Hiccup tread in the path of his two newly found companions, a crushing anathema setting in over the noise of dying leaves crushed underfoot. With no solid trace of Toothless and his faith set in the skills of a mercenary, the young man's spirits were rapidly deteriorating. The weight of the tailfin prosthetic dragging across the forest floor grew increasingly tiring, and the others increasingly tired.

Doubts over how difficult this mission could be played on his mind through seemingly endless hours of forest canopy. His thoughts poured over Toothless, a capable, powerful, but sometimes senseless dragon all too eager to sacrifice his own well-being for what he loves. Then he looked ahead at Greisha, a stranger who seemed to have lived a hundred lifetimes possessing a lot of faith to readily put in others. Finally, Hiccup set his eyes on the woman from his old village, a familiar stranger with an all too familiar scowl across her face. The argument he had with Astrid had solved nothing and only caused a larger divide between them. Now they avoided eye contact at all costs whilst their older traveling partner questioned Hiccup on his dragon.

Astrid runs a hand through her hair and peers back at the laggard trailing the group. "So what did you do? Just lose it completely? Sell your soul to the devil?"

"Yes", replied Hiccup, tired. "I sold my soul to that devil. I sold it to some horrible creature that actually sees me for who I am," he emphasized.

The words found no purchase, Astrid retorting "Well It's good someone sees who you are, 'cause you're beating any definition I can think of."

"It's a shame you can't understand."

"I still think you've completely lost it. That must be some dark-ass magic that can make a human start to take on the features of a dragon. Dragons are dangerous, mindless creatures that destroyed our village, and here you are treating them like friends."

"Those mindless creatures are very affectionate. Just last week Tooth saw I was cold one night, He gathered a load of wood, set it aflame around us and curled around me so his warm belly kept the night chill at bay."

"Disgusting."

The elder had been silent for much of the journey thus far, only adding to her aura of mystique. As they came to a carriage path and were directed towards more forested terrain by Astrid, Greisha turned to Hiccup. "Your dragon, he can control himself, yes? I have seen many in my time that let anger overwhelm them when torn from their mates."

Hiccup sighed. "Yeah, no, that sounds just like him. I can't leave that dragon alone for two seconds without him starting to worry about me. He won't like the idea of being saved. He's a dragon. Dragons are prideful creatures," he states, remembering how Toothless had beat himself up about the regrown tailfin and loss of flight in his dreams.

It niggled at Hiccup how well he and Toothless could together overcome anything, although this is no consolation to a Night Fury, an independent creature counting on its own instincts to be able to tackle problems head on itself.


I've strode in confident enough, the welcoming heat of the home base a welcome respite from the savage winter outside. There's enough of us gathered around the Lord's Chair anyone could tell something very important is going down. My mind is filled with possibilities of the quests the master could provide for my team; ten bear pelts for the master's chamber? Recruit 5 new daemons to the cause? Bland, perhaps. Yet the tasks are all I know, and the master's approval and a deserved rank in the higher echelons after a satisfying day's work are just ahead. He's taken his seat now in front of the mass of followers, his most trusted on either flank. Constant calls of "Give me a quest!" and "For master! For honor!" fill the air. It's clear many of the homestays have spent the day in their tankards before stumbling over here. I can see them now, distinctive in their leisure clothing, some still clutching mugs full of the homebrew they create down here. The homestays have no honor, the vast majority screw-ups unfit for service for their incompetence. The thought reminds me of my two lackeys, the clowns waiting for me back east. They could await the same fate if upper management actually took my crew reports seriously. A life of meaningless debauchery in some filthy lower pit of home base would suit those two just right, for all the times they have let me down.

I've now become too absorbed in my own mindspace and the meeting has advanced to the point where master has all kinds of charts set up. Maps drape the back wall marked with arrows, circles and other strange markings I couldn't start to guess at. With pointing stick in hand, master is pacing down the line of charts tapping at the red lines. Instructions on where to look for the target and where it has been sighted are carefully dictated as he works his way back and forth along the maps and charts, occasionally stopping to add a new mark here and there. The back wall becomes ever more crowded by endless paperwork over the next hour and a half as new diagrams are endlessly laid overtop each other. I'm managing to pick out snippets of his dictation over the constant din of the room, specifics of tracking methods mostly drowned out by the pack of mongrels a few feet away.

When we're set loose to carry out the task, I catch Gorbachev out the corner of my eye. He's easy enough to catch up to, his bulky, awkward frame straining from age. I match his pace as he walks up to the exit.

:Gorbachev, old pal. About how you stole paper from the master's wall?:

This gets his attention, the old daemon pausing to growl at me, his fur bristling with indignation.

:Tell us what the target is and your secret is safe:.

He's raised his snout at me, baring sharp teeth in a false display of defiance. I've got him, and he knows too well. Gorbachev would never willingly give up details to a competitor, and he knows how capable I am. The old wolf has been pining for a promotion for as long as anyone can remember, but seems to fall into second place every time. A few weeks past, he tried to sneak some paper from the master's wall, an unforgivable offense. The wall has been layered on with a million different plans over the years, the pride of master's home base. Any tampering would have grave consequences for any involved (a demotion to fungal farming was the last punishment handed out).

It's a dragon, he tells. A youthful Black-Scale told to have played a key role in removing the guardian that held us captive. Gorbachev stomps off and I go to collect the equipment. A steel net. Finely crafted. Strong, yet light enough for my capability. There's no time to waste, a quick run outside bringing a cold blast as I prepare to world bend back to my team.


After walking for what feels like hours, they stop at a small river. It's a good place to camp, as eager as they are to continue the three agree that finding the way down a forest trail in ever thickening darkness would be too difficult.

A rock overhang provides just enough protection from the elements, and the river enough fish to roast for dinner. After the two woman fall asleep, Hiccup wanders out of camp and paces his way up the river, finding a place out of earshot where he will not be disturbed. He runs his fingers over his scars, feeling the black scales growing there. He bends his arm and feels his shoulder blade, noticing now without the rush of adrenaline how over the last hours they have felt increasingly tense.

As he lays his hand there, the pressure builds under his coat and he screams out in pain. The bones grow and pierce through his skin, morphing into wings on the young man's back as he falls onto his hands, then collapses entirely and loses consciousness on the riverbank.

When Hiccup wakes up in the earliest break of day, he does so with a moan and a growl. He feels his back, flexes his new wings and the spiky nubs along his spine. Just like Tooth's Wings. Just like Tooth's spikes. It's not a complete surprise, Hiccup had felt the growth coming for some time. He just wished his dragon could have been there to see him take on the wings and spikes. Like every cut Hiccup had taken in the last year, the wings were lined with fresh black glossy scales.

He sighed, and apprehensively started back towards Greisha and Astrid. There were still daemons to find.