Veil's Point of View – The Changewing
We were bred from mist and silence.
Made to vanish, to strike unseen.
And now they've made the mistake of looking away.
I slithered through the smoke of the battlefield, slipping between ruined tents and burning towers. Invisibility wrapped around me like second skin—natural, effortless. These humans flailed in the dark, hunting for shadows.
But I was already inside their walls.
They caged us. They chained the wild.
And I would melt every lock they dared forge.
A low hiss rose from my throat as I reached the row of iron-barred cages that rattled with panicked breaths and flickering flames. Each one held a dragon—young, frightened, too weak to fight. I could smell the blood on the bars. The pain baked into the steel.
I bared my fangs and leaned close.
Acid dripped from my jaw—corrosive and burning. It hissed as it touched the iron, steam rising in thick, choking clouds. The bars groaned, warped, collapsed. I reached in with a claw and peeled what was left apart like rotten bark.
The dragon inside—a young Typhoomerang—screeched in terror, but I lowered my head and purred low in our tongue.
"Free. Go. The sky is open."
It didn't hesitate.
I moved to the next cage. Then the next. Acid. Steel. Screams. Freedom.
Again.
Again.
Until I smelled it.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
I turned—drawn like a blade to its sheath—and my heart twisted in a way I thought lost to time.
There, caged alone in a rusted box near the back... was a Changewing hatchling.
Barely the size of a Terrible Terror. Wings underdeveloped. Skin too dry. Scales bruised. It trembled as a man kicked the bars and laughed, jabbing at it with the blunt end of a spear.
Something inside me snapped.
The fog around my body shimmered—then vanished.
They saw me.
They reached for weapons.
They didn't have time to raise them.
I was already upon them.
I hit the closest one with my claws, his ribcage collapsing with a wet crunch. The next tried to scream—but acid surged from my mouth and seared his throat shut before he got the chance.
They screamed. Ran. Begged.
I didn't hear them.
I only heard the whimper of my kin behind that rusted cage.
I tore the next man in half with my tail.
Another fell, screaming, as acid ate through his armor and dissolved the skin beneath.
They tried to rally—a group of six with fire nets and barbed chains.
They circled me.
I vanished.
Then I reappeared behind the leader, splitting his head from his shoulders with one savage strike.
Panic set in.
They broke.
I hunted.
One by one, I found them in the dark—shredded them. Coated their faces in acid. Left their bodies unrecognizable.
I didn't stop until the last one lay twitching.
Still visible, I stalked toward the cage and melted the lock with a thin stream of venom. The door creaked open, and the hatchling curled tighter, terrified.
I lay down beside the opening, lowering my head until our snouts almost touched.
"Come," I whispered. "You are not alone anymore."
It sniffled.
Then it stepped forward—slowly, then faster—burying itself against my chest. I curled around it protectively, wings sheltering the little one from the blood-soaked air.
I looked up at the sky beyond the smoke.
The Queen and the king burned the camp above.
The vanguard ripped the humans to pieces.
And I...
I had found my reason to kill for my alpha.
To protect my kin.
Hiccup's Point of View
The fire danced behind me as I walked through what remained of the southern wall.
My claws dripped blood—some burned into ash, some still wet. My wings had shredded three tents just moments ago. I'd crushed a dozen more beneath my tail.
And I was not finished.
A scream cracked the air nearby. I turned, spotted a man trying to crawl away with half a leg. I didn't even glance again—I stepped on his skull and moved on.
Then I saw it.
The command tent.
Or what was left of it.
It was tucked behind a smoldering wagon, nearly missed in the smoke. Reinforced with brass. Heavily guarded before the strike. Now, only the scent of gold and cowardice clung to it.
I stalked forward, smoke curling around my form, and stepped through the flaps—
And found him.
The camp leader.
A tall man, clothed in furs lined with dragon scales. Greedy eyes. Filthy soul.
And hunched over a large chest filled to the brim with gold.
His back was turned. He was muttering, frantically shoving coins into a leather pouch, ignoring the screams, ignoring the fire, ignoring his dying men.
He was planning to flee.
My growl rolled like thunder.
He turned—and froze.
Too late.
I slammed into him, pinning him hard to the ground beneath my claws. He screamed, squirmed, tried to reach for a blade strapped to his thigh.
I snapped it in half with one talon.
His voice cracked. "G-get off me, you filthy beast—"
I narrowed my eyes.
And I began to shift.
Bones pulled. Skin twisted. Wings folded back. My claws retracted just enough to grip his shoulders with humanoid hands—hands still scaled, still powerful. My tail slithered beside me, and the glow in my eyes only intensified.
Human.
Hybrid.
Dragon.
Everything they feared.
He stopped moving.
His breath hitched—panic rising behind his eyes. He wasn't looking at a mindless creature anymore.
He was staring at judgment.
I leaned close, my voice a whisper carved from fire.
"You know what's coming," I said. "You know what I am."
He swallowed hard.
"You were planning to abandon your men to die," I added coldly. "You knew the moment the skies turned black, didn't you? That you'd never win."
"W-we didn't know—" he stammered.
I silenced him with pressure—just enough to dislocate his shoulder. He howled.
"You sell their lives for coin," I muttered. "You skin dragons for gold. But even worse? You abandon your own."
My eyes narrowed into slits.
"You humans make me sick."
His voice trembled. "What do you want...?"
I unsheathed a blade from my belt—a short, curved knife of obsidian steel forged with Tooth's own flames. I dragged it gently across his throat—not cutting, just reminding.
He flinched like a beaten animal.
"This is how this will go," I said, each word like a hammer against his skull. "You're going to answer every question I ask. You're going to speak clearly. And if you lie... I won't waste time killing you. I'll feed you to the Scauldron. Alive."
He whimpered.
"Because after all this is over..." I continued, voice like ice, "if you don't do exactly what I say, things will not go well for you."
Then I showed him my teeth.
And he broke.
"I-It wasn't just us!" he spat, his voice cracking. "There's a buyer—a lord, a collector. He doesn't care what it costs. He pays top coin for dragon parts—scales, fangs, venom sacs... but bones—he wants bones most of all."
My expression darkened.
"Who."
"I-I don't know his name," the man stammered. "Only that he pays through coded drops. But he sent a message. A very specific one."
I leaned closer.
The fire behind me flared, outlining my silhouette in hellish gold.
"If we found a Night Fury—if we delivered its bones..." he swallowed, "the pay would be quadrupled."
The world fell silent.
Not even the fire dared crackle.
Then I smiled.
It wasn't kind.
"You were never going to survive this," I whispered.
And the knife gleamed in my hand like a promise.
Torrent's Point of View – The Scauldron
The sea was quiet.
But I wasn't.
Beneath the surface, I swam like smoke—silent, coiled, waiting. Above, the shoreline burned. Screams echoed from the cliffs and trees. My kin fought in fire and air.
But this was my battlefield.
My world.
And the humans brought their ships into it.
They thought the water would protect them. That sails and hulls and ropes would grant them escape. They were wrong.
I breached the surface with a hiss of steam, sea boiling around me.
Three ships. Armed. Ready. Trying to flee with whatever dragon remains they could still salvage. Cowards. Looters.
Thieves.
I rose high enough that the shadow of my body cast darkness across all three decks.
Men shouted.
Crossbows were raised.
I opened my jaws.
And screamed.
A blast of boiling water ripped from my throat—so hot it hissed against the salt spray, so strong it tore through the first ship like paper. Wood cracked. Flesh cooked. Armor melted. Men screamed as they were flung overboard, skin peeling from their bones.
I turned my head and fired again.
The second ship exploded in flame as the water turned steam against its powder stores. The sails ignited. The mast cracked. Figures dove into the sea only to be pulled under by the currents left in my wake.
I was the ocean's rage made flesh.
I struck the third ship with my full body—shoulders crashing through the hull, tail whipping around and crushing the stern. It tilted. Capsized.
Gone.
All gone.
And yet...
Even as I hovered in the water, chest heaving, watching the corpses and splinters drift into the deep, my mind didn't wander to bloodlust.
It wandered to them.
The ones I fought with.
The ones I followed.
The ones who—against all expectation—accepted me.
When I first met him, Hiccup didn't flinch at my size. He didn't run or set traps. He faced me head-on—head to head—without tricks or tools.
And he won.
Not because I was weak.
But because he was strong.
Because he looked me in the eyes and didn't see a beast.
He saw family.
And then, for the first time in my long, solitary life, I trained with others. I sparred with Razorwind in aerial dives. I played current games with Thrash. I listened to Veil's ghost stories at dusk.
We were more than a squad.
We were pack.
And Hiccup?
He was our Alpha.
Not because he demanded it.
But because he earned it.
Because he protected us.
Because he gave us purpose.
And now, I would burn the sea to defend that purpose.
Another ship tried to round the southern cliff, half its crew still tying sails. I dove, coiled, and breached again—this time twisting midair.
My entire mass slammed into the ship's deck like a tidal god.
The vessel split in two.
I roared, steam and fury pouring from my mouth as the waves dragged the wreck beneath the surface.
No survivors.
Only message.
Only memory.
The sea belongs to us now.
And I... I belong to him.
To Hiccup.
Alpha.
Family.
Fang's Point of View – The Monstrous Nightmare
I live for fire.
Not just to burn, but to be fire. To remind the world what a true dragon is.
They called us monsters. Beasts. Tools for war.
But now they cower behind walls made of wood and steel, screaming like prey.
Fitting.
I lit myself aflame mid-roar, scales igniting with a wave of heat that boiled the blood of those too close. I crashed through their pitiful barricades, wings sweeping tents aside like insects. My tail shattered a cart carrying bound hatchlings—two flew off before they even touched the ground.
"Fly!" I snarled in our tongue, torching the cage behind them. "Go while the sky is ours!"
I turned toward the main line of resistance—thirty men with shields, traps, and chains. They thought numbers would save them.
I opened my jaws.
And unleashed hell.
A cone of fire ripped through them. Shields melted. Screams cut off mid-note. Fire danced across their clothes and ignited the oils they carried—traps meant for dragons now turning their bearers into shrieking torches.
I heard them call out, "Monster!"
As if that word meant something to me.
Let them scream.
I'm not here to be understood.
I'm here to remind them.
I roared again, burning through a second wave of would-be dragon wranglers, stomping through the wreckage of a tower. Each flame I unleashed bought another second of freedom for our kind.
This is the way it should be.
We burn.
They run.
⸻
Daggermaw's Point of View – The Deadly Nadder
I wasn't made for slaughter.
Not like Fang.
He lives in chaos. Thrives in the inferno. I? I calculate. I protect. I choose when to kill.
But tonight...
Tonight, there is no room for mercy.
I stood at the center of the camp's southern pen, surrounded by young ones—wounded, afraid, chained, or too weak to fly. I kept my body low and wings spread wide, tail spikes twitching as the smoke rolled in.
A group of hunters tried to flank from the rear.
I opened my maw and fired a volley of spines—one after another, each one sparking as it struck steel. A breath of flame followed, igniting the sparks mid-air.
Boom—crack—flash.
The explosion sent three men flying backward, screaming, half their armor burning.
Two more tried to rush the pen from the front. I leapt over the hatchlings and slammed into them, skewering one through the chest with a tail spine, blasting the other in the face with a burst of flame and sparks. He crumpled before he hit the dirt.
I turned to the smallest dragon behind me—a wounded Gronckle hatchling with half a wing.
"Stay close to my feet," I growled. "No matter what."
He whimpered and did exactly as I ordered.
More humans came—ten this time.
Too many.
I narrowed my eyes.
Flicked my tail to the side.
Spines launched like darts—every one aimed at oil pouches and powder horns.
Fwoom.
Detonation.
I threw fire after the burst and watched them scream as flame painted the sky above the pens.
One reached for a bow.
I sprinted across the clearing, leapt, and tackled him through a wagon.
He didn't get back up.
Around me, the little ones were staring—not with fear, but hope.
I stood tall, roaring so loud even the ground seemed to answer.
And I whispered to myself:
"For our Alpha. For our queen. For our kind."