As Gobber predicted, Hela was stumbling her way through Raven's Point. It was a thick, dense forest with towering trees, always cloaked with smoky fog. There were small pathways of dead grass indicating the routes most Vikings used when navigating through it. The forest itself wasn't unfamiliar to Hela; as a younger, well, younger, she would run away for her tutors or Snotlout and hid in some of the empty tree stumps until her father had to come and find her eventually. But in those cases, she had always stuck to the tree line.

This was the first time she had ever wandered so deep within the forest.

In her hand, she held her trusty sketchbook. It was where she drew most of her ideas for new inventions, jumbled thoughts, rough scribbles of things she wanted to draw on a later date, and, of course, an embarrassing amount of pages dedicated to the one and only Aron Hofferson. Hela would rather jump off a cliff than show this book to anyone.

Currently, the book was open a rough sketch of the island. The town was present through a collective of triangular huts, and she had marked the spot from where she had shot down the dragon and an arrow curve from it to a series of X's littering the page. Hela added another ex as she followed the path.

Stepping into a small clearing, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, not even attempting to get her hopes up this time. She opened her eyes.

Nothing!

"Oh, the gods hate me," she groaned, scribbling over the entire map and closed the book with an unsatisfying snap! She put it into the pocket inside her, specifically sewed for it. "Some people lose their knife or their mug. No, not me. I manage to lose an entire dragon? How in Thor's name does one lose a dragon? I mean, fuck." She cursed softly, checking the area around her to ensure Gobber didn't pop up anywhere. "It's a dragon! A colourful, fire breathing reptile? It can't be that hard to miss."

Hela smacks a nearby tree branch in frustration. The branch retaliates, leaving a bleeding welt under her eye.

"Ow," she whined. "So not necessary."

She rubbed her cheek, attentively poking at the small wound, and glared the branch. Her eyes widened at the sight before her and gasped.

The branch was connect to a broken tree, the top part hanging over it and pointing towards the ground. Hela's hand traced the rough tree bark and she walked towards where the tree was pointing at. Her gaze fell to the forest floor, seeing how the ground had caved in.

Hope begun to bubbled in her chest. Something came here, something fell from the sky, broke the tree and slid through the grass creating the dent. Hela couldn't help but think it was where her dragon would be.

Carefully, she followed the beaten newly created path, sliding down into a secluded groove. There, right at the end, tied up by a bola rope, serving as some kind of bow on an unopened present, laid a dragon.

"Oh, wow," she mumbled, watching the dragon with wide, hazy eyes. It didn't look anything like Snotlout.

It was unlike any dragon she had seen before. It didn't have the rugged and hard appearances of the other dragons she had encountered before; no spikes on its tale, no horns poking from its head, and thankfully it only hand one head. The scales looked smooth and were darker than any night sky she had ever seen, missing the small twinkling stars that made the darkness a little less scary.

She had shot down a dragon.

Not just any dragon, but a Night Fury.

A dragon no one on Berk had ever seen before, and Hela the Hiccup, was the first ever Viking to shoot it down. And she did it alone!

Alone.

She was alone and there was a dragon in front of her tied up with rope which said dragon can burn down.

Nobody knew where she was. Nobody had believed her when she said she had shot down a Night Fury.

A dragon so dangerous that people were actually encouraged to pray it stay away.

And Hela was alone with it.

The awed haze left her and she frantically grasped at her dagger, pointing it threateningly towards the lumps of black limps. A hysterical laugh escaped her as she saw how small her weapon was in comparison to the beast.

Cautiously, she approached the dragon, tip-toeing close to it and saw the slight movements of breath. It didn't do more than that.

She let her sudden fear slip away as realisation set in.

"I did it," she breathed. "Oh, I did it! This fixes everything! I have brought down this mighty beast!" In a moment of bravado, Hela stepped forward and placed her foot onto the dragon.

The beast moved, shoving her away. Hela reared back, back thumping against a big rock, heart pounding to a rhythm so loud she was half convinced it would jump out of her chest.

What a way to discover what the human heart looks like, she thought wildly.

She pushed herself from the rock, fingers shaky as she approached the dragon once again; the only sounds in the forest was their heavy breathing. Her gaze followed the path from the dragon's exposed belly up to its awkwardly tied wings. Unexpectedly, she made eye contact with the dragon.

It had green eyes.

Like she did.

She looked away, feeling oddly uncomfortable. Nausea bubbled in her stomach. She convinced herself it was excitement.

The dragon growled softly, a gentle sound, and Hela looked into his eyes again. If Hela didn't know any better, she would say it was asking for mercy.

But Hela did know better.

"I'm going to kill you, dragon," she said, twisting the dagger in her hand. Her knees shook as she stood before it. "I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father. I'm a Viking. I am a Viking!"

The last part came out as a shout.

Hela didn't know who she was trying to convince; the dragon or herself. Maybe if she said it loud enough, screamed to the skies, then maybe she would believe her own words. The words just rolled off her skin as the sense of wrongness turned her stomach.

But how could this be wrong? Why was she feeling guilty about killing this dragon? Everyone else on this island wouldn't have hesitated, and she was certain none of them even felt the turmoil she feels now. Her father would have done it, Gobber would have done it, Hel, even Aron would have!

Hela shook her head, physically shaking the thoughts away, and lifted her dagger above her head with closed eyes.

She could do this. She had to do this!

For some reason, instead of bringing the dagger down, Hela opened her eyes again, only to see the dragon staring at her, pleading with his eyes. It was terrified of her, and Hela couldn't help but find the thought of anyone, anything, thinking that she was going to be the reason for their death, utterly sick.

No!

She squeezed her eyes shut, strengthening her weak arms and gritted her teeth.

She could do this!

The dragon moaned, and Hela heard as it laid down, knowing that it was accepting his death.

She couldn't do this.

Hela exhales heavily, chest heaving as she tries to steady her breath.

"I did this," she whispered, ashamed of herself. Ashamed because she harmed this creature who didn't deserve such cruelty and ashamed because even now when she's presented with the opportunity to make her father proud, she disappoints him. Because he was right all along: Hela wasn't a dragon slayer.

She staggered backwards, wanting nothing more than to run away and forget it never happened. Maybe she could just leave it here; surely someone else would find it? Finish it off where she couldn't.

The thought was unsettling and sent Hela hurrying towards the dragon, a small dagger cutting through the thick ropes. One by one, she cut the dragon loose.

Distressed and anxious to help the Night Fury, Hela didn't even notice it opening its eyes and begin wiggling its arms.

The dragon pounced, too quick for Hela to see. She blinked, and suddenly she was on her back, a dragon's paw pressing down on her. It was large enough to cover her entire chest with his nails grazing dangerously close to the soft flesh of her neck. It was heavy too, and Hela had to fight to keep breathing.

The dragon loomed over her, dangling its head right in front of her as they looked at each other.

Was this how the dragon felt when she was standing over him? This cold, daunting fear?

The dragon opened its mouth, teeth gleaming in the dim sunlight - Hela wondered if it was going to set her on fire – rearing back, curling into itself. The dragon lunged forward, both paws now beside Hela as the Night Fury roared. It was a high pitched sound, and it hurt so badly that Hela had to cover her ears in an attempt to deafen it.

The Night Fury left her lying in a fetal position as in ran off. Hela only got a glipse of his strangely unsteady flying before it disappeared within the trees.

She sat up and stared for a moment before climbing to her feet. It was quite a challenge as she couldn't feel her legs, but she knew her knees were trembling.

That's when it all hit her.

Like a ball to the gut, the air escaped from her lungs in a hysterical laugh. The pride, the fear, the excitement, the existential crisis she had just experienced… It was all too much! She felt older than before as if years had passed instead of mere minutes.

She turned to go home when her knees buckled and her eyes closed just as she hit the floor.

Gods, she hoped no one saw that.

#

By the time Hela arrived home, the sun had already set, and the night chill had settled over the island, her thick fur vest not doing much to fight off the cold. She didn't pay attention to which path she was taking, her mind still overflowing with her experience with the Night Fury. Within minutes she was in front of her home's front door.

She hesitated before it, seeing the flickering light of the burning heart shining beneath the door. Her father was home before her, meaning two things may when she passed the threshold: one, she was in trouble for missing her curfew, or two, he wanted to – and Hela shuddered at the thought – talk.

Hela loved her father, but talking wasn't an activity they excelled at.

She sighed and opened the door slowly, peeking through the small opening. Her mountain of a man father sat in front of the hearth, tending to the fire. Thankfully, his back was turned to her, and Hela took her chance. She slipped through the door and tiptoed inside.

She was halfway up the stairs when he spoke, "Hela."

Startled, she sat down on the step and tried to sound casual. "Dad! You're home early!"

"Aye," he said, standing to face her. "I need to speak to you, daughter."

Yikes! A serious conversation.

"Good, because I need to talk to you to."

Simiatalously, they both spoke, words garbling over each other.

"I've decided that I don't want to fight dragons."

"I think it's time for you to learn how to fight dragons."

They just looked at eachother before they both spoke again, "What?"

Gods, moments like these convinced her that awkwardness was a Haddock trait and not just a Hela one.

Stoick gestured towards Hela. "You go first."

Hela shook her head. "No, no, you first."

"Alright," said Stoick, and Hela knew right then that she had made a mistake. "You get your wish. Dragon Training. You start in the morning."

Hela frantically flailed her arms as if to wave away the words before they were spoken.

"Oh, man," she practically whined, "I should've gone first. Because, um," she licked her lips, grasping at straws as she continued, "I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings. I mean, practically everyone on the island does it, so it's, like, so last winter. Um, and I was thinking, do we have enough bread-making Vikings or small home repair Vikings? Because I've been practising bread making, and I think I'm finally getting the hang of it. Yeah, recently discovered passion-"

Stoick just placed an axe in her hand. Hela barely caught it in time as he said, "You'll need this."

"Where did you pull this out? Never mind, I don't want to fight dragons."

Her father shook with a hearty chuckle. "Come on. Yes, you do."

He walked towards his chair near the fire, Hela following after him as he took a seat. The heat of the heart flushed both their skins in identical blushes.

"Rephrase, Dad, I can't kill dragons." Something about saying out loud lightened the heavy feeling of her chest - something to be examined later.

"But you will kill dragons." He said it with the certainty Hela could only wish she could feel.

"No, Dad," she interjected, "I'm really very extra sure that I won't."

"It's time, Hela."

Her entire body went slack as his tone changed. She knew it meant; he was no longer talking with her, he was speaking at her, and her words wouldn't reach one ear to go out through the other.

"Can you not hear me?" The words came out tired, but Hela wanted to scream.

"This is serious, daughter," Stoick said sternly. "When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us. You talk like us. You think like us. No more of," he waved his hand toward her petite frame, "this."

"You just gestured to all of me," Hela said dryly, reminded of the conversation she had with Gobber that same morning.

"Deal?"

"This conversation is feeling very one-sided."

"Deal?" her father pressed.

Hela had no choice but to concede. "Deal," she sighed.

"Good." Stoick nodded with satisfaction before holding a hand out to her. She took it, noticing the differences between their hands: his, large and weathered, littered with scars across his knuckles from fighting, hers, small and calloused, rough from working in the forge. She allowed him to sit her down before him, crossing her legs as she hit the ground, back turned to him. His fingers ran through her hair, a similar colour red as his were, detangling it before he started to braid in silence.

Hela watched the flames, heavy axe in her lap. It was a familiar routine, one they had started when she was only a little girl. Every time her father would leave the island – for a raid, a dragon attack, fighting with the tribes or establish peace with them, it didn't matter the reason – he would braid her hair. In the past, her hair long and thick enough for him to do so, the braids were intricate, small designs that blended into bigger braids, signalling her status in the tribe as a Haddock and as his daughter. That had to change at the beginning of the year when an accident in the smith had burned most of it off.

She sighed, the fingers in her hair gently lulling her into relaxation. Her hair was another thing that made her different from everyone. Hair was an essential part of their culture, signifying a lot of things. On men, any length was acceptable, but a naked head was disgraceful and longer hair – if kept neat, as her father did – was worthy of respect. Hair on women was different as only the wealthier members of the tribe could have long hair, and Hela, as the chief's daughter walking around with hair too short to braid, was as good as denouncing her title of her father's daughter.

Stoick knew it was an accident, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt both of them when she had to cut it off.

Hela grunted as he caught a tangled knot. Just for the fun of it, she said, "Ow."

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much if you didn't go around rolling in the dirt. It's a bird's nest back here."

She rolled her eyes at the old remark.

As he tied up the last bit of hair, Hela remembered the axe on her lap. She almost threw it away when she recognised it,

It wasn't just any old axe; it was her father's.

He didn't part with it; even when it was getting sharpened he was hovering over who was sharpening it. In the beginning, it was Gobber, but as she got older, Hela was trusted to do it, but only with the man was watching her with sharp eyes.

He wasn't just giving her a weapon to defend herself; he was, in his own way, showing his trust in her.

Hela wanted to cry, the events of earlier flickering through her mind.

"There," he said, finally done.

Dazed, she ran her hand over the braids. When loose, her hair only just grazed her shoulders, and it wasn't long enough for just one braid. Instead, it was usually weaved into two thick braids, tied with a green string at the ends.

"Thanks, dad," she heard herself say.

Stoick didn't seem to notice her lack of attention. "Well, I'm going to bed. Early day tomorrow."

The words snapped Hela out of her thoughts. "Old men do need their beauty sleep."

"Oi," he cuffed her on the back of her head before kissing her forehead. His beard scratched at her skin. "You know the rules, Hela. Stay safe, well, as safe as you can during your dragon training. I'll be back, probably…"His words trailed off as he walked towards his room.

"I'll be here," she said with false confidence before continuing in a whisper, "maybe."

Hela knew that tomorrow, as Skol rode across the sky, that she would be alone in her home and one of the few left on the island. Times like these were always tremulous as most Vikings sailed away, leaving their home's defences weaker than they'd like to admit it.

It was also a confusing time. Vikings knew that when they sailed away from Berk that they just might not come back, especially if the trip was to the Dragon's Nest Hela's tribe has been searching for as long as Berk existed. They knew this but saying goodbye was always a difficult thing, especially considering actually saying goodbye was a bad omen. It meant that you didn't think that the person sailing away was worth dying during battle, of entering Valhalla. It was what every Viking wanted, what Stoick wanted. Only, she knew that it wasn't just for the glory of dying in battle, but to join her mother in Valhalla.

"Oh, Odin," Hela prayed, "I know that my father deserves for than anyone to join you halls, but leave do not take him yet."