Hiccup stood before the threshold of the Forge of Soul's main antechamber. The object of his attention was his reflection in the blade of his sword. He knew that once he sheathed it, it would be the last time he would see it until he drew it once more.

It was not something he wanted to be forced to do. But, all the same, he knew he would. The war raged, even at that very moment. No doubt his father had recovered from his use of the ring and would be plotting against their enemies.

Hiccup also knew that he would have a part to play in the fulfillment of Ragnarök and their ultimate victory. A part that he couldn't play holed up in the Forge. With reluctance, he slid Allr'bani into her sheathe. A metallic ring echoed through the antechamber, heralding him as he set foot away from the Twelfth chamber of the Forge.

His body instantly felt heavy and lethargic. He could feel his muscles burn, even though he hadn't done anything physically strenuous. Grunting, he shook it off. The first time he had used the Forge, it had reduced him to a weary, delirious state. That walk through the Necropolis should have been his death, but it wasn't. This time, knowing what to expect, he was not nearly as drained.

The main antechamber was a dull, glowing shade of orange. It was comforting, like the fire of a hearth. Hiccup spotted the kneeling form of Annarr, the guardian of the Forge. He managed to hobble his way over to where the spirit kneeled over Astrid, who was sound asleep. In her arms, she clutched a beautiful greataxe of solid gold.

Astrid had been as successful in her endeavors as he had been in his, Hiccup noted with pride. It took a strong soul to use the Forge. His own trials had been nothing but proof of that.

The dwarven spirit spoke to him, even as she watched over Astrid. "I see you continue to break rules and defy expectations," Annarr said.

"I have a tendency to do that," Hiccup quipped.

"Indeed," the spirit commented, eying his sword. "I did not expect you to learn soul magic. Though not wholly impossible, it is rare for mortals to have such an understanding of the thin line between life and death."

"Seer," Hiccup responded, simply.

"Indeed," the dwarf rasped. "Your beloved shall be fine, she is merely exhausted from her labors. Your other friend has already completed his trials and returned to the world of the living."

That was a surprise to Hiccup. Thor was always brash and unthinking. How he had managed to complete his own Forging and leave before him would forever be beyond Hiccup's understanding. "You should be on your way too, young smith," Annarr chided.

"Yeah, yeah," Hiccup said, groaning as he stretched his sore muscles. Returning Allr'bani to her place on his hip, he carefully scooped up Astrid. She remained sleeping, but she nestled in his arms. Looking down, he inspected her axe. He didn't know the enchants bestowed upon it, but if it was anything like what Allr'bani possessed, it could be dangerous for him to casually pick it up. But, like the enchantment that bound his sword to him, perhaps their soul bond would cheat it.

Gingerly, Hiccup kneeled and reached out for the haft of the axe. His fingers curled around the gold metal. He flinched, feeling the icy temperature of the weapon. Thankfully, he axe allowed itself to be picked up. Nestling Astrid's axe between her body and his, Hiccup limped towards the stone arch that led back to the Necropolis. He doubted they would be received well if they went through the arch opposite it; the royal palace would be well guarded and in an uproar if two of their greatest enemies suddenly appeared in their depths.

The world faded to black as Hiccup and Astrid were swallowed by the black stone. Hiccup turned his head to see the remaining spirits watch them go. Of the Twelve, only Four remained; their number dwindling by One with Astrid's axe. Annarr raised her gnarled hand in parting as the Forge of Souls grew dark and its fires died. "May your fire never die," the spirits echoed, before fading to nothingness, returning to their slumber.

Hiccup inhaled as he staggered backwards and back onto the plateau of the First Stone. The city of the dead was silent and cold, as always. The only thing that met Hiccup's eyes were the stony faces entombed in the white trees that led up to the arch he strode from. He paused only momentarily paused by Tólfti's tree, whispering a silent prayer.

He stalked through the Necropolis with purpose, heading back through the tunnels that led to the chasm where his party awaited them. Hiccup saw no trace nor sign of Thor. Astrid mumbled and sighed in her sleep, trying to find a more comfortable position. Hiccup couldn't keep his lips from turning upwards in a small smile. Tólfti's tunnel quickly faded to the cavern with the mural of the first dwarves, and from there, to the rocky and narrow passageways that led back to their camp. Hiccup whispered a silent spell under his breath that made Astrid fall deeper asleep, and her dreams more pleasant. He didn't want to wake her.

When Hiccup emerged back into the vast chasm, he was greeted by low whispers and the soft glow of a campfire. The hulking, sinuous forms of dragons slumbered in the shadows; guarding their riders from any who would seek to ambush them in their sleep.

Hiccup bit his tongue to keep from snickering as Sigrid and Agni jumped to their feet when they heard his labored breathing. Closer to the campfire, he could see that Thor had collapsed on the ground and was slumbering, snoring loudly and sputtering in his sleep. Auriel was curled up under a number of furs, and Agvior meditated on a nearby rock formation—which was as good as sleep for the old elf.

"Hiccup!" they both greeted, their eyes roving over him, Astrid, and the shiny golden axe resting between them.

Hiccup inclined his head and greeting and stumbled towards the shadows where he knew Toothless was. It wasn't hard, really. He simply looked for where there wasn't a dragon. His hide made him blend in with the darkness seamlessly. Toothless crooned and nuzzled his rider. "Not now, bud. Too tired," Hiccup mumbled. With a wave of his hand, several bundles of furs flew from the saddle and arranged themselves on the ground. He gently placed Astrid under one side of the makeshift bed, and set her axe next to her. Sighing in relief, he climbed under the furs and let sleep claim him.


Astrid stirred first. She blinked, her eyes not used to the perpetual darkness of the chasm they were camped in. Light filtered down from above, barely illuminating the area. A small, magical campfire burned in the center of their makeshift camp, with dragons circling around them—acting almost like a makeshift rampart.

Her body felt unnaturally heavy, and she couldn't find the strength to keep her eyes open for more than a few moments at a time. She was only barely aware of Stormfly crooning softly, reassuringly to her. Assured she was not in danger, Astrid surrendered and drifted back to sleep. Using the Forge of Souls took more out of her than she realized it would. She felt so very tired. A bone-deep weariness that penetrated every fiber of her being. It was not the same as being fatigued after hours of swinging her axe, or after many sleepless nights of studying arcane texts. It was a weariness of the soul; much akin to what an elderly man would feel like, Astrid dreamed. Tired of living, ready for the eternal rest of death.

The spirit of the second dwarf had told her as much, did she not? The Forge of Souls was built to forge the spirit of the smith. It made sense, then, that she would be tired. After all, she had never exercised her spirit. Astrid didn't even know how one would go about such a thing. But, surely, just like the body or mind, one could train their spirit to be stronger.

Astrid snuggled closer to the source of warmth beneath the furs with her. She could feel Hiccup's presence through their soul bond; the steady throb of his spirit vibrating through their connection. Yet, as Astrid drifted in and out of sleep, she could feel that something was different. A hollowness, a coldness. A small wound upon him that was not of the flesh or mind—not visible to the eye.

It worried her, made sleep impossible. Restful sleep, anyway. Astrid needed to make sure he was okay. If he had been wounded by the Forge of Souls, she would make good on her threat and tear the forge down—brick by brick. Blinking away the bleariness in her eyes, Astrid wiggled over to Hiccup beneath the furs. She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him close.

He did not stir. She ran her hands over him, patting at his clothing and feeling for any physical wound. She felt nothing marring his skin, nor any blood staining his clothes. "Too early," Hiccup mumbled in his sleep, pulling Astrid against his chest. "Later," he promised, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"You're hurt," she whispered into his neck. She didn't struggle against her new position. It was quite comfortable.

Hiccup mumbled incoherently in his sleep, pulling her closer. "Not hurt," he whispered. "Promise."

Astrid's brows narrowed as she scrutinized him. Their connection felt... odd, but not damaged. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her he had probably done something stupid, again. As he usually did whenever he managed to escape her watchful eyes. But he promised her he was okay, so she let her worries die. Closing her eyes, she drifted back asleep.

They both awoke to the sound of Thor's booming laughter. Startled, Hiccup and Astrid bolted upright. Astrid reached for her golden axe—knowing by instinct where it was—and sighing in relief as her fingers curled around the haft. Hiccup reached for Allr'bani, but quickly withdrew his hand before he made the mistake of drawing the sword. Instead, he weaved an illusion in his mind and prepared to drag their foe into their worst nightmares.

Seeing that it was only their extremely loud, extremely annoying friend, they relaxed. "Good, everyone is finally awake," Agvior said, smiling at the pair over the campfire.

Astrid yawned. "How long have we been asleep?" she asked.

"Oh, about two weeks, give or take," Sigrid sing-songed.

"What!" Hiccup shouted, jumping to his feet. He tripped over a discarded fur blanket, stumbling into Toothless' tail. "Why would you let us sleep that long!"

Sigrid burst into giggles. "You're playing a joke on me," Hiccup noted. "Very funny. Very funny."

"It's only been a few days," Agvior answered.

Hiccup's mind raced as he began to run through calculations and strategies. His father would be recovering any day now, and would surely be returning to directing the war effort. Now that he had been rescued, and Astrid no longer fought for their enemy, he would be needed to command armies. Narfi's death was a blow to their military strength and morale. It would do the men good to see their chosen prince lead them into battle.

"I need to return to Jötunheim," Hiccup said.

The camp went silent. "It's the middle of the night cycle for the dwarves," Agvior said. "It would be best to wait until the morning."

Hiccup nodded. He was happy no one had been against him returning. He yawned, but fought against the seduction of sleep. He had slept enough. Now was the time for action. Astrid grabbed him by the wrist, and nodded towards a more secluded part of the camp. Hiccup nodded reluctantly and followed her.

"Why do you feel different now?" Astrid asked, gently running the tips of her fingers up and down Hiccup's tunic, as if she could divine the difference by touching him.

"You feel different, too," Hiccup responded, his gaze piercing in its scrutiny.

"The Forge," Astrid concluded.

"The Forge," Hiccup confirmed. "I needed something more powerful; something that few mortals ever dared to learn. I had nothing to part with that would give me that power. Nothing, except for the power itself," he explained.

"Soul magic," Hiccup said. Astrid felt a chill run up her spine. "I was inspired by the Forge. Using the spirit for power—like coal."

"No," Astrid gasped, horrified by what she feared he had done. Irreparable damage to his very soul.

Hiccup continued on. "A small fragment, a piece of me so infinitesimally insignificant that I could part with it and continue on. I took that shard and created Allr'bani anew, using it as the core; the fuel," he said. Astrid began to worry for him. He had always had the single minded pursuit of knowledge and power, but never wisdom. He was so busy with whether or not he could, he never stopped to think if he should. A trait he undoubtedly learned from Loki.

"Will... will you be okay?" Astrid asked.

"Of course!" Hiccup beamed. "It's perfect; flawless. The soul is not immortal—it is eternal. It cannot die. It is housed in flesh, and when its vessel fades, it returns to the Realm Eternal and is reborn once more. It cannot be destroyed. It can be broken. Shattered. Crushed. Incinerated. But it can never be destroyed. It's the ultimate source of power."

"If it was so great, everyone would use it," Astrid pointed out.

"It certainly feels... odd," Hiccup commented. "But there is a weakness; a flaw. It is the reason why lesser sorcerers do not dare to delve into the art. Using the soul in such a way... tires it," he explained. He couldn't think of a better word. "It fools the soul into thinking its vessel has faded. It naturally desires to return to the Realm Eternal, to await reincarnation."

"You can't use it!" Astrid hissed. "Absolutely not!"

"I know," Hiccup said calmly. "That's why I've limited myself. So long as the sword remains sheathed, my soul fragment shall remain untouched. Each time I draw it, a little more is burned away."

"But—" Astrid protested.

"—But," Hiccup said, cutting her off. "What did you do? Your magic, it's..." he trailed off. "Gone," he whispered.

"Yes," Astrid admitted.

"Why would you do that? You know our enemies are strong in magic. I'm not even sure how you would even go about... casting off your magic. It's just not done..." Hiccup muttered.

Astrid smirked. To him, it must seem like madness to part with your magic willingly. "Better than parting with a piece of your soul," she countered. Hiccup grumbled, but had no response.

"It was planned," Astrid said. "I knew Odin and Loki were strong in magic. Without my own... I'd be helpless before them," she said. "That was where the idea came from, actually."

"What idea?" Hiccup asked, drawn from his own thoughts. Astrid could tell he was, at least in some small way, fascinated by how she had managed to give up her magical core.

"The more danger I'm in," Astrid said. "The stronger I'll be. I was never any good at magic, anyway. Not like you."

"Interesting..." Hiccup commented. "Very interesting." His eyes darted to the golden battleaxe in contemplation.

"Yes, but I..." Astrid trailed off, and her eyes became glazed.

"What?" Hiccup asked.

"Huh?" Astrid asked, blinking.

"You were going to say something," Hiccup prompted her.

"Was I?" Astrid said, humming in thought.

An idea occurred to Hiccup. "Astrid, what is the name of your axe?"

"Name? I haven't thought of one, yet. I was too busy—" Astrid was saying, when a surge of Hiccup's memories assaulted her. Memories of the Forge of Souls, and its true purpose. Its true function. Who, not what, their weapons were.

Astrid collapsed to her knees, grasping at her hair. Her head felt like it was splitting open, and her body grew weak and heavy, again, as if she had just used the Forge once more. "How could I..." Astrid said.

"Everyone always does!" Astrid heard a voice cackle in her mind. "I knew Hiccup would be the one to break the safety enchantment! I knew it!"

"Valkyrie," Astrid whispered, the memories of her the third dwarven spirit coming back to her.

"Come on, you need rest," Hiccup said, guiding her back to their furs.

"No more than you do," Astrid quipped.

Hiccup smirked. "This is the second time I've used the Forge. I'm not as affected as you are," he said. It was true. He felt better already. Not in his prime, but very close.

"Fine," Astrid relented. "But don't do anything stupid."

Hiccup smirked. "I promise," he lied.

Astrid couldn't fight her drooping eyes any longer.


Hiccup tucked Astrid in and began to pack his bags. He wouldn't wait for morning—it made no sense. The Night Fury was a creature of the night. If he was going to make it back to Jötunheim, leaving during the dwarven night cycle was the best time. Not that there would actually be any night, but the dwarves would be slumbering. Any watchmen would be tired.

"Tell her I'm not doing anything terribly foolish," Hiccup said, knowing his friends' eyes were boring into his back. "Father will be waking soon. I need to be there to help him. I've learned my lesson," he said.

Agvior was the first to speak. "Very well," he promised.

"I'll be back sometime tomorrow. If I'm not, assume I'm needed on Jötunheim. I'll send word to the guards that you are to be permitted to pass. They won't dare harm you with my protection," Hiccup said.

Agvior nodded and hummed.

"Wait," Thor said, struggling to stand. "I'll come with you. If my brother ails, I should be there for him."

Hiccup shook his head. "I don't think that is such a good idea," he said. It was true. Loki couldn't stand Thor, and neither could Hiccup. He would just get on both their nerves. "Stay here, rest. Guard our friends. That is your duty."

Hiccup smirked as Thor's expression grew serious. He took honor and duty far too seriously. He knew he had ensnared him. "Very well," he agreed. Hiccup caught sight of a flash of silvery, ornate metal. Mjölnir seemed... more vibrant, than before. Something to think upon at a later time.

"Let's go, Toothless," Hiccup said, mounting his dragon. Toothless barked in agreement, shivering from head to tail and unfurling his wings.

With blinding speed, Toothless ascended. His scales shone a fiery shade of lightning blue as he broke the mouth of the chasm, erupting into the sky. A shockwave burst forth in every direction. Hiccup couldn't hear the shouts of the dwarven watchmen, though he could see their mouths moving as they ran back and forth upon their airships. Hiccup began to chant, letting his magic fill him with power as he spoke the words that would open the gate and take him to the land of rime and frost. Before the dwarves knew what had happened, Hiccup and Toothless were gone.

Jötunheim was as Hiccup remembered it. Yet, at the same time, different. He could keenly feel the harsh bite of the cold that ate at his flesh and numbed his nerves. The immunity to the cold that he had so been fascinated by was gone—taken as payment by Forge of Souls. Swallowing his nerves, Hiccup drew his dagger and cut a small slash across the tip of his index finger. A thin trail of blood emerged, before being cast to the wind by the haste at which they flew. Hiccup watched the cut intently for several moments.

It did not heal.

His theory confirmed, Hiccup cast charms of warming and warding to keep the elements at bay. They blasted past the frost giant defenses, the giants not even bothering to stop them. There was only one rider of the unholy offspring of lightning and death. Reaching up, Hiccup twirled his bangs around his finger.

By some twist of fate, the small streak of black that scarred his hair remained. The only reminder of the brief amount of time he was related to the Harbinger of Ragnarök; the Betrayer. In a way, he was both relieved and annoyed that it had remained. No doubt his blood had fully returned to his human heritage—the blood magic that his father had used to save him from Death's clutch no longer flowing through his veins. He kind of expected his hair to fade to the auburn his blood mother and father had.

In no time at all, Hiccup and Toothless landed on Loki's flying island. Well, technically, Hiccup thought. It wasn't flying. Not really.

Servants rushed out to greet him, but Hiccup ignored them. He only asked them one question: where was Loki. He didn't need to wait to hear their answer to know that his father would be in his study.

Pushing open the ornate double doors, Hiccup nearly ran face-to-face with his sister. "Hel!" Hiccup beamed. He was only given a moment before Hel crushed him in a hug.

"Brother! You're back!" Hel squealed.

"Yeah, yeah, not so tight," Hiccup gasped. His jötunn strength and durability had left him, too. He would need to apply enhancement enchantments upon his body as soon as possible. He was already mentally running over a list when Hel released him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't stay and talk," Hel apologized. "Father has charged me with a mission, one of upmost importance. We'll talk when I'm back," she said, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before dashing off.

Hiccup nodded and strode through the royal halls of the palace. He noted a disturbing lack of people; both servants and warriors. Normally, there would be countless men and women, of every race, scurrying the halls and parting in his wake. Now, there were only a few scant servants. In the far distance, Hiccup could sense the World Gate roaring to life several times in rapid succession.

The feeling that he was missing some crucial piece of information gnawed at him as he descended lower and lower into the bowels of the palace. Finally, he reached his father's study. Opening the doors, Hiccup felt his heart ground to a halt. Standing before him was Narfi Lokison. His brother. His brother who was dead.

Loki emerged from the shadows between two towering bookcases. "Ah, Vrangr. You're back. Welcome home," he said in greetings.

It took every bit of Hiccup's will to get his mouth to work. Even then, his mind was not in control of his words. "Yeah..." he said. "Who is this?"

Hiccup knew the dead could not be raised. At least, not truly. Whoever wore his brother's face, it was not him. His spirit did not reside in that vessel of flesh and bone.

"This," Loki said, stowing a book he had been reading. "Is your new brother, Nari."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, brother," Nari spoke. His words were curt and precise; short and to the point. Almost as if he was speaking words without understanding their meaning.

"A pleasure," Hiccup agreed, though he couldn't believe his eyes. "My name is Vrangr."

Nari nodded, his expression blank. "Nari, could you leave us for a moment?" Loki asked with a false smile. Nari nodded again in an inhuman fashion and left the study.

Hiccup watched him go, his mind in turmoil. "You've returned at a most opportune time, though late is the hour," Loki said. "I've sent our armies forth to reclaim the worlds we have lost when I mustered our armies to free you."

"You what!" Hiccup exploded. They were not ready for all out war. Not yet, anyway. Not without him at the helm of one of their armies.

"Yes. A most opportune moment has presented itself to make our move and I've chosen to act upon it. Your siblings have already left for Alfheim, Nidavellir, Vanaheim, and Asgard," Loki said.

"W—what...?" Hiccup stammered. He couldn't believe it. Loki would dare to attack Asgard in open combat? The most heavily fortified of all the realms. Guarded by foes as powerful as them. And yet, he and Loki remained. Their armies stood no chance against the full might of Asgard and Odin Allfather.

"I have every faith they will return victorious," Loki said with a vicious smirk. By the look in his eyes, Hiccup could tell his father was absolutely certain they wouldn't fall in battle.

He placed his faith in the man who had never led him astray. Loki was the most powerful, intelligent, and cunning man he had ever met or known. He was the only person to ever show him kindness, or acceptance. The one who taught him magic and swordplay; the one who gave him power.

So he put his faith in Loki—his father.

The next morning, three reports of victory came in.

One, of defeat.

Alfheim, Nidavellir, and Vanaheim had fallen to their control.

Asgard had not. The defenders of the other three realms had retreated to defend the realm of their leader.

Their defeat at Asgard came at a heavy cost.

This Hiccup knew, as he gazed down at the cold, expressionless face of his sister's corpse. Her hair was matted and stained crimson, and her body was adorned with numerous cuts and bruises. Running from her collarbone to her sternum was a deep wound that pierced her chest, and her heart. The sword that had dealt her the mortal blow had fractured, leaving the tip lodged in her body.

With shaky hands, Hiccup wrenched the shard of metal from his sister's chest. It was difficult to make out the style of sword, but Hiccup knew. He had seen this blade first hand in the Grand Magic Games. It was the tip of Týr's great two-handed sword, the one he wielded with one arm in a display of strength a lesser man was incapable of.

Hiccup felt the flames of rage roar to life within his chest. They burned so hot that the heat of the Forge of Souls paled in comparison to them. Another of the people he held most dear were taken from him.

And with Hel's death, so too did his faith in Loki wither and die. He knew why his father was so confident, now. A gambit. Sacrificing one battle, to win another. He knew that by attacking Asgard, the other realms would empty to defend the realm. And in doing so, the other three would fall to their control.

And, with only Asgard remaining, Odin would have no other choice than to herald the start of Ragnarök himself. The Allfather would return to Midgard, opening the World Gate. From there, he would summon the army of the dead to do battle with Loki and his armies.

Tears ran down Hiccup's cheeks as he realized the horrible truth: his father had sent Hel to her death, all so he could get his revenge. He stroked her cheek lovingly, regretting that his last words to her had not been something more profound.

Hiccup raged, and stormed into the bowels of the palace. The servants—who had mysteriously returned in the night—parted like frightened mice at the thunderous expression of rage that adorned Hiccup's features. The entire island seemed to go solemn and quiet in respect for the storm to come.

Hiccup kicked the doors of Loki's study in, the wood shattering into splinters and flying off the hinges. Loki looked up from his desk, where he had been studying some book. "Ah, Vrangr, my son! I was just about to summon you—"

"Why?" Hiccup hissed. His voice was hoarse, but the anger in his tone was clear. His question made the air grow heavy with tension. "You knew," Hiccup accused him. "You knew she would die, didn't you?"

Loki closed his book. "Yes. Yes, I did," Loki whispered.

"Why?" Hiccup asked, again.

Loki raised his head, his eyes locking with Hiccup's. Emerald met emerald; one, confident, the other, full of sorrow and anger. "She was expendable," Loki answered.

Hiccup felt his world come crashing down. "I can always make another," Loki said.

"Just like Nari?" Hiccup spat.

"Yes," Loki whispered.

Hiccup shook his head. "That's all we are to you, isn't it? Just sacrificial pawns to be used as you see fit. And when our usefulness expires, you no longer have a need for us," Hiccup accused, his voice cracking. "That's all I am, isn't it?"

"No, that—" Loki said, standing.

"It's true, isn't it!" Hiccup yelled. "You didn't care for any of us, not Harfi, not Hel, not Fenrir, not even me."

"Only you," Loki said, slowly moving around his desk. He made no sudden movements, as if Hiccup would bolt if he moved any faster. "Only you were irreplaceable. The rest... the rest weren't even truly human. I made them. I am their father; their god. When one dies, I can simply make another. But not you, no creation could ever replace you," Loki said.

Hiccup shook his head as his world came undone. Everything he had believed in was a lie. "No," Hiccup croaked. "You're lying!" He staggered backwards, heading back to the door. He wouldn't fall for his lies again. He'd go back to Astrid, where he was safe and loved. Truly loved.

Loki's expression grew serious. "I can't let you leave, Vrangr," he said, almost as if he knew Hiccup's thoughts. "You're too important."

Those words stoked the fires of his rage to new, unimaginable temperatures.

"You can't stop me," Hiccup roared. His hand flew to his waist, grasping the hilt of Allr'bani so tightly that his palm pled and his knuckles turned bone-white.

He drew the sword, and the whole of Jötunheim knew the true meaning of Fire.


A/N:

Sorry for the late update. I've been busy in real life, and haven't had much time for anything, especially writing. It's a real struggle to find time to write, honestly. Every time I sit down to write, I always think "Hey, wouldn't it be more fun to catch up on this story you've been meaning to read..." and then all my productivity is just gone in the blink of an eye.

On another note, it's been a whole damn year since HTTK's first chapter! Wow! I can't believe I've written over 500k words in a single year. And, for like, the last three months, I've been seriously slacking. I could have probably broken 600k in a single year if I really tried. Anyway, reading stories of a similar length have really opened my eyes to how long HTTK really is. Props to my readers who have made it this far.

Some questions answered about the new soul weapons, some raised. All will be revealed in the coming chapters.

The great rift between father and son emerges. When everyone always asked, way back in the early chapters, if Hiccup was really on Loki's side or not, and I always answered, "Hiccup's on his own side," now you know. Narfi and Nari are basically the same person in mythology. It was really a choice of whether or not to call one or the other.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it.

- Musica