relaxed.

“That’s right, some of you wouldn’t know about my past.” Hvergi muttered to the large gorecutter.

The dragons in the group all purred and crooned softly, and the gorecutter laid down in order to get his face closer to Hvergi, to blow warm air onto him, as well as curl himself around the human briefly.

After he had untangled the seaweed from the other pouch that came with the two similar helmets, he was finally able to open it. This pouch was quite full, but as he tipped out the contents, he couldn’t help but be weirdly intrigued by them. There was a small wooden skull, a small horse shoe, a striped feather, a candle and a small crystal, alongside a list of prank ideas, written quite badly in blocky and rather messy writing.

The last pouch, Hvergi deduced, belonged to an apprentice healer, with the faint smell of herbs now being present as he brought the bag to his nose. He carefully opened it up, not quite knowing what to expect. There was a clay tub of what seemed to be a herbal ointment, a small knife, some soggy herbs, a few bandages and a few folded pieces of damp parchment, which when unfolded, revealed that the person had copied down some things from the Book of Dragons from memory, and added more notes, mainly questions about dragon behaviour and migration habits and a small sketch of what the tribe thought was what a night fury looked like.

Night furies were believed to be thrice as tall as a grown man, with prominent, razor-like teeth and claws that could cut through anything, and spines all down their back, ending with a serrated tail fin that not only assisted with flight but also served as a back-up weapon, after their claws, teeth, fire and explosive blasts. They supposedly had huge wings, helping them with speed and aerial manoeuvres, and black scales that ended in spikes, creating a thick natural armour that made it invulnerable. On top of that, their eyes were always depicted as glowing red, with slitted pupils.

Hvergi couldn't help but snicker at Berk’s misconceptions of the night fury. Few people on Berk were interested in studying dragons over killing them, and fewer still were probably willing to abandon the teachings of the tribe when it came to dragons, teachings that dictated to kill all dragons on sight.

He neatly put the papers back in the pouch with the rest of the stuff and added it to the keep pile. Then he went back to sorting the rest of the things Sharpshot's family had pulled out. Not much was left, making the job easier.

It seemed the crates were community storage for the people who had been on the boat. Hvergi found some weapons in one crate, so he put them aside to keep. Another crate had clothes and blankets, which he knew would be useful.

Quickly, he separated everything into two piles - keep and burn. Then he turned to Sharpshot.

"Anyone in there I should know about?" he asked. With the ship having been submerged, he doubted there were survivors. Sharpshot shook his head, and Hvergi felt relief. Dealing with humans, mainly outsiders, was always a headache. Berkians, from what he remembered, were even worse, in general.

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Gliding gracefully through the water, five large scauldrons carried a group of unconscious vikings. Having suffered the misfortune of a capsized boat, these weary travellers were in dire need of assistance. Rather than taking them to the island bustling with dragons, led by Hvergi, the scauldrons set their sights on the nearest human settlement known for its semi-openness to outsiders.

Carefully navigating the waters, the dragons reached the weathered stone pier on this island, placing the unconscious teens on the pier with a gentle precision that belied their true strength as a few onlookers watched on.

With a sense of concern, the community rallied together, calling for a healer to tend to the newcomers, their expressions a blend of curiosity and determination, but also every now and again some would look to the scauldrons admiringly. They were uncommon dragons, not the rarest but by no means common like gronckles or terrible terrors, and to see individuals this healthy and happy was truly an exceptional sight for a tribe that reveres and worships dragons. 

From further in the crowd a blonde woman named Mala stepped forward, everyone parting to let her through. By her side was a younger female, Hilda, carrying a basket of assorted vials and rolls of bandage cloth. The younger female wore a white mask that covered her mouth and nose, unlike those with dark brown or black masks, basically the rest of the population excluding the blonde woman and her bodyguard, Throck, following the tribe's queen and the healer closely.

Hilda carefully strided to the unconscious newcomers, checking for signs of life in them. As she knelt on the pier, some sea water soaked into her brown healer’s robes. To her relief, she felt a faint pulse from each of these strange people, and nodded to Mala.

“Right, we will accommodate them first, ask questions second. Get them to the medical hut at once.” Mala told the crowd, who quickly began tying fishing nets to nearby oars from the side of the pier to make makeshift stretchers.

Hilda started whispering to the tribe’s queen after turning to her exuding an aura of poise and expertise. “We’ll need to wash them with soap and water to get the salt out, and disinfect them properly. We need to be careful with foreign diseases, after all.”

Mala nodded. “You’re the most qualified medical personnel in action lately, so that’s for you to take charge of. If you need men or supplies you need only ask, Hilda.”

Villagers carried the five stretchers away, past Mala, Hilda and Throck, towards a larger building away from the pier. The area the village was on was pretty flat, with the only higher parts being community buildings and buildings occupied by important individuals in the community. Above the village was a towering volcano, one of two in the ‘immediate’ area, and from the village one could see not a single dragon. Every single dragon in the area, as was common knowledge, resided alongside the one they called 'Hvergi'.

Chapter Text

The warm sun filtered in through the light curtains in the room. Amongst the assorted creaks of wooden beds and the groans of aching muscles, the steady ebb and flow of the nearby waves wove a soothing melody into the atmosphere, as if nature itself sought to comfort those in need.

Astrid shifted ever so slightly in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering as she slowly drifted back into consciousness. The faint scent of herbs wafted through the room, a refreshing scent that gently roused her senses. She flexed her fingers, feeling the coolness of the bed linens beneath her, as she gradually adjusted to the idea of being awake once more.

The warm air that made its way through the room also bore the terribly recognizable smell of salt, and she immediately shot up into a sitting position, ignoring the aches and pains in her body to better observe her surroundings.

As her senses rapidly sharpened, they became more attuned to the various subtle nuances of the environment. The delicate fragrance of coastal herbs mixed with the sea breeze that found its way through the room gently wafted through the room from the door. Beyond the confines of the room, determined to be a modest medical ward, the distant hum of life persisted, punctuated by the occasional echo of footsteps moving through the hallway.

Beside her, in another identical bed, Snotlout emitted a low grumble, the rough edges of his voice laced with discomfort.

In other nearby beds, lined up evenly next to her own, she saw the forms of Fishlegs, Tuffnut and Ruffnut, still asleep, and looking over to Snotlout she saw he was still out as well. They were all wearing the same plain yellow robes. She shifted her position to dangle her legs over the side of the bed, hoping to be able to walk around a bit before the others woke up. She noticed that the room was not really decorated much, just that there were shelves and cabinets lining the walls, stocked up with different herbs, jars and bandages. On top of her new environment, she also noticed the fact that she too was wearing different clothes. A loose yellow robe, going to her ankles, and fastened around her with simple buttons, like the other vikings.

Just as Astrid was getting ready to stand up, the door silently swung open, and a woman with a white mask over her mouth and nose walked in carrying a few jars of herbal ointment on a tray, alongside a large pitcher of water and some goblets.

“Please, at least wait for your comrades to awaken before wandering. Splitting up is a bad idea so far from home.”

Astrid swivelled her head around to look at this new arrival, but quickly regretted it as she felt the inside of her head continue to reel after the initial jolt. “I don’t plan on causing trouble, I just need to know where I am.” She explained hurriedly, with her cool hands on her forehead.

“I see. You are among the ‘Defenders of the Wing,’ my tribe. I am the healer here. Rest assured, you are in good hands. The windows are open, doors too, you are not being held captive, however if you do wander please take the other members of your party with you. Safety in numbers, especially for non-locals.” The woman told Astrid, an air of calmness and reassurance surrounding her.

Astrid eyed the woman carefully, before slipping her achy legs back under the blankets. The healer watched Astrid in return, able to gauge what Astrid was after.

“My name is Hilda. Me or our queen will explain to you exactly where you are when your friends are awake, so that you can understand your situation better. For now, I have brought water and medical remedies. No serious injuries, but you are all in dire condition. Severely malnourished and dehydrated. If you had been left stranded at sea you’d be dead.”

Hilda was glad that her charges were not hostile. Sometimes people who were severely malnourished and dehydrated could become desperate and even actively aggressive. If things had gone south, Hilda would have shut the door to slow down her attackers, but that was not the case. She put the tray she was carrying on Astrid’s night stand and got to work pouring Astrid a drink and opening jars and pots of ointment to be applied.

As Hilda handed Astrid a goblet of water she also handed Astrid a small metal pot the size of a chicken egg.

“Dried mixed herbs in a fine powder,” Hilda explained. “You can put them in water to drink, chew it into a paste and have it that way, or you can sprinkle it on food. Your choice, just to help your recovery along a bit. I don’t recommend much activity outside of walking, to recover strength. Doing a lot of activity so soon after such an ordeal may do more harm than good. Same with food, you have to start slow.”

“Right… Thank you. I’m Astrid, by the way.”

Hilda smiled reassuringly.

“It’s nice to meet you properly, Astrid.”

Hilda carefully moved over to the other vikings and observed their condition. No major injuries, a few scrapes and bruises but nothing was broken. In the passing day since the vikings had been left on the island, their condition had stabilised, their pulses evening, their breathing becoming more normal as their bodies recovered.

As Hilda was checking on the vikings, a sturdy-looking islander entered the room, his weathered face softened with concern. "Hilda, do you have any spare herbs? We're preparing packages again, and I want to make sure we have enough for his needs."

Hilda nodded, gesturing towards the shelves with neatly arranged jars and bundles of dried herbs. "Of course, help yourself to the addergrass. That is always handy at this time of year."

The islander nodded gratefully, carefully selecting a generous handful of addergrass from a nearby jar. "Thank you, Hilda. You always know what's best."

As he left, the stirrings of the vikings caught Hilda's attention. Snotlout was the next to wake up, with a loud gasp, checking if he's actually alive or dreaming or dead. Ruffnut and Tuffnut grumbled sleepily, while Fishlegs rubbed his eyes, now taking in the room and the people within it. Snotlout shifted uncomfortably, his eyes squinting in the soft light.

Hilda turned to the vikings with a warm smile. "Good to see you all awake. How are you feeling?"

Astrid remained quiet, letting the others voice any concerns. Snotlout, as was typical for him, answered first, interrupting Fishlegs.

“We’re alive, but far from home, I think, where exactly are we, and is our boat okay?” He hurriedly asked, sitting up straighter. Fishlegs, who was also concerned about the boat, and the twins, who were focused on where the group was, all looked at Hilda expectantly.

“You are on the beloved island of Caldera Cay, home of the Defenders of the Wing, an ancient dragon-worshipping tribe. Your boat, we assume, was lost at sea, because you were brought to us without it.”

Fishlegs’ eyes narrowed. “Brought?” He asked. “By who?”

“It’s not a matter of who, but what,” Hilda smiled. “A group of scauldrons placed your unconscious forms on the pier, individuals that are typically seen among Hvergi’s colony. But we can discuss that more in detail soon. Are you hungry?”

Hilda observed the vikings' expressions, noting a mix of curiosity and concern. With a warm smile, she continued. "Well then, before we delve into the details of our island, let's attend to your immediate needs. I'll go fetch some hearty soup for all of you. It'll do wonders for your strength."

She stood up from the side of the bed, a slight nod signalling her departure. "In the meantime, feel free to rest and talk. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

As she moved towards the door, she turned back briefly, adding, "And once you've had your fill, Queen Mala will be eager to share more about Caldera Cay with you. I'll inform her that you're awake. We'll continue our conversation soon."

With that, she exited the medical ward, leaving the vikings to the quiet hum of the room and the distant sound of waves.

The vikings watched the door loosely swing shut, assisted by a lightly weighted mechanism behind it, before it settled into place after rocking back and forth a bit.

“Guys. That door, you see that, it just shut on its own. It doesn’t even have a handle or a lock.” Tuffnut whispered in awe. Ruffnut got up, with her eyes fixed on the door. She gently pushed it, and it gave easily, with minimal resistance. She removed her hand from the cool wooden surface, and it swung slowly and gently back into place.

“We’re free, nothing is stopping us from walking off?” Fishlegs whispered to the others. Astrid also watched the door.

“Did nobody else hear that this tribe WORSHIPS dragons? They must be evil, to worship mindlessly destructive beasts.” Snotlout hissed. “Wandering off would be a good way to die. Berk hasn’t seen dragons in years, since the Victor’s Feast Incident, remember? We’re rusty when it comes to fighting the beasts!”

At the mention of that specific incident, the room went silent.

“Nobody ever found out what happened, exactly. Every dragon in the archipelago left soon after, and on top of that, nobody ever found out exactly how he died.” Astrid muttered under her breath.

Three of the other four young adults shushed her.

“We don’t talk about the chief’s son, you know that.” Ruffnut told her solemnly.

“It needs to be discussed, Hiccup was on the verge of a major discovery!” Fishlegs replied defensively. “Has nobody ever questioned HOW he was able to be near a night fury without dying? That’s the most brutal and mysterious dragon out there, he should have had no chance from the beginning, but there’s proof the dragon didn’t kill him for some-”

“Hiccup still died at the claws of a night fury, it was just waiting for a decent opportunity, probably.” Ruffnut interjected

“Hiccup was weak! The night fury had the chance all along, and it took it when it could!” Snotlout whispered loudly. He was woefully unaware of how his point could prove Fishlegs’ argument.

“Guys, can we please just focus on our current situation?”

Tuffnut was rarely the voice of reason, and the group looked at him like he had grown another head.

“Berk needs food, we need Berk, this place has food, we’re Berk’s representatives sent to go get food, we are here. Doesn’t this actually seem perfect? Excluding our lack of a boat. And Berk’s poorness. And the whole ‘stranded on an island with dragon-worshipping maniacs’ thing. And-”

“We get it.” Came the collective groaned reply.

“Without our boat, we don’t have our possessions, and we can’t trade for a boat from these guys, so even if we did find food, we can’t take it back. We’re getting an island vacation at the cost of our tribe’s starvation.” Tuffnut finished soberly.

The vikings, now all sat upright on their respective beds in the line, fell into an awkward silence. 

“Well we’re all able-bodied, right? We can work, do some labour for them that the locals aren’t keen on doing for themselves. And, Fishlegs, you know everything Berk knows about dragons! Might not be as much as these people but I bet there’s something we know that they don’t.” Astrid reasoned.

Fishlegs nodded, and a glimmer of collective hope flicked in the group's eyes. They continued their discussion about how they could obtain a boat for a few minutes, then fell silent as they heard footsteps approaching. The door swung open silently and Hilda stepped in, her long brown robes partially covered by a basket of bread with a clay pot in the middle. Behind her white mask she smiled, the vikings noticing this from the pronounced crinkles in the corners of her eyes.

“I see you’re all feeling a bit better. I’ve brought you a pot of creamy duck soup, with some classic rye bread. It’s all hot and fresh.”

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“Are any of you still hungry or thirsty?” Hilda inquired.

“Considering that the place we come from, Berk, is currently facing a food crisis, we’ll eat everything we’re given. It might be best to wait a while before we have more food.” Astrid replied, her tone reflective of her weariness and resilience.

“Very well then. If you’ll all carefully follow me, I can take you to the next room over. There are spare sets of clothing in there. Your old clothes had to be cut off of you; they were that tight, and they stuck to you with dried sea salt. Rest assured that we kept them, just in case you wanted them to be repaired, however.”

Hilda’s invitation prompted the vikings to ease themselves out of their beds. Snotlout hissed as his hand touched the bedside table to his side. He glared at his hand, suddenly realising his palms and fingers were scratched and scraped up.

“Your minor hand injuries are consistent with climbing sharp rocks. I have gloves in the next room, should you need them.” Hilda offered the vikings, her tone shifting to worry.

“Why aren’t they wrapped, then?” Ruffnut asked curiously, with Fishlegs now also wondering.

“While you were all sleeping after your ordeal, I had your hands wrapped in cloth bags for a lot of the time, covered in disinfecting cream. When they were not in bags, they were resting to avoid your skin soaking up too much moisture and not healing properly.” Hilda explained.

Her explanation made sense, theoretically. Fishlegs nodded, and the others seemed satisfied with the answer. Hilda made her way to the door and held it open for the vikings, who thanked her as they passed, gathering in the hallway. Hilda led them to a room just down the corridor, and held the door open for them again as they entered. 

This room was lined with shelves and wardrobes, with racks in the middle of the room to also hold clothes. Under these larger racks were smaller racks for shoes and boots.

“Now, Caldera Cay doesn’t care if females wear trousers, or if men wear dresses, you’re free to dress as you like. You’ll notice there aren’t bright colours in the selection, however, and that’s to avoid standing out too much, as only those with distinct ranks are expected to stand out.” Hilda explained. The vikings, for a brief moment, were puzzled as to why, until Hilda continued.

"Take my white mask and plain brown robes, for example. People can see me from a mile away, which is good for those who need a medic," Hilda explained, gesturing to her distinctive attire.

“To the left you’ll find socks, underwear, and anything you need to wear under clothes, including extra padding for knees and elbows. In the back in the wardrobes are the trousers, leggings and tops, tunics, dresses, and other things like that. On the right wall to the back, there are coats, overalls, and other outerwear on racks," Hilda's explanations flowed seamlessly as the vikings browsed through the outerwear.

“The right wall has sleepwear and spare blankets on the shelves towards the front here. The racks in the middle are different lengths of cloth, and rolls of padding, for those who need a lot of padding under armour, and also to bulk up skirts, dresses and robes. Feel free to look around, and pick out what you need. Since you might be staying for over a week, due to your predicament, you’ll be able to return here to get spare sets of clothes whenever you need.” She added, foreseeing their potential needs. The vikings nodded appreciatively, each starting to look through the clothes, all of which were dull shades of brown and grey, with some black or white clothes mixed in.

“Most of the clothes are the same here. Is there any reason for it?” Fishlegs asked, intrigued by the cultural differences in clothing.

“Only important people, or people who play a key role on the island are allowed to stand out, in order to make them easier to locate in a crowd, as I mentioned earlier with my own clothes. There is also the added benefit of people feeling more united, like small parts of a whole collective, rather than separate entities. Your clothing rules are more relaxed, since you’re not from here, with your only rules being that you can only wear browns, blacks, greys and whites, colour-wise, and that you still need to wear a mask that covers your mouth and nose.” Hilda told them.

“I see. So it’s a practical and a community based choice.” Astrid muttered.

“Since the clothes you arrived in weren’t colourful for the most part, you’d have been able to wear them, if they didn’t cut off circulation and weren’t plastered to your bodies with salt.” Hilda offered. “Actually, about your clothes…”

The local healer made her way to a shelf that held a single box, labelled ‘guests’. “These are your belongings, washed and cleaned. It includes the damaged things, which will be repaired if you want them to be.”

“I’ve never seen my leather armbands so shiny!” Snotlout gushed, his eyes widening.

“My old tunic is red again and not brown?” Astrid asked, mostly to herself. Hilda’s eyes crinkled in a smile.

“The cleaners here have their secrets.” The healer explained with a warm enthusiasm.

The group of vikings started picking out clothes from shelves, boxes and inside wardrobes, and soon, they were ready for the tour, with their outfits being completed by black facemasks that covered the mouth and nose.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut posed dramatically in grey and black tunics and leggings with leather elbow pads and knee pads as Snotlout was fastening his armbands back in their usual place, this time over the top of a black top with dark grey trimming along the edges.

“Gotta admit, my old outfit was getting rather tight.” Astrid muttered, having replaced all of her gear except her thin leather headband. When she had been younger she had had a kransen, but she had set that aside when the time came for something similar but better. She sported a dark grey outfit with dark leather belts and straps to hold weapons, a water pouch and rolls of paper. Fishlegs, as slim as the others from years of food scarcity, fit into similar clothes as the others, and was wearing mostly grey as well, with a thick brown belt around his waist.

“The rest of your belongings will be taken to the spare room in the back of the medical ward. That’s where guests stay, when we do have them. The room we were previously in is used only to accommodate those who are unconscious, usually recovering from surgery or sleeping off a hangover.” Hilda informed the group.

Astrid looked around at the others, who were all exchanging glances, like her.

“Aren’t hangovers a problem individuals suffer from alone as a consequence of drinking too much?” Fishlegs asked.

“The Defenders of the Wing are a very community-oriented tribe, where nobody suffers alone unless they actively seek solitude.” Hilda paused, her brow furrowing. “The few who wish to be left alone will be respected and given space.”

Hilda stepped to the side and allowed the vikings to pass her as they gathered in the hallway, with her gently guiding the door to close gently, the same weight system present here too.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut watched the door with rapt interest.

“Should we ask her?” Tuffnut whispered to Ruffnut, who shrugged in response.

“I say we watch every door obsessively and see if any are different, and why they’re different.” She responded. Tuffnut gave her a silent thumbs-up, enthused at the new hobby of door-watching.

The group made their way to the main door of the medical ward, a large double door that could possibly have allowed a dragon to wander in if it so chose to. It was a wooden door, light in colour, and when Hilda unclipped the central fastener holding the two doors together, they swung open gently, revealing the scene of a bustling village.

The medical ward was in the upper portion of the village, overlooking the residential ‘district’ and the central market that seemed to connect the various parts of the village together.

Nearby locals with their masks and matching outfits populated the bustling market, and even from a distance the vikings could see an assortment of fruits and vegetables, tools, pottery, and other wares lining each stall in great abundance.

“This is the heart of Caldera Cay, where most of the socialisation and trading takes place. All week every week it’s fairly busy, with a few people always standing around and chatting. For mealtimes nearly everyone gathers in the main hall, up at the top of those stairs.”

She didn’t have to point out the main hall, it was a massive structure that dwarfed the other structures near it, with the only other buildings even being close enough to compare them to it were the medical ward and another building with carvings of sleeping dragons on its door frames, doors, and various other wooden fixtures.

“I’ve not seen or heard a single dragon yet. You people must be good at driving them away.” Snotlout complimented. Hilda chuckled.

“There’s an island nearby that all of the dragons prefer inhabiting. Less people and more food to go around. The only human who lives there comes to Caldera Cay once per week to trade. Now he’s the man who can attract the most customers.” Hilda informed the group. “Queen Mala will also no-doubt mention him, he has the trust of the entire island, her and her bodyguard included.”

“How can one man not die surrounded by that many dragons? They’d have sniffed him out by now, surely.” Fishlegs was the first to respond, followed by Snotlout.

“I bet he’s an awesome fighter, and they just haven’t managed to beat him yet!”

“Or what if he’s good at evasive manoeuvres and is good at running?” Astrid commented.

“You’ll all see him soon enough, and when you do, you’ll understand in an instant.” Hilda reassured them.

The group looked at each other in confusion and mild amusement, before focusing their attention back to the market area.

There appeared to be over thirty stalls, double the amount of what Berk had even back in its prime, and each one was equipped with storage, to store goods, shelves to display wares and a waxed canvas tent roof to protect the stall from the elements.

Some of these canvases were plain, others were dyed solid colours or even painted with pretty patterns.

‘Fine Leatherwork!’

‘Fresh Meats!’

‘Come Get Your Tools Repaired HERE!’

‘Fresh Fruit and Veg!!!’

‘Skillful Stoneworks’

‘Pottery for Sale!’

‘Milk and Cheese, Get It Now!’

Each framed stall had a different type of good, and some even had painted wooden boards leaning in front of the stall countertops. All of the stalls were evenly dispersed around the side of the market and in the middle was a large expanse of mixed colour tiles that seemed to have been made to be more even and better put together than even the impeccable brickwork around it where the stalls and main pathways were.

What was truly strange was that nobody used this stonework as another area to put stalls, and nobody used it to cross to the other side of the market.

As the group started making their way past the market, they passed people who seemed to be in a great rush and still nobody stood or walked in the long, rectangular area.

“I-is there something important about that specific area?” Fishlegs asked, gesturing to it.

“That’s where we bury past leaders. It is believed that by burying past leaders under the market, their spirits are able to watch over each transaction that takes place, ensuring a fair deal.” Hilda informed the group in a simple, matter-of-fact tone. “There are a couple of other similar places, but for now, we’ve arrived where we need to be.” It was an unfamiliar custom for the vikings, and they gave each other weird looks, but the ‘logic’ behind burying leaders under the market did have some semblance of sense.

Looking away from the market that stretched out across most of the central plaza, the group realised that they were in front of a large house that mostly fit in with the other residential buildings in the area. It was double the size of the Chief’s Hut back on Berk, meaning that even regular citizens on Caldera Cay were incredibly rich by Berk standards. It wasn’t the largest, but it boasted more carvings on the door frame, and there was a lock on the door, unlike most other houses. The differences were in the detail rather than scale.

“This is Throk’s residence, and the place where Queen Mala is waiting for us. Throk is her primary bodyguard, and he is the second most powerful person on the island in terms of hierarchy. Needless to say, you’ll be well protected if you stay on his good side.” Hilda reassured the group.

Astrid looked around at the group, and they collectively nodded in response to Hilda’s reassurance. Hilda nodded in return and knocked on the door.

“Come in.” A voice from within spoke.

Hilda didn’t even have to push the door open, nor did she attempt to, with how it was opened by somebody just within the building. This person was a huge man with longish red hair that was in a ponytail and shaved at the back and sides, and sharp brown eyes. Despite his green leather top under his shoulder armour plates, his musculature was evident.

Hilda stepped in first, followed by the vikings.

“I have brought our guests to see Queen Mala, as requested.” She told the man.

“Very good, Hilda. I am Throk, Queen Mala’s right-hand man.” He told the group. “You will be introduced to Queen Mala formally once you’re all inside her private meeting room. Follow Hilda.”

Throk closed the door behind the group without locking it. Hilda led the way with Throk taking up the rear. He was an intimidating individual, and Queen Mala had previously instructed him not to show the guests any hostility or suspicion at all unless they gave him a reason to. As such, instead of being ‘under his surveillance’, they were under his protection as guests, though he did cast some measure of scrutiny in their direction.

As the vikings stepped through the corridor, their feet sunk into thick sheepskin rugs and their eyes fell onto various tapestries that lined the walls, depicting dragons, not in combat, but in mundane moments of rest or play. There was also a weapon rack on the wall, well used but currently empty to avoid giving the newcomers access to weapons most likely.

Past the tapestries there were two rooms opposite each other, and Hilda guided the group into the one on the right. The brass door frame had a finely polished sheen that reflected the vikings looks of awe as they laid eyes upon the woman in the room.

Hilda knelt before the queen, followed by the vikings then Throck, as soon as he entered. Astrid and Fishlegs knelt somewhat elegantly but it was clear they weren’t used to kneeling. Snotlout’s knee landed with an audible thud with his lack of elegance. The twins, in their haste to get onto all-fours, nearly fell before they used each other to right themselves into a more natural kneel, opting to not prostrate themselves at the last minute due to the unnatural nature of the gesture as opposed to their friends kneeling.

“Throk, Hilda, and our esteemed guests. Please rise.” If she felt any amusement at the scene before her, Mala did a good job of not showing it. Her face was set into a warm, neutral position that exuded both authority and calmness, and her voice was smooth and level.

The entire group stood up with varying amounts of difficulty. Astrid and Fishlegs got up naturally and rather quickly, Snotlout too, though he took a moment to rub his knee. The twins waited for their friends to get up before they did, making sure that when they did get up, they wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.

“First of all, welcome to Caldera Cay, home of the Defenders of the Wing. I am the leader here, Queen Mala Hildbrande Ardelle, and the man to my right is my right hand man, Throck. To my left is Hilda, the newly-appointed village healer.”