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The moment would come when Grimmel would finally have the chance to wipe out the Night Fury species. Hiccup, son of Stoick, refused to abandon them — stubborn as ever, he always placed himself between the hunter and his prey. In a flash of power, the Night Fury struck down four Deathgrippers at once, channeling lightning through his own body.
High above the clouds, Grimmel rode the White Fury, forced into submission with the venom of his own dragon. The battle reached its limit when Hiccup, in one final burst, tried to save his winged companion — nearly dragging both himself and Grimmel to their deaths.
They both plummeted from the sky, but when all seemed lost, the White Fury dove and caught the chief of Berk midair, saving him at the last moment.
As Grimmel kept falling, time seemed to stop. He saw his entire life before his eyes, and in the silence of the wind, he knew exactly where he had gone wrong. For the first time, he felt regret.
A Night Fury sliced through the darkness of the night sky, its black wings silent as it landed on the ground. It spotted a tall, skinny boy with spiky white hair.
Rrraaaaghhh—SKRRHH!!
A bolt of plasma shot toward the boy, who slammed the door just in time to protect himself.
“Dragons…” he muttered, taking a deep breath.
The village of Staraya Ladoga shook under constant attacks. But the villagers did not back down; they fought to protect every stone of their home. Among them, Grimmel—frail, small, but stubborn—readied his mobile crossbow, fitting in the dart he had carefully sharpened.
“Today is the day,” he said to himself. He stepped out of the house, ignoring the screams of the other Vikings:
“Go back inside!”
“You’ll die!”
No warning would make him stop. He had to prove his worth.
A sudden tug on his back.
“Ow!”
TCHA!
The ground shook with the explosion of a plasma shot. Turning around, Grimmel found Olga, his childhood friend, holding an axe firmly.
“Are you crazy?” she yelled. “Especially today, when the Night Furies attack?” Olga was a girl with braided black hair, the same age as Grimmel.
“Olga, this time it’ll work. With this!” he said, lifting the crossbow, almost dropping it under the weight.
“You’re really going to die.”
“I can’t let you be the only one killing dragons. I have to do my part too!”
GRRAARR!
TCHAAA!
A Night Fury launched its plasma at a house while flying, but the village had its tricks: buckets hung by ropes above the rooftops. Olga swung the axe with precision, cutting the upper ropes. Water poured over the flames, smothering the fire.
Grimmel took a deep breath. The fire was dying down, but the sky still roared with the fury of the dragons.
“I can do this.”
“Grimmel…”
“Trust me!”
The boy pushed the crossbow to the edge of the cliff, out of his friend’s sight. His eyes scanned the night sky, searching for dragons hiding among shadows and clouds.
“Show yourselves…”
TCHAAA!
A wooden building exploded in flames. The light revealed the outline of a beast hovering in not too far from him.
TCHUM!
Grimmel fired a special dart. Unlike ordinary arrows, it was almost invisible and impossible to dodge, perfect for striking unsuspecting dragons.
“GRRAARR!”
The Night Fury plunged.
“I... I GET IT! Did anyone see that?”
“GRRRR.”
Another Night Fury leapt from the shadows, snarling at the boy.
“Besides you?”
“Rrraaaaghhh!!!”
The dragon spat a jet of plasma. Olga shoved him, sending Grimmel to the ground.
TCHA!
The village leader’s house burned behind them. The Night Fury snarled again. Spotting a house with a water bucket hanging just behind the beast, Olga hurled her axe, slicing clean through the rope and sending the bucket crashing down over the dragon’s head.
“Rrraaaaghhh!!!”
The flame jet failed. Everyone knew it that a dragon with wet head cannot spit fire.
“IAAAAAAH!!”
A burly Viking appeared and grabbed the Night Fury. The dragon thrashed, hurling the man against the wall, then took off again, roaring in fury.
It was the village leader. Their Knyaz. Rurik, the Strong.
His gaze burned with rage—first at the burning house, then at the boy before him.
“You were supposed to stay inside the house!”
“I-I didn't want this to happen, sir. I swear. I only wanted to help kill the dragon.”
“You'd be more valuable offered up as a sacrifice to see if the dragons stop attacking than as a Viking!”
“B-but I hit one, I swear! A Night Fury!”
Rurik laughed, without humor.
“You? Do you expect me to believe you were the first in this whole village to hit a Night Fury?”
“But I...”
“Enough! I'm tired of your nonsense. Go fix the damage that dragon did to my house.”
“...Yes, sir.”
The villagers’ eyes pierced him. Every step was a reminder of failure. Another shame. Another failed attempt to prove he was worth something.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The last nail. Grimmel had spent the entire day fixing the roof. Now the chief’s house stood tall again.
“You… did a good job, Grimmel. You’d never know it was destroyed,” Olga said.
“I’m good with wood. The machines I make don’t build themselves.”
He climbed down from the roof and stopped beside his friend.
“Lunch?”
“Not today. I have a hunt.”
“Hunt? You mean the Night Fury?”
“He shouldn’t have fallen far. Still sedated, probably.”
“Grimmel…”
“I have to try. If I bring back the head of a Night Fury, everything will change for me.”
They walked through the village. The looks of scorn followed him.
“Grimmel, Night Furies are impossible to kill. Not even Rurik managed it.”
“I have to try.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said, tense.
“You wouldn’t understand, Olga. Your parents were heroes. Mine… traitors. Bet they regret not kicking me out with them when I was a baby.”
He looked away, his voice sinking under the weight of his own words. His hand rubbed his arm as if trying to erase something that had haunted him forever.
Olga watched him silently for a moment. Her gaze softened. She couldn’t bear to see him like this—bent under a guilt that wasn’t his.
“Grimmel… you’re the strongest person I know. You always try again. You always believe in yourself.”
She gave a half-smile.
“That’s what I like most about you.”
His cheeks flushed. A shy smile appeared—and she returned it.
GZZZZZ!
“Did you hear that?”
A deep rumble echoed through the forest, making the trees shiver. The sound came from something immense—something asleep.
The two advanced cautiously until, among the shadows, they found a Night Fury lying on the ground, a dart embedded in its flank.
Grimmel drew his dagger, eyes fixed on the creature.
He stepped forward, but a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Careful.”
“I’ve got this,” he said, gently moving his friend’s hand aside.
He approached the sleeping beast. The dragon breathed heavily, its chest rising and falling in an almost calm rhythm. Even covered in scales dark as pitch, there was something magnificent about it.
Grimmel froze for a moment. Hesitating. To kill a Night Fury… the dream of any warrior. But before this creature, something inside him wavered.
“Ridiculous,” he thought. “Not now.”
He clenched the dagger in his fist. It was time to prove his worth, to show the village who he really was. The first viking to kill a Night Fury.
But… why the trembling hands? Why the knot in his throat in the face of such beauty?
The memory of the villagers’ scornful stares and Rurik’s words cut through his mind like a blade. He could not fail.
He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth. Eyes closed, he raised the dagger— and brought it down in a single stroke.
The dry sound of the cut echoed through the trees.
The rumble stopped.
“This boy is a hero!” Rurik shouted, raising Grimmel’s hand before the entire village, which erupted in cheers and applause.
He saw Olga among them, her eyes shining with pride. For the first time in his life, he felt accepted.
“Tonight we feast,” Rurik announced, patting the boy on the back. “In honor of the first Viking to kill a Night Fury.”
The hall was lit by torches, the smell of roasted meat and mead filling the air. Grimmel sat beside the chief, who didn’t take his eyes off him.
“Tell me everything,” Rurik said, curious. “How did you manage it?”
“I… realized they couldn’t see smaller darts well. Harder to dodge. He fell not far from here, and—”
“You killed it,” the chief interrupted. “Impressive, though a shame that is not enough.”
Grimmel blinked, confused. “What?”
“Killing one is impressive,” Rurik said, leaning toward him, “but it’s not enough. We’ll need more than killing one of them to win.”
Grimmel felt his heart race. “I-I can help!”
Rurik raised an eyebrow.
“Ah… well, I’ve been studying their behavior for some time. They always follow the same route when they go after cattle.”
Rurik crossed his arms, attentive.
“They usually come back every two weeks and always steal our food. If we know what they’re after and when they come, we can set a trap using that.”
“This has been happening for a year. I think they lost territory after a fight.”
“Fight over territory?”
“Yes. They always appear near caves. I bet they lost control to another species, maybe the Whispering Deaths.”
“Anything else that you notice?” Rurik narrowed his eyes.
“I think they’re sensitive to sound. Their hearing is so sharp the whole village swears it’s impossible to approach without being heard. If we use horns, we can stun them for a few moments. Then we’ll have a chance to kill them.”
The Knyaz stroked his chin, considering what the boy had told him.
That night, the village was strangely quiet. Food left out in the open attracted three Night Furies, which landed on the ground, sniffing a basket of fish.
Graaa!
A satisfied growl escaped one of the dragons, now with wide, circular pupils.
Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath a false floor. Two giant metal jaws rose from the grass, snapping toward the startled dragons.
CRUSH!
Elsewhere in the village, a Night Fury spotted a sheep and dove from the sky.
“Baaaa!”
The sheep had its leg tied to a rope. As it was pulled, a venomous dart shot straight into the dragon.
“GRAAR!”
Another Night Fury fell, mortally struck.
Meanwhile, most of the dragons gathered on the far side of the village, targeting yaks and cows.
As the dragons approached, the yaks stood up, revealing themselves to be Vikings disguised in cattle hides and wielding horns.
TRUUUUM!
“GRRRAAAR!”
The dragons tried to cover their ears with their front claws, but it was too late. More Vikings appeared, crossbows in hand, firing arrows.
One by one, the Night Furies fell.
“Before today, we couldn’t even touch a Night Fury. Thanks to you, Grimmel, we’ve protected ourselves."
The boy beamed with pride. In his wildest dreams, he never imagined seeing Rurik so pleased with him.
“You’ve brought great pride to this village.”
“Well, I… just used what I learned by watching them. Nothing special,” Grimmel replied, with a self-satisfied smile.
Rurik gave him one last pat on the back and stepped away, leaving Grimmel and Olga alone.
“Olga, did you hear that? I’m a hero! I saved the village from the Night Furies!”
She smiled. “Congratulations, Grimmel. I knew you could do it.”
“And this is just the beginning. Tomorrow, I’m going to try to convince Rurik to let me go after the other Night Furies.”
“But why? You already defeated the ones attacking us. They won’t bother us again.”
“Nonsense. As long as there are more out there, it’s only a matter of time before they return.”
Olga sighed. “You really want to do this, don’t you?”
“Did you see Rurik's eyes, Olga? I can finally stop being treated like an outcast. Please… come with me. I need you.”
Her face flushed. She knew she couldn’t refuse. Her best friend needed her.
"Are you sure he passed this way, Grimmel?"
"Absolutely. The trail leaves no doubt. But be careful. Deathgrippers dominate this region."
Five years had already passed since Grimmel and Olga began hunting Night Furies. That day they followed the trail of one — a wounded beast that had fallen from the sky and tumbled into the dangerous lands of the Deathgrippers.
Walking a little further, they found their prey. The Night Fury was drinking from the river.
"We've found him."
Grimmel had already raised his crossbow at the dragon when suddenly...
"GRRAARR!"
Two Deathgrippers appeared and began spitting acid at the poor Night Fury, which tried to fly away but, with a wounded tail, kept falling back to the ground.
The Deathgrippers leapt onto the black dragon and stung its neck.
When they let go, the dragon rose. Its eyes now had black slits where round pupils used to be but it did not adopt an aggressive posture.
"What is he doing?"
"He seems to be following them..."
The three dragons took flight, but the Night Fury lost balance and plunged back to the ground.
Immediately the Deathgrippers turned their gaze to him. Their fangs bared. Slowly they began to advance along the terrain on foot while the two Staraya Ladoga Vikings followed at a distance, attentive to every step.
The Deathgrippers led the Night Fury into a shadowy cave. The Black Dragon posted itself at the entrance like a sentinel. Soon, four more Deathgrippers emerged from the shadows, bringing a Gronckle.
It positioned itself beside the Fury, forming a silent guard before the darkness.
"This must be one of their nests," he murmured. "Do you know what that means? These dragons control others. Their venom corrupts the mind of their prey, wiping everything clean except the most primitive instinct: follow your alpha. To them, whoever poisons them is the new leader."
He paused, eyes fixed on the cave.
"I'm getting an idea."
The two hunters waited in the darkness until the Deathgrippers emerged from the cave. The pointed silhouettes vanished into the northern sky, and they set off after them, tracking the acid-burn trail left on the ground.
The hunters split up to cover different paths, and Olga eventually found tracks that led to a clearing — and there the monsters had hunted again. An innocent Deadly Nadder was their next prey.
She raised her crossbow and aimed at the Deathgrippers.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
The beasts were hit with tranquilizer darts. Their wings beat heavily and faltered before the Deathgrippers collapsed with Olga puting her weapon down for a second.
The Nadder, freed from danger, looked at the huntress. For a moment, it seemed to smile. It flew toward her, curious.
“Stay back!”
Startled, she dropped her weapon when she tried desperately to raise it. She stretched out her hand to make the beast back away.
The Deadly Nadder approached slowly, sniffing the air around her hand. Then it pressed its snout to it.
She froze. The touch was warm. Living. Almost gentle.
Hesitant, Olga stroked the creature's snout — and the dragon closed its eyes, content.
But the moment shattered in an instant.
Grimmel stepped out of the shadows, blade in hand, and lunged.
The Nadder recoiled, startled, and flew away before the knife could reach it.
"Grimmel!" she shouted.
He cleaned his blade, impassive. "Now we can extract venom from its fangs... and test my plan.”
The hunter picked up the vial and began extracting the venom, his hands steady under the pale light of dusk.
“Why didn’t you kill that thing when it approached you? You’re lucky I came to check on you. ” Grimmel asked, his voice cold as steel.
“It wouldn’t have hurt me… I could feel it.”
“Keep thinking like that and you’ll stop being the huntress and become the prey.”
Olga hesitated. Her lost gaze betrayed the doubt gnawing at her.
“Let’s test my theory,” he said, with a half-smile.
They waited for the sedative to wear off. As soon as the Deathgrippers awoke, they realized their mouths were confined, and they shook their bodies to get rid of the restraints.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
Grimmel fired three darts. The venom extracted from the beasts penetrated deep into their scales. The dragons’ round eyes contracted into sharp slits.
“Did it work?” Olga asked, apprehensive.
“Let’s see. Sit!”
The three Deathgrippers obeyed, sitting under their back legs before him.
“Can they understand you?”
“Dragons are smarter than we give them credit for.”
Grimmel knelt before the creatures and took off the restraints from their mouths.
“Go to the nest. Infect the others. Kill the dark dragon… and bring it to me.”
The dragons took flight, vanishing into the growing darkness.
A cruel smile formed on Grimmel’s lips.
Hours later, under the veil of night, he looked up and saw a Deathgripper landing before him—with the lifeless body of a Night Fury clamped in its fangs.
“It worked,” he murmured, satisfied.
The Deathgrippers dropped the black dragon’s body at Grimmel’s feet.
Beside him, Olga watched in silence. Horror filled her eyes as she realized the almost sick pleasure her friend took in hunting and killing.
The man before her no longer seemed like the same friend she had known.
In the village, a celebration took over the night. The flames of the bonfires danced around Grimmel—the hero of the moment. They said he had wiped out every Night Fury on the island.
Seated on his makeshift throne, the hunter devoured chicken legs, tossing the bones to the Deathgrippers. The creatures fought over every piece, growling at each other.
“Grimmel, did you call me?” Olga said, approaching.
“Ah, Olga!” he replied, a satisfied smile on his face. “I’m glad you came. Pack your things—we’re leaving.”
“Leaving? Where?”
“After the other Night Furies. We’re going to the neighboring islands… and we’ll exterminate every single one of them.”
“You must be joking.”
“Why would I joke? That’s been our goal from the start.”
“I thought the goal was to protect the village.”
“And why stop there? We can save other villages… if we get to them first.”
“You enjoy killing them!”
Grimmel fell silent for a moment, his gaze lost in the flames.
“So what?”
“What?”
“So what if I enjoy killing them? They’re monsters. Pests.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Not after today.”
“You’re still thinking about that stupid Nadder? He would have ripped your hand off if I hadn’t pushed him away.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t keep doing this. How long do you intend to continue this slaughter?”
“As long as it takes. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”
“Is that what you want? To live for this?”
“Yes!”
“You can’t be seriously, you are behaving like a monster!”
Grimmel stood, his face lit by fire, his voice trembling.
"I'm a hero! I finally have the respect I've always wanted! I'll never go back to being who I was! This hunt is all that matters to me! All I need!”
Silence fell between them. They looked at each other—and for a brief second, both understood that something had broken forever.
“Olga, that’s not what I meant…”
“It is,” she said firmly, her eyes brimming with tears. “And it’s true. I just didn’t want to see it. I wanted to believe my friend still existed… But he’s gone.”
“Olga…”
“Go alone on your crazy hunt. I don’t want any part of it anymore.”
She turned and walked away, leaving Grimmel frozen, mouth agape.
For a moment, the sound of the celebration around him faded.
He looked at the statue erected in his honor—a symbol of his glory.
A low growl escaped his lips.
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted… everything…”
But the words sounded hollow. And before the flames, the hero began to look… as empty as his accomplishments.
Through the shroud of dark clouds, a Windgnasher sliced the sky like a living blade. Its movements were swift, ghostlike—until three Deathgrippers burst from the storm.
The crimson hunters closed in, spiraling through the air with predatory grace, their sinewy bodies weaving a deadly cage around their prey.
Above, Grimmel, mounted on another Deathgripper, watched coldly. A brief smile crossed his face before the shot.
The dragon-venom dart flew true.
The Windgnasher convulsed, its eyes slitting, and the Deathgrippers released it.
Grimmel approached the spiny dragon, locking eyes with it.
“Come,” he commanded.
The Windgnasher and the Deathgrippers followed their leader to the hunter’s ship deck.
Grimmel picked up a black scale and let the newly recruited dragon sniff it.
“Show me where dragons that smells like this are!” Grimmel ordered, his voice cutting through the salty air.
The Windgnasher grunted and took flight, circling the ship to signal it should follow.
“Windgnashers are excellent trackers. With this, it will be easy to find Night Fury nests. Every species has a basic common scent.”
The other Vikings exchanged glances and nudged the shortest among them to ask their captain.
“Captain… many of the other sailors want to know… how are we going to take down entire Night Fury nests if we can barely kill one alone?”
The hunter let out a low, sinister laugh.
He walked to the stern of the ship and pointed.
There, in cages, Whispering Deaths and Thunderdrums raged with restrained mouths.
“B-but… do you think they’ll be enough?”
Grimmel just smiled.
“You’ll see.”
Days later, on an island shrouded in fog, Grimmel and his men waited before a dark cave. Behind them, the Thunderdrums were lined up, ready for attack. The Whispering Deaths, sedated and under control, start to move.
TRUUUM!
The ground shook. The cave began to collapse from the inside out.
“The Whispering Deaths have done their part already,” Grimmel murmured, satisfied.
From the shadows, Night Furies emerged in panic, fleeing the collapse.
Grimmel raised two fingers to his mouth.
“FIIUUUU!”
The whistle echoed like a spell.
The sedated Thunderdrums responded, creating a deafening wall of sound that trapped the night dragons.
“GRRRAAARR!”
Cries of pain cut through the wind.
“Now!” Grimmel commanded.
A rain of arrows rained down from the cliffs, piercing sky and scales.
And so it went.
From island to island, nest to nest, Grimmel the Hunter spread terror through the shadows of the world.
The process was always the same. They relied on the Windgnasher's precise scent to track the closest nests, guided by scales of the dark dragons they had hunted before.
When they finally found them, they unleashed their dragons again—to hunt, to kill… and to restart the endless cycle.
Of course, sometimes some of them managed to escape, but he pursued them and killed them.
Studying everything he could while observing them, Grimmel learned exactly what he needed to hunt them as effectively as possible. Where they lived, what they ate, and when they were most vulnerable were details he discovered by patiently analyzing them.
Sometimes, Grimmel let one or two escape just to prolong the hunt.
He didn't only hunt Night Furies; occasionally he was hired by villages to eliminate other types of dragons, but this was the only species he killed for pure pleasure.
Over time, his name became legend. A name whispered among chieftains, kings… even the chief of Berk sought his services.
“Fighting alongside you was an honor, Grimmel,” said Stoick the Vast, Berk’s leader. His voice was firm, yet carried the weariness of a long battle. “I admit I thought your reputation was exaggerated… but I was wrong.”
Grimmel smirked, wiping dirt off with his fist.
“The feeling is mutual. I’ve never seen a Viking fight like you. Your village is lucky to have you. Not even my Rynaz was this fierce.”
Stoick let out a deep laugh.
“I hope one day my son becomes as skilled a dragon slayer as you.”
The two men glanced at the baby.
"My mission is to exterminate these beasts so that he can grow up in a better world… Well, let me get your gold."
He turned and left the room, leaving Grimmel alone with the baby.
In the center of the room, the little one rested in a crib lined with straw and covered in animal pelts, face calm under the flickering torchlight. The boy watched him intently, clutching a small plush dragon.
Grimmel stepped closer, eyes cold and curious.
“So… this is Stoick’s heir?” he murmured. “I can’t wait to see how much you'll disappoint him.”
The baby frowned, pouted indignantly… and threw the toy squarely at Grimmel’s face.
“Sniff!”
The Windgnasher obeyed but did not take flight.
“There’s nothing left to track, Grimmel,” one of the hunters murmured, his voice tired.
“We can’t have killed them all.”
“There’s no sign or even rumors of a Night Fury, no matter where we go. We’ve exterminated them. It’s time to return.”
Grimmel remained silent.
He knew the subordinate was right. But… what now?
Had his purpose ended? Was this the end of his hunt?
A low growl escaped his throat.
Cold, silent anger boiled inside him.
Without thinking, he drew the crossbow, aimed at the useless Windgnasher, and fired.
The creature fell silently.
Upon returning to the village, he was met with silence. No celebration, no applause, no glances of recognition—just the cold feeling that everyone had already forgotten who he was with the time that had passed without bringing a new Night Fury head to the village.
But nothing hit him as hard as what he saw the next day.
Olga—beautiful as ever—walked through the square, now with a child in her arms and a husband at her side. She smiled. Truly smiled.
Grimmel’s blood boiled. Every laugh of hers was a blade twisting in his flesh.
But he would not let her see his shame.
He straightened his hood, turned, and left—before she could notice his presence.
Grimmel had already killed the Thunderdrums and Whispering Deaths that had helped him in the hunt, leaving only his Deathgrippers. For some reason, he wanted to leave them alive—perhaps as a memento of his days as a hunter, or perhaps because he appreciated the murderous instinct those beasts possessed against other dragons, hunters just like him.
The days that followed boiled down to a man who had once been a great hunter—now only a shadow—sitting in his comfortable home, drinking wine without measure.
No matter how full he filled the glass, the emptiness inside him remained, dense and silent as the night.
He had no value once again.
Until one morning, a letter arrived. The seal was unmistakable: that of the war lords who had once employed him.
Grimmel read the few lines with disinterest, yet still went to the meeting point.
He listened to them speak of dragon defenders, their dragons now freed—trivial matters, unworthy of his attention.
Then something they said cut through the air.
Hiccup.
Stoick’s brat.
They said he had a Night Fury.
For a moment, Grimmel’s heart beat faster. The fire reignited.
His hunt was not over; he had a chance to be remembered once more.
He didn't know how the Night Fury had escaped. Maybe it had gotten separated from the pack when it was young, eventually arriving in Berk, or perhaps it had lost its territory to a Whispering Death and been forced to leave its nest?
In the end, it didn't matter to the hunter.
Grimmel devised a plan to get close to Hiccup, to find out what he was like. He had broken into his house and let some of his Deathgrippers set the village ablaze to prevent them from being interrupted.
In truth, Hiccup was even more pathetic than he had imagined. There was in him a reflection of what Grimmel had been before starting his own hunt against the Night Furies: weak, indecisive, with the shine of naivety in his eyes.
For a brief instant, Grimmel wondered if he would have ended up the same way, had he not killed that black beast years ago.
But he soon smiled. It was a ridiculous thought.
Hiccup spared his dragon out of weakness. Grimmel killed his out of nature.
Hiccup was a boy; Grimmel was, and always would be, a hunter.
Even after taking the Night Fury from the boy, Hiccup still resisted.
They collided—man and boy, hunter and dreamer—fighting for control of the White Fury the hunters had captured.
The clash was brutal. Screams, the frantic beating of wings, and strategies.
In one final desperate act, Hiccup lunged at Grimmel, pushing them both toward the abyss.
The wind roared. The world spun in freefall. Below them, only void.
Then, in a sudden white flash, the Fury appeared—diving from the sky like lightning. She snatched Hiccup, pulling him from death.
Grimmel, meanwhile, was left to fall.
As he plummeted, time seemed to stretch. His entire life paraded before his eyes: the endless hunt, the dragons’ screams, the cruel gleam of his victories.
And among these fragments, Olga’s face—smiling, with her child in her arms—a vision of all he could have had.
If he had chosen to stay with her… perhaps he would not be falling now.
Perhaps he would have known peace, the simple love he never had as a child.
But he had made his choice.
He had chosen the hunt.
And hunting carried him, inevitably, to death.
When the sea received him, there was no fear.
Only silence.
And, for a moment, the sense that, at last, his hunt had ended.