Flying in the light was a little uncomfortable, given everything Dreamer had been through these last few years. There was every possibility Grimmel was watching the skies, expecting his little detour.

But they were on the same page, now. Grimmel had a limited lifespan, and while he could maybe bring the Nightstriker population to the brink in that time, beyond hope of recovery, he could not end it completely. He would never feel as if he had won. That was where Dreamer came in – but he would give Grimmel much more than he bargained for. Hopefully, it would be enough.

But first, a little detour. The endless fields and trees below were broken by a long range of mountains, a place that brought back many memories. Their territory, where he and Wanderer had met both Fleeting and Reaching, all of them with their own problems but slowly working to overcome them. Leaper had hatched here, too, somewhere within all that dirt and rock…

The memories stoked the tumultuous mix of rage and grief that drove him, and he grit his teeth as he descended. Night had not long fallen and there was still some faint light shining from the sky, but he was sure to come up behind the Long-Paw nest, behind the big house at the top, where he was less likely to be seen. That same house happened to be his destination, and he landed on it very gently, careful not to alert any occupants who happened to be inside.

The nest had grown considerably since he'd last been here, reaching out to the walls in all directions and even beginning to climb up them in places. The long, wide road from the large gate in the wall to the entrance of the tunnel was now very pronounced, and the traders along either side were still calling out to people, even successfully in many cases despite the late hour. All of this… is why we were chased out… and why…

Dreamer looked away before he could be too tempted to fire at it. Instead, he prowled along the edge of the roof and scented along the edge, searching for the stuffy air of an open window. The first was too far down to easily reach, though he kept in mind where it was just in case. The second…

He paused, hesitating at the scents emanating from below. That was too perfect… But how far did he trust himself right now? They deserve it! Could he resist the temptation…? Let them know true suffering! He wasn't in the best state of mind right now; even he didn't know what he might do…

His body was already moving, hindlegs securely on the edge of the roof while his forelegs reached down to the window. He twisted at the last moment to fluidly, silently, slip inside, his paws especially silent on the fluffy covering over the floor. A woman dressed in plain, simple clothes stared at him with wide, petrified eyes from next to the door of the room, which was well decorated and had more furniture than the average Viking household. Dreamer coolly met her gaze, and she stared back at him, frozen by a wise survival instinct… She remained silent, and wasn't what he was here for, so he turned away and let her be.

The crib standing against the wall wasn't really what he was here for either, but he approached it anyway. The source of the strong scents, a chubby child, probably only a few months old. It stirred and murred in its sleep, little hand clutching its blanket which at the same time its feet tried to kick off. Dreamer stared at it, his eyes narrowed to slits. Let them suffer! A thousand memories flashed through his mind. Show them this pain I feel! An innocent. Nobody is innocent! Harmless and helpless. As helpless as its vile father! A child, just like Leaper… DO IT!

The scent of the fat lord was mixed into the boy's scent… but not present itself. That was enough to release Dreamer from temptation, and he took a long breath and turned away. Killing the child would not bring anywhere near as much pain as he felt. What kind of father could the lord be, that he had not even held his own son recently, not so much as a touch? The only scents present were of people not related to him. Still, as logical as the decision had been, Dreamer was relieved with the outcome.

He walked back into the middle of the room, turning to put the window behind him, and let his plasma pool into his mouth. The liquid fire clung to the claw he dipped into it, then burned into the soft flooring as he quickly drew short lines, flares of orange mixing with the blue flames.

With his message complete, he turned back to the window and hopped through it, disappearing back into the night.

While a certain dragon took flight, leaving behind a terrified nanny and slumbering child, two men lounged on lavish felt-lined chairs drinking expensive liquor in the most structurally secure room near the heart of the manor. "All muscle, no fat, you see," one casually added as an aside to what he had been explaining. "The more they are forced to fly, the easier they become to predict. Food and especially water can only be found in certain places."

The other man stroked the rolls of fat bulging from his neck. "See, that I can understand. But all this fanciful nonsense about Vikings, mountain-sized dragons, repaying farmers for stolen livestock… Mating habits. I cannot see what any of that has to do with killing them."

"Of course you don't," the first muttered despondently, staring into the dark liquid in his glass. "I-"

He tensed, eyes going to the closed door. A moment later, the second man groaned, glancing up at the ceiling. "I should see what they want," he muttered, half irked and half grateful for the excuse, then arduously climbed out of his chair and waddled to the door.

Grimmel watched him go, appearing relaxed to a casual observer but poised to spring from the chair in an instant; the back wall was bedrock, offering protection against a collapsing structure. He waited, pulse quickening as the minutes passed, until finally heavy footsteps down the hall heralded the lord throwing the door open to storm back inside. "What demons have you brought to my home!?" he demanded, towering over Grimmel.

"Yes, yes, forget all that," Grimmel said excitedly with animated flicks of his hand, "what did it say!? Details, I need details!"

The lord stared down at him for a few moments before responding. "A message, burned into the carpet of my son's room. 'Be glad I am not like you.' What is that supposed to mean!?"

Grimmel slipped out of the chair, unfazed by the large man standing in front of it, and began pacing, pinching his chin with his head bowed in thought. "It is clearly a message for me-"

"Burned into my house!?" the lord bellowed. "The carpet is ruined!"

"Of course it is a message to you, you simple imbecile," Grimmel snapped. "The message to you is a message to me. Pfah! You aristocracy have no regard for subtlety." He paced the back wall a few more times while the lord stared incredulously at him. "We may not have long… Yes, I must assume I succeeded. Ah, this is all just too perfect! Now, I require your city, the river, the tunnel, all of it." He strode towards the door, tossing a leaf of parchment into the air as he passed the lord. "A couple more things, it's all there. That should cover your costs, and you can claim everything back after, I care not." He passed through the door, his voice echoing from the hall. "You have until tomorrow night to decide. I will return then."

The lord stared at the door, mouth agape, before glancing down at the slip he had barely managed to catch and glimpsing the number at the bottom. He did a double-take, eyes boggling in incredulity, anger, and greed in equal measures…

He startled as Grimmel leaned around the doorway. "Oh, we may have, mmm, kicked the wasps' nest, so to speak. Bear that in mind if you're considering staying." With that, he strode off again. The lord only hesitated a moment before hurrying after him.

Another mountain, another book of memories popped open to flip through its pages. The stories within this one were not quite so dear to the heart as from the last mountain Dreamer had visited, but there were many more of them, and after such a long flight, the tall lump of harsh rock jutting from the sea was a sight for sore eyes.

The changes of the last Long-Paw nest were nothing compared to the sight of Berk after so much time away. Flocks of dragons erupted from sea stacks as he passed them, their wings seeming to glitter in the afternoon light, more flurries of colour glinting over and all throughout the village. Not merely contained to its little islet now, the buildings seemed to have ventured onto the main island, even built up the tall flats that overlooked everything, precariously clinging to sheer cliffs. The docks teemed with ships, most but not all sporting a crest of sword and fang; it seemed Astrid had updated the old 'impaled dragon' crest, which was for the better.

He was still looking around with wide eyes as he drifted into a landing. The simple crane over the docks had been upgraded into a massive contraption of gears and pulleys. A Viking was filling a bucket with water out of a tap just on the side of their house, with no obvious container for the water to come from. Even the architecture itself seemed odd somehow, everything a bit tidier, neater, with many worn perches for dragons of all sizes, and it felt strangely crowded. Was this really Berk, the stubborn, unchanging little village of the Hooligan tribe?

Vikings quickly began to crowd around him, many jostling to offer him fish, all trying to approach slowly and carefully but faster than everyone else. He snarled at them, baring his teeth and aggressively flaring his wings, then huffed in satisfaction as they backed off; nobody could resist a legend, he supposed.

"Do not make him tell you a second time," said an eloquent voice that sent Dreamer's wings to the ground and chills down his back.

None other than Viggo Grimborn himself casually strode through the crowd a moment later, which quickly found better places to be. The side of his face was strangely scarred, but other than that he stood alive and intact. They stared at each other for a long moment, Dreamer trying to process such an impossibility and Viggo clearly enjoying the effect of his presence. "I have helped do what I can with the place," he said lightly, gesturing to the general area with an open hand, "it was the least I could do, really. It is good to see you again, Dreamer." Agreement, Dreamer crooned.

A moment later, his ears went up at another familiar voice among the people going about their daily business. "Viggo, I swear," it said dangerously, "one of these days I'm gonna gut that Odin cursed- Oh!" A Terrible Terror flitted out of nowhere to land on Viggo's shoulder, crooning delight as Viggo stroked its head, and Astrid strode through the crowd with an infant on her hip. Her long hair was neatly braided at the back, though she still wore no helmet, and she looked mature, more grown into her features. She also seemed a bit taller than he remembered, but had kept her lean strength rather than filling out like most Vikings; undoubtedly an advantage for riding Stormfly, whom Dreamer spotted perched on a nearby roof.

Astrid put her hand to her head and closed her eyes. "Look, any other day it'd be fine, but you know I need to get to this Thing… Hey, I don't suppose you'd consider a Night Fury?" She looked to Dreamer, eyes wide with frustration. "Please? Get this, he has pick of the whole flock, and he takes a Terrible Terror! Honestly! I don't care if the bloody thing seems to be everywhere, it's a Terror!" She punched Viggo's arm hard enough to stagger him. "Look, I gotta drop this guy off with Ruffnut and get moving."

Dreamer's wings hit the ground again as Astrid leaned into Viggo to kiss him, and then Stormfly descended to offer her the saddle and flew her further up the village. Her? Him!? How on Midgard had… Wrrr… It made a strange, twisted sort of sense, he supposed. "She still has not realised," Viggo said in amusement, stroking the Terror on his shoulder as he watched her go.

Another Terror took off from nearby and tailed Stormfly… and now that Dreamer was looking, there was another in the eaves of a nearby roof, another watching intently from under that step… Amusement, he huffed. Trust Viggo to take to the dragons that slipped around under everyone's notice.

"Two things, before you are on your way," Viggo said levelly. "You have changed. I know that look. Your brother…?" Dreamer tossed his head with a huff – that term for Wanderer still bothered him, though at least he now knew why – but he couldn't help drooping with the reminder. "Not him, then," Viggo said sympathetically, "but someone." He hesitantly approached Dreamer to better look him in the eye. "I offer my council, should you want or even need it. My knowledge of the South may be outdated, but lords, kings, and fickle queens, I understand their like, should that be of any use on your undoubtedly bloody quest." Dreamer nodded at that with a grateful hum; that may indeed be useful later.

Viggo nodded in understanding, but then his eyes betrayed a deep, long-suppressed impatience. "Lastly… The Dragon Eye? What happened to it? Did you read the black lens?"

Dreamer blinked. The… Dragon Eye? Hrrr… That was… something about a device he'd had, vague memories of wonder and excitement… and had led him to the ice nest…? Apologetic, he crooned; it was probably still there, buried in a mountain of ice and eventually washed out to sea.

"Not to worry," Viggo sighed. "Only an idle curiosity, now. I may never know why my grandfather disbanded his tribe, but that is long in the past. We must ever look forward. So, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from a Night Fury?"

"I need to take Fish-Legs for some time," Dreamer said levelly, glancing around; he didn't even know where to start looking, everything was so different.

Viggo nodded; that he understood Dragonese was no surprise. "I shall have him summoned, though it may be some hours. You may wish to visit the retired Chief in the meantime? I am aware that some bond exists between you."

More than you or he knows, Dreamer thought to himself wryly, chuffing gratitude and taking back to the air. Astrid and Viggo… That his old nemesis lived was amazing, especially as it had contributed to all this positive change. Viggo had a very strong understanding of diplomacy and strategy, exactly what Berk needed right now. That had probably played a large part in Astrid apparently claiming him… but, perhaps, he reminded her a little of someone else who had once swept her off her feet.

The village was like a fantasy come true, humans and dragons living and working together to the benefit of both, and with nary a dissenter to be seen; Dreamer flew slowly, to take in the sights. Peace between humans and dragons, each accepting the other as equals. Whatever was to happen in the near future, they would remain a powerful force in the world for generations to come.

However much the rest of the village had changed, seemingly one little corner remained the same. Dreamer alighted lightly in front of the Haddock house, folding his wings as he ascended the old stairs and ignoring the hushed whispers around him. Just the scent of the wood sent him back to scribbling plans and designs in his loft room, and then later racing around to explore with Wanderer and his new perspective. He took a moment to reflect on and appreciate simpler times, before gently scratching at the door.

"Come in?" a light and familiar voice called questioningly from inside, and Dreamer fumbled open the latch and peered around the door, eyes dilating at the sights and scents inside. "Dreamer?" Dam asked disbelievingly from the fire, dropping an armful of logs and rushing towards him. He pushed through the door and pressed his head into her midsection, heartily purring into her tunic while she leaned over him to tightly hug his neck. She seemed so tiny now, weighing almost nothing, but her warm scent was very comforting, as was the fresh scent of Sire on her…

And another scent, an infantile mix between the two, which he had of course noticed the moment the air from inside hit his nose. Dam moved around to the side, still with an arm around his neck, to beckon over a young boy of only a few years old. "Night Fury?" the boy asked in awe as he toddled over, not an ounce of fear in his dark brown eyes. He gently put his hand on Dreamer's snout, then giggled as Dreamer scented him.

I have a brother… One who would never know him as such, but still, it was a strange, pleasant feeling. He purred and nuzzled Dam again as the boy ran off to a big chair by the fire. "Daddy!" he shouted, climbing onto their sire and straddling his knee to cling to his glorious beard, now heavily streaked with grey. "Daddy! Issa Night Fury!"

Sire roused with a questioning rumble, looking around and spotting Dreamer. "Ah… Toothy?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, then peered at Dreamer. "Odin's beard, you got big." He looked back to his son and ruffled his blonde hair. "Yes, that is a Night Fury. Did you say hello?" He smiled warmly as the boy gibbered and climbed over him, and at the same time he stretched his one arm out to invite Dreamer into an embrace.

Dreamer froze mid-step, watching his brother climb over their sire, a harsh reality crashing into him with the weight of an avalanche.

What have I done…

A few heavy breaths forced their way through him as his paws carried him the remaining distance to press his head into his sire's shoulder and beard, nuzzling him and giving him the most deeply apologetic croon he could muster while a comforting hand stroked his neck. I'm so sorry… for putting you through this pain…

But if he had survived… then perhaps… could it be possible… No, those thoughts would only lead to madness. It wasn't the same. He needed to pull himself together, couldn't afford to fall apart now…

"Dreamer?" Dam asked in Dragonese from where she knelt to resume building the fire. "What wrong?" Dreamer realised he was whining, and heavily exhaled a few times to force it to stop. "Wanderer…?"

Unconcerned, Dreamer chuffed, trying to get himself back under control. He had spent nights grieving, had to be ready to leave when Fishlegs returned, had to stay strong, had to stay committed and see this through, had to ensure this grief could never happen again… But he couldn't help glancing at Sire with his son again, couldn't stop seeing the similarities, couldn't stop himself slipping into the gaping hole in his soul where that had been ripped away from him-

"Oh," Dam said quietly, "Oh no, no, oh Dreamer-"

She leapt at him, shattering his composure, and he wrapped a paw around her and keened into her shoulder. He didn't care to decipher the words spoken over his back, nor wonder what Sire murmured in reply, but he did manage to collect himself a bit when he heard the door close, noticing his sire had left with his brother. "I should tell him," he moaned, lifting his heavy wings to fit them to his back again. "I not should have hid. I not knew… how much pain…"

"You did the right thing," Dam said quietly, stroking his cheek to turn his head and look into his eye. "He still misses you… but he doesn't hold dragons to his heart like we do. He wouldn't understand. You could just visit a bit more often, he'd like that."

"We… not really could do that," Dreamer said sadly. "You were attacked by bad wing-hunters last cold-season?"

Dam exhaled in realisation, clearly making the connection. "Yes… When the dragons flew off to mate and lay eggs… We don't know what happened, but there was so much fire, dragons screeching… It was over before we realised we were under attack. We later found the corpses in the forest…"

That figured. Could advanced warning and a family of Nightstrikers have helped at all? Maybe they could have been more vigilant. But Berk was a big island, a pawful of Nightstrikers couldn't watch every direction all night every night even before considering the cold, and other dragons lacked the necessary night vision. Fleeing here would only have given Grimmel a reason to stick around and do more damage. Dreamer sighed heavily. "They hunted us for much time…"

He explained everything, from their wonderful mate and son to the Long-Paws stealing their prey to the hunters that had relentlessly hounded them. How their dear little Leaper had been torn away from them; Dreamer couldn't look at his dam while he explained that tragic moment. So now… he was here. Preparing to throw himself at the entire world to see which one broke first.

"I always knew you were so strong," Dam murmured, lying against him by the fire. "You have the soul of a Chief and the heart of a dragon. Only you could stop all this suffering…" Dreamer replied with an optimistic rumble. Hopefully, at the very least, he could make things a bit safer for Nightstrikers until they could recover their numbers…

They lay in companionable silence, until hard footsteps up the stairs outside heralded Fishlegs bursting through the door. He didn't get very far though, as Dam leapt to her feet and stormed over to him, seemingly summoning her staff out of nowhere and brandishing it threateningly with stern warnings about barging into people's homes.

Dreamer allowed himself a weak chuckle – some things never changed – before deeming Fishlegs suitably chastened and climbing to his paws to calm his dam and greet his old friend. "Thor, you got big," Fishlegs said in awe as he looked up at Dreamer. He now sported a long moustache, in the style of Gobber, and held himself with a confidence he hadn't had before, but was otherwise as Dreamer remembered him. "Maybe bigger than Toothless! I'd need to take some measurements to be sure… I never got Toothless', but we can compare with his old saddle and the measurements of the tailfin-"

"Fish-Legs," Dreamer barked, silencing him. "I happy to see you also. We can talk later, but I need your help. We need to fly now."

Fishlegs stared at him, uncomprehending. "Wha…? Uh, okay then… Got a few hours left in the day. Where we going?"

"Far from here," Dreamer huffed, nudging him back out the door, then growled over his protests, finding little patience for them. "I not am asking. If someone not like it, they can growl at me, see what happens. No, you not need things, I will hunt for you, give shelter. Need leave now." He couldn't just keep lounging around, not least of which because the rest of his family was waiting for him back down south, and this was going to take long enough as it was. He managed to get Fishlegs to the bottom of the stairs, but he was still fighting back; this hadn't gone at all as planned. "Look," Dreamer groaned, "I will explain while we fly but I need your help. Will also tell you all about how Nightstrikers nest."

That got his attention, and he went still. "Yeah, okay, I don't think even Astrid can say no to a Night Fury. But I do need some stuff, if we're going for more than a few days. Only a squishy human, after all."

Dreamer grumbled a begrudging agreement. "Maybe will be gone sky-ice-cycle. Not know. Need… learn thing. Wrrr, will explain later, should leave now." Especially if they were bringing Meatlug, they needed to leave fairly soon to make it to the first island of the Greater Archipelago before Dreamer collapsed of exhaustion; he had already pushed himself hard flying here, and bawling into Dam's shoulder hadn't helped. These little details were never mentioned in the epics occasionally told in the Great Hall. He exhaled heavily and forcibly quelled his impatience as he watched his friend eagerly jog away.

This was not the start of his journey; that had been the long, bitter path just to get this far. This was just the point he had decided to take control of where it led him.

Unfortunately, strong winds and darkness did not lead to particularly easy communication while they flew, and the morning light only came as they finally reached the first islands of the Greater Archipelago. Dreamer hit the ground and let himself collapse with a weary sigh, relishing in the cool grass and feeling of land beneath his body. This was one of the more barren islands, no prey to be found other than fish, but he remembered that there was a small pool of murky rainwater that would slake his thirst, and the thin forest and hilly land offered some shelter from the wind.

"I've made up my mind," Fishlegs declared as he stiffly climbed off Meatlug. "Do it. Make me a Night Fury."

Dreamer's ears rose, and he lifted his head to look at Fishlegs with a curious, uncertain warble. "Your female?" he asked, referring to the faint but definitely present scent of Heather. "Why now?"

"Ehh, she's busy with Dagur and the Berserkers most of the time," Fishlegs mumbled, kicking at a rock in the grass. "She can't leave Berserk. Astrid won't let me move there without a bloody fight, but she likes having relations with the Berserkers! It's just frustrating. But that's not why I asked." He vigorously rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "It's the nose hair! It's driving me crazy! Seriously, I can't even think of something to compare how uncomfortable it is to have hair growing inside your nose."

Amused, Dreamer chuffed, then clambered to his paws and approached Fishlegs. "First," he said levelly, "you need to die." Fishlegs stilled and went pale, his eyes wide. "Then I need to die," Dreamer added as an afterthought, sitting on his haunches.

"On second thought, I think I'll be alright," Fishlegs said nervously. "I wasn't serious. So mind telling me why we're out here?" He began unstrapping Meatlug's saddlebags while he talked, his knobbly dragon having already dozed off.

"Wing-hunters that attacked you last cooling-season, they were hunting us," Dreamer explained. "Needed to protect our mate, our son…"

"I am made of questions," Fishlegs said incredulously, hurriedly rummaging through one of the saddlebags to pull out a notebook.

Dreamer chuckled, then yawned widely. "Another night. I need sleep…" Unfortunately for Fishlegs, the last thing he remembered was rolling onto his side and curling up under his wing.

There was nothing more to be done here… Dreamer stood, facing where he needed to go-

He was yanked back with a rustle of leaves by the springy little tree his tail was tied to, and stumbled to the ground. "About as long as last time," Fishlegs reported. "Maybe a bit longer. Didn't think I'd need a sundial."

Dreamer growled to himself. He hadn't considered they'd need actual rope either, but the invisible pull on him was stronger than he'd anticipated; the moment he lost focus, he succumbed. "I maybe need distracting," he grumbled.

"We can try again if you want," Fishlegs agreed, then slowly and deliberately put away his sketch cards, a hobby he seemed to have picked up. "Let's see… Relations with the Berserkers got strained for a while. Heather and Dagur were saying the peace treaty was too harsh. Well, Heather said it was too harsh, Dagur decided it didn't apply to them because they were a 'new' tribe."

"Is good we not killed him?" Dreamer asked, trying to engage with the first question that came to mind.

"Yeah," Fishlegs said lightly, "he's definitely a handful, but they're strong allies at the end of the day. Anyway, that was around the time Viggo came into it, he helped smooth it all out. Mostly just by convincing Astrid that we're a lot better at training dragons. So the Berserkers can train dragons, but they still occasionally come to us because ours are better and we have more. They've still only got Windshear and one or two messengers and scouts." He scratched his face and looked sceptically at Dreamer. "You get any of that?"

"Yes, I think," Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, trying to focus on the details and not on the strong urge to get bored and wander off. "Hunter alpha? How he get here?" The last he'd seen of Viggo, it had been deep in a tunnel full of hostiles.

"That thing's really messing with you, huh?" Fishlegs said with a sympathetic wince. "We already went over that, but I can explain again." Had he? Dreamer churred gratitude, repositioning his paws under himself. "He's never really explained how he got away, but about a year after you left, we followed some reports of hunter activity and found him trying to catch the Shellfire again." That was… the big dragon they'd all fought at the Defenders of the Wing; one of many large battles. Dreamer chuffed understanding, and Fishlegs nodded. "There was a bit of a misunderstanding, but it turned out they'd hammered some big nails into it when they'd wrangled it the first time, and he was just trying to remove them. He knows a crazy amount about dragons, figured a lot out from the Dragon Eye. Any luck remembering where that ended up…?"

"No," Dreamer said with a huff. He barely remembered the thing at all, not even what it looked like or how they'd used it. He suspected he'd been made to forget – there were strange gaps in his memory of events at times – but the frustrating thing was that he had no idea how much there even was to remember… A walk might clear his head, yes-

The tree yanked him back again, and he fell back to the ground with a yelp.

"Now that is interesting," Fishlegs muttered, scribbling in his notebook while Dreamer grumbled to himself and lay on his paws again. "You're definitely more engaged now, but you're still trying to go. Are you learning anything, at least?"

That was the entire point, after all; that, and voluntary torture to distract him from a much deeper pain. "I think, yes" Dreamer rumbled, trying to identify and isolate the foreign thoughts in his head. "It… wrrr, hard to explain. It like talking, but some words are roared." There was a baseline that ebbed and flowed, just introducing itself and settling into his head, while strong spikes did the work. He felt as if he could resist if it remained at full strength, but… he supposed an axe swung was stronger than one pushed.

"Well you're clearly not there yet," Fishlegs said flatly, tapping his notebook against Dreamer's foreleg – which alerted Dreamer to the fact that he was getting up again. He growled to himself and lay on his paws, a little more awkwardly so that it would be more difficult to move them. "But we're making progress. How about you try for a bit? What's it like being married to a Night Fury or three?"

Dreamer stared flatly at him for a few moments. "Nightstriker females have sharp teeth," he joked semi-seriously.

Fishlegs laughed as he flipped open his notebook. "Should I put that under features, behaviour, or mating habits?"

"Yes," Dreamer replied with a groan.

The hot-season was never particularly strong in the cold North, but Dreamer missed what little warmth there was as the nights began to grow longer and colder. It was a familiar and even somewhat nostalgic discomfort, but unpleasant nonetheless; partly because it was a reminder that every passing night was another night away from his family.

Fishlegs hummed thoughtfully to himself, peering into the distance from where he sat on Meatlug's side, who had passed out on the grassy bluff they had landed on as she often tended to do. "I don't think we've tried with a Nightmare yet…"

"Not matter what dragon I try with," Dreamer huffed, spotting the lone dragon flying afore a white cloud, but wearily climbed to his paws to humour his friend. Really, he should be the one passed out on his side, he was the one doing all the flying between islands. Meatlug's job lately had literally been to remain in the exact same spot. Huff. He narrowed his eyes to focus on the Monstrous Nightmare in the distance, its long, sinuous body, the serration along the backs of its large wings… and… the strange lump on its back…

No way… Dreamer inhaled to roar summons to the distant dragon, waking Meatlug and drowning out Fishlegs' surprised yelp. "You're not going to try?" Fishlegs asked after he recovered his balance. Dreamer didn't reply, just watched the distant dragon drop with a flourish into a dive to speed towards them. "Wait, is that…?"

The Nightmare leaned back and flared its wings as it approached the bluff, then dropped forwards into a landing. As its wings hit the ground to prop it up, a figure stood from its back and smoothly dropped to the ground. "Well fancy seein' you 'ere," Snotlout greeted them in a deep, confident drawl, casually brushing his long hair off his face and looking every part the picturesque hero fresh from the Skald's tale… albeit still a rather vertically challenged one. But with the light glinting off the polished scales woven into his cloak and light armour, impressively thick facial hair, and a modest helmet sporting what looked like shorter versions of Hookfang's horns pointing backwards in the style of a Monstrous Nightmare, he still struck an imposing figure.

"Odin's beard, Snotlout," Fishlegs exclaimed as he stood, "barely even recognise you!"

"An' you 'aven't changed a bit," Snotlout replied as he walked up to them. He clasped wrists with Fishlegs, and both surprise and respect subtly flashed across their faces. "An' you," Snotlout said as he turned his confident and sturdy gaze to Dreamer, "I 'ope you've 'ad better luck findin' other Night Furies than I." Even his accent had changed, sounding like a mix between rough Viking, a bit of Southerner emphasis on vowels, and… something unrecognisable that clipped the ends of his words.

"Yes," Dreamer admitted, "we found some females…" He might have been tempted to taunt him with the Lightstrikers that had swarmed him, or the two females he shared with Wanderer… but Snotlout carried the scents of more females than Dreamer could pick out, so there wasn't any point. "You? Why you are here?"

"I 'ave responsibilities in this area," Snotlout replied, being deliberately vague; likely to do with all the scents he was covered in, though somehow there wasn't a hint of bragging in his tone. "Was asked ter look into some dragons actin' strange, gettin' confused an'... more aggressive than usual."

Dreamer and Fishlegs glanced at each other. "That probably is me," Dreamer admitted, then sighed as Snotlout raised an eyebrow; he didn't want to explain everything yet again, but Snotlout seemed intent on finding out what was going on, and it came with a lot of context.

The man listened silently to the story, his expression stoic throughout. When Dreamer finally finished, dulling his grief by explaining his plan and stoking his wrath, Snotlout nodded, his expression grim. "Your quest of vengeance has my respect. You are Hiccup, yes?" Dreamer nodded, supposing Snotlout probably only remembered their nicknames but impressed he recognised him anyway. "You've changed. Go' the same look as Toothy, now. Seen it loads o' times. I guess when the world takes someone from you, it ain't so amazin' anymore." He thumped his chest, bracer clattering against his scale armour. "Don' ever let it break you. Wha' can we do ter help?" He gestured back to Hookfang, who lifted his head with an idle hiss.

"Still salty you missed all those amazing battles?" Fishlegs teased, looking up from a drawing he was doing; the notebook tilted in the process, and Dreamer scowled as he glimpsed a Nightstriker with sad, lonely eyes.

"Of course!" Snotlout exclaimed. "Wha'ssa hero withou' a little devastation in 'is wake?"

"You can show me how you fight," Dreamer growled; aside from wanting to test them a bit, he also needed to keep honing his own skills in combat, and fighting against a slow but very strong Nightmare would be very good practice.

Rather than jumping into the saddle, however, Snotlout responded by shrugging off his cloak, his weapons and shield falling to the ground a moment later, and pounding his fist into his palm. "Bring it," he growled, while Hookfang watched with mild interest.

Respect, Dreamer huffed, then stood with a lash of his tail and lunged with a snarl.

Everything was prepared, the last pieces ready to be put into motion. Dreamer was prepared, as much as he ever would be, and the Lightstrikers had pointed him in the direction of his mates. He was also weary, but that was to be expected, especially after the long flight South again.

Over two months had passed since he had last seen his family, though it felt like a lot more. Hopefully they were doing okay, keeping each other warm. He wished he could have brought them with him, even maybe just Reaching… but despite the lonely flights to and from the North, it was better this way. He had done questionable things, adhering to his morals as much as possible but inevitably straying near paths that were best left untouched if only just so he knew where they were. It was easier to do that alone… He would not have been able to do this at all a few months ago, but there had to be sacrifices in any war. If those sacrifices were in principles rather than more of his family, he now knew he would make them in a heartbeat.

He was not the only one who had been busy. The Long-Paw nest at the foot of the familiar mountain below looked so unassuming at first glance, but to his experienced eye, it was anything but normal. Most of the farms were overgrown, the livestock clearly hadn't been rotated around the fields, there was no general bustle of people… though it was not deserted. Lights dotted the buildings, and the few people outside either hurried around as if expecting to be ambushed or patrolled the walls in darkness, tense and alert. It hadn't looked anything like this when he'd been here before he'd left for the North.

What would he do now, in Grimmel's position? The nest made a tempting target, big and immobile, to lure an attacker in. Grimmel was probably down there somewhere… His Death-Grippers seemed to be, flashes of movement in the shadows. But it would not be that simple. He would be employing ways to exploit his attackers' weaknesses, probably a larger scale of what every Viking tribe used to do in any raid. And with his Death-Grippers, he couldn't be sieged; as a last resort he could just fly away, leaving the nest to its fate, and everything would go back to the way it was.

Somewhat frighteningly, they thought in very similar ways – the main difference seemed to be circumstance, and perhaps a difference in physical ability. Had he, in his first life, been given a body to match that of say Astrid… he might have become such a dragon hunter himself, the glory of his clan. But Grimmel had gone too far to be given a chance of redemption like Dagur and Viggo. Perhaps it was selfish, but Grimmel was going to die.

Dreamer huffed in satisfaction to himself and turned tail on the nest, and on his old territory… for now. They would be back to claim it soon.

Wanderer woke from a dark and unpleasant dream to a relieved and joyous roar, practically throwing Fleeting off his back as he scrambled upright. She yelped surprise as she thumped to the ground, but was already writhing to her paws and managed to leap out of the cramped little den ahead of him, behind Reaching, all three of them roaring ecstatic replies. The sky-fire had not long set, still casting some faint light across the sky, and as he leapt into the air he managed to spot Dreamer at another happy roar. Their mate rolled into a dive to swoop down and screeched past them, banking around and taunting them while they got up to speed.

Dreamer flared his wings to slow a little as they ascended, and they spent some time just chasing each other around the sky, barking and roaring their joy to be reunited. When Fleeting lunged for Dreamer, he easily avoided it with the little extra speed he had kept, but swooped down to the ground shortly after. Wanderer dove down after him, landing in a run to tackle him where Fleeting and Reaching then jumped on top of them, and they all grappled and held each other close with relieved, happy whines.

Dreamer had come back to them. It did not quell the grief in Wanderer's heart – as Reaching had said, nothing ever would – but suddenly, the world did not seem as bleak as it had before. He loved both Fleeting and Reaching, but Dreamer brought a light to his life that little else could match, and he was realising just how sorely he needed that right now.

His scent did not tell much of a story, just a bit of salt and a lot of flying and weariness. Reaching was already licking up his neck, to his overjoyed whines, and Wanderer joined in with Fleeting to once again mark him with their scents, giving him a much-needed grooming while he grabbed and clawed at them to hold them close.

Eventually, Dreamer pushed them away to roll to his paws and shake himself off, purring all the while. He clearly wanted to leap at them again, but for some reason held himself back. Wanderer just butted heads with him, and Dreamer firmly nuzzled him in return. "I needed do things, but missed you all… so much… I sorry…"

"Not need apologise," Wanderer crooned, spreading his wings around Fleeting and Reaching as they joined in the nuzzling.

Dreamer coughed out a bitter laugh and stepped back from the embrace, staring at the horizon where the sky-fire had set. "Not for that," he said quietly as he spread his wings. "For this." He took a running leap and firmly beat his wings to rapidly ascend, banking around to ride the wind into the sky.

And then he began to Sing.

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"Rise"