Hiccup's Point of View
The wind screamed past my ears as we descended from the clouds.
Luna flew ahead, sleek and deadly, a phantom in the dying light. I followed close behind in my full dragon form, wings stretched wide, claws extended, and my fury barely caged behind rows of serrated fangs.
Below us, the camp bustled with movement. Hunters shouted over the clang of metal and the cries of caged dragons. Fires crackled in iron braziers. Saws whined. Ropes snapped taut around wings that should've never been bound.
Then they looked up.
Too late.
Luna dove first, a shriek of wrath splitting the sky.
Her plasma blast tore through their central tower in a streak of violet flame, turning wood and flesh alike to ash. Screams erupted. Men scrambled for weapons, for cover, for answers.
But I was already upon them.
I hit the earth like a meteor—wings folding, tail cracking stone, my roar shaking the bones of every coward who thought they ruled these grounds. I felt the shock of impact ripple through the camp. Tents ripped free. Crates shattered. Traps broke open under my feet.
Hunters swarmed like ants, shoving one another aside, fumbling with spears and crossbows.
I didn't slow.
One man lunged with a burning net. I met him with my claws, his body crumpling like wet paper. Another raised a blade to a hatchling's neck—I vaporized him with a blast of azure fire before he even finished the swing.
Around me, my vanguard struck like shadows.
Torrent burst from the southern stream, dragging a hunter screaming beneath the surface. Razorwind swept through tents like a scythe of wind, wings slicing through wood, steel, and flesh alike. Veil flickered in and out of visibility, leaving only corpses in her wake.
Fang hit the northern barricade with a thunderous crash, sending men flying, while Daggermaw scorched the archers from their towers, his spine volley raining down like barbed hellfire.
But I didn't stop.
My rage was a living thing now. I tore through cages, freed the chained, and shattered every vile structure that dared to imprison dragon kind. Flames spread behind me. Ash filled the air. The stench of burning greed clung to the sky.
Then I heard it.
"The beast! Over there! Gods—kill it!"
I turned.
A group of hunters stood huddled near a cart piled with chains and skinned pelts. One of them—a grizzled man with black-streaked armor—pointed a shaking hand at me.
"Shoot it! Bring it down! It's just a monster!"
They raised their weapons.
I stepped forward slowly.
The fire cast flickering light behind me, and my form became more than shadow—it became myth. My eyes caught the blaze, glowing brighter, reflecting the storm inside me. Their weapons trembled in their hands.
"It's a monster!" one of them yelled again, desperation in his voice.
And I chuckled.
Low.
Deliberate.
They froze.
Because I wasn't supposed to be able to laugh.
And then I spoke.
Not with a roar.
Not with growls or snarls.
But with words.
Human words.
Clear.
Cold.
Deadly.
"No..." I said, my voice echoing like stone cracking through the air. "I'm something far worse."
Their weapons dropped.
Their courage shattered.
And for the first time that night, they understood:
The beast they had taunted...
Was listening.
Thinking.
Judging.
And death was no longer silent.
Luna's Point of View
The stench of blood, fire, and fear hung in the air like poison.
I flew low over the camp, plasma building in my throat, vision sharpened by rage. Everywhere I looked, there was suffering. Hatchlings—our hatchlings—chained and bleeding, their cries piercing my ears like daggers.
I couldn't hear anything else anymore.
Only them.
The broken.
The innocent.
The forgotten.
And the humans who dared to smile while they screamed.
My wings folded. I dropped like a spear, slamming into the heart of a cluster of men armed with barbed hooks and burning whips.
They never had a chance.
My claws tore through bone and armor alike. One screamed—briefly—before my tail snapped his spine like a twig. Another tried to run.
I shot him in the back.
His body vanished in a blast of violet light and scorched dust.
I landed beside a cage—thin iron bars twisted around a terrified Typhoomerang hatchling. Its eyes were bloodshot. One wing was bent wrong. A metal collar cut into its throat.
My fury ignited again.
I swiped my claws through the cage. Steel bent like paper. The hatchling flinched, but I lowered my head slowly and let out a low, melodic croon.
The same croon my mother once used on me.
It blinked, confused, then chirped weakly.
"Run," I whispered in our tongue. "Stay low. Hide with the others."
It bolted.
Behind me, more humans approached—spears raised.
Insects.
I spun around, my wings flaring wide.
And I screamed.
The sound split the battlefield like thunder—dragons turned toward me, even in the chaos. My roar was command. It was law.
"You," I growled to the freed adults, a trio of Gronckles and a young Thunderdrum. "Protect the young. Shield them. Kill anyone that threatens them."
They didn't hesitate.
They obeyed.
The Thunderdrum let out a bass roar that sent two humans flying as it charged. The Gronckles snarled and snapped, waddling after a line of fleeing poachers who dared raise blades to the hatchlings.
I leapt into the air again, wings flapping once—twice—before I landed near another cluster of cages.
These were worse.
They were glass-walled and rune-bound—designed to weaken dragons slowly. I saw a terrified Changewing curled in one, nearly invisible but breathing shallowly. In the next, a Terrible Terror twitched in its sleep—its leg twisted and broken.
My claws dug into the earth.
And then I roared again.
Not for attention.
Not for unity.
For death.
Humans scrambled from the tents nearby, alerted by the sound. One raised a flame-tipped spear, shouting something unintelligible.
I blasted him into ash.
Another pulled a crossbow.
I was already behind him before the bolt loosed.
He fell in pieces.
For every hatchling I freed, another piece of my old self broke. That part of me that once considered peace... that once wondered if humans could change.
They can't.
Not these ones.
Every one of them had a hand in this. Every one of them laughed when a hatchling cried. Every one of them would do it again for coin.
So I gave them nothing.
No mercy.
No trial.
Only annihilation.
By the time I landed near the forge tent, three more dragons had joined me—freed fighters, bloody and snarling.
I turned to them, eyes glowing.
"Kill them all," I ordered, voice deep and sharp. "Burn their nests. Leave nothing standing. No survivors."
One, a scarred Nadder, hesitated. "Even the ones running?"
"Especially the ones running."
He grinned.
And ran.
The ground shook from Torrent's emergence near the west trench. I saw him fling a man screaming into the fire before disappearing again beneath the water.
Above, Razorwind soared like a shadow, his wings slicing a fleeing wagon apart before it could leave the gates.
This was ours now.
The sky. The earth. The blood that stained it.
And I would see to it personally that not one soul walked away from this slaughter.
For every broken wing.
For every cry left unheard.
For every hatchling who would never fly again.
They would pay.
They would all pay.
Razorwind's Point of View
I once soared through the world's untouched skies.
Felt the breath of the high winds before humans ever built their first walls. I've flown beside kings and queens of flame and shadow, above clouds heavy with storm. I have seen the rise of dragonflights. And their fall.
But nothing I've seen in all my years... compares to this sickness.
Humans.
I glide above their camp now, the stench of their greed staining the sky beneath me. My wings span wider than their tents—smoother than their steel. Below, I see the broken ones—our young—dragons too weak to fly, too frightened to roar.
Chained like livestock.
Bleeding for coin.
Used.
I feel it. The scream rising in my chest. The rage in my bones. I do not let it loose yet—not until my Alpha commands it.
Because we are more than fury. We are precision.
I circle once more, gliding silently on the wind, my blade-like wings whispering through the treetops.
My Alpha.
The one who broke me in battle. Who bled to earn my loyalty, not demanded it. Who tamed us not with fear, but strength. Who gave us purpose again.
Hiccup.
He is no longer what he once was—no longer merely flesh. He is fire, fury, and fate all forged into one. And when he calls, I come. When he strikes, I follow. Not because he owns me.
Because I believe in him.
The sky trembles tonight. Not from the storm, but from us.
Below, I see humans laughing around a dying hatchling. One pokes it with a stick. Another kicks it back toward its cage.
The wind hums through my wings.
They will die for that.
Alpha says there are rare humans—precious few—who protect dragons. Who see us not as beasts, but equals. Friends. Kin.
But I have never met one.
In all my years... I have never found a human worthy of being spared.
And now, as I fold my wings and dive, I feel nothing but certainty.
If mercy is the exception, then it does not belong here.
Not tonight.
My wings slice through two sentry towers as I pass, splintering them to ruin. The humans scream. I turn, wings bladed with air, and sweep a row of archers from their perch. They fall like dying leaves.
One fires a bolt at me.
It scratches my scale.
He reloads.
I land behind him silently.
And with one movement—one breath—I sever him in half with the edge of my wing.
His corpse hits the earth before the sound of it does.
This is not war.
This is correction.
We are dragons.
They are pests.
And tonight, we remind them of the order of things.
I rise again, smoke curling beneath me, flame painting the air with vengeance. My Alpha's fire lights the horizon. The Night Fury Queen carves a path through those who dared harm our young.
This is our world.
They simply forgot.
And now—
We will teach them.