Chapter 9:
(Hiccup POV)
The thing about flying was that it ruined walking forever.
After you'd felt the sky bend beneath you—after you'd learned the language of wind and weight and balance—everything on the ground felt heavier. Slower. Like the world was moving through water and you were the only one who remembered what it meant to move freely.
I trudged back into Berk with sore legs and a grin I couldn't quite shake.
The village was already awake. It always was. Nets stretched between posts like spiderwebs, half-mended and smelling of brine. Blacksmith fires roared as Gobber shouted at no one in particular. Somewhere, a baby cried; somewhere else, someone yelled back at it.
Normal.
Painfully normal.
No one looked at me twice as I passed.
Good.
Dragon training happened in the arena—a bowl of scorched stone and splintered wood that smelled permanently of smoke and fear.
I remembered my first day there with painful clarity.
Flashback came unbidden.
Me, standing too straight, armor too big, helmet slipping over my eyes. My hands sweating so badly I nearly dropped my shield. A Monstrous Nightmare roaring in my face while Gobber shouted something about "hit it where it hurts!"
I hadn't hit anything.
I'd tripped. Fallen. Screamed.
Astrid had stared at me like she couldn't decide whether I was an embarrassment or a liability.
Snotlout had laughed.
I swallowed as the memory faded, replaced by the present.
The same arena.
The same scorched stone.
But I stood differently now.
Still thin. Still awkward. But steadier.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the phantom weight of Toothless's harness straps against my hands, muscle memory humming beneath my skin.
Gobber barked orders. "Alright, you lot! Today we meet a Gronckle! Slow, stupid, and heavy—just like some of you!"
Fishlegs brightened immediately. "Actually, Gronckles are highly intelligent! They just prefer—"
"Quiet, Fishlegs."
The Gronckle lumbered out, massive and placid, blinking slowly as if offended by the very concept of movement.
Snotlout grinned. "Easy."
Astrid didn't smile. She never did anymore.
I took my place at the edge, heart steady instead of racing.
That was new.
We went one by one.
Snotlout charged in with brute confidence, swinging wide and loud. He succeeded through sheer force, though he took a blast of molten rock to the shield for his trouble.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut argued with each other mid-fight, somehow managing to confuse the Gronckle enough to "win" by accident.
Fishlegs did what Fishlegs always did—talked. Calmly. Precisely. He anticipated every move, explaining it as he went, earning Gobber's reluctant approval.
Then Astrid.
She was flawless.
Every movement sharp. Every strike deliberate. She never wasted energy. Never hesitated.
She ended the match quickly and efficiently.
Then she looked at me.
That look said everything.
Don't embarrass yourself.
I stepped forward.
The Gronckle snorted, unimpressed.
I raised my shield.
And instead of charging, instead of freezing, instead of doing what Old Me would have done—
I waited.
The Gronckle inhaled.
I moved before the blast came, angling my shield just enough to deflect rather than block, letting the molten rock pass harmlessly by.
The dragon blinked.
Confused.
I stepped in close—not attacking, just positioning—forcing it to turn, forcing it to react to me instead of following its instincts.
The Gronckle stumbled.
Gobber stopped shouting.
I disarmed the saddle latch.
Victory horn.
Silence.
Not applause.
Not praise.
Just… quiet.
I stepped back, pulse steady, pretending not to notice Astrid staring at me like I'd just grown another head.
Later, as we filed out, Snotlout scoffed. "Lucky."
Ruffnut squinted at me. "Did you always move like that?"
Fishlegs frowned thoughtfully. "That was… different."
Astrid said nothing.
That somehow felt worse.
I went to the cove that evening with a strange mix of relief and guilt swirling in my chest.
Toothless greeted me with a chirp and a headbutt that nearly knocked me over.
"Hey—hey!" I laughed, bracing myself against him. "Easy. I'm still breakable."
He huffed, tail flicking, and settled beside me as I unpacked fish.
We ate together in companionable silence.
Afterward, we practiced.
Small things. Turns. Balance. Adjusting the fin under pressure. I talked as I worked, narrating everything like it mattered.
"I did better today," I told him. "They don't know why. I don't think they ever will."
Toothless tilted his head.
I smiled. "You do, though."
He leaned into me, warm and solid and real.
The shadows in the cove shifted slightly.
I felt it—not fear, not threat—but attention.
As if something vast listened.
Days passed like that.
Training in the arena.
Flying in secret.
Each fed the other.
I stopped panicking in the ring because I'd learned what panic did to balance. I stopped overthinking in the air because I'd learned what trust felt like.
Astrid's frustration grew sharper.
I caught her watching me between matches, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. She trained harder, faster, pushing herself until sweat darkened her armor.
She won every fight.
So did I.
And that—that quiet, unspoken parity—seemed to bother her more than if I'd failed.
Still, no one said anything.
Not Gobber.
Not Dad.
Not yet.
The village went on as it always had, unaware that something fundamental was shifting just beneath its feet.
Far above, unseen, wings cut silently through the clouds.
And in the deepest shadow of the cove, ancient eyes remained open—watching a boy and a dragon learn, together, watching the moment that started to change the boys world forever.