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Slowly, the grey skies darkened with rain as the moon rose from the ocean.

After seeing the Night Fury again, Hela scrambled home just in time to miss the sudden onslaught of water raining down. There she had spent the rest of her time agonising over the Night Fury. Her mind was troubled with questions: was the dragon warm enough where it was stuck? Did the rain bother it? What if it got sick? Could dragons even be sick?

It was startling to realise how little they knew about dragons.

And, as Hela sat at her desk tracing the quick sketch of the Night Fury, she couldn't help but want to know more about it.

Shame engulfed her, and tears stung her eyes. She hand harmed another creature for no other reason than for sport. For something as stupid as pride. She had taken the Night Fury's wings – stripped him of his freedom – all for some misguided attempt to gain respect. This was different from killing a sheep for its meat and wool; that was survival. This was cruelty for the sake of cruelty.

A tug of war was being fought in her mind. On one side, she had disappointed her father by not killing the dragon. Not only that, but by setting the dragon free, Hela had subjugated it to eternal life on the ground, never to fly again. She assumed losing flight to a dragon was what losing your legs were to humans.

On the other side, she felt proud of herself for letting the dragon free. Cutting the ropes was like opening her eyes for the first time, seeing the world for what it was and not for what you were raised to believe it was.

Tears trailed over blotched cheeks as Hela cried, for the dragon, for disappointing her father. Most importantly, she cried for the sudden lightness she felt in her chest, finally at peace for not fitting in.

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The day had finally given away to night, and the moon was high before Hela's stomach grumbled. After seeing no food in her home, Hela sighed, knowing that she would have to go to the Mead Hall if she wanted something to eat. Thunder shook the island, rain viciously rushing down, and she would have loved nothing for than to stay at her desk, tracing her sketch, but the burning pangs in her stomach demanded a different course of action.

Which was why Hela was soaking wet as she entered the Mead Hall.

(However, she was thankful for the rain; it hid her swollen and tear-streaked cheeks.)

Immediately after the large door sealed shut, Hela was overwhelmed with the sudden heat of the enclosed space.

The Mead Hall was the longest standing building on Berk – the people's pride of joy – and was constantly maintained by the people. There was always someone to keep the fire going or prepare the dishes for dagmal and nattmal. (It was always empty when Gobber was assigned to cook. Man could cook any meat to perfection; the side dishes caused new diseases to be discovered.) It was where many of the villager would come together during dragon attacks, or to fight off the worst of the freezing seasons. Whether it be birth, coming of age, marriage, or death, every ceremony or celebration was held here. It also wasn't strange to see children and younger adults using the Hall for simple sleepovers and first attempts at drinking ale.

However, Hela's relationship was strained at best. It was warm and filled to the brim with food, it may be, but for Hela, it was where she had spent most of her childhood. She was kept separate from most kids her age due to her status and received a vastly different education than they did. When Hela was learning to sit still during Mildew's, the town's grumps, list of complaints, the others were playing 'dragon attack' or 'saving the village.' While Hela was learning to play Maces and Talons, the history of her Tribe and every language in and out of the Archipelago, the rest of her peers were beginning their physical training.

Hela was being raised as an heir, and they were still children.

(This was why Snotlout's comment of him becoming Chief was more funny than hurtful. If he were even considered as Heir, he would've been sitting next to her during her lessons. Besides, the title of Chief was passed down through her father's blood, not her mother's.)

Looking back to it now, Hela couldn't help but be grateful for that distance between her and her classmates, otherwise, it would've hurt to see them huddling in the far corner talking with Gobber.

Reluctantly, Hela moved towards them, their conversation echoing through the nearly empty Hall.

"Alright," Gobber said, "Where did Aron go wrong in the ring today?"

"I mistimed my somersault dive." Aron was quick to answer. "It was sloppy. It threw off my reverse tumble."

"Yeah," Ruffnut drawled, "we noticed."

Hela couldn't help but huff in amusement. Aron was always difficult when it came to his own achievements.

Back when they were younger, finally tall enough to be active people of Berk, they, as many children were obligated to, would spend a few days with various working people to decide their occupation. Part-time, of course, wouldn't want it to interfere with dragon killing. Hela was the worst when it came to fishing, hunting, gathering, or child watching, anything that required steady feet. But she excelled at things like sewing, knitting and the forge. It wasn't long after that Gobber made her his apprentice.

Aron was different. Opposite of Hela, he excelled in everything she failed; however, he failed where she excelled.

Hela winced slightly at the memory of him spending a week in the smithy. She had never met someone so bad at forging. Even Fishlegs did better than Aron!

(He was absolutely horrid at cooking to,)

Snotlout's butt-kissing snapped her from her thoughts.

"No, no," he said quickly, "you were great. That was so 'Aron'."

Goober disagreed, shaking his head as he spotted Hela nearing them. He casually nodded to the last full plate on the table.

"He's right," the older man lectured. "You have tobe tough on yourself. Be the person hardest to please. How else would you get better?"

Hela quickly grabbed the plate, Snotlout scooting over to sneer at her as he took the last available spot at their table. She just shook her head at her cousin; she wouldn't want to sit with them anyway. (Well, maybe Aron, but only if he were alone. Of course, not alone, alone, like where no one could see them but, like when it's only the two of them sharing a table.)

Gods! Get a grip!

"Where did Hela go wrong?" Gobber asked as she walked past them. She sat down on the table next to them, Aron to her immediate right.

Thanks, Gobber.

Like bloodhounds smelling, well, blood, the others saw weakness.

"Uh, she showed up?" RUffnut suggested.

Her twin continued. "She didn't get eaten."

"She's never where she should be," Aron said, glaring at her.

Ouch.

Maybe if Hela were brave enough, she would've looked up and seen the peculiar look Aron was shooting her from the corner of his eyes.

"Thank you, Aron." Gobber ignored Hela's slumping figure, turning his back towards her as he talked to the rest of the teenagers. Did they forget that she was the second-longest survivor in the Arena? "You need to live and breathe this stuff. The Dragon Manual." A big book hit the table with a thud! Where did that even come from? "Everything we know about every dragon we know of."

Hela perked up, her cheeks stuffed with food which she abruptly choked on. She hit her chest, swallowing the food, thankful that no one had seen her do that.

Thunder rumbled outside, and another violent onslaught of rain rushed down. Gobber spared a glance to the door, seemingly satisfied with the harsh weather.

"No attacks tonight," he said, shuffling away from the teenagers and towards the exit. "Study up," he threw over his shoulder before leaving them in the warmth of the Hall.

Hela couldn't help but watch him leave, jaw slack and eyes wide, unblinking as the food lay forgotten. Was he serious? Did Gobber know who he was talking to?

Not even the Vikings who could read liked doing it.

Hela could count on one hand the number of Vikings who actively read for more than necessity - one for her, and two for Fishlegs – and even then, she had a fingers left. Her classmates proved her point as they began to complain.

Tuffnut was the first to go. "Wait!" he yelped. "You mean, read?"

"While we're still alive?" Ruffnut chimed in.

Hela withheld a laugh at the disgust in their voices; how dare the world have such a thing as reading?

"Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you stuff about?" Snotlout slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand, righteously angered at the audacity of sitting still.

Hela had to wonder if Snotlout even understood what he was saying sometimes.

Fishlegs seemed to think that now was the ideal time to start impressing everyone with his knowledge of dragons as he rambled excitedly. "Oh! I've read it like, seven times. There's this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face. And – and there's this other one that buries itself for like a week -"

Hela had to admire how talented he was at ignoring the incredulous expression of the twins and Snotlout's face. All three looked as if their yaks had just defecated in their boots.

"Yeah," Tuffnut cut in, unimpressed, "sounds great. See, there was a chance I was going to read that…"

"But now," his sister continued with a hapless shrug.

"You guys read," Snotlout said, standing from the table. "I'll go kill stuff." He walked to Hela – who was staunchly ignoring him – and threw a beefy arm over her skinny shoulders. "Which is more than I can you'll ever do, huh, cuz? I gotta kill that Monstrous Nightmare, secure my place as future Chief of Berk." The wins cackled at Snotlout.

Hela sighed, catching a whiff of her cousin's sweat. She had to fight to keep herself from gagging. "No need to kill it, Snotlout," she said, "I'm sure your smell would leave it dead before you even neared it."

Snotlout squeaked, jerking his arm back before stomping out towards the exit, muttering under his breath about how men sweat after a hard day's work. The twins jeered at him as they joined him, shoving him with their shoulders. Fishlegs; voice echoed as he walked behind them. "Oh, and there's this other one that has these spines that look like trees…"

Hesitantly, Hela stood from her table and moved to where Gobber had placed the book in front of Aron.

"So, uh," she stammered, "guess we'll share."

Hela had expected him to push the book towards her and leave. She was surprised when he pulled the book closer to him.

"What?" Aron asked, his brow raised condescendingly. "You showed up to dragon training without reading the manual?"

Oh gods, he's talking to me.

"No!" She was quick to snap. "I just have to review it. Besides, I'm the one that should be surprised. I didn't even know you could read."

Aron huffed, offended. "Of course I can read. I just didn't know you did."

"Really?" Hela asked dryly. Did he forget who she was?

A red blush crawled over his cheeks as he realised who he was talking to.

"Whatever," he scoffed, pushing the book towards her. "Here's your stupid book. I already read it." He stood from the table and walked away.

"Here's your stupid book," Hela mocked under her breath, getting comfortable in her new seating arrangement. Sometimes she had to wonder why he made her stomach dance the way it did. She glanced at him, his back to her as her eyes flickered downwards. The door slams as he went home.

Maybe that's why.

No!

This time it was Hela's cheeks that were reddening. She shook her head, hoping to clear the picture of the way Aron's trousers clung to him from her mind. There was no time for thinking of him whilst she had a Night Fury in her backyard.

Remembering the dragon was enough to snap her from her daydreaming, and she eagerly went to open the book. It was thick, binded with different strings from the years as they added new things they've learned of dragons. It was also the only book some Vikings have ever read.

Anxious, Hela opened the book and began to read.

"Dragon classifications," she whispered, "Strike Class. Fear Class. Mystery Class."

The first dragon's page went as followed: "Thunderdrum: This reclusive dragon inhabits sea caves and dark tide pools. When startled, the Thunderdrum produces a concussive sound that can kill a man at close range. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight." A sketch of great detail was next to it.

Fear fogged her mind.

On and on it went.

"Timberjack: This gigantic creature has razor-sharp wings that can slice through full-grown trees. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight. Scauldron: Sprays scalding water at its victim. Extremely dangerous. Changewing: Even newly hatched dragons can spray acid. Kill on sight."

The drawings moved in the candlelight. No longer was it a sketch demonstrating the way these dragons killed; it was as if she was the one dangling from the dragon's talons. She was the one being ripped apart with each page, only to be put back together to be shredded in the next one.

Why this book so big?

Hela flipped through the book, no longer even reading the description. "Gronckle, Zippleback, The Skrill, Boneknapper, Whispering Death. Burns its victims, buries its victims, chokes its victims, turns its victims inside-out."Her heart thrummed in her chest. "Extremely dangerous, extremely dangerous, kill on sight, kill on sight, kill on sight."

There was a lot of killing going around.

Finally, as the book began to thin out, she landed on an almost empty page. There were no pictures; there wasn't even a description.

"Night Fury," Hela whispered, awed at the lack of knowledge surrounding the dragon. "Speed, unknown. Size, unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon.' It warned. "Your only chance is to hide and pray it does not find you."

Nothing!

Seven generations, endless attacks, and they knew nothing about this dragon.

The realisation made everything real.

Hastily, she opened her sketchbook on her last drawing and threw it onto the empty page of the Manual. The candlelight flickered over the dark line of the Night Fury, breathing life into the picture.

Never engage this dragon.

"Too late for that."