The Rebirth Of A Dragon

Hiccup's Point of View

⸻

Stoick knelt, blood soaking through his cloak, hand clutched over the wound I had so generously left him.

The warriors said nothing. The villagers didn't move. No one helped him up. No one dared.

Good.

Let him stay there. Let him feel the weight of his failure.

I pulled something from beneath my cloak—a tightly folded scrap of old cloth, sealed with wax.

The map.

I didn't hand it to him. I tossed it.

It slapped against his chest and dropped into his lap like a discarded bone.

"Your prize," I said flatly. "Enjoy."

He stared at it for a moment before his trembling fingers gripped the seal and tore it open. He unfolded the parchment with a grimace, stained fingers smearing blood across the corners.

Then he saw it.

Just a map.

An island. Unmarked. Unremarkable.

And nothing else.

No paths. No markers. No X. Just an outline of rock surrounded by sea.

His eyes snapped to mine, furious and confused. "What is this?"

"A piece of land," I said with a shrug, voice razor-sharp. "Nothing more."

His teeth clenched. "You said—"

"I said I would give you the location of the nest," I interrupted. "I have. The island is real. But don't fool yourself into thinking you'll find anything on your own."

I took a step forward, wings twitching beneath my armor.

"Only dragons can find the nest. Its heart is hidden behind Helheim's Gates—shifting trails of wind and current that only they can navigate. Tomorrow, I'll assign you an escort."

I leaned in, close enough that only he could hear the venom behind my words.

"They'll guide you to the edge. But after that... you walk into their world on your knees."

Stoick grunted in pain, clutching his shoulder harder. Blood seeped between his fingers. The villagers murmured in stunned silence, none knowing whether to look at him, or me.

I straightened, glancing around at the crowd.

"I've wasted enough time here," I announced, voice cold. "This place reeks of rot. Of old men and older lies."

I turned slightly, my eyes sweeping over them with disgust.

"I don't want to stay a second longer among insects like you."

There were no protests. No shouts. Just silence.

Then I felt it.

Astrid.

Through the bond, I caught the flicker of a smile she was trying—and failing—to hide. She was pleased. Not just by what I did to Stoick, but by the way the village had been silenced. The way truth had been forced into their throats.

It warmed me.

And in that warmth, I decided to give her something.

Something she deserved.

I turned back toward the crowd, raising my voice so every insect would hear me.

"You've all heard the stories about the Hofferson bloodline," I said. "How her uncle died a coward. How he froze in fear."

Astrid tensed beside me, even now uncomfortable with the weight of that lie.

I stepped closer to her, letting my hand gently rest on her lower back as I spoke—this time with purpose.

"Those stories are wrong."

Every head turned. Every breath paused.

"Her uncle didn't freeze in fear. He died fighting the Flightmare. He was hit by its breath—the paralyzing mist it exhales. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. But he stood between the beast and a child anyway."

I turned to Astrid.

"She did nothing wrong."

Her breath hitched.

I looked back at the crowd.

"She was a child. And her uncle was one of the few in this village who actually cared about me back then. I was too weak to drive the Flightmare away, and for that, I'm sorry. But I remember him now. Because he was one of the good ones."

Then I turned to Astrid fully.

"My love... at the time, I thought you were like the others. Dull. Cruel. Empty."

I reached for her hand, and she let me take it.

"But I see you now."

The bond shimmered with emotion. Hers. Mine. Luna's.

Astrid's fingers trembled slightly in mine. She didn't cry. But I felt the wound inside her begin to close.

She whispered softly through the bond:

"Thank you... I just wanted them to know he wasn't weak..."

"He wasn't," I said. "And neither are you."

Then I let a small smirk curve across my lips.

"And since I'm already tearing down false names and titles today..."

I tilted my head, glancing between Astrid and the crowd.

"I've been thinking."

I lifted my clawed hand, flexing my fingers slightly for effect.

"Horrendous Haddock the Third is a useless name. A stain I've long since outgrown."

Astrid blinked, confused.

"I'll be choosing a new one soon," I said.

"Something worthy."

I turned to her again, softer now.

"So wait a bit longer for me, my love."

My voice dropped to something more intimate—but still loud enough for all to hear.

"Because I intend to give us a proper name before we marry."

Astrid's eyes widened.

Her cheeks flushed crimson.

She looked down for half a heartbeat, then back up at me with a spark in her eyes I hadn't seen before. Not just pride. Not just love.

Hope.

Luna, ever literal, tilted her head slightly through the bond.

"Marry?" she asked, curious.

"A human custom," I replied with a smile. "A declaration. A public one. But you already claim me. You always have."

"Then... I approve," she purred. "As long as she understands she shares you with me."

"Oh, I understand," Astrid thought back, a grin playing behind her blush.

The moment hung thick with warmth.

Then Stoick, bleeding and desperate, finally managed to speak.

"You can't—"

I turned my back to him before the words finished.

Ignored.

Discarded.

Insignificant.

Stoick's Point of View

⸻

The ground was cold beneath me.

Colder than it should've been for summer.

Or maybe it was just the blood soaking through my cloak, pooling beneath my knees.

My shoulder throbbed with every breath. I could still feel his claws—like they were still inside me, curled between tendon and bone.

But it wasn't the pain that left me speechless.

It was the silence.

The entire village stood frozen, too stunned to speak. No one moved. No one came to help.

Not until the wind shifted.

The Night Fury—no, not just any Fury. Artemis. That's what he called her.

She crouched low as he climbed onto her back, casual as ever, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her wings spread wide, black as sin, eyes glowing like twin emerald fires.

Hiccup—if I could still call him that—looked down on me one final time. He didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

Astrid mounted her Nadder behind him, her head held high, that same feral gleam in her eyes that he had. Loyal. Deadly. In love with something I didn't understand anymore.

She followed him as he took off.

Not just into the sky—but away from everything I once knew.

The wind from their wings kicked up the dust and blood beneath me, stinging my face.

And then they were gone.

Gone like they'd never belonged to this place at all.

But they had.

Once.

Boots pounded against stone.

Gobber dropped beside me, one arm holding Gothi, who immediately began rifling through her satchel.

"Don't move," Gobber growled, trying to steady me.

I ignored him.

My eyes stayed locked on the sky, still watching the last speck of black vanish into the clouds.

"That... wasn't him," I muttered.

Gobber grunted. "Hiccup?"

"That... thing." My voice cracked, half rage, half sorrow. "He's not the son I raised."

Gobber opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get the chance.

Because Gothi did something she rarely did.

She spoke.

Her voice was low. Rough like dry earth cracking after a long drought.

"No," she said. "Because you didn't raise him."

The world seemed to freeze again.

Even Gobber stopped breathing.

Gothi kept going, her eyes sharp and unforgiving.

"He raised himself. He learned how to walk alone. How to fight alone. How to survive a village that laughed while he bled."

She didn't blink.

"I warned you. I warned everyone. But no one listened until the blood was already in the dirt."

I swallowed hard.

Because she was right.

There had been warnings. Whispers. Moments.

And every time, I'd brushed them aside. Told myself he was soft. That he'd grow out of it. That he'd learn to be strong by fighting the right way.

But all I taught him was to fight without me.

And now?

Now he had more power than any chief before him.

And no reason to ever come home.

I looked down at the map still clutched in my hand, now soaked with blood.

Just a drawing.

Just an island.

Just another test.

"Get the men ready," I said hoarsely.

Gobber raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

I stood, pain flaring through my shoulder as Gothi tied the final bandage in place.

"For war," I growled. "We move at dawn."