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“Tell me, Hiccup—what exactly do you think happens when you keep winning?”
The voice came from somewhere beyond the darkness, smooth as oiled leather and just as unsettling. Hiccup blinked hard, trying to force his vision to adjust. His wrists burned where the rope dug into them, his shoulders aching from the unnatural angle of his arms tied behind the chair. The air smelled damp, like old stone and wet earth.
Hiccup’s breath hitched as the footsteps echoed against what sounded like a cavern floor. “Winning?” he forced out, his throat dry. “Funny, last I checked, you were the one with the fancy chair and the ropes. Looks like someone’s keeping score.”
The footsteps stopped just outside the dim circle of torchlight flickering near Hiccup’s chair. Viggo’s silhouette leaned against the cavern wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the shadows. “Oh, I keep very thorough score,” he said, voice low and amused. “But you misunderstand me. Winning isn’t about the ropes or the chair. Its about the game itself—and you, my dear Hiccup, have been an exceptionally distracting player.”
Hiccup flexed his fingers behind his back, testing the knots. They didn’t budge—tight, professional work. Of course Viggo wouldn’t half-ass something like this. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and forced a smirk. “Distracting, huh? Didn’t realize I was so interesting.”
Viggo chuckled, the sound like gravel shifting underfoot. “Oh, you’re fascinating,” he murmured, pushing off the wall and stepping into the torchlight. The flickering glow carved hollows under his cheekbones, making him look almost skeletal for a moment. “But fascination is a luxury I can’t afford right now. You see, while you’ve been busy playing hero, I’ve been trying to work.”
Hiccup rolled his shoulders, ignoring the sting of the ropes as he studied Viggo’s face. “Work?” He scoffed, tilting his head. “You mean stealing dragons and selling them to the highest bidder? Real noble career path.”
Hiccup’s smirk widened, though his wrists ached from twisting against the ropes. “Funny you mention work,” he said, leaning forward as much as the bindings allowed. “See, I’ve got this team —you might remember them? Astrid, Fishlegs, the twins—oh, and Snotlout, though honestly, I’m still not sure how he qualifies as ‘helpful’ on some days.” He let out a dry laugh, watching Viggo’s face for any flicker of reaction. “Point is, they’re probably tearing apart every outpost you’ve ever sneezed on by now. You really think tying me up stops them?”
Somewhere across the archipelago, a very different kind of chaos was unfolding—the kind that usually involved Tuffnut setting something on fire by accident.
Somewhere between Berk and the jagged cliffs of Dragon’s Edge, Astrid was not in the mood for patience. The map in her hands trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer force of her grip. “Alright, geniuses,” she snapped, jabbing a finger at the smudged ink marking Viggo’s last known hideout. “Hiccup’s been missing for twelve hours. We’re not waiting for sunset. We’re not waiting for anything.”
Snotlout crossed his arms, puffing out his chest like an offended chicken. “Oh, now we care about Hiccup’s twelve-hour absence? What about my twelve-hour disappearance last month when I got lost in the woods? Did anyone tear apart a map for me?” He gestured dramatically toward Fishlegs. “Did you see Astrid white-knuckling parchment over my safety? No! You all just sat around eating yak cheese and laughing about it!”
Fishlegs sighed, rubbing his temples like Snotlout’s whining had physically bruised his brain. “Snotlout, you ate the map. And then you napped in a tree. That wasn’t a kidnapping, that was a snack emergency .”
Viggo’s smile didn’t waver, but something dark flickered behind his eyes—like a shark circling just beneath the water’s surface. “Oh, I’m counting on your friends.” he said crouching in front of Hiccup’s chair, close enough that Hiccup could smell the faint metallic tang of his armor polish. “In fact, I’ve laid out a rather entertaining trail for them. You see, while you’ve been chatting, they’ve been following a series of… let’s call them misleading breadcrumbs.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment, dangling it between two fingers. “Recognize this?”
Hiccup’s stomach dropped. The parchment was unmistakable—his own handwriting, the rough sketch of Dragon Edge’s Western supply route, complete with his habitual doodles in the margins. “Where did you get that?” he demanded, straining against the ropes.
Viggo’s grin widened, slow and deliberate, as he twirled the stolen parchment between his fingers. “Oh, Hiccup,” he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You really should be more careful with your notes. Left one lying around after that little scuffle near the Boneknapper’s Ridge, didn’t you?” He tapped the paper against Hiccup’s cheek, the gesture almost playful. “Such a small oversight. And yet, here we are.”
Hiccup clenched his jaw, the paper brushing his cheek like a taunt. “You’re bluffing,” he said, though the doubt crept into his voice. “Astrid knows my handwriting better than I do. She’d spot a fake.”
Viggo leaned back, tucking the parchment back into his coat with a flourish. “Bluffing?” He tutted softly, shaking his head. “My dear boy, I don’t need to bluff. The beauty of your friends’ predictability is that they’ll follow anything with your scent on it—real or otherwise.” He tilted his head, studying Hiccup’s face with the detached curiosity of a man examining a chessboard. “And let’s be honest, your little rebellion has always been… emotional. Emotion makes people reckless.”
Hiccup exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his fingers to stop their useless scrabbling at the ropes. Viggo was right—Astrid would follow any lead with his handwriting, no matter how flimsy. That was the problem with friends who gave a damn. They tended to charge headfirst into trouble.
Hiccup’s mind raced faster than Toothless in a dive. He could feel Viggo’s eyes on him, waiting for the panic to set in—but panic wasn’t going to cut his ropes or throw a wrench in Viggo’s plans. He needed to stall. “You know,” Hiccup said, forcing his voice into something resembling casual, “for a guy who claims not to care about winning, you’re awfully invested in not losing.”
Viggo chuckled, the sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. “Losing implies I ever intended to play fair,” he said, straightening up and rolling his shoulders with theatrical ease. “But let’s not pretend this is about fairness, Hiccup. This is about efficiency. And you—” he tapped Hiccup’s forehead with one finger, “—are an inconvenient variable in an otherwise elegant equation.”
Hiccup’s jaw tightened as Viggo’s finger lingered against his forehead—condescending, patronizing, like he was some malfunctioning cog to be plucked from a machine. The ropes bit deeper into his wrists as he resisted the urge to jerk his head away. “Funny,” he said, voice scrapping low. “I’ve never been called elegant before. Inefficient, sure. Annoying? Absolutely. But elegant? That’s new.”
Astrid crumpled the map in her fist, her knuckles whitening around the parchment. “Alright, forget subtletly,” she growled, tossing the useless paper over her shoulder. It fluttered to the ground like a wounded bird, landing near Tuffnut’s boot—who promptly set in on fire with a distracted flick of his torch. “If Viggo wants a trail, we’ll follow it. Straight through the front door.”
Astrid swung onto Stormfly’s saddle before the others could argue. “Fishlegs, Ruffnut—take the eastern ridge. Snotlout, Tuffnut, you’re with me.” Her voice left no room for debate. Stormfly’s talons scraped stone as she bunched her powerful hindquarters, ready to launch. “And no one sets anything on fire unless I say so.”
Viggo’s gin didn’t falter, but something shifted behind his eyes—a fleeting calculation, like a gambler realizing his opponent had just played an unexpected card. He stepped back, folding his hands behind his back as he circled Hiccup’s chair. “Elegant was never the goal,” he mused. “But you? You’re the kind of variable that makes an equation interesting.”
Hiccup’s fingers twitched against the ropes, the rough fibers biting deeper with every minute shift. Viggo’s circling footsteps echoed like a predator stalking prey, but Hiccup kept his gaze steady, tracking the man’s silhouette in the torchlight. “Interesting equations usually explode,” he said dryly. “Just ask Fishlegs. He’s got the scorch marks to prove it.”
Viggo paused mid-step, his boots scuffing against the rough stone floor. “Explosions can be quite instructive,” he said, tilting his head as if considering a particularly engaging lecture. “But tell me, Hiccup—do you think your friends will learn the right lesson from this one?” He reached into his coat again, this time withdrawing a small, polished dragon scale—Toothless’s, unmistakably—and let it catch the torchlight. “Or will they simply… react?”
Hiccup’s breath stopped dead in his chest. The world narrowed to that single scale glinting in Viggo’s palm—the exact shade of midnight black, the faint ripple or iridescence a long its edge. Toothless’s. His hands spasmed against the ropes, fingers curling into useless fists. “Where—” His voice cracked. “Where did you get that?”
Hiccup’s pulse hammered in his throat, the ropes around his wrists suddenly feeling like they’d tightened another three notches. Viggo watched him with the patient amusement of a man who’d just laid down the winning hand in a long game of cards. He twirled the scale between his fingers, letting the torchlight dance across its surface. “Oh, don’t look so horrified,” he chided. “Your Night Fury is perfectly intact—for now. Though I must admit, plucking this from his saddle was… educational. Your craftsmanship is impressive.”
Hiccup’s throat tightened as Viggo pocketed the scale with deliberate slowness. The sight of Toothless’s scale in his hands sent a cold wave of dread through him—not because he believed Viggo could best Toothless in a fight, but because he knew exactly what that scale meant: a message. A threat. “You’re wasting time,” Hiccup ground out, forcing his voice steady. “Toothless isn’t some dumb beast you can scare into submission. He’ll rip your ships apart plank by plank if you so much as—”
Viggo’s laughter cut through the damp air, sharp as a blade. “Submission? Oh, Hiccup, you misunderstand me again. I don’t want to break your Night Fury—I want to understand him.” He leaned in, close enough that Hiccup could see the flecks of amber in his eyes. “And what better way than through his rider?”
Hiccup’s breath hissed between his teeth as Viggo straightened, the torchlight casting elongated shadows across the caver walls. The scale’s absence from his palm did nothing to ease the tension coiling in Hiccup’s gut. “You won’t get anything from me,” he said, lifting his chin. “And Toothless? Good luck. He’s got a sixth sense for people who smell like trouble. You reek of it.”
Viggo chuckled, the sound rolling through the cavern like distant thunder. “Oh, I don’t need luck, Hiccup. Just time.” He turned on his heel, the edge of his cloak whispering against the damp stone. “And fortunately for me, time is something I’ve arranged in abundance.”
The cavern’s torchlight flickered as Viggo’s footsteps faded into the echoing darkness, leaving Hiccup alone with the oppressive weight of his own thoughts. Toothless’s scale—his scale—was in Viggo’s pocket. The realization settled like a stone in Hiccup’s gut. He twisted his wrists again, the ropes burning raw against his skin, but the knots held firm. Professional work. Of course.
The sky had turned the color of a fresh bruise by the time the riders stumbled across Ryker—or rather, Ryker stumbled across them. Astrid barely had time to yank Stormfly into a banking turn before the man barreled out of the underbrush like a boar with its tail on fire, his boots skidding on loose shale. Ruffnut’s startled shout was drowned out by the metallic screech of Ryker’s armor as he collided with Meatlug’s flank, sending Fishlegs tumbling sideways in the saddle.
With the riders still tangled in Ryker’s unexpected ambush, Astrid was the first to recover. She swung Stormfly’s tail like a whip, knocking Rykers legs out from under him before he could regain his footing. He hit the ground with a grunt, but his hand shot out, fingers clamping around Ruffnut’s ankle as she tried to scramble away. “Oh no you don’t,” he growled, yanking her off Barf and Belch with a thud that sent dust spiraling into the air.
Ryker’s grunt of pain echoed through the clearing as Astrid planted her boot squarely between his shoulder blades, forcing him face-first into the dirt. “Alright, big guy,” she hissed, twisting his arm behind his back with practiced efficiency. “Let’s try this again—where’s Hiccup?”
Ryker spat out a mouthful of dirt, his laughter rough and uneven against the ground. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he wheezed, his breath coming in short bursts under Astrid’s weight. His fingers twitched near the dagger at his belt, but Stormfly’s talon pressed warningly against his wrist, pinning it to the earth.
Astrid’s fingers tightened around Ryker’s collar, her knuckles pressing into the grimy leather. “Wrong answer,” she snapped, jerking his head back just enough to make him his. Behind her, Stormfly let out a low, warning rumble, her tail spines rattling like a nest of agitated snakes.
Snotlout dismounted Hookfang with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for some grand performance, “Alright, listen up, Ryker—because I’m only gonna say this once,” he declared, planting his hands on his hips. “We just wanna know where Hiccup and Viggo are. Is that so hard?” He paused, the added with a dramatic flourish, “I mean, seriously. It’s a location. Not your life story.”
Tuffnut sniffed loudly, adjusting his helmet with an air of theatrical wisdom. “Yeah, Ryker, buddy—listen to Snotlout for once in your miserable, unwashed life. Besides, let’s be real here—Hiccup’s probably sassing off Viggo’s ear right now.” He mimed a jaw flapping open and shut with his hand, ginning. “You know how he gets. Five minutes alone with a bad guy and he’s already dissecting their evil monologue like it’s poorly cooked yak roast.”
Ryker’s grin split his beard like a rusted axe through old wood. “Oh, he’s sassing alright,” he wheezed, his voice thick with amusement despite Astrid’s knee digging into his spine. “But trust me—Viggo’s got a way of making even the chattiest prisoners reconsider their life choices.” His free hand twitched toward his belt again, but Stormfly’s talon flexed, drawing a thin line of blood across his wrist. He hissed, but the grin didn’t falter. “Funny thing about dragons—they’re predictable. Always protecting their riders, Always reacting.”
Hiccup’s breath came faster now, the ropes biting into his skin with every shallow inhale. The torchlight flickered, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits across the cavern walls. Viggo was gone, but his presence lingered in the air—a taunt, a promise. Toothless’s scale was missing. That fact coiled around Hiccup’s ribs like a vice, squeezing tighter with every passing second.
The cavern trembled—a deep, groaning shudder that sent dust cascading from the ceiling in lazy spirals. Hiccup jerked his head up, wincing as a pebble bounced off his forehead. The vibration rumbled through the stone beneath his chair, and for a delirious second, he wondered if he island itself had decided to revolt against Viggo’s theatrics. Then he heard it: the unmistakable, ear-splitting roar of a Monstrous Nightmare, followed by the answering screech of a Nadder. His pulse leapt like a startled rabbit.
The cavern walls shook again, harder this time—a seismic tremor that sent Hiccup’s chair skidding an inch across the stone. Dust rained down in thick curtains, catching the torchlight like suspended gold. Somewhere beyond the cavern’s mouth, the roar repeated—closer now, underscored by the familiar warble of a Night Fury’s plasma charge building. Hiccup’s breath caught. Toothless.
The cavern shuddered a third time—not the polite tremor of distant dragonfire, but the full-bodied quake of something enormous hitting rock at speed. Hiccup’s chair tipped sideways, his shoulder slamming into the stone floor with a grunt. Dust chocked the air, stinging his eyes, but through the haze he caught the unmistakable sound of Snotlout’s voice echoing off the walls: “—SWEAR TO ODIN, TUFFNUT, IF YOU LIT MY CLOAK ON FIRE AGAIN—”
The chair’s impact rattled Hiccup’s teeth, but he barely registered the pain—not when the cavern’s ceiling was raining pebbles like a poorly constructed sandcastle. A jagged crack split the wall beside him, spider-webbing upward as the roars outside crescendoed into a symphony of dragonfire and splintering timber. Then—light. Blinding, glorious daylight speared through the collapsing rock as a section of the cavern wall exploded inward in a shower of debris.
The explosion sent a shockwave through the cavern, knocking the chair sideways and slamming Hiccup’s head against the stone floor. Stars burst behind his eyelids, but he clung to consciousness through sheer stubbornness—because through the dust and debris, a silhouette charged forward, axe glinting in the sudden sunlight. Astrid.
Astrid’s boots crunched over the shattered remains of the cavern wall before Hiccup could even blink the stars from his vision. Dust swirled around her like a storm as she vaulted over a fallen boulder, her axe already slicing through the air in a deadly arc. The blade bit deep into the ropes binding Hiccup’s wrists, severing them with a single, practiced motion.
Hiccup gasped as the ropes fell slack, his arms finally free after hours of forced immobility. Blood rushed back into his fingers with a painful tingle, but he barely had time to flex them before Astrid’s hands were on his shoulders, hauling him upright. Her grip was fierce, her eyes scanning his face for injuries with a ferocity that made his throat tighten. “You okay?” she demanded, her voice rough with dust and adrenaline.
Hiccup coughed, spitting out a mouthful of dust as Astrid’s fingers dug into his shoulders. “Never better,” he rasped, though the way his arms trembled as he pushed himself up betrayed the lie. The cavern groaned around them, another chunk of ceiling crashing down near the entrance where Stormfly’s talons scraped impatiently at the collapsing stone.
Snotlout’s voice cut through the chaos like a rusty blade, shrill and panicked. “MOVE YOUR BONES, PEOPLE! Unless you wanna be dragon chow when those hunters come back with reinforcements—which, news flash, they always do!” He flailed an arm toward the gaping hole in the cavern wall, where Hookfang’s spiked tail was already vanishing into the sunlight. “I’ve seen this movie! The sequel’s always bloodier!”
Hiccup’s knees nearly buckled as Astrid yanked him toward the gaping hole in the cavern wall, the remnants of Viggo’s hideout collapsing behind them like a dying beast. The sudden flood of sunlight was blinding after hours in the damp dark, but he’d recognize that silhouette anywhere—Toothless perched on a jagged outcrop, wings flared and pupils slit this with fury. The second their eyes met, the Night Fury launched into the air, banking sharply to avoid a falling boulder before skidding to a halt inches from Hiccup’s boots.
Toothless’s head whipped toward Hiccup, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of rope burns and stale fear. A low protective growl rumbled through his chest—one that escalated into a full-throated snarl when he caught Viggo’s lingering stench on Hiccup’s clothes. Hiccup barely had time to raise a shaking hand before Toothless barreled into him, Knocking him back a step as the dragon nosed frantically at his wrists, his shoulders, the spot where Viggo’s fingers had pressed that damn scale against his cheek.
Wind screamed in Hiccup’s ears as Toothless banked hard, the sudden ascent wrenching his stomach sideways. Below them, the cavern collapsed in a plume of dust and debris, chunks of rock tumbling into the sea like discarded bones. Astrid’s grip on his shoulders tightened as Stormfly tucked in close, her wings nearly brushing Toothless’s as they climbed higher, faster—putting distance between them and the wreckage of Viggo’s trap.
Hiccup twisted in Toothless’s saddle, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes as he glanced back toward the collapsing ruins of the cavern. Dust billowed into the sky like a dirty banner, obscuring most of the wreckage—but not the lone figure standing atop a jagged outcrop, untouched by the chaos. Viggo.
Viggo’s silhouette stood unnaturally still amidst the swirling dust, his coat rippling like a shadow given form. Even from this distance, Hiccup could feel the weight of his gaze—calculating, amused, as if their escape was just another move in a game only he understood. Toothless snarled, his wings snapping open wider as he banked sharply, putting more distance between them. Hiccup didn’t look away. Neither did Viggo.
The wind howled across the cliffs as Toothless leveled out, his wingbeats steadying into a rhythm that matched Hiccup’s racing heartbeat. Below them, the sea churned like a stirred cauldron, its froth clawing at the rocks where Viggo’s hideout had collapsed into the surf. Hiccup clenched his fists around Toothless’s saddle handles, his knuckles whitening. Viggo was still watching. He could feel it.
Hiccup leaned forward against Toothless’s neck, pressing his forehead to the dragon’s warm scales. “I’m okay, bud,” he murmured, though his voice rasped like sandpaper. Toothless whined low in his throat, his tail lashing as he side-eyed Hiccup’s raw wrists. The ropes had left angry red welts—physical proof of Viggo’s little hospitality.
The horizon blurred as Toothless surged forward, the wind whipping tears from Hiccup’s stinging eyes. Behind them, the last remnants of Viggo’s cavern collapsed into the sea with a thunderous groan, swallowed by the waves like a bad memory. But Hiccup didn’t look back—not when Astrid’s hand was still clamped around his forearm, her grip tight enough to bruise, as if she feared he’d vanish again the moment she let go.
The first glimpse of Dragon’s Edge pierced the horizon like a jagged crown—smoke curling from the forge, the angular silhouette of watchtowers etched against the sunset, the distant glitch of Gronkles circling the cliffs. It should’ve felt like relief. Instead, Hiccup’s chest tightened like the ropes had never left his wrists.