Third Person – Hiccup's Point of View
The tension snapped.
Hiccup and the Nadder lunged at the same time, claws and talons colliding mid-sprint. The arena floor erupted beneath them as they crashed again and again in a whirlwind of blood, metal, and scale.
Hiccup's claws slashed across her shoulder, then her neck. She twisted, trying to retaliate with a bite, but he ducked beneath her jaws and carved another line across her underbelly. Her tail came whipping back—he leapt over it and landed behind her, digging his heels in for a brutal spinning slash to her flank.
The Nadder howled.
But it wasn't pain.
It was pleasure.
Each wound only fueled her bloodlust. The more he hurt her, the more excited she became—her snarls now had an edge of manic joy.
Hiccup grinned wide, feral, as his claws caught her wing again and forced her to retreat.
But she didn't back down.
No.
She jumped.
With a single powerful leap and two mighty flaps, the Nadder launched herself into the air, gaining just enough lift to reach the top of the arena's dome. The steel and chain ceiling rattled with her weight as she perched like a gargoyle, smoke pouring from her nostrils.
Her chest swelled.
Her eyes burned.
And then—she breathed.
A torrent of flame burst forth, but it wasn't ordinary fire.
It sparkled—pure, dazzling light.
A storm of radiant blue-white energy spiraled downward, each flame glittering like stars against the sky. The sheer heat of it distorted the air. It wasn't just fire—it was concentrated brilliance, roaring with beauty and death.
Hiccup looked up at it, unblinking.
"...Beautiful," he murmured, voice low.
Too low for any human to hear.
But the Nadder did.
Her pupils contracted, confused for a moment mid-blast. What did he mean?
He smiled faintly beneath the glow.
"But not as beautiful as Luna's."
She shrieked—half rage, half confusion—and poured even more fire down on him.
Hiccup's hand moved with purpose. He unclasped his cloak and pulled it forward, wrapping it around himself like a shield just as the fire engulfed the arena.
Flames rained down in torrents.
The sand ignited, steam and smoke rising like a curtain.
The crowd gasped.
Gobber stood frozen, eyes wide. Not even he had seen this.
For several long seconds, nothing could be seen beyond the blaze.
Then—movement.
The fire began to clear.
And from within the inferno... he stood.
Unharmed.
Steam hissed off his cloak, now billowing in the aftermath.
But it wasn't wool anymore.
The outer layers had been burned away, stripped down to the true material beneath.
Dragon hide.
Black as midnight. Laced with streaks of blood-red that shimmered like molten glass. It pulsed faintly in the heat, alive and resistant.
Not a scorch. Not a burn.
Hiccup stood there, cloaked in the skin of something ancient, untouched.
He raised his head, eyes sharp, and locked gazes with the Nadder as she panted above.
"You're gonna need a lot more than that," he called, tone light—almost amused. "Pretty show, though."
The Nadder's eyes widened—half in admiration, half in hunger.
Then, without hesitation, she dropped from the ceiling and slammed back into the arena floor.
BOOM!
Dust and sand burst outward from her landing. Her wings folded. Her chest heaved.
The fire had taken its toll.
She was still grinning—still wild with desire for battle—but her movements were slower now, heavy with exertion.
She had burned through stamina to give him her best.
And it still wasn't enough.
She growled.
He rolled his shoulders slowly, flexing his fingers.
The claws gleamed.
The cloak fluttered.
The game wasn't over.
But she knew now—
She wasn't fighting a boy.
She was fighting something far worse.
Luna's Point of View
"But not as beautiful as Luna's."
The words echoed.
Not across the arena.
Not through the air.
But in my bones.
My breath caught, sharp and silent.
I hadn't imagined it.
I heard it.
Even above the roar of fire, above the ringing tension that blanketed the arena like fog—I heard him say it. Not to the crowd. Not to the Nadder.
To me.
And then I saw him emerge.
Smoke curled around his form like a crown of ash. The cloak that once hid him now fell behind his shoulders like the wings of a shadow dragon. Black. Blood-red. Ancient. Untouched by flame.
The fire hadn't marked him.
It recognized him.
And he stood beneath it—tall, scarred, shining with heat and fury, as if he'd birthed the flames himself.
My heart roared.
Mine.
My claws dug into the cliff's edge, stone cracking beneath my grip. I leaned forward, eyes wide, tail swaying in agitation. Every part of me ached to leap. To land beside him. To press against him and claim him.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
Because he wasn't done.
Because the challenge wasn't finished.
Because even though my instincts screamed to make him mine now, my blood demanded I wait until the moment he stood victorious.
Not in fear.
In pride.
He was beautiful. That cloak of dragon hide wrapped around him like proof of his survival—of the hunts he'd endured, of the monsters he'd become one with. He looked like a king. A god. A beast shaped by fire and hatred and purpose.
The crowd didn't understand what they were seeing.
But I did.
And she did—the Nadder.
The way her body moved now, slower but charged with heat, told me everything. She knew this wasn't a sparring match anymore.
She was fighting someone like me.
And he... my Hiccup... my mate...
He was in control.
But I wouldn't be reckless.
No matter how badly I wanted to descend and mark him now, I couldn't interrupt. That wasn't our way. That wasn't how this mattered.
He was proving himself.
Not to them.
To me.
So I waited.
Wings tucked. Eyes locked.
And when the time came—when he proved to the world that he wasn't just a human...
I would descend.
I would take him.
And no one—not beast, nor man, nor memory—would stop me.
Gobber's Point of View
He stood in the fire.
No—not in it.
Above it.
Beyond it.
The cloak that had once been simple wool now hung behind him like a badge of something ancient. The black and red dragon hide shimmered under the last licks of the Nadder's flames, smoke curling harmlessly from the surface. Untouched. Unbothered.
The boy I once called Hiccup wasn't there anymore.
No stutter. No flinch. No hesitation.
Just calm. Cold. Command.
The kind of presence that doesn't ask for respect.
It claims it.
I swallowed thickly, sweat still clinging to my brow—not from the heat, but from the weight of what I was watching.
This wasn't bravado. Wasn't showmanship.
It was truth.
And I realized, in that moment, what I'd really done when I brought the village to watch.
I hadn't warned them.
I hadn't prepared them.
I'd brought them to witness the storm I'd seen forming for years—quiet, hidden, growing sharper with every scar they gave him.
And now it had arrived.
And not a single one of them was ready.
Not even me.
"You're gonna need a lot more than that," he'd said, like it was nothing. Like death hadn't just kissed his boots and walked away.
"By the gods..." I whispered, unable to take my eyes off him.
I don't know what shook me more.
The power.
Or the control.
Astrid's Point of View
He didn't look like a mistake anymore.
He looked like a force of nature.
Even from the stands, even after everything he'd said, I couldn't stop watching him. The way he moved. The way he stood. The way the fire danced around his cloak like it belonged to him.
He wasn't afraid.
Not of the Nadder.
Not of pain.
Not even of us.
And I hated that I understood it.
Because while everyone else sat in silence, unsure if they should be amazed or terrified—I wasn't scared.
Not at all.
I was drawn.
It started small, like the tug of a falling thread.
The way he caught that spike.
The way he turned it, calm and mocking, like he wasn't even trying.
But now?
Now it was more.
A slow burn at the edge of something I hadn't let myself feel before.
Admiration.
No...
A crush.
I gritted my teeth, trying to will it away—but my heart didn't listen. My eyes didn't look away.
He hated us.
Hated me.
And I knew why.
We deserved it.
But still...
Watching him move—watching him breathe in this battle—I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to stand beside that fire instead of in its way.
To have that strength look at me, not through me.
I wasn't foolish.
I knew he wouldn't forgive us.
Maybe he never would.
But I couldn't stop the ache growing in my chest.
Because for the first time since we were kids...
I didn't see the Hiccup I once mocked.
I saw the warrior he'd become.
And gods help me...
I wanted to know him.