Author's Note: Surprise update, posted as the clock ticks over to the very end of the week. I decided, given the cliffhanger-esque nature of the epilogue and prologue coming up, that it would be a bit much to leave the rest of this story hanging for several more weeks. (Also, I'm really excited for When Nothing Remains which is super far ahead even in being beta-read, so there is also that). So here is the finale, jumping out of the darkness days before anyone expected.

A lone Zippleback fled frantically, its wings beating the air as if its life depended on speed. More specifically, outflying its pursuers. Anyone could have told her it was pointless, and she knew it. No Zippleback was capable of outflying three Night Furies. Especially three angry, vengeful Night Furies, in the middle of the night, with no cover.

But, Ember thought smugly, she probably didn't have any better options. He'd seen several Nadders, much faster dragons, killed by the small town's men moments ago. She likely didn't have anything faster or was saving it for a truly final resort.

That thought tugged at something in his mind, some trail of logic left unfollowed, like a single string hanging off of a knot, tempting but inconsequential when one didn't need to solve the knot, but burn through it. He ignored it, intent on the fact that the Zippleback was tiring, slowing down. They were getting closer, despite its initial headstart as the Furies grouped together and reoriented to follow it above the village.

Spark pushed forward a bit faster, plasma building in his throat. He fired with a growl, a plasma blast speeding across the distance in an instant, detonating against the Zippleback's wing. Vithvarandi dropped like a stone, her ruined wing sending her into an uncontrollable dive, towards the rocky terrain below. Her body skimmed against the side of a gorge, a trail of scales and blood left as it dropped to the bottom, twitching feebly.

The three Furies dove in pursuit, setting down on three sides. Facing the dying Zippleback, aware that these were the last moments before what would hopefully be the final battle. The prey was trapped. Now all that remained was to put it out of its misery.

Jacin slid off of Ember's back. She eyed the Furies to either side suspiciously. "Are you all..?"

The intended question was clear. Ember shook his head. They were not all monstrosities that should not exist. Only himself and Vithvarandi.

Jacin shrugged. "Well, any ally at a time like this." She held her borrowed knives up, glaring at the Zippleback. It had just begun to crumble into ash. They had only a few seconds.

"This ends now," Beryl growled.

A familiar form greeted them as the ash settled. A Snaptrapper that was down a head. It immediately lunged for Beryl, only to find a knife through one neck, and two sets of powerful jaws crushing and puncturing the other two, while Beryl savaged the place where the necks met the torso, tearing at Vithvarandi's spines. It died quickly, replaced by an undersized Nightmare.

The fight continued, moving through Vithvarandi's dregs. Jacin barely held her own, attacking with a ferocity that matched Spark and Beryl, striking while the Furies distracted. She was still cold, fighting with a rage that didn't make her reckless now, unlike back in the village.

Really, the entire situation made them all cautious. There was a feeling in the air, one of danger. Not the danger of fighting a pseudo-immortal monster. That was old for most of them, though this was Spark's first time. He fought with a fury Ember did not doubt was drawn from remembering his Dam's death. The training Ember had given Beryl and Spark so long ago made itself known, and they worked together naturally, including Jacin and Ember in their joint maneuvers whenever the situation allowed it, never giving Vithvarandi a moment's respite between them.

No, there was something else in the air this time. The gorge they had landed in was lit by the moon, a place of unyielding walls, a trap. The Furies all refrained from using their shots. As long as they had their firepower, no form of Vithvarandi's could leave the gorge alive. Any attempt to flee would simply result in one less body.

An attempt to flee as a blue Terrible Terror was stopped by virtue of a plasma blast so powerful it slammed the smoking body of the Terror into the side of the gorge before it disintegrated, Vithvarandi showing up as an odd dragon none of them recognized in their midst.

The fight paused for a single moment as the Furies racked their minds in an attempt to recognize Vithvarandi's newest form. It was large, green, and had a massive stomach, along with a large neck and odd head. It didn't even look like it could walk.

Couldn't walk. Ember glanced down at the dragon's feet, seeing webbed toes. Was Vithvarandi that close to out of bodies, that she had resorted to a sea-dwelling body... at the bottom of a bone-dry gorge?

Any doubts the combatants might have had about the effectiveness of a water dragon in this fight were quickly silenced by a blast of boiling-hot water, one that nearly got Spark, the yellow-scaled dragon leaping out of the way just in time. The boiling water splashed over all of them, painful to the dragons...

And agonizing for Jacin, who screamed and collapsed even as the water hit her, the pain too much to stand. Beryl quickly dragged her out of the still steaming pool of water while Spark and Ember made sure Vithvarandi wouldn't be following that attack up.

Ember tore into the flabby side of the dragon Vithvarandi was currently inhabiting, grimly happy to see that it was very lightly scaled, large but not at all tough. It collapsed into ash quite quickly, though he had not done any fatal damage, so Spark must have dealt the final blow. That was good. It was one less body he had to take from Vithvarandi. Over the course of their last few battles, he'd acquired a few more forms from her, involuntarily as they fought, forced to fight to kill despite not wanting to take anything for himself. He had no desire to take any more. In truth, each new form they faced sickened him a little more, proof of just how monstrous Vithvarandi was. It was all well and good for her to speak of conflicting personalities, but these bodies were proof of a mass-murderer, someone who has killed dozens. Even the excuse of ensuring immortality couldn't excuse taking this many bodies. She seemed to be a twisted collector, keeping one of everything just in case it turned out to be useful, or as a last resort.

That knot with the loose string at the back of his head bothered him, and he again ignored it. There was no need for deep thought or logic now. The time for thinking was past. Now was time for action to back up prior decisions.

A third force slammed into Vithvarandi's current form. Beryl was back in the fight. But by the way he attacked, a new level of rage inherent in his roars and flashing claws, the news was not good. That water had been so hot, and it had hit Jacin hard. She might not be dead, but she was definitely out of the fight.

Vithvarandi was given no time to gloat, to bask in the knowledge that she'd managed to defeat one of those intent on killing her, even if it was the weakest of the four, even if the other three were still very much there and bent on her death. They attacked with all the ferocity their species was known for, feared for. No opening was left unexploited, no weakness unattacked. Black ash was beginning to coat the bottom of the gorge, flying off of their bloodstained paws as they lifted their weary legs once more to cut and tear with claws slowly dulling against a never-ending tide of scale and skin.

Attrition favored Vithvarandi. At least, it had. But by the increased frenzy in which she fought, the truly desperate way she lashed out, it might not favor her so heavily anymore. After a particularly easy kill, the ashes cleared to reveal...

Everything stopped.

Ember cursed that taunting thread in his mind, the conclusion he had chosen not to pursue, deeming it unimportant. It was so obvious, in retrospect. He should have expected it, planned for it, prepared himself to deal with it.

Maybe, subconsciously, he did know. Thinking back, back to those terrible dreams that had never truly faded, he saw what had to happen now. No matter if it felt he'd be tearing what tattered soul his combined personalities still possessed to shreds in the process.

He looked to either side. Beryl was to his left. It was clear that his younger son was in no condition to do what needed to be done. Eyes wide, pupils fluctuating between the rage he must know was still the appropriate emotion, and something softer, sadder. Heartbroken, knowing that what he saw was a mockery, but unable to strike at it all the same. The look on his son's face reminded Ember of that moment back on Berk, when he had comforted his son, who grieved for the Sire he lost, seeing him but at the time knowing that it was not truly Ember, what he saw, but a sad image forced upon both the host and the subject. This was worse, if at all possible, infinitely worse. And Beryl was sound of mind and heart.

Spark, on the other hand, was nowhere near as hardened and experienced. He was whining, clearly overwhelmed by what he saw. Much like Beryl had been back in the deep and unnatural caverns even further back in time, back when Hiccup had been dying, and a monster assumed his Sire's dead form in order to kill him and add him to her morbid collection. Deprived of any will to resist whatsoever, though Beryl had regained a bit of his will through the need to protect his human friend. Spark had no such resort and was broken by this final ploy. There would be no aid from him, and no aid from Beryl. Ember couldn't ask it of them, even if they had been capable of doing what needed to be done, if they had not been so clearly disarmed by this.

It was his duty, his responsibility, to bear the pain neither of them could or should be asked to shoulder. Even if it felt like tearing his own heart out. He knew it needed to be done, that he could not hesitate any longer.

But the heart is a powerful thing, and his was rebelling. Memories flooded his mind, ones he had always thought would offer comfort in times of need. Now they opposed him.

The female was still there waiting curiously. She sniffed the air, purring. "That is good. For me?"

"Yes." He dropped the deer. "For you."

"Yes. It is lonely." She moved closer. "Can we... travel together?"

She grinned, a feral expression that had a dark undertone. "Perfect. Flint."

He spoke. "They can fly now."

"Yes." She purred. "Ready to take that trip?"

"Almost." Ember laughed. "But we should go soon. Otherwise, we might have a third egg to wait for."

Flint slapped him with her tail. "Control yourself. We can wait. Although I do want a girl."

A thousand fond memories held his fire, constrained his claws and teeth. He couldn't do it. Ember or Hiccup, it didn't matter, for they were one. They could not kill Flint, not even if she was there only in appearance, harboring a desperate monster. That little shred of soul they clung to was all they had left. Tearing into her and killing her like in that all too accurate dream would damn them, damn this hybrid mind and soul he had created. The alternative was too terrible to comprehend, but he couldn't avert it.

Vithvarandi cowered there in the body of Flint, likely vaguely aware that it had some sentimental value to all three of them. She didn't move, either to flee or attack, as if that would break the hold this final resort had on her executioners.

She was beautiful, even knowing what lurked behind her sharp grey eyes. A vision from a kinder past, one of love and happiness for Ember, of safety and comfort for Beryl and Spark. How could they attack that? Knowledge was a poor substitute for what existed in front of them, here and now.

Vithvarandi shifted, slowly staring at each of them in turn. Her eyes were wide and fearful, though whether the fear was still pure and genuine was unknowable.

To Ember, it felt like watching an avalanche, and knowing he was powerless to stop it. Something was going to happen, but he couldn't force himself to attack, to end it. Would she fly off, escaping to live and fight another day? They'd be unable to stop her if she possessed a body none of them could make themselves attack.

That would be the smart move, the only one that ensured she got what she wanted. But Ember saw a glint in his mate's eyes, one that didn't belong on her face. Vithvarandi might be logical, but she wasn't the most stable. There was another path she could take. It all fell to one thing. Just how compulsive was she in collecting bodies to inhabit? Because her collection was gone, and it just so happened that there were three of the most coveted dragons in the archipelago right in front of her.

He watched in helpless paralysis as she eyed Spark. It happened in a moment, one that seemed to stretch out forever. It had only been a few seconds since the ash had cleared to reveal Vithvarandi's final gambit. Time seemed to lurch back into motion, unable to slow itself any longer.

Vithvarandi leaped on top of Spark, clawing into his wings and kicking at his head, scrabbling to reach his throat even as she was blocked by her overshot, tearing into his wings. It was a scene worse than any nightmare Ember could have conjured up, the twisted depths of his mind incapable of contemplating such an image. It accomplished what no amount of reason, logic, or knowledge could. He prepared to leap and dislodge Vithvarandi before she succeeded in cutting his son's throat.

Because no matter how much she looked like Flint, the image of her attacking Spark dispelled any resemblance in Ember's mind. The two could not coexist. It dispelled any reluctance he had to attack, though he knew his actions in doing so would haunt him for the rest of his life.

But before he could spring into attack, reenact that horrible scene that had plagued him in his nightmares, an explosive plasma blast detonated against the other side of Flint's head, knocking her off of Spark. She hit the rock wall of the gorge at an awkward angle, a loud snap echoing in the night. Her stocky neck was bent at an odd angle.

The body of the one he loved slowly faded away into just another pile of black ash.

Beryl stepped forward, his eyes downcast. "You carry enough of this pain. I'll take up the rest."

Ember resolved to deal with what had just happened... after they finished dealing with Vithvarandi. Who was standing up, this time in the body of a frail old woman.

"Protect Spark." Ember snarled. "I'll end Vithvarandi."

Vithvarandi sneered, speaking for the first time since they had ended up in the gorge. Her voice was old and frail, but somehow more venomous than ever before. "You will end nothing."

"Confident words from one on their last legs, hopefully literally." Ember retorted, building up a plasma blast in the back of his throat. As he did, a thought occurred to him. All of Vithvarandi's prior forms had been at most middle-aged. It made sense, given she wouldn't bother taking old bodies that would soon expire anyway. She had also said that her first kill, the one who had somehow made all of this possible, was much older. Was it possible this was the body of the one that was truly responsible for everything?

"I am immortal," Vithvarandi replied calmly. "There is nothing you can do to change that." There was an odd quaver to her tone under the calm, one that made Ember's hackles rise.

"Pretty sure you can be killed." Ember retorted, wondering just how much of a grip on reality Vithvarandi still held. "You yourself were afraid of that once when I took a form from you. So clearly, you don't believe yourself truly immortal any more than I do."

"You will not kill me," Vithvarandi stated carefully. "Up until now, you've been depriving me of bodies. I have yet to see you truly kill, and that is what this would be. If memory serves, you will not take a life."

Ember didn't respond verbally. He simply blasted the old woman out of existence. Then he spoke. "I'll make an exception."

Those familiar ashes did not appear. The old woman's body remained, burned and blown partially apart, most of the upper torso simply missing. It was an anticlimactic end to such a terrible being, someone twisted beyond all morality or empathy.

Someone who might have been innocent, once. Who claimed that it was not truly her in control, but the one who had created this unnatural ability. Ember recalled that Vithvarandi had spoken of losing one's first acquired body, calling it a traumatic experience. He had seen many Vikings, but Vithvarandi had said that the original subject needed to be missing part of themselves. None of the Viking forms he had fought was an amputee or any such thing. By logic, Vithvarandi had at some point lost her original body completely, and therefore spoke from experience.

It would never be clear exactly what sequence of events created the twisted monster Vithvarandi had become. Likely there were many factors, all playing a part in stripping away all empathy and morality. He would have to be satisfied that he was not going to follow that path.

It was never supposed to go this far! Vithvarandi hated the stone walls around her almost as much as she hated the Night Furies and human fighting her.

Even him. She had no choice, so he would be hers, but at the moment she hated him.

He was doing the right thing.

No, he was running from the truth! They were meant to be together, the only two immortals in a world of fleeting failures.

But she had chosen him, without asking, forced him into this life. He had not wanted it.

Vithvarandi snarled wordlessly as the fight continued. The loss of so many bodies, so many sets of secondary memory, was lessening the distance between her dominant personality and the one she had pushed away. It was becoming less and less ignorable. That was unacceptable.

But she needed it, needed to back off, to…

Something shifted, in that patch of memory. A set conclusion reached by those experiences vanished. It could not think, but the portion of Vithvarandi's mind still using it could, could see with the tint it cast on events.

Vithvarandi became uneasy with that shift. The dissenting portion of her mind had stopped dissenting. That was good, but why?

She lost her train of thought as a desperate choice of bodies bore fruit, even as she died yet again. That was the human gone, probably dying even now.

She should try and take the body. It was a powerful urge, far beyond what she usually felt. And it did not come from her dominant perception.

Had her minority perception really changed that much, that fast? That could not be possible, and Vithvarandi saw no apparent catalyst for such an impossible shift. Still, it was good.

That was her internal problems solved, though she could not take the human's body, as she was a bit occupied. Her stock of bodies had dwindled…

A flash of shock ran through Vithvarandi's mind as she took mental stock of what she had left. Almost nothing. The only bodies of particular significance were either for flight, her final, desperate escape… or...

Her true body. The one belonging to her dominant personality. That old, withered human. It was worthless. There was a reason she had strove, so long and so hard, for this. Had sacrificed dozens to failed trials, dabbled in the sciences banned by the majority, crossed the lines between what the uninformed called science and magic. There was no difference, there never had been. When her world crumbled centuries later, and in the following generations became as if it never existed, even knowledge that there was such a thing as science vanished. Magic was all that remained, and those who did not see the divide no longer existed. She had been the last… and millennia of not using those skills had destroyed even that in her mind. She was no longer capable of doing what she had done so long ago. That part of her had been forgotten.

Escape. She looked around, even as her remaining bodies dwindled. There was no way out, and now she only had five bodies. Five!

Four. How had it come to this? There had to be a way out.

Three. Something felt off. It was so strange. She-

Two. The last escape, and her worthless self. She immediately chose the escape, vaguely noting that it held some sentimental value for… all three of her attackers, actually. That was useful. Now that she only had its memories to pick through aside from her own dominant and lesser sets, that was clear.

A moment of still, of quiet. They weren't attacking. But Vithvarandi felt strange. What had she thought just a moment ago? Something about her lesser side.

Escape. She should fly away. They would not be able to kill her, not like this.

No, she needed to attack the golden one, the least angry. The least threatening.

Well, if her lesser side said that, it must be right. Vithvarandi leapt, scrabbling at the dragon's wings.

Wound, not kill. She needed to goad them.

What? Something about that felt wrong. But she did it anyway, not entirely sure why she was suddenly giving more weight to that side of her mind.

An impact, and one less body. She had succeeded in breaking through their reluctance to strike. Now…

Vithvarandi found herself ranting, saying things she didn't believe, things both sides of her knew to be false. She was not immortal, not now! What was she saying?
She was playing the part, the part of a monster that needed to be destroyed. Her victims seemed sure of their actions, but she couldn't let that rest on chance. She needed to be destroyed.

In that last moment, Vithvarandi's dominant side reasserted itself and comprehended what had changed, even as she finished asserting that the one in front of her could not kill in cold blood, something she could see disproven in his eyes even as she spoke.

Her lesser side had gained precedence because she had no more memories to block it out with, as her bodies dwindled. But she had let it because it had seemed to agree with her for once.

The thing that had changed? The lesser side had always wanted to survive. That was its driving force, why the woman it had belonged to had volunteered for Vithvarandi's tests, knowing they were dangerous. The woman dying to an incurable disease, who had already lost an arm to it. Something so complex and dangerous that even the advanced science of the day could not cure or even slow it. That woman had survived by chance, after discovering the stabilizing act… by killing Vithvarandi, to stop her from dooming more people with her tests. When the host's body had succumbed to the disease, it had been easy for Vithvarandi's memories to take over.

But now, the host's memories had judged the situation differently. They no longer wanted to live. Not as the monster they had become.

So when that side of thought took over, it did its best to ensure their attackers would not hesitate, would kill. She had played the part of dangerous and insane, in these final moments.

By the time she had fully comprehended that, the plasma blast had already left Ember's throat.

Ember turned his mind to other things, despairing of ever truly understanding Vithvarandi. Spark. He quickly loped to his son's side, taking in the damage as he approached.

Spark was lying on his stomach, wings outstretched at his sides. The damage was severe. His wing membrane was cut in a dozen places, long stripes dividing and tattering the once-taunt wings, blood leaking from where veins in the wings had been cut. Not enough was being lost to kill Spark through blood loss, but the damage...

He moved into Spark's view, nuzzling his son's forehead sadly. Spark's vacant and pained eyes spoke of more damage than what could be seen. Ember looked up at Beryl, who was staring helplessly at the ruined wings his brother now possessed.

"Is Jacin..?" Ember asked carefully.

"Alive, but unconscious," Beryl replied quickly. He gestured with a wing. "From the pain, I assume. She's not bleeding. It's Spark I'm worried about."

"Spark." Ember nudged his son's head, trying to elicit some sort of response. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" There might be damage they couldn't see, broken bones or similarly subtle issues.

"My heart." Spark replied dully. "I will never fly again." There was a dull despair in those words. "Dam made sure of that."

Ember snarled dangerously. "That monster was not your Dam. She was simply using her body to try and escape."

"Beryl killed her, to save me." Spark mused, not seeming to hear Ember.

"I killed Vithvarandi, and avenged our Dam at the same time," Beryl replied, moving into Spark's view. "Dam would never attack you."

"I know..." Spark admitted, surprising both of the other Furies. "But it still hurts, what I saw."

"It does," Ember said soothingly. "But it was not truly real. You understand that. No more real than your nightmares."

"My nightmares never crippled me." Spark retorted, a flash of anger the first undulled emotion he had displayed. "This did."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Ember growled. He immediately shifted to his human form and put away the knives it still held. In their place he dug something out of a small pocket, one he had created so long ago, one for emergencies. What had he told Gobber?

'I've also added a few pockets for things like a needle and thread, in case Toothless's tailfin tears...'

Gods, he hoped he'd thought to actually put those in that pocket so long ago. He stuck his hand in hastily, jabbing himself with the mercifully present needle in the process. He couldn't care less. Dripping blood, he fumbled the tools out quickly, moving over to Spark's left wing.

"Beryl, tell Spark I can help his wings, but it will hurt. He has to hold still." Ember knew Spark didn't understand him in this form.

Beryl relayed the message. Spark glanced back at Ember with dubious hope, as if afraid to let his hopes rise just to have them shot down once more. "Okay," he finally said, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

Ember selected a tear at random, considering how best to do this. He began carefully sewing the two limp shreds of the wing together, wincing at each involuntary gasp Spark let out. The wings were sensitive, and driving a needle through the membrane repeatedly must hurt like nothing else.

It felt like driving a needle into himself, listening to the pained noises Spark couldn't restrain, but he didn't stop. Slowly, the tattered shreds began to regain something of their previous shape, held together by the thread. Hopefully, the membranes would heal back together, and Spark would not be grounded permanently.

At some point during the long and painstaking process, Jacin woke up. He could not go to help her, absorbed in the task in front of him, but Beryl went to her. Ember heard Jacin protesting as Beryl licked her burns. The protests faded as Jacin began to realize, as Ember had so long ago, that Night Fury saliva seemed to numb pain somewhat. After a while, she came over, watching Ember quietly. At length, she spoke.

"It's over?"

"Yes." He replied, wincing tiredly at Spark's groan as he pushed the needle through the sensitive membrane. "She's dead, for good."

"I do have questions," Jacin stated, as if unsure Ember would answer.

"Such as?"

"You're human... sometimes... but what are they?" Jacin pointed at Beryl. "Dragons are-"

"People, like you. There's a reason Vithvarandi could only take the forms of humans and dragons. The victim has to be capable of intelligent thought."

"That makes a little bit of sense," Jacin said slowly. "At least, compared to everything else."

"I've finally found a fast way to get people to understand." Ember mused bitterly. "Just show them something even more ridiculous first."

"Now what?" Jacin asked abruptly. "She's gone. And so is my sister."

"I am sorry," Ember said sadly. "Your sister joins my father, my mate, and their mother among those Vithvarandi killed. We have avenged them... and now we have to try and move on."

Ember quickly sewed the last rent in Spark's wings together, glad to be done with the torturous process. He scratched Spark's back. "You're good now." Beryl relayed the message, and Spark groaned in acknowledgment, carefully folding his wings into a more natural position.

A thought struck Ember, more of a resolution he'd recently decided on. "I'm going to start by putting some things to rest." He turned to Beryl. "Buddy, I need you to do something for me. You're not going to like it."

"What is it?"

"I have forms taken from Vithvarandi. Several, in fact. I want them gone, out of my head. They aren't mine, and I won't keep them."

"So..."

"I want you to kill them. I'll bring them up, and you... get rid of them." Ember proposed. It wasn't going to be fun at all, for either of them, but it needed to be done. He would not be a monster like Vithvarandi, and this was a way to stick to that conviction.

"...Fine." Beryl acquiesced. "But I'm making it as quick as possible."

"I'd prefer it that way," Ember smirked. "Remembering one painful death is enough." He shifted to the first other form that came to mind, that of Stormfly.

Beryl hesitated, shifting his weight from paw to paw uncertainly.

"Please, help me rid myself of these bodies. I don't want to be like her." Ember pleaded.

Beryl reluctantly built up a powerful plasma blast, and the last thing Ember saw was the purple glow, a short flash of intense pain all he felt.

This was the first time he'd lost a body. It turned out to be quite jarring, a moment of panic that had him almost involuntarily picking another form and mercifully fading back into the world. The body he'd picked happened to be that of the Terror he'd stabbed while fighting on Berk, that terrible night.

"This one too?" Beryl asked.

"All but my own bodies. Hiccup and Ember." Ember confirmed. Another purple blast, another moment of panic. The memory flood he was expecting did not occur, though he could feel it building up, held back by his will for the time it took for Beryl to banish that body. Then the memory dissipated as if it had never been there.

They continued, ridding Ember of every extra body, all of the half-dozen or so that he had taken involuntarily. It was an unpleasant process, and the black ash made him feel sick, but when it was done Ember felt better, freer. Knowing he didn't have them anymore was a relief of a burden he hadn't been aware he was carrying. The numerous small and not-so-small wounds on his draconic form were a small thing, even when he switched back from the last uninjured dragon, experiencing the immediate drain of energy and influx of dull pain his body had been feeling.

None of them had escaped the fight unscathed, but only Spark and Jacin had taken serious injuries. Ember and Beryl would only add to their collection of scars. Ember mused ruefully that the scars littering his body mostly came from Vithvarandi, but the worst did not exist. Those would be the scars one would expect from her tearing his chest and throat apart as a Whispering Death all those years ago. There were no scars from that because it had killed him. Apparently, any damage dealt in the process of killing was not retained. Which made sense, because otherwise every body Vithvarandi had obtained would be fatally wounded and just die immediately.

Spark shuffled up to Ember, moving stiltedly, still in obvious pain. "Sire, what do we do now?"

Ember considered the question, moving closer to Spark and nudging his older son comfortingly. "Your wings will heal in time. Until then, we'll find somewhere to recover, somewhere safe." He hoped they'd heal. Memory provided examples of small cuts in wing membrane healing well enough, but this was so severe. Hopefully, the stitches would make it possible.

He looked around the gorge, sight landing on a slope just shallow enough to be traversed by feet, a way out on foot. "We may as well go."

The three injured Furies made their way out of the gorge on foot, trailed by Jacin, who began to make her way back towards her small village without another word.

Ember didn't mind that. He was sure she would not remember them fondly, as tied to death and destruction as her memories of them would be. She needed to figure out how to deal with the loss of her sister. That was something he could not help with.

Vithvarandi was dead. It was fitting, in his mind, that they'd left her corpse at the bottom of the gorge, among the dust of countless of her victims, left to rot. Let no one remember the monster, the one responsible for so much despair and desolation.

Author's Notes: A reviewer asked me if the addition of Ember's memories would ever bring Hiccup to the point where he could/would do something he would have seen as evil or immoral. The answer here is yes, and he's changed to the point where it doesn't even bother him. Killing off an unarmed old woman with absolutely no hesitation in cold blood, no matter what lurked beneath that appearance? Not something canon Hiccup could do easily, if at all.

And now, with her death, I answer a question. Vithvarandi. What is that name from? I would like to point out that if you enter it into Google, you will only find this story. Literally. That's all that comes up. But I did not come up with it. It is actually the English spelling of viðvarandi. The Icelandic word for persistence, or persists… which I would say is more than fitting, is it not?

Next chapter? Look for it on Tuesday, to fit with this accelerated end. I will warn you though, When Nothing Remains is going to stick with a weekly format, also on Saturdays, so don't get too used to this quick chapter pacing.