Hiccup's Point of View – Third Person
Hiccup rolled his shoulders one last time.
The cloak of dragon hide rippled behind him, streaked with smoke and splashes of blood that weren't his. His claws dripped faint crimson, his breath steady—too steady for a boy who'd just gone claw-to-claw with a dragon.
The Nadder stood opposite him, panting heavily. Blood stained her legs and sides, her eyes wild and gleaming. But she was still eager. Still hungry.
Still believing she could win.
Hiccup gave her a smile.
A quiet, sharp one.
"It's been fun," he said softly, voice low enough that only the closest warriors in the stands caught it.
Then—
"But I think it's time I stop holding back."
He didn't shout.
Didn't roar.
He simply dropped.
Onto all fours.
A ripple of motion trembled through his body. His fingers curled into the sand. His back arched with fluid control. He moved like a creature born from shadow and storm.
And in that moment—
They all saw it.
The villagers. The warriors. The teens.
A mirage.
Behind Hiccup.
Flickering, towering, impossible.
A black shape—humanoid in silhouette, but monstrous in presence—loomed just for a heartbeat. Tendrils of shadow, glinting eyes, wings or no wings they couldn't tell. A terrifying echo of something primal. Alpha.
And then—gone.
Vanished as if it were never there.
But it had been.
They all felt it.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Even the Nadder froze.
She didn't back away.
She lowered her stance.
Because she felt it too.
Then—he moved.
Hiccup lunged, his claws flashing like fangs in the light. No more playful cuts. No more taunting slashes.
This was war.
He dodged her desperate strike, spun beneath her jaw, and dragged his claws across her side with brutal efficiency. She roared and leapt back, only to be caught mid-air by a strike to her wing joint that forced her to crash.
Sand exploded.
She twisted, tried to whip her tail—but Hiccup caught it with one hand and threw her to the side.
The ground shook.
Before she could rise, he was already there, knee slamming into her shoulder, claws poised—ready for the finishing blow.
But he stopped.
His body relaxed, pulling back slowly.
The Nadder wheezed, struggling up—
Then stopped.
She didn't attack.
She didn't run.
She stood fully.
And then she bowed.
Chest low, wings folded, head down.
But it wasn't over.
She dipped lower.
Her chin touched the sand.
The arena was silent.
To the humans, it looked like a dragon catching its breath.
But to any dragon watching?
It meant only one thing.
She had submitted.
Not as a defeated foe.
But as a follower.
A subordinate.
To her Alpha.
⸻
Luna's Point of View
My breath caught in my throat.
She bowed.
No—not bowed.
Lowered her chin.
That was no surrender.
That was worship.
Acknowledgment of a power greater than hers. The only kind of submission a dragon ever gave freely.
He was her Alpha now.
She knew it.
And so did I.
I was shaking.
Not in fear.
In need.
I wanted to leap.
To claim him.
To scream to the skies that he was mine and I would not share.
But I didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
Because despite everything in me—every primal urge clawing at the inside of my chest—I knew better.
This was his moment.
He had plans. Carefully placed pieces in motion. His instincts spoke to mine even without words.
This was where his legend began.
And I wouldn't take that from him.
Not yet.
But when he returned to the cove?
When the fire had dimmed and the noise faded?
The waiting would be over.
He would be mine.
Claimed.
Marked.
Forever.
Hiccups point of view:
The Nadder's head remained bowed, chin to the earth, wings tucked tight in a display of reverence and submission.
She knew.
And so did I.
I took a slow breath and rolled my shoulders once, feeling the sting of blood and smoke still clinging to my skin. The crowd was dead silent. Not a voice. Not a whisper. Not even a breath dared disturb what had just happened.
Good.
I turned to her—my voice low, but firm.
"Back to your cage," I said calmly. "Rest."
She gave a low trill of acknowledgment before slowly rising and limping toward the far gate. No resistance. No anger. Just quiet obedience.
I stood alone now.
In the center of the arena.
And I looked up.
At them.
The villagers.
The warriors.
The so-called leaders of this rotting nest of cowardice and arrogance.
Their eyes were wide. Pale. Filled with the realization that they no longer understood what stood before them.
"Is this what you wanted?" I asked.
My voice didn't echo.
It carved.
"You wanted a monster."
I turned slowly in a circle, making sure they all saw my eyes.
"This strength you mocked... is it what you dreamed of? When you humiliated me, when you spit on my name, when you pushed and kicked and laughed—was this what you were hoping I'd become?"
I let the question hang.
No one answered.
Cowards.
I tilted my head slightly, tone softening—just a little.
"I don't care."
They flinched.
"I don't care about your fear. I don't care about your confusion. I don't care about your pathetic attempts to understand."
I walked now.
Calm. Deliberate.
"My fate was sealed the day you tried to break me."
I stopped in front of a Viking holding a basket of fish. He was trembling. I stared at him until he instinctively stepped back and lowered his gaze.
Smart.
I took the basket.
Not a word passed between us.
Turning, I headed back toward the Nadder's cage as the heavy gates groaned open for her.
She was resting now, stretched out along the cool stone, her breath steady but pained. Her body would need time—deep wounds always did.
I stepped into the enclosure, set the fish down beside her, and met her eyes.
"Eat," I told her. "Relax. You earned it."
She let out a low, appreciative growl and nudged the basket.
"I had fun," I said quietly, crouching beside her. "It's been a long time since I had a proper sparring partner."
She blinked slowly, watching me with something between respect and curiosity.
"The last one didn't last long," I added with a dry chuckle. "Tried to kill me. Didn't end well."
Her tail twitched.
I stood and turned away, speaking over my shoulder.
"You've got two weeks. Heal. Then we go again."
Before I left, I cast one last glance toward the arena above—toward the sea of silent, watching eyes.
"And one more thing."
My voice sharpened—like a blade unsheathed.
"If any of you ever try to hurt me again..."
I paused.
"...Or anything I care about..."
I smiled.
But there was no warmth.
"I'll make sure your blood paints these walls. And your screams echo through every corner of this damned village."
Then I walked away.
And not a single soul dared stop me.