Two days later, the Mead Hall roared with the clamor of Vikings packed shoulder to shoulder. Smoke from the central fire curled up into the rafters, mingling with the smell of sweat, mead, and charred timber still clinging to their clothes from the last raid.
Stoick the Vast stood at the high table, his voice a thunderclap that silenced even the rowdiest.
"Either we finish them, or they'll finish us!" His fist struck the table, rattling mugs and plates. "It's the only way we'll be rid of them! We find the nest, and we destroy it. The dragons will leave, they'll find another home. One more search—before the ice sets in."
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire. One Viking muttered, "Those ships never come back…"
Stoick's eyes swept the hall, hard as granite. "We're Vikings! It's an occupational hazard! Now—who's with me?!"
There was some shuffling, a few murmurs, but one man raised a hand. "Today's not good for me. I've gotta… do my axe returns." The half-hearted excuse drew a few uneasy chuckles.
Stoick's jaw tightened. "Fine. Those who stay will look after Hiccup."
"TO THE SHIPS!" cried Phlegma, rallying the willing.
The hall stirred with movement, but Stoick's gaze slid to his left—where Spitelout sat hunched, his broad frame sagging beneath the weight of thought. His eyes were distant, clouded with worry for Jinx.
Stoick's sigh was heavy. He knew what he had to do.
"Spitelout," he rumbled. "I know what I'm asking isn't ideal. But I need you with me."
Spitelout's head snapped up, his expression dark and incredulous. "How can I go hunting for some nest—WHEN MY BOY COULD BE ON HIS DEATHBED?!" His voice cracked like a whip through the hall, drawing startled glances.
Stoick stepped forward, gripping Spitelout's shoulder firmly, anchoring him with the weight of his presence. "I know, my friend. I understand your pain. I've lived it. You remember—when Valka was taken." His voice dropped, rough with memory. "But your son lives. He will be alright. And what better gift for him than to watch his father and his village triumph over the devils that did this to him?"
For a long moment, they stared at one another, unspoken grief and fury passing between them. Then, as warriors and brothers, they clasped forearms in solidarity. Spitelout pulled Stoick into a rough embrace with his free arm.
"I'm with you, Stoick!" he said, voice fierce.
"That's more like it," Stoick growled back, his face softening just a fraction.
"Right!" Gobber chimed in, ever the interrupter. "I'll pack my undies."
"No." Stoick turned to him, stern again. "I need you here. Train some new recruits."
"Oh, perfect," Gobber replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "While I'm busy, Hiccup can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, hours alone with no supervision—what could possibly go wrong?"
Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. "What am I going to do with him, Gobber?"
"Put him in training with the others," Gobber replied without missing a beat.
Stoick's head snapped up. "No, I'm serious."
"So am I," Gobber countered.
"He'd be killed before the first dragon left its cage," Stoick snapped.
Gobber raised a brow. "You don't know that."
"I do know that, actually."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't!"
The two glared at each other across the hall, their argument rising absurdly in contrast to the grim mood.
"Listen," Stoick finally barked, slamming a hand against the table. "You know what he's like. From the time he could crawl, he's been… different. He doesn't listen, he drifts off, he has the attention span of a sparrow! I take him fishing, and he goes hunting for trolls!"
"Trolls exist," Gobber said defensively. "They steal your socks—Jinx can vouch for me! But only the left ones. Never the right. What's with that?"
Stoick rolled his eyes. "When I was a boy—"
"Oh, here we go," Gobber groaned.
"My father told me to bang my head against a rock, and I did it!" Stoick thundered. "I thought it was madness, but I didn't question him. And you know what happened?"
"You got a headache," Gobber deadpanned.
"That rock split in two," Stoick barked back. "It taught me what a Viking could do, Gobber. He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas! Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become. Hiccup is not that boy."
Gobber leaned forward, his gaze steady. "You can't stop him, Stoick. You can only prepare him. Look, I know it feels hopeless. But you won't always be around to protect him. He's going to get out there again." He smirked faintly. "Truth is, he's probably out there right now."
The words sank into Stoick like iron weights. He glanced toward the door, jaw tight, the firelight casting hard shadows across his face.
The chief of Berk was many things—warrior, leader, father. But he knew Gobber was right.
Branches snapped underfoot as Hiccup trudged through the forest, muttering under his breath.
"Oh, the gods hate me," he groaned. "Some people lose their knife or their mug. No, not me. I manage to lose an entire dragon! Brilliant, Hiccup. Just brilliant."
He froze when he spotted it.
The Night Fury, bound in ropes and bolas, lay sprawled across the moss. Its black scales shimmered faintly in the filtered sunlight, its chest heaving, eyes shut.
"Oh, wow," Hiccup whispered, breathless. "I did it. Oh, I did it!" His hands shook as he drew his knife. "This fixes everything. Yes! I've brought down this mighty beast!"
Creeping closer, he pressed a foot to the dragon's face—
The dragon's eyes snapped open. It growled and shoved him back with startling force.
"Whoa!" Hiccup yelped, tumbling into the dirt.
He scrambled up, clutching his knife with both hands, trying to muster courage. "I'm going to kill you, dragon. I'll… I'll cut out your heart and take it to my father. I'm a Viking. I am a VIKING!"
But his words faltered.
The Night Fury's eyes fixed on him—not with rage, but fear. Silent. Vulnerable. It lay still, its gaze wide, terrified… and alive.
Hiccup's hand trembled. He couldn't do it.
"I did this," he whispered, ashamed, and dropped to his knees. With clumsy hands, he cut the ropes loose.
The dragon surged up, pinning him to the ground. It roared in his face, hot breath washing over him—then, lopsided and unsteady, it unfurled its wings and vanished into the sky, leaving him unscathed.
Hiccup whimpered and fainted.
Later, Hiccup darted through the door of his home, trying to sneak up the stairs. But Stoick's voice cut through the quiet.
"Hiccup."
He froze, halfway up. "Dad! Uh… I have to talk to you, Dad."
"I need to speak with you too, son."
They both blurted out at once—
"I've decided I don't want—"
"I think it's time you learn—"
They blinked. "What?"
"You go first," Stoick said.
"No, no, you go first," Hiccup replied.
Stoick nodded firmly. "Alright. You get your wish. Dragon Training. You start in the morning."
Hiccup's stomach dropped. "Oh, man, I should've gone first! Uh, 'cause I was thinking, you know… we've got a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough… bread-making Vikings? Or small home repair Vikings?"
Stoick shoved an axe into his hands. "You'll need this."
"I don't want to fight dragons," Hiccup stammered.
"Yes, you do," Stoick replied without missing a beat.
"Rephrase," Hiccup said desperately. "I can't kill dragons."
"But you will," Stoick countered.
"No, I'm very extra sure that I won't."
"It's time, Hiccup."
"Can you not hear me?!"
"This is serious, son! When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you. That means you walk like us, talk like us, think like us. No more of… this."
"You just gestured to all of me!"
"Deal?" Stoick pressed.
"This conversation is feeling very one-sided."
"DEAL?!"
"…Deal."
"Good. Train hard. I'll be back. Probably."
"And I'll be here. Maybe," Hiccup muttered.
The next day, the Dragon Training Arena loomed, iron gates rattling as Gobber led the recruits inside.
"Welcome to Dragon Training!" Gobber bellowed.
Astrid folded her arms. "No turning back now."
"I hope I get some serious burns!" Tuffnut grinned.
"I'm hoping for a mauling," Ruffnut chimed in. "Like on my shoulder. Or maybe my lower back."
Astrid scoffed. "It's only fun if you get a scar."
"Yeah, no kidding, right?" Hiccup said weakly. "Pain. Love it."
Tuffnut groaned. "Oh, great. Who let him in?"
Gobber clapped his hands. "Let's get started! Whoever does best wins the honor of killing their first dragon in front of the whole village!"
Snotlout puffed his chest. "Well, Hiccup already killed a Night Fury, so… does that disqualify him, or…?"
"Can I transfer to the class with the cool Vikings?" Tuffnut muttered.
Gobber turned to Hiccup, squinting. "Don't worry, lad. You're small and weak. That makes you less of a target! Dragons'll take one look at you and think you're sick, or maybe insane, and go after someone more Viking-like."
He paused, then added with a grin: "Besides—Jinx finished this training when he was ten. If he could do it, and he looks like a girl most of the time, then surely you can. Or do you want me to braid your hair too, so you've got half a chance?"
The other teens burst out laughing, Hiccup's face burning red.
The gates groaned open, their chains clanking as smoke and the stench of sulfur wafted through. Gobber hobbled forward, clapping his hands together with grim cheer.
"Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you'll learn to fight!" He thrust his hook toward the cages. "The Deadly Nadder!"
The teens pressed closer to the bars.
"Speed: eight; Armor: sixteen," Fishlegs rattled off eagerly, his hands fidgeting.
Gobber rolled his eyes. "The Hideous Zippleback!"
"Plus eleven stealth—times two!" Fishlegs squeaked.
"The Monstrous Nightmare!" Gobber bellowed.
"Firepower: fifteen!" Fishlegs chimed before anyone could react.
"The Terrible Terror!"
"Attack: eight; Venom: twelve!"
Gobber whirled on him, his face red. "CAN YOU STOP THAT?!"
Fishlegs shrank back. "Sorry."
Gobber turned, jabbing his hook again. "And… the Gronckle!"
Fishlegs whispered, "Jaw strength: eight."
"Whoa, whoa, wait!" Snotlout interrupted. "Aren't you gonna, you know… teach us first?!"
Gobber snorted. "I believe in learning on the job." He yanked a lever. The gates clanged open, and a Gronckle lumbered out, snorting smoke. It gulped a mouthful of rocks, swallowed, and blasted them out as flaming lava at the teens.
Chaos erupted.
"Today's about survival!" Gobber shouted over the din. "If you get blasted… you're dead! Quick! What's the first thing you're gonna need?"
"A doctor?!" Hiccup yelped, ducking behind a post.
"Plus five speed?!" Fishlegs cried, fumbling his shield.
"A shield!" Astrid barked, already moving.
"Shields! Go!" Gobber ordered. "If you must choose between a sword or a shield—TAKE THE SHIELD!"
The recruits scrambled.
"Get your hands off my shield!" Tuffnut snarled, tugging against Ruffnut.
"There's like a million shields!" Ruffnut growled back.
"Take that one—it's got a flower. Girls like flowers."
With a grin, Ruffnut smashed the flowered shield over her brother's head. "Oops. Now this one has blood on it."
The Gronckle lumbered toward them, blasting fire. Their shield blackened and cracked, the twins collapsed dazed in a heap.
"Tuffnut, Ruffnut—you're out!" Gobber barked.
"What?" the twins slurred in unison.
"Shields are good for another thing—noise! Bang 'em together, throw off the dragon's aim!"
The others hammered weapons against their shields, the din rattling the Gronckle. It blinked, confused, swaying its head.
"How many shots does a Gronckle have?" Gobber barked.
"Five!" Snotlout guessed.
"No, six!" Fishlegs corrected.
"Correct! Six!" Gobber grinned. "One for each of you!"
A blast struck Fishlegs' shield, tearing it from his grip. He bolted, shrieking.
"Fishlegs, out! Hiccup—get in there!"
Hiccup froze, pressed against a plank. "Uh…"
Meanwhile, Snotlout swaggered toward Astrid, flexing. "So anyway, I'm moving into my parents' basement. You should come by sometime. Work out together. You look like you work out."
The Gronckle blasted him mid-sentence.
"Snotlout! Done!" Gobber snapped.
Hiccup stumbled into the ring, shield slipping. He glanced at Astrid. "So I guess it's just you and me, huh?"
Astrid smirked and bolted. "Nope. Just you."
The Gronckle roared, fire blasting as Hiccup scrambled for his shield, tripping over the dirt.
"One shot left! Hiccup!" Gobber shouted.
The Gronckle cornered him, maw glowing as it charged its last blast. At the last second, Gobber yanked it aside, the fireball flying wide. With a grunt, he shoved the beast back into its cage and slammed the gate shut.
"And that's six!" Gobber huffed. "Back to bed with ya, ya overgrown sausage. You'll get another chance." He turned on Hiccup, his voice suddenly hard. "Remember: a dragon will always—always—go for the kill."
Hiccup swallowed hard.
Later, Hiccup trekked through the forest again, the bola launcher heavy in his hands.
"So why didn't you?" he muttered.
He stumbled into a cove—empty, silent, save for the gleam of something on the ground. Black scales, sleek and smooth as polished stone. He picked one up, marveling.
Then the shadow swooped past. The Night Fury crashed into the cove, limping, its wings folding clumsily as it struggled to settle. Hiccup ducked behind the rocks, sketching furiously, eyes darting.
"Why don't you just… fly away?" he whispered.
His gaze fell on its tail. The fin—missing. Broken. He erased it on his drawing, realization dawning. But the pencil slipped, clattering on the stone.
The Night Fury's head snapped up. Its eyes locked onto him. Recognition.
Thunder growled outside. Inside, Gobber stood at the front of the Mead Hall, glaring at his recruits.
"Alright. Where did Astrid go wrong in the ring today?"
Astrid crossed her arms. "I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy. Threw off my reverse tumble."
Ruffnut smirked. "Yeah, we noticed."
Snotlout leaned forward eagerly. "No, no—you were great. That was so… Astrid."
Gobber nodded once. "She's right. You've got to be tough on yourselves. Where did Hiccup go wrong?"
"Uh, he showed up?" Ruffnut offered.
"He didn't get eaten," Tuffnut added.
Astrid shook her head. "He's never where he should be."
"Thank you, Astrid." Gobber's eyes hardened. "You need to live and breathe this stuff. The Dragon Manual. Everything we know about every dragon."
Thunder rumbled again outside, punctuating his words.
"No attacks tonight. Study up."
The twins groaned. "Wait—you mean, read?"
"While we're still alive?"
Snotlout scoffed. "Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you about?"
Gobber smacked him on the back of the head. "You read so you can survive! Your brother Jinx made great contributions to this book before he even finished training. More than I've seen from this lot, who can't even take it seriously!"
The hall fell into sullen silence. Snotlout's jaw tightened—he hated it more than anyone, always being compared to his younger twin. But truth hung heavy in the air: how could any of them measure up to Jinx? Even as a boy, his strength had matched Stoick the Vast. He split boulders with his bare hands, brought down fire-breathing terrors without breaking a sweat. To the adults, he was an inspiration. To the teens, he was a constant humiliation.
Fishlegs cleared his throat, trying to defuse the weight. "I've read it like seven times. There's this one water dragon that sprays boiling water in your face—and another that buries itself for a week—"
"Yeah, that sounds great," Ruffnut cut in.
"Except now I definitely won't read it," Tuffnut finished.
"You guys read," Snotlout grumbled. "I'll just kill stuff."
Fishlegs brightened. "And there's one with spines that look like trees—"
Hiccup sighed. "So I guess we'll share?"
Astrid gave him a sharp look. "Read it."
The teens left, the door slamming shut, leaving Hiccup alone with the heavy tome.
"All mine then," he murmured. "Wow. Okay. So… I'll see you tomorrow."
He flipped it open, reading aloud.
"Dragon classifications. Strike Class, Fear Class, Mystery Class. Thunderdrum: lives in sea caves, concussive sound that kills at close range. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight. Timberjack: razor sharp wings, slices through trees. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight. Scauldron: sprays scalding water. Changewing: acid spray. Kill on sight. Gronckle. Zippleback. The Skrill. Boneknapper. Whispering Death. Burns, buries, chokes, tears inside-out. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight…"
He turned a page. The words froze him.
"Night Fury: Speed, unknown. Size, unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon. Your only chance: hide and pray it does not find you."
He swallowed and flipped again.
His blood ran cold.
"Scarlet Skrill." Only a single line filled the page.
Run. Hide. Pray to the All-Father you never encounter this dragon.
The thunder outside roared like laughter.
The rain came down in steady sheets, cold and relentless. Each drop splashed against the mud, filling the air with the smell of wet earth and smoke. Hiccup pulled his hood tighter, his boots squelching as he made his way through the village. The torches sputtered against the downpour, casting long, wavering shadows.
At last, he reached Gothi's hut. The little building sat apart from the others, hunched under the weight of its sodden thatch roof. Hiccup raised a hand and knocked softly.
The door creaked open. Gothi stood there, hunched and silent, her sharp eyes peering up at him. She didn't ask why he was there—she simply turned, shuffling back to her work. The door remained ajar.
Hiccup stepped inside, water dripping from his hair, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. The hut smelled of herbs and smoke, of medicines ground from root and flower. At the far end, on a bed of furs, lay Jinx.
He looked so still. Too still. His face was pale, the rise and fall of his chest faint, but present. The purple-pink hue still clung faintly around his eyes, a mark of the strange ordeal that had nearly claimed him.
Hiccup swallowed hard, pulling up a stool beside the bed. For a long moment, he just sat there, listening to the rain against the roof, the quiet rasp of Jinx's breathing. His throat tightened.
"Y'know," Hiccup began softly, "this would be a lot easier if you were awake. You're supposed to be the one I go to when I screw everything up. You always… you always knew what to say."
His voice cracked. He looked down at his hands, twisting them together.
"I—I don't know what I'm doing, Jinx. I brought down a Night Fury, but… I couldn't kill it. I let it go. And I don't know if that makes me weak, or just… wrong." He gave a shaky laugh. "Dad thinks I should be a Viking. You'd probably say the same. Except you'd mean it in that… annoying, teasing way."
Hiccup's shoulders slumped. "I wish you were here. Just… to tell me if I'm going crazy."
He sighed and stood, brushing his damp hands against his tunic. As he turned to leave, he placed a hand gently on Jinx's arm, just for a moment.
And that was when it happened.
A jolt.
Not like static, not like anything Hiccup had felt before. Purple lightning snapped beneath his palm, so quick and subtle he almost doubted it happened at all. His breath caught, and he stumbled back, eyes wide.
He looked at Jinx—still unconscious, still unmoving. Nothing had changed.
Hiccup's heart raced. "What… what was that?" he whispered, staring at his hand. It tingled faintly, as if something had passed through him.
He lingered, glancing between his hand and Jinx, but the room was quiet save for the rain.
With a shiver, Hiccup slipped out of the hut, the door closing softly behind him.
Unseen, Jinx's fingers twitched against the furs.
The night air was damp with fog, rolling in from the sea. Gobber sat at the watchtower's edge, tankard in hand, spinning another of his "you think you've had it rough?" stories.
"…And with one twist, he took my hand, swallowed it whole. And I saw the look on his face—aye, I was delicious. Word must've spread, because not a month later another one took my leg."
The teens gathered around, half horrified, half enthralled.
"Isn't it weird to think your hand was inside a dragon?" Fishlegs blurted. "Like, what if your mind was still in control of it? You could've crushed its heart, killed it from the inside—"
"I swear, I'm so angry right now!" Snotlout cut in, puffing his chest. "I'll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I'll chop off every dragon's legs—with my face if I have to!"
Gobber smacked him upside the head. "Too late, boy. Your brother already avenged me. Two years ago, Jinx brought me back the beast that took my leg—barely alive. Let me finish it myself for my birthday. Sweetest present I ever got." His face softened, wistful for a moment before he snapped back to his usual tone. "Anyway! It's the wings and tails you really want. A dragon that can't fly is a dragon that can't escape. A downed dragon is a dead dragon. Now off to bed. Tomorrow we get to the big boys. Slowly but surely, we're climbing to the Monstrous Nightmare. One of you will win the honor of killing it."
The recruits murmured, boasting and bickering, but Hiccup's thoughts were elsewhere. Gobber's words about tails echoed in his mind.
If it can't fly, it can't escape.
And he thought of the Night Fury.
That night, Hiccup worked by firelight in the forge, sweat dripping into his eyes as he hammered and shaped. By dawn, a crude prosthetic tail-fin gleamed in his hands.
Later, he carried it into the cove with a basket of fish. "Hey, Toothless. Brought breakfast! Hope you're hungry. Okay, that's disgusting. Let's see—salmon, nice Icelandic cod… and a whole smoked eel."
Toothless reared back, roaring in terror.
"No, no, no! It's okay!" Hiccup panicked, tossing the eel away. "Yeah, I don't like eel either. Nasty stuff."
The dragon calmed, snapping up the other fish while Hiccup crept behind. His hands shook as he fastened the prosthetic fin. "There… not so bad. It works."
Toothless stiffened. Then, with a sudden bound, he took off—Hiccup clinging desperately to the harness.
"Whoa, no, no, no, no!" Hiccup shrieked as they hurtled toward a cliff. He yanked the rope, adjusting the fin at the last second, narrowly dodging the wall.
Adrenaline surged. "IT'S WORKING! YES, I DID IT!"
Then Toothless twisted, realized Hiccup was on his back—and flung him straight into the lake.
Hiccup surfaced, sputtering, and laughed despite himself.
Back at training, the Hideous Zippleback's twin heads prowled through a haze of green gas, sparks crackling. Gobber barked orders, but panic reigned.
Buckets of water flew in all directions. Snotlout and Tuffnut drenched Astrid and Ruffnut instead of the dragon. "We thought you were dragons!" they defended.
Astrid punched Snotlout square in the jaw. Ruffnut hurled her bucket at Tuffnut's head.
Hiccup, meanwhile, stood trembling, eyes darting between the dragon and his vest—where an eel wriggled inside.
When the dragon lunged, he pulled it free. "Back! Back, I said!" He tossed the eel into the cage. The mighty Zippleback cowered instantly, retreating like a whipped dog.
The other teens froze, jaws slack, as Hiccup shoved the dragon inside and slammed the gate.
He turned, brushing soot from his vest. "Okay, so… are we done? Because I've got things I need to—uh, yep. See you tomorrow!" He darted off, leaving the others stunned into silence.
That evening, Hiccup didn't go home. Instead, he carried his nervous energy to Gothi's hut. The rain pattered on the roof as he slipped inside.
The old healer didn't question him; she merely shuffled about, grinding herbs. Hiccup made his way to the corner, where Jinx lay pale and still.
Hiccup sat beside him, shoulders sagging. "So… today was insane. I, uh, may or may not have outsmarted a Zippleback. Everyone saw it. I don't even know how. And instead of feeling proud, I feel… terrified. Like any second, they'll figure out I'm just faking it."
He let out a shaky laugh. "You'd know what to say, wouldn't you? You always do. You'd tease me, call me a twig, then tell me to suck it up. And somehow, I'd actually feel better."
His throat tightened. "I wish you were here, Jinx. I wish you'd wake up so I wouldn't feel like I'm carrying this alone."
He reached out, brushing his fingers across Jinx's arm before standing.
A spark leapt beneath his touch. Purple lightning.
Hiccup flinched back, heart hammering, staring at his hand. The hut was silent, Jinx unmoving—but his finger twitched against the furs.
Hiccup's lips curled into a tremulous smile. "You're still in there."
And for the first time in days, hope stirred in his chest.
The cove was quiet, filled only with the lazy rustle of leaves and the distant sound of water dripping from mossy rocks. Toothless sprawled on his side, belly full, eyes half-lidded. Hiccup crouched low, scratching the dragon just under the chin.
"Yeah, right there," Hiccup murmured, grinning as Toothless' jaw slackened, tongue lolling like an oversized cat. Within moments, the mighty Night Fury was out cold, snoring softly.
Later, in the training ring, the Deadly Nadder hissed and snapped. The recruits braced themselves—but Hiccup stepped forward with the same confident motion, scratching it under the jaw exactly as he had Toothless. To everyone's shock, the dragon slumped, purring like a content hound.
Tuffnut gawked. "Hiccup, you're totally going to come in first. No question."
The days blurred together—Toothless chasing beams of sunlight across the cove while Hiccup mirrored those tricks in the arena.
"Meet the Terrible Terror!" Gobber announced one morning. The cage door creaked open and out waddled a dragon no bigger than a dog.
The teens burst out laughing.
"That's like the size of my—" Tuffnut began before the little dragon launched at his face. "AAAHH! GET IT OFF! I'M HURT! VERY MUCH HURT!"
Hiccup raised his shield, angled it just so, and reflected the sunlight. The Terrible Terror instantly abandoned Tuffnut, chasing the glimmer straight back into its cage. Slam. Door shut.
Tuffnut blinked, dazed. "Wow. He's better than you ever were," he muttered to Astrid, earning himself a swift punch.
But Astrid's sharp eyes followed Hiccup as he slipped out of the arena with a harness under his arm. Later that evening, she caught him in the forest, testing ropes against trees. He bolted, leaving her fuming in his wake.
Back at the cove, Hiccup fastened himself and Toothless into the harness. The rope snapped; the hook bent, tethering them together.
"Oh, great," Hiccup groaned, stumbling as Toothless shook himself.
The dragon dragged him all the way into the village forge, where Hiccup tried to cut them free. A noise drew Astrid's suspicion. She pushed open the shutters.
"Hiccup?" she called.
"Hi, Astrid! Hi! Hi, Astrid!" he stammered, flailing as Toothless yanked him backward. Before she could peek inside, the dragon hurled a bucket and bolted through the back, launching skyward with Hiccup dangling on the harness. Astrid frowned at the silence, unaware of the boy now soaring above the clouds.
The next morning, the longships returned—or what was left of them. Once a proud fleet, now a single battered vessel limped into the harbor, oars dragging. Warriors disembarked with hollow eyes and stiff spines, their pride holding together what their strength could not.
Stoick was the last to step ashore, his face carved in sorrow. Gobber met him with a raised brow.
"Well," Gobber said. "I trust you found the nest at least?"
"Not even close." Stoick's voice was low, heavy.
"Ah. Excellent."
"I hope you had better luck than I."
Gobber's mouth twitched. "Well, if by luck you mean your parenting troubles are over—then yes."
Phlegma clapped Stoick's arm. "Congratulations, Stoick! Everyone's relieved."
"Out with the old, in with the new!" Starkard chimed in.
"No one'll miss that nuisance," Hoark grunted.
"The village is throwing a feast!" Ack announced.
Stoick's head snapped up. "He's gone?"
"Yeah," Gobber shrugged. "Most afternoons. But who can blame him? Life of a celebrity's rough. Can't walk the street without fans. Hiccup, of all people."
"Hiccup?" Stoick's brow furrowed.
"Who'd have thought, eh? He's got a way with beasts."
And sure enough, Hiccup was already aloft, clinging to Toothless as they wove through the sea stacks.
"Nice and slow, bud. Position three—no, four. Yes! It worked!"
He whooped as they dipped and swerved. Then—WHAM—straight into a stack.
"Sorry! My fault! Okay, yeah, I'm on it!"
Toothless smacked him with an ear in irritation.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, position four—three—yes! Go, baby!"
The wind tore his cheat sheet from his hands. "NO, NO, NO! CHEAT SHEET! STOP!" He flailed after it, unhooked the cord, and tumbled into open air.
"GODS, NO!" he shrieked, arms pinwheeling. By some miracle, he scrambled back into the saddle just as the cheat sheet slapped across his face. Blinded, he fumbled—then, finally, the rhythm clicked. Together, boy and dragon cut through the stone maze, dipping through fire-blasts and soaring through their smoke trails.
"YEEEAAAHHH!"
Later, atop a sea stack, Toothless spat a fish head into Hiccup's lap.
"Uh… no thanks. I'm good."
A flock of Terrible Terrors swooped down, snapping at their catch. One dared to challenge Toothless, who casually blasted fire down its throat, puffing it like a bellows.
"Not so fireproof on the inside, are you?" Hiccup chuckled, tossing it a spare fish. The Terror purred like a kitten and curled beside him. He stroked its scales gently. "Everything we know about you guys is wrong…"
That evening, Stoick found Hiccup sketching dragon wings.
"Dad! You're back. Gobber's not here, so—"
"I know," Stoick cut in. "I came looking for you."
"You did?"
"You've been keeping secrets."
"I… have?"
"Did you think you could hide it from me?"
"Uh, I don't—"
"Nothing happens on this island without me hearing about it." Stoick stepped closer. "So. Let's talk about that dragon."
Hiccup froze. "Oh gods. Dad, I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you, I just—"
"You're not upset?"
"Upset?" Stoick barked a laugh. "I was hoping for this! It only gets better, son. Wait until you gut your first Nadder! Mount your first Gronckle skull! WHAT A FEELING!" His eyes shone with pride. "All those years, thinking you were the worst Viking Berk had ever seen—and all the while you were holding out on me!"
He reached into a sack, pulled free a helmet, and placed it in Hiccup's hands.
"Your mother would've wanted you to have it. Half her breastplate. Matching set. Keeps her close."
Hiccup's throat tightened. "Wow. Thanks."
"Wear it proudly. You've earned it."
Stoick turned to leave, satisfaction on his face—until the door slammed open. A young Viking stumbled inside, drenched in sweat.
"Stoick! Huff… it's Jinx! He's awake!"
Time froze.
Stoick and Hiccup exchanged a single stunned glance before bolting past the messenger, hearts pounding, feet carrying them straight toward Gothi's hut.
The night of revelations was not yet over.
The first thing Jinx saw when his eyes fluttered open was the dim glow of firelight dancing against the hut's wooden beams. The air smelled of herbs, smoke, and damp earth. His body no longer felt heavy and broken, as it had in the haze of pain—no, it thrummed with an energy so intense it almost frightened him. Every muscle felt alive, every vein buzzing like storm-fire.
He turned his head.
Slumped in a chair beside his bed, armor battered and cloak still damp from rain, was his father. Spitelout, the fierce, unyielding warrior of Berk, sat dozing fitfully, his head tipped forward, hands scarred from battle. There was exhaustion in his posture, but beneath it a stubbornness that refused to leave his son's side.
Jinx's chest tightened. He had never seen his father like this—so worn, so vulnerable. For a heartbeat, the boy's eyes softened, the corners pricking with tears he refused to shed.
He pushed himself upright. The motion was effortless. Too effortless. He swung his legs off the bed, steadier than he had any right to be, and reached out with one trembling hand to tap his father's shoulder.
"Dad," he whispered, voice hoarse from disuse.
But the gentle tap was anything but. Energy surged through his arm unchecked, strength he could not yet measure. Instead of a light touch, the motion cracked like a hammer-blow.
The chair bucked, and Spitelout was knocked sprawling to the floor with a grunt.
Jinx froze, horrified. "What—?! I didn't—I didn't mean—" His voice cracked, caught between guilt and disbelief.
Spitelout blinked up at him from the ground, wide-eyed. For a moment he looked almost dazed, then his expression shifted, equal parts shock and awe. "Jinx…?"
Jinx's breath hitched. He felt too strong, too alive, as if his veins carried lightning instead of blood. His father stared at him, stunned, and for the first time in his life Jinx wondered if his strength now even frightened the man who had raised him.
Spitelout staggered to his feet, staring at his son as though he were seeing a ghost. His lips trembled, eyes wide, and then his battle-hardened face cracked with something Jinx had rarely seen—tears.
"My boy," Spitelout rasped, his voice breaking as he surged forward. He wrapped Jinx in a bear hug so fierce it felt like he was trying to anchor him to the earth, as if letting go would mean losing him again. His great shoulders shook, his armor creaked, and his breath hitched with the weight of relief.
Jinx, overwhelmed, tried to return the embrace. But the energy coursing through his body surged again. He squeezed too hard, arms clamping with unnatural force.
There was a sickening crack.
Spitelout's breath whooshed out of him, his face going red as his ribs groaned under the pressure. His knees buckled. "Ghh—!"
Jinx's eyes went wide with horror. He instantly let go, hands flying back as if burned. "Dad! I—I didn't mean—are you okay?!" His voice was frantic, guilt and panic tangled together.
Spitelout staggered, holding his side, coughing as air rushed painfully back into his lungs. He grimaced, back twinging, but still managed a weak, incredulous laugh. "By Thor's hammer, you nearly broke me in half."
Jinx's stomach dropped, shame washing over him. "I… I can't control it. I don't know what's happening to me." His hands shook, the memory of his father's pained gasp echoing in his mind.
But Spitelout reached up, resting a trembling hand on his son's cheek. His eyes, wet with tears, burned with pride. "What's happening, boy… is that you lived. You're alive."
Jinx swallowed hard, caught between relief and fear. He could still feel the storm inside him, coiled and restless, desperate to be unleashed.
The air inside Gothi's hut was still charged with tension—the strange new strength in Jinx's body humming beneath his skin, the shock of nearly crushing his father still heavy in his mind. Spitelout rubbed his ribs, grimacing, but his eyes were soft, wet, and proud.
Before either could speak again, the door banged open. The cold night air swept in with Stoick and Hiccup, both breathless from the sprint across the village.
"JINX!" Hiccup's voice cracked with relief as his eyes landed on the figure upright beside the bed. For a heartbeat, he simply froze—then he rushed forward, throwing his arms around his brother-figure in a fierce hug.
Jinx stiffened, blinking in surprise, then let out a choked laugh. "Hic…"
The embrace was sudden, tight, almost desperate, and for Hiccup it was everything. Days of fear, of whispered hopes, of sitting by Jinx's side talking into the silence—all of it poured into that hug. "You're awake," he whispered against Jinx's shoulder, voice trembling. "I thought—gods, I thought I lost you."
For a moment, Jinx let it happen. He even started to return the gesture, though every muscle in his arms thrummed with dangerous energy.
Then Spitelout, still catching his breath, cleared his throat sharply. "Eh… Hiccup, lad," he rasped, rubbing the small of his back, "you might want to let go before you end up like me. Boy doesn't know his own strength yet—and nearly broke me in half."
Hiccup froze. He leaned back just far enough to see Jinx's wide, apologetic eyes. The realization struck him, and he quickly released his grip, stepping back with an awkward, sheepish laugh. "Right. Okay. Noted."
Stoick, meanwhile, stood in the doorway, eyes locked on Jinx. Relief shone in his expression, though it was buried beneath the stern weight of a chief. His chest rose with a deep breath, as if trying to steady the storm of emotions threatening to overtake him.
Jinx, breathing harder now from the whirlwind of emotions and strength humming beneath his skin, could only stare back, wondering what this new life meant—for himself, his father, and for Berk.
Stoick stepped forward, his massive frame filling the doorway, his eyes locked on Jinx. For all his restraint, relief showed in the softening around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. "By the gods, lad," he rumbled, voice low but thick with feeling. "You've given us all a scare."
Jinx tried to smile, though the storm inside him hummed louder with every heartbeat. "Guess it'll take more than a dragon to get rid of me."
Before Stoick could respond, the tap of a staff echoed across the floorboards. Gothi appeared, her ever-present scowl in place, her tiny frame commanding silence. She wasted no words, hobbling over to Jinx with surprising speed for her age. Her sharp eyes scanned him from head to toe. She poked his ribs, pressed her hand against his forehead, and clucked her tongue in disapproval.
Then she pointed her crooked staff firmly at the bed and scrawled into the dirt with one quick stroke: SIT.
Spitelout frowned, rubbing his sore ribs. "You heard her, boy. Rest. You've been through Hel's fire and back."
But Jinx bristled, energy itching in his bones. "I am fine," he insisted. "See?" He started jogging in place, light on his feet, faster than he'd ever moved before. His muscles thrummed with power, his body responding with an ease that felt unnatural.
Then his vision flared. His eyes burned with violet light, casting eerie shadows across the hut. The strength inside him surged, uncontrolled.
"Jinx—!" Spitelout shouted.
In the blink of an eye, Jinx was gone, a blur of motion. He didn't just jog—he blitzed. His body tore forward before he could stop it, crashing straight through the wooden wall of Gothi's hut in a spray of splinters.
Outside, he tumbled across the damp earth, groaning as the sharp ache of pain finally pierced through the euphoria of raw energy. Smoke and dust swirled from the broken wall, villagers shouting in alarm as they rushed toward the noise.
Inside, Hiccup's eyes were wide as saucers, his heart pounding. Stoick's jaw tightened. Spitelout cursed under his breath, torn between pride and fear. And Gothi… merely tapped her staff once, hard, against the ground, as if she had been expecting this all along.
Dust and splinters still hung in the air when Stoick and Spitelout rushed out into the night. Jinx groaned in the dirt, clutching his side, eyes still faintly glowing violet. The villagers were already murmuring, alarm spreading through the crowd.
"Clear the way!" Stoick barked, his voice booming with authority. The villagers parted instantly. Together, he and Spitelout hauled Jinx up by the arms, half-supporting, half-dragging him back into Gothi's hut.
"Easy, lad," Spitelout muttered, though his own ribs still throbbed from the earlier hug. "You're not as steady as you think."
Jinx's head hung, shame burning hotter than pain. "Sorry… didn't mean to…"
Stoick gave him a steadying look as they eased him back onto the furs. "Strength without control is just another danger. You'll learn."
Gothi was already waiting, mortar and pestle abandoned on the table. She wasted no time, her hands working with surprising precision as she checked Jinx's pulse, his breathing, and his eyes that still shimmered faintly violet-pink. She pressed a sharp bone needle against his skin, drawing a tiny droplet from a scratch.
The droplet shimmered—not red, but an otherworldly glow of violet threaded with faint pink.
The hut went silent. Even the rain outside seemed to hush.
At that moment, Gobber barged in, shaking off the drizzle from his shoulders. "What's all this racket? Half the village says Jinx ran through a wall—" He stopped short, catching the look in Gothi's eyes as she thrust the slate toward him.
Gobber squinted, reading aloud. "Not blood. Replaced… by concoction." His voice dropped. "Odin's beard."
Everyone froze.
Spitelout stared, his face pale. "What do you mean, not blood?"
Gobber swallowed. "She means exactly what it says. Whatever that mixture was—the purple flower, the oleanders, all of it—it didn't just heal him. It replaced him. There's no blood left in his veins. Only this… brew."
Jinx stared at his hands, flexing his fingers, the faint shimmer of violet flickering under his skin. His chest tightened as the weight of the words sank in. "So what does that make me?"
Gothi's chalk scraped against the slate again. She turned it for him to read: Name it. It's yours now. You may be the only one to ever live with it.
The others looked at him expectantly, unease mingling with awe. Spitelout's hand tightened on the chair arm, torn between fear for his son and pride at his survival.
Jinx lowered his gaze. The shimmer inside him pulsed, like a heartbeat not his own. After a long silence, he whispered, "Then call it… Shimmer."
The word hung in the air, strange yet fitting—both beautiful and unnerving. The name of the storm now coursing through his veins.
And in that moment, everyone knew: whatever Jinx had become, he was no longer quite the same boy who had fallen from the skies.
Word spread through Berk faster than wildfire in dry grass: Jinx was awake. Not only awake, but changed—different in ways even Gothi struggled to put into words. Whispers of Shimmer threaded through the streets, spoken with both awe and unease.
By dawn, the Mead Hall was packed. Villagers pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices rising until Stoick the Vast silenced them with a single thunderous clap of his hands.
"Enough!" His deep voice carried to every corner of the hall. "You've all heard the rumors. Now hear the truth. Jinx is alive—and he carries in him something none of us understand. He needs time to master it, and he'll have the full weight of this village behind him while he does."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Spitelout stood at Stoick's side, silent but resolute, one hand resting on Jinx's shoulder like an anchor.
Stoick's eyes swept the villagers. "Until then, dragon training is cancelled. Our healers, our smiths, our council—every hand of worth will help Jinx learn what he is now. That means Gobber, too. He won't have time to teach while he's needed elsewhere."
The words dropped like an axe.
At the back of the hall, the younger generation groaned as one.
"Cancelled?" Tuffnut whined, slumping dramatically against his sister. "But I was this close to glory!"
Ruffnut shoved him away. "The only glory you've had is falling on your face."
Snotlout threw up his hands. "Are you kidding me?! I was about to show Astrid who the real best in training was!"
Astrid didn't even glance at him. Her sharp eyes were fixed on Jinx, studying him in silence, suspicion and curiosity flickering beneath her cool exterior.
Fishlegs wrung his hands nervously. "Well, I mean, it is important. If Jinx really doesn't have blood anymore and—uh—Shimmer is keeping him alive, then technically his entire circulatory system is some kind of living experiment—"
"Fishlegs, shut up," Ruffnut groaned.
Despite the complaints, none of them dared speak against Stoick. When the chief's gaze landed on the recruits, their protests died in their throats.
"You'll deal with it," Stoick said firmly. "Berk doesn't waste strength. And right now, helping Jinx is dragon training."
The silence that followed was heavy, unyielding.
The morning after Stoick's announcement, the training grounds were not filled with the roar of caged dragons but with the murmur of villagers gathering to see something far stranger: Jinx, son of Spitelout, standing once more on his feet, alive against all odds.
He shifted uneasily under their gaze. Though stronger than he had ever felt, his body buzzed with energy he could barely contain. His veins shimmered faintly violet, catching the sunlight like threads of lightning beneath his skin.
Stoick, Spitelout, and Gobber stood at his side, a triangle of hardened faces.
"Right," Gobber barked, clapping his prosthetic hand against his hip. "We'll start simple. Healers say you've no blood left in you—just this 'Shimmer.' Fine. Then let's see what Shimmer can do. Better to test it here than have you blow yourself up in the middle of a raid."
Spitelout crossed his arms, jaw tight. "If he's to be a warrior of Berk, he'll master it—or it'll master him."
Stoick's gaze was heavier still. "And if it masters him… Berk may not survive."
Gobber turned to the younger generation, who had gathered reluctantly at the edge of the ring. Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, and the twins.
"You lot," Gobber growled. "Don't think you're off the hook. Fighting dragons is one thing, but sometimes it's people who come knocking at our shores. Raiders, outcasts, worse. You'll learn what it means to fight a warrior—and today, you'll be helping Jinx."
The teens groaned almost in unison.
"You're joking," Ruffnut muttered.
"Yeah," Tuffnut added. "He already smashed through a hut wall. What chance do we have?"
Gobber bared his teeth in a grin. "That's the point. Now in the ring!"
Reluctantly, the teens stepped forward. Astrid rolled her shoulders, already measuring Jinx with a calculating eye. Snotlout puffed his chest, more nervous than he wanted anyone to notice.
"Ready?" Gobber barked.
Jinx raised his hands. "I'll… try not to hurt anyone."
"Bah!" Spitelout snapped. "You fight as you mean to fight. They'll survive."
The spar began. Astrid darted in first, axe flashing in the light. Jinx sidestepped without thinking, faster than he had ever moved in his life. The world blurred. By the time Astrid's axe cut the air, he was already behind her.
"Behind you!" Ruffnut shouted.
Astrid spun, only to have the haft of her weapon knocked from her hands by a crackling sweep of Jinx's arm. Sparks of violet-pink lightning arced from his skin, harmless yet terrifying, making her stagger back in shock.
Snotlout charged next, roaring as he swung his hammer. Jinx caught the blow in one hand. The force that should have shattered bones only made his arm tremble slightly. Then, without meaning to, he pushed—Snotlout went sprawling into the dirt, air whooshing from his lungs.
The twins tried together, Ruffnut swinging high, Tuffnut low. Jinx leapt—leapt—so high and far it felt like the air itself carried him, landing behind them in a blur of motion. The ground cracked where he touched down.
The teens froze. Even Astrid, never one to yield, hesitated.
Jinx's chest heaved, his eyes glowing with that eerie violet light. He felt… unstoppable. And that terrified him.
"ENOUGH!" Stoick's voice thundered, halting the spar. "You see? The boy's strength is beyond measure. But strength without control will kill friend and foe alike."
Jinx looked down at his trembling hands, sparks still dancing faintly across his knuckles. "I… I didn't mean to—"
Gobber stepped closer, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "That's why you train. Not to prove you're the strongest. To learn when not to use it."
Spitelout knelt in front of his son, gripping his arm firmly. "You are Jorgenson blood—or you were. Whatever you are now, you're still my boy. And you will master this, Jinx. You hear me?"
The teens gathered themselves from the dirt, battered and sore. For once, none of them jeered or complained. Astrid's expression was thoughtful, almost impressed. Snotlout muttered under his breath, but even he looked shaken.
For all of them, one truth had been laid bare: Jinx was no longer just the strongest of their generation. He was something else entirely. Something they would have to face—and learn from—if Berk was to survive the days ahead.
For days, the training grounds became Jinx's battlefield—not against dragons, but against himself.
Every morning Stoick and Spitelout hauled him from his bed before dawn. Gobber oversaw the drills, barking instructions, while Gothi scribbled her quiet observations from the edge of the ring. The teens were drafted into the effort too, sparring partners and observers, their grumbling silenced by Gobber's insistence:
"Fighting people's as important as fighting dragons. What good's all this muscle if he flattens friend and foe alike? He's got to learn restraint—and you lot will learn with him!"
Jinx tried. By Odin, he tried. Balance drills. Meditation exercises Gothi forced on him with herbal smoke that burned his nose. Spars against Astrid, who tested him with relentless precision. Wrestling matches with Snotlout, though they usually ended with Snotlout groaning face-first in the dirt.
But it was never enough. His body thrummed with too much power, like a storm coiled too tight in his chest. He moved too fast, struck too hard. Even when he won, he felt as though he had lost.
One afternoon, they set him against a line of wooden dummies, carved in the likeness of Gronckles and Nadders.
"Focus," Stoick commanded from the platform. "Do not smash. Do not lose control. Strike with purpose."
Jinx clenched his jaw. He stepped forward, fists raised, the eyes of half the village boring into his back. He struck once. The dummy's head flew off, splintered beyond repair. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Too much," Gobber muttered.
Again, Jinx tried. And again, the wood cracked too deeply, too quickly. Frustration boiled inside him. He could feel the shimmer burning in his veins, desperate to be unleashed. His father's voice echoed: You'll master it, or it'll master you.
"I can do this," Jinx growled, sweat dripping from his brow. He braced, swung with every ounce of focus—
—and the world exploded.
A bolt of violet lightning erupted from his fist, lancing forward with a crack like thunder. It struck the dummy square in the chest, not splintering it, but obliterating it into charred fragments that rained across the dirt.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed. The violet glow lingered in Jinx's eyes, arcs of Shimmer dancing across his skin like living lightning.
The silence broke with a single voice.
"By the All-Father…" Fishlegs whispered, trembling.
A murmur swelled, fear and awe rippling through the gathered villagers. Someone gasped, someone else cursed under their breath. Even Astrid, composed as ever, stared with wide eyes.
Stoick moved instantly. He strode forward, planting himself between Jinx and the crowd, his hammer raised high. His voice boomed like rolling thunder.
"NOT. A. WORD."
The murmurs died in an instant. His gaze swept the villagers, fire in his eyes. "Not a peep of this leaves this ring. Do you hear me? Not to your wives, not to your children, not even to the wind itself. What you saw here today is not gossip—it is Berk's future."
The villagers shrank back, chastened.
Stoick lowered his hammer, turning back to Jinx. His expression was grave, but his eyes held something else too—something Jinx could not yet name. Pride, perhaps, or fear. Or both.
Jinx's hands still sparked faintly, his chest heaving. He looked at the blackened crater where the dummy had stood, then back at the faces of those he loved.
For the first time since his awakening, he understood: whatever Shimmer was, it would either make him Berk's greatest protector… or its greatest danger.
The sun hung low over Berk, its pale light glinting off the training ring. Five days had passed since Jinx's awakening, and though his body still felt like a vessel for a storm barely restrained, something had begun to change.
Where once every step had been a stumble of too much speed, now his feet struck the earth with purpose. Where every swing of his arm shattered wood and bone alike, now he could strike with enough restraint to rattle, not ruin.
It hadn't been easy. The days had been filled with sweat and bruises, Gobber's barked orders, Stoick's thundering commands, Spitelout's fierce encouragement, and Gothi's sharp-eyed judgment. Even the teens had been drawn into the struggle, sparring with Jinx under Gobber's orders.
At first, Astrid had been the only one who didn't flinch when he moved. She pressed him hardest, driving him to learn control through precision rather than power. Fishlegs had studied every movement, muttering theories about muscle energy conversion and "Shimmer conductivity" under his breath. The twins turned every spar into chaos, but even their wild antics forced Jinx to temper his blows. And Snotlout—though half out of jealousy—pushed him to fight harder, sharper, more like the warrior everyone expected.
On the fifth day, Jinx stood before the ring of villagers again. The wooden dummies had been replaced, their fresh timbers gleaming in the morning light.
Stoick crossed his arms. "Show them you are in control. Prove it."
Jinx took a deep breath. The storm hummed in his veins, eager to be unleashed. He clenched his fists, focused on the target before him.
He struck.
This time, the dummy's head rattled but did not splinter. A clean blow. No lightning. No sparks. Just power, guided and contained.
Murmurs rippled through the watching crowd, and for once they were not whispers of fear.
"Again," Stoick commanded.
Jinx struck once more, then again. Three dummies cracked, but none exploded into ash. His chest heaved, but his eyes no longer glowed uncontrollably. The storm was still there—but now it bent, however slightly, to his will.
When it was done, Gobber let out a low whistle. "Five days, and you're not breaking the village in half anymore. Not bad, lad. Not bad at all."
Spitelout clasped his son's shoulder, pride and worry mingling in his gaze. "You're learning, boy. Faster than I ever could've dreamed."
Stoick, ever the chief, turned to the villagers. "Remember this. He is one of us—still Jinx, still Berk's son. And he will master this power. But it will take time. Patience. And your silence." His last words carried the weight of iron, and not a single Viking dared contradict him.
Jinx, chest rising and falling, let out a shaky laugh. "Guess I'm finally starting to feel like myself again."
But even as he said it, he knew: he wasn't the same boy who had fallen from the sky. He was something new—something Berk had never seen before.
And whether that would be their salvation or their doom… only time would tell.