It hasn't been a good day for Hiccup.

That is to say, it was a typical day after a dragon raid. Although none of his village's inhabitants were seriously wounded, like many times before, Hiccup has once again further cemented his infamy as Berk's disgrace. A small, skinny, runt of a boy, clearly unfit to be the future leader of the Hooligan Tribe, though he was the son of Chief Stoick the Vast, and therefore heir to his position. Granted, he didn't do himself any favors by attracting the attention of a Monstrous Nightmare, nearly getting himself killed by its flames and unintentionally causing even more damage to an already ravaged village of Vikings, even after being told to stay indoors and out of trouble. But the scowls of disappointment from all of his tribe, including his father, were an experience he would never really be used to, despite their frequency.

Especially in light of him shooting down a dragon. As in, legitimately hitting one, this time. And not just any dragon; the Night Fury. A mysterious dragon that's been terrorizing Berk for ages. If only he could actually find it and prove his feat to everyone.

"Ugh, the gods hate me. Some people lose their knife, or their mug. No, not me. I manage to lose an entire dragon", Hiccup exclaimed to himself as he hopelessly combed the woods in search of the downed beast. In frustration, Hiccup smacked a nearby tree branch, which promptly recoiled right in his face.

As he massaged his aching forehead, he noticed that this tree had been violently bent and split, as if something big and heavy had crashed into it, the up-turned soil trail right next to it providing further evidence to that theory. Hiccup slowly moved closer to the slight trench that followed and took a peak above it, only to immediately duck when he noticed the body of a big black beast. He peaked his head again, now carefully, to confirm his impression.

He's found it. The dragon he shot down. The Night Fury was now entangled in the bolas shot by Hiccup's invention.

Hiccup quickly reached for the pocket dagger inside his vest and carefully approached the dragon's inert body. When he saw no reaction, he incredulously beamed.

"Wow… I-I did it! I did it, this fixes everything! Yes", he exclaimed as he triumphantly stroke a victorious pose, bringing his foot onto the fallen dragon. "I have brought down this mighty beast-"

And just as he stepped on it, the dragon struggled slightly, promptly startling the young Viking boy. So it was still alive.

For now.

Hiccup recomposed himself and nervously brought his dagger forward. As he approached the heavy-breathing dragon, it finally opened its eyes.

Those green eyes had an almost haunting beauty to them, like big glimmering emeralds that masked the menace of their thin-slit irises. The dragon's stare was cold and indifferent, as if to judge the boy pointing a blade to it. They were not eyes one would typically expect a savage beast to exhibit when faced with danger; they were eyes of resignation, from a creature that had accepted death and has chosen to face it with regal pride. Hiccup made conscious effort to steady his breathing and ignore the Night Fury's gaze, as he prepared to strike.

"I'm gonna kill you, dragon. I'm gonna", Hiccup took another deep breath. "I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father." He closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm a Viking." With another rumble from the dragon, he shouted, "I'm a Viking!" And with this, he raised his dagger over his head, preparing to stab the dragon. For an instant, Hiccup even thought he caught a glimpse of fear in the creature's eyes, despite its cool demeanor. Was the infamous Night Fury afraid? As he wondered, he noticed his hands were shaking while holding his small blade. At last, the beast closed its eyes and rested its head on the floor, fully embracing its fate. Hiccup shut his own eyes tight, maintaining his striking stance but still unable to move.

Why did he hesitate? What are these second thoughts he was having? Why did he find such difficulty in bringing himself to kill a single defenseless dragon?

It's not like he's never seen one be killed before. In a village of Vikings under constant attack from dragons, you were bound to see the deaths of at least a dozen that were too stubborn to allow themselves to be captured and used for training of the younger Vikings. Either they fought back these gigantic pests, or they'd be the ones roasted and eaten.

But this case was different. Hiccup shot this one down first. All of this was entirely caused by him; it was his responsibility.

"I did this."

Hiccup just couldn't bring himself to finish his deed. He felt a slight lump in his throat. Was that really it? Was he really not fit for killing dragons? Hiccup took a few steps back. What if he just left the dragon be? Maybe it'd eventually free itself, despite its injuries. Or it would wait there and starve to death. Or someone else could find it and kill it. And bask on the glory of slaying the Night Fury. While he remained a failure of a Viking and a shameful display of cowardice and weakness. This didn't have to involve Hiccup.

After another couple of steps away, he came to a complete halt.

No.

He had to do this.

For his whole life, Hiccup's been shunned by his entire tribe. He was made into a mockery by his peers. Whenever they were out there putting out fires and helping Berk regrow, he was stuck sharpening knives and doing frivolous shores at Gobber's forge. If he ventured out to help, he would be held responsible for endangering his life and destroying something, and then he'd be lectured about how he was a shame to Vikings everywhere. He's been a misfit, a weirdo, a useless urchin who left nothing but disaster in his wake. No one trusted him. No one had hopes for his future, either as a Viking or as a Chief. He had nothing left.

This was his changing point. From now own, maybe they'll give him a chance to leave his mark. He would finally have friends. He may even finally get Astrid to look at him. He could be a worthy Viking hero.

All he had to do was kill this dragon.

Hiccup closed his eyes, slowly breathing in and out. "I can do this", he whispered to himself. He inhaled again, opened his eyes, and let out a low growl as he exhaled. He turned around to face the trapped dragon once again. It still had its eyes closed. It waited for death. And Hiccup was going to deliver it. He slowly marched forward, eyes filled with renewed determination. He gripped his dagger tight and raised it above his head once again, taking aim at his jugular. He figured he could at least make its death as swift and humane as possible.

And with a short roar, as he tensed every small muscle in his body, Hiccup brought the knife down.

The blade pierced through the dragon's neck, spraying the boy with blood. The Night Fury gave a loud shriek, his apparent bravado giving way to pain. As it struggled in its binds, Hiccup pushed the handle of his dagger, driving the blade further down its neck. The dragon uselessly flapped its wings, eventually hitting Hiccup, knocking his knife off his place and sending him tumbling away. Hiccup came to a stop hard on the ground, but sit back up quickly, the rush of the moment making him more eager to get back to his feet. With quick breaths, he was about to reach for his blade and continue his fight, but he decided to observe the wounded dragon instead.

It was rapidly losing its vivid red blood. Hiccup didn't know why, but he took notice of that with surprised astonishment. Most dragon raids took place after dark, so the blood of dragons killed every now and then was often obscured, highlighted only slightly by the flames all around. Because of that, even though Hiccup's seen their deaths, he's never really taken a good look at their blood. That somehow deeply caught Hiccup's attention, mostly because of how similar to human blood it was. It was indistinguishable from the blood that drew from his hand that time he cut himself with a blade he playing with once, or the blood spilled by the many wounded Vikings on previous raids.

And as it lost more blood, its struggles diminished. Its growls of defiance gave way to labored gurgles. It obviously had difficulty breathing, what with the big gash down its throat. As it drew the last remains of its strength, the dragon turned its gaze back at Hiccup, which sent chills down the boy's spine. It then made a low sad rumble, and its closing eyes change from desperation for survival to a cold tranquility, with a hint of disappointment in them. And as it closed its eyes forever, it eventually stopped moving completely.

He's done it. Hiccup's done what a Viking was meant to do. He's killed the dragon. So why did he still feel that same lump in his throat from before?

Something about this ordeal didn't feel right. He didn't feel victorious for killing such an exotic beast while it was immobilized and defenseless, even though it was the contraption he invented that threw the bolas, and he was the one to hit the mark and shoot it down.

Hiccup snapped out of his thoughts to pick up his dagger from the ground. He still had one more thing he needed to do with it. Hopefully, whatever came next would be worth it.