An eternity passed in a blur. Flashes of conflict, accomplishments, mistakes, an entire history of experiences. People often rose to do great and noble things. Others were tyrants and took everything they could get their hands on, heedless of who they stepped on in the process.

But the nightmare was vague and murky, almost as if it were someone else's. Dreamer watched it all from the edge of oblivion, at a remove from it as much as from himself.

The world bloated. Humans would be humans. They did something to themselves and divided. The earth burned in their wake.

Dreamer wanted to close his eyes, to block it out, but he had no eyes to close, no ears to pin down, no paws with which to cover them. This nightmare was cruel, the logical outcome of everything he had witnessed. Humans would steadily invent, build, and spread, taking and taking until nothing else existed. It didn't matter how many hearts and minds he changed, they were fleeting, transient creatures that would regress faster than he could ever help.

He had no body to curl up, no voice with which to whimper. Was he dead? Was he watching eternity play on without him? Without dragons, for there were none he had seen?

While Mjolnir beat upon the ground, and Odin threw seeds of life into the sky to rain down in the aftermath, a beacon of light shone from deep in the sea and the world ended around it. From it sprouted new life, new hope. He knew its name… Val...halla… no, that was wrong…

Winged Valkyries flew from its gates… but that was not quite right either… They offered life to those who could prove themselves pure-hearted, a peaceful death to those who could not.

He already knew all that. But this was a twisted interpretation, discordant notes souring a familiar melody. He didn't want to see all this, he wanted to just stop and cease existing so that the pain would go away and he wouldn't have to listen to the world crying in agony…

Dam's face vivid in his mind, weeping, silently calling out to him. She needed him. But he was so tired.

Wanderer, terrified of being alone again, trying to reach him. They made each other whole, were part of each other. But he hurt too much.

How much had he bled already for this world? Sometimes he had offered his blood. Other times it had been taken from him. So many scars…

He had a sense of vertigo as time rushed past again, back to that cold battlefield. He was in a lull in the fighting, staring down at the faceless and now lifeless opponent who had been trying to cut him down. The battle raged around him, dragons dying, Wanderer taken over, Sire in a pool of his own blood. Dreamer snarled, digging his claws into the ice.

Fire raged around him, the air wavering with the heat, cruel flames consuming everything with mocking roars. He was a dragon. A Nightstriker. Fire only made him stronger. He strode forth.

Get up. Smoke billowed around him and froze into solid ice. The air was thin and his body numb. His reflection glinted from slick facets in the dim light. He could scarcely move. Such things had never stopped him before. He cracked his mouth and a stream of fire blew forth, melting and then boiling a hole into the ice by his snout. This was going to hurt.

That had never stopped him before. He fired, only a small shot, all the fire he had, and the world erupted around him, quaking through his body, drumming on his head, beating in his eardrums.

Light shone down, the sky-fire high in the sky, beginning to fall back to the horizon. He tried to rise, but discovered his front left paw wasn't working. It hung limply as he adjusted to stand without it.

He stood on a collapsed ice spire, staring down at the remnants of the battlefield, at the bodies littering it. Torn wings and flags fluttered in the breeze, weapons jutted out of the ground, and abandoned dragons keened in pain and nursed their injuries, both nest-kin and invaders alike.

Dreamer closed his eyes and bowed his head. He knew their pain. Forgotten. Abandoned. Injured and alone. Grounded, left to die. He did not feel his broken leg, but even that would pale in comparison to everything they were going through, and he keened in sympathy.

The piercing note was swept away on the wind. The world didn't care.

It wasn't fair. When he had taken on the hunters, here and before, he had always gone out of his way to ensure they survived. He spared their lives, but they would still happily take his in return. They had taken his life, his Wanderer. He didn't need to look to know.

All was lost. Alpha was dead; some of his blood was dried on Dreamer's front, smeared down his broken leg, where he had just barely angled in time to absorb enough of the impact that it didn't break his ribs or wing. The only dragons that hadn't been taken were dead or too injured to even fly. He was alone.

And yet… he understood things now. Things about Drago and his monster. Things about himself. Things he could do. It was not much, he was one dragon against a king and an army, but he was strong. He had faced down impossible odds before.

He limped to the edge of the ice, baring his teeth at the dragons below. If Drago had his way, this would be the fate of all dragons, all grounded in one way or another, living as slaves at best. The humans under him probably wouldn't fare much better. There was nobody else, none who would oppose him.

Dreamer took a deep breath, filling his chest with the cold air, and roared.

The thundering sound lifted heads, the dragons all looking up to him, and then he tossed his head back and found a new volume of defiance. They added their voices to his cause, roaring with him even if they could contribute nothing else, and kept barking and braying long after he ran out of breath and gazed down over them.

Something caught his attention, a reminder, and he hopped off the ledge and glided down to the ground, to his dam, where she huddled over his sire. She looked exhausted, shivering under what looked like Drago's cloak, as she watched him descend. A familiar gauntlet lay nearby, warped, mangled, and discarded.

He touched down on three paws, staring at his sire. The big man was still breathing, thankfully, though his right arm was entirely gone, the stump treated and wrapped.

Dam's sad gaze lowered to Stoick's face, and then she closed her eyes, turning away. When she looked up again, she met Dreamer's gaze with a silent plea, and once again the weight of the world settled on his shoulders as he stared back at her. It was a comfortable, familiar weight.

Perhaps he could not change the world. But he could do his best to avenge this loss, to beat Drago into the ground and prevent him from causing any more pain.

He hadn't succeeded in defending his nest. But Wanderer had always said that defence was just a slow way to die. This time he would not be defending.

His wings spread wide, legs lowering him into a crouch, and then he leapt straight up, rhythmically beating the air and staring at the sky above. They had a big head start; several hours, given how far the sky-fire had moved. He also needed to replenish his fire. But he knew the direction they had gone, somehow, and he was fast.

He relaxed his wings just short of touching the clouds, letting his momentum bleed out. Gravity inevitably pulled him back down, and his tail naturally angled him into the steep dive, back to the distant ice nest below. The rushing wind failed to find purchase on him, slipping over his smooth scales and screeching over his sub-wings, until he threw out his wings just above the nest and hurtled out over the ocean, west, towards familiar waters.

I will save them, he promised while every slight shift in the wind wracked his whole body. I will save them all.

Valka watched her son disappear into the distance, then lay her head back on her husband's chest. Soon, she would get up and see what she could do for the surrounding dragons. Gobber was already trying to find food and water.

For now, Dreamer's face was burned into her mind, his eyes narrow slits and ears and frills twitching erratically. She didn't know what he could do, and she didn't know what Alpha was telling him. She just hoped he would come out of it okay.

There was a great sigh, one at odds with the gentle wind playing across the shore. It was slow, peaceful, strangely reassuring given it signalled the definitive end of the kind, protective alpha she had known for longer than her own family; she was already well ahead in mourning him, unaware he had been clinging on. He wouldn't have used his dying breath to send Dreamer to his death. She hoped.

Tears dripped onto Stoick's cloak, and she focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, careful not to impede it. She had already known her son was strong, so very strong. She just had to believe he was strong enough.

The night was cold. Lonely. Silent.

Something was different. Dreamer didn't think too deeply about it. This was something he had to do. He knew that. But there were necessities.

Replenishing his fire was one of them. A tool. A weapon, perhaps, but only as much as any tool could be picked up and swung at someone. Necessary, either way.

He had passed the ships. They had sailed into the Greater Archipelago. They would be dealt with later. They were slow, and the dragons were not with them.

An island. He reluctantly descended to it. Whatever he needed to do would be done. He needed to rest. It was not sleep, but when he closed his eyes, time passed. He recovered.

His eyes opened at dawn.. He had given them time to pull ahead again. Perhaps, to reach their destination. But now he was rested. He could fight. His paw was useless, but that was irrelevant. The sky-fire rose with him as he took flight again.

A dragon was impossible to follow through the air. Hundreds of dragons left signs; mostly bodies floating in the water, those pushed to fly too hard after a battle and possible injury. But somehow, he already knew where they were going. It always came back to the things he loved, the world trying to hurt him. He was numb to it now. Let it try.

This numbness was not normal, and not healthy. This cold determination was unnatural. But he needed it, so he would use it. He wasn't worried he was being controlled, he knew he was. He knew why. He even knew how. An ocean of knowledge sat on his mind, there and ready to be delved into… but he was only taking what he needed. The rest was only distraction. The choice had been given to him, and he had chosen to save Wanderer, Cloudjumper, Skullcrusher, and every dragon on the planet. All that was left to carry it out.

The island of Berk faded into sight ahead, its enormous mountains piercing the clouds, and something unlocked. He had to allow himself his mind, his thoughts, for this battle, while before it would only have been a distraction; he knew far too well how self-sabotaging he was.

But here, now, he could focus. The isle on which the village was built was the wrong shape, glinting brightly in the sunlight, confirming his suspicions. Attacking or already victorious, Drago and the Bewilderbeast were there, and the dragons were under their control.

He tested his fire as he screeched towards the island, allowing a mote of it into his throat and just holding it there, feeling how he could shape it with forces he did not understand. That understanding, the knowledge, was sitting there to be taken, but he had to focus; that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was what he could do with it.

Swimming with Alpha had been one thing, but seeing the dark Bewilderbeast climbing up onto the island really drove home the size of what he was preparing to take on. It was enormous, the size of the village itself, with massive spines jutting from its back that ranged in length from the height of a small hut to a stretch of good fields. It was ungraceful on land, with its four stocky legs, front-heavy bulk, and a long and thick tail disappearing into the water, but its hide was thick where it was not heavily armoured. Above it, a cloud of dragons whirled, a mix of vibrant colour and dull metal, a problem in their own right.

There would be no hiding himself once he began, so he did not fold his sub-wings, did not cut off the shrieking tone that followed his flight; in such a situation, he would feel blind without it, exposed and vulnerable, paranoid about a tusk sweeping out of nowhere. He needed no further lessons on that.

The Bewilderbeast lifted and slowly turned its head as Dreamer approached, its blubbery flesh rolling and rocking with every slow, ponderous movement. Its voice quickly began roaring in his head, but Dreamer ignored it with ease; it was no alpha, no king, just a selfish tyrant.

A dark shape hovered over the village, at the very edge of the furthest reaches of the dragon swarm, and Dreamer's blood boiled with unbridled rage. Drago had ordered his best friend to kill his sire, and now had the gall to ride him, Wanderer's broad wings flapping constantly just to keep them aloft. The human was already irredeemable, unforgivable, but this was an insult on top of it all.

Dreamer pitched his wings back, catching the air to slow him and bring him to a hover in front of them. Drago's look of interested surprise, his long since missing arm, in fact his entire presence, was irrelevant. Dreamer only had eyes for his best-friend, taking a deep breath to calm his grief and anxiety. He knew this was going to hurt. It was going to hurt more than anything he had ever done before. But he had to do it.

He held his plasma in his throat, shaping it in a new way, one he did not understand other than how to do. He pressed on it, and the demands in his ears garbled, quietened. Reluctantly, regretfully, he stared into those tortured eyes.

Wanderer

The constant pressure, the grip on his mind, relented, but it had stirred the waters, kicked up murk from the bottom and floundered in it until all was clouded and grey.

I'm sorry

He blocked it out, envisioning sturdy wings wrapping around in front of him to block him from the bad thoughts. It was easier to ignore now, like two birds singing discordant tunes

Please

He shut both of them out. They both hurt to hear. Dreamer was… in his head, somehow… but that was bad and wrong and bad and he knew and loved his Dreamer but Dreamer couldn't be in his head so this couldn't be his Dreamer…

You are my best friend

Doubts whispered in one ear, pleas in the other. Lies, all lies!

I need you

This had to be another trick, more bad thoughts that weren't his, wanting things from him.

But you have to break free

There was something in front of him, a blurry silhouette. He wanted to fire at it, to burn and break it. But he didn't have any fire left.

Come back to me

How could he trust any of it? How could he trust himself?

I can't do this without you

Dreamer. His Dreamer. That was something that couldn't be taken away from him, those memories were too much a part of himself.

He shut out the voices and focused on his Dreamer, the dark shape in front of him, the memories of running through forests and flying high into the night, of living in a Long-Paw nest and being separated… of how happy he had been at being reunited. Of fighting together, so much fighting, he was so tired of fighting…

Please… I can't live without you…

He shoved his way through the tangle of thoughts in his head, starting to recognise his own from those that had been put there. Those foreign thoughts still pressed into him, no quieter than before, but he could smell them as fouled now.

You are stronger than this

He snarled, finding that he could, teeth clenched and claws flexing. His wings felt as if they were about to fall off, there was weight on his back-

Yes! Yes, come back to me!

"NO!" Something hard and thin struck him in the side of the head, oddly snapping his thoughts into sharp focus. He blinked, another snarl crackling from between his teeth, then grabbed the stick as it tried to hit him again.

A quick tug and a roll in the air, and he suddenly felt a lot lighter. He shook his head again…

The voices were silent. There was nothing now. Wrrr, not nothing, but just a constant, flat pressure where before there had been bad thoughts. He spotted his Dreamer and smiled gratefully-

Then yelped as his wing seized, sending him plummeting to what was apparently ground below. In heartbeats, something warm grabbed onto him, gripping him and holding him tightly, pulling at him while the wind rushed past.

Something hit him with a splintering crash, several somethings-

OBEY, SUBMIT, YOU ARE-

The voice blurred into obscurity before he could even cry out, and he instead whimpered and pawed at his head. "What happening?" he asked nobody in particular.

"We need fight now," Dreamer growled, his mouth burning brightly. "I can… hide bad thoughts. I need you stop him."

"I not have fire," he moaned, climbing stiffly to his paws. They were in a Long-Paw den, one now very wrecked with light shining down through the roof. "Also I not think I can fly."

"I can fly, but not walk," Dreamer huffed, still holding his fire in his mouth. It didn't seem to be making any sound… or… unless…

His leg was broken, which took Wanderer's attention for a moment. That was bad. "We need leave-"

"No, we can fight," Dreamer growled, gingerly shaking himself off. "I need you trust me…"

"I trust you," Wanderer said without hesitation, pressing their necks together. He trusted Dreamer more than himself right now.

Dreamer nodded, then took a breath… The bad thoughts returned, but others too, not even words or instructions or anything but something…

His body burned, and he shuddered as his back spines snapped open of their own accord, feeling as if they were on fire. He felt his plasma swell, his breath scald his tongue and nose. It felt wrong, he felt as if he was barely clinging on while Sire flew much too fast-

"Fight," Dreamer snarled, blue light shining from his nostrils and down his back, his back-spines burning brightly. He fired at the door, a tiny shot sparking with light instantly blowing it out, and then the mental pressure smoothed over again, the bad thoughts ceasing.

Wanderer shook his head and glanced backwards, seeing his own spines burning a bright blue, felt the sheer heat rising from them.

This wasn't the time to ask questions or whine. He had fire. He had something to shoot at. He… had to worry about everything else later.

Dreamer limped outside to immediately take to the sky, and Wanderer leaped out after him.

"Necessities!" Astrid barked, waving villagers further up towards the Great Hall. "Weapons, water, blankets! We can find food later, just move!"

"The bridge is covered in ice!" someone shouted from behind her.

Astrid rolled her eyes. "And you're a Mother Frigga Viking, so break through it or die trying!" The woman stared at her for a moment, blinked, then turned and stormed back towards the bridge. "We're out of time people," she yelled as that terrifyingly huge bone crown rose over the swathes of ice already covering most of the village, "just go with-"

"Astrid!" Spitelout shouted, running up to her; he looked out of breath, clearly he'd been getting lazy. "Wes' side o' the village is clear," he said breathlessly, leaning on a knee.

"Good. Remember that old ballista the Thorstons repaired?"

He gaped at her. "Yeh can't be thinking-"

"I'm the only one thinking," she snapped at him. "Maybe it can cover our retreat, as long as we move faster than that!"

As if for emphasis, a splintering, cracking sound erupted down the west side of the village, momentarily drowning out the fearful shouting, and Spitelout paled. "Aye Chief," he barked, did a double-take, then grit his teeth and ran off.

"Not yet I'm not," she muttered to herself, heeding her own advice and breaking into a run up into the village-

"Astrid!" yet another voice called out, this one meek and unassuming.

"Fishlegs!" she scolded, stopping in her tracks and spotting him standing at the top of a broken ramp. "I thought I told you to get a better look!" She ran around the long way, though a spike of glistening ice provided a handy shortcut.

"I can see just fine from here," he quivered as she reached him, hunching in on himself and pointing out over the village.

She again looked up at the dark figure hovering over them, the one that had made bold claims from the back of a Night Fury before raining fire and ice down on them. "Is it one of them?" she asked quietly.

"Can't tell," he replied, "but given we've never seen any other… Probably."

They deserved more than this. "All right, keep yourself safe, we might need you to-"

He'd heard it before she did, but that distant shriek was unmistakable. "It is one of them, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically.

In no time at all, the other Fury was banking around and slowing to a halt in front of his brother, and they simply stared at each other.

"Come on Fish, we need to go," she reluctantly mumbled, tugging at the big man's vest.

"We can't go!" he exclaimed, shaking her off. "We can't just leave him to take on… all that alone! Besides which he's probably about to get mind controlled like all the others!"

"And what are you going to do, throw sheep at it?" She pointed at the titanous dragon staring up at the Furies just out of its reach, and then she stormed around Fishlegs and shoved. "The best thing you can do for him is get out of his way! You know he won't leave as long as we're in danger."

"But-"

There was a deep, gravelly shout, and Astrid looked up to see the man falling, closely followed by the Furies. "Get moving Fishlegs!"

"...Fine," he grumbled, and reluctantly started trotting further up into the village, towards where a path had hopefully been carved through the ice to let them out onto the main island. They could hide there, live off the farms and wild game for a while if they needed to. After the incident with the Speed Stingers there was a storehouse out there too, once the possibility of needing to flee had sunk in…

As much as she hated doing it. She could tell, as the last of the villagers from below clambered up the hill, that they hated it too. This was their home, and they were powerless to stop it getting blasted apart, but they were also Vikings who laughed in the face of impossible odds!

A daring, suicidal plan came to mind as she looked for where the enemy had fallen. Depending on where he'd landed, he might have survived. He might still be a threat. But he would be injured.

She could hunt him down. Avenge her Chief, her village. Her hand went to the handle of her axe, stroking the grain of the wood.

"Astrid!" Fishlegs called out from far behind her.

She took a deep breath… then turned and jogged up after him. She could just as easily be killed for her hubris, for her pride, and right now the village didn't need another dead hero; particularly with Stoick's fate in question after what that madman had announced. Sometimes, the bravest thing to do was to live.

He wasn't sure why this Nightlancer was so stubborn, back already and trying to take back his own Nightlancer, but if it would not be controlled then he wished it would just die already.

It didn't feel like one of the few progenitors; its Voice was rough and unrefined, for all that he had only heard it say a single word, and its interference was unnecessarily loud. No, this one was young and inexperienced, however that worked.

He had frustratingly little information on Nightlancers, they were impossible to force breed and proved themselves remarkably slippery dragons. Aside from that, they were fast, had devastatingly strong offensive capability, but were flimsy. As a human, it had taken him all of thirty seconds to bring one to the ground and end it.

He didn't care to take a body that could be killed so easily. They had been promised vessels to survive the calamity, and a chance at the greatest of them all, but after everything, it had been a farce. This vessel was the strongest, and it had been hidden away, designed in secret during the truce. As always, everything of worth had to be taken.

The Nightlancer under his control wavered, and his human lost its temper with it, striking its head. Fool. The human quickly found itself falling out of the sky, and his Nightlancer fell too, but was grabbed by the other and guided to crash further up this primitive colony.

He helped break the human leader's fall by getting a tusk under it before it fell too far – only because it was convenient. This human would conquer, take and own everything, and he would be instrumental in that process and after. The rule of existing in any society was to be beneficial to keep or difficult to kill, and he would be both. Done correctly, he would be revered as the god he was, the strongest creature on this planet! He did as the humans wished, for now, but he outlived them indefinitely, and he was patient.

"Take them!" the human shouted at him from near the base of his tusk, waving its bullhook at where the Nightlancers had fallen, but-

There was a gap in the interference, and he hit them with as strong a control as he could manage, but it was nearly instantly drowned out again.

He resumed his agonisingly slow climb up the little island, towards the two Nightlancers. Kill the interfering one, take the other back, kill the humans.

They erupted from a primitive hut as he came up level with it, a moment before he obliterated and froze it. Their brightly glowing backs gave him pause – that was the shine of Molnir, and in its activated state no less – and then he roared furiously before spraying ice at the flying one, his only hindrance.

Of course, it only flew out of the way, remaining out of its reach. Coward-

A light streaked across his face and impacted his tusk, wrenching his head away and almost throwing him right off the island. He huffed, bewildered at the strength behind the shot… and that from the Nightlancer who had apparently been out of fire. He growled and swung his head back-

A shot hit his other tusk, pushing him further into his swing and almost throwing him off the other side of the island. It couldn't keep this up. He growled angrily and brought forth a great stream of ice as he swung back, no longer caring if he killed it-

The interference stopped, and a moment later he was struck from above, another shot punching into his snout. He roared with pain, the ice stream cutting off as his tusks were slammed into the ground by the force. That Nightlancer… It knew what it was doing.

He ordered the swarm of dragons to attack – but the interference took up again almost immediately, blocking him from them. They would only follow their last command, to circle above, but that was useless!

These Nightlancers were just two puny little creatures, small and frail, while he had lived for thousands of years, witnessed the fall of a civilisation! He had bested the only other of his kind! Compared to these insects, He was a god!

Another devastating shot flashed up from the ground and struck his snout, and he felt his bones crack with the force. Thick blood trickled into his mouth as he took a step back.

"Fight!" said a voice on his head, but he couldn't hit these stupid little targets – he was too big, too strong for these insects buzzing around him, beating him with a weapon they should not possess.

If the human wanted to fight these Nightlancers, it could do so itself. The smarter approach was to back off and let the insects fight among themselves. He would likely lose much of the flock he had accumulated, but it was better than risking himself. Though it was painful, he started up his own interfering signal before the Nightlancer could work out what he was doing-

Another shot struck his tusk, throwing him off-balance, and then another struck his snout, always in that same place!

This was infuriating. He made to rise, but was hammered back down into the ground by a shot from the cliff above it, from the Nightlancer standing on a fan of ice spikes jutting from the precipice. He swept his tusks through them, shattering the ice, but the Nightlancer just leaped over the strike and landed on another icicle.

But he was triumphant. He was a mere hop from rolling back into the sea, where their cursed fire could not reach him and where he was free to wait for them to cease their interference and then set the other dragons on them. They were fast, but one appeared unable to fly and the other was tired, and at their size they could not keep up this interference forever.

Another shot struck right on the wound they were making on his face, but it was still just surface, and now they were too late. He threw back his head and roared, triumphant.

Fair is fair, Dreamer thought darkly as he ascended, keeping that flat note humming from his fire as he raced into the sky. He was nearly out of fire, even this extended fire that seemed almost endless, but this was almost over. His heart raced, his head swam with the sheer scale of the fight he was engaged in, an even larger and more dangerous dragon than the Green Death, but he was in the thick of it now, and he was committed.

The key to this fight was blocking each other from getting the dragons involved; he of course would not command them into a fight, wasn't even sure he could, but the Bewilderbeast didn't know that.

Among that inexplicable knowledge imparted to him was how all this was possible. His fire resonated in his throat, beating out a low rhythm of sound below audible hearing that obeyed his whims, connected to him as much as his body was, an extension of himself. The Bewilderbeast was no different, except that it did not need to use fire; that put a time limit on what he had to do.

Deeming he was high enough, he pivoted and gave a single hard flap to hurtle back towards the island below, tucking everything in closely to himself, wincing as the wind tugged at his injured leg. Below, the Bewilderbeast was trying to escape, backing down and trying to turn and flee, but Wanderer had him pinned for the moment.

But then, with the speed of one moving with the knowledge they were losing, the Bewilderbeast swung its head and forced Wanderer to dodge.

Forget how much fire he had left, Dreamer had one shot at this, one shot before that titan disappeared into the water and they became powerless against it. One shot, and he was coming in at the wrong angle for it.

Wanderer blasted the Bewilderbeast again, always in that same spot, and the opposing noise briefly cut off.

Now or never

Dreamer Sang. A wordless, toneless melody of victory, of triumph, of success, targeted right at the behemoth below him.

From above, he saw the Bewilderbeast's back quiver as its paw hit the ground, the last step on the island. By its side, the sea roared below, deep and impenetrable. And then it threw back its head and roared-

Dreamer loosed a shot without hesitation, without mercy, one of pure, burning plasma that scorched his mouth on the way out and flashed down to strike the Bewilderbeast directly on what would be its nose.

The titan dropped back to all fours, reeling back in a cloud of black smoke, as Dreamer pulled up and banked around the islet.

Silence. Dreamer was not holding his fire, not making that blocking sound, but there was nothing to block. Dragons continued flying in circles, and the Bewilderbeast rocked to a halt on the lower fields.

It couldn't be over, surely… He dropped into a landing next to Wanderer, on the short cliff overlooking the giant dragon's face. It looked at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, its snout a bloody mess streaming blood over its mouth to trickle down the tough grass.

First thing was first. Dreamer looked up at the cloud of dragons and wrought his fire into the sounds of freedom, of peace, a complex tune to undo the control they were under. Many dragons were flying off in moments, likely back to the homes they had been taken from; Cloudjumper was quick to follow suit, back towards the ice nest, which was good. Many flew up and over the village, Nightmares, Nadders, Gronckles, and Zipplebacks returning to their Long-Paws. Perhaps half remained, probably with no home to go back to, but they were now free to choose, to pull off their armour and live as they were meant to.

The work of several moments, but the Bewilderbeast did not stop him. You have failed, Dreamer told it.

Those were the words he formed in his mind, but it was so much more complex than that. The flock it had accrued was not there by choice, having had all choice removed from each individual. As such, they had not been able to come to their master's aid when needed, not without being explicitly told to. Alpha had loved his nest, and it had loved him, flying to his defence without hesitation. Wanderer had only needed reminding of himself to break free of the control and fight.

Having the ability to force others to follow wasn't strength. It was tyranny.

All of this was conveyed as a backdrop to the message, context as to exactly how it has failed. It listened silently.

That was all it could do now. The necessary bones and muscles and complex organic mechanisms that allowed it to talk, to control others, were shattered beyond repair or healing. It would never talk or command again. And it knew it.

"What are you doing!?" demanded a deep, growling voice, Dreamer belatedly noticing Drago hiding behind one of the bony protrusions of the Bewilderbeast's face. "FIGHT!"

Those blue eyes, massive in their own right but seeming so small in that enormous face, narrowed, and its chest bulged-

There was no hesitation. Dreamer and Wanderer fired, again and again, empowered blasts of pure crackling plasma exploding with far more force than their usual fire, quickly obscuring the Bewilderbeast behind a wall of thick smoke. To Dreamer's surprise, other dragons joined in, adding their fire to rain down on top of it, each shot tiny and insignificant but hundreds of them all beating down on the tyrant's head and neck without mercy.

It screeched agony and turned to flee. Dreamer fired one last parting shot before it could leave, Wanderer adding his own fire – with a sickening crack, one of its tusks snapped off and thudded into the ground. And then the dark Bewilderbeast was gone, dropping out of sight and kicking up a massive spray of seawater as it fled. It was over.

Dreamer groaned pitifully in relief, the last of his plasma dissipating into hot air over his tongue, then turned to his friend-

And startled back at the wide, fearful eyes staring at him. "What?" he asked worriedly; not so much what was wrong, but rather what specific part of the last two terrible days was on his friend's mind.

Wanderer, his back-fins also cooling and dulling, backed up a step – and then dozens of dragons alighted around them, mostly Drago's armoured ones first but quickly followed by others, some of which he recognised from the village. Humans were also starting to filter in from among the ice and debris, now that the threat was gone, including Fishlegs and Astrid with their own dragons. Fishlegs was trying to ask something, drowned out by the sheer number of dragons crowding into the area.

Drago's dragons made Dreamer nervous, but while they were snapping and snarling at anyone getting too close, it was all just posturing and didn't look in danger of becoming serious. What was odd was that the Berkian dragons and also what looked like some from the ice nest were perfectly happy to mingle with the armoured counterparts they had just been fighting. Perhaps that was a lingering effect of…

He spotted one dragon bowing, actually closing their eyes and touching their nose to the ground while they spread their wings in an extremely submissive gesture. Another stooped low, and then another, and before he knew it he was at the centre of a ring of colourful fluttering wings that extended as far back as he could see, hemming in Fishlegs, Astrid, and the other confused Vikings in the area.

Seeing Wanderer's harried expression, Dreamer nervously put as much authority he could manage into an imperious bark, and they were given space, the dragons backing up and many of them flying away. But all of those wearing armour remained, shuffling about nervously, unsure of what to do. Dreamer sighed, and limped to Wanderer-

The other Nightstriker scooted away from him, breathing heavily and watching him with wide, frightened eyes; there was nothing else, just pure fear. Then, before Dreamer could even say anything, he bolted, darting off between the onlookers and disappearing into the remains of the village.

Dreamer sighed again; he had a hunch of what was bothering his friend, but he didn't know what to do about it other than just let the dust settle for now. Astrid and Fishlegs were approaching, wide eyes going between him and the dragons all around, many watching him warily with their tails tucked to their sides.

Fishlegs cleared his throat. "Hiccup-"

"Is it over?" Astrid asked, cutting him off.

"Yes," Dreamer replied wearily. "That big dragon not can Sing now. Not can give dragons thoughts."

She grimaced. "That's not going to go down well with the village…"

"Many ships coming here," he offered, knowing full well that everyone would feel cheated out of the fight. "Many Long-Paws that were with bad alpha. They need stopping. Think maybe they have more dragons also, any injured at ice nest."

"The what nest!?" Fishlegs squeaked excitedly.

Oh, right… "Later," Dreamer groaned, tipping his head to his injured leg. That was all they needed to know, for now at least.

"We'll get that set and splinted for you," Astrid agreed. "Fishlegs, go get that set up." Surprisingly, he practically leapt to obey without argument. "What about these guys?" she asked, gesturing to the dragons around them.

Dreamer looked around, at how the dragons that had formerly been Drago's were still watching him, waiting. But for what?

The answer to that was almost too obvious. They were without a home, their leaders had been defeated and abandoned them. Their lives were ones of being told what to do at every moment, always when to eat, fly, fight, and sleep. They needed direction.

Dreamer sighed again, then limped up to Astrid and licked up her front – his rough tongue caught the fabric of her shirt, and she tried to back away in disgust, but he got a good lathering on her. "You have my scent now," he explained tiredly, neglecting to mention most of these dragons probably hadn't smelled him before; they had just seen him show favour so it didn't matter. "They listen you."

She watched him impassively for a few moments, then walked over to the nearest armoured dragon. Dreamer gave them a stern look for good measure, but they reluctantly allowed Astrid to unclip the heavy helmet, then contributed to taking it off. "This is a lot of iron," she remarked, balancing the helmet on its side before letting it fall. "Gobber'll be pleased." She paused, her fingers on the iron rim. "Is he coming back? And…?"

"I not know," Dreamer huffed, realising he hadn't seen Gobber since before the first battle, "but your alpha is hurt. I think he will live."

"Wait and see, I suppose," she muttered. "Find wherever Fishlegs went and get some rest."

He almost complied, but something stopped him. He didn't want to do as she had told him to. The eyes around him watched studiously.

"Some dragons are maybe hurt," he said instead. "Help them how you can."

She turned and frowned at him, a scathing retort on her tongue… but she seemed to realise the same thing he had, and nodded instead, though she didn't look happy about it.

Dreamer purred under his breath, then grimaced while he took a few experimental flaps before taking to the air to look for Fishlegs; he wouldn't have got far yet.

Everything had changed. He suddenly had this strange ability, to impose his will onto other dragons. That felt surreal, as much as had been discovering he was a dragon. The dragons had then bowed to him. He surmised that made him their alpha, but one advantage of becoming a dragon was escaping that very eventuality; he didn't want to lead dragons or humans.

The death of the white Bewilderbeast… There was something… deep about that, something important. Perhaps not important, really, but something big. He could feel it just out of reach.

He could feel it in that bubble of knowledge, just waiting to be explored. It was fading, he would never know all of it, but he could know much. Everything he wanted to know about dragons. Everything about Nightstrikers, where they came from, what they were, even why and how Wanderer had been able to fit one more in his cycle of rebirth. It all meant something, a grand puzzle he had been unwittingly finding pieces for his entire life.

There were many reasons he was hesitating. For one, he was exhausted, finding it difficult to focus even though his mind still raced with lingering adrenaline. Then there was that he wasn't sure he wanted such knowledge – he could tell it was beyond this world, from Odin's realm. He found himself not believing so much in Valhalla now, and that scared him a little. Whatever it was, it would be a heavy burden to bear.

But mostly, whenever he considered leaping over that line and just going for it, Wanderer's horrified eyes bore through his thoughts.

He had changed. Not only as Astrid had changed, but… something further, deeper than that.

That, in the end, made his decision, and he shoved the bubble from his mind. It went easily, leaving traces here and there but taking with it some of the revelations he'd had… that he could, of course, no longer remember.

Good. It made him feel… lighter. A little better about himself.

He spotted Fishlegs hurrying through the debris with two women in tow, heading for… the Chief's hut, if he had to guess. It stood apart from the others, and appeared undamaged. It would suffice.

Though even after his leg was set properly, even knowing it was over… he was not expecting to rest easy. That was simply the way of things.

Author's Notes

Still have questions about the past? There's a new entry in Gift Wrapping that should shed some light on things.

(( cMg8KaMdDYo ))
"Fly Away"