When he was little, it had never occurred to him to wonder what exactly had become of the dragon-riding chief from the stories. He'd always assumed he'd flown off into the sunset of a happy ending, lost to the slow passage of time.

It took some effort to pull his eyes away from the last wall-painting and it was with a heavy heart that he eventually turned his flashlight away in search of what he knew must come next. It only made sense that that scene would lead to a grave.

A strange glow emanated from a doorway about fifteen feet to his right. The source, he quickly discovered as he approached and entered the chamber, came from a square-shaped hole penetrating the thick layers of stone and earth that formed the roof above him. The shaft of light sliced through the darkness to illuminate the runes carved into the surface of a large, table-like slab of stone at the center of the chamber.

Max had noticed early on that the sky here never seemed to end when viewing the horizon from the island. It wasn't hard to picture it full of dragons with their wings stretched out to catch the brisk wind. And how fitting it was that a piece of that sky should forever accompany one who had dominated it so many ages ago.

And now for the runes.

Beneath this stone lies

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III,

Son of Stoick the Vast,

Chief of the Hooligan Tribe of Berk,

Who fell defending all that he loved.

May he look ever skyward.

Max glanced up from the translation he'd just scribbled in his notebook as the full realization washed over him. He was in the presence of his legendary ancient ancestor, the source of all the myths, the mysterious messenger, the one that had specifically created this place to preserve his legacy in the coming shadow of his own death. Perhaps the inhabitants of Berk had been forced off the island by the very invaders that claimed the life of their leader? Perhaps this was all that was left—besides the legends—to remember him by? To remember a time of dragons and of those who first befriended them?

Chills ran the length of Max's body. It couldn't get any more real than this.

Quivering, he moved in for closer observation of the slab and stopped when the beam of his flashlight reflected off something shiny at the top above the runes.

It was a round metal shield emblazoned with a swirling black dragon symbol, complete with one red tailfin like the statue. It rested flush with the surface of the slab in a circular indentation, like a lid on a manhole in the street. Beneath it the words Only a Haddock Can See were carved.

Max already knew he was the only one who should see what was hidden beneath the shield. It was his right and for a thousand years, the chief had slept, waiting for someone just like him, a true Haddock, to return and claim his heritage.

His movements were automatic, arms reaching out, fingers sliding into the grooves between shield and stone, lifting it out with an air of reverence. It was curiously light for something plated in so much metal, but it was apparent from the assorted dents and scratches that it had seen many a battle and served its master well.

Max laid it carefully aside before reaching into the hole underneath and pulling out a wide, flat wooden box. The intricately carved lid was easily removed and he couldn't help but pause for a moment to close his eyes, inhale the musty scent and prepare himself to view the contents.

What would he find? What more could this forbearer have to show him that he hadn't already?

Finally, he let out the breath, opened his eyes…

…and broke into an all-out grin. He should have known right from the start that the box would contain a bunch of notebooks. It wouldn't be the inheritance of a Haddock without at least one such item.

He picked up a leather bound journal gingerly, as if it might disintegrate at the slightest touch, and opened it to find the pages covered in detailed notes and sketches of various dragons, plants, animals, maps, people, places, everything imaginable and then some. What really got his heart racing was the undeniable fact that these were Chief Hiccup's own writings, his own documentations of day-to-day life on the Island of Berk, their history, a window into the past…

…and it was the greatest treasure any archaeology student could dream of! Just wait until his professors got a load of this! It would mean an instant ticket to top-student status, maybe even grad school…

Only a Haddock Can See.

The words ran through his mind like a scathing reprimand. No. No, he couldn't. It wouldn't be right. How could he even have thought of giving it all away solely for academic gain? After so many generations, he was the lucky one who happened to find his way back. This place and these records were left for him, though it was impossible for the chief to have known who the right Haddock would be and when exactly he would come along. They were proof of the authenticity of the dragon myths that anybody outside of the Haddock family would only believe to be a laughable hoax.

In a split-second decision, Max opened his bag and began slipping the journals into it one by one. When he reached into the box for the last book, he was surprised to feel the slight brush of a lightweight object on his skin. He snatched it up and held it aloft in front of his flashlight. It was an incredibly thin, curved and semitransparent shell-like material, black as a night sky without stars.

It was a dragon's scale.

…

Max had replaced the empty box in the stone slab and gently laid the shield to rest in its proper place above it. With one last look, he'd left the chief in peace, hoping he could rest easier knowing that he and the dragons would be remembered. He'd passed the wall of paintings, given the dragon statue a farewell nod (convinced it had winked back a second time), trailed his fingers along the rune-covered tunnel, and sidled through the Haddock-sized slot back into the afternoon sun and biting wind.

Now, as he hiked to the dig-site, the weight of the journals in his bag and the smooth feel of the dragon's scale between his fingers in his pocket reminded him that he had an important task. From this moment on, he was the one responsible for beginning the next stage of the Haddock tale. He was also a guardian of the past, a hope that maybe someday, when the rest of the world was ready to remember and accept such strange and impossible things as the existence of dragons, he could share it. It was both exciting and slightly daunting.

"Hey, Max!"

He looked up, startled at the friendly greeting. He was so deep in thought that he hadn't realized his feet had automatically taken him back to the village dig-site.

"Hey, Max," the fellow student repeated. "Where ya been?"

Max hesitated, then gave a shrug and offered a vague gesture at the woods behind him.

"Ah, ok. Well…did you find anything interesting?"

With a smile, Max shook his head.