(Hiccup POV)
I told myself I wasn't coming back.
That was the smart thing. The sensible thing. The thing that would keep me alive.
And yet my feet carried me back to the cove anyway, heart hammering so hard I was sure the sound would give me away.
The dragon was still there.
He lay where I'd last seen him, coiled awkwardly among the rocks, one wing half-spread, the other tucked too tight. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, steam curling faintly from his nostrils as the cool sea air met his breath.
The Night Fury.
Real. Injured. Sleeping.
I swallowed.
Every story I'd ever heard about dragons screamed in my head at once. Kill or be killed. Strike first. Don't hesitate. Dad's voice echoed loudest of all.
This is what we do.
My fingers tightened around the fish in my hands.
I took one step forward.
The dragon's eyes snapped open.
I froze.
Bright green eyes locked onto me, pupils narrowing instantly. His head lifted with a sharp hiss, wings flaring just enough to remind me how quickly he could tear me apart if he wanted to.
I dropped the fish.
It hit the stone with a wet slap.
"I—uh—okay," I whispered. "That's fair. I'd be upset too."
The dragon growled low in his throat, plasma flickering faintly at the back of his mouth.
I backed up a step.
Then stopped.
Running felt… wrong.
So I stayed.
We stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to move.
That's when I noticed it.
His tail.
It lay twisted at an odd angle, the fin torn and ragged, one side barely responding when he shifted. He tried to stand, to look bigger, and nearly lost his balance for it.
The growl faltered.
Something in my chest twisted painfully.
"Oh," I breathed. "You're… you're hurt."
The dragon snarled, offended, but it lacked conviction.
I did something incredibly stupid.
I sat down.
Not close. Not threatening. Just… down.
His eyes widened slightly, confusion bleeding through the hostility.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I said quietly, the words feeling ridiculous even as I spoke them. "I mean. I could barely hurt a chicken, and you're—well. You're you."
No response.
Just watchful silence.
The fish lay between us, untouched.
Minutes passed. Or maybe seconds. Time felt strange here, stretched thin by fear and salt air.
Finally, hunger won.
The dragon crept forward, muscles taut, ready to spring back at the slightest wrong move. He snapped the fish up and retreated just as quickly, retreating to a safer distance to devour it in three brutal bites.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
"Okay," I murmured. "Good. That's good."
I stood slowly, keeping my movements deliberate, and backed away.
This time, I didn't run.
I came back the next day.
And the next.
Each time with fish. Each time with the same careful steps. Each time sitting a little closer, staying a little longer.
The dragon never attacked me.
He never trusted me either.
But he watched.
Always watched.
Sometimes, when the light shifted just right, I had the strangest feeling—like the shadows behind him were too deep, too heavy. Like something vast lay just beyond what my eyes could see.
Once, I could have sworn the darkness breathed.
I told myself it was just nerves.
The dragon's attention never left me, but his posture changed gradually. Less coiled. Less ready to strike. Pain still made him hiss when he moved wrong, but he no longer tried to hide it from me.
Progress, I guessed.
On the fifth day, I did something reckless.
I reached out.
Slow. Careful. Hand trembling.
He hissed, snapping his jaws inches from my fingers, and I jerked back with a startled yelp.
"Okay—too soon! Definitely too soon," I babbled.
But he didn't lunge again.
Instead, he stared at me, head tilted, ears twitching.
Curious.
I laughed, breathless and shaky. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"
The dragon snorted, a sharp puff of air that kicked dust toward my face.
I smiled despite myself.
It was the tail that finally broke my heart.
I watched him try to take off.
Watched him run, wings pumping, body lifting—
—and then fail.
He crashed back into the sand with a frustrated roar, scrambling awkwardly as if sheer stubbornness could force his body to obey.
He tried again.
And again.
Each time ending the same way.
I stood without thinking.
"Hey," I said softly. "Hey, stop. You're just… you're hurting yourself."
He turned on me, eyes blazing, pride wounded deeper than flesh.
"I know," I whispered. "I know how that feels."
I don't know why I said that.
Maybe because it was true.
I crouched near his tail, close enough now that I could see the damage clearly—the torn fin, the way it failed to catch the air.
An idea sparked.
Dangerous. Impossible. Brilliant.
"I could help," I said, more to myself than to him. "I mean. Maybe. I make stuff. Not great stuff, but—stuff."
He watched me closely as I mimed the idea with my hands, shaping air into crude wings and straps.
His head tilted.
Considering.
Behind him, for just a moment, I felt that pressure again—that sense of being seen by something else.
Something old.
Something patient.
The shadows did not move.
But I felt… approval.
When I finally touched him, it wasn't dramatic.
Just my hand, resting lightly against his neck.
Warm.
Alive.
He tensed—and then, slowly, relaxed.
I laughed, the sound bubbling out of me before I could stop it.
"You didn't kill me," I whispered. "That's… that's huge for both of us, I think."
The dragon huffed, eyes half-lidding, and for the first time, he leaned into my touch.
Somewhere deep in the cove, stone shifted softly.
I didn't notice.
But if I had looked into the darkest corner of the cavern, I might have seen a pair of crimson eyes watching quietly.
Not interfering.
Not guiding.
Just making sure the story stayed intact.