A Few Years Later
Hiccup and I just turned five. I've spent these past few months training—not just building muscle, but focusing on stamina and flexibility. When I'm not pushing my body, I'm in the library, devouring every scrap of information I can find on dragons, seeking out their weaknesses.
I haven't been idle these past few years. I've quietly chipped away at minor achievements and simple quests from Diastasi. The harvests have been consistent, if not spectacular:
Common Achievements:
First Words – 10 tickets, 100 pointsFirst Steps – 10 tickets, 100 pointsFirst Skill – 10 tickets, 100 pointsFirst Craft – 10 tickets, 100 points
Common Quests:
Upgrade Skill: Identify – 1 ticket, 10 pointsMake a Weapon – 1 ticket, 10 pointsDaily Training – 3 tickets, 30 points
Total: 45 tickets, 430 points
Though no quests or achievements above Common difficulty have appeared, the consistent gains have been valuable. I opened my status window, observing my slow but steady progress.
Status
Age – 5Strength – 3Defense – 2Dexterity – 3Stamina – 4Intelligence – 16
Skills
Identify (Lv. 4/50)Crafting (Lv. 2/50)
Titles
None
Almost all of my stats were higher than the other kids my age. It didn't make me feel superior; it just made me feel prepared. Like I was studying for an exam I couldn't afford to fail.
I was halfway through my routine when the shouting started. Kids—panicked, winded, too loud to ignore—burst into view, running toward me as if the sky itself had fallen.
Ruffnut, pale and gasping for breath, was the first to speak. "Hiccup ran into the forest!"
My stomach twisted. "Explain. Now."
"We were just playing!" she gasped. "Then Snotlout started teasing Hiccup, calling him names, and—then he brought up... your mom."
The world tilted. My feet stopped moving. My ears buzzed.
"He mentioned our mom…?" I whispered, needing confirmation to believe it. My fists clenched without thinking, nails digging into my palms. Rage boiled in my chest—raw, ugly, familiar.
I wanted to scream. To tear something apart. But I swallowed the hot fury down. They're just kids. They don't know any better. They don't know what they're poking at.
I took a thin, shaking breath. Then I spoke, my voice hollow but firm. "Keep explaining. We'll move while you talk."
I broke into a run. "Tell the adults," I barked over my shoulder. "Let them know what happened!"
The forest came into view, dark and indifferent. My legs burned. My lungs begged me to stop. Please be okay. Please don't let it be too late. Every horrible possibility clawed at my mind. Wolves. Traps. Falling. Getting lost. The silence of it all was worse than screaming.
Then—
A scream ripped through the trees.
I bolted toward it like a lightning strike. What I saw stopped my breath.
A wolf. Lean. Starving. Eyes like knives. Hiccup was cornered, too frozen to scream again.
I didn't think. I couldn't. My body just moved. A notification blinked, but it may as well have been invisible. I twisted, dropped low, and drove my heel into its ribs. A solid connection—bone and fur and force. It stumbled.
"HICCUP, RUN!"
Stillness. Then he moved. Thank the gods, he moved.
But the wolf didn't run. It turned on me. It lunged. I raised my arm—too slow. Pain. Fire. Teeth.
I screamed, not out of fear, but fury. I wouldn't give this thing a victory cry. With my free hand, I jabbed for its eye. It shrieked and staggered back.
"'Inventory! Knife!' I screamed inside my mind." The weapon fell into my hand like judgment.
But then—
CRACK.
I looked up and saw Hiccup, branch in hand, face soaked with tears.
"DON'T HURT MY BROTHER!" he screamed.
For a second, I forgot the pain. Forgot everything. I saw him—afraid, defiant, shaking—but still standing for me.
But the wolf didn't care. It turned toward him.
No. No. No.
I leapt. We collided midair. Bones. Claws. Dirt.
Pain blurred everything, but I didn't stop. I stabbed it. Again. Again. I didn't even aim. Just movement. Just survival. It writhed. I locked my arm around its throat. My injured arm. The agony made me want to black out, but I held tight. I could feel it weakening. My mind screamed to stop. But I couldn't. Not until it stopped moving. Not until I was sure.
"You're not… hurting him… again…"
It bucked, one last time. Then it died.
[You have slain a wild beast – Wolf]+250 XPQuest Completed: First Kill
I barely saw the message. My hands were shaking. My knife trembled like it had a heartbeat of its own.
Hiccup was safe. That was all that mattered. That should've been enough. But I felt sick. Empty. I killed something. I felt its warmth on my hands. The stink of blood. The weight of life taken. It didn't feel heroic. It didn't feel like a victory.
I looked down at the corpse and wondered: If I had hesitated for even a second... would Hiccup be the one lying here instead?
"ERIK!"
Voices. Crashing through the woods. Father.
"Father…" I rasped, barely. My knees gave out. Everything faded.
When I woke, the world was soft and slow. Light flickered. My arm burned.
"He's awake!" someone called.
I turned. Hiccup was there, gripping my hand like it was an anchor. "Erik… you saved me."
I gave him a smile that cost more strength than it should've. "Of course I did, dummy. You're my brother."
Father entered. No words at first—just a heavy presence in the room. Then a hand on my shoulder.
"You fought a wolf barehanded," he said, his voice deep.
I didn't know how to respond.
"You protected your brother. You protected this village."
I closed my eyes. I didn't feel proud. I felt tired. "He would've died if I hadn't… I couldn't let that happen."
He nodded. "And because of that, you've earned something more than just respect."
A chime echoed softly.
[Title Gained: Protector – You have defended another with your life. +1 permanent to Defense][Skill Gained: Pain Resistance (Lv.1)][Common Achievement Gained: First Kill - You have killed a wild beast. +10 tickets, +100 points]
A new title. I barely cared.
"Status window—open."
Status
Age – 5Strength – 3Defense – 3 (+1)Dexterity – 3Stamina – 4Intelligence – 16
Skills
Identify (Lv. 4/50)Pain Resistance (Lv. 1)Crafting (Lv. 3/50)
Titles
Protector (When defending someone, your defense stat is increased by 5)
I closed the window.
"Are you okay?" I asked Hiccup.
He nodded, barely. His eyes were still cloudy. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have run into the woods. I just—I got angry, and when Snotlout said those things… I didn't know what to do."
"You don't have to apologize," I said, squeezing his hand. "But next time, punch him in the nose first. Then run."
He laughed—shaky, real.
The next few days passed in a blur. People visited. Some brought food. Others brought stories. Some just looked at me with a mix of fear and awe. A five-year-old who killed a wolf.
I didn't like the whispers. The stares. The unspoken question behind every look: What else is he capable of?
But Hiccup stayed close. He smiled more. He slept beside me the first two nights. And one night, when he thought I was asleep, he whispered, "Thank you."
My arm will heal. The pain will fade. But the way that moment changed me? That wouldn't go away.
That wolf wasn't my last kill.
And next time…
I won't hesitate.
Hiccup and I just turned five. I've spent these past few months training—not just building muscle, but focusing on stamina and flexibility. When I'm not pushing my body, I'm in the library, devouring every scrap of information I can find on dragons, seeking out their weaknesses.
I haven't been idle these past few years. I've quietly chipped away at minor achievements and simple quests from Diastasi. The harvests have been consistent, if not spectacular:
Common Achievements:
First Words – 10 tickets, 100 pointsFirst Steps – 10 tickets, 100 pointsFirst Skill – 10 tickets, 100 pointsFirst Craft – 10 tickets, 100 points
Common Quests:
Upgrade Skill: Identify – 1 ticket, 10 pointsMake a Weapon – 1 ticket, 10 pointsDaily Training – 3 tickets, 30 points
Total: 45 tickets, 430 points
Though no quests or achievements above Common difficulty have appeared, the consistent gains have been valuable. I opened my status window, observing my slow but steady progress.
Status
Age – 5Strength – 3Defense – 2Dexterity – 3Stamina – 4Intelligence – 16
Skills
Identify (Lv. 4/50)Crafting (Lv. 2/50)
Titles
None
Almost all of my stats were higher than the other kids my age. It didn't make me feel superior; it just made me feel prepared. Like I was studying for an exam I couldn't afford to fail.
It's been a few days since that incident with the wolf, and while I'm still healing, physically and mentally, I've decided it's time to check out the System's Gacha. I sat cross-legged on the floor, the faint flicker of candlelight dancing across my room. My body still ached in places I didn't want to talk about, but curiosity had been gnawing at me nonstop.
I have 55 tickets. Not bad. The reason I held off before is simple—single pulls suck. The ten-times gacha has a much better chance of giving me something useful. It also tailors rewards based on my current stats, achievements, skills, and titles. So the stronger I get, the better the loot.
I stared at the shimmering system interface floating midair like a transparent panel from some sci-fi movie. My finger hovered over the button.
"I'll use 30 tickets for now. If I get garbage, I stop. If I hit the jackpot... maybe I'll go all in."
Click. Ten-times Gacha activated.
+1 (Item: Ten Zippleback Scales)+1 (Item: Ten Leather Pelts)+1 (Item: Sharp Iron Knife)+1 (Item: Sturdy Iron Shield)+1 (Skill - Passive: Accelerated Thinking)+1 (Item: Sharp Small Iron Sword)+1 (Skill - Passive: Genius)...
I blinked. Then blinked again.
"Wait... two passive skills? Two?!" My heart skipped. "System, what are the odds of this?"
System: "The probability of receiving a passive skill in a single pull is approximately 0.83%. Receiving two in one gacha pull is statistically improbable."
I frowned. "Okay, but I have a really high intelligence stat for my age, right? Doesn't that boost my chances?"
System: "Correct. Your intelligence score increases passive skill probability to 2%. You still beat the odds by a significant margin. Current analysis: Host experienced extraordinary luck."
I dropped to my knees, arms raised toward the ceiling. "Thank you, RNG gods! Thank you for letting me keep my memories and turning me into a literal five-year-old prodigy!"
System: "…"
I squinted at the interface. "...Did you just pause?"
System: "No, Host."
"You totally did. You're learning sarcasm, aren't you?"
System: "System parameters do not include emotional simulation. You are hallucinating."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," I muttered, grinning. "Anyway, let's roll again."
Click. Second ten-times gacha.
+1 (Item: Ten Zippleback Scales)+1 (Item: Ten Leather Pelts)+1 (Item: Sharp Iron Knife)+1 (Item: Sturdy Iron Shield)+1 (Skill: Knife Combat)+1 (Item: Sharp Small Iron Sword)+1 (Item: Ten Leather Pelts)+1 (Item: Sharp Iron Knife)+1 (Item: Skill Upgrade Card)+1 (Item: Sharp Small Iron Sword)
"YES! YES! Let's GO!" I jumped up, nearly knocking over the candle. "Skill Upgrade Card and a combat skill!"
System: "Analysis: Only one item is of value. Physical combat skills such as 'Knife Combat' can be learned through moderate training. The Skill Upgrade Card, however, is rare."
I stared, deadpan. "So you're telling me I just got excited over something I could've picked up by stabbing a tree for two days?"
System: "Correct."
"Me…"
System: "Yes, Host?"
"...You bastard."
System: "Host appears emotionally unstable. Recommending rest."
"Shut up. One more pull."
Click. Third ten-times gacha.
...I didn't even need to check. "No skills. No cards. Just repeat. I got scammed."
I gritted my teeth and whispered, "System, didn't you say I had good luck?"
System: "Had."
"You son of a—"
Creeeak.
I froze. My head whipped toward the door. There stood Hiccup, leaning slightly against the frame, brow raised like he'd walked into something mildly concerning but mostly stupid.
"Uh..." I opened my mouth, trying to explain why I was yelling at thin air.
"Breakfast's ready," he said, not even asking. "You coming?"
I hesitated, then let out a breath. "Yeah. Just gimme a minute."
Dinner helped. Roast fish, some crispy root veggies, and a quiet, comforting atmosphere. I didn't say much. Hiccup didn't press.
When I returned to my room, the system interface was still waiting—softly glowing. I sat down, hands on my knees.
"Okay… time to stop relying on luck. Time to build a plan."
I pulled out a scrap of parchment and a bit of charcoal.
Future Plans
Train Daily: Master at least one weapon—preferably knives or short blades. Physical prowess is essential in this world.Study Dragons: Research their anatomy, habits, and weaknesses. Focus especially on prevalent types like Zipplebacks and Nadders. Knowledge is the first line of defense.Improve Stats: Engage in consistent exercise, meditation, and seek out combat experience. Every point gained is a step toward survival.Exploit the System: Diligently complete quests and unlock achievements. Understand and utilize the system's scaling mechanics to maximize gains.Build Relationships: Allies are power. Understanding people, their motivations, and forging strong bonds can be as crucial as any skill.
I'm five years old in a world where dragons can burn down villages. I can't afford to waste time. I looked up at the ceiling. "Luck won't carry me forever."
The System pinged quietly in my mind.
System: "Calculated projection: Host will exceed average adult Viking capabilities in under six years, given current progress."
I smirked. "Damn right I will. Let's get to work."
The village was quiet when I slipped out of the house—just the wind brushing past rooftops and the distant clatter of the forge. The morning mist clung to the ground like a secret, and my feet made soft prints in the dew-damp grass.
I had my satchel with me—some chalk, a crude wooden knife, and a thin scrap of hide where I'd started sketching out my "plan." It wasn't much, but it was a start. I was tired of feeling powerless. If I was going to survive in this world—thrive in it—I needed to get stronger. Smarter. Now.
"Alright," I muttered, stepping into the clearing just beyond the ridge. "Warm-up, then drills. One hundred swings. No excuses."
I began, counting softly under my breath, adjusting my footing every few strokes. My grip wobbled. My arms trembled. But I kept going.
By the time I reached twenty, I heard a soft crunch of footsteps behind me. I didn't stop.
"You're gonna get blisters if you keep holding it like that," came a small, hesitant voice.
I lowered the knife and turned. There he was—Hiccup, my twin, standing half-shielded behind a tree, arms wrapped tightly around himself. His tunic was crooked and his hair flopped over his eyes. He looked like he wasn't sure if he should be here.
"Did I wake you?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He shook his head quickly. "You... you weren't in bed. I got worried."
I smiled. "I'm fine. Just training. Wanted to get ahead."
Hiccup stepped closer, glancing nervously at the stick in my hand. "Training for what?"
"For dragons," I said simply. "For life. For everything. I don't want to be caught unprepared."
He chewed his lip. "Dragons haven't even shown up here in ages. What if... what if they never do?"
"Then I'll just be over-prepared. But if they do come back..." I tightened my grip on the knife. "I won't let anyone I care about get hurt."
He looked down. "You mean me?"
I blinked. Then crouched down and gave him a gentle punch in the shoulder. "Of course I mean you, dummy. You're my twin. We're in this together."
He gave a tiny smile, then sat on a nearby rock and watched me silently for a while.
"You could practice too, y'know," I said after a minute. "Even if it's just a little."
"I'm not strong like you."
"Neither am I. Yet."
He hesitated, then reached into his cloak and pulled out a small stick—clearly picked with great care. "I brought this... just in case."
I stood up and motioned to the space beside me. "Come on, then. I'll show you the basics."
He approached like I was inviting him to wrestle a Gronckle, but he nodded. I taught him the stance, how to keep his feet planted, and how not to swing like a windmill. He was shaky at first. But he listened. Focused. And when he managed a decent jab, I grinned and clapped.
"See? Not bad for a scaredy-yak."
He frowned. "I'm not that scared."
"No," I said, softer. "You're not."
We kept practicing until the sun started to rise, casting gold over the cliffs. My arms were sore. He was shaking. But we'd started something. Something real.
Before we left, Hiccup tugged on my sleeve.
"You're not gonna sneak out again without me, right?"
I looked at him—smaller, quieter, but still standing there, stick in hand.
"No. We train together now."
He smiled, and I saw a flicker of the fire I knew he had inside.
It started with just the two of us, fumbling around with sticks in the early morning mist.
Day by day, we came back to the same clearing. By the third morning, our footprints had worn a trail into the grass, and the rock we used to rest on had a permanent butt-shaped dent. We had no real teacher. No structure. Just instinct, determination—and the occasional whispered idea stolen from overheard conversations between Stoick and Gobber.
Day 4 "Left foot forward, Hiccup." "It is forward!" "Your other left, genius." We collapsed laughing. I threw a pinecone at him. He retaliated with two. We didn't get much done that day, but it still counted.
Day 6 I built a crude obstacle course out of sticks, logs, and old buckets. Hiccup looked at it like I'd constructed a death trap. "We're five," he said, blinking. "Exactly. Better to fall off a bucket now than off a dragon later." We raced. I won. He tripped. I helped him up. He tried again. That night, he asked me, shyly, if I thought he'd ever be good at it. "You're already getting better," I said. "You don't even cry when you fall anymore." He punched my arm. It barely hurt, but I pretended it did.
Day 9 We sparred with broom handles. I wasn't expecting him to fake left and jab me in the ribs. I doubled over, laughing and wheezing. He stood there stunned for a second, then grinned. "Did I win?" "You cheated." "It's called strategy." I ruffled his hair and told him I was proud. He didn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.
Day 12 It rained. We didn't stop. Mud soaked our boots. Our sticks slipped from our hands. But we practiced footwork anyway—slow, awkward movements, counting steps aloud like a song. "One, two, turn. One, two, back." By the time we trudged back inside, dripping and shivering, Gobber nearly had a fit. But Stoick just stared at us—two soaked five-year-olds, determined and exhausted—and didn't say a word. That night, I caught Hiccup staring at his hands. "Do you think... will we ever be strong enough?" I didn't hesitate. "We're already stronger than we were yesterday."
Day 15 Our balance was better. Our swings had rhythm. We stopped swinging wildly and started aiming. We even began mimicking the moves of warriors we'd watched from behind crates during training drills. Hiccup still flinched sometimes when I shouted too loud. But when he was focused—when he forgot to be scared—he moved like someone with purpose. Like someone who'd forgotten he was ever timid.
We carved a line into the old oak tree near the training grounds—one line for each day we trained. By the fifteenth line, the bark was scarred.
But so were we. And we were proud of that.