Stoick's Point of View
The mist coiled thick around the prow of the ship, a suffocating, damp blanket that blotted out the stars and swallowed the moonlight whole.
Stoick stood firm at the bow, arms crossed over his massive chest, his eyes straining into the endless gray. The ship rocked gently beneath him, the creaking of the wood and the soft splash of waves the only sounds in the world.
And yet, beneath the familiar noises of the sea, there was something else.
A tension.
A feeling he couldn't shake.
Stoick scowled, shifting his stance uneasily.
He was a man who trusted his instincts. They had saved his life countless times in battle, in storms, in desperate hunts. And now, those instincts gnawed at the back of his mind like hungry wolves.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He couldn't name it. Couldn't see it. But the weight pressing against his chest was undeniable.
His thoughts—unbidden, unwanted—turned to Berk.
Turned to him.
To Hiccup.
The scowl deepened into a grimace.
No. He shook his head, gritting his teeth against the cold. Hiccup wouldn't cause trouble. Wouldn't have the guts.
He was too soft. Too weak. Too pathetic to ever truly defy the village, or his father.
Stoick growled under his breath, the anger bubbling hotter than the ocean spray chilling his face.
It infuriated him that he even had to think about it. Infuriated him that, somewhere in his gut, the thought of Hiccup doing anything filled him with unease.
He had tried to make the boy strong. Gods knew he had tried. Stern words. Hard lessons. Tough love. What else could he have done? You couldn't forge steel from rotten wood. Some boys just weren't meant for the hammer and anvil of Viking life.
And Hiccup, for all his smarts and clever tongue, had been born wrong.
Thin. Sickly. More brain than brawn. Always dreaming instead of doing.
Stoick squeezed the railing so tightly his knuckles cracked.
He would not waste his energy worrying about a boy who had never lived up to his name.
There were real threats to face.
The Dragon Nest.
That was the true enemy. The true mission. The reason he had left Berk under watchful eyes. The reason he had pushed forward despite every sailor's superstition about the cursed mists.
He turned his back on the bow, facing his crew with a barked order to adjust the sails.
If he noticed how even the sea seemed colder now, how the fog seemed to whisper at the edges of hearing... he ignored it.
There was no room for doubt.
There was no room for weakness.
Berk would be fine without him.
And Hiccup? Hiccup would stay in his place, just like he always had.
Stoick's boots thudded heavily across the deck as he returned to the helm, his mind full of dragons and war.
He never noticed how the mist behind him thickened.
How the horizon darkened.
How far the storm had already begun to spread.
Hiccup's Point of View
It had been six days since the arena.
Six days since I had bared my true fangs to Berk and let the village choke on the fear they had earned.
And it had been four days since I noticed her.
The little girl.
The only one who had dared to look at me with something other than fear or hatred. Not admiration exactly—something purer. Curiosity. Recognition.
I hadn't been able to forget her.
Something about her gaze... it lingered.
It gnawed at the edges of my mind like an itch I couldn't scratch.
So I did what I always did when something mattered—I hunted for answers.
I asked around. Politely at first. Then with a tone that made it very clear not answering wasn't an option.
It didn't take long before a woman from the orphanage—a gaunt, hard-faced matron—was practically pushed in front of me by the other villagers, trembling under my stare.
"She's an orphan," the woman said hastily, wringing her hands. "Parents died during a raid. She—she barely survived the birth."
I narrowed my eyes. "And?"
The woman hesitated, a flicker of disdain crossing her face before she spoke words she would regret for the rest of her life.
"She's a runt," she said carelessly. "Weak, just like all runts. Should have died, really. Would have been easier—runt lives aren't worth—"
She stopped.
Too late.
The instant the words left her mouth, her eyes widened as if realizing who she had just insulted.
I smiled.
A slow, cold, razor-edged smile.
And then I laughed.
Not a real laugh.
A cruel, humorless sound that made the nearby villagers flinch.
Before she could even stammer an apology, I moved.
My clawed hand lashed out like a striking serpent and wrapped around her throat.
Gasps filled the air as I lifted her clean off the ground, holding her there effortlessly, her feet kicking uselessly beneath her.
I made sure to position her away from the children.
But the adults...
Oh, the adults saw everything.
Her face turned red, eyes bulging as she clawed at my arm.
The villagers stared, frozen, not one of them daring to interfere.
I leaned in close, my voice low and venomous.
"If all runts should die," I whispered against her ear, "then maybe death would be a mercy for you."
Her frantic gasps choked the air between us.
"But mercy," I said, tightening my grip until she whimpered, "is something you don't deserve."
I let her dangle there for a moment longer before speaking the words that sealed her fate.
"I won't kill you. The brats need someone to feed them."
Her relief was short-lived.
"But your comment?" I hissed, my eyes gleaming. "That will cost you your arm."
And with a sharp, vicious twist, I snapped her forearm like a dry twig.
The scream that tore from her throat was shrill enough to silence the entire square.
Tears streamed down her face as she begged, gasped, pleaded. I could smell her terror—bitter and satisfying.
Still not enough.
With a cruel, deliberate motion, I dislocated her shoulder as well, another wet pop echoing through the heavy air.
Her screams tore across Berk like a blade through cloth.
A few warriors, hearing the commotion, rushed over, weapons drawn—
—only to freeze the instant they saw me.
Me.
Standing there, calm, expression blank but eyes blazing with unmistakable rage.
The woman collapsed in a heap when I finally released her, sobbing and clutching her ruined arm.
None of the warriors dared move.
Not one of them.
I turned my back on them without a second thought.
They had forfeited the right to intervene long ago.
I began walking toward the alleys near the market, toward where the little girl usually lingered, half-shadow and half-ghost.
She was interesting.
Different.
A runt, like me.
And maybe, just maybe, she understood the truth that the others were too stupid—or too blind—to see.
I chuckled under my breath as I stalked through the streets, ignoring the way the villagers parted for me like water fleeing from fire.
Let's play a little game, my little shadow.
Let's see why you interest me so.
————————-
It wasn't hard to find her.
She was predictable, in a way only the overlooked can be. Moving through the crowds like smoke, sticking to alleys and narrow lanes where no adult would bother to look too closely. Always just out of reach. Always watching.
Like I used to.
I hid my presence easily, slipping from shadow to shadow, my steps lighter than a whisper.
It didn't take long before I spotted her—my little shadow—sitting at the edge of the market square, perched on a broken barrel, hugging that worn cloth doll to her chest.
I studied her for a moment, the way her eyes flicked across the crowd—not fearful, but cautious, aware. Sharp for her age. Smarter than the fools around her.
I smiled to myself.
Time to see what she would do when the hunter made himself known.
I stepped into the open.
The effect was immediate.
Villagers flinched away, giving me a wide berth without even thinking, their fear practically staining the air around them.
But not her.
The moment her wide, curious eyes found me, she stiffened—and then, quick as a mouse, she slipped back into the shadows.
Watching me.
Adorable.
I tilted my head slightly, locking eyes with her for the briefest moment. She didn't run. Didn't hide completely. Just lingered at the edges, half-hidden, her expression full of innocent mischief and intrigue.
Good, I thought, amused.
Without a word, I turned and started walking, making sure my pace was slow, deliberate, easy to follow.
I led her through the winding paths of the village outskirts, past the last of the half-collapsed fences and into the untamed forest beyond. She followed, of course—silent, careful, always just at the edge of sight.
I guided her toward one of my few sanctuaries.
A clearing atop a cliffside, facing the endless blue where sky and sea met in a perfect, lonely embrace. A place where the world couldn't touch me. Where I could be myself—whatever that was anymore.
The grass rustled softly under my boots as I crossed into the clearing.
I didn't stop.
I moved to a tall tree at the far edge, its limbs sprawling like open arms.
With a practiced ease born of years in the wild, I scaled it in seconds, hiding myself among the thick branches.
And then... I waited.
I didn't have to wait long.
She crept into the clearing a few minutes later, her small form cautious but unafraid, her doll clutched tightly to her chest. Her big eyes swept the open space, curiosity practically radiating off her in waves.
I smirked.
Time to have a little fun.
I dropped from the tree without a sound, landing lightly behind her.
Lowering my voice to a deep, rough growl, I said, "I must be lucky today. Not everyone can find... and catch... their little shadow."
She jumped at least a foot into the air, her doll tumbling from her hands as she spun to face me.
The pout that crossed her face immediately afterward was so fierce—and so tiny—that I couldn't stop the laugh that burst out of me.
A real laugh.
The kind of laugh I only ever gave Luna.
It caught me off guard for a moment—how natural it felt.
How easy.
But I shook it off.
The little girl stomped up to me with all the indignation of a storm in a bottle and punched me squarely in the leg.
It was so weak I barely felt it.
I chuckled again, crouching down so we were closer to eye level.
"Well?" I asked, voice amused but sharp enough to make her understand I wasn't just playing. "Why are you following me?"
I tilted my head slightly, studying her reaction.
"And more importantly..." I said, a hint of a smirk playing at my lips, "Who are you? What's your name, little shadow?"