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There was no honeymoon that night; only the sea as its cruel mistress.
Night arrived slowly over the ocean, laying long shadows across the rising tide. Slanting rays of moonlight gave a ghostly silver glow to the smoke-colored clouds, and a cool breeze rose, waking from the languor of the day. The horizon stretched out endlessly ahead, a seamless line of ink where dark blues and bottle-greens pitched and rolled beneath the weight of the incoming dark.
Upon rising drafts near the shore drifted the forked tails of swallows, long wings catching the lift of the wind as they traced delicate arcs over the surf, dipping into dappled shadows and rising back into the moon's light, sweeping low to catch the buzzing swarm of insects seeking shelter before the storm.
A spray of cold blue shattered upward as a black streak tore across the horizon. Startled, a pair of swallows hurtled aside, their lilting chatter snapping into shrill alarm as they veered from the path of collision, wings flashing silver before they vanished into the gloom.
But the black streak had already passed, far too fixated on its flight to heed the indignation of small birds, and far too fast to hear their warbling displeasure.
Tucked low in the saddle, the youth astride the dragon seemed less of a rider than part of the creature itself, pressed close to the scales and leveling sights, aligned with the creature's sleek form as though carved from the same dark stone. They moved as one, every turn and twist in perfect harmony, every shift of bone and sinew mirrored without hesitation, pulling off daring feats of spirals and dives with the easy grace of long-borne instinct.
With a sudden jackknife ascent, the dragon cleaved toward the sky, its body slicing through swollen thunderheads as wings unfurled to their limit, muscle and membrane straining and snapping taut against the rushing air; higher and higher, speed gathering like a fever, wind roaring in their ears as they rolled and tumbled through pale veils of cloud, weaving among high-flying birds that glided in formation, the world below shrinking to a distant smear of rock and foam.
But even though they seemed the perfect image of unbridled freedom, bursting with exhilaration and the unmatched glee of flight, Hiccup's eyesight was blurred with a sheen of tears.
With a shrill, keening whistle that split the night, the black streak folded its wings and plunged toward the sea, plummeting with the force of an avalanche loosed from a mountain's spine, the ocean rushing up in a dark, churning blur—until, at the final breath before impact, the dragon snapped into a tight barrel roll and tore back skyward, wingtips skimming spray, powerful strokes beating against the wind as resolve hardened in every line of his body.
They drove upward through towering cumulonimbus, through swollen vaults of storm clouds, where cold, damp air clung to him, and the promise of rain beaded along scales and lashes.
The dragon flung his head high, chest arching, and carved a wide, jubilant loop against the bruised sky before pitching steeply upward once more; when the air thinned and their climb faltered, he let himself stall and tumble backward in a carefree spill, tumbling back over himself, tongue lolling in open-mouthed delight.
Hiccup wished he could do the same, that he could fling his arms wide and give himself to the rush of free fall, trusting the sky to catch him as it always did his dragon; but he couldn't. No matter how many times they spun or dove, no matter how violently he chased the horizon, one thought kept coming back to him, forcing itself to the forefront of his mind before a single breath of joy could settle. Words echoed in his head, heartache slicing through his chest like a dull knife, refusing to leave.
The wind whistled in his ears, slicing past his eyes until they burned and he squeezed them shut for a second. He pressed himself lower against the dragon's back, as though he might dissolve into him, become one. His bare hands locked around the saddle's handle, knuckles whitening, fingers cramping from the strain as they dipped and rolled and knifed through the sky, riding the currents with the instinctive ease of something ancient, something born for this.
He wanted to forget.
Opening his eyes to the grey sky, he recalled faraway days of sailing along on his father's ship, head tipped back to watch the darkening heavens, the weight of worry settling cold in his chest. He could almost feel the solid thud of a hook against his shoulder, hear the gravel-worn cadence of Gobber's warning carried over the wind.
"There is nothing as fickle and unstable as a sudden storm at sea. Remember that, Hiccup."
He remembered, but he simply hadn't cared enough when he chose to leave.
The need to leave had been too strong, guiding his steps in a blur toward his dragon and into the sky. Toothless had sensed his inner turmoil, his sudden sorrow-stricken expression leaving no room for hesitation. It surprised him every day, this unwavering faith, how trusting Toothless was of him, how readily to act. Hiccup had wanted to leave, and so they left.
Rising wind rasped his skin and made the dragon's tailfin flicker. Toothless shifted and rolled with the motion of it, muscles bunching as he cut across the rising gusts, and Hiccup's hands tightened around the saddle, leather creaking beneath his grip. Beneath them the sea heaved in a mounting swell, grey with woe, crying out in agony beneath the god of thunder shaking with fury.
A roof of clouds gathered above their heads, smothering the last frail wisps of the moon. The first splatter of rain soon followed, striking his hand and his hair, darkening the worn fabric of his tunic and the edges of his armor until they clung heavier against his frame. He hunched instinctively, shoulders curling inward, chin dipping in a futile attempt to bar the chill from slipping down his collar and along his spine.
Yet even as he braced himself he knew the storm would not be kept at bay.
Great. Just… great.
From the horizon it came in earnest: rain unfurling in long, slanted sheets, moving with the wrath of a scorned lover. Wind skimmed low across the ocean, gathering the waves into sharp, white-capped ridges that chased one another in frantic succession. The downpour thickened into a silver veil, rushing toward them.
Hiccup cast his gaze to the heavens, as if trying to look into Valhalla itself with all his stubbornness and misfortune of the past few days, and in his thoughts he cursed the gods—but never out loud.
Moments later, the rain finally caught up with him. It crashed over them in a single, drenching sweep, soaking him to the bone in seconds, plastering his hair across his brow and weighing down his lashes until the world blurred into streaks of grey and white. It swallowed the horizon, enclosing them with a shifting wall so dense it was near impossible to see beyond the length of Toothless' neck. Thunder rolled closer now, an omen no Viking welcomed, and no son of one could ignore.
He knew there was nothing he could do but try to find the storm's end.
Hiccup drove his prosthesis down in the stirrup, and the prosthetic fin flared, catching the air, and Toothless surged higher in response—only for a brutal gust to slam into them broadside, tearing at wing and rider alike. The dragon lurched, thrown off balance, and Hiccup clung to the saddle with white-knuckled desperation, every muscle straining to keep himself from being ripped away and swallowed by the churning abyss below.
The sea writhed and burst in frothing upheaval, pale-crested waves clawing upward like frostbitten fingers reaching to drag him down, and a spike of cold fear lanced through his spine at the thought that if they struck that water, they might never rise from it again.
"We have to seek cover!" he shouted into the gale, his voice drawn thin by the wind.
Toothless answered with a low, warbling call, ears perking as he loosed a pulse of sound into the storm, but nothing returned. He snorted, shook his head, and tried again. Still nothing. Hiccup tilted his prosthetic foot in the saddle and they banked towards the right, gambling on the promise of land somewhere in the dark. Staying aloft was no longer an option, the storm was swelling too quickly, thickening with every breath.
Icy rain needled against Hiccup's already soaked skin, and the dragon was tossed about like a lost scrap of parchment in the tempests, flashes of midnight against the grey, wings straining as they fought the gale. Beneath them, the ocean rose in mountainous swells, water made wrathful, towering and pitiless.
Darkness deepened until it felt almost tangible, clouds collapsing over the sky and blotting out what little light remained. The wind clawed at the sea, wrenching it upward into roaring crests, while dense sheets of rain blurred Hiccup's vision to a narrow, wavering tunnel. The fear of colliding with something unseen twisted his stomach tight, a sailor's dread he knew too well.
They skimmed lower, hoping to escape the worst of the screaming winds above, trading one danger for another as thunder cracked overhead with a violent snap. Hiccup flinched despite himself. Lightning, not one of his favorite things. The faint memory of metal and a ship's mast emerged, a blinding white heat tearing through him as he fell. His left foot tingled, remembering well what iron coaxed from the sky.
It seemed he was not in the gods' favor today, and he wondered vaguely if it was because of the conversation he'd had with his father. It wouldn't surprise him if it was.
Still low to the ocean, Toothless stretched his wings wide and hauled himself upward just in time to clear a monstrous wave that loomed before them like a wall of moving stone. It was nearly impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. Another call of echolocation followed, and Toothless climbed again, shaking his great head to fling away droplets. Instinctively, Hiccup flattened himself along the dragon's neck, arms wrapping close in a protective shield.
"It's going to be okay, bud," he said, nearly swallowed by the storm. "I promise."
The gale answered with a hiss, lashing his face raw, burning his eyes and freezing his cheeks until they felt carved from ice. Toothless rocked and reeled beneath him like a plaything in the hands of gods, wings buckling under relentless pressure, body shuddering as he fought to steady their course.
Cold pressed in from every direction, cinching around Hiccup's skull like a tightening band, and he found himself wishing fiercely for the simple shelter of a helmet against the biting air.
Toothless roared once more into the void, ears straining, head swinging side to side in desperate search of shelter, of a cliff, of anything that would answer back. His wings beat with punishing force, heart hammering beneath Hiccup's chest where he lay braced against him.
Suddenly, a vortex reared up from the chaos, swallowing wind and rain into its spiraling depth, and before Hiccup knew it they were seized and dragged inward. The violent spin wrenched his stomach into his throat as though it meant to escape him entirely, the world turning end over end in a sickening blur, and he was thrown off.
More cold surrounded him.
Coughing, Hiccup broke the surface.
Air rushed into his lungs in a ragged wheeze as the freezing sea battered him from all sides, currents colliding and rebounding in violent confusion; he flung his arms wide and kicked hard beneath the surface, fighting to keep his head above water while waves rose and collapsed around him. He had never been a strong swimmer, but he knew enough to survive if needed. If he could just find Toothless…
Before he had the chance to call out to his dragon, a towering swell crashed over him and drove him under again, breath cut short.
The ocean toyed with him cruelly, shoving him this way and that like a scrap of driftwood caught in a riptide, and each time he fought his way back to the surface, another surge dragged him down before he could fill his lungs. When he did manage to break through the foam once more, panic flared sharp and bright in his chest at the sight of nothing, only a heaving wasteland of ink-dark water beneath a sky stripped of stars. He couldn't have drifted off that far, could he?
Wind shrieked past his ears, rain hammering the surface into a frenzy of splintering droplets, and the roar of waves devoured every sound he made, so that each hoarse cry for Toothless dissolved into the storm as if it had never existed at all.
He gulped another breath, before the current seized him again and dragged him down, his soaked clothes clinging heavy and his metal leg pulling at him like an anchor.
Cold closed around him, stiffening his limbs, stealing strength from muscle and marrow. His arms and legs burned with effort, then dulled, sensation ebbing as he thrashed against the deep, his own boots barely visible through the churning green-blue murk. Above him, only fractured glimpses of foaming white marked the place where air and water met; below, the vast, unbroken dark yawned open like the maw of some great beast.
He kicked hard, swung his arms upward toward the distant shimmer of light, jaw clenched as saltwater forced its way into his mouth and nose, rasping down his throat and scalding his lungs.
His dragon was nowhere to be seen, lost in the rage of the storm.
The current shifted. It tugged him sharply to the left, drawing him sideways and down with a sickening motion, the water around him funneling as though inhaling for something. Dread hollowed his chest as recognition struck: a wave was building. He looked up, heart hammering against his ribs as the swell rose above him, a towering wall of black-green that curled inward upon itself, hovering for one long, terrible moment before collapsing.
Right onto him.
The impact drove him deeper than before, icy water flooding his mouth, his nose, even his ears. He sank helplessly, limbs refusing him, the cold numbing thought as thoroughly as flesh, the world turning instantly to muffled thunder and stinging salt. Bursts of white flared behind his eyes.
The water slowly turned dark, dark blue fading to murky green, to depthless black. His movements turned sluggish, the frantic edge of terror dampening into a quiet, creeping dread as he realized how far he had already fallen. He tried to twist upward, to claw his way back toward the faintest trace of light, but his strength bled from him, each kick weaker than the last.
The cold was immense, crushing, stripping sensation from his skin, capturing him in its silent, sinking embrace.
His eyes drifted closed.
In that dimming quiet, he wondered, hazily, whether it might be easier to stop fighting, to let the dark cradle him and carry him, to surrender to the slow pull of the depths and allow the ocean to finish what it had begun.
Flickers of light burst behind his lids, fractured, mingling with echoes that sounded almost like laughter threaded through water.
This is it. I could be free.
Free from the Dragon Hunters and their relentless war. Free from their merciless chief and the cruel games he delighted in playing.
Free from his disappointed father, from a tribe that had never quite known what to make of him. Free from expectation. Free from failure. Free from Toothless.
Hiccup's eyes flew open.
Toothless.
Silver bubbles tore from his nose and parted lips, spiraling upward in frantic ascent, and with a surge born of something deeper than fear, he lashed out against the water, arms clawing, legs kicking with feral desperation as he forced himself toward the faint shimmer far above. The murk thinned from pitch to green to a trembling grey, and the promise of the surface beckoned like a distant star. He had to reach it.
His chest convulsed painfully, lungs collapsing inward with the desperate need for air, every heartbeat a violent drum against his ribs. If he did not break through soon, the darkness would not loosen its hold. It would take him. It would drown him.
The salt stung his eyes, but he dared not close them, too afraid to lose the light. But he wasn't fast enough. His soddened clothes burdened every stroke of his arms, his metal leg hauling him two steps back for every step forward. He reached out with all his might, kicking fiercely for every last hitch of air still left in him, to touch the surface, to graze it, have it.
Almost there...
Too late, a voice whispered in his head.
Something grabbed his leg, yanking him down into the depths.
Bubbles erupted from him in a desperate scatter as he thrashed, kicking wildly. Something had grabbed his leg, right at his ankle, wrapped around it like a rope. He twisted in the dark to wrench himself free, panic splintering his thoughts, but the hold only tightened. Air. He needed air.
His hands fumbled toward the hilt of Inferno at his thigh, but the straps were slick and his fingers numb, unresponsive in the frigid black.
Pressure built in his skull, pounding harder than hammer to anvil, his vision bleeding red at the edges as his mouth fell open against his will. Nothing filled his lungs but water. His limbs grew heavy, uncoordinated, the current dragging him in one direction while the unseen thing pulled in another, until there was no sense of up or down—only cold, tightening like winter ice around his bones.
Through half-lidded eyes he saw the light drifting farther away, shrinking, slipping beyond reach.
Then, a brilliant purple blast seared past his shoulder, and struck whatever had grabbed him in a violent explosion of bubbles and shockwave that rippled through the ocean. The grip on his leg broke, a distorted, gurgling howl sounding as the thing retreated into darkness. Before he could sink again, something seized the collar of his tunic and hauled him upward.
He broke through the surface in a choking gasp, head thrown back, eyes squinting against rain and salt and storm. A pair of bright green eyes burned into his own. Toothless!
He grabbed the handle of the saddle and the dragon beat his wings, hurtling them both up through the dark water, closer and closer to the surface until eventually, they broke through. The moment they touched air, Hiccup quickly placed his prosthesis in the stirrup and pushed down, pulling the metal structure up. The prosthetic fin tipped upwards, flaring wide, and Toothless shot straight up into the sky, only narrowly avoiding another colossal wave coming towards them.
Breathing was a nightmare, each ragged inhale shattered by violent coughs that clawed up from his lungs and stole the very air he fought to reclaim. He sagged forward, barely catching himself against Toothless' neck, arms trembling as though the sea had drained him and left nothing but bone and exhaustion behind. For a moment he could do little more than cling there, chest heaving, vision swimming.
But the storm had not tired of him yet.
The sea continued its relentless rise, dark swells lifting and falling beneath them, and when the north wind tore across the water with a sharpened edge, a cold certainty pierced his heart—this was how sailors were lost, how names were swallowed whole.
Lightning fractured the slate-grey sky in a sudden, blinding seam of white, striking the ocean in eerie silence before the thunder followed seconds later, rolling across the heavens with a deep, resounding boom.
Hiccup flinched at the sound, a low groan escaping him as his fingers locked tight around the saddle's handle.
Another bolt of white-hot lightning split the darkness, and for an instant everything vanished into brilliance, fire scorching across his vision until all he could see was blinding afterimage. Toothless sharp, distressed whine cut through the roar of the gale, and Hiccup knew the strike had been perilously close. Too close. The dragon shook his head, beating his wings harder in an effort to climb back into the air.
Their flight faltered, staggering sideways as a vicious gust hurled them off course. Toothless strained against it, fighting against the gale. Hiccup pushed his heel back in the stirrup, flaring the prosthetic tail and their flight leveled, but it didn't take long for this position to turn unsteady as well.
Worry tightened in his chest. Leaning low, he pressed a steadying hand against Toothless rain-slick scales. "Toothless, are you alright? Do we need to slow down?"
The Night Fury answered with a snarl and vehement shake of his head, green eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. Pride burned fiercely in him, the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself—any other day, Hiccup would have smiled at it, but this was no time for bravado, no time to test the limits of strength against a sky that showed no mercy.
One miscalculation here wouldn't mean a rough landing; it would mean the sea, stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the heat of Thor's wrath.
He felt the dragon's muscles coil beneath his thighs, taut as drawn bowstrings, and one clawed paw sliced through the air in frustrated adjustment, as if Toothless could grasp the invisible thing that was failing them and wrench it back into place. They lurched again, dipping unevenly, and this time Hiccup twisted sharply in the saddle, heart hammering as he looked back toward the tail.
A small flare of red and orange flickered where the prosthetic met living scale, unmistakable against the storm-dark.
Toothless' tail was on fire.
Oh gods.
"Are we anywhere near land?" he shouted over the shriek of wind, distress ringing clear through his voice.
Tilting his nose into the wind, Toothless cocked his head as he searched the dark. His tail flicked sharply and they dropped in a sudden, jarring descent that nearly tore Hiccup from the saddle once more, only instinct and the raw terror of being swallowed again by that merciless sea kept his hands locked tight.
The dragon let out another resonant pulse of echolocation, a deep, vibrating roar that vanished into rain and cloud before returning in the faintest whisper.
Something was there. Land.
Just a little longer.
With a determined snarl, Toothless drove his wings down harder, muscles bunching and straining as he forced more speed from exhausted limbs, chasing the promise of solid ground before flame devoured the mechanism that kept them aloft.
Hiccup stole a glance back at the prosthetic and felt his stomach knot; the fire still clung stubbornly to the fabric, red-orange tongues biting at it despite the torrent of rain, chewing through cloth until only a blackened iron skeleton showed beneath. He had half-expected the storm to drown it out by now, but the fire endured. If it burned much longer, there would be nothing left to steer with.
He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the slashing rain and peered ahead into the thinning gloom, desperate for some sign that this flight would not end in ruin. And then—a break in the wall of clouds. Silver-edged masses drifted apart, and beyond them light filtered through in pale, trembling shafts. Relief burst in his chest so suddenly it almost hurt, and a breathless laugh tore free of him, carried thin and wild on the wind.
It revealed an island Hiccup hadn't seen before, with steep cliffs rising from the sea like dark sentinels, their edges softened by an overgrowth of green so lush it blurred the outline of the land. Toothless saw it too; his wings snapped taut with renewed vigor, and he angled them toward that narrow promise of safety waiting for them.
They swept past jagged sea stacks jutting like broken teeth from the water, skimmed over a narrow stretch of sand, and cut across the coastline in a straight line. The downpour dwindled to a fine, misting drizzle behind them, and with it the worst of the storm's fury fell away. The crushing pressure in Hiccup's ears lifted, leaving a faint ringing in its wake, a ghost of thunder still humming in his skull.
He shivered violently, soaked through and shaking, and cursed himself for the rashness that had sent him fleeing with little more than what he wore. He should have known better.
Scanning the island as they cleared the last trailing edge of cloud, he spotted a wide glade not far inland, an open swath of earth carved between the trees, muddy but clear. It would do. Even if their landing faltered and they lost all control over their flight, the space would at least ensure they wouldn't hit any trees.
For a fleeting second, Hiccup thought he saw something at its center, a flicker of red against the muted greens and grays, but it escaped his mind when Toothless staggered again, wings flailing through the air and barely keeping straight as land formed beneath them. Hiccup refocused, bracing as they descended toward the clearing.
The Night Fury banked and began his glide, aiming for the heart of the open ground. But there it was again: fire, smoke rising in a dark column, curling into the heavy grey sky. He wondered, briefly, if it could be a dragon, another creature seeking shelter, breathing flame to dry soaked scales. But it didn't look right. The fire burned thicker, dirtier, too laden with black smoke to be dragon flame, which ran cleaner and brighter.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of it, but the details wouldn't be clear. It didn't matter. They needed to land more than they needed answers.
The island was a high-coast landscape, carved into sheer cliffs that towered over narrow bands of beach where white foam flung itself against stone. Greenery began abruptly at the cliff's edge, dense thickets and wild overgrowth tangling together in a mass that swallowed any path below. Had the situation not been so dire, he would probably have marked the island on his map and set out an expedition this very same day.
But then the stillness came, like thunder suddenly quelled.
An unsettling feeling ran down his spine, a low, instinctive warning that gnawed like a restless dragon beneath his ribs. His eyes widened, scanning, pupils darting from shadow to shadow. Something wasn't right. The flicker of flame caught his gaze again, burning stubbornly in the drizzle, sparks leaping and bending with the wind.
He leaned forward, squinting, trying to make out the silhouette of a dragon beside it—but there was none. No wing, no tail. Could it be…?
A voice pierced the quiet.
"FIRE!"
Toothless wrenched himself skyward before Hiccup could even react, wings beating in frantic ascent, the saddle jolting violently beneath Hiccup as each downbeat shuddered through them. A sharp crack tore the air apart, like thunder snapped, and something hissed past Hiccup's ear. Pain flared at the tip, hot and sudden. His hand flew to the side of his face.
More fires sprang alive across the glade, torches flaring bright.
Dragon Hunters.
His senses sharpened instantly, heart clenching hard enough to steal breath as he flattened himself against Toothless neck. His lungs, still raw from the sea, burned with every inhale, air slicing through his throat as he fought to steady himself. He twisted in the saddle, casting a frantic glance toward the tail, toward the prosthetic that was now little more than a smoldering framework of warped metal.
Under him came a deep, resonant blare. Horns. He heard men shouting, rough voices overlapping in command, dogs baying. Toothless stiffened beneath him at the canine growls, hackles rising, and answered with his own piercing banshee scream that split the clearing in defiance.
Between the chaos, the yelling and the dragon's call, Hiccup could find no place to focus. His ear throbbed where the arrow had grazed him, his chest ached from drowning, his ankle smarted from where the sea creature had grabbed him and his head was spinning. The world felt tilted, too fast and too slow all at once.
Through the blur, he saw it: a heavy catapult dragged into place, its wooden mouth angling toward the sky. Figures swarmed around it, voices scattered across the field and calling things he couldn't make out. Metal groaned under strain, mechanisms clicking into readiness. Terror flooded his veins, thick and metallic at the back of his tongue.
The shadow of a net unfurled on his right and Toothless swerved out of the way, dodging at the last second, rocking back and forth as he tried to compensate without full control of his tail. But Hiccup couldn't keep up, thoughts sluggish and mistimed, always a step behind. Toothless whined, confused and alarmed, trying to make sense of commands that came too late or not at all.
He had no spare tailfin, no pack, no backup—and nothing with which to make more, apart from the knowledge in his head and the skill in his hands, but what good were they? Even if he managed to escape, then what? Crash back into the sea with a crippled tail? Flee deeper into the island to be hunted through unfamiliar woods?
Toothless growled low in his chest as he folded his wings tight against his sides. For a second, they stalled, hanging still, suspended, before gravity seized them and the dive began anew, speed roaring back into their ears. A boulder hurtled past them, missing them by mere feet, close enough that Hiccup felt the displaced air buffet his shoulder, and Toothless did not falter. He swallowed a deep gulp of air, gut churning as heat kindled and gathered within him.
His ears flicked sharply, straining for the faintest shift of enemy movement, eyes tracking the arc of the stone as the fire climbed his throat, and he opened his jaw.
A bolt of searing violet plasma ripped downward, striking the catapult mid-frame. The shriek of rending metal split the clearing, splinters and shards erupting outward in a violent spray as the machine burst apart. Flame grasped into the air, the wood bursting into light, and for a handful of seconds the entire glade bathed in its light, every man and engine thrown into stark silhouette against the blaze.
Panic clawed at Hiccup's throat when he saw it wasn't just one catapult on the field, or even just a couple.
There were dozens of them.
The ground crawled with them, littered with stone-hurling catapults cranked back and ready, ballistas snapping arrows skyward. Projectiles sliced through the air around him, one whistling so near his head he felt its passage like a knife's breath. Men swarmed between the machines, reloading, adjusting, firing again with the precision of those who had done this countless times before.
Hiccup wrenched the pedal in a desperate attempt to veer away, flaring what remained of the tailfin, to tear them clear of the battlefield. But the mechanism caught, and Toothless faltered, dropping several precious feet as his balance slipped.
There was no way they could land here, not between the heavily-armed hostiles in a place without cover, but hoping to find another island was madness. There was no leaving now, not with Toothless' prosthesis in this state, not in this storm, there was only getting as far away as he possibly could and hoping to hide at the other side of the island, if they could reach it.
Hiccup pressed down hard, coaxing the last shreds of function from the damaged fin, and Toothless spread his wings wide, catching a draft that hauled them upward once more.
But he didn't see the other boulder.
There was no warning cry, no glint of stone in time to brace—only the brutal impact as it slammed into them from the side with bone-shattering force. Toothless wailed, wings flailing wildly as his body twisted out of control.
Hiccup's grip broke.
The feeling struck him from behind, and his hands clawed wildly for non-existent handles.
He was spinning, tumbling end over end, sky and ground trading places in a dizzying blur. Wind tore the breath from him as he spiraled, the earth rising fast beneath him.
The ground rushed up to meet his face.
Nothing.
Then his eyes snapped open.
He dragged in a fractured breath that caught halfway down, splintering into a choke as pain crashed over him in a blinding avalanche of white-hot agony that buried thought, every bone screaming in protest, every nerve flaring raw and merciless. He was alive, and it hurt. He gagged, the taste of bile and blood flooding his mouth, pushing up his throat and coating his tongue in rancid sourness. His stomach heaved violently, and he rolled onto his side as he coughed and retched into the grass, praying with desperate, childish hope for the nightmare to be over soon. He was not so lucky.
A grey shape moved at the edge of his vision, gliding between the dark silhouettes of trees like a shadow unmoored. The world warped and buckled around him, blurring into ripples as though he were staring up from beneath water. Figures fractured into blurs. Light smeared. A high-pitched, ceaseless ringing swallowed the sounds of the world until even his own ragged breathing felt distant.
He pressed his palm to his forehead and the contact sent a violent shudder through him, heat and cold warring in dizzying succession. The ground beneath him was solid, damp grass and churned mud, but it felt as if he was caught in a cyclone that did nothing but spin, spin, spin, and he was nothing but a toy caught in its devilish play.
He fought upward through the haze, clawing his way toward wakefulness.
Getting up to his feet was a struggle. His limbs answered sluggishly, coordination slipping through his grasp like sand, his head insisting the earth swayed beneath him like a ship in high tide. He tried to steady himself and only made it worse. Sweat slicked his spine despite the cold, mingling with rain and mud already plastered to his clothes. His breathing came shallow and groaning, lungs scraping for air while his thoughts scattered like startled birds.
He fumbled at his belt, fingers clumsy and numb as he tried to loosen Inferno's clasp, but he couldn't find any grip. He knew, urgently, that time was running out. He was exposed, a sitting duck. Running would be futile, his legs trembled too violently, his vision dimmed at the edges. He would collapse long before he reached the treeline. And Toothless wasn't here.
The thought struck harder than the fall. The dragon must have crashed deeper into the woods. He had to. Hiccup clung to that hope with desperate resolve.
At last his fingers closed around the hilt of his blade. Movement flickered at the corner of his eye.
Pain exploded across his hand.
He jerked back with a sharp cry as Inferno was torn from his grasp, spinning end over end before skidding through mud far beyond his reach. For a heartbeat he could only stare at his fingers, now split and bleeding, shock colliding with a surge of adrenaline that set his pulse hammering. An arrow quivered in the earth nearby, its familiar fletching trembling in the wind.
They were shooting at him.
He lunged sideways just as another arrow hissed past, then threw himself toward the fallen blade, slipping in the mud as he scrambled to close the distance. Almost there…
Something heavy crashed into him—a body.
They hit the ground hard. He landed on his shoulder, and for a fleeting, terrifying second it went completely numb, before sensation returned with a vicious vengeance, lightning racing through his bones. He bit down on the cry that clawed up his throat as pain shot from his throbbing fingers to his collarbone in a blinding arc.
The winds and tides of instinct raged in his head, trying to take over, and when he saw the hunter wielding an axe, whatever restraint was left in him burned away in an instant.
He hurled himself forward before the man could lift the weapon, driving into his stomach with all the force his battered body could muster. They crashed down again, the axe clattering uselessly aside. The hunter grappled for purchase, trying to regain his feet, but Hiccup was faster now, fueled by panic, by fury, by the primal need to survive. He slammed his fists down onto the man's face, fingers digging wherever they found flesh, hoping to damage anything of importance. He did.
The hunter shouted in shock and pain, shoving him away and rolling to the side, clutching his face and spitting curses into the mud. Hiccup staggered upright, every second a gift, and spun wildly in search of Inferno—but in the chaos he had lost his bearings. Firelight and shadow twisted together, and the world tilted violently, nausea surging upward as dizziness threatened to drop him back to his knees. Shouts drew nearer. Footsteps pounded through wet earth.
Panicked words began to repeat in his mind like a mantra, a single thought echoing louder than the rest, drowning out the chaos closing in around him. Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it—
There.
His legs moved on their own as pain tore through his shoulder, cracked from the bad fall, yet even that became little more than a distant static beneath the greater roar of terror. Pain burned in him like a wildfire, raging through chest and skull, devouring breath and thought the way flames consume dry grass on a wind-struck plain. He didn't dare blink as he ran for his weapon, afraid it would vanish into thin air and leave him utterly defenseless against the hunters who circled like wolves, each one hungry for revenge.
When his fingers closed around Inferno at last, something like hope flared in his chest, but when he pressed the button, nothing happened.
Primordial dread seized his heart.
He was doomed.
Fog thickened behind his eyes, pain weighing heavy in his limbs. Part of him longed to surrender, to let the darkness sweep in and drag him under where it could no longer hurt. Unconsciousness beckoned like the ocean, cold and quiet and merciful. But he was a Viking, and Vikings did not bow their heads to fear. They met it head-on, axe raised, teeth bared. To turn one's back in battle was to turn from Valhalla itself, and if this was to be his end, it would not be on his knees. He would face them. He would fight, taking as many of them down with him as possible.
Gripping the useless husk of Inferno, Hiccup forced his mind to think, sluggish gears grinding against bent and broken teeth. With shaking fingers he reached down to his ankle and tore free a small canister of Zippleback gas. The metal bit into his skin as he pried it open, hands protesting with every movement, then hurled it toward the advancing hunters in a desperate gamble for time.
The canister struck the mud and rolled beneath pounding boots, releasing its volatile breath into the damp air. One hunter, oblivious, drew back a flaming arrow.
The spark met gas.
The explosion cracked through the clearing, flinging the nearest men off their feet and sending fire licking outward in a hungry rush. Light burst across Hiccup's vision in harsh spots, flames dancing wildly as he stumbled backward, arms thrown up in instinctive defense. Inferno slipped from his grasp once more, vanishing somewhere beyond the chaos.
Before his vision could clear, arms locked around him from behind.
He thrashed, panic surging anew, dragging up every lesson ever hammered into him on the training grounds, what his father, Gobber and all the other Vikings had taught him. He drove his elbow back hard into his captor's ribs, felt the impact jar through bone. Fingers clawed at his tunic, tightening their hold. He stamped his heel down with all his weight against the hunter's knee, causing the grip to falter, and he wrenched free.
Something snapped tight around his ankle, a rope, and the vicious yank that followed ripped his legs out from under him. The world flipped and he crashed hard against the earth, pain erupting through him in a fresh inferno that stole the air from his lungs.
A cry broke from him, his eyes wide open.
Hands descended almost immediately. Rough fingers fisted into his clothes, hauling him sideways across mud and torn grass. His heart stuttered in his chest. No no no—NO!
He lashed out without thought, kicking, clawing, striking blindly with fists and heels, a wild creature caught in a hunter's snare, all teeth and feral fury and desperation. There would be no surrender. They would not cage him. If he was to burn, he would scorch them all with him.
His head snapped from side to side as he struggled, hair plastered to his face with sweat and rain, his hands raking uselessly through empty air as if he could tear the sky itself apart. Strong arms locked around his chest, pinning his elbows to his sides, lifting him bodily from the ground. He thrashed harder, throwing his weight back, legs striking out in frantic arcs, wringing every last drop of strength from his battered frame in the hope of breaking free.
Somehow—he did. For a heartbeat he slipped from their grasp, only to crash down again, pain splintering up through his already shattered shoulder and trembling legs, which buckled beneath him before he could rise.
The arms returned at once, harsher now, coiling around him like iron bands. They dragged him away from the treeline, away from his only hope to escape and hide and make it out of here alive. Panic surged hot and blinding, and in a final, reckless act, he twisted and sank his teeth into the arm restraining him, biting down with savage force. Flesh gave beneath his jaw.
Fierce shouting erupted above him, and the next thing he knew, he was hurled to the ground.
He tried to push up, but a heavy boot drove into his ribs and the air fled his lungs in a broken keen. He folded inward, balance lost, vision swimming. Someone was cursing, retreating, but more came.
They were on him again, hands everywhere, grasping at his tunic, his hair, his wrists and ankles. He writhed like a wildcat cornered, nails flashing, body twisting in relentless refusal. He would not go still. He would not be easy prey. Somewhere in the chaos, Gobber's old warning rang clear, that every man carried a fear of madness, an unspoken terror for insanity, and he had taken that close to heart.
Something struck the side of his head.
The blunt end of wood, a stick, a handle—he wasn't sure.
Light burst behind his eyes in blinding flares. Pain ricocheted through his skull, dizzying and nauseating, amplifying everything else, from the cracked shoulder to the blood matting his hair, to lungs that burned with every ragged breath. Sound dulled and then roared back in waves, like his own body was trying to put distance between him and the suffering, retreating from itself.
He breathed heavily through gritted teeth, vision tunneling, and he was unprepared for the boot that struck again, kicking him over onto his stomach.
Before the next blow could fall, an ear-splitting scream tore through the forest.
The hunters froze. Their shouts faltered, dying into stunned silence. Hiccup blinked against the thickening dark at the edges of his sight, forcing his head to lift toward the sound.
From the treeline came a sharp, slicing whistle that cut through the clearing like an arrow loosed from the bow of the gods. Heads turned. Eyes widened. A massive black shadow burst from the undergrowth, blazing a flare of piercing purple light across the clearing, so bright it forced his eyes shut.
More screams followed. Human, this time.
Hiccup curled into himself, instinct driving him small against the earth, limbs drawn tight as if to shield his battered body by sheer will, his heart hammering so violently he feared it might splinter bone and burst free. He knew that cry, he would know it anywhere, but it wasn't relief that coursed through him—it was fear.
They, in all their Odin-given luck, had found themselves in the heart of a hunter stronghold, on an island filled with crossbows and catapults, with cages forged to hold creatures of fire, with men who lived for the hunt and killed without mercy. What was one dragon against an army of hunters? For every man they shot, another would take his place.
A dark shadow fell over him. Hot breath skimmed his face, carrying the familiar scent of smoke and storm, and when he forced his eyes open he found himself staring into bright, piercing green.
Toothless.
The dragon moved before he could react. With a sharp snarl he surged forward, planting himself between Hiccup and the hunters, wings half-spread to shield his rider's body, even if it meant having to catch the incoming arrows with his own. Vicious snarls poured from his chest, lips peeled back to reveal yellowed fangs.
Meeting the unbridled wrath of a Night Fury at arm's length stripped the bravado from the hunters in an instant; they stumbled backward, boots sliding in churned mud, hands fumbling at bowstrings and blades. Arrows loosed too soon flew wide, vanishing harmlessly into the trees.
It might have been laughable, the way they shrank beneath that coiled, predatory fury, had laughter not sent shards of pain through Hiccup's ribs.
Head lowered and wings rustling, Toothless took another step forward, adding more distance between his fallen rider and the men who sought his blood. Something in his posture promised sure annihilation, and weapons wavered. Hands went slack, a crossbow slipped from numb fingers and struck the ground with a dull clatter. The four hunters shared a single, silent decision: retreat.
Only when they had fled a safe distance did Toothless whirl back, pressing his broad nose insistently against the side of Hiccup's head, nudging, searching, confused by the stillness. A low, trembling whine vibrated through him, but Hiccup didn't know what to do. His legs refused to obey him, laying useless beneath him. He lifted a shaking hand and laid it against Toothless' snout, feeling the steady warmth of scales beneath fingers gone cold.
With painful effort, he pushed the dragon's head away.
"Go, Toothless," he rasped, breath catching halfway as if the air itself resisted him. Blood slicked his teeth, coppery and thick. "Hide… go hide in the forest. Don't… don't let—"
The rest shattered into a gasp as something shifted inside his chest with a sickening crack. He folded forward with a broken sound, agony flashing white-hot across his ribs.
But Toothless didn't leave.
The Night Fury whined again, softer now, pleading, pressing his broad head against Hiccup, pawing at his chest, as if trying to get him to move in the gentlest way he knew how. When that failed, he caught hold of the fabric at Hiccup's collar between his teeth and tugged, trying to drag him toward the safety of the trees, but a cry of pain had him recoiling instantly, ears flattening against his skull, eyes wide with alarm.
Fire coursed down Hiccup's arm from the swollen ruin of his shoulder. He clutched at it helplessly, each breath scraping like broken glass through his lungs. Tears welled up despite his stubborn will, blurring the world into shimmering fragments before he blinked them back. When his sight was cleared, he saw hunters surging toward them again, emboldened by numbers. Some broke from the main group, circling wide like wolves seeking a flank, cutting off every path to the forest.
Toothless snarled, jars flashing open as a blast of violet plasma fired from his throat and struck the ground before the first man reckless enough to step nearer. Six shots, that was all they had.
Hiccup didn't dare think what would happen if those shots ran out.
Fighting the vertigo, he clenched his jaw until it ached, dragging breath into lungs that felt flayed raw. He forced his trembling hands toward the saddlebag strapped to Toothless' flank, fingers slipping as he pried it open and rummaged blindly for anything he could use. The effort alone sent the world reeling. Reaching upward jarred his broken shoulder; pain writhed down his arm. His vision swam, and he didn't find anything of use. A map. An empty water canteen. Useless. All useless. He wanted to scream, to roar his fury into the sky until his voice shattered, and then scream even more.
Rain mixed with tears. Blood threaded down from his brow into his lashes.
"Toothless—" His voice broke on the name, hoarse and raw. He shoved weakly at the dragon's nose, desperation burning through him brighter than any flame. "Go! Get out of here. Please."
The word please nearly undid him. A dark, terrible thought rose unbidden, an unthinkable cruelty that might drive the dragon away if nothing else would. His breath hitched sharply, and his teeth ground together. He couldn't. His hands pressed against Toothless' muzzle and neck again, still trying to get him to flee, but he couldn't for the life of him muster up the willingness to strike him. It just wasn't there, and part of him hated himself for that.
Toothless would stay, and it would kill him.
Another plasma blast at a hunter's feet scattered dirt and scorched grass in a ring of smoking earth. The men leaped back on instinct, but their fear was thinning now, fraying at the edges. They were learning. The blasts struck ground, not flesh. They saw that none were maimed. None lay dead. Fierce, but not fatal.
It wasn't that Toothless couldn't—his past was riddled with fatalities of animals and humans alike, and there was a wildness in his bones that belonged to mother nature and all cruelness that came with her—it was that he wouldn't.
Because Hiccup wouldn't.
The Night Fury drew himself up, wings lifting as he aimed at the nearest hunter. His jaws opened wide, throat glowing faintly with gathering light—but nothing came. The glow flickered weakly, then dimmed. A thin stream of heated vapor curled from his nostrils, dissipating into the cold air.
Across the clearing, a triumphant shout rang out. "He's out!"
The low swoosh and clinking of spinning bolas cut through the air, cords whistling in wide arcs. Toothless darted aside, forced away from Hiccup's side as the weighted lines struck where he had stood only a heartbeat before. He twisted and leapt with feline grace, black scales swallowing what little light the fire offered, his shape nearly indistinguishable from shadow.
But the hunters didn't give up. They spread out, calling to one another, boots pounding through mud as they hurled more weapons, tightening the circle, and Hiccup could only watch in terror.
Toothless screeched and reared onto his hind legs, talons scything like blades as his wings snapped open to their full breadth, membranes straining like billowing sails. Ropes tangled his foreleg, coarse fibers biting into scale, and he lunged at them with snapping jaws, teeth flashing as he fought to tear himself free, but one of the bolas struck true. The weighted cords whipped around his muzzle and clamped tight, wrenching his jaws shut mid-snarl.
The sound that tore from the dragon was strangled and furious as he crashed back down onto all fours, shaking his head violently, twisting and bucking, wings beating hard enough to churn wind and ash into the air.
No, no, no, no!
Hiccup dragged himself forward, fingers clawing through mud, every inch an agony as he tried to reach his dragon.
But the hunters hadn't forgotten their other prize.
A heavy hand seized the back of his neck, fingers digging in as they forced his head down until his cheek ground into wet grass and dirt. The blades bit into his skin, imprinting sharp lines across his face, his vision cleaved in half as his other eye was crushed against the soil. He was turned away from the fight, unable to see his friend, see it happen, but he could hear it.
The muffled roar of struggle. The frantic beat of wings against restraint. The low, guttural growls that vibrated with fury and fear alike.
His body trembled uncontrollably, as though an earthquake had taken root in his chest, wave after wave of torment crashing through him. Muscles burned. Veins throbbed. Every sinew felt stretched to its breaking point. His throat was raw, tongue thick with the coppery tang of his own blood.
Each touch of the hunters against him was as sharp and brutal as a knife, cutting and tearing away more of his defense. Each growl of his dragon was like a thunderclap against his ears, but the silence that followed was even worse.
Sweat gathered along his neck and spine despite the chill. His heart pounded with punishing speed, like an overdriven beast forced to run beyond its limits. Each beat sent a hammering pulse through his skull, heat surged behind his eyes, and a dull mist began to creep inward from the edges of his thoughts, threatening to drag him under.
He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged in breath after breath through his nose, fighting the nausea, fighting the haze, fighting the weakness clawing at him from within.
Then a voice cut cleanly through the fog.
"Careful." It was a familiar one, its lilted hum echoing through his head and ringing bells left and right, surprisingly soft for the smooth depth of its timbre. "No damaging the goods. I have use for this one."
The goods?
Toothless.
The will to fight surged back through him, bright and ravenous as dragon fire, desperate and raging and demanding. He bucked beneath the weight crushing him, straining to wrench his arms free, to throw the men from his back. Mud churned beneath his heels and toes as he kicked and twisted with everything he had left.
But it was only laughter that met him in return, amusement at his feeble, futile attempts to break free as four bodies used their weight to keep him in place.
He forced one last desperate surge, muscles screaming as he arched and thrashed, but the effort scattered uselessly against them. His strength was ebbing, consciousness slipping. They had his dragon. They had worked Toothless down like they had him. Horrid images of axes and swords and chains flashed before his eyes, blood and scars flecking a body black as the night, pain and fear mixing in the dragon's desperate cries for help.
Memories of cages, muzzles and nets pounded through his skull, terrorizing him with all the ways they could torment his dragon, reduced to commodity, to prize, to something bought and broken.
He tried to listen for him, to hear his call, but nothing came.
The muttered grunts of men above him rang clear, boots shifting in mud, leather creaking, but no dragon. Hiccup twisted beneath their hold, panic sharpening into something near-mad, but even with adrenaline burning through his veins, even with terror lending him borrowed strength, he was no match for them. Confusion ricocheted inside his head, rattling his ribcage as he tried so hard to think. Had they killed him already? Was Toothless—?
Dark brown boots stepped into his blurred field of vision, stopping close enough that he could see flecks of mud drying against worn leather. The hand at the back of his neck tightened, and a groan spilled from his lips as pressure flared through his skull.
He tried to lift his head, to see who stood before him, but his body would not obey. His world was narrowed to dirt and boots and pain.
They hauled him upright with bruising force, fingers digging deep into his arms. His heels carved trenches through the mud as he fought for purchase, but they forced him down regardless, slamming him onto his knees. Heavy hands clamped onto his shoulders, pinning him there; the cracked bone beneath their grip sent a blinding streak of agony through him and he couldn't help but cry out.
When will it end. Shallow breaths rushed in and out of his mouth, his head sagged forward as locks of rain-slick hair obscured his sight, tremors running beneath his skin like aftershocks.
Over the thunder of his pulse and chaos in his mind, he heard a voice. "That was quite the fall."
It was the same voice as before. Quiet. Soft. He blinked against the water in his eyes, tears or blood, he couldn't tell, trying to focus on the figure in front of him. It was little more than a distortion in firelight, a tall silhouette edged in flickering gold, features swallowed by shadow.
He tried to jerk his head back, to look past that silhouette, to find Toothless. Time didn't move quite as it should, seconds stretched thin as a wire. He should have heard him. He couldn't hear the cries of the Night Fury anymore, couldn't hear his call. Separation was a cut in their bond and it hurt. It hurt more than the throbbing wounds on his body, more than the cuts and scrapes on his skin.
The voice hummed. "Take him away."
Hands shifted again, pulling him forward. When one particularly bold hand reached for the strap across his chest, all thoughts simply drained from his head. He snapped his teeth down.
The retaliation was immediate.
Something struck the back of his head with brutal force, ripping up and down along his spine to rattle in the back of his skull and settle sickeningly in his stomach. Its sudden fierceness stole away the last breath in his lungs, taking his strength to scream.
A shout he was sure wasn't his own echoed through his ears, then the darkness surged in at last, and everything went black.