Hiccup's Point of View
The forest was still, the silence thick like a held breath. Only the distant hum of the ocean and the occasional crackle of smoldering wreckage remained as reminders of the night's destruction. Back in the village, they celebrated their so-called victory.
But there was no victory here. Only blood and fire.
I moved soundlessly through the underbrush, my steps deliberate, my presence no more than a shadow against the moonlit trees. This was routine. After every raid, I ventured beyond the walls of Berk, slipping away while the others basked in their slaughter, searching for the aftermath they ignored.
And tonight, it had led me here.
The clearing opened before me, revealing the wreckage of battle. Splintered trees, scorched earth, torn nets. And in the center of it all—
A Night Fury.
Trapped. Bound.
The bola cords coiled tightly around its sleek black body, pinning its wings and tangling its tail. It struggled, muscles rippling beneath its obsidian scales, but the bindings held fast. Its breath was heavy, labored from exhaustion, yet its eyes—piercing green, filled with intelligence—still burned with untamed fire.
A low growl rumbled from its throat the instant it saw me.
A warning. A promise.
But I did not flinch.
I met its gaze, unwavering.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, as I stepped closer, the realization settled in.
This was not the Toothless I remembered.
Its frame was leaner, its body smaller, its features sharper and more angular. The way it moved—less brute force, more precision, more calculation—confirmed what I already knew.
Female.
The thought sat heavily in my mind, not as a passing observation but as an undeniable certainty. This Night Fury was something unique.
A new variable.
I crouched just beyond her reach, setting my weapon down as I did. The blade made the faintest sound against the grass, but she noticed. Of course, she did. Her narrowed eyes never left me, her muscles tense, coiled like a spring waiting to snap.
"You don't need to fight me," I said, my voice calm, measured.
Her growl deepened, fangs bared.
"I know what you're thinking," I continued, tilting my head slightly. "That I'm like them. That I'm just another Viking coming to take what isn't his, to kill what he fears."
The bitterness in my words dripped like poison, and for a second, her growl faltered.
"They're the real monsters," I said coldly. "My village. My father. They call this war. I call it cowardice."
The words left my lips with unfiltered venom. "They destroy because it's easier than understanding. They kill because it's easier than coexisting. They fear your kind, not because you're dangerous, but because you remind them of their own weakness."
She was watching me differently now. The tension in her limbs hadn't vanished, but something in her eyes shifted.
She was listening.
"I see them for what they are," I said. "And I despise them for it."
My hands curled into fists at my sides. I kept my expression even, my voice steady, but the truth was, the anger in me never faded. It smoldered beneath my skin like embers waiting for air.
"They took my mother from me," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "She left, not because she was weak, but because this village is. She saw what I see now—that there is no future in a place built on fear and blood."
The dragon's head tilted slightly, her green eyes searching mine, as if she could see the raw truth behind my words.
"And my father?" I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "He doesn't even know she's alive. Because she won't come back to a place that refuses to change. And I hate her for it."
The admission settled between us, bitter and cold.
"I don't care about Berk," I went on, my voice sharp like the edge of a blade. "I don't care about the people who mock me, who think I'm nothing. I don't care about my father's disappointment or his legacy. They mean nothing to me."
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself.
"But you," I said, nodding toward her, "you're not like them. Dragons don't lie. They don't destroy for the sake of it. They fight because they must. Because survival demands it."
She tensed slightly, as though bracing for a trick.
I lifted my hands, slow and deliberate. "That's why I trust your kind more than I'll ever trust a Viking."
Silence stretched between us.
Then, without another word, I reached for the bola cords.
Her growl returned, deep and warning, but I didn't stop. I met her gaze once more, letting her see the truth in my eyes.
I wasn't afraid.
And I wasn't her enemy.
The knots loosened beneath my fingers, the bindings falling away one by one.
The second she was free, she lunged to her feet, wings snapping open in a display of dominance. Her growl turned into a snarl, fangs bared as she loomed over me.
I didn't move.
I didn't flinch.
I simply looked up at her, my expression unreadable, my gaze steady.
She hesitated.
She had expected fear. Submission. A fight.
But not this.
Not me.
Her eyes flickered with something almost close to confusion before, at last, the tension in her shoulders lessened. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped back.
I exhaled, though my face remained impassive.
"Good choice," I murmured.
She didn't acknowledge my words. Instead, she turned, her lithe body slipping into the cover of darkness. In seconds, she was gone, nothing more than a shadow against the trees.
But I knew this wasn't the last time I'd see her.
I stood, dusting the dirt from my knees, my mind already shifting ahead, toward what came next.
The dragons of this world were more than the beasts my people believed them to be. They were powerful. Intelligent.
And they were my key to reshaping everything.
Berk was rotting from the inside out. Its people were shackled by their own ignorance, their own hatred.
But change was coming.
And when it did, the world would finally understand its place.