~Draegon Childe~

I will say this only once: Anyone who has watched the original How To Train Your Dragon movie knows which parts of this are officially owned by whoever and which parts are not. Even so, I have changed the story so much that only the general events will be similar. In fact if I changed the character's names and switched the dragon types around this would almost be considered completely my story.

Please note, this chapter is only a prologue (as is part of the next chapter) - The story will focus on Hiccup and is going to be told by him. I am trying out a different form of writing where the story as it is written is more or less a conversation between two people, one of which (Hiccup) is telling his story to the other. If you do not care how they met, you can probably skip to the third chapter (although you will then loose quite a bit of background information).

Hope you all like this, so without further ado - here is the story:

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1 ~ Discovery

My name used to be Hiccup you know – and I quite realize how funny it is now; the oldest draegon in existence with such a name… That was then of course – I am nameless now. Still, when my father bestowed that name upon me, its meaning was drastically different – he hoped that I would live up to it; that I would be a problem to my enemies, cause them to stumble and fall before me. Now though…

You know that everything changes don't you? Over time all of us and the world around us changes imperceptibly until there are almost no similarities left. As my discarded name shows, even the meaning of the words said between the two of us has changed drastically since the age when I was born.

So how sure are you that the meaning you gleam from my story is the same as the meaning I am trying to impart upon you? How sure are you that the conclusions you draw from it are true?

- Eldest's words to the last draegon to have visited him; year 1783 by the human calendar.

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It was a regular day on the island – the last of the winter snow storms had receded not even a few hours ago and the dark clouds that had covered the sky for near a week's time dispersed, leaving only a few stragglers that shone eerily in the deep red color of the setting sun. Not many noticed this though; of the few human inhabitants of this island (if the research expedition could be called such), most were much too busy checking the equipment they had to leave behind before the storm set in. The few that did though could not prevent a shiver from running along their back – there was something foreboding about it, what with the clouds forming a pillar of red in the quickly darkening sky.

Still, even those that looked westwards where the ocean and the sky met soon put those thoughts away – they were already over a week behind schedule, and having been hand-picked from among the leading archeologists and scientists of their respective fields such a setback was like a black mark upon their pride.

Truly a horrible way to start looking into what by many of them was considered a discovery of the century – the storm had set in not even a day after they had set foot on this icy land. A more superstitious person may have remarked that it was as if the island itself didn't want to give up its secrets – nature itself setting working to preserve what could possibly be the last place on earth that had not been defiled by man.

That didn't apply to anyone here though – they were stronger, their lives given to science with little space left in their ordered minds for anything of mystical nature. If there is anything that can only be explained through occult means, it simply means that we do not know enough to classify it under proper scientific laws; they said, and most believed it with all their hearts. Funny really – considering that they came here more or less on the words of a single ship's crew that spoke of a nigh yet undiscovered island – an impossibility in the current world where every square mile had been carefully mapped from high above even the tallest mountains.

… an impossibility upon whose beach they were now camped out on.

The strange water currents surrounding the island were going to be carefully plotted by other groups that have set up their ships several miles offshore, but their work was minor in comparison to those upon the island – for the remains of buildings still standing not even a few meters from their camp spoke of human settlement where scientifically there should be none. Its age was anyone's guess at the moment – the never ending ice had encroached on it and preserved it for many centuries, safeguarding the secrets within with its cold hands.

Still, all of that would hardly warrant the combined interest of over thirty universities world wide – no, that honor was reserved to several grainy pictures that the sailors of that lone ship brought back with them along with a single bone that one of them picked up as little more than a curiosity piece. The skeleton in the pictures was of a being whose existence had been disproven long ago, making them be dismissed off hand as just another publicity stunt. The bone though…

That bone was the true reason for this mission – for once the interest in the 'unplottable' island grew and the bone was brought in for analysis by the sailor's son something quite astonishing came to light. The composition of the bone was different from all others on file for both live species and those long extinct – so drastically different in fact that for a few months it was considered a spoof, at least until the number of tests passed into the double digits and others were brought in to conduct their own separate analyses.

There were almost as many different theories on the origins of the bone and on the creature it belonged to as there were universities and private research groups in the world – and the sixteen people rushing around camp on this frosty afternoon in the fifth lunar cycle of this year were driven by a single purpose, to find out the truth about this highly controversial piece of ancient history that had laid frozen upon this island for uncountable centuries.

Work only stopped when the last visible tip of the setting sun finally quenched itself in the ice cold waters of the Greenland Sea, and even then it took the few calm minds to convince the others that exploring frozen ruins of human civilization was not something that could (or should) be safely done with only a few artificial lights to provide guidance.

As the gathered group turned in for the night, none of them bothered to waste time on anything as pointless as stargazing – they had an early day tomorrow and it wasn't as if any of them were astronomers interested in the mysteries held within the boundless reaches of space. It was unfortunate, because above them a hauntingly beautiful aura danced across the night sky, and had anyone been watching its mesmerizing contortions they could have noticed a small black shape dart through the air when it temporarily blocked out a tiny section of the aura's undulating flows.

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The next day dawned onto the sight of rushing scientists and their aides. Work had started a few hours before first light, and now that the ice encrusted remains of a human village was bathed by the sun's rays the expedition was finally ready to proceed. Hours passed as the group subdivided the long forgotten village into sections, recorded the general outline of the various houses, and plotted out a quick map of the location.

It was quickly revealed that a portion of the village was hidden beneath the everlasting ice, and plans were put in place to carefully excavate those sections. Other than that though, work continued in an efficient manner – this wasn't the first dig site for anyone on the team, and the week long storm had given them plenty of time to organize themselves.

As it was, a group of five were already taking preliminary photos of the easy to access areas – mostly of the more intact houses that have somehow managed to survive without caving in. There were several houses that have obviously been used to store food – the mummified remains of fish eternally preserved in ice lent credence to that.

The intact forge was found next, its stunning array of weapons hanging from the hooks or simply littering the floor prophesying years of work that would have to go into cataloging them and comparing them to other finds in an attempt to place the time period and origins of the tribe that forged them.

A few experts in historical artifacts remarked that the structures were similar on the outside to those of Viking origin; what with the crude dragon like wooden figures adorning most of them, and the Norse patterns carved into their sides. There were discrepancies though – no Viking tribes were known for constructing anything as well reinforced as the houses on this island. The discovery that several houses have likely contained more than one floor sent waves of excited puzzlement through the group – as did the few beams within the houses that hinted at subdivisions between rooms that have once been there.

The great hall positioned at the highest point of the slope upon which the village was situated turned out to be a treasure trove as well – though much of it had collapsed under the weight of the thick ice that had formed on its roof and allowed snow to accumulate within, a quick glance through revealed a couple bookshelves worth of old text. While the others continued on, three of them broke off to hover over the ancient books and carefully prepare them for transfer back to camp.

The rest of the day continued on in a similar manner, as would the rest of the coming week. With most of the buildings having undergone at least cursory inspection, the location featured in the picture was quickly found at the center of the great hall. Although no one amongst the expedition would admit to it, many were left feeling slightly let down when instead of the skeleton in the picture that had been hanging over a large circular table they found only the remains of a heavily rusted metal chain which ended not even a meter from the ceiling, proving that the mystical skeleton had been painted into the picture. So it happened that the search for any more bones similar to the one that started this furor continued, and the thin layer of ash mixed in with the snow under the chain went unnoticed by all but a single person.

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Dianna Nikolaeva had been born with exceptional eyesight, though she never really advertised that fact. Having been born during the late period of the Cold war between the Eastern and Western groups, she managed to climb to distinction within the scientific community despite living what could only be called an interesting life.

Her parents met each other by sheer accident amongst the multitude of Russian divisions focused on weapons research, and lived together for two years before Di's birth (as what little friends she had called her). What with her father being forced into one of the more secretive projects, Di was quite often left alone with her mother, which made her passing on when Di was only five years old all the more traumatizing despite her having been aware that it was coming.

Still, with her mother's blood flowing strongly within her, Dianna quickly rose to the top of her class once school started and continued that streak into her adult life. The single time she stumbled had been the year her father suffered an accident at his workplace and never returned home – the only explanation Dianna ever received was that he died serving his motherland and that the exact circumstances were classified behind so much red tape that she wasn't even allowed to know the city in which it took place.

She pulled through though, moving to Moscow in 1982 and while doing odd jobs for a living managed to get into the Moscow state university where she graduated with distinction in soil science and history simultaneously. By the time the Solviet Union broke apart in 1991, she was already gone, having managed to leave it two years beforehand during a pilgrimage she had gone on.

Settling down in the United Kingdom, she quickly got in to the University of Cambridge for their archeology classes, all the while working as an assistant professor in the history department. After another pilgrimage that took her from the chain of islands making up the Philippines to the mountains of Tibet, she moved again in 1996 to Iceland so as to begin her job there as a professor of history.

With a virtual net of contacts in all corners of the world, it was not too much of a surprise that only a few years later she had been invited to join the group setting out to the previously unknown island, especially when she herself had participated in several attempts at identifying the bone brought back from it.

Or really, confirming her suspicions about it.

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It was the night of the third day that Dianna made her move. She had waited until everyone became so caught up in work that they would not miss her if she disappeared into the woods for a couple hours with but a flimsy excuse of scouting out the area. Now that she was no longer surrounded by the hum of machinery and excited voices of the expedition, she smiled at how simple it had been to get away – no one had even questioned her decision to explore the area alone.

With but the sounds of nature around her, Dianna let go of the tight control she had over her body (something that has become so natural to her that she could hold it in her sleep) and felt more than saw her pupils change ever so slightly into slits. While she knew of others of her blood that never bothered to hide their slit eyes and simply passed it off as a recessive misalignment of genes (something she found funny, for there was more than a grain of truth in it), her mother had lived in a time such a thing had not been too well received and had passed on those worries to her daughter. So much so that Dianna hadn't seen the real world for longer than a few seconds at a time for over five years now (and even those few glances were marred by the sunglasses she hid behind at such times).

A shiver ran over her back as the colors that have been absent from the world returned once more, the visible heat overlaying itself over what humans would consider as the natural coloring of the world to give everything a sort of ethereal beauty that made her wish she had never listened to her mother. It was too late for it now – she would never be able to pass off her sudden change of pupils as genetic.

Shaking her head to clear it, Di focused back on the reason she was here in the first place. She glanced around, hoping to spot the pinpoint of ethereal white light that each one of her blood had a few inches below their heart. She didn't place too much hope in it though – there were too many trees and rocks around her to see properly, and even if the eldest was here on this island, Di wasn't naïve enough to expect to find him without spending a few weeks searching.

Nothing, eh?

Not the least bit discouraged, she moved onwards, carefully marking the place she had been in on her copy of the aerial photo of this island. By the time the sun started setting and Di returned to camp, she had walked through several square miles of forest spreading to the east of the islet upon which the village was situated. The next day differed only in the location she searched, and so did the one after that. It was only on the third day that she found herself standing on the ledge of a cove stretching downwards perhaps fifty or sixty feet. The ancient trees positioned along the cove dipped their roots over the edges and instilled the solid rock faces with an almost living quantity, especially when the wind caused them to sway.

What truly caught her attention wasn't the cove, trees, or even the small waterfall feeding the pond in the center of the cove – no, it was the fact that for the life of her Dianna couldn't find even a trace of the cove on the aerial photos that have been perfectly accurate until now. Ironically, the impossibility of this did not catch her attention for that long – mostly because some of the clustered roots hanging down parted to let a regal looking being step out of the until then hidden cave and into the cove.

Feelings of wonder, excitement, contentment, and relief washed across her as the one being spoken of in legends that her mother imparted upon her – the eldest of their blood that she had searched for for over sixteen years now was standing before her. Not even caring about anything else, she allowed her wings to spring out from the nook between her shoulder blades, ripping through the warm coat she had like claws through unprotected skin. Her tail followed soon after, and before her change was even halfway complete she threw herself off the ledge, the need to come closer to the eldest of their blood overriding all inhibitions that the human side of her would have felt.

Even as she skid along the floor of the cove, her horrible landing a testament to how often she had taken this form, the eldest spoke.

:: Welcome to my island hatchling. It has been several centuries since the last one of our cursed blood had last come by. Have you come to hear my story, or to ask about how I have conquered the eternal curse we all bear? That was what the last draegon had come by to ask, and the one before him.

Where are my manners though? Sit down and rest from your journey while I catch some fish for us to share. We can talk afterwards. ::

Glancing up at the sleek black scales of the eldest as he walked away, Dianna – no, Shade, as her mother had dubbed her when she had shifted, for the first and as of now second last time letting her true draegon form free – allowed herself to sink to the ground. The change had taken more out of her than she had thought, but even so she was content.

Her search was finally over, and perhaps by the time she left the island she would be able to leave behind the curse that had controlled her life until now.

With it gone, she could perhaps marry and start a family without worrying about bringing another life into this world that would have to carry the same burden as she did.

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I left the tired hatchling behind as I spread my wings and flew off to catch a couple fish from the nearby waters. Even as I flew within a few meters of a research ship that was one of many now encroaching upon this land, I didn't pay any attention to it. Humans had a way of ignoring what they didn't want to see, and I helped them out just enough that I was invisible to them. As for the instruments on board… the curse took care of that.

As I hooked a fifth fish out and flew back to deposit it on the steadily growing pile along the shore, I wondered how this latest wandering spirit would respond to the truth of our race. The last one took his life, and the one before that simply sat there for several weeks before standing up, thanking me for my hospitality, and flying off north. I could still feel that one's life, so perhaps there would soon be two elders of our race.

Still, it would be interesting to see how this one would respond – she seemed so much more… human… than the other two. So much so that it was difficult for me to relate. I am hardly a hermit – I have visited just about every country on Midgard (or earth, as the humans call it), and have lived amongst them often enough. Even so, we were different – I had discovered that bloody truth not even ten years into my life, and have seen it proven time and time again.

Well, at the very least the next few weeks are not going to be boring – although perhaps I need to start looking for a new island to stay on; this one is quickly becoming too wide known…

I didn't feel anything at the thought of leaving the island that I had lived on for many centuries now – one place was as good as the other for me, and none of them could ever be considered my home.

After all, home is where the heart is, and I have lost that a long time ago…

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A/N

I have said all I wanted to up top before the story (to guarantee that people do not automatically skip it when they notice the a/n sign). Other than that, I will just note that I hope to get chapters published in a weekly / by-monthly basis, but this story is secondary to my Ouroboros epic which is secondary (unfortunately) to real life. This story shouldn't go on for long, as I am looking at roughly 20-30k words for it (unlike the 500k approximation for Ouroboros).

One last note: the name was originally Draegon child (coming from the fact that I came up with the story while watching wolf children), but CrackTheSkye suggested changing it to 'childe', and I liked the way it sounded.

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That's all from me today folks,

Saienai Signing off.