Hiccup's Point of View
A year had passed since I was reborn, and with each passing day, the weight of my knowledge pressed heavier on my small, fragile shoulders.
Berk was not a kind place.
The cold never truly left, always lurking in the winds that howled through the village, rattling the wooden houses perched atop the cliffs. The storms came often, hammering against the rooftops and soaking the ground in endless rain. Even on the calmest days, the tension never faded—because dragons were always near, always watching, always attacking.
I saw it all from the safety of my mother's arms.
Valka carried me through the village wrapped in thick blankets, her hold firm yet gentle. She shielded me from the worst of the cold, from the smoke that billowed from burning dragon corpses, from the bitter stares of hardened Vikings who had long since accepted their harsh reality.
I couldn't speak, couldn't walk properly, but I wasn't blind.
Berk was loud. The clang of metal rang from the forge where Gobber worked tirelessly, crafting weapons that would be used to kill dragons. The voices of warriors, gruff and commanding, filled the air as they prepared for the next attack, the next raid, the next battle they saw as inevitable. The roars of dragons in the distance sent ripples of fear through the village—except in me.
I didn't fear them.
I knew them.
And that was the problem.
I wasn't just the infant son of Stoick the Vast and Valka. I was someone else too. Someone who had lived another life, one where I had watched this story play out before. I knew the fate of this village. The fate of my mother.
She would be taken.
Every moment I spent in her arms was a countdown to the day she would disappear, carried away by Cloudjumper in a raid that no one would see coming.
She would be gone, and I would be left behind.
I hated it.
I hated knowing what was coming and being powerless to stop it.
Valka was different from the rest of Berk. She didn't look at dragons with hate. She didn't run when they attacked, didn't flinch when their shadows passed overhead. When she held me close and whispered soft words about the sky, about the creatures that flew above us, I could hear it—the longing in her voice, the sorrow buried beneath her words.
She would leave me.
Not by choice. But she would.
And I could do nothing to stop it.
I wanted to scream at her, to tell her to stay inside, to never go near the dragons when they attacked. I wanted to tell her what I knew, what was going to happen. But I couldn't.
I was just a baby.
No one would believe me, even if I could force the words from my tiny, useless mouth.
So I watched.
Watched my father, the strongest warrior in Berk, stand tall and unyielding, blind to the pain that was about to tear his heart apart. Watched the villagers sharpen their weapons, preparing for a war they would never win. Watched my mother hold me close, her arms warm and protective, completely unaware that one day soon, she would vanish into the sky.
I should have been excited about this world, about the adventure and wonder that came with it. But I wasn't.
I had been given knowledge of the future, but no power to change it.
All I could do was wait for the storm to come.