Hiccup's Point of View
The wind was gentle tonight, curling through the trees like silk across skin. The island had gone quiet, resting after the day's flight and the arrival of so many wounded souls finally given freedom.
My cove—our cove—was full. Dragons slept beneath the trees. Hatchlings curled in mossy hollows. Lyra's group of healers moved through the injured like warm lights in a cold cave. Luna stood at my side on the overlook, watching the sky as stars blinked to life.
Then I felt it.
A flutter of wings.
Tiny claws.
The telltale rhythm of my personal scout—a Terrible Terror, sleek and quick, small enough to slip through any crack in any wall. It landed silently on the ledge beside me, chest heaving with exertion.
"Speak," I said, not turning yet.
The little dragon chirped, sending its message through our bond—images, impressions, a replay of all it had seen.
Berk's docks. Stoick's face, rough and frustrated. Gobber's forced smile. The warriors returning empty-handed. Astrid watching, her eyes narrowed, arms crossed. The horn blast.
The knowledge settled over me like snow on stone.
So... he's back.
I turned slowly to face the Terror and let out a low exhale, hand brushing down its back in approval.
"You've done well," I murmured.
The little one purred and darted away, vanishing into the canopy.
Behind me, Luna tilted her head. "He returned?"
I nodded. "Yes. Stoick is back in Berk."
A beat passed.
"And Astrid... tried to inform me."
There was warmth in that thought—just enough to make the corner of my mouth twitch upward.
"She had no way to reach me, but she wanted to. That's all I need to know."
She hasn't betrayed me.
Not yet.
Not ever, if she values her life.
I looked to Luna—her emerald green eyes glinting like wildfire in the dark. She was waiting. Expectant. Hungry.
I stepped closer, lifting a hand to her cheek, my thumb grazing her jawline. Then I leaned in, letting the words spill softly from my lips like poison made of silk.
"The final piece is in place."
Luna's pupils narrowed.
"Stoick returns to a village rotting beneath the weight of my shadow. He'll eat, drink, and sit among cowards who flinch at my name. He'll hear how I slaughtered the man who dared touch my daughter. How the arena no longer belongs to him—but to the Alpha."
Her breath hitched in delight.
And I grinned.
"Soon, Berk will fall. And when it does, the screams of its people will echo in the heavens. Their panic will be a lullaby. Their deaths, a gift."
Luna purred low in her throat, pressing herself to my side. "My love~"
I closed my eyes.
The stage was set.
Every piece in its place.
I had loyal generals, an expanding territory, the love of a queen, and a daughter who would grow up as dragonkind's princess.
And now?
Now I had my enemy where I wanted him.
"From here on out," I said, pulling back and gazing over the distant shoreline, "it's just a game."
Nothing can stop me now.
Not a sword.
Not a scream.
Not even him.
⸻
I stood tall, the stars reflecting off the steel claws at my side.
"It's almost dinner," I said, stretching my shoulders. "Time for the villagers to pretend their lives still have meaning."
I turned to Luna, grinning as her expression flickered with excited pride.
"It's time," I said, "to visit that pathetic little village once more. To see how far they've truly fallen."
Luna arched a brow. "Alone?"
"No," I replied. "We'll walk the shadows. Observe first. Let them feel the weight of our approach before I burn it into their hearts."
Then I looked to the horizon.
And laughed softly.
"Besides... I think Stoick deserves to see me. The real me. Not the boy he neglected and ignored most of my life. But the man I've become."
My voice dropped lower.
"He should know that I have something he never will."
Luna tilted her head. "A flock?"
I shook my head, gaze sharpening.
"A family and people I can rely on."
And with that, I turned away from the cliff, claws glinting, and walked into the dark.
—————————————————————————
Stoick's Point of View
The meat on my plate had gone cold.
Not that I had touched it.
I sat at the long table in the Great Hall, surrounded by elders whose faces looked older than they had two weeks ago. Their eyes didn't meet mine. Their hands fidgeted. Their words stumbled.
And the more they spoke...
The angrier I became.
"He's not the same," Goldie said, her tone cautious. "He returned to the arena... changed."
"Scarred," muttered one of the elder warriors, staring down into his mug. "Covered in them. Across his chest. Arms. Even his neck."
"Every one earned in silence," Gothi added through her carvings.
"He's not the boy who left, Stoick," Gobber said quietly beside me. "He's become... something else."
I leaned back in my seat, unimpressed. "So he got a little bolder? Grew some callouses? That's what this is about?"
They all looked at each other.
Then Goldie pressed on, hesitant. "He's no longer matched in battle. He... he defeated a fully grown Deadly Nadder in combat. No human weapons like a sword or ax. Just claws. Speed. Strategy. And It bowed to him afterward."
That did it.
I scoffed.
Actually laughed.
"You're telling me Hiccup—my scrawny, soft-spoken, limping son—fought a Nadder and won?" I shook my head, waving it off. "You've all gone mad in my absence."
"Stoick—"
"No," I cut in, slamming my mug down. "He couldn't kill a fish without flinching! You expect me to believe he killed a man in the arena and tamed a Nadder like some kind of warrior king?"
Silence met my voice.
A long, hard silence.
I let out a sharp breath and was about to speak again—when the hall changed.
The warmth drained from the air.
The fire in the hearth cracked once, then dimmed.
And then...
Thunk.
A heavy footstep.
Then another.
And another.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Heads turned toward the massive doors at the back of the hall.
Then came the sound of claws—four, eight, twelve. Heavier than any wolf, quieter than any man.
The doors didn't swing open dramatically.
They pushed open slowly—as if something strong, massive, and silent had forced them aside without urgency.
Two wolves entered first.
One black as night, its eyes gleaming like polished onyx.
The other white and silver, tall and lean, with a scar across its snout that looked too clean to be natural.
Then a third.
They fanned out in perfect formation, stalking forward, heads low, golden eyes scanning the hall.
Gasps rang out.
Benches scraped.
A few warriors instinctively reached for their blades—then stopped, realizing how outmatched they were.
Then came the final beast.
The bear.
Not just a bear.
The bear.
Bigger than any I'd seen in my years north or south. Its fur was thick and dark, its claws the length of my hand. A strip of metal armor ran along its shoulders like a war harness, and its breath rumbled like a forge.
It stepped into the hall like it owned it.
The floor trembled.
No words. No growls.
Just... footsteps.
Footsteps that got louder.
Closer.
My hand drifted toward my axe—but I didn't draw it.
I stared instead.
What in the name of the gods is this...?
And just as I opened my mouth to speak—
Footsteps.
Human ones.
Slow. Measured.
And they were getting closer.