The Teens' Point of View
The teens sat huddled in a tight circle on the stone steps outside the Great Hall. The cold night air bit at their skin, but none of them moved. The tension among them was suffocating, heavier than the mist clinging to the village streets.
None of them spoke at first.
There were no jokes. No playful jabs. Not even a sarcastic quip from the twins.
It was Fishlegs who finally broke the silence, his voice hollow. "What... what are we supposed to do now?"
Snotlout let out a dry, humorless laugh, hugging his knees to his chest. "Do? There's nothing to do. You heard them inside—'don't provoke him, don't threaten him.' Like he's some kind of—" He swallowed. "Some kind of monster."
Astrid, sitting slightly apart from the others, stared down at her hands. Her knuckles were white from how tightly she clenched them. She didn't speak at first, and when she finally did, her voice was unusually low.
"We can't just ignore him," she said, her tone strangely flat. "We need to... try."
The others glanced at each other, uneasy at how off she sounded.
Ruffnut fidgeted, picking at the seam of her boot. "Try what? Apologize? Grovel?"
Tuffnut muttered, "He'd tear us apart before we got two words out."
Snotlout scowled. "He was supposed to be the weak one. The screw-up. Not... this." His voice cracked slightly at the end.
Fishlegs hunched further into himself. "He's not weak. He never was. We just never saw it." He let out a bitter breath. "Maybe we didn't want to."
Ruffnut snorted half-heartedly. "Well, now we know. Loud and clear. He doesn't just hate us—he could kill us if he wanted."
Astrid's head lifted slightly at that, her eyes flashing for a brief second—too quickly for most to notice.
"We have to try to bring him back," she said again, firmer this time.
There was something off about her voice. Not just guilt. Not just sadness. Something else. Something the others couldn't place.
Tuffnut frowned. "Bring him back? Astrid, he's not lost. He left. On purpose."
"And he's stronger now than ever," Ruffnut added grimly. "Maybe... maybe he doesn't want to come back."
Fishlegs shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe he can't."
Astrid didn't argue. She just stood up slowly, brushing dust from her leggings. Her eyes stayed shadowed beneath her bangs.
"I'm going home," she said quietly, not looking at any of them.
The others watched her go, exchanging confused and uneasy glances. Something about the way she moved, the way she spoke—it wasn't the Astrid they were used to.
Not the confident warrior girl who led them with sharp words and sharper blades.
This Astrid was... distant.
Colder.
Different.
Snotlout opened his mouth as if to call after her, but shut it just as quickly.
None of them knew what to say.
They watched her retreat into the night, alone, her figure fading into the darkness toward her house.
When she was gone, the others sat in heavy silence, each sinking deeper into the cold.
The truth was undeniable: they had broken something that might never be repaired.
And now, even among themselves, cracks were beginning to show.