The sun hung low over Berk, painting the cliffs in orange fire as the riders gathered once more with their dragons. The air was thick with excitement, fear, and something else—anticipation.
Hiccup flexed his forearm, staring at the faint violet shimmer of the tattoo that had burned itself there during the night. It twisted like flame across his skin, humming in rhythm with Toothless' steady breathing.
Astrid adjusted her shoulder plate, her storm-blue markings pulsing faintly under her armor. "Feels strange," she muttered, half to herself. "Like it's alive."
"It is alive," Fishlegs said nervously, tugging at his sleeve to reveal the jagged, stone-brown patterns snaking down his arm. "Or at least… it feels like it. Every time Meatlug breathes, I feel it. In my chest. In my bones."
Snotlout leaned back with a cocky grin, slapping his freshly inked bicep. His tattoo blazed a deep ember-red, fiery and sharp-edged like Hookfang's scales. "Well, I think it looks awesome. Ladies love tattoos."
Hookfang snorted, tail smacking him hard across the back of the head.
"OW! Okay, maybe not ladies with scales," Snotlout grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
The group laughed, the sound breaking some of the tension. But as they quieted, the truth weighed heavier.
"This isn't just decoration," Hiccup said, his voice firm. "It's power. And power has a price. If we can't control it…" He trailed off, meeting Astrid's steady gaze.
"…then it controls us," she finished.
Toothless padded closer, nudging Hiccup's hand with his snout. For a heartbeat, Hiccup felt him—clearer than ever before. Not just emotion, not just instinct. Words. Faint, broken, like whispers echoing from a distance.
Stronger. Together.
Hiccup froze, breath catching. He looked at Toothless, wide-eyed. "You… you spoke."
The Night Fury tilted his head, eyes gleaming, and let out a low rumble that vibrated deep in Hiccup's chest.
Astrid noticed his expression. "You heard something?"
Hiccup nodded slowly. "Not exactly words. More like… thoughts. His thoughts."
The riders fell silent, the weight of the revelation sinking in.
Far above, hidden among the crags and mist of the cliffs, Behemoth watched.
His violet eyes glowed faintly in the shadows, tail coiled lazily behind him. The trench coat swayed with the wind, his horns catching the last rays of light.
So, the bonds have awakened.
He could see the tattoos pulsing, could feel the resonance from here. Each mark was unique, tethering rider and dragon in a way even they did not yet comprehend. His father had spoken of such connections, rare and buried in time.
Dragon's Will, Behemoth mused. An ancient pact, forgotten by both man and dragon alike. To see it bloom again… He almost chuckled, though the sound was low and dangerous. Perhaps there is hope in them yet.
Still, his eyes narrowed as he watched the riders struggle to harness the power. Their stances sloppy, their breathing ragged, their fear palpable. Power without control was nothing but kindling.
"They'll burn themselves alive before they master it," he muttered under his breath.
Yet, he didn't leave. Something in him—whether curiosity, pity, or the faint echo of his father's faith—kept him rooted in the shadows, watching.
On the cliffs below, the trials continued.
Astrid sparred with Stormfly again, this time not with weapons, but with sheer instinct. Her movements blurred, almost matching her dragon's speed. A strike came—Stormfly's tail whipping forward—and Astrid felt the angle before it landed. She ducked smoothly, her tattoo blazing brighter.
Fishlegs, sweating and red-faced, tried to focus. Meatlug circled him protectively, her presence warm and grounding. At first, he wavered. Then he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Suddenly, his skin hardened, just for a moment, like stone. The earth shifted under his feet, responding faintly to his will.
"Did you—did you see that?!" he gasped.
Snotlout, of course, shouted, "Pfft, beginner's luck! Watch this!" He thrust his arms wide, Hookfang roaring with him. Flames burst around them, wild and uncontrolled, searing the air. His tattoo blazed hot, so much that he yelped, flapping his arms. "HOT HOT HOT—PUT IT OUT, HOOKFANG!"
Hookfang rolled his eyes, hosing him with a jet of smoke.
The riders collapsed into laughter again, but beneath it, there was awe. The tattoos weren't random. They were power.
Hiccup, though, was quiet. His bond with Toothless felt… heavier. Deeper. And though the words were faint, he swore he could almost understand the dragon's language.
From above, Behemoth's eyes gleamed.
"They've taken their first steps," he murmured. His voice held no warmth, yet no malice either. Only judgment.
For a long moment, he let silence fill him. His father's words returned, bittersweet: Even the smallest spark can light a fire.
Behemoth's claws flexed against the stone. "Then let them spark. Let them burn. And when the flames rise high enough…" His smirk sharpened. "…we'll see if they consume, or endure."
With that, the King of Dragons melted back into the mist, leaving only the faint echo of his presence behind.
On the cliffs below, Hiccup shivered.
"Toothless," he whispered, eyes scanning the fog, "I think we're being watched."
The Night Fury growled, low and uneasy.