Hiccup's Point of View
The morning after the raid was sharp with frost, a biting cold that crept through the cracks in the walls and settled under the skin like a warning. Outside, Berk moved like a wounded animal—slow, stubborn, and limping forward, pretending the damage didn't exist.
Smoke still clung to the thatched rooftops. The warriors grunted and groaned as they rebuilt what little could be salvaged, hammering and shouting orders like it made a difference. It didn't.
It never did.
They were just animals clawing at the illusion of control.
I sat at the table, a wooden spoon turning my porridge into mush. I hadn't touched it. The bland scent of oats and goat milk couldn't cut through the heavy weight in the air.
He was coming.
Heavy boots echoed against the floorboards, deliberate, thunderous. Stoick the Vast, my oh-so-glorious father. I could feel the heat radiating off him like he was barely keeping himself from erupting.
Right on schedule.
He stopped in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The scowl on his face was the same one he wore when he was trying to pretend this wasn't all slowly slipping through his fingers.
"Hiccup," he grunted, thick with disappointment. "We need to talk."
I didn't look up right away. I let the silence stretch, the tension build. I wanted him to stew in it. Then I slowly raised my eyes, voice flat.
"Do we ever do anything else?"
He ignored the bite in my tone. Or maybe he couldn't afford to acknowledge it. He stepped forward.
"You could've been killed last night," he said. "You were out in the middle of the chaos, again. What were you thinking?"
I gave a faint shrug. "That someone ought to be doing more than yelling and waving an axe."
He didn't laugh. Not that I expected him to.
His fingers twitched at his side, aching to wrap around something—an axe, a shield, or maybe just his temper.
"You think you're clever, boy?" he growled. "Running around like that? What were you trying to prove?"
I looked at him. Really looked. And smiled.
"Nothing. Yet."
That caught him. For just a second, something uncertain flickered in his eyes.
He stepped back, exhaled heavily, then dropped the weight I knew was coming.
"You're going to dragon training."
The room went still.
Any normal son would've seen this as a chance. A way to earn respect. Belonging.
But I wasn't normal.
And I wasn't his son.
I let the words hang there, weighing their meaning. Dragon training—where they broke the weak and sharpened the cruel. Where they taught you how to kill what you didn't understand.
Where I would learn everything I needed to destroy them from the inside.
I leaned back in my chair, expression neutral. "With the others? That'll be fun."
Stoick blinked, caught off guard. He expected resistance. Rage. Desperation.
Not calm acceptance.
And certainly not this quiet, calculating smile.
"Gobber will train you," he said, cautious now. "You'll learn discipline. Weapon handling. How to defend yourself. Maybe even how to finally fit in."
Fit in.
I nearly laughed.
That was the goal? Not survival. Not strength. Belonging.
I let silence stretch until it felt unbearable. Then, finally:
"Fit in," I echoed. "Is that what you want?"
"It's what you need," he replied, jaw tight.
I tilted my head. "Then Thor help me, I'll try."
He relaxed slightly. He actually believed I was coming around. That this was a turning point.
It was.
Just not the one he wanted.
As he reached for his helmet, he threw one more log on the fire.
"I'll be gone while you train. Leading an expedition. We think we've found the nest. If we're right…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
He thought he could end this war.
I smiled, razor-sharp and ice cold.
"Oh… I can't wait for you to meet her."
He froze mid-step. The words sank in like poison.
His shoulders stiffened. He turned back slowly. "What did you say?"
I blinked innocently. "Say? I don't remember saying anything."
"You said—" His eyes narrowed. "You know something."
I gave him a crooked, careless grin. "Must've been the wind. Or maybe you're just hearing what you want to hear."
He stared at me, trying to read the truth in my face.
But I gave him nothing.
After a long moment, he turned away.
"You better be at training tomorrow," he muttered, already half out the door.
I raised my hand in a lazy salute. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The door slammed shut behind him.
The silence that followed was more satisfying than any praise he could have offered.
I rose slowly, the mask slipping away. That little conversation had given me everything I needed. He was hunting something he couldn't understand. Walking straight toward the truth he feared most.
And me?
I had just been handed access to every dragon in their system.
Their routines. Their tactics. Their blind spots.
They wanted to tame me.
I was going to dismantle them.
Piece by piece.
From the inside out.