The fleet of Berk cut through the cold northern waters like a spear. Longships rode the waves, their dragon-headed prows slicing the mist. At the head of the formation, Stoick the Vast stood tall on his flagship, eyes fixed ahead with grim determination.
Beside him, a black shape dragon, Toothless, muzzled and chained, forced to lead them straight to the dragons' nest.
Hiccup was not among them.
_____
Back on Berk, in the dragon training arena, chaos of a different kind was unfolding.
Hiccup stood in the center, surrounded by the other teens, Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut. The captive training dragons watched warily from their pens.
"No more fighting," Hiccup said firmly, holding out his hand toward a Deadly Nadder. "They're not monsters. They're just… scared. Like us."
One by one, Hiccup showed them, extending a hand, speaking softly, respecting boundaries. The dragons slowly responded. A Gronckle nudged Fishlegs. A Hideous Zippleback let Ruffnut and Tuffnut climb on without exploding.
Astrid watched with wide eyes as her own Nadder allowed her to scratch its chin. "This… actually works."
Hiccup grinned. "We can do this. We can change things."
Then he looked around. "Where's Lucian? He should be here."
Astrid's expression tightened. "He's not coming. He told me before he left… if you need real help, go to Nyx."
Hiccup blinked. "Nyx?"
Astrid nodded. "Lucian said he'd understand."
Hiccup didn't waste time. He ran toward the cove, the others following. There, Nyx waited. The Night Fury tilted her head as Hiccup approached.
"Please," Hiccup said, voice urgent. "We need to save Toothless and my dad. Can you help us?"
Nyx studied him for a long moment… then lowered her head and nudged his hand.
The teens mounted up. Astrid on her Nadder, Fishlegs on his Gronckle, the twins on their Zippleback, Snotlout on his Monstrous Nightmare. Hiccup climbed onto Nyx.
"Let's go," he said.
The dragons launched into the sky, a small but determined flight of young Vikings racing to stop a war.
______
When the Vikings' fleet arrived at the island, it looked like a dark, jagged rock formation rising menacingly from the sea, crowned by a massive, smoking volcano at its center.
Thick black smoke curled lazily into the sky, and the air smelled of sulfur and ash. This was the place, the legendary dragons' nest they had sought for generations.
As soon as the longships scraped against the rocky shore, the warriors leaped overboard with thunderous roars. Axes, swords, and shields gleamed in the dim light as hundreds of Vikings charged up the beach, their battle cries echoing off the cliffs. They were confident, bloodthirsty, and ready. This was the day they would finally wipe out the dragon menace once and for all.
Toothless was still chained tightly to the front of Stoick's flagship, forced to stay there even as he pulled desperately against his restraints, eyes wide with fear. The Night Fury knew what lay inside this island and it terrified him.
The Vikings wasted no time. They drove long wooden spears deep into the rocky sand to mark their landing zone, then surged forward like a living tide. At the head of the charge, Stoick the Vast raised his massive war hammer, his voice booming over the din.
"Today we end this war!"
They reached a massive, thick wall of solid rock blocking the entrance to the nest. Without hesitation, they brought forward their heavy catapults and began the assault.
Boulder after boulder smashed into the barrier with earth-shaking force. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone as the Vikings shouted and cheered with every hit.
Finally, with one last tremendous crash, the entire wall crumbled apart. Dust and debris exploded outward as the tunnel beyond was revealed.
A Viking fired a flaming projectile from a catapult. The burning shot streaked into the darkness and lit up the cavern revealing hundreds of dragons huddled inside.
The Vikings roared in triumph and charged forward.
Hundreds of smaller dragons came pouring out from all sides: Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, Hideous Zipplebacks, Monstrous Nightmares, and more. But instead of attacking, the dragons looked utterly terrified. They screamed and scrambled to escape, completely ignoring the warriors as they fled the cave in a panicked swarm, bursting out from every crack and opening like a living flood.
The Vikings slowed for a moment, confused by the lack of resistance. Then they threw their heads back and cheered even louder, believing the dragons were simply running scared from their might.
For a brief, triumphant moment, the cavern fell quiet.
Then the ground began to shake violently.
Warriors stumbled and fell as the tremors grew stronger. Deep inside the cave, a low, rumbling growl started, growing louder and louder until it sounded like thunder rolling through the earth itself.
Suddenly, with a deafening roar that made the whole island tremble, the Red Death burst forth from the very back of the cavern.
It was monstrous.
Bigger than any mountain, with a bloated, armored body covered in jagged spikes, multiple glowing red eyes, and a maw filled with teeth as long as swords. Its wings were vast enough to block out the sky, and its sheer presence radiated pure, ancient fury.
The moment it fully emerged, it unleashed a massive blast of fire that shot straight across the cave, incinerating rock and forcing Vikings to dive for cover. It didn't care about the smaller dragons that had already fled, it was enraged that its home had been invaded.
The Red Death crawled forward, smashing through the remaining rock walls like they were made of parchment. It made its way down toward the water where the Viking fleet was anchored.
Then the real slaughter began.
Huge claws swiped at the longships, tearing through wood and iron as if they were paper. Entire vessels were flipped, crushed, or hurled into the air before crashing back into the sea. The beast breathed enormous streams of fire that turned proud ships into burning wreckage in seconds. Every roar sent more flames raining down from its mouth, sometimes straight at the screaming warriors, sometimes sweeping across the water to ignite more boats.
The Vikings fought back desperately, throwing spears and firing arrows, but nothing even scratched the Red Death's thick, armored hide. What they had thought would be an easy victory had become a nightmare.
They were no longer hunters.
They were prey.