The campfire crackled low in the center of the ruins, its light casting long shadows against the scorched ground. Around it stood the vanguard—six dragons bloodied but victorious—and Hiccup, standing tall, arms folded, his expression cold.
Luna sat beside him, her gaze locked on his face, protective and patient. She could feel it—his anger. Not wild, not reckless.
Focused. Lethal.
Hiccup let the silence stretch, the flames dancing across his armor and claws.
Then he spoke.
"The one behind all this—the one paying for the dragons—he's not part of any known faction. No Outcast, no rogue clan. He's something new."
Murmurs stirred in the minds of the dragons listening. Razorwind's wings shifted. Daggermaw's spines flicked.
Hiccup's tone dropped lower.
"The man I interrogated didn't know his name. Called him a 'collector.' Said he's a rich Viking—new to the game. Showed up recently in the archipelago. No tribe markings. No known allegiance."
He looked around slowly, locking eyes with each of his elite.
"Never goes to the same hunters twice. Always disappears. Always deals through intermediaries."
"What does he want?" Fang growled.
Hiccup's jaw clenched.
"Bones."
A wave of disgust rolled through the gathering.
"He pays top coin for dragon bones," Hiccup continued. "Always from one species at a time. Never more. Never mixed. He requests one dragon... and when he gets it, he vanishes until the next order."
"Why bones?" Veil hissed, barely visible in the shadows.
"No one knows," Hiccup said. "The bastard never says. Some believe he's a collector—someone obsessed with dragons, but in all the wrong ways. He doesn't want them alive. He wants their remains. Fresh. Said it helps with preservation."
Torrent let out a low, rumbling growl. Even Luna bared her teeth.
Hiccup's claws curled as he looked toward the darkened woods.
"He already got his first dragon."
Silence.
"A Deadly Nadder."
Daggermaw's head jerked upward.
"Killed instantly. Deboned. The rest was sold off—meat, hide, teeth. There's nothing left. No burial. No dignity."
The wind seemed to stop.
"It was clean," Hiccup admitted, his voice colder than before. "At least the Nadder didn't suffer. But that's the only mercy. Because this... this is just the beginning."
His claws scraped against the stone beside him, the stars within them dimming beneath a shadow of rage.
"He's started a collection," Hiccup said. "One species down. Others to come."
"Do we know where he is?" Razorwind asked.
"No," Hiccup said. "But the hunter told me this was his first camp. He plans to move on. He'll go to other hunting parties. He's patient. Precise. He won't come back here for a while. Not until he chooses the next species."
"But when he shows himself again..." Luna murmured.
"We hunt," Hiccup finished.
His voice was sharp. Final. Absolute.
"When he reveals himself—when we know his face, his tribe, or the shadow he crawls from—we end him. No warnings. No negotiation. Kill on sight."
He let that order hang in the air like a blade.
"And one more thing," Hiccup added, eyes flaring with anger that made the nearby dragons flinch.
"The hunter said if they found a Night Fury... they'd be paid four times the amount."
A hush swept over the camp.
Luna growled low, venom in her breath.
Hiccup reached for her hand, claws threading between hers, grounding them both.
"They want her. They want us."
He looked out at the dragons who now called him Alpha.
"They will not have her."
He turned back to his vanguard, each standing ready.
"From this moment on... we are no longer just protecting dragons."
He stepped forward, voice rising.
"We're hunting the ones who hunt us."
—Time Skip: Day Three After the Battle—
Fifty dragons.
That's how many chose to stay. Chose me.
Parents and hatchlings. Elders who had known captivity. Young who had barely tasted freedom. They came to me willingly—bowing, pledging, not with words but with instinct.
And I welcomed them with open wings.
I can't lie. It thrilled me. Not in a selfish way... not just power.
It was hope.
Because this is just the beginning.
The birth of a flock. A force. A future.
⸻
It happened on the second day.
The moment I knew this was truly a family now.
Most of the hatchlings had been healed by then, thanks to Lyra—our red-striped Prickleboggle with healing flames. She and the others had worked tirelessly, and by morning, the little terrors had their energy back.
Which, in hatchling logic... meant no rules.
I was trying to inspect the nets and loading plans for the wounded dragons when I heard the giggles.
Then the stampede.
Tiny wings, stubby claws, flicking tails.
And then I was tackled.
Five—no, six—hatchlings pounced on me from the shadows, squeaking with glee, climbing over my back and nibbling at my tail.
I told myself not to indulge them.
That I was the Alpha. That I needed to command respect.
But then one of them—the little Gronckle with a crooked horn—nuzzled into my neck with a squeaky growl and chirped, "Rawr!"
And I cracked.
Because if I didn't let myself feel this, if I didn't laugh with them... then I'd be no better than those humans who saw dragons as tools.
I'm an Alpha.
And an Alpha protects his own.
So I dropped to the ground, rolled over with an exaggerated groan, and whispered, "They're hunting me..."
They squealed in delight.
We played for what felt like hours—me dashing between rocks, pretending to trip, getting 'captured,' only to escape again. They howled, flapping and stumbling after me, teeth clacking as they tried to "bring down the big one."
But eventually, I struck.
Spun around.
Leapt.
And pinned them all.
They wriggled under me, wide-eyed and squirming.
"I warned you," I growled playfully, "now I'm going to eat you!"
They shrieked.
Laughter and terror in perfect harmony.
Apparently, that line's a hit.
Luna caught me mid-tickle, arms crossed, shaking her head with a smile she tried—and failed—to hide.
She didn't stop me though.
She knew.
This is what it meant to lead.
To care.
Not everything is healed, of course.
Some dragons still bear deep wounds—broken wings, torn sinew, fractured bones that even Lyra and the Prickleboggle healers cannot fix in a single night. Her fire heals faster than most, but some damage needs more than magic.
Time. Care. Patience.
And we'll give them that.
We found nets buried in the wreckage—heavy-duty, reinforced ones, meant to drag dragons into captivity. Ironically fitting. They were never meant to carry the wounded gently across the sky... but that's exactly what they did.
Dragons who could fly doubled up, lifting the nets with careful precision, guided by Fang and Razorwind from the front. Veil vanished and reappeared mid-air, checking the knots and keeping watch. Daggermaw walked among the wounded before takeoff, guarding the hatchlings as if they were his own.
By dawn, we were in the air.
The camp was nothing but ruin behind us—scorched earth, melted iron, and silence.
But we didn't leave empty-handed.
We took every coin, every gem, every ounce of gold those insects hoarded. Chains, amulets, engraved armor—ours now. Claimed by blood.
Not for greed.
For future strength.
We will need resources—materials to build, forge, defend. The humans have used wealth to control. I'll use it to fortify.
Because I know one truth now that the old me... the other me from the films before I was reborn... never fully grasped.
That Berk was nothing more than a piece of filth something lesser.
It was a trap.
It lulled him into thinking one safe haven was enough. That hiding was security.
And all it took to shatter that illusion was one man with three mind controlled dragons.
Three.
That Hiccup ran with his tail between his legs.
That Hiccup gave up the skies and retreated beneath the sea like a ghost.
That will never be me.
One island isn't safety. It's a coffin.
A single location can be destroyed.
I won't repeat his failure.
We will expand.
Multiple islands. Independent strongholds. Territory, not secrecy. Power, not passivity. Every location defended. Every path patrolled.
This won't be a nest.
It'll be a kingdom.
And each island will be guarded by dragons worthy of the role.
Fang.
Razorwind.
Torrent.
Veil.
Thrash.
Daggermaw.
My generals.
My teeth and claws across the archipelago.
This world already belongs to dragons. They just don't know it yet.
But they will.
Because I'm not building a hiding place.
I'm building a throne.
And I'll claim it.
One step at a time.
⸻
We flew as one.
The healthy led the skies, the injured rested in nets carried by their kin. Hatchlings were tucked safely between protective necks and curled wings. The sun rose behind us, casting gold across a sky no longer darkened by smoke.
The main group veered east—toward the untouched island near Berk. No human had claimed it.
Now it bears my mark.
The first sanctuary of many.
And my vanguard? They flew with me—toward the cove. My original stronghold. Still useful. Still hidden. But no longer enough.
It'll serve as our war room.
Our foundation.
But not the future.
Not all dragons belong to the air.
Some belong to the water. And watching Torrent swim below us, sleek and calm in his command of the ocean's surface, a new thought stirred:
Why stop at land?
Why not build down?
A kingdom beneath the waves.
A draconic Atlantis.
Sheltered. Protected. Impossible to reach.
Now that... that would be a fun build.