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Chapter Text

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Official Art of the two main protagonists of Vested Interests in the first section of the story, which takes place during HTTYD 1.
Created by: Me

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Key Information

Vested Interests is a retelling of HTTYD where, in the end, dragons are able to integrate themselves and be part of not just Berk but the whole world.

Doing this requires more than just being able to tame dragons and winning fights on the battlefield, it requires a changing of worldviews that go beyond Berk. To the human empires and countries beyond Berk embroiled in their own wars and conquests.

Hiccup and Imka have been chosen to become the bridge for peace, not through any innate nor gifted strength either possess; but rather for their weaknesses and faults.

The story will begin in HTTYD 1 and include aspects and plotlines from Riders of Berk as well as Race To The Edge, as well as elements from the HTTYD books (such as the Isle of Tomorrow).

In the beginning, Hiccup is 15 and Imka is 17, although a one-sided romance is hinted here it is not pursued further until HTTYD 2 and beyond (where Hiccup is 20 and Imka is 22, at least).

The story incorporates some real-world historical events and aspects. Specifically regarding the fall of the Roman Empires, hints of serfdom/slavery during it, the wars between Vikings, Wessex (part of modern-day England), and the Carolingian Empire (which later fell and broke into many modern-day European countries), as well as the kingdom Imka comes from named Frisia (now modern day Friesland, which is part of the Netherlands). Although there has been considerable historical research that has gone into the story, I do not try to keep too strictly to it though a lot of the conflicts during that time play a major role here.

Additionally, although some historical figures are mentioned in this body of work I do not claim any to be truly representative of the actual people who may have lived in the past.

Disclaimer: “This story is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental."

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This page was added on the 23rd of July, 2025 and last edited on the 24th of August, 2025.
Expect edits and changes to be made as the story evolves.

Chapter Text

It is common knowledge among gentlefolk and high-ranking kings alike that the Vikings have been at war with the mainland.

For hundreds of years the Viking settlements nearer to the coast pillaged and destroyed lands that belonged to the Wessex and Carolingian Empire, also known, respectively, as the Anglo-Saxons and the Franks. These two parties have done everything in their power to push back and 'cleanse' the land from these Vikings. My homeland, the Kingdom of Frisia, was unfortunately located right at the coast of the Frankian Empire and because of that we've been playing a nigh impossible game of monkey in the middle.

On one hand, we weren't Vikings, but we got along and traded with them often. On the other, we weren't of the empires, but we shared many cultural similarities, traded, and also got along somewhat well (if you ignore their earlier attempts to conquer us).

It is a tiresome debate on whether I thought we belonged, as a collective, to either, because frankly all three of us had bigger problems.

Further north, beyond the Viking frontiers, laid a specific island named Berk - home to the most psychologically insane group of people my family has ever had the pleasure of knowing. Vikings whose sole purpose was to keep dragons—yes, dragons—away from the rest of the world. And if the other Vikings, Franks, and Anglo-Saxons could agree with anything, it was that dragons were evil, and they needed to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Or, at least, to keep away from interfering with human affairs.

Therefore, each side decided why dirty their hands with this task? It would be better to leave it to the experts on Berk.

Many treaties were forged, and Berk has enjoyed hundreds of years of guaranteed sovereignty. So long as the isle kept their end of the bargain and provided proof of work of their efforts far north, they would be left alone from the wars further south.

Of course, this agreement was not common knowledge among gentlefolk but only certain nobility, royalty, and my family. Part of the agreements made and oaths sworn was a promise of tangible support for Berk: funds, materials, weapons - far more than fellow Viking tribes could supply, far more than whatever could be found in the sparse islands nearer to the archipelago.

Therefore, it is logical then that they would send the most insane family to the most insane island this side of the world. My family, the Marius', have been in what most would call a 'one-sided life debt' to the line of chiefs in Berk.

Frankly, I don't know how we somehow managed to check off every single criterion needed to be picked for this role (and continue to be picked for the subsequent hundreds of years that have come).

I'd blame my however-many-greats grandfather for that, but he didn't choose to become a Roman slave, escape, wash up on Berk, and be saved by the chief at the time.

'Divine intervention,' some priests from Wessex would call it. 'A divine plan, long in the making, to choose your family to serve the greater good.'

Weathered by storms and dragonfire one day, then pelted by hail and smoldering splinters the next; Berk was everything my life at the mainland was not. Where once I enjoyed endless days of drifting between courts, wearing pretty dresses, snuggled in bed reading books, or taking fascinating lessons on language or politics—days spent on Berk included me helping my father tally the total damage inflicted after every single dragon raid (which was often).

Also try to stay alive, there was that too.

Every visit, we'd find something new that needed replacing—a home, a forge, a dining hall, market stalls. Destruction, it seemed, guaranteed a steady stream of coin for us and our suppliers. Great for business and great for public relations with Berk's people.

See, the people of Berk believed we only traded in goods to help the rebuilding efforts—to keep the island running, aid the fight against dragons, keep houses upright, and mouths fed.

It was a good enough lie (or half-truth, depending how you saw it). Sweet enough to distract from what truly passed through our hands: information.

Now, you might ask what kind of information would be so important it necessitated us to weather storm, sea, and dragonfire to deliver? The answer is the information that would be key to keeping Berk's sovereignty: their proof of work.

It wasn't something I pieced together until I was around 15 years-old, but in hindsight it was the most obvious thing; and one of the biggest reasons as to why Berk needed our help. If my family could deliver proof of Berk's efforts to the empires and chiefs of the other Viking tribes, then Berk and its allies would be spared any foreign invasions.

On nights when my family stayed in Berk, if I was quiet and sneaky enough to slip into the living room of the chief’s home, I'd overhear my father and Stoick talk. Something about restless whispers from the court of Wessex, worried reports from Carolingian tradesmen, and even visiting scholars from the Abbasid Caliphate, curious about the rumors of a ‘northern draconic infestation.’ I’d sit curled on the stairs, knees to chest, watching the two men below pore over letters and parchment stacked nearly as tall as ten-year-old me. I'd watch, and watch, and watch with no clue as to how big of a problem this could be and how much it weighed so heavily on the chief's shoulders.

Although, for all my stealth, I could never quite escape the gaze of the great chief of Berk.

Stoick the Vast—towering, gruff, and terrifying to most—would always find me. He’d catch my eye and sigh tiredly, before stretching out an arm and beckoning me down.

“Little lass,” he’d say, eyes soft as he knelt to my height. “Even as a child, always listening for more, hm? True to your family’s business, I see.”

“Stoick, I’m so sorry—” my father would start, only to be cut off with a hearty laugh and a heavy clap (more like a punch, if you ask me) to the shoulder.

“Nae bother, my friend.” Then, gentler, with a warm pat on my head: “It's something she'll hear of more often in the future anyways.”

Lucian Marius—my father—sighed, giving me a look I knew well: tired, haggard, but fond. He knelt beside Stoick to meet my eyes, our amber irises nearly identical, and tucked a few strands of my mousy brown hair behind my ears.

“Sleepy, I see,” he said softly. “Hiccup got to bed earlier than you?”

“He fell asleep when I was reading him that new book you gave me,” I mumbled, rubbing at my eyes. The exhaustion from the sea finally caught up. “I got bored, so I went downstairs. I’m not sleepy.”

They exchanged a look, both clearly not buying my last claim. Stoick opened his mouth to reply—but stopped short, his gaze shifting behind me.

At the top of the stairs stood Hiccup, eight years old and barely upright, clutching a dark brown woolen blanket. His tunic hung off his tiny frame, his eyes half-closed, and a thin line of drool clung to the corner of his mouth.

Before he could sway too far, Stoick climbed the stairs in two long strides and scooped him into his arms.

“Hello, Trader Marius,” Hiccup mumbled sleepily, his gaze not quite focused. “Imka told me a very nice story tonight.”

“That so?” my father said with a small smile, ruffling Hiccup’s hair. “We thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” the boy frowned, yawning as he curled deeper into his father’s arms. “Then the story stopped.”

“You stopped listening,” I yawned, as my father wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Did not."

“Did so.”

“Did—” another yawn, “not.”

“All right, all right,” Stoick chuckled. “Off to bed, yes?”

“Nooo,” we both groaned in unison.

My father sighed, rubbing his eyes as though reliving this scene for the hundredth time. “If I make you two your favorite spiced berry tea –”

“With honey?” I murmured, eyes already growing heavy once more in his steady presence.

“Yes, my darling, with honey. Will you promise to sleep then?”

“Mhm,” Hiccup said with a small smile, eyes nearly shut.

My father stood and ran a hand through his hair. “Stoick, do you mind if I—”

“I’ll get the water boiling,” Stoick said, already turning toward the pantry. He gently settled Hiccup onto the couch as my father did the same with me.

“Again, I’m so sorry for the trouble—”

“Lucian, stop apologizing. My father had enough of it from your father and goodness knows if I have to live through it –” Stoick grunted, their voices muffled as they filled the pantry.

“I appreciate it, Stoick.”

“Think nothing of it.” The chief said and I could hear a smile in his words, “This is their way of poaching you for that special tea anyways.”

Later that night, we settled back into our shared room as the whispered discussions between our fathers faded away. Hiccup and I lay sprawled on the floor, our mugs of spiced berry tea left half-finished on his desk. Whatever cold the northern air brought was mediated by that which we’d set up for the night. The wooden floors laid covered edge to edge with woolen blankets from the Wessex Empire and soft silken pillows hailing from the Abbasid Caliphate cushioned our stomachs. Flanking the two of us were two short stacks of fable books from the Carolingian Empire that we read eagerly, taking turns to narrate to one another.

There were many books we loved, but Hiccup in particular adored ‘Androcles and the Lion’. 

“Can you read it to me again?” he asked me, wide-eyed and eager; whatever sleep he was supposed to have now gone.

“If I read it to you, you’ll never fall asleep.” I said, sat across from him cross-legged.

“But that’s because the story is so cool, and you tell it really really good.”

I may not have had my mainland trappings on Berk, but at least I had a friend. If there was anything that gave me reason to want to stay at Berk, it'd be Hiccup. The boy I grew up with, 2 years younger than I, who was nearly thrown out at birth for being born the runt in a village of massive Viking giants. Saved only for the sole fact he was the chief's son.

He was everything Berk was not, but to me Hiccup was the most normal person I knew on this entire island. Especially if you’d ever seen the boys from Wessex—pale and bookish and always clutching scrolls under their arms. He would've fit in so well and been beloved for his tinkering, curiosity, cleverness, and dry wit. In fact, I knew a few noble houses and guilds back in the empires who would’ve taken to him instantly.

It made me think, was there a reason he was born here? Where would he fit in Berk? 

“Well I guess befriending a lion is cool,” I smiled, taking the well-worn golden leafed book from the stack. “Alright then, it happened in ancient times that a slave named Androcles escaped from his master and fled into the forest – ”

At first, I could never quite understand what it was about this book that made Hiccup so eager to listen. It wasn’t later as I grew up with him that I realized exactly why.

Androcles, a lowly slave, overcame adversity and won his freedom; not through might, but through a different way. Kindness to a beast, by plucking a thorn out of the paw of an injured lion and nursing him back to health did the two form a friendship. Then, when found by his master, Androcles is thrown into an arena to be killed. But then he meets the lion once more and is spared; not for Androcles' status nor for how he looked like, but purely for the loving mettle of his heart. His master, so astonished, called for Androcles and when told the truth he was so impressed he set both him and the lion free.

Over the years, Hiccup became less and less interested in the story. Somewhere along the line, the boy who used to walk the forests and find injured animals to nurse back to health had turned his attention to the skies. To kill a dragon for the acclaim and approval he longed for.

I didn’t live permanently on Berk so I was not always there to be beside him, but it became clearer over the years that, besides a boy named Fishlegs, Hiccup had no friends. Always too scrawny, always never enough.

I'd considered, in private, one day taking him out to see the world beyond like my father had with Stoick in his youth. My father had convinced me that it would be unwise: It is not good to force a butterfly's cocoon open before its time, lest the creature will never learn how to fly.

So I resigned myself to wait and care for him with my own ways. If I could not bring him to the world, I'd bring the world closer to him. I arranged things so he would have penpals from the empires my family travelled to. I would delight in his smiles when I delivered their replies to him, little spots of sunshine in his life. Sure the letters weren’t as detailed or as flowery as how my father writes; but it did the trick to instill some confidence back in him. Some encouragement, a kind word, little trinkets, and compliments to his inventions and ideas.

He kept a journal filled with all his ideas, completed by notes and feedback from his friends all the way from the deepest south to the other tradesmen of North Frisia, my homeland. His dragon trapping mechanism plans also made it easier for my family to ensure the powers beyond that even the chief’s son—a young 15-year-old boy—was as dedicated as any Viking to the efforts against this ‘northern draconic infestation’.

And, sure enough, everything paid off the day he shot down that Night Fury from the night sky.

Chapter Text

To Lord Lucian Marius,
of the Marius Trading House,
Windswept Coast, Frisia,

Lord Marius,

May the wind favor your sails and your household remain in prosperity. I write to you under His Grace’s seal, at the behest of King Edward, son of Alfred, who has received concerning tidings from the North Sea routes. Whispers, as they are, speak again of creatures unfit for God's earth—beasts with wings and flame, rising above the mists of distant isles.

While our scribes have long debated the veracity of such tales, you and I both know how much truth walks hidden in folklore. And we know, too, where such tales often lead.

The King recalls, with gratitude, the assurances made by your honored family—assurances that Berk, and the islanders therein, would contain that which cannot be allowed to fly free. It was upon this understanding that many among our realm refrained from chartering ships northward with fire and iron. A fragile pact, but one maintained.

Now, troubling silence has followed since your family’s last recorded voyage, and fewer goods reach our ports from the archipelago. The merchants of Dover whisper of shadows in the sky. We do not take these murmurs lightly.

The King bids me ask: is the agreement still honored? Are the beasts still bound to their nesting grounds, and those who keep them know the consequences should they ever slip their leash?

Lord Marius, we speak as men of reason. We know that gold makes wars vanish, and oaths make kings hesitate. I trust, therefore, that you will send word swiftly, and act as your family has always done: as the bridge between fire and steel. 

Should you require more resources, know that the House of Wessex shall remain your steadfast helper.

With cautious regard,
Æthelric of the Southern March
Advisor to the House of Wessex
By hand of the royal scribe, this 14th day of Autumn

To Æthelric of the Southern March,
Advisor to His Grace King Edward, son of Alfred,
Under seal of the House of Wessex,

May the harvest bless your hearth, and may rumor never grow louder than reason.

Your words reach me not with surprise, but with inevitability. Yes, our people remember what most forget in times of peace: that myths never sleep. They simply drift until stirred.

I must confess that I have heard the whispers. I have heard them in the mouths of sailors with smoke on their breath, and in the eyes of younger traders who no longer look north without ease. You are right to write. Fear unspoken often becomes fire.

Let me state plainly: the agreement forged in my grandfather’s time, and reaffirmed in mine, remains intact. The isle of Berk—weather-beaten and unbending—still stands. And its people have not lost their grip on what should remain distant from the wider world.

You speak of beasts in the sky. I do not deny them. Nor have I ever. But you know as I do—what roams the clouds may yet be tempered by those willing to bleed for peace. That is what the islanders offer. That is what we all swore to protect.

To that end, I sail north within the week. My ship will carry goods, letters of record, and my own daughter Imka. My wife shall not be joining me for this voyage, for she is with child (a son if our predictions are correct), news I wished to have told you in better days - but that can wait for later.

Until my return to the mainland, may the oath hold.

With respect and remembrance,
Lucian Marius
Head of the Marius Trading House
Windswept Coast, Frisia
By my hand, on the 20th day of Autumn

Chapter Text

As meticulous as my father and Stoick always were in planning the safest date for our visits, that didn’t mean they were always right.

Tonight was just another in a long list of cases where they got it spectacularly wrong.

Dragons descended from the sky like a flock of multicolored crows, raining fire down on Berk and destroying half the buildings we’d just rebuilt today. I watched as flames devoured the roof of the baker’s house—again. A familiar crunch echoed nearby as one of the stone walls collapsed. Yet within the chaos, one lone brick stood untouched.

The same brick I’d laid earlier today the minute I arrived. The one forged with the finest stone alchemized in Wessex—guaranteed, supposedly, to be dragonproof.

I blinked at it.

“Oh, I knew they were the real thing –”

“Get down!”

Truly, the only thing that could keep my attention away from a Monstrous Nightmare about to set me on fire is the realization I’d found a new supplier for our trade.

Astrid tackled me to the side, yanking me down behind an iron-reinforced structure already crowded with frantic Vikings. The iron shell provided insulation from the heat, fortified by materials that repelled heat and then the layer of iron that resisted destruction easily –

“Are you crazy?!” Astrid shouted, grabbing the collar of my fur-lined coat and dragging me down fully. “What in the gods’ names were you doing out there? Staring at charred rubble while a literal dragon tried to incinerate you?!”

“I was looking at a brick!”

“A brick?!"

“It was the only thing left standing –”

“And it would’ve stayed the last thing standing if you stayed there!” Astrid groaned, hefting herself up and grabbing a wooden bucket that laid nearby. “Look, either get to the forge where Hiccup is or stay here –”

“Look, I’m sorry –”

She held a hand up, “Not the time to apologize, just stay back here."

"But I -"

“Stay safe first, apologize later.” Astrid placed a hand on my mouth, “You picked the worst night to come back to Berk, Marius.”

My shriek was muffled when a dragon suddenly whizzed pass, her parents chasing after it with a roar.

“It’s good to see you too though,” she said, finally standing up and stepping away. “And I better see you again tomorrow, intact, do you hear me?”

“I hear you! Knock ’em dead!” I wheezed the minute she let me go, then slowly realized every other Viking huddled behind the iron shell was staring. “Oh. Hello!”

“Lass!" One said, "Did your dad bring the iron I requested?! We're gonna need more after tonight -"

“Please tell me your family brought some extra food, these devils are robbing us blind!"

“Well, honestly —” I began, only for a dragon’s screech to split the sky above us – fear immediately grounding me back to reality. “... Maybe we should run first?”

“... Mayhaps we should,” squeaked the baker - at least I think it was the baker - his face ashen from losing his home for what must’ve been the twentieth time this year.

“The forge—we need weapons!” a woman called before charging off, the rest of us hot on her heels.

Astrid was right. This was one of the worst nights to visit Berk.

The letter from Wessex had been written with such concern that my family was left with little choice but to cross the sea and provide aid ourselves. We brought iron from the forges of Wessex, crates of medicinal herbs from Abbasid ports, and boxes upon boxes of salted mutton from Carolingian markets - meant to help Berk through the coming winter.

Now, as I stared out at the sea of fire engulfing the village, I knew they’d need every bit of it sooner than expected.

Dragons dipped from the starry skies to pluck the livestock from the farms, torching buildings and barns, and wounding many of the people of Berk. It was gruesome, but I knew Berk would recover - it always has. For every time my father or Stoick were wrong in their predictions of dragon raids, it would only strengthen the people’s resolve to obliterate dragons from the face of the earth.

During this time, I was more than proud to champion their name in foreign courts and herald tales of how I avoided dragonfire myself. Even if I was deathly afraid of them myself, at least these stories made me look tougher.

And of course, just as I was thinking that a Gronckle shrieked overhead then plummeted straight at me.

“Oh no –”

“Get down!”

Instead of Astrid screaming my way, it was Stoick himself. He stood between me and the dragon, a large shield in hand as he banged on it with his mace, overwhelming the dragon’s senses. Then he drove the shield upward with such force it shattered into splinters upon impact.

The Gronkle yelped in agony, swaying where it flew before hurrying away. Typically, I knew Stoick would’ve chased it down until it was dead but his attention was honed on me. His eyes flashed in the firelight, worry, annoyance, frustration, and relief all mixed into one as he beheld me. I knew that look, the same one he gave Hiccup whenever he messed up during one of these dragon raids. 

He took me by the shoulders and hefted me upright as if I was as heavy as a feather, “It’s good to see you again lass, let’s make sure I get to see you tomorrow as well aye?”

“... Aye.” I whispered, only realizing my voice was as hoarse as it was breathless.

“Go to your father, he’s at the forge with Hiccup.” Stoick paused, before pinching the bridge of his nose and attempting to be gentler, “It’ll be alright, okay? The Thorstons cleared a path ahead with some water, just breathe and run - run as fast as you can, do you hear me?”

I inhaled, grounding myself in his voice. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” Then his expression shifted—gentleness hardening back into steel as he glanced past my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn to know what was there.

“You and me though,” he growled at the Monstrous Nightmare creeping into view, “now that’s not alright.”

I ran like the world was on fire and my feet were the only things keeping me alive. Just before I reached the forge, I dared a glance back—and saw the dragon inhale, sputter –

Nothing came out.

Stoick cracked his knuckles with a grin. “You’re all out.”

By the time I reached Gobber’s forge, it was a frenzy of heat and movement. Villagers crowded the area, grabbing weapons, hammering blades, and vanishing into the chaos once more. Inside, I could hear Gobber and Hiccup mid-argument—something about swords, pride, and… raw Viking essence?

Hiccup was gesturing to himself, brows furrowed in frustration. “You sir are playing a dangerous game, keeping this much raw viking-ness contained – there will be consequences!”

“I’ll take my chances,” Gobber deadpanned. “Sword, sharpened. Now.”

I slipped in as quietly as possible, hugging the shadows as I moved past the two of them to get a closer look at Hiccup’s latest invention. Talia, a noble from Wessex, had written me at least five letters begging for updates. She was convinced that if Hiccup’s device didn’t work on dragons, it might still help her nab a husband. Yes, she meant that literally. 

I spent a good five minutes inspecting the contraption, turning it over in my hands, tracing the polished metal and carved levers. Hiccup and Gobber didn’t notice me right away—too caught up in their bickering.

Unfortunately, my father is my father.

“There you are!” Lucian Marius called out, dropping the five axes he’d been hefting onto the worktable with a heavy thud before sweeping me into his arms. “My goodness, do you know how worried I was? We talked about this before, Imka! There is never to be any wandering off the minute we disembark from the ships!”

“I’m sorry, but uh — remember that brick you thought was fake? It survived!”

My father paused, squinting at me as if trying to decipher whether I was joking. Then his head drooped with a sigh. “You take after me far too much, my love.”

“Lass!” came Gobber’s surprised cry.

Hiccup perked up beside him, his earlier frustration vanishing as soon as he saw me. “Imka! How — how long have you been in the forge?”

“Hi, you two!” I waved as best I could while still trapped in my father’s crushing embrace. “Uh, five minutes? Would’ve said something, but your invention really caught my eye. That and Lady Talia’s been writing to me nonstop about it —”

“At least my work is appreciated by some people.” Hiccup rolled his eyes pointedly at Gobber who in turn waved him off.

“Said she might need it to nab a husband.” I added casually.

“What — this is a dragon catcher, not some suitor snatcher!” Hiccup sputtered, scandalized. “That’s so — !”

Whatever Hiccup was going to say was quickly cut off when a group of vikings crowded one window, demanding for more weapons. Fifteen shields had been broken to splinters and 4 melted axes needed mending.

My father gave them a nod before turning back to me. “Now you stay put, alright? Both of you.”

“Okay,” I said, a little too quickly.

“I mean it.” His gaze shifted to Hiccup, the same gentleness Stoick reserved for me reflected in his eyes. “Please be safe.”

“I —” Hiccup started, then stopped himself with a deep sigh. Shoulders slumped, he nodded. “Alright.”

“Atta boy.” My father gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before rushing off to supply more weapons.

A beat passed.

“You’re not going to stay, are you?”

“Nope.” Hiccup gave me a sheepish grin, already making his way to the other side of the forge to start sharpening swords. “Cover for me?”

I sighed, grabbing a nearby bucket of charcoal and hauling it into the forge. “What’s on the menu this time?”

“Gronkle would be tough,” he mused. “Definitely would land me a girlfriend.”

“I thought your invention wasn’t for suitor-snatching?” I teased.

"A girlfriend isn't a suitor!" Hiccup’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Well… a girlfriend’s only a side benefit -”

“Apologies, what I meant to say is that it's specifically for Hiccup’s suitress-snatching needs.” I grinned, sliding freshly sharpened blades onto the counter — only for them to vanish instantly as Vikings swarmed them. “I suppose Lady Talia will be grieved to know of this development.”

“Oh har har.” He rolled his eyes.

There were around 3 months of letters for Hiccup to read from his friends abroad in my satchel. Letters from his friends with stories on new inventions, apprenticeships, and excitement for him one day becoming chief. I was hoping it’d put more pep in his step. It seemed he needed it now more than ever, because whatever Gobber had told him certainly dampened his spirits.

Just then, a shriek split the sky—sharper, louder, stranger than the others. A sound like fury wrapped in shadow and thunder.

The forge went still.

A second cry followed. The unmistakable sound of a Night Fury, echoing across the village like death’s own trumpet.

My heart jumped into my throat. I locked eyes with Hiccup.

“No way.”

“Uh… yes way—”

“Hiccup?!” I could already see what he was planning, “That’s what’s on the menu this time?”

“Cover for me!” he shouted, grabbing a bundle of gear and bolting toward the back entrance where his invention lay.

“Hiccup!” I hissed, but he was already gone, swallowed up by the night and the fire. So was Gobber, probably having felt that he could trust Hiccup in my care.

Man.

Another shriek echoed through the sky and I scrambled to look out the window, wondering if I myself could catch a glimpse of this famed Night Fury. The night sky was suddenly still, not a dragon to be found, until I caught the telltale glimpse of some moving thing blocking out the stars. My mouth went dry as I swallowed nervously, I could see Hiccup already moving to the cliffside just a bit away from the village - probably to take his shot and aim into the sky.

Before I could see what happened, flaming magma sputtered from the Gronkle's mouth above me.

I didn’t scream, but I think I stopped breathing.

And then—an arm yanked me back, hard.

“Imka!” my father shouted, shielding me with his body. “Stay back!”

“I’ve got it!” Gobber called, already lobbing a shield at the Gronkle's side. “Back! Get back, you flying tub of lava!”

“Where’s Hiccup?” My father asked, looking around frantically. “Hiccup? Hiccup Haddock?!”

That was when Stoick stormed through the forge, beard singed and smoldering at the ends.

“He’s not here?” Stoick barked, eyes narrowing. “I specifically told that boy to stay put—!”

Suddenly, Hiccup’s telltale screamed echoed in the air and my heart dropped into my stomach. I wrangled free from my father and bolted out the door. Through the smoke and flame, I caught a glimpse of Hiccup’s silhouette by the treeline; accompanied by a Monstrous Nightmare chasing him.

“There!”

“I’ve got it.” Stoick grunted with the same practiced frustration, already barreling off towards his son as if this was just another day at the village.

Which, technically, it was. 

It ended like every other night we picked the wrong date to stay on Berk. Hiccup did something reckless. Something exploded. He ended up standing awkwardly in the middle of wreckage and smoldering disappointment, villagers muttering and shaking their heads. He’d try to explain how he actually shot down a dragon. No one would believe him.

And my father and I would be left to tally how much it would cost to rebuild the damage.

This time, though, my father told me he’d handle it.

It would be better, he said, if I returned to the chief’s house to recover at the guest room Stoick always made ready for us.

“Speak to him,” my father sighed, taking his clean handkerchief to clean the soot off my face. “That poor boy will need a friend.”

I’d looked over my shoulder to see Astrid seated by a barely standing building, inspecting her axe, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. She was as concerned for Hiccup as I was, especially after the jabs the others threw at him (namely Snotlout, Tuffnut, and Ruffnut). Fishlegs also shared in his concern, he nodded towards me, about to gesture that he’d come along when his parents suddenly ushered him to help with the clean up.

Astrid looked like she wanted to offer to help too, but the chief’s house – well, not everyone was welcome there. She shot me an apologetic stare before getting ushered by her own parents to help with clean up. There was that too, an entire village to rebuild.

I took off the opposite direction, following Gobber and Hiccup closely. Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, the entire dragon raid seemed to have lasted perhaps somewhere close to maybe four incredibly exhausting hours. I could feel the tiredness settling in my bones and muscles, my legs aching from how much running around I did as well as from the long boatride to Berk. Exhausted, still recoiling from the dragon attack, my best fur coat singed, and my hair probably a mangled mess from all the tackling done to me. Then Gobber and Hiccup started arguing, again.

“I really did hit one.”

“Sure you did.”

“He never listens –”

“It runs in the family.”

I stifled a snort. That was an understatement. My great-great-however many greats-grandfather—loyal as a dog to Hiccup Haddock the First—had frequently written in his journal about how boneheaded the chief of the Hooligan Tribe was. Something something about war, something something about how it was a miracle the people of Berk hadn’t been booted off the continent sooner.

“—and when he does listen,” Hiccup grumbled, tossing his arms up, “he always gives me this look. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich.” He pitched his voice low, mimicking Stoick:

‘Excuse me, barmaid! I believe you brought me the wrong offspring! I ordered an extra large boy, with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side—this here’s just a talking fishbone!’”

“Now you’re thinking about this all wrong,” Gobber began, “it’s not so much what you look like, it’s what’s inside he can’t stand.”

Hiccup, paused, staring at the peg-legged man as if he couldn’t believe what he just heard. Frankly, neither could I.

“Thank you,” he drawled, “for summing that up.”

“A little help here?” I wheezed, hands on my knees and finally drawing both their attention, “Also, that’s - that’s not very nice – besides, there’s plenty of people in other places who – ack – look and act like Hiccup –”

“Okay first of all, still not helping,” Hiccup huffed, rushing to my side and slinging my arm over his shoulder. “Second off, I am so sorry I did not see you - I swear I’d have helped you get up here –”

“That’d be my fault as well,” Gobber sighed, hurrying to my side to help me up the steps too. “Had no idea you were following us, you’re so quiet! Like a mouse!”

“I was wheezing the entire time!”

“Ah. Hearing’s going. I'm old. What can you expect?”

They helped me up the steps as I exhaled shakily. “Look—the village is safe. My father brought in extra supplies to help you through the winter. Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved!” Hiccup said, helping me onto the couch in Stoick’s house. “I’m telling you—I shot that dragon!”

“Look, Hiccup,” Gobber sighed, fussing with the pillows behind me, “stop trying so hard to be something you’re not.”

Hiccup dropped onto the couch across from me, elbows on his knees, face half-hidden in shadow. But I saw it, he’d taken everything that day personally. That hurt only heightened when he saw my exhausted form, sprawled against the couch.

“Hiccup –”

“I just want to be one of you guys.” He said softly.

Gobber and I shared a look at one another, before I sighed and nodded to him, “I think it’s time for us to get a bit of shut-eye, right Hiccup?”

When he didn’t respond, Gobber took it as a sign to let us have our privacy, “‘Course lass, you especially. Sleep well, I know Stoick stocked some of your favorite snacks in the pantry. Told me to tell you to help yourself, and honestly – you’re looking a tad waifish there.”

“Looking waifish is the raging trend back on the mainland, Gobber.” I joked, eyes closing tiredly.

Gobber, unfortunately, didn’t pick up on the joke, “Augh. Barbaric, I tell you. Need some meat on those bones - right I’m heading back out, see you two later - and I better see you two later.”

I heard his pegleg scratch across the wooden floor, the door opening with a jangle, before closing soon after. A few beats of silence followed, before Hiccup finally spoke up.

“... So.”

“Still have our body decoys in the closet?”

“Yup.”

“Right, let’s go find that dragon you shot down.” I paused, "In 10 minutes. I can't feel my legs."

“I'll get you some water in the meantime."

“You also owe me a shoulder massage every night until I get back to the mainland for this.”

“Oh for the love of –”

Chapter Text

Looking back, I really should’ve been left to rest in the guestroom. Hiccup and I had been wandering for around 2 hours, judging by how light it’d gotten. We’d circled Raven Point multiple times with no sign of any Night Fury, I made sure to keep quiet about any complaints though. Not that I needed to, because apparently my exhaustion was written all over my face. If Hiccup wasn’t busy marking off the map in his notebook for every location we visited, he helped support my weight and took breaks when my feet failed me.

“I’m such a mess-up,” he muttered, helping me over a dense bush tangled in brambles and thorns.

“Hiccup,” I grunted, accepting his arm to hoist myself across. “You are not a mess-up. Yeah, okay, the situation is a mess—but you’ll be fine.”

“Some people lose their knife or mug,” he scoffed, rubbing his face in frustration as he marched ahead. “I managed to lose an entire dragon.”

“Or maybe you just killed it really good and nobody will ever find it because it's been smashed into pieces,” I tried again.

Hiccup groaned, walking faster, "Okay first of all, the contraption shot out rope, not some bomb!"

“Careful, there’s a—”

He reached out to swat a branch out of his way and— thwap! —it snapped back and smacked him square in the face.

“... Fantastic.” He groans, stopping in his tracks to rub his – now not only tired – but red face.

Despite how sore I felt, my eyes caught something: the tree the branch belonged to was splintered mid-trunk, gnarled and scarred as if something large had slammed into it. Beyond it, a muddy trail carved its way down the hill, like a massive creature—or contraption—had skidded through the foliage.

My breath caught in my throat as the thought registered in my mind, this ‘thing’... could it have been the Night Fury?

Hiccup seemed to be thinking the same thing as his eyes followed the trail downwards. Just as he was about to take a step to follow it down, he reached out his hand for me to take. 

He didn’t have to. He could’ve told me to wait behind a tree or rest—something I wouldn’t have argued with. But so much of the little boy I once knew lingered in the way he offered it, just like when we were kids and he tugged on my sleeves in these same forests. We as children—chasing after beetles and birds in the woods, with Stoick and Valka trailing behind, always watching. Broken-winged birds, strange mushrooms, the curve of an owl’s feather. We sat in moss and shadow for hours, quietly marveling at whatever the world gave us.

He’d lost so much of that wonder when he turned 12, when he decided that it was time to focus on killing a dragon in order to prove himself.

So when I saw that wonder again in his eyes—childlike, earnest, asking me to follow—what kind of person would I be to say no?

I cared more for my dearest friend than I feared any dragon.

I nearly skidded off that sodden muddy slope if it weren’t for him keeping me anchored, as scrawny as he might be his work at the forge had taught him technique was more important than raw strength. He balanced our weight carefully, hands catching onto gnarled roots of a tree and anchoring himself to leverage me down. Again, a memory came of him scaling these slopes as children with me, my father and mother huffing and puffing, helping each other over brambles and boulders as Stoick and Valka kept up with ease.

When we reached the end of the muddy trail, Hiccup motioned for me to duck before we peered over the edge. I could feel it then, both our hearts stopping when a large black mass came to view. It lay curled in the clearing below—reptilian in build, but strange, almost otherworldly. Its skin was so dark and smooth it looked more like polished obsidian than scale, its body bound by the rope from Hiccup’s firing contraption. The limbs were tightly tied. The head slack. The wings folded and limp.

At first glance, it looked dead.

I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

A warning flashed in my memories: whispers I’d overheard during a visit to the Caliphat. Traders from further east had spoken, quiet and half-laughing, about creatures that feigned death to lure their predators in. Some could mimic the sounds of injured prey. Others, like clever cats, would lie perfectly still until it was too late.

Who was to say dragons were not the same?

Before I could say a word, Hiccup jumped down the ledge, nearly stumbling in his eagerness.

“Hiccup—” I hissed.

Too late. He was already rambling, tripping over his own pride and disbelief, pointing at the ropes as if to prove it to himself: I caught it. I actually caught it.

I followed after him with less grace and more caution. While he paced excitedly, I approached the creature.

The closer I got, the stranger it looked. Almost catlike in shape—compact, lithe, sinuous. And yet, the details were off. Mammalian in some ways, reptilian in others. The texture of its skin shimmered like wet quartz, dark as a starless night, but when the light hit at just the right angle, tiny flecks of crystalline sheen blinked through, like stardust. 

And then when it opened its eyes to stare at me, its beautiful green hue - so akin to light emeralds - distracted me so well it took my instincts screaming at me to move.

“He's awake!” I whispered, moving to hide behind Hiccup.

“What - wha - oh!”

The shock of what he saw hit us both like a hammer. We slammed back against the muddy slope, Hiccup shielding me with his body as we scrambled in panic. That’s when I noticed the knife clutched in his hand—small, but sharp—and the dragon’s eyes, now open, narrowed into slits focused entirely on the blade.

“I’ll take care of it.” Hiccup whispered and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince me or himself.

The wonder in those green eyes of him faded as he tried to steel himself, moving off me and stepping closer to the caught Night Fury. His small arms were stretched out and I watched in anguish as his fingers trembled. A low, almost mournful, moan erupted from the dragon, like the hum of a ship’s bow at sea; its green eyes flicked to Hiccup’s knife, irises still in slits, before flicking to me.

That stare softened, as if pitying me - a defenseless daughter of a merchant who didn’t think to carry any weapon with me. I knew of animals who could pretend to play dead, to pretend to be prey; but to pretend to have pity? Empathy?

“I’m going to kill you, dragon,” Hiccup said, voice shaking as he raised the knife. “I’m going to cut out your heart and take it to my father—”

The dragon made no move. Its eyes widened just slightly, its head tilting as if to say: Then do it.

“I am a viking," he forced the words out of his mouth, "I am a viking!”

‘Imka, look! The bird broke its wing—we have to fix it!’

Why now? Why now did that memory return?

The little bird was so helpless when we found it; tweeting pathetically as it struggled to fly away.

The Night Fury turned its head, as if accepting its fate.

Hiccup froze for the briefest of moments, before he steeled himself again, knife raised higher.

Simple beasts didn’t do this; I know for a fact cornered animals fought to their last breath. I couldn’t turn away now. The poor thing’s arms were tied to its chest, unable to fight, unable to move - it’d given up on life.

Androcles, the memory whispered at me. Androcles.

Hiccup held still for a long moment. Then slowly, painfully, he lowered the knife. His shoulders sagged.

“I did this.” He murmured, turning back toward me.

I had already sunk to my knees, curled against the slope, chest heaving. My heart wouldn’t slow, wouldn’t settle. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, barely even think. Shutting my eyes, I steeled myself to stand and get Hiccup to walk away; to get someone from the village –

Snip, snap – the sound of ropes being cut, my heart skipping a beat as my eyes snapped open to see him cutting the dragon free. My mouth fell open, a silent scream in my throat as I watched the Night Fury’s eyes snap back open; pupils narrowed into slits.

“It happened in ancient times that a slave named Androcles escaped from his master and fled into the forest – ”

I watched in abject terror as the dragon launched forward and pushed Hiccup back towards me. His back collided with my chest and we landed with a thump against a nearby boulder. Massive claws pinned us in place, their curved ends resting just beside our necks. The dragon loomed over us, breath like hot steam blowing strands of hair from our faces. Both me and Hiccup were hyperventilating, the crushing weight of not just my best friend, but a full dragon, pushing me into the ground. The beast’s bright emerald eyes zeroed in on him, its breaths coming in steam-like puffs.

It looked like it wanted to kill us and I was sure it was going to as it unhinged its maw, teeth fully bared. I braced for impact as Hiccup sputtered, unable to form a single word. I shut my eyes again, praying that if I died my father would be alright, that my mother wouldn’t mourn for too long in her pregnancy - and my baby brother, who I knew I'd love before he was born, I’d never meet -

Yet instead of certain death, the beast screamed at our faces. The sound nearly shattered my eardrums, disorienting me as it leapt and maneuvered away into the hazy fog of the forest. I could briefly feel Hiccup scrambling off me, trying to steady his breathing and shaky feet. We watched as it slammed against the nearby cliffs, plummeting somewhere even deeper into the forest. 

Hiccup and I stared at each other, chests rising and falling as we tried to make sense of what just happened. 

“We –”

“... That –”

Whatever we wanted to say was short-lived however, for we both collapsed in pure shock and fear thereafter.

I don’t know what was worse at the time.

The fact that Hiccup and I had passed out for hours in the woods, the fact that we failed to kill—or even capture—the Night Fury, or the even worse fact that we’d let it go .

Or maybe the worst part was that it was still somewhere on the isle, lurking.

No. The worst part was that both our fathers were waiting for us in the dark of the living room.

We were barely upright—dirt-smeared, scraped, and running entirely on stolen handfuls of forest berries—when we crept through the door, wincing at the thunk it made behind us. We bolted for the stairs like two startled cats. Hiccup made it to the third step before—

“Hiccup.”

I made it to the sixth before—

“Imka.”

Wide-eyed, breath held, we looked at each other with equal panic.

“Dad/Father—uh…” we chorused.

The two men shared a look from where they sat, hunched over the fire and stoking the flames. My father nodded before standing to his feet to wave us down.

“Come down, the both of you.” My father called, “We need to talk to you.”

“Individually or...?” I tried, creeping down as slowly as possible.

“Together,” Stoick replied, stepping forward with arms folded. “I need to speak with you, son. And so does your father with you, lass.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing at Hiccup, who looked like the full weight of the day had just hit him all over again.

“I have to speak to you too,” he muttered.

I braced myself for the worst.

“I think it’s time you learned to fight dragons—”

“I think I don’t want to fight dragons—”

“What?” All four of us said at once.

My father and Stoick stared at Hiccup, bug-eyed, while he and I stared at Stoick gaping like two guppies in a pond.

Stoick cleared his throat, “You go first –”

Hiccup laughed awkwardly, moving to stand by the fire, “No – no you go first.”

We all migrated back to the fire like exhausted refugees. Hiccup and Stoick took one side, my father and I the other.

Stoick cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together and avoiding eye contact like he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“You get your wish,” he said finally. “Dragon training. You start tomorrow morning.”

My jaw dropped.

“Oh man I should’ve gone first –” Hiccup swallowed, covering his mouth. “Uh, cause I was thinking you know – we have a surplus of dragon-fighting vikings, but do we have enough bread-making vikings? Or small home repairing vikings –”

My father’s jaw dropped next, "I'm sorry, my ears must be broken - Hiccup you're always talking about wanting to kill dragons, no?"

Stoick, unfazed, held up a massive axe—half the size of Hiccup—like a peace offering. “You’ll need this.”

I stepped forward instinctively to help, but my father grabbed my arm, pulled me back, and dumped what felt like twenty pounds of books into them.

“And you’ll need these ,” he said with a pointed stare.

“What are these?” I wheezed. “Dad, my arms are killing me!”

“Oops. Sorry, my love. Got caught up in the moment with Stoick.” He quickly relieved me of the pile and sat back down, “I’ll uh – Stoick, should I go next?”

“Please do.” The chief cleared his throat, clearly as uncomfortable as any of us in the room.

My father offered a strained smile to the two of us before sucking a breath in and beginning, “Hiccup, Imka. You two have grown as thick as thieves, just as I with Stoick when we were growing up. I am full glad that the friendship between the Haddocks and the Marius’ have remained strong over the years. It is a good tradition that has followed us for years now.”

He paused, briefly exchanging a glance with Stoick.

“However, Stoick and I agree that it is within our – and all of Berk’s – best interest to prepare you for the roles you will one day inherit.”

Perhaps it was the sheer height of delirium—or maybe the total exhaustion—but I couldn’t help blurting, “Please don’t tell me we’re getting engaged.”

There was a pause. Then my father wheezed out a laugh, clutching his chest.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said quickly, still chuckling. “What I meant by ‘roles’ is that Hiccup will one day need to step into his father’s shoes as chief and a dragon killer… and you, my dear, will eventually take over mine as head of the family.”

I looked over at the pile of books and papers he’d previously dumped on me. I recognized many of the tomes and files: old letters between us and Wessex, trade agreements with the ports of the Caliphate, and history books I’d never seen before. My brow furrowed as the weight of it all finally began to sink in. I had always known I was next in line. But knowing something and being handed the future all at once—especially after what happened in the forest—were two very different things. I felt faint again.

Apparently, Hiccup did too.

“So you’ll need to brush up on some studying during your stay here,” my father said.

“Stay?” I repeated, incredulous. “Mine? Alone?”

My father sighed, looking to his closest friend for help.

“Lass, Hiccup—Berk has decided it’s time we took the fight to the devils themselves,” he began, his eyes hard. “In an hour, we set sail to find their nest.”

My eyes snapped to my father. “You’re going there again?!”

“The King of Wessex and the Carolingian court are worried, we know this yes?” he explained, “They fear the dragons are being driven south and disrupting trade. So I’ll be assisting Stoick and the fleet in charting a course to find it. I’m the best candidate because our family—”

“Knows how to chart maps,” I finished, exasperated. “Better than most because the seas are where our forces lies. I know. But, dad—you could die out there!”

Stoick stepped in. “Your father’s a strong man, has a strong stomach too. I swear, I’ll keep him safe. We’re not fighting them yet. Just scouting—enough to finally find that blasted nest—”

“Stoick,” my father warned quietly. “Temper.”

“... Right,” Stoick muttered, rubbing his face. “Point is, it’s high time we get proof of our work up here so you Marius’ can get your work done down there. And while we do, our children need to be prepared.”

Meanwhile, the proof of our failure was still somewhere on this island.

Hiccup scoffed, just as scandalized as I was. “Why do we need to be prepared then? You just said you’re coming back.”

“Probably,” Stoick muttered.

My father cleared his throat.

“Most definitely, we’ll be back,” Stoick amended quickly. “But in the meantime, we’d like to see you two make the most of this time.”

“Alright, rewind,” Hiccup said, his voice climbing in pitch. “I don’t want to fight dragons, dad.”

Stoick chuckled. “Yes, you do.”

“No—rephrase. I can’t kill dragons.”

“But you will.”

At that point, I was disassociating—staring blankly at the wall while the two of them continued arguing in circles. My father, ever observant, turned to look at me. His amber eyes took me in from head to toe: boots and furs caked in mud, leaves tangled in my cloak, streaks of soil across my face.

“You look exhausted, daughter,” he murmured. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped a smudge from my cheek. “You went into the forest, didn’t you?”

I made a small, noncommittal sound.

“Find any birds with broken wings?” he asked softly, no judgement in his tone. “Any hurt animals?”

I paused. Across the room, Stoick was now literally putting his foot down in front of Hiccup.

“One,” I whispered. “A... black cat. We, uh… found it tied up.”

“Tied up? How awful,” my father murmured. “Whoever did that must be cruel. Did you set it free? Check for any injuries?”

I shook my head. Guilt sat heavy in my chest. I remembered how helpless it looked in that clearing. “No—it ran away before we could help. It was… bumping into rocks and…”

“Ah.” My father offered me a quiet, knowing smile as he gently tucked my hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry. So long as it’s still out there, I know you two will find a way to help it.”

I nodded, speechless. There was nothing else I could say.

When Stoick finally wrapped up the discussion, he picked up the two small travel packs for both my father and him. The two of them made their way to the door. I didn’t miss the way my father paused at the threshold, his eyes lingering on me longer than necessary. His smile held layers—duty, pride, fear.

When the door clicked shut behind them, I let out a sigh and turned to Hiccup.

“Well.”

“...Well,” he muttered, letting the axe clatter to the floor with a loud thunk. “Worst day ever?”

“Undoubtedly.”

I couldn’t sleep that night. Whatever rest I craved could not be granted despite my exhaustion, not so long as the Night Fury was still out there, not so long as I was being reminded, yet again, that I was still an heir to the Marius family.

I climbed atop the roof of the chief’s house, just like I did many times as a child.

Wrapped in a fresh fur coat to guard against the bite of the autumn wind, I curled beneath the stars. They shone high and clear, and above me the moon hung like a polished silver coin, cold and distant. Beside me lay a few of the books and papers my father had given me—pages of trade routes, old histories, letters from foreign courts. But in my lap, I held the oldest one of them all.

I held it in my hands gingerly as my gaze went out to sea – to the little black dots on the moonlit waters, the orange fires dotting every deck like little fireflies as every able-bodied viking journeyed out to find the mist that hid the nest of dragons. 

Every able-bodied viking and my poor, poor father.

My father, who entrusted the book of my family’s lineage into my hands.

My father, who was every bit as insane as all heirs previous to me.

My father, who read a line in this book and said, yes, hoarding gold in the mountains and funding a secret diplomatic merchant empire is exactly what I and the rest of my children will be doing until we die.

Bound in flaking leather, its spine cracked and softened by age, was the books - my ancestor's journal - in my hands. The first Marius to ever serve the chief of Berk. Loyal as dogs, from beginning to end.

Because why have a family legacy of quiet retirement when you can swear multigenerational fealty to a freezing island full of axe-wielding maniacs?

It stood out from the others—weathered, yellowed, and filled with writing in a language few still knew. 

Latin, from the old Empire. Fortunately, there was a compartment that held the translated version of the writings.

“Haec est relatio Marci Marii Primi, olim servus imperii Romani, nunc liber a primo duce Berkiensi. Memor haec narratio sit posteris meis unde venimus, et quantum vitam nostram debemus populo Berki.”

“This is the record of Marcus Marius the First,” I read quietly, “once a slave to the Roman Empire, now set free by the first chief of Berk. May my account remind my descendants of where we started… and how much our lives are indebted to the people of Berk.”

Sure. Great, yeah – no, great stuff ancestor of mine. Great stuff.

Chapter Text

I’d overslept. Not surprising, given how bone-deep my exhaustion had been the night before, and how impossible it had been to fall asleep.

Downstairs was empty, neither Stoick, Hiccup, nor my father could be found. Last night’s events played in my mind and I groaned, dreading a great many things. One of which was the stack of books still left by the couch. I’d deal with that later, but first I needed to eat.

Fortunately I'd been left food on the breakfast table. A simple bowl of fresh fruit (apples and berries) with some dried meat and bread. Beside that was a small note written in charcoal pinned beneath a spoon.

Good morning lass,

Picked Hiccup up for first day of dragon training, was surprised you didn’t stir even once with all the hauling I had to do to get this fishbone out. Your dad told me how drained you were before he left, so I let you sleep in. If you’re reading this, I’m assuming you’re alive enough to come down and see everyone at work. 

Don’t worry—the arena is heavily fortified against dragonfire and any clever escapes.

Another thing: now personally, I don’t know much about what it takes to be a Marius heir. But your father says everything you need to know is in that ancient journal of yours. Feel free to start your studies anywhere, but just be aware that your father will be testing your knowledge when he gets back.

If you ask me though, it’d be nice to have you around again. Three months is a long time to go without a proper sit-down. Come read beside old Uncle Gobber by the arena, why don’t you?

—Gobber

I suddenly felt very, very alone to wake up in a house with nobody but myself.

A memory of a night from long ago came then, years ago—one of those rare evenings when the adults were all home. I had half-fallen asleep on Stoick’s couch, and despite the hazy dream-like state I was in, I could still hear them speak.

“Do you think we’re spoiling her?” my father had asked, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my upper arm.

Gobber, rummaging noisily through the pantry, grunted. “The girl wanted the fur coat. What were the three of us supposed to do—say no?”

“Forgive us,” Valka—rest her soul—laughed as she stacked dishes with Stoick. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

“And I’ve always wanted a son,” my mother, Gisela Marius, said with a fond smile, gently stroking Hiccup’s hair where he lay dozing in her lap. “I’d say we’ve spoiled your boy too, but he does love his fables.”

“Very expensive books,” Stoick grumbled, though not without warmth. 

My mother lifted her hands in mock surrender, only for Hiccup to stir and nudge her hand back to his hair.

My father laughed and I curled further into his arms.

I would always mourn Valka. I hadn’t spent much time with her, but from what little I remembered I knew that Stoick and Hiccup loved her deeply. Her loss hit everyone on Berk hard, including us. Fortunately, my mother was there for Hiccup when he needed her and though she’d never replace his own mother, I had a feeling she was exactly what he needed.

Which reminded me that nobody was ever promised tomorrow, especially on Berk.

So yes, I decided I would go spend today with Gobber—3 months was long enough.

Besides, what could go wrong?

Many things went wrong.

Bringing my books and notes to the arena on a dreary, rain-slicked day was, in hindsight, a terrible idea.

It had started off well enough—a half-hug from Gobber, an impromptu medical check from Gothi, and a wave to Astrid, Fishlegs, and Hiccup down in the ring. The three of them were already arming up, each looking a little nervous—except for the twins, who were busy headbutting each other in their helmets, and Snotlout, who was very obviously trying to flirt with Astrid.

“So, lass,” Gobber grinned, turning to me, “Lucian says you’ve been off to quite a few places these past few months.”

We were seated on the stone bleachers—Gobber, Gothi, and I—getting settled while the trainees readied their weapons. I’d taken off my coat and laid it across the damp stone, carefully spreading out my books and notes.

“Oh yes—empires, seas, principalities” I said, cracking a book open. “Even a few courts.”

“Courts, huh?” He nudged me with his elbow. “You’re nearly of age on the mainland, aren’t you? Anyone try to court you yet?”

I snorted. “Plenty. Turned them all down though.”

“All of them?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “What—were they ugly? Stupid?”

“Well, look – it’s not because they’re ugly or stupid or anything bad, I’m just…” I gestured to the pile of parchments and books beside me, “If I add marriage on top of all of this I’m going to crash and burn.”

Gobber paused, tapping his chin with his hooked hand, “Fair answer, good answer even.”

“What do you mean by that?” I squinted at him.

“Figured since you’re seventeen now, we might as well have the talk. Besides, I’ve always been curious about those strange customs up on the mainland.” He paused, then shrugged. “Also means we might still find someone for you on Berk yet.”

I laughed. “Gobber, our marriages are for trade alliances. Berk already has my family’s undying loyalty.”

“There you go again with your fancy-pants mainland logic,” he huffed, waving a hand. “But what about love, lass? True love?” He nudged my shoulder with a grin. “I’m no sap, but let me tell you—love’s the greatest thing in life. Now Stoick and Valka, that was... oh.”

He trailed off, blinking rapidly. “I’m gettin’ misty just thinkin’ of her again.”

“...I miss her too, Gobber,” I said softly. “But my parents didn’t marry for love, not at first. They fell into it after years of growing together. I think I could do that too.”

Gobber frowned, the humor in his voice softening into something gentler. “You’ve no idea what you might be missing, Imka. Not everything in your life has to be about trade. You could take something for yourself too, you know.”

I turned to the arena, watching the trainees line up. “And who would I end up with here? Tuffnut?”

I paused.

Tuffnut had just slammed his helmeted head full-force against the arena wall.

“...Never mind.”

“Wow,” Gobber deadpanned. “You really take after your father. Thick as a rock you lot are.”

I whipped my head around, scandalized. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Haha—” and with that, Gobber slipped through the metal railing and dropped into the ring below, shouting, “Welcome to dragon training, everyone! Let’s get started! The recruit who does best will win the honor of killing their first dragon in front of the whole village!”

My eyes instantly went to Hiccup, the poor boy looking just as squeamish as I felt.

“Behind these doors,” Gobber bellowed, now circling the group as he banged on the heavy door, jolting whatever was inside wide awake, “are just a few of the many species you’ll learn to fight. The Deadly Nadder, the Zippleback, the Monstrous Nightmare, the Terrible Terror—”

At the time, I remember thinking—Right. Intro to dragon classifications first. Seems fair. What’s next? Dodging techniques? Defensive theory? A lecture on dragon temperaments?

Surely Gobber wasn’t just going to open the cage and let them go at it?

Snotlout, having practically read my thoughts, called out, “Wait! Aren’t you going to teach us first?”

Gobber grinned, catching the iron door’s lever with his hook. “I believe in learning on the job.”

Of course he would.

Jaws hung slack as the cage creaked open and a Gronckle barreled out, wings flapping like a drunk chicken. It blinked rapidly, disoriented by the sudden light. I recognized it—it looked exactly like the one that almost turned me into mulch the night before.

Gobber barked orders as the Gronckle swerved overhead, snorting aggressively.

“Today’s lesson is survival!” he shouted.

Yeah. No yak-dung.

“Quick! What’s the first thing you need?”

“A doctor?”

“+5 speed?”

“A shield!” Astrid yelled, and if it weren’t for the sheer shock of what I was watching I’d have stood up and cheered for her.

The six of them scattered in a mad dash as the Gronckle swooped lower, magma drool glowing at the corners of its mouth. A ball of molten muck gathered at its lips before it sputtered , launching it straight at Fishlegs.

My charcoal pencil rolled off my fingers, long forgotten. Berk certainly lived up to its reputation as the most insane island this side of the world.

Gobber barked instructions as the Gronckle climbed higher, panicking now, its flight path jagged. It seemed to scan for an exit—until its eyes locked, inexplicably, onto Gothi, seated calmly a few feet away from me, flipping through one of the books I’d brought.

“Oh no,” I muttered.

The Gronckle wound up another shot.

I sprinted forward and tackled the elderly healer just in time, shielding her frail frame as the magma ball hissed past our heads and exploded against the seats behind us.

“Oi! Prey’s down here!” Gobber shouted, hurling a looped chain around the Gronckle’s legs. With a grunt, he yanked hard, dragging the beast down.

“Are you two alright?!” Astrid and Hiccup called at the same time, glancing toward us—then blinking at each other.

“I’m fine!” I called back, scrambling upright and making sure Gothi wasn’t crushed under me. “Elder Gothi, are you hurt?”

Still calm—eerily unbothered by the chaos—Gothi gave me a serene smile, pulled a handful of honey-candied hazelnuts from her pocket, and offered them to me like we’d just bumped into each other at the bakery.

I blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Another lesson!” Gobber bellowed, still wrestling the Gronckle. “If civilians are present— prioritize their safety! ”

I helped Gothi up, her frail hand gripping my arm with surprising strength. As I quickly checked her for injuries, I realized she was doing the same for me. She gave me a few gentle pats on the cheek before raising her staff and pointing toward the exit, gesturing to the Great Hall.

“Oh, do you want me to accompany you?” I asked—just in time to turn and see Hiccup ducking another burst of flaming spit, before running to hide behind a makeshift wooden cover.

Gothi tugged my hand, giving me a pointed look that very clearly said: He’ll be fine.

Finally relenting, I raised my voice above the chaos below. “I’m heading to the hall with Gothi!”

“Ah—alright, lass! We’ll join you when we’re done here!” Gobber called back, still grappling with the Gronckle.

I gave a quick wave to Hiccup—though he was far too busy dodging another molten fireball to notice—then took Gothi’s hand and turned toward the exit, silently praying to God that Hiccup would be alright.

The Great Hall was nearly empty, save for a few elderly Vikings eating a late breakfast or dozing near the hearth, enjoying the hall’s warmth. I recognized several familiar faces—the baker, who had taken up temporary residence here after his home burned down just the night before; a handful of upland farmers; a few fishermen; and the cooks who prepared meals day in and day out.

In the far corner stood tall stacks of crates—herbs and dried meats my family had brought, piled nearly to the rafters.

It would be enough to carry them through the winter, and a few more dragon raids besides. That meant Stoick would have one less thing to worry about when it came to feeding his people. This wasn’t the first time either. Over the years, most of Berk’s emergency provisions came from us and our trade partners. After decades of exchanges, the villagers had grown fond of certain imports: specially cured meats from the southern coasts, bitter root herbs from the Abbasid Caliphate. Some of them had even become essentials in new recipes—especially in One Horizon’s Stew.

Which was, incidentally, what I was eating now as I sorted through my books and parchments—a warm, creamy stew, savory and rich, and easily my favorite thing to eat while in Berk. Apparently, it was Gothi’s favorite too.

She sat across from me, completely absorbed in one of the books I’d handed her. I wasn’t foolish enough to bring anything containing secrets or sensitive records—though even if I had, few here could read them. Most were penned in Frisian or Latin.

Gothi was happily lost in a volume on Wessex folklore and its cultural contrast with the Franks. I’d heard that she was a well-traveled woman in her youth, that she’d met countless people from far-flung lands during her adventures. Judging by the soft smile on her face as she turned each page, I wondered if she was reliving a few of those moments now.

Thunder rumbled outside, distant and muffled, as rain began to pelt the wooden roof overhead. Inside, the hall was filled with softer sounds—the crackle of firewood at the hearth, the quiet snoring of elders, and the gentle shuffling of the cooks preparing the next meal for the trainees. It was warm, calm, almost cozy... if I ignored the faint screaming and bangs echoing from the direction of the arena.

Then, right on cue, the great doors swung open.

Five soaked-to-the-bone trainees trudged inside, each looking more disgruntled than the last. Wordlessly, they made their way to the central firepit, stretching out their hands to chase away the chill.

The wooden bench creaked beneath me as I stood, frowning, and made my way to one of the old crates we’d used last spring. Inside were leftover cloths and blankets. I grabbed six and returned quietly, offering one to each of them.

“Thank you,” Fishlegs said through chattering teeth.

“Anytime, Fishlegs.” I gave him a small smile, glancing around the group—then paused. I still had one blanket left in my arms.

“Where’s Hiccup?”

“Loser went into the woods,” Snotlout muttered, already burrowing deeper into his blanket. “Probably needed a moment after bombing training three times in a row.”

I ignored the loser comment and turned to Astrid. She looked away, her expression tight with frustration. Gobber just gave me an exasperated shrug, as if to say, You know how it is.

The forest. That’s where Snotlout said he’d gone.

Where the Night Fury was.

A familiar wave of dread swept over me. Of course he went looking for it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“It’s just rain,” Ruffnut offered unhelpfully.

“Could be worse,” Snotlout cackled. “Hiccup might’ve actually found that Night Fury he supposedly caught and got eaten alive.”

“Hah!” Tuffnut cackled. “Good one!”

“Guys—” Fishlegs whined, pointing at me.

I’m pretty sure the color drained from my face.

Distantly, I felt Gobber's hands on my shoulders as he guided me back to my table. He settled me down, gave me a firm pat, and assured me Hiccup would turn up. A few more encouraging words, and the blood slowly returned to my face.

“You know, Hiccup’s gotten into worse trouble during those three months you were gone—”

I nearly gave myself whiplash with how fast I turned to him.

“...Not helping. Got it. Forget I said anything.”

He offered a sheepish smile and ambled off, ushering the others to their table with a casual wave.

I sank into my seat, burying my head in my arms. What on earth could’ve possessed him to go out there alone? Or at all?

The thought of him getting devoured by that dragon was nightmare fuel — for me, for Berk, and for the next line of chiefs. I mean, aside from hating the idea of my friend dying, it also meant someone else would have to take over.

Snotlout, probably — which meant I’d be at his beck and call.

Frankly, I’d rather Astrid take the reins. Brash and brazen, sure, but strong, dependable. I wouldn’t mind being at her side.

Still, both options were awful if it meant Hiccup didn’t make it back.

I’d just made up my mind to head out into the storm when Gothi stopped me — with her signature pointed glare and a firm whack to the head from her staff.

“Ow!” I hissed, rubbing the spot. A few heads turned, then quickly turned back to their business. “What was that for?”

She shoved a scrap of parchment into my hands. Scrawled in her jagged hand: ‘ I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it.’

“But it’s my job to take care of him—”

Another paper, as if prepared ahead of time (and it was), ‘There is a clear line between coddling and taking care of him, Marius. Let the boy grow and learn, give him space. If he needs you, he will come find you.’

“But—”

The words died in my mouth then. In walked the boy in question — soaked, frowning, and lost in his own head. He kept his eyes low, only flicking them up to meet mine for the briefest nod before trudging past to grab his share of food.

Gothi handed me one last note before rising to leave with a simple wave. Your father made the same mistake with Stoick, long ago.

What mistake? I wondered. As far as I knew, my father was the last person to coddle the Stoick the Vast.

Hiccup slid into the seat across from me, brows drawn tight.

“Imka, do you—uh, have time? After this?”

Gobber’s voice cut through the room like a battle axe. “What did we learn today?”

“I learned that Gronkles are nasty,” Ruffnut mused, stabbing at her food. “Well, nastier than I remembered.”

“I mistimed my somersault dive,” Astrid admitted, frowning into her mug. “I missed the timing. It was sloppy.”

“No, you’re being too hard on yourself—” Snotlout started, obviously trying to flirt.

“She’s right, you should be hard on yourself,” Gobber interrupted, gesturing toward our table. “Now, where did Hiccup go wrong?”

“Everything,” Snotlout grinned—until he noticed my glare. I sat with my arms crossed, sincerely debating whether I should lob my bowl of soup at his head.

“I mean—” he tried to recover.

Without looking up, Hiccup slid his plate—half a roasted mutton leg—toward me with a half-joking smile.

“He’s never where he needs to be.” Astrid pointed out, making me pause. Her tone carried no cruel intent, simply a fact that yes, Hiccup had been hiding more than he was surviving.

Still, it didn’t stop him from wilting like a lily before me.

I pushed the extra blanket I had towards him and he accepted it with a small barely audible thanks.

“You need to live and breathe this stuff.” Gobber said, moving the conversation along.

Suddenly, he dropped a massive book on the other table. Old and weathered by time, its leather cover was scratched and cracked – embellished by what looked to be a dragon encased in a circle of runes of an ancient language.

“The dragon manual,” he stated, “everything we know about every dragon we know of.”

The sky above rumbled once more.

“No dragon raids tonight,” he mumbled, looking upwards. “Hurry up and get to bed when you’re done.”

Tuffnut made a face, “Wait — you mean read?”

“While we’re still alive?” his twin added.

Snotlout banged his fist on the table, “Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tells you stuff about?”

Fishlegs piped up, “Oh! I’ve read it like seven times—”

Soon enough, each one decided to leave the hall in search of something else to do besides read a single book. I had, like, 7 of them, but to each their own. Hiccup mustered some courage to get up and approach Astrid, who was the last one sitting there.

“So… I guess we’ll share?”

“Already read it.” She mumbled, clearly still upset.

It probably had to do with something about how Hiccup ‘messed up’ 3 times at the arena that day.

Hiccup tried to play it off, “All mine then, that’s—”

“Imka,” Astrid called, pulling my attention towards her. “You coming?”

I blinked, eyes moving between the two before gesturing to my own pile of books, “Can’t right now, Astrid. Sorry, I’ve got to study.”

“Fine,” She scowled at Hiccup before turning on her heel, “Try not to hog Imka all to yourself, will you? She has other friends too.”

“I–”

Whatever Hiccup wanted to say was promptly cut off when she slammed the door behind her.

Shoulders sagging even more, Hiccup picked up the book of dragons and lugged it back to my table. He looked even more miserable now.

“I did mean it though,” I said, quiet. “I have to study.”

“And I asked you to stay,” he grumbled, drumming his fingers on the table. “Look, if you wanna hang out with Astrid —”

I rolled my eyes and got to my feet, grabbing the blanket around his shoulders and making quick work to dry his hair.

“Hey!”

“If I wanted to I definitely would’ve said it.” I interjected, taking my time to wipe off some of the mud stuck to his cheek and the rain still in his ears. “But I didn’t, did I?”

“... No.” Hiccup sighed, relenting, and watching me closely as I used my fingers to rub off a particularly stubborn spot of mud on his cheek. “You’re always the only one who wants to hang out with me, besides Fishlegs.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” I said in a sing-song hum.

His eyes fell away, a smile on his lips, “Not really.”

“Mhm,” I said, “but there’s also others who do want to spend time with you, besides Fishlegs and I.”

“Wait — who?”

I smiled and dug through my satchel, “3 months and you’ve forgotten about your friends overseas already? What a sorry person you are, Hiccup Haddock.”

Now that put him in a much better mood.

We spent a good hour going over his letters together. Five were from Lady Talia, who was eager to purchase his latest invention— especially if he could fine-tune it for "husband-snatching." Two came from Clotide of Lugdunum, a well-read girl from the Carolingian Empire with an obsession for dragons and folklore; she’d sent a transcript comparing the dragons recorded in Berk to those found on the mainland. Then there were two from my mother, who missed him dearly and shared the good news of her pregnancy. And finally, one from Zayd ibn Khalid, the son of a scholar from the Caliphate, who remained Hiccup’s go-to for feedback on his inventions.

“No! You’re getting a brother?” Hiccup smiled widely, “That’s great news!”

“I’m excited too,” I said, scratching my cheek, “I just wonder if I’ll be a good sister.”

“Did you see the way you went all mother hen mode on me to dry me off?” He said, tone softening, “You’ll do great.”

My thoughts drifted earlier to Gothi’s note, “Maybe, just hope I don’t like, over-coddle him or anything.”

Hiccup arched a brow, “If you coddle then Gobber is a smotherer. You were dead as a log this morning but you should’ve seen him when he got in — would not let me off his hook, literally, until I was out the door! Look at the back of my shirt, there’s a hole in it!”

I laughed, shaking my head, “I can sew it up for you.”

“Please?” he sighed, shaking his head. “This is my favorite shirt.”

“Don’t you have, like, 8 others that are identical?”

“My. Favorite. Shirt.”

I lifted my hands in mock surrender, “Okay, okay little chieftain your wish is my command.”

Hiccup puffed out his chest and began mimicking his father, “Marius—ah, er—you’re joining me on the next raid! Where we will face sure death!”

I did the only thing I could do, give Hiccup my 3 best impersonations of my father’s most horrified faces. Each one more exaggerated than the last, as if he was certain death would come to him this time.

“Yes—yes that’s his face!” Hiccup clapped and pointed at my face.

“Everytime!” I wheezed, “Everytime he looks at your father like that—”

Both of us broke out in laughter, our voices bouncing off into shallow echoes. Thankfully the Great Hall had been cleared out, which meant we could goof off as much as we wanted. Just like we did as kids. 

“That was good, you got his face down perfectly,” Hiccup wheezed, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes, “It’s been a while since I’ve laughed like that.”

“Berk’s resident court jester and soon to be helper to chief at your service.” I gave him a mock bow, still stifling my leftover laughter. “Anyways, what’d you wanna show me?”

“Oh.” Hiccup dug into his pocket, producing his little sketchbook, “Here—so I went into the forest and I found—”

“Don’t tell me—”

“He’s trapped in this cove,” Hiccup whispered, the candlelight and dying fires our only witness. “Just where he flew off after he, uh…”

“Screamed in our faces?” I deadpanned, “Tried to choke us with its claws?”

“Look,” Hiccup waved his hand and flipped open the book of dragons, “Night Fury — Night Fury… here it is! And it’s —”

“Empty.” I frowned, peeking at the page and reading what little text was beneath it. “Speed, unknown. Size, unknown.”

“The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself—” Hiccup read.

“... Never engage this dragon. Your only chance: hide and pray it never finds you.” I finished, my heart dropping to my stomach as the memory of our encounter with it replayed in my mind all over again. “Haddock, we are not finding this thing again. And if we are, we need to find an adult to kill it before it hurts more people.”

“But that’s just it, it hasn’t hurt anyone — it only scared us,” he pointed out, “it could have torn us apart, Gobber said a dragon always goes for the kill. So why didn’t this one?”

I rubbed my eyes tiredly, “I—I don’t know. Maybe because you and me are way too scrawny for it to get a decent meal.”

“Dragons have gone for less during the raids, this doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh Hiccup…”

He reached over the table to grab my hand, “Come with me tomorrow.”

“What?”

“To the Cove, look —” he threw open his pocket sketchbook before me, landing right below the title ‘Night Fury’ on the book, “I sketched a bit of him. He lost his tailfin, probably damaged by me when I shot him down. He can’t fly, he’s stuck there.”

'He, huh?' I thought to myself.

“Then it's as good as dead,” I said. “A downed dragon is a dead dragon.”

Hiccup was silent for a moment, his green eyes moving away as if it hurt to look at his sketch. I studied that look carefully and realized there was a flash of guilt and worry. In this light, he—again—looked like he did when he was young, when he brought an injured animal home for us to tend to. I quickly tried to make sense of his motives best I could, what was he trying to do? Save it? The thing that has destroyed so much of the village, that has cost so much of not only my family but from our allies?

He couldn’t be seriously considering nursing it back to health, right?

To do so would be treachery, both to Berk, to my family, the empires, the other Viking tribes — if word got out, it could spell disaster.

My father was risking his life at sea with Stoick to track their nest and kill them, Astrid and everyone else fighting for their lives training in the arena, and —

“No.” I shook my head, “Hiccup, I don't think this is a good idea.”

“I’m not planning on helping him or anything,” he said, a smooth lie. “I want to document it - him for the book of dragons—”

“Don’t lie to me.” I frowned, “I know you. You’re having doubts, Hiccup this could be everything for you if you just—”

“It wouldn’t feel right, Imka.” He said, his voice rising in pitch. “You saw how he looked when he was bound, when I raised my knife — he gave up! Wild animals don’t give up, they fight to their last breath. They don’t stop struggling unless they know —”

“... that you don’t mean any harm,” I ran my hands through my hair, my voice quieter. “Like the birds we found with broken wings.”

“Exactly.” He said, conviction in his tone. “I’ll be honest I don’t know where I’m going with this, I don’t know what I’m doing — but one thing I know for sure is that I can’t do this alone.”

A pause.

“I need my best friend here.” Hiccup urged, squeezing my hand. “Please?”

I stared at him long and hard for a good while, before, against all common sense, I relented.

Running a hand down my face, I groaned. “... Fine.”

“You’re the best —”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the dragon.”

Chapter Text

The next day, I quietly slipped away from Stoick’s house and made my way into the forest. It was the opposite direction from the Cove, toward an old battleground of trees scarred by axes, moss-covered earth littered with stray arrows, and the rhythmic sound of someone training.

Astrid was there, sweat glistening on her brow, moving with the same relentless focus as always. This was her favorite spot—unchanged over the years. Tucked far enough from Berk to feel like her own world, a place where she could swing her weapons until her arms gave out.

It was also where, when we were kids, she’d pretend to be a valkyrie, and I was the damsel in distress.

Typical Astrid: so absorbed in her training that she barely noticed me as I quietly took my usual place. The same little corner we prepared for me, the damsel in distress, up on a tall boulder and locked away with her trappings. A worn rug, soft from use and only a little littered with twigs and leaves—though, oddly, it looked cleaner than I remembered. Had she been keeping it clean while I was gone?

Beside it sat a single cushion her mother had made. Pale blue, with “A.H.” stitched neatly into the corner. I remembered the day it was made—her mother sitting beside mine and Valka, the three of them chatting as they worked. Her mother and mine, nimble with a needle. Valka, on the other hand, kept pricking her fingers and tangling the thread.

Smiling at the memory, I quietly set my satchel beside me and checked to review the souvenirs I got her during my time away. The first was a finely crafted dagger from the Caliphate, its curved hilt adorned with intricate engravings of an eagle mid-flight. A single sapphire, small but striking, marked the bird’s eye. It was something I knew she’d respect—deadly, precise—but there was also something girlish and almost self-indulgent in the glint of that tiny gem.She was still a girl, after all. 

Astrid, for all her sharpness and strength, had always been fascinated by the lives of the girls I met on the mainland.

“So they don’t fight?” she’d asked me once, hurling her axe at a tree with a grin when it landed with a clean, satisfying thunk.

I’d paused, tapping my chin. “I mean, they fight. Just not with axes. They fight with their words.”

Astrid scoffed. “Sounds petty.”

“It can be,” I said, laughing. “But it’s no pettier than Ruffnut headbutting Tuffnut because he stole a bite of her mutton leg.”

That got a snort out of her.

“Instead of headbutting,” I went on, “they dress themselves to the nines. Best perfume. Hair piled up into these intricate braids, full of ribbons and flowers—”

She paused, then took her braid and showed it to me, “Like this?”

“A bit more intricate.” I said.

“... Can you make it for me?” she asked, then looked away shyly, “Just — if I have to fight like they do one day, I want to be ready.”

I smiled, patting the spot next to me, “I’d be honored, valkyrie.”

Even now, her braid held a single blue ribbon woven between strands and chunks of hair. An older ribbon that was in dire need of a replacement. Which was another one of the gifts I’d gotten her, one that was the same shade and another that was a shimmering pale gold, similar to the color of her own hair. I waited patiently as Astrid hurled axe after axe at the trees around her, until finally she got to the tree right beside me. I didn’t so much as flinch as it whizzed past me, embedding itself into the wood. 

Astrid never missed her mark. So long as I wasn’t standing in front of her target, I knew I was safe.

“Imka!” she called, her lips curling into a smile as she jogged up to me. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Since you hit that tree,” I nodded toward it. “Also—congrats on being the last survivor standing yesterday.”

“Ugh, I could’ve done better.” She rolled her eyes and climbed up onto the boulder beside me, her legs dangling shorter than mine. “I mistimed—”

“Your somersault, yes, I remember you being very critical about it at the hall,” I said. “Still, a win is a win. And that reminds me—doesn’t a winner deserve a gift?”

Astrid’s blue eyes widened as she saw what I’d brought her, an eager and pleased smile curling on her lips as she accepted the items into her arms, “Woah — this dagger —-”

“The gem matches your eyes,” I smiled. “It’s ceremonial, kind of, but if you slip it into your boot or wear it at your waist, it could come in handy in a tight spot.”

She turned it over in her hands, then looked at the ribbons. “...And these.”

“Blue and gold. One to match your eyes, one to match your hair.”

Without a word, she began unbraiding her hair.

“Can you tie the gold one in?”

“Gladly,” I said, shifting behind her, letting her soft hair fall into my hands.

“So,” she said, as I began parting the strands, “how’s life back on the mainland?”

“Oh the usual,” I said, sectioning her hair off. “Elizabeth and Beatrice are still at each other’s throats because they wore the same dress to that party. Conrad is still trying, and failing, to court Emma. Oh, and there was recently a catfight that broke out between Amelia and Genevieve.”

“Why?” Astrid said, “I thought they were best friends?”

I shrugged, “Something about their families? Alas, I can speak no more of it — the priests say gossiping is a sin.”

“That’s lame.”

“Okay in truth I really don’t care,” I sighed, weaving the pale gold ribbon between her blonde locks. “I’ve been so busy with my father that I rarely have time to keep up. That and I’ve had to keep my mother company because… well, I have a brother on the way.”

Astrid whipped her head around with a huge smile, “A brother?! Congratulations!”

“Astrid, I’m not done with your hair!”

“Oops.”

Gently, I grabbed her head and forced her to turn away.

“Stay still,” I said, trying to act annoyed, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. “But thank you. It’s... strange. I can’t quite imagine having a younger brother.”

“I can,” Astrid said confidently. “If you can handle Hiccup Haddock, you can handle anything.”

“Astrid,” I sighed, reweaving the ribbon, “can’t you be kinder to him?”

“I am kind,” she argued. “I don’t call him names like the others.”

“But you’re also ignoring him,” I said, my tone growing soft as I tied off her braid. “I know you can be a very loving and sweet girl, and I’m glad you don’t call him names. But he needs a friend, not just someone who stands at the sidelines like everyone else.”

“Loving and sweet, huh?”

I rolled my eyes, “You know what I mean.”

“Why do I have to do it?” She said, pulling a face and looking away. “He doesn’t even do his job right, our parents are fighting a war against the dragons and he just…”

“Would you like it if I ignored you just because you weren’t like me?” I said softly, laying my hands on her shoulder and turning her slightly to face me. “Just because you didn’t wear the pretty dresses, wore beautiful jewelry, or could attend the parties back on the mainland?”

“... I’d hate it.” She admitted, struggling to look me in the eye.

“Exactly.” I nodded, “Hiccup tries, we all try. That’s the most important part.”

“Yeah but this is different. When he tries he only makes things worse,” she argued, her blue eyes flashing in the sunlight. “And we have to fix it. The amount of damage he’s done to the village — you saw him during that raid! And it’s your family’s money that goes into fixing everything —”

I grabbed her shoulders, “My family has more than enough money to cover any faults, from Hiccup, the dragons, or anyone else. And more besides.”

I tucked the dagger into her hands for good measure.

“You don’t have to worry about any of it, Astrid.” I said, “I can fix it. My family can fix it. All we ask, all I ask, is that Berk is there for each other. When Hiccup is one day chief, he will need the support of his people. Before you are a viking, before you are a dragon slayer, that is your duty. Our duty.”

She went silent again, frustration marring her brow, before she let out a groan, “I hate it when you pull speeches like that on me.”

“Did it work?”

“‘ Did it work ,’” she mimicked me with a scowl, arms crossed.

Without a doubt it worked.

I laughed, poking her in the stomach, “I don’t sound like that!”

“Hey don’t —” she yelped, laughter bubbling out of her as I continued to tickle her. “Stop — stop!”

We ended the morning with Astrid wearing a new braid and her Caliphate dagger attached to her belt—while I ran back to town, chased by her and a very real axe.

At the arena, Gobber had armed everyone with a round wooden shield and a weapon of choice. For safety measures, he armed me and Gothi with one too to ‘prevent any unnecessary injuries’.

“You know, I could just stay at the chief’s house. Or the Great Hall.”

“And die of boredom?” Gobber laughed, clapping me on the shoulder so hard I nearly keeled over.

“I could die of dragon fire instead then.”

He waved a hand before shoving the shield into my hands, “A Deadly Nadder primarily kills with its piercing spines. No fire.”

“Very well, death by piercing spines it is.”

And that’s how I ended up seated on the stone bleachers beside Gothi, hiding behind a shield I could barely lift, watching the chaos unfold below. Well—watching was an understatement. It was more like barely believing what I was seeing.

While the Deadly Nadder, with its piercing spines and intent to kill, stalked its prey within the maze Gobber had set up; it seemed everyone, except Astrid, wanted to do anything else besides the task at hand.

Snotlout trailed after her at every opportunity, flirting shamelessly and even commenting on the new ribbon in her hair. That was the only thing that made her pause. She smiled— actually smiled —and Snotlout looked like he’d just ascended to Valhalla. The twins, meanwhile, were too busy tripping over each other mid-bicker to make any progress. Fishlegs was running in circles and screaming, as usual. And Hiccup?

“Hey, so I just happened to notice… the book had nothing on Night Furies,” he said, as if the others weren’t currently screaming their heads off. “Is there like a second book? A sequel? Or maybe a Night Fury pamphlet—?”

His question was cut short when the Nadder shot a fireball that incinerated his raised axe mid-sentence.

I gaped, “I thought you said it primarily kills with its spines?!”

“Focus, Hiccup!” Gobber barked. Then, glancing back at me, “Relax, lass. The shield will protect you just fine.”

“You said that about the arena last time and the Gronkle nearly incinerated Berk’s only healer!”

Gobber raised his voice to the other trainees, “Today is all about attack! Nadders are quick and light on their feet, your job is to be quicker and lighter!”

The blue dragon balanced itself along the edges of the maze, claws gouging deep into the wood. If I ignored its teeth and the look in its eyes, it almost resembled a parakeet. That illusion shattered when it raised its tail, spines flaring—and shot a barrage straight at Fishlegs, who barely managed to block with his shield.

“I’m really starting to question your teaching methods!” he screamed.

Gobber just rolled his eyes. “Look for its blind spot! Every dragon has one—find it, hide in it, strike!”

“Like a parakeet has a blind spot?” I offered dryly.

“Ah yes, that bird from the mainland. Well, birds in general have a blind spot. Got a picture of one, lass?”

I rummaged through my satchel of books and pulled out a bestiary, flipping to the section on birds. I held it up between us. Our eyes flicked between the illustration of the colorful, cheerful parakeet and the snarling blue Nadder currently circling the twins.

“…I mean, the resemblance—” I mumbled.

“Very close,” Gobber nodded, thoughtfully tapping his chin with his hook. “Even the feather colors.”

“Parakeets are very popular. Very loved. Very in demand back home,” I said.

“Is that so?” Gobber murmured. “Might just ask your father if he can get me one. How much do they cost?”

“Well, I suppose my father could get you a discount. We know a trader in Wessex who specializes in birds,” I said, our conversation turning oddly civil as the rest of the trainees screamed below. “I got one from him for my sixteenth birthday. Adorable little thing—would you like to see the drawing I did of it?”

“I’d love to. One moment—” Gobber turned back toward the arena. “IT HAS A BLIND SPOT, NOT A DEAF SPOT! STOP YELLING!”

I showed him the drawing, “So, this is Richard.”

“Oh how beautiful, they come in red?”

“This type is from further down south, so the color is a bit unusual—-”

Our conversation was, unfortunately, cut short when the maze began to collapse—one wall at a time—as Astrid scrambled to escape the Nadder.

Gobber and I weren’t exactly sure when things had gone so horribly wrong, but suddenly everyone except her and Hiccup was out of commission.

“HICCUP!” she roared, leaping over the last standing wall and vanishing into a cloud of dust as she barreled toward him.

The Nadder reared back, wings flaring, teeth bared. Its beady yellow eyes—pupils narrowed to slits—tracked the dust cloud, head tilting slightly as it waited for its prey to reemerge.

I jumped to my feet out of instinct—not that I could actually do anything—but Gobber threw out an arm and shoved me back.

“Wait,” he said. “Watch.”

“But—”

The dust began to settle.

Through the thinning haze, Astrid emerged first—perched atop Hiccup, their legs tangled together. Her axe was buried deep into his shield, and both of them were heaving for breath.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

The gears turned slowly in my head.

Then I thought about it a bit more.

Hm. This could work - maybe they have something in common I could work with?

“Oh,” Gobber gave me a wide-eyed stare, before groaning, arm faltering. “Not what I expected, exactly…”

“Oooh,” Tuffnut cooed from afar, “Love on the battlefield!”

Ruffnut cackled. “She can do better.”

“Let—let me—” Hiccup stammered, flat on his back, his words tangling together until he glanced up and saw me staring. “I can explain—”

“Explain later!” I shouted. “Nadder, closing in!”

“I can see that!” Astrid snapped, finally untangling herself from the mess of limbs.

The Nadder roared again, wings flared wide as it lunged forward, jaws agape. I looked to Astrid, still trusting she could handle this. But then I saw her expression shift—eyes fixed on her axe, still embedded in Hiccup’s shield.

Her eyes went wide.

She grabbed the handle and yanked, but the shield wouldn’t budge—Hiccup clung to it, sputtering uselessly, no help at all. The Nadder was nearly on them.

Astrid’s panic deepened. Then—foot firmly planted on Hiccup’s face—she heaved .

She ripped the axe with the shield still attached and swung both as one, slamming them into the dragon’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the arena like thunder.

The shield shattered.

The Nadder stumbled back, shrieking and sputtering like a concussed animal before it ambled away.

I dropped into my seat with a sharp exhale, relief flooding me like a tide.

“Oh thank God,” I mumbled, wiping my face with both hands.

“Well done, Astrid,” Gobber called as he jumped down into the arena.

I took a few shuddering breaths before finally forcing myself to look. Astrid stood in the dust, chest rising and falling fast, her eyes locked on mine. Then, without a word, she lifted her broken axe and pointed it toward Hiccup.

Her face seemed to scream at me: You want me to stop ignoring him? Fine.

He was curled up on his side, legs pulled to his chest, arms over his head like he could disappear into the dirt. Oh no. She was going to chew him out.

Her mouth tightened—not in anger, but in stubborn defiance. Not at me. Not even at him, really. There was no cruelty in her eyes, only hard truth, sharpened by fear and fire.

“Astrid,” I sighed. “Don’t—”

Too late.

She turned, shoulders squared, spine straight as a drawn bow.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” she snapped, leveling her weapon right at his throat. “Our parents' war is about to become ours.”

There was a pause before her frown turned into a snarl, reigning whatever else she wanted to say in, refining it until she settled on her last words of the day to him:

“Figure out which side you’re on.”

Chapter Text

“Hiccup —” I called, “Hiccup — wait —”

We were currently trudging through the forest, a small basket of fish in my hands and a shield in his. He walked with purpose ahead of me, his steps quicker than I could keep up with as the brambles and roots kept catching onto the ends of my skirt. Did he purposefully pick a path more dense with foliage than last time? Because that would clearly explain why I was having a much more difficult time getting around.

“Hiccup —”

“Sorry,” his quiet voice cut, his hand suddenly finding mine as he helped me navigate around the brambles and roots. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Thanks, and yeah I can see that,” I frowned, grunting as he helped me down the path. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” he sighed. “I see Astrid got a new ribbon in her hair, your handiwork I’m assuming?”

“Mhm.” I said, now falling into step beside him. “I spent some time with her this morning, I had some gifts for her waiting in my bag.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “That explains why you weren’t at breakfast.”

“I grabbed an apple, so I’m not that hungry.” I shrugged as we ducked beneath a branch, slowly nearing the Cove. “Plus Astrid and I stopped for some food at the hall before.”

He gave a sharp little huff. “You and her, huh? Well, you missed the famous Haddock breakfast spread today.”

My lips twitched, “Is that jealousy, I hear?”

Hiccup’s cheeks turned red, “What? No — no! Just, you know, you didn’t get to eat food I made for us —”

I laughed, “Oh Hiccup, don’t worry. We're only friends, I saw how cozy you two were at the arena.”

“Wait, what? No, that’s not—I didn’t—” He fumbled, words tripping over themselves before he finally groaned. “Nevermind.”

I let out another laugh, deciding to drop the subject. Privately, I could definitely see a Hofferson and Haddock union. Aside from the fact that Stoick adored her, Hiccup’s head-in-the-clouds tendencies could really use a grounding force like Astrid. And in turn, Astrid’s softer side could be drawn out by someone like Hiccup—given the right circumstances, of course. This was all speculative, but if I could find just one thing these two had in common it would be the only thread I needed to pull to solidify them as a good match for Berk.

Maybe, when they were older, I’d play as matchmaker for the two.

On Hiccup’s first trip to the mainland, I could persuade Stoick to allow me to bring Astrid along. I could picture it all perfectly: the gardens behind my family’s house, glowing with candlelight and fireflies. A bard playing something sweet in the background. Astrid in one of those elegant dresses I kept stored away. A banquet for three—just the three of us—until I’d suddenly remember pressing matters I needed to attend to.

How unfortunate to be the heir to a merchant family, burdened with so many responsibilities!

I’d flash them a polite smile and say: “Have a good time, you two. Enjoy the food… just you two. Alone. Without me. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“We’re getting close,” Hiccup exhaled, looking at me. “Just let me go in first, stay behind me alright? Oh, and pass me a fish.”

The Cove was a large sunken clearing with a modest pool of water at its center, likely fed by a spring deep underground. It looked mostly ordinary—peaceful, even—with no sign of a Night Fury in sight. A few birds chirped nearby, flitting off as soon as we stepped between the two boulders that framed the entrance. Hiccup’s shield got jammed between them, and he motioned for me to duck under instead.

So we were defenseless now. Wonderful.

Though perhaps we wouldn’t need a shield, because there was no Nightfury to be seen. Just as I opened my mouth to let him know, the sound of something scraping against stone made me turn — only to see the dragon itself perched atop a stone.

Its eyes were narrowed, nostrils flared, body curled like a cat ready to pounce—though the way its wings were tucked in said otherwise. Its tail swished behind it, and I saw it then: the injured tail fin, just like in Hiccup’s sketch. It sniffed the air and climbed down slowly, heading toward him. Hiccup immediately stepped in front of me and pushed me back.

“Hiccup—”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it…” he whispered, eyes locked on the beast.

The thing’s eyes were trained on the fish in his hand, salmon from the river upstream. I dared a glance at the waters, noting how it seemed devoid of any life; maybe all the fish had fled deeper below? Spooked, most likely, and honestly so was I. 

Fear lodged in my chest as the memory of when it pinned me and Hiccup down replayed in my mind again and again, then the memories of yesterday with the Gronkle and then this morning’s Nadder. It was too much.

Something splashed beside me—Hiccup’s dagger, flung into the water.

I squeaked and stumbled back, falling into the shallows with a loud splash. Thankfully, I’d landed close to shore, but my fur coat immediately soaked up the water, dragging me down as I struggled to stand.

Then someone nudged me up. A firm push at my back and side. I assumed Hiccup had rushed over, but this felt too strong, too steady. I blinked away the water in my eyes, only to find Hiccup seated by a rock. Back to the stone, a half-eaten fish in his lap, staring at me bug-eyed.

So if he was there… then who was beside—

Oh. Oh no.

The Nightfury had apparently rushed over to me to help me up from the water. It used its body and head as a crutch for me, helping me settle myself beside Hiccup. I didn’t know what to think. The cold water, and the fact a dragon was helping me, had shocked all reason from my mind.

So I sat there. Shivering. Dripping. Staring across at Hiccup, who was staring right back.

The dragon made a low moan, and I locked eyes with it. Its pupils were wide now, ears (horns? fins?) angled back. It huffed and eyed my basket. There were a few more fish in there.

Cautiously, I held it out. What else could I do? He’d just fished me out of the water.

My fingers trembled as the Night Fury gently nudged the lid off with his nose, gave a low grumble, and then—delicately—plucked the remaining three fish out with retractable teeth. He swallowed them whole.

“He’s a lot gentler with you,” Hiccup murmured.

“Can’t be because I’m a girl, right?” I muttered, brows furrowed. “That Gronkle didn’t hesitate when it nearly took out Gothi—”

The Nightfury sniffed again, licking its lips, before it began regurgitating one of the fishes it just swallowed. I worried it’d drop it into my lap like Hiccup’s, as if being soaked in cold water wasn’t enough to ruin my dress. Yet, strangely, it was intelligent enough to drag a large leaf over then spit it out on top of it. The dragon then pushed it over to me with a small grumble, sniffing once more.

“That’s… unusual,” Hiccup said, tilting his head with fascination. “Is he… setting a plate for you?”

“I think the fact that we’re not dead yet is more unusual,” I shot back through chattering teeth.

The dragon let out another rumble, looking between us, then at the fish again. I opened my mouth to speak—only to sneeze instead.

It tilted its head, curious. Even that single motion made me flinch.

Then, carefully, it gathered sticks and leaves around us with those hulking claws and, in the blink of an eye, fired a small plasma burst. A campfire sparked to life.

Hiccup and I stared at it.

Then at each other.

Then at the fish.

Wordlessly, I skewered the regurgitated fish with a thin branch and held it over the fire. I still couldn’t quite believe what I was doing.

“Pass yours,” I said, motioning to Hiccup.

He handed me his with a bewildered look.

And that’s how the three of us—two scrawny humans and the unholy offspring of lightning and death—ended up sitting around a campfire, roasting regurgitated fish together.

I half expected the dragon to leave or devour us, but instead he sat down on his hind legs and just waited in silence. It took around 10 minutes of pure, uncomfortable silence, before the fish was ready. I handed Hiccup his and took mine, before breaking off a small piece to offer the Nightfury.

The black dragon made a soft sound, licking its lips. It apparently liked roasted fish. Hiccup and I shared a stare before I lifted the rest of my fish toward its mouth. 

My stomach grumbled, but honestly I’d rather be hungry and alive than full and dead. 

The dragon leaned in, opening its mouth—then paused. At the sound of my stomach, it blinked, huffed, and shook its head. Then it narrowed its eyes at me, as if to say: You eat it.

I stared. That… was strangely considerate.

The evidence for its intelligence was stacking up fast. It had noticed I’d fallen in the water and helped. It shared food. It built a campfire. And now it was sitting with us, calm, as if it understood we were something more than prey. Like it wanted us to see it as something more too.

My anxiety started to ease. It didn’t want to kill us—not when we found it bound, and not now. That had to mean something.

“Thank you,” I said softly, before taking a bite of the fish. It tasted strange—probably the regurgitation—but not terrible.

What a story I’d have to bring home. While my friends told tales of eating camels and other exotic things, I’d be the only one who dined on roasted, regurgitated fish. From a Nightfury.

…Yeah. I’d never tell anyone. I’d be sent to a priest for an exorcism if I did.

Hiccup nodded to me, maybe a little too eagerly, before turning back to the Nightfury. A smile bloomed across his lips—and against all reason, I saw the dragon’s mouth twitch and show its pinky gums. As if it was trying to smile back.

Hiccup rose to his feet, slowly, like he didn’t want to startle it. Then, with a kind of breathless hope that’d grown rarer as he matured, he reached out his hand toward the dragon. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but something closer to awe.

I held my breath, watching the moment stretch thin—and then gasped when the dragon bared its teeth and growled. In an instant, it spread its wings and launched into the air, flying across to the far side of the Cove. I frowned, eyes tracking its flight, and noticed how it faltered midair, wings twitching as it struggled to land smoothly. Probably because of his injured tailfin.

Hiccup, driven by what we had just witnessed, took off after the dragon. I instinctively reached out a hand to call him back—to make him wait, to think this through—but he was already on the other side of the Cove and I was far too tired to follow.

With a sigh, I unclasped my coat and draped it over a few rocks near the fire to dry. Then I sank back down beside the flames, staring into them as the warmth seeped into my bones. My thoughts churned. The Vikings, the empires, everything we once believed—it could all be wrong. And if anyone ever discovered what we were doing out here...

It could be disastrous.

‘But it could also be great,’ a quiet voice murmured from somewhere deep inside me. The voice didn’t belong to the person I’d grown to be, training to be—it belonged to the girl I had tucked away long ago, back before I was burdened with the secrets of my family and of Berk.

‘ Imagine it,’ she said. ‘ Just like the stories we used to read.’

I shook my head, trying to ground myself. It was too much to consider, too heavy a future to imagine. I hugged my knees to my chest and warmed my hands by the fire, letting the soft crackling lull me. Slowly, the weight of exhaustion took over, and my eyes began to close.

When I came to, it was to the sound of a large thing being dragged across the soil. What felt like leaves and branches rustled against me from time to time, rousing me awake. 

Then there came Hiccup’s voice, soft and earnest, “Hey, wake up — look at what he’s doing.”

My eyes slowly flickered open, the first sight greeting me was a doodle in the soil of a dragon. Hiccup’s art style was distinct.

“Oh,” I sighed, eyelids drooping once more. “That’s very nice Hiccup.”

“Not me,” he said, nudging my shoulder insistently. “ Him! ”

I mumbled something unintelligible as I forced my eyes to open again, squinting into the sun’s dying light. The dragon—tree branch in mouth like a dog with a chew toy—was swirling in slow, deliberate movements, carving something into the soil. My first thought was that I must still be dreaming. I rubbed at my eyes. Surely this was some trick of the light, some sleep-addled illusion.

“What am I watching?” I whispered. “Am I dead? Did it eat me in my sleep?”

“He,” Hiccup corrected gently, not taking his eyes off the creature. “ He’s drawing. ”

“Oh,” I breathed, “Oh my goodness.”

The dragon paused mid-stroke, glancing toward me as if to confirm that I was, in fact, awake. Then he continued, dancing in wide, gleeful circles as he dragged the branch along the earth, sketching strange and beautiful lines all around us. Finally, it marked the end of its masterpiece with a dot on the ground.

I rose slowly to my feet, arms folding around my torso as a shiver ran through me. The chill without my coat bit sharper than I expected. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, gaze drifting toward the ground where the dragon had been carving its message. From my point of view, it looked like nothing but swirling scribbles. Hiccup and I exchanged a look, both of us equally perplexed.

Thinking a better vantage might help, I stepped gingerly over the marks, only to stop short when I heard a low growl—directed at Hiccup. My foot had cleared the lines. His hadn't.

“Step over the lines,” I said softly. “He doesn’t like it when we step on them.”

Hiccup raised a brow and tested the theory by repeatedly touching the lines with his boot. The dragon responded with a series of alternating growls and purrs, as if he were trying to correct a misbehaving puppy. It was almost comical, in a terrifying way. Eventually, Hiccup relented, stepping clear. 

I began to trace the edge of the drawing, bouncing lightly over the grooves in the dirt. From this angle, it started to make sense—there were shapes, and within those shapes... faces. One had a prominent nose and cropped hair. The other had longer hair and a stray swirl sticking out. It was crude, but unmistakable.

It was us.

I opened my mouth to call Hiccup over, but stopped short.

He was already there, standing in front of the Nightfury.

His hand, thin and trembling just slightly, was lifted halfway to the dragon’s snout. He paused there, suspended in the moment, and turned to glance at me.

His eyes caught the light of the dying sun—bright, nervous, alight with something soft and unwavering. Hope. That same look I remembered from years ago, when we were kids, and he used to tug on my sleeve in the forest, trying to show me something only he could see. A mushroom, a broken shell, a baby bird in a hollow. Wonder never left him. Even now, in the presence of something that could kill us both, he still dared to wonder.

My chest ached.

I stepped closer until I was at his side. The Nightfury loomed over us, a black shadow in the soft twilight, its eyes reflecting us like twin moons. I didn’t care that I was three inches taller than Hiccup. In that moment, both of us felt impossibly small beneath the weight of what stood before us—no, who stood before us.

The dragon snorted at us, a sudden puff of warm air that made me flinch and nearly step back. But Hiccup steadied me with a glance, his mind working behind his eyes. Without a word, he turned his face away, not lowering his arm, and motioned for me to do the same.

“Don’t look at him,” he murmured, “It’s a sign of aggression.”

There was no logic left, no manual for what came next—just trust. So I closed my eyes, heart thudding, and waited.

A warm touch against my hand, my heart dropping into my stomach and my whole body flinched as if waiting for the worst. Then there was a purr and I dared open my eyes, seeing this dragon — most feared of all — leaning into our touch with its eyes closed. My jaw hung slack and something bubbled inside my throat, a soft cry at how beautiful he was.

The Nightfury opened his eyes, withdrawing a bit, before he huffed again and bounded off.

Later that evening, Hiccup and I decided it would be best if I got some rest and to take shelter from the cold. We’d stopped by his house first though, just to make sure I got in alright.

“Gobber wants me to meet with the others tonight for dinner,” he said quietly, preparing hot water by the hearth. “I’ll make you some food before I go.”

I shook my head, sinking into the living room couch. “There’s no need, Hiccup. You should go—I can take care of myself."

“No, I just…” He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just wanted to say thank you. Make up for you missing my breakfast this morning.”

I chuckled.

“Seriously, Imka.” His voice was as soft as his eyes when he looked at me. “We just discovered something crazy—something good . Something that could change everything.”

“I know.” I whispered, grabbing an extra pillow to hold against my chest—some small comfort for the night. “He had such a look in his eyes, Hiccup. The way he sat there… patient, drawing for us, watching over us—and to think we almost—”

My voice cracked.

“ I almost did,” Hiccup frowned, eyes locked on the fire. “Not you.”

“I asked you to kill him. I said it would be better if we got an adult to just—” I shook my head. “I was so cruel. I am cruel.”

“No, you just… we didn’t know. But now we do. And besides, I was the one who shot him down.”
He turned back to the hearth, tossing chunks of salted meat and spices into the water, followed by yak milk, bitter root, and flour. I realized he was making One Horizon’s Stew—for me.

A beat passed.

“So I’m going to try and fix this.” He said, stirring the pot. “Don’t wait for me tonight, just get some rest.”

He moved to reach the door across the room, but then there was a brief hesitation — like a thought caught his body mid-motion. He turned, shoulders still a little hunched, brows knit in thought. Then, with a sudden quiet determination, he crossed the room back toward me.

There was something different in the way he walked now. Like whatever plans he had forged in his mind were suddenly second to something more urgent.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stopped in front of me, eyes flicking over my face like he was searching for something — reassurance maybe, or just confirmation that I was still here, still with him. And then, wordlessly, his arms folded around me.

Not quick or clumsy, but slow, deliberate. As if he was giving himself permission to ask for comfort. Or maybe offering it. Or both.

“Thank you,” Hiccup murmured, voice almost lost in the quiet. “You had every right reason to not follow me, but you did anyway.”

“Oh, Hiccup,” I finally breathed, my arms tightening around him. “I was the one who was wrong. I’m sorry.”

With a sigh, he released me from his hold with a small smile — the brightest I’d seen in a very long time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest.”

I smiled, “See you tomorrow.”

That night, I didn’t read a single book my father left me. Instead, I reread all the fable books Hiccup had kept in his room. For the first time in a long while, I dreamt of dragons, fairies, and a world where anything could happen.

Chapter Text

I’d woken up late again in the guest room, curled up beneath a throw blanket, five fable books scattered around me like companions. A half-full mug of spiced berry tea sat lukewarm on the nightstand, next to the empty bowl that once held One Horizon’s Stew. Morning came slowly—fog rolling in off the cliffs, the village cocooned in stillness—and I crept downstairs with the hesitance of someone unsure if the world outside was real.

My breath came out in little clouds as I set a pot to boil over the hearth. The fog blanketed the village like a secret, curling around rooftops and doorways as if trying to hush the world. Tucked in and quiet. As if nothing monumental had happened yesterday. As if I hadn’t just reached out to the unreachably dangerous, and come back unscathed.

Looking at my fingers felt strange. They were mine, but felt borrowed. Even pouring hot water into the mug felt like it belonged to someone else’s life. Breakfast—leftovers Hiccup had made—sat in front of me, but eating it felt ceremonial, absurd. I blinked at the wall. Existing at the breakfast table after what happened yesterday felt like I’d stepped out of a story and hadn't quite returned yet.

So naturally, that was when Hiccup burst in through the door.

He was soaked. Drenched from head to toe, water dripping off him in fat plops as he cradled what looked like a miniature sailmast in his arms. His grin was wild, boyish, and too wide for his face.

“You won’t believe what I just did!”

I raised my mug to my lips, blinked once. “And what did you just do?”

“This tail!” he announced, shaking water from his hair. “I built it, right? And I was thinking of attaching it to him—his tailfin, I mean, because that’s gone and that’s on me—so I get to the Cove then I’m literally on the tail trying to fix it, and then he just—takes off! With me, hanging onto his tail!”

He moved toward the couch like a man possessed and began miming the whole thing with alarming enthusiasm. “So now I’m flying! Except I’m not in control, right? We get maybe a quarter around Berk and then—boom!—crash straight back into the Cove!”

I took another sip. Blinked again and looked him over, he was completely uninjured. Just a soaked, beaming mess of limbs and invention.

“So I was thinking,” he continued breathlessly, “what if I built, uh, a saddle or some kind of riding mechanism?”

“A riding mechanism,” I repeated. “Like for a horse.”

“Yeah! Exactly!”

Tapping the rim of my mug, I took another sip. “You do realize we cannot consult Khalid or any other inventor on this plan of yours, yes?”

“Yeah—I mean, yeah, of course. You’re still stuck here, but I still have Khalid’s notes on my previous stuff. And mine. And I’m pretty sure with enough trial and error—”

“Okay.”

A beat passed.

He paused. “Okay?”

I nodded.

“Just— okay ?” he asked again, blinking at me like I was the strange one.

I shrugged. “I was sufficiently proven wrong yesterday, you were right about everything. So yes, Hiccup, I am completely on board with your plans.”

“No buts?”

“No buts,” I shook my head. “No ifs, nor whats. The evidence is clear: you shot down a Night Fury with your invention, which proves your ideas can be made into reality and can work. Then you had the wisdom and foresight to befriend it — sorry, I mean him — and somehow didn’t die. You bonded with him and so did I. I am convinced, so far, that your logic is sound. Your invention also got you airborne, sort of. And you have Khalid’s references and notes from other inventors, so— yes . I trust you, the evidence points to the fact that you can do this.”

There was a pause. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his grin faltering for just a second—caught off guard, maybe even a little shy. But then it returned, wider and brighter than before.

“Imka,” he said, his voice soft with something too big to name. “Please never leave Berk again.”

“Oh my goodness,” I sighed, raising my mug to my lips again in mock exasperation. “You and your dramatics. I didn’t even say anything that big.”

Hiccup laughed, already crossing the room with his arms outstretched.

“No hugs,” I warned, backing up a step. “You’re soaking wet—”

“Please? Just one hug?” he asked, grinning like a little kid begging for sweets.

“No! You’re all wet and also, we just hugged just last night!” I shoved a hand against his face, pushing him gently but firmly away. “If you want to thank me go dry yourself off and get dressed, I don’t want you catching a cold — do you hear me? You still have dragon training today!”

“Alright…” he muttered, his voice muffled against my palm as I steered him toward the stairs.

I followed close behind, standing at the base with arms crossed as he trudged upward. He dared a glance over his shoulder, that familiar dumb grin still plastered on his face. Warmth and exasperation bubbled up inside me—conflicting emotions that somehow coexisted perfectly when it came to him.

Despite my best effort to look stern, a smile cracked through.

“GO!” I yelled, trying to mask my laugh as he scampered up the stairs, laughing the whole way.

When the room finally quieted, I let out a slow breath and turned toward the contraption sitting on the couch.

The prosthetic tailfin was rough but clever—stitched together from cheap leather scraps, probably salvaged from the forge, and bolted with crude iron. Materials I recognized instantly: the ones Gobber refused to use for Berk’s weapons, the ones from less than reputable traders who have done business with the village. His design was simple but ingenious, though it suffered from the refining that could only come from trial and error. 

Then there was the issue of the materials he used, but that could be easily amended. We had some supplies from our ships docked at the private port. The goatskin from my homeland was lighter, more flexible—perfect for mobility. The experimental metals from Wessex might offer strength without weighing the dragon down. If we combined those—

“Good, huh?” came Hiccup’s cheeky voice from the top of the stairs, his head just peeking around the corner.

I jumped and spun around. “I just told you to clean up!”

“Okay, okay!” he said, rolling his eyes and disappearing again.

“And I’m making the Marius special for breakfast, so don’t take too long!” I called after him.

“Can’t beat the Haddock breakfast spread!” he called back.

“You are so annoying!”

Later on, I accompanied Hiccup to the arena for the next dragon training session. I’d planned to tell Gobber that, because it was such a lovely, blindingly bright day out, I wanted to go study alone in the forest. Also because I’d need some peace and quiet to focus—something I wasn’t likely to find in the arena, given how easily everyone here slipped into either shouting or full-on screaming.

Just like today.

The trainees huddled below, splitting off into groups of two and clutching wooden buckets of water. A dense mist of murky green gas was rolling across the training grounds like a swamp had come alive. Gobber was mid-lecture, shouting over the din about Zipplebacks—a two-headed dragon species where one head exhaled flammable gas and the other could ignite it.

I was in the middle of talking to Gobber as the distinct sound of Tuffnut screaming rang, followed by Fishlegs.

“I understand, lass,” Gobber said, already nodding. “You can go right now actually. Today’s lesson is a doozy, and it’s rare for any trainee—let alone this lot—to successfully win against a Zippleback—”

He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes drifted back to the arena floor, squinting.

Hiccup had emerged from the gas, alone, the last man (or boy) standing. He had his scrawny arms out, making a pushing back motion against the twin-headed dragon who seemed to shrink back in fear. It was as if there were some mystical powers Hiccup wielded to scare the Zippleback. It kept squeaking in fear as it scrambled backwards the more Hiccup advanced further, a far cry from any kind of ferocious dragon now. More like a hissing cat almost.

“Back, back!” he called, “Now don’t make me tell you again —”

For all I knew, he truly might as well have inherited some strange draconic power after bonding with the Nightfury. Frankly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if that was the case.

The dragon was back in its cage now and Hiccup hurriedly locked the big doors, wiping his hands on his shirt as he turned around. Everyone stood there, watching him, slack-jawed, and in complete and utter disbelief. His eyes shifted around a bit, wondering what to do at that moment.

“Is — is something in my hair? Because uh —” His hand went up to his hair, a half-smile curling on his lips.

A nice breeze passed, its whistle echoing awkwardly in the silence upon the arena. Hiccup tilted his head up to the bleachers and we locked eyes for a brief moment. I sent a knowing wink his way and he flushed red.

“Huh,” Gobber gaped. “Class dismissed.”

“See you later, Gobber.” I called, hiding my smile to myself as I walked out of the arena.

“Oh —” Hiccup glanced around, wringing his hands, and started sidestepping toward the exit. “Okay, so uh — are we done? ‘Cause I’ve got some things I need to… yep, see you tomorrow!”

I was halfway down the winding path toward the village when Hiccup finally caught up to me, his footsteps quickening to match my own. We walked side by side in companionable silence for a while, the only sound between us the soft crunch of our boots over frost-hardened earth. The morning air, still young, was crisp with the bite of early autumn, carrying the faint scent of smoke and drying pine. A few brown leaves spiraled down from the sparse trees overhead, and the low sun cast long shadows across the path.

“Imka,” he said, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are we going to the Cove?”

“Soon,” I replied. “I just want to pick up some lunch first—for the two of us. And something for the dr—cat we found.”

“Toothless,” Hiccup said immediately. “His name is Toothless.”

What an adorable name. Probably because of his retractable teeth.

“Of course,” I smiled. “Then we’ll get something for Toothless too. Maybe some roasted fish from the market?”

Hiccup perked up at once, nodding eagerly. “Oh yeah. And we could, uh—get some of that bread from the baker? There’s this new sandwich stall that opened up, too. Actually, a bunch of new stalls popped up while you were gone.”

“I can imagine,” I said dryly. “What with all the dragon raids forcing the village to rebuild every other week.”

By then, we had arrived at the market square. The autumnal chill of Berk gave way to the warm bustle of life: people roasting skewered mutton and river fish over open coals, the rich scent of spiced tea and sharp tang of fermenting mead, and the sweet aroma of honey-glazed hazelnuts curling through the air. It reminded me so much of the markets back home in Frisia that I suddenly felt—just for a moment—that I was back in my homeland.

“Good morning, Siegrid,” I greeted one of the vendors with a nod. “Happy to see your stall’s back up and running.”

Siegrid was a local fisher and often a recipient of my father’s donations and trades. We maintained good relations, especially when it came to fish or smoked salmon. The latter in particular was a favorite of Frisia’s ruler at the time, King Radbod III. 

“Oh, Miss Marius and young Hiccup as well!” he offered a smile, wiping his hands on his apron. “How good to see you again, I saw you running around during the last dragon raid — happy you’re unharmed. What can I do for you today?”

“Five of your roasted fishes, please,” Hiccup said, raising three fingers before correcting himself and raising all five.

“Five?” Siegrid grinned as he began wrapping the fish in clean slivers of bark. “Finally trying to bulk up, are you?”

Hiccup scratched the back of his neck. “Well, not exactly...”

“It can’t be for Miss Marius here,” Siegrid laughed. “She can barely finish one on her own most days.”

I rolled my eyes. “I eat plenty.”

“I’m just saying, lass,” Siegrid said with a knowing glint, “if you ever want to find a match in Berk, most folks do prefer someone with a bit more meat on them—if you catch my drift.”

His eyes flicked to Hiccup who bristled.

I frowned, suddenly feeling defensive and just a bit petulant. “Well, if you must know, I ate all of the stew Hiccup made for me last night.”

“Have my wares turned so foul you can’t finish even one?” Siegrid huffed, though his smile turned sly. “But of course you finished Hiccup’s stew. Hiccup made it, after all.”

“I do make good stew,” Hiccup blurted—then promptly looked away.

My eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to insult your food, Siegrid—truly.”

Siegrid raised his hands, still grinning, stepping back from the stall. “So long as you don’t take offense to what I’ve said in turn, lass. Enjoy the fish, you two.”

“But I—”

“Off with you now.” He waved us off like a scolding uncle.

“Siegrid—”

“It’s fine,” he laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anything, I’m more surprised by how thick you are. You’re every bit your father’s daughter. Now go—there’s a new sandwich stall the chief himself approved. Try that instead.”

“Come on, Imka,” Hiccup murmured, gently tugging me away by the sleeve.

I cast one last guilty look over my shoulder. A mental note burned itself into my brain: send someone to double our orders from Siegrid later. That was embarrassing—I let my emotions get the better of me and nearly offended a potential supplier.

“Anyway—” Hiccup cleared his throat beside me, likely trying to pull me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Want to know how I did it? Back there with the Zippleback?”

“Oh.” I blinked, my focus returning to him. “Right—you just… waved your arms? Did Toothless give you magical powers or something?”

He grinned. “Nope. It was an eel. Had one draped over my shoulders—where no one could see it, but the Zippleback could smell it.”

“An eel ?” I wrinkled my nose. “On your shoulders? Ugh. Make sure you clean yourself when we get back.”

“Yes, mom .” He rolled his eyes. “Drag—I mean, cats like Toothless hate eels.”

The buzz of the market returned in full force: the sizzle of skewers, the scent of spiced beer, the warmth of bodies and fires tucked between wooden stalls. My blunder at Siegrid’s stall faded into the background, replaced with the image of Toothless blinking at us with those impossibly intelligent eyes—and the mouthwatering aroma of food all around.

“I’m glad we didn’t get any roasted eel, then,” I said, sniffing the air. “Oh—look, is that the sandwich stall you mentioned?”

“Yeah!” Hiccup brightened. “Dad’s obsessed with the triple mutton—it’s got onions and this smoky butter sauce. Personally, I like the shrimp one better —”

I smiled.

Days like these were good. When our biggest concern was choosing lunch or trying new stalls, with warm food in my hands and the company of a good friend. I hoped there would be many more days like these, but I knew, deep in my heart, that as we grew into our roles as true heirs to our respective lives, we would have equally bleak days.

Still though, the days we spent together with Toothless during these earlier times were some of my favorites.

The three of us had settled into a rhythm when it came to visiting the Cove. Most days it was just Hiccup and me, but on busier ones—when I needed time to study, or he was too busy designing and building Toothless’s saddle—we took alternating shifts.

He usually took the mornings. I’d take the afternoons.

And the differences between our visits? Like night and day.

When Hiccup was on duty, the Cove turned into a battlefield of shrieks, laughter, and flapping wings, then mud splatters and bark-peeling crash landings. His sessions with Toothless were full of roughhousing, trial-and-error saddle fittings, and increasingly chaotic flying routines. He’d return home soaked, scratched, or decorated with leaves and twigs, sometimes cheerful, sometimes cursing under his breath. On the days where I did accompany him, nightmares where Snotlout became Chief instead of Hiccup became more vivid than usual.

The first days we spent with Toothless reminded me of the first month I got Max, my family’s greyhound back in Frisia. Max was meant to be a sleek, elegant hunting dog—but he turned out to be a pampered, anxious mess who couldn’t sit still to save his life. 

Toothless was similar. Vibrant, occasionally clingy, unpredictable, his true personality a complete antithesis to what we expected of the feared Nightfury.

He mirrored Hiccup in strange, almost human ways. He’d copy the way Hiccup sat, or tilted his head, or scrawled things in the dirt. One time, Hiccup used his hammer to reflect a light against a rock—and Toothless chased the dot for hours like a kitten.

In comparison, Toothless acted like a lapdog around me. Or a housecat. A very large, very dangerous housecat.

He was gentler when it came to me. Like he knew exactly how breakable I was—and didn’t want to risk it.

Most of my visits consisted of food deliveries and study time. I’d settle on the grass, a fair distance away, and open a book while he napped after eating. At first, he respected the space. But curiosity got the better of him. Slowly—inch by inch—he’d scoot closer when he thought I wasn’t looking. Eventually, I’d feel his breath on my shoulder, only to glance over and find him “reading” beside me.

He couldn’t read, of course. But he liked pictures.

The bestiary was his favorite. He’d trill happily at illustrations of parakeets, lions, panthers, and dogs. He tilted his head in fascination at drawings of griffins and unicorns, and blinked slowly—thoughtfully—at its depictions of dragons.

“Very rarely did dragons breathe fire,” I read aloud to him. “They were more dangerous by tail than flame. Their natural predator, of all things, is the elephant. And they’re known to flee at the sweet breath of panthers…”

Toothless made a low noise in his throat, his ears twitching in disbelief. He gave me a look, then nudged the page with his nose, unimpressed.

Hiccup glanced up from his notebook, pausing mid-sketch. “Who writes this stuff?”

“Definitely not Clotide,” I laughed, “at least her work is credible. Similar stuff to what’s in your dragon manual.”

“Good old Clotide.” Hiccup smiled before returning to his work.

That made me pause.

Clotide of Lugdunum was a good friend of mine and one of his many penpals, she was around my age and had a level of obsession for dragons that rivaled all of Berk. Though she was more interested in documenting them than she was in wiping them out. Her family, the Ferratas, was a prestigious one—explorers, inventors, and physicians. As wealthy and well-connected as mine, if not more.

It was probably why she, like me, got to primarily pursue dragons instead of husbands. Well technically I pursued wealth and protecting Berk more than dragons; tomato, tomahto .

But I could see her changing her mind if she met Hiccup.

The Ferratas would be a wonderful connection for Berk to have, only if they didn’t hold prejudice against vikings that is. More and more people on the mainland have grown a distaste for them, likewise were the vikings with many of the empire’s people. I had faith Clotide did not share in them, but her family… not so much.

Though there was a silver lining in this. Berk’s vikings were vastly different from the other tribes, many were bound by the honor code of their culture. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth — if someone killed or harmed one of their own it was a given they’d retaliate until a price would be paid. But Berk? They practiced more restraint and forgiveness now, though it could be because their true enemies were not man but dragons.

Honestly, it’s a miracle Stoick is able to show the restraint he has these days, because it was not always so.

There was a time, after what happened to Valka, when Stoick the Vast was better known as Stoick the Vindictive. In the months that followed, Stoick grew to be easily irritable, almost incapable of holding any conversation without lashing out, and spent most of his time at sea finding the nest. He’d strike down anything in his path, be that man, dragon, or sea monster.

And Hiccup suffered for it. He was still so small, and didn’t understand why his father wouldn’t speak to him, why he was always gone. Why love could disappear overnight.

That was when Gobber and my father called reinforcements, namely my mother — Gisela Marius.

I’ll never forget the day the Hoffersons took us in. Hiccup and I stayed with Astrid and her family for a few nights. That’s when my friendship with her truly began. Her parents tried to distract us with toys, warm bread, and market visits. They didn’t want us to see what was happening behind the scenes.

I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. In the privacy of his home and presence of his dearest friends, Stoick was finally able to shed the mantle of father, Viking-warrior, and chief. For those few days he was simply Stoick, the man who’d just lost the love of his life.

And when he returned from his mourning, he was changed. Still strong, still ever Stoick — but he relented from his onslaught of trips, his obsession for the nest dimming. His grief was ebbing, though it returned on certain days, and in its place was the realization that there were plenty who were still there for him. Though they would never replace Valka, it was in the company of his friends that he found solace. Since then, he’d redoubled his efforts in maintaining Berk’s defenses.

This was one of the reasons why I tried so relentlessly to find Hiccup friends overseas, to try to get the other village kids to be kinder to him, and how intense my search was to find him a good wife. I knew that life would throw hardship his way, and it was the people around him that would help bring him out of it.

And of course, there would be me — a Marius, as is tradition and our life-debt dictated, by the chief’s side.

Even now as I stared at Hiccup, I felt something ache in my chest. I hoped one day the woman who would marry him would see him for who he was, support him in all ways, and that the happiness Stoick and Valka shared would follow him for all the days of his life.

Toothless seemed to notice something in my demeanor change then, nudging me again with a questioning stare. I gave him a tentative pat on the head before looking up at Hiccup again, who was equally as confused.

“Imka?” Hiccup frowned, “Why are you — you look… sad, did something happen? Was it the book you’re reading? Another sad story?”

“Oh, no. Nothing I was reading.” I said quietly. “I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

Frowning, my eyes turned to Toothless, “The future.”

“ Very heavy topic.” Hiccup replied, his tone light. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Toothless trilled, bowing his head and pushing his snout into my hand, as if to tell me everything would be alright. This was another thing I was worried about, the very notion that Hiccup and I befriended a dragon could undo generations of diplomacy and treaties between Berk and the world beyond. There should be something in me still screaming that all of this was wrong, that we were making the wrong decision.

Yet all I could hear, all I could see was that hazy memory of a little girl and boy running into the woods, in search of some secret only they were privy to.

“Maybe not now.” I answered, pressing a soft kiss to Toothless’ head.

The dragon trilled and directed his attention to Hiccup, laughing — as if gloating about something. Hiccup pressed his lips into a thin line, sticking his tongue out at Toothless, before his lips melted into a fond, light-hearted smile. All at once I saw my best friend from my childhood once more, and how I desperately yearned for him to keep that boyishness, that lighthearted cheer of his.

“Okay,” Hiccup said, cocking his head to the side. “I won’t push, but whatever it is — you know I’ll always be on your side, right?”

I didn’t say anything, just nodded mutely. It would be impossible to even attempt to tell him everything I was thinking of, just the thought of it made me feel like there was something lodged in my throat.

All I knew was that I wished he would never feel any pain, ever. But even all my family’s gold could not save him from that which is inevitable in all our lives.

Chapter Text

Another day, another round of trial and error for the saddle design.

We were inching closer to the final design. This time, we’d agreed to base it loosely on the framework of a horse’s saddle. A simple rope tugging the tailfin was no longer enough—it lacked nuance and control. Instead, we repurposed a stirrup mechanism: a modified foot brace connected directly to the prosthetic tailfin, allowing Hiccup to steer Toothless by adjusting the angle with precise shifts of pressure. Elegant in theory, clunky in practice; especially when he needed to memorize which shifts of his foot equated to how Toothless would be steered.

Then there was the issue of Hiccup’s body. He was too light, too easily thrown off by speed or sudden turns. We had to get creative. Ropes and metal hooks were added to the saddle itself to keep him securely fastened during flight. That solution, however, led to a different problem: detachment.

One afternoon, I arrived at the Cove only to find the two of them—quite literally—conjoined at the hip. Apparently after a failed test run, the two crashed backwards and found it impossible to unhook themselves from one another. 

Toothless bounded happily toward me, dragging a disgruntled Hiccup through the dirt like a sack of potatoes.

He didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did.

We didn’t have any weapons on hand to cut the bindings, so we settled on a new plan: sneak into the village at night and break into the forge. Hiccup needed tools that could slice through the straps without destroying his latest prototype. 

That also meant we needed a distraction — me.

This wasn’t my first time playing accomplice. During trips to the Empires, whenever Khalid, Clotide, and I found ourselves in the same city, we often slipped out of our respective households and roamed the streets. I was usually the distraction—regaling (or boring) our bodyguards with long-winded updates on the latest trade treaties between Winchester and the merchants of Frisia, or the fascinating linguistic overlap between my mother tongue and the dialects of Wessex.

Ten minutes into one of my rambles, most guards would start drifting. Their eyes glazed over, heads nodding faintly—too busy retreating into their minds to notice my friends slipping past behind them.

Which is exactly what I did that night with Astrid, or at least attempted to.

Hiccup and Toothless weren’t exactly the stealthiest pair. I cringed every time one of them knocked over a bucket or scraped against a barrel as they fumbled their way to the forge. From a distance, I followed behind, doing my best to cover their noise by calling out to passersby with inane questions: how was the harvest this year, had the fishing grounds improved, did anyone know if Siegrid was restocking smoked mackerel?

Unfortunately, Astrid had sharper instincts than most adults on Berk.

The loud clang of metal rang out from the forge. Her head snapped around before I could stop her, already marching straight toward the source when I called after her.

“Astrid! Wait!”

She paused, pivoting on her heel just as I jogged up to her. “Imka? What are you doing out so late?”

“Oh, you know, I was just—” Another crash from the forge interrupted me.

Astrid frowned. “Did you hear that?” she muttered, stepping around me. “It’s coming from the forge. Stay behind me.”

“Wait, hold on—”

“It’s probably Hiccup working on a new axe or something for Gobber,” she scoffed, “you know, I know he’s your best friend but have you seen how he’s been during training right? I don’t get it, suddenly he’s some dragon master who knows their weak spots, knows to distract them —”

We were getting closer to the forge and I began to panic, “I know! I know! And I agree with you!”

That stopped her. She turned, blinking at me. “...You do?”

A beat.

“I do!” I said, “He’s been acting differently, hasn’t he?”

Astrid crossed her arms, her weight shifting as she looked off to the side, frowning. “Tell me about it. He doesn’t even try to talk to everyone else, they crowd around him, try to make small talk, but all he does is keep trying to leave. I get that not everyone has been nice to him in the past, but like — would it kill him to be social? To tell us where he got all these tricks from? What, does he think he’s better than everyone now?”

I tilted my head, momentarily taken aback. She sounded just like the girls back home when someone else outshone them at court. As thrilled as I was to see Hiccup finally grow into himself, I’d started noticing something else too—Astrid wasn’t just annoyed. She felt left behind.

I suddenly felt very rotten with how much I’d ignored that. As much as Hiccup was my friend, Astrid was too.

“Not that Tuffnut, Ruffnut, Snotlout, or even Fishlegs care,” she continued, her voice rising. “They’re too busy fawning over him—”

This was going to escalate into a full blown loud rant, the last thing Hiccup or I needed to attract attention. But most of all, I didn’t like seeing Astrid in distress like this. I knew she was more closed off and standoffish than most, I could only wonder how long she’d kept this bottled in.

“Okay, alright, slow down Astrid — it’s nighttime, let’s not raise our voices okay?” I took her by the shoulders, “I get it. I really get it, you’ve been working at this for a really, really long time and you kind of just got… upstaged by Hiccup out of left-field. I get it, I’ve been there too —”

She arched her brow, “You have?” 

My mouth twisted. “Oh yes. Remember Bern? That trader’s son from the north who tried to convince Stoick to cut ties with my family?”

Her expression soured immediately. “Ugh. Bern. He cozied up to Dagur like a snake. What a jerk.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Now, I’m not saying Hiccup’s a jerk like that, but I know what it’s like to feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under you. And that’s why I came out here—to find you—”

Another loud thud echoed from the forge.

“—and!” I said quickly, raising my voice over the noise, “I thought we could talk about it, just you and me—”

CRASH.

“That’s it,” she snapped, brushing past me. “Hiccup?! I know it’s you!”

Said boy launched himself through the forge doors and slammed them shut so fast that Toothless was little more than a blur behind him, swallowed by the darkness. I held my breath, frozen, unsure of what to say—but fully aware we were seconds from disaster.

“Astrid!” Hiccup greeted, forcing a smile so strained it practically twitched. His eyes flicked nervously between the two of us. “Hey—uh, hi! Hi Astrid! And, um… hi Imka!”

I gave him a brittle, overly bright smile that screamed sorry, help, and abort all at once. “Hi.”

Astrid was having none of it. “I usually don’t care what people do,” she said flatly, “but you’re acting weird. ”

Hiccup opened his mouth—just in time for something behind the door (read: Toothless) to yank him sharply back. He stumbled with a grunt.

“Well— weirder, ” Astrid amended, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

My stomach dropped. She was seconds from barging inside, spotting the Night Fury, and getting us all executed via diplomacy disaster. I scrambled for a distraction— anything —

And then it hit me.

“Yeah!” I said, stepping in front of her with theatrical offense. “What are you doing here, Hiccup?”

Hiccup’s eyes went wide. “.... Uh?”

“Yeah, I mean I know we had that fight but you can’t just follow me around expecting me to forgive you.” I lied, forcing a bitter tone.

Even as I said it, I wanted to curl up and die.

Astrid turned to me, visibly thrown. “Wait—you two had a fight? What’s next, sheep sprouting wings?”

“I’m serious, it’s like what you said Astrid.” I said, glancing at Hiccup for backup while he stood there blinking like a stunned goat. “He’s been weird and distant, and now he’s acting like I’m the problem. Just like you said—always sneaking off, swamped by people, like he’s suddenly too good for the rest of us—”

“So he’s been ignoring everyone and the one person who’s been on his side from the start,” she echoed, before turning back to Hiccup with a scowl. “What is with you? Do you think you’re better than everyone now?”

“No!” Hiccup threw up his hands, voice cracking. “I didn’t—I never meant—”

I widened my eyes at him behind Astrid’s back and mouthed: Work with me.

“I… uh…” Hiccup stammered, flailing.

“And then you stalk Imka?!” Astrid snapped, stepping toward him.

Okay , things were crossing into dangerous territory now.

I grabbed her shoulders, heart pounding. “Astrid, he’s not worth it. Seriously—don’t get dragged into it. Just… just walk me home?”

She hesitated.

“Please?” I said, my voice softer now, a touch of genuine desperation bleeding through. “I’d feel a lot better if you were with me.”

Astrid glanced between us, lips tight, before finally exhaling through her nose.

“Fine,” she said, grabbing my hand and tugging me away. “Let’s go.”

Astrid and I walked further into the village. The path was dark, the air biting cold, and guilt churned in my stomach. I’d lied — blatantly — and made Hiccup look awful. I could already imagine what tomorrow’s training would look like.

Astrid slowed, glancing over her shoulder — but the forge was quiet now. Hiccup had vanished completely.

“Ugh,” she groaned, before finally loosening her grip on me. “So — are you going to tell how it started?”

“The fight?”

“I don’t mean to be nosy or anything, but I’ve gotta know so I can find the right axe to chuck at him for the occasion.” she said, alarmingly nonchalant, “Pretty sure Gobber won’t mind if I accidentally miss tomorrow’s dragon and hit Hiccup instead —”

“Astrid!”

“I’m joking! I’m joking!” she laughed, though it faltered. “Partly.”

I shook my head, looking away. Guilt gnawed at me. “It’s fine. I — I just need some time is all, I’m sure Hiccup and I can work things out.”

She rolled her eyes.“There you go again, always babying him, always coddling him. I get your dad and his dad are friends, but it doesn’t mean you two need to be best friends too.”

‘Oh Astrid,’ I thought to myself. ‘My family’s life debt demands exactly that.’

“... But I want to be friends with him,” I admitted quietly, wringing my wrists. “Hiccup’s really smart, funny, and yeah he can be exhausting —”

“Right?”

“—But he sees the world like anything is possible.” I tilted my head up to the stars. Had Toothless flown him off into the sky? I wondered if any stars were missing. “Back home it’s just… war. Always. I mean yeah I can avoid it. But it doesn’t mean everyone can, so many villages burned and so —”

I paused, daring a glance at her. How did we even end up here? It felt too heavy for Berk — this odd little island so far removed from the rest of the world, where every day revolved around dragons, dragons, and more dragons.

Back on the mainland, it was always someone fighting someone else. Frisians against Franks. Franks against Vikings. Then the Anglo-Saxons turned on the Franks, and on and on it went — endless names, endless banners, and endless blood. So many lives lost. So much of my own life lived beneath the shadow of war.

Astrid was staring at me now, eyes soft, her lips pressed into a thin, worried line.

“Sorry,” I sighed. “I’m ruining the mood.”

“Nah,” she said. “I get what it’s like. We’re at war with dragons here too. And yeah, I like fighting but…” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t like seeing the people of Berk in the crossfire.”

She looked away, brows drawing together.

“My mom and dad come home with cuts and bruises after raids. Nothing life-threatening, sure, but… it guts me, you know? How much longer can we withstand this? I’d give anything for peace. Just to know they’re safe.”

“Same with me.” I smiled, however uneasy. “I’m scared for my little brother, I don’t want him to be born in a world filled with so much war. So much violence.”

“I totally understand. When I have kids one day, I want them to be tough — but, yeah, war isn’t right for that. It breaks more than it builds.”

‘What a line,’ I thought. ‘War breaks more than it builds.’

“So,” I said, offering a smile, “I guess we just have to get better at building than we are at breaking, right?”

Astrid looked at me, quiet for a moment, before the corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile. “So that’s what you see in Hiccup — a builder?”

“I see it in all of us, actually.” My voice came out soft. “I think there’s potential in everyone to be one.”

“Even me?” she asked, almost shy, her eyes flicking down to the axe strapped to her back.

“Especially you,” I said, “you have a good heart, Astrid. Your words make it very clear where you stand. You don’t want to fight needlessly, just like me.”

“Just like you…” she repeated, her gaze drifting away. “How could I ever be like you?”

We’d stopped walking, just a few steps from the chief’s home. The moon hung high above us, a bright silver coin suspended in the sky. The stars were clear tonight—countless pinpricks of light blinking down like quiet witnesses.

“What do you mean?”

Astrid frowned. “Face it, Imka, we’re just so different. You’re all soft and girlish… like Hiccup.”

I stifled a laugh. I could already picture his face—scandalized, sputtering, flailing for a rebuttal.

“Oh, you know what I mean!” she huffed, though her frown had already softened into a reluctant smile. “It’s no wonder you don’t spend time with me, or Ruffnut, or anyone else here. We’re just… too different.”

My smile faltered.

I remembered how she’d snubbed Hiccup at the Great Hall—not so subtly pointing out that I had “other friends” and telling him not to “hog Imka all to yourself.” The memories of past visits to Berk came rushing in: braiding Astrid’s hair with ribbons, the long days spent with the Hoffersons while my parents helped Stoick, many more such memories. Astrid might have been fifteen now, but when I looked at her beneath the night sky that night, I could only see that girl I knew so long ago.

The one who followed me everywhere. Who used my perfume when I wasn’t looking. Who broke my favorite hairbrush. Who twirled in my clothes and laughed like the world had no weight on her shoulders.

I’d spent so much time thinking and worrying over Hiccup that I’d neglected her. No wonder she thought our difference was what drove us apart, when really it was just my duties. Regardless, this was on me; all on me.

“No,” I said softly, taking her hands in mine, “It isn’t about difference. It’s about me being selfish, dumb, and stupid. You’re right—I haven’t been spending much time with you or anyone else. I’m just as bad as Hiccup, always slipping away, never around.”

Yeah I was definitely dragging this whole lie thing, I made a mental note to tone down throwing Hiccup beneath the bus.

Astrid’s eyes widened. Her hands tightened around mine. “I didn’t mean you were as bad as Hiccup—”

“I’m sorry, Astrid. I should’ve been better to you,” I said gently. “Can you forgive me? Maybe tomorrow we can spend time together. With Ruffnut too? A girl’s day out—what do you think?”

My eyes were playing tricks on me, I was convinced they were. Because suddenly, her lips curled into a wobbly and hopeful smile. Her blue eyes were bright with joy, relief — did she feel seen? Did she feel heard? I hope she did, because that was what I yearned to give her.

That night, she reminded me that my life was more than duty to my family’s legacy, more than being Hiccup’s best friend, more than dragons even. It was about this second home of mine, so vastly different and lacking in many things compared to my usual haunt. So filled with the clinically insane and absurd; the protective, steadfast, and strong people of Berk who, in their heart of hearts, yearned for the same thing I did.

I don’t know if Astrid knew, but at least for me, she made me feel seen and heard.

“Yes!” she cleared her throat, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. “I mean… yeah, yeah, of course—I’d love to.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” I paused. “And again… I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

“Idiot,” she laughed suddenly, punching me in the arm hard enough that I yelped. “Oops—sorry.”

“ Soft and girlish ,” I muttered, rubbing my sore arm. “Remember that about me, please.”

Astrid giggled—just as soft and girlish as I was. “Right, sorry. I got too caught up and—ugh, I haven’t had a girl’s day out in forever! I’ll tell Ruffnut first thing tomorrow! After dragon training, right?”

I nodded, managing a smile—which wasn’t hard. Astrid always had the most infectious laugh and smile.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She clasped her hands together, then hesitated. “Uh… you sure you’re okay living under the same roof with him right now? Because if you aren’t, my house has a spare room.”

I smiled. “I’ll work things out with Hiccup tonight. Don’t worry about me.”

“Right. Then I’ll see you tomorrow!” She took off immediately, a skip in her step as she jogged down the hill. Just before she disappeared, Astrid looked back over her shoulder, flashing a big smile and waving. “Bye, Imka!”

“Bye, Astrid!” I called after her, waving back with my non-sore arm.

I stood there for a moment, watching as Astrid disappeared into the darkened village. The wind stirred around me, the moon still hanging high as a silent witness, and the stars above twinkled as if they shared in her glee.

And yet, as warmth lingered from our talk, a knot of guilt returned. I’d lied to her—fabricated a fight with Hiccup—and somehow, that had earned me plans for a girl’s day out. I had a sinking suspicion that there’d be consequences.

When I entered the chief’s house, I shrugged off my fur coat—only to be greeted by the sight of Hiccup and Toothless still tangled together, struggling to unfasten the saddle mechanism. Tools were scattered across the floor, straps pulled taut in awkward angles. Both dragon and rider froze mid-motion as they turned to me, caught red-handed, offering sheepish, uneven grins.

“Imka!” Hiccup laughed awkwardly. “Uh, so… we’re still stuck.”

“I can see that,” I said dryly, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “Bold of you to smuggle a Night Fury into the chief’s house.”

“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures,” he muttered, tugging at a strap. “Bud, stop moving—yes, I know you want to say hi, but just give me a second—”

“Speaking of desperate times,” I said, watching him struggle, “I talked to Astrid earlier.”

“Oh?” Hiccup froze, blinking up at me. “Did she happen to mention seeing a terrifying Night Fury skulking through the village?”

Toothless puffed up his chest with a proud little trill, clearly taking that as a compliment.

“Nope,” I said. “She was more focused on the fact that we supposedly had a fight and that you were, apparently, stalking me.”

Hiccup scoffed, resuming his careful fiddling with the buckles. “We didn’t, and I definitely wasn’t stalking you.”

“Yes, I know that,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I moved toward the pantry for a drink. “But she doesn’t. And… I don’t think I should repeat everything she said, but—I’m worried about her, Hiccup.”

“Worried, huh?” he mumbled, absent-minded. “What about?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Have you noticed she’s been kind of… left out lately? Since you started doing well in the arena?”

“I mean… maybe,” he muttered. “But Astrid is Astrid. I can’t really change that.”

“You’re not wrong,” I murmured as I crossed to the couch. Toothless padded over and nudged his head into my lap with a hopeful trill. I knew what he wanted. Smiling faintly, I ran my fingers gently over his scales, feeling him relax under my touch.

“Oh that’s good, keep him there — I’ve almost freed us here —” Hiccup squinted at the rope, the threads slowly loosening around the clasp.

Humming, I continued, “You know we used to be so much closer to her back then, the three of us.”

Hiccup paused, looking at me warily, before continuing to untangle the rope.

“I’ve come to realise that I’ve been really unfair to her, since my visit I’ve had barely any time with her save for that morning when I braided her hair.” I said, looking into the water in my mug. “Instead, I’ve been busy studying and —”

“Spending time with me,” Hiccup interjected, bitter. “And Toothless. I get it.”

Toothless lifted his head, confused at the sudden change in Hiccup’s voice. I frowned, suddenly feeling the urge to defend Astrid.

“Hiccup, we’ve spent so much time together as is.” I said, “Look, I just want to spend some time with Astrid and Ruffnut tomorrow alright? A girl’s day out.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He said curtly, refusing to look me in the eye. “That’s fine. I’m used to this.”

“Hiccup,” I furrowed my brows. “Why are you acting this way? It’s just a day.”

Hiccup’s movements grew more erratic. His fingers fumbled with the ropes, slipping and snagging as frustration mounted. With a sharp inhale, he gritted his teeth, yanked out his dagger, and sliced through the bindings.

“There are 365 days in a year, which means around 52 weeks, and 12 months. You are missing for more than half that time, off traveling the seas, doing business with your dad, and meeting all these cool people.” He spat, “Meanwhile, I’m stuck here. Where nobody ever believes me, I’m always in the wrong, and my dad is almost always angry with me!”

I blinked, stunned. I’d never seen him like this. Even Toothless froze, ears pinned back, his wide eyes darting between the two of us.

“Except—” Hiccup caught himself, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone dipping into something far more fragile. “Except when your family’s here. Your dad treats me better than my own, your mom was there for me almost my entire life. And you—” his voice cracked, “you treat me like I matter. But it never lasts. You’ll be here for a month, then poof! You’re gone for three, maybe four! Excuse me, for wanting to make the most of our time together!”

It took me a second to catch up to what he was saying. “Hiccup, we’ve spent almost the entire two weeks together—constantly. I live with you. I eat with you. I spend nearly every second by your side.” I hesitated. “And now the whole village fawns over you—”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “These days, sure. But whenever they do? You’re always gone. The second people crowd around, you disappear.”

“I’m trying to give you space to shine in the spotlight!” I argued, rising to my feet.

“But I never asked to be in the spotlight!” Hiccup shot back. “I just— I wanted to spend time with you.”

I took a breath, trying to steady the heat rising in my chest. “Hiccup, one day these people will be yours. This is your moment to get to know them—to connect.”

“I’m aware of that! But what does it matter if my best friend is always showing up one second then leaving the next?”

“I’m still going to be around —”

“But you never stay,” he spat, “not when I was nothing, not even now when I’m doing ‘so well’ by Berk’s standards.”

That hurt.

“Hiccup, you’ve never once been nothing to me,” I said, my voice catching. “Who told you that you were?”

“Everyone,” he whispered—less bitter now, more broken. Like a candle’s flame flickering in the dark, just before it goes out. “Everyone but you and your family.”

My heart sank. I stepped toward him, desperate to reach through the hurt, to show him— you’ve always mattered, even when you're being petulant, frustrating, ridiculous… even now.

But it was too late. He was already at the door.

Hiccup raised a hand, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m taking Toothless back to the Cove. Don’t wait up.”

I frowned. “Do you want me to—”

“No.” he answered, tone curt and clipped. “We can manage on our own. Goodnight, Imka.”

Hiccup shut the door, leaving me alone in the house; the hearth doing little to chase away the lonely chill I felt.

“... Goodnight.” I whispered.

Guess we really did fight that day, after all.

Chapter Text

I’d made sure to wake up at dawn the next morning and slunk away to the Cove. After yesterday, the last thing I wanted was to have any conversations with him . I hid myself in the guestroom, pretending to be asleep when Hiccup knocked on my door. He asked me if I was still awake, if I wanted dinner, as if he didn’t just try and berate me for not giving him all my time. 

I couldn’t bring myself to eat even if I wanted to. I knew I should’ve been the bigger person, that I should be more patient and talk things through with him. That was what was expected of me. I was a Marius. It was practically written into my bones that I stood by him, always. So why was it so difficult?

Trudging through the forest, I wondered if Stoick and my father had any arguments like these. Sure, they argued plenty about treaties and how best to address the Empires, then the politics and wars further south — but never once had I seen them argue about needing each other. Stoick could handle everything on his own if he had to, though he clearly liked having my father nearby. I even remembered once when Stoick jokingly tried to shut the ports so Father wouldn’t leave.

But he never acted like he was owed my father’s time.

The thought made my steps heavier.

Growing frustrated, I reached to shove aside a low-hanging branch and Thwap! — it smacked me square in the face.

“Perfect,” I muttered, rubbing my cheek. It throbbed—definitely red. “Just perfect.”

As if the forest had a sense of humor, I realized it was the same tree Toothless had hit when Hiccup shot him down. Which meant the same branch that’d struck me was the exact same one that’d struck him a few days ago.

Groaning in exasperation, I hitched up my skirts and pressed on. Brambles snagged the hem, roots caught my boots, and I stumbled more than once—mud streaking my dress and across my palms. It didn’t matter, I just wanted to see Toothless before Hiccup showed up.

Just thinking about him got me angrier. 

“I go through hell for this boy,” I muttered under my breath, scrambling clumsily down the slope into the Cove, nearly slipping on the dew-slick moss. “ Imka, let’s go find a dangerous dragon in the forest! Okay, Hiccup!” I threw up my hands in mock enthusiasm as I picked my way down. “ Imka, I’m gonna build a tail and saddle for this dragon so I can ride him! Sure, Hiccup, I’ll grab you extra supplies and risk parental wrath!”

I stumbled over a root. Caught myself. Kept going.

“ Imka, let’s go get food, let’s go do this, and oh, can we do this one tiny thing, and this and this and — ”

Toothless, blissfully unaware that his teenage human friend was monologuing like a madwoman, was still asleep on his side of the Cove. His tail curled close to his body, eyes shut, belly rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythm.

“But Hiccup,” I continued, “I’ve realized I’ve been ignoring everyone else like Astrid — may I please have a moment to spend time with her tomorrow, after dragon training?”

Then I dropped into a gruffer imitation of him: “ No, Imka! You’re my friend and mine alone. You’re a Marius, and a Marius is always beside a Haddock! ”

Okay. So he didn’t actually say that last part. And to be fair, I don’t think he even meant it that way. But it sure felt like it.

Groaning in frustration, I grabbed a pebble and hurled it into the lake. The still waters shuddered as it landed with a barely audible plunk , small ripples spreading out like a tiny wound tearing open on the surface. Great, even my weak throw couldn’t achieve the dramatic catharsis I yearned for.

Toothless startled awake with a snort, his head snapping up toward the sound (odd how the whisper of a pebble being thrown into the lake got a reaction out of him, but my full-blown rant from earlier hadn’t). When he saw it was just me, though, he blinked slowly, yawned, and began to push himself upright with the slow, heavy grace of someone who didn’t see the point in rushing for nonsense.

“You’re not a person! You’ll never be just a person, just a girl — because you’re a Marius! With a life debt! That you didn’t agree to, you never wanted to inherit —” My voice cracked as I tore open my satchel and yanked out my ancestor’s old journal, the one with brittle pages and a name carved in worn, flaking leather. My grip tightened around it until I saw the already fraying cover strain and split a little more. “Well, maybe I’m sick of being a Marius.”

And it wasn’t like life back in the mainland was any easier. As if my family’s ties to Berk somehow vanished when we sailed south.

Sure, I helped my father at court. I sat through endless meetings with kings and lords and chiefs, who knew the heavy weight of what we did. But the other kids my age? They teased me for it, save for the few trusted with the truth; like Khalid and Clotide. 

‘ You trade with those lunatic Vikings up North?’ they’d sneer, ‘ What’s even up there, ice and fish? No gold. No power. Just a bunch of axe-happy freaks and their equally stupid merchants.’ 

‘The Marius family is stupid, and made up out of fools,’ they’d say, ‘Reckless. It’s only a matter of time before they lose a ship to a storm and wind up bankrupt and forgotten. I have no interest in being friends with a soon to be poor commoner.’

‘I heard a rumor that their ancestor was some escaped Roman slave. I told you, improper breeding always produces the stupidest of people.’

How often I wanted to shake them and convince them that we were literally helping prevent dragons from flying further south! From killing you and your family! From you turning destitute yourselves when dragonfire rained from above and torched your homes, your ships, and your farms!

I held that journal up, fully intent on throwing it into the lake from how frustrated I was.

But then Toothless nudged me from behind. He’d crept closer, silent as a shadow, and now pressed his snout gently against my back. The soft sound he made — a low, rumbling hum — pulled me back from the edge of whatever storm I’d been spiraling into

His big green eyes were wide and staring at me in question, concerned. I held his gaze for a moment, my lips pressed together as I tried to hold in my emotions — the anger, the frustration, the hurt. No matter where I went, no matter what I did; I never truly belonged anywhere.

Neither on the mainland, nor in Berk.

Too soft for here.

Too wild for there.

Too much. Too little.

Always in-between.

In fact, I spent most of my life out on sea traveling between places, more than ever in one place. Even my name—Imka—meant water. Some days, the sea called to me louder than anything else. And the thought of just... sailing off one day, never turning back — it was tempting. Terribly so. 

Maybe if I did and the sea swallowed me whole, it would be better than this half-life. Better than the ache of not belonging anywhere and a legacy I wanted nothing more than to shrug off.

My head throbbed, there were too many thoughts, too many grievances that’d come full force that morning. I’d say I did a good job holding everything back most times, but it was a given they’d slip occasionally. Usually I had my trappings and books, soft bed and family garden to get lost in — but here?

Well, at least there was Toothless. And he was enough.

Shakily, I walked away from the water and sank down beside a moss-covered boulder, the cold stone grounding me. Toothless followed without hesitation, settling beside me and nudging his snout against my shoulder again — softer this time.

It was still hard to believe a great and fearsome dragon was the one who’d provided me comfort during this time, who I’d grown to have a good friendship with this past week. I leaned onto him, pressing a gentle kiss to his snout and running my hands over his scales. I breathed, in and out, steadying my thoughts and emotions. Once I let them run, it was always difficult to get them to stop; just like a rushing river, just like the relentless tide pushing in and out.

“Oh Toothless,” I mumbled, “What am I going to do? I don’t want to fight with him, but he’s being so stupid.”

The dragon trilled gently, as if saying to me: I get you. I know he’s being an idiot, he was an idiot when he shot me down.

Well, I was also guilty of trying to convince Hiccup to get an adult to kill Toothless but he didn’t need to know that yet (I swore I’d confess it to him later, when we were closer friends — just in case).

“It’s just – it’s like he wants all of my time, like he’s entitled to it — for goodness sake I’m a human being, not his —” the words caught in my mouth, tangled, jumbled up, then spat out like the worst of insults, “... slave.”

A thousand words sat on my tongue: keeper, mother, sister — but slave was the one that came out.

I took my ancestor’s journal in my hands, just staring until I noticed something. The places where the leather cracked, where there were the most indents were in all the places I’d held and grabbed — intent on flinging it into the water. It made me pause and think, did all the people who came before me think of doing the same thing? Did my father grip this journal as hard as I did, frustrated by our legacy, burdened by the weight, and wanted to throw it all away too?

I opened it to continue where I left off. All of it was still written in the old language. Thankfully, there were still pieces of translation clipped to the brittle papers.

As I read, the words and voice of my ancestor — Marcus Marius — came to life:

In the old Empire, I was never allowed to speak unless in agreement with my master. ‘Yes’ was all I knew, what was most desired of me. Comfort was something I was expected to provide, never to receive. Failure to meet my master’s expectations meant I was to be beaten and starved. I was never a person, always property.

In Berk, I was granted mercy from the first chief. When I rejected something, most times everyone agreed or perhaps they argued for a bit. It took a while to get adjusted, but what a reprieve it was to finally realize I could say no. Though that was still a rare occasion, old habits die hard, it was amazing how it felt to be seen as a person and not an item someone was entitled to. I will forever be in their debt for this.

The bar was in hell, but regardless I read on.

I was so grateful that I gave the chief whatever he required. If he worried about food for his people, I would run into the forest and capture animals on my own to bring back. I would be covered in blood and scars, but it was fine. So long as the people of Berk could eat, I was happy. I was content. This was enough for me, and I would be content to live this way forever.

I bristled, uncomfortable with the way great-however-many-greats grandfather Marcus lived in his time. The way he thought.

The chief, however, grew to despise this. He said I lived as if I was worse than a dog, that he never asked me to risk life and limb for him nor his people. But I owed him and all of Berk a debt, I would always owe a debt for the fact he’d saved me and the way Berk made room for me. It only made him angrier, he said he wanted to be a friend to me — not some debt collector, let alone another master. 

I didn’t know what it meant to be just a friend, but I would try. 

I apologized, he resisted the urge to smack me. He didn’t like how often I apologized, said I did nothing wrong — it wasn’t my fault I thought this way.

Over time, I learned what it meant to be a friend. I started saying no more often, which got plenty of people angry. The chief was always there to help me though and I began to see myself differently, that I was a person like any of them and I deserved my own place in the world. One day, I told him I wanted something for myself and he smiled, wide and proud, and asked me what it was. I told him I wanted to leave, to start my own life out at sea and make a name for myself — and once I did, I would come back and share with him my treasures. As would all my descendants after me.

He agreed and gave me gold, a ship, and a map. It was so much and I wondered why he gave what he gave. But it did not matter, all I knew was that I came to Berk as a slave and left as a friend.

The next pages detailed my ancestor’s journey to the mainland, where he found Frisia and pretended to be a merchant from a far off island. He started small in the modest markets, before he landed his fortune in cloth and sheep’s wool. After a year, he sailed back to Berk with five times as much gold, five new ships, and a map of an even bigger world. Just as luck would have it, Berk was in the midst of a famine after many storms and problems and my ancestor arrived right on time. 

Marcus did everything in his power to help and, at first, everything seemed to turn up.

Then, unfortunately, the people of Berk and the chief himself had grown lax, depending on Marcus far too much. My ancestor did everything he could to try and keep up, until finally his health suffered and he collapsed under the weight of it all. It took him months to recover, and it was during this time that the chief realized he’d begun treating Marcus like the very thing he’d berated him for; worse than a dog, a slave .

Eventually, Berk was able to find a way to recover on their own and a pact was forged that if Marcus wanted to help, it would be at the chief’s request and never more than what a Marius could bear. Then there were details on a reserve made specifically for the aid my family would provide, notes on where to find good suppliers, tricks of our trade, and other such entries. All of which were very illuminating for me to read. 

Despite the fact the chief abhorred his tendency to want to help Berk no matter what, Marcus insisted on still helping Berk; whether or not they’d accept it.

The last thing I read was as follows:

Of course, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the First hated that I still wanted to pursue fulfilling my debt to them. But I was just as stubborn and boneheaded as he was, and he was left with little choice but to accept. Also, next time he closes the ports when he sees my ships I’ll blast them until they’re open.

Stubborn, stupid chief.

Up-top grandfather, except mine was a very stupid chief-to-be.

I could obviously see parallels with me and Marcus; and I remembered Gothi’s words before:

‘There is a clear line between coddling and taking care of him, Marius. Let the boy grow and learn, give him space. If he needs you, he will come find you.’

History repeating itself, it seemed. It’s just Hiccup was needing me a bit too much. And while I was definitely not technically ‘collapsing under the weight of it all’, I saw a glimpse of what might happen if I did try and constantly take the high road. I felt comforted, the journal was telling me it was alright to let go — it wasn’t my fault, it wasn't entirely my burden. The debt still stands, yes, but there are very obvious boundaries to not cross.

‘Your father made the same mistake with Stoick, long ago.’

And I wasn’t alone either. I wondered what happened between father and Stoick before?

As I looked up at the sky, I sighed. The sky was turning a beautiful shade of pale blue, the dawn breaking into day. Birds chirped, awakening to the light of morning as they flew overhead. I missed my father and I wondered how he was doing, I only hoped he’d return soon so I could ask him for help.

I looked to Toothless, slumbering peacefully beside me.

Guilt gnawed at me again, I’d lied to him that night before he left. Again, the ugly ramifications of what Hiccup and I did reared its ugly head; the cause of what could be a diplomatic nightmare sitting right next to me.

“The unholy offspring of lightning and death,” I mumbled, patting Toothless gently. “And more recently known as the nightmare of diplomacy and generations of treaties.”

Toothless trilled happily in his sleep. I placed a big fat kiss on his head.

“And the most adorable dragon I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” I smiled.

I was going to tell my father the minute he arrived on Berk. Then, I’d convince him how similar Toothless was to us — I don’t know, something about being stranded on Berk, left to fend for himself, then saved by a chief (or chief-to-be). Maybe my father would understand, I mean he let me get a parakeet, a horse, and a dog when I flashed my puppydog eyes at him. Surely he’d do the same for Toothless!

… Right?

I avoided Hiccup like the plague. 

‘Boundaries,’ I reminded myself every time he tried to catch my eye as I sat up on the bleachers. I’d consistently look away whenever he looked up. ‘Boundaries, Imka!’

Gobber kept looking at me in question, very obviously wondering what was going on. Meanwhile, Gothi was smiling smugly to herself, knowing exactly what was happening. She even offered me more honey-glazed nuts to snack on as we watched the day’s training session.

This time, Hiccup was a bit more distracted than usual. Not that I paid too much attention of course. I was busy distracting myself with how well Astrid was doing. She was soaring around the arena like she had wings, confident in her movements and completely in her element. They were taking on a Gronkle this time and it was Astrid who delivered a decisive blow with her shield, successfully lobbing it at the dragon so hard that it disorientedly retreated into its cage.

Though I clapped and cheered for her, I inwardly cringed, my gut twisting at the sight of the poor thing. It seemed my empathy for Toothless was beginning to grow beyond just him.

Hiccup caught on and we finally locked eyes. He leveled me with a stare, stretching out an arm towards her as if to say: Really? You’re in support of this?

Of course I wasn’t, but it was kind of satisfying to get back at him for what happened.

The minute training finished I rushed down to greet and congratulate Astrid. She was also in particularly good spirits, a skip to her step as she rushed up to greet me.

“Did you see that?” she laughed, “Oh I did the somersault perfectly this time, I nailed it!”

“You did!” I smiled, trying to ignore the way everyone else seemed to stare in surprise at the fact I’d greeted her and ignored Hiccup completely. “So are we going for lunch?”

“Yeah, my mom has plans to have us for dinner —”

“Great!” I looped my arm around Astrid’s then around Ruffnut’s, “Let’s go find lunch first though, I’m famished!”

Ruffnut blinked, “Huh? Oh, right. Girl’s day out. Tuffnut! I’ll see you later!”

“You what?” Tuffnut shouted, waving his arms. “You didn’t tell me about this! Can I join?!”

“Girls only!” Astrid yelled over her shoulder.

As we walked away, I could still hear the boys talking behind us.

“...What was that ?” Fishlegs asked.

“Girl’s day out,” Snotlout snorted. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

“... Hiccup?”

“Please don’t. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Tuffnut’s voice cut through, “We should have a guy’s day out then!”

“Guys’ day out!” Snotlout echoed, way too enthusiastically.

I tuned them out after that. My grip on Astrid and Ruffnut’s arms relaxed as we headed toward the village.

“Let me guess,” Astrid said. “You two didn’t make up last night?”

“Nope.” I sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Woah, Imka and Hiccup fought?” Ruffnut snorted, “What’s next, sheep sprouting wings?”

“Exactly!” Astrid laughed, “That’s what I said yesterday!”

“That’s wild. You’re always around him when you’re here—it’s like you’re glued together with hardened yak dung.” Ruffnut gave me a look. “Y’know, when Astrid said you wanted a girl’s day out, I figured something was up. You never hang out with us. Least of all me.”

I grimaced. Ruffnut wasn’t even trying to be mean, what she said was just true.

“I know — and it’s really bad and I’m really sorry —”

“Whoa, no need to apologize.” Ruffnut held up her hands like I was aiming a weapon at her. “Just stating facts. I mean, it’s obvious you and Hiccup have a thing for each other—”

I froze. My brows furrowed, my mouth hung open. Out of all the conclusions she could draw, she came to that? 

I blinked at her, jaw working as I tried to find something to say, but all that came out was:

“Huh?”

Ruffnut and Astrid exchanged a look.

“What do you mean ‘huh’?” Ruffnut asked, confused.

“HUH?!” I repeated louder, my eyes practically bulging out of its sockets. “In what world do I and Hiccup have feelings for each other?!”

Ruffnut blinked slowly, pulling a face like I’d just said the sky was green. She glanced at Astrid again, who only shook her head like I was a lost cause.

“Not the way I wanted to start a girl’s day out…” Astrid muttered.

“Okay…” Ruffnut said, planting both hands on my shoulders. “Let’s take a step back. Breathe. Relax. Look, I know I’m not exactly the brightest yak in the herd, but come on. It’s so obvious—”

I was going to fling myself into the ocean right now. Please, please let the sea swallow me whole — this cannot be the image I’ve projected onto everyone.

“You know what,” Astrid said quickly, steering me away. “New rule! During girls' day out, we don’t talk about boys. At all.”

“Fine with me,” Ruffnut said, trailing behind.

“It’s fine, you’re fine —”

“I’m going to throw myself off this island —”

“Oooh, cliff diving, fun! Is that part of today’s plans? Because I know a really good spot —”

Instead, we wandered into the market and tried everything we could get our hands on: a bag of honey-glazed nuts, some warm sweet bread, and a few mugs of fruit juice mixed with thick, golden honey. We chatted the whole time — first about how training was going, then life on the mainland, and eventually our scattered thoughts on the future.

By late afternoon, we found ourselves on a lone hilltop, sprawled across a blanket surrounded by crumbs and half-finished mugs. Trinkets from my family's ships were scattered between us: Frisian-braided bracelets, bottled cinnamon and cloves, a deck of playing cards from the Far East, books of Aesop's fables, a psalter, and tiny carved tokens of saints.

Ruffnut was completely taken with the psalter and the fables, especially the illuminated pages. I read to her while Astrid lay back with her head in Ruffnut's lap, flipping through the playing cards with growing curiosity.

“I have no idea what you just read,” Ruffnut said, eyes wide, “but it sounds really pretty. I didn’t know books could look like that.”

I closed the psalter gently and set it aside. “You have the dragon manual. That looks cool, right?”

“Cool is not the same as pretty,” Astrid muttered, holding up one of the cards. “Hey, this one’s got some guy holding a bow—”

We both leaned in, craning our necks to get a better look.

“It’s for a game, right?” Ruffnut asked.

I shrugged. “I mean, I think so? I can’t read what it says.”

“But you bought it,” Astrid said, giving me a look. “Why buy something you can’t even read? Let alone play ?”

Ruffnut reached for the bottle of cloves, sniffing it curiously. “So you don’t know the rules either?”

“Not really.” I frowned, “I got this from a trader in Baghdad, said it came from a long way from the Far East. He wasn’t sure how to play them either. Seems everyone along the way just... admired them and passed them on. I suppose they’re more a conversation piece than a game, at this point.”

“Baghdad?” Ruffnut echoed. “Far East? Girl, the farthest east I know is the east side of this island.”

She huffed, pulling another card from the stack, before continuing. 

“Shame, though. Little guy came all this way, and no one knows what he’s even for.”

Astrid glanced up at me. “Your family sails around a lot though, right Imka? Surely you can sail there and find out.”

I offered a smile, “To the Far East? I mean I guess I could, but it’s so far away and just getting to Berk takes a week. It could take months to reach this place. And that’s if I went by sea — I’ve heard some people only get there by land, and that takes even longer.”

Astrid sat up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared out over the cliffs. The sky had turned heavy and gray, clouds swelling above the horizon but not quite ready to burst. The sea below shifted from blue to steel, restless and loud as it slammed into the rocks.

“The world’s such a big place,” she murmured, like she was trying to see it all from here. “What I wouldn’t give to see more of it.”

“I know,” Ruffnut mumbled, holding up the card she’d been studying — a man with a beard, holding a sword, clad in unfamiliar armor. “I wonder if he’s out there somewhere. Wonder what he’s doing right now.”

“Living,” I said. “Swinging his sword.”

Ruffnut grinned. “Not so different from us, then. Except we use axes.”

“Or your helmets,” I joked, a smile curling on my lips. “Headbutting seems to be you and your brother’s preferred attack.”

“Hey, don’t disrespect the Thorston signature headbull attack.” She tapped her horned hat, “Did a number on that Nadder yesterday.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, “Yeah, until Hiccup stole your thunder —”

I turned to her, eyebrow raised. “What happened to the ‘no talking about boys’ rule?”

She winced. “Right. Sorry. Let’s change the subject.”

“Actually, let’s not ,” Ruffnut said, sliding the card back into the stack. “Because clearly, avoiding the subject isn’t working. Don’t even bother arguing — I can feel it. It’s on your minds.”

“I kind of ranted all about it to Imka last night,” Astrid mumbled. “You’ve heard it more times than she has though, Ruffnut.”

“That I have, but like —” she shrugged, “it’s good, y’know? Get your feelings all out there. Unless you’re my brother, then feelings leave via —”

“Ruffnut!”

“I was going to say headbutting!”

Laughter bubbled out of me, the thunder rolling above joining me as if chuckling along. 

“What about you then, Ruffnut?” I said after my laughter died, “Like I heard from Astrid, what about you? What’s your deal with Hiccup?”

“If I tell you,” she pulled at the grass beside her. “Do you promise not to chew me out for being honest?”

I raised a hand, mock-solemn. “I promise.”

Ruffnut stared at me for a long moment, eyes narrowed, like she was measuring the risk. Then she sighed and gave in.

“One thing I hate more than anything,” she muttered, yanking a clump of grass from the earth, “is being ditched. And Hiccup Haddock? He’s got a long, storied history of ditching people.”

“He does?” I blinked, cocking my head. “When?”

“You don’t live here, so you don’t see what we do. When he first started doing his inventions and failing, we understood. Like, he’s a runt right? I get it. Tuffnut got it. Astrid got it. Fishlegs got it — point is, we all got it.” she explained, “He’s not like us, whatever. But then he started shutting us out when, sorry — don’t mean to be rude —”

“None taken.” Astrid huffed.

Ruffnut continued, “– when some of the adults started getting angry with him. Like, not my mom and dad, but Astrid’s parents got really angry one time. It was really bad. You weren’t here, but it was… like, five years ago during a raid? He put Astrid in a lot of danger.”

“Life-threatening,” Astrid added coolly. “Still here though. Got a nice ugly scar as a souvenir.”

I frowned. “I was never told about that.”

“Yeah duh,” Ruffnut scoffed. “You’re the Marius girl, nobody is going to tell you or the rest of your family. Frankly, I don’t like that everyone hides this from you — my parents hate it too.”

“Why?”

“Everyone thinks that if we don’t show we can keep you guys completely safe from dragons, your family will leave. For good. Which means buh-bye to emergency rations, buh-bye to blankets or wool when winter comes, and buh-bye to any gold we might need. Not to mention iron, seeds, tools —”

I blinked.

I mean it made sense, but we’d never leave them or withhold any help we could give, regardless of how well they did in protecting us. Then something occurred to me: Berk’s proof of work.

It was never really for us — not exactly. Sure, what they did would never change how we saw them, but there were other powers out there. Powers with a vested interest in making sure Berk could prove it was strong. That it could protect people from dragons flying further south. 

That it was worth the alliance.

They weren’t wrong, then. Just… only half right.

Which, to be fair, was exactly what we intended.

“… Is that why you’re always tackling me during raids?” I asked Astrid, turning to her slowly. “You always seem to show up right on time.”

She looked away, suddenly sheepish. “I mean… yeah. Kind of. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see you hurt or anything. But… well,” she exhaled, “my parents are always telling me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re safe.”

“Huh.” I paused, the weight of it hitting me. “I… never knew.”

“Which is why everyone gets so mad when Hiccup screws up,” Ruffnut cut in. “Because if he messes up, it reflects on all of us. Makes Berk look bad. Makes you look at us like we’re not worth it. Spitelout’s words, not mine.”

“What did he say?” I asked softly.

Ruffnut made a face. “Something like, ‘They’ll think we’re a bad investment.’”

“No!” I said quickly, “Never! I mean, my family’s been trading with Berk for generations.”

“Trading?” Astrid raised a brow. “Or is it charity?”

Her words were sharp.

“My parents,” she said, voice quieter now, “are convinced this whole arrangement runs on goodwill. And that the only reason it still works is because we train harder than anyone else. That’s why—” she paused, then forced it out, “—that’s why I push myself so hard. Because I have to, not just because I want Berk safe or for peace.”

“Not mine,” Ruffnut said casually. “They’re more chill. But the Hoffersons? Sorry Astrid. Spitelout? Stoick? Yeesh.”

She popped a blade of grass into her mouth and chewed absently.

“I guess the Ingermans are relaxed too. But everyone else? Pressure’s brutal.”

I exhaled, leaning back and putting my weight on my hands, “I didn’t know. Oh wow, that explains a lot.”

“Yeah, you just never knew because you were always coddling Hiccup, following him around, listening to him and only him.” Ruffnut said, pointed but not completely unkind. “But now, you’re hanging with us so — yeah, now you know.”

“Huh.” I frowned, rubbing my neck. “Now I know.”

“Now you know.” Astrid repeated, “I wouldn’t say we’re all the same, but everyone’s got their reasons. Snotlout is probably on the same page as me, which is why he thinks we need to date? Ugh.”

I was having an existential crisis. Is… hold on. That meant a lot of how everyone treated me was based on the aid my family provided which, yeah, in hindsight, yeah it did play a really big role. I just never realized how big of a role it was.

Money. Goods. Rations.

The lifeline of Berk, and I was it’s — his daughter.

That’s it then. Again, I am just a Marius. Not just a girl, perhaps not even a friend — not truly, not purely just a friend.

I thought back on all my interactions with the people of Berk. Astrid tackling me to the ground, everyone calling me lass or little lass or sweet girl or — even the vikings crowded behind that iron shell a week ago… the first they asked of me was about iron and food.

I expected as much from the mainland, but from Berk? Where everyone was always so straightforward?

“Girl, you can do so much better.” Ruffnut rolled her eyes, popping another blade of grass in her mouth. “Anyways, yeah. Ever since the adults started getting mad at Hiccup, he just completely shut us all out. Whatever, you know? If he thinks we’re gonna do the same to him like what the rest of everyone does, what’s the point in acting otherwise?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, my voice lacking any confidence. “Still try?”

“For what? Until he shuts us out again?” she paused, “He did it to you too, didn’t he? That’s why you’re ignoring him?”

Bullseye, again.

“Ugh! I knew it!” Ruffnut groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. “He never changes! Never have, never will!”

“It was just a small fight —”

“Small fight?” she continued, “Again, most times you two are conjoined at the hip whenever you’re here on Berk. Hello?”

I shut my eyes, “Okay, so he did shut the door on me literally.”

“See?!” Ruffnut said, “See what I mean?!”

“Bottom line is,” Astrid cut, “before the adults started saying stuff, we never said anything. But he lumped us all in with them, so… yeah, what Ruffnut said, why try to be anything else? He’s already made up his mind. I’m as tough as my parents, Snotlout is as mean as his dad. Then, by proxy, he puts Ruffnut and Tuffnut with us — Fishlegs is the only one who still tries. But even then…”

“This boy,” I rubbed my eyes tiredly, my face in my hands. “This boy —”

This conversation today reframed so much of every single one of my interactions with everyone in the village. Reframed how I saw Hiccup. And all of this was right in front of me, but I never asked. I never thought to talk to the others, I just… lumped them in as Hiccup’s bullies and tormentors. Just like Hiccup did.

It didn’t mean it took away how mean everyone still was, but still — the context mattered. A lot.

“Though I do need to clear stuff up here,” Ruffnut sniffed, the thunder above rumbling. “I have never once kissed up to you or your dad, neither have my parents. Which is why I was kind of… thankful you never talked to me. Today though, I gotta admit – you’re fun to talk to, Imka. And you’re not as obsessed with Hiccup as I thought.”

“I was never obsessed with him!” I exclaimed, before pausing and reigning in my emotions. “... I don’t see him in that way.”

“Sure you don’t.” Ruffnut cackled. “See, I say it like I see it. No holding back. Unless you ditch me — then you get a boot to the face, not just a punch.”

That was actually really funny. I burst out laughing. Ruffnut just grinned wider, clearly proud of herself.

“And for what it’s worth,” Astrid added, nudging my shoulder gently, “If I only cared about listening to my parents, I’d never have let you near my braid. Let alone tie a ribbon in it . I hope you don’t see me differently after hearing all this, Imka.”

But I was already breaking. My laughter dissolved into sobs.

“Is that really all you guys see me as?” I choked, ugly-crying. “A damsel in distress? Some stupid naive girl who just follows Hiccup around?! A walking wallet?! The daughter of a walking wallet?!”

“No!” Astrid reasoned, eyes wide. “...Not entirely —”

“Yeah that’s exactly how I saw you.”

“Ruffnut, you’re not helping!”

Ruffnut had descended into wheezing, “Oh – the daughter of a walking wallet. I know some people would kill me if I said that, hahaha!”

“Ruffnut! Stop laughing!”

“Look, I won’t lie. Yeah I did see you that way, but hey —” she grinned, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, “now I see you differently!”

I leaned into her shoulder, “I’m pathetic.”

“Nah, I mean you were . Now you’re — well, I guess I’m seeing more of the real Imka than whatever or whoever you were before.”

I stayed there for a moment, just leaning onto Ruffnut’s shoulder as Astrid tried to soothe me. Frankly my mind was whirring, my thoughts churning as fast as the winds above. It would storm soon, that much was for sure. Which meant it’d be best if we retired to Astrid’s home in the meantime.

Speaking of…

“Astrid?”

“Yeah?”

“... Did your mom make something special because I’m coming over?”

“...”

“... Astrid?”

“It’s a five course meal —”

“Oh for the love of —”

Chapter Text

Dinner began, as predicted, as a torrid affair for me. 

Ruffnut, meanwhile, was having the time of her life. From appetizers to dessert, she was fully in her element — slouched in her chair, stuffing her face with smoked meats, fresh-baked bread, and enough berry tarts to put a bear into hibernation. Astrid looked like she was enjoying herself too… mostly. She kept flicking her gaze between me and her mother, like she was bracing for something.

Sigrun Hofferson — Astrid’s mother — wore a gentle, practiced smile. She looked so much like Astrid, only fuller, older, more grounded. Her round face, pale braids, and striking blue eyes reminded me of the kindly mothers in fairy tale illustrations — warm and strong and steady. The contrast to my own mother was almost jarring.

Where Sigrun was soft and round, my mother was all sharp lines and towering height. I imagined them standing side by side — like opposite ends of a scale — and somewhere in the middle, Valka. Graceful, lanky, and ethereal in the way only lost people ever are.

“Is the food lacking, lass?” Sigrun’s voice gently broke through my thoughts.

“Oh —”  I blinked, realizing my face must’ve twisted while I was thinking. “No, not at all. The food’s been wonderful!”

Which was true. I almost never finished my food, and here I was clearing every plate and still making room for dessert.

Sigrun tilted her head slightly. “That’s good to hear. But your expression soured there for a moment.”

I paused, looking at Astrid for a brief moment — her blue eyes were as curious as her mother’s, “I… well I was just thinking about my mother.”

“Ah,” Sigrun’s voice softened, turning wistful. “Gisela. How I’ve missed her. It’s been, what, a year now? How is she?”

“She’s, uh…” I tried a smile. “She’s pregnant.”

Sigrun froze. Eyes wide. Her mouth opened, but Ruffnut beat her to the punch.

“She’s knocked up ?!”

“ Ruffnut! ” Astrid hissed.

I laughed, “Sorry, I forgot to tell you too it seems.”

“Another child.” Sigrun murmured, sinking back into her seat. “At her age?”

“It’s a boy.” I offered softly, “If our predictions are right, it’ll be a boy. And my mother is very healthy, she has the best of the best tending to her home — which is why she couldn’t come with us this time.”

“I see…” Sigrun’s brows knit for a second, like something behind her eyes had stirred loose. Then she smiled again. “She always did want a son, didn’t she?”

I remembered it like it was yesterday.

“And I’ve always wanted a son,” my mother, Gisela Marius, said with a fond smile, gently stroking Hiccup’s hair where he lay dozing in her lap. “I’d say we’ve spoiled your boy too, but he does love his fables.”

“Yeah,” I smiled faintly, blinking the memory away. “She got her wish.”

“…Two of us three did,” Sigrun said softly.

I don’t know if she meant to say it aloud or if she’d blurted it out by accident, but her words made me and Astrid freeze.

Ruffnut just continued to eat though.

Sigrun was right. My mother had wanted a son. Valka had always wished for a daughter. And Sigrun — Sigrun had been content with just Astrid.

Outside, the thunder rumbled again. And this time, the rain began to fall: softly, quietly, and sad.

Like Stoick’s grief, it came and ebbed like the tide. Many of us had learned how to weather it instead of stopping it, and Sigrun would be considered an expert in this field. The way she straightened her back, tilted her chin upward like she was holding something back, and took in a deep breath; like she was a woman swallowed by the tide.

Then she resurfaced, fixing me with a gentle smile.

“I am glad your mother is still with us,” she said. “And that you’ll have a new brother soon. I am also glad to have you at my table again.”

Sigrun was the strongest warrior I’d ever met, whether in battle or outside.

No wonder Astrid adored her, looked up to her the way she did.

“So am I,” I replied, emotion knotting in my throat. “I’ll come by more often, I forgot how nice your food was and how fun it was to spend time with Astrid.”

“And me!” Ruffnut added, waving a half-eaten berry tart on a skewer like a victory flag.

I laughed, “You too.”

“Oh! You should show mom the stuff you showed me,” Astrid said, eyes lighting up.

“More gifts?” Sigrun blinked. “Astrid, you’ve already gotten a new dagger and two ribbons. You shouldn’t be troubling—”

Astrid began to sink into her seat, but I jumped in quickly.

“Oh, actually these are for you.” I said quickly, reaching into my satchel.

I pulled out the bottle of cinnamon cloves, the psalter, Aesop’s fables, the deck of cards, the braided bracelets, and the carved saint tokens. Everything I’d shown the girls earlier, now laid out before Sigrun.

Sigrun stared, bug-eyed, at the treasure trove before her. To most on Berk, spices like these would cost a fortune. Books were priceless. Most people here had never owned one — save for chiefs and their children, like Hiccup.

“I couldn’t…” she hesitated, “This is too much —”

“Please,” I said gently. “Take it. It’s my pleasure — and not just because dinner was amazing, though it was.”

Picking up the bottle of cinnamon, she uncorked it and held it to her nose. Her eyes softened. “... Oh how lovely.”

My smile widened, “Your friendship with my family — and mine with Astrid — means a great deal to me. And if anything, I’ve been the one who’s pulled away. I’ve… ignored too many people lately.”

Sigrun paused. Then inclined her head — and fixed me with a stare so sure, so steady, I might’ve picked up an axe and followed her to war if she asked. But I still remembered what Ruffnut said about the adults being mean to Hiccup and that tempered how I felt.

“I’m sorry,” I said, softer now, glancing not just at Sigrun, but the others too. “It was wrong of me.”

“Ugh, stop apologizing.” Ruffnut rolled her eyes, though the smile on her lips betrayed her. “You are so annoying.”

“That’s the fourth time she’s apologized for this,” Astrid teased, laughing into her mug.

“Of course she has,” Sigrun chuckled, shoulders finally relaxing. “You are every bit your father and your mother.”

The rain didn’t let up that night. Eventually, it stormed so hard we had no choice but to stay in and spend the night.

We all shared Astrid’s room and wasted hours trying to figure out how to play with the deck of cards — her mother included. We made up ridiculous rules and used them as tools to play a very bad version of truth or dare. Then we switched to a game where one person held a card up to their forehead while the rest had to describe it without saying what it was.

It was a good time, but  at one point, I looked out the window and into the storm. Across the village, the chief’s house still had its lights on — the fire in the hearth glowing through the windows like a gentle beacon.

I wasn’t sure, not really. But I had a feeling Hiccup might still be awake, waiting for me.

A part of me felt grim for having left him alone. There was so much he was missing in Berk. A community that could have accepted him, should have nurtured him — but didn’t. My chest ached.

How was he supposed to lead a place that never fully welcomed him? Why would he even want to?

And yet, he always tried. With his inventions, his plans, his ideas. Things too grand for Berk, maybe. But perfect for something beyond Berk.

I could take him away, I knew that was for certain. But I refused to deprive him of the warmth he could have here.

I glanced back at the others — all huddled together, laughing over our made-up rules and broken card games — then looked again at the house on the hill. The distance between us felt like more than just a few steps across the village. It felt like an ocean.

But I steeled myself, I’d find a way to close that distance. Plus I’d read more than enough tactics from Marcus Marius’ journal to chart a path, now all that was left was to cross it.

I was a Marius, after all. Crossing oceans and building bridges was in my blood.

The next morning, I woke earlier than the other two and quietly said my goodbyes to Sigrun. After some time apart from him, I started to wonder if not coming home last night had only made things worse. Or perhaps things would be better, but that was a longshot.

Turns out, it was worse.

Hiccup had fallen asleep in the living room, curled up on the couch like he hadn’t meant to stay there. The fire had long since dwindled to a faint flicker — just a few stubborn embers glowing in the hearth. The room was cold. Not just from the weather, but from the absence of warmth that usually lived here. Even I felt it, tugging my fur coat tighter around myself.

I crept closer, careful not to wake him too suddenly, and sat down at his side.

He looked so at peace as he slept, not a care in the world and far off in his dreams. 

In his hand, he clutched his own copy of Aesop’s fables. From the way certain pages were dog-eared, I knew exactly which story he’d been reading — Androcles and the Lion .

Mainland scribes would’ve lost their minds over how roughly he treated the book. Pages creased. Spine cracked. Books were so expensive, a highly prized commodity. But Hiccup didn’t need to know, he didn’t even know how much these books cost. 

The stories and remembering where he left off was always far more important to him.

A smile pulled at my lips. Some things never changed with him. And truthfully? I wouldn’t change them for the world.

I reached out gently, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Hiccup,” I said softly. “Hiccup, wake up.”

Slowly, Hiccup stirred awake. He blinked his green eyes once, twice, then sat up and rubbed them groggily. I waited, patient and quiet, as he turned and planted his feet on the floor, glancing around like he’d misplaced something.

“Huh…”

Then his eyes landed on me.

“Imka?”

His eyes widened in recognition, pupils dilating in the pale morning light. For a moment, he looked so much like Toothless that I couldn’t help but smile wider.

“Good morning,” I greeted. “Why didn’t you sleep upstairs?”

“Wha—” He blinked, then sputtered. “Why didn’t you sleep upstairs? Where were you? I waited the whole night—”

“You did?” My smile turned into a teasing grin.

His face flushed a bright red. “I—I—you—”

“Well,” I started, tugging off my coat, “I had dinner at Astrid’s place with Ruffnut. Then it rained, so we decided to stay the night.”

“Oh.” His voice dropped. “That’s good. I thought you got lost in the forest or something, so I went looking, but… I didn’t find anything, so I came back and—”

My eyes flicked toward his boots in the corner — still damp.

I frowned, guilt hitting me like a wave. “You went out in the rain looking for me? Oh, Hiccup, I’m sorry. Let me—”

I reached out, brushing the back of my hand to his forehead to check for a fever, but he caught my wrist gently before I could.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said firmly, setting my hand aside. “I said a lot of dumb things to you, Imka. Stuff you didn’t deserve. You’ve always been there for me, and it’s not your fault the village treats me the way it does.”

My eyes widened in surprise, I wasn’t expecting an apology this fast — nor was I expecting anything, really.

“I just…” he trailed off, eyes falling away. “It’s really lonely when you’re not here. But then I realized you’re probably lonely out there too, right?”

Bullseye . Arrow, right through the heart.

I wonder how he knew, was I that obvious? 

I never talked about that stuff. Not to him. Not to anyone, really, besides my parents. My feelings about the mainland, the teasing, the politics — they were mine to carry. Locked away in a chest deep in my heart. 

Hiccup didn’t need to know about my complicated feelings, about the politics and teasing I got faraway — he didn’t need to be burdened by my own problems when he so clearly had so many of his own.

“You never talk about it,” he continued, “but the more I thought about everything — all the things you and your dad say about the mainland — the more I realized… maybe I’m not the only one who feels out of place.”

His grip on my hand loosened.

“All this time I thought I was alone. But maybe you are too. Maybe that’s why you’re trying to connect with everyone here. People here are… different. Not like Lady Talia or those other names you always mention. People here are… simpler. Boneheaded. But maybe that’s refreshing for you—”

He was spiraling. And I let him. My heart warmed and my chest bubbled with amusement.

“—so I figured, right, maybe I’ve been selfish. Maybe it’s a jerk move to keep you all to myself when clearly, you need them too. And when they clearly need you and your family—gods, I’m making myself sound like the worst chief-to-be—how does dad do this—”

“Hiccup —”

“Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he rushed out. “Next time you want to spend time with the others, I won’t complain. I won’t try to stop you. I’ll stay out of the way—”

“No.” I said firmly, frowning.

He froze, eyes wide. Shoulders slumped.

“O-oh,” he stammered, voice cracking. “No, I get it. My apology was dumb. I just—I was stupid, and I—”

“Can I explain?” I cut in. “I mean I don’t accept what you want to do. You are not going to be silent. And you are not going to stay out of the way.”

He blinked, confused. “...Huh?”

I sighed and cupped his face in both hands. His cheeks had lost the baby fat from childhood, but there was still just enough left for me to pinch and stretch.

“Ow! Imka—what are you—”

“You are going to participate,” I said, pinching harder. “You are not going to isolate yourself when things don’t go your way. Not anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” he mumbled through squished cheeks.

“I heard enough from Ruffnut,” I said pointedly, but not unkind. “She said nobody ever said anything bad to you before, and that you started lumping everyone with the adults who did say things to you. That’s when it all started. Then you shut everyone out, just like you did to me last night.”

His face flushed again, though now I wasn’t sure if it was from the pinching or the truth.

“Wait—”

“That’s not fair. And it’s not okay. Do you understand?”

“But I—”

“ Do. You. Understand? ” I pressed, eyes narrowing. “And I’m not talking about this because you’re going to be chief one day. Or because you’re training to be a dragon slayer. I’m talking about being a friend . You will always need friends, Hiccup Haddock. And you have to learn how to sit with them even when things feel hard. Even when they mess up. Because you mess up too.”

I hesitated, thinking of Clotide and Khalid.

Because someday, they’d make mistakes. And if Hiccup didn’t learn to be forgiving, he’d drive them away — just like he nearly did with me.

It wouldn’t matter how similar Clotide and he were in their obsession with dragons, nor how brilliantly matched Khalid was with him. 

Nobody was perfect, nobody would ever be able to be friends with him without messing up. I knew that well. 

We were all humans and humans are always prone to be stupid and to make mistakes. It’s not about avoiding mistakes, whether our own or others, it’s about learning how to face them head on.

Like Stoick and Sigrun with their grief, like the village when dragons descended, and just like Hiccup himself when he shot Toothless down.

There is no running away, only forwards.

I paused.

“Again,” I said softly, “do you understand?”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

“And am I clear?”

“Crystal.” He winced. “Now please stop pinching my cheeks.”

“Oh.”

I let go quickly, wincing myself at how red they’d gotten. I hurried to the kitchen and soaked a rag in cold water, then returned and pressed it gently against his skin.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, dabbing at the heat on his cheeks.

“...Does that mean we’re okay now?” he asked quietly. “Can you forgive me?”

“Oh Hiccup,” I sighed, “there is nothing to forgive. You weren’t entirely wrong either that night. If our positions were swapped… I’d probably do the same.”

He sighed and leaned into the cold rag, mumbling. “Maybe. Would I even be able to say what you can, though?”

“Yes.” I said, “Because I’d bet you’d care enough to try, because even if our roles were reversed — I think we’d still be friends.”

“Why?”

I paused to look him in the eyes and smiled, full of conviction. “Because even if you were a Marius and I was a Haddock, it wouldn’t matter very much. There is no one like you in this world Hiccup, not even on the mainland. Not even beyond, I’d argue.”

Nobody else I knew dreamed of dragons and inventions the way he did. Nobody who dared to try the impossible with the kind of wild, stubborn hope he had — and still held onto it, even when the world knocked him down. And even rarer still: he kept his wonder. His love for fables and fantasy. That boyishness that most people grow out of, or get beaten out of. 

This was what made Hiccup ‘Hiccup’ to me, the boy who dragged me into the forest to look for birds and dragons who’d fallen out of the sky.

The boy who wondered and kept to his childlike faith.

It was true that Berk felt like a breath of fresh air to me — all their straightforwardness, their grit, their plainspoken ways. But it was this boy, sitting right in front of me, who gave me hope.

Hope that even in a world twisted by politics and war, by greed and violence and everything else that made people grow up too fast — there were still places, still people, who reminded you how to dream. Who let you believe it was okay to feel like a kid again, that there was room for you yet.

“So…” he said after a moment, voice light, “are we back on schedule with Toothless?”

I tilted my head. “Yes. But there’s something I need to do first.”

“What is it?” he asked quickly. “Can I help? Or — uh — do you want space?”

I smiled. “Oh, I’ll be needing you.”

He perked up at that. “Oh, good — I mean, uh, yeah. Sure. What are we doing?”

I grinned, serene as ever.

“We’re going to have breakfast with Snotlout.”

“Do we really have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Because, frankly, Snotlout might be still sleeping or —”

“Hiccup Haddock,” I looked over my shoulder at him, “... The berries are falling out of the basket.”

“What — oh!”

We were standing in front of Snotlout’s home, eerily quiet without his family there. They’d all gone with Stoick and my father, every one as determined as the other to prove they were the strong warriors they were. And there they left Snotlout, in the dust, and in the dark of his home.

I knocked on the door once and out he came, groggy and blinking away the sleep in his eyes. In this light, he looked less like the bully Hiccup and I had come to know and more of a short and stout 15 year-old. In many ways still very much like a child, carrying a similar loneliness Hiccup did, although he masked it in a very different way.

Unfortunately, the minute he registered it was Hiccup and I on his front porch that same bewildered sneer returned to his face.

“Great.” He mumbled, “A nightmare in a nightmare. What do you two want?”

“Good morning, Snotlout,” I said, putting on my best merchant smile — the one my father and I used when we wanted to secure a deal. “Hiccup and I brought breakfast. We’d like to share it with you.”

A beat passed.

“Did I die in my sleep?” he deadpanned, narrowing his eyes. “Pretty sure I died. You killed me in my sleep, didn’t you, Haddock?”

Hiccup sighed, shifting the basket from one hand to the other. “Guilty as charged. The killer always returns to the scene of the crime — this time with food.”

“Poisoned?”

“Obviously. Excellent deduction, Snotlout.”

“It’s chilly this morning,” I cut in smoothly, my smile only twitching slightly. “Would you let us in?”

Another pause. Then Snotlout groaned, rubbed his face, and stepped aside.

“Sure, whatever. I could eat.”

“Wonderful!” I chirped. Then turned to Hiccup with a very pointed stare. “ Be nice. ”

“He just accused me of murdering him!”

“Be the bigger person, Hiccup.”

“I’ve been trying for all fifteen years of my life, Imka,” he muttered. “Still a fishbone. Milk doesn’t help either.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him as we stepped in. Compared to the chief’s house, Snotlout’s was more grand in design. Paintings of their ancestors lined the walls, polished trophies glinting under the pale morning light. Medals from their unbroken Thawfest streak hung like war banners. Pelts from all kinds of animals, bears, wolves, foxes draped over nearly every surface. A wide vestibule welcomed guests in, impressive and cold.

Despite not being heirs, the Jorgensons had more real estate than Stoick. But then again, all of Berk was Stoick’s domain. Their family portraits hung in the great hall, for all of Berk to see — that was their version of legacy.

“Welcome to the glorious abode of the Jorgensons,” Snotlout mumbled with a yawn, scratching his head. “Okay, I’m gonna ask again — why are you two bringing me food? Is there, like, a festival? Some secret Jorgenson Appreciation Day?”

He paused. His eyes skimmed over me.

“Wait... is this because the Marius family finally realized we’re clearly superior to —”

I felt Hiccup bristle beside me and held out a hand to stop him.

“Why don’t we sit first?” I said smoothly, gesturing to the table near the pantry. “Hiccup and I made a few dishes — with some spices from the mainland.”

“Spices?” Snotlout scoffed, flopping down into a chair. “Please. You mean, like, salt?”

I just smiled.

There was roasted meat seasoned with cloves, pepper, and cinnamon. Fish soaked in ginger sauce. And then, Hiccup and I’s childhood favorite — spiced berry tea. Also, a small stack of fresh-baked bread from the baker who, thank Heavens, opened early. Hiccup and I sat quietly as Snotlout dug in, devouring the food with genuine enthusiasm.

“This is so good ,” he said, voice muffled as he chewed. “What’s in this stuff?”

“Some spices my family picked up during our trips,” I said lightly, sipping my tea. “I made the meat and fish. Hiccup handled the tea.”

“Yeah…” Hiccup said, eyeing the mess Snotlout was making. “Snotlout, you know you can chew —”

I nudged his ribs, clearing my throat.

“—Ow,” he muttered, rubbing his ribs. “Fine. Yes. I made the tea.”

“It’s really good,” Snotlout said, too busy stuffing his face to register the sarcasm. “Honestly, I haven’t had food like this in forever.”

Hook.

“What do you mean?” I asked casually.

He paused, mouth half-full. “I mean, usually I just eat whatever they make. Salted meat, plain eggs, boiled potatoes. That’s it. Tastes like gloop. Looks like it too, most days, because I’m the one making it.”

“Nothing else?” I asked, glancing toward the pantry.

The house was full of painted glory and polished ego — but empty of comfort. No favorite cups, no little sweets tucked away, no carved trinkets. Even Stoick, for all his bluster, kept Hiccup’s favorite snacks stocked as well as mine. At Astrid’s place, her mother made sure there was always a little extra something just for her.

But for Snotlout?

There were no snacks for him, no special cups, no special anything. It was as if he was only just an appendage of a body, a part of a home, a function sure — but not a person. Not a child. Another trophy, another painting on the wall.

Snotlout scoffed, “Who needs more? I’m… fine.”

I frowned, my voice growing soft, “Not even snacks?”

Line .

“No.” he said, voice a bit quieter and his eyes falling away.

“I see. Well, no wonder you’ve gotten so strong. It takes a lot of willpower to be that strict with your diet.” I said, cutting into my own portion of food. “I’d say the muscles are proof of that, right Hiccup?”

A beat passed. Snotlout sat up straighter.

I cleared my throat, “Right, Hiccup?”

“...Yeah,” he said, blinking back into the conversation.

Snotlout snorted, grabbing a rag to wipe his mouth. He eyed Hiccup’s plate. “No wonder you’re so scrawny. This stuff’s good, but your portions are tiny.”

“Thanks,” Hiccup muttered — right before I kicked his ankle under the table. “Hey — fine. Yes. My portion sizes are small, but I can’t eat that much!”

“I’ve got the same issue,” I added, eating slowly. “But it’s not a problem for me. It’s more of a problem for Hiccup, don’t you think?”

Snotlout looked up, squinting at Hiccup like he was trying to diagnose something. Then he shrugged.

“In fact,” I continued, voice light, “do you think you could help? Maybe give him some tips?”

His chewing slowed. Eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“In return,” I went on, “you can have dinner every other day with us at the chief’s house. You’re family, after all. And I can prepare meals like this every night. We have plenty of spices — whole crates of them, honestly. There’s no shortage.”

It wasn’t a lie. We did have a large supply — a leftover gamble for high-paying mainland clients that never came due to the war. Many had passed, tragically, and it would be a shame to waste them. But Berk was also one of our highest valued ‘customer’ in a way. And I knew my father would understand my reasoning behind this, what were some spices compared to the strengthening of Berk anyways? To the alliances between Hiccup and his peers?

“Look, I’m no merchant but… aren’t these expensive?”

I arched my brow, dropping the pleasantries for a brief moment. “Does my family look like they can’t afford it?”

“No… you don’t,” he said, and for the first time that morning, something unguarded flickered behind his eyes.

Sinker .

I could imagine it — him coming home to that cold house, no one greeting him. No one cooking for him. Plain food on a plain plate. No warmth in the hearth unless he lit it. No footsteps but his own.

I knew the kind of man Spitelout was, my father complained about him often. 

Too hard on his only son, on a foolhardy chase for glory; too drunk on legacy, too proud to be a parent. And maybe it was because he thought if he didn’t raise a champion, we’d stop sending aid.

It mattered little. Sigrun was as hard on Astrid as well, but she still did her job as a parent. So did Stoick. So did my own parents. Out of all the adults, perhaps it was Spitelout who had the least of my sympathies.

Oh Snotlout. Lonely like Hiccup, angry like Hiccup, so much like him — and so desperate for a true friend too.

“Seriously?” he asked.

I smiled. “Of course.”

He grinned back. “Deal. You keep making the food — it’s a deal.”

“Good to hear. We’ll start tomorrow,” I said, finally taking my first bite. “And don’t worry — when I leave, I’ll make sure there’s a stash of spices at the chief’s house. I’ll even teach Hiccup the recipes. Right, Hiccup?”

I turned to eye my best friend who’d grown eerily quiet. Hiccup was just sitting there, watching Snotlout continue eating with an unreadable expression. 

There was something in his eyes for a brief second, the wheels in his head moving slowly as if unearthing a great secret. His eyes wandered around Snotlout’s home, first the paintings, the trophies, and then at the pantry. 

He could see it too.

“What?” Snotlout asked, frowning as he caught the look. “Jealous of the trophies?”

Hiccup’s mouth twisted into a flat line. But his eyes weren’t sharp — they were... sad.

“Very,” he said simply. “You’ve done well, Snotlout. It’s... impressive.”

“Huh. Thanks,” Snotlout muttered, caught a little off guard. He wiped his mouth with a cloth, quieter now. “I’ve got more upstairs. If you wanna see.”

“Really?” Hiccup asked, still watching him.

“Yeah. Lots of stuff. Dad mounted a bunch of wolf heads from last year’s hunt — and we’re going out again soon when they come back. I could... I mean, I could give you some tips, if you want.”

A pause. Then:

“Me? Hunt wolves?” Hiccup raised an eyebrow.

Snotlout smirked. “With me , anything’s possible.”

Hiccup paused. “I remember those yearly hunts. The wolves used to eat baby birds in the forest—never made sense to me. Can’t imagine they got full from something that small.”

He was right.

“I know,” Snotlout groaned, slamming his fist on the table. “Dumb wolves. Why chew on baby birds when you can pick on someone your own size? Like me?!”

The sudden thud made me jump, but Hiccup just nodded, dead serious.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Right?!”

Leaning back, I allowed myself to relax and think about what I’d seen so far.

In Berk, everyone suffered under the need to perform, to succeed — the strong over the weak. But even then, the strong still was punished. 

Where Hiccup was punished for being weak, for failing, Astrid was also punished for doing well, a constant pressure to be the best. And here was Snotlout, punished for being in the middle. Too strong to fail, but too weak to be the best.

I knew how that felt, caught in the in-between.

How long had they all been struggling like this, and I was blinded by my own concern for Hiccup alone? I could’ve fixed this sooner, they could’ve been closer sooner,  if only I’d opened my eyes faster.

No, regardless of what happened in the past I could not undo it. I could only fix what I could now.

The two began talking about wolves then, no longer dragons or what being a viking meant. The Jorgensons were the hunters of the village and prided themselves as Berk’s protectors against not just dragons, but wild animals. It would explain why, as a part of their coming-of-age ceremony, each family member had a tradition of killing a bear. Snotlout was currently in the middle of enthusiastically talking about his plans and Hiccup listened.

Compared to Toothless, wolves and bears rarely held back when it came to their hunts. Again, another reason that seemed to strengthen the difference between the dragons we thought were simple beasts and what were, indeed, simple beasts. Or perhaps both were just as misunderstood as each other, and it might take its own bridge to understand the latter.

I looked at Snotlout and Hiccup speaking more animatedly.

At least this bridge had been built.

Soon enough, we’d wrapped up the meal and headed out for the day. Snotlout was in noticeably brighter spirits, even managing a conversation with Hiccup that didn’t devolve into barking or bickering. I’d ended up waiting a whole half hour downstairs while the two of them went upstairs to check out the rest of the house.

You’d think that, being cousins who lived in the same village, they’d have been in and out of each other’s homes all the time.

It made me all the more upset.

They could’ve been closer sooner, I had the skillset —

I sighed, muttering to myself, “No use dwelling on it, Imka. There’s no use.”

Hiccup and I were walking side by side to the arena today, as if it were any other day and the past two days had been completely forgotten. 

“I can’t believe that just happened.” he mumbled, before eyeing the potato in his hand as if it were something alien, “I can’t believe I’m eating a potato. A potato Snotlout made. For me.”

While I waited, Snotlout had set the hearth, boiled two potatoes, and declared it the start of Hiccup’s new diet — to turn him from a "fishbone" into, apparently, something more like a "fish."

“What just happened?” Hiccup asked.

I lifted the now-empty basket on my arm. “Breakfast.”

“Yeah, I got that. But that was more.”

“Peace,” I said. “You just got a ceasefire from Snotlout.”

“Over food?”

Amusement tugged at my mouth. “They say the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“With Snotlout, it’s ego,” he muttered, still turning the potato like it might explode. “That felt… manipulative.”

“Was it?” I cocked a brow, “All I did was speak to what I observed. Gave praise where it was due — especially considering his circumstances.”

I paused for effect, “You saw it too. I know you did. The house was grand, but the home was empty.”

Hiccup was quiet. “Yeah. I guess I did. But the way we brought it out… it felt weird.”

He sounded just like I did when I was young, and frankly he wasn’t all that wrong either. My father had even more tactics beneath his belt, even Marcus Marius wrote down his own tricks in his journal. Many of which I’d borrowed for today’s outing, apparently he’d used similar tactics plenty of times when dealing with both Berk and the mainland.

“Do you think if we’d just said, ‘Snotlout, your family treats you like a tool to win trophies,’ he would’ve listened?” I asked. “He’d just get angrier. Even if it was true.”

“I can imagine.”

“And what about the cat in the woods? If we’d just said, ‘I’m sorry, it was my fault you got hurt,’ and left it there — would he have understood?” I tilted my head toward him. “You were right to bring him food. You saw what he needed wasn’t words, but sustenance. So tell me — how is Snotlout any different?”

“Because Snotlout is a person—”

“And our friend isn’t?” I asked gently, just as the arena came into view.

He didn’t respond. Still turning the potato in his hands, like it held some great mystery.

I tried to recall what I’d read from the journal yesterday. Marcus Marius had a great deal of wisdom, and this was as much of an exercise for me to put it into practice as it was helping guide Hiccup.

“Pride,” I said softly, the words of my ancestor flowing from my lips, “is expecting others to see things our way by forcing them to change. Humility is knowing people see and speak differently, and meeting them where they are.”

We kept walking. The frost crunched under our boots, the air sharp and still.

“You did a wonderful job with Toothless,” I added, stopping just before the arena gates. “And he’s not even the same species as us. I know you have this humility, Hiccup. But now, you need to learn how to extend it — not just to those you’ve hurt, but to the people who’ve hurt you, too.”

He frowned, exhaling sharply. “It’s hard. I can’t just forget everything he’s said to me. Everything he’s done.”

“I know.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to walk forward. You can’t stay stuck in the same place forever because of one guy — especially Snotlout, of all people.”

That finally made him laugh — small, but honest. His shoulders loosened.

He turned to me, and I leaned down just a bit, so our eyes were level. Again, I summoned the words and knowledge Marcus had written in his journal.

“When we sink to their level,” I said, voice hushed, “we’re telling them they have the power to change us. That they can break us. But when we rise above it — when we do better — we show them they don’t. They don’t get to decide who we become.”

The boy before me paused, staring with an unreadable mix of emotions. His shoulders were squared, as if strung up by a thread pulled so taut it was ready to snap. I could tell it was hard for him — admitting he might’ve been wrong about Snotlout, about how he’d been handling all of this. I knew the feeling. I was wrong too.

“When you shot our friend from the sky, then refused to kill him, I knew you were still strong enough to resist everything they told you growing up. About being some ‘great Viking,’” I said, voice low but steady. “The boy I grew up with saw the impossible in everything. He found the best parts of the world in the smallest places. Even when baby birds pecked at you, you still tried to help them. I knew that boy wasn’t gone. They couldn’t beat it out of you—not even if they tried.”

Another breath passed and I could’ve pulled out another lesson from that journal, but instead I chose not to speak as Marcus — but as me. As a living witness to what I’d experienced these past few weeks.

“You don’t have to kill that boy, Hiccup,” I whispered. “You don’t have to kill a dragon to be a good Viking. Or a good person. Or be valuable in the eyes of others. You made me see that there’s always more than what meets the eye, even when others don’t. And I hope, in showing you what’s really going on with Snotlout, I showed you that too. Even if I was blind to it before.”

There was a beat. Then another, longer this time. I only realized how long we’d locked eyes when I caught the furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw. Whatever was brewing behind those green eyes wasn’t easy to read, but I figured he was waiting for me to shut up. I’d gone on for a while.

“Sorry,” I laughed, straightening. “Last thing you need from me is a lecture—”

“No,” he mumbled. “No, I like it when you talk.”

I blinked, then smiled softly. “And I like it when you listen.”

Oh great-however-many-greats grandfather Marcus Marius, as crazy as you were, you were also incredibly wise. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I did it, I continued the family tradition of getting our boneheaded chiefs and chiefs-to-be to listen to us!

“You’re smiling a bit too wide there.”

“Oh and we’re also going for lunch with the Ingermans —”

“Now that I can get onboard with —”

“And the Thorstons.”

“... Can I never win?”

Chapter Text

That day’s training session brought us face-to-face with the same Nadder from before, in the same twisting maze of fences and blind corners. The air down there smelled of churned dirt and singed wood. The Nadder hopped from post to post, talons scraping, her jeweled scales flashing with each turn of her head. She cocked it now, one gold eye narrowing, scanning for prey.

Everyone was scattered—except the twins—crawling low between shadows with shields hugged to their chests, waiting for their moment to strike.

To their credit, they’d improved since last time. Ruffnut and Tuffnut weren’t bickering, Fishlegs was actually tracking the Nadder instead of bolting for safety, and Astrid was blissfully free of Snotlout’s orbit. He was too busy playing coach-slash-babysitter to Hiccup.

Gobber, beside me, squinted. “You’ve cast black magic on them.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” I murmured, eyes following the Nadder as she zeroed in on the pair.

The dragon raised her tail, spines flaring, then snapped them toward the pair. Snotlout swung his shield up just in time, the spines clanging against iron before he bowled Hiccup over. In one motion he dragged him upright by the back of his shirt, already in lecture mode.

“Big rule when it comes to running, Haddock — Don’t. Lock. Your. Knees! Loosen them up!” Snotlout squatted to demonstrate. “See? Just like—”

A shadow swallowed them whole. The Nadder loomed above, wings stretched wide enough to blot out the light. Her tail curled again, ready to fire, but Snotlout was still busy lecturing his cousin on the intricacies of a diet that supported joint health.

Thankfully, Hiccup was born as the more observant one of the two.

“Snotlout — MOVE !” he shouted, shoving his cousin aside just as another volley of spines hissed into the dirt where they’d been standing.

From the sidelines, Astrid peeked around a corner and hurled a bolas. It clipped one wing—tough shot from that angle—but enough to send the Nadder sprawling over the fence. Snarling, she locked onto Astrid instead.

“Go, Astrid!” I called, clapping once. She shot me a quick, nervous grin before diving out of range of the next spray of spines.

Gobber’s voice rumbled at my side. “You’ve been reading that ancestor’s journal again, haven’t you?”

I folded my hands primly in my lap. “Maaaybe.”

He barked a laugh, leaning forward on the railing. “Oh, history’s repeating itself again.”

‘Again?’ I wondered to myself.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked over the distant sound of Fishlegs and Tuffnut’s bloodcurdling screams.

“Something happened these past few days. It was strange enough you two ignored each other the whole day yesterday.” He paused and tapped his chin. “Let me guess—you and Hiccup had a fight? Something about you coddling the boy?”

I bristled, “... Uh.”

Gobber’s laugh was starting to feel less charming and more embarrassing.

“Took you long enough to figure that out. Hah! But then again, it’s practically tradition for your family. You know, Stoick and your father were just like that.” Gobber said, “Lucian always walked around ordering his steps, and Stoick always listened. Then it really backfired one time.”

I tilted my head. “What happened?”

“Story for another time—far too long and far too complicated,” he said with a dismissive wave. “All you need to know is that everything changed when your father finally got that journal from his mother. Biggest fight I’ve ever seen between the two of them… then they made up in two days.”

“And…?”

“And things were better after that. Hardly argued about anything serious again.” Gobber’s voice dipped wryly. “Well — unless you count the whole ‘our sovereignty depends on proving we can kill dragons’ and the other charming customs of mainland politics.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line. 

The idea that my father and Stoick’s worst fight had somehow made things easier between them eased something in my chest. 

Looking back, I realized how much I hated fighting with Hiccup. 

I hated it enough to twist myself into knots to prevent it. It was in every letter from his penpals I delivered. In the books and little gifts I’d smuggled back to Berk. In the quiet plans I’d once made to whisk him away from all this.

My gaze drifted back to the arena. Hiccup and Snotlout crouched together behind a corner, whispering tactics as they tracked the Nadder’s movements. Just days ago, Hiccup had been drifting through training half-present, mind consumed by Night Furies and nothing else, much less anyone else. 

“I think I made a lot of mistakes,” I said, frowning at the ground. “The gifts, the letters… I think I made it worse for him.”

“What, the books? The penpals?” Gobber scoffed. “Might as well say those fur coats we got you were mistakes too.”

I turned to him, brows furrowed, confusion tightening my voice. “But it did make things worse. His head was far too off in the clouds—no, even further away. Across the sea, beyond the horizon even. And it was my fault.”

A beat of silence.

“No, Imka.” Gobber’s voice softened. “His head was full of you.”

I went cold and silent at that. Guilt crawled up my spine, sharp and unwelcome, before embedding itself into my stomach. Of course it was me. It had always been me. The gifts weren’t the problem—they were just the proof. If I’d given them, then the root cause had to be myself.

Gobber allowed me but a few seconds of that silence before he groaned.

“Augh—I didn’t mean it like that. You know I’m no good with words.” He rubbed his neck, “What I mean is that, out of everyone on this whole isle, you’ve always been there for him. Always defending him. Always coddling him, in a way. Not always bad though. Those gifts were good for him.”

I looked away. Was this what Hiccup felt whenever Gobber told him to stop trying to be someone he wasn’t?

“Penpals, books, toys, trinkets… all good things,” Gobber continued. “They were never the problem—”

“I was the problem,” I said quietly. “I got it, Gobber. I’m trying. I’m trying to fix things—”

“Imka, that’s not what I’m saying! You’re not the problem—at least, not in the way you think.” Gobber cut in. “Point is, this boy needed to look past himself and whatever’s rattling around in his head. Seeing the horizon, exploring the world, bringing things back from the mainland—that’s all good. But he needed to start small. He needed to see his own people first.”

A pause.

Gobber’s gaze drifted back to the arena, and I followed.

For a full minute we watched as Astrid, Hiccup, and Snotlout moved like a proper unit. Taking turns drawing the Nadder’s attention, making openings for each other. Hiccup was hesitant—eyes fixed on the dragon’s neck like he was looking for something specific.

“And look,” Gobber gestured with his hook. “He’s doing it. With Snotlout of all people!”

“He’s good,” I said. “He’s always been able to see more than what’s right in front of him. That’s what’ll make him a good chief.”

“Aye—and you saw it first. You brought it out of him.”

“No, I didn’t.” I shook my head. “Or if I did, I was too slow about it. I’ve trained my whole life to stand beside the chief-to-be, and what have I done? This could’ve been happening years ago. I wasted so much time. Missed so many chances.”

“You’re only seventeen, Imka.”

“Not a good enough reason.” I spat, more bitter than I anticipated.

Gobber went still. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his shoulders tighten. There was a flicker of something sharp in his face—anger, maybe—but it was gone almost before I could place it

“... You are too much like your father, thick in the head you two are — a generational curse if I’m being honest.” He grumbled.

“I think I’m worse,” I said softly. “I need to be better.”

“Imka —”

I looked away. I’d already failed him once; I wasn’t going to take praise for patching my own mistake.

Deciding I’d already aired enough of my grievances to Gobber, I squared my shoulders and sat up straighter. Then I watched as Hiccup took down the Nadder by scratching its neck, Astrid grumbling, and Snotlout taking the two into a triumphant headlock.

“I’m just doing my job, Gobber.”

The Ingermans and the Thorstons had been friends for generations. There was an ease between them you didn’t often find on Berk—where most families measured worth in muscle, battle scars, and dragon kills, these two stood out. Where one was about as bookish as the scribes in Wessex, the other was just… well they were the Thorstons. I can’t explain it better than that. 

Either way, they somehow got along well.

So well, in fact, that they had lunches together regularly.

Unfortunately, this was one of those rare occasions where my ancestor’s journal offered no tactical guidance. The dinner table swung wildly between spirited philosophical and scientific debates courtesy of the Ingermans and full-scale food skirmishes launched by the Thorstons. I could barely get a word in.

Hiccup, meanwhile, was perfectly content chatting with Fishlegs. Something about a new book his family was writing—something to do with botany and dragons. Ruffnut and Tuffnut, unsurprisingly, had zero interest in interacting with my best friend, preferring to launch bread rolls at each other (and occasionally at an unsuspecting Ingerman).

Every time I opened my mouth to steer the conversation, another loud outburst or volley of food shut me down.

‘How am I supposed to get Hiccup and the twins to make up like this?’ I thought, frowning.

In the middle of the mayhem, something small and sticky clipped the side of my head.

There was a faint splat—followed by the slow, horrifying realization that a glob of jam was sliding down my hair.

I blinked once. Twice. Then reached up and confirmed the worst: a jam roll. Hurled by none other than Tuffnut Thorston. I doubted he was aiming for me—the Ingerman sat beside me, maybe—but I was the unlucky interception.

Taking a deep breath, I pasted on my best polite smile and let out a light, practiced laugh. The kind of laugh that said oh, how terribly amusing, while also silently reassuring, no one panic, you’re not about to lose all your aid over a pastry.

“Oh, how funny!” I said warmly. “Excuse me, I just need to… clean up a little.”

My chair scraped against the wooden floor—loud in a room that, once deafening, had gone suddenly, eerily quiet.

Hiccup shot up almost immediately, looking concerned, but before he could move around the table, Tuffnut—still wide-eyed—beat him to it.

“I, uh… I’ll help,” he said, awkwardly shoving back his chair. “Seeing as… y’know… that was… my jam roll.”

I opened my mouth to insist it was fine, but one look around the table told me it was pointless. Especially the twins’ father, Ragnut, wearing equal parts exasperation and sympathy. What struck me most was that, unlike the others, he didn’t look afraid. Aside from exasperation and sympathy, he seemed… annoyed.

Regardless, I took Tuffnut up on his offer.

Behind us, I could feel the entire room’s gaze trailing after us like we were walking into exile.

The Thorstons’ kitchen was quieter, save for the muffled racket from the dining room. It couldn’t have been more different from the Jorgenson home. Where Snotlout’s place was plain and bare, a mausoleum for all their trophies and medals, this one brimmed with personality. 

Scratches along the walls marked the heights of twins, parents, grandparents—and further back still. Handmade cups in faded pinks and greens sat beside chipped plates of some strange material. Initials were carved into almost everything. A couple of notes clung to a fruit basket: Tuffnut’s Snacks, DO NOT TOUCH —with another tacked over it reading, This is my house, I’ll eat whatever I want. RAGNUT (YOUR FATHER) RULES.

A good house. A good home. Proper standing in Berk. And yet… one of the oddest families I’d ever met—even compared to the eccentric households on the mainland. Odd, and somehow the happiest. The least bothered by Berk’s endless pressures. 

The twins might have scored worse than Snotlout in almost everything, yet they carried none of the weight to prove themselves.

Perhaps their one true measure of ‘excellence’ began and ended with: Do not hit Trader Marius’ daughter with a jam roll.

Tuffnut silently fetched a clean basin, a napkin, and a pitcher of water. I dragged over a stool and sat, letting him work. The water was biting cold, and I had to clamp my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering as he poured it over the jam-slick side of my hair.

“Too cold?” he asked, pausing mid-pour. “I can heat it—”

“I’m fine.” I sucked in a breath. “It’s alright, just—”

“No seriously, like I know you’re not the most fit out of all of us—”

“Tuffnut.” My glare cut him off. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The flinch was tiny, but there. He nodded and poured again, slower this time. I wasn’t angry at him—just at the whole situation. How was it easy to manage Snotlout, yet impossible with the twins or Fishlegs? Lunch had been a stupid idea. I should’ve isolated them first. I should’ve—

“Look, Imka, I’m sorry,” Tuffnut said, breaking into my thoughts. “I wasn’t aiming for you. I was aiming for the guy next to you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Really? Because you look really mad.”

I blinked. So my face was betraying me, great. Not only had lunch flopped, but now my poker face was gone too. Great, might as well throw the rest of the day into the trash then.

“I’m not mad at you, Tuffnut,” I muttered. “It’s just jam.”

“Oh. Okay then.” He scraped a stool closer and sat across from me. “So what’s this about, then?”

I wrung out my hair. “It’s nothing.”

He arched a brow. “Sure it isn’t. And I’m supposed to believe you invited the Thorstons and Ingermans to lunch just for fun?”

I paused, looking up at him through my lashes and furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I know. Ruffnut told me.” he grinned smugly, “She said ‘don’t be surprised if Imka invites you for some luncheon’ or something.”

I rolled my eyes, “Of course she did.”

“And don’t be surprised if she tries to shoehorn the two of us into forgiving Hiccup,” he continued, pitching his voice higher to mimic his sister. “Ain’t no way that’s happening!” 

A beat passed before he switched back to his normal voice, “Am I right or am I right here?”

I pressed my lips into a thin line before continuing to scoop some water from the basin to clean my hair.

“You know, you two are a lot more perceptive than people give you credit for.” I mumbled, wringing my hair again.

““Eh, comes with being a Thorston.” He shrugged, folding his arms over his stomach. “Listen, can I give you some advice?”

Sighing, I dipped my hair back into the water. “Sure. Seeing as I failed spectacularly today, I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Tuffnut hummed like he was tuning a lute, then leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees — too close, like he was checking my eyes for cracks. “I think if you want to fix whatever happened between Hiccup and us, you’re going about this the wrong way. You’re too… uptight.”

“Uptight?” I drawled.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve barely talked before this, but it’s obvious you’re trying to… build something. Bridge a gap or whatever.” He waved a hand lazily, but his eyes didn’t waver. “Thing is, you’re going about it all wrong. Yeah okay, I get it — you’re a trader’s daughter, blablabla, money, proper funding, follow the rules, blablabla. But not everyone’s wired like that. You can’t tactician your way into everything.”

I groaned, squeezing more water from my hair. “Look, you don’t know the first thing about me. Or my family’s business.”

“Nope. But you don’t know the first thing about being a Thorston either. Or an Ingerman.”

There was a sharpness in his tone, a frankness in his words that was just as sharp, just as true, and just as painful as Ruffnut’s had been.

It was almost frightening — the way the twins could be so wildly chaotic one second and then terrifyingly direct the next.

“I don’t get it.” I reached for the napkin, drying the ends of my hair. “Your family and the Ingermans act like nothing matters. Astrid and I are breaking ourselves to end this war. Snotlout’s cracking under the pressure. Hiccup’s sidelined even though he’s supposed to be the next chief. And you—do you not care?”

“Should I?”

I stared. “Of course you should! What kind of question is that?”

He tilted his head like I’d just proven a point for him. “You know… I’m starting to think I’m not the biggest idiot here anymore. And that’s saying something.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you think the world revolves around whether or not you get it right?” His voice was level, but it cut like a blade. “Don’t you think it’s a little arrogant to believe everything hinges on you? That you’re the missing piece?”

“I never said that.”

“But you act like it, Imka.” His voice didn’t waver. “Your dad acts like it. Your family acts like it. Half the village acts like it. Even Hiccup does. But the truth is—it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.” 

I could feel the agitation tightening my chest, my hands trembling as I moved to dry the middle lengths of my hair. Tuffnut noticed. He took the napkin from me without asking and began drying my hair himself.

“You know what our parents tell us?” he said, his tone softening. “That no matter what happens—whether we win or fail, live or die—the sun still sets and rises. Clouds still cloud. Stars still star. So why get so wrapped up in it? We’ve never been that important.”

I scoffed, masking the ache his words hit. “That’s a bleak outlook.”

Tuffnut shrugged, still drying my hair, “But that’s the best part. When you realize nothing really depends on you, you’re kind of… set free, y’know? You can sing and dance, make mistakes, make good choices, and just live without always worrying, always looking over your shoulder.”

A beat passed, his words embedding themselves into my very being. All my life has been characterized by how few mistakes I could make, how many wins I could take home. When was the last time I could do anything without worrying what it meant? 

I was silent and Tuffnut continued on, finishing drying the top of my head. The jam now all gone.

“So because we’re unimportant, we become free?” I frowned.

“For a girl who loves complicating things, why are you simplifying what I’m saying now?” I could practically hear him rolling his eyes and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

It was all so ridiculous.

“Well I’m a Marius and you’re Thorston.” I countered, looking over my shoulder to see him still drying my hair. “I can’t afford to suddenly not care. Hiccup can’t afford to not care, neither can Astrid or Snotlout.”

“Fair point,” he shrugged. “Personally, I don’t know the first thing about being a Marius, a Haddock, a Hofferson, or Jorgenson either. But that’s not the point, is it? I don’t think you came here to be either, since you seem so focused on being a fixer than anything else.”

“Meaning?”

“Don’t be a Marius. Don’t try to be a Thorston either. Or a Haddock, Hofferson, Jorgenson, or even an Ingerman.” He paused, tapping his chin like he was consulting some great ancient wisdom. “Be… an Imka. I think it’ll get you a lot further.”

I frowned, tilting my head. “...And what would an Imka want to do?”

“Do I look like you?” he drawled. “And here I thought I was Ruffnut’s twin.”

Alright, he was definitely pushing it now. 

I rolled my eyes, suppressing a dry laugh, before thinking deeply on what I wanted to do here. Was it to prepare a speech for the two families outside? To take Hiccup away from this place? Maybe to switch focus to Fishlegs for a second?

No. What I wanted to do most was lob some jam at Tuffnut’s face as revenge.

And that’s exactly what I did.

One second I was sitting, the next I was on my feet, a grin breaking across my face. The stool toppled over as I grabbed the basin of jam-tinted water and flung it. It hit him perfectly—blonde hair dripping pinkish-red, his expression caught between shock and sheer owlish confusion.

It was so absurd I couldn’t hold it in. I doubled over, laughing so hard my stomach hurt, right as footsteps came thudding in.

“What is happening—oh.” Ragnut stopped in the doorway, then chuckled. “Well, well. Now look who’s all red in the face. Did the Marius get to you, son? Hm? She put her wiles on you?”

Tuffnut flushed crimson, but his mouth twitched with a laugh. “Ugh. No, Dad—she’s just… she’s just being Imka.”

Ragnut glanced at me, surprise and satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “All Imka. Not a trace of Marius, as far as I see. Furthest thing from her father.”

I was too busy wheezing to process it. “I’m—so—sorry—” I tried to say, only to burst out laughing again.

“None of that,” Ragnut huffed. “Else you sound like Lucian when you apologize, and I’ll throw you right back out. Son, go get changed. Use the back stairs. I’ll get Imka back to lunch.”

“Fine.” Tuffnut shook his head, flinging droplets everywhere. “But when I’m done, Imka, you’re getting another jam roll to the face.”

I wiped tears from my eyes as Ragnut helped me upright. “Yeah, yeah. And if you try, you’re getting an entire leg of mutton.”

Ragnut’s grin widened. “Tell you what—let’s all gang up on Tuffnut together.”

I gasped, delighted. “Can we?”

“That’s not fair!”

“You threw the first roll!”

That had to have been the longest lunch I’d ever sat through. What started as a civil meeting on “building bridges” and “resolving conflict” devolved into a full-on food war between the Ingermans, Thorstons, one Haddock, and one Marius.

At some point, the target shifted from Tuffnut to whoever happened to be in your line of sight. Hiccup and Tuffnut teamed up—chaos personified—backed by a few rogue Ingermans, while Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Ragnut, and a scattering of Thorstons formed our rival platoon. The battle cries were ridiculous, the aim questionable, and the jam casualties… catastrophic.

We only surrendered when the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the survivors either trudging home in sticky defeat or kneeling at the river to scrub off the evidence.

“Isn’t this a bit wasteful?” I asked Ruffnut as I rinsed yet more jam from my hair. “Stoick’s been worried about food for winter.”

“Psh.” She splashed her face, unbothered. “With all due respect, our chief worries too much. He’s got you lot—food’s fine for winter.” She shrugged. “And we Thorstons are nothing if not resourceful. We’ve got our own contact.”

That made me pause. “Who?”

“Some guy named Trader Johann,” she said. “Carries all sorts of stuff. Not as fancy as your family though.”

“Huh.” I frowned, dunking my hair in the river again. “Never heard of him.”

Ruffnut snorted. “What, you keep a ledger of all the traders in the world? That’s crazy.”

I looked away. ‘ Oh, you have no idea.’

Her eyes widened. “Dang. Okay, yeah, I see why you guys are rich. Any chance I can get a cut in on that? Need any business ideas?”

“Not unless you’re marrying us.” I joked.

“Well my brother’s available —”

“We’re not marrying anyone on Berk, Ruffnut.” I held up a hand before she could get another word in. “The Marius family has a rule about marriage. Number one, we don’t marry into royalty or nobility—politics is a tar pit. Number two, we don’t marry anyone from Berk.”

“Okay, first one—fair enough. Second one though?” She tilted her head, curiosity bright in her eyes.

I couldn’t tell her the truth, so I sucked in a breath and lied through my teeth—well, maybe not a lie. More like a half-truth dressed up pretty.

“Because it would ruin the objectivity of our business,” I said, shrugging off my coat and dunking it into the river. “Imagine our contacts hearing we’d married a client like Berk. They’d assume Berk got the best perks, the best goods, and the benefit of the doubt if something went wrong. That’d kill our credibility.”

It was true enough… just not the whole truth. If the Southern Empires ever caught wind of a marriage between us and Berk—especially with a family like the Thorstons or (worse) the Haddocks—it wouldn’t just be bad optics. They’d see it as proof we couldn’t be objective anymore, we couldn’t be trusted to keep dragons North. Which meant war. Which meant both our families—every last one of us—crushed beneath their boots.

“Tough.” Ruffnut gave a low whistle, then squinted at me. “So… that means both my brother and Hiccup are off the table?”

“Yep.”

She went quiet for a beat before cringing. “…Oh, that poor boy.”

I rolled my eyes, “Enough about me though. I want to know what you think of that poor boy now.”

Ruffnut paused, wringing the water from her own hair.

“I mean, he has a good aim surprisingly.” she mumbled, “I don’t know why he insists on building throwing mechanisms when he can do it just fine on his own.”

I grinned, “And so the verdict is?”

Ruffnut made some vague noise under her breath.

“What?” I leaned closer, pretending the river was too loud to hear.

She grumbled again, lower this time.

“What?” I dragged the word out until it was practically a whine.

She groaned. “Fine! He’s fine, okay? He’s obviously learned a thing or two and he’s making an effort. But—” she jabbed a wet finger at me, “—I’m keeping my eyes on that boy. If he ditches us again, especially for some stupid reason, we’re done. Forever.”

I blinked. Once, twice. Before I finally smiled.

 “Alright. I can work with that.” I said, “Hope your brother feels the same way.”

Ruffnut peered over my shoulder, deadpanned, “Well hope no more because feast your eyes, Imka, feast your eyes.”

I turned to look, and there they were—three boys tangled in their own little orbit.

Tuffnut had Hiccup in a headlock, knuckles grinding through his hair while Hiccup yelped between fits of laughter. Fishlegs stood beside them, holding up some battered book and chattering animatedly, saying something that made all three laugh even louder.

Even with Tuffnut hanging off him, Hiccup was grinning wide, eyes crinkled, mouth open in unguarded joy. There were still a few faint food stains on his tunic, but nothing catastrophic—it seemed they’d helped him clean up well. 

And he wasn’t scanning the crowd for me. Not even once.

Relief bloomed in my chest, as well as happiness.

The sight settled into me like the slow warmth of the sun slipping toward the horizon—not blinding, not overwhelming, but steady and golden. It was the kind of light you could sit in forever, knowing it would go on somewhere else when it finally left you.

“Thank God,” I found myself muttering, a silent prayer of thanks sent up into the heavens.

Distantly I could hear Ruffnut mumbling to herself, “Bizzare.”

Chapter Text

Once everyone was dried and ready, we said our farewells to both the Ingermans and the Thorstons. The Ingermans, as always, were warm and unfailingly kind—offering hugs, a few extra leftovers for the road, and promises to see us again soon. 

The Thorstons, on the other hand, were as rambunctious and loud as ever, but now they seemed a touch more open toward me. 

Still, I caught the shift in their tone—liking me as Imka, but not as a Marius. 

I overheard mutters about how my father had raised me, most of which I filed away as nonsense. I loved my father. There was nothing wrong with me.

Hiccup and I had planned to steal a quiet hour with Toothless before supper, but Fishlegs was swept along in the wake of his own enthusiasm, matching Hiccup’s pace with words tumbling quick as sparks. By the time we reached the market, their heads were bent together in some theory or another, and I was left as the third wheel to their two-wheeled cart.

Hiccup peeled away at last, veering toward a food stall with a call over his shoulder that he’d fetch something for us. That left me and Fishlegs side by side in the hush of a quieter street, the wash of waves against the cliffs and the barter-murmur of merchants keeping us company.

“Good lunch, then?” I asked, tilting my head toward him.

“Very good lunch,” Fishlegs mumbled, a big smile pulling at his face. “I like spending time with the Thorstons, but that was—chaotic, yeah, but really fun. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen Hiccup in action like that before.”

“Oh yes,” I laughed, “he struck down every Thorston and Ingerman in sight. Nearly blackened Ruffnut’s eye at one point, and she nearly gave him one in return.”

“Eh, they both needed it. To air things out. To clear the slate. Oh, wait—” He faltered, shifting. “You do know what happened, right?”

“Yeah. Ruffnut told me. He ditched her, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” His smile thinned, lips pressed tight as he rocked back on his heels. “Both of them.”

And there, in the pause, I caught the ghost of what he didn’t say: me too, in a way.

“I know we don’t spend much time together, Fishlegs,” I said at last, folding my hands as I turned toward him, “and you owe me nothing—but I have to ask. Why didn’t you ever tell me about any of this?”

Aside from Hiccup (and partially Astrid), Fishlegs was whom I spent most of my time on Berk with. We bonded over many things over the years (though Hiccup was almost always present), such as fauna, books, botany, and certain recipes. His family, in particular, had grown into one that preferred book making as their way of trade.

They’d taken up exporting their books to the Mainland through my father, and I always found their work invaluable. 

Clotide shared the same sentiments. More than once she’d tell me how she waited, breath held tight, for me to deliver each new volume to her marble steps—each book a lantern lit across the sea.

“Oh, I had a feeling we’d talk about this.” He drew in a breath, bright eyes skittering anywhere but mine. “It’s just… well, I didn’t want to make things worse. I’m not good at—at handling this kind of thing. So I figured it was better to let them sort it out, y’know? It shouldn’t fall on me.”

Tuffnut’s words about my pride echoed back, sharp as a pebble in my boot. I turned away, uneasy. “I see.”

Perhaps Fishlegs felt the same—knew how to shrug off the weight. No wonder the Ingermans and Thorstons blended so well: both families skilled in letting Berk’s burdens slip, dropping expectation like an old cloak. Maybe that was wisdom. Maybe sometimes it was best.

But it didn’t feel like enough.

Wasn’t that the same as blinding myself when it came to Hiccup? Pretending nothing was wrong?

And yet… the world was already spilling over with wrong. Pain and war seeped into every crack, from the smallest of things—broken friendships on Berk that were only now beginning to mend—to the battles raging on the mainland and beyond. 

I couldn’t fix all of it, but silence wasn’t an option either.

So what am I supposed to do? Where does this go?

“You know, your face is really honest when you’re thinking,” Fishlegs broke in suddenly, his smile amused, almost gentle. “It’s like I can hear your thoughts.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “And what exactly am I thinking, then?”

“Something heavy. Something big. Like your dad.” He chuckled. “My mom and dad swear they can hear him thinking all the way from the mainland, if they listen close enough.”

“Oh, har har.” I rolled my eyes, though the smile crept in anyway.

“Pretty sure the twins got under your skin. Happens to everyone.” He shrugged, casual as always. “But if you ask me? You don’t need to do what they say. I never do. Just take it one step at a time. Do what you can each day—every small act counts. Especially when you’re the chief-to-be’s friend.”

I sighed and pressed my fingers to my temples. “It feels like everyone has a different answer for what’s right. I can’t tell which one is.”

“I feel the same way sometimes. People always expect me to have all the answers when it comes to dragons, plants… pressure’s tough. But I learned that you don’t need to know all the answers right away.” Fishlegs dug into his pockets, words tumbling soft and certain. “When my family writes books, we don’t always know the ending. Sometimes the pages are messy, the margins smudged—but we keep going. We make it anyway. And it always turns out better than if we’d mapped every line from the start.”

From his pocket he pulled a slim volume and pressed it into my hands. It was only now I realized this was the original copy of their earlier editions on recipes and forageables on Berk.

I turned the slim volume over in my hands. “I can’t take this—”

“Your family gives Berk more than enough. At least take it, just for yourself.” His tone was firm, but warm. “Especially since we’ve been looking for some rare plants for this edition. Your dad always delivers. So, consider this as thanks for that too.”

I hesitated, the book light in my palms, before a smile tugged slow at my lips. I didn’t have the answers yet. But maybe I was learning, piece by piece, as though some greater plan were being laid bare in fragments.

'Divine intervention,' some priests from Wessex would call it. 'A divine plan, long in the making, to choose your family to serve the greater good.'

I tucked that memory away from my mind, I didn’t even want to think about it.

Just then, Hiccup returned, balancing six pieces of roasted fish in his hands. He passed two to Fishlegs, and after a quick round of goodbyes, Fishlegs made his way off. 

Strangely, he didn’t ask where we were headed next—just exchanged a knowing wink and a conspiratorial smile with Hiccup, as if the two of them were in on some grand secret I wasn’t privy to. 

That didn’t bother me, though. In fact, it made me glad. It was good to see him bonding with people that were beyond just me.

On the forest path, torches in hand, Hiccup chattered as he always had. He steadied me over brambles and twisted roots without breaking stride, his words tumbling out in an endless stream. 

It was no different from when we were children—back when his talk was of trolls, dragons, odd birds, and mushrooms that might or might not be poisonous. Only now his rambling was Toothless, the food fight, and the endless strangeness of the Thorstons and Ingermans. 

In hindsight, perhaps, they were every bit as fantastical as the trolls and dragons of his old tales.

Eventually, we reached the Cove, the moon—bright as a silver coin—hanging high above us. The spring shimmered in the moonlight, a mirror to the stars scattered across the clear night sky. 

Toothless greeted us as if we’d been gone for years, bowling Hiccup over before nudging at my waist with a happy trill. We settled by the water’s edge while Hiccup launched into a blow-by-blow retelling for Toothless’ benefit, arms gesturing wildly.

He didn’t pause until I touched his shoulder and nodded toward the pool. “You should drink.”

“Oh—right.” He coughed, sheepish. “Throat was getting dry and I didn’t even notice. Thanks, Imka.”

“Anytime.” I smiled, watching him cup water in his hands. “Good day, then?”

“Weird day,” he said between sips. “But a good weird. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Neither do I,” I laughed.

“Tuffnut told me about your… incident,” he grinned, wiping his mouth. “The Imka Marius, hurling a basin of water at Tuffnut? How unladylike.”

“He threw the first jam roll,” I said, affronted but laughing.

“Petty.”

“He told me to act more like myself—so I did.”

“Act more like… yourself?”

“Tuffnut told me I was too uptight then gave me this whole speech about how his family works.” I pitched my voice low in my best Tuffnut impression. “My family says: no matter what happens—whether we win or fail, live or die—the sun still sets and rises. Clouds still cloud. Stars still star. So why get so wrapped up in it? We’ve never been that important.”

Hiccup blinked. “Oddly philosophical.”

“He was also basically calling my family insignificant—which, fine. If we’re being pretend philosophers, sure, in the grand scheme of things we’re tiny.” I scratched Toothless’ neck, earning a pleased rumble. “But we’re not philosophers, and we’re not playing what-if games. So when he told me to ‘be myself,’ I went, ‘Fine! Here—have a basin of water with a side of jam chunks.’ The look on his face was worth it.”

“Guess we’ve all earned some perspective lately. I got my fair share.” He scratched the other side of Toothless’ neck, smiling faintly. “More than my fair share, actually. Today was… beyond eye-opening.”

A beat passed. He pressed his forehead against Toothless’ neck, eyes shut tight, breathing in like he needed to anchor himself before looking back at me.

“I messed up.” Hiccup mumbled, “Snotlout, Tuffnut, Ruffnut, Fishlegs—I ignored them. Misread everything. Got so wrapped up in my own world I didn’t see what was happening. When I really think about it, this all started when I shut them out.”

“Not to play a dragon’s advocate but,” I nodded toward the glimmering water, “the adults had a hand in it too. Ruffnut told me they weren’t particularly kind to you.”

“Yeah, but what else is new?” He scoffed and shook his head. “I can’t believe I forgot how nice the Thorstons and Ingermans could be. They always were, and I just… lumped them in with everyone else.”

I stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Too many blind spots.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You were right, Imka. I’ve got a bad habit of isolating myself.”

I stepped over to the pond, kneeling to drink. “I had a hand in it too, if we’re being frank.”

“No. I even pushed you away that night, and you’re—you’re my—” Hiccup’s words faltered. He sank down beside me, shoulders slumped. “You know who else does that? Who pushes people off when things don’t go their way?”

“Who?” I asked, raising the water to my lips.

“My dad.” His reflection scowled back at him from the pond’s surface, distorted by the ripples.

The weight in his voice made me lower the water back into the pond.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, raking a hand through his hair. “Heavy topic, I know.”

“Hiccup—”

“I don’t want to end up like him,” he murmured. “He never listens. But you know who does? Your dad. Lucian always listens.”

That was… uncomfortable. I turned away, fisting my hands in my skirt. Marcus Marius’ journal had never prepared me for a conversation where the chief-to-be admitted he disliked his own father but admired mine. It wasn’t hard to see why, though—Hiccup moved, spoke, and thought more like a mainlander than like a Berkian. 

When happy, he reminded me of my father; when angry, of Stoick.

“That’s the kind of person I want to be,” he said at last, softer, knees drawn tight to his chest.

Many times before, heirs and children of the mainland had confided similar longings: a general’s son wishing his father were gentler, a baker’s daughter yearning for a man wiser, more prudent with his coin. I didn’t need to think so far afield, either—surely Astrid, even Snotlout, had felt the same.

That a boy could inherit the name of a chief yet share none of his father’s likeness—and that such a boy might turn to my family for the example he craved—was a weight I didn’t know how to carry. But one thing was certain: there would only ever be one Lucian Marius, and only ever one Hiccup Haddock. To demand a carbon copy of another was not only silly; it felt stupidly close to blasphemy.

But that’s how the world likes to make us feel, no?

“I don’t want you to be like my dad,” I frowned, tilting my head as if second-guessing myself. “I don’t think that would be good.”

I turned to meet his eyes.

“I’d rather you just be ‘Hiccup.’ I think you’ll get further as Hiccup instead than being just a Haddock—or anyone else.”

“And how has being Hiccup gotten me anywhere?” he shot back, bitterness sharp. “Burning down buildings. Destroying the village. Making more problems than I solve—”

I gestured toward Toothless, his green eyes gleaming in the dark. “Befriending a Night Fury. Finding a way to face dragons without killing them. Being the first human—anywhere—to ride the wind on a dragon’s back.”

We both looked to the water, our reflections side by side.

“This is who you are now,” I said quietly. “My family may cross seas, your father may have killed dragons—but only you, out of everyone on Berk or the Mainland, are the first to touch the sky.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the water, but I could see the way his shoulders rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched as if gripping invisible reins. When he finally looked at me, there was something in his gaze I couldn’t place—brighter than pride, softer than joy.

“I don’t want to be the only one who touches the sky,” he said, barely above a whisper.

I blinked, turning my attention from his reflection to Hiccup himself. “What, you mean have the whole world ride dragons? Hiccup, that’s—”

“You always think too far ahead,” he laughed, shaking his head. “No. Though, yeah—one day, maybe. But—”

“Hiccup—”

“For now,” he cut in, eyes steady, “I just want you to see what I see.”

He rose to his feet, patting Toothless awake. The Nightfury rumbled, blinking open his wide green eyes—pupils softening as they locked on Hiccup with unmistakable affection. That bond of theirs deepened every day, and I knew I would never stop marveling at it. Then Toothless turned to me, trilled once, and nudged his warm, damp snout against my cheek.

Hiccup swung into the saddle, settling onto the worn leather. He stretched out a hand toward me.

My eyes widened, “You want me to fly with you?”

“I got it right yesterday when you weren’t around,” he said, his tone soft. “We’ve got it all nailed down. Besides, Toothless promises to be gentle – right, bud? No crazy flying like yesterday?”

Toothless scoffed, rolling his eyes at Hiccup, as if to say: That was your fault, not mine.

This didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking for me.

Just before I could pull away, Hiccup reached for my hand and tugged me close to Toothless, “Seriously, I promise we’ve got everything down.”

I might not be scared of Toothless anymore, but the idea of flying terrified me to bits. Man, as I understood things, were always meant to be tied to the land or the seas. Never the skies. 

And yet, Hiccup had cracked that truth open, reshaped it with his hands like iron at the forge. Looking at him astride Toothless, lean and sure, was like staring at a story that hadn’t been written yet. 

Like fairytales and folklore, of things impossible and never achieved, of lands undiscovered and truths not yet found.

Something in my chest tightened, my mouth went dry, and my feet unconsciously took a step forwards.

“You showed me so much today,” he mumbled, something tender in his voice. “Let me do the same for you, please.”

It felt like stepping into a story still unwritten—no ending in sight, only the choice to turn the page. 

Here is what was written on that next page: Breaking my family’s tradition of being rooted on land and sea, daring to defy all things. Then treaties, diplomacy, and the seemingly arbitrary laws of man and civil society. I had every reason to turn away, to never follow him into the woods, to run away now — but I never did back then, and I wasn’t about to start now.

So I let him help me over the front, settling side-saddled against him. For a fleeting moment, worry gnawed at me—that my weight might unbalance him, that when Toothless leapt skyward, Hiccup would be the one to fall.

Then his arm slipped suddenly around my waist, tugging me closer.

I turned my head, startled, and caught the flush racing across his face.

“It’s… it’s just for safety,” he stammered, fingers trembling where they rested against me. “So we don’t get thrown off.”

I nodded, mutely, more concerned for my safety than in deciphering what his stare and trembling fingers meant. Fear, probably. It’s a known fact that if I died that could spark its own diplomatic nightmare. I don’t even want to imagine King Radbod’s reaction, or worse — the king of Wessex’s.

Reminded of that, I felt faint and opened my mouth to ask to be let down again.

“It’s fine,” he said, catching my thoughts before I even made them known. “I promise. It won’t be that much different than riding your horse!”

I gave him a look. “My horse doesn’t have wings. Or breathe fire.”

“Plasma,” Hiccup corrected.

“...Right, my mistake. My horse doesn’t have wings and definitely doesn’t breathe plasma.”

Toothless trilled, turning his head to look at me with those wide green eyes, pupils blown, tongue lolling in that ridiculous gummy smile. His ears tilted back, so like my greyhound, Max, when he wanted to comfort me. And somehow, comfort settled in me too—in the dragon’s gaze, in Hiccup’s too-thin arm wrapped stubbornly around my waist.

Breathing in deep, I replied softly, “Okay. Be careful — just remember, I’m a soft, girlish, and frankly frail girl from the mainland.”

Hiccup smiled, crooked and boyish, before nodding to Toothless. He murmured soft instructions—something about “just like we practiced” —and then I felt the dragon coil on his haunches. Like a cat about to pounce, except this one was aiming for the heavens. His inky wings stretched wide, blotting out half the night sky.

Instinctively, I pressed closer into Hiccup, and his arm tightened once around my waist, a quick, wordless promise of safety. Then—with a powerful leap (and a startled yelp from me)—Toothless launched upward.

We surged into the air, swallowed by starlight, the forest below shrinking in a blur of pine-scent and shadow. Hiccup laughed, the sound spilling into the rush of wind, and even Toothless rumbled in joy.

My eyes, though, stayed locked on the sky. The stars blazed sharper, larger, as though we were truly drawing nearer. I remembered the old sermons—the Church’s tales of heaven resting just beyond the firmament—and for a breathless moment, I half-expected angels to unfurl their wings above us. 

And they did, in a way—in the surge of cold autumn winds and the clouds parting as we climbed higher. It was a fervent, almost holy embrace: icy fire licking across my cheeks, filling my lungs, leaving me trembling but alive. The moon was no longer just a coin pinned to the heavens, but a vast mirror we’d nearly reached eye-level with. Its silver light spilled over the clouds beneath us, turning the sky into an endless ocean of quicksilver waves.

Something caught in my throat at the sight. The sea reflected in the sky, two halves of the same radiant coin.

“Beautiful,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “This is so—”

But Toothless soared higher still, as if he and Hiccup both had something to prove. And for one suspended moment, I was certain we’d break through into heaven itself. Instead, the stars unfurled a different miracle: the sky rippled in veils of blue and green, lights streaming and bending like translucent silk caught in a divine breeze. For a heartbeat I swore I glimpsed the wings of angels themselves.

“It’s so beautiful,” I breathed, blinking quickly as tears stung my eyes.

“Better than our stories?” Hiccup’s voice came low beside my ear, half-teasing, half-wondering.

“Better,” I whispered, clutching his arm. “So much better.”

And then came the thought I couldn’t keep out, sharp as frostbite: who was I to see this? Nobody of importance. I had done nothing of note, earned nothing, deserved nothing. And yet—it was given anyway. Grace in the shape of starlight.

“I had a feeling you’d appreciate it.”

“That’s an understatement,” I laughed, breathless as I turned to face him.

Hiccup was close, his eyes moving between the stars before falling onto me. There was a smile of wonder there, similar to my own, that softened when we locked eyes. I felt mine growing wider. Here was the boy I’d believed in since I was young, and though there’d been moments when I’d doubted, I was glad to see how happy he looked. How in his element he was. A thought struck me then, perhaps this is where he’d want to be forever — in the skies on the back of Toothless. Forever flying, forever on an adventure.

In a different life, perhaps he got his wish and I was but a seafaring traveler instead of the heir to the Marius family. We’d never grow up together, we’d never know each other, but we’d be living that dream we both yearned for. Perhaps we’d cross paths on a journey, out on the ocean to see what laid beyond the horizon. 

Him as a black dot in the wide blue sky, and my silver mast on a ship out on the lone sea.

But even as I imagined it, I knew I wouldn’t trade what we had. It was good we had crossed paths as we did, grown as we did, carried burdens as we did. The weight was heavy, but the harvest was sweet — far sweeter than any dream spun from what-ifs.

Far below, Berk looked impossibly small — little specks of firelight flickering like scattered embers, ants crawling against the dark earth. From this height, I wondered if only the kings, emperors, and chiefs warring on the mainland had this opportunity, would they see their lives for what they were: small. Would they feel the same insignificance, the futility of their squabbles? Or cling harder, blind as ever?

And me, too. Tuffnut had been right — it was foolish to think I could fix everything. But that didn’t mean I should stop trying, no matter how impossible.

“Sometimes,” Hiccup said suddenly, his voice carrying on the wind, “I think about running away. To some island, or the mainland. I dreamed of it a lot. Even made plans… sneak onto your ship, hitch a ride elsewhere. But they never worked out.”

A thousand replies swam up — reprimand, reassurance, comfort — and all I managed was the heavy truth pressing in my chest: I would too, if I were you.

I turned toward him, my brow raised. “… And now you could, with Toothless.”

Said dragon trilled happily, making me smile and run my hands over his scales.

“Yeah.”

“So why don’t you? You’ve had every reason. Especially after our fight.”

He frowned. “That’s just it. When we fought, the thought of leaving didn’t even cross my mind. All I could think about was making it right with you.”

His frown deepened, but he was not upset at me — it seemed he was more upset with the idea, the implication of whatever it was that our fight revealed to him.

“I couldn’t have found Toothless without you,” he said softly, almost unsteadily. “I’d be a real loser if I was stuck in Berk alone, if you weren’t in my life. Then I realized… I don’t want to run away if you’re not coming with me.”

My eyes widened. That was… a lot. Though, if I was honest, it tracked. We’d been glued to the hip since childhood. But hadn’t I just been learning how to loosen my grip? How not to try so desperately to control all things, to loosen my grip if not bit-by-bit?

“Hiccup —”

"I can't imagine a life without you."

Now I frowned.

“I can,” I told him. “You’d still be happy. It wasn’t me who made you see dragons differently, and you’d still have found Toothless even without me. You barely needed me when it came to Snotlout.”

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head sharply. “Because I—”

“No,” I interrupted, conviction bubbling up. “You don’t need me that way.”

“You’re making it really hard not to shove you off right now,” he muttered, half a joke but sharp at the edges. “I get it. I get that you want me to be this independent chief who can handle things like my dad. And maybe I will. One day. But I don’t want to do it alone. That’s why I need you.”

Deaf to his own words, I thought, and it made me laugh. I reached up and pinched his cheek.

“Then say you want me around. Not need.”

He stilled. “Want—” His voice faltered, then softened. “…Want?”

“Want.” I let go, suddenly sheepish. “Because I don’t need to do all this either. I could’ve left you to your isolation, never gotten you penpals, the fable books, all of it. Let you handle everything, give the bare minimum. But I didn’t. I gave you all these things because I wanted to.”

A pause. The wind filled the silence between us.

“It’s more than being a Marius, more than the life-debt my family has to yours.” I admitted at last. “You are my best friend. You give me reason to think that the world isn’t completely inhabited by mad men so bent on war and violence. That there is still another way to be.”

Hiccup was quiet for a moment before he continued.

“One-sided.” he mumbled, so like Stoick. “One-sided life-debt, you don’t need to do anything for us.”

“But I want to.” I smiled, just like my father. “We want to.”

Chapter Text

We spent most of the night gliding through the skies, chasing the hidden corners of Berk—the steep hills and high ridges where the forests grew wild and untouched, too difficult for anyone to reach on foot. No wolves, no bears, no predators at all stirred there (unless you counted Toothless, who was padding along at our side). The trees were heavy with nests, each branch lined with sleeping birds. Hiccup and I walked softly beneath them, whispering comparisons to the species we already knew.

Toothless was just as curious, though his fascination took a sillier turn—at one point he actually tried mimicking a bird roosting upright. His anatomy clearly disagreed, and he gave up with a huff before curling into himself for another nap. (Which I never minded; his dozing usually gave me license to rest too.) Hiccup and I sat nearby, trading notes on feathers and songs until the sky began to pale.

The grass up there was greener, softer, as if it drank more deeply of the mountain air. I couldn’t help but imagine orchards thriving in that soil—sour cherries, plums—though of course the climb alone would keep any farmer from trying. If only everyone had a Toothless, the whole island might open to them. For a moment, I let myself dream of it: Berk transformed, flourishing alongside dragons instead of hunting them.

By dawn, we’d gathered a few curious visitors—the bolder birds who fluttered down to inspect us. To our surprise, some were the same little ones we’d once rescued when we were younger. They recognized Hiccup at once, roosting on his shoulders and even his head, their tiny voices bursting into song as if they’d found a long-lost friend. He laughed, delighted, while two birds sat in my hands, cooing happily at me too.

“I always wondered where those birds we saved ended up. I thought they’d flown to some far-off island, but all this time they were right here.” Hiccup said.

He watched as one of the baby birds bounced up and down on Toothless’ head, completely unafraid.

The tiny thing was as fearless as a child, prancing across the snout of a creature born of lightning, shadow, and fire, as if it hadn’t a clue about danger. Toothless, indulgent, didn’t so much as twitch.

“They’re happy to see you,” I said, scratching the back of another sparrow. Memory tugged at me. “Their knight in shining armor, charging through the forest with a sword — only to find them wounded and in need of rescuing instead of monsters to slay.”

Hiccup laughed, acknowledging the slumbering Nightfury beside us with a smile, “Well guess it’s not that different with Toothless.”

At that, one green eye cracked open. The bird startled. Toothless gave a look so flat it might as well have spoken: You were no knight in shining armor with me.

“For the record, I did cut you free from those nets,” Hiccup countered.

A slow blink answered him. And who put me in them in the first place?

“...Right. Sorry.”

The dragon trilled, content he’d won the argument, and shut his eyes again. The sparrow, braver than sense allowed, hopped right back up to his snout — like a child bouncing on a bed they weren’t supposed to.

“You know, they’re a lot like these Terrible Terrors we found on our first flight together.” Hiccup said, “Toothless got annoyed when one of them stole one of his fishes. Shot a plasma shot right into their mouths.”

“Oh that’s awful,” I laughed.

“Maybe, but they were just as nice as these birds — just with more teeth and more fire, but…” he paused. “It got me thinking, all these dragons — they’re not so different from what the creatures we know. Like birds or cats, in terms of behavior at least. I held out a hand to them, just like people do with other animals, and they just…”

I pressed my lips together, looking out into the horizon from where we sat. No sign of ships from Stoick’s fleet, just miles and miles of the sunrise reflected onto still waters.

“It’s almost like a dream,” I said. “Befriending Toothless, going on that flight with you, sitting here… but when our fathers return — what are we going to say to them?”

A beat passed.

“What are we going to say to the Southern Empires and Chiefs?”

If there was any place safe enough to speak of our families’ most jealously guarded secret, it was here — this hidden clearing, perched far above Berk and far beyond listening ears. I knew the burden pressed on Hiccup as much as it did on me. In these last few days we had acted recklessly, carried away by something larger than ourselves. Vikings, Franks, Anglo-Saxons — each bore endless grudges against the other, as countless as grains of sand on the shore. But on one matter they were united: dragons must die.

And here we were — befriending the very creature all the world despised. Madness, surely. Yet Hiccup had shown, without question, that dragons were not the monsters we had believed. They could trust, they could love, they could walk beside humankind. But if the courts or the chiefs ever learned the truth, I feared they would not marvel at it. They would see only a prize to be seized, beasts to be shackled. And in the end, they would strip Frisia, my family, and all of Berk of their worth, laying siege to us all.

My gaze slid to Toothless, and the thought of him in chains nearly undid me. I looked then at Hiccup, and at myself.

Hiccup must have felt my thoughts stirring, for his expression mirrored my own. He grew quiet.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Neither do I,” I confessed, my voice trembling. “But… we will have to tell our fathers, one day.”

“...Yeah.” He frowned. “I’ll — I’ll try.”

“They’re the only ones we can tell,” I said, as another small bird alighted in my palm, curling into me as if to offer comfort. “The only ones who might truly try to help.”

“Maybe only one of them will,” Hiccup muttered. “I doubt my dad would.”

“You can’t know that,” I answered gently. “I know you and your father haven’t always seen eye to eye. But if there are two things he would guard with his life, it’s Berk—”

I hesitated, then softer:

“And you.” My hand found his arm, steady and sure. “He loves you, Hiccup. I am certain of it. And I’m certain my father will understand as well. He’s a wise man. He’ll help speak to yours.”

“I know he loves me.” Hiccup’s gaze lifted to mine, his eyes caught between abandonment and hope — despair close at hand, but not yet victorious. “I know… I mean, who else gives a mess-up like me so many chances? But I just… I don’t want to disappoint him. Not again.”

“Again, not a mess up.” I said, more firmly, squeezing his hand. “You are doing things differently, but it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. And you’ve done more than you think, you’ve got Snotlout and the twins on your side now. Fishlegs too. And Astrid is well on her way.”

“I know I’m not a mess-up to you, Imka.” Hiccup sighed, “But he’s still my dad. And he sees things differently. He wants a type of chief, he wants a warrior, a defender, a fighter — but I’m not that.”

I frowned, “If you ask me, there’s too many fighters in this world.”

Something caught in my throat then, sudden and sharp. The weight of the mainland crashed down on me — memories of long journeys to Wessex and the Carolingian Empire, of coastlines burned black, of villages pillaged and enslaved. I remembered sitting untouched in a gilded carriage while smoke rose around us, the respectful nods as they glimpsed the Marius banner.

Destruction, death, ash — they reveled in it, all of them. It was not a world I desired. It was not a world I wished for my unborn brother to inherit.

I turned back to Hiccup, preparing my words, a speech I’d need to spin for him as I always did.

“And as a Marius, who will one day stand by your side, I tell you this: you are precisely what the world needs. Even when it insists otherwise.”

“Maybe.” His voice softened, eyes drifting to the distance. “You say it, but I can’t believe it yet. I feel like… I still have to find who I am on my own. This person you insist the world needs so badly.”

“Right.” I blinked, caught off guard, the speech in my head now falling away.

The Hiccup I knew a week ago would have asked me who I thought he was, would have sought my validation. But the boy beside me now asked nothing of me. He looked only at the horizon, where sea and sky met, as if the answer lay hidden there.

For a fleeting moment, I saw Stoick, plotting the next move for the raids. I saw my father, guiding our ship through storm and sea. I saw kings of the mainland in their councils, weighing the fate of nations.

And then I saw it — the shadow of the man Hiccup would one day become. Confident, brilliant, and a competent leader.

Victory lay out there on the horizon, and I watched with hope swelling in my chest that he would find it.

So I set aside the pen and paper in my mind and simply looked at him.

“...What?” he blinked, turning to me. “Do I—do I have something on my face?”

A weight I hadn’t even known I was carrying slipped from my chest. All the worries about how he’d fit into Berk, how he’d endure — gone. He’d confirmed it without meaning to: he wasn’t going to run away or lock himself in isolation. He was going to seek answers for himself.

I shook my head. “No. Just watching.”

“Why?”

“You’re growing up fast.”

“Pretty sure I’m still as scrawny as ever.” he drawled.

I shrugged, “Oh, and by the way, we’re having dinner with everyone tonight—”

Hiccup leaned over to his slumbering dragon and muttered below his breath, “If we fly now we might be able to make a run for it.”

Dinner was the final piece of my plan to mend the bridges between Hiccup and everyone else. One-on-one meals with Snotlout or the twins were fine, but they meant little if the whole group couldn’t sit around the same table without it devolving into bickering. Most of all, Astrid was the sticking point—least amenable to Hiccup, and most resistant when I suggested this.

“No.” Astrid hefted her newly polished axe—polished by Gobber, specifically at her request, because fate forbid Hiccup touch it.

“Astrid, please—” I trailed her through the woods to our usual spot. “I swear he’s different now!”

“Was he different when he had that fight with you?”

“Yes!” I blurted, conveniently ignoring the tangled semantics of that particular lie. “We made up, things are fine now and—”

“You’ll just go back to coddling him.” She circled the boulder of my usual place, a frown on her face.

That was annoying—mostly because she was right, and my pride was still smarting. Although yes, I’d finally let go of the reins of coddling Hiccup (and thank goodness, I hadn’t realized how crushingly heavy it was until I dropped them). But that didn’t mean I enjoyed being reminded of the single greatest blunder of my fifteen years of knowing the chief-to-be.

Fed up, I grabbed the cushion her mother had made—the one with Astrid’s initials neatly stitched into the corner—and hurled it straight at her head. Astrid had lightning reflexes, but even she didn’t expect her usually prim and proper friend to snap like that.

“Hey!” She tried to duck, only to catch it square in the face.

“Astrid Hofferson,” I barked, my voice climbing. “I. Am. Telling. You! Things have changed!”

She rolled her eyes, stooping to brush the dirt off the cushion. “You’re telling me. Tuffnut swears you threw a basin of water at him. Now a pillow at me?”

“Ugh! Can you please listen to me?”

“I am,” Astrid said evenly, her gaze fixed on me. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I always listen to you. I’m listening right now — and do you want to know what I think?”

I plopped down on the boulder, frowning as I pulled my knees to my chest. “What?”

Astrid let out a long sigh, set her axe aside, and began climbing up after me. We’d called that boulder the princess’ tower as kids — the one she, the valkyrie, would scale to come rescue me. She settled beside me, mimicking my posture, chin resting on her knees, and stared into the clearing.

The forest stretched out timelessly, the same as it had since our childhood. Trees crowded close, their trunks thick and unmoving, while the ground dipped in gentle slopes and hills. Sunlight poured through the canopy in shifting patches, tinting the clearing green. For a long moment, we just sat there, breathing in the steadiness of it all — the wildflowers and grass swaying with the wind, interrupted only by the trees holding fast. Always constant. Never changing.

Then Astrid broke the silence. “I think you’re afraid that if I say no, all the effort you’ve poured into this will go to waste.”

“I mean… kind of.”

“And how does that feel?”

“Annoying. Frustrating.”

She finally turned to me, brows drawn, blue eyes sparking with conviction. “That’s exactly how I’ve felt watching Hiccup win in training. Then suddenly he’s everyone’s best friend. And he’s still hogging you like he always has. And just like that, all my work feels like it’s gone to waste.”

My frown softened into guilt. “Astrid, I’m so sorry—”

“Save it.” She cut me off with another sigh, her gaze sliding away. “I don’t get it. I really, really don’t get it — him, most of all. He messes up and it’s fine, no big deal. But when I do? I don’t even get a chance. Even now. I can’t just be angry at him — I have to be the bigger person.”

I waited before speaking again, softer this time. “...You’re right.”

“I am?”

I nodded. I’d been exactly where Astrid stood: the fight with Hiccup, the trek into the Cove, cursing him under my breath every step. And still, I couldn’t stay mad forever. Even if there hadn’t been affection between us, I would have had to swallow it down, as always, and keep moving forward. But the affection that was there—thank God for it—made all the difference.

Regardless, I knew exactly how she felt.

“I go through hell for that boy.” I admitted, looking away. “I’ve twisted myself into knots for him. I’ve lied for him, covered up so much for him — and I get yelled at, pushed away — both here and the Mainland — for it.” I let out a sharp bitter laugh. “And I don’t get it either, I really don’t. Why am I me? Why am I like this, and why am I never enough?”

Astrid sniffed, wiping at her eye with the heel of her hand quickly. “Right?”

“And what do I get back? A fight. More chaos. More problems to fix.” My laugh turned hollow. “So what’s the point? Why do I keep doing this? Then it hit me—it’s not about getting what I want. It never has been.”

A pause.

“My father tells me this every time I complain to him: sometimes life is less about getting what you want, and more about doing what’s right.” I sighed, “This is what sets us apart from the mad men leading the wars on the Mainland. So driven by only wanting, they barely think of anything else.” I said, tightening my arms around my knees. “I don’t want to be like that, Astrid. I don’t want to keep going through life chasing after only what I want.”

My father is the prime example of that, the most honorable man I knew. He who has dedicated all his life to the keeping of peace between Berk and the Southern Empires and tribes. To the discipline and craft of diplomacy, economy, business, and politics. To the love he has not just for his own family, but even for an outcast like Hiccup. How could I not aspire to be like him? How could I not want to grow up to be just like him?

“I don’t like them either.” she whispered, “And I don’t like the war we have here with the dragons either.”

“So don’t be like the mad men.” I whispered, daring to look at her and finding she was looking at me too. “Choose to do the right thing. You won’t be alone, because I’ll be choosing it right beside you.”

She looked at me then, long and searching, her blue eyes heavy with sorrows I wished I could lift from her shoulders. I wanted to spirit her away from Berk, away from the weight pressing her down—but where would we run? I wasn’t free either. Neither of us had a Toothless waiting to carry us out of here. Just this clearing, these scraps of time, holding each other up. So much between us shared, so much understood. 

If I was the sea, then Astrid was the earth—steady, constant, sheltering life. Each of us holding up our own worlds by sheer audacity to keep fighting in our own ways.

“Can I sit next to you during dinner, at least?” she mumbled.

“You can always sit next to me.” I smiled, before pulling into a hug. “Thank you, and sorry for the long speech.”

Astrid buried her face into my shoulder. “Don’t be. I like it when you talk.”

After a long day of training — capped off with another round against the Zippleback — everyone was more than ready for dinner. This time, I let Hiccup take on the task of gathering the group while I focused on the meal. 

I’d scoured the markets for freshly butchered meat, a few bottles of yak milk, and a stack of warm bread from the bakery. From my family’s spice stash (which I raided yet again), I prepared honey-glazed roasted mutton, One Horizon’s Stew, sage-salted potatoes, and wildberry jam. 

Gobber, bless him, helped me haul everything back to my father’s caravel ship in exchange for a small, packed share of the feast.

We never brought our great galleon into Berk’s harbor — she was far too large, far too precious to risk dragonfire. Instead, she stayed anchored at our isle (a gift from Berk's line of chiefs) just beyond the reefs, where those my father employed to keep her running stayed. 

The ship we kept at Berk was a smaller caravel, light enough for my father and me to handle, sturdy enough to cross between the two isles when needed. The galleon was for the world beyond; the caravel was for Berk. 

She was beautiful though, one hundred and twenty feet tall, forty-five feet wide, rooms stacked upon rooms below deck. Steering it required at least the strength of one hundred hands, all loyal to my father. Most were freed slaves, or descendants of them, bound to us not by chains but by choice.

On the mainland, slavery was the custom — the spoils of war. My father despised it, as did I. We might work alongside empires, but we did not agree with what they stood for.

Constant expansion, constant conquering, what made it different from Rome in that respect? Nothing. King Radbod III of Frisia agreed, this was why he was the only king my father ever truly respected and whole-heartedly liked.

Over the years we had purchased many slaves, not to keep but to free. In exchange, we asked for what they knew — their masters’ ambitions, their dealings, the skeletons in their closets. Every piece of information a stepping stone for my family to procure more power, more funding to support Berk. Then we’d give them some funds to restart their life and let them go someplace else, but there were a good many who decided to stay with us. Especially when they learned we’d descended from slaves too.

This was a tradition handed down from Marcus Marius himself, it was how he was able to quadruple his fortune in his first year.

It was a wonder how loose-lipped their masters were when around their slaves. They forgot that the silenced could still hear, could still remember.

My father reminded them that they could, if our gold could silence mouths so too could it open them. What was a few hundred coins for a man’s freedom, a priceless inheritance imbued into all of us from birth?

The knowledge gained gave us leverage beyond measure. (Truthfully, I could write a book several hundred pages long detailing it.) It is enough to say there’s good reason why the Marius family was both wealthy and well-informed.

And our reach extended far. The galleon was only the largest of many. Our fleet stretched across oceans, our red-and-blue banners raised in harbors from Wessex to the Caliphate, bearing our crest: a horse running across the sea, coins beneath its hooves, and a pair of keys.

Even the landlocked could not escape our touch. In the mountains, our cousins and extended kin bore our flags too. While we mastered the sea, they claimed the high places, scaling cliffs and charting the unreachable. 

“Your brand of black magic, I take it?” Gobber joked, setting the pots and stacks of plates onto a table he’d hauled over earlier.

“You caught me, I’m a witch who makes potions and curses for your poor unassuming students to eat and —” I feigned a gasp, digging through a chest for some cutlery. “Mend broken friendships!”

“The nastiest curse,” he laughed, helping me pull up some stools I’d set aside before. “I don’t know how you Marius’ do it. But am I glad for it, everyone’s working as a team! The future of Berk is looking brighter and brighter.”

In the distance, I spotted a mob of eager Berkians chasing Hiccup down, pelting him with questions: how he’d managed to spook the Zippleback back into its cage, how he’d rallied the team, what trick he’d used this time. From a safe enough distance, the twins, Snotlout, Fishlegs, and Astrid were cackling (though not unkindly), gleefully pointing out his hiding spots whenever he tried to escape.

It was good to see, but another thought struck me — with all this attention, Hiccup would have a much harder time slipping away to visit Toothless in the days ahead. That meant the burden fell on us: to convince our fathers, and then all of Berk, that for generations we might have been wrong about dragons. I could only hope the work we’d done — everything we’d risked — would be enough to stand as our proof.

That yes , we tried playing it your way. We did as you asked, forged alliances fit for a chief, built the bridges, and did as you asked in the arena. But we found something better. A different way of being.

“It is bright,” I said, more to myself than him, squinting at these seven birds flying against the sun. “It will be brighter than ever before.”

Putting the finishing touches was easy enough with Gobber’s help. With a packed meal in his hands, I waved him off and turned back to the candles, waiting for Hiccup and the others. They arrived sooner than expected — a cacophony of laughter, voices tumbling over each other about the day’s training, how hilarious it had been watching Hiccup get mobbed, and all manner of back-and-forth chatter.

I gave quick greetings, guided them to their seats, and issued the occasional sharp look or slap on the wrist when someone tried sneaking food before the rest.

“It looks really good,” Astrid, who had settled beside me, said with a small smile. “You made all this?”

“With help from the cooks at the Great Hall — and Gobber,” I replied, returning her smile.

“Oh, there’s ginger in this one! I’ve been trying to grow it here on Berk, but I can’t find any starters,” Fishlegs chimed in from my left.

“Ugh, can we stop talking about spices and just eat already?!” Snotlout groaned, pounding his fists on the table. “I’m starving!”

“Manners maketh a man, Snotlout,” Tuffnut sniffed, suddenly prim and proper.

“Indubitably so, brother,” Ruffnut echoed, straightening her back. “Clearly, we are the only civilized ones among this rabble.”

Hiccup, sitting across from me, gave them both a strange look. “What is with this accent?”

“Mainland culture, dearest Hiccup,” Tuffnut replied grandly. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. ’Tis customary to be of good import and good character at such a table.”

“’Tis so! ’Tis so! Huzzah and whatever!” Ruffnut cried, waving her fork in the air.

I snorted and had to lift a hand to cover my mouth before I broke into laughter.

“Please, dig in,” I said at last, clearing my throat and smiling at everyone. “You’ve earned it.”

Everyone devoured their meals heartily, even going so far to have seconds and thirds. They were all in good spirits, talking to one another, over one another, and at one another too. Astrid and Ruffnut were joking with Snotlout, while Fishlegs and Hiccup were secretly trying to fling little kernels of black pepper at Tuffnut (who tried his best to maintain his mainland-ish demeanor).

The sun had long since dipped down over the horizon, the candles our only source of light, but the camaraderie shared at the table was the true warmth. The wind was cool and modest in offering up a breeze, the air chilly but not overbearingly so. Even the waters were calm — the moon and stars reflected, as if observing in silent vigil over us. Both from the skies and the deep blue depths below.

It was perfect. Everything was so perfect.

As the night wore on, even Astrid and Hiccup had begun talking again.

“You did good,” Hiccup said after a cough into his fist. “Um, at the arena today. That somersault? You added something to it this time. A flair. That’s… good progress.”

Astrid blinked at him over her mug. “Oh. Thank you, I guess.”

“No problem.” He gave her an awkward smile before the silence nearly swallowed them whole.

I could’ve nudged her under the table, given her the push she needed, but instead I let her choose for herself.

“... You’ve been doing great too,” she admitted at last, scratching her neck. “The stuff you pull off out there — it’s, uh, impressive. Where’d you even learn that?”

“There’s this black cat in the woods,” Hiccup answered without missing a beat, eyes flicking to me for the briefest moment. “We found it, before, kind of hurt. The more time we spent with it, the more we realized it’s… like the dragons in the arena.”

Ruffnut froze mid-bite (her mouth still full, manners gone). “Wait. That’s why you two keep sneaking off? A cat?”

I gave her smile, trying to mask my own unease but trusting Hiccup would know how to work this conversation, “Yeah. We’ve been trying to nurse it back to health.”

“Hah. Some things never change.” Astrid laughed over the rim of her cup. “You two were always disappearing into the woods for birds with broken wings. Guess that hasn’t changed.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, locking eyes with me again. The candlelight flickered in his green eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess they don’t.”

“Gag.” Ruffnut rolled her eyes.

“Still don’t get how a cat taught you all that,” Snotlout scoffed, folding his arms. “You’re hiding something. Fess up! Who’s the dragon master feeding you tricks?”

I felt cold sweat beading on the back of my neck and the way Hiccup’s eyes widened in panic, the gears in his mind turning again.

“Hate to admit it, but I’ve gotta agree with Snotlout,” Astrid said, shrugging—then froze when she caught him making heart-eyes at her again.

“Awe, babe — you agree with me?”

“Actually no. No, I don’t. Forget I said anything. Don’t tell me a thing.”

“Nah man, I wanna know!” Tuffnut slammed his fist—mutton leg still in hand—onto the table before slipping back into his mock-mainland drawl. “Hear ye, hear ye! The council shall know how thine future chief became a master of dragons!”

The first time had been funny. Now it was just pointed. He was very obviously making fun of me—and where I came from.

"But I'm not —"

“Silence!” Tuffnut cut him off, raising the mutton like a scepter. “The council is not amused! A beheading awaits thy future—”

That did it. I yanked the top off the jar of jam I’d just made earlier that day and hurled its contents straight at him. Another well-deserved jam attack, courtesy of yours truly.

“More jam, good ser?” I cackled, ignoring Astrid and Snotlout’s bewildered stares.

“Who are you and what have you done with Imka Marius?!” Snotlout shouted.

“FOOD FIGHT!” Ruffnut howled, winging her plate at Snotlout. It smacked him square in the face and sent him toppling out of his chair.

Astrid turned to me slowly as the table erupted in chaos, food being flung every which way. There was shouting, there was laughter, and there was Tuffnut holding Snotlout in a headlock, while Hiccup was trying to get him to let go.

“What can I say? People change.” I offered, grinning at her.

Then someone lobbed an entire jar’s fill of jam at her, coating her blonde hair into a deep shade of plum. I had to stifle my laugh as she touched the side of her head, in complete disbelief. 

I pushed my plate at her, an offering. Astrid picked up a leg of mutton, heaving it like an axe in her hands, and grinned menacingly at me.

“People change.” she echoed, then lobbed it at Hiccup, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh, good shot!” I laughed, before getting hit by two loaves of bread and tumbling out of my own seat.

The night erupted into that cacophony of a foodfight, the deck stained by milk and food. Nobody cared that it was a Marius ship, nobody cared that I was Imka Marius, and nobody cared about whatever happened in the past either. All that mattered was that we did our best to dodge the next onslaught of meat and potatoes being flung at each other. Thankfully, Fishlegs had enough sense to help me snuff out the candlelight to prevent the entire thing from burning down.

Foodstains would be excusable, but if we burned down my father’s boat (though it was one of our smallest) it would mean I’d be grounded. Heiress though I was, I am still and forever will be his daughter.

We were burning the midnight oil by the time the food fight was over. Everyone was far too full and far too tired to even make their way back home. With some help cleaning some of the food, I’d arranged some blankets and throw pillows to be scattered across the deck so everyone could sleep here. Everyone settled into bed quick enough, leaving only me and Hiccup to finish up cleaning for the night.

“What a night,” he mumbled, a laugh bubbling in his throat as we walked down to the river to clean the cutlery and plates. “Ugh, my sides still hurt from being beaten with those mutton legs.”

I laughed and settled down on the ground, “Me too. Astrid really doesn’t hold back, does she?”

“At least now we can sympathize with that Nadder.” He joked, shaking his head as he got to work cleaning.

“You know if you’re tired you can just sleep, I’ve got this.” I said, joining him. “You don’t have to help me.”

“Well I don’t need to,” he said, “but as my best friend told me, it’s less about needing and more about wanting.”

I let out a bark of laughter, “Don’t get smart on me now, Hiccup. Using my words against me?”

“For you.” he corrected, “I’m using them in favour of you.”

“A wordsmith already, you’ll put me out of a job at this rate.” I whistled, scrubbing a couple more plates in the water. “I saw how you deflected that question. A black cat, no pauses, no hesitation — pretty good improv, if you ask me.”

“I learned from the best.” he shrugged, “Besides, you won’t be out of a job either.”

“And you’re so sure?” I grinned, still taking it all in light jest. “Because if you keep this up, I have absolute faith you’ll have everything and everyone in your pocket in no time at all.”

We continued cleaning, 

“Who knows,” I continued, humming. “When we grow up, you might make it easier for me — so much so that I’ll only need to visit once every four months. Now wouldn’t that be a dream, ugh, no more sea shanties and  —”

“Not happening.” he said firmly.

That made me pause, making me lift my head to meet his gaze — now fully locked on me.

“Because I’ll want you around.” he said, “I’ll always want you around. And if you get sick of traveling on the sea, of the shanties, of the ocean — I’ll come find you on Toothless. It’ll be faster that way.”

I blinked, watching him slowly.

“Hiccup,” I began carefully. “A chief of Berk, riding on a dragon?”

“I’ll make it work,” he said, the firmness in his voice dying to a meeker tone. “I’ll — I’ll tell my dad, get him to understand. I’ll show him everything we’ve done, all the work we’ve made — I’ve documented all my tricks, I’ll show him piece by piece. Give him our own proof of work, and show him that we can do this.”

A pause.

“That we were wrong for generations,” he pressed his lips together, his gaze now trained on the moonlight reflected out at sea. “And that’s it okay to be wrong. We still have time to make it better. We can still make the future brighter.”

“Bright as the sun, bright as the moon.” I found myself saying suddenly, remembering my earlier conversation with Gobber.

“Poetic,” he smiled, turning to meet me. “But yeah. Bright as the sun, bright as the moon.”

There it was again, the shadow of the man I could see him one day becoming. A true chief I would be honored to stand beside, one who was filled with the hope and strength despite all odds. The kind of man I never saw in the kings in the mainland, the kind of man I could believe could end the wars with dragons. The kind of man who could change the world.

But I also knew the path would be riddled with treacherous perils. Of things that could break any person, destroy the innocence of boyhood. The maddening yearn, that deep desire for things we humans want and are willing to obtain, at all costs. I’d seen it in the fire-torched shores of the mainland, I’d seen it in the eyes of kings all too happy to bet on my family if it meant a significant return. 

But in Hiccup’s eyes I saw none of it, just the hope, pure as a white flame, that a better world was within reach.

A world where we don’t have to compromise who we are, forever kids at heart.

I leaned forward and brought my lips to his forehead, a quick prayer sent to heaven that this goodness would last forever. That this moment would stretch on and on as we grow older, and that if we should change — it would only be for the better.

“What —” he stammered, red in the face, and touching the place where my lips had been gingerly. “What was that for?”

“You’re growing up too fast.” I said, my words an echo of what I’d said to him earlier this morning with the birds.

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what that means!”

“It means, Hiccup Haddock,” I smiled, “I am very, very proud of you.”

Chapter Text

A few days passed after that dinner. They were peaceful, almost blissful. There was a noticeable shift in training sessions, moving from proving yourself as an individual to learning how to work together as a team. One by one, everyone was brought face-to-face with nearly every dragon held captive in Berk, and Hiccup took the lead, explaining how to subdue each one without an axe or a bruise. A Nadder? Scratch and press the juncture of its neck. A Gronkle? A handful of a certain grass that worked like catnip. A Terrible Terror? A beam of sunlight reflected onto the ground, distracting it the way you would a housecat.

Naturally, everyone demanded how he knew all this. I stepped in with the bestiary as cover—not that it was the real source (that was Toothless, of course), but it offered a convenient “citation” to make his discoveries seem less miraculous.

I spun half-truths so well they almost became the real thing to me.

Nadders, for instance, resemble parakeets or parrots—common pets in the Caliphate, though rare in the north—and many of them share a sensitive spot around their necks. Gronkles laze like cats when the light hits just right, so why wouldn’t they be soothed by something catnip-like? The Terrible Terror, with its sharp little instincts, behaved no differently than a mischievous kitten. And on and on the explanations went, fitting neatly enough to keep everyone from asking harder questions.

In the process, I realized just how much dragons mirrored the animals we already knew. They weren’t demons. Not devils. Just another part of creation. 

Another piece of evidence for the case I was already building—for my father, for Stoick, for anyone who needed convincing—that dragons were not the monsters we thought.

And yet the pit in my stomach only grew. When Hiccup and I finally revealed the truth, all these careful bridges could be reduced to ash. Every dinner, every shred of trust, wasted. 

I prayed—earnestly—that my father and Stoick would see reason, and that they’d stand with us when the real test came.

My prayers were unexpectedly answered when they returned one afternoon, when the sun hung bright in the sky. Hiccup was busy at his forge, drafting his own plans of how he’d tell Stoick while also lamenting that, soon enough, it’d be the last training session. The deciding day where Gothi would pick who’d slay their first dragon in front of the whole village. 

That was another issue in and of itself, if Hiccup feigned and let someone else (like Astrid) win, that meant that Monstrous Nightmare would be dead. Nearly every single attempt of subduing a dragon that didn’t utilize Hiccup’s tactics had ended up in bruised and concussed dragons, which was something we both hated. I’d snuck near to the gates late at night, quiet as a mouse, to shove some fish into their cages through the small doors, muttering soft apologies.

Sometimes I’d hear them trill, like Toothless would, in thanks; and it never failed to make me feel like an arrow was going straight through my heart.

It was on that afternoon, when I spotted the masts and boats of Berk’s fleet nearing the port, that I realized this so deeply.

All those dragons were caged up, leashed to Berk, forced to be brutalized by the trainees — just like the animals in Rome’s coliseum. Starved, terrified, and beaten into submission, forced to do little else but hunt and fight for sport then be killed.

Berk was supposed to be the furthest thing from Rome, and yet here it was. Unknowingly, my family, descended from a Roman slave, had been helping build a nouveau Rome. Only this time, we’d elevated ourselves to the same status of those who once enslaved Marcus Marius. And I’d been so blinded by it all.

And it took my very own Androcles and his lion, Hiccup and Toothless, to open my eyes. 

Now that I could see more clearly, I refused to close them ever again.

Which was why it felt so impossible to bridge the reality I’d been living in for weeks with the reality standing in front of me now.

There were six ships in total that had departed, but only four returned. Their masts were singed, their hulls splintered, their crews worn to bone and nerve. The vikings spilling off looked battered but alive, scarred with burns and bandages. I craned on my toes with every passing figure, heart lurching at each face that wasn’t his.

The longer I waited, the worse the scars got. What if my father wasn’t among them? What if the dragons had taken him?

Then — there. At the tail end of the crowd.

A squeal tore out of me before I could stop it. I shoved through, ignoring the stares, and launched myself at him, sobbing into the sulfur-and-smoke smell of his tunic.

“Dad — I thought… I thought you were— I missed you so much—”

“Ah,” Agnar Hofferson barked a laugh behind him. “What I wouldn’t give for my daughter to greet me like that when I got home.”

“Agnar, ropes, now,” Spitelout grunted.

“I told you I’d bring him back,” Stoick's unmistakable voice rumbled from somewhere to my side, “at least mostly in one piece.”

I pulled back — and froze.

There were two large scars marring his face, one that stretched from the top left temple all the way to his right jaw, then another smaller one across his nose. His hair also showed signs of having been singed in places, as was his beard.

“Hello,” he laughed nervously, patting my head. “So, I can explain—”

“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

“Oh,” Agnar whistled. “Okay that I would not like to hear from my Astrid.”

“Is that Imka yelling?” Spitelout muttered. “Am I dead? Is the Marius heiress yelling ?”

I clutched my father’s tunic, words stumbling. “I thought — you said — you look—”

“I can explain—”

“Better if I explain,” Stoick sighed, though his weary face softened when he glanced at me. “When we found the nest—”

“Stoick! Lucian!” Gobber barreled down the docks, nearly bowling the others over. “You’re back— oh. Ohhh! A new scar, eh Lucian? Very… rugged. The haircut though is, ah…”

My father laughed, glancing nervously between me and Gobber. “Do you think Gisela will find it attractive?”

Gobber winced alongside Stoick. “...Perhaps best not to mention anything to your pregnant wife just yet.”

“Aye,” Agnar and Spitelout groaned, hefting a few heavy crates. “Make way, we need to unload these and see to our own children.”

We stepped aside, but not before I caught my father’s arm and checked him over for what must have been the fifth time. He kept murmuring that it was nothing, promising Stoick and he would explain everything once we were home. I knew I was smothering him — overbearing him with questions and worries when all he wanted to do was rest. Usually, he’d tell me to relax and give him space before pushing me away – but it seemed my father missed me, all my nagging included, far too much to stop me now.

I turned my attention to Stoick, who was studying us with quiet interest. The chief worked his jaw, only now realizing I was staring back when our eyes met. 

Looking around, it was evident that no one else had come running down to the docks to greet their parents but me. The weight of that seemed to hang between us.

“Welcome back, Chief.” I smiled up at him, awkwardly disentangling myself from my father and straightening at once. “Uh… did you find the nest?”

“We got closer.” He coughed into his fist. “It’s—uh—”

My father shot him a look I couldn’t decipher.

Slowly, Stoick reached out and rested a broad hand on my head, the way he used to when I was little.

“It’s good to see you again, lass,” he said with a sheepish smile. “You know, your father never stopped talking about you the whole trip.”

“As if you were any better,” my father scoffed. “So worried about his boy and his training—talked my ear clean off. No wonder the dragons kept finding us.”

“Speaking of!” Gobber cut in, offering a grin. “You’ll be glad to hear some good news about your son, Stoick.”

“Let me guess,” Stoick sighed, though a ghost of a smile tugged at him, “another invention that didn’t blow up the moment he tried it?”

“Well—”

Before Gobber could finish, a crowd of villagers poured down from the steps, hooting and hollering, eager to sing Hiccup’s praises. They spoke over one another, bragging of his victories in the ring, marveling that at last the tide against the dragons was turning for the chief-to-be. With every passing tale, Stoick’s face grew more bewildered, then elated; but my father’s only darkened.

He slipped an arm around my shoulders as we trailed behind Stoick and Gobber, who were already whispering in hushed urgency.

“Father?”

He frowned, touching the side of his head gingerly. “I think I may need to rest. That trip, that fog… still muddling my mind.”

“Of course,” I nodded quickly. “Better we head to the ship — the chief’s hall and the village will be too noisy for days.”

He mustered a weary smile and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Good idea, my love.”

We said our goodbyes to Gobber and Stoick, promising dinner later to discuss Hiccup’s… development. On the walk back I filled him in on everything since he’d left — leaving out Toothless. He was too tired for that truth. I talked and talked, pouring out every small thing I’d found, every mess I’d tried to fix. It was such a long story, too deep to skim.

“It’s been going on for years,” I muttered as I helped him ease into a chair on the boat. “And I didn’t see it. Did you?”

“Oh yes,” he grunted, shrugging off his blue coat — singed at the hems, riddled with travel-worn holes. “It’s always been there, Imka. It was there in my childhood too. Remember grandmother? Frightening woman, with even more frightening expectations.”

I frowned, fetching clean clothes from a chest. “I remember. And I remember how you handled her. Why didn’t you do the same for everyone else? For us?”

He paused as he changed, jaw set, staring at the horizon.

“Oh, Imka,” he sighed. “If I tried to fix everything, I’d be no better than a coddler.”

I froze. He caught the look, offering me a shy smile.

“I’m guessing you’ve realized what you’ve been doing this whole time? Especially with Hiccup?”

My heart dropped, a wave of betrayal and childish refusal rising in me.

“You… even you saw it?” My arms wrapped around my waist. “Why didn’t you say anything? Father — everything that’s been going wrong has happened because of how I’ve treated him—”

“I know.” He shrugged, “It runs in the family, our tendency to care too much.”

“You told me to help him! To keep him company!” My voice shook. “Why would you say that if it wasn’t what I was supposed to do? If it would only lead to this?”

He looked at me over his shoulder, scrubbing soot from his face with a rag.

“And where has it led, exactly?”

“To years of him self-isolating,” I shot back, heat in my throat. “To years of me blundering without even realizing—”

“And now you’ve realized. And as a result you’ve grown, so has Hiccup — not because I pointed it out, but because you found a way to discover this on your own.” 

A pause.

“I leave for a few weeks and return to find the two of you… changed. Exponentially, from what I heard down at the docks just now,” my father said, setting aside the fabric and brushing the dust from his hands. “When I let you and Hiccup spend time alone while I was gone, I thought you’d eventually stumble into conflict. A quarrel of some sort you’d have to mend.”

A quarrel was an understatement. Especially considering it involved not only my newly discovered coddling tendencies (that were also some form of genetic inheritance), but also Toothless — the dragon I’d yet to tell him about.

His lips quirked faintly, noticing the shift in my expression (for all the wrong reasons). “But in the end, I hoped you’d realize what I did in my own youth: that our lives, while bound to the chief, don’t revolve solely around him. They revolve around Berk. And from the way you’ve begun treating the others — and the way they treat you — it seems things have shifted.”

The memory of the dinner echoed in my mind and my father took a gander at the state of his ship, mostly clean, but there were noticeable food stains all over. No amount of scrubbing any of us did would ever be enough to get rid of it fully.

“I see it now, even on this ship.” he laughed, warm and incredulous, “Let me guess. The twins started a food fight?”

“... I did, actually.” I said quietly, making him pause his laughter only for it to return in twice its volume. “Okay, fine, yes — things have changed. I have changed.”

“My daughter, my daughter.” My father continued to laugh, shoulders shaking as he sat back down in his chair, covering his face with his hands. “If it makes you feel any better, I was a lot worse with Stoick.”

“Dad —” I whined, “stop laughing!”

“Right, of course — hah! — sorry. Ahem, apologies, putting on my serious-father hat now.” My father mimed the act of putting on said imaginary cap, “Now. I believe Gobber has told you of the test I’d prepare once I returned. I assume you’ve studied well enough — so let’s begin. In these two weeks, what have you learned?”

I blinked, caught off guard by this very sudden and very unexpected exam.

“I — uh,” I fumbled for words. “...From the books—”

“No. Not the books. They’re tools, nothing more. What have you learned?”

Another blink, another wave of thoughts came crashing to a stop. If it wasn’t the books, if it wasn’t the tools — then perhaps it was the application of them. I nodded, beginning first with my assessment.

“Using the books, especially that journal you gave me, I found out that Astrid’s parents push her to be perfect, and she excels… but she suffers for it,” I said softly. “The same way Hiccup suffers for not meeting that standard. Berk’s way of life punishes everyone, winners and losers alike.”

“Mhm.” My father nodded. “Go on.”

“The in-betweens too. Snotlout suffers too. He’s always in the middle — never the best, never the worst. But that has its own pain.”

“Correct.”

“And the Thorstons and Ingermans? They’re the happiest of us. They don’t care about being the best. They just… care about each other, or don’t care at all.”

A smile tugged at my father’s lips. “Also correct.”

I frowned, brows knitting. “Being the best is wrong. Being the worst is wrong. Even being in the middle is wrong. So… what’s left? They gave so many answers — care as much as you can, just fail, don’t care at all, take things one step at a time — but none of them were good enough.”

None touched the real question: how were we supposed to convince my father and Stoick that dragons could live beside us? It wasn’t enough to just care, nor to move one step at a time. Failing and apathy weren’t options either.

“A correct assessment,” my father said. “So the problem is clear: everyone is crushed beneath the weight of trying to succeed, to be the best version of themselves — measured against arbitrary, human, and faulty standards. Whether for the reason they claim — the aid we provide — or the real reason, from the south. Even Hiccup, though he’s succeeded, will be punished for it. As Astrid has.”

A pause.

“So. What have you done in answer to this problem?”

I straightened my back, lifting my chin, confident in my answer. I’d studied a lot these past few weeks, given the circumstances of befriending a Nightfury and having the biggest fallout, thus far, with Hiccup.

“I used diplomacy, just as you taught me. I leveraged our assets. I hosted lunches, dinners. I rebuilt bridges between Hiccup and Snotlout. I cooked with our spices for everyone. I gave Astrid gifts. I invited Snotlout for routine dinners with Hiccup so they’d have a chance to become friends. I used money too — did I mention I used money?”

“Very detailed,” my father nodded, approving. “But all of this can be named in one word. Do you know what it is, Imka?”

“To… just be?” I frowned, searching. “To focus on funds? To always be prepared?”

“Loving,” he said simply. “Loving one another, caring for one another. The rest follows.”

Huh ?

I frowned deeper. “That’s nothing like the books — the strategies for trade, the cunning to win debates. Not even in Marcus’ journal. If anything, it sounds like Aesop, or Androcles and the Lion. Fairytales for children.”

“My love,” he said softly, leaning forward to take my hands. “It was love that toppled the empire that chained our ancestor.”

I arched a brow. “You’re joking.”

His voice was firm. “I’m serious. When we return to the mainland, read the histories in my study. Ask Father Joseph. He’ll explain it clearly.”

I studied him, searching for a crack in his conviction. My father — who knew everything about economics, trade, politics, negotiation — claiming love toppled an empire?

And that everything I’d done for Hiccup, Astrid, Snotlout, Tuffnut, Ruffnut, Fishlegs… was born out of love?

I remembered telling Hiccup fairytales, but never my father. I had always assumed he was above them.

Lucian Marius only smiled wider, his gaze softening.

“If this seems hard to understand, it is only because truth is always hard to understand. Sometimes it takes centuries of strife, effort, and longing before a man can see it. But once he does, it is so plain he wonders how he ever lived without it. There are countless motions toward it, cries of conscience for neglecting it, dim longings for it as an unknown need. And then—at last—the eyes open, the dreamlike night breaks, and the sun of truth rises. Once beheld, it is forever. To see one divine fact is to stand face to face with eternal life.”

I pulled a face. “Did you just quote Father Joseph?”

“He’s a very good speaker,” he said, lifting his hands in mock-defense. “But it really is just love, my darling.”

“Just love?” I echoed, dubious. “I don’t believe it.”

“Because you haven’t seen it yet,” my father said softly. “One day you will. The way I have, the way your grandmother did, the way all our ancestors have. It is the very thing that moves my pen, guides my steps, opens our coffers, and gives me my voice. It is the force behind everything I do.”

I thought back on the events of the past weeks. Love, as I understood it from what noble ladies and novels told me, was that which ‘set your heart on fire’ and is often a kind of burning desire. 

It made your heart skip, it made you do stupid things. And I certainly wasn’t in love with anyone. 

“From out of this love I do this. For you, for your mother, for my son soon to come—even for Stoick and all of Berk, as much as these latter two grate on me,” he added with a crooked smile, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“Dad,” I murmured, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

“But you are.” His voice was steady. “You are in love. That is what makes you my daughter.”

“But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Love is not a feeling, nor an emotion,” he said gently, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of my hand. “Love is to will the good of the other, no matter what you feel.”

All words left me then. Even the plans I had of telling him about Toothless seemed small beside this. The thought that I loved so many people—an entire island, even—frightened me.

“So… I’m in love with Berk?”

“In a way, yes. I know I am. You might even say I’m married to Berk.” He chuckled. “My marriage with your mother gives me wings, but Berk is certainly the ball and chain.”

The room seemed to tilt. The idea of being bound to Berk, of being expected to love all these people, was absurd. And yet… wasn’t it true? My father bore it, and one day, so would I.

“...I think I need to sit down.”

“I felt the same when my mother told me this,” he said with a smile. “Sit beside me then. At least now I have someone to suffer with.”

I groaned and flopped onto the floor at his side, all thoughts of Toothless slipping away.

“So,” Hiccup began, slumped over his workdesk.

“So,” I sighed, cross-legged on the ground, back to the wall.

We’d spent all day trying (and failing) to explain to our fathers what happened with Toothless. It dragged through dinner at the Great Hall, which was full of cheers about the map’s near-completion, relief that everyone returned safely, and great amusement that Lucian Marius — my father — had finally earned his first ‘viking scars.’

“One of us! One of us!” the crowd had roared.

“His wife is going to kill him!”

“Fool, she’s going to kill us!”

“…Oh.”

“Huzzah for dying!” cried Tuffnut.

“Huzzah!” Ruffnut echoed.

I might’ve lobbed soup at the both of them if Stoick’s booming announcement hadn’t drowned them out: the map to the dragon’s nest was complete. Which meant I’d be leaving Berk soon. In two, maybe three days at most. It was finally time to deliver our ‘proof of work’ to the southern empires before plans for a full-scale attack began. In the meantime Berk would rally its allies, like the Berserkers, and then it would be war.

Which meant Hiccup, Toothless, and I were running on borrowed time.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow they’d decide which trainee got to kill their first dragon.

“Okay, so technically the winner is chosen based on overall performance right?” I began, tilting my head up to look at the ceiling — counting the beams of his workshop as if it’d change something.

“Right, and Gothi chooses them based on that.”

I made a face. Hiccup’s been the one winning everything so far, and that wasn’t good. But on the other hand, he’d been doing it using alternative methods. And from what I knew about Gothi and her love for bizarre medicine, it is that she always adored taking the road less travelled.

“Oh man.”

“Right?”

“Why don’t you let Astrid win this time?” I offered, “It might even the odds.”

“Doubt it. But let’s say it did, then that Monstrous Nightmare dies,” Hiccup muttered, burying his face in his arms. “Or worse, Astrid dies. Either way, someone dies. And if it’s anyone else? Same outcome, Imka.”

Silence.

“It has to be me,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I have to win. But I can’t just—”

I shook my head, “What if we tell Astrid? Get her to side with us, she might just —”

“Are you insane?”

“Possibly,” I muttered. “What other choice do we have?”

“Me winning.” His voice cracked as he pressed his palms harder into his eyes. “A month ago I would’ve given anything to win. To kill a dragon. But now? So much has changed. So either I convince them all… or I actually kill that Nightmare.”

“Yeah, we’ve circled that already.” I frowned, rubbing my temples. “Maybe if I hide the map, we can buy more time? Or if I get ‘lost in the woods’ they’d send a search party and delay the final session, or—”

“Stop — just, stop.” Hiccup’s head shot up, his voice sharp. “Face it. There’s no way out. I’m the one who has to do something now.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his sudden outburst. His face had twisted into something pained — lips pressed into a deep frown, eyes flickering with anger and… shame?

“Hiccup?” I asked softly. “Are you—”

“Please. Don’t.” He raked a hand through his hair, frustration spilling over as he pushed himself off the workbench and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me. “You’ve lied for me, covered for me more times than I can count. I can’t— won’t —ask you to do that anymore. It’s not fair to you, you’ve been doing so many things these past few weeks. The least I could do is —”

I should have frowned. Instead, I caught myself smiling — proud of him, though exasperated too. “This is a really bad time for you to start doing character development, you know that?”

That drew a soft laugh out of him. “Maybe. But… it’s time I stop living in my own world. Like my best friend said — it’s not good to keep self-isolating.”

Relief and dread collided in my chest. I pulled him into a hug, startling him. “Hiccup, I’m so proud of you. But one public spectacle isn’t going to change their minds overnight.”

“I know.” His forehead pressed against my shoulder, his voice low and determined. “I’ll do something. I’ll figure it out.”

“Then when that time comes, I’ll be right there beside you.” My words came out steady, firmer than I felt. “I’ll get Astrid and the others on your side too. I know they’ll understand.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he murmured, finally lifting his gaze to mine.

“Maybe.” I forced a small smile, though the word tasted like ash. “But we can only try.”

“Try,” he echoed, looking away, his voice as hollow as I felt.

Chapter Text

The next day went just as Hiccup must have planned. He’d taken control in the arena, and now, he was going head-to-head with the final challenger. The crowd was in an uproar; one by one, the others had been eliminated, their shields blasted by the Gronkle's sputtering balls of magma. All that remained were Astrid and Hiccup, which was why I was currently bargaining (read: begging) with Gothi on Astrid’s behalf.

“She’s a great viking, isn’t she?” I offered a bright, dazzling smile, keeping my voice low enough so Stoick wouldn’t overhear.

Gothi ignored me. Her eyes were trained on Hiccup.

“The best, if you ask me,” I pressed. “In terms of fighting prowess, she’ll make the village so proud when she gets her chance to kill the—”

Previously, I’d checked up on everyone individually, telling them I was rooting for them to do their best. I’d said that no matter what, it didn’t matter who won; it was enough to try. (Read: I desperately begged all of them to beat Hiccup.)

Yet, not even my best speeches had made a difference. They all lost. In the end, even Astrid did.

I held out hope that Hiccup had some great speech prepared, maybe he’d picked up on some of what I did or stolen some of my books to study from. I even prepared my own field notes and observations, as well as all my important books as backup in my satchel. I was ready, at any moment, to join him in convincing everyone.

It never came.

The crowd erupted as Hiccup emerged victorious. I’d only looked away for a moment, and now the Gronkle was blissfully asleep on its side, oblivious to Astrid hissing curses at Hiccup. He was already trying to escape, but Gobber yanked him back to wait. 

Hiccup’s gaze flickered in fear from his father, to my father, and then to me. The courage and confidence from the day before had vanished, but I understood how quickly one’s bluster could disappear when faced with the real thing.

“Elder Gothi,” I whispered harshly, “Please, reconsider—”

She refused to listen. With a decisive nod towards Hiccup, she elected him the winner. The crowd exploded again into a rambunctious choir of noise. Stoick was punching the air, overjoyed that his son was finally shaping up. My father, however, looked far from pleased. He offered only a slight incline of his head and a few half-hearted claps.

Suddenly swarmed by waves of vikings pushing in to congratulate him, Hiccup looked as frightened as a deer in a hunter's sights. He ducked and dodged every back-slap and cheer—techniques he’d perfected thanks to Snotlout—and made a beeline for the exit. He sprinted from the arena as hard as he could, heading towards his home.

“Now, what’s he doing?” Brilda Thorston (the twins’ mother) bristled beside me, “He just won for odin’s sake!”

I looked to Stoick and my father, who were both as confused as everyone else. Quickly, I sidestepped them and mustered a nervous laughter.

“Oh he’s probably just got a case of the nerves, I’ll go check on him!”

Yeah, nerves and the biggest secret that could shatter everything our families have built for generations if handled badly.

“Ah, makes sense.” Stoick nodded, still all too pleased by the current situation. “Go on, work that Marius magic of your family — we’ll see you for dinner!”

My father shot him a withering stare, “Marius magic?”

“Oh come now, Lucien. It’s a wonderful day!” Stoick laughed, “Let’s not get lost in the semantics.”

“...Imka, you go find Hiccup. In the meantime, Gobber and I will try to keep our dearest chief from flinging himself into the ocean in glee.”

“It, uh, might take a while to calm him down, so don’t wait up on me.”

“I hear you, I hear you.” My father grumbled, waving me off. “Take as much time as you need.”

I shot off like an arrow — down the path, over the bridge, and up the hill toward the chief’s house. The crush of people spilling from the arena made finding Hiccup nearly impossible. There was no way I’d catch him at this point. So I settled on the slim chance I’d find him at his home, and sure enough, I was wrong.

Inside his room, chaos greeted me: his closet and wardrobe torn apart, the trail of discarded ceremonial gear and rarely worn armor littering the floor. Missing were only the essentials — basic clothing, tools, notebooks, invention sketches (including Toothless’ tailfin design), charcoal pencils, and the small pile of fable books I’d given him as a child. 

My stomach dropped. He’d taken everything that mattered most. Which meant only one thing: Hiccup was planning to run.

I bolted from the house, panic tightening my chest, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. With Toothless, he could vanish without a trace in twenty minutes flat.

Again, I was running out of time.

“Imka!” a voice called. “Hey, Imka! Have you seen Hiccup anywhere?”

Snotlout, Fishlegs, and Ruffnut pounded up the hill, probably thinking the same thing I had — check the chief’s house first. Their faces mirrored each other: worried, confused, but there was not a trace of anger. For once, they weren’t sore about Hiccup’s win; they were genuinely concerned.

“No,” I admitted, frowning. “But I think he’s trying to run.”

“Run?!” Ruffnut squawked. “That little— and he didn’t even tell us?! He’s ditching us again!”

“But why would he — you know what, I’m sure he’s got a reason,” Fishlegs said quickly. “Besides, he can’t run far without a boat.” His voice wavered, though, and I fought to keep the grimace off my face. “…Right?”

“Ugh, that is not the main problem right now!” Snotlout flailed his arms. “It’s the first day of wolf season, and just because Hiccup knows how to kill dragons doesn’t mean he knows how to handle a rabid, starving wolf charging down the mountain!”

“Assuming he went into the mountains, it’s probably more likely he went to the docks — maybe to hide in your ship or try and steal one.” Fishlegs said.

“Right,” Ruffnut muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Tuffnut’s already watching the docks, so I’m heading there next. Astrid said she’d sweep the forest—”

My eyes widened. Astrid was a good tracker, she’d no doubt have found Hiccup and that could only lead to one thing: she’d find Toothless. 

It was only a matter of time.

“Hey, relax!” Snotlout said. “Astrid’s tough. I’ve seen her kill wolves before. She’ll be fine.”

“Right,” I breathed, his words doing nothing to touch the real fear burning in my chest. “Sorry, just… a lot’s been going on.”

“You’re telling me,” Ruffnut muttered. “He didn’t tell you he was running either, did he?”

“…No.” I rubbed my neck, looking away.

“Oh, that son of a—”

“Okay, less talking, more looking!” Fishlegs cut in. “Let’s move! Imka, maybe you should stay back at the house, just in case he turns up.”

I managed a small smile, nodding and waving them off. I stayed where I was, watching until they were only dots clambering down the hill — then darted around the house and into the forest. I braced myself for every bramble, every treacherous root I’d have to navigate alone, determined to find Hiccup and, with luck, Astrid before she stumbled across Toothless.

Halfway through the forest, suddenly, two arms seized me and spun me around. I would have screamed — nerves already strung like a bowstring — but a hand clamped over my mouth. My shout broke against the palm of none other than my almost-runaway best friend.

“There you are!” Hiccup hissed, tugging me down the path once he freed me. “I’ve been waiting forever. We need to move!”

“Hiccup?!” My feet kept pace by instinct alone. “What are you—”

“The door to your room was locked,” he barreled on, shifting a modest basket over his shoulder to the ground. “So yesterday I gathered clothes — your size, maybe a little big so you can tailor them later. Got a needle and thread, food rations… here’s your share —”

Without even asking, he took out the items and stuffed them in my satchel as I watched in complete disbelief.

He just told me two days ago how he was ready to tell Stoick, to tell my father — and yeah we both chickened out last minute, but he also told me he’d figure it out. Turns out, what he ‘figured out’ meant running away. With me.

And I most definitely did not want to go.

Hiccup took my hand after he finished, tugging me down the forest path. “Come on, we need to find Toothless —”

“Hiccup!” I tore my hand from his. “We can’t do this! Do you understand what happens if we leave? Berk’s heir and the heir to the Marius family vanishing together? The southern empires will march at once. That means war, Hiccup, war !”

He stopped dead, fixing me with that sharp, steady look of his before taking my hand again. “I’m aware. I’ve been aware since I met Toothless.”

“Excuse me?” I balked, “Since you — since you met Toothless?! Hiccup, we’re talking about war here — two empires and countless viking tribes, plus how many hundreds of thousands of their soldiers marching on Berk’s doorstep to take over the job of killing dragons!”

“I know!” he groaned, turning away, already walking toward the Cove.

“Don’t you care?!”

“Of course I care!” he shouted over his shoulder. I didn’t even care anymore if Astrid could hear—I was too stunned by him, by this strange flare of anger I hardly recognized. “I’ve spent my whole life caring, Imka! I’ve tried my best, I’ve tried to be the kind of person they wanted me to be and guess what? I can’t be that!”

“Well, running away won’t help!” I fired back as we reached the mouth of the Cove. “Everyone’s looking for you, you can’t just disappear like this. What about Fishlegs? What about Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Snotlout, Astrid? They’re your friends too now!”

“I know!” he snapped, his voice cracking with anger, and released my hand. No longer bothering to steady me as I scrambled after him.

“What about everything we’ve built these last few weeks?” I gasped, nearly tripping as we stumbled into the clearing. “Why aren’t you taking them too? Astrid and Ruffnut want to see the world outside—you should’ve asked them, not me—”

“Imka—”

“Why?” The word tore from me, fists clenched so tight my nails dug crescents into my palms. “Why does it have to be me?!”

My words were not necessarily directed to being chosen by him as the sole person to run away with, but rather for being chosen to have anything to do with this . All of this.

I could have been at my family home in Frisia, reading my books, sleeping late in bed, swimming in the ponds and lakes, riding my horse, taking care of my mother — but no, no here I was instead. Trapped between telling my father and the chief of Berk that we’d basically committed treason or that we were going to run away on top of committing treason. 

Either way it’d spell war.

Despite it all, I’d glimpsed a sliver of hope. A fragile thread that, if Hiccup only held on, we could see this through. But instead, he was letting go. He had chosen to run.

“Because!” Hiccup’s voice broke. He clenched his fists, slammed the basket down, and shouted, “Because—”

“I am not running away with you!” I cut across him, heat in my throat. “And I am not going to let you run either—”

The scrape of steel on stone sliced the air.

“So.” 

A voice, sharp as a blade, cut in from above. On the boulder, just to our side, sat the valkyrie of my childhood, blue eyes glinting like a Nadder’s scales as she sharpened her axe. 

“You’re running away?”

“Astrid!” We both gasped, jumping at the sight of her.

She fixed the two of us with a glare, before jumping off that boulder, all graceful and hard-edges in the way she stalked toward us. She offered a withering glare my way before moving to Hiccup first, frowning at the straps of his riding gear before yanking them.

“So, this is where you two have been running off to?”

Hiccup stammered, “A-Astrid, I can explain —”

“Fess up. Who’s been giving you these tricks, huh? Don’t tell me it’s that black cat you two mentioned—” 

“It’s my book!” I tried, “The bestiary —”

Astrid’s gaze narrowed, then flicked to his clothes. “And it better not involve any of this—”

Before I could open my mouth, Hiccup cut in with a nervous laugh, shooting me a desperate look that said shut up, I’ve got this.

Again, a terrible time for his so-called character development. By now, I knew better than to trust him when he claimed he’d handle things.

Then there was the sound of something falling, a low groan from somewhere in the Cove. Astrid stilled for a moment, looking around in confusion.

“Haha! You caught me. See, uh… I’ve been making outfits!” He tried to shuffle in front of her, clearly angling to block her view of where that sound was coming from. “So, you got me, it’s time to —”

“Hiccup—” I began, but Astrid was faster. She seized his hand, twisted it, and in a blink he was on the ground, groaning in pain.

“Astrid!” I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth.

“That’s for lying to me.” Her voice shook with fury as she dropped the hilt of her axe into his side, knocking the wind out of him. “And that’s for everything else.”

“Astrid—”

“Don’t make me do the same to you,” she snapped, turning on me with eyes blazing, betrayal written in every line of her face. “Because frankly? I’m really tempted right now.”

“You don’t mean that—”

Her jaw clenched. She looked away, her voice rasping, her grip on the axe white-knuckled. “I really thought things would be different now. Guess I was wrong.”

“Astrid—” Hiccup wheezed, forcing himself upright. “Look, we’re—I’m sorry, okay? Imka had nothing to do with this! I roped her into it. So blame me. Let’s just go back to the village and handle this—”

Snap. Crack. The sound of branches breaking, then the sound of a roar from the other side of the Cove.

Astrid froze. In an instant, her anger vanished, replaced by something sharper. She shoved Hiccup back toward me and stepped forward, axe raised, scanning the area.

A well-trained soldier, a girl who can so easily pack her emotions away when duty arose.

I knew that all too well.

“Astrid, please—” I whispered, bowing my head, shame already prickling. I knew who would step forward next.

“Quiet,” she hissed, shifting her axe into both hands. “There’s someone else here.”

Hiccup groaned where he’d landed. I bent to help him up, and he muttered under his breath: “I know.”

Astrid whipped her head around. “You know ? What do you mean, you—”

Suddenly, Toothless lunged from the hollow of a great tree, wings flared wide, pupils narrowing to slits. His teeth bared, his whole body drawn taut like a bowstring, the intent to kill burning in his eyes.

I opened my mouth to scream for her to run — but Astrid beat me to it.

“Run! RUN!” she cried, axe already raised. “Get to the village and—”

“No!” Hiccup tackled her aside, throwing himself between her and the dragon. His hands shot up, his voice dropping into that coaxing, fragile tone. “No, don’t — it’s okay, it’s okay. She’s a friend!”

“Is that what I am now?” Astrid spat, still on the ground, eyes wide with fear.

I rushed to her, hauling her up, my fingers trembling against her arm and shoulder. “Astrid, are you hurt?”

“What do you think?” she snapped, turning on me with a glare sharp enough to cut. The sting landed, but I swallowed it down. She mattered more than any hurt I felt right now.

“You just scared him — ” Hiccup grunted as Toothless snarled and pressed forward, held back only by Hiccup’s own body as a shield.

“I scared him?!” Astrid’s voice shook in outrage, but then she froze. Her eyes darted from Toothless to Hiccup. “… Who is him? ”

For a breath, Hiccup’s gaze flicked to mine. Then he straightened, forcing a crooked smile. “Astrid… this is Toothless. Toothless, Astrid.”

The dragon only hissed, his eyes flicking from Astrid to me. Then they widened in a flash of panic, and he surged forward—like he meant to drag me to Hiccup’s side, away from her.

I felt Astrid’s pulse hammering beneath my palm, her whole frame trembling. Then her hand closed over mine, yanking it down, our fingers interlocking. For an instant, I remembered us as children — holding hands in the dark on strolls after dark around the village, her voice promising me there weren’t going to be any dragons that night to take me away.

Now it was me whispering: “It’s okay, Astrid.”

“No. No, this is not okay, Imka—” she shook her head, frantic. “It’s not safe, it’s not—”

Then she sucked in a breath. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes hardened, her grip on my hand now iron-tight.

“We’re going. NOW.”

“Wait—”

Hiccup, too busy keeping Toothless back from lunging forwards, called out my name frantically as Astrid pulled me away to the direction of the village. She was even more efficient than Hiccup ever was in helping me over gnarled roots and thorn bushes, not giving me even a moment’s rest as she brought me out of the Cove and into the forest path.

“Astrid!” I panted, the wind already knocked out of me after having just made the trek down to the Cove, arguing with Hiccup, then back up again. “What are we — what’s the plan —”

“We’re going to tell everyone,” she said sharply, hoisting me over a ledge with ease. “We’re going to tell the chief first, then your dad, then Gobber, then my dad —”

“Okay, look, I’m all for telling the adults because honestly I don’t think us having kept this a secret is good, but I also don’t think —” I grunted, faltering when my foot caught a rock.

“Careful.” Astrid muttered, catching me with her hand.

I took it, pausing as I looked at it — as if it was alien, “... Thanks.”

She was so quick to save me, knowing full-well I was as guilty as Hiccup is. She had every reason to just leave me there and run back to Berk, it’d be quicker that way too. 

So why? Why take me along?

She frowned, before tugging me along, “Imka, we need to move. Whatever thinking you have can wait, we have to go before that traitor and that thing —”

“Toothless.”

Astrid held my gaze, her frown deepening. “... You named him together I’m assuming?”

I nodded, slow, “Doesn’t that make me a traitor too?”

A beat passed, her brows furrowing, and the sound of our staggered breaths (mostly mine) echoing in the quiet clearing. Overhead, the sun was just beginning to dip, tinting everything in its orange hue. Amber reflected in her eyes, something petulant — something honest in her gaze.

“Why’d you drag me along and not him?” I asked, my hand squeezing hers firmly. I took a step nearer and looked down, she was still an inch shorter than I was.

“Because —”

“I am just as guilty as he is.” I said. Terrified as I was, I tried to keep my voice level. “If you go in there and tell them about all of this, I’m going to end up being labelled a traitor too.”

“Then what do you suggest?” She hissed, “Running? Hiding it, lying?”

“It would be no different for me,” I said, my voice faltering despite myself. “I lie all the time.”

It was true. Not only about Toothless, about Hiccup, about that fight I had with him — I lied and hid the very thing that was the actual reason behind her suffering on Berk. The true ‘proof of work’, the fact that it wasn’t my family that they — she — needed to perform for — but something far more terrifying beyond the horizon.

Astrid was smart, she knew we’d been hiding something about how Hiccup got so good. She even said it during dinner, but never once had she turned on me, gotten angry at me for it. She was a lot smarter than she let on, which was why it made me wonder:

“You should hate me for it.” I said, “But you don’t. Why?”

Her lips trembled. She looked away. “Because—” Her voice cracked, breaking into silence. “Because—”

A memory came then, sparkling and brand new — fresh on my mind. My first flight, when Hiccup and I sat in that space far above Berk, the birds surrounding me and him, Toothless slumbering nearby.

I looked at Hiccup then, full of hope and wonder, and told him: ‘... You give me reason to think that the world isn’t completely inhabited by mad men so bent on war and violence. That there is still another way to be.’

In Astrid, I saw so much of myself in; that longing for the war to end, to live peacefully with my family, to be happy. To just be a girl instead of an heiress, to be a girl instead of a soldier.

She didn’t even need to say it, I saw it clear as day in her.

“I lie all the time,” I sucked in a shuddering breath. “And I hate it. I hate it so much when I keep things from you, when I do it on purpose or when I can’t help but do it — there is something wrong about that. Something so fundamentally wrong with me .”

The guilt hit me full force then and I couldn’t even look her in the eye, I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

“I’m sorry —” I released that breath, dropping her hand.

“Imka,” she said firmly, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Look, we can handle the apologies later okay? We have bigger things to worry about, like, oh I don’t know — Hiccup and that dragon?!”

A beat passed, my mouth went dry. 

Astrid swallowed, fingers squeezing my shoulders before slipping away. “I can’t — I can’t do this right now. I’m not good with words or my feelings, not like you, I can never be like you —”

“Why don’t you hate me?” I asked again, more weakly, the words spilling out. 

The worst time to be asking these things, but it came out just like rivers do from a spring.

Astrid squeezed her eyes shut, looking at the ground, as if searching for something before finding my gaze again.

“Are we really doing this right now?”

“Why don’t you hate me?” I repeated.

“Because I get you.” Her tone softened, a whisper that still cut straight through me. “I know what it’s like to want more than the hand we’ve been dealt. And I see you — you keep going. That makes me want to keep going. To keep fighting.”

“But I don’t fight. I talk. I lie. I scheme—”

“Who’s to say that isn’t its own kind of fighting?” Her mouth twitched despite herself, a reluctant smile breaking through. “I swing an axe, you wield ink. I kick someone in the ribs, you insult them to death.”

I managed a small laugh. “Don’t think I’ve ever insulted anyone to death.”

“Whatever.” She scoffed, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Point is, you fight. And you fight hard. Your whole family does. And you win, you always win and you always pull through for us.”

“... Don’t you think Hiccup fights in his own way too?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Not him again—”

I caught her hands before she could turn away. “No. I’m serious. You see it. You don’t need me to convince you — that’s why you never really bullied him, right? Even when he shut everyone out. You saw the way he fought: with his mind, with his inventions.”

Her face shifted, caught in guilt and something like admiration. “...Maybe.”

“Who’s to say that isn’t its own way of fighting?” I echoed her own words back to her. “We’re all fighting, Astrid. For the same end. Even—” my voice snagged, “even when one of us chooses to run.”

Silence settled, heavy.

“But I’m not leaving.” My grip tightened around her fingers. “And I’m ready to pay for my crimes.”

Her eyes widened, “You—”

I raised my other hand. “Let me finish. I’ll face the consequences. But I need you on my side. And if we do this, we need to think it through. No charging into the village and blurting things out. You’ll need the facts first.”

Her jaw worked, then she gave a sharp nod. “Fine. You take the ink, I take the axe.”

Distantly, I could hear the beating of great wings drawing nearer. Right on cue.

“And you’ll need to take the skies, too.”

Her brows knit. “What—?”

A beat. Then a cry split the air.

“Imka! Astrid!”

Hiccup swooped down on Toothless, the Nightfury clinging to the crown of a pine so tall it bent beneath their weight, lowering them carefully to the forest floor. Fallen leaves scattered around as Astrid’s hand clamped tighter around mine, but I shook my head, meeting her eyes.

“But—”

“You have to give me a chance to explain!” Hiccup pleaded, hands raised in surrender. Toothless’ snarling didn’t exactly help his case, and Astrid’s fingers shook against mine.

The dragon roared, and Astrid stumbled back into my chest. “I am not listening to ANYTHING you have to say!”

I frowned, locking eyes with Toothless. Out of me came a voice I barely recognized — sharp, low, the one my mother used when she caught me sneaking bread before supper. “Toothless.”

The Night Fury froze, pupils widening into circles, fins flattening against his skull — the same guilty look Max wore whenever he shredded one of my father’s boots.

Both Hiccup and Astrid blinked at me in surprise.

I sighed. The day had wrung me out enough already; the last thing I needed was fire — literal or metaphorical — torching what fragile bridge I’d managed to build. 

On one end of this bridge was Astrid and potentially a hoard of angry vikings (and angrier mainlanders behind them) asking me to side with them. On the other was a literal dragon and Hiccup begging me to come to their side to run away with him.

It felt like a stupid game of tug-of-war, it’s felt like that since the moment this all began.

So instead of giving in to either side, I decided I’d pull on that rope hard enough and get everyone to just stand on the bridge with me. Get them to see that if this bridge falls, everyone gets wet. Everyone suffers.

“Hiccup?” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “You were saying? And it better not be asking the two of us to runaway with you.”

“No. No I won’t. Not this time.” He said, turning to Astrid. Concern weighed heavy in his voice, every word coaxing. “I’m not even going to argue. Just… let me show you.”

“I—” Astrid started, “I am not riding on that thing’s back!”

My hands found her shoulders and I willed myself to forgive Hiccup, to forget how he failed me before, to choose to trust him again. I’d have to, forgiveness is the only way, the only strength I knew that could tug him onto this bridge instead of chasing him away.

“Trust him, Astrid. I promise you, nothing bad will happen.”

Toothless grumbled, and I snapped him a glare.

“I mean it,” I said, shifting my focus back to her. “I rode on his back days ago—”

“Days ago?!”

Forgiveness was the rope for Hiccup, but it was truth for Astrid.

“Astrid Hofferson.” My voice sharpened instantly, my mother’s tone back in full force as I spun her to face me. “I want you in on everything Hiccup and I share, I really do. I want to stop lying to you, I want to stop keeping secrets from you. But if we’re going to do this, then we really need to share everything, and I mean everything .”

Astrid stared at me, long and hard, before her eyes slid over to Hiccup.

“Please, Astrid,” he said, stretching his hand out to her.

“... Fine.” She slipped from my grip, scowling. “This better be worth it.”

Relief surged through me.

“It will be,” I whispered, and before I could stop myself, I pulled her into my arms. She jolted at the sudden hug.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

There was the barest pause before she muttered back, “... Yeah, whatever.”

I drew back, my hands steady on her shoulders as I studied her face. She was tired, still angry, but underneath it flickered something else—understanding. Hope. For a heartbeat I saw not the hardened warrior, but the girl who had once been my very first sister. Who tried on my dresses without asking, who broke my favorite hairbrush, who braided my hair when I still couldn’t. 

The same way I sometimes glimpsed the boy in Hiccup. The one who used to drag me into the woods to rescue birds with broken wings, so was this girl who let me braid her hair with ribbons as she swung an axe playing valkyrie, trying to save me from some made-up villain.

My eyes burned. Guilt. Sorrow. Affection. All of it crowding in at once. 

How could I ever have ignored her the way I had?

How could I ever been so blind to her and how much she meant to me?

“Please be gentle with her,” I murmured, lifting my gaze to Toothless and Hiccup.

Hiccup nodded, but Toothless remained quiet.

“Please,” I stepped to Toothless, touching his snout. “She’s my friend too.”

The dragon exhaled, fixing his green eyes on me, before snorting, as if to say: We’ll see .

Astrid was, however reluctantly, already climbing onto Toothless’ back, “Uh. So does Imka ride in the middle or…?”

Hiccup was about to reply, but I cut him off, “I’m not going with you.”

Hiccup and Astrid widened their eyes as Toothless made a noise of protest.

“You’re not seriously leaving me with these two?!” Astrid exclaimed.

“Toothless can carry your weight just fine if you’re worried about it.” Hiccup protested, “Seriously, he’s a strong dragon!”

Said dragon made a trill of confirmation, pupils turning rounder as he leaned forward, pressing his snout against my chest, as if to say: Please don’t be mad at me. I’ll let you fly with us still.

I mustered a small smile, touching his head gently, “It’s not that. Someone has to go back to Berk, tell everyone… something.”

Pausing, I lifted my gaze to both my friends. My very good, very beloved friends. 

Hiccup, whom I was choosing to trust once more, to lead, to do the right thing. For having flown out here, instead of running, for extending his hand to Astrid one more time; I was willing to give him another chance.

And Astrid, who I knew deep down was far sweeter, far kinder than the world gave her credit for.

As well as Toothless, who chose to take a chance on Hiccup and I — despite generations of us having tried to kill his kind, for having taken away his ability to fly independently.

We four drifters, all of us looking for our own means to an end — to arrive at that peaceful tomorrow we all wanted where there was another way to be.

“Who better than me?” I said to Astrid then to Hiccup, knowing for him there’d be a double meaning. 

Soon, perhaps, Astrid would know it too; the real reason why my family helped Berk the way they did.

“... Fine.” Astrid frowned, “You’re asking a lot of me right now, you know that?”

“I’ll pay it all back later,” I said softly, stepping forward and taking both their hands. “Just… come back to me, alright? Don’t run off.”

“... Never without you,” Hiccup said instinctively—then froze, realizing how it sounded. Astrid’s sharp glance cut straight through him.

“... Right,” she muttered, before looking back at me. “Never without you.”

“Don’t run away with me either, you idiots.” I squeezed their hands once more, then leaned down to press a kiss to the side of Toothless’ head. “Just come back. Come back home and find me. That’s all I ask.”

Toothless rumbled softly and nudged his snout against my cheek in return — his own kind of promise.

Wordlessly, I stepped back, giving them space. Toothless shifted, curling onto his haunches like a great black cat about to spring. For a heartbeat his eyes locked with mine, sharp green softening into something gentler, something almost human. He shifted his stance, not the hunter’s crouch but the careful posture of a companion carrying precious cargo.

“That’s my boy.” I smiled.

I stood rooted as the three of them rose into the evening sky. Higher and higher, climbing past the treeline, their silhouettes burning against the backdrop of a dying sun. The light turned them gold for an instant, then red, then darker still, until they became no more than a black speck swallowed by the wide, endless sky.

The forest hushed around me. All that remained was the echo of their ascent, the fading ripple of wings against air, and the hollow space they left behind.

I stood there for a while, letting that hollowness wash over me, before I let out an exasperated sigh, nearly collapsing on my feet.

“You did it again, Imka Marius.” I muttered to myself, allowing myself to rest for just a while. “You convinced Astrid, halfway at least… now it’s up to Hiccup. And now I just have to… to convince all of Berk.”

My chest felt uneasy, anxiety filling my being as I tried to imagine how my conversation with Stoick and my father would go tonight. Especially without Hiccup. 

Perhaps I’d wait until tomorrow when everyone was awake and my friends were back. 

I pressed my fingers hard against my temples, willing the ache behind my eyes to ease. Too much had happened, too much to untangle, and night was already pressing down on me. Rising to my feet, I turned toward the village. My body knew the road well enough, though the darkness pressed close, heavy and absolute, swallowing the forest in its arms.

It was slower going than I expected. Every thorn snagged my cloak, every stone caught my toes, every root seemed placed there just to trip me. Without Astrid’s quick hands or Hiccup’s nervous patience to pull me along, I stumbled again and again. My palms stung with fresh scrapes, my legs trembled with fatigue, calves burning with every step. Still, I pressed on, muttering prayers into the dark. Let someone find me. Let me get back. Just let me reach the village—

Crack. Snap.

The sound of branches breaking froze me mid-step. My breath hitched in my throat. For a heartbeat, hope flickered—maybe Toothless had circled back early, or maybe one of the villagers had taken the forest path home.

But no.

Between the dark trunks, two pinpoints of amber flared. Eyes. Predatory, unblinking, catching what little light remained. Eyes almost like mine, only colder, sharper, primal. Then came the low growl, the ripple of shadow pulling free of the thicket, the outline of muscle and fur moving with silent precision.

A wolf.

A memory came then, one of Snotlout flailing his arms earlier that day: “It’s the first day of wolf season, and just because Hiccup knows how to kill dragons doesn’t mean he knows how to handle a rabid, starving wolf charging down the mountain!”

Evidently, neither did I.

The beast lunged. Saliva glistened in its jaws, strings of it trailing as it snapped for my throat. I screamed and bolted, heart slamming against my ribs. Branches clawed at my face, thorns tearing at my sleeves. The wolf was always there—too close, too fast, its growl at my heels like thunder rolling through the trees.

“No, no, no!” I screamed, terror ripping through me. “Hiccup! Astrid! Toothless! Someone — please help me!”

Twice, its jaws caught the hem of my fur coat, yanking me back, teeth tearing through fabric. I twisted free, gasping, the shredded pieces of my coat snagging on branches as I fled. 

Its claws raked at the earth, digging furrows into the dirt, every stride gaining on me. My lungs burned. My legs felt like fire. 

I screamed until my voice broke, but the forest was too deep, too lonely. No one would hear.

Hiccup, Astrid, and Toothless were long gone now, leaving me alone, terrified and at the mercy of this wolf.

And then—pain. 

Its teeth found my leg, sharp and merciless. I cried out, agony lancing through me as I pitched forward, crashing to the ground. 

My back slammed against the trunk of a tree, breath knocked from my chest. I looked up, vision blurring, and saw the wolf creeping closer, its amber eyes glowing with hunger.

“Please,” I begged, a sob spilling from my lips, my whole body shaking. “Please don’t —”

So this was how it would end. 

Not by dragon fire, not in some grand, noble battle—but by a wolf, in the dark, with no one to see me fall.

Not even my father, not even my friends.

‘In the end,’ I thought to myself, ‘it all ends the same.’ 

Worse than fear, dread crept up on me — if I died, it would also spell war. If Berk couldn’t keep me safe from a mere wolf, what faith would the south have in Berk continuing to keep dragons sealed up north?

All my work, all my father’s work, generations after generations of our toil — ripped away by a mere beast. One that wasn’t even part of either humanity nor dragonkind, something that stalked in the shadows, only coming out for the right season.

I felt Marcus Marius’ journal in my satchel and I clutched my bag close to my chest, my last line of defense when this thing lunged at me to finish the job. 

Then at the end of my rope, I prayed. I begged for forgiveness for having lied, I confessed that this must have been happening because of how much I’d been lying. I was being punished, yet still I begged for an angel, I begged to be let into heaven, I prayed there would be no war, and then —

Then the forest changed. A shadow swept over the trees, wings blotting out what little light pierced the canopy. The air shook with a roar that was not of wolf nor man.

A dragon.

It plummeted from the sky, a Monstrous Nightmare, all teeth and wings. Its jaws snapped shut around the wolf with bone-crunching finality. Blood sprayed, hot and vivid, as it lifted the beast like a ragdoll and hurled it against a tree with a sickening crack.

I stared, bile rising from my stomach and I felt like throwing up whatever little food I still had in my stomach. The wolf’s head lolled to the side, entire body sagging without its soul to keep it alive. Blood continued to pool around it, traveling through the ground, soaking the grass and getting so close to me — barely reaching me, stopping just a few pebbles away.

The dragon who had saved me, or perhaps wanted to have me as its own dinner, turned its attention to me. Like many other Monstrous Nightmares, this one was red all over, but the blood that coated its mouth — fresh wolf’s blood — made it all the more terrifying. 

A silent scream tore through my throat as its yellow eyes, narrowed into slits, found my gaze.

I scrambled back against the tree, sobbing again, “Please, please don’t kill me — please don’t —”

It — or he — slowly inched toward me, making me shut my eyes out of pure fear. Its snout neared me and I could feel its hot breath, the smell of rust from the blood and sulphur on its breath making me queasy. I was reminded of when I first met Toothless, the intent to kill in his eyes, the way he reared back and screamed in both Hiccup’s and I’s face.

But nothing came, neither bite nor bark.

I opened my eyes, willing myself to figure out its true intention — only to come face to face with rounded pupils. A guilty, almost concerned look on its face as it neared me, its snout still so near to me. He looked just like Toothless mere moments ago, just like my greyhound, Max, when he wanted to appease me.

“You —” I fumbled for words, my chest still heaving. “You… saved me.”

The dragon made a low rumbling noise, nodding as if he could understand me.

“W-Why?” I gasped, willing my rapidly beating heart to calm down. “I… I don’t know you, I’ve never —”

Then, appearing like an entirely different character from another book, a dove landed on its snout. Its tiny legs stained red by the wolf’s blood as it twittered at me, then at the dragon, as if reprimanding it.

I blinked, once, twice.

The Monstrous Nightmare made a low sound, as if apologizing to it.

Neither my friends nor the villagers had heard me scream in the forest, yes, but then I remembered that other things lived here. But doves were not native to Berk, so this one must have been one of the ones we’d brought over on our Galleon, perhaps he’d escaped from one of our cages. We had plenty onboard, so it was entirely plausible to have missed this one.

And yet, to have it turn up on Berk out of nowhere? In the forest, right when I needed it, right after I prayed for a —

I stopped.

'Divine intervention,' some priests from Wessex would call it. 'A divine plan, long in the making, to choose your family to serve the greater good.'

No way. Absolutely — No. Freaking. Way.

The dove tilted its head, as if it caught the shift in my expression. Its song faltered, turned into something stranger. A trill, quick and sharp, like orders being given. And the Monstrous Nightmare—blood still wet on its jaws—answered. Its head bowed once in obedience. Then it reared back, wings stretching wide, flames shuddering in its throat.

And it leapt into the sky.

“Okay…” I breathed, staring dumbly. “Well that was—”

I didn’t finish. Talons closed around my shoulders, yanking me off the ground. The world tilted.

The dragon’s wings beat like thunder, hurling us into the air. The forest dropped away, then the village, then everything. Wind ripped through my hair, tore at my cloak. I kicked and thrashed, screaming, but its grip only tightened.

Higher. Faster. The stars surged open above us, cold and endless. I glimpsed the pale sweep of starlight, the faint green ribbons of the aurora veining the heavens—the same direction Astrid and Hiccup had gone. I tried to cry their names, but the wind tore my voice to shreds.

“Put me down! Somebody—help!”

My words scattered uselessly into the night.

I dared a glance down. My stomach lurched. Berk was a smear of shadow far below, the sea a dark void swallowing everything. Blood trickled down my calf, dripping from my boot, red against black. Each drop felt like a piece of me, stolen and scattered to the earth.

The pain was searing, but so was the exhaustion. I had run too far, fought too hard. My lungs heaved, my body shook. The cold dug in, deep as bone.

And then — exhaustion claimed me. My vision clouded, dark at the edges, and the last thing I knew was the roar of wings and the endless sky swallowing me whole.

Then I fell unconscious.

Chapter Text

Water clung to me, soaking my clothes, dripping into my hair—as if I’d sailed straight through a stormcloud or waded blind into mist. My leg throbbed with a pain that had gone strangely dull, the ache of something half-healed. My skull spun with the pounding roar of a headache, the aftermath of fainting. My throat was dry—barren as a desert.

But nothing felt more disorienting, more sickeningly damp and bone-dry all at once, than the moment I realized I was lying in the ruins of a bedroom.

And that, I knew instantly, was bad.

Cold stone walls rose around me, cracked and weathered by time and merciless seasons—humid, then dry, then humid again until the very bones of the place had splintered. The fractures ran from ceiling tiles down to the floor beneath me. But the floor wasn’t cobblestone or wood. It was tiled.

Ceramic.

I froze. No ordinary household owned ceramic tiles. Whoever this place had once belonged to—they were wealthy. And if they were wealthy, then they had power. Enough power to let a house like this rot without consequence. Enough power to do far worse to me.

A sharp gust of icy air knifed through the cracks, jolting me fully awake.

I lurched upright, palms sinking into a pillow gone damp with mold. Its silk cover bloomed with dark stains, and the unfamiliar embroidery crawling over it made my skin crawl. I hurled it away from me, disgust snapping through my veins.

Nothing in this chamber belonged to me. Nothing belonged to Berk, or Frisia, or any place I had ever set foot in. Even the architecture itself—arched, disciplined, ancient—bore the unmistakable stamp of Rome.

“No,” I whispered, my gaze darting left and right, desperate for a sign, any clue of where I had been taken. “No, no, no—”

Fighting against the pounding in my skull, I forced myself upright—only for white-hot pain to rip through my left leg. I crumpled back down, gasping.

Right, the wolf had gotten me. Then I was taken by a dragon, kidnapped with a bleeding leg, and flown all the way to… well, wherever this place was.

I bit down hard on the panic. Bigger problems first. I needed to know where I was.

Dragging myself across the cracked floor, I found a window—its stone frame cold and rough beneath my fingers. I clawed my way up, bracing my weight on the sill just long enough to peer out.

Mist.

Nothing but mist.

For miles, the world was swallowed whole, the horizon erased in endless grey. No sea glinting sunlight, no mountain peaks jutting through the fog. No beginning, no end. Just emptiness.

My breath hitched, the pain in my leg flaring until it drove me to my knees. My heart thrashed against my ribs, the terror settling in at last. I wasn’t just hurt—I was utterly lost.

I had no sense of how many hours had passed, only the hollow ache in my stomach to tell me it couldn’t have been more than a day. A day—long enough for the trial to come and go. Hiccup’s dragon slain… or not. Either way, I had missed it.

Worse, everyone would know by now that I was gone. They would search the woods, and what would they find? The wolf’s carcass. The shredded remnants of my coat caught in branches. Claw marks raked into the earth. The grass dark with my blood.

If I were my father, or Stoick, or even one of the Jorgensson hunters, I would see only two conclusions: Imka Marius is dead, or she has been taken by a dragon.

And either truth led to the same certainty — the south will lay waste to the north.

A broken sob tore out of me, dragging me down until my forehead pressed against the cold floor. My body shook, wracked with grief and dread. I had prayed to be spared from the wolf, and for a heartbeat I thought I’d been granted mercy, thought perhaps war might yet be averted. But no. Not now. 

Not with the evidence left behind in that clearing.

I had failed.

Failed my family, my friends, my country. Failed the very purpose of my existence.

Because in the end, I was nothing more than a weak, frail girl from the mainland—whose only weapon had ever been her wit and her words. And here, in the silence of this ruin, neither would save me.

And why would I try to save myself either? Why would I even attempt to survive? There was no reason, there was no point to being alive now.

So I bowed my head, prayed one last time to be forgiven and also so that I could die of starvation fast enough. I was too much of a coward to throw myself out of the window.

When I awoke again, it was to the sharp tap-tap-tap of a beak against my scalp.

“Get away from me!” I snapped, swatting at the thing.

The dove only trilled back—mocking, almost. The sound was far too close to Toothless’s chirr for comfort, though maybe that was just me, already missing him so much I was inventing echoes where there were none.

It flitted to the windowsill, feathers catching in the weak light, then hopped across the room to perch on the door handle—pure gold, dulled with age. With a hop and a beat of its wings, the latch creaked open, just a crack.

Divine intervention, some priests from Wessex would’ve called it. A divine plan, long in the making, to choose your family to serve the greater—

“Shut up,” I hissed, pressing the thought out of my mind as though it were a sickness. “There is no divine plan, no divine intervention, because guess what, you ridiculous bird—” my voice cracked into a near-scream, “—the war is already—!”

The words strangled in my throat.

Something vast pressed through the narrow opening. First the snout, long and ridged, then a row of terrible hook-fangs glinting in the dim light. Beady yellow eyes followed, no slits for pupils, but full on-circles, dilated. 

Next came the rest of its monstrous body, an apt description for this dragon that I, at the time, refused to want to even name out of sheer outrage.

“You.” I frowned, backing up against the wall. “You stole me. You kidnapped me. You —”

The Monstrous Nightmare made a low sound, hesitating to near me, before the dove landed on its snout and pecked at it again. The dragon chirpped in protest but the dove chirpped louder, more angrily, until finally the great beast relented and approached me again. I only realized then that it had something in its mouth.

Fish.

It emptied its jaws before me, dropping a gloopy mess of saliva-slicked fish onto the stone floor where I’d just been lying (read: giving up on life).

I eyed the bird. “So. I’m guessing I’m not dying of starvation?”

The dove only cocked its head.

“Well, I’m not eating that.”

The dragon didn’t hesitate—it blasted the pile with fire until the fish was charred enough to pass for edible. The dove kept staring at me while the dragon drew back, looking almost nervous, as though one wrong move might put it at the mercy of this tiny, insignificant, dainty-looking dove of pure white.

My stomach growled. The sound hurt—not just my ribs but my pride. Yes, I was in fact very, very hungry.

So, I ate. Picking at the grilled mess, crouched over a patch of stone the fire had at least sterilized.

The dragon only stared at me, averting its eyes, while the dove waited patiently. I grumbled through mouthfuls of food, glaring at the two of them.

“I’m assuming you’re not here to eat me?” I spat, ash burning the back of my throat. “Wouldn’t mind, honestly. Everyone’s probably already dead or dying—just add me to the list.”

The dragon opened its mouth as if to reply, only to get smacked with another sharp peck from the dove.

“…I swear I’m dreaming right now.”

The fish was so bland it made me want to hurl. I shoved the rest toward the dragon. “Here. You eat it. Too tasteless for me.”

If I was going to die as the weak, spoiled mainland girl, I might as well play the part. Maybe the dove would conjure up salt and spices while it was at it.

As if hearing me, the bird chirped and jerked its head toward my satchel.

I blinked.

Oh. Right. Hiccup had stuffed rations and supplies into my bag.

As I riffled through the satchel, the dragon wasted no time tearing into its grilled fish—probably cleared to do so by its tiny, terrifying boss, the dove.

Inside, I found the usual clutter: a couple of books (fables and non-fiction), Marcus Marius’ journal, little bundles of sweets and snacks, bottles of simple spices (salt, mostly), one spare dress, and… something else. A token.

Three pairs of braided rope, each made up of varying shades of brown and orange, woven into multicolored chains and looped through a simple metal ring. I turned it over in my hand, racking my brain. Had I stuffed it in here days ago without thinking? I couldn’t recall.

But the rope itself—there was something familiar.

It looked almost identical to the ones Hiccup had used on the early prototypes for Toothless’s saddle.

“Oh,” I murmured, frowning as I brushed it gingerly with my thumb. “He must’ve made this from the scraps.”

It was obvious, he’d slipped it into my bag along with the supplies—a little gift, a souvenir from his first flights. It was scraggly, uneven, ugly by market standards. But in my hands, it was worth more than anything else I carried.

So was everything else, in truth. The fables, the journals of my ancestor, the books I’d carried from all the places I once traveled, this rough little trinket from my best friend. But, what good were they now?

They might as well have been relics from a doomed world.

A world I had failed.

I let my gaze drift around the room. The ruined shelves, the splintered bed frame sagging beneath mold-blackened sheets, the walls lined with cracked ceramic tiles. Every surface was etched in strange insignias and words I could not read, a language dead to me. The books that remained were swollen with damp, their spines so thick with dust that even up close I couldn’t make out their titles.

Artifacts, all of them. Relics of lives long extinguished.

Just like the things I carried. Just like me. Broken. A failure.

I tipped my head back toward the window. Beyond the rocky sill stretched the gray sky, swollen with clouds. Yet the stone remained dry. The heavens hadn’t cracked open yet; the storm still held its breath.

The dove’s chirp broke my spiraling thoughts. It had settled on my knee, peering up at me with its bottomless black eyes. It cooed, trilled, sang its string of little notes, as though it could pour strength into me by sheer will.

“There’s no use, little bird,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I don’t know how you’ve managed all this with your dragon—whether it’s by that…” the words curdled in my throat, “divine plan. Or something else. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I failed. By now it must’ve been two days. My father’s likely set sail back home, and it’s only a matter of time before—”

The words died on my tongue. I drew in a sharp breath, squeezing my eyes shut until the thought struck me like a spark.

“…Wait.” My eyes snapped open, turning to the dove. “Wait. If Hiccup can fly Toothless, then surely I can take that Monstrous Nightmare back to Berk?”

Hope surged through me, wild and dizzying.

But before I could seize it, the dove launched itself into the air. My one fragile lifeline—the dragon—followed after it, vanishing out the door.

“Wait—” I sputtered, clambering to my knees. “Wait! You can’t just— you can’t just leave me!”

Too late. They were gone, the door left ajar, a crack of possibility yawning wide. An invitation, almost: Come follow. There may be hope yet.

Yeah. Hope dangled before me like a carrot before a half-starved pack mule. Cruel.

I prayed my leg would hold, forcing myself upright. It didn’t. Pain ripped through me and I nearly collapsed, choking down a curse as I clawed at the walls for balance. My eyes darted around, hunting for anything to brace myself with.

There—a steel rod, jagged at the end, probably torn from the remains of a curtain rail. It was ugly, but it would serve.

Gripping it like a cane, I hobbled forward, leaving my satchel behind. I could come back for it later, if there was a later. None of it mattered if I couldn’t find a way out of… wherever this forsaken place was.

Beyond the room, the building revealed itself to be a ruined tower, opening itself wider. A staircase unfurled, spiraling both upward and downward into infinity, as though the tower had no beginning or end. The wind screamed through the gaping wound where the upper walls had been blasted open, its drafts tearing downward like invisible claws.

The light that bled through was pale and uncertain, breaking against the faded blue tiles and scattering in watery hues. Everything shimmered like the floor of a drowned cathedral, deep and cold. So much like the depths of the sea.

Above, two floors higher, the dragon and the dove ascended. The dove sat perched neatly on the beast’s snout, the dragon hesitating mid-climb to peer down at me, checking if I followed. When I dragged myself into view, the dove trilled, lifted one wing—commanding, imperious—like an imperator, a general sending its soldier onward.

“Hey!” I shouted up, my voice reverberating in endless echoes. “Hey, stop!”

No luck. My calls went ignored, swallowed by the vast hollow of the tower. I grumbled under my breath and pressed on. There was no chance I’d catch up to them in my state, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was trying—chasing that thin, foolish strand of hope that maybe, just maybe, I still had a purpose. That I could still protect everyone I loved.

Love.

The word snagged like a thorn in my chest.

We climbed past countless rooms, their doors nudged open by the dragon’s snout or the dove’s careful insistence. Bedrooms, studies, kitchens, libraries—whole wings of a vanished world lay cracked open for me to glimpse in passing. Layer upon layer, secret upon secret, revealed as we spiraled higher.

The higher we climbed, the thinner the air grew. My breaths came ragged, my legs weaker with every step. Still, I pieced it together: this was no dungeon, no prison. The tower was an interior citadel, built to house dignitaries, not captives. Its doors opened to chambers of feasting, of study, of idle comfort. Others gaped into darkness, stairwells leading to more halls—or straight off the edge, into mist and death.

And everywhere, the mist clung close, curling around the stone like a living vine. We were high—so high—that the world below, the many floors we’d passed, were nothing more now but a buried dream, lost beneath a tide of grey.

The architecture was unmistakably Roman—at least in its bones. Ceramic tiles covered everything, each one beautifully ornate, glazed in shades of deep blue and violet. Even a single tile would cost a fortune, yet here was an entire tower clad in them, glittering like a jewel box. I couldn’t think of any kingdom—not even Rome itself—that could marshal the wealth or resources to build something like this.

But as we climbed, the tiles thinned, giving way to something far worse.

Bones.

The first pile stopped me cold—human skeletons slumped against the wall, stacked one upon another. Some wore what looked like a soldier’s kit, fragments of armor still clinging to them. Others bore scraps of dresses, or simple tunics like peasants. When I brushed too close, one fragile ribcage collapsed into ash at my touch.

I squeaked an apology before I could stop myself. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, stumbling forward with legs that burned and lungs that rasped. “Whoever you are—I’m so sorry. If I find out your names, I swear I’ll… I’ll come back. I’ll pay my respects.”

The words felt hollow in the vast, bone-littered silence. I forced my gaze ahead, toward the dragon and its little white general, waiting for me on the stairs above.

I swallowed hard. “When I’m finished with my job.”

Just as I was about to take another step further upwards, two skeletons caught my eye. They couldn’t be any bigger than a child’s, one bigger, a bit older, wearing a dress fit for a young woman like me, and then the smaller one wearing what looked to be a toddler’s playclothes. She couldn’t have been bigger than me and the younger one — my mind went instantly to my unborn brother.

I wonder what he would’ve looked like if I —

“What he will look like, Imka.” I corrected myself, my harsh whispers bouncing off these empty walls. “And he’ll be much older than this, he’ll live far older than this child —”

My gaze wandered to the girl’s skeleton beside him and a lump of fear, a greater one of sorrow, lodged itself in my throat.

“And this one too. You’ll live —” Squeezing my eyes shut, I allowed myself a moment to drop down on my knees. Less to give myself a break, more to allow myself time to unfasten my tattered coat then drape it across their bones. 

I sat there for a while, just thinking, and both the dove and dragon waited above. They did not run ahead of me, they waited with me, as if mourning these two and the litter of skeletons that came just before and after. 

It was no different than the dead bodies of the villagers on the mainland, victims of the pillaging and murder of mad men so bent on war.

But where were the mad men here? Who was responsible for this?

“My God,” I whispered, tilting my head toward the gray sky gaping through the tower’s broken roof. “Where am I? What happened to these people?”

There was no answer, just the distant rumble of thunder and the silence of the tower.

I sucked in a breath and forced myself upright, leaning on the cold steel rod like a staff. My legs trembled beneath me, thin as reeds, and the moment I tried to take a step they collapsed. I hit the stone hard.

Again, I pushed up—again, my knees buckled. My body gave out, spilling me back onto the floor like a rag doll.

Until something caught me.

The Monstrous Nightmare had lowered its head, nudging me gently with the broad strength of its snout. Its wings curled inward, careful not to brush against the brittle skeletons strewn across the stairwell. On its horn perched the dove—its strange, white-feathered general—chirping softly. Orders? Encouragement? I couldn’t tell.

But the intent was clear. The dragon pressed against my back once more, lowering itself in invitation. Get on. Keep going.

I let out a shaky laugh that broke halfway to a sob. “You’re not taking me home, are you?”

The dove trilled, the dragon rumbled low in its chest. Neither yes nor no.

I shook my head, too tired to fight, and hauled myself onto its back. “Fine. But you will, won’t you? Eventually?”

No answer. Instead, the bird lifted into the air and began to sing.

Its song echoed through the tower, light and piercing, bouncing off stone until it multiplied into a chorus. Strange—so strange. The longer it went on, the more the echoes overlapped, layered upon themselves until the sound became something like words. Almost a language. But no matter how I strained, the meaning eluded me.

The Nightmare climbed steadily, wings folding and unfolding as it scaled the spiraling stairs. Higher and higher, through a mausoleum of bones. We passed heaps of skeletons piled into corners, lining walls, scattered across the tiles like broken offerings. Each step upward brought more bodies, more silence, more echoes of that impossible song.

Upward still, toward the peak—toward the place where the tower’s roof had been blasted wide open, leaving only sky.

But the roof had never been blasted apart—it had been designed that way. The stairway ended in a wide circle open to the sky, its rim crowned with statues carved from the same blackened stone.

Each one was a strange chimera: a lion’s head with the body of a bird, a two-headed beast with the face of a man and the beak of a hawk, a serpent coiled around feathered wings. Their mouths gaped wide, hollow, inviting the breath of the wind.

When the wind shifted, sound poured from them.

The hollow throats turned into flutes, their voices blending into something eerily familiar: the pipes of Frisian street performers, the droning hums I’d once heard in the Caliphate, the clear swell of choirs in Wessex. It was all of these things and yet older, as if those melodies had only ever been dim reflections of this first, ancient music. The dawn of song itself.

“I don’t get it.” My voice was small against the roar of that chorus. I turned to the dove and the dragon. “What am I hearing? Why bring me here?”

The dove trilled in reply, a solitary note against the tower’s hymn, before flying to the far end of the platform.

There, among broken shelves and collapsed stone, a single table remained miraculously upright. Upon it rested the skeleton of a young woman. She was clothed finer than any of the others I had seen—her dress, though tattered with age, was still a deep violet stitched with veins of gold thread. The sleeves fell in flowing bell shapes, regal even in ruin. A crown of pale gold, set with sapphires the color of stormlit seas, gleamed faintly upon her skull.

Beside her, atop the table, lay a book.

The dove perched on it, pecking insistently at the cover, as though urging me forward.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the thick layer of dust, the air tasting like ash and old paper. I had no reason to expect this book would be any different from the unfamiliar tongue scrawled in the chamber where I had first awakened. And yet—the dove and the dragon had carried me here for a purpose. I was too exhausted to question.

I opened it. Dust coated my hands.

And there, beneath centuries of silence, the words revealed themselves.

Latin.

Unfortunately, my Latin wasn’t nearly fluent enough for this. Not at this level. The script was ornate, the language dense and ceremonial, every line wound with flourishes and words so archaic they felt half-forgotten. I caught fragments only—something of a dragon, something of a kingdom’s fall. Enough to tell me the book spoke of this place.

And the girl who had written it—she had been no mere girl.

I couldn’t unravel it on my own. But I knew someone who could: Marcus Marius, and the long chain of ancestors who followed him, layering translation upon translation, each one preserving his ancient verbiage. The cadence on these pages felt like his, something that only belonged to Rome at the height of its arrogance. And if the dove and dragon had dragged me here, it was to find this. To understand.

They gave a chorus of groans and twitters, as if to say: Do you see now?

“No.” My reply was flat. “No, I don’t know why you chose to kidnap me, of all times, to play translator for some ancient diary, but—” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m too tired to keep untangling the ‘why’ of any of this.”

The dove chirruped again and landed on my shoulder, nuzzling my cheek as if I’d passed some great test.

I deadpanned, looking to the dragon. “Fine. Take me back down. My ancestor’s journal will know what to do with this.”

This time, they obeyed. In the span of minutes I was flown back to that same cold bedroom I’d woken in.

“You two couldn’t have done this before dragging me up a tower of corpses?” I groaned. “I nearly died climbing those stairs for—”

Both dragon and dove fixed me with their first genuine glares, sick of all my complaining. And frankly? So was I.

I swallowed, hands raised in surrender. “…Nevermind.”

Chapter Text

The ruined bedroom felt almost bearable once the fireplace glowed. The dragon—whom I had, in stubborn irony, named Dove—had breathed a short stream of fire into the heap of broken furniture I’d piled with the real dove, whom I had in turn dubbed Dragon. 

The warmth steadied me as the air grew colder, clammy with the promise of rain. Outside, the statues hummed again—no longer the overwhelming chorus from before, but a low, maternal croon. A lullaby for the children buried here, perhaps.

Children of a kingdom. My slow work in translating the dusted diary had given me its name: Tomorrow. The Isle of Tomorrow, capital of the Wilderwest.

I’d checked my work over and over again to make sure I got it right. Because aside from it being a ridiculous name — who names their capital city Tomorrow anyways? — I’d never even heard of it before.

I am well-read, well-educated, and I am friends with scholars of the highest calibre. Khalid and Clotide were such examples, the frontrunners of their fields in two different worlds.

Yet, nobody has ever mentioned the Wilderwest before, much less this Isle of Tomorrow. 

Neither has it ever appeared on any map, codex, or even the countless forbidden volumes my family hoarded beneath our house. 

Not even Marcus Marius, who had circled the archipelago and crossed back to Frisia multiple times, ever recorded such a place.

But… the diary was written in Latin. 

The tongue of Rome, born in Latium, sharpened into empire as Rome spread and consumed. If the legions had ever marched this far north, this tower would have been their jewel, and the Wilderwest would gleam in their records. The Romans never missed a chance to write themselves into eternity.

A dull headache pressed at my temples, so I rummaged in my satchel and found the little treats Hiccup had hidden away for me—roasted honey-glazed nuts. Their sweetness pulled me back to Gothi and Berk’s bakery, and my heart ached. I missed home. I missed my family. I even missed the chaos.

Dove snoozed with Dragon by the fire, blissfully satisfied that I was obeying their silent orders, bad leg and all. Shifting my dress aside, I dared a glance at my calf and winced. No sign of infection, thank God, but the skin was mottled with purple bruising where the wolf’s teeth had sunk in. I wasn’t a healer, but I knew it would need tending soon.

Not yet, though. Not until the translation was done. Dragon and Dove had made sure of that.

So I gripped Hiccup’s trinket in one hand, a charcoal stick in the other, and forced myself back to work.

The history of this forgotten kingdom unfolded before me like a fable. The diary belonged to the last princess of the Wilderwest—though she refused to sign her name. She recorded the tale of their beginnings: a boy who slew a great dragon called the Green Death. A monster so vast it preyed not on men, but on other dragons.

“A cannibal dragon?” I muttered, popping another honeyed nut into my mouth. “Clotide’s going to have a field day with this. So will Hiccup and Fishlegs.”

In this land, people once spoke with dragons, and dragons with them. Dragonese was the name she gave it—or at least the closest translation I could make. Under their boy-king, the one who slew the Green Death, the Wilderwest flourished. Humans and dragons lived side by side, working together, building something no one in history had ever dared dream of.

The kingdom grew and grew. Every person had a role. Every dragon had a place. And like any vast garden, there were weeds—failures, the princess called them, though her word was colder: inconsequentials. Each generation produced one or two. Nothing fatal, she claimed. So long as they stayed out of the way, the rest could carry on, strong enough to cover the lack.

My thoughts drifted back to Hiccup. Berk’s inconsequential. Hiccup the Useless. Fishbone. Weakling. All those names spat like curses.

My best friend.

My stubborn, reckless best friend who dared to befriend a Night Fury when anyone else would have reached for an axe. Who could do what no one else could precisely because of his weakness. Who might ignite a war between North and South with that same fragile courage.

He may be a lot of things, but inconsequential is not one of them.

I kept working.

The princess’ words sketched out the culture of the Wilderwest, their tireless work ethic, their wealth and progress. Dragons who could breathe sand into glass with the precision of master craftsmen. Dragons who spun silks so fine they drifted into the air at the faintest breeze, like liquid light. Dragons who could split the earth with a single blow, opening mines. Hunters. Farmhands. Companions. For every task, there was a dragon.

And paired with the right human? Taught, guided, shaped? They could make anything together.

This tower was proof of that—a final, desperate attempt to undo some terrible crime.

Here, the writing faltered. Sentences crossed out and rewritten, over and over. It read less like a diary and more like a message she needed someone—anyone—to find.

“Like me?” I muttered, rubbing dust between my fingers. “All this time, all these skeletons… no one’s been here for hundreds of years. Maybe longer. A thousand, even.”

Outside, the statues hummed on. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine life filling this place again—people bustling up and down the spiral stairs, dragons flying between rooms and towers, voices raised in laughter, in their strange tongue, maybe even in Latin. Not this dirge of stone mouths, but the noise of a kingdom alive.

“… Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry this happened. I’ve made my share of crimes too. Treachery’s up there. Lying. Nearly starting a war. Add it all to the list.”

Silence. Just me and a dead princess, trading confessions across time.

“Yeah,” I exhaled, half a laugh. “I’m losing it.”

She was still up there, wasn’t she? Sitting where the statues sang their endless lament, all alone, her people scattered on the stairs below like broken offerings.

Alone.
Just like me.

I nudged Dove’s tail, rousing her. She stirred with a sleepy rustle, Dragon waking soon after. They tilted their heads at me in unison, eyes narrowing: What now? Don’t tell us you want to go home again.

“…Take me to the top of the tower,” I asked. The words tasted mad in my mouth. “Please.”

There was a part of me that didn’t want to know what great sin she and her people had committed, discovered apart from them. As though learning it here, alone in this warm bedroom, would only push us further apart — turning them into nothing more than a fable, a story. 

Dehumanize them even more as their bones crumbled to ash.

I thought of my own family: if one day we were lost, erased, I would hope that whoever found us would not recoil, but sit beside our bones unafraid, and help piece our story back together. 

To see us as more than characters, but as real people.

Dove and dragon carried me up, indulging me now knowing I wasn’t going to try and bargain my way back home.

The winds had died down now, the lullaby barely above a whisper, as if the sky had quieted when it realized a guest was here.

There she was: the princess, or what was left of her. Bones slumped in a chair, crowned with pale gold set with sapphires. Looking closer, her skeletal features suggested she might have had a round face, shorter in height than me. Her diary in my hands, right on the back of the front cover, was a tiny lock of pale blonde hair. Hers, her way of signing who this belonged to, according to the culture she’d written down.

Blonde hair, a round face, and sapphires — just like the sapphires set into that silver dagger I’d gotten for —

Astrid.

I looked at this skeleton and all I could imagine was her.

Call me crazy, call me foolish, but it truly was what I saw. So I sat beside her, me on the ground, her on her cracking ornate chair, and pretended it really was her.

I continued my work.

The writing grew messier here. The history of the Wilderwest and the Isle of Tomorrow unraveled into proper diary entries: the comings and goings of servants and visitors, the frantic pace of builders trying to finish this tower, and the slow vanishing of the people and their dragons.

Then, abruptly, the record shifted back to its historical account. Somewhere down the line, something rare happened. For the first time in centuries, instead of an inconsequential from mankind, one emerged from dragonkind.

A tiny dragon. Young, weak, so easily mistaken for a mere Terrible Terror. But worse, it couldn’t even fit in with Terrible Terrors. It failed at glassmaking, pathetic at breaking earth, useless for farming or hunting. And worst of all, it made for a terrible companion.

The princess wrote how it swung between intense isolation and unbearable clinginess — not the kind that endears, but the kind that derails. It disrupted, distracted, spread its uselessness to others. Whenever it tried to help, it only caused more harm.

So naturally, no one wanted it. Both humans and dragons detested it.

See, usefulness was key to being respected and loved in Tomorrow. Everyone had a role, everyone was expected to contribute in ways that were beneficial. And if you couldn’t? Well, then there was no place for you in Tomorrow.

“Tomorrow,” I muttered to the dead princess beside me. “Both literal and metaphorical, huh? You couldn’t spare a thought for the poor thing?”

Anger flared hot in my chest. Maybe because this inconsequential reminded me of Hiccup. Maybe because I always had a soft spot for the powerless. Or maybe — maybe — I saw myself in it too.

The skeleton said nothing. My words only echoed in the hollow air, and I knew then, for sure, I was losing it.

I turned back to my work, voice flat.

“This is why I could never marry into royalty.”

Yet still, the little dragon persisted. And the princess — the ever-watchful guardian of her people — merely observed. She never intervened, not when it came to inconsequentials. She reasoned that her hands were too full: the safety of her kingdom, the harvest, the thousand tiny needs of a people desperate to grow, expand. Bigger problems, always bigger problems.

Eventually, after enough correction, the dragon began to change. It grew quiet — eerily quiet — but terrifyingly efficient. As months passed, it outstripped all others: unmatched in hunts, towering in size, its firetripling in power again and again. What once was dismissed as a failure became a behemoth, the first of its kind.

And it hated them for it. Hated everyone.

The princess wrote of one audience she granted it. She had asked what reward it wanted for its service, expecting perhaps some treasure, a jewel, a feast. But the dragon answered coldly: this kingdom had nothing it desired. The glory, the gold, the dazzling tiles, the grand halls, the endless food — all of it was ash.

Which meant, this time, the debt lay on the kingdom.

The princess pressed: What could it be you ask for?

The dragon replied: Everything. Everything you denied me. And you will spend the rest of your lives trying to repay me.

From that day forward, the dragon did everything for the isle. It claimed every task, every measure of usefulness, until the balance inverted. Everyone else but the dragon became inconsequential.

It demanded repayment. But no one could ever satisfy its hunger. 

At last, the dragon declared their debts too great, and it seized collateral. Their lives.

Having developed mind control powers, the dragon could seize control of any other through a compulsion. A geas in the form of a low rumble, bidding them to do its will. Such as kidnapping and collecting the people.

One by one, the people were brought to its court. It had crowned itself the new queen of the isle, and so audience with it was no request, but a sentence. 

They called it the Red Death, for the rivers of blood it spilled.

Each trial it offered was framed as a gift.

‘A blessing,’ the dragon declared. ‘Mercy. Where you gave me none, I grant you one. Another reason as to why I am greater than you will ever be.’

It began with those who had tormented it most, wiping out families, communities, loved ones, and any brood of dragons that dared to protect them. Then it turned on those who had done nothing — the apathetic, the silent, the ones who stood at the sidelines. The princess and her closest allies.

It would be a disservice to paraphrase what came next. So here, in her own words — as faithfully as I could translate them:

The Red Death grew so powerful it began to see all others as lesser. When my turn came for trial, I was given another ‘gift’ — a conversation. I asked why it did not use its strength for good. 

Why condemn us all to suffer?

The dragon answered: If I had to suffer to grow, why was everyone else the exception? 

And so I will bring ruin to Tomorrow — not to make it stronger, but to make it ache. To force Tomorrow to feel what I endured yesterday. At least then, I would not be alone in my pain.

Declaring itself merciful once more, the dragon decreed it would not kill me nor my apathetic friends. Instead, we were sentenced to be locked away in the tower we’d been building. Like ancient tradition, we built monuments when sending our prayers up, laid the insides with fine cut tiles and beautiful rooms. Offerings for whatever spirit or entity to come to us and save us. 

Day by day we labored, and the dragon found our devotion amusing. It bade us to keep building, keep wishing. 

It even supplied us with what we lacked, circling above and laughing: Dream on. Dream that things might be different. But no one will answer you. I begged once, too. Nothing changed — until I did.

Years have passed, and still there is no answer. We starve in silence. The offerings we once laid upon these floors we now consume for survival. Prayer-rooms have become bedrooms; shrines are kitchens; coves of worship, places of sleep. Thus we who were spared — the apathetic — are left to perish within our own prayer, forever unanswered.

This apathy spared my life and the lives of my friends, but it has also become the chain that binds us to this tower, until we wither away. Secluded from the world, sustained only by what scraps of mercy the dragon chooses to grant us — mercy that dwindles with each passing day.

Now, I watch the few dragons clever enough to resist her compulsion vanish into the horizon, while those who remain linger as shadows of themselves. No longer creatures of wonder, but hollow husks. Stripped of will, doomed to dance and bow like jesters before their queen. 

“There were dragons once, when I was a girl,” I whispered, tracing the faded ink with my thumb. “Now there are only dolls and slaves.”

My gaze shifted to the skeleton beside me. The earlier illusion of Astrid was gone, replaced with something colder in the presence of this terrible princess. I felt only disgust. 

I wasn’t naïve — the parallels were obvious. The weak, broken dragon forced into strength, and the dutiful princess who watched, not cruel but never kind. Astrid and Hiccup, shadows refracted in a warped glass.

But this story was not theirs. It would never be theirs.

“This will never happen to them,” I hissed, snapping the diary shut. “Do you know the difference between you and Astrid? Astrid reached out. She cares. And Hiccup—Hiccup would never twist his pain into cruelty. He’d run, yes, but he would never maim. He would never destroy.”

Androcles and his lion. Astrid’s restless yearning for the horizon. The others on Berk who shared in that hope. Toothless, who had once placed all his trust in the weakest of us.

And yet—deep in the back of my mind—I could see how easily it could have broken another way. A Hiccup who grew tired, who turned inward or outward. Perhaps ran to befriend other dragons, became a true master of dragons, then returned to lay waste to Berk. Maybe even the South too. 

Or another, who stayed, clever enough to build machines to replace every villager, every friend. And Astrid, so steadfast in her duty, so rooted in protecting what already stood, might never notice the danger until it was too late.

But that wasn’t my world.

Memories stirred — breakfast with Snotlout, lunch with the Thorstons and Ingermans, the great dinner that dissolved into a food fight. Training sessions where rivalry gave way to teamwork. The scramble to find Hiccup when he ran, not with scorn but with fear for his safety. They cared now, and they showed it.

A shiver traced my spine. What unsettled me most wasn’t the specter of history repeating itself, but the rasp in my own throat. Dry, aching — sand grinding raw against flesh. That need eclipsed all else.

Rummaging through my satchel, I cursed softly. Neither Hiccup nor I had thought to pack water.

“That’s not good.”

My eyes snagged on a line in the diary: the princess had written of a spring somewhere lower in the tower. With the stone halls bone-dry and the skies stingy with rain for who knows how long, it was my only chance.

The Red Death, for all its terror, was unlikely to linger here. The tower had been silent since the day I arrived; there was no one left to torment.

So, with a sigh, I roused Dragon and Dove. They blinked at me, unimpressed, until I explained my situation. With clear reluctance, they agreed to carry me downward.

Yet something about Dragon unsettled me. Its chirp carried a faint tremor, and it clung tighter than usual as it perched on my shoulder. Not playful, not commanding — watchful, protective. Like a general who sensed an enemy long before his soldier did. Or, like the general it was, to ensure I was still continuing my work.

I relented.

The diary continued, more of her story unfurling like the unending floors and rooms we passed as we sunk further and further down in search of the spring.

I grieve my silence, my apathy. Had I been kinder, braver, perhaps my people might have been spared. Or perhaps if only we’d reached out across the horizon, in search of other people, instead of staying isolated here, we’d have a chance. We’d have developed boats stronger to get us away, something that was not susceptible to being driven back by the Red Death’s mind control.

Oh, if only I had been kinder. If only we had a way out, if only we had something to bridge us to the rest of the world. 

We built this tower in hope that something or someone would come to us and do just that. 

But we no longer have offerings for you, dear reader, if anyone does find this that is.

We are useless, we have nothing to offer you, but our desperate story and our desperate prayer.

The entry ended there. The next one was… strange. The page was filled with words scrawled in a jagged script, numbers beneath them, the letters twisted into a font unlike anything I’d seen — nothing resembling Latin.

Wódr̥, wódr̥, wódr̥
Wódr̥, wódr̥, wódr̥
Wódr̥, wédn̥s, wédōr
Wódr̥, wédn̥s, wédōr

Wédōr, wédn̥s, h₂ékʷeh₂
Wédōr, wédn̥s, h₂ékʷeh₂
Wédōr, h₂ékʷeh₂, h₁róseh₂
Wédōr, h₂ékʷeh₂, h₁rṓs

Udéni, wédōr, h₁róseh₂
H₂ékʷeh₂, h₁róseh₂

It didn’t follow any sentence structure I knew, but the repetition — the way the sounds echoed and stacked — made it feel less like writing and more like… a chant. Perhaps the prayer the princess had spoken of.

I checked against my ancestor’s journal. Nothing. No trace of this language tied to Latin. I opened one of Aesop’s fables, the edition written in both Greek and Frisian. Still nothing. Other books, margin notes, half-finished translations — nothing written resembled these words.

I checked again. Double-checked. Triple-checked. And by the time we reached the base of the tower, I still had nothing.

“Ugh.” I frowned, stuffing the books back into my satchel. “I need a water break.”

The base of the tower resembled the floor of the deep sea: little to no light, everything drowned in shadow and dark blue haze. I could hardly see a step ahead — until Dove, being the Monstrous Nightmare it was, lit its whole body aflame and became a torch.

Maybe a bit too much of a torch, judging by how both Dragon and I winced, half-blinded.
The bird squealed in protest, and Dove sheepishly dimmed, flames retreating until only embers glowed faintly across its scales.

Walking rod in hand, I pressed forward to the only door at this level. Its wood crumbled at a single touch, collapsing into splinters. Beyond stretched a narrow tunnel, the air thick with dust and heat — damp, humid, and heavy in my lungs. I pressed a hand over my nose and carried on, praying this would lead us to water.

The deeper we went, the more Dragon clung to me, its head twitching at the slightest sound. I searched desperately for any glimmer of a spring, a pool, even a trickle. At last I spotted a stalactite — long, jagged, weeping drops of water from its tip.

Parched beyond reason, I lunged forward, cupping my hands beneath the drip. Not really caring that Dragon had jumped off towards Dove’s direction.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drop—

Then, all of a sudden, the world went dark.

I hurried to swallow what little water I’d caught, just enough to wet my throat, before spinning to find Dove’s flames had guttered out.

Dove’s beady yellow eyes darted, pupils narrowing to slits, then widening again as Dragon crooned its lullaby on repeat. It was fighting something — some will, some compulsion I couldn’t see.

The air grew heavier. Hotter. Dangerous.

With Dove’s flames gone, the darkness pressed in, forcing me to take stock of where I truly was. Not just a tunnel — but a cavern. And at its end, a chamber vast enough to dwarf the entire tower above. Its ceiling soared higher than the spire itself.

But there was no floor. Only an abyss. From below pulsed a molten red glow, the steady heartbeat of something ancient and alive. 

The stench hit me next: sulfur, brimstone, smoke.

My first clue as to where I was: a tower built upon the lip of an active volcano.

I froze as something shifted in the dark. My eyes adjusted just enough to catch the spires — tall stone columns spiraling up toward the ceiling.

And perched upon them, motionless silhouettes.

Deadly Nadders. Gronkles. Monstrous Nightmares. Zipplebacks. Every kind of dragon I’d ever heard of — maybe more.

Not roosting. 

Hiding.

Second clue: Not just an active volcano, but the nest of dragons. The same one my father had charted a map to.

A lone Nadder wheeled above the glowing abyss, its wings crooked, warped — though at this distance it was hard to tell if by injury or birth. It opened its maw and dropped a single fish into the red glow below.

Something seized inside me. Dread crawled my veins like fire given flesh.

From the abyss, a shadow rose — enormous, suffocating, almost too big for the cavern itself. And it wasn’t even all of it. Just the head.

Teeth like shipwrecked masts jutted from its jaw. Three milky eyes rolled in their sockets, pupils dilating not with rage, but with something worse: satisfaction.

The jaws opened. 

A sound like mountains breaking, and the Nadder was gone.

I choked on my breath. The word clawed free anyway:

“No—”

Third clue: The nest of dragons was the home of the Red Death.

The conclusion: The nest of dragons is the Isle of Tomorrow, the lair of the Red Death. The thing that has been commanding dragons to fly further south for food. The reason for the anxiety of the southern courts and tribes. The very thing that gave reason for my father and I to sail back up here.

Sensing my words, my garbled gasp, the monster stilled. 

The vast head lingered above the abyss, nostrils flaring, tasting the air, tasting me. Slowly, inexorably, its gaze swept the cavern.

Until those slit pupils found me.

The Red Death roared.

It wasn’t just sound — it was language twisted into something guttural, maybe Dragonese. Words I couldn’t understand, but felt all the same, vibrating through my bones.

Kill you. Kill you. Kill you. Eat you.

I screamed. Not in defiance, not even in terror — just raw instinct, tearing out of me because hiding was no longer an option. The beast had seen me.

Dove shoved her massive snout against my side, forcing me upright, while Dragon fluttered frantically, tugging at my sleeve, pecking at my arm, anything to drag me forward. My leg burned — that forsaken wolf bite — but there was no choice but to run.

The cavern shook as the Red Death lunged, closing the distance with terrifying ease. Its bulk didn’t slow it — it was fast because it was endless. Each step collapsed stone, sending showers of dust and sparks raining over us as I stumbled toward the tunnel.

The air split with the screech of dragons. Shapes poured from the shadows — Nadders, Gronkles, Nightmares — a desperate storm of wings and fire, throwing themselves between me and the leviathan.

Then the Red Death ripped through them like paper. Its jaws crushed scale and bone, its claws shredded wings mid-beat. The cavern filled with screams — not mine, theirs — as blood misted the air, hot and metallic, burning my throat. I gagged, I cried, and still I ran, my body dragged forward by panic alone.

The tunnel was close. So close I could see the faint shimmer of Dove’s earlier embers still clinging to the stone. Safety—

No. Not safety. Not yet.

Dove roared, flames lighting her whole body like a torch one last time. She lowered her head, dragging me up by the scruff of my dress with her teeth, and hurled me through the doorway. Dragon clung tight, wings beating frantically as we tumbled together across the stone floor.

I scrambled to turn back — just in time to see it.

The Red Death’s shadow consumed her. Its jaws snapped shut around Dove, dragging her blazing body back into the abyss. The fire went out instantly.

Silence followed.

And just like that, she was gone.

“No—” I wheezed, scrambling backward until my spine hit cold stone. “No, no, no—”

It all came crashing down at once. The wolf’s teeth in my leg. Hiccup and Astrid fighting Toothless. Laughter at dinner, sticky jam in my hair, my father’s arms around me, the sails of ships out at sea. The memories splintered me, cracked me wide open like the very rock trembling around us.

It was like drowning. The tide of everything I’d lived, everything I’d fought for, swept me out and dragged me under. I choked on it, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think — only cry. Cry and cry until the water I’d just managed to drink was wasted in tears I couldn’t stop.

I’d just lost someone I was barely beginning to trust. Someone I was just learning to rely on.

A sob tore from me as pain flared hot in my leg. I couldn’t climb. I couldn’t fight. There was no strength left in me to make the ascent.

I was going to die here. Just like the princess. Just like all her companions.

But why?

They died because they cared too little. I was dying because I cared too much. For Berk. For my family. For my friends. For the fragile thread of peace, for a legacy that maybe didn’t even matter anymore. 

I’d poured myself out, spent myself into oblivion, braved this cursed tower again and again for nothing more than a sliver of hope — the chance that I could still go home. Stop the war. See everyone again.

And what was my reward?

“It’s not fair,” I sobbed into my hands, shaking. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”

Dragon perched on my lap, his small weight grounding me in the midst of my unraveling. He cooed softly, pressing his head against my stomach as if he could shoulder even a fraction of my grief.

“What am I going to do?” I sobbed, clutching at him with trembling hands. My tears blurred his white feathers into smears of light. “Please—please help me. You brought the dragon to the forest, surely you can bring something else here. Someone else. Anything. Please.”

The dove lifted his head. His eyes, black as onyx, fixed on mine. He cooed again, low and certain, as if answering: Of course.

For a heartbeat, I almost believed. I half-expected him to twist and unfurl into something else — a gleaming white dragon, maybe like Toothless. Or perhaps to reveal himself in some grand revelation: Look! Dragon and Dove were the same people all along, I just had two forms.

But he did not.

Instead, he took flight. His wings beat strong, climbing higher and higher until he was a pale flicker against the shadows. His song rose, that same lullaby from before, echoing up the tower walls, each note reverberating until it sounded less like a birdcall and more like a hymn. A choir. A cacophony.

My gaze followed him, dragged upward, and there — through the exposed roof — the sky had torn itself open. Clouds churned like a gray ocean in a storm, waves rolling and colliding with unnatural speed. The heavens themselves looked ready to collapse.

The winds whipped and the statues sung louder and louder, their voices clearer than ever before, the echoes sharpening them until they sounded like words.

My mind raced, clawing for sense in the chaos. I refused to give in — not when the dove still fought, not after coming this far, not after losing so much. Dove had died for me, all those other dragons too. I would not waste it. The last thing I would do was die without a fight, too.

With shaking hands, I pulled out the princess’s diary, thumbing to the final lines. Maybe—just maybe—the last key was here. The script, strange and jagged, mocked me as I read it again and again. No sense, no meaning. Just shapes and sounds that refused to yield.

From beyond the doorway, the Red Death roared, its guttural bellow answered by the crackle of thunder overhead. The statues sang louder, their humming no longer hums but syllables, consonants and vowels unraveling into something like speech. The wind shrieked through the exposed roof, violent and impossible, as though the world itself was unraveling.

My back to the stone, I fought the rising tide of fear. I forced my eyes to the page, lips stumbling over the alien words until frustration broke her restraint.

Wódr̥, wódr̥, wódr̥ — 

I cried into the storm, “What do you mean?! Wod—wodar—woder—wader…"

The sounds snagged. Familiar. Too familiar. My heart jolted.

"Water?"

Wédōr, wédn̥s, h₂ékʷeh₂ —

I mouthed them, stumbling through the shapes, the echoes of ancient tongues clawing at the edges of my mind.

“Wedens? Wedons—hek-wah? Hek… hak—ak…” My voice faltered, then rose again, wide-eyed with sudden recognition. “Aqua.”

I went back again and again, realizing then these were not meant to be written words. This language never meant to be understood through writing, but through sounding. Through being spoken. The words were an instruction on how to sound them.

When I gave myself over to speaking, the chant unfurled:

Water, water, water.
Water, water, water.
Water of water, water.
Water of water, water.
Water of water, water.
Water of water, water.
Water, water, dew.
Water, water, dew.
In the water, water, dew.
Water, dew—

Every phrase was water, yet never the same water twice. Dew and spring, river and ocean, rainfall and torrent. Water cascading down hills, swallowing slopes, bursting from the heavens and bubbling from the deep springs of the earth. Flowing, flowing — into me, through me, through the very stone of this tower.

This was the prayer.

It was in no ordinary tongue. Spoken, it revealed itself as the mother of languages — the wellspring from which Latin, Frisian, and everything I knew came from. All of them had branched like rivers breaking from a single source. Even my own name traced back to it. Imka. Water.

They had been calling for me all along. Praying for me.

This tower had been built for me.

“Water.” I whispered, ending the prayer.

The heavens answered at once. Rain fell — no, not rain, but a deluge, a cloudburst so violent it felt as though a waterfall had been overturned above me. Within moments the chamber was flooding, the water rising fast around my ankles, my knees.

My hand seized a half-rotten wooden beam, slick but sturdy enough to bear my weight. I set my satchel upon it, desperate to keep its contents dry, and clung with everything I had left.

The water continued to pour and sure enough, I was floating to the top.

Above, the statues sang and sang, and I realized they were singing the prayer. Water, over and over again, my name.

I squinted through the torrent pouring in and I saw them. The ghosts of the people here, bent over on their respective floors, hands outstretched to me, singing with the statues. Even that girl and the toddler were there, beckoning me to come up.

As the flood rose past each level, I watched them dissolve — flesh melting back into bone, then into dust.

Water must have flooded this place many times, it would explain why the stone was as weathered as it was, how the bones so easily crumbled to ash. 

And I must have been the last drop they wished for.

At the top, I saw her. The apathetic princess with her long blonde hair, her bright blue eyes, and her round face. She held her hand out, beckoning me, calling me out.

Hope seized me, all I could think of was home. Our own war I was trying to prevent. I may have never made it to the isle of Tomorrow on time, as they wished, but I could still prevent history from repeating itself. 

In a way, I already had. And I’ll be damned if I didn’t continue doing my job.

When I broke the tower’s crown, the storm eased. Rain dwindled into a misting drizzle, and the princess was gone — nothing left but her skeleton slumped over the table where I had first found her.

Then the sky split open. The clouds, heavy and dark for so long, pulled apart to reveal the sun — brilliant, unflinching, radiant. She hung in the heavens like a promise, and I drank from the water still clinging to my lips, pulling the fresh air into my lungs as if it could fill every hollow place inside me.

Despite the terror that had gripped me then — hope flooded the chambers of my chest. 

The world transformed before my eyes: grey chased into gold, pale yellows bleeding into orange, beams of sunlight lancing through the mist until it was torn apart. And beyond — at last — the sea stretched wide and gleaming.

There, breaking through the horizon, was Berk’s fleet. And behind them, cutting the waves with grace, sailed my father’s galleon.

Chapter Text

Seven ships. One galleon.

Hope seized me for the briefest moment — then shattered into dread.

Berk was kind and sweet, with the way they called me lass, with their bakery and honey-glazed nuts, the warmth of the great hall’s hearth, the strength of my friends, the chief’s hand heavy and proud upon my head. But I could not forget: they were also Vikings. And Vikings carried blood debts like chains around their necks. Kin slain meant vengeance. Always.

Stoick proved it when Valka was taken.

And now I proved it — because I had been taken.

I thought they might wait until my father returned to the mainland, but no — he had no intention of returning without me. Without his daughter. He had followed Berk’s lead, more Viking than mainlander now, driven by an honor code that would kill him and everyone under his command.

And I knew the truth. None of them — not my father, not Berk’s fleet, not the hundred men and women packed aboard that galleon — would even graze the Red Death. Much less kill it.

I gripped the stone railing of the tower’s crown until my knuckles burned and screamed, but the wind swallowed me whole. Too high, too far, too small. All I could do was watch as the fleet docked on the shore, men and women spilling from their ships like ants. Spears glittered. Shields flashed. Tiny figures bracing themselves for a war they could not win.

And there — a speck of color in the swarm — my father’s signature blue coat. My heart lurched; I wanted to leap, to fling myself off the edge just to reach him. To at least be held before we all died.

“Get out!” I screamed, voice raw. “Get away from here!”

Then my eyes found a strange larger dot, black as night, on one of the ships. Not human. It was Toothless.

They’d chained him, bound him, and probably forced him to take them farther into the mist, towards the isle in case something happened with the map. 

But where was Hiccup then? Left behind. 

Thank God, thank God he was left behind. At the very least he was alive and so were the others. I wasn’t sure for how much longer until the mainland would march, but at least they’d have time to run.

But would they?

Stubborn children, my stubborn friends. They’d stay and fight. Especially after I told him not to run.

“Stupid,” I cursed myself. “You stupid, stupid, stupid —”

Dragon returned then, feathers dripping gold in the rain-tinged sunlight. I was freezing, but the sun’s warmth fell on me like a shower — a small comfort as he cooed, pressing against me, trying to quiet the storm inside.

“They’re going to die, Dragon.” I whispered hoarsely, “I can’t — I can’t stop them, I have no way down!”

Below, the ants became soldiers, arranging catapults, digging trenches, sharpening stakes into the earth. A wide defense line, laughable against a monster as tall as the tower itself. They couldn’t even see the tower — it was shrouded, lost to mist and height.

In desperation, I hurled stones, even small boulders, watching them vanish uselessly before ever reaching the shore. Dragon dove down himself, circling, trying to catch their attention — but no one looked twice. To them he was just a stray dove, perhaps one escaped from my father’s galleon.

At last, Stoick — or at least the blur that must have been him — marched forward, axe raised high. The first catapult loosed, then the second, then the third. Each shot struck with such force that chips of the mountain tumbled away, insignificant, like crumbs from a giant’s table.

The people cheered. Shields lifted. They surged forward, halting just shy of the raw wound they’d opened.

The fourth catapult fired — a flaming boulder of stone and straw arcing into the gap.

I sucked in a breath. I knew what came next. I prayed anyway. Please, Lord. Mercy. Send someone. Anyone.

Screams of frantic dragons poured out, a multicolored flood of them rushing out that fresh wound like a river made of rainbows. Up above, the sky mirrored it, the rain and sunshine casting a rainbow over this grim day. A promise to a prayer, one that I hoped would be kept.

And it was.

The dragons did not touch the vikings, all of them flee.d Smart dragons, just like those in the princess’ diary who were clever enough to escape if such an opportunity arose. They had no one to protect here any longer, all those skeletons had dissolved into ash anyways. 

They were free to run, we were not.

The loudest cry echoed from below, “We’ve done it!”

But the mountain groaned in reply.

The entrance split wider, stone cracking like thunder. A howl rose from within — vast, endless, louder than wind tearing cliffs apart. The stench followed: sulfur, brimstone, hellfire. Even from the tower, it seared my lungs.

A roar from the people below answered as they scattered, trying to get into formation. Catapults moved, flinging stone after stone at it, the Red Death balked at some — probably surprised after so many years having stood uncontested. Then it bared its teeth, marched only once, and swallowed each with its maw. 

“I can’t,” I wheezed, dread filling my lungs just as the cloudburst had. My eyes squeezed shut, “I can’t look.”

Dragon twittered in response, tugging at my sleeve, as if begging me to do just the opposite.

Look, it seemed to say, look and bear witness.

Strength steadied me. To look away would dishonor them — the men, the women, the people giving their all below. Their lives deserved to be seen, even if only by me.

The Red Death’s massive strides missed the soldiers by slivers, each miracle a heartbeat long. And then I saw why. Doves — white streaks darting in chaos — yanked at their cloaks, slammed into their sides, driving them away from death.

And then from my father’s galleon, furthest out to sea, the flood came. A river of white wings, surging all at once. Where dragons had fled, doves descended — fearless, unyielding.

It was for good reason too that the galleon was docked so far away, because then the Red Death unhinged its jaw, pupils dilating again in satisfaction, and let loose a torrent of fire, so big it nearly engulfed half the coast. The Viking ships and rowboats used from my father’s galleon was consumed by it, and terror gripped me.

Nobody was onboard, but Toothless.

No way out now. Not unless they swam for the galleon — and even then, the Red Death would torch it before they reached halfway.

The ranks broke. Vikings scattered for their lives.

But three figures did not. Three dots against the shore — my father, Stoick, and Gobber.

Stoick went first, reckless as ever, hurling stakes one after another with brute strength, desperate to pierce steel skin or blind an eye. But the monster’s hide turned each shot aside, clattering harmlessly to the earth. It seemed to laugh in glee, moving to kill the chief first.

Then Gobber. His cry thundered even to me, high above the mist — raw defiance, a one-armed dare spat into the face of death itself. The Red Death lowered its head, attention diverted from Stoick, eyes gleaming with mockery.

And behind him — smaller, quieter — my father raised his crossbow. Hidden in Gobber’s shadow, he steadied his aim over his friend’s shoulder… and loosed.

It shot clean through. The Red Death howled in pain as it doubled back. Blood dripped from the socket; one eye down, five more to go. How many more tricks did they have?

The Red Death reared back, throat glowing like a forge, fire bubbling deep inside. A steady mist of sulfur hissed from its jaws, thick and yellow.

“Move!” I screamed, but my voice was nothing against that roar.

Out of time. Out of tricks.

Then—impact. A blast struck the back of the monster’s skull, bursting flame against its iron hide. The giant staggered, reeling in shock. For a heartbeat, even the battlefield froze.

Through the retreating golden mist, four silhouettes cut through the sky. Not ships. Not doves. Dragons.

A two-headed Zippleback spiraled low. A Deadly Nadder with scales that shimmered in the golden rain like blue sapphires. A Monstrous Nightmare, wings aflame, shrieked defiance, the ghost of Dove. A stout little Gronkle barreled along like a flying boulder.

And on their backs—them. My friends.

Hiccup, Astrid, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, Snotlout, Fishlegs, riding dragons into battle.

One by one they struck, fireball after fireball, peppering the beast and dragging its fury upward, away from the three doomed men on the ground. They dove and darted like gnats around a bear, slipping beneath its belly, wheeling over its spines, striking again before it could snap at them.

At the front, the Nadder wheeled, and on her back I saw him—Hiccup. His voice carried distantly through the wind, barking orders, sharp and sure. Astrid sat behind him, axe raised like a banner. Behind them, the others whooped and hollered, drunk on terror and joy alike, their laughter tearing through the smoke.

My chest cracked open. Yes, they had run. But not away. Straight into the fight.

“Boar-headed, stubborn, stupid Vikings,” I laughed through gasps, half a sob, half a shout of wonder.

Our brave, reckless, brilliant future.

They flew like maniacs, pulling stunts so reckless it was a miracle they weren’t dead already. But their madness worked. The Red Death lurched and snarled, and in that chaos the doves rushed in again—hundreds—darting around the people, tugging, pecking, herding them away from the slaughter.

Down below, Stoick, Gobber, and my father had abandoned their fight to drag people out of the kill zone. I saw them hauling bodies, shouting orders, pushing terrified men and women back toward the other side of the isle.

And then—the Nadder turned. Her wings snapped wide, diving straight toward the burning wreck of a ship where Toothless still lay bound. Hiccup leapt from her back, Astrid clutching the reins alone. My heart lodged in my throat, but I felt no fear. If anyone could save his dragon, it was him. He would not fail Toothless.

More hope filled me then as I realized maybe one of them could save me too.

“They can’t hear me,” I muttered, despair and hope grinding at the edges of my voice. My hands clawed the stone railing. “Dragon—what do I do?”

The dove only trilled, bright and triumphant, as though it already knew the answer. With a beat of wings, it flew to the princess’s skeleton and landed by the crown still resting on her table. The jewels caught the sunlight and flared like fire.

Of course. My signal.

The dove seized the crown by its rim and dragged it toward me. My fingers closed over the cold gold, and with trembling arms I raised it high above my head. Sunlight struck the sapphires, dazzling blue fire, then blazed into gold. I angled it, turning it, flashing the beam down through the clouds toward the battlefield below.

Astrid was the first to see.

The Nadder faltered mid-flight, wings beating in surprise, her rider jerking back as the light lanced across her vision. Both dragon and rider turned their faces upward. Their gaze followed the glint, up past the mist, up to me.

The crown shimmered—blue, then gold. The color of her eyes. The color of her hair. Surely she’d know, surely she’d think of me and the ribbons I’d braided into her hair.

Of course she did, she was the valkyrie of my childhood.

The Nadder surged higher, slicing through the air like an arrow. The dot grew into a figure, and the figure into a girl I had known all my life, the one who I once abandoned but would not do to me now.

My sister.

A sob tore free as Astrid’s face came into view at last. Her bright eyes blazed with hope, rimmed with red. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her neat braids undone into wild disarray. Full of care, nothing like the apathetic princess.

“Imka!” she cried, stopping just shy of the railing, her eyes wide in disbelief. “I thought — I thought you were —”

“Less talking,” I winced, the pain in my leg shooting up again. “More saving, please! Get me down from here!”

The Nadder landed hard on the crown of the tower, claws scraping stone. Astrid leapt down in a rush, her hands trembling as she reached for me. She hauled me over the Nadder’s flank with a strength born of desperation, easing me side-saddle because my leg wouldn’t allow anything else. Relief flooded through me the moment I sank against the dragon’s warm scales—steady, solid, alive.

Astrid froze then, her gaze darting across the ruined crown until it fixed on the princess’s skeleton slumped at her table, the crown’s absence glaring.

“Who is—” Her voice broke, thin with disbelief. “Who is that?”

“The princess,” I rasped, lungs burning, heart too heavy.

Her eyes flicked to me, wide and pale. “Of what?”

“The Isle of Tomorrow,” I murmured, eyelids fluttering shut. Her chest pressed warm and steady against my shoulder as she climbed up behind me. The Nadder shifted beneath us, wings unfurling, crouching low before bounding into the sky.

Higher and higher we rose, the mist parting in great veils. The sunlight broke through in beams so bright they seemed like spears hurled from heaven, piercing the gloom and flooding the hidden land below. For the first time, I saw what lay behind the tower: endless spires toppled into ruin, crumbled walls stretching for miles, statues leaning half-buried in stone and moss. The bones of a kingdom—empty, desolate, abandoned.

Astrid drew a ragged breath. “Gods…”

I clutched her arm, too weak to hold myself steady. “Take me down. Please. Take me down to my father.”

“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse, but firm. “Okay, hang on tight.”

The Nadder dipped into a dive, cutting back through the clouds. Astrid’s arm locked around my middle, iron-strong, terrified to lose me. I held just as tightly, just as terrified of letting her go. 

The others caught sight of Astrid and veered closer, ready to demand where she’d vanished to—until they saw me in her arms. Exhausted, drenched, spattered not only with my own blood but with dragon blood.

“Imka?” Fishlegs’ voice cracked against the wind. “Is that—her?”

“Oh my gods,” Ruffnut wheezed. “She’s alive!”

“She’s alive!” Tuffnut echoed.

“Hi,” I croaked, forcing my eyes open, trying to muster a smile. It faltered the moment I saw Snotlout astride his Nightmare—because all I could think of was Dove.

“Imka,” Snotlout called, edging his dragon close. “You need to stay awake, okay? Just—stay with us—”

“Where…” I groaned, eyes shutting again. “Where’s Hiccup? Where’s Toothless?”

“He’s—”

The sound of a Nightfury cut the air just then, jolting me fully awake. My eyes snapped toward the sound and a cry of joy, of relief escaped me. That silhouette—black wings cutting through the sunlight, my best friend riding on his back.

Toothless shot upward like a hawk, wings curled back, then dove straight down—an arrow loosed from heaven itself. His scream shook the air, and the fire he unleashed struck with such force it sent the Red Death staggering. The queen of the isle shrieked, outraged, affronted that a creature she once enslaved dared topple her.

So offended was she, that she’d forgotten about her mind-control powers. Arrogant, blinded by rage and revenge. There was no going back for her now.

“Get her,” I whispered into the wind, my heart soaring to where Hiccup was. To where Toothless was. Who, I realized, was more similar to me and my family than I thought. “Get the tyrant. Free them all.”

The Red Death’s wings unfurled, their span wide enough to swallow the coast itself, and it heaved into the air. It thundered after Hiccup and Toothless, the two blurring into one black streak hurtling off the shoreline. Away from the galleon. Away from everyone else.

Hiccup drove Toothless like a knife through the seastacks, darting between pillars of stone, weaving through jagged rocks. Each turn was calculated, deliberate—forcing the monster to smash itself against the earth. But the beast was too massive, too enduring. Every impact slowed it, yet never stopped it.

We pressed on, the six of us, until at last we reached the far side of the isle where the others had gathered. A knot of frightened, shivering people, huddled together against the storm.

The moment we landed, the parents surged forward—scolding, clutching, dragging their children close as if to make sure we were flesh and blood and not ghosts. Agnar and Sigrun ran for Astrid, nearly pulling her straight from the Nadder’s back, but froze when they saw me slumped there too.

“Astrid—Imka?” Sigrun half-sobbed, her hands trembling as she reached for us both. “Oh gods, you’re alive—we thought—”

“Hello Misses and Mister Hofferson,” I replied quietly, curling my fingers around hers, desperate for more human warmth after so long up that tower. 

“My daughter,” Agnar exhaled, sweeping Astrid into his arms. “You’re safe, you’re safe—both of you!”

“Stoick!” Sigrun cried out, turning to the crowd. “Lucian!”

Ever the dutiful chief, Stoick pushed through the crowd, his face tight with worry for the youths. But when his eyes landed on me, he faltered. Even through my fading vision I caught the flicker there—despair shadowing him, but hope burning stubbornly beneath. Perhaps because Hiccup was still in the sky, still fighting. Perhaps because, at the end of the day, he was still a father.

“Imka?” His voice cracked as he hurried to my side, lifting me gently down from the Nadder’s back. “Oh, little lass—there’s blood all over you—”

Gobber emerged next, running to my side, his eyes immediately going to where the spot of blood was darkest on my dress. He lifted it and inspected my leg, “Wolf bite. Like I thought. It’s a miracle you’re still breathing. No infection yet – but still —”

“A survivor. A strong one.” Stoick muttered, his words half to me, half to himself. Then his gaze shifted, heavy, searching for someone else.

My father.

He stood at the furthest edge, shoulders drawn up and tight, head tilted toward the sky where Hiccup, Toothless, and the Red Death had disappeared to. Blue coat singed, a white-knuckled grip on crossbow at his side, as if he wanted to soar up too. To have another shot at the dragon beside Hiccup. I remembered then how Hiccup always saw my father as his own, and though my father was very good at hiding it, I knew that love was mutual.

He must have thought he’d already lost his daughter. And now he might lose his son too.

“Dad?” I croaked out and the sound cut through everything.

Lucian Marius stiffened as though struck. Slowly, almost disbelieving, he turned. His amber eyes locked on mine. The scar across his face was blackened with soot, his beard singed, his whole body worn by battle and fire. He saw me—and the crossbow slipped from his hands, clattering forgotten to the ground.

In the next heartbeat he was running, strides breaking into a desperate sprint. A sob tore from him—raw, unguarded, the kind of sound a man like him would never allow in public. And then I was in his arms, swept against his chest as he sank to his knees before Stoick and Gobber, clutching me like he would never let go again.

“My daughter,” he wept, pressing me close to his chest, his heartbeat loud as a drum beside my ear. “My daughter, my Imka.”

“Dad,” I whispered, before it dissolved into a cry, a sob, tearing right against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever it is you’re sorry for, it's forgiven.” he repeated, fingers trembling as they threaded through my damp hair. “I thought I lost you — all that matters is you’re safe now.”

Our reunion shattered as the heavens turned against us. The gold light fled, swallowed by stormclouds that surged across the sky, plunging us into shadow. Thunder rolled—not from above, but from the tyrant itself. A breath later, fire ripped the air, sulphur scorching my lungs as I glimpsed Toothless and Hiccup darting through the inferno.

Higher and higher they climbed, the three figures vanishing into the storm until the sky itself seemed to churn around them—clouds colliding like a black sea overhead. Flashes of orange, red, and searing blue split the dark, Toothless’s blasts blooming like dying suns against the massive shape that pursued them. The Red Death shrieked, its fury tearing the heavens apart, and unleashed a river of fire so vast it seemed a banner of flame unfurling across the sky, hunting the boy and his dragon.

They dodged, impossibly, but the fire kissed Toothless’s tailfin. My stomach dropped as smoke curled upward, the fragile mechanism aflame. Still, they didn’t flee. They turned. Hiccup angled them higher one last time before diving headlong into the abyss, the plunge lending speed where Toothless’s wings faltered. Down they fell, fire licking at their heels, the monster’s jagged maw snapping close, closer—teeth like shattered masts ready to devour.

Then, at the last heartbeat, Toothless twisted in midair. The Red Death’s jaws yawned wide, sulphur spilling in a yellow haze—only to be met with a blinding blast. Toothless fired straight into the beast’s throat.

The sky exploded.

The smoke ignited from within, and the tyrant’s scream was a thing out of nightmares. Fire clawed up its body from the gut outward, searing wings, splitting its hide, boiling from its face until it became its own pyre; crashing headfirst into the isle.

“Down!” Stoick roared, throwing himself in front of us all—chief, protector, warrior to the last.

Toothless flung his wings wide, catching the currents and heaving himself and Hiccup higher, just as the tyrant queen plummeted in a cataclysm of fire and stone. The impact was apocalyptic—hellfire detonating outward in a wave that hurled us all to the ground. My father’s arms locked around me tighter as we staggered, but his gaze never left the sky. His hands twitched, as if he could drag that boy—his other child—from the heavens with sheer will alone.

Flames devoured the fallen monster, racing up its body until the fire licked toward the sky itself. The blaze reached the tail, barbs glowing red as molten iron, and there—flying too close, too slow with the torn fin—were Hiccup and Toothless.

For a breath, they fought against gravity. Then terror claimed me. Toothless clipped the burning tail. The impact sent a shock through the air, and I saw it—Hiccup flung from the saddle, his small figure torn away, spiraling alone into the abyss.

Time slowed.

Hiccup plummeted, limp, senseless, his small body swallowed by the fire clawing upward to claim him. Toothless shrieked, spiraling after, every wingbeat frantic. He would not—could not—leave him. The Night Fury drove through the smoke, closing the gap inch by inch, until at last his jaws locked around Hiccup’s leg, biting hard, anchoring boy to dragon. His body curled around the child, desperate to shield him from the inferno rising to consume them both.

“One more time,” I whispered—no, I begged, I prayed, I tore the words from my soul. “Please, one more miracle—”

And I was answered.

The heavens cracked. From the split sky thundered a sudden deluge, a flood as if loosed from the hands of heaven itself. Another cloudburst. The water raced the fire, galloping downward like the hooves of a thousand unseen steeds. It overtook them in a single furious rush—drowning flame, drowning smoke, drowning despair.

The torrent struck, enveloping dragon and boy alike. Steam roared upward in a hiss like a million voices, swallowing the sun, shrouding the battlefield in a funeral pall of dark mist. Silence then reigned supreme, our panting and heaving only interrupted by the hoard of doves perched around, twittering softly, cooing a mourning sound.

The song of the doves struck something deep within Stoick, and the chief broke into a sprint, desperate to reach the place where boy and dragon must have fallen. The rest of us surged after him—my father carrying me close against his chest, his strides long and fierce. Behind us, the doves followed in a sweeping tide, their song rising again. 

Not the horrific music from the statues, but something softer, sadder, almost like a hymn of mourning. Yet I couldn’t tell—were they lamenting the fallen tyrant, or the boy and his dragon?

“Hiccup!” Stoick bellowed, his voice hoarse as the mist of ash swallowed us whole. “Hiccup!”

Astrid’s cry followed his, then Fishlegs, then the twins. I would have shouted too, but my voice was gone, shredded by too much screaming. My throat burned, my body begged for sleep, but I refused to close my eyes—not until I knew, not until I saw with my own eyes whether my best friend still lived.

“Son?!” Stoick roared again, his silhouette cutting through the fog.

Then he stopped. Ahead of us lay a black shape crumpled in the wreckage. Toothless. The sight of him sent my heart careening into my throat. Memories of our time reading together at the Cove rushed in and I dreaded the idea of Toothless being gone, the same way Dove was gone.

“Dad,” I rasped, tugging weakly at my father’s sleeve, each word scraped from my chest. “I want to be beside him. Please… take me to him.”

“Of course,” he murmured, his voice a cracked whisper, as if he too were begging the world to let his boy be alive. “Of course I will.”

We hurried forward, just a few paces behind Stoick as he dropped to his knees beside the Night Fury. The chief’s shoulders slumped, his massive frame trembling as though the strength had bled out of him. My father knelt beside him and eased me from his arms, pulling his cloak back so I could see.

Toothless still breathed. The rise and fall of his sides was shallow, but steady—and the sight broke something inside me. A sob tore loose before I could stop it. I was so tired of crying, yet for once the tears came from relief, not despair.

“Toothless,” I whispered, stretching out a trembling hand toward him. “Oh—you’re alive.”

Stoick made a sound then, a strangled exhale, like he’d just taken a blow to the chest. “Oh, son…”

But Hiccup was nowhere. No small body curled against Toothless’ flank, no hand clutching the saddle. My hand faltered, falling limp, and a chill swept over me that no fire could burn away.

“I did this.” Stoick’s voice cracked, raw with guilt. My father turned toward him, reaching out, laying a hand on his shoulder—the gesture of a man trying to pass his own relief into a friend drowning in despair.

Toothless moaned, low and somber, as he lifted his head, now conscious. His green eyes first found mine and his pupils dilated, tired, but in relief over my safety. Then, they moved to Stoick and narrowed slightly, hesitant. A low groan escaped him, something protective, something like a tired accusation. 

Distantly, the mist had begun to part as did the ash, revealing the sky and the sun winking down at us. Gold, breaking through grey once more.

Stoick lifted his head toward it, his eyes bloodshot, streaming. In that moment he wasn’t a chief, only a father brought low by grief.
“Oh, son,” he whispered, voice splintering. “I’m so sorry.”

Toothless’ eyes widened, pupils dilating into soft, round pools. It was as if he had heard and—miraculously—accepted the apology. Of course he had. He was no mindless beast. Intelligent, listening, always understanding, capable of understanding language. 

I thought back on what I learned in the tower. Dragonese was a form of an ancient language, one that could be said to be the mother of all languages. No wonder Toothless always understood when I read from my books to him, when Hiccup chased him around and joked with him. He always could understand.

Then he answered.

With a weary grace, Toothless shifted. His wings, battered but unbroken, stirred the air as he slowly unfurled one. In the curve of the other lay what he had been guarding all along.

Hiccup.

Immediately Stoick tore away from us, leaving my father and me rooted in stunned silence. He gathered his boy into his arms, clutching him close, brushing soot-streaked hair from his face as if reacquainting himself with every line. Then he bent low, pressing his ear to Hiccup’s chest.

A breathless pause.

And then—“Ha! He’s alive!” Stoick’s roar cracked the air, ragged with disbelief and joy. “You brought him back alive!”

My father and I gasped at once, and the sob broke out of me before I could stop it. 

“Thank you,” I whispered hoarsely, eyes locking onto Toothless’ weary gaze. Louder this time, with all the force I had left: “Thank you!”

Behind us, the others erupted, voices lifting in laughter and relief. Everyone was alive—shaken, bruised, ash-smeared—but alive. All except for the three of us who bore more dangerous wounds: Toothless, my best friend, and me.

Sagging into my father’s arms, I clung to the moment, refusing to let my eyes stray from the dragon. My smile stretched until it hurt, tears burning. Toothless crooned low in answer, exhaustion tugging at him as his green eyes softened.

Green, I thought, just like Hiccup’s.

Chapter Text

I drifted into a long, strange dream.

In it, I was a slave of some far-off empire—though I could not place its name, its land, or even its time. All I knew was pain. Sometimes from lashes, sometimes from fists. Always accompanied by the word useless, always told I was incapable of even the simplest tasks.

To soothe my despair, I wandered the streets at night. How I managed such freedom I could not say—dreams seldom answer such questions.

Each night I passed the tall tower belonging to the princess of that land. She was not cruel, only distant, always absorbed in matters beyond people like me. Yet this night, she glanced down, and for the first time, acknowledged me. 

A small pouch dropped from her window. Inside, its contents shifted strangely—keys, then coins, then keys again.

“Go,” she whispered, her voice carrying down like a breeze. “If this place doesn’t suit you, go.”

“Where?” I asked.

She only shrugged. “Over the horizon. Run if you like. I have other things to do.”

So I did. I fled to the docks, bought a ship, and rowed out to sea. Soon the world vanished into nothing but water and sky. The sea mirrored the heavens so perfectly I no longer knew if I was sailing or flying.

Suddenly, a storm surrounded me and I was falling, drowning. Then I awoke, washed up on the sands and rock of a strange and foreign land. There, a large man had found me, his face unfamiliar as the torch he held in his hand illuminated his face.

“Who —” I wheezed, tired beyond belief. “Who are you? Where am I?”

He offered me a strange look before kneeling to my side, "This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery.”

“... Huh?”

“Figured you wouldn’t know, we rarely talk to most outsiders.” He grinned, “Luckily, I know Latin you stupid Roman.”

“I’m not Roman,” I spat. “I am a slave of —”

The name of my master evaded me.

“Ah, a runaway slave? Then I guess I won’t kill you,” he said joyfully, wrapping an arm around me to hoist me up. “Come now, I am the chief of Berk. My home has food and shelter.”

“You —” I wheezed again, barely able to stand. “What is your name, great chief?”

“Hiccup Horrendous Haddock,” he paused, before adding: “The First. I think there’ll be many named like me, you see. What’s your name?”

“Marcus.” I said, jolting when I realized this wasn’t my name. This wasn’t my voice, either. “Marcus Marius.”

The dream dissolved quickly as reason clawed its way back in. I was a Marius, yes—but not Marcus.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring at the familiar ceiling of my cabin aboard the galleon. 

Wooden beams stretched overhead, and beside me the window framed the endless ocean—my oldest, most constant companion. My fingers brushed across blankets from the Caliphate, soft and familiar, my head sinking into the comfort of my finest pillows. 

The room was just as I had left it: wardrobe filled with gowns, chest heavy with perfumes and trinkets, the desk scattered with notes from long hours of study.

For a breathless moment, I wondered if I had dreamt it all—the tower, Dove and Dragon, Toothless, the Red Death. Some strange, terrible, wonderful vision.

Then the door creaked open. Fishlegs stepped inside, balancing a tray with my favorite tea set and a plate of biscuits.

We blinked at each other.

The tray hit the floor, shattering into porcelain shards.

“Fishlegs!” I cried. “That was my favorite—”

“Imka!” he interrupted, barreling across the room and sweeping me into a crushing hug. “You’re awake! You’re actually awake! You’ve been out for days!”

“Days?!” I wheezed, fighting for air.

“Oops.” He released me quickly, dragging a stool to the bedside. “Remember? The fight with the dragon… and Astrid pulling you out of the tower?”

“So it wasn’t a dream,” I murmured, touching my temple. My gaze drifted to the ocean outside, waves stirring in the ship’s wake, the sound of our doves chirping as they zoomed past. Only to be followed by dragons.

I rubbed my eyes, “Where is everyone else, then?”

“If you mean the rest of us, the twins have been up on deck playing pirates for days now. Snotlout’s basically moved into the kitchen; I swear your ship has an infinite pantry.” Fishlegs laughed, the sound easing something in my chest.

“Astrid and I have been taking turns sitting with you—well, us and your father’s crew. And Hiccup…” Fishlegs’ voice softened. “He’s been asleep ever since. He’s alive, but… they had to amputate his leg after everything. We’ll have to wait before we can make him a new one. Because, well—your ship has everything except a forge.”

I tried for a smile. “If we did, it’d be a fire hazard waiting to burn us all up.” I paused. “Too soon for a burning joke?”

He winced. “Maybe.”

“What about Toothless?” I asked, “I last saw him plummeting into the —”

My answer arrived in the form of chaos itself: a black blur bounding into the room, skidding across the polished wood like my old greyhound Max on a slick floor, crashing into the wardrobe, then shoving a wet snout against me.

“Toothless!” I laughed, throwing my arms around him as he smothered me in slobber. “Hey—yuck!”

Fishlegs grinned, scratching the Nightfury’s neck. “Most of the dragons are trailing us back to Berk. Actually, most of the village made it home already—on their newly trained dragons.”

My eyes went wide. “Newly trained?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’ of the word. “Astrid, me, everyone we kind of… uh, passed down what Hiccup told us about training them. He taught us before we left for the isle, you see.”

“Oh.” I blinked, only half-listening as Toothless tried to groom me by dragging his tongue through my hair. “Oh… and how did my father and the chief react?”

Fishlegs shrugged. “Honestly? Better than expected. Hard to argue when the only reason we’re alive is because of them. Still—they both wanted to speak with you. They’re waiting on deck, if you’re up for it. No rush. You did just wake up.”

A thousand things spun in my mind at that moment. All those strings still left hanging, all the information I knew that’d yet to reach them. Immediately, my brain kicked into gear and I knew I needed to get back to work.

“I’m well enough,” I said, frowning as Toothless smeared another long stripe of slobber across my cheek. “I have a lot I need to tell them. Can you grab my satchel?”

“’Course,” Fishlegs chirped, his easy cheer tugging me out of my own heaviness.

I nudged Toothless back with a soft scold, laughing at how unbearably ticklish his licking had become. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of both—the good one and the bandaged one. My stomach twisted, but I pushed through, slipping into the boots waiting neatly at the foot of the bed. Toothless was already braced at my side, ready to steady me.

Fishlegs returned with my satchel, fastening it to Toothless’ saddle. My eye caught on the glint of the dead princess’s crown peeking from inside. 

Definitely not a dream, then. Every moment of it—terrible, miraculous—had been real. And we survived.

With Toothless flanking me on one side and Fishlegs on the other, I hobbled across the room, stepping gingerly past the wreckage of my once-beloved tea set. (I hardly cared now; I was alive, and whole enough, and that was miracle enough.)

The grand hall opened before us, the belly of the galleon. My father’s ship housed many rooms for both his guests and employees, multiple kitchens and storerooms to suit all our needs. Amongst the many doors shut, one was left ajar. I glimpsed Astrid inside, slumped half-asleep on a stool beside a grand bed. A small body lay there.

Hiccup.

I smiled softly, happy he was here and alive. I’d check on him later, I had work to attend to first.

We climbed the stairs slowly, the two of them steadying me step by step. And then it hit: the rush of salty air filling my lungs, the lull of waves crashing against the hull, the familiar hymn of home. Above, the silver masts stretched like sheets pinned out to dry in the sun. Around us, my father’s crew moved with quiet purpose, tending ropes, nursing fresh cuts and bandages—but nothing dire.

The moment they saw me, a ripple went through them. Greetings, blessings for my health. Soft smiles. Many of them had known me since I was a child, and their gazes said it all: they were relieved I was still here.

Clambering up the rigging, the twins appeared—Tuffnut and Ruffnut, both armed with stolen swords and ridiculous hats, shrieking with glee as they dueled midair. Their parents sat perched on the beam of the second mast, egging them on, playing pirates right alongside their children.

“Imka!” Ruffnut cheered, waving her sword around as it glinted in the bright sun. “You’re awake!”

“Yo-ho!” Tuffnut swung down on a rope, pointing his sword directly at us. “That’s pirate for I’m glad you’re awake, by the way.”

“Wait, wait!” Ruffnut called, hopping on one leg, trying to get one boot off, “You still haven’t gotten the boot for ditching us!”

Their parents waved at us, each with a silly eyepatch, a few cuts and bandages, but nothing dire.

I waved back, “Please tell your daughter she can hit me with her boot after I say hello to my father!”

“You heard her!” Ragnut barked and the boot hit him square in the face instead. I paled at the sight, half-expecting the Thorstons to explode in anger, but Brilda Thorston only laughed as her husband plummeted to the ground.

“Dad!” Tuffnut cried, bounding off to his father’s side. “You didn’t tell me we could dive from the masts!”

“Alright,” Fishlegs balked, hands on my shoulders, leading me elsewhere. “Let’s go find some… uh, more sane company.”

Nearby, Snotlout and Spitelout lounged with plates of expensive dried fruit pilfered from my father’s stores, laughing too loudly, trading stories with the sailors and Vikings who humored them.

“Imka!” Snotlout waved five stripes of dried fruit rolls around, “You’re awake!”

“What’s in this stuff, lass?” Spitelout cried, indulging himself in another stripe happily. “Does your family sell it? Tell me how much, I’ll buy the whole stock!”

I gave them the number.

The two paled.

“... Dad, I think we need to put these away.”

“... Aye.”

“Just eat it,” I laughed. “It’s for free, consider it as much for helping save me!”

Spitelout eyed his son, “You saved her? I thought Astrid was the one who did it.”

“Oh no, Snotlout definitely had a hand in it.” I smiled, throwing him a wink, “He helped me stay awake all the way flight down!”

And it wasn’t a lie, technically. He did tell me to stay awake.

Snotlout paused, blinking in bewilderment, before a slow smile curled on his lips, full of knowing. “Tell me what happened to you on that tower, I promise you we’ll go back and kick whoever kidnapped you in the butt later!”

Dove.

I mustered a smile, “I’ll tell you all about it another time.”

Just before Snotlout answered, his father grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled his hair. The proudest he’d been, the happiest he’d looked, and Snotlout melted. I made special note of this, from that moment forward I’d always mention Snotlout involvement in any rescue of me.

And then—away from the noise and games—I saw them. My father, Stoick, and Gobber stood together at the upper deck, gathered around a table, their heads bent low. Secluded, high enough to avoid unwanted eavesdroppers. Busy. Plotting something.

Their next move, I guessed. How to explain all this to the mainland. What to reveal, what to conceal. What story the world would be told.

This meant I’d need to go up alone, the railing up the stairs would be enough for me to use. I told Fishlegs as much, but Toothless insisted on going with me. I figured it’d be fine, he was, after all, as big a part of our secrets now as any. 

Thanking my friend, I perched atop Toothless’ back, still side-saddled, and rode him on the way up.

Just as the three men were about to complain about Toothless bothering them, I reared my head around the corner and waved meekly.

“Hello.”

“Lass!” Gobber boomed, practically leaping to his feet. “Oh, you’re finally awake—come here and let me get a look at you—”

He was the first to barrel into my space, fussing over my bandaged leg and poking at my arms like a mother hen.

And me? I was just glad. Glad for the sun on my skin. Glad my clothes and hair were drying at last (though Toothless’ slobber still clung stubbornly to me). Glad for the sea stretching wide on all sides. Most of all—glad everyone I loved was here. Alive.

Stoick and my father both stood a few steps back, staring at me as if I were a ghost. Then, slowly, they approached—one warm hand cupping my cheek, the other resting gently atop my head.

“Welcome back,” my father murmured. He bent to kiss my cheek—then promptly gagged at the taste of Toothless’ slobber. “Ugh! Toothless! She’s a lady, you can’t keep her covered in slime!”

The dragon cooed guiltily, ears flat, before leaning in and giving my father a long, wet stripe across his scarred face.

My father froze, affronted… then sagged with a groan. “You’re just like Max. Oh my goodness, I can’t resist that face—”

Stoick laughed, before lifting me up from Toothless’ back. Most surprisingly, he pulled me into a hug.

“Welcome back indeed,” he said. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, ducking my head. Embarrassment, guilt—they all blended into the same thing now.

“Stop apologizing,” Stoick groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face as he pulled up a chair for me. “Actually—you know what? Forget I even said that. I cannot take it when you Mariuses apologize over everything.”

My father chuckled—only to yelp when Toothless snagged his cloak, tugging it like a chew toy. “Hey—hey! That’s expensive!”

“How are you still apologizing when none of this is your fault? Unless you asked to get kidnapped, which I doubt.” Gobber shook his head as he hauled up a chair, plopping down beside Stoick. “As blockheaded as the last one. Your father’s no better—he kept apologizing to us after we dragged everyone onto his galleon. Dunderheaded, the pair of you.”

“Must you two insult me on my own ship?!” my father groaned from the deck, currently pinned by Toothless, who insisted on grooming him with generous amounts of slobber.

Gobber only shrugged. “A beautiful ship, mind you. Why don’t you ever dock it at Berk?”

“And risk it getting set on fire?!”

Overhead came the beat of wings. Astrid’s Deadly Nadder alighted first, followed by Snotlout’s Nightmare, the twins’ Zippleback, and Fishlegs’ Gronkle. Each carried passengers—Astrid’s parents, a handful of vikings, and, to my surprise, some of our own physicians and cooks. Apparently, they’d all gone for a joyride through the skies.

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about docking at Berk ever again,” Stoick said with a smile. “Many things have changed.”

“Aye, they have,” Gobber agreed, softer now.

I glanced back to where Toothless was still roughhousing with my father, batting at his face like an oversized cat. It hit me then—this was real. My father, playing with a dragon. Or rather, being played with by a dragon. He didn’t exactly fight it off, either. Maybe he found it fun, though he’d never admit as much.

“Toothless,” I called gently. “Leave my father alone, I think he wants to talk to us about something.”

The dragon paused, then, with impeccable timing, my father bolted upright and darted to sit beside Stoick—read: hide behind him.

“Why don’t you keep Hiccup company?” I smiled. “I’ll join you later.”

With a pleased trill, Toothless leapt from the railing—startling a crowd below—before bounding off down the stairs, vanishing deeper into the ship.

“So he listens to you.” My father sighed, still swiping at the slobber streaked across his tunic.

“He understands language,” I explained, rummaging through my satchel. “The Northern Tongue — what we’re speaking now. Frisian, Latin, even Wessex’s Englisc. Oh, but not Arabic.”

“Hold on.” Gobber lifted his hooked arm like a stop sign. “You’re telling us a dragon is a learned creature? I’ve swallowed that they can be companions, sure. But understanding not just us, but mainland tongues too?”

My father didn’t look skeptical — just intent, weighing my words. “This ties back to what you uncovered in that tower on the isle, doesn’t it?”

I nodded and laid everything on the table: the dead princess’s diary, her crown, my stack of notes and translations. All three men leaned closer. My father touched the diary first, brushing the brittle ink with his fingertips, lips moving as he skimmed the Latin. To my faint surprise, Stoick’s lips were moving too — reading along just as easily.

“What does it say?” Gobber asked, curiosity rasping in his voice.

“I think it’s better if Imka tells us,” my father said softly. He tapped the diary, then pushed it back toward me, his gaze steady.

“Lass?” Stoick prompted.

“It’s… a long story,” I admitted, rubbing my arm.

“We’ve still got a few hours before Berk,” Gobber said, already reaching for a pitcher and four glasses. “Plenty of time.”

I drew the book, my notes, and the crown close. My eyes traced the lines I’d translated, a portion of them seemed to beckon to me, haunting and somber: 

“... perhaps if only we’d reached out across the horizon, in search of other people, instead of staying isolated here, we’d have a chance. We’d have developed boats stronger to get us away…”

A dead people’s story. And somehow, I was the only one alive who knew it. The only one who could carry their voice across the horizon, back to the mainland.

If Astrid was the princess, and Hiccup the Red Death, then what did that make me?

The answer felt heavy, certain.

The wish they had written, the one they’d left behind.

A bridge, and the water. Just like this ship built of wood, just like the ocean I’d sailed since childhood. Prophetic, in its way. And I had been fulfilling it long before I ever knew it—not to save the Isle of Tomorrow, but to keep it from ever being born again.

I could already see where this was headed: dragons accepted by Berk, and with them all the dangers waiting in the shadows. Some would come from within, from the archipelago itself. Others, far more dangerous, would come from the mainland.

Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it, as the famous saying goes. 

I guess I was going to try my hand at being a hero then, the hard way.

It was a long one, and I had to explain what Dragonese might be — how it was another name for the mother of all languages. Scholars on the mainland, Clotide and Khalid among them, had argued endlessly over what to call it, never reaching a final word. For now, Dragonese would have to do.

So many of our tongues seemed to branch from it. No wonder dragons could half-understand us. If we used Dragonese — their true language — perhaps we might be more than companions. Perhaps we could unlock mysteries still unsolved: Who were the people of Tomorrow, beyond their arrogance? How had they arrived on that isle? How had they befriended dragons? And why, of all creatures, had they listened to doves — the way Dove had once listened to Dragon?

That last question drew an uneasy glance between the three men before my father spoke.

“...We’ve cared for those doves since they were hatchlings. And you said the one called Dragon conversed with Dove, yes?”

I nodded.

My father shared another thoughtful look with his friends. “If Dragonese is truly the mother of all languages — strange name or not — then perhaps animals understand far more than we credit them. Max understands you. Your parakeet, Richard, repeats words and even holds little conversations. Phillipe, your horse, obeys commands as if he understands the sense behind them—”

I froze, blood draining from my face at the implications. Gobber and Stoick looked no less rattled.

“Didn’t you and Hiccup have a hobby of saving baby birds as kids?” Gobber asked.

Mute, I nodded again.

“Wouldn’t be crazy to think they’ve spoken with dragons too.” He rubbed his chin, eyes darting away as if the thought unsettled him. “...I am never calling a bird stupid again.”

“A whole language,” Stoick murmured, wide-eyed as he looked to my father. Then, with a helpless shrug, he added, “Guess it was a good idea to let those two frolic in the forest as children.”

Though only a theory, it made an almost frightening sense. Animals obeyed, responded, even seemed to converse when spoken to. Of course they didn’t speak like we did. Nevertheless, no matter the tongue — Northern, Frisian, Englisc — they found a way to understand. Could it be that this mother language was a tongue all creatures once shared, spoken since time immemorial? A river-source of meaning we humans had long since drifted away from?

Could it be, then, that the doves—knowing who had raised them since birth—spoke of it? That the fledglings of Berk, remembering their saviors, carried word to the dragons? Was that why Toothless spared Hiccup and me in the clearing? Because he already knew? Because some bird, or some other creature we once showed mercy to, had told him?

Androcles and the Lion. The fable, closing its circle. An act of mercy repaid.

The conversation carried late into the evening, our voices softening to murmurs as the ship pressed on. And then, just as my words dwindled, a cry rang from below:

“Land! Land in sight!”

Normally, my father would have been the first to bark orders, but his face stayed shadowed, heavy with something even the candlelight couldn’t burn away. It wasn’t the plan—he, Stoick, and Gobber had already walked me through it.

First, we’d extend our stay on Berk for two more weeks. After docking and settling, my father, his men, and a handful of Vikings would sail back to the Isle of Tomorrow to skin the Red Death. 

Its hide, its bones—the spoils of a tyrant slain. Proof that a single monster had driven the southern flights. Proof that it was destroyed. Proof that Berk—and Berk’s heir—had not only felled it, but mastered its kind. 

My family’s hand in that victory would not be forgotten. And none of it was even a lie.

The spoils would then be parceled out, trophies and tokens for the courts and tribes. A Titan Wing’s hide, its very bones—no lord could ignore such gifts. Berk’s reputation would be carved in stone: they had stopped dragons, they had tamed dragons, they could keep the South safe from dragons. 

Peacefully, of course, sworn never to turn that strength against the mainland. My father and I—his face newly scarred, my leg still marked—would return with no weapons and no beasts of conquest. Evidence enough.

Furthermore, the diary I brought would be key to convincing them to continue helping Berk — what else did this Isle of Tomorrow hold? What other monsters could exist? It made mention of a Green Death, so perhaps other Deaths existed that needed to be killed, contained, or tamed. Who better for the job than Berk and its new riders?

It would also be great motivation to conduct a research program, fully funded by two empires and multiple tribes, into the history of Tomorrow. To figure out how exactly the great Wilderwest came to be, and why no empire nor tribe had ever heard of it before.

On paper, the plan was ironclad. Each of us were as surprised as the other with how neatly, how perfect everything seemed to tie in. 

Divine plan—

Yeah I wasn’t going to entertain that right now.

At the end of it, my father sat in silence, unsettled more than any of us.

“Gobber,” Stoick murmured, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We should help man the ship, make sure we get to shore safely, hm?”

“Right.” Gobber cleared his throat, nodding to Lucian, “Would that be alright?”

My father nodded, mustering a small smile, “That would be good. Thank you.”

When they’d finally left me and him alone, a strange quietness settled over us. I wondered what he’d say. Maybe he was still mad at me for having lied to him. Perhaps we were finally going to pick-up where we’d left off, right before I was kidnapped from Berk.

“Dad?”

“I should have never brought you here.”

The words sliced clean through me. My chest constricted, guilt coiling like a snake in my gut. I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew I was in for it now.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You’re sorry?” His voice cracked sharp with exasperation, teetering at the edge of anger.

Below, I could hear the bustle of the docks, the shuffle of feet, the squeals of doves released to wheel among the dragons. Life went on as my world narrowed.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you—no, that’s a lie too. I did. I absolutely did.” I buried my face in my hands. “I just didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to tell you about Toothless, and Hiccup, and me and—”

“That’s not why I’m angry, Imka.”

My head shot up. His eyes were red-rimmed, wet with exhaustion and grief.

“What?”

He tipped his head back, staring at the sky as though it could carry the weight for him. “What kind of father would I be if I raged at you over that? After everything? I knew something was amiss the moment I returned and heard everyone praising Hiccup as some dragon master. We’ve given the boy years and he has never changed, why would it change now?”

Bewildered, I watched him pace, hands dragging through his hair, muttering.

“I’ve known that boy since he was born. I changed his undergarments as a babe, for goodness sake. I once watched him bolt bare-bottomed into the woods because it was my turn to mind him while Stoick mourned Valka!” He cried out, the wind fortunately muffling him so nobody else could hear. “Gisela had my head for that!”

The image hit me at once, absurd and vivid, and I had to bite back laughter. I remembered that day far too well.

“Of course I knew something was wrong—I knew you were lying. I knew he was lying, too!” My father threw his hands up before dragging a chair closer, sitting so near I could feel the tremor in his breath. “I am not angry because you lied. I told you—I forgive you. And I forgive Hiccup as well.”

I steadied myself, searching his face. “Then… why are you mad?”

“I am not mad at you, my dear daughter,” he whispered. His shoulders shook as he lifted his hands to cradle my face. “I am mad at the world. At the circumstances. At the very fact that you are being made into some wish, some prophecy dreamt up by dead fools too blind to care for one poor dragon. Too blind to reach out, to ask for help, too arrogant!”

He sucked in a shuddering breath, and for a moment I saw my own grief over Tomorrow mirrored back at me in his eyes.

Lucian Marius sucked in a breath, the anguish I felt over Tomorrow reflected in him.

“Is it so wrong to care for my daughter? To want to keep you safe as long as I can?” Lucian’s voice broke, tears spilling. “How I wish I could take you away from all of this—to some forgotten corner of the world, southeast of the continent, where reality can’t reach us.” 

A beat passed.

“Where the only concern is what we’ll eat for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Where the hardest thing you’d face would be learning. Books, stupid frustrating professors and scholars, or maybe field research and failed experiments —” His hands slipped from my face, curling into fists. “But I cannot. Would that I were stronger. Would that I had enough power, enough wealth, enough influence to spirit you away. But I don’t. Duty binds us here.”

He paused, shoulders quaking as he bowed his head.

“I have so little that is truly mine. I may command ships, I may hold wealth beyond counting, I may walk through halls of stone and gold—yet none of it belongs to me. None of it was ever for me. None, except for my family, my children.”

His trembling hand cupped my cheek, his eyes fixed on me as if I were already fading, a ghost about to slip away.

“And even you, I know I must one day surrender you—first as an heir to this family, offered up to the South like a bargaining chip. Then as a bride to some man. And now, as if that were not enough, the world itself would demand you of me—as payment for a prophecy, for the ghosts of a kingdom long turned to dust. No fault of our own, mind you.”

His voice broke, all composure gone.

“They ask for everything,” he rasped. “They tear us apart and still demand more.”

Tears ran freely down his face as he choked, “Can I have nothing? Can I have no one?”

I threw my arms around him, clinging to him as if I could hold his grief at bay. In that moment, I saw it clear—how alike we were, he and I. Both of us haunted by the lives we wished for, the lives denied to us. No one knew that ache better than my father.

“You have me now,” I sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m sorry—for worrying you, for everything. I love you, Dad. I love you.”

His arms tightened around me, trembling with the force of his grief. “And I love you,” he wept, his voice breaking. “Oh, my daughter… you are always forgiven in my eyes. You have nothing to be sorry for anymore. Nothing.”

It’d been a few days since we landed and Hiccup still hadn’t woken up yet.

I visited his room often, and by that I mean almost every hour I was there with Toothless. 

My leg had healed up well enough that I could walk alone, though sometimes Toothless had to help me too.

Every day, Stoick, my father, or I would bring a cup of spiced berry tea, hoping the smell would rouse him awake. Other times, Astrid and the others would take turns visiting. Sometimes we’d just talk to each other in his room, fiddling with his things, reading the fable books, hoping he’d catch us, get mad, join in. 

Do something, anything.

He never stirred, yet still everyone clung to hope.

When they weren’t hovering over Hiccup, they were hovering over me—plus their dragons. Every time I so much as tried to slip out for air, someone was waiting, either right outside the chief’s house or sprawled in the living room. Everyone wanted to catch up, to hear what had happened. With my father’s permission, I told them about the tower.

Most nights this unfolded over dinners with Snotlout in his home, though I’d occasionally invite them to crowd the floor of my room. I didn’t dare risk Hiccup overhearing; if he woke mid-story, he’d probably keel over from a heart attack at how absurd it all sounded.

In fact, it was so absurd that the twins, who were usually happy to joke and fling food, sat solemnly as they heard the tale.

“That’s… awful,” Ruffnut muttered, shredding a loaf of bread between her fingers. “And all those skeletons? How many were there?”

“I didn’t count,” I said softly, handing Snotlout a second bowl of stew. “But the tower alone… maybe half of Berk’s population, give or take. Astrid and I flew higher and saw the rest of the capital. I can’t even imagine how many people once lived there.”

“Are we ever going back?” Fishlegs asked, voice small. He was the least hungry of us all, his stew untouched.

“No way!” Tuffnut barked, ripping into his food. He hesitated, then added, “…Right?”

I grimaced. “Depends. If I really was the one they called—”

“You can always say no,” Astrid cut in, stirring her stew without eating it. “There’s nothing wrong with saying no.”

“Not sure that’s how prophecies work.” I pressed my lips together, sipping spiced berry tea. “But I don’t want to be apathetic. I don’t want to turn out like them.”

“Please. You’re the one who cares the most,” Snotlout scoffed. He drained his mug and shoved it forward for a refill, hungrier than any of us.

“Well, I’m not alone anymore.” Smiling, I poured him more tea. “All of you heard the story. Which means you’re just as involved as I am now.”

Snotlout groaned, muttered a begrudging “thanks,” and downed it again.

“Yeah, if you’re going back there, we’re not letting you go alone.” Ruffnut scoffed, leaning back against the bedframe. “Not ditching us again.”

“Fine, but for the record, ditching doesn’t count when I have to get back to the mainland,” I said, raising both hands in surrender. “Also, I didn’t mean to ditch you when I got kidnapped.”

A pause.

I winced. “Too soon?”

“You have the worst timing,” Fishlegs deadpanned.

With a week gone by, I knew it was only a matter of time before my father returned with his galleon. We’d need to sail soon, before winter made the seas even more treacherous. Supplies were thinning, and we’d already sacrificed more than enough—for Berk, for the battle on the Isle of Tomorrow.

At the very least, I’d grown closer to Toothless and the others. Every day I spent time with him outside, easing the village into the idea of a Night Fury in their midst. Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, and the twins all did their part too. With Astrid leading the charge, Hiccup’s impossible dream—of a Berk where dragons thrived alongside us—took its first root.

The Earth was where the sky of dreams could take root, after all.

Again, she was the Earth that housed life. Hiccup was the sky. Toothless was the lightning that could only be found in that sky. And I was the water—the ocean—binding them together, carrying their reflections, joining earth and sky and every living thing between. Especially our newfound friends, who seemed like the very embodiment of all the world’s bright, sprawling creatures. Each one unique, each one special.

Maybe it was indulgent, a little too poetic. But after everything I’d lived through, surely I was allowed to believe we were meant to find each other.

With Astrid at the front, convincing people, I handled the semantics for how exactly we were going to ensure the dragons could stay here. Luckily, my bestiary had the clues we needed. Dragons were a lot more similar to the animals we knew.

Nadders, like oversized parakeets, craved high perches to roost and had their favorite foods. Monstrous Nightmares were trickier, but I offered what I thought Dove would have wanted — plain grilled fish, a warm fire to stretch out beside, and more affection than any creature could possibly need.

Snotlout’s Hookfang got all of that too… except the kisses. Those two preferred to wrestle, to bruise each other in their own brutish language of loyalty. Still, whenever no one was looking, I pressed quiet kisses to Hookfang’s snout. Too much of Dove lived in him and in every Nightmare I saw—too much for me not to smother each one in as much love as possible. 

That secret tether bound Snotlout and me together, more than either of us would admit.

And on it went, one dragon after another, until the island itself seemed transformed. Hiccup’s dream—his impossible vision—finally rooted itself here. He had been right all along: the sky was never too far, the future never too unreachable. Again and again he proved there was another way forward. Another way besides bloodshed.

I owed him everything for this. Strength filled me whenever I saw him laying in his bed, still alive, still fighting to one day wake up. 

Even if I wouldn’t be around when he woke up, I’d still return to the mainland with my head held high. I’d fight, I would never back down. I survived the tower, I survived all this — I’d survive the empires and tribes, too.

At last, setting aside the bowl of One Horizon’s Stew, I pushed to my feet. My joints cracked in protest after so many hours coaxing spoonfuls past his lips—the only thing soft enough for him to swallow.

Toothless came in next, slipping through the door to his room with a soft trill, as if to ask: Is he awake?

Well, ‘as if to ask’ was not the right set of words. He was, in fact, asking exactly that question. 

In my free time, I’d taken to piecing together bits and pieces of Dragonese. I attempted to find similarities between all the other languages I knew, then reconstruct them. 

‘So h₁ésti wéǵʰos?’ or ‘Is he awake?’ was a common phrase Toothless used, though his pronunciation was hidden deep with trills and groans. In human speech, it would sound something like: “so EH-sti WEH-gyh-oss?”

Strange? Yes, very strange.

I’d learned to answer with né, né h₁énǵʰu—no, not yet. When tired, a single né sufficed. But in secret, I longed for the opposite reply: éi, so h₁ésti wéǵʰos!—yes, he’s awake! 

Even the short éi would have been enough.

So when I reached the foot of the stairs and Toothless suddenly trilled it—loud, unrestrained, jubilant—“Éi! Éi!”—my heart nearly stopped.

I thundered up the stairs and pressed the door open—softly, cautiously—my eye peeking in first, almost afraid to disturb what I might find.

There he was. Awake.

Legs swung over the side of the bed, looking down in somber realization that he’d lost his leg — replaced by a prosthetic. Then Toothless nudged his side, and Hiccup let out a sigh, leaning into him like a boy anchoring himself to shore.

“So we’re both alive,” he murmured—relieved, but wistful. “Two out of three, huh?”

Plummeting into that fire, he probably thought Toothless would die, then himself, and then — surely — also believed I was dead too, way before either of them.

I slipped fully into the room, my steps quiet, my back pressed against the doorframe. He looked up, first at Toothless, then at me. His breath hitched. He froze—pale as a sail in moonlight—like he’d seen a ghost.

Maybe I looked the same.

“Imka?” His voice cracked, disbelieving.

“Hiccup.” My lips curled into a trembling smile as I took a step closer.

Toothless’ eyes widened, gleaming with pure joy, his body angling to nudge us together.

“Are we sure we aren’t dead?” Hiccup asked—half to his dragon, half to me.

I reached for his hands, grounding us both. “Nope. Very much alive.”

And then—without hesitation—he tore his arms free only to fling them around my neck. He stumbled, still uneasy on his new leg, but I helped steady him all the same.

I laughed, the final missing piece of my relief now holding me tightly, laughing alongside me.

“You’re alive!” he cried.

“You’re alive!” I cried back, releasing the two of us so I could get a good look at him. Still a couple of cuts on his face, but nothing too major. “Oh so much has happened, and there’s so much — so much to tell you.”

“What happened to you?” he asked, gripping my arms. “Everyone said a wolf got you, then a dragon, and you were —”

“Later.” I pressed, moving so Toothless could hoist him down the stairs. “There’s so much to show you first.”

He tilted his head, “Show me?”

I smiled, rushing toward the door, and pushed it wide open. 

Outside was not the dark flooded stairs of that tower, nor the sulphur scented cavern, but all of Berk. 

Fresh air, the sun beaming down, the blue sky, the even bluer ocean before us. Then the face of Hookfang, smiling his toothy grin at us, a warbled ‘Hello!’ in, if I were to hazard a guess, Dragonese.

“Imka! Wait, there’s a —” Hiccup rushed forward, trying to shut the door, trying to protect me.

I put a hand to his chest and laughed, there was no need for that here. “Don’t you remember? That’s Hookfang! Snotlout’s new dragon!”

“Wait, what?”

“Come look.” I tugged his hand, bringing him out to the world, just as he had with me in the forest when we were kids.

Snotlout, riding on Hookfang’s back, zoomed past as other vikings on their own dragons followed behind. They laughed, loose and free, happy with gentle and excited smiles. 

Below the hill, the curved braziers had been repurposed to be feeding bins for dragons. Fish piled high, vikings pouring bucket after bucket of food. Monuments were built for Nadders to roost on, just like birds. And small homes were in the works to be constructed, specifically built for Monstrous Nightmares.

To the left, the twins were playing ‘jump the rooftops’ with their Zippleback, Barf and Belch. Nearby, Fishlegs was riding on the back of his Gronkle, Meatlug, with a couple of kids. In the distance, Astrid was making her patrol with her Nadder, aptly named Stormfly.

Beside me, Hiccup’s fingers tightened around mine, his eyes fixed on this new world. 

I watched as those green eyes flickered left and right, overwhelmed by what he was seeing. Then, as if things couldn’t get any better, I spotted my father’s galleon docked at the bay — its tall, silver mast stretching so high you could see it even from the chief’s home. 

Then up the hill came Stoick, my father, and Gobber.

The minute their weary faces saw Hiccup, standing upright and awake, they bounded up toward us. Stoick was the first to rush forward, calling out his son’s name, the happiest he’d looked in days. Gobber came soon after and my father, always the least athletic out of the three, followed behind. 

I stepped aside with a smile, knowing what came next.

Immediately they swept him in their arms, cheering and calling his name.

“You’re awake!”

“I knew he’d pull through!”

“My boy, my boy’s up!”

“Hey!” Hiccup yelped, laughing even as he was nearly crushed in the hug. “Okay—okay, hugging me a bit tight here! I can’t believe this— I knew it, I’m dead!”

Stoick laughed, finally releasing his son. “No, but you gave it your best shot.”

Gobber and my father stepped aside toward the door where Toothless and I stood. Both wrapped their arms around me in turn—before Toothless nudged his way in, determined not to be left out. The four of us laughed, and I pressed a kiss to his snout, the dragon trilling in so much joy. 

Of course he did, he understood everything we were saying. He knew full well how much we all yearned to see this.

Stoick slung an arm over Hiccup’s shoulder, steering him forward. “So. What do you think?”

We followed behind, watching as Hiccup, after everything, finally stepped into the true spotlight. The people of Berk turned to him not with anger, not with frustration—but with relief. With celebration. The way we had always seen him, in our own ways.

They surged upward to greet him: the hero who had saved Berk from the Red Death. The boy who hadn’t run away but charged straight into the storm. The weakest, the least likely—now raised the highest, atop this hill, atop the strife we all thought would claim him.

Toothless tugged the hem of my dress, pulling me forward so I stood beside Hiccup. Ever the showman, he wasn’t about to bask in the glory alone—and maybe he thought I needed the reminder that I was still part of it too.

Though, for all intents and purposes, I was more the damsel in distress than any hero. The latter would come later.

And like any damsel, my knight—well, valkyrie, in this case—came swooping down on her shining steed of brilliant blue.

Astrid leapt from Stormfly’s back and beelined straight for us, stopping short as her eyes fell on Hiccup. She had been as steadfast in caring for him as she had been for me on the ship. Our Earth, the grounding force whenever Hiccup and I let our heads drift too far into the clouds.

It was she, after all, who had convinced everyone to accept dragons. While I had been too busy watching over him—coddling him, if I’m honest—Astrid had been the one who held the line.

She stepped toward Hiccup, looking just as pale as he and I had when we first saw each other alive again. Hiccup, for his part, looked awkward, caught between gratitude and disbelief.

“Turns out all we needed was a little more of…” Stoick beamed down at his son, pride and love written all over him—always there, now laid bare. He gestured broadly. “This.”

“You just gestured to all of me,” Hiccup said, tilting his head, still trying to keep it light. The softness in his voice betrayed him.

“Well—most of you.” Gobber cut in, one arm slung around my father, both of them grinning ear to ear. He tapped the new prosthetic. “That bit’s my handiwork. With some fine materials from Trader Marius here—and all the Hiccup flair we could cram into it!”

“I did try to tell him to wait until we got feedback from the mainland inventors,” my father admitted with a helpless shrug, though his eyes shone with pride. “Think it’ll do for now?”

“I might make a few tweaks,” Hiccup smirked, swinging the leg gently side to side.

The laughter that followed was sharp with relief—he was alive, humor intact, the same Hiccup they knew.

“I told you,” I chimed in, unable to help myself. “You are exactly what the world needs, even when it insists otherwise.”

Hiccup caught my fingers, his grip almost trembling. He sucked in a deep breath, chest tightening under the weight of so much attention—so much love. Love he’d been starving for all along, and now, at last, it was his.

Which, of course, was Astrid’s cue to sock him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” he yelped, whipping his head toward her.

“That’s for scaring me,” she snapped, brows knitted.

“Astrid,” I scolded, reaching out to catch her hand. “No more hitting people.”

She rolled her eyes—and then feinted toward me. I braced for it, knowing what came next. Instead of a punch, she curled her fingers and flicked my nose.

“Ouch,” I laughed, playing along.

“And that’s,” she grinned, “for everything else.”

Hiccup’s eyes shifted between the two of us, some old memory flickering in the green of them. I felt it too—back when we were children, crammed into Astrid’s room, hiding while our parents tended Stoick. The three of us once a single unit, now—after everything—together again.

Toothless nosed at our sides, and a laugh escaped me.

Four.

Then came Snotlout, the twins, and Fishlegs, barreling into us in a noisy tangle. More laughter.

Seven. Eight. Nine—more, if you counted their dragons.

My gaze stretched farther: the people of Berk, my father’s crew—no longer confined to our lonely island but safe here, standing among us. All of them had survived.

Then, the dragons. The swarms that had fled the Isle of Tomorrow, finding a new home here. And above them still, wheeling from the cliffside, the doves from my father’s galleon.

Hundreds. Thousands.

The war with dragons was over. Here we stood—hundreds gathered into a single world where human and dragon could coexist, where all creation seemed to breathe together. And in that moment, hope pressed sharp and sweet in my chest. Another impossible dream formed: that perhaps even the mainland might change.

Breaking me out of my reverie, came Hiccup’s tug again. In his arms he was carrying what looked to be the new saddle Gobber had invented with my father’s help. The tailfin was red and had the distinct insignia of the Red Death upon it, my father’s idea. He said it would be befitting, then, for Hiccup to fly alongside what could have been him. What he had defied by making the right choice, instead of the easy one.

Toothless nudged me again as Hiccup’s grin split wide.

“Ready for a test drive?”

“With me?” I tilted my head.

“Who better?” he said, fastening the new saddle into place. “Besides—you don’t even have a dragon yet.”

“Go on,” my father urged, pressing a kiss to my temple. “It seems there’s no safer place to be than on Toothless’ back.”

I smiled, nodding, that much was true. Even when surrounded by fire and death, Toothless was the one to pull Hiccup into his arms, to safety. The loyalty of this Nightfury knew no bounds.

He nudged his snout at me.

So was his great love, his great empathy, and capacity to understand.

I climbed onto his back, seating myself just as I had the first time Hiccup took me to the skies. Astrid swung astride Stormfly, the others mounted their dragons, and with a single leap we were aloft.

We streaked through the air like a flock of multicolored crows, speckling the blue sky with every shade imaginable. Below us, the sea mirrored the rainbow of wings, while behind trailed the river of doves in our wake.

We wove between sea stacks and skimmed the ocean, close enough for me to drag my hand across its rushing surface. When I glanced down, reflections stared back—our faces lit with freedom and joy. Beside me, Hiccup’s gaze fixed on the horizon, then flicked my way. His arm held steady around my waist—not trembling anymore. As if, at last, he believed this was always how things were meant to be.

Above us, Astrid laughed, her ribbons streaming wild through her braids. She was beautiful, free—and I knew tonight I’d tell her everything. First, my father and Stoick. They would understand. After all, she had been the one to pull me out of that tower. Berk was proud of her for it.

And Hiccup—he’d want her to know, too. I saw it in the way he watched us, his eyes bright with that unspoken truth.

“Someone new to suffer with us,” I teased, skimming the water again with my fingertips.

“Or to celebrate,” he said softly. “I think we’ve had enough suffering for now.”

Toothless trilled his agreement.

I smiled, letting the wind rush against me.

“I’d say we’ve earned our happy ending.”

As predicted, my father agreed, and that evening Hiccup and I were holed up in his room, debriefing Astrid on everything. I’d dragged out our treaties and documents, scattering them across the floor, while Hiccup launched into explanation after explanation. Rugs and cushions from the mainland softened every surface, three mugs of spiced berry tea (and two big bowls for Toothless and Stormfly) sat forgotten, and half-opened fable books ringed us like old friends.

It was almost a replica of the world Hiccup and I had shared as children—only now Astrid, Toothless, and Stormfly were part of the picture.

At first, Astrid was thrilled to be let in on the secret. But the more we explained, the more horrified she looked.

“So,” Hiccup finished brightly, hands tucked behind his back with a grin. “What do you think?”

“…What do I think?” Astrid wheezed, eyes wide as she clutched the side of her head, pointing at me. “What do I think?! I think you’re insane for being a part of this”—she then jabbed a finger at Hiccup—“and you’re even more insane for befriending Toothless knowing full well the consequences of it!”

Hiccup rubbed his palms together, sheepish. “Uh… we kind of have it covered now? Our dads already have a plan. Oh, plus Gobber.”

“Plus Gobber,” she repeated flatly, collapsing backward into the cushions. “Plus Gobber, he says. Who else knows?!”

“Well,” I began, ticking off on my fingers, “aside from you, my father, Stoick, Hiccup, Gobber, Toothless, and now Stormfly… there’s the emperors, kings, and chiefs of the South, a few trusted traders, oh—and some of Hiccup’s pen pals. Khalid, Clotide—”

“Anyone else from Berk?” Astrid groaned into the pillows.

Hiccup and I shared a guilty glance before answering in unison: “Nope.”

“Not even Fishlegs?”

“Well, we didn’t want to burden him—”

“But you’ll burden me?!” she groaned again, tossing her head so her loose hair spilled around her like molten gold.

“I mean, you did ask,” Hiccup said, clearing his throat as he folded his arms. “We’ll tell everyone at some point… right?”

“... Right.”

Astrid sighed, rubbing her face with both hands. “Fine, fine. Whatever at this point.”

“Don’t worry.” I sat beside her, gathering her hair to rebraid the ribbons. “We’ve always had it covered. Even now we do. Just keep the fort steady here, okay?”

Astrid mumbled something under her breath, but I only smiled as Hiccup settled beside us, watching.

The words spilled out before I could stop myself, an echo of what I said to her once in the woods at our spot. 

“You don’t have to worry about any of it, Astrid.” I said, “I can fix it. My family can fix it. All we ask, all I ask, is that Berk is there for each other.”

What was once only meant to be ours, now shared with Hiccup in turn. Even her axe sat here, leaning against the wall, and her cushion, the one embroidered with her initials, sat in his lap.

Astrid caught on, recognizing this echo and spoke her own with a soft smile, “I hate it when you pull speeches like that on me.”

Hiccup tilted his head curiously, “She does the same to you?”

“All. The. Time.” Astrid rolled her eyes, then shot him a smile. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Hiccup shrugged. “But I kind of like it when she talks.”

Astrid flushed and looked away. “…Yeah. Guess I do too.”

I stifled a snort, which made her whip around, mortified.

“Sorry,” I laughed, already rising to my feet. My leg was finally healed. I held out a hand to help them both up. “Anyway, we should get going. I leave tomorrow, and we still owe Snotlout and the others that dinner.”

“The fact you actually got him to call a truce with Hiccup over food is still insane to me.” Astrid shook her head, reaching for her axe. “You and your creepy little speeches.”

“You’re still leaving? After everything?” Hiccup mumbled. Toothless and Stormfly pressed in at my sides, nudging me as if echoing the same question.

I paused, looking down at them in their ceremonial garb, so proud and so utterly Berk. My chest tightened. I wasn’t happy about leaving—not really. All of this had felt like a dream, a beautiful dream finally made real. Of course I never wanted to leave.

But I also knew I didn’t want this dream to only remain here in the North, the South deserved this too. All the people suffering from the war there deserved to see this, to know there is another way to be. And so too did the world.

“... It’s not good to self-isolate,” I smiled, tugging the two down the stairs. “It’s not good to keep a good thing only to ourselves.”

That night, the decks of my father’s galleon overflowed with tables of food. Not from us—we had nothing left to spare—but from Berk, who supplied more than enough to celebrate, and enough to see us fed on our voyage back to the mainland. We had leapt to their aid once more, stormed the Nest at their side, and now here they were, sending us off in kind. Funny how the tables turn. The loop closes.

Fables and debts—finally, history no longer repeating itself.

When morning came, everyone pitched in to pack our things aboard. Not without Stoick’s usual theatrics, of course.

“Close the docks!”

“Close them,” my father shot back, “and I’ll have the dragons blast them wide open!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, adults trading jests while we stood to the side, caught between awkwardness and wonder. Not only had our bonds been mended, but theirs too. Perhaps my father had built bridges of his own while I wasn’t looking.

“Well,” I said, smiling as I turned to everyone. I was dressed in fresh clothes now, a new fur coat—blue like my father’s, trimmed with wolf fur the Jorgensons had skinned for me. “I guess this is goodbye. For now.”

“This sucks.” Fishlegs scowled. “This really sucks.”

Tuffnut turned to Hiccup. “Is this what you always feel when she leaves?”

“Welcome to my world,” Hiccup muttered.

 “This sucks!” Fishlegs echoed again, Ruffnut chiming in at his side.

“When will you be back?” Astrid asked softly, her hand still laced in mine—the way it had been the entire morning.

“We estimate the... uh, our current marketing campaign for the South will take a couple of months. And we try not to sail much in winter—it’s too dangerous.” I gave Astrid’s hand a squeeze. “So… we might not be back until spring.”

“Spring?!” Snotlout blurted, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “Uh, does that mean you’re missing Snoggletog?”

“I’m afraid so.” I mustered a smile, soft as the shrug that followed. “So I’ll say it now: happy almost Snoggletog.”

Silence hung for a beat before Hiccup stepped forward, sighing. He took my free hand in his.

“Merry almost Christmas to you then, Imka.”

My heart warmed almost inexplicably at this and I grinned, “I’ll make sure to bring Christmas gifts back with me for all of you.”

“Oh! Oh!” Ruffnut suddenly shoved a massive scroll into my arms, grinning ear to ear. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s tradition on the mainland, right? So here’s our list—”

“Ruffnut!” Astrid snapped.

“Tuffnut…” Hiccup groaned.

But the twins ignored them both, staring at me with expectant, shining eyes.

I unfurled the scroll. It tumbled all the way to my boots—and considering I was taller than all of them, that was saying something. Written across it, in cramped but endless script: jewels, clothes, specific daggers, trinkets from the east, books, spices, and more.

I blinked.

Fishlegs went pale. “Gold diggers…” he muttered.

“Wallet suckers,” Snotlout scoffed.

I shrugged, “Yeah, sure why not. I’ll get you all of this, except the stuff from the east — that’s pretty rare, especially during winter.”

The six of them stared, jaws hanging slack and eyes as wide as an owl’s. Silence engulfed us before the twins looked at each other, then socked each other in the jaw.

“Why didn’t you try and befriend her earlier?!” one said, which one I could no longer tell as they tousled on the floor.

“Why didn’t you try to befriend her earlier?!” the other shouted, “We could’ve been getting gifts every year if you just —”

Everything blurred together—the rush of Vikings and my father’s people hauling crate after crate of the Red Death’s hide onto the deck, sacks of food and rations for the journey, and countless other supplies. I was pulled every which way, caught between goodbyes from the adults, their arms wrapping around me in fierce hugs, their voices full of well-wishes. Gothi, of course, shoved yet another bundle of honey-glazed nuts into my hands, a gift for the road, a taste of Berk to carry into the long months ahead.

When at last we pushed off, the shouts of farewell echoed across the widening sea, carried on the salt wind. Then, like they had been waiting for their moment, my friends reappeared—each astride their dragon. They wheeled around us in a loose spiral, doves breaking from the ship to soar alongside them. As if responding to the roars and cries of those who have always understood their language. 

One that we too will understand, one day.

The dragons dipped and spun in a final round of goodbyes, their wings beating gusts that filled our sails, shoving our ship forward with bursts of borrowed speed. We laughed, we waved, we clung to every last glimpse of them until they were only specks of rainbow against the horizon. 

And then it was just us, a lone silver mast cutting across the water, sailing farther and farther from this home toward another.

Chapter Text

Introduction

Phew, what a ride. The fact I’ve written over 95k+ words in just two months is honestly kind of insane to me.

Hi everyone, author here! I usually keep things low-key in the notes and stay pretty anonymous, but I figured I’d steal a little corner here to talk about this story and share some art I’ve been making along the way. As well as discuss where this story will be going, moving forwards.

In regards to VI’s future

I will definitely continue this, all the way to the end of HTTYD 2 and 3. I already know where this story ends and it does end up blending the timeline between these two movies quite a bit, I will also be pulling plot from the books, Riders of Berk, and Race To The Edge. There will be a bit of divergence, what kind will only be revealed as the story carries along but I am also thinking of having Viggo stay alive.

As for the next part of this story, it will first open up with Imka and her life in the Mainland during the past couple of months. We’ve spent so long worldbuilding and working in Berk that I’d like to bring you all to her home and the South, here we’ll meet some key characters as well as some other people I’ve been teasing from the start: Clotide and Khalid in particular. We’ll linger there for 1 chapter, 2 at most.

I have also been thinking of writing a couple of one-shots/drabbles to explore what the story might look like from other POVs. I’ve thought about it a couple of times, but I will admit whenever I have tried to formulate Hiccup’s POV it felt a lot like stabbing myself in the chest — realistically his thought pattern would be very sad, very whump-esque. Though I’ve heard people really like whump in this fandom, it’s where I even heard of this word for the first time! I might dive into it regardless, maybe even before starting on the Post!HTTYD1 chapters of this fic.

Which brings me to the next subject: When will we get to see the next part?

Hopefully, as soon as I can. I might take a one week break from writing or two, just to have a breather, maybe make some more art so I can get a feel of the story. Or maybe I’ll jump right in after a few days of posting this, who knows! All I can tell you for sure is this: I am just as much in love with this story as Imka is with her duty (is this a jab at Hiccup’s onesided feelings for her maybe cough cough LOUDER COUGH yes).

In regards to the development of this story so far

Like most writers, music helped me so much in writing this story. I have to admit, I didn’t initially consider using PIE (Proto-Indo-European) as the inspiration for Dragonese. That is until one night (well one dawn) at 3 AM I had Spotify on shuffle, and it decided to deliver me this beautiful track called Water Prelude by Christopher Tin. I was so sleep deprived, but that song shocked me awake and I went on a hunt to figure out what language this was written in. What this song meant. And well, the rest was history.

Drawing also ended up helping me a ton during this whole process — it made it easier to lock in the mood and get a feel for the characters. The versions of the canon cast in the VI!Verse are a little different from how they are in the films, since I wanted their psychology to feel as grounded as the historical and political side of the retelling. At the same time, I didn’t want things to get too dark or heavy — this isn’t meant to turn into a Brothers Grimm type of rewrite. I still want it to keep that spark of lightheartedness the books and movies had.

This is the first time in a long while I’ve felt this fired up about a story. Honestly, the last time I had this kind of obsession was back in middle school over some piece of media I couldn’t get out of my head. VI lit that same fire again — and not just for writing. It’s pushed me to make a lot of art too. So below, I’ll drop a few pieces I did that really helped me capture the vibe of this story.

Before the Art, For My Dear Readers

Oh but before I do, I do want to say thank you to everyone who has read this story, even going so far as to get here. I know that OC x Canon stories aren’t very popular but I did want to thank you personally for giving this story a chance, I do hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I did too. I uh hope both sides of your pillows are cold (or warm, idk whatever youre preference is) every night, you live long and healthy, and you find happiness in your life like these characters have!

Without further ado, here’s the art:

“Hiccup and Imka (Precursor)”

This was the first piece I ever made of these two, set around HTTYD 2. I was still figuring out how to portray Imka as well as figuring out Hiccup in my style. The coat was originally red instead of blue, but I was also indecisive and ended up sneaking a few streaks of blue 😅

“The Prayer”

The algorithm decided to bless my ears again at one point when it introduced me to Beautiful Ruins and The Resurrection Game by Emma Swift. I had such a strong mental imagery for Imka inspired by these songs, wanting it to feel almost dreamlike. At this point, I hadn’t even thought of PIE as the language for the prayer but knew, deep down, I needed something like a feeling of a ‘fervant prayer’ to be in this story. At this point, Imka officially had a blue cloak instead of red which is what blends in with the sky and water.

"Wódr̥, wédn̥s, wédōr."

This one kind of speaks for itself from the title alone. It’s around this time I heard Water Prelude from Christopher Tin. I was so hit by the weight of the song, the implications of using PIE for this story, that I knew I had to draw something. I didn’t have HTTYD1!Imka in mind, but definitely how she might look when older. This design is still not final by the way.

In her hands, you can see these kind of intricate drawings and buildings in pure white. They’re supposed to represent the ruins of the Isle of Tomorrow but the Mainland as well, kind of her ‘duty’ that binds her, the weight of what she carries. In the middle is the chip in her plans, Toothless. Or I suppose now you can also consider this dragon to be Dove. Or just dragons in general.

Behind her is something that looks like a branching river in darkness, like the way language in this story is described to have branched from a single source. Though its roots have been muddied and darkened by the greed of empires and arrogance.

"Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?"

If you recognise this quote as being from Arcane, you’re correct! This piece depicts young!Imka with her father, though this was before I decided he’d get a scar. I wanted to explore their relationship through drawing and a bit of the lore of the Isle of Tomorrow. On the sides, you’ll see something like little tiles and this was what sparked the idea of the architecture of the tower. Then with the water in front of them below, their ship sailing on it, and then the water in the darkness behind, their ships sailing even in darkness too was meant to symbolize that regardless of circumstance, they will always have to keep moving.

There’s a quote by John A. Shedd that says: "A ship in a harbour is safe but that is not what ships are built for"

The seven stars flanking them are meant to represent Imka and her friends, but also represent Lucien. Her father’s name here means light. In this piece I try to blend the symbolism behind their names too, the light coming from the stars, from the bottom left. Also the doves, believe it or not, I only placed here as a way to make the picture more interesting (as well as in the first two images). I never would’ve guessed they’d serve an even bigger role in the story.

And that's it for the art so far!

I'm on Tumblr by the way. I have an art blog here and a writing blog here. I'm mostly active on my writing blog, as well as far more chattier there. I post sketches and other art of the other characters beside Imka there, too! :) Come say hello if you'd like.

Until then, happy sailing and happy flying!

Chapter Text

There are many terrible things in life, but for me there were three that took the cake.

Third worst: your life feels meaningless.

Second worst: your whole village agrees.

Worst of all was someone telling you it wasn’t.

It’s awful — like dangling a carrot on a stick in front of a starving mule. The island tells you you’re useless, and then one person gives you a reason to think otherwise. Suddenly you stand up straighter. Suddenly you can be someone. And that hope is its own torture.

It eats you. Like a sinkhole, swallowing everything. My identity hung on a single word, a one-month visit, then gone for three, four — ripped away again and again. It was like having my neck caught in a dragon’s claws.

And, worse, I loved it.

Just the two of us. Her eyes on me, hovering — fussing, fussing, fussing. She rushed to my side, defended me, smoothed me down. She made a home of my smallness.

I knew I was useless, but I wasn’t stupid. This was a really, really bad situation to be in. This was rotten. I couldn’t sleep. I buried myself in work — inventing, forging — anything to plug that hollow. Maybe there were other ways to feel worthy, other ways beside her and her family.

Their family brought rations to Berk — and to me in a way. It helped, for a while. Food and praise and pats on the head, a hand on my cheek. But the hole was deeper than provisions could fill. 

I needed them, needed her there. Always.

I thought about running away. Sneak aboard their ship, sail to the Mainland — she had told me they’d like me there. “You’d fit in,” she’d said. It felt like a knife. Whole families, villages, and countries — places I might have been loved — and yet I was stuck here, an island mule chasing a dangling carrot.

But she never meant to dangle this hope in front of me. She’s always meant well. She’s always been the nicest to me, my best friend. Always the one to rush to my defense, always protecting our little isle of two. 

But it’s also her who hurts me the most.

I’ve always known what our future would be. Regardless, I’d have to be chief one day and she’ll be there. We’ll work together, we’ll have many nights talking about plans like our dads — we’ll share so much, joke so much, and she’ll visit so often. 

Yes, visit with her own husband and children.

Maybe they’ll run into the woods and go exploring for trolls and birds the way we used to. Maybe they’ll laugh a lot like her, definitely think a lot like her, and be as dedicated as she is. 

They’ll look so much like her, and nothing like me.

The thought makes me sick.

Maybe I’m too young to be thinking that way, but my mind has always travelled far. Anywhere but here, anywhere but now. It’s what adds to the sickness — to see wherever I go, even in my mind, it’s just pain.

Until I shot the Nightfury from the sky.

That was it. My way out, a path away from this pain and gaping, gnawing feeling in my chest. If I killed him, everyone would like me again. I’d have something else to make me feel better, have that dumb feeling in my chest finally go away. 

I’d taken her with me so she could see it too. Not only because she was my best friend but because I knew when she believed in something, she’d fight just as hard to prove it too. She’d back me up when she knew it was true. Another reason why I’ve always liked her.

A good, solid plan, only ruined by her and her stories again. She didn’t even say it, too busy panicking in fear over a situation I’d messed up yet again.

Androcles and the Lion, my favorite when we were kids. A slave removes a thorn and the beast grants mercy. When I looked into the Nightfury’s green eyes — eyes so like mine — all I could hear was that old tale. 

Then there was that stubborn hope I thought I’d been done with when I grew up. The idea that mercy can still exist in a world as cold and desolate as this. Sure, it’d be a nice world to live in, but I was convinced it’s not the one any of us were in. 

What with our war with dragons, then everyone else’s wars on the Mainland.

And yet when I looked into the Nightfury’s eyes, that story was all I could hear. Even as I raised my knife higher and higher, as I tried to block out the story, even my own heart would not give way. In his green eyes, so much like mine, I saw myself. Just as terrified, weak, and hopeless.

Killing him would be a lot like killing myself.

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” I heard her mumble once, reading another book that’s always fascinated me.

I wanted mercy, too.

So I cut him loose. And the rest was history.

The three of us grew close, our island of two growing to three. Sometimes I’d pretend it was an isle of ten, when the birds circled overhead. Singing, always singing. I tried to pretend they were the ones we used to save when we were kids. Maybe they were telling Toothless something. Telling him about me. About her. Maybe that’s why he took to us so quickly.

He was so smart. He could understand what I was saying, mimicked what I was doing — as if he, too, saw a reflection of himself in me. Sometimes I swore he was answering me. I wanted him to speak, to use words, but maybe that was arrogant. Maybe it should have been the other way around — maybe I should have wished to speak his language instead.

It would’ve been enough, I think. Enough to understand him. Enough for him to understand us.

But it’s not enough for her, she wanted more. 

She wanted to bring Astrid back, then new people too, people who I was sure hated me just as much for being useless. I didn’t need to check, I knew they hated me because I kept failing and nothing else. There can’t be any reason besides that. Everyone just doesn’t understand, nobody believes in me but her and Toothless.

And then we had that fight. I slammed the door on her. Ran. And the moment I did, I remembered exactly why they hated me.

Running is the family tradition, I guess. When Dad lost Mom, he ran too. He turned bitter, vanished into the sea chasing after her. And her? I only ever heard fragments. Whispers that she sympathized with dragons a little too much, until one killed her. Or maybe they took her away, some people said that’s what really happened.

Some part of me resents her either way — leaving us, by choice or by force.

I tried so hard to fit myself into the mold of the rest of my family. Maybe a bit too much, because it was always running we all could do so well. In the end, it was in my blood — another genetic defect I’d inherited. 

She might have accepted me being small, weak, useless, but never a coward. She’s the one running face-first into the biggest fight of all, her and her Dad; the very people stopping the South from decimating the North. I couldn’t let her see, couldn’t let her know how unbelievably ashamed I was for having run away. She’d leave me because of it, I was sure.

But then she did find out, and she remained rooted by my side.

A miracle. Dragging me back, worked her impossible magic to fix all my relationships when she found out why I really was the loser of Berk. Told me I was forgiven. Must’ve been a miracle, or at least magic. But she doesn’t need magic, not really, though I wished she did. Because then at least I’d have something to blame, something to hate.

Because it can’t be real, it cannot be real that she exists.

Would it be better if she didn’t exist? No.

The pain was there, yes, but threaded through it was something else. Something I think my Dad once knew, too. The reason he told me he’d never remarry.

And that’s when it hit me: I must be crazy. I had to be.

I took flights to clear my head, but even there she lingered. The ocean, the waterfalls, the rivers threading through Berk; around Earth. Around someone else, the same person who took her away from me; the same person I wanted to be around again.

Back then, it was hard to be friends with Astrid when she was gone. Harder still because neither of us ever knew how to talk about our feelings. When everyone kept getting mad at me for messing up, I ended up not wanting to talk at all. She didn’t know what to say either. Life got busy, messier, more complicated and I rarely went back into forests to find birds and trolls. Eventually I stopped talking to Astrid all together, better to lump her in with the rest. I had other things to focus on.

Time was running out.

I needed to kill a dragon, needed to find someone before she did. I don’t think I could take the pain if she married someone before me. I needed something to soothe that pain.

And, apparently, it was Toothless who helped soothe it.

Of course, I had to make her a part of it. But when it was just us, me and him, in the skies it felt so free. Nobody to tell me to be a chief, nobody telling me whether I was a screw-up or the best thing they’d ever seen. I could run, I could be free, I could go.

So why did I come back? Why ask her to fly with me? Why sit at her table, share her meals, play nice with everyone?

Two truths, one lie.

One: she convinced me it was right to stay. 

Two: I accepted it was my fault and swore it’d never happen again. I’d never self-isolate again, never even think about running away ever again.

Three: I couldn’t imagine a life without her.

If it’s not obvious, two was the lie.

When I finally faced Dad to tell him about Toothless, nothing came out. I just sat while he went on about how proud he was. I could resent Mom for leaving, but at least Dad came back. Despite everything, he had more staying power than any of us. I wished I had even a chip of that in me.

I tried to imagine being in his shoes. If the person I loved most either died or was taken, and at the same time I had a whole village to lead, an image of strength to keep up, a possible southern crusade on the horizon, and a useless son who still needed me — what would I do?

Maybe I’d be like Mom and run. Maybe I’d die. Both felt as likely for someone as helpless as me.

Then an alternative, terrifying answer dawned on me, maybe I’d do the same exact thing he did.

Another reason why I saw having her was impossible, if we — by some miracle — were able to be together, have kids, would I treat them the same way my parents treated me?

Then, just over the horizon, another answer loomed, like silver masts bringing hope, provisions, and a different world: Would I treat them the way Lucien and Gisela have treated me?

An approving hug even when I messed up, a new fur coat even on days where I failed. Celebrated for so many times I fell short, celebrated still for my few wins. Just like her, her parents felt a lot like a trick of the light. 

Could such people exist, could families like these exist? Were there a lot like them out there? Why couldn’t I have gotten them instead? 

The knife twisted in my chest harder.

Did I want her or be her?

The answer was a lot more painful than I thought. No, I did not want to be her. Being a replica of her would be like treason, blasphemy. Wanting her or needing her wasn’t enough either, because both never seemed to be right when I said it. What is between wanting and needing, what is it between this all-consuming feeling and the complete lack of it?

Sharing.

To share in her life, to share in what she wants, and mine in turn.

So I did. I opened myself up to the people I ran away from and instead of being hurt, I felt something mend inside me. Then she went and kissed me on the forehead, sowing hope into me, stitched me up; the way her Mom used to stitch my clothes. And I watched as it stitched other people up too.

And then I went and tore it again.

I couldn’t find a way out, so I packed up our things. I lied to her, made her believe I’d stay, when what I really planned for was to run away with her. After all that, surely she’d know how I felt about her, right? Surely she kissed me on the forehead for a reason, right?

Tearing stitches, letting the old wound bleed again, history repeating itself, and the loop never closes.

I was going to start a new loop, one faraway with her where the idea of being together was more than a dream. Toothless could help me make that dream true. 

I threaded the plan together, the way her Mom did with a thread and needle, but then she stopped me. Put her hand between needle and cloth, and I stabbed her clean through.

She wanted to include another thread, this time one made of blue and gold. One that tethered us all back to Berk, the grounding force of it all.

Astrid.

After that dinner, after the small, careful patchwork of being friends again, I saw it: I was betraying Astrid the same way I’d abandoned people as a boy. I’d been mended only halfway, and I recognized the same hunger in her that lived in me. We were both thirsty in the same desert, and instead of sharing an oasis, I had planned to take it all for myself.

Again, I felt sick.

So I gave in, listened to the water we both longed for, and when we returned — she was gone.

At first, I told myself she was just tired, already asleep. I waited for her plan, her speech, her steadying words. They never came. Even in the ring, with Astrid beside me before the final match, there was still no sign of her.

“Where is she?” Astrid whispered, tugging at her ribbons, worry sharp in her voice.

I had no answer. She wouldn’t run. She was no coward. It was impossible for her to be anything less than brave. But she was also just a girl — two years older than me, yes, but still only a girl. The same way Astrid is just a girl. The same way I am only a boy.

So I imagined what she would do if it were her in my place. And I stepped into the ring.

I tried to make a spectacle of it. I hurled my helmet — Mom’s old armor mashed into a badge of what they wanted me to be — and let it hit the floor. My tiny dagger and shield clattered after it. Symbols, all of them.

I thought of her books, the way she spoke to Snotlout at breakfast, the ink of her words. I lifted my chin and, for once, I stopped seeing myself as a copy of my Mom or Dad. I saw someone different.

Someone — in a way — more like them. Part of silver masts, part of the ocean, part of the sky and a bigger world where there was another way to be. When I looked up to see the crowd, there I saw her Dad, looking at me like I could be his son.

And then it all came crashing down when even that was rejected. My Dad slammed his hammer down, denting the cage, and all hell broke loose.

Reminding me, yet again, I could never be a Marius.

More like my Mom, then. Sympathizing with dragons, trying to broker peace with them. Almost ending in me dying, but definitely ended with Toothless being captured, now being taken away to find the nest, gone.

My Dad was furious with me and I could understand why. Was he angry because he was scared what happened to Mom would happen to me? Was he angry because I was protecting that which killed her, that which she loved? He was about to lose it and by all rights he should, it would’ve been better if he said I wasn’t his son and threw me on the ground.

But it’s always worse.

Spitelout had barged into the Great Hall, having sent a search party with Lucien for her when everyone noticed she was missing. A dead wolf in the woods. Large claw marks on trees and Earth, as big as a Monstrous Nightmare’s. A tattered cloak. Blood. A missing girl. My missing —

More like my Dad, then. 

I’d never felt more like my Dad than that very moment. Was this how he felt when Mom was taken away? 

Unbearable. The wave hit me and didn’t stop — filled my chest until it bled out. I wanted to be bleeding beside her in the forest. I should never have left. I should never have thought of running. It was my fault. If I’d stayed, if we’d seen it through, maybe there’d be another ending. Maybe she’d still be alive.

But I killed her.

I killed her.

I killed her.

Lucien turned away from me. I’d never seen him so angry, so bereft.

But Dad finally saw himself in me. Really, truly saw a part of himself in me that wasn’t a lie. That wasn’t a trick of the light.

He told me to stay, to wait, they were going to end this once and for all. To end the war, to prevent the South marching North, to avenge her. 

I was sick.

And worse, I’d lost the two people who I thought could’ve been mine forever.

The stitches came undone. The cloth fell apart. The tapestry we were nearly finished with frayed at the edges.

Then other threads began to pull at the fabric, tugging it back together.

Astrid. Fishlegs. Snotlout. Ruffnut. Tuffnut.

In the darkest of my moments they convinced me not to hide. The last thing she’d want from me was to hide, to run, and I agreed. I’d killed her, but I would not spit on her memory, her work, by running away. Not like this. If I was going to run away, it would be with her, with Toothless.

And as I looked at them, not blaming me, not getting mad, just as hollow as I was, I realized I’d run away with them too.

So we ran, right into the mist, right through the storm.

I would not bleed in the forest beside her, but maybe if I died here it’d make up for it.

They wouldn’t let me though and Toothless… he didn’t deserve it. I’d live for him and her, make a world where he never had to be chained up like this and a world where all her dreams could come true. Peace on earth, the end of wars. I didn’t know how, but I’d make it work.

Atonement, repentance.

So I drove through the golden rain with purpose. I spotted the doves, the rainbow, what looked to be a tower above the clouds and I swore it all seemed like something out of a fable. The story echoed deep in my chest, Androcles and the Lion, once more. As I flew I could hear her voice, telling the story to me over and over again.

Mercy to a beast, mercy to a beast.

The one chasing me, this behemoth of a dragon, however, looked to be too far gone for mercy to save it.

Something in me, despite it all, recognised myself in it.

A hunger, a never-ending voice that wanted to be filled. 

A mirror of who I might turn into.

A version of myself I refused to give into.

So, even with a burning tailfin, I spun us around and blasted it in its mouth. Killed it with its own fire, watched it burn up in a purifying flame. Killed the version of myself that would’ve done so much harm if I’d run, if I’d become a villain in my story.

I may be many things, but I never wanted to hurt them. Not intentionally. 

Not even the people who hurt me. I could never hate them enough.

All I wanted was to be understood, to be loved for myself.

And as the flames rushed up, as if to kill even this better version of myself, I saw Toothless coming down. And then, behind him, rain — water, her.

‘Please reach me,’ I thought, though it felt more like a prayer, before darkness took me. ‘Please come find me again, get me out of this fire. I don’t want to die, I want to live. I want to see you and everyone again. I’m sorry.’

I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

I woke up at home.

The same wooden ceiling above. The same window that looked out over Berk—my oldest, most irritating companion. My fingers trailed over those favorite blankets, my head sinking into pillows worn just right.

The room was just as I’d left it: wardrobe half-open and half-filled, table cluttered with tools, notes, and sketches. Letters from Khalid pinned to the wall. A chest full of the fable books she gave me, waiting where I’d last left them.

For a breathless moment, I wondered if I’d dreamt it all—the arena, Toothless, the dragon I killed, the way she died. A strange, beautiful nightmare folded into a dream.
Or maybe I was the one who’d died.

Then Toothless nudged me, bright-eyed and alive, pressing his snout to my side. I laughed, swung my legs over the bed—only to stop short at the missing one. He nudged me again, flicking his torn tailfin, and I managed a small smile. I could’ve sworn he said: At least now we’re even.

“So we’re both alive,” I murmured—relieved, but wistful. “Two out of three, huh?”

And then she stepped through the door. It felt like dying all over again—and then being pulled back to life.

She took my hands in hers, as if I hadn’t spent days wishing she still existed, wishing I could hold them one more time. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. So I pulled her into the tightest hug I’d ever given. I wobbled, almost losing my balance, until she and Toothless caught me. The same way they had when I was falling into fire.

“You’re alive!” I choked.

Laughing, she said, “You’re alive! Oh so much has happened, and there’s so much — so much to tell you.”

And I followed her. Of course I did. Where else could I possibly go?

But when she opened the door to show me what lay outside, I didn’t feel like some mule chasing a carrot anymore.

Dragons wheeled across the sky. The village was whole. My friends were safe, gathered all in one place. I was home, far from that nightmare on the isle. Doves streaked above us. Her family’s silver mast pierced the horizon. And up the hill came my Dad. And my other Dad. And the other, other Dad.

They lifted me, held me, looked at me with pride. One after another, the others crowded around, not seeing me as useless, not a disappointment—but as a son. As a person.

Then there she went, hiding in the background. Toothless saw it too and brought her forward. He knew it too, he wanted it too, to have her share in this. Not wanting, not needing; but sharing in both our lives. 

The first few threads of my new life.

Then came the blue and gold, threading between us, making it more beautiful. Then more, and more, and more and all of a sudden the tapestry looked more complete. It looked a lot like us, flying in the sky with all our colors with dragons and doves, laughing and happy. 

Mercy won, reasserting itself in the world we dreamed of now made reality.

The wounds are mended, the stitches come back together, the loop closes. One chapter of history ends and we are left to make a new one.

Surely, this would be enough. The love of them all able to fill the hole in my chest I thought could only be filled with her. The end to pain.

Then maybe we could really just be friends, we could really just be friends forever and nothing more.

At the docks, on the day she left, as I stood there with everyone, telling her ‘Merry almost Christmas’, I felt something new in my chest. Not so much a wound, not so much as an ache, but something else. I didn’t have a name to it, but it took the shape of her name. 

Right below my ribs, like something had always been missing and now was found.

And as she sailed away from me, of course I filled her masts with wind. 

If she asked, I think I would’ve given anything, just because I knew she’d come back to me. 

I’d watch the oceans during these winter months, just in case she showed up. Let my hands touch and skim over the surface of water, just to imagine it's her. No pain this time, not when I had everyone else with me.

Something different now, something new.

And so the loop closes, one chapter ends, and another one is left to be written.

Chapter Text

The grand castle of King Radbod III sprawled across an evergreen hill, its polished and damp stone gleaming like a crown jewel above Frisia. From its high towers it surveyed the salt marshes and the busy ports below, where traders of every kind poured in — Vikings from the nearer northern coasts (not quite as far-flung as Berk), pilgrims from the south, merchants, sailors, wanderers. All were welcome here. Well — if they spoke the language.

A royal decree made that clear enough: anyone who could say “Butter, bread, and green cheese” in Frisian earned immediate entry into the kingdom. Fail to do so, and King Radbod would order your head struck from your shoulders. Or, if you were lucky, he’d do it himself. (For future reference, in case your life depends on it: “Bûter, brea en griene tsiis.” Pronounce it carefully. I told Hiccup the same.)

Radbod was a mad king — but not like the madmen of the south, whose frenzy rotted into decadence and cruelty. His madness was iron-willed. He had sworn that Frisia would never bow to outside power (neither Franks nor Vikings), and through sheer obstinacy — and, admittedly, his own brand of madness — he had kept the kingdom free. 

Of course, my family had no small part in that. We were wealthy, influential, and bound to an important mission further north, one that could determine the fate of the mainland. That alone made us untouchable.

Oh — and we also carried almost the entire economy of Frisia on our shoulders. There was that, too.

Which is why Radbod valued us more than he probably should have.

“I will kill Stoick.”

My father’s brow furrowed, his voice taut. “...My king—”

We had only just returned to Frisia as dawn broke, my father’s crew dismissed with triple their wages, crates of the Red Death’s bones and hide sent straight to the castle, our own arrival announced to the king’s attendants. We had hoped Radbod would still be asleep. Alas, he was awake. He was always awake at the worst hours.

“I have had enough of this man and his silly village,” Radbod groaned into his palms, slumping into the throne-like chair of his study. He looked like a child throwing a tantrum, if the child in question could order beheadings before breakfast. “The only thing stopping me from sailing there myself and chopping off his head is you, your daughter, your family, and that beanpole son of his.”

My father and I, seated in our velvet-and-mahogany chairs (comfortable, but not that comfortable), exchanged a long look. He still had that jagged scar down his face, and I was sporting a few fresh scrapes — nothing dramatic compared to the wolf-bite on my leg. Radbod knew about that too, thanks to the poor physician who’d been smart enough to sprint out of the study when the king first erupted.

Now, as the sun broke over the horizon, Radbod was still erupting.

“One month,” he muttered darkly, clawing at his own face as if trying to peel it off. He was still dressed in his nightgown, though he’d flung a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders for dramatic effect. “One measly month, and what do I hear? Lucian, a dragon nearly rips off your face. Your daughter gets chewed on by a wolf, kidnapped by a dragon, dumped in some cursed tower on an island no one’s ever heard of — which also, surprise surprise, turns out to be the legendary nest Berk has been bumbling after for centuries!”

An attendant had left a tray of bread and fruit before wisely fleeing the room. My father nudged the plate toward me; I slid a mug of water back toward him. We both knew this was going to take a while.

“And then,” Radbod thundered, eyes bulging, “you tell me your daughter is involved in some insane prophecy cooked up by a dead people we’ve never even heard of! Richer than all of the south, with a secret northern kingdom that just conveniently slipped past everyone’s notice!” He seized his pitcher of beer and guzzled it down like a man trying to drown the entire problem. Water was clearly for lesser kings.

He slammed the empty pitcher down hard enough to rattle the fruit tray. “And THEN — and THEN! — that toothpick of a boy, the one everyone laughed at, the one even his own village treated like leftover fish bones, he’s the one who killed a dragon the size of this hill? A dragon so wide it could smother us all in its sleep? By making friends with a Night Fury?!”

We stayed quiet, letting the sheer absurdity of it all settle over him the way it had over us. It had sunk so deep it gave us nightmares. Radbod locked eyes with us for a long, heavy moment — his dark gaze drilling into our skulls — before, with theatrical slowness, he pivoted to face the mountain of crates stacked along the wall.

The people of Berk and my father’s crew had been disturbingly efficient in dismantling the Red Death. By the time they were done, there was barely a scrap of the tyrant left on the Isle of Tomorrow. And now, here it all sat: hide, bones, teeth, scales, shipped neatly in so many crates they scraped the ceiling and spilled sideways until even Radbod’s enormous study felt like a broom closet.

His shoulders began to shake. Any sane person would’ve ducked for cover, bracing for another eruption of outrage. But we knew Radbod, so we only continued to eat and drink in silence.

“Hah! HAHAHAHA!” He threw his head back so far his crown nearly fell off. “Oh, I always knew I liked that boy for a reason! He got Stoick good!”

Stoick and my father have always, indeed, been thick as thieves. The best of friends, even. But where Stoick had a three to five months in a year with him, Radbod had the remaining seven to nine (which he shared with the rest of the south). If we were Berk’s wallet, then we were the treasury of Frisia. No literally, we actually were. Berk might have been where Marcus Marius was saved, but Frisia was where he made a generational home in. Another thing Radbod liked to dangle in front of Stoick on the few sparse occasions when they met.

Almost whatever Stoick disapproved of, Radbod made a mission to love. And this included Hiccup.

My father, long accustomed to Radbod’s theatrics, only shrugged and set his mug of water down.

“I know. I always believed the boy would find another way — not falling into the same mold as everyone else. I just… didn’t expect ‘another way’ to mean befriending dragons.”

“I had the same thought, my friend,” Radbod sighed, his fire cooling into a warm ember of satisfaction. He sagged into his seat, stretched his legs out, and popped a biscuit into his mouth. “I thought it would be inventions.The boy’s always been clever. I saw the last batch of blueprints you brought, dear Imka — he’s brilliant.”

“That he is.” I smiled politely, picking at an apple slice.

“Dragons as companions,” Radbod murmured, turning toward the massive window that looked out over his kingdom. Sunlight poured through, fractured into jewel-tones by the stained glass along its border. “Who would’ve thought? And here I’d gone and prepared his own workshop for when he visits the mainland. I suppose I’d need to have it renovated to… accommodate his dragon, huh. Would he bring his dragon, I wonder, when he finally comes here? What do you think, Lucian? This is unprecedented!”

“I believe we have other matters more pressing, my king,” My father said evenly. His amber eyes drifted to the same view, drinking in the sight of home. “I have faith that the other empires, kingdoms, and tribes will accept the story I will tell. You know my plan — but what are your thoughts?”

“I think they will,” the king answered without missing a beat, then turned to me. “Do you think they’ll agree, dearest Imka?”

I folded my hands in my lap, frowning. “I hope so. The plan is foolproof. Everyone benefits economically from the Red Death’s remains, and they gain security through our guarantee of honesty about what happened. We answered the letters about dragon sightings further south, so—”

“Yes, yes.” Radbod waved me off, leaning forward with sudden sharpness. “But, in my opinion, that is not what will seal the deal.”

I blinked, tilting my head. “It isn’t?”

My father smiled knowingly at his friend. “Our king has often said he wouldn’t mind spiriting the young chief-to-be to Frisia, should he ever want to run.”

“Ah yes!” Radbod beamed, straightening. “But really, I was betting you’d tell him how much I liked him.”

I stared. “You… bet on me telling him?”

It was true — I had told Hiccup countless times that people on the mainland would adore him. I’d even let it slip, occasionally, that this included the king of Frisia.

“Oh yes. All about how I’d offer him a home here if he chose to run,” Radbod cackled, leaning back in his chair. “And I meant it. I gave him hope for escape — and I’m glad beyond words to know he didn’t take it.”

“I… don’t understand,” I admitted.

“Dearest Imka.” The king leaned forward, fingers laced, his heavy signet ring glinting in the morning light. “The fact he never actually succeeded in running — well, that’s what makes him great. It proves that even in the harshest place, he endures. And when faced with the sweetest temptations, he resists them. That is what makes him exceptional.”

The madness in his eyes softened, slipping away like fog. His face grew almost gentle, wisdom tugging at the lines of his brow, the curl of his pale beard. For a heartbeat he looked less like a mad king and more like the wise men in old stories.

He turned toward the window. His gaze drifted over his kingdom sprawled beneath us, down the hills to the bustling markets, then out to the endless ocean where gulls cried in the distance. Frisia was a hundred times larger than Berk, with a hundred times the people, and a thousand times the enemies — not dragons, but fellow men. 

If Hiccup had ten reasons to run, Radbod had a thousand.

“That,” he murmured, “is what makes people follow you. And it is what will convince kings, emperors, and even the chiefs of the other tribes to trust him.”

I suspected he was speaking of himself, too.

“If he had run here, yes, I would’ve welcomed him,” Radbod admitted, his voice cooling. “But I would’ve thought less of him.” His frown deepened. “My firstborn ran, as you know. Everyone knows. They gossip, they mock, some pity him. And I… I understand better than most.” 

He gestured to the window again, to the burden of ruling laid bare in stone, sea, and sky.

“But to forfeit such inheritance over feelings of discomfort is such a foolish thing. Do you know how many people dream to sit in my seat, or in your father’s? Or in yours, dearest Imka? Or even in Hiccup’s?”

My father and the king shared a look, both solemn. They were thinking of the war again. The countless amount of people in agony, wishing to be saved, to be granted sanctuary, for empty stomachs to be filled, or even just the hope that life could be different.

“There are so many people,” Radbod went on, his tone turning grave, “who would kill to be where he is. To hold even the smallest power to change lives. Because there are those with nothing — not even a shred — who sit waiting for someone just like him.”

He paused, weighing the words, before adding:

“Just like me. Just like you. And your father.” He mustered a crooked smile. “Once, they even waited for someone like my son. Now—” he lifted a hand, as if waving the thought away, “this is not to say one should never remove themselves from an unproductive environment. For goodness sake, I’ve sat through enough meetings with those pompous empires. Every time, I want to leap out the window. Walk home barefoot with bleeding feet just to spare myself the agony of hearing them go on, and on, and on!”

My father chuckled knowingly at that.

“But it is what we do outside those rooms that makes the difference,” Radbod pressed, leaning forward. “That is the point. He is not just some boy. Were he not brilliant, not the son of a chief, not blessed with a heart like that — it might matter less. But he is not. Just as your father and I are not merely men. And you, my dear, are not just some girl. Much has been given to us, and much will be demanded.”

Without realizing, I straightened in my seat. Everything he was talking about resonated deep within me. After so long on Berk fighting for these same ideals, seemingly alone, to be reminded that my own king thought the same strengthened me. 

Radbod saw this and gave me a smile.

“Endurance and steadfastness,” he declared. “That is what I see in him. Not weakness. Not a coward. Certainly not a failure or disappointment.” His expression sharpened. “His mother, as I’ve heard, may have run — whether by choice or force — but he hasn’t. I worry he compares himself to her. But he is far stronger. Stronger than anyone on that isle, especially his father. Stronger, perhaps, than most here.”

Then, just as quickly, his solemnity broke. Radbod grinned wider, showing teeth.

“Truth be told, I feel more confident in myself after hearing his story. If a scrawny fishbone — too clever, too small, too forward-thinking for some backwater rock — can bring about this kind of change…” He spread his hands, shrugging, “…then what excuse do the rest of us have?”

“The boy has plenty of staying power.” My father smiled, then arched a playful brow at his king. “Just like his father, the chief. No?”

“No.” Radbod made a gagging sound. “Please, no. I don’t want nor need another Stoick. I want the boy to remain Hiccup. Useless, weakling — whatever. Whatever makes him him. He is precisely what the world needs now: proof that there is another way to be. I don’t care if he dons new armor, invents some flaming sword, or grows sharper and shrewder. If that were what I wanted, I’d go recruit a man from the Caliphate — like Khalid. Or a soldier. I have thousands! I could buy a mercenary by the dozen, any king could.”

There was a pause and my father smiled, understanding full well.

Radbod turned to him. “You know exactly what we look for, Lucian.”

“It’s the heart.” My father nodded, “It is what sets apart great men from the exceptional.”

“The world has enough geniuses and strong men. I see it every day, from all people who come here from all walks of life. Knowledge can be taught, strength can be built, but a heart — a good one — is a very rare thing. Good kings know this.” Radbod smiled wider, “The best kings do not look at outward appearances, but at the heart.”

I thought of the Isle of Tomorrow again, of the people there, and of the apathetic princess. Nobody, not one, had tried to see beyond the outward appearance of the Red Death either. Regardless of when it was small or big, either useless or a competent tyrant, not once had any looked deeper into the heart until even that, too, bled out from existence.

For the first time that day, my father let out a full bark of laughter. “And that is exactly how we’ll tell the south about Hiccup — not just a tale of bravery or heroism, but one of exceptionalism.”

“Precisely!” Radbod said, “And that is also, exactly, why I am the best king. The better leader. Your best friend. Your confidant. Especially compared to Stoick of all people—”

“Now hold on—”

Radbod leapt up from his seat, already shaking his fist. “And another thing about that chief—”

Sure enough, we did not return to our estate until later that day.

The ancestral Marius estate unfurled across the salt marshes just a few hours’ ride from the castle, vast enough to feel like its own dominion. In truth, it was a fortress in all but name — fifty times broader and five stories taller than Hiccup’s modest home. Not nearly as imposing as Radbod’s stronghold, perhaps, yet no less a marvel. 

Its twirling towers rose from the earth like lavender stalks, slender and reaching, their stonework catching the light as though they themselves breathed. Windows studded its walls in impossible numbers — three for every room, and there were at least forty. Beyond, gardens sprawled in ordered abundance, stables housed proud horses, a tidy farm spread its crops, and the grounds themselves stretched on into forests and down to the tide-bitten shore.

I knew every inch of it. The tracks where Phillipe’s hooves pounded through the morning fog, the woods where Max darted ahead of me with his nose to the ground, the corners where Richard (my talkative, beloved parakeet) scolded sparrows from the treetops.

Was it excessive? Yes, without a doubt. But given the nature of our work and what I’d just put up with, it was exactly what I needed, wanted, and more. Home, always home.

Home also meant facing Gisela Marius. My mother — glowing, expectant, and no doubt ready to erupt the moment she laid eyes on my father’s new scar… and the one carved into my leg.

Funny thing about my father: the man could shoot the Red Death in the eyeball, survive the Isle of Tomorrow, and walk into southern courts ready to defend Berk and some beanpole boy without breaking a sweat. But put him on the road home with a cut on his face? Suddenly he’s a disaster, pacing and wringing his hands like a guilty schoolboy. Why? Because he knew my mother was going to fuss. 

He lived for her approval, practically begged for it. Which was hilarious, considering their marriage was never supposed to be about love in the first place. 

My parents hadn’t married for love. At least, not at first. Their union was struck like any other bargain: my mother’s family, further south, owned lands threaded through mountain passes and fertile valleys the Marius’ desperately needed. She was ten years younger, far from home, and married off to a man whose life revolved around keeping a generations-old treaty between the entire south and one isle of axe-happy vikings who specialized in killing dragons.

And yet. My father, who never once treated anyone as lesser — not woman nor servant nor stranger — spent their marriage pouring himself into her happiness. 

That was when my mother realized she’d won the richest prize of all. A wealthy and secretly influential man who wasn’t ugly or cruel? Who gave her whatever she required, put in great effort to their relationship even this far into marriage?

The only caveat was his job. Insane treaty, insane dragons, insane Vikings; a very competitive salary though.

So far, she’d borne it. Worse — she’d gone and fallen in love with him. Which meant she would fuss, fuss terribly, every time he came home battered and scarred. Even worse every time she travelled with us, too. 

I could already picture her fury, a storm greater than Radbod’s, waiting to break the moment she saw us.

What I definitely wasn’t expecting was to find my mother having lunch with Khalid.

There she was: all sharp angles and impossible grace, glowing in the way only pregnant women and saints in stained glass windows seem to manage. Black hair piled high, skin pale and radiant, lips painted their usual rose-red, blue eyes soft but watchful. She was the Marius estate embodied — elegant, intimidating, and somehow comforting all at once.

Of course, she was dressed to perfection in a dark blue gown, the kind that reminded everyone she had land, influence, and taste. And there she was, looking serene and unbothered… while carrying on a perfectly casual lunch with Khalid.

Khalid. One of my few dear friends in the South, one of the even fewer privy to our family’s secrets. A good friend to Hiccup too, though only through letters. 

Handsome, tall, lean, with those unnervingly sharp blue-green eyes and soft brown hair that always made him look like he’d just stepped out of a great tale of forbidden romance.

Khalid, who on almost any occasion I’d be happy to see.

Khalid, the genius scholar who rarely traveled this far north.

Khalid, who was supposed to be in the Caliphate. Not Frisia.

So naturally, the second we four locked eyes across the dining room, my mother and I both exploded at once:

“What happened to your face?!”

“What are you doing here?!”

My mother snapped to me first, already halfway out of her chair, while Khalid darted forward to steady her.

“Please, please don’t tell me you have a scar too—”

But Khalid cut in before I could answer. “I got exiled.”

I blanched. “You what?!”

“My love—” my father winced, already moving in, “if you’d let me explain: a dragon got me—”

“You what?!” My mother shrieked. My father caught her just in time, pulling her into his arms before she worked herself into an actual fit. Over her shoulder, Khalid gave him a tiny nod.

Good luck, he mouthed.

My father, grim, mouthed back: You too.

And with that, he swept my mother out of the room to calm her down — leaving me alone with Khalid.

“Hi, Imka—”

“How did you get exiled?!”

While my father tried to explain to my mother what had happened to us in the next room over, I was left to explain to Khalid as well. In exchange for his own story of what happened in the Caliphate.

The Abbasid Caliphate was the crown jewel of the age — the pinnacle of science, philosophy, mathematics, medicine, literature, art, languages, all of it. Their roads welcomed more strangers than Frisia could dream of, their House of Wisdom drew scholars like moths to a flame. And Khalid’s family? They weren’t just part of it. They were it. Top of the food chain, the Caliphate’s golden asset.

Which was why it was even more shocking to hear he’d gotten exiled over an essay.

“Not just any essay,” Khalid muttered darkly, stabbing his eggs and bacon like they were personally to blame. “You know the Caliphate’s been in political decline. Byzantines squeezing us from one side, Fatimids from the other. And what does the government decide to do? Punch downward. Bully the smaller tribes. Easy victories, easy propaganda.” He dropped his fork with a clatter, eyes flashing. “Yes, brilliant plan! Let’s target the Ghuzz tribes — tiny, barely a threat! Then we’ll tell our people of our great efforts, placate them, while we remain powerless to the ones who actually are dangerous!”

The next room over, I could hear the distinct sound of my father frantically trying to convey his own story.

“So I wrote a strongly worded essay, sent it in, and the next day—?” He spread his arms, laughing incredulously. “Exiled. Just like that. Poof. Gone. So I packed up and went as far north as north could possibly be. The Ferratas were closer, but—perish the thought—I wouldn’t spend my days with Clotide. No, no. But then I remembered your family was here. Figured you might have need of my knowledge and abilities. And lo and behold—I was right! Your mother offered me shelter, a job, food—”

His arms dropped, and his blue-green eyes sharpened, fixing me.

“Only for you and your father to come home, and tell me everything that happened on Berk in the past—one—month. One, Imka Marius, one!” Khalid’s frown deepened, eyes wide. “As if being exiled from my homeland isn’t enough, you’re telling me you found an ancient kingdom of self-isolated people, richer than Rome at its height, who lived, spoke, and befriended dragons?”

“…Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I’m stealing the thunder from your exile story,” I mumbled, picking at my lunch.

“Not the point, not the point!” Khalid exclaimed, waving his arms. “And then you tell me there are plans for a research operation to uncover the secrets of this ‘Isle of Tomorrow,’ and I’m one of your first choices?!”

“I mean—”

“Truly,” he said, slumping back, covering his face with his hands, “truly, my exile was destiny. Divine intervention. Just like the churches said. Divine inter—oh… oh no.”

“I know,” I mumbled, bracing myself. I knew all conversations with kings, emperors, and chiefs in the coming months would sound like this, or the exchange we had with Radbod. “I know. But wait—it gets worse. Clotide is my second pick—”

“No!” Khalid barked, even louder this time. “No! Imka, I can’t! You cannot dangle the prospect of going even further north, excavating the dead remains of a fallen, rich, unheard-of mystical people, give me the perfect opportunity to join—and then tell me Clotide ‘Dragon Folklore and Mythology’ Ferrata will be joining me.”

“I still don’t understand,” I deadpanned. “What a scholar of maths, philosophy, language, and science would possibly have to argue about with a scholar of draconic folklore and mythology. Despite being friends with you two for years, I still don’t get it.”

“Clotide has a plethora of things to argue about with me,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Three things are infinite: God’s love, human stupidity, and Clotide’s endless desire to debate me to death.”

I had to stifle a laugh at that, before pushing a bowl of fruit to him, “Berry?”

“Don’t start.”

“At least you’ll finally be able to meet Hiccup.”

“... Yeah, alright that’s worth it.” He mumbled, popping a berry into his mouth. “I still need to wrap my head around the whole training dragons part. I always knew that boy was brilliant, but this is unprecedented. I mean, a Nightfury?”

“I know.” I smiled, fondly thinking of him. “It seems anything is possible now.”

Afterwards, when my mother had calmed down, I spent the rest of the afternoon in her arms by the gardens. The lavender and wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, and there on the third-floor window of the second tower, Khalid and my father could be seen in the study, poring over the newest blueprints Khalid had crafted. A ship bigger, faster, and, theoretically, able to get us to Berk in record time. From where we stood, it almost seemed like his theory could become reality.

“So he lost a leg?” my mother murmured, burying her face in my hair.

“Yes,” I said, watching a flock of sparrows dart across the sky. “He’s fine now. He’s got a prosthetic.”

“My boy,” she breathed, lifting her face. “I still remember when he was so small—bare-bottomed, running into the forest with your father chasing after him—”

I laughed softly, and she joined in, her chuckle warm and familiar.

“And now he’s a hero. The village loves him. I’m so glad,” Gisela Marius sighed, pausing before pinching the bridge of her nose. “But goodness—a dragon? A Nightfury? Oh… he’s more like Valka than I thought. Always has been, more than just her brown hair.” She brushed my own hair aside. “His temperament, his love for the unknown, his great empathy—”

“I know,” I murmured, my voice softening. “And I almost prevented him from—”

“Oh hush,” my mother interrupted gently. “We all knew you never did it to hurt him. Not intentionally, at least. I’m sure he knew too.” She smiled, absent-mindedly braiding my hair. “What’s done is done. I’m just happy to have you home, to know he’s alive, given the… extraordinary circumstances. Dragons and humans living peaceably on Berk? Valka’s dream, finally made real.”

I nodded, tracing patterns into the grass below as butterflies danced above the lavender. Sun on my skin, the smell of marshes and sea, my other friends resting close: my horse Phillipe, my greyhound Max, and my parakeet Richard. They refused to leave my side after coming home, perhaps noting the extra scrapes and bruises, or maybe sensing the faint trace of dragonfire and sulfur left on me—so subtle only animals could detect it.

Or perhaps they’d heard our stories. That secret language rearing its beautiful head once more, the possibility that animals truly could understand us, the way the dragons and people of Tomorrow understood one another.

“She would have been very proud of him,” my mother sighed.

She pressed a kiss to the crown of my head, now braided with wildflowers and sprigs of lavender. Chasing away the smell of sulfur, the fear, the darkness that lingered from that tower—and, in a small way, even the memory of Dove.

“In the same way she would have been proud of you, my daughter. The same way I am proud of you.”

My father, ever the genius and perfect husband, had quieted all her fears, leaving only a mother happy to have her daughter home once more.

“Thanks, Mom.” I leaned into her embrace, missing her scent, missing the simple joy of just being her daughter again.

However, even my mother could not chase away the nightmares that had been creeping in since our return from the Isle. At first, they were of Marcus Marius—scenes from his life, drawn from his diary entries, made real in my mind. Then the dreams shifted, overtaken by the tower. Alternate versions of that terrible time: devoured by the Red Death alongside Dove, drowning in the cloudburst instead of floating to the surface, everyone dying, my friends dying, Hiccup dying—every single nightmare, every realistic outcome that should have befallen someone as weak as me.

Then I’d wake up, cold sweat clinging to me, and find myself in my bedroom. Whether it was on my ship before, then Berk, and now finally in my home on Frisia.

Sometimes, I was so afraid I felt like real life was the dream and the nightmares the reality I’d be forced back into every night.

My father was no different, but he had long since come to terms that his life could end at any moment when visiting Berk. He’d carried a lifetime of near-misses, but this new silence was different, heavier. I heard him from my room, his restlessness, a low hum in the house, and then, a counter-melody: my mother's voice.

As I padded down the hall, I caught the soft, melodic sound of her singing—a song from their marriage. Stoick had once sung to Valka to propose, a song called For The Dancing and The Dreaming, I remembered. My father had sung something similar to my mother, though different, and in times of stress they would still sing to each other for comfort.

As I stepped out of my home in search of fresh air, hearing them sing brought me comfort too. Maybe, if I joined in, it would steady my shaking hands.

“... We’re after the same rainbow’s end,” I sang softly, my voice far from my mother’s effortless beauty.

Richard perched on my shoulder, chirping in gentle harmony as he sang with me, “Waiting ‘round the bend—”

“My huckleberry friend,” I murmured, smiling as Max padded right beside my legs. We wandered along the salt marshes, brushing against lavender and wildflowers. Above us, the silver moon hung like a coin in the sky, casting a path of pale light along the river that led to the ocean.

“Moon, river, and me,” I hummed, tugging Phillipe along. He pressed close, just as loyal and silent as the others, a warm weight against my side. Once a war horse now made a lifelong friend of mine. His black coat and long mane shimmered in the light of the stars and moon.

Then, we were joined by another. Khalid had followed after, carrying two cloaks and two pouches heavy with coin.

“I thought you might have trouble sleeping,” he said, offering me the cloak and pouch. “Your parents told me as much when they heard you sneaking out.”

“So they sent you?” I said, slinging the cloak over my shoulders.

“The markets in town are still open at this hour, plenty of people singing and dancing.” He shrugged, slinging his own over himself. “Figured you’d like to sing with other people instead of your lonesome self, would cover the banshee voice you have there.”

“Excuse me?!” I laughed.

“At least you aren’t moping now.” He patted my shoulder before moving to Phillipe, who was just as calm around him. “We can take your horse, dog, and bird with us if you’d like. So long as you didn’t bring a dragon along with you, not sure if the people of Frisia could take that just yet.”

“I didn’t bring a single one,” I hoisted myself onto Phillipe’s back, before helping Khalid and Max on as well. “... I don’t think I’m ready for another just yet.”

“Probably for good reason, you’ve got an anxious greyhound, temperamental parakeet, and an ex-warhorse to take care of as is.”

“...”

“You’re thinking of asking your father for another horse, aren’t you?”

“After everything, don’t I deserve one?”

“Imka!”

Thus the campaign began, with only a single day of rest before we set off for Wessex. Khalid decided to join us, convinced I’d need a friend (and he was right) to help with the nightmares.

We always started with Wessex first, since they were the easiest. Our languages, Englisc and Frisian, were near cousins in sound, and many nobles and royals alike adored us. It had to do with our marriage rules, mostly: by swearing off most nobility and royalty, we removed ourselves from being targets. As a result, we could move through courts more freely, without getting tangled in every political squabble or social feud.

If anything, it made us perfect insider-outsiders. My father and I negotiated with kings and lords, bartering on Berk’s behalf, while also listening to endless complaints from anyone who saw our visit as a chance to vent. It didn’t matter if Lucian Marius and his daughter knew that a countess had cheated on her husband fifteen time, what were we going to do? Gossip and ruin our own reputation as trustworthy companions? Also, it didn’t matter if I spent time with princes or princesses; family history proved how steadfast we were in our rules. In fact, I was being nudged towards being a companion to certain royalty in the same way I was to Hiccup.

No. Thank. You.

I had more than enough with just him, especially after everything that just happened on Berk.

They tried, of course—gifts, promises, compliments, fawning. Especially about my appearance. On the mainland, pale skin, a slender frame, and a delicate disposition were prized. “To look pure, like a saint,” most would say. I made sure to fit the ideal; appearances weren’t everything, but they greased the wheels of diplomacy.

It was also a handy deterrent against romance—on Berk or with most Vikings, at least. Astrid, for instance, was the ideal for them: blonde (though this also extended to us), round-faced, strong-physiqued. She may have failed mainland beauty standards, but I didn’t fit Berk’s ideals either. Tomato, tomahto. 

Beauty was just a tool—one I wielded strategically. To show the mainland I was far from marriage material for Berk, to convince them I belonged among them, or, of course, to nudge a client toward a new trade deal. 

Of course, they didn’t need to know I dressed down when visiting Berk: a simpler dress, a fur coat, nothing as flashy as what I wore to the courts. A part of me did want to belong to Berk, but — well, that wasn’t my life was it?

Now unlike Radbod, not every king or lord was convinced that Berk taming dragons was good news. Suspicion ran deep, but my father and I worked to grease the wheels—family history, our name on the line, promises of new trade routes. Then came the Red Death’s hide, teeth, bones, and my father’s careful plans. With each piece of evidence, their tight fists loosened, if only a little.

The final stroke was Hiccup himself—the case of his exceptionalism.

The Church approved as well, at least during the public meetings (we'd have our own private audience in early Spring). Values and morals mattered to them, even across glaring religious divides. Eventually, the Wessex and the Carolingian Empire relented, and so did the other Viking tribes. We just needed to continue to do our jobs, monitor the progress made in Berk, and reported to the South as we always did.

The last hurdle, therefore, was the matter of funding a research project to explore the Isle of Tomorrow and the Kingdom of the Wilderwest. Expensive, yes—and to many of them, unnecessary. Why spend fortunes exploring lands they didn’t yet believe were worth it?

That was where Khalid came in.

He argued that funding such a venture could place these empires and tribes ahead of the Caliphate in scientific advancement (of course, the more one donated the more of the spoils would go to them). I had already spoken of the wonders from the princess’ diary—the singing statues, the spiraling tower, silks spun fine as dragon-breath. Khalid reasoned that if we studied such marvels, replicated them (dragons excluded, at least for now), the world could be remade through invention and ingenuity. Or, even if we could not replicate their inventions, we'd be miles ahead in terms of pure knowledge, history, and science.

His status as being an exile from the Caliphate only convinced them even more. Men in power understood what it was to be scorned, and how to wield whatever advantage remained. It made sense, then, for Khalid to want to back people who might topple the Caliphate. Though of course, Khalid was never one for such black and white thinking. He really just wanted to go to the Isle of Tomorrow.

Intrigue stirred in the courts, but doubt remained. Funding could be found—eventually—but manpower was the greater issue. Yes, there were brilliant men and women on the mainland. But few were eager to embark on what sounded like a suicide mission into dragon-infested seas. Fewer were willing to ride on dragonback to even get up to the tower. And even fewer still were those willing and with good character.

Not everyone was trustworthy, brave, enduring, steadfast. Not everyone was like Hiccup, after all.

For now, the only clear candidates were members of my family, Khalid, and Clotide. Yet my father had one more card to play.

“During springtime,” he declared to the gathered kings, emperors, and chiefs, “Berk will hold the Thawfest Games. Competitors will test their strength, cunning, and endurance—this year, with new trials to measure their command of dragons. My daughter and I shall observe them and, based on our own evaluations, pick the new members of the expedition to the Isle of Tomorrow.”

There was a rumble of approval before King Rudolf III (Clotide’s king) spoke. Also known, unfortunately, as Rudolf the Sluggard. He was younger than most other kings, a well-meaning man, but terribly indecisive with a backbone of a slightly limp biscuit. 

His only redeeming quality was his piousness, but even then that was because he leaned on the Church too much for legitimacy.

“It is a brilliant plan,” he said, his soft voice echoing through the hall. “All of it. From this expedition to how Berk will continue to function as our shield. One I believe we can all agree upon. Almost like divine providence, so foolproof it seems. Of course, out of goodwill to your family, I must remind us all that even the finest plans may be undone by human error… by human sin.”

My father and I exchanged a glance, silently asking the same question: Where is this going?

“Your family is the exception, of course,” Rudolf continued. “For generations you have held that curious position—inside, yet outside. Never quite belonging to one court or the other. You have preserved your purity through strict marriage laws, through steady service to all of us.” He smiled faintly, then paused. “I am a young king, yes. But—if I may speak plainly—I am also a man.”

His eyes settled on me. There was nothing in them—no malice, no calculation. Just an unreadable softness that left me uneasy.

“You are an exceptional young woman,” he said at last. “Good in character. We have watched you grow these seventeen years into someone not only beautiful, but brave, intelligent, and dedicated. After hearing what you endured in that tower… should you ask for anything, I am sure any of us would be willing to grant it.”

I bristled. Compliments like these always carried a punch.

But Rudolf’s gaze shifted—softening not with desire but with something that looked almost like pity. And strangely, it was not for me, but for someone he seemed to see through me. Someone who wasn’t there. Then his eyes went to the stack of documents before him, right on the page regarding Hiccup.

“I am… concerned that the chief-to-be might see this as well,” he said finally, his tone gentle, careful. “And that he may be compelled by—let me not mince words—by affection for you. Even going so far as to desire to marry you one day.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I knew he was dim, I knew he was a sluggard, I knew he had the backbone of a slightly damp biscuit — but this? This was new. He was asking me, point blank, whether Hiccup might have a crush on me, even worse: want to be wed together. With me. Even outside Berk, I couldn’t escape it. He'd never even met the boy!

On one hand, I understood. If I were ever to marry Hiccup, it would shatter the credibility my family had fought for. The only reason we were even allowed in that room was because our reputation still held. 

My father could spin as many tales as he could about Hiccup, the Red Death, dragons — but he cannot spin a tale of me marrying anyone from Berk. Especially my best friend.

The entire room erupted in whispers and murmurs.

Yet Rudolf didn’t look like he was trying to corner me. No — from the way the others leaned forward, it was clear he’d only given voice to what everyone else was already thinking. And, in doing so, gave me room to address it. To put this concern to bed.

Ah.

Perhaps he wasn’t as stupid as I thought. Well then, might as well answer and boost his reputation in return.

“I am humbled by your words, Your Highness.” I dipped my head low, curtsied as deeply as I could, playing the part of the dutiful daughter and heiress. “You are as prudent as ever to be concerned. Your people are fortunate to have such a thoughtful king. If I may speak frankly, marriage, at its core, is never a one-sided affair. When two are wed, they are joined to be one.”

He inclined his head, a slow relieved smile curling on his lips, “That is true.”

“Therefore, how can two become one if they are not both in accord?” I raised my head, folding my hands together. “There will be no accord, regardless of how one party feels if the other feels differently. I have no control of what the chief-to-be feels, but I do have the power to control myself.”

Pious, pure, almost saintlike. I leaned into my image, both in character and appearance. A soft smile, hands folded together, rising back to my feet.

Even for the viking chieftains who watched, endurance and self-sacrifice was a quality they could admire as well.

The murmurs quieted, and Rudolf’s smile widened. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

“I will not exchange all our safety for mere romance.” I said, sweeping my eyes over the entire audience before me. “I will not exchange everything we have built over emotion. Our homes,” my gaze lingered on the chiefs, “however different they are, and this treaty — they are far more important.”

We, ours—not me, not you, not merely I. Every word chosen carefully. “We” as a bind, a reminder that our fates were shared. Regardless of our own wars, regardless of how different we all were.

“And thus an accord shall never be reached,” he said, nodding. “How quickly you soothe us, truly. Lord Marius, you have an excellent daughter.”

My father’s smile grew even brighter, pride radiating. “I am deeply honored.”

Chapter Text

By the time we’d passed the first month of the campaign, I couldn’t keep up anymore. The nightmares had worsened, pulling me under night after night, until my father finally carried on without me in the private councils with emperors and Viking chiefs. It was agreed — politely, but firmly — that I should return to Frisia. I was still only the heiress, after all, not the head of my family. A reminder, yet again, that when I did take over, there would be even less space for weakness.

Some were concerned, most indifferent. Their children — some half-aware of what my family really did, some utterly ignorant — mocked me openly. I wasn’t surprised. That was just another part of life here. But the nightmares… those were new, and cruel.

It was around this time that Clotide joined our odd little band of campaigners — though in truth, she served more as caretaker to the “Imka Support Club”. Alongside Khalid, of course.

“I still can’t believe King Rudolf asked you that in front of everyone. What a gambit.” Khalid leaned back into the soft cushions of my bed, popping a raisin into his mouth. “But then again, you bet on a Marius and you typically come out winning.”

We were all gathered in my room well past midnight, after yet another episode of me waking in screams and taking an hour to calm.

By then Khalid had adopted most of our Frisian style, wearing a simple tunic, trousers, and boots. But he kept his rida: a deep emerald cloak embroidered with intricate trimmings. His most treasured possession, made long ago by his aunt. A reminder of home — though home, to him, was as much a frustration as it was a memory.

“Not the limp biscuit we all thought he was, then,” Clotide laughed over the rim of her golden chalice, already halfway through her second helping of wine as she lounged beside me.

Her blonde hair spilled around her in a pool of pale, molten gold, streaked here and there with strands that shone nearly white. Her eyes, a deep near-black, caught the candlelight and gleamed just as bright as my amber ones. The white nightgown she wore — like mine — bore a few careless stains of red. She was definitely tipsy, but I couldn’t fault her. Looking after me these days was a full-time ordeal.

Every night, she and Khalid took turns keeping watch. Sometimes he sat by my side, holding my hand until sleep pulled me under. Other times, Clotide would read one of my old fable books until I drifted off.

But what was truly extraordinary was when Khalid and her put aside their differences just to take care of me. And if they did debate or argue, it was never around me.

Unfortunately, the stone walls, thick as they were, did little to mute the shouting once they’d retreated to the next room. Always about Dragonese, always about theories of language, always ending in insults.

“A guess? You’re hazarding a guess? You better give me a better guess before I guess your life expectancy —”

“Really? You’re the one souvenir shopping for stupid theories in the Marius archives while my soul here erodes from your complete incompetence!”

“Because the last time we tried to compare Greek and Englisc to Dragonese we were nowhere near the —”

“We were close enough!”

“Close enough? CLOSE ENOUGH?! ROUGHLY?! Do you think this is a game of horseshoes you toad? You blithering imbecile! We don’t do roughly here you halfwit!”

… At the very least we were making progress on rediscovering Dragonese.

From the prayer I’d recited in the Princess’ diary to the scattered notes I’d scribbled during my time with Toothless, we had just enough fragments to stumble our way through the dark. We began by comparing words from the languages the three of us knew, then searching for commonalities in pronunciation.

Dragonese felt like it had sprung from some mother tongue—a spring at the head of a river system. The rivers that branched from it, twisting through valleys and pouring toward the sea, were the key to tracing that original source. In our case, those rivers were the languages spoken across the Mainland. But rivers shift. They take centuries to carve themselves, and their paths bend with storms, droughts, human meddling, even earthquakes. Languages followed the same logic, shaped by wars, trade, migrations—every bridge built (or destroyed) between peoples leaving its mark.

So time became the real challenge. We would need a timeline: a map of these branching rivers, their origins, and the events that set them flowing. That meant cross-referencing history itself—migrations, wars, treaties, markets—everything that had a hand in the evolution of the tongues of men.

And for that, we had to go underground.

Beneath my family home sprawled the Marius Archives: a cavernous stone chamber five stories high, shelves packed from floor to ceiling with books. Roman codices, family genealogies (not just our own), treaties, letters from allies, medical treatises, even multiple translations of the Bible—which was very scandalous in this age. The collection spanned nearly every language spoken in the South across centuries. This library became our compass, and from its pages we began to chart the rivers of speech back to their spring.

“The Latin used in the diary is classical—Empire at its peak.” I muttered, tugging an old codex from the highest shelf. “See? This one’s dated to the year two hundred and twelve. Based on the last artifacts our family dug up, this is one of the last surviving documents still written in classical Latin.”

“Which means the Isle of Tomorrow and the Kingdom of the Wilderwest could’ve been lost for eight centuries,” Khalid said, frowning as he set his candle on the great table in the middle of the chamber. “Or more. Either way, they must have had contact with the Romans at some point.”

“But the Princess claimed they’d been isolated for generations,” Clotide grunted, dropping a precarious stack of books onto the other end of the table. “If the Romans ever did reach them, surely she’d have said so.”

“The tower’s architecture was disturbingly Roman too,” I said, sinking into a plush armchair. “And you know the Empire—they recorded everything. Surely there’d be mention of a people working with dragons.”

“Unless they did meet them,” Khalid countered, “and got so spooked they forbade their scribes from writing it down.”

Clotide gave him a long look, lips pursed. Finally she said, “I’m going to ignore that dumb theory and present to you another—less dumb one.”

I shushed Khalid before he could bite back. “Go on.”

“Convergent mythology,” she said, fiddling with the book in her lap. “Every culture I’ve studied has dragon stories. North of here—Zipplebacks, Nadders, Night Furies. South—sea-dragons like Tannin, or Apep. Just last month I acquired texts from the East with their own—Long is what they call dragons. We barely have contact with these peoples, yet dragons keep appearing in their tales. Some dismiss them as myth, others insist they’re real, but that’s beside the point. The fact remains: shared stories spring up in places that have never met. So why wouldn’t language—or even architecture—develop the same way?”

Khalid leaned forward. “You’re saying civilizations can develop the same patterns without ever crossing paths? Like if I invented the wheel here, Imka could—hypothetically—reinvent it far southeast without ever knowing I’d done it?”

“Exactly.” She shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“And almost happened on Berk,” I murmured. My mind flicked back to how they treated dragons—like animals meant to die in battle to gladiators in Rome’s heyday. Then to the tower, to how narrowly Berk had avoided a similar fate to Tomorrow.

All rivers spring from a source, but most end in the sea. Those that don’t—those that stagnate—turn brackish, hostile to life. The Jordan River flowing into the Dead Sea was one example. The Isle of Tomorrow another. And Berk itself had teetered dangerously close.

History repeats. Man mirrors nature, and nature mirrors man.

In the end we accepted Clotide’s theory, and our timeline finally began to take shape. A mock-dictionary of Dragonese was well under way; we’d even sketched out the bones of basic sentence structure. All that remained was to test it on the dragons back on Berk. It was a long shot, but if our ridiculous theories somehow held water, it could change everything.

Clotide and Khalid, of course, latched onto that as the reason they had to come on the expedition. Not that they needed to argue their case—they were the only people from the Mainland mad enough to volunteer in the first place. (Beside myself. No, I’m not crazy. At least not that crazy.)

By Christmas the Church finally decided to check whether I was possessed.

No, you read that correctly. Yes, there were actual concerns about demonic possession—not from the Church itself, but from our attendants, servants, and half of Frisia who’d heard too many rumors about “the late-night screaming heiress.” Honestly it wasn’t even that bad anymore; Clotide and Khalid had done wonders in calming me.

Bishop Joseph—head of the local Church, lead exorcist, and to me always “Father Joseph”—called me in to be assessed. 

Everyone else saw him as the white-haired, long-bearded holy man of Frisia. I saw him as the man who still liked to remind me he’d changed my nappies as a baby, who told anyone within earshot how I once disappeared from his care at dawn only to be found two hours later barefoot in the snow. Or how impossible it was to dress me after baths because he could never find me when I hid, because I was so quiet. And so on. And so forth. More embarrassing stories, etcetera, etcetera, please don’t let me go on.

Just think of Hiccup running bare-bottomed in the woods, my father hot on his heels. Yes, yes let that be your mental image instead.

“You’re not possessed.”

I threw my hands up. “I told everyone I wasn’t! I told them, and nobody listened to me!”

“You are, however,” Father Joseph sighed, sliding his papers into a neat pile, “hopelessly sleep-deprived.”

“...Well—”

“And that’s even more inexcusable to me.” He smacked me lightly on the head with a rolled-up scroll. “For goodness’ sake, Imka, think of your health! I can cast out demons, but I cannot cast out your lack of sleep. Do you remember what happened to your father the last time this happened?”

“Ow!”

We sat in the inner chambers of the Grand Church of Frisia. Tall stained-glass windows loomed on either side, though no light streamed through them—outside, a snowstorm rattled the bare trees, their branches ticking against the glass like restless fingers. A fire glowed in the corner, but all its warmth felt wasted as I perched on the chair across from his desk. On the table, the stack of documents accusing me of “possession” now bore a clean signature in black ink: unfounded claims.

“The man couldn’t even function,” Father Joseph went on, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All because he forgot his wedding anniversary. Loving your wife is good and all, but you still need to sleep.”

I flailed my arms. “Okay, but this is different! I had—I had a whole thing with a tower, on that isle—”

“I’m well aware of that tower, Imka.” He cut me off with a raised hand. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you about it. There are things about that incident I find more concerning than any possession.”

I froze. More concerning than possession? Like what? That I’d somehow developed water-summoning powers? That I’d repeated the princess’s prayer—which was definitely not from my own religion? My brain whirred, already picturing a witchcraft trial or some accusation of trickery—

“Imka,” Father Joseph drawled, propping his chin on his hand. “No one here thinks you’ve dabbled in witchcraft. Or trickery. Or blasphemy.”

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped, a nervous laugh escaping me. “That’s… that’s great! Because I’ve seriously, seriously not done any of that. I’ve been at every Mass since returning, and I—”

“Goodness.” He rubbed his face, exhaling through his nose. “I’m aware of all that, Imka. I’m the one who sees your nervous smiles and waves at every Mass, remember?”

“...Yes.”

“What was I saying—ah, right.” He tapped the edge of his desk and started flipping through another stack of documents, neat rows of ink from a scribe who’d recorded every meeting my father and I had attended. “What concerns me is this theory floating around—that you’re somehow the answered prayer of that dead princess. Some kind of fulfillment of a prophecy?”

“Uh… yes. I mean, I remember being told I was part of some divine plan—uh, divine intervention, I think? From the Churches in Wessex?”

He glanced up at me sharply, brown eyes catching the amber flicker of the fireplace. “You do know there’s a difference between a plan and a prophecy, yes?”

“...Uh.”

“My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge,” he muttered, then sighed again, softer this time. “I think I’ve found the core of your nightmares, dear child. And it’s not possession. It’s that you—on some deep level—believe you’re truly part of this prophecy.”

I rubbed my neck, frowning. “I mean… it makes sense, doesn’t it? The prayer mentions water over and over, and my name literally means water!”

Father Joseph just stared at me, eyes narrowing slowly.

“Are you being serious?” he said finally. “Right then. If I say it will rain tomorrow and it rains—not here but somewhere else on this earth—am I suddenly a prophet? If I say a man will fall on his backside tomorrow and someone, somewhere does, am I a fortune-teller? And if my name happened to be Milk instead of Joseph, and a poor child asked for milk only for me to show up and say hello, does that make me the fulfillment of prophecy too?”

“... I mean —”

“Let me make this simpler. A prophecy means that it needs to be fulfilled, to actually accomplish something. This princess, whoever she is, asked for water to… what? To do what?” He made a face, spreading his hands out. “Save her people? Flood the tower, get them out of there? And did it happen? Did it actually happen, did you save them?”

“No, they were dead when I got there —”

“Precisely!” He exclaimed, waving his arms around, long white sleeves flapping about. “Precisely! There is no prophecy, their prayer fell on deaf ears! It doesn’t matter if you saw their ghosts reaching out to you, they do not have any bearing on you.”

“But… but it looked like they were reaching out to me?’

“I’m going to dress up as a ghost and do the same thing tonight if it’s what it will take for you to let go of this idea.” He frowned, “Regardless of whether or not what you saw was ghosts, a spirit, a demon — it matters little. What is important right now is how far you have deluded yourself into thinking you are obligated to somehow fix their mess. You cannot, because — well, they’re dead, Imka.”

Something twisted inside me at the thought. The memory of the skeletons—especially the child and the girl my age—still haunted my nightmares. Their ghostly faces as I floated to the surface, the sight of their bones dissolving into ash as the water swallowed them. It felt wrong to dismiss myself as someone who had nothing to do with them.

“Why was I brought there then?” I gritted my teeth, fists balling in my skirt. “Why was there a wolf waiting in the forest to attack me—only for Dove, the dragon, to kill it and drag me to that tower—just so I could know the destruction of a people who had called for someone like me?!”

“There’s the anger,” Father Joseph murmured, nodding. “I wondered how long you’d been bottling it up.”

“I mean—” I seethed, raking my hands through my hair. “It would’ve been so much easier if I’d never been taken there! Why? Why were they like that? Why didn’t they pay attention to that little dragon? How could a people so great fail so completely—and then doom the North to generations of raids?!”

Silence.

“I had nothing to do with it!” I burst out, wiping my face. “But because of them, countless lives have been lost on Berk and beyond. Because of them, Hiccup lost his—his—”

The words snagged in my throat, sharp as thorns, as painful as swallowing glass.

“It’s alright. It’s good to be angry—just not to be consumed by it,” Father Joseph said softly, handing me a clean handkerchief. “And it’s not good to let it fester either. We’re born with these emotions for a reason. At least now they’re finally surfacing.”

“I just… I can’t help it.” I rubbed my stinging eyes with the cloth. “If I could travel back in time—if by some miracle I could stop all this—then he’d never have lost his mother or his leg. Berk would still have more of its people. My family wouldn’t have to keep bending over backwards to keep the peace. If the Wilderwest had just found another way… life could’ve been so different.”

More silence. I fingered the damp handkerchief in my lap.

“It was so much easier when we thought dragons were just mindless monsters attacking some isolated village in the North,” I whispered. “Now I have to feel bad for them. They didn’t want to do it—not to that extent. They used to be humanity’s friends, the way my animals are to me. I can’t imagine one day forgetting all that—and then spending generations killing their kind.”

“I know,” Father Joseph murmured. “I understand.”

“They used to be allies. And we could’ve —” I frowned, bottom lip trembling as my tears threatened to spill once more. “... Dove would’ve been alive. She would have been alive if they just… she could’ve…”

“…But you wouldn’t be alive,” Father Joseph said softly. The words jarred me. “If none of it had happened, your family would never have come to be. Perhaps, yes, you would exist somewhere else, some other time—just as your father often laments to me. Somewhere southeast of here, where your only concerns are food and study.”

He offered me a small, gentle smile—the first one all day. “But you wouldn’t have met your best friend. We wouldn’t have had you—not the people, not the traders, not the enslaved and suffering who have you and your family to thank for their freedom. And I, personally, would not have had the pleasure of watching you grow these past seventeen years.”

A beat passed.

“History is full of failures,” he went on quietly. “Failed people, failed inventions, failed solutions. All man-made. All devastating. Yet even through that, there is a guiding hand—working all things for the greater good.” He reached out for my hand, and I gave it. His thumb rubbed slow, steady circles over my knuckles.

“The great inexorable Love,” he murmured. “The One who stitches our broken pieces into something beautiful—a tapestry we can only glimpse. One we become part of if we ask, if we surrender. And you—” he looked into my eyes, “—you’ve surrendered many times.”

He paused, his thumb still moving.

“Do you know what a silversmith does to prepare silver?” he asked softly. “He holds the unrefined metal over the hottest point in the fire—because that’s where the impurities burn away. But through it all, he never takes his eyes off the silver. Not once. Because if he left it too long, it would be ruined beyond measure.”

Another pause. A wobbly smile flickered across his face, and something inside me unclenched.

“And I do not see a damaged woman before me,” he whispered. “I do not see a failure, a disappointment, or a failed prophecy. I see a daughter who has passed through fire and come out more loving than she was before. You have survived. That’s all that is asked of you—not to be a hero, not to fix every mistake. Just to be a daughter. To be loving. The rest follows.”

A memory sparked to life:

“Loving,” my father had told me the day he returned. “Loving one another, caring for one another. The rest follows.”

Father Joseph drew back his hands, folding them together. His voice grew firm. “We do not give in to the demands of mere men when it comes to our fate and destiny. No human—living or dead—can dictate your identity, no matter how much power they wield. Your family has had the wealth and influence to abandon this treaty for generations. But they haven’t. Because they chose to stay. You chose to stay. Even in that tower, when given the easy out of ending your life, you chose otherwise.”

Another memory sparked to life, this time of King Radbod:

“Dearest Imka.” he leaned forward, fingers laced, his heavy signet ring glinting in the morning light. “The fact he never actually succeeded in running — well, that’s what makes him great. It proves that even in the harshest place, he endures. And when faced with the sweetest temptations, he resists them. That is what makes him exceptional.”

“It is what makes you exceptional, it is what makes you… you. Not perfect, not a grand hero, but exactly what the world needs, too.” He smiled, “Don’t think your friend is the only one who has great endurance. So when some dead people try to tell you you’re meant to be their hero, their saviour, their great heroine who failed, or some failed prophecy — do not believe them. You are a daughter, you have a home, you have people who love you, and you will always, always have a seat at the table wherever you are.”

Another pause before he winked.

“And if a ghost or demon does end up materializing, or… I suppose a dragon in this case, telling you it’ll kill you in two days, or you have some mission to be fulfilled in a day or two or else,” he laughed, light and breezy. “Tell him you’ll see him on the third day.”

Something bubbled in my throat, some wellspring of hope and light bursting through me. Finally, truly beginning to chase out the dark, carrying away the sediments of all the fear and pain I’d brought with me from the tower.

“Don’t let them tell you who you are. They don’t dictate what happened, happens, or will happen to you.”

It was at this point I burst into tears. Rivers rushing through my veins, flushing out that burden I had no idea I was carrying so heavily up until this point. Always so good at hiding things away, always so good at playing smoke and mirrors with others. To have my entire being stripped bare in this way was as liberating as it was shameful. And I was glad for it. I suppose my own Christmas gift of the year.

When I’d finally quieted, Father Joseph had prepared me some spiced berry tea for myself and wrapped me in a simple blanket.

“... Thank you, Father.”

“Tut, tut, don’t thank me yet!” he clicked his tongue. “I am still cross with you for neglecting sleep.”

I smiled, the first genuine one that entire day. “... Of course you are.”

“Oh, and I did want to tell you.” He cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly. “For your next trip the entire Church has come to agreement to make it mandatory for you to take your horse, dog, and parakeet.”

“Say what?”

By the time the snow melted into spring sun, we’d convinced all of the South to continue backing Berk in keeping the dragons from flying south. Crusade averted. Funding secured for an expedition to the Isle of Tomorrow by fall. And, the cherry on top—triple the promised support from our allies.

Blood money, of course. Gold wrung from the slave trade thriving under cover of war. We used it to buy slaves, free them, and—if possible—gather information on their masters. Most of the time there was no “master” to name. Still, we freed them. What information we gathered funneled into our cleaner ventures: trade, craft, honest work. That money—the pure money—was what we’d use to support Berk.

And I was lighter than before. The nightmares had gone. Father Joseph had been right: I had somehow come to agreement that I was some fulfilment of a prophecy. That I had to somehow fix everything that’d happened hundreds of years before I was even born. 

That time in the kitchens with Tuffnut replayed in my mind:

“Why do you think the world revolves around whether or not you get it right?” His voice was level, but it cut like a blade. “Don’t you think it’s a little arrogant to believe everything hinges on you? That you’re the missing piece?”

I kept having to stifle a laughter at the memory. He was right, at least in part. I was still a missing piece of a puzzle, just not the one I thought I was. More of a… person, part of a larger group, a great big community, rather than some part of a prophecy, rather than some nanny or slave to some chief-to-be. 

A friend. A daughter. A person.

As I reread Marcus Marius’ journal up to the days leading to my next departure to Berk, I never felt more connected to him than now. And it was all thanks to the people around me. How glad, how fortunate I was to have these people around me. My own Christmas gifts, as sappy and cliche as it was. Far better, far more priceless than that chest of gifts I’d prepared for the twins.

My other set of Christmas gifts were waiting for me back on Berk too. Astrid, Fishlegs, those annoying (but beloved) twins, Snotlout, Stoick, Gobber, Gothi, Toothless, Hookfang, Stormfly, Meatlug — on and on the list went, and at the end was my favorite of all: Hiccup.

I couldn’t wait to see him again, to tell him everything that’d happened on the Mainland. Plans for a fully-funded expedition to the Isle of Tomorrow, deliver the letters from Khalid and Clotide, break the news that he was finally going to meet some of his favorite penpals by autumn, and so much progress made on Dragonese!

Even better, I finally had a reason to bring my animal companions along. The Church wanted proof that if Berk could live alongside dragons, then surely they could coexist with mankind’s oldest companions—horses, dogs, and birds. If Phillipe, Richard, and Max returned unharmed, it would only confirm that dragons were fit to stand as partners, not just beasts. At least symbolically, I knew the other reason was to have them stand by me in case I ever got attacked in the woods again.

Anyways, I couldn’t wait to introduce them to Toothless too!

As we set sail (with Clotide and Khalid clinging to me, begging not to be left behind until autumn), I pictured Berk: dragons soaring above villagers, Astrid at Hiccup’s side, friendships reforged stronger than ever. Like silver purified in fire. A rainbow of dragons streaking the sky, our doves rising behind them—maybe even Richard joining the flock. Just as I’d left it.

Surely there’d be nothing to worry about when we arrived. Surely my animal friends would be just fine!

… Right?

Chapter Text

I was dead wrong apparently.

My father, his entire crew, my animal companions, and I all stared as Stoick — on Toothless’ back — shot through the grey sky. Hiccup clung to his father’s back, seated right behind, screaming his lungs out.

I rubbed my eyes. Once. Twice. Nope, still real.

Max gave a howl and bolted below deck, tail between his legs. Richard, perched on Phillipe’s head, and Phillipe himself both turned to me with the slowest, most judgmental stares imaginable. The kind that clearly said: Where in the world did you bring us, you crazy woman?

“Well, I did promise you a work trip,” I grinned, though it came out shaky. “And, uh… technically this is my workplace.”

I gestured toward Berk: its crooked dirt roads, modest timber houses, a small bustling market, narrow docks — and dragons. Dragons everywhere. Arcing across the sky, riders on their backs.

And three of them were heading straight for us.

“Imka!”

If seeing Toothless several miles high wasn’t enough to scare my parakeet and horse off, the sight of Hookfang, Stormfly, and Meatlug swooping in up close definitely did. With a combined shriek and neigh, my faithful horse and bird bailed below deck, following Max’s trail. That left me, my father, and the crew scrambling to keep our balance as three fully grown dragons slammed onto the deck with their riders.

“Hi everyone—oof!”

Pre–Red Death, the wildest Berkian welcome I’d get was Hiccup charging to the docks with Stoick and Gobber in tow. Now? Three riders, three dragons, and, as if things couldn’t get better (or worse), the twins plummeted from above right on top of me.

That was how I ended up face-first on the planks of my galleon, surrounded by four dragons, six riders, my father, and his crew trying desperately not to laugh at their boss’s daughter.

“…Hi,” I groaned into the wood.

Astrid reached me first, pulling me up with a smile so bright it nearly blinded me. Did she know her teeth actually gleamed like that?

“Hi!” she chirped. “Oh gods, we’ve been waiting forever—”

“Did you bring the presents?” Tuffnut shoved past her, wide-eyed.

“Not that we only care about the presents,” Ruffnut cut in, muscling from the other side, “we’re glad to see you too, but—”

“The daggers?” one blurted.

“The maces?!” the other demanded.

“The spices?!”

“The books? The silks?!”

At this point, they blurred together into one big blonde, gift-hungry blob. Well, minus Astrid who I could still pinpoint by her shining white teeth.

“Alright, alright,” laughed my father, clapping the twins on their shoulders. “Why don’t we give my daughter some space, hm? I’m sure there’ll be more than enough time to catch up — once we’ve docked, that is.”

“Oh, actually—can we take Imka on a ride?” Fishlegs piped up beside me. “We’ve got so much ground to cover before—”

“Hey, hey, don’t spoil the surprise!” Snotlout hissed, elbowing him. “One step at a time, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Right, right!”

Blinking through the haze, I managed to croak: “What surprise?”

“Better if we show you.” Snotlout swung onto Hookfang’s back, then looked to my father. “That is, uh… if we can steal her for a bit, Trader Marius?”

“I see no reason why not.” My father shrugged, throwing me a very conspiratorial wink. “Just don’t blame me when her horse throws a fit later.”

“Your horse’s name is Phillipe, right?” Fishlegs asked, far too chipper, helping me toward Hookfang. I held my arms out cautiously—Hookfang, courteous as ever, pressed his warm snout into my palms with a low, pleased rumble. Comforted, I blinked a few more times—vision clearing just in time to realize I was already perched on his back.

“…Huh?”

Right on cue, Phillipe poked his head up from below deck. His indignant neigh said it all. Eyes bulging, ears pinned flat—pure betrayal.

“Phillipe—” I started, tightening my grip as Hookfang coiled on his haunches. The other dragons followed suit, riders grinning ear to ear. “I swear we can go for a ride tomorrow, just stay with my father and—”

A yelp, a lurch, and suddenly I was airborne, a couple of inches behind Snotlout. Astrid and Meatlug flanked us, while above, the twins had already swiped their gifts and were busy sniffing bottled spices and swinging shiny new weapons. I should’ve been offended with the way they didn’t even wait for me to actually gift it first, but instead I preened. What can I say? I’m a good gift-giver. My track record with Hiccup alone proves it.

“Hold on!” Snotlout whooped, banking hard as we dove between seastacks in a neat formation.

“I thought we were going to the village?!” I yelled over the wind.

“We are!” Astrid shouted back, “Just taking the more scenic route!”

Fishlegs beamed from Meatlug’s saddle. “This is one of Hiccup’s patrol courses! Best views on the island. You don’t get dragons on the Mainland, so we figured you’d missed flying.”

He was right. Back home, riding Phillipe through the forest was my thrill—wind in my hair, branches brushing my skirts as we leapt rivers and raced sparrows. But dragonflight? That was a different freedom. Nothing between me and the sky but the sea’s salt spray and roaring wind. Hookfang’s wings beat steady beneath me, each stroke a drumbeat in the air. We dipped low enough for my hand to skim the sea—where shadows of sea-dragons prowled, jaws snapping at schools of fish.

“There’s Scauldy!” Ruffnut waved to a green Scauldron lifting its head. “Hi, buddy!”

“She tamed another one,” Snotlout muttered over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Show-off. I could tame twenty times that.”

“Of course you could.” I laughed as more dragons surfaced, curious and chirping.

Then we soared into forests, threading and twirling between the evergreen pine, up the rocky slopes and even to the highest points. There, Deadly Nadders, Monstrous Nightmares, and other types of dragons roosted and played. Some greeted us with cheerful chirps, whereas others only spared us a wary stare.

“That’s a Typhoomerang!” Astrid pointed out. “Ever since the Red Death, new species keep showing up on Berk. So far, they’re happy to live and let live with us.”

“I don’t remember seeing half of these in the Book of Dragons!” I yelled, wide-eyed.

“Brand new species!” Fishlegs laughed excitedly as we exited the forest, now soaring just above Berk. “There are so many we didn't even know existed before!”

“The world got bigger after you left,” Tuffnut said, somehow hanging upside down to grin at me. “Cool, right? We even started inventing new saddles and gear.”

“Gobber’s been leading that,” Ruffnut added. “And upgrading Berk. Check it—see those perches and toys?”

I squinted down. Giant wooden birdhouses and perches dotted the village, bright in painted reds, blues, and yellows. Some fully-formed, others only halfway. I suppose we had anticipated rightly before disembarking, there would always be new buildings being built on Berk. Only now it wasn’t because they’d been burned down, but because their new friends needed a home to stay.

The baker’s house, for the first time in years, still stood tall. The man himself was out and about, laughing happily as Terrible Terrors jumped on his head and skittered around.

“... We had an accident where we used metal instead of wood for the new perches,” Fishlegs laughed nervously, “Then there was a thunderstorm. Did not end well.”

“Not as bad as Astrid sneaking exploding dragon eggs into every house during Snoggletog,” Tuffnut snorted. “Now that was legendary.”

“You what?” I gaped at Astrid.

Her face went crimson, “I — I didn’t know dragon eggs exploded when they hatched, okay?! Apparently all the dragons needed to lay eggs during that time, so they left and we all panicked and then we all thought Snoggletog was ruined —”

“She tried starting a bunch of new ‘traditions,’ Ruffnut smirked, air-quoting. “Honestly? Pretty awesome. Explosions for Snoggletog? That’s sick.”

“Except the Yaknog,” Tuffnut gagged.

“I thought you liked the Yaknog!” Astrid shouted over the wind.

“…Astrid, it had hair in it.”

It was Snotlout’s turn to chime in, “Babe, the Yaknog was so good—”

I laughed, trying to picture everything I’d missed: Astrid’s hairy Yaknog, exploding dragon eggs, lightning strikes on Berk. Each story was more ridiculous than the last — and honestly, way more fun than my own Mainland misadventures.

“Starting new traditions, huh?” I grinned as we touched down at the arena, Astrid offering me a steadying hand. “Now that’s a side of you I didn’t expect.”

“Yeah, well… I didn’t like everyone being sad when the dragons left.” She ducked her head, suddenly sheepish. “So I thought… well, what would Imka do? Well she’d make food, cheer people up, get something new going. Like Snotlout and Hiccup’s dinners every other day—”

My chest tightened. “You were… thinking about me?”

Astrid sputtered, stumbling over her words in pure Hiccup fashion. Had she picked up on his mannerisms? That was cute. 

“I—I—shut—!”

Too cute. With a squeal, I swept her into my arms, planted a quick kiss on her cheek, then squished her face between my hands until her lips puckered.

“You’re adorable,” I beamed. “Tell you what — make me the Yaknog, and we’ll fix it together.”

“U-urk—” Astrid’s eyes screwed shut, her whole face turning crimson. “It’s not Snoggletog anymore! It’d be out of season!”

Stormfly gave an amused trill. I could’ve sworn I caught the faintest words: She really does try her best.

I met the Nadder’s gaze and let a slow, knowing smile spread across my face. Her eyes widened, startled — like she was questioning if she’d really seen me understand. I winked, pressed a finger to my lips in a playful shh, and finally let Astrid go.

“So,” I clasped my hand together, stepping back. “What’s the surprise you guys were mentioning?”

“... Hiccup’s not here yet,” Fishlegs mumbled, scratching his neck. “I think he’s still taking the chief out for a —”

“Incoming!” Tuffnut yelled.

Right on cue, chief and chief-to-be came barreling in on Toothless. Not quite the screaming disaster from before, but still far from graceful — especially since their “landing” ended with knocking Fishlegs to the ground.

Astrid and I hurried to haul him up. Toothless, Stoick, and Hiccup flailed in the background, still trying to dismount without colliding.

“Are you alright?” I asked Fishlegs, helping him stand.

“... I just got flattened by a four-hundred-pound chief, his Night Fury, and the heir of Berk,” he muttered, swaying on his feet. “What do you think?”

Astrid let out a snort of laughter before handing him over to Meatlug.

“Imka!” Hiccup called, jogging over with his trademark flappy arms and a grin big enough to split his face. “I saw your ship at sea, but Dad was flying like crazy, and I—”

He cut himself short, stopping just a few steps away. The same boy I’ve always been friends with, except lighter somehow, like the weight of Berk’s scorn had finally lifted. And yet — he hovered, fingers twitching at his sides, torn between shaking my hand or pulling me into a hug.

I rolled my eyes fondly and leaned forward to save him the trouble —

Only to be intercepted by Stoick. His massive hands clamped down on my shoulders with enough force to knock the breath from me.

“Little lass!” he boomed. “Knew I spotted your father’s ship. Now, how did the meetings with the—” He froze, gaze sliding past me toward the others. His eyes narrowed, and instantly the whole crowd stiffened like soldiers caught out of line. “... Hm, perhaps we should continue matters of business elsewhere?”

Astrid, Hiccup, and I were still the only ones who knew (if you didn’t count Toothless and Stormfly) of the real reason as to why my family kept visiting Berk. Though, considering how close everyone was to me now, it was only a matter of time until I let them in on it too. 

Fishlegs would definitely be the next one, then probably Snotlout, as for the twins… well, I’d sort that out when we got to it. Preferably before the expedition.

Hiccup peeked around his father, 

“Oh —” He suddenly blurted, distracted by Snotlout pantomiming wildly in the background, pointing toward the dragons. It took a second for the message to click, but then his face lit. “Right! The surprise! So we—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

Because in rode my father astride Phillipe. Max trembled in his lap, tail tucked tight, while Richard clung to his shoulder like a quivering feathered scarf. Phillipe, on the other hand, looked about ready to beat someone to death with his hooves.

My father, of course, was utterly serene. “Imka,” he said smoothly, “remember what I told you when you begged to adopt this little menagerie? Their care is your responsibility, not mine.”

“Oh!” I wriggled out of Stoick’s grip and dashed toward them.

Phillipe immediately jabbed his snout into my ribs hard enough to make me yelp — then laugh through the sting.

“I’m sorry, look I spent all winter with you — well, most of winter.” I grinned, “Can you fault me for getting new friends?”

My horse looked at me, then the dragons. Again with the same look that seemed to accuse me of being a crazed woman.

“Crazy lady,” my parakeet chirped, “crazy lady!”

“Oh hush.” I smiled, rubbing Max still quivering on Phillipe’s back. “Don’t you want to come down, Max? Meet everyone? I swear they won’t bite.”

“Are you stupid?! Stupid!” squealed my parakeet, already flying beneath my cloak to hide.

Behind me sat the dragons, trying (and failing) to look like perfect little angels. Sharp-toothed grins (except Toothless), armored scales, and horns everywhere — yet they sat stiffly, mimicking Max perched on Phillipe’s back or Richard tucked primly against my arm. The imitation only made them look more terrifying, a bit too uncanny for their liking.

Before I knew it, my father had already whisked Stoick off, no doubt to debrief him about the Mainland. Then about the expedition plans and the idea of finally building — or rebuilding — a Marius estate on Berk. Once, such a home had stood proudly here until dragon raids burned it down, again and again, until we gave up and bunked with the chief instead. Now, with Berk safe, it was time to finally have our own place again.

Especially considering we’d have Clotide, Khalid, and some other people visiting soon. Having all of us stay with Hiccup, fun as it sounded, would be far too cramped for any of our liking.

Oh and that at one point my baby brother would need his own room when he got here with Mother, there was that too.

“Whoa, so you’re getting a house here?” Astrid asked, sitting cross-legged while braiding Phillipe’s mane. Phillipe refused to look at Toothless, who in turn had parked himself right beside him, staring curiously at his very first horse.

By now the sun was bleeding low, and we’d spent the whole afternoon in the arena trying to desensitize my animals to dragon company. Richard had taken to Stormfly immediately (they did look oddly alike, minus the size). 

Max was still a trembling mess, smothered under Meatlug’s attempts to groom him by licking him clean. The poor thing was completely soaked in dragon saliva. Barf and Belch kept poking at him, while Hookfang lay drowsing beside me and Snotlout, soaking up the scratches I traced across his snout.

“There’s talk of it,” I admitted, keeping my tone light. “Especially since… well, there are also plans for an expedition. To the Isle of Tomorrow.”

Across from me, Hiccup stilled. His green eyes snapped up to mine, unreadable — confusion, yes, but also something lonelier.

“Oh my gods,” Ruffnut groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You can’t be serious. We’re going back?!”

Tuffnut flopped dramatically off his dragon. “We’re dead. Absolutely dead.”

I only shrugged, letting a sly smile curl my lips. “There might be treasure.”

Both twins shot upright like puppets on strings. Snotlout perked up, too.

“How much treasure?” he demanded.

“Well, it was a princess’ tower, filled with her people’s things. So… plenty,” I mused. Then I added quickly, “Not that I’m endorsing grave-robbing. But outside the tower? There could be salvage. A whole city sits back there. Astrid saw it too.”

She nodded firmly. “Could be anything.”

Neither of the three appeared to be listening to us though.

“I repeat, the expedition’s priority is not to go grave robbing—”

Hiccup frowned, looking between all of us with a tight expression, “Imka, I think you forgot to clue me in on all of this. Granted I was a bit busy, being in a coma and all.”

I blinked. Realization dawned on me. What with everything that happened during the aftermath, with such few days left on Berk, I hadn’t found time to tell him about what happened to me at the tower.

“Oh. Oh you’re right — I didn’t tell you what happened in the… oh.”

Slowly, he shook his head, “I don’t blame you. I mean, we were all so busy still taking in everything — I seriously don’t blame you for forgetting to tell me what happened after… well, after we all thought you were… dead.”

Silence dropped over us like a stone. My throat tightened. I’d buried that memory for a reason — telling it felt like living it all over again. Once to my father, Stoick, and Gobber. Once to the others. And then I locked it away.

After my return to the Mainland, however, the darkness of that tower had lessened its grip on me. And so I was able to look Hiccup in the eyes and bow my head slightly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “Really, I am. I’ll tell you right now if you’re alright with it?”

A beat passed and my best friend nodded. The others, taking this as a cue to give us some time, all stood to their feet.

“I’ll get your dog to the chief’s home.” Fishlegs smiled, Snotlout following behind with Hookfang and Meatlug.

“We’ll watch!” Said the twins, Stormfly and their Zippleback trailing after.

“Just don’t terrorize him too much.” I smiled softly, before leaning down to give Max a quick kiss goodbye. “It’ll be okay.”

My dog only whined, sticking closest to Fishlegs.

Both Richard and Phillipe happily followed after Astrid, who only offered a wobbly smile of encouragement our way.

Now it was only Hiccup, Toothless, and I. Our little isle of three, sitting on opposite ends. Hiccup was the first to stand, before walking over to me to help me up. I took his hand, warm in mine,  and stood. Toothless helped too, nudging his snout against my back.

“Thank you.” I smiled to both of them.

“You’re welcome.” Hiccup said.

“You’re welcome.” Toothless warbled, and I inwardly cheered for having been able to catch that.

Still, I schooled my face for now, I still had to tell Hiccup about everything. 

“Wait,” he cut in, climbing onto Toothless’ back. “Not here.”

I tilted my head. “Oh?”

“It must’ve been heavy… I mean, with what happened to you there.” He offered a small, shy smile, pulling me closer to help me settle side-saddle in front of him. Toothless gave a content trill. “Everyone acts that way. Nobody wants to tell me anything, not that I mind. I’d… rather hear it from you. Preferably somewhere nicer than this place.”

“Want me to tell you midflight, then?” I teased, grinning over my shoulder. “What if you throw me off if it’s too much?”

“Never too much,” he said gently, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I think we both went through too much to say either of us are… too much. Huh. I think I’m repeating ‘too much’ a bit too much.”

“Too much,” I echoed with a laugh.

Toothless repeated it too with a warbled laugh as he launched us up in the air. The laughter was infectious, needing no translation, and we were both in lighter spirits. 

The sun had disappeared by the time we’d broken through the clouds, and in her place was her silver sister, accompanied by a choir of twinkling stars.

My voice softened. “Ready now?”

Hiccup nodded. So I told him.

He reacted like many others did, his face first contorting in horror at the idea that such a tower existed. Then sorrow, pity, as I recounted the skeletons of the last living people of Tomorrow dissolving into ash as the water climbed up and up. He turned grim after, especially when I got to the dead princess and the story of the inconsequentials. 

But the history of the Red Death was what gutted him most of all.

“I knew I saw something familiar,” he murmured, staring at his free hand. “When we were getting chased by it, when I looked back… I saw myself. Or part of me, anyway.”

There was a pause, even Toothless remained silent. His gaze was focused elsewhere, to the endless sky; then the relentless pool of silvery clouds that churned beneath us like the sea at storm.

“Which is crazy,” Hiccup laughed, a hollow sound. “That thing was a monster. Huge. Nothing like me. I mean, at least Toothless and I have the same eye color…” He broke off,  releasing his hold on me to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. “No. I’m dodging. I keep dreaming about it, Imka. I admit it, I’ve been having nightmares.”

A pause, a shuddering breath he inhaled to keep himself steady.

“Every night. Dad has to come and help me, I even needed Astrid or the others to come stay with me so I don’t — I don’t —” he paused, tone growing bitter. “What kind of hero of Berk gets nightmares?”

I stilled at that, staring at him; his small frame, how impossibly small he seemed to be at this moment. 

My best friend who’d saved us all, small against the sky, looking impossibly young, impossibly breakable.

“So did I,” I whispered. I tugged one of his hands down so he’d see me. “The prayer for water. The dying princess’ wish. All those people begging for a way out—”

“Caused by the Red Death.” His jaw tightened. “Caused by something like me. I could’ve been… maybe I was meant to—”

Exactly like me, as deluded as I was into believing I was some fated ‘chosen one’. The fulfillment of a prophecy to a dead people, and for him to a dead dragon. Seemed fitting, considering how well he took to dragons and I to people.

“No.” I said firmly, the memory of my conversation with Father Joseph sparking to life. “You weren’t meant to be anything but yourself.”

“Be serious Imka,” Hiccup pressed his lips together, fixing me with a stare. “The evidence is—”

“Flimsy at best,” I interrupted, softer now and summoning—in my own way—the words I’d heard back home: 

“If I say it will rain tomorrow and it rains—not here but somewhere else on this earth—am I suddenly a prophet? If I say a man will fall on his backside tomorrow and someone, somewhere does, am I a fortune-teller? And if my name happened to be Milk instead of Imka, and a poor child asked for milk only for me to show up and say hello, does that make me the fulfillment of prophecy too?”

Hiccup was quiet for a moment, staring at me as if I’d grown a second head. Toothless seemed to think the same, because he angled his head to look at his rider, the two of them sharing a look as if to say: Are you hearing what I’m hearing?

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Okay, crazy examples — I get it. But only to point out how absolutely absurd your way of thinking is.” I paused, “How absurd my way of thinking was.”

“I’m still not getting the full picture here.”

“A prophecy means that it needs to be fulfilled, to actually accomplish something.” I said, “I didn’t save those people, how could I? They were already dead. And you, you turned out nothing like the Red Death. Are you burning down Berk right now?’

“…No.”

“Planning to?”

“No!”

“Then?” I offered a small, tentative smile. “You are absolved of it. Whatever the Red Death is or was, it isn’t you. You’re Hiccup.” I jabbed a finger at his chest, “And you’re a lot better than that dragon. All because of you.” Then another at Toothless, “And you.”

He was quiet for a moment, lips pressed together into a wobbly line, before he jabbed his finger right back at me. 

“And you.”

Toothless trilled, and I caught him saying the same thing: “And you.”

My heart melted, a smile tugging wide. “And Astrid.”

He gave an exasperated sigh, though his smile matched mine. “And Astrid. And the twins, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Dad, Gobber — fine. But admit it, none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t tried to fix things.”

“I can try,” I said, drawing back my hand. “But I need a builder to make it last. I might have given you another chance, but it’s up to you to keep things going. And considering how the village looks right now and the way everyone’s acted, I’d say you’ve done a great job.”

“So… you need both of us?” His grin was crooked now, warm.

“All three of us,” I nodded, then glanced below, as the silver clouds gave way to the bright torchlight of the village. “And all of them. Moving forward, we’ll have a lot of work to do. Uncovering the Isle of Tomorrow, figuring out what other ‘Deaths’ may have lived and still live —”

“Then the whole Wilderwest,” Hiccup added, arm firm around me once more as Toothless began his descent. “New dragons, new worlds…”

I smiled. “Almost like when we were kids, chasing trolls and birds in the woods.”

“A lot like that.” His eyes lit with wonder as we landed in the tall grass on Berk’s edge, the night alive with music from my father’s people, the people of Berk, stomping feet, and laughter rolling out from the village.

“Except now,” he said wistfully, watching the lights, “we’ll have a lot more people.”

“And you’ll be leading them one day.” I smiled, already sliding off Toothless first.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” he groaned, dragging himself down after me. “Way to ruin my night.”

I laced my hands behind my back, strolling ahead with a hum. “I can make it better, though.”

He scoffed—light, teasing. “And how exactly would you manage that?”

I bent my knees, ready to sprint.

“What if I told you,” I called over my shoulder, “that I may have figured out a way to talk to dragons?”

I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d frozen, but I did regardless. Toothless gave his rider a gummy smile, knowing full well I’d eventually get around to understanding their language better.

“... Wait—what?” he said, “Toothless? Don’t tell me you —”

“See you in town!”

“Imka—Imka! Get back here!”

I waited on the rooftop of his home, watching as he tried—and failed—to dodge mob after mob of eager villagers. I’d slipped away first; weaving through tall, broad-shouldered adults was a skill I’d honed long ago in the markets back home. Back then, it was overeager merchants chasing a Marius name, each one desperate to strike a deal while I smiled, nodded, and politely wriggled free.

All that noise, all that attention, all that fame. This was everything Hiccup used to dream of. And yet, now that he was “chief-to-be” instead of “Hiccup the Useless,” he looked completely lost.

Our friends weren’t helping—shoving food and trinkets my family had brought into his arms until he pointed toward me. Only then did they relent, punctuating his escape with a hard whack on the shoulder.

Toothless had beaten him here easily, already sprawled beside me with his head in my lap. Honestly, the best heating pad Berk could offer. Even in spring, the island stayed stubbornly cold, the chill biting through the roof tiles under my fingers.

“Throw me to the wolves, why don’t you?” Hiccup panted as he scrambled up after. Then he froze, wincing. “...Too soon?”

I smiled, “I think I’ve gotten over it.”

“Well, that makes one of us.” He exhaled, dropping beside me with a relieved huff. “So—you figured out a way to speak to dragons?”

I nodded, pulling out a carefully bound journal, stuffed with Clotide’s and Khalid’s notes.

“I can’t believe I actually said ‘you figured out a way to speak to dragons?’ unironically, this is insane. There’s no way this can actually work, right? I mean… I mean just a few months ago we were killing them and —”

“Hiccup.” I interjected, pushing the journal into his lap. “Why don’t you read and decide for yourself?”

He blinked. “...There’s like six different languages here. I know some—thanks to you and your mom—but maybe three or four I can actually read.”

As chief-to-be, his education had always been pieced together between Gobber, Stoick, my parents, and me. We taught him many things, but it was language that always came easiest. Hiccup had a gift for patterns—for catching the shape of a sound, the weight of a word, the meaning tucked between syllables. Quicker than I ever could. I always suspected it came from his hunger to read every book and fable in every tongue he could get his hands on.

Which is why I had no doubt he’d take to Dragonese just as easily.

“Well, I’ve always been a good tutor, haven’t I?” I said, flipping to a specific page I’d written just for him.

He smiled, “That you have.”

On the page were two words written in six different tongues: Norse, Englisc, Frisian, Latin, Greek, Romanz. I pointed as I explained.

Móðir in Norse, mōdor in Englisc, mōdar in Frisian, māter in Latin, mḗtēr in Greek, mere in Romanz.

Then, the next line:

Faðir in Norse, fæder in Englisc, feder in Frisian, pater in Latin, patḗr in Greek, pere in Romanz.

“Sound it out, what does it sound like?”

His lips moved slowly, the syllables tumbling into one another until they formed a single shape. “Mother. Father.”

“Exactly. Now look here—history notes. Wars between the Mainland and the North, yes, but before that: trade, migration, catastrophe, conquest. Remember my mother’s lessons?”

“I remember,” He said, tracing the lines written by Clotide. It was as if she was sitting right beside us, telling him what she’d told me. “A lot of stories.”

“Pere is father in Romanz, Clotide’s language. Mere is mother.” I continued, flipping a page for him. “Closer in sound to Latin or Greek, because Romanz is more of a direct descendant of the two — Lugdunum was once an epicenter for the Empire at its peak. That’s a thread, let’s pull on it, see where it takes us, back in time, tracing back records of disasters…”

Further and further we went back in time, pulling threads, pulling back curtain after curtain the way Clotide and Khalid had. Over burning candlelight, over many sleepless nights when nightmares still haunted me. 

Words became rivers, flowing one into the other, splitting and rejoining, winding through valleys, tunneling through stone. We swam against the current, up through ages and empires, past fire and famine, past the meddling of man. The water followed suit; flowing backwards, reversed, upwards, somewhere up the mountains. Backward, ever backward, until language seemed to converge as one. 

And there, beyond disaster, beyond memory, lay the spring. The hidden source, the well from which every word had first poured. 

It laid imperfect, the way a broken bone or a broken plate was, half-chipped together, half-mended, but still a clearer image of a whole. A lot like the white statues of old Greece or Rome, missing an arm, missing a head; but still telling its story, though only in part. 

Khalid and Clotide had done the painstaking work of patching it together, taking bits from similar languages, cross-referencing it with history, finding patterns; over and over again. As I explained it to him, I saw his mind working behind those green eyes of his. He saw the patterns too.

Slowly, the statue took form. The patterns took shape, rules of speech lay uncovered.

There, in the rubble of decay and a long history of tragedy, we found them: the bones of an ancient sentence. The faint hum of a tongue once alive, once sung by the people of Tomorrow—sung to the Red Death, to their princess, to each other. A lot like the singing statues of the tower, crumbling and cracked as their hum carried on even now far into the future.

Then, because he was as brilliant as he was reckless, ever the quick one to test run all his inventions and findings, he raised his head towards Toothless, head still in my lap, and spoke almost impossibly fluently:

“Can you understand me?”

The Nightfury paused, sleepy eyes blinking open as if dazedly waking from a long dream.

Hiccup swallowed, before repeating: “Can you… understand me?”

This time Toothless froze, pupils slicing thin in shock, like the words had clawed straight through him. It was the reaction of someone hearing a ghost. And maybe that wasn’t so far off.

After all, he came from the isle of Tomorrow. He must have circled the tower before, heard the statues hum their half-forgotten songs. Maybe he even sang them back, once. 

It must’ve been lonely, in its own way, having stayed in a literal necropolis where once humans and dragons could communicate. To have nobody to talk to, what a lonely thing it must have been—surrounded by silence and ruins, with only dragons, bones, crumbling stone, and a tyrant to answer.

“Yes.” His dragon warbled out, “Yes, yes!”

It was like stepping back into the Cove again. That same breathless wonder on Hiccup’s face, his eyes catching the light — once the fire of a sunset, now the silver of the moon. Then it had been the birth of a friendship; now it was something older, deeper, a history hidden in a language finally breaking open between them.

A forgotten bridge, uncovered by starlight, where a boy and his dragon could meet each other halfway.

And just like that day in the Cove, he turned to me, eyes alight.

“Say something. In Dragonese — say something to him!”

“I already did,” I said. “Back when you were resting, months ago. I asked him to watch over you. He did — and he told me when you woke up.”

“You did?” His smile spread slow and unstoppable, like it could tear right through him. “You two did?!”

“Yes!” Toothless trilled, proud as ever.

Hiccup tried a few more complex sentences, but the fragile bridge we’d uncovered wasn’t strong enough to hold a full conversation yet. I told him as much, and his face fell. 

“Oh.”

“He can understand us just fine, it’s just the other way around that’s difficult. I think we’ll only be able to understand simple sentences and phrases so far.”

“That’s unfair, it's unfair that he can understand us better than we understand him.” Hiccup ran his hand over Toothless’ scales, “I’m sorry, bud. You deserve better.”

“I’m sorry,” I said — then repeated it to Toothless in his own tongue. “We’re doing our best. It’ll just take trial and error, some more research, then the expedition to the isle of Tomorrow should help too.”

“That’s fine!” Hiccup said quickly. “You don’t need to apologize. I just mean that, uh, it’s unfair none of us remember this language. So you know, don’t uh… beat yourself up.”

He paused. 

“Wow I really can’t talk normally, in any language.” Hiccup pinched the bridge of his nose. “But that’s beside the point. The point is — look, is there anything you need? Any way we can help? More dragons to practice with? Because we’ve got them by the boatload if—”

“No, no. Just one or two is plenty for now. I’m perfectly happy to keep working with Toothless, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all!” Hiccup grinned at his dragon, then cleared his throat and tried again in Dragonese. “Do you mind?”

Toothless cocked his head, lips peeling back in a wide gummy smile, and rumbled, “No.”

“Well then, that settles it.” Hiccup raked his hands through his hair, eyes shining as he bounced to his feet. “That’s insane, Imka. We’ve gone from killing dragons, to living with them in a few months, and now you’re saying one day we might even talk to them? Like the people of Tomorrow did?”

“Calm down,” I laughed, tugging him back down beside me. “Keep that up and you’ll fall off the roof.”

“I survived the Red Death,” he said, hands raised in mock surrender as he flopped back into place. “Pretty sure I can survive falling off my own house.”

Toothless snorted. “Doubt it.”

“Hey, I understood that!” Hiccup snapped, glaring at him — then froze, his grin spreading wide. “I understood that! I can understand you now!”

Before I could stop him, he was on his feet again, practically launching himself off the roof. Toothless and I lunged — too late. He disappeared over the edge. Heart in my throat, I scrambled forward to look, already bracing for broken bones.

Instead, I found something worse.

Hiccup laid in my father’s arms, Stoick looming at his side. The two looked up at us before back at him. Both of them wore the stunned look of men who’d just caught a unicorn.

“... Hiccup?” my father blinked.

“Uh, hi Trader Marius —”

Stoick dragged a hand down his face, voice dropping to that deadly dad tone. “How many times have I told you two the roof is off-limits? And now you bring Imka up here? Get inside. Now.”

The three of us winced. He didn’t need to say that twice.

And that’s how we ended up trapped in Stoick’s half-hour lecture by the living room hearth.

Something about, ‘It’s one thing for you two to sneak up there, but to drag Imka along?’, something about, ‘I know you think you can survive anything, son, but it doesn’t mean I like seeing you dangle off rooftops’, and a lot of ‘For the love of thor, unless you have actual business on the roof, consider it off limits!’.

We managed to sneak away soon enough to his room, thanks to my father’s excuse that he and Stoick needed to continue discussing the Thawfest preparations.

“My dad says we’re making new courses this year,” Hiccup sighed, sinking into the old cushions on his rug-covered floor. “You know—because, well, dragons.”

“Mhm.” I hummed, settling cross-legged on the rug, pulling a few books from my satchel.

“You know,” he mused, tapping his chin and glancing at Toothless, “I might actually beat Snotlout this time. What do you think, bud? Wanna win?”

“Yes.” Toothless bobbed his head. “I want to win.”

There was something in the way Toothless spoke, a pattern that kept popping up again and again. Hidden intonations and sounds between words, pauses in certain contexts, inflections in others: the same way Hiccup and I had our own style of speaking. With how bright and playful Toothless seemed to be, I doubted he was the type to be content to reply so simply.

Pursing my lips, I jotted down some notes in the Dragonese journal. He clearly wanted to say more—it was just that our bridge wasn’t strong enough yet. I’d take this to Clotide and Khalid for further discussion.

“Speaking of,” Hiccup said, turning toward me, “you’re not competing, are you?”

“No.” I laughed. “Absolutely not. I’ll be watching though.”

“...That’s good. Uh.” He coughed into his fist, trying to play it cool. “Will there be a prize this year? From your family, I mean? Any spoilers?”

“Finally taking an interest now that you think you have a winning chance?” I teased.

Toothless puffed up his chest, “Oh we know we’ll win.”

Hiccup grinned, only growing happier with how much of Toothless he was able to understand, “That’s the spirit.”

“Oh?” I arched a brow, an amused laugh bubbling up my throat. “Well in that case I can’t tell you. It’ll ruin the surprise! Oh, speaking of surprises, what was the surprise everyone else was talking about?”

Hiccup straightened, suddenly sheepish. “Right, that. We meant to tell you at the arena but… well, Imka, we all have dragons now.”

“I noticed.”

“Yeah, all of us except for you.” His fingers tapped nervously against his knee. “Since you’ve been gone, we’ve discovered so many new species. I If we helped you look—maybe find one that fits—”

I froze, staring at him.

“You want me to have my own dragon?”

“I just don’t want you left out,” he admitted with a nervous laugh. “You’re as much a part of Berk as any of us. You love flying—you’re always so happy when you’re up there with me and Toothless.”

Thumbing the pages laid out before me, my heart tugged at me in almost every which way. First to my own simple desire that yes, having a dragon would be incredible. I did want one. Second then to my obligations on the Mainland, the promise we’d made to never have dragons nor bring them South. 

And third, most painful, was the fact I technically did have a dragon once: Dove. And she was still gone.

“Hiccup, it’s a lot more complicated than simply wanting to fly.” I said, moving to look out his open window. “You and Toothless have an incredible bond, nurtured by the fact you two see each other every day. I don’t have that luxury.”

Outside, Phillipe and Richard were curled together in the stable, already asleep. A tiny island of their own. Max was holed up in the guestroom with my father, most likely trying to pretend we were all still at home and not on some dragon infested isle.

“If I took a dragon, I’d have to leave it here.” My voice softened. “For months at a time. And unlike my animals, I can’t exactly parade a dragon around the Mainland. People would…”

“Try and kill them?” Hiccup murmured.

“I mean, there’s no shortage of people who want to kill any animal on the Mainland.” I sighed, moving back to my spot on his rug. “Like I said, it’s complicated. I can’t take any dragon with me, not even a Terrible Terror. If anyone ever found out, it’d be catastrophic for all of us. We already swore we’d never bring dragons South. So — no, I can’t have a dragon.”

Toothless gave a low grumble of discontent, “That’s unfair.”

“It’s my life,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to his snout. “It’s alright. I have all of you — uh, if you don’t mind me hitching a ride every now and again?”

His sulk melted into something else, something sparking in his eyes—like the look he got right before inventing something brilliant.

“You mean… sharing Toothless with me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. He’s yours.” I laughed, only for Toothless to nudge me in the ribs, pulling another laugh out of me. “Just think of me as a little bird who likes tagging along.”

Then his face went all red, confusing me.

“I—I don’t mind sharing.” He glanced desperately at Toothless. “Do you?”

Toothless paused, then broke into his gummy grin before dragging a huge slobbery lick over my hair.

“Ack—!”

“Guess that’s a yes,” Hiccup laughed.

“Hiccup — tell him to stop —!”

“Alright, tone it down, you’re practically giving her another bath—wait—!”

Now it was his turn—pinned under Toothless and getting slobbered on.

“Stop!”

“No!”

“Toothless!” Hiccup laughed, pinned to the ground by his ferocious Nightfury.

I tried to stifle my own laugh as I sidestepped them, already heading for the door.

“Wait—hold on, where are you going?”

The two of them froze mid-wrestle, blinking at me with identical green eyes.

“Bed, of course,” I said, tilting my head. “Oh, and I’ll leave the books here so you can read more about what we’ve found. Get some practice in with Toothless.”

“Oh.” They shared a look before Toothless scrambled off, planted himself in front of me, and curled into a ball—puppy-dog eyes and all.

I arched a brow. “Oh?”

“So…” Hiccup stood, trying to wipe dragon slobber off his tunic. “This is going to sound really lame and stupid…but remember how I used to have nightmares as a kid?”

“I do…?” I paused, realization dawning. “Oh. I see.”

“I just… I figured if tonight you slept over like you used to, read me a storybook or something, it might help?” He groaned, dragging his hands through his hair, eyes squeezed shut as if he couldn’t believe what he’d said. “Oh gods, listen to me—what am I, seven?! I’m desperate, Imka. I haven’t slept properly in so long!”

I knew that feeling far too well. And I could see it on him too—the light shadows under his eyes.

“Alright, alright.” I sighed, slipping off my coat from my shoulders. “I am nothing but merciful, ever the dutiful watchman over the chief-to-be.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Hiccup groaned with relief. “I’m hoping this works because I’m at my limit. I even asked Snotlout to knock the lights out of me.”

I winced, settling back on the floor. “And how did that go?”

“...I stayed down for an hour, at most.” He hesitated. “Oh, you can take my bed if you want—”

“Hiccup, your bed is made out of wood. There’s no difference from the floor.” I deadpanned.

“Good point, good point…”

As if reading my mind about missing my feather mattress, Toothless shuffled behind me, curling into place as a living cushion. I pressed a grateful kiss to his head before reaching for a worn book from the stack near Hiccup’s worktable—a first edition of Aesop’s Fables, written in both Greek and Frisian. The pages were already pulling loose, especially the chapters of Androcles and the Lion, read and reread into oblivion and back again.

“You’ve never heard of Androcles and the Lion, have you?” I asked Toothless.

He tilted his head, then blinked slowly. “Androcles…? Lion?”

A smile tugged at my lips. “It’s a good story. One you’d like. One you’d find familiar.”

Toothless crooned softly as Hiccup draped a spare blanket around my shoulders. He kept his own wrapped snugly around himself as he stretched out on the other side of his dragon, chin resting on his folded arms, eyes expectant. Even after everything, after the Red Death, after years spent abandoning this story in search of a dragon to kill; he still that same eager look whenever I got ready to read this story.

“You look way too excited to fall asleep,” I teased.

“What are you talking about? I’m exhausted.”

The flame of the candle on his bedside table flickered, stirring something in me—a faint golden light carrying me back to another night in this same house. 

Suddenly I was ten years old again, standing at the top of the stairs of that same house. Stoick beckoned me down, called me ‘little lass’, and asked if Hiccup had gotten to bed earlier than me. My father stood beside him, both men smiling in the warm glow of firelight.

“He fell asleep when I was reading him that new book you gave me,” I mumbled, rubbing at my eyes. The exhaustion from the sea finally caught up. “I got bored, so I went downstairs. I’m not sleepy.”

They exchanged look, both clearly not buying my last claim. Stoick opened his mouth to reply—but stopped short, his gaze shifting behind me.

At the top of the stairs stood Hiccup, eight years old and barely upright, clutching a dark brown woolen blanket. His tunic hung off his tiny frame, his eyes half-closed, and a thin line of drool clung to the corner of his mouth.

Before he could sway too far, Stoick climbed the stairs in two long strides and scooped him into his arms.

“Hello, Trader Marius,” Hiccup mumbled sleepily, his gaze not quite focused. “Imka told me a very nice story tonight.”

“That so?” my father said with a small smile, ruffling Hiccup’s hair. “We thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” the boy frowned, yawning as he curled deeper into his father’s arms. “Then the story stopped.”

“You stopped listening,” I yawned, as my father wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Did not."

“Did so.”

“Did—” another yawn, “not.”

As the memory faded into a warm blur, I found myself smiling, my voice dropping to a soft, lulling whisper: 

“Now, listen to this story: it happened in ancient times that a slave named Androcles escaped from his master and fled into the forest–”

Hiccup sagged against Toothless, already slipping into sleep. But Toothless stayed awake, eyes fixed on me, wide with that same wonder Hiccup once had when first hearing the tale. He drank in every word, as if he could see the story world take shape before him: a frightened man, a wounded lion, mercy exchanged for freedom.

Then something shifted in his gaze. Recognition. He didn’t have to speak—I understood it too.

History had a way of repeating itself, not only in ruin. 

Just as kings and tyrants seemed forever caught in their cycle of bloodshed and greed, there were others who kept a different loop alive: one of mercy, kindness, and love, passed forward again and again, every age, every life. Made immortal by those rare souls, stubborn enough to believe love was a loop worth keeping unbroken.

That night, comfort found us. To know others like him had lived, others like Hiccup had chosen mercy, and others like me would go on telling the story again and again. And so we slept, caught in a gentler cycle, tugged beneath the undertow of a vast new ocean—far, far away from every nightmare, into a sea where we were safe.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the moment I stepped out of the chief’s house, I was met with a village more alive than I’d ever remembered. Where once a grey cloud of doom seemed to hang over every head, as if certain death lurked by nightfall, now everyone carried their own pocket of sunshine.

Berk was buzzing. Villagers hurried down the roads with arms full of timber and iron, while the marketplace brimmed with new stalls and daring flavors. No one hesitated anymore, no longer haunted by the fear of dragon raids. That nightmare was gone, and in its place bloomed a brighter reality. Dragons worked alongside their riders: hauling loads three times a man’s strength, lending muscle to the builders, or happily “helping” to taste-test three questionable varieties of mead.

But what caught me most were the ones playing with the children. That bond startled me—how quickly the little ones had taken to dragons, prattling to their parents about joining Berk’s dragon academy as soon as they were of age. One boy in particular threw himself into it with wild enthusiasm, a short, excitable thing who reminded me so much of Hiccup at eight years old: Gustav.

And then there was the actual boy—Hiccup—who currently looked ready to tear his hair out. Stoick had dragged Toothless off at dawn for “chiefly duties,” soaring around the village to inspect the new structures. My father rode along behind him, clinging for dear life while Stoick barreled them dangerously close to cliffsides and nearly into a half-built hut.

Toothless looked like he wanted to outright die.

Normally, I’d be terrified for my father. But considering he was with Stoick—the man who once punched a Monstrous Nightmare with his bare hands and hurled stakes my size at the Red Death—I wasn’t overly concerned. And Toothless had already survived worse. Honestly, I was just trying to cope with all the changes.

Integrating dragons into Berk was pure chaos, and it wasn’t exactly my place to interfere with how the village ran itself. So I figured, if you can’t beat them, join them—just in my own way. 

Horses, parakeets, and dogs weren’t common sights here. Berk had no wide stretches of land that called for horses, parakeets were mostly a mainland status symbol, and greyhounds rarer still. My animals became their own brand of novelty whenever I paraded into town—just without the wings, fangs, or fire-breathing.

As was the case for that day, it took a good two hours to get to the forge, what without everyone stopping me to ask about my companions. This included all my other friends who were, unfortunately, a bit too busy with their own chores to spend time with me; but not too busy to explain why and offer a quick hello. Some had actual chores like Fishlegs, while others wanted to goof off like the twins (who were planning to play ‘tip the yaks’). 

Regardless, it was worth the wait, because I got to see Gobber again.

“Imka!” Gobber’s voice boomed as he hurried out of the forge.

“Hi, Gobber!” I called, swinging down from Phillipe’s back and pulling him into a hug. “How are you? I heard so much from the twins about your—”

My words were lost to the sky as two very loud voices echoed overhead.

“—LET ME DOWN AT ONCE, STOICK!”

“But we haven’t even seen the—”

“I SAID AT ONCE, OR SO HELP ME I’LL—”

Toothless’s cry cut across them, shrill and desperate. If I translated correctly, it was something like: Please shut up!

Gobber, wearing a serene expression that said this is just life now, took me gently by the shoulder and ushered me into his newly revamped forge.

“Well if I heard you right lass, then aye that’d be correct. I’ve been put in charge of making saddles for all the new riders. Hiccup’s schematics have been a godsend, so were those books your father left me on horse tack. Yours, no doubt, I know how much you love horses.” He gestured toward a sprawling bulletin board covered in drawings and notes—some his, some Hiccup’s, and even a few old sketches from Khalid. “Who’d have thought riding a horse had so much in common with—”

He was cut short by more shouting: Hiccup sprinting after his father, my father, and Toothless as the three of them nearly clipped another half-built hut. 

I turned away, stifling laughter. Gobber tried, failed, and covered his own with a cough before steering me back toward his work.

Providing saddles for Berk’s growing riders meant one thing: leather, and lots of it. Yak, sheep, and goat hides were easy enough to find, but it wasn’t as though we could slaughter and shear them all at once just for saddles. So we Marius’ were still needed, no longer to prevent famine and death, but to make a home more welcoming. 

Together, Gobber and I spent the day touring the markets and farmlands, tallying what Berk could provide, what needed to be imported, and how to cover the gaps.

We finished just before sundown. Gobber rode Phillipe beside me, Richard perched proudly on his shoulder.

“And we can get more from our partners.” I said, crossing off some notes in my small notebook. “Considering this will be the new normal, I’m sure we can trade some of your wares for more raw materials. No problem at all. I’ll draft the calculations and send them to you by dawn.”

“Your father’s lucky to have a daughter like you,” he said cheerily, admiring my red parakeet.

“Just doing my job,” I replied with a smile, walking beside them with Max pressed a little too close to my leg. He still shrank from every dragon that drew near, unlike Richard and Phillipe, who seemed made of sterner stuff—the one bold as a lion, the other a literal ex-warhorse.

Gobber tapped his chin with his hooked hand—just as Richard perched atop it and trilled a little tune, obviously showing off. “Makes me wonder what the Thorstons were thinking, trying to bring in that other fellow—Trader Johann, was it?”

Ruffnut mentioned this same name once. The sound of it prickled in my ears: rival, it sounded like. 

“Name doesn’t ring any bells.” I frowned, “Is Johann his first, middle, or last name?”

Gobber shrugged. “Never said.”

Not a rival then, more of an idiot.

Any serious trader would have given a better name to differentiate themselves. When people looked for my father, nobody important ever identified him as ‘Trader Lucian’ — because, well, which Lucian would they mean? There were plenty up North, even more down South. Too common, too forgettable.

Calling him ‘Trader Marius’, however, made it very clear who they meant, the kind of reputation he had, and how incredibly powerful the Marius name was all on its own. It made it easier to remember him, made him and the family unique, stand out amongst the rest, and anchored him in a vast network of clients who trusted and depended on him.

A trader is only as rich, only as good as his network is. And it became clear to me that this ‘Johann’ had no interest or no actual knowledge in fostering a network properly. So, either he was a fool… or something worse.

What should’ve set me at ease suddenly turned into glaring red flags.

“And he’s traded with Berk before? How’d that go?”

“... I sense some concern here. For reference, the chief’s been a lot stricter with the coming and goings of people. Most trade with other merchants now takes place on that island your family used before, the one a long way out — far from any of our dragons, that’s for sure.” Gobber explained, attempting to calm me. “It’s been repurposed as our hub for trade with outsiders. Mildew once rowed all the way out there, then Johann sold a bunch of seeds to him—you know, the old crank up the hill?”

“I’ve heard about him,” I said, waving to passing villagers. “He’s been vocal against dragons, hasn’t he?”

“Would’ve been strange if everyone accepted them,” Gobber allowed. Then he chuckled as Richard hopped to his head and did a jig. “Cute little thing, isn’t he? I really ought to ask your father for—right, Johann. Anyways, he sold Mildew seeds of a flower called Blue Oleander. Turned all the dragons sick.”

I blinked. “Blue oleander? The one poisonous to reptiles?”

“Yep.”

“... Gobber, what goods does this ‘Johann’ sell?”

“Anything really, more of a generalist. Metal, fabric, ink — never in such large stock, his ship’s far smaller than yours. He’s more of a trinket trader if you ask me.”

“... Trinket? Trinket?! Sail all the way up here, all the way to dragon infested waters to peddle trinkets?!” I balked, “All to sell a very specific flower that is highly poisonous to reptiles. And the only one who bought it was the only loose-lipped hater of dragons on Berk, Mildew himself?” 

“What do you mean by that, lass?” Gobber mused as we slowed to a stop by his forge.

“A good trader knows his client. He knows his client isn’t just one singular person, but the community in which that person belongs. If he’s trying to get an actual foot in Berk, he looks after Berk's best interests. Not just Mildew’s. He has to do his research, he must! Therefore he should know what’s happened at Berk. This is as bad as trying to sell pork to the Abbasid Caliphate.” I stepped in front of him at the forge entrance, meeting his eyes. 

“... Pork?”

“Religious reasons,” I explained, mind already whirring to all kinds of worrying scenarios regarding Johann. “It’s against their beliefs. The last time someone tried it, it was only because they didn’t even attempt to research, to get to know their prospective clients. Granted, he sold them to a client who could eat pork but the rest of the community there? They were not happy. Guy got blacklisted from ever coming back. He lost his gold and, worse, his reputation.” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“In our line of work, losing the latter is tantamount to career death. It’s trading 101, you don’t just —”

A beat passed.

“But then again he was stupid.” I mumbled, tapping my chin. “Still though, most traders, even beginners, know to research their client. Their market. Especially when considering the resources it takes to sail here of all places. So if he’s stupid and incompetent, fine! But if Johann is taking his job seriously then he’s not incompetent—he’s dangerous.”

Gobber dismounted silently, troubled. “You know… he talks a lot about his exploits, shows off his great adventures. Talks big about his travels most of all. Claims he’s fought the ‘man-eating metal masons of Minori Majore.’

I blinked.

“And,” Gobber continued, “says he saved the king of Ennuden’s daughter, then got made honorary court member.”

I gawked. “Gobber, neither of those exist. Minori Majore? Metal masons? Unless he’s sailed further south than the Abbasid Caliphate—which, trust me, unless he has a ship like ours he definitely hasn’t—he’s making it up. And Ennuden? That’s not a kingdom. That’s not anything. By that logic, I may as well declare myself Queen of the South.” I gave a dry laugh. “At least the Wilderwest has evidence of its existence and even then, mystical as it is, the people are all dead.”

“So you’re saying he’s lying.”

“Yes. I also think he’s a conman and potentially more dangerous. Especially considering this crucial time we find ourselves in,” I lowered my voice, leaning in. “This might be a matter of security. Look, we won’t meddle—considering these are your internal affairs. But I’m worried, Gobber, that if I’m right, Johann isn’t just a fool. He’s positioning himself inside Berk, right after your war with dragons ended. Which means there are already eyes on Berk, circling.”

Gobber’s face darkened, his earlier ease gone. He motioned me deeper into the forge, shutting us into Hiccup’s private workshop.

“I’m not saying cut him off yet,” I went on, panic threading my words as every single worst possible scenario played in my brain. “If I’m right, he’s not alone. He can’t be. Or else he might actually be the stupidest person this side of the world.”

My feet moved, I paced back and forth, raking my hands through my hair.

“Others could be circling too and he may be their way in. Not everyone in the archipelago understands what’s at stake. These unknown people could be working together. Speaking of, not everyone knows about what happened on the Isle of Tomorrow, do they? Does Trader Johann know? If he does, how much? Have you heard from Berk’s allies? Oswald the Agreeable?”

Oswald, chief of the Berserkers—one of Berk’s rare allies, known for his amicable personality and most notably insane child. He knew the truth about the South, though he’d hidden it from his son, Dagur the Deranged. For good reason. Just thinking of Dagur soured my stomach; he’d been needlessly cruel to Hiccup when we were younger. I still remembered him ducking behind me to avoid the heir of the Berserker tribe. Though I could shelter him while I was here, he was often left at the mercy of Dagur.

I could imagine the catastrophe if Dagur ever found out, not just about the situation on Berk but about our pact with the South. Knowing him, he’d have launched his own crusade ahead of time, be crushed, have his entire tribe enslaved, then the rest of the archipelago follow in suit. I remembered Oswald assuring us that Dagur would grow out of his antics before becoming chief, but I sincerely doubted that.

“... we’re due to meet Oswald soon.” Gobber ran a hand through his hair, worry plain in his eyes. He didn’t need me to say it—on matters of trade and politics, my family’s counsel was worth fifteen times its weight in gold.

“Gobber…” I sank into Hiccup’s workseat. “If Berk is compromised—”

“It won’t be,” he said comfortingly, “Not if we’ve got anything to say about it. Come, let’s call your father and the chief down —”

Outside, there was distant, muffled screaming again.

“STOICK!”

“Will you relax?!”

Gobber and I blinked at one another.

“... For both our benefits.”

“A clown.” My father laughed over the rim of his mug, hair still wild from the flight with Stoick. “A clown is trying to replace me.”

Stoick sighed, sinking into his high seat in the Great Hall. “Lucian, you’re not being replaced—”

“And yet you’ve opened your port to him.” My father leaned forward across the table, voice hardening. “You’ve let this second-rate tradesman—no, scratch that, I won’t give him the dignity of the title—this rat into your village. And he’s poisoned your dragons.”

“For the record, technically the Thorstons let him in,” Gobber muttered, busy helping me refill everyone’s cups.

Hiccup and I traded a glance, both uneasy. I pressed a drink into his hands before sliding into the seat beside him. Toothless was already curled up closer to the fire, out cold after a long day in the skies. 

It was sundown now and we would only be able to keep this meeting brief, Hiccup still had his plans to have dinner with Snotlout. Well, actually dinner with everyone else too; a feast onboard my family’s galleon as a celebration in welcoming us to a very new kind of Berk.

“Lucian, your family has always been—and will always be—our most trusted trade partners.” Stoick rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But it doesn’t look good if we’re seen giving you a monopoly. I know you don’t mean to, and I know it isn’t the case, but appearances matter.”

My father groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I know appearances matter, Stoick, but this isn’t about appearances anymore—it’s security. So far it’s an internal issue, and I’ve no right to impose new laws here. But take my counsel, Stoick: vet the traders who come into your port. ALL of them.”

“That’s a good idea,” Hiccup spoke up, tentative but firm. “Johann seemed harmless at first, but after everything Imka pointed out, he might be more dangerous than we thought. And that’s the problem—it took her to notice it. Who knows how many other things we’ve overlooked? We’d need someone like her here, and…” He glanced at me. “Well, you can’t stay here forever, can you?”

“Well put, son.” Stoick turned his gaze to my father, hopeful. “... Can’t you stay here forever?”

Lucian made a face. “Not this again!”

“We could train someone.” I offered, “Like Gobber? Or what about you, Hiccup, you know almost as much as I do!”

“No can do, I’m busy at the forge all the time.” Gobber sighed, sinking into his own seat across from us.

“I can’t do it either, I’m busy enough with the academy.” Hiccup said.

“I’d recommend Astrid, seeing as she’s the only other person who knows about the pact with the South.” Gobber tapped his chin, “But then again, strong as she is, she doesn’t exactly strike me as the subtle type. And she’s far too young, both in actual age and experience when it comes to these types of things.”

“We’ll need someone who’s meticulous. Someone who can learn quickly, bookish.” Hiccup’s brows furrowed, “Someone who doesn’t cut corners, who won't betray us either when we tell them why it’s important to vet new merchants. Someone reliable and a proven friend.”

We both froze, smiles curling on our lips when we realized exactly who it could be. 

The Ingermans.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Astrid slapped her hand over Fishlegs’ mouth, teeth clenched. “Can you be any less loud?!”

We were crammed in my quarters aboard the galleon, tucked far below deck. The hall outside had been cleared, but we could still hear his parents’ raised voices echoing from the next room, where Gobber, Stoick, and my father were surely debriefing them.

“You—” Fishlegs tore Astrid’s hand away, jabbing an accusing finger at me and Hiccup. “You two—!”

“Tell me about it.” Astrid groaned, springing up to rummage through my closet of dresses.

“Fishlegs, I know,” Hiccup held his palms out in mock surrender, trying to calm him. “I know what we did last year was really, really bad—”

“WE COULD’VE BEEN AT WAR?!” Fishlegs’ voice cracked. “And there are people South who want to invade us?! The—how many kings and chiefs and emperors know about the —”

“Fishlegs.” I rubbed my temple, exhaling slowly. “We might be below deck, but the ship isn’t soundproof.”

At the very least, we were an hour early before the rest of our guests would start piling in.

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes darting. “Does anyone else know?”

“On Berk?” Hiccup shook his head. “Besides Astrid, her dragon, the rest of us, and now you—no.”

Fishlegs’ gaze slid to Astrid, who was humming away as she inspected my dresses like none of this mattered. “This doesn’t bother you?”

“I wanted to axe them the minute they told me,” she said lightly, holding a gown to her frame and spinning toward the tall mirror. “Imka, these are so pretty. Why don’t you ever wear them?”

I shrugged from my spot on the cushions. “Never needed to. No one on Berk to impress, anyways.”

Hiccup’s eyes flicked down, and he quickly looked away.

Fishlegs stared between us—at Hiccup slumping, at me casually popping some honey-glazed candied nuts into my mouth, at Astrid happily twirling in my jewelry. He blinked like his brain was short-circuiting.

I held out my hand of snacks, “Nut?”

“I’m going insane.”

“Join the club.” Hiccup muttered.

Astrid, still admiring herself in the mirror, lifted a dress. “Can I borrow this one?”

Our island of three grew to four in the days that followed. While Hiccup threw himself into lessons at the newly formed academy, I found myself serving as Fishlegs’ private tutor. Economics, bookkeeping, persuasion—I covered it all. Once he stopped panicking about the whole “if this goes wrong, the entire archipelago gets wiped out by everyone south of here” bit, he caught on quickly. Sharp, just as sharp as Hiccup had been. It felt like I’d been handed a do-over of those old days, drilling him through lessons.

Astrid joined us too, sometimes. She preferred hurling axes at trees, especially in our clearing in the woods—which, technically, now belonged to all four of us, plus their dragons and my animals. Most days Hiccup used that time to nap, worn out after failing yet again to wrangle the twins and enduring Snotlout’s endless sermons about “proper nutrition.”

“My head’s going to explode.” Fishlegs mumbled, sinking his head into his arms.

“Now Fishlegs,” I sighed, tucking away one book of trade in exchange for another on history. “We really need to get through these fast, because I’ve yet to teach you all how to speak to dragons.”

Astrid froze, caught in the midst of swinging her axe. Fishlegs’ head shot up so fast it startled even Toothless who’d been watching nearby. Hiccup continued to slumber.

“What?” he hissed. “You can talk — talk to who?”

My other friend turned around comically slow. “And you forgot to tell us you’d be teaching us… soon?”

“... Oh.” I blinked, this was the second time I’d caught myself forgetting to tell my friends very important information. “Oops? I mean it was only a matter of time —”

“OOPS?!” they both exclaimed.

“Look, I’m already up to my shoulders with tutoring you, still figuring it out, and teaching Hiccup Dragonese first and foremost.” I said, “Fishlegs, if you finish your lessons I’ll finally get around to teaching—”

Astrid hurled an axe into the tree Hiccup was sleeping against, startling him awake.

“You got to learn first?!” She seethed indignantly.

“Astrid!” I exclaimed, “What have I told you about violence?”

“But of course he did,” Fishlegs muttered, sucking in a breath before slapping his cheeks. “Let’s continue. I can do this, I can do this… just think of being able to talk to Meatlug, just think of her, just think of her —”

I had once loved the silence of that grove, back when it was only ours. But with them, it became something else—livelier, brighter. Even if Astrid’s war cries startled Hiccup awake, even if Fishlegs looked ready to combust from too much thinking, even if the dragons barreled through chasing my poor dog (who, to his credit, had mostly stopped fearing them). It was fun. And sometimes, with them around, I almost felt like a normal teenager—well, as normal as you can be with dragons overhead.

Which is why it was only a matter of time before the twins and Snotlout caught on and started demanding answers about our little foursome.

And also why, on the day they finally confronted us, all four of us became the unhappy recipients of Ruffnut’s boot to the face.

“You’ve infected them.” Ruffnut jabbed a finger at Hiccup.

He rubbed the shoe-mark on his cheek. “...I have no idea what you mean.”

“You little—”

Tuffnut caught her by the shoulders. “Whoa, easy there, sis—”

“Easy? As if it wasn’t bad enough when he ditched all of us before, now he’s making everyone ditch us too?!” She shoved him off, then turned on me, clutching my arms. “You. I thought you were on our side!”

I sighed, cheek still stinging from my own boot-to-the-face. “Ruffnut, I swear we’ve got a reason. We just can’t tell you yet.”

From where he lounged against the arena wall, Snotlout crossed his arms with a glare. “Yeah. Because you’re obviously hiding something.”

Fishlegs suddenly found the floor very interesting. His lips trembled, as if he just wanted to blurt out the very big international secret we’d told him; just so he could be done with this already. 

Astrid, already one nerve away from snapping, leveled a glare at him. “Not. A. Word.”

“You especially!” Ruffnut turned on her. “What happened to girl power? Solidarity, huh?!”

“Are you sure you want to know why?” Astrid asked.

“Yes!” the twins and Snotlout chorused.

Hiccup and I traded a look.

“I’ll ask my father,” I said. “We’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“But fair warning,” Hiccup drawled, “you might regret it.”

“I regret it.” Astrid and Fishlegs piped up in the most despondent tone of voice.

Snotlout scoffed, “How bad could it be?”

Suffice to say, they handled it worse than Fishlegs or Astrid ever did. Especially about the Dragonese bit, I got another boot to the face for that.

Days passed since then and a whirlwind of things had happened. First, the issue of Stoick getting a dragon was finally resolved. Somewhere down the line as my father and I busied ourselves with work: tallying new import costs, trying to communicate with dragons, the chief of Berk had acquired a Thunderdrum named Thornado.

He was beautiful, a tidal-class dragon as Hiccup and Fishlegs identified. In my eyes, he resembled more of a spotted manta ray; beautiful and elegant, but viscous with those jagged teeth. The two had gotten to work to learn more about him as best they could, his specific build, strength, and capabilities; but what surprised us the most was his personality.

“Do you have a name?” I asked him.

Thornado regarded me for a moment, bristling in surprise, just as Toothless had, when hearing me speak in his language. He glanced toward Stoick standing beside me who only offered a nod.

“...Drum of thunder,” he rumbled, voice like surf against stone. “That is the name he gave me. A leader recognizes a leader.”

I smiled brightly, my work in decoding Dragonese was paying off. After so many trialruns with Toothless and the others, I’d learned that a dragon’s cadence in the sounds in-between syllables was what marked their personality. Now, trying it out on a dragon I'd never met before, only showed how much closer I'd become to understanding them better. Thornado paused between words and syllables in succinct ways, similar to how great generals or kings gave speeches to their men before battle.

“Well I know that is your new name.” I said, “But what about your name before that one? Did you not have one? Do dragons not have old names?’

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “It does not matter. When a dragon finds a companion, the old name burns away. It returns only when we are freed—by choice, or by death.”

“Really?” I blinked.

He gave the closest thing a dragon could to a shrug. “It is the way of the Wilderwest.”

I froze. “Wilderwest?”

“Did he just say Wilderwest?” Tuffnut shoved his sister.

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. “Imka just repeated it, genius.”

I paused our conversation to relay to them the full context. Hiccup leaned in, curiosity written across his face.

“What is the way of the Wilderwest?”

The Thunderdrum fixed him with its yellow eyes, “You’re the one who killed the tyrant, alongside your companion. Aren’t you?”

Hiccup, still fumbling with the lexicon, glanced to me. I translated, and the words landed heavy.

“Great,” Snotlout scoffed from the back. “Even the dragons can’t shut up about the Hero of Berk.”

I bit back my response. For all my efforts to mend things between them, the wound still festered. When I’d told everyone what my family did—and what the South thought of Hiccup—Snotlout had pressed me, anxious, about what they thought of the rest.

The truth hadn’t been kind. They didn’t. To them, the others were background noise in Hiccup’s story. I’d tried to paint the whole picture, show them everyone’s worth. But the South cared little for complexity, only exceptionalism. 

And as for Hiccup… well, open the dictionary and you’ll find his picture beneath that word. Written and illustrated by my father and King Radbod themselves.

“The way of the Wilderwest,” Thornado intoned, “is the way it has always been. Dragons and humans working together. As you and your horse do. Before us, it was humans and horses. Until some of your kind split from the rest of your civilization, journeyed North, and found us.”

I pressed a hand to my temple, leaning back as his words landed like stones. Hiccup, having only caught half of it, looked at me with wide eyes.

Astrid frowned. “...Translation, please?”

“What do you mean ‘split’?” My voice cracked, tripping over questions. “When did they split? Why did they split? Why the North? Are you saying the People of Tomorrow came from the Mainland?”

The Thunderdrum blinked slowly, then turned his gaze to the circle of confused faces. “That is your history. Not mine. I only know where ours began—when the first boy-king tamed his dragon and brought down the Green Death.”

“Do you know his name?” I asked quickly.

He shook his head. “No. His name was struck from the records long ago. Long before my mother, and her mother, and hers before. It is another way of the Wilderwest: to burn names.”

“Burn names?” I echoed. “Why?”

“Again,” he said simply, “that is your kind’s story, not mine.” His head tilted, sharp yellow eyes narrowing. “The better question is this: why does your kind love to rewrite history—and burn it—in favor of another?”

“Damnatio memoriae.” I murmured, turning to my father — the Latin phrase tumbling from my lips without even thinking twice. The tightness in his amber eyes mirrored mine. 

In plain translation: ‘the damnation of memory’, a curse upon memory. A practice of the old Empire when a figure fell out of favor. The erasure of their name from records, the destruction of the statues made in their likeness. The forgetting of a person by a whole community, country, and culture.

My eyes flickered to Hiccup briefly. He knew the phrase too. He had almost lived it.

“It seems the practice is so common, you even have a name for it.” The dragon rumbled.

Further efforts in questioning Thunderdrum or any other dragon yielded similar results. It did wonders in helping me understand Dragonese better, the meanings behind certain intonation, inflections, pauses, trills — but so little in actually unearthing more about the Isle of Tomorrow, of the grand Wilderwest.

Damnatio memoriae. The words stayed with me long after. They felt like Rome’s ghost reaching out again. Clotide had been right—there was a pattern here, a symmetry, the Wilderwest rising like Rome once did. And if the mirror held… it sickened me to think what else they might have copied. Even slavery, dressed up in a land where dragons and humans lived as one.

It put me in a fog for days. I spent more time on horseback with Phillipe, Max padding along behind and Richard perched on my shoulder, like always. And, like always, at least one friend was never far.

This morning it was Astrid and Hiccup, both astride their dragons, following me through the misty light of a new day.

“Imka,” Hiccup called. “You know, we don’t even know for sure if they had… you know. Slaves.”

I only glanced back over my shoulder.

“You were in that tower,” Astrid tried, gentler, bringing Stormfly up beside Phillipe. “Did you see anything in the princess’ diary? Any sign?”

“No.” I tightened my grip on the reins. “But it doesn’t matter. You heard what he said. It’s the Wilderwest’s way: burn names, burn history. Who knows what else she kept from me? She didn’t even sign her name. What does that say?”

“I don’t know,” Astrid admitted, steering Stormfly to block my path. “But we won’t know until we’re there. Let’s not jump to conclusions yet.”

“...Maybe.” I looked away, my face twisting. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like this.”

Hiccup guided Toothless alongside me. “Don’t be. It’s normal.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Is it? I used to be more in control than this.”

“I remember,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Honestly? I like you better now. We all do. You’re not locked up like some statue. You’re…”

He faltered. His green eyes flicked across my face, brows knitting. Not fear. Not flustered. Confusion—then the briefest ember of something else. His hand twitched toward the spot under his ribs like an old wound.

“You’re Imka,” he finished. “And I think I speak for everyone when I say we’d rather see you sad or mad than sealed off.”

I arched a brow, the corner of my mouth tugging up. “So… you want me miserable all the time?”

“You’re so bad at words,” Astrid cut in. “What he means is: we like it when you’re in pain.”

“...Astrid, that’s not better.”

“Hey,” she shrugged, “I didn’t exactly get tutored by Imka in poetry the day I was born. Unlike some people—”

“That’s not fair!” Hiccup protested. “I’m trying my best!”

I laughed, the two bickering doing much to ease my spirits. It was like watching an old married couple fight. Speaking of, I still had that on my to-do list: figure out if Hiccup and Astrid could be a match. That would take my mind off of things, if not for a little while.

Suddenly a cry came from above, the twins wheeling in on their Zippleback calling out to us.

“Guys!” Ruffnut exclaimed, “Sorry to breakup your little babysitting Imka date or whatever —”

“Not a date!” Astrid and Hiccup shouted back.

“Snotlout said he found some girl washed up on shore!” Tuffnut called, “Might need Imka to help her, y’know, considering how she’s the gentler one of us all!”

A girl washed up on Berk’s shore? My stomach dropped. The memory of my ancestor lit up in my mind like lightning, burning away every other thought. Girl, not woman. Young, then. Shipwreck? Storm? Scuffle? Bruised, terrified, alone.

But from where?

Please not the Mainland. Please not that. Because girls running away from the Mainland usually meant only one thing: violence.

“I’ll be right there!” I shouted, forcing my worry down deep. I yanked Phillipe’s reins, turning him hard, galloping down the slope toward the shore. Max jumped to sit in front of me, Richard fluttering frantically on my shoulder.

“Imka—” Astrid called after me, already flying overhead.

Hiccup nodded to her, flying right beside her. “I think… I think what we’re trying to say is that it’s nice that you’re… I don’t know, human. Like all of us.”

He was still horrible at explaining, but I got the gist of it. A normal person would have been grateful, but I just felt uncomfortable.

“... Oh, well. Good.” I kept my eyes foreward, still not knowing exactly how to handle being so seen by everyone — especially when it came to my own cracks, my own fault-lines. “Anyways, let’s go help her. Now.”

Without giving them a second more, I pressed my heels against Phillipe and forced him to ride faster. Slaves, Wilderwest, that princess, the tower — I left them behind, locked it all away in my heart. My own curiosities and grievances could be handled later. For now, someone else needed help more than I did.

Chapter Text

“Okay, okay, before any of you try something weird,” Snotlout grinned, “just remember—I found it first! So it’s mine.”

“...It?” I echoed, glancing between him and the mangled remains of a shipwrecked Viking boat.

The sun was just peeking over Berk’s shores, spilling gold across the sands and morning mist. Earlier, on a routine patrol, Snotlout had stumbled upon the boat, and burst into the arena to announce it—only to find Hiccup and Astrid missing. Their turn to tail after me. Mostly because I’d been in low spirits the last few days, but also to keep me safe in case some rogue wolf fancied me for breakfast.

“‘Just a stupid boat,’ was my first thought,” Tuffnut muttered beside me. “Then I looked inside… heh. Now I like the boat.”

“Yeah, but we’d have spooked the girl inside if we tried to say hello,” Ruffnut added. “You’ve got a… gentler face than us. Well, Hiccup comes in second.”

Astrid masked her words with a cough. “AHEM—soft and girlish. Ahem.”

Hiccup shot her an offended look, but I ignored the theatrics, focusing on the girl crumpled in the crawlspace of the wreckage. She lay face-down on the sand, her chest rising and falling steadily. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“How long has she been out here?” I asked Snotlout.

“An hour, give or take,” he shrugged. “So—are you going to wake her up or what?”

“Don’t rush me,” I muttered, bending closer. “We have no idea what she’s been through, and… hm. I need all of you to take a few steps back.”

“But why?”

“No offense,” I said, eyeing the group, “but you don’t exactly scream ‘gentle.’” I gave a pointed look at Hiccup and Fishlegs. “Minus you two.”

“What does that mean?” Hiccup frowned, probably still stewing over Astrid’s ‘soft and girlish’ comment.

“I don’t mind being gentle,” Fishlegs piped up, cheerful as ever.

“Losers. Ahem. Losers—” Ruffnut coughed into her sleeve, muttering under her breath. “Just wake her up, Imka.”

“Remember, I get to keep her!” Snotlout said.

Astrid frowned. “Snotlout, that’s a person!”

I stretched one arm into the cramped crawlspace and gently touched the girl’s arm.

“Hello there,” I cooed softly, slipping into my mother’s comforting tone. “Hello?”

Slowly, she stirred. Oddly quick, as if she’d been pretending the whole time. Usually, a passed-out person twitched a bit—muscles, joints, a subtle shudder. I’d seen enough of that with the enslaved on the Mainland and other survivors of grim incidents.

Maybe she was playing dead. I couldn’t blame her—shipwrecked, alone, and suddenly confronted by a gang of teenagers calling her an ‘it’ and arguing over one another. 

The other reason was a sense of kinship. Sometimes I felt like playing dead when surrounded by the people of Berk, too. 

“Are you alright —” I paused, taking in her appearance as she sat up.

She was beautiful.

Dark raven hair, tied in a messy braid over her shoulder, reminded me of my mother. Her eyes—wide, brilliant green, brighter than Hiccup’s or even Toothless’—were filled with confusion and a flicker of fear as they met mine. Waking up to find a pair of unnaturally bright amber eyes staring back would unsettle anyone.

Her skin held a healthy ivory sheen, slightly warmer than mine, with a natural flush across her cheeks. She looked well, except for the cuts and bruises peppering her arms and legs. None looked like shipwreck injuries; they were deliberate. Human-made.

A sense of dread filled me, but I schooled my features.

“Hello,” I tried again, folding my hands in front of me, smiling gently. “It’s alright, don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

Instantly, I was reminded of my own time in that tower, parched and desperate for water. I fished a leather pouch from my satchel and handed it to her without a word. Unlike me, she didn’t have to navigate haunted staircases to get a drink.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, drinking greedily.

A polite girl, even in dire straits.

She returned the pouch to me, voice cautious, “Where am I?”

I could feel the excitement behind me. The others hovered at the edge of her vision. Toothless, equally curious, tried to hum a greeting, only restrained by Hiccup’s thin arms clamped gently around his snout. Richard bounced on it as well, chittering furiously, probably demanding silence in his own way.

“This is Berk,” I said, lifting a hand so Richard could perch on my fingers. “A village with… charming critters.”

The girl blinked, once, twice, staring at the bird. “…Like, birds?”

So she didn’t even know what a parakeet was. Runaway slaves from the South usually did—they were trained in animal care. This didn’t completely rule out her being from the South, but it was curious.

“One among many,” I said, smiling as Richard hopped onto her shoulder, chirping a sweet little tune. She grinned genuinely—good character, someone who could appreciate animals. “I’ve got a horse and a dog out here too. Want to meet them?”

I extended my hand.

“…Am I still in the North?” she asked, hesitantly taking it. “Are you sure this is Berk? Not some other village named Bork?”

That wasn’t an entirely strange response. Dogs, horses, and parakeets were not common here after all.

Laughing, I helped her up. “Bork? No. Though sometimes I wish I were in Bork—wherever that is. Lots of interesting pets here, but… don’t worry, they’re not—”

Toothless lunged suddenly, and she screamed, diving behind me.

“Toothless!” I frowned, about to scold him in Dragonese, but paused when I felt her trembling hands clutching my cloak. “Don’t scare her!”

“Sorry,” Hiccup mumbled, pulling him back. Richard flitted from her shoulder, hopping indignantly up and down on the dragon’s snout.

“Be nice!” my parakeet twittered. “Be nice!”

“I’m just trying to say hello!” Toothless retorted.

“You look like you’re going to eat her! Eat her!” Richard squawked, pecking at his nose for emphasis. Toothless yelped in pain, wings flaring.

“I… I’m going to be eaten?” the stranger squeaked from behind me, curling further into my coat.

“No!” Hiccup stepped forward, hands raised, taking careful, calming steps. “No, no. Toothless isn’t like that. His diet… uh, consists of fish, not humans.”

The girl froze. I could see why—the shadows of four dragons loomed behind us. Stormfly, Hookfang, Barf and Belch, and Meatlug, each towering over her with eager, curious grins, riders perched atop their backs like gleeful, chaotic sentinels. Their teeth gleamed absurdly in the morning sun, smiles stretching unnaturally wide. Imagine nine angels—scary teeth, unhinged smiles—beaming down at you.

No wonder she tried to disappear under my coat.

Of course, Max didn’t help. The minute he spotted the stranger beneath those same covers, he shrieked and bolted straight for Phillipe. The most normal one of us all, casually watching the scene unfold with a tuft of grass in his mouth.

“What…” the girl stammered, trembling. “What—what is happening?!”

“It’s alright!” Snotlout called, jumping down from his dragon. “It’s alright, hey don’t worry! Nobody here’s going to hurt you!”

Two green eyes peeked over my cloak, then immediately darted back down, only to peek up at me again.

“I’m sorry—” she murmured.

“No need to apologize,” I said, smiling, and wrapped an arm gently around her. “Snotlout’s right—you have nothing to fear. He was the one who saved you, after all.”

“Snotlout?” she tilted her head, skeptical.

The boy in question froze, locking eyes with me. His bottom lip trembled, and he bobbed his head slowly, pinky fingers twined together, mouthing silently: I owe you. I owe you for this one.

I rolled my eyes, stifling a laugh. Of course Snotlout would be interested in her. I’d have a stern talking-to later about calling someone an “it.” Speaking of which, we still didn’t know her name.

“I’m Tuffnut!” one twin shouted, dangling upside down from their dragon’s head.

“And I’m Ruffnut!” said the other, also hanging upside down, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Heather blinked up at them, bewildered by their antics.

“Can’t you two be normal?” Fishlegs huffed. “Sorry for scaring you. I’m Fishlegs.”

“And I’m Hiccup,” my best friend added, stepping forward.

The sight of the gentler faces seemed to ease Heather’s nerves. Slowly, she edged out from under my coat.

“I’m Heather,” she mumbled, rubbing her arms. “It’s… nice to meet all of you.”

Astrid tilted her head, studying her. “So, Heather… what happened to you?”

Heather’s eyes dropped. “My family and I were on our way home to our island when… our boat was attacked by pirates.”

I took note of that. Pirates were a common sight in the Northern waters and we frequently met with them too. Of course, even the worst pirates had heard word of my family and some whispers of our connections to Berk. There’d been a couple of occasions where we were attacked up North, and Stoick quickly retaliated with his allies. It was always bloody and he always won. 

It was decided, unofficially, by a majority of pirates, that if one saw our banners, it would be best to leave us alone. 

On the off chance where the pirates didn’t know who we were and were stupid enough to try and harm us, throwing enough gold usually did the trick. And then Stoick would hunt them down. Game over.

Heather and her family, however, had no such luxury.

“They attacked our boat, took us to our island, and laid siege to it,” she continued, taking a hesitant step away from us. “I managed to escape, but… my mother and father… they weren’t so lucky.”

She sounded so somber, so distraught, that I had no choice but to believe her. Not enslaved, but certainly close to it. I’d seen this before on the Mainland—the raiding, the terror, the killings. My chest clenched, but I forced a calm face.

Clever girl then. And on the chance she was lying? Even more clever.

Hiccup was the first to step forward, one hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. He shot me a glance, and I returned a small, encouraging smile.

“Hey, everything’s going to be okay,” he said softly, guiding her toward Toothless. “My dad’s the chief. We’ll figure something out.”

I beamed, now that’s what I wanted to see. Already acting like the great leader I knew he always was going to be.

Snotlout bounded after them, shrugging with an eager grin. Astrid, however, stayed planted beside me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at Heather. We shared a look—neither of us fully buying her story.

“You guys coming?” Fishlegs called over his shoulder.

“Later!” I shouted back. “I think I want a longer ride on Phillipe today.”

“I’ll keep Imka company!” Astrid exclaimed, locking eyes with Hiccup, who was perched on Toothless with Heather clinging behind him. With a wry grin, she stepped closer and draped an arm around mine. “And don’t forget—we’re meeting tomorrow to work on flight times!”

Hiccup’s brows furrowed, his face a mix of indignation and confusion. He opened his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Richard pecking his head and squawking, “Take me and my new friend to Berk! To Berk!”

“Okay! Okay!” Hiccup grunted, motioning for Heather to hold on.

They shot into the sky, shrinking quickly to mere dots against the morning light.

I turned to Astrid, deadpan. “You know you don’t have to flaunt alone time with me like it’s some trophy in front of Hiccup.”

She snorted. “I know. But that face? Absolutely priceless.”

We got to work investigating the so-called “shipwreck.” At first glance, it had all the hallmarks of one: broken masts, splintered floorboards, snapped ropes, a few smashed barrels, and even some rotting fruit. Great attention to detail—if only they weren’t all the wrong details.

“If you’re fleeing an island under siege by pirates,” Astrid muttered, wrinkling her nose at the stench, “you don’t fill your barrels with fruit. They rot really fast.”

“There could’ve been other provisions,” I said, turning over a strand of broken rope in my hands. “Dried meat, for instance. She could’ve eaten that on the way.”

“Could be. But that’s even more bizarre, dried meat and fruit?” she scoffed, “Is she escaping from an island under siege or going on a vacation?”

I held up the rope. “Look at these strands. If a storm had ripped the mast and stressed the ropes, they’d be frayed, jagged… messy. These? Too clean.”

“Like they were cut.” She knelt beside me, frowning. “Cut on purpose.”

“Exactly.” I nodded. “Now, I’m not saying she did it. Someone could’ve attacked her, cut the ropes, and sent her to die at sea. But the first option? Way more likely.”

“But to go through all this trouble?” Astrid huffed, rising to her feet and glancing around the crawlspace. “To what? Get into Berk? Right after we…” She trailed off, her tone turning grave as she landed on the truth. “Right after we ended the war with dragons.”

I nodded firmly. “There was also that mess with ‘Trader Johann.’ Hiccup may have mentioned it. Since he killed the Red Death, a lot of strange things have been popping up. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all connected.”

Astrid blinked—once, twice—before leveling me with a wide-eyed stare. “I had a hunch this girl was off. But you’re saying she might have something to do with Trader Johann?”

“Maybe not directly,” I said, shaking my head as we climbed out of the crawlspace, her following behind. “But you know how the Mainland works. If you see two strings of the same color on opposite sides of a room and pull them, eventually they lead to the same source.”

She hugged herself, voice soft. “I remember the stories. Imka… do you think… we could end up in another war? Another fight?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “With this new enemy? Maybe.”

Her bright blue eyes widened, worry etched across her face as she pressed a hand to her temple. “We just got out of one, and now… another? Does it ever end?!”

“Now slow down — we don’t know for sure that this means another war,” I said, easing my hands onto her arms. “Take a breath. We have time to stop anything like that, but it depends on what we do next. So clear your head. Don’t do anything rash —”

“We need to boot her off the island,” Astrid blurted.

“No.” I sighed. “Kicking her out won’t fix the problem. The problem isn’t the girl on the beach — it’s whoever sent her here. We need to tug on these threads and follow them to the source. If we just scare her away or cut the strings, someone else will just take her place. We have to find who’s pulling them.”

“Right,” she sighed. “No pressure. No pressure at all. At the very least I’m not alone in this. Do you think Hiccup might agree?” 

Without a shadow of a doubt, if both of us confronted him, he would. But the issue is that, knowing how he wore his heart on his sleeve, he’d be terrible at hiding it in front of Heather. And if I told Astrid this, she’d also be terrible at hiding it in front of him. 

‘Will the good of the other,’ as my father told me. It felt a bit like slipping back into my disguise on the Mainland, a lot like scheming once more; but nothing as bad as what I was used to back home.

“...I don’t know,” I said, half-lying. The words felt like pressing a blade to my ribs. “Why don’t you bring it up with him?”

Astrid frowned. “Why don’t you? We both know he’ll listen to you. Actually—he’ll listen to me too. Let’s just tell him together.”

“Then it’s not the truth he believes in,” I said, mounting Phillipe as Max leapt neatly onto my lap. “It’s us. And that’s not who he’s supposed to be. Give him time—let him find the truth himself. If he doesn’t, then we’ll talk.”

“You’re scary, you know that?” she laughed, swinging onto Stormfly. “Still training him to be a chief.”

I grinned. “And dragging you into it with me. You’ve been watching his back when I’m not here.”

“We’ll whip him into shape in no time,” she said cheerfully, guiding Stormfly to walk beside us. “So… does this mean you’re no longer Imka ‘Mopey’ Marius?”

“Excuse me?” I laughed, urging Phillipe forward.

“At least you’ve got something to distract you from the Isle of Tomorrow.” Her grin softened as the tide rolled over our trail, washing away the prints of hoof and claw.

“For now,” I echoed, letting the salt breeze fill the quiet between us. “Thanks to you—and everyone else.”

Astrid smirked. “Don’t know what you’d do without us, honestly.”

“Very humble, Astrid.”

“Why thank you, Lady Mopey Marius.”

I returned to the Chief’s home a bit later that evening, spending most of the rest of the day with Astrid. I continued teaching her Dragonese as well as testing it on Stormfly, well behind the walls of her home — it was now more important than ever to keep such things under lock and key. I also kept the hope that, no matter how Snotlout or the others would take to her, they would not betray my confidence and tell her everything that I’d trusted to them.

War would be the consequence if they did. And I was sure of it.

The prospect of this, however, made me feel anything but happy.

That was a lot of scheming and maneuvering in a day, and though it was a normal thing on the Mainland (I practically ate and drank that for breakfast, lunch, and dinner), Berk was supposed to be where I was free of that. My little utopia where I didn’t need to put on a front or a mask, to play pretend, where I might be somebody more like myself. Alas, even that little haven needed to be tucked away for now.

Especially when I entered through those doors, finding everyone at the dinner table.

“Imka,” my father smiled, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “My daughter, it’s so late! Have you been working the whole day?”

Heather, sitting beside Hiccup, fidgeted. She looked even more nervous than she had this morning. When our eyes met, she forced a wobbly smile and gave a small wave. I gave her one in return.

Not the world’s best actress, then — especially under pressure. But what could possibly be pressuring her here?

A feast covered the table. Stoick looked relaxed. Hiccup was pouring Heather a drink. Toothless snored by the hearth. The only thing slightly off was the ring my father donned, a signet ring that had our crest on it — glinting faintly in the firelight.

He never wore it unless he wanted to make it clear who he was.

I unclasped my coat, folding it over a side-table before taking a seat beside my father.

“I’m sorry, I was busy with Astrid.” I said, accepting a mug passed to me from Hiccup. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said, “Good thing you got here on time, though — we were just about to eat. Heather said she’s starving.”

“I am.” she said softly, sitting close to Hiccup.

“We were just talking about how best to welcome her to Berk for the time being,” Stoick nodded, plucking a roasted chicken leg from the pile in front of us. “Everyone’s houses are full, what with all the dragons. But your father, gracious man he is, has offered to vacate our private guestrooms for the time being to make room for her.”

My father inclined his head. “That’s right. You don’t mind, do you, Imka? I had your things sent to the galleon earlier.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, studying him.

“I’m really sorry,” Heather murmured, her eyes darting between us. “I didn’t mean to trouble you, Trader Marius.”

“No bother at all,” he said smoothly, smiling before turning back to his meal.

Heather hesitated, then poked at her food. “I didn’t even ask your name back at the beach, did I?” she said, glancing at me. “I didn’t know you were… Imka Marius.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, ladling stew into my bowl. “You’d just washed up onshore. I wouldn’t expect introductions to be your top priority.”

“I guess not.” She laughed, a little too quietly. “It’s just… the Marius name is well known.”

My father’s gaze flicked to me — sharp as a blade.

“Is it?” I asked, mouth full of stew.

“Famous, even. The, uh… pirates talk about it often.”

“Which ones?” Stoick rumbled, tearing into a chicken leg. “Did they say who they were?”

“No — just… a bunch of rogue pirates.”

“All pirates are rogues, my dear,” my father said lightly, the smile never leaving his face. “And please — don’t let a bit of wealth make you nervous. We don’t bite. If anything, you should be more afraid of our dear chief here.”

“Yes, very terrifying,” Hiccup muttered, earning a look from Stoick. “Seriously, Heather. Our home is your home, don’t worry.”

I watched Hiccup carefully. He meant every word — so eager to make sure Heather felt safe. It was almost heartwarming, seeing how easily she softened under his gaze. The little smile. The unguarded tilt of her head. The way her shoulders eased.

But given everything Astrid and I had uncovered — and the way my father’s eyes flicked toward her like he didn’t buy it either — it was obvious: every move Heather made was calculated. Clever girl.

Girls her age weren’t born clever like that. They were made. Just like I was.

Whether by a mentor as gentle and persuasive as my father, or the opposite kind entirely.

She’d said her parents were captured. True or not, that told me enough: whoever trained her wasn’t gentle. Especially with those cuts and bruises.

So, piecing it together — she’d likely been forced onto a ship, sailed into Berk’s waters, cut it apart herself, and gambled that she’d wash ashore. All that, at her age, alone, and now trying her best to charm Hiccup.

She was looking for a foothold in Berk.

And I’d bet everything it had to do with the dragons.

Once we stepped out of the Chief’s house, I told my father and Stoick as much. We kept our voices low as we walked toward the docks, the night wind sharp with salt and smoke.

“Yes, I figured as much,” my father said evenly, walking between Stoick and me.

“I got the gist too,” Stoick grunted. “When Hiccup brought a girl home, I thought some miracle had dropped straight from Valhalla at first. Oh well.”

My father chuckled. “Hush, he’ll find someone suitable in time. Isn’t Astrid his age?”

I sighed. “I’m working on it. Promise.”

Stoick regarded me for a moment, before deciding to switch subjects. “In any case, you’re right to think this ties back to Trader Johann. Your father and I agreed not to chase either of them off yet. Not until we know where this all leads.”

“If you find two strings of the same color on opposite sides of a room,” I said, “pull them, they’ll lead to the same source.” I glanced at my father. “Isn’t that right?”

“Well put,” he said, pride lighting his face. “Stoick and I will look into Johann. You can handle Heather, can’t you, Imka?”

“I’ll be working with Astrid,” I said. “If that’s alright?”

“More than alright,” Stoick said, grinning. “I always liked that girl. She had a hunch too, didn’t she?”

I nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Work on it. Report to us. And try not to make any rash decisions, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Astrid was in the worst mood the next day. Hiccup had apparently forgotten their promise to race on dragon-back — something about comparing flight times.

We both knew why. He’d spent the whole morning flying with Heather instead.

She was sulking in the arena, crunching through a pouch of candied hazelnuts I’d picked up from the bakery earlier.

“The nerve,” she grumbled. “Didn’t we already have the talk about him ditching his friends?”

Ruffnut, sprawled on her dragon beside me, yawned. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Come on, he probably has his reasons!” Fishlegs tried. Astrid’s glare shut him down instantly. “Never mind.”

“I’m with Astrid,” Snotlout muttered, rubbing his face. “Didn’t he say training was today? He woke us up at dawn!”

“He always says that,” Tuffnut groaned from where he was half-asleep on Belch.

“Apparently,” Astrid said flatly, “he’s giving private lessons now. To the new girl.”

Fishlegs gasped. “He gives private lessons? Can anyone get in on that?”

“Nope,” Astrid huffed, eyes flicking skyward. Toothless was cutting across the clouds — with Heather perched behind Hiccup. “Apparently just her.”

Ruffnut sighed and gave me a side-eye. “Aren’t you even a little bothered, Imka? Everyone’s been complaining but you.”

“I’m not thrilled he bailed on you guys,” I said, braiding Phillipe’s mane. “But… Heather went through a lot yesterday. A bit of fun won’t kill anyone.”

“Dang,” Ruffnut muttered. “So not jealous like Astrid then.”

Astrid scoffed, shooting her a look. “Trust me — the last thing I am is jealous.”

Stormfly turned her head toward me. I just shrugged.

The way Astrid was acting reminded me a bit of that walk I had with Hiccup a year ago. When he was angry that I’d gone and snuck off with Astrid to spend time, braid her hair with that new ribbon.

Guess that confirmed it: Astrid’s brand of possessiveness wasn’t just for me — it extended to all her friends.

A little territorial then. Just like her dragon.

It was then Hiccup swooped in with Heather and Toothless.

“Top of the morning, class!” he greeted, pausing when he saw me. “Oh, Imka! You’re usually busy helping your dad, what brings you here today?”

“Just wanted to say hello, check on Heather. I had a feeling she’d be here.” I smiled politely, “Good morning, are you feeling well?”

The girl in question immediately shrank half an inch and tucked herself behind Hiccup’s shoulder like a cat behind a curtain. Curious.

“Hello,” she said softly. “I’m… doing better. Thank you for lending me your room.”

“It’s not my room,” I said, stepping forward and pressing a pouch of candied hazelnuts into her hands. “It’s the guestroom. And you’re a guest. More of one than me right now, anyway.”

Heather peeked inside. “Oh—are these candied hazelnuts? They’re my favorite!”

Astrid spoke next, her tone dripping in sarcasm, “Nice of you to show up.”

“What?” Hiccup blinked, then winced. “Oh—wait. We were supposed to meet up. I—uh—yeah. Sorry, Astrid.”

Snotlout leaned toward me, smirking. “Awkward.”

Astrid smiled tightly, hands on her hips. “So, Heather. Sleep well?”

It was immediate how fast Heather seemed to switch gears. Almost imperceptibly so. The slight leer in her eyes, the small smile, and the drop in her tone. It was difficult to notice, but Astrid caught on.

“Very well,” she said, tucking the pouch of snacks away. “Thank you, Astrid.”

“Well, it’s good to have you awake here. I’ve just been busy entertaining everyone while you were out and about for a good… two hours, I believe?” I said lightly, honing my eyes on Hiccup. “It’s very important to be on time, isn’t it?”

Heather, sensing I was no longer focused on her, stepped to the side. Almost as if relieved I wasn’t observing her anymore. She was wrong, of course.

“Uh.” Hiccup blinked, “I mean I just…”

“Tear him apart, Imka!” Snotlout whooped. “He made us wait two hours! Hookfang’s about to lose it!”

“I am,” Hookfang grumbled, smoke curling from his nostrils. “If you don’t start training this oaf, I’ll roast him myself.”

Richard screeched, puffing up his feathers and stomping on Hookfang’s snout. “Be patient! Be patient, you glorified candle lighter!”

“Look, I can explain,” Hiccup sighed, grabbing my elbow before I could reply. “Just—lend me your ear for a sec.”

“Wait—” Heather called after him.

“I’ll be right back!” he said, already dragging me away.

“Leave him!” Ruffnut yelled. “Let Mother Hen Marius here peck his ear off!”

Tuffnut’s cackling echoed across the arena as Snotlout turned his full attention to flexing for Heather—who looked one polite smile away from summoning divine intervention. Fishlegs, thankfully, was the only normal one chatting with her. Astrid just gave me a solid thumbs-up as we stepped out of the ring.

“So,” I folded my arms over my stomach.

“So.” He pressed his lips together, “I, uh. I took her out for a ride this morning.”

“Yes, Astrid told me that while she was waiting for you, for a good half hour by the way, you were off flying with Heather.”

“And I have an explanation for that—look, okay, Heather washed up on our shores in a really bad state. You saw it, the cuts and bruises. I can’t imagine what might have happened to her on her island.”

“I agree,” I said quietly, looking back into the arena where Heather and my friends chatted amicably, the dragons eagerly pressing their snouts against her. It was no lie, regardless of whether or not she was lying, those marks on her were real. Despite it all, my heart clenched at the thought of her having been beaten, prepared to be shipped off, then struck at sea; all for the slim chance to get on Berk. “It must have been terrible.”

“You get it,” he sighed, relieved, grabbing my arms. “You see what I’m seeing, right? It’s Marcus all over again. My ancestor saved yours and look where we are now. Your family has kept us alive for so long and we in return, and because of that look at where it’s led us — friends with dragons, being able to even…” he lowered his voice, “talk to them?”

A slow smile curled on my lips. I knew Heather’s case was different, but it warmed me to know how deeply he’d thought of all this.

“Who knows what good can come from helping her?” he said softly, “I keep thinking about your stories. Androcles, remember?”

“I remember.” I smiled wider. “Mercy to a beast. But you’re thinking of the other ones, aren’t you?”

His voice stuttered for a moment, big green eyes taking me in. “The Ant and the Dove, actually.”

“Ah, one the shortest from Aesop’s fables.” I hummed, “A dove saves an ant from drowning, and when the ant sees a human man about to strike the dove with a stone — the ant bites him and saves the dove.”

“The lion in Androcles’ story only showed mercy when given mercy first. But the dove… the dove had nothing to gain from the ant,” Hiccup looked toward the arena, where Fishlegs was holding up the Book of Dragons. “Heather’s a lot like the ant. She has… nothing. And after a lot of thinking, after everything we’ve been through… I don’t just want to be merciful when I have something to gain.”

His words seized me at that moment. All my scheming, all my thoughts melted away beneath the scorching knife of his thoughts. It wasn’t like the one I wielded, heated over a lifetime of surviving through courts, maneuvering around the greater schemers of the world; this one was pure. Forged over the burning fire of nothing but compassion, of love.

Without meaning to, I reached out a hand to touch his cheek. He snapped his attention right back to me, surprised at the gesture.

“You are the furthest thing from the Red Death.” I whispered, feeling something prick my eyes. “You are so much better, Hiccup.”

My best friend stood there, stunned, “You’re crying.”

“Oh,” I withdrew my hand to wipe my eyes. “Sorry, it’s just… I’ve been suspicious of her. I’ll admit that. I won’t lie, I’ve been investigating a bit… and just… I don’t like bringing that side of me here, to Berk. It’s different from what I did with Snotlout, this time.”

There was a pause.

“But I know I have to, considering everything dangerous. Trader Johann for example,” I laughed bitterly, almost quietly. “Everything on the mainland is about scheming, I’ve told you the stories. Berk has always been worlds away from that, and now… now everything’s changing. Again.”

“Yeah.” Hiccup frowned, something twisting in his eyes as he looked at me. “I know.”

“You just made me remember there’s another way to be,” I sucked in a breath, tucking my hands together. “You always do. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He said, “If anything I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“They’re good tears.” I said, “Sorry, my composure isn’t… I used to be a lot more…”

“Stop.” He smiled, a crooked thing. “I said it before, didn’t I? I’d rather you be sad or mad than some statue. Even if I don’t like it when you cry, better than pushing me away.”

I laughed, reining in my feelings, “Speaking of pushing people away. I agree with what you said, about wanting to show compassion toward Heather. But… Hiccup, you also need to show the same to the friends you already have. Astrid included.”

“I know…” he rubbed his neck, ashamed. “That was my fault, it won’t happen again.”

“I hope so.” I said, “Astrid’s very territorial with her friends.”

“That I know as well,” he rolled his eyes. “Intimately.”

I raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Wait—no, not like that!”

“I know, I know. I’m teasing,” Another laugh this time, before I took his hands in mine. “I trust you, Hiccup, to make the right choice. I know so long as your heart points toward the right direction, you can do anything. You can convince anyone of anything. Even me.”

His fingers flexed around mine before they tightened. A steady hold on me.

“Do you remember when we were here, one year ago, after breakfast with Snotlout?” he mumbled, “You were the one who convinced me that I didn’t need to be a Viking the way everyone else said I needed to be. I guess… the least I could do was remind you, too, that there’s another way of being… Imka? A Marius?”

“You have.” I said softly, withdrawing my hands. “Do what you need to do with Heather. But just… remember you have other friends too. And to be careful, too.”

“Yeah, other friends… and you.”

It was at this moment that Astrid came stomping out, furious, and holding the book of dragons in her arms.

“Fishlegs just tried to show Heather the book of dragons,” she hissed furiously beneath her breath. “Tell me that isn’t insane?”

Hiccup blinked, “Well —” 

“I know, right? Insane!” She seethed, “I don’t think we should be showing her all our dragon secrets.”

He furrowed his brow and fixed her with a stare, “Astrid, it’s fine. The whole Dragonese stuff will still be kept under wraps. Everyone understands the —”

“I just don’t trust her!” Astrid admitted, blue eyes flitting between me and Hiccup. “Neither of us do, and you shouldn’t either, Hiccup.”

Well, there goes my whole talk about ‘letting Hiccup decide’ the day before.

Emboldened by our previous chat, Hiccup pressed his lips together and replied, “Well, I do trust her. And you should trust me.”

Bewildered, Astrid scoffed, “Hiccup —”

“I’ll see you later, Imka.” He mumbled over his shoulder, already stalking back off into the arena.

With theatrical slowness, Astrid turned her head toward me. “Don’t tell me you fell for his whole morality schtick.”

I gave a slow, weak shrug. “He was very compelling.”

“Oh my gods, I am going to axe you BOTH.”

Two days passed, and life carried on as usual. I kept studying Dragonese with the others and their dragons, until Heather stopped by to greet them. She always seemed to shrink away whenever I was near—or even happened to be in the same place. Strange, really, since I was probably the least frightening person on Berk.

Astrid continued her investigations and still included me. I trusted that Hiccup would see the truth in time, but it mattered just as much that my other friend knew I was on her side. So I eased off my own efforts, mostly acting as Astrid’s sounding board during her inquiries.

On the bright side, Hiccup never missed a training session anymore. He even made time for just the two of us—flights in the evenings when the sun melted over the horizon, quiet visits back to the Cove. We’d spend hours talking, though more often it was me reading to him and Toothless. His dragon had even taken to playing the roles in the stories—especially the lion in Androcles and the Lion. So like Hiccup, that had become his favorite tale.

Sometimes we switched companions for fun. He was a natural on horseback, and we even convinced Gobber to adjust my saddle to suit his height. Toothless got the same treatment; I had my own stirrups added for the rare occasion I might need to fly him. Not that I expected to—but it felt nice to be included.

Stoick, hilariously, also was trying to find ways of including my father back in his life. Now that we’d moved to the galleon temporarily, it meant these two would find it rarer and rarer to meet each other on a day-to-day basis. The chief of Berk was not happy and so he invited us for dinner, me included.

After a day of work and spending time with everyone’s dragons, the last thing I expected was finding Hiccup, Astrid, and Heather bickering up in his room.

“Well,” Astrid bit, arms crossed over her chest. “Are you going to say something?”

Heather’s bright green eyes flitted toward Hiccup, “I am so, so sorry, Hiccup. I was cleaning up your room and I found the book —”

Astrid and I made eye contact, she was having a very hard time not bursting out laughing. I couldn’t blame her: Cleaning Hiccup’s room? Goodness. Not a good actress, and not a very good liar either when put on the spot.

“... I couldn’t help myself.” Heather finished, big eyes pleading toward him.

Hiccup stared at her for a minute, face twisting in pity, eyes moving between her and Astrid. Then toward me, standing far behind them, watching carefully. I meant what I said to him before, I trusted him to make the right decision.

My best friend smiled comfortingly, “It’s okay, Heather.”

“What do you mean, it’s okay?!” Astrid demanded. “I caught her reading the book of dragons!”

“Astrid, come on, lighten up.” He frowned, clutching said book in his arms.

“Me?!” Astrid said, circling the two slowly. “She’s the one sneaking around! Looking at our stuff!”

Not mine, at least. Everything I owned had been moved to the galleon, under the very watchful eyes of all my father’s people.

“Really?” Hiccup tilted his head, “Sneaking around? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about last night!” Astrid leveled Heather with a glare, arms on her hips. “Near my house —”

“That was me,” Heather cut, sighing. “I couldn’t sleep. So I went for a walk. I was having terrible nightmares…”

Hiccup frowned, “I can imagine.”

Of course he could, only recently had Hiccup been experiencing his own night terrors of the Red Death. 

Curiously, I also took note that she had made no mention of Dragonese since she got here. Nor about the Isle of Tomorrow, or the Wilderwest. If she did, she’d be trying to cozy up to me — and so far, she’d been avoiding me like a mouse afraid of a cat. 

Astrid stared at Hiccup, bewildered, before turning to me, “Is this really happening?”

“Okay, Astrid, that’s enough!” Hiccup exclaimed.

Her tone grew cold, icy, already side-stepping the three of us. “You’re right Hiccup, it is.”

“You know, Heather, if you have nightmares you can always stay with me for the night. My stories usually chase away all kinds of night terrors.” I said kindly, pushing off the wall to follow Astrid down. “Why don’t you pay me a visit tonight? I’ll have you know that the Marius family is very, very generous.”

A pause.

“Especially when it comes to troubled young girls.”

I was hoping she took the olive branch. Her fear of my family meant she knew about us, at least on some level, and I was also hoping she knew what we did for runaway slaves. Even if she wasn’t one herself, we could give her a way out. A way to a better life.

Heather turned away. “I’ll… think about it. Thank you, Imka.”

Oh well, she made her decision. 

“Anytime.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, I stole an hour away at the arena with Astrid to talk. Well—more like she talked at me, venting about the night before. Apparently, she’d caught Heather trying to bond with Stormfly by feeding her chicken legs.

“And then she flips her hair and goes—” Astrid pitched her voice high, mimicking Heather, “‘I think your dragon likes me! See you later, Stormfly!’”

“Mhm.” I turned to Stormfly. “How’d that make you feel?”

“I made her think I was falling for it,” Stormfly preened as Richard nuzzled her forehead. “But I’ll have you know, I do not fall for cheap tricks. Especially not chicken. I get plenty from my rider.”

Smiling, I relayed the message to Astrid. “She says you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Thank the gods,” Astrid sighed, hugging Stormfly’s neck. “Sorry for doubting you, girl.”

“You’re always so anxious. I wish you’d relax a little,” Stormfly cooed, pressing her snout against Astrid’s cheek. “And I also wish you could understand me faster—so we wouldn’t need Imka playing middleman.”

After translating, I raised a brow. “Middleman?”

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Astrid admitted with a sheepish look. “Sorry. It’s not that I don’t like having you here—it’s just… you know. She’s my dragon.”

“I’m not offended,” I said easily. “Happy to help for now. We’ll get back to proper lessons soon enough—just as soon as Heather leaves.”

Astrid groaned. “Please. Can’t we just boot her off?”

I rolled my eyes. “Threads, Astrid. Remember the threads. We just need Stormfly to keep playing along. It’s even more important now that you uncovered that… Savage, you said his name was? Yes, Savage and Alvin the Treacherous are involved.”

Aside from catching Heather trying to bond with Stormfly, Astrid had also seen her speaking with Savage of the Outcast tribe down by the shore. My father’s people confirmed it—several rogue ships had been sighted docking on the far side of the island. Stoick was alerted immediately, but both he and my father chose to wait a little longer.

Mostly because of Hiccup.

According to them, my reports on how Hiccup had been handling things was deeply frustrating. How adamant he was about showing Heather mercy and unconditional compassion; great in theory but terrible in execution. 

It’d be easy to snap him out of it with a strong word from either Stoick or my father, but… well, it’d be easier for my father to have pointed out my coddling tendencies before, too. But that wasn’t Lucian Marius’ style and, perhaps influenced by him, neither was it Stoick’s now.

If Hiccup could befriend Toothless and defeat the Red Death, surely he could see through Heather. Surely, he’d listen to Astrid’s counsel.

Another day passed, and we received our answer: Hiccup refused.

By then, it was too late. The Book of Dragons was gone—and so was Stormfly. Astrid had suspected as much but still reeled at losing her dragon. She was furious, gutted, and Hiccup was the one she blamed. 

In response, he rallied everyone for an emergency trip to Outcast Island. 

“How could I not see it? I can’t believe this,” he muttered, strapping down supplies on Toothless.

I watched silently, eyes flicking between my two friends, Astrid and Hiccup, as everyone else stood by, equally awkward and uneasy.

“Because your brain was under siege,” Tuffnut mumbled.

“You weren’t any better, genius,” Ruffnut shot back. “Got your brain all clogged up over some pretty girl.”

“That’s enough,” I cut in, arms crossed. “We were all distracted by other things. What matters now is getting that book back.”

“You weren’t distracted.” Ruffnut frowned, “You knew, and you decided to not say anything.”

“Weren’t you the one who said I coddled Hiccup too much?” I muttered beneath my breath, low enough so that nobody else could hear. “I gave him a chance to figure it out on his own.”

“Oh.” Ruffnut blinked, “Oh I see what you were doing. Still, this is a really bad situation.”

In truth, it wasn’t really that bad. Not truly.

While retrieving the Book of Dragons and Stormfly was the immediate priority, my father had already prepared for the worst long before. Stoick had granted him permission to intervene only if Hiccup failed.

If Alvin dared to misuse the Book of Dragons, it could spell catastrophe. The fact he was desperate enough to manipulate a young girl spoke volumes. He knew. He’d known Berk was working together with dragons — and who else could have told him but that rat, Trader Johann himself? And who else was Johann working with, but Mildew?

If it weren’t for the very fact Berk had just become even more important to the South, we’d leave them to deal with this on their own. We respected Berk’s sovereignty, that was the whole point of the pact.

However, since the demise of the Red Death, it became clear that any threat placed on Berk was more than a domestic problem.

It became the South’s problem too. And the way the South liked to handle things was far from humane.

Therefore, when it came to business, when it came to upholding our ‘one-sided’ life debt; we didn’t play. It is why our family survived as long as it had. It is also why Stoick and Hiccup had such a grip on us, whether or not they knew it, whether or not they exercised it. 

Everything was for the good of Berk, for the good of the line of chiefs; nothing was off limits to help the few we could truly call friends. And yes, that included bending over backwards just because one of them wanted to befriend a dragon they shot from the sky.

My father was right to describe it as being practically married to the island.

“This is not good.” Astrid grumbled, climbing onto Toothless’ back. 

Hiccup’s frown deepened, “Astrid, I —”

“Save it.” She cut, narrowing her eyes on him. “You can apologize when you get me my dragon back.”

“Hiccup,” I called. “A word?”

“Chew him out, Imka!” Snotlout whooped, only to be elbowed by Fishlegs. “Ow!”

My best friend moped toward me, all fidgeting with his hands and eyes downcast. It was as if we were in the past, one year ago, back before he met Toothless. Terrified, scared of what someone might say to him. How someone might disapprove of what he’d done. How his actions might reflect on his place in the village.

I took him aside, just out of earshot and obscured by a few bushes and trees.

“Hiccup —”

“I messed up.” He ran his hands through his hair, “Again, I messed up. And it’s not just a small thing, Alvin the Treacherous could have his grubby hands on that — I need to go, Imka, I need to go and —”

“Hold on.” I said softly, grabbing his shoulders. “I know you need to go soon, but just let me tell you this alright? Yes, you messed up. Yes, you might have caused a lot of trouble for everyone. But you weren’t wrong.”

He paused, furrowing his brows, “... Both those things can’t be true at the same time. How can I mess up and not be wrong?”

“Your heart was in the right place, Hiccup.” I said, “If you’d have followed what I’d done, then you wouldn’t mess up but you would definitely be wrong. Look at it this way, at least now we know for sure it was Alvin pulling the strings.”

“We could’ve known sooner if I just listened to Astrid.” He scowled, “I need to fix this.”

I frowned, placing one hand on his cheek so he looked at me. “Okay, that’s a good step forward. But I need you to remember what I said, you aren’t wrong. Even back then when you messed up, even now when you do; there is nothing wrong when you choose compassion and mercy.”

“Compassion and mercy didn’t get us the outcome we wanted, did it?” He rolled his eyes, “I’m so stupid.”

It was as if everything he’d gone through, all that development, went down the drain, right before my eyes.

“You are not stupid,” I said firmly, hearing Astrid call for him distantly, urging him to finish talking and get moving. I tried to get this mini speech out as fast as possible. “Do you hear me? You are not stupid, you are not useless, you are not a failure. You made a mistake but it doesn’t define you. Compassion and mercy are what got you Toothless —”

He cut me off. Suddenly there were two hands on my face and his eyes were honed on mine. His brows were furrowed together, something complicated in those eyes of his, and then he was pulling me close, arms around me in a tight hug.

“Sorry, but I had to shut you up. You really have a way of making me feel things.” He mumbled against my shoulder, “I’m trying my best to be better, Imka. I really am.”

That’s when I realized. It was incredibly stupid to expect he’d healed and changed from everything in just a couple of months. Some wounds still ran deep. That confident, happy young man I saw running through town these past few weeks, the bravado he put up in the academy… all of it were walls to protect the still-hurt boy long ago. All of it, smoke and mirrors.

But he was still letting me in.

“... I know,” I sighed, running a hand through his hair soothingly. “I know. You’re doing great. Just keep going, okay? You’ve got this. And if anything goes wrong, my family and I will back you up. The way we always have.”

He pulled away, “I wish I had something to give you in return.”

“You being you is the best gift any of us could ask for,” I smiled. “The best gift I could ever ask for.”

Then he smiled so widely, as if I’d lifted off some two hundred pound burden from his shoulders. That relief was infectious and I leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead, just for good measure.

He turned tomato-red at that though.

“Another one?!”

“This is the first one this spring.” I tilted my head, “Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping count since last year?”

“I… I…” he looked away, even more flustered.

“You have?” I squealed softly, “That’s actually so cute.”

“I’m not cute! I’m —”

“HICCUP. HADDOCK.” Astrid exclaimed, “GET OVER HERE.”

“Yeah stop mooching her face off, idiot!” Ruffnut called.

“I am not mooching anyone’s face off!” Hiccup exclaimed, pushing through the bushes.

“Oh gods he’s red in the face.” Fishlegs balked, “No way. NO. WAY —”

“Relax,” I laughed, following after. “Nothing weird happened.”

“Yeah, totally.” Hiccup drawled, clambering atop Toothless, who only snickered. “Nothing. Nope, zilch. Nada. Let’s go.”

Hiccup and everyone failed in retrieving the Book of Dragons.

Fortunately, Heather and Stormfly were successfully retrieved. The former was sent to be locked deep in Berk’s dungeons, but she was a crafty, clever girl and escaped very often. She could never get too far, though, what with all the dragon riders circling around Berk. Astrid, in particular, kept a close eye on her.

She was terrified and I actually felt sorry for her. Especially when she revealed that she was honest about having parents, they were still alive, and kept hostage by Alvin.

“Dissapointing,” my father mumbled, watching as his people began preparing the ship for sail. “Genuinely, disappointing. I knew Alvin was a… man of creativity, but to go this far? Using a family? Despicable. He’s still one of you, even though he was cast out. I would’ve expected him to have some shred of goodness leftover from Berk.”

“Yes, well…” Gobber trailed off, rubbing the side of his neck awkwardly. “I know you weren’t there when it happened, Lucian. When Alvin – during that one dragon raid, when he chose to do the opposite of what Stoick said. The casualties… the people we lost. Bitter day that was, it was a given that things changed. Inevitable, really, that he ended up banished.”

The two were currently deep in conversation as we waited. Distantly, I could still see Hiccup somewhere up the cliff, watching us with sorrow, pity for himself for having failed. He wasn’t alone this time around, however. All our friends were around him, looking just as sorry as the next. I didn’t like seeing that gloom around them, but at least they were sharing in it together.

I offered a smile up, an encouraging wave. I told them just before I headed down that things would be alright. 

“I’m aware. I was there for the funerals,” My father scoffed, continuing. “Arrived just a day after the raid. I was so happy to see the three of you, thought it’d be just a different day. Then neither of you wanted to talk to each other. I went through hell trying to fix our little group of friends.”

“And it was a good try,” Gobber laughed quietly, clapping a hand over his friend’s shoulder. “Sometimes all we can do is try.”

“I don’t want to make him an enemy,” he grew sullen, nodding only once when an attendant came to tell us the ship was ready for departure to Outcast Island. “I don’t want to antagonise him more than what’s been done. He used to be my friend, too. I still want to believe he is.”

“Aye.” his friend frowned, “So was he mine. Have strength, Lucian. Sail safe, you two.”

“Thank you, Gobber.” I smiled, heading for the ship first.

“Take care. I’ll be back.” My father followed behind me and sighed, “And do tell Stoick to relax. The man’s going to go grey early at this rate.”

“Like you?”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Alvin.”

“Trader Marius.”

Alvin the Treacherous sat before us in his dusty, old hall, just as tall and terrifying as Stoick, but even moreso. The place was dilapidated, terribly unkept, but who could blame him? Their entire island was busy just getting by. Considering this was home to ‘outcasts’ from a multitude of other, miscellaneous tribes, it was a given that the act of governing and managing the place was about as bare-bones as a gang of thugs trying to govern themselves. 

Even the isle itself, enshrouded in constant fog and mist thick enough to blacken the sun, was barren. A simple glance down the docks when we docked showed meager results from fishing, the only vegetation able to withstand life here were crab-apple trees, and those were far and few in between. Far from enough to feed the hungry, angry outcasts of this tribe.

They were probably reliant on trade, then, for food. But that also meant they needed to offer something in return. No self-respecting trader would accept bushels of crab-apples and some tiny fishes for anything substantial, anything good enough to feed a whole tribe. That meant they were probably trading in other things: services.

And what other service could they provide, but violence?

A simple glance was all it took to surmise what was going on. Get the Book of Dragons, invade Berk, overthrow Stoick, and be able to live on an island practically flowing with milk and honey compared to this cemetery.

It was sad, genuinely very sad, especially for my father to see his old friend, Alvin, living in such conditions.

Alvin, meanwhile, was only angry and ashamed.

“How has life been, old friend?”

“Is that what I am now?” he narrowed his eyed, and I suddenly remembered Astrid back in the Cove. How she spat out those same words to Hiccup.

If she’d really run to Berk and told everyone, before he had a chance to getaway, he might have actually turned into an Outcast too. Living in these terrible conditions. My heart clenched at that and I immediately felt what my father must have been feeling at the moment.

“... Not the best question, then.” My father smiled meekly, wringing his wrists, sitting on that short stool, far too uncomfortable for the likes of him. “But we do know each other, don’t we?’

“You’re a trader,” Alvin shrugged, leaning back and lightly balancing the long blade in his hands. “You’re good with money. You helped give Berk food when there was famine after constant dragon raids. You’re Stoick’s little pet. What else?”

At his mockery, my father gave nothing away. If anything, his amber eyes seemed to soften as he touched his signet ring.

“And you are a good fighter,” he said, tipping his head. “The best. Viscious, if I remembered correctly. Top of your game. Always a man looking after his best interests, knowing what’s best for everyone. All good, all good in my books. I’ve always admired that about you.”

“Why are you here?” The leader of the Outcasts frowned, narrowing his eyes. “I let you dock because of our past, but if you’re here wasting my time for pleasantries when I have much more important work to do —”

Read: Decoding the Book of Dragons.

“— then I have half a mind to behead you and throw you and your daughter’s bodies out to sea.”

“You never hold back, do you?” My father smiled, leaned forward, laid his arms on his knees, and pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Very well. Alvin, I know you have the Book of Dragons.”

There was silence for a moment before, finally, the chief of Outcasts smirked, leering at us two.

“Maybe.” He answered, “What’s it to you?”

“I need it back. Well, actually… Berk needs it back.”

“And why should I give it to you?”

“I can offer you food in return, provide for your tribe for the next year if that’s what you need.”

“We get food just fine on our own.”

My father tilted his head, those amber eyes of his hardening for the briefest of moments. I prayed Alvin would just take the offer.

“From your traders?” he asked, “Trader Johann? In exchange for your… services? Or perhaps for information? Seeking to overthrow Berk?”

“I don’t need to tell you anything.”

“Be reasonable, Alvin.”

“We have enough food, we have enough of everything. And we are going to get what we want, what is rightfully ours —”

“No you won’t.”

Alvin laughed, tipping his head back, “And who’s going to stop us? We know the boy, that tiny son of the chief who stumbled upon training a dragon, will try something. We’ve prepared. He’ll be dealt with just fine and you can’t do anything about it.”

At the threat against Hiccup, my father turned his hand and the signet ring he donned glinted. Gold, heavy, and heavy with our crest. The very thing that defined what it meant to be a Marius. His eyes glinted just like it, molten gold, and a very different person came to the front. 

Only few knew what my father looked like when he dropped his role being ‘father’, when he wasn’t ‘Trader Marius’, and was simply, terrifyingly, Lucian Marius. 

Given their prior, albeit broken, friendship, Alvin should have known or at least remembered. But then again, he was always more brawn than he was brains.

“Who said anything about Hiccup?” He said, “I’m talking about me.”

Alvin laughed again, “And what can you do? You’ve always been the smallest out of all of us. Barely could lift an axe, too!”

“You misunderstand. You said you’d have enough food, enough everything. I said you won’t.” 

Something cold, almost maniacal, slipped into his amber eyes then.

“Because I’m going to starve your people.”

Alvin paused, staring at him hard, the edges of his lips twitching as if thinking this was some joke, “What do you —”

“I know who trades with you. I always kept tabs, I never forgot you, old friend. The comings and goings of traders up North, who docks South — fancy this, most of them dock in my homeland to restock. There’s a lot more fertile land on the Mainland after all. I can buy them, all of them.” Lucian tapped his chin, speaking as though this was as simple as deciding to buy a new cloak at the bazaar. “Then I can tell them to change their trade routes: Go here, instead of there, it’s that simple.” 

The chief of the Outcasts, for all his size and might, with that heavy weapon in his hands, froze. Foolish as he was, even he knew what it meant when warriors did not eat. They lost fights, they died.

“And if you find more? I buy them too. And I make sure none of them trade with you. And then you starve.” Lucian sighed, leaning back, hands on his knees, suddenly sitting straighter and – despite the physical height difference — much, much taller than the chief. “You can try raiding, for a while. It won’t last. Oh, and if you’re angry with me now, if you try to kill me? There’s a lot worse waiting for you. My wife is still at home, if I don’t come back, someone will tell her what happened. She’ll do a lot worse than starve you. Gisela can be a lot more ruthless than I am if family is involved. You remember her, don’t you?”

Looking outside the window, I noticed the faint silhouettes of what looked to be Toothless and the rest of my friends closing in from beneath the veil of mist. 

How very like them to refuse to stay put, deciding to go headfirst into danger anyway. It happened with me and the Red Death, there was little reason as to why it wouldn’t happen this time. I could only give my father a shrug, as if to say: Well, we tried.

Lucian smiled, amused. “Ah, change of plans then. You make it so that the children get the book, give them a good fight, let them win, and we all go home. In exchange, I won’t starve your people. Do we have terms?”

I didn’t need to really focus on this anymore, so I turned to look out into the sky, watching as my friends landed somewhere on the isle. Following behind was Heather on what looked to be Stormfly. Curious, maybe a bit of an overkill.

See, this was different from the Red Death. That tyrant was a dragon, it couldn’t be reasoned with (especially considering I didn’t know Dragonese at the time). But man could always be reasoned with. Although I wouldn’t call what my father was doing ‘reasoning’, maybe more like ‘appealing’ to the most fundamental thing for all of mankind: the need for food.

It didn’t matter how powerful our enemies were, how technologically advanced, how smart they were either. You can’t fight, you can’t think, you can’t feel until you’re fed. Even the most foolish of people knew this.

So it didn’t surprise me either when I got only the tailend of their conversation.

“... We have terms.”

“Fantastic! And as a show of goodwill I’ll make sure your people are fed for the next year. So long as you don’t work with Trader Johann anymore. Just come only to me, your old friend, for food. I’ll happily supply you with as much as you need. Thank you for your business, Alvin.”

Divine timing was on our side. Right after the meeting ended, a flurry of events happened one after another: Astrid apparently had dressed up as Heather days prior, sailed to Outcast island (alone), infiltrated the island (???), tamed a Monstrous Nightmare (even more ????), saved Heather’s parents, was meant to rendezvous with the rest of my friends, got into a fight with the Outcasts, and then won.

Or at least, that was as much as Hiccup could tell me. He left out more details, probably because he knew how outraged both me and my father would be.

“You are all insane.”

“I mean —”

“What am I going to say to your parents?!” My father seethed, staring at the gaggle of teenagers on board the ship. “Did you at least tell them?!”

The twins looked to each other, “No, duh.”

“Does Stoick know?!”

Hiccup looked away, “Uh…”

My father pinched the bridge of his nose, “The Thorstons, The Ingermans, The Hoffersons… they’re all going to have my head for this.”

Berk was slowly coming into view, just over the horizon, as the sun broke through the night. Sometime after our abrupt departure from the island, my friends had spotted our ship and decided to dock with us for some much needed rest. Well, that and I had spent many hours busily scrubbing the tar from Astrid’s hair (that was used to dye her beautiful blonde locks black, I gave up and let her do it herself down below the deck), then check on both Heather and her parents.

The three were, for the most part, in better conditions. Her parents were busy slumbering in one of the rooms just below deck, whilst my father took that moment to have a very long heart-to-heart chat with Heather.

In the meantime, I went to check on my friends. Well, not really check. More like berate.

“You are all insane.” I crossed my arms over my stomach.

“Your dad just told us as much.” Hiccup grumbled, perching his head on the ship’s railing, staring out at the sea.

I wrinkled my nose, “What part of ‘we’ll handle it’ did none of you understand? Fishlegs, you especially!”

“Wha —” the boy balked, lifting his hands in surrender. “They made me do it!”

“You’re supposed to keep each other in check!”

“Ugh, I can’t take this.” Tuffnut groaned, “We got the Book of Dragons anyways, no thanks to your family’s help!”

I pressed my lips together, unwilling to entertain him with any answer. 

“Hey, where’s Snotlout?” Ruffnut blinked.

“He’s probably raiding the pantry like before.” Hiccup huffed.

At that, both the twins and Fishlegs immediately bolted below the deck. Both to raid the pantry as well as to avoid my wrath.

Except Hiccup.

When we were finally left alone, he gave me a sideways glance, a small knowing smile on his lips.

“What?”

“I know you’re not really mad.” He said, “Usually, you get this look in your eyes. Like back before, when I wanted to run away.”

Sighing, I let my hands fall to my side as I leaned against the railing with him, “We really did have things covered, you know.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, letting his eyes drift back to the waters. “But you shouldn’t have. It’s my job to keep the Book of Dragons safe, I’m the leader of the dragon riders, the academy — you shouldn’t have to clean up after my mess.”

“Hiccup —”

“Let me finish,” he laughed quietly, dragging his eyes back to me. “Even when I’ve got Toothless, even when I’ve got an academy to run, everyone is willing to listen to me — or at least most times they do. And yet you’re still outdoing me.”

I frowned, wanting to protest, but instead chose to hear him out.

“I know your dad, I’ve heard enough stories from mine to know what kind of man he can really be like.” Hiccup said, turning to watch as my father had to wrestle Toothless off of him (the dragon didn’t care, he just kept licking my father’s head and checking for injuries). “I know you two had a hand in helping us get the book back.”

“... I have no doubt you would’ve gotten it back yourselves.”

He shrugged, there was a tightness in his gaze as they moved back to the ocean. “Still doesn’t change the fact that even without a dragon, even without any weapons, you still win.”

“Hiccup,” I paused. I couldn’t understand why he sounded so upset, we all just won… maybe he was mad at our methods then. “My father has a way of doing things, the way the chief has a way of doing things. Just because my father can be a bit… scary, it doesn’t mean I’ll be that way when one day we work together.”

It was true. My father taught me all his tricks, the way grandmother taught him all her tricks, and so on and so forth; but they were just knowledge. Every generation, the new head of the family would choose, in their own way, how best to help Berk. With each new generation came a new set of challenges to face, and the old ways rarely proved to be helpful; this was no different. In Hiccup, I saw a different way to be; one that would allow me to be more than some schemer and trader. Someone better. A better way to be.

“It’s not that,” he said. “I know you’ll be different. The way I’m different. What I’m saying is that… I don’t want you to carry the burden on your own, you’re my friend. You’ve always been there for me. The least I could do is, I don’t know, lift my own weight around.”

“You are, you do.”

“I should be better.”

“I have never once looked at you and wanted you to be better,” I said, firmly. “I want you to endure. To stay the way you are.”

“It’s not —”

“It is. It’s enough. You’re enough.”

Hiccup finally turned to me, something angry, something forlorn in his eyes. Not directed at me though, it was all toward himself.

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re one to talk,” I smiled, “Mister Hiccup ‘I tamed a Nightfury’ Horrendous Haddock — the third.”

The tension released and he mirrored my smile, “Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way. I’m the first Hiccup to have tamed a Nightfury, after all. Unless there’s another Hiccup who tamed a Nightfury who lived in the great Wilderwest or… isle of Tomorrow or whatever.”

“Ah, apologies great chief. The semantics are lost on me, I’ve had a perilous journey to Outcast Island.” I feigned illness, my hand over my forehead. “Oh the terror, the carnage!”

“Very funny, Imka.” he drawled.

In the end, all was well. The Book of Dragons was returned to Berk, Astrid was safe, Heather was reunited with her family. They all decided not to stay on Berk, so much like Marcus, wanting to start their own life, have their own name, their own identity out there. My father, so moved by them, provided two pouches heavy with gold, food, clothes, and a trinket — a little pendant, a symbol of our protection.

“I know what it’s like to have a family you care so deeply for, you’d do anything for them.” He gave her a wide smile, proud. “You’ve fought very hard, dear girl. Keep fighting, yes? Keep your family safe. Should you ever need help, sail South, find Frisia. Tell them you know me and show them the pendant, you will be safe.”

“... I lied to you all,” Heather frowned, thumbing the pendant. “I schemed. I plotted. I have nothing to give you. I barely know you. Why are you giving us all this?”

“Once upon a time,” he said, his voice just like the soft hum of a grandfather reading his grandchild to bed. “There was a man who was just like you. Who washed up on Berk and was saved by a chief here.” He paused, gesturing to Hiccup who stood beside him, who had gifted her a small ship. “And when he left to find the world and himself, he came back with riches and a dedication to help those in need. I have no doubt somebody as clever as you will be just as brilliant. Just as amazing.”

Heather blinked up at him, as if unable to comprehend what was going on. She looked to Hiccup, who only gave her a small smile, then at Astrid who nodded, and then at me.

“Mercy prevails,” I said. “Come visit sometimes, whether here or down South. I have a wonderful fable I’d like to read to you one day.”

“... I will.” she swallowed back tears, “We’ll see each other again. Thank you. Thank you as well, Astrid. You put your life on the line, I’ll never forget that.”

I smiled as the two girls embraced each other, happy to know Astrid finally made another friend. She even hugged me, too, but avoided Hiccup (not Toothless though, which was funny to see).

Her parents finished bidding their farewells to both my father and Stoick, arms now around their daughter. A family made whole once more.

I thought back on all the others we’d helped and saved back on the Mainland too, this was nothing new — but it never failed to make my heart swell.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Hiccup called as their ship pulled out to sea.

“I won’t!” she called back, waving as her family and new boat shrunk into a tiny dot against the horizon.

Chapter Text

Since Heather left, lessons in developing Dragonese continued. Work was slow, considering I was still without Clotide and Khalid. Still, progress was good. I’d started out with the academy’s dragon riders, my father, Gobber, and Stoick. Fishlegs, unsurprisingly, took to learning very quickly—he often had notes on my notes. Astrid and Snotlout lagged behind, but that was to be expected. What surprised me, however, was how quickly the twins understood. 

The same pair who once complained about being forced to read The Book of Dragons were now devouring every book I owned, eager to compare languages if it meant understanding Barf and Belch better. From psalters to fables, philosophy to history—they read anything and everything. It was like watching two rabid, blonde piranhas sink their intellectual teeth into whatever they could find.

Even Hiccup was impressed—and equally exasperated. Coming home after a long day only to find the Thorston twins in his room, raiding his personal library and refusing to leave, would test anyone’s patience.

“Now he understands what it’s like to be a chief,” Stoick remarked one evening, lounging by the hearth with a bowl of soup in hand, legs stretched out as the sound of bickering drifted from upstairs. “Everybody always wants something. I just hope he’s willing to serve his people.”

Right on cue came a muffled shout: “—Get out of my room!”

“Ah,” Stoick said, nodding to my father, who looked mildly bewildered. “He’s learning. Patience is a virtue.”

Toothless, curled beside me, only huffed. “They’re as bad as their dragons. I’m not surprised, though. Ask them what personal space is and they’ll only smother you with head rubs.”

I’d found another breakthrough as I kept practicing, kept studying. Dragonese, at surface level, seemed to be a very economical, brisk, and short language, but when looking deeper, it was very precise. A single shift in pronunciation could alter the delivery entirely, the same way our tone of voice could reveal what we really mean.

For example: when Hiccup emerged from his room, dragging the twins by their collars, his face thunderous, he said:

“This is great. No, really, I love having my room raided every evening.”

“Really?” Tuffnut asked, all innocence.

Hiccup shot him a glare. “No.”

Hiccup was a master of tone. Sarcasm was his sword—sharp, efficient, and lethal to both tension and cheer. Unfortunately, the twins’ skulls were made of pure stone. Yet, as Ruffnut and Tuffnut grinned at each other, I knew they knew. They were only doing this to bother him more.

Like riders like dragons, Barf and Belch could be likened to two very playful, conjoined at the hip (not in the way Hiccup and I were conjoined at the hip, but the actual literal physical sense), pair of twin, temperamental bipolar cats. One moment, they’d be lashing out at someone, the next they’d be unbelievably needy; to the point of incessantly bumping their snouts against someone until they’d be given their due attention.

“Pleaaaaseeee?” Barf pleaded.

“Pleassseeeeee!” Belch bemoaned, nudging my father’s side.

My father lifted his head from the documents in his hands and shot me a distressed stare, “Daughter, I beg you, get them off me.”

“I’m a bit busy.” I said, eyeing the two twin riders who flanked either side of me, also currently in the midst of begging. “Besides, it was your fault. You were the one who gave them those dried Dragon Fruit strips we had stashed. Of course they want more.”

“What was I supposed to do? Say no?” he grumbled, abandoning his work of taking stock of what the academy needed restocked. “... I regret learning this infernal language.”

“Can we get books?” Ruffnut asked, giving me her best puppy-dog eyes. “New ones?”

“Pleaaaseee?” Tuffnut begged, tugging on my cloak, giving me his own rendition of puppy-dog eyes.

“... Just give me a list.”

When it came to dried Dragonfruit strips, neither Stormfly, Hookfang, Meatlug, nor Toothless was immune. If Blue Oleander could poison them and Dragonroot could act as a rage stimulant (as explained by Fishlegs), then Dragonfruit was like catnip; and that was only in the form of dried, dehydrated strips.

I could only imagine how they’d react if they ever had the original thing.

“Dragonfruit tastes like the best thing I’ve ever had,” Meatlug trilled happily. “I’m so sad you don’t have more.”

“Can’t you get more, Imka?” Fishlegs pouted at me, feeding the last few strips to his dragon.

“I can, but it’ll take a while. It grows very far south, where it’s hot and humid. Some people I know tried to plant it further North, but it dies very quickly from the cold.” I explained, side-stepping the twins to give Toothless his portion of Dragonfruit strips. 

“If you ask me, we should all take a very nice, long trip to the South to get more.” Toothless huffed, before happily taking the strips from my hands — careful to fully retract his teeth, as to not graze me.

“Ah yes. Raiding not for sheep or meat, but for fruit.” Hiccup laughed, “How the mighty have fallen, huh, bud?”

“This fruit is worth any effort,” Hookfang turned his snout up, before nudging his rider for more. “Now cough it up.”

“You ate it all!” Snotlout frowned.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Glutton.” Toothless muttered.

“Lapdog.” Hookfang spat beneath his breath.

The two locked eyes, glaring daggers at one another. Like riders, like dragons—even these two had their own issues.

Stormfly, much like Astrid, always seemed above it all. She was perfectly content with her portion of dragonfruit, far more interested in Astrid tying ribbons around her crown of horns—pale gold and blue, just like the ones her rider wore.

“There you go!” Astrid grinned. “Oh, you look so pretty!”

“You look pretty,” her dragon cooed, nuzzling her. “And strong. My strong rider, my best friend.”

For all the years I’d known Astrid, I’d never seen her so happy as she was with Stormfly. Hiccup saw it too—his expression softened at the edges as he watched them. I think he saw a reflection of himself and Toothless in them.

I know I shouldn’t have felt sad, but I couldn’t help it. In my heart of hearts, I wanted a dragon too. But more than that, I wanted Dove. I’d searched for Dragon many times—aboard the galleon, through the woods—hoping he might find me, lead me somewhere else. Not back to the tower, but somewhere I might find her in some other form maybe. 

Unfortunately, Dragon was nowhere to be found, or at least he never made himself known (we had over 100 doves onboard the galleon, all looked the same).

It was still hard to accept that she had come into my life so suddenly, only to be torn away just as fast. Harder still to accept how deeply I’d bonded with her in so brief a time. At least it helped me understand how Hiccup had bonded with Toothless so quickly. Well, that—and the fact that, apparently, the birds we’d saved as children had told him about us.

“What, you think we only know how to speak to humans and each other?” Toothless drawled one evening, as I busied myself cleaning Phillipe’s hooves.

I glanced at Hiccup, who’d come along and now sat nearby, idly petting Max.

“I meant no disrespect,” I said softly, scraping grime from beneath Phillipe’s feet. “I just… Toothless, you can talk to… birds?”

“... And you can speak to people in the North and many others in the South,” Toothless replied lazily. “What’s so strange about dragons talking to birds? We both fly. We both share the sky. We both argue about flight patterns.”

“You do?” Hiccup blinked.

“Plenty. We don’t really like eating birds—they’re too scrawny—and we’ve got a long history with them. We respect them, of course. They were in the skies before us.”

“What do you mean they were in the skies first?”

“I mean in terms of when everything first came to be. Birds were there first—the same way horses and dogs were humanity’s first companions.” He shrugged. “We came later.”

“But from where?” Hiccup pressed.

“You mean where we came from?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. Much of our history was lost when the Wilderwest fell,” the dragon trilled softly, lowering his head onto his claws. “Anything I know only comes from stories being passed down. But even then, it’s—”

I couldn’t understand the rest of his sentence. The words disappeared beneath waves of grief—of emotion, of meaning. That was another thing about Dragonese: if the speaker grew too emotional, their message was lost. Emotion wove itself into every tone, every inflection, every syllable, wrapping so tightly around the language to give it meaning.

So much so, that, at a point, emotion could consume all meaning.

Or, maybe it was just because I needed to understand it more. I still had a lot to learn, after all.

“...Hm. You couldn’t understand the rest, could you?” Toothless tilted his head.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, looking away. “I swear I’m trying to—”

“The chief is right,” Toothless snorted. “You and your family apologize too much. I don’t blame you for not understanding. Were you the one who brought ruin to our home?”

“...No?” I looked at Phillipe, who remained impassive—more interested in inspecting the hooves I’d just finished cleaning.

“Are you planning on killing us?”

I sputtered. “No!”

“Then?” he grinned, all gummy and—well—toothless. “What’s the big deal?”

“He’s using your words against you,” Hiccup snickered. “Remember what you said on our first flight after you came back?”

My cheeks flushed, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Fine, you win.”

“...And Imka,” Toothless began again, softer now, his voice more of a croon. “I don’t know what happened on that tower, or much about the dragon you lost—but I want you to know you’re not alone.”

I fell silent. Instead of thinking too hard about it, I busied myself rubbing oil into Phillipe’s mane.

“You may not be my rider, but you are my friend,” he said. “The way you’re everyone’s friend. And you already have companions of your own.”

At that, Phillipe gave a soft neigh. Max moved from Hiccup’s side to nudge my legs, and Richard fluttered down to perch on my shoulder, nuzzling against my neck. I laughed—it tickled.

“You can’t speak to them, but I can,” Toothless continued. “They talk about you often—about how much they love you. They say they like living with humans, even though you’re far from perfect, and many of you carry evil inside. Still, it makes me want to live among you… even the bad ones. I think it’d be worth it.”

Hiccup’s shoulders tensed. “We’re not letting anyone hurt you.”

“I know,” Toothless said simply. “But even if you did—even if anyone did—that would mean we’d truly become part of your world. How could we belong to you and never be hurt by you? You hurt each other all the time. People hurt your horse too, didn’t they?”

Phillipe’s scars told their own story. What should have been a perfect black coat was marred by pale ‘X’-shaped ridges and long gashes from sword and spear. The ex-warhorse. I wondered, briefly, if the Wilderwest had waged wars too—and if their dragons had been ridden the way men rode horses into battle.

Toothless met Phillipe’s eyes. “He taught me that,” he said softly. “To be loved is to be hurt—sometimes on purpose, sometimes not—for our good and for our ruin. If my heart breaks, it only means I still have a heart to break. At least you didn’t break mine,” he flicked his tailfin with a sly grin, “just my tailfin.”

Hiccup winced at that—much to Toothless’ satisfaction.

“Phillipe,” I murmured, turning to my horse. “I didn’t know you thought that way. I… I wish I could talk to you.”

“You can ask me,” the dragon said. “I can translate for you — the way you’ve done for everyone else.”

“Could you?” My voice cracked, startling even me. The implications were staggering. A dragon who could speak to other animals — and translate? That meant all animals could think. Could feel. Could communicate, if only we had the language.

It could change everything.

It could even be the reason dragons should live among us.

How much more could we understand of the world if we simply listened to the creatures who shared it with us?

“I can translate what your companions are saying,” Toothless continued, “but if you asked me to translate a — what was that thing in your bestiary again? Oh, a panther — you’d be out of luck. I’ve never met one before.”

Hiccup tilted his head. “But you’ve met a dog and a horse before? Birds are a given, but not those two. Didn’t you live on the Isle of Tomorrow? I can’t imagine there being any dogs or horses there.”

“There aren’t.” Toothless gave us a long, unreadable look. “But they’re in the murals. The paintings. The stories passed down to us, taught to us.”

“Murals?” Hiccup frowned. “Paintings?”

The dragon was silent for a moment, realizing none of us knew this before. He weighed his words carefully before continuing, “Before us, it was birds, horses, and dogs who were mankind’s first companions. At some point, humans of the Wilderwest forgot them — and began preferring us instead. Then those three simply… died out, for a time. To your people, we are the mythical ones now. But to us, they are.”

Everything he said was so absurd I had to double-check that I’d translated it right. Dogs, horses, and birds — mythical to dragons? What did he mean, ‘in the paintings, in the murals’? Were there depictions of them on the Isle of Tomorrow? I tried to remember what I’d seen in that tower, but the memory was hazy. Seeing illustrations of dogs and horses hadn’t even registered — they were as ordinary to me as dew on the morning fields.

“...Can you tell us more?”

“I can’t. Like the chief’s dragon said, it is your kind’s history. Not mine.” Toothless hesitated, eyes drifting elsewhere. “It’d be better to show you when we get to the Isle of Tomorrow. Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time then.”

Hiccup and I shared a look — the same tired, exasperated one we’d exchanged a hundred times before. No matter how much we bribed them with dragonfruit, head rubs, kisses, compliments, or fish, there was always a line they wouldn’t cross. Another mystery. Another wall.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Toothless had been under the Red Death’s control for so long — he’d never seen the world. Never seen a horse or a dog. I couldn’t imagine that kind of life. I loved Max and Phillipe too much for that. 

And, judging by how my dog, horse, and parakeet all pressed their snouts and beak against the dragon in comfort, I think they agreed. They couldn’t imagine a world without dragons either, not now anyways.

For a moment, I wondered what it would be like for him to come to my homeland — to see all the strange beasts there, the strange lands, and the stranger people still further south.

Not just him. All of them. All the dragons.

That same hunger to know more, to see more, to feel — it wasn’t just human.

‘Could it be done again?’ I wondered, sitting quietly in the stables as the four of them rested together — a dragon, a dog, a horse, and a bird. ‘Could there one day be another world where we could all live together?’

I turned to Hiccup. He was already watching me, his green eyes full of wonder, sorrow, awe, and hope.

In them, I saw both of us asking the same unspoken question:

‘Could we make a world like that?’

Though my mind reeled with every layer of history, language, and culture I peeled back regarding the Wilderwest, I at least had the small things in life that could keep me anchored. From our preparations for Thawfest nearing to a close to Gustav’s incessant questions of when he could join the dragon riders of Berk.

Most of my duties were finished around this time, so I had a lot of extra time, most of which I used to spend time with him. He was an adorable, excitable boy, who had all sorts of ideas about how he’d join the dragon riders. He was far from ready, however, but that earnestness he had was very admirable. I had no doubt there were other kids his age around who had similar dreams, but their timidness stopped them.

As someone who has, for the last year, needed to push through my own fears, seeing Gustav gave me a bit of strength as well.

That—and the fact that he reminded me so much of Hiccup.

Just as excitable. Just as eager to prove himself. And just as prone to disaster. He once managed to set fire to the Baker’s shop by riding into town on a sheep and knocking over a torch. The entire front half burned down, though we fixed it quickly and promised reparations.

Other times, he’d pop in at the forge and nag Hiccup half to death about when he could join as an official rider.

“We can’t, Gustav. I’m sorry. Not yet at least, we’re so busy with the Thawfest games and all our positions have been filled.”

“Oh.” Gustav’s shoulders slumped as he left the forge. “No, I get it. It’s alright.”

I waited until he was out of earshot before glancing up from Hiccup’s latest pile of schematics. “He can have my spot, you know. Assuming I even have one, since you did offer to get me a dragon once. Not sure what my position is supposed to be.”

“It’d be Speaker,” he said, smiling a little. “You’ve got the best handle on Dragonese. It’d be useful on long trips and during recon. Gustav… well, he still stumbles over his words.”

“Like you?”

“I don’t stumble over my words!”

I turned away, covering a grin. “You used to. You sort of still do. Don’t worry—we’ll brush up on your public speaking soon enough.”

Of course, it had nothing to do with positions. Berk always needed riders, though most were adults—friends’ parents and seasoned warriors, including the strangely gifted (like most of my friends). My father refused to fly altogether, preferring to keep both feet on the ground, and Gobber wasn’t in any rush to take to the skies either.

Still, the more I paid attention to how everyone treated Gustav’s genuine enthusiasm and hard work (not always correct work, but work nonetheless), the clearer it became that—despite running an academy—they had no real intention of teaching someone from the ground up. And to be fair, it made a certain kind of sense. Every one of them had been part of that first, hard-won generation of dragon riders. Not the casual kind, either—the ones entrusted with protecting Berk after the Red Death. They were forged by crisis, not classrooms.

Even so, there was something… familiar, and unsettling, in the way they reacted to Gustav. Astrid and Ruffnut would exchange sidelong glances whenever the boy messed up. Fishlegs would look perturbed but stay quiet. Tuffnut laughed too loudly, poking fun like it was a sport.

And then there were the outliers.

Snotlout never mocked Gustav.

Hiccup, however, did something worse—he excluded him. A few sharp, snide comments when he’d had enough of Gustav’s antics, and that was that.

Mostly it came from exasperation, the fatigue of constantly having to chase after and clean up the boy’s messes. But no matter how well Hiccup tried to temper those feelings, they still bled through—not as themselves, but as something that looked an awful lot like disgust.

Hiccup would never do anything truly cruel. But there was an edge there—something raw, something I couldn’t quite name.

Or maybe I just refused to see it.

The same way I once believed Hiccup could never do wrong—and convinced myself that everyone else was simply being unkind to him.

Deep down, though, I knew better. Every human being had the capacity for cruelty. Every act committed was rooted in a great unfulfilled need. A reason, sure, but never an excuse.

On one visit to the arena, I caught the tail end of Gustav somehow being inducted as Snotlout’s protégé. That surprised me. I’d always assumed Hiccup would take him in. But my best friend often said the academy was born out of “timing and necessity”—not exactly built to teach dragon training from scratch. Most of the riders had a natural knack for bonding with dragons. Gustav either lacked that instinct, or was simply deferring to the academy’s way of doing things.

If you asked me, though, it all sounded like: we can’t train people who lack natural talent. And that didn’t sit right with me.

Gustav begged to be let in, and Snotlout—apparently convinced he was dying thanks to some superstition—announced that he’d take Gustav under his wing, to carry on his so-called Snotlout Legacy. Everyone else laughed it off, but something about it felt off to me.

I knew Snotlout. We’d grown closer since the Red Death. Training someone like Gustav wasn’t a path to glory. There were stronger, more promising children in the village—kids already bonded with dragons. So why Gustav?

I didn’t know. But I was grateful for it. At least the poor boy had someone in his corner.

Well—two someones.

As for me, I did what I’d once done for Hiccup: offered encouragement, shared a meal or two, and reminded him that he was more than his failures or successes.

“Found another stray, daughter?” my father quipped one late afternoon, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you’ve always had a soft spot for underdogs, haven’t you?” he said, grin widening as we walked side by side through Berk’s main street. I was flipping absently through an old book after dinner, the pages browned and curling at the edges.

“Again, no idea what you’re talking about.”

He laughed—a deep, warm sound that turned a few heads. “I suppose I can see why you do it,” he said, gesturing toward the busy street ahead, where villagers hurried by with baskets and dragons trailed after them. “Underdogs always come up with the most ingenious ideas.”

The telltale sound of chaos reached us before we saw it: Gustav tearing down the road atop a sheep, his latest fire-breathing contraption sputtering dangerously, and Hiccup in hot pursuit on Toothless, armed with a bucket of water.

My father and I only smiled, tired but fond. For a moment, it felt like we were back in the old days—only this time, it wasn’t Hiccup setting Berk on fire.

Of course, even these small, idyllic moments couldn’t last forever. The annual treaty renewal with the Berserkers loomed near. Every year, Berk’s aid flowed to them through the terms of this peace—one of the many reasons it was wiser for neighboring tribes to side with Berk. Aid meant security. It meant food instead of famine, life instead of slow death.

Because of how the treaty was structured, my family rarely dealt with other chiefs directly. When we did, it was usually through Stoick. The only exception was Oswald the Agreeable, chief of the Berserkers. And true to his name, he was just that—agreeable. He valued peace, exploration, and the pursuit of knowledge. He even liked Hiccup, and not just for political reasons; he admired the boy’s inventions.

The same could not be said of his son. Dagur the Deranged was the kind of son who made his father’s epithet sound like mockery. Among his people, there was a quiet consensus that Oswald’s leadership wasn’t particularly… Berserker-like. Yet they tolerated it because he was a good chief. Since he’d allied with Berk, famine had all but vanished.

Dagur, though—Dagur was a true traditionalist. He worshiped the old Berserker ways, the ones written in blood. To him, it was better to take by strength than to “roll over for scraps,” as he called it. Aid, in his mind, was weakness. Why wait for what you could seize?

Needless to say, Oswald would sooner die than hand over his tribe to a son with that kind of thinking.

Well, Oswald was dead, alright.

That was the only explanation either my father or I could think of when we saw Dagur stepping off that ship instead of him.

The Berserker fleet had docked at midday — an unsubtle show of strength. Thankfully, Stoick had the foresight to order all dragons to hide, whether in the sea stacks or on the distant islets my friends had charted.

We Marius’, however, were not granted such luxury.

At least the sailors had the excuse of “work.” We had none. Well—my father had none. I, technically, could’ve stayed away, but he’d made sure I didn’t stray too far.

“Imka. Don’t leave me.”

“Father, he’s a quarter your age—”

“Precisely,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as Stoick, Gobber, Hiccup, and Dagur came into view, climbing up the dock’s stairway. No doubt to give the new chief of the Berserkers a grand tour of the island. “And he’s deranged. Do you know how fortunate I am to have an heir who is neither insane nor temperamental? I tell you, Oswald was—”

“Ahem.”

We both straightened immediately. Stoick’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

Turning—slowly, theatrically so—we found ourselves face to face with the newly made chief of the Berserkers. Dagur had grown taller than I remembered. A horned helmet crowned his head, its height exaggerating his already aggressive stature. Beneath it, I glimpsed flashes of that bright auburn hair I remembered from childhood.

His sharp gaze swept across the village—over everyone, including us—as if we were furniture. Beside him, Hiccup shrank behind Gobber, skittish and pale. I couldn’t blame him. Dagur had been crueler than anyone on Berk to Hiccup as a child.

He always hated the weak. Another reason as to why we never got along.

‘Humility, Imka,’ I reminded myself as Dagur’s dark green eyes finally landed on us. ‘Humility. He won’t hurt Hiccup while you’re here. And if he does... surely Toothless will intervene. Right?’

Dagur and I were the same age—both strong, though in very different ways. But where my strength had always come from my father, his was stolen from his own. Regicide, perhaps. I wouldn’t put it past him, knowing his temperament.

My father believed it too. His hand shifted slightly—the one with the Marius signet ring—its gold crest catching the sunlight as he extended it in greeting, slipping effortlessly back into his mainland diplomacy.

“Chief Dagur,” my father said smoothly, his tone the picture of calm civility. “Welcome back to Berk. How fortunate we are to have caught you in time for the annual treaty signing.”

We half-expected him to backhand my father. It wouldn’t have been out of character.

Instead, he did something even more bizarre—more shocking, even, than discovering that the Nest of Dragons had been the lair of the Red Death, the so-called Isle of Tomorrow.

Dagur... shook my father’s hand.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My mask slipped entirely as I stared in open disbelief. It would’ve made more sense if this were some imposter, a changeling that had replaced the boy who used to torment my best friend.

Then Dagur turned to me and reached out his hand next—and I was certain it was a changeling.

“Imka.” He tilted his head, something unreadable glinting in his eyes. “Why the strange face?”

I blinked—once, twice—then took his hand. “Forgive me, Chief. It’s just… jarring, seeing you again after so long. Two years, I think?”

“Yes, you’d be correct.” He said, tucking his hands behind his back. Even Hiccup looked bewildered. “My father… well, let’s just say he’s no longer fit to lead our tribe.”

Regicide. He’d practically confirmed it.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon in the South either, there were plenty of heirs and heiresses who backstabbed their own parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and siblings just for power. But what was Dagur after then? Just power? I found that hard to believe.

He was deranged, yes. He was a staunch traditionalist for war, also yes. But he was never one to just go after power, much less kill Oswald over it. If he was, he’d have done it a long time ago. So why now, why after the Red Death’s demise, after Trader Johann, after Alvin the Treacherous? Something wasn’t adding up.

Regardless, I bowed my head and paid due deference.

“You must have endured great hardship during such… upheaval. My condolences.” I said, careful not to insinuate that this was indeed a case of regicide.

“Don’t be,” he scoffed—and then, as if the mask cracked for just a second, his lips twisted into that familiar smirk. “Having you bow to me instead of playing mother hen to Hiccup is a welcome change, though.”

Ah. There it was. The same old Dagur, reborn like a vulture.

If anything, he’d grown even more deranged — dangerously close to the war obsessed madmen of the South. My stomach churned, and judging by Hiccup’s expression, I wasn’t alone. Out of the corner of my eyes, Hiccup wilted like a flower. Even Stoick and Gobber were finding it difficult to keep a straight face. My father and I, however, were more than used to this.

Gobber, the saint he was, cleared his throat.

Dagur rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying—there’s such a thing as good change, too, you know? You know what isn’t good change, though? Raising a dragon army. That’s what.”

I didn’t even need to ask where he’d heard that one. Trader Johann—who else?

My father chuckled, light and amused. “A dragon army? Goodness. If that were the case, I’d have long cut my ties with this isle.”

Dagur frowned. “Yes, you would. Curious you didn’t, then.”

“Because there is no dragon army,” my father replied smoothly. “In fact, Berk’s become so safe these days that my galleon’s free to dock here without a hint of fear.”

“We’ve even been bold enough to bring in more crates of spices,” I added quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Many of which will be used for the great feast tonight.”

“Oh.” Dagur’s expression softened, genuine for once. “I remember those. Good. Very good.”

A bit like Snotlout then, a weakness for good food. I made a strong mental note of that, filed it away under ‘things to use against him later’.

“As we work up a good appetite,” my father said cheerfully, “why don’t you get started on that tour, hm? My daughter and I still have to make sure the feast is up to par.”

Before anyone could object, Dagur’s gaze swept across the newly built dragon structures dotting the village—perches, stables, and forges shaped with dragons in mind.

“A lot of dragon-themed architecture,” he said smoothly. “Funded by us, of course. Berk must be chasing a better public image. Very… dragon-chic. You know, the Mainland’s all about lions and wolves these days. Everyone wants their home to look like a menagerie.”

“Hm.”Dagur’s eyes slid toward Stoick and Gobber. “...Better we continue. I’d hate for tonight’s feast to be lacking.”

Stoick bit back whatever insult was loading behind his teeth, forcing what I can only describe as a tragic imitation of my father’s award-winning smile. “Very good. Uh, Lucian? Will you be joining us?”

“Oh, certainly not!” my father replied, far too cheerfully, looping an arm around both me and Hiccup. “I’m but a humble trader. And this is a meeting of great chiefs. Best to keep the chief-to-be, my daughter, and myself from intruding upon such… lofty company.”

Gobber perked up. “Oh! Then I should—”

“Oh, a thousand pardons!” my father interrupted, laughing brightly. “But of course your most loyal, official, right-hand man should attend as well!”

And before anyone could so much as blink, he was already steering me and my best friend down the street. “Now, do excuse us—we’ve a feast to save, and stock to oversee.”

He spun us around the nearest building and leveled us with a look.

“Well,” he sighed. “That was—”

“Horrific,” Hiccup muttered. “Aside from the obvious, I think he actually… killed Oswald.”

“Also suspicious,” I said, frowning. “He acted civil with you, Father. Do you think he knows about the situation in the South?”

“Let’s assume he does,” my father said, rubbing his temple. “There are certain protocols when an allied heir is trusted with that secret. Dagur has shown no indication he’s aware of it. So no—I doubt he knows. Not yet, at least.”

He leaned against the wall, and I could practically see the calculations flickering behind his eyes—millions of possibilities, a dozen contingencies.

“Hiccup,” he continued, “I’m not sure if he killed Oswald, but let’s assume he did. That means Oswald never told him the full truth. Whatever civility Dagur’s showing now—a miracle in itself—must come from half-truths. Likely from Oswald’s letters or records. The man was agreeable, yes, but hopeless at bookkeeping.”

“So he knows part of the truth?” I asked. “That’s dangerous.”

“The threat’s contained for now,” my father said, wringing his wrists. “All that matters is getting his signature on that treaty. Once that’s done, we can investigate what really happened—and spin the story before the South starts asking questions.”

“...Not to be the bearer of bad news,” Hiccup said, rubbing his neck, “but Barf and Belch are, uh, still on the island.”

“They what?!” my father and I hissed in unison. “Why? Where are the twins?”

“I swear, I’m working on it!” Hiccup said quickly. “Astrid and I have a plan to find them. They got into a fight, and their dragons are… mimicking them.”

“Of course they are,” I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. “Perfect timing.”

“You should go with him, Imka,” my father said. “You could talk them down easily.” Then, to Hiccup, “What do you think?”

We both knew the logical answer was yes—but Hiccup hesitated.

“No, it’s fine. We’ve got it handled,” he said, forcing a shaky smile. “You should stay here, help your dad. You’re better at talking—help my dad and Gobber keep Dagur in check. Both of you.”

My father studied him for a moment. “Wise reasoning. Very well, chief-to-be, we’ll follow your lead.”

Relieved, Hiccup nodded, then took off, promising to find Astrid, the twins, and a solution before dinner.

Once he was out of earshot, my father finally spoke.

“He does realize there are two of us, doesn’t he?” He crossed his arms. “He’s clever. He could’ve split us up—had me deal with Dagur, sent you after the dragons. I know he thought of it. So why didn’t he?”

My thoughts flickered back to our talk on the galleon, after Outcast Island. Something twisted in my chest.

“...He doesn’t want me to one-up him,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Dragons are his thing. Or something. I don’t know.”

“Ah,” he said simply, a hardness flashing in his gaze. “I suppose even when a man gets everything he’s ever wanted, that doesn’t mean the hurt in him can be mended so easily. He’s got cushioning, yes—but that old wound has been reopening. Those stitches are coming undone. Needs more suturing.”

I tilted my head. “Is that it?”

“Perhaps.” He smiled then, properly and with rare sincerity. “Regardless, I’m proud of you for how much you’ve changed. Not a single voice of worry for him, not a hint of coddling. You’ve made great progress.”

Memories of the Red Death flickered in my mind, like smoldering fire seen through smoke.

“Yeah, well… if he can kill a tyrant riding on Toothless with a burning tailfin, he can handle anything,” I said, half-smiling. “I’m not worried about him. Not in the same way anymore.”

There was a brief pause.

“If those stitches really are coming undone… what’s causing it?”

“If you ask me,” my father said, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulders, “he’s just about convinced everyone of his worth. Everyone but himself.”

“How do you mean?”

“Smoke and mirrors,” he replied, steering me out from the shadow of the building and back onto the beaten road. “It’s easier to make others believe something about who you are than to convince yourself. The latter takes far longer to mend.”

I frowned, satisfied by the logic but unsettled by the truth. “And what does it take to mend it, then?”

My father’s golden eyes glimmered twice beneath the midday sun, locking on the distant figure of Stoick leading Dagur up a hill.

“Something we cannot give,” he said softly. “Something that must be revealed in its own time. For now, we play our part—and wait for them to see the light.”

“Alright.” I nodded. “So what do we do now?”

He gave me a slight, knowing smile. “Now, we follow Hiccup’s plan. And while we do, we find out what really happened to Oswald, how much Dagur knows—and prepare for the worst.”

“...Together?”

“Always together, my dear daughter.”