Third Person – Elder Yrsa's Point of View
The arena hadn't breathed since he left it.
Not truly.
Not even now, with the Nadder secured and the villagers slowly dispersing, whispering like frightened children. The stands still trembled—not from weight, but from memory. The memory of fire. Of silence. Of a voice that didn't shout, yet cut through steel and soul alike.
Elder Yrsa stood unmoving, fingers wrapped tightly around the curved wood of her cane. Her joints ached—not from age, but from the tension she hadn't released since that boy... no, that creature... turned and spoke to them.
She had lived through wars. Through dragon raids. Through the death of a chief and the crowning of another.
But never had she feared the sound of a whisper.
Until today.
To her left, Gothi sat cross-legged on a bench of stone, her head bowed slightly, unmoving except for the tapping of one finger on her staff.
To her right, Gobber approached at last—his limp more pronounced, though not from injury.
Fatigue. Unease.
Regret.
Yrsa spoke first. "You saw it too."
Gobber didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked toward the arena floor, where Hiccup had crouched only moments ago beside a dragon that should have torn him apart.
Instead, she had bowed.
"I saw it," Gobber said finally, voice low. "Every word. Every movement."
Yrsa nodded once. "And?"
"He meant it."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
No denial.
Yrsa sighed through her nose. "That's what I thought."
Gothi's hand paused. Then resumed tapping.
More elders gathered now. Four others in total. Old men and women with clouded eyes and slow steps. But every one of them had seen it. Every one of them had felt it.
"I've heard threats in my time," said Elder Halvar, the eldest man among them. "That wasn't one."
"No," Yrsa replied, eyes narrowing. "That was a promise."
Gobber remained quiet.
He knew better than to defend Hiccup.
No one here had forgotten what he said.
"If any of you ever try to hurt me again... or anything I care about... I'll make sure your blood paints these walls."
Not shouted. Not screamed.
Delivered.
Yrsa gripped her cane harder.
"He's not the boy we failed to understand," she murmured. "He's the monster we made."
Another elder hissed, "So what do we do?"
Yrsa turned toward her.
"We convene. Later. Away from the crowd. In the long hall. Not a word of this reaches the villagers until we decide how to speak of it."
Her tone left no room for argument.
Gobber shifted. "And if someone pushes him again?"
Yrsa looked him straight in the eye.
"Then they deserve what they get."
Even Gothi nodded, solemn and slow.
Yrsa turned her gaze toward the place where he had stood—still scorched, still quiet.
And she wondered how many more mistakes they could afford to make...
...before he stopped warning them.
Third Person – Warrior's Point of View
They hadn't moved from the upper tier of the arena since the fight ended.
The warriors of Berk—those left behind by Stoick to guard the village—had stood shoulder to shoulder, silent as statues, watching the battle unfold like a waking nightmare.
It wasn't the Nadder that shook them.
It was him.
The silence broke when Bjarke, the eldest of them—a man with more scars than intact flesh—spoke at last.
"That wasn't human fighting," he muttered, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the scorched pit below.
"What do you mean?" asked Harl, the youngest, still pale from watching Hiccup catch a tail spine with his eyes closed.
Bjarke's voice was low. Calm.
"A man uses what he knows. Sword. Shield. Maybe instinct. But that..." he nodded toward the arena floor, "...wasn't instinct."
The others waited.
Bjarke's one eye narrowed.
"He moved like a predator. Not just fast—fluid. Watch a Timberjack hunt in the woods sometime. The way it ducks under branches, twists through shadows, always one step ahead of the prey? That's what I saw down there."
He tapped his clawed hand lightly against the railing.
"And when the Nadder fired those spines... he didn't dodge."
"No," muttered one of the others, "he read them."
Bjarke nodded. "Like water. No wasted motion. No fear. Just control."
A pause settled.
Then he added, "You don't learn that. Not from any teacher. You're born with that—or made through something worse."
Harl swallowed. "So... what is he?"
Bjarke turned slightly, his face unreadable. "Something that bled like a man... but fought like a beast."
They stood quietly after that.
Not in fear.
But in the heavy awareness that whatever Hiccup had become...
It was no longer theirs to define.
Third Person – The Teens' Point of View
They had retreated to the waiting corridor outside the arena gates.
No one spoke.
Not for a while.
The roar of the crowd had long since faded into stunned murmurs. Even the villagers who had once laughed at Hiccup's name had nothing to say now.
Because they had all seen it.
What he was.
What he'd become.
Snotlout leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed tight over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. "That... that wasn't him," he muttered, voice cracking.
No one corrected him.
Because deep down, they all knew the truth.
It was him.
And it always had been.
Fishlegs sat on the bench, face pale, hands shaking as he wiped them on his tunic again and again. "He caught it," he mumbled for the fifth time. "He caught a Nadder spine with his eyes closed."
Ruffnut was curled up against the wall, knees to her chest, staring at nothing. "He smiled the whole time," she whispered. "When he hurt her. He smiled."
Tuffnut nodded beside her, face blank. "I think I liked him better when he tripped over his own feet..."
"He warned us," Fishlegs added, voice trembling. "Back in training. He said he'd show us. That we wouldn't like it."
They hadn't believed him.
Now?
They couldn't unsee it.
That cloak. That fire. The way the Nadder bowed. The way Hiccup had spoken to the village like it wasn't worth the dirt he walked on.
They were scared.
Rightfully so.
All of them...
Except one.
Astrid stood by the arena doors, arms at her sides, eyes locked on the gate Hiccup had disappeared through. She hadn't said a word since the fight ended. Hadn't looked at anyone. Hadn't even moved.
Snotlout finally glanced her way.
"Well?" he asked, voice sharp from tension. "Don't tell me you're not freaked out."
Astrid didn't answer.
She just kept staring.
Not with fear.
But something else.
Something quiet. Deep. Conflicted.
She wasn't afraid of him.
Not like the others.
But whatever she was feeling...
She wasn't ready to talk about it.
Not yet.