Chapter 7:
(Hiccup POV)
Berk woke before the sun.
It always did.
The wind came first, howling low through the gaps between houses, rattling shutters and setting loose ropes tapping against masts. Then the gulls—loud, greedy things—circling overhead as fishermen hauled in their morning catch. Smoke followed soon after, curling up from hearths as fires were stoked and breakfast began.
I lay awake long before any of it reached my room.
My hands still smelled faintly of fish.
Not cooked fish. Raw. Cold. Dragon fish.
I stared at the ceiling beams, heart pounding, replaying the way Toothless had leaned into my touch the night before. The warmth of him. The trust—small, fragile, but real.
I smiled.
Then groaned.
"Great," I muttered. "Now I'm smiling at the ceiling."
Outside, someone shouted. Metal clanged. Berk, alive and noisy and perpetually half-prepared for disaster, carried on like it always did.
Like nothing had changed.
I slipped out of bed, pulled on my tunic, and crept down the stairs, narrowly avoiding Gobber's workshop—already roaring with activity and swearing. I grabbed a hunk of bread, stuffed it into my mouth, and slipped out into the morning air.
The village smelled like salt and smoke and wet wood.
It smelled like home.
And all I could think about was the cove.
Training was… worse than usual.
Gobber barked orders while a half-dozen of us stumbled through drills, swinging axes at straw targets shaped vaguely like dragons. Snotlout nearly took his own foot off. Fishlegs corrected him loudly. Astrid glared at everyone with the intensity of someone who actually belonged here.
I missed every target.
Again.
"THOR'S TOENAILS, HICCUP," Gobber roared. "You swing like you're apologizin' to it!"
"I am apologizing!" I shouted back. "It's not the target's fault!"
That earned me a laugh from Ruffnut and a shove from Tuffnut.
Dad watched from the edge of the training yard.
Stoick the Vast didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
The disappointment was a physical thing, heavy as his armor, pressing down on me until it was hard to breathe.
When training ended, I bolted.
Literally.
I was halfway out of the village before anyone noticed.
The cove was quiet when I arrived.
Peaceful in a way Berk never was.
Toothless lay where I'd left him, head resting on his forepaws, tail curled awkwardly beside him. His ears flicked when he heard me, eyes snapping open instantly.
Then recognition.
He didn't snarl.
Didn't flare his wings.
Just watched.
"Hey," I said softly, setting the basket down. "I brought more fish. And… something else."
I pulled out a handful of tools—scrap metal, leather straps, bits and pieces I'd scavenged from Gobber's workshop over weeks of pretending to be useless.
Toothless's gaze flicked to them, wary.
"I think I can help," I said. "Your tail. I mean. If you'll let me."
He stood carefully, testing his weight, then took a step back—giving me space.
Permission.
I swallowed.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
It took hours.
Trial and error. Sketching shapes in the sand. Toothless watching, occasionally huffing in annoyance when I got something wrong. Once, he snapped a strap in half with his teeth just to prove a point.
"Fair," I muttered.
Eventually, something worked.
A prosthetic fin—crude, unbalanced, but responsive when I moved it by hand.
Toothless tested it slowly.
Then faster.
He stumbled once, recovered, then turned bright green eyes on me, wide and startled.
He chirped.
I laughed, startled by the sound. "Yeah? Yeah, I know! Me too!"
Behind us, unseen, the shadows deepened.
Something vast shifted its weight against stone.
Watching.
The first flight didn't happen that day.
Or the next.
Trust wasn't built like that.
Instead, we learned each other.
Toothless learned my smells, my sounds, the way I gestured when I meant no harm. I learned his moods, the subtle flicks of his ears, the way his tail betrayed him when he was tired or frustrated.
Sometimes, when the wind shifted just right, I felt… something else.
Like the cove was fuller than it should be.
Like I wasn't alone, even when Toothless slept.
I never saw anything.
But sometimes, the shadows seemed to breathe.
Back in Berk, life went on.
Ships came and went. Nets were mended. Children chased chickens through muddy streets while their parents shouted half-hearted warnings. Armor was repaired. Stories were told. Wounds were tended.
Dragons attacked.
They always did.
One afternoon, a Nadder swooped low over the village, scattering sheep and sending villagers scrambling for cover. I watched from behind a crate as Dad bellowed orders, hammer raised, fearless as ever.
I should have been there.
Instead, I thought of Toothless.
Of his broken tail.
Of the way he trusted me.
Guilt gnawed at my insides.
That night, I returned to the cove restless and conflicted.
Toothless sensed it immediately.
He nudged me with his head, a soft, questioning sound rumbling in his chest.
"I don't know where I fit," I admitted quietly. "I don't know if I ever will."
He snorted.
Then, carefully, he lay down beside me, massive head settling just close enough that I could feel his warmth.
I leaned back against him without thinking.
The world felt… quieter.
For a moment.
It was days later—maybe weeks—that we tried again.
The harness fit better now. The fin responded smoothly when I adjusted the lever. Toothless paced the length of the cove, muscles coiling, wings twitching with anticipation.
"You ready?" I asked, voice shaking.
He looked at me.
Then he nodded.
Actually nodded.
I laughed, nerves dissolving into pure, wild joy. "Okay! Okay, let's—let's do this."
We ran.
The ground dropped away.
For one terrifying second, we fell.
Then the wind caught us.
Toothless roared—not in pain, but exhilaration—and the world opened up beneath us, vast and endless and impossibly free.
I screamed.
Not in fear.
In joy.
Somewhere high above, beyond the clouds, a pair of crimson eyes watched.
The violet glow beneath massive scales pulsed once—soft, restrained.
Approval.
When we landed—clumsy but intact—I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
Toothless preened, clearly pleased with himself.
"We did it," I whispered. "We actually did it."
He bumped his forehead gently against mine.
I didn't notice the way the shadows shifted deeper into the cove.
Didn't hear the faint scrape of stone as something ancient resettled itself.
But the dragons of the archipelago did.
Far away, wings stuttered mid-flight.
Roars faltered.
Something old had stirred.
Not yet revealed.
Not yet unleashed.
But watching.
Waiting.