Astrid's Point of View
Dragon training wasn't training anymore.
It was war prep.
Every morning, Gobber led us into the arena—not with jokes, but orders. His voice no longer carried mischief. Only weight. Only grim purpose.
We were there to learn how to kill.
The Zippleback lunged harder now, fangs flashing with calculated intent. The Terrible Terror, small as it was, didn't run anymore. It snapped and clawed with wild defiance, daring anyone to underestimate it. The Gronckle flattened its body like a boulder and only moved when provoked—and when it did, it charged.
But none of them compared to her.
The Nadder.
Stormfly.
Hiccup named her before he left, after finishing her treatment with his strange black herbs and that haunting voice. His song sounded like death smiling—elegant, terrible, perfect.
Stormfly earned that name. She wasn't just fast—she was a blur of wings, fire, and fury. She enjoyed pain in battle. The more hits she took, the more dangerous she became. Her eyes would gleam like blue fire, and her spines would shiver with delight every time someone swung a blade at her.
No one could get near her.
Except me.
⸻
I don't know why she lets me close.
Maybe she senses it. That I don't belong to Berk anymore. That my loyalty changed the day Hiccup stepped into the arena and showed them all what power really was.
The others think I'm still one of them. They joke, they shake, they sneak glances at the dragons, then at each other.
But every time training begins?
I just sit.
Right at the gate. Arms crossed. Silent.
The dragons leave me alone.
They know.
Gothi still hasn't decided who gets the first kill. Gobber says that's her right. Goldie will approve it, but she won't push it. Not yet.
No one wants to kill the dragons.
Not even the ones pretending they do.
The fear is thick. Not just of the dragons.
Of him.
Four days since Hiccup walked out of Berk's arena.
Four days since he left the corpse of that arrogant bastard bleeding in front of the whole village.
He's not here.
But his name is.
It moves like smoke through every hut. Every corner. Whispers behind closed doors. Parents gripping their children tighter when the wind howls too loud.
He's the Alpha now.
And even in absence...
He rules.
⸻
I disappear for hours at a time.
Into the woods. Deep into the wild, where no one follows. They think I'm spying on him—risking life and limb for "intel."
Idiots.
I'm feeding them lies. Carefully crafted lies. Fake sightings. Invented behaviors. Fake weaknesses. "Oh, he and Luna are unstable." "Oh, they're keeping secrets."
Truth is?
They are.
But not the ones I share.
He gave me a second chance.
Not mercy.
A role.
A place.
And gods help me... I've never felt more alive.
⸻
Sometimes, after I train alone, I let myself think.
About Hiccup.
And her.
Luna.
At first, it was just longing for him. I've always loved him. Even when I was too scared to say it. Even when I let them take him from me.
But now?
Now I dream of them.
The way Luna looks at him. Possessive. Protective. Dominant. The way she stood over me once, claws tightening around my throat, daring me to blink wrong.
It should've terrified me.
It didn't.
It excited me.
I've started waking up sweating, my legs tangled, breath heavy, images of both of them burned into my skull. Hiccup's hand in my hair. Luna's nails dragging down my back.
I squeeze my thighs together just thinking about it.
Gods, I didn't know I had that kink. The need to be owned. Held down. Marked.
I shake my head, trying to clear the heat from my thoughts.
Focus.
I'm still in Berk.
Still surrounded by traitors wearing friendly masks.
And just then...
The horn sounds.
A deep blast. Then two shorter ones.
My breath catches.
That signal.
The nest hunting parties have returned.
And that means one thing.
Stoick's back.
My heart tightens. He's back early. Too early. That could complicate everything.
I start walking—faster than I probably should. Toward the longhouse. Toward my next performance.
But my stride falters halfway there.
Because there's one problem.
I have no way to contact Hiccup.
And he needs to know.
He has to be ready.
I can't fail him now.
Stoick's Point of View
The dock creaked beneath my boots as I stepped off the ship, shoulders burning from the weight of the barrel I hauled up from the hold. Supplies—untouched. We hadn't used a tenth of what we brought.
Not that we had the chance.
I grunted and set the barrel down on the deck with a heavy thud. It rolled slightly before settling against the post. "Store it later," I muttered to no one in particular. "Won't rot."
Behind me, the ship rocked gently, the crew slowly unloading the rest. I should've felt relief coming home after two weeks chasing shadows across the sea.
But I didn't.
We didn't find it.
No nest. No central hive. Just scattered groups of dragons—angrier, fiercer than before. We fought wave after wave, but there was no pattern. No sign of a heart to the swarm. Just fury.
And I came back empty-handed.
Again.
I exhaled through my nose, jaw tight.
Then I heard the familiar footsteps behind me—slow, uneven, and too casual for the mood in the air.
"Welcome back," Gobber called, trying to sound cheerful.
I turned slowly.
He wore a smile. But it didn't reach his eyes.
I'd known him too long.
"Alright," I said plainly. "What's Hiccup done this time?"
That wiped the grin clean off his face.
But it wasn't just Gobber who reacted.
Behind me, the returning warriors who'd sailed out with me turned to watch the exchange, weary and curious. And every villager in earshot—those on the docks, those loitering near the longhouses—flinched.
They flinched at the mention of my son's name.
My brow furrowed. My grip tightened on my belt.
"What happened?" I asked again, voice like stone. "What did he do?"
Gobber opened his mouth, then closed it. Swallowed. Looked over his shoulder.
"The elders'll explain it," he said, voice quiet now. "When supper's served in the great hall. They... they'll tell you everything. You and the others. All of you that were gone."
I stared at him.
He looked older than he had when I left.
Tired.
And not from labor.
"Gobber."
He met my eyes.
"Tell me how bad it is."
He hesitated. Then looked past me, toward the rooftops.
I followed his gaze—just as a gust of wind blew across the square.
High above, leaning on the railing of one of the training towers, stood Astrid.
Her hair was windswept. Her arms crossed.
She looked down at the docks—and her father—with a face carved from stone.
But her eyes...
Her eyes were burning.
Not with sadness.
Not fear.
But hate.
I stared up at her, stunned for a breath.
Gobber's voice cut in beside me, quiet as a whisper. "It's changed, Stoick. Everything. And you're gonna want to sit for what comes next."
I turned back to him, fists clenched.
Two weeks.
Two weeks chasing dragons. Fighting tooth and flame just to get nothing.
While this happened behind my back?
My son's name sends grown men into silence?
My second-in-command looks like he's seen Helheim's door?
And my best warrior to be glares at her father like he's a stranger?
"What kind of mess am I walking into..." I muttered under my breath.
Gobber said nothing.
And somehow, that silence was the loudest thing I'd heard all day.