Hiccup's Point of View
The wind tore past me like a scream, but I welcomed it.
Luna's body surged beneath me, each wingbeat pure muscle and grace. Her scales shimmered like obsidian polished by starlight, catching the moonlight and reflecting it in eerie flashes. I was braced forward, one hand resting at the base of her neck, the other curled into a ready grip—my gauntlet claws fully extended.
My armor gleamed. Fitted like a second skin. Forged for war, not ceremony.
Behind us, the sky roared with the beat of wings—dozens strong. My Vanguard flew in perfect formation: Fang leading like a missile of flame and fury, Razorwind gliding silently through the clouds, Thrash weaving like a golden streak. Veil faded in and out, nearly impossible to track. Torrent flowed below, cutting through sea-spray in swift arcs. Daggermaw, deadly and focused, remained in our shadow.
And behind them...
The chosen twenty-eight of my flock.
Not the soft. Not the young.
Warriors.
The kind that understood fire and blood.
We moved as one—shadows in the sky, heralds of judgment.
And below, Berk waited.
I could see it even before Luna began her descent. The fires were lit. Defenses raised. Men stood in formation. Weapons drawn. But they weren't looking at us.
They were staring across the field at a second army.
Dragons.
Nightmares, Nadders, Gronckles. Over a dozen of them, already landed in the fields outside the village, snarling and ready to strike. A force Stoick hadn't seen coming. A force that wasn't mine.
So that was your plan, wasn't it? You drew me here. You wanted a fight—but not just with Berk.
You wanted a slaughter.
But you made one mistake.
You came into my skies.
Luna touched down with a thunderous beat of her wings, kicking up dirt and ash as she lowered to all fours. I dismounted, my boots hitting the earth with a dull thud. My dragons descended in waves behind me, forming rows of gleaming scale and muscle.
And there we stood.
The battlefield formed itself, whether anyone intended it to or not.
Berk's warriors stood caught between two armies.
Stoick and his best. Helmets on. Spears raised. Grim faces.
Before them, the dragons that had gathered—wild, unbound, not under my command.
And behind them... me.
My dragons.
My family.
Fifty-plus sets of eyes burned behind me. Fire and fang, calm yet coiled like a spring. On either command, they would tear through anything in their path. My Vanguard flanked me directly, Luna taking her place at my side. Fang stood to the left, a constant stream of smoke leaking from his jaws. Razorwind's wings stayed half-extended, a silent threat. Veil was nowhere and everywhere.
I took a single step forward.
And the entire field grew quiet.
Not a flap of wings.
Not a breath.
Just the crunch of my boot against dirt as I advanced, gaze fixed not on the wild dragons in front of Stoick—but on Stoick himself.
He hadn't turned around yet.
But he would.
And when he did, he'd find more than his son standing behind him.
He'd find the storm he helped create.
Stoick's Point of View
I stared forward, jaw clenched, hand wrapped tightly around the haft of my axe.
Across the field, the dragons we had gathered to repel—Nightmares, Nadders, Gronckles—snarled and growled in defiance. They were wild, yes. But not stupid. Not reckless.
Not without a reason.
And then I heard it. The shift in the wind. The tremor in the ground.
The landing behind us.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was. My heart recognized that presence long before my eyes confirmed it.
But I turned anyway. Slowly. Heavily.
And my breath caught.
Hiccup.
Standing there, covered in armor darker than midnight, claws flexed at his sides, surrounded by monsters that bowed to no one but him.
And behind him—gods help us—his dragon.
I knew that silhouette.
There wasn't a soul on Berk who wouldn't.
Black as void. Streamlined. Deadly.
A Night Fury.
The same species we had once sworn was a myth because every time it attacked it would disappear into the night. The same dragon I had hunted in my youth, only to be told again and again it didn't exist and that no one could take it down. The same dragon my son had claimed—on the night he left me—to have shot from the sky.
And I'd laughed.
"You? Shoot a Night Fury? Don't be ridiculous, boy."
But it wasn't ridiculous.
It was real.
My warriors began to shift beside me. Not forward—back. Their feet faltered, their courage cracked. Their shields dipped just enough to show their doubt. I couldn't blame them.
The weight of that Night Fury's presence... It was like death had taken wing and landed behind us.
But worse than the dragon was the boy beside it.
No... not a boy.
A man.
A King.
He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to.
Just standing there—with his beasts behind him, armor shining, eyes cold—he screamed of power. Of command. Not the kind earned from title... but the kind carved from claw and fire.
And I—
I had driven him to this.
Hiccup's Point of View
The ground was still under my boots, but everything around me was vibrating—breath, air, tension.
Stoick and his warriors had made their choice, retreating behind me with stiff shoulders and shaking blades. I didn't care. Their fear wasn't my concern. Not now.
My attention was focused on the beast ahead.
The Nightmare stepped forward. Larger than most, its hide dark crimson and black, like scorched emberstone. Each step radiated arrogance, and the others—the wild ones—backed away, giving it room.
I stepped forward, too.
We met in the middle of the no-man's-land between two forces, a chasm of tension between us. There was enough space to breathe, but neither of us did.
His golden eyes narrowed.
"...Hiccup."
The voice rolled out of him in a low growl—guttural, mocking, familiar.
I narrowed my eyes.
"...Charfang."
A fitting name for the bastard. I gave it to him once, long ago. He had earned it in blood and betrayal.
We stood still.
No movement.
No sound but the low rumble of dragons breathing on all sides.
Then it began to rise—the pressure.
That unspoken heat behind the eyes. That primal, violent pulse.
Killing intent.
I could feel his anger boiling off him like smoke, and I knew he could feel mine.
The last time we met, I'd broken his jaw and left him to burn in his own flames for trying to usurp me. I'd thought him dead.
Apparently, I was wrong.
But that wouldn't happen again.
I wouldn't let him leave this field.
This time, I finish it.