Hiccup's Point of View
The forest thrummed with quiet life around us, the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves weaving a soft, endless song. Freya and I had spent the better part of the day wandering deeper into the woods—far from Berk's watchful, suffocating eyes. She needed space. Space to grow. To breathe. To discover the strength I knew lay hidden inside her.
And this forest—this wild, untamed heart of the island—was the perfect place.
It had been my sanctuary for years.
Now, it would become hers too.
We eventually came to a familiar clearing, dappled in gold where sunlight pierced the canopy above. The makeshift training ground I had built so long ago still stood, worn and weathered by time: battered wooden dummies, scarred logs, the faint ghost of footprints and memories.
I let her take it in before I spoke.
"This," I said, spreading my arms wide, "is where I built myself."
Freya's bright eyes widened with wonder as she stepped forward, her fingers brushing reverently over one of the old dummies, feeling the splintered wood beneath her touch.
"You really trained here... alone?" she asked, her voice soft, almost disbelieving.
I crouched beside her, resting a hand on the worn dummy's frame.
"Every day," I said. "No teachers. No praise. No safety nets. Just me, my will... and the monsters in my head."
Freya glanced up at me, and for a moment, I saw the reflection of my younger self in her determined little face.
"And now," I murmured, "this will be where you begin."
⸻
I started slow.
Simple movements at first: how to hold her weapon, how to balance her body, how to feel the ground beneath her feet and use it as an anchor rather than an enemy. The stick in her hands was crude compared to a real blade, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the instinct being forged.
"Again," I said as she lunged at the dummy, her small arms swinging with all the force she could muster. The stick thudded solidly against the wood.
"Good," I said, stepping closer. "But next time, strike like you mean it.
Imagine the thing in front of you is real. That it would kill you if you gave it the chance."
Freya nodded, her jaw setting with a fierce little scowl.
Without hesitation, she swung again—harder, faster, more focused.
Her first few strikes were wild, clumsy, the dummy barely moving under her hits. But she didn't complain. Didn't whine.
She gritted her teeth and tried again. And again.
Each blow grew sharper. Tighter. More precise.
I watched her stumble once, twice—catching herself with a growl of frustration—and something deep in my chest twisted, then warmed.
She didn't give up.
Not even when her arms began to tremble with exhaustion.
"You're learning quickly," I said after a while, stepping back to let her catch her breath. "But remember—strength isn't just about hitting hard."
Freya wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve, cheeks flushed and shining with pride.
"It's about control," I continued, my voice low, serious. "Knowing when to strike... and when to wait. Let your enemy make the first mistake. Then you make sure it's the last mistake they ever get."
She straightened her small shoulders, meeting my gaze with clear, burning resolve.
"I'll get there," she said fiercely. "I promise."
I couldn't help the slow smile that tugged at my lips as I crouched in front of her, reaching out to ruffle her hair gently.
"I know you will," I said. "You're my little shadow after all."
Freya laughed—a breathless, bright sound—and for a moment, the clearing seemed to glow a little warmer.
Today wasn't about perfection.
It wasn't even about strength.
It was about laying the first stone of the path she would one day carve out for herself.
And as the sun dipped lower through the trees, casting long shadows over us, I realized something else too:
She wasn't just learning how to survive.
She was learning how to fight.
How to stand.
How to become unstoppable.
Just like me.
And I would be there—every step of the way—to make sure no one ever broke her spirit.
No matter what it took.
———————-
(One hour later….)
We settled near the edge of the clearing, the afternoon sun bleeding through the canopy in soft, golden shafts. Freya leaned against me, content to simply breathe in the forest air, her small form warm at my side.
But even in this quiet, my senses remained sharp.
A faint sound reached my ears—the soft, careful crunch of leaves under deliberate paws. I stiffened immediately, the blood in my veins slowing to a cold, measured burn. My claws flexed instinctively as my eyes scanned the treeline.
"Stay close," I murmured, my voice a low growl of warning.
Freya, to her credit, didn't ask questions. She simply pressed herself slightly behind me, trusting me without hesitation.
The sound grew louder, closer.
A shadow shifted between the trees.
Then, a wolf stepped into the clearing, muscles rippling under its lean, silvered frame. Its lips peeled back into a snarl, sharp teeth flashing in the fading light, its whole body coiled and ready to strike.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the old thrill coil through me.
"This," I said quietly, my eyes never leaving the wolf, "is a good lesson."
The wolf lunged.
I moved to meet it, calm and deliberate.
The fight was swift, brutal. Each movement of mine was a dance of precision—sidestepping, twisting, letting its momentum work against it. A slash of my clawed gauntlet across its ribs sent it stumbling, but it regained balance quickly, snapping its jaws with savage desperation.
Good. Let it fight. Let it try.
I caught its next lunge midair, twisting with a practiced jerk of my body. My claws drove deep into its side, ending the threat in a clean, ruthless motion. It crumpled at my feet, breathless and still.
I straightened slowly, blood dripping from the curved blades at my fingertips, the metallic scent heavy in the warm forest air.
Turning back, I expected to see fear, maybe unease on Freya's face.
Instead, I found her staring—not at the dead wolf, but at me.
At the blood on my claws.
At the strength I had shown.
Her eyes were wide—not with terror, but something else. Fascination.
"You're not afraid?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, studying her with interest.
She shook her head, an almost mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"No," she said softly. "It was... amazing. The way you fought, the way you moved..." Her eyes gleamed. "It was like you knew exactly what to do. It was... beautiful."
For a moment, I just looked at her—caught off guard.
A flicker of memory stirred in my mind, unbidden: me, younger, watching the raids from the cliffs in secret; watching dragons carve through chaos with brutal grace; feeling awe, not fear.
She was more like me than I had realized.
"You enjoyed it," I said, more of a statement than a question.
She nodded eagerly, her smile widening. "Is that bad?"
I crouched down in front of her, resting a bloodied claw carefully on her shoulder.
"No," I said, my voice low and serious. "It means you understand. Strength isn't just about surviving. It's about thriving. But it comes with responsibility. If you're going to wield it..."
I squeezed her shoulder lightly.
"You have to know when to stop."
She looked up at me, her small hands curling into determined fists.
"Will you teach me?" she asked, voice steady, burning with the same hunger I had once felt.
I wiped the blood from my claws on the grass with a slow sweep of my hand and gave a faint, proud smile.
"I already am."
I ruffled her hair roughly, earning a tiny squawk of protest.
"My little hatchling," I teased under my breath, half to myself.
Freya blinked up at me, confusion flickering across her face.
"Hatchling?" she repeated, the word clumsy and puzzled on her tongue.
I bit back a chuckle, a real one this time, the corners of my mouth twitching into a grin.
Oh, the face she was going to make when she realized what I truly meant by that word...
Not just a student.
Not just a little girl I was helping.
No.
A hatchling.
My hatchling.
Claimed. Protected and I will Raise her to be stronger than the world that tried to crush her.
I shook my head, amused, as she scowled lightly at me, clearly knowing I was laughing at something but not quite sure what.
"Don't worry about it," I said, ruffling her hair again. "You'll understand soon enough."
And when she did...
Well, the world would have one more beast to fear.
——————————-
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long fingers of gold and crimson across the forest floor, I glanced down at Freya.
An idea began to form—a natural next step.
"Come with me," I said, rising smoothly and offering her my hand.
Without hesitation, her small hand slipped into mine, her fingers curling around mine with a quiet, trusting strength that warmed something deep inside me.
I led her through the winding forest trails toward my cabin, our steps light on the earth. As we walked, I explained, voice low and steady:
"Every warrior... every predator... needs a weapon. Something that isn't just held, but becomes part of them. An extension of their will. Their instincts."
I squeezed her hand lightly.
"I'm going to make you a pair of claws. Light, sharp, deadly. Yours—and yours alone."
Her eyes lit up immediately, bright with excitement.
"Really? My own claws?"
I nodded, smiling at the fierce joy in her face.
"But," I added, voice dropping into a tone that made her perk up in attention, "you'll have to earn them. Training is only the beginning. Strength isn't handed out like sweets—it's forged. In blood, sweat, and will."
Freya grinned, her steps quickening until she practically tugged me along the trail, her excitement nearly bubbling over.
She was so eager.
So ready.
I couldn't help but feel a sharp, protective pride swell in my chest as we neared the cabin.
But the moment I pushed open the door...
I froze.
Sitting casually in the middle of the living room was Luna—her human form reclined with an air of lazy, predatory grace.
Her silver hair spilled over her shoulders like moonlight.
Her sharp, gleaming eyes flicked between me and Freya with a look that was... complicated.
Not angry.
Not furious.
But not exactly welcoming, either.
It was a look of confusion.
Of disbelief.
Of suspicion sharpened to a fine edge.
Freya immediately sensed the tension.
She shrank back slightly, the confidence she had worn like armor during training faltering.
"H-Hiccup... who's that?" she whispered, half-hiding behind me.
I swallowed thickly, feeling the heavy weight of Luna's gaze as it pinned me in place.
Her posture remained deceptively relaxed—legs crossed, one hand resting lightly on her knee—but I could feel the slight pulse through our bond.
A flicker of confusion.
A small spike of irritation—not rage—just a prickling, annoyed sense of Why the hell wasn't I told about this?
No storm of jealousy.
No sudden snarl of fury.
Yet.
Still...
The wrong word out of my mouth and I was spending the night in the damn doghouse—or worse.
I gave Luna a slow, cautious look, trying to measure exactly how much trouble I was about to be in.
And as I watched her bright emerald eyes narrow slightly, not with hostility but with a dangerously curious interest in the tiny human girl clinging to my side...
Only one thought screamed through my head:
"Fuck.
I knew I forgot a very important detail."