Chapter Text
Prologue
The wind howled as it cut through the Jagged Peaks, sending sheets of snow tumbling across the narrow cliff paths. Lightning crackled in the distance, chased by the dull rumble of thunder echoing across the ridges. These mountains were constantly privy to an onslaught of storms, ancient and unforgiving. Most dragons would prefer to live closer to the ocean’s level, on more enriching and less threatening islands. But for the Skrills, among the most dangerous and reclusive of all dragons, this place was the perfect home — an oasis of isolation, not to mention an almost endless supply of electricity. On the northern westernmost edge of the Barbaric Archipelago, the reclusive Skrills had maintained these sky-reaching peaks as their nest for over a thousand years. The lower world of dragons and men had changed many times, but in places such as this it was both natural and easy to maintain a cohesive nest. Skrills are proud, vicious, and solitary, never bowing to the whims and wishes of others.
But Skrills are not foolish, either, especially when larger threats come knocking.
A pulse of magic burst into the cold air—quiet, but potent. The startled hiss of static followed as two Skrill sentries jerked upright on the ledge near the nest’s entrance, wings flaring in alarm. In a flash of distorted light and sound, space twisted, and the empty air appeared to splinter and fragment into shards of glass. As the Skrills crackled with electricity—nervous but alert—a dark shape stepped through the fractured air, almost as if it had always been there.
None of the Skrills had ever seen a Night Fury before, not for many years, but this dragon could be nothing else. Once more, the beast was massive—larger than any they had seen—and darker than the mountain itself. His obsidian scales were sleek and pure, not a scratch on their surface. Golden glowing eyes locked onto them with unreadable calm, as though the dragon was very much used to appearing out of thin air.
"I trust you will announce to your nest leader that they have a visitor," the Night Fury said, his voice low and resonant. “I won’t enter until I’m invited… although clearly I can, if you were paying attention.”
The guards stared, stunned into silence by his size and aura. One’s tail fell to the ground in shock, its metallic scales scraping against the stones.
The Night Fury didn’t flinch. He waited in silence, his eyes piercing — as though staring directly through them.
Eventually, the younger of the two bolted into the tunnel, stammering something down the stone halls. The older Skrill remained, wings partially outstretched in a mixture of reverence and terror.
By the time the Night Fury was invited into the nest, word had already spread like lightning.
Hundreds of eyes turned to watch as he walked through the ancient ravines and tunnels—etched with lightning-scarred rock and lined with veins of metal. For such a rare dragon to visit, and walk amongst them completely unthreatened, had the entire nest on edge. They stared with a mixture of awe and fear, whispering to each other as he passed beneath the jagged stalagmites of the inner sanctum and approached the high rocks where the elder perched.
The Lord of the Skrills did not rise from his perch. Age hung from his wings like weight, but his posture remained dignified. His skin crackled faintly with built-up charge as his eyes met the Night Fury.
“You must be Taranis,” said the Night Fury. “I heard of you along the way here… I believe I met your great grandfather many years ago.”
The ancient Skrill inclined his head, wary but not cowed. “My father told me stories about the last Night Fury king, the one called Nightshade. He told me he was a warlord, that he died in battle along with his race.”
Nightshade smiled dryly. “He wasn’t wrong—I mean except for the being dead part, obviously.”
Taranis studied him curiously. “I take it then that your race still lives with you? Until you arrived we thought the last Night Fury living was the one that defeated a Bewilderbeast last year.”
The black dragon's ears perked up at his words. “We never died out, simply retreated inwards to deal with… problems. But it's nice that Toothless has kept our reputation alive, however.”
Taranis huffed, static curling up his spines. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a good reputation, unless you think consorting with humans will win you any friends in this nest.”
“Unfortunately, I did not come here with the intention of making everyone happy,” Nightshade said. “I simply have a request for you to hear out.”
The younger Skrills around the chamber stirred uneasily.
“I know your kind are proud. Fierce. But you know as well as I do that the world has changed. Dragons have grown wild, held together in mixed nests ruled by often selfish individuals. Nests like these are now few and far between. And the humans have multiplied in droves — their weapons and tools grow more dangerous every generation. If war comes again—true war—neither of us will survive it.”
Taranis’s gaze sharpened. “So, what… you’d have us bow? To humans?”
“To sense,” Nightshade replied coolly. “Do not provoke them. Do not give them reason to fear. If there’s to be peace, it must be maintained by strength and discipline—not wrath.”
A snarl echoed from behind Taranis.
A younger female Skrill stepped out from behind the rocks, her left side marked with deep violet scars. Lightning crawled across her wings, barely contained. Her voice struck like steel.
“We don’t answer to Night Furies. This has been our nest for centuries… how dare you come here expecting something from us!”
The chamber fell dead silent. Even the wind seemed to stop.
Taranis’s brow creased. “Thora…”
But she wasn’t finished.
“I’m not as versed in old dragon tales as my father, but didn’t you used to make war on humans for fun before you disappeared? So what, you played dead for over a century and now you crawl back, giving orders like a king?”
Nightshade didn’t so much as flinch, but his eyes glowed brighter.
Thora’s spines flared, crackling with indigo arcs. “You’re a hypocrite.”
Nightshade cocked his head, golden eyes narrowing. Then, with terrifying calm, he stepped forward—not fast, not aggressive. Just enough to close the space between them and drop his voice to a low, chilling rasp.
“And you're a child who’s never seen a real war.”
The electricity around her dimmed for a heartbeat. Thora stiffened, her eyes twitching.
Nightshade’s voice dripped with rebuke. “You think power is enough to keep you safe? That pride and lightning will shelter your kin from fire and steel? I’ve buried dragons who thought the same. You would do well to be quiet when your elders speak—if you wish to live long enough to become one.”
He turned back toward Taranis before she could answer, her mouth still searching for a retort.
“I am not attempting to usurp your authority,” Nightshade stated, his voice returning to calm. “I am simply asking for your restraint, for the good of all dragonkind. I would consider it a meaningful gesture.”
The watching Skrills remained tense, frozen by the confrontation. Taranis had not moved.
Nightshade turned to leave.
“Wait,” the elder said suddenly.
The Night Fury paused.
Taranis’s voice was rough, uncertain. “Is it true, then? That your kind was nearly wiped out… because you discovered magic?”
A long silence.
Nightshade half-turned. His expression had softened, but only slightly.
A sudden pulse of amber light shimmered into view above him. A crystalline orb had appeared out of thin air in a flash—floating like an eyeless sentinel, waves of light flowing from its core. Even with the thundering sky above the gem shone brighter than any bolt of lightning, its presence casting strange shadows across the walls.
Gasps and snarls echoed among the gathered Skrills, and all around were awestruck and afraid.
Nightshade gestured upwards casually. “This is Antaris. Don’t worry, for being nigh-omnipotent he’s quite friendly… if he chooses to be.” He gave Thora a sideways glance. “He does not take kindly to threats against those he considers family.”
A howl pierced the air as a bolt of charged electricity flew from Thora’s jaws, her amethyst eyes alight with manic rage. Tanaris rose from his place to deflect it, but the bolt froze in mid-air a foot from Nightshade’s face. The crowd was in shock, the tension able to be cut with a knife as all eyes turned towards the amber gemstone, then the Night Fury.
Nightshade laughed out loud, his tail stretching out to curiously wave it close to the frozen bolt of lightning. “Tanaris, I don’t mean to insult you, but I do believe your daughter is mad.”
Thora bared her teeth, lightning jumping across her neck. “Coward! Take the shot like a king instead of hiding behind magi—.”
“ENOUGH!” Tanaris’s voice shook with authority; Thora recoiled, almost like a child being scolded. “I will have no more outbursts from you!”
Nightshade’s eyes glittered with amusement. He spread his wings slowly, letting the firelight dance off his back.
“Just think about what I’ve said, Tanaris,” he said. “I think deep down you understand my concern, and my hopes.”
Then, without another word, the king of Mystholm leapt from the ground and took flight. A single beat of his wings sent a thunderclap rolling through the mountains to join the storm above, scattering loose snow and stirring the storm outside.
Antaris vanished in a blink, and the lightning bolt immediately slammed into the wall, sending shards of stone in every direction. The surrounding Skrills perched above launched into an uproar.
Thora stood trembling, her fury boiling beneath the surface. Taranis lowered himself from his perch, turning to head deeper into the mountain caves. She stalked down the corridors after her father, arcs of residual lightning twitching across her wings. The other Skrills made way as they approached, silent and wide-eyed.
Taranis stood at the mouth of the nest, his old claws splayed on the stone, gazing out into the churning maelstrom outside. His frills drooped—not in fear, but in thought, as he absorbed the energy of the storm.
“You let him humiliate us,” Thora snapped, her voice sharp enough to crack stone. “You let him insult our name, mock our power—”
“SILENCE!”
The command cut through her tirade like a bolt. Taranis didn’t turn around.
“You are young,” he said, “and reckless. You hear thunder and believe it makes you mighty.” Slowly, he turned to face her, the stormlight glinting off the age-scars on his face. “But you have no wisdom! Did you not think that a dragon who can appear out of thin air could clearly kill us all, and yet chose to enter as a guest?!”
Thora recoiled slightly, but defiance still burned in her eyes. “We don’t need him! If anything we should be against him—clearly he cannot be trusted! I mean, that stone… are you really telling me we should just let them have that power?!”
“Yes,” Taranis said icily. “Because I don’t think he just vanished for no reason. And it's always better to watch others try and control unknown things before you do it yourself.”
“It doesn’t matter — you shot a lightning bolt at a dragon king. You should consider yourself lucky that the magic gem didn’t eviscerate you.” Taranis brushed past Thora coldly, turning to head back inside.
“I’m disappointed in you, daughter.”
That was the last thing he ever said to her.
That night, the wind continued to howl over the Jagged Peaks, masking the quiet tap of claw on stone.
Taranis lay still in the deepest chamber of the nest, ringed by splintered stone adorned with centuries of talon marks. He did not stir as his daughter entered—nor as her glowing eyes appeared above him.
She watched him breathe.
Once.
Twice.
And then she lunged, and he breathed no more.
When dawn came, it was Thora who stood before the nest, lightning curling lazily down her spine. She addressed the gathered Skrills, voice cold and clear.
“Our lord has joined the sky.”
None dared ask how. In fact, there were many who did not care. And those who did—who were brave enough to speak their minds—would not last long in the coming days.
“I lead now,” she said. “And I will not kneel to any creature.”
Far above them, the storm still churned—unchanged and unchallenged.