The forge still smelled the same—hot iron, burnt leather, smoke—but everything else had changed. I'm taller now, stronger. Years of relentless weapon drills have broadened my shoulders, and countless winters have hardened my hands. They're calloused from blades, from splinters, from survival.
Hiccup stood beside me—leaner, sharper, no longer the boy who flinched at every shout. His eyes were calm now, focused. He still moved quietly, deliberately—but with confidence, not fear. He'd built something strange the night before. Again. A rotating blade contraption he swore could cut rope mid-air. I didn't quite get it.
Gobber did. He always did.
"You two are a nightmare," Gobber muttered that morning, handing us each a whetstone. "Train too much, think too much, sleep far too little. It's unnatural."
"We're preparing," I said, inspecting the edge of my sword, its polished surface reflecting the forge fire.
"For what?" he asked, a knowing glint in his eye.
We didn't answer. We didn't need to.
The village sees us differently now—some with pride, some with a lingering, wary fear. Stoick rarely says much anymore, but his silences have grown louder. He watches us like a man bracing for a storm he knows he can't stop. I think he knows we carved our own path long ago—and that he can't drag us back from it. Especially not me. Especially not us.
That evening, we stood at the cliffside. Our place. The wind was stronger now, saltier, heavier. Hiccup raised a spyglass to his eye, scanning the horizon.
"Expecting a ship?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. Something bigger."
"Dragon bigger?"
"Maybe."
He lowered the glass slowly, his gaze distant. "Do you ever think we trained too hard?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper against the roaring wind.
I laughed—dry, low. "No. I think the world's just slow to catch up."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. I looked at him—really looked—and for a flicker, I saw that scared five-year-old again. But only for a moment.
We didn't say it, but we both knew. Something was coming. Something big enough to make ten years of training matter. And this time? We wouldn't be watching from the sidelines. We'd be the ones to change everything.
Later, I headed into the forest to train. I always did my best thinking there. I spent more time among the trees than in my own home. The forest was honest. The wind didn't lie. The trees didn't judge. And every creature had only one question for me: "Are you prey, or predator?"
Tonight, I was predator.
The air was sharp, rich with pine and tension. I moved low, silent, senses open. I set traps earlier—simple snares, triplines, a firetrap hidden beneath fallen leaves. Just in case.
A rustle. A blur of fur. Three wolves lunged from the underbrush, hungry and bold. I pivoted sideways, drew my shortblade, and dropped the first one with a strike to the throat. Fast, clean. The second one grazed my leg before I turned into its charge and slammed it with my shoulder, driving a dagger into its side. The third snapped at my arm—teeth scraping metal. I let it take a bite of leather and punched the pommel of my blade into its eye. It yelped, and I kicked it off. A firetrap went off behind me—light and heat searing the dark as the snare caught its hind leg.
I stood breathing hard, blood dripping from my knuckles. I'd taken a hit—but I was still standing. Years ago, I would've run. Now I track, strike, bleed, survive.
Farther north, deeper into the wood, I found bear tracks—fresh, heavy. I followed them on instinct. A stupid idea. But sometimes, you need to know what's still stronger than you.
The bear was massive. Scarred. One eye white. It saw me before I wanted it to. Charged. I sidestepped the first swipe, barely. Its claws caught my coat. I used that momentum, ducked low, and slashed across its ribs. It roared—pain, not fear. That was bad.
It reared up. I rolled behind a fallen log as it slammed down, cracking bark and shaking the ground. I reached for a smoke pouch—blinded it—then darted in and stabbed its thigh. It turned, quicker than I thought, and caught me with a backhanded swipe.
Pain bloomed across my ribs. I tasted blood.
I didn't fall. I didn't scream. I calculated.
"Battle Trance," I whispered. Power surged. Limbs steadied. Time slowed.
I leapt onto its back, dug both blades deep into the muscle behind its shoulder. It bucked, roared—but I held on. I drove the knives deeper until the beast finally staggered, crashed, and stilled.
I stood over it, chest heaving, muscles trembling.
I didn't kill for pride. I didn't fight for fun. I had to.
Because I knew—out there, beyond the trees and cliffs, something worse than wolves or bears was waiting. And when it came? I wouldn't hesitate.
Age: 15 Race: Human
Titles
Protector (Passive): "+5 Defense when defending others."Relentless (Passive): "Consecutive attacks restore 1% stamina per hit (stacks up to 5)."Tactician (Passive): "+10% effectiveness using traps, terrain, or strategy."Dragon-Sighted (Passive): "Enhances Identify and reaction time in dragon encounters."Ironblood Trainee (Passive): "Minor resistance to bleeding and stun effects from beast-class enemies."Beastwalker (Passive): "+5% movement speed and +10% stealth against animal-type enemies in natural environments."Lone Fang (Passive): "+5% damage and +5 Defense vs. beast-class enemies when fighting solo."Woundforged (Passive): "+2 Strength and +1 Dexterity when below 50% HP."Forest Reaper (Passive): "+5% critical hit chance against creatures that have previously wounded you or your allies."
Stats
Strength: 13Defense: 14Dexterity: 11Stamina: 16Intelligence: 20
Passive Skills
Pain Resistance (Lv. 18/50)Beast Slayer (Lv. 10/50)Tactical Analysis (Lv. 7/50)Environmental Combat (Lv. 8/50) (gained from fighting in the woods)Crafting (Lv. 12/50)Identify (Lv. 10/50)Genius (Lv. 1/1): "Grants exceptional problem-solving ability; +15% effectiveness in strategy, crafting, and tactical planning."Accelerated Thinking (Lv. 1/1): "Reaction time and decision-making speed drastically improved in combat and crisis scenarios; reduces hesitation delay and boosts response efficiency."Weapon Genius (Lv. 1/1): "When training with a weapon, increase proficiency gained."Versatile Arsenal (Lv. 10/50): "Proficient in any weapon (gained from learning to use +10 types of weapons)."
Active Skills
Battle Trance (Lv. 6/50): "Temporarily boosts all physical stats by +2 for 12 seconds. Cooldown: 55 seconds."
A sound like the sky shattering split the cliffs in two—thunder, tearing canvas, and something deeper. Something ancient. Primal.
The villagers froze. I didn't.
"Hiccup!" I shouted, already sprinting.
He was beside me in a blink, his spyglass rattling in his grip, breath caught in his chest. "They're coming," he whispered, his voice hollow.
Across the sea, the sky boiled black—wings. Hundreds. No, thousands. A living storm blotting out the sun. Then fire fell.
The west end exploded in a pillar of flame. The shockwave knocked me sideways. A Gronckle tore through a roof in a shower of timber, roaring smoke and molten fury. A Monstrous Nightmare streaked past like a comet of living flame, whipping infernos in its wake. Hay carts burst like bombs. Fences disintegrated. Children screamed.
Villagers ran. I ran into the fire.
Steel hissed free from my scabbard.
Hiccup hesitated—just for a heartbeat. Then he bolted. "To the forge!"
"Hiccup—!"
"I'll catch up! GO!"
Gobber was already at the armory, hurling blades, shields—anything with an an edge. "This isn't a raid!" he bellowed. "It's war!"
Stoick surged into the chaos like a battering ram, axe splitting air, scale, and bone. He moved like a landslide. But even mountains fall.
A Nightmare strafed overhead. A roof exploded. I dove through smoke and flame, tumbling behind a shrieking Gronckle. Its tail slammed into the dirt beside me—crack!—shrapnel of stone and bone.
I drove my shield into its snout. It reared, howling. It swiped—barrel-sized claws blurring toward my head. I dropped. Rolled. Slammed my blade into the joint under its shoulder. The Gronckle shrieked, wings flailing. Blood sprayed. Then it launched skyward, vanishing into smoke.
Heat clawed my skin. Screams tangled with the thunder of wings. My ears rang. The air tasted of ash and panic.
A Deadly Nadder exploded from an alley, shrieking. A girl stood in its path. Frozen.
I moved. I threw myself between them, shield raised—
Claws slammed into me. White-hot pain shot through my ribs. I held.
"RUN!" I roared, blood in my mouth.
She bolted.
The Nadder reared—its spines rattling—
Thunk!
Its wings jerked. It staggered mid-leap.
I looked up. Hiccup. On a rooftop. Launcher smoking.
"Nice shot!" I gasped.
No answer. He was already reloading—quick, precise—shaking.
Behind me: fire.
I spun—too late.
A Nightmare dropped into the square, wings fanned like war banners, jaws gaping.
I raised my shield—
FIRE.
Agony swept over me like a wave. I hit a snowbank, steam hissing off my armor. I rolled, came up soaked and smoked.
Then I charged.
Steel met scale.
I slammed my shield into its face. It shrieked, reared, jaws snapping inches from my head. I dove aside—fire licking my boots—then sprinted up its spine, sword raised. I hacked at its wing. It twisted, roared, and threw me.
I hit the ground so hard my vision went black.
But I was up.
Again.
It turned—jaws wide.
Thunk! Another bolt. Neck shot. It faltered.
I lunged, blade drawn, and buried it inches from its eye.
It blinked.
And ran.
Berk was burning. Houses crackled with fire, smoke pouring from thatched roofs. The scent of singed wood, boiling tar, and fear hung thick in the air. Chickens screeched. Someone was crying behind a shattered wall.
And I stood in the middle of it all—panting, scorched, blade drawn.
The Monstrous Nightmare stalked between the homes—claws gouging furrows in the dirt, breath lighting timber walls. It turned slowly. Deliberate. Like it had time.
I didn't. I heard a baby crying two houses down. Saw the blood streak vanishing into a collapsed doorway. I stepped forward. Battle Trance surged—heat receding, the world narrowing.
The Nightmare hissed, flame curling from its nostrils—then lunged. I ducked under a fallen beam, diving sideways. Teeth the size of my arm snapped shut where my head had been. The dragon's tail whipped around, smashing a barrel beside me—splinters tearing into my arm.
I grunted, rolled to my feet, and darted between two homes. The tight space slowed the beast. That was my edge. It followed, crushing a fence. I pivoted, slashing across its knee. The blade scraped bone. The dragon roared, lashed out—I raised my shield.
Wood shattered. I flew back, crashing through a rain barrel—water and blood soaking me. I forced myself up. Vision blurring. Chest screaming.
But still—standing.
"Come on," I rasped, stepping back into the narrow lane.
The dragon reared, wings brushing rooftops, setting them alight. Its eyes locked on me—furious, glowing. It breathed. Fire roared through the alley.
I ran straight at it. Accelerated Thinking kicked in—flames, falling shingles, the arc of destruction slowing to a crawl. I dove through an open window, crashed through a smoky house, and burst from the back just as the fire reached it.
I leapt from the rooftop, crashing down on the Nightmare's back. It twisted, shrieking, smashing into a wall. I held on, legs locked around its spine. I brought my sword down—once, twice—finding the seam behind its skull.
The beast screamed. Flung itself backward into a house.
The wall crumbled.
They both went down.
I hit the cobblestones hard. My sword skittered away.
The dragon rose—barely. Blood spilling from its mouth.
So did I.
No blade now. Just instinct. I grabbed a charred roof beam and jammed it into the dragon's eye.
It spasmed. Shrieked.
Collapsed.
Silence fell. Fire crackled. A roof groaned and gave way. I stumbled back, coughing, soaked in soot and blood.
From behind a ruined door, a mother stepped out, clutching a toddler. Trembling. She looked at me—not like a boy. Like something older. Something dangerous.
"You're safe now," I muttered. Then turned, limping toward the next scream. Still bleeding. Still moving.
Behind me, villagers stumbled from the ruins—coughing, crying—but alive.
"To the cliff caves!" I bellowed. "Now! Get the wounded!"
A Zippleback erupted into the square—twin heads, twin infernos. Gas and spark turning the air to fire.
I ran. Called my sword from my inventory. Leapt. Grabbed its tail. Climbed fast, blade drawn. I jammed the sword between its necks. It screamed. Bucked. One head twisted toward me—mouth wide. I shoved my hilt into its jaws and kicked off, flipping through open flame.
I hit the dirt. Rolled. Gasped.
Back on my feet. Still moving.
I pulled a man from the rubble. Shielded a boy with my back. Herded the injured through collapsing alleys. Behind us, a house exploded.
My sword was dull. My shield cracked. My arms—numb. Body—bruised and burning.
Still—I fought.
Not to win.
To hold the line.
To protect.
To endure.
By the time the last dragon vanished into the smoke-choked sky, I was soaked in blood. Some mine. Most not. I'd fought what felt like a dozen. Maybe more. My memory was fire and motion, a blur of roars and steel and burning timber.
But I stood.
Not from luck.
From ten years of drills. Of scars. Of purpose.
I stared at the burning horizon, lungs torn from screaming. No victory. No celebration. Only questions.
Why?
Why now?
Why so many?
What drove them?
Hiccup stumbled beside me. Soot-smeared. Hands burned. Eyes wide and lost.
"You're bleeding."
"So are you." I managed a grin. Lopsided. Bleeding.
We laughed—raw, broken, too tired to breathe.
Then I said it.
"This wasn't a raid."
Hiccup nodded. Haunted.
I turned to our shattered home, to the smoldering ruins of Berk. A fierce, cold resolve hardened in my gut.
And made a vow.
Next time—
I wouldn't just fight.
I'd understand.
And stop it.
Before it ever began.