Incorporates material from Steven universe and inheritance cycle.

Berk.

I'm sure you've heard of the Viking island by now. But if you haven't, just sail along the meridian of misery until you pass hopelessness. If you reach freezing to death, you've gone too far. (Though how you could miss the island with the large mountain and the god-sized braziers is anyone's guess.)

In the event you survive the voyage, you may have noticed unusual creatures living in this part of the world. You probably even encountered a few winged reptiles flying around or swimming in the depths. (But those that journeyed too far probably missed those, too.) Some people call them wyrms or wyverns.

We call them dragons.

'Fwoooosh!'

"Augggggh! Hot, hot, hot, hot, HOT!" I slam the door shut on a billowing wall of flame. After a long moment in which I double-check to make sure I have not, in fact, been burned to a crisp I ease the door open just a crack. Good, it's gone.

My name's Hiccup, by the way. Parents believe that a hideous name. frighten off gnomes, trolls, and the occasional hobgoblin. At least those that haven't laughed themselves silly over the ridiculous things we name our children. Yet another reason I believe children should be allowed to name themselves. "Ithgar the Terrifying" sounds much more frightening than being named for an involuntary spasm.

Now, dragons are known for being able to spit fire, and occasionally lava, acid, or blasts of water so hot they boil you like a poached egg. But what you don-(oof)

I crash into a solid wall of muscle that screams,"AHHH!" while waving an ax around his head. In the next instant, he beams happily, shouts, "Mornin'," and toddles off in search of dragons instead of an undersized Viking.

Morning to you, too, Magnus. Great guy, Magnus, polite even during a raid.

Oh, meet the neighbors. Hoark the Haggard (dodges acid spit and bellows, "What are you doing out!?"

Burnthair the Broad shouts, "Get inside!"

Phlegma the Fierce stops trying to tug a sheep out of a Gronckle's jaws to scowl at me. "Get back inside!"

Now, where was I? Oh yes, dragons have thi-

"HICCUP! What is he doin' ou- what are you doing out?! Get inside!" A large hand the size of my head grabs the back of my tunic and hoists me off the ground like a kitten. I heave a quiet sigh and let myself dangle. So close.

(Ahem) The gentleman with the fabulous beard and the kilt covered in gem shards is Stoick the vast. Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby he popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulders. (I asked him about it once, but he modestly told me he was seven when that happened.) He puts me down and gives an ungentle shove in another direction. Obediently I scamper away, knowing that he is watching and scowling at every step I take.

As I make my way to the forge, my path is blocked by a gecko-like dragon the size of a cart with five glowing gemstones that I can see on its front. Strange, a fusion of that size usually consists of at least eight Terrors. An ax flies past my head and smashes into the largest gemstone. The resulting burst of smoke where the dragon used to be releases nine smaller versions of the gecko-like dragon which fly from the vapor cloud. Once the smoke clears the ax used to disperse the thing can be seen lying on the ground.

"Cursed fusion," grumbles the shield maiden who tossed it. (Thanks for the save, Mrs. Ack) Oh, I should also mention that dragons have these gem-like organs growing somewhere on the surface of their bodies. That particular dragon, (a breed we call Terrible Terrors), was made of several individuals of the species. That lovely ability and the breath weapons they wield are both supposedly due to the gem each dragon possess. It's why, when fighting dragons, you target their gem. Because they are greatly hindered without it. (Plus they make excellent trophies. Not to mention when thrown in a fire it looks like the Bifrost.)

I dive into the smithy before anything else can interrupt me.

"Oh, nice of you to join the party, I thought you'd been carried off," the blacksmith says in my general direction. He is a stout (by Viking standards) man with a prosthetic hand, a peg leg, and a gem shard in place of a missing tooth. (Claims it's from a Boneknapper. But that's another story.) I've been his apprentice since I was banned from the fire brigade. (How was I supposed to know that bucket was full of nightmare saliva? Why was there a bucket full of nightmare saliva lying around in the first place?) Speaking of the fire brigade, here they come: Fishlegs(roleplayer), Snotlout(typical Viking), the twins Ruffnut(first priest of Loki), and Tuffnut(second priest of Loki) and… okay, I'm not sure if Astrid saw the dragon who thought that framing her in a sexy ball of fire was a good idea, but she just went with it. Unfortunately, the image is interrupted by the remaining members of the fire brigade. Man, I wish I could join them.

"Don' even think about it, Hiccup."

"Please," I beg. "Just two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date." I blink hopefully at the burly blacksmith Viking. Gobber's always been a soft touch. He practically raised me when Dad was too busy being chief to notice his puny offspring.

Gobber begins counting on his remaining hand. "You can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an ax, you can't even through throw a bola. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all…" Gobber gestures in my general direction. "...this."

I frown. "You just gestured to all of me."

"Yes! That's it! Stop being all of you."

"Oh." So not fair. I resist the urge to pout like a toddler

"Oh, yeah."

I straighten to the fullest of my unremarkable height. "You, sir, are playing a dangerous game, keeping this much raw, vikingness contained. There will be consequences!" I admonish.

"I'll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now." Gobber hands me a broadsword, which I take to the grindstone.

But one day I'll get out there. Because killing a dragon means everything on Berk.

A few Terrible Terror gems should get me at least noticed. Gronckles are tough, taking down one of those will get me at least a few friends. The gem of a Deadly Nadder is the perfect gift for a girlfriend. A Zippleback fusion? Exotic! Each head multiplies one's status.

Then, there's the Monstrous Nightmare, with most of their body fluids being flammable, only the best Vikings target them. A hissing sound, like water dripped on hot coals, followed by a roar of fury draws my attention out the window. Oh, Stoick is taking on one atop the catapult.

But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one's ever seen, we call it the-

"NIGHT FURY!"

Someone yells, "Get down!"

Both Stoick and the Monstrous Nightmare fling themselves off of the catapult seconds before it is blasted apart by an explosion of purple fire.

This thing never steals food, never shows itself, and-

'BOOM! Woosh!'

-Never misses.

Nobody in recorded history has ever killed a Night Fury. That's why I intend to become the first.

"Man the fort, Hiccup, they need me out there," Gobber says, exchanging his smith's hammer for a warrior's ax.

Possibly remembering his part-time paternal duties, he pauses and frowns at me. "Stay. Put. There." He growls in frustration "You know what I mean. AHHHH!" As my mentor charges into battle, I scramble to unearth a project of mine I've dubbed The Mangler. I won't bother explaining it because that will just jinx things. (Plus the phrase show don't tell applies quite well here.) I grab the handles of my contraption and begin wheeling it through the village. Several Vikings shout at me. I decide to just ignore them and head to a portion of the village that is not overflowing with combat. On the way, I see Stoick throw a fishing net over a Nadder with three gems on its surface. Stoick lands on the fusion's head to keep it from breathing fire.

I reach the cliff overlooking the smoking catapult and drop The Mangler's handles to the ground. I crank several levers, unfolding and then cocking the bowed arms of The Mangler. I drop a bola into a chamber and then pivot the weapon on a gimbal toward the dark sky.

"Come on," I mutter, scanning the spangled night. "Give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at."

Is that? Yep, while I can't see the dragon, it's silhouette is definitely blotting out the stars. Oh, there's it's trademark whistle. Pointing the bola towards the catapult, I wait for the-

NOW!

I pull the trigger and as the bola is launched, I'm flung to the ground by the vicious recoil. I can almost hear the heavy thud as the bola wraps itself around the beast's body. The Night Fury shrieks and, once the cliff stops spinning, I'm able to see something fall out of the sky towards the forest.

Stunned, I stare at the spot where the dragon disappeared for several seconds. I punch the air in victory. " I hit it,! YES! I hit it! Did anybody see that!"

'Crunch'

I flinch and slowly turn around, desperately hoping to not see what I was sure I was about to see. A Monstrous Nightmare perches atop the shattered remnants of The Mangler, the one invention that finally worked. Why me? "Except for you." I raise my hands in a pacifying gesture. The dragon does not look impressed. Time to change tactics.

"AAAHHHHHHH!" I run to hide behind one of the torch pillars just as the Nightmare spits out a flaming loogie.

'Slap, Blam, cough' I hear someone taking on the dragon. "You're all out."

Oh no, I'm in for it now.

'Thud'

The pillar I'm hiding behind collapses. The brazier atop the pillar begins tumbling into the village. It ends up striking the Nadder fusion, dispersing it and letting the smaller, individual Nadders wiggle out from under the net and use it to carry away sheep.

"Sorry, Dad." Stoick doesn't look like he's ready to forgive me for yet another Hiccup-caused mistake. In fact, he looks like he's an inch from feeding me to the Monstrous Nightmare that tried to eat me earlier.

I remember my accomplishment right then. " Okay, but I hit a Night Fury." Stoick grabs me by the back of my collar and hauls me away, fuming with embarrassment. "It's not like the last few times, Dad. I mean I really actually hit it," I pant as I stumble along, trying to keep up with his Viking-sized strides. "You guys were busy and I had a very clear shot. It went down, just off Raven Point. Let's get a search party out there before it-"

"STOP! Just...stop." He releases me. Everyone falls silent, staring expectantly. A few even look faintly embarrassed for me. Here we go. "Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter's almost here and I have an entire village to feed!" It's the same speech I hear every time I mess up.

I look around. All eyes are upon me. Welp, I'm already in trouble, might as well dig the hole a little deeper "Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don'tcha think?" A few of the more rotund Vikings stir self-consciously.

"This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" Stoick barks. He stops and makes an effort to bring himself under control. Hah! Like I couldn't tell by the throbbing vein in his forehead that I was headed for the worst grounding of my life. "Why can't you follow the simplest orders?"

"Well, killing a dragon seems to be the only thing that will get you to notice me. If you know a better way I can get you to acknowledge my existence, I'm all ears." I stand there, waiting for my dad's comeback.

He just sighs as his face falls into familiar lines of disappointment. "You are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them."I glance around, hoping for just one look of support, but all I see are resigned nods of agreement "Get back to the house. Make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up." This last part is directed at the village at large as Stoick lumbers off in the opposite direction.

Gobber leads me through the walk of shame. We are graced by the teen fire brigade and their snickering commentary,which I try to ignore.

Tuffnut looks mildly impressed, but then the twins thrive on disaster. "Quite the performance." I can never be entirely sure if he is serious or not.

"I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. That helped!" Snotlout chimes in, gaze darting around to the other members of the brigade to make sure they notice how clever he is. He has never been able to resist the chance to rub my nose in my mistakes.

"Thank you, thank you, I was trying." Luckily Gobber is nice enough to shove him away.

As we near my house, I decide to see if Gobber believes me. "I really did hit one."

"Sure, Hiccup."

"He never listens."

"Well, it runs in the family. "

"And when he does, it's always with this... disappointed scowl. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich." I deepen my voice to mimic my father. "Excuse me, barmaid. I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone." At this point, we are just going through the motions.

Gobber has never been able to understand what the problem is, but he tries. "You're thinking about this all wrong. It's not so much what you look like. It's what's inside that he can't stand."

Gobber, I love you, but you are terrible at pep talks. His attempts always make me feel worse.

"Thank you, for summing that up." As I open the door, Gobber tries to fix the situation.

"Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you're not."

I'm ready to just give up trying to explain. Nobody will ever understand. Instead, I just sigh. "I just want to be one of you guys." Gobber eyes me with sympathy. Once I'm in my house, I run upstairs to grab my notebook and a charcoal pencil. After pocketing these items, I'm out the door, searching for my prize.

I've had this idea in my head for a while.

This came up with my editor, the reason the Terrible Terror appeared to have five gems but made of nine terrors was because Hiccup could not see four of the gems.

Please review, and if you must criticize, please make it constructive.