Paradigm Shift

Chapter 1: The Offspring of Lightning and Death

Raven's Point was beautiful by Viking standards: thick, suffocating fog; sharp, eviscerating rocks; spiny, mace-like flowers; creatures with bone-crushing teeth, and that was only the nice part. It was a rapturous slice of Viking paradise.

Near the thickest part, a young man stood and played with a small rope in his hand. Not with the feverish excitement a child would but with contemplative disinterest as he fed it repetitively through his fingers. The rope was split apart as if something sharp had cut through it with extreme prejudice.

Hiccup, the teenage, brown-haired, green-eyed, shrimp of a Viking sighed.

He was so sure that this would be the day: the day where the village would no longer hate him for being weak, the day when he could walk outside and hold his head high.

Because this was the day he would prove that he accomplished the impossible. Not only would he be the first Viking ever to see a Night Fury, but he would also be the only Viking to kill one.

The honor it would bestow made Hiccup salivate at the mouth and giggle like a young girl.

After all, in Berk, killing a dragon was everything. It would no longer matter that he was a frail, undersized worm of a Viking. No, he would be Hiccup, the slayer of night itself.

Hell, he might even get a date.

But there was one tiny problem. The previous night, when the dragons attacked Berk, Hiccup had used his bola launcher to entangle the Night Fury and watched the dark shape fall. And that's why Hiccup had trudged out today, stumbling through the forest in a delirious haze of excitement with curiosity dancing in his eyes.

He had found the bola. That was no problem: the row of downed, crumpled trees was a dead give away. Unfortunately, there was no squirming, black dragon in its captive embrace, just strands of shredded rope everywhere: in the trees, the rocks, and all over the ground. The dragon had escaped.

With one more sigh, this time sounding a bit like a groan, Hiccup stood up and headed back toward Berk.

All of a sudden, like a crack of thunder, a loud blast rattled the small Viking's bones. Hiccup instinctively crouched down. His eyes careened, narrowed and alert, as he searched for the source. But the trees were quiet, and there were no black, nefarious clouds above– the sky was a mystifying, crystalline blue. The only disturbance to the serenity was the melodic trickling of a nearby creek.

A chuckle forced its way out of Hiccup's mouth as the adolescent Viking stood up and dusted his pants off. "Just what I need, something else to go wrong," the young man mumbled under his breath.

Nature answered with a scratching, tearing sound, far too loud to be some little critter. And far too close for comfort.

Nervously yelping, Hiccup jumped back as if his foot had been burned.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the sound ominously disappeared like a monster stalking its prey. Other than the trickling stream, the forest was quiet once more.

Hiccup's gaze turned toward where the sound had originated. Trees edged his vision: a green and brown spectacle of twisted twigs, branches, and roots.

The crunch of dried leafs and soft dirt beneath his boots drifted to his ears, as Hiccup approached.

He stopped in front of a bush but could not see anything through its foliage; it was simply too thick. Hiccup leaned forward.

Suddenly, with the feeling of ants digging through his stomach, Hiccup felt his foot give out. Hiccup let out a small cry of surprise and flailed his arms as he tried to find some semblance of balance. Failing to do so, he slipped downward through an array of plants, leaves, loose soil and small grayish rocks.

With a sense of panic, Hiccup tried to kick something to slow and stop his decent down the steep slope, but his feet merely pushed the loose dirt and pebbles around instead of himself upward. A small cloud of dust formed, and Hiccup reflexively pulled an arm to his mouth to quell an incoming sneeze. He slid on.

It wasn't until his boots came to a sloping splash that Hiccup found his movement arrested. He tried to stand, only for his feet to lose purchase. He fell face first into the liquid at the bottom of the hill with a startled and frustrated shout.

A coppery taste entered his mouth, and the small Viking quickly retracted his head from its watery hold. He quickly shook his head back and forth like a waterlogged dog causing small droplets and soaked leaves to fly every which way.

Taking a calming breath, Hiccup glanced down at the water he was resting in. Small streams of red and brown marred the murky surface like an unwelcome houseguest overstaying their welcome. His eyes followed the, alarmingly, large trails of red until they reached the corpse of something with short, off-white fur on the opposite bank, a few feet away.

It was then that Hiccup remembered he had a nose.

"Well, that's just convenient," he said as he pinched his nose with one hand until it hurt. The smell was abhorrent.

Looking around, he noticed that the stream he was currently sitting in followed a narrow ravine – one with sharp, unstable slopes. The only reason the dirt and rocks hadn't come sliding down was due to the extremely thick vegetation that blocked not only the surroundings but also the sun and sky above.

Hiccup forced his irritated knees, which were itching all over due to the fall – a sensation that made him grit his teeth in annoyance – to straighten out and allow him to stand. Water slopped off his body in miniature waterfalls.

It was then that fate would make itself apparent, but not with a goddess or a tranquil sign of peace, but instead with a brutal, vociferous boom that shook the leaves off of their branches and disturbed the calm water with large ripples.

But before his brain could even analysis the sound, everything went black. Hiccup's body crinkled down as if he just took a blow to the head and came to rest in the middle of the creek. The water slowly rose against his prone form as it attempted to find a way around the new obstacle in its path.

For only a few minutes did Hiccup stay in his limbo-like state, but once everything came back, he could have sworn he collapsed only moments before. His head ached with a throbbing pulse that was worse than the time Snotlout hit him in the head with a rock, and his ears were ringing like someone had shouted directly into them for an hour.

With a spine-jarring shiver, he noticed his prone position. Confused, Hiccup went to stand, but pain attacked his body like an army of miniature Vikings.

"What in the name of Valhalla just happened?" Hiccup gasped out like a landlocked fish sputtering for water.

After a few minutes, the Viking managed to drag himself to his feet. He used a nearby tree to steady himself but noticed that the bark felt strange: instead of itching his hand like a hair brush it felt almost soft like ash.

Confused, Hiccup examined his surroundings. In a circle, approximately as wide as he was tall, everything from rocks to leaves were blackened as if the Ragnarök had come early.

Hiccup ran his hands through his hair, which was standing up strangely. He tried to force it down, but it was a battle he was unable to win – the hair was not listening.

Sudden pain rattled his back, and Hiccup fell to his knees, his mouth open in shock. Some bile accompanied his gasp of pain and lightly flowed out of his mouth and down his chin.

Shaking his head lightly, Hiccup turned his attention to getting out of the ravine.

The pain that had attacked his back got worse, and Hiccup often found himself sliding down during his escape attempts from the small bursts of pain that rattled his body. Eventually, Hiccup managed to make it out, and through the forest until collapsed on a hard dirt path like a dead man. Thankfully, his heaving chest was a point to the contrary.

With shaky breath, Hiccup forced himself to stand and take one meticulous step back toward Berk. Then another. His veins felt like they were liquid fire. Another step.

Getting to Berk was only a few thousand more.

Then, just as suddenly as the pain came, it passed. Not completely, the twinges of it were still present like little bug bites all over, but the sharpness, as if something was cutting into flesh, was gone.

Hiccup wasted no time. He ignored his quivering legs – like leaves in the wind – and forced his light gait to morph into a gentle jog. The greens, browns, and grays of the environment shuffled through Hiccup's view as he fled toward Berk. He didn't fear tripping, nor did he fear the physical exertion, nor attack from wild animal.

He feared the pain would come back. Hiccup could feel its presence, like acid in his blood, biding its time.

Hiking through the forest went smoother than Hiccup could have ever hoped for. Berk was constructed on a cliff side and was as vertically inclined as it was horizontal. Traversing the narrow and perilous paths into Berk was mostly trivial if harrowing. Thankfully, his decent into Berk went without crisis. Hiccup was dreadfully worried about getting vertigo or collapsing while on the wooden bridges and ramps used to cross the hazardous terrain but found his concerns unjustified.

No one in the village bothered him. They were rushing around in a frenzy trying to fix the damage that last night's raid had caused. Small bits and pieces of everything were, well, everywhere: the legs of a chair on a roof; a door crushed by a rock; a bed in a tower. Any other time, it would have been slightly amusing. Now, though, Hiccup didn't even notice. Instead, he limped home with his hand on his stomach and his eyes closed as often as possible.

Right when he opened the front door to his house, Hiccup entertained the idea that maybe the worst was over.

That was a bad idea.

The pain came back with the ferociousness and aggressiveness of a hurricane and tore through his body with relentless assault. Hiccup whined in pain and forced his weakened, wobbling legs to make the last dozen steps through the house. It was like trying to move with noodles for legs. Every step Hiccup was sure they would crumple, and he would tumble to the floor.

If he fell, he was not getting up again.

Luckily, Hiccup soon reached his destination: the loft, his room. With a large gasp of relief, Hiccup collapsed onto the bed. Small clouds of paper and dust exploded into the air and calmly drifted back down.

Hiccup didn't care that it was midday. He didn't care that he should be working with Gobber. All he wanted was sleep. His back was killing him, his hands and feet were killing him, and his butt was killing him. Heck, even his head felt like it was melting off, and his jaw was aching so bad he kept instinctively rubbing it.

Hiccup felt his eyes close as he fell into a slumber.

When his eyes fluttered open, the brown wood of his walls did not meet his gaze, nor did the white, wool sheets. All of that was gone. In fact, the house was gone, Berk was gone and the entire island was gone. Even the ocean was gone. Instead, as far as he could see, there was a white substance, like snow, blanketing everything.

Baffled, the young man stood up. There was no pain in his neck, his arms, or his mouth; there was no pain anywhere.

"You're lost, young man," a croaking, inhuman voice said beyond him.

Quicker than the strike of a snake, Hiccup turned around. Nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.

At first, the only thing that he could see was the horse: a colossal horse that easily dwarfed him with an absolutely perfect sparkling gray coat. But, after a quick blink, Hiccup realized one problem with the steed; the beast had an additional set of legs for a grand total of eight. And if that wasn't strange enough, there was also a black feathered, large bird perched on its back. The bird had startling gray eyes that were so clear they appeared as if they could see into your very soul. And if that wasn't otherworldly enough, the two figure's outlines were hazy, wavering and shimmering like a mirage on a hot summer day.

The horse nickered angrily.

"Don't worry about Sleipnir, he's just antsy," the bird said with a light wave of its wing.

Hiccup stared at the winged creature for a long time. Finally, he said, "I'm dead, aren't I?"

The bird let out a throaty series of croaking noises that sounded more like irritating caws than any type of laugh.

"Dreaming then?" the boy tried.

Gray eyes twinkled in amusement and the raven stated, "Something like that."

Before Hiccup could ask any more questions, the bird spoke once again, "You see that?" It used a wing to gesture straight up.

Blinking, the young Viking turned his gaze skyward. A whirlwind of blacks and purples ominously swirled and twisted like some god was stirring the sky with a giant rod. Flashes of light hid behind the evil-looking sky and rumbles of thunder shook the soft creamy ground under Hiccup's feet. It didn't look like a cloud – it looked as if the entire sky was collapsing down in a slow, inevitable catastrophe.

"The powers to be call that the fury of nights," the raven said. "If you see it a second time, you should fly and never look back."

Hiccup rolled his eyes and looked at what he figured was a figment of his imagination.

"Sure, I'll just flap my 'wings' and soar like a bird," he told the annoying critter as he mimed flapping his own arms.

Those skin-crawling caws cut into the air as the bird threw its beak back and chortled away. After it had settled down, it looked at Hiccup and said, "Oh, I think you'll find it far easier than that, but enough talk. It is time for you to leave this place. Pray that we never meet again."

Lightning broke through the blanket above and struck the ground. But Hiccup's eyes focused on the swirly sky as it latched onto the lightning and twirled downward like it was liquid draining into a hole. The black mass touched the ground and exploded in a great ball of white light that blinded all.

The crash of the front door roused Hiccup from his slumber. With a yelp, the sprawling young man rolled over and fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember the dream. There was something with a horse and a sky but even those recollections were sliding from his mind like water through his fingers.

Groaning, Hiccup forced himself to stand.

Apparently, whatever had infected him – some kind of illness or something – was recessive again. In fact, it was actually better than before. Instead of throbbing, his entire body was itchy. Some parts, such as his nose and shoulder blades, more so than others.

But all the things considered, he felt fantastic.

A quick glance out the window showed that he had slept for only a few hours. The brightness from the sun still resonated and embraced all within her loving gaze. It caused the roofs to twinkle, the grass to shine, and the ocean to wink as the light reflected off the cresting waves.

Thinking the worst was over, Hiccup slouched down the small staircase to see who was home. The young Viking just hoped it wasn't Stoick ready to chastise him for ditching work.

It took only a second for Hiccups hopes to get crushed. The man who entered the house – a rough, slightly dilapidated building that obviously missed a mother's touch and contained far too many dragon trophies and war paraphernalia – was none other than Stoick the Vast.

As his name described, Stoick, Hiccup's father, was a large man. His broad, muscular shoulders, massive triceps, and enormous biceps caused him to stand over almost every Viking. But it was his disposition that carried his real weight. He held himself as a leader: unwavering, confident, strong. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the chief. His large brown fur cape, spiky helm and bushy mane of a beard only accented the image.

Stoick, as gaze hogging as he were, was not the only person to enter the house.

Another Viking, smaller overall than Stoick, but seemingly more balanced, accompanied him. On his head was a helm with large spikes that had much higher curvature than normal. He also tended to wear displeased scowls on his face ninety percent of the time, which, with his stubby beard and mustache, made him seem serious all the time.

The man was known as Spitelout Jorgenson.

Hiccup sighed loudly, and Spitelout threw a slicing glare at him. A glare that, only a second later, morphed into a gaze of surprise.

Stoick, seeing the look on his companion's face quickly turned, cloak fluttering.

"Hiccup!" Stoick said and rushed forward just in time to catch the young Viking as he collapsed.

The pain hadn't returned, but everything was beginning to slow down for Hiccup. He tried to move his limbs, but it was as if he were trudging through sand, everything was heavy and unresponsive.

"He's extremely pale, Stoick," Spitelout said as he approached in calm stride.

"What could've happened?" Stoick said in a quiet panic, his voice more lost and confused than a wolf at sea.

"Normally, I would say let him fight it off. Better that the strong survive. But," Spitelout said and pointed at Hiccup, "his fingernails have fallen off, his eyes are cloudy, blood is dripping out of his ears, and his hair is falling off in chunks." Spitelout rested his hand on Hiccups forehead. "No fever."

Stoick roared, "What in the blazes does that mean?"

"Do I look like a healer to you, Stoick?" Spitelout said and threw a glare of pure repulsion at the large chief. "I have no bloody clue what this is."

Hiccup paid the men little heed as his eyelids started to droop.

A tremendous cracking sound ripped through the house, bouncing off the walls in a strange and disturbing echo. Hiccup tried to scream as searing pain built up on the back of his shoulder blades as if someone were branding him with red-hot iron. But before he could get the sound out of his mouth, the oblivion of darkness took him once again.

It took only a dozen minutes for Hiccups conscience to wander back into the land of the living. When it did, Hiccup kept his eyes tight closed as his body shook off its lethargic hangover. The pain, the itching, all of it was gone and replaced by soreness throughout his body. Yet even with all that, he still felt strange in ways that he would have a hard time describing.

"Well, we know what was wrong now." Spitelout's voice reverberated in Hiccups skull, pounding on the walls like a drum.

Stoick's voice was no better – in fact, it was worse, "This is not funny, Spitelout."

"I'm not laughing, it was disturbing how fast it changed," Spitelout said with a steady voice. After a second of silence, where only the frenzied huffing of Stoick could be heard, he added, "So what do we do with it?"

Hiccup couldn't help but wonder why they were shouting. And man, when was the last time they took a bath. He knew Vikings cared little for hygiene, but those two smelt like a terrible combination of sweet, blood, iron and seawater. It was disgusting.

"Do you think Hiccup is still in there?" Stoick asked with a slight shake in his voice.

This time, when Spitelout spoke, there was an edge to his voice, as if something were trying to break out, "Well, it is tiny."

"Spitelout," Stoick growled.

Hiccup had enough; he opened his eyes and glanced up at the Vikings. They were blurry and hard to see but seemed to be standing directly over him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Hiccup asked. His raspy voice surprised him – the illness must have taken more out of him then he thought.

The two blurred shapes jerked back as if they smelt something reprehensible.

"It can talk?" Spitelout said with shock.

Stoick spoke at the same time, making Spitelout's words difficult to discern, "Impossible."

The air in the room came to a haunting stop as Hiccup's vision slowly cleared from blurred shapes to clear-cut humanoids.

"Hiccup?" Stoick asked with taut muscles like he was a cat getting ready to pounce.

Hiccup groaned and tried to rub his head. His hands felt strange like something was attached to the ends of his fingers, and for some reason he couldn't feel his thumb.

Stoick's eyes burned like dragon fire – fury waged war.

"Yeah?" Hiccup asked carefully as he tentatively peered up at his father.

Stoick's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened considerably. A murmur came from his mouth, "No, no, no." His mouth remained open and his lips quivered.

Hiccup tilted his head slightly to one side. "Why are you looking at me like I grew wings or something?"

It was then that Hiccup felt them. Something was on his back. Something large. His head turned back to study them with a concerned expression. Something leathery. Something Black. Something like wings. Something exactly like dragon wings.

And the scariest part? Hiccup could feel them like they had always been apart of him. He didn't even need to think hard to move them. They just reacted when he wanted them to just like his arm used to.

His arm!

Hiccups gaze shot to his arm and instead of a pink fleshy rod, a black, scaled appendage with razor-sharp claws met his inquiry.

With a terrified look at his father, who was watching with a little shake of his head, Hiccup flung his two front legs in front of him and waved them at his father like he was trying to ward him off. Too bad, that when he did so, his chin came crashing down on the ground because there was nothing to hold his body up.

"What's going on," Hiccup furiously muttered from the ground and hoisted himself to a sitting position.

Stoick threw a glare that would scare death itself at Hiccup.

But Hiccup wasn't watching his father; instead, he had turned his gaze to consider his own body. He was some black-scaled dragon. He had four legs and two massive, leathery wings that sprawled out on either side of him.

A small pitcher of water showed his face: short with a stubby nose at the end of his muzzle. Two floppy ears rested on his head and large, luminous, green eyes stared back curiously.

His gaze drifted to his tail where two small fins rested at the ends of them fanned out. Experimentally, Hiccup tried to move them. They twitched in response.

Altogether, he was probably about as long as Stoick was tall including the tail. The wingspan was larger than that and would dwarf any Viking. Still, his size was small when compared to most dragons. Not much larger than a big dog; definitely smaller than a horse.

He had never seen a dragon that looked like he did. But the black scales gave him only one idea.

"A night fury?" He asked no one in particular, but he failed to mask the wonder in his words. "Wha...what happened to me?" he asked as he turned to face his Dad.

"I was hoping that you could tell us," Stoick forced out through gritted teeth.

See his father's expression and the axe that was twitching in his right hand, Hiccup tried to retreat only to fall flat on his belly before he could go one step. Walking on four legs was not intuitive at all.

"Dad, I can explain," Hiccup quickly spurted out.

Hiccup tried to stand only for his legs to give out. He collided with the wood floor again. Suddenly, the dragon on the ground started to shiver and spasm with its head jarring every which way like a scared, cornered animal.

"Oh Odin," Hiccup said in a flurry, "I have wings and claws." Hiccup's eyes widened humorously and he gulped. "And a tail…."

The small, black dragon took a deep breath and felt the heat in his chest rise like he was going to spit. Rapidly shutting his mouth, Hiccup threw his front two legs over his muzzle and held it closed. He sheepishly pulled his wings and tail in closer to his body.

Releasing his grip, Hiccup chuckled, the sounds falling out of his mouth like ants into a river – hopelessness filling their every pore. Large, black ears shivered as they lay flat on the young dragons head; frightened green eyes and a quivering frown adorned the beast's muzzle with his legs sprawled out and forgotten like a lackadaisical fool. Light clicking sounds fought through the thick and smoky air as keen claws nervously tapped the wooden floor.

The Night Fury swallowed audibly.

With his best half-smile, Hiccup cautiously glanced up at the imposing Viking towering above him and mumbled out, "It was just a slight miscalculation."

Stoick's roar could be heard over the entire island.

Authors Notes: Edited on November 29th, 2015