Hiccups point of view:
The raid horn tore through the night, a sound I knew as well as my own frustrated heartbeat by now. But this one felt different. It wasn't the usual sporadic clash; it was a sustained, rolling thunder of roars and screams and splintering wood. A big one. A nasty one.
And I was alone.
Gothi, my usual warden, had been summoned to the Great Hall to tend the wounded. I'd seen it in her grim expression as she'd bundled me extra tight in my crib, her gnarled hand patting my head once before she hurried out. The longhouse was empty, save for the dancing shadows from the central firepit and the violent symphony outside.
This is it, the thought echoed, cold and certain in my mind. It's tonight.
I lay there, a prisoner in my own nursery, listening. Every dragon shriek was a needle in my skin. Every Viking battle cry from my father's lungs was a hammer on an anvil inside my chest. I strained my useless baby ears, trying to parse the chaos. Where are they? Is she safe? Is he—
THUMP.
A heavy weight settled on the roof above me. The rafters groaned. Dust and bits of thatch sifted down, sparkling in the firelight.
My breath hitched. Time slowed, crystallizing into a moment of pure, terrifying clarity.
Then, the world exploded.
It wasn't a slow crumbling. It was a violent, shattering invasion. A whirlwind of timber and splinters erupted from the wall beside my crib as a massive, shadowy form crashed through. I squeezed my eyes shut against the debris, feeling the air whip past my face. When I opened them, covered in a fine layer of dust, I saw a miracle: not a single shard had touched me. It was as if the destruction had curved around my small space.
And there he was.
Cloudjumper.
The dragon from a screen, from a story, was nothing compared to the reality. He was magnificent. His scales were a tapestry of storm-grey and deep blue, shimmering like wet stone in the low light. His four wings, two large and two smaller, were folded with a delicate grace that belied their power. His face... it was wise. Owl-like, with great, expressive discs of eyes.
Those eyes found mine.
His pupils were thin slits of curiosity. Then, as they focused on me—a tiny, dust-covered human infant staring back with a gaze far too old—they widened. They expanded into deep, intelligent pools, and I saw it. The raw, wondering curiosity. The complete absence of malice. It was a mirror of my own awe.
I laughed.
It burst out of me—a pure, gurgling sound of delight that had nothing to do with my babyhood and everything to do with my soul recognizing something truly wonderful. I wanted to be closer. I needed to be closer.
Grunting with the effort, I pushed my weak, uncooperative arms against the crib. I managed to lift my torso, swaying precariously, one chubby hand reaching out towards this incredible creature.
He mirrored me. His great head dipped, stretching forward on his long neck, bringing that wise face within inches of my grasping fingers.
Yes! Just a little—
My body betrayed me. The muscles gave out. I flopped back onto the furs with a soft "Oof."
A sound rumbled from Cloudjumper. A deep, chuffing noise. He was laughing. A warm, amused puff of air ruffled my hair.
A hot flush of embarrassment washed over me. I want to grow up! I screamed internally, glaring at my pathetic limbs. I want to stand! I want to touch him properly!
As if sensing my frustration, Cloudjumper moved again. Slowly, with infinite care, he extended one foreclaw over the crib's edge. It was huge, black, and wickedly sharp, yet he moved it with the precision of a master jeweler.
I didn't flinch. I reached up, my tiny hand wrapping around a single, cool talon. It was smooth and solid. A connection. My heart swelled. Hello, friend.
Then the moment shattered.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
My mother's voice, a shield of fury and terror, cut through the intimate silence. She stood in the doorway, her hair a wild red halo in the firelight, one of the decorative swords from the wall held high in a two-handed grip. Her eyes were locked on Cloudjumper, blazing with the promise of violence.
She froze.
She saw what I saw. She saw the dragon not poised to strike, but paused, curious, his claw held gently in her son's hand. She saw my face, not scrunched in fear, but alight with wonder.
The conflict in her eyes was a storm. Instinct warred with evidence. The sword trembled.
The sudden noise and her aggressive posture startled Cloudjumper. His head whipped towards her, his body tensing. In the sharp movement, the talon I was holding twisted.
A line of white-hot fire scored across my chin.
The pain was instantaneous and enormous. It was a lightning bolt of pure, shocking agony. A baby's nerves, I realized with distant horror, were raw and exposed. A scratch that would make an adult wince was a world-ending cataclysm. A sharp, wounded cry tore from my throat before I could stifle it.
Cloudjumper recoiled as if he'd been burned. A low, distressed warble escaped him. His huge eyes, now fixed on my mother, held no anger—only a sudden, profound alarm and a question.
And she saw it. She truly saw it.
She lowered the sword, just an inch. Her breath caught. She took a step back, not in fear, but in awe. They stared at each other, Viking and Dragon, and the world held its breath. I could see it happening—the recognition, the reflection of two gentle, curious souls trapped in a cycle of violence. The moment the movies got right.
It was the most beautiful and terrible thing I'd ever witnessed.
Because I knew what came next.
"VALKA!"
A roar that shook the very foundations. Stoick the Vast filled the shattered doorway, his chest heaving, his face a mask of primal rage. He didn't see a moment of connection. He saw a monster in his home, near his son, his wife standing defenseless.
His axe left his hand in a blur of spinning steel.
Cloudjumper flinched, the axe embedding itself in a post where his neck had been a second before. Panic, pure and simple, overrode the curiosity. He opened his mouth, and a jet of blue-orange flame engulfed the doorway.
Stoick dove, rolling with a agility that belied his size. The fire licked the space where he'd been.
Then he was moving, a bull charging. Not towards the dragon, but towards me. In two strides, he was at the crib. His huge hands, rough and smelling of smoke and iron, scooped me up. He crushed me against the hard, cold metal of his chest plate. The world became the thunder of his heartbeat and the smell of his fear.
Safe, I thought, dazed. He's got to me in time before the fire got to close.
But my eyes, peeking over the rim of his arm, were glued to my mother.
Cloudjumper, now in full flight-or-fight terror, lunged for the nearest exit—the huge hole in the wall. As he moved, his talons snagged on Valka's tunic. It wasn't a deliberate grab. It was an accident of panic and proximity.
But it was enough.
Her eyes met mine, wide with shock, not fear for herself but a sudden, horrifying understanding of separation.
A word tore from my throat. A clear, desperate, word that should have been impossible for my age, fueled by a grief that transcended biology.
"MAMA!!!"
Her name hung in the air, a final, piercing cry. I saw her shock, her heart breaking in her eyes. She reached a hand out towards me.
Then she was gone. Wrenched through the shattered wall and into the dark, stormy sky in the grasp of a terrified dragon.
My world ended.
The scream that followed wasn't a baby's cry. It was a raw, soul-deep shriek of loss. It was the sound of every memory we wouldn't make, every hug I would miss, every word of comfort that would now go unspoken. I cried with the fury of a teenager who had lost everything and the helplessness of an infant who couldn't even chase after her.
My father's arms tightened around me. A great, shuddering sob racked his frame. I felt a hot drop land on my forehead—a tear. He was crying. Silent, shaking tears.
He turned my head gently, firmly, pressing my face into the fur of his shoulder, trying to shield me from the sight of the empty, ruined nursery and the yawning hole where my mother had vanished.
But he couldn't shield me from the knowledge. He couldn't protect me from the future that had just snapped into place, cold and hard and true.
She was gone.
The sky had stolen her.
And I was alone with a grieving giant who didn't know how to be a father, in a world that now felt colder than the deepest Berkian winter.