LATER THE FOLLOWING night, Scratch sat beside her father, watching him tend to the center room fire in silence as she fiddled with her ax. They'd been sitting in that comfortable silence for nearly an hour, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, though she knew the many duties of a Chief weighed down upon Stoick the Vast.

One day, those duties would belong to her.

The young blonde was well aware of her father's personality, but he seemed to be out of it even more than normal this evening, lost in thought, possibly thinking about the next voyage to find the nest so the dragons would leave them.

She had heard he would be leading this last journey to search for the Dragon's Nest, along with the majority of the village, leaving Gobber to train the newest recruits this year. While worried about the upcoming winter, she knew that if anyone could find this place and keep the village safe, it was her father.

He was the best person for the voyage, and when it was over, the problem with the dragons would be over, and they would be safe.

She herself was found to be deep within the confines of her mind, thinking about the training which was to come. Of course, she took it seriously, but wondered what this final year would yield. Hopefully another success — her desire to kill that Monstrous Nightmare was almost burning in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to drive her ax through its skull as she had done years before, with Nadders and Gronckles, even Hideous Zipplebacks.

That glory should be hers. It would be hers.

If not for her birthday gift, then for another year of success. Killing two dragons would top off the year and leave her standing at the head of a battle. She wondered if her father had found a dragon for her to kill, on top of the Nightmare.

Over the crackling of fire, Scratch heard the door to their home open up, and her body stiffened. She and Stoick had become aware of Hiccup's disappearance earlier in the day, but said nothing of it. He hadn't been grounded, per say, and if he wanted to feed upon his own delusional ideas, he was free to do so as long as he stayed out of her way. In her opinion, if the boy wanted to go galavanting off in the woods alone with no defense, then by all means. She wouldn't miss him.

No one would miss him.

But as her senses picked up his rapid dash for the stairs, Stoick snapped his gaze up, meeting his daughter's eyes as he spoke the single word aloud.

"Hiccup."

Scratch watched the boy freeze partway up to his room, then sigh. "Dad— I, uh . . ." Was that a note of panic to his tone? " . . . have to talk to you, dad."

Stoick got to his feet and walked over to the stairs where Hiccup currently perched. "I need to speak with you, too, son." He took a deep breath. "I think it's time you learned to fight dragons."

Hiccup, who had spoken at the same time something else which Scratch wasn't able to decipher, halted, turning to fully look at their father in surprise. "What?"

"What?" Stoick questioned at the same instance, narrowing his eyes at his son. "You go first."

Backing down off the stairs to now stand on level ground, Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck. "No, y-you go first." He insisted, rubbing one arm as he stared expectantly as Stoick.

Momentarily startled, the Chief of Berk clasped his hands together, looking over his shoulder at Scratch before focusing upon his son again. "Alright . . . you get your wish." He finally said. "Dragon Training — you start in the morning."

"What?!" Scratch rocketed to her feet in disbelief. "You can't be serious, dad."

Hiccup blinked, eyes going wide. "Oh man, I should have gone first." He groaned, running his hand through his hair. "Uh, because, I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon fighting vikings, but do we have enough . . . breadmaking vikings, or small home repair vikings?"

The elder daughter bared her teeth at her brother, fists clenched at her sides. What was he talking about? He'd been insisting earlier that he wanted to be a viking, and now he was dodging the idea of becoming one? Even if she didn't want him anywhere near her in the dragon ring, that didn't excuse the behavior he was exhibiting.

Her gaze snapped to her father again. "He'll be killed in the training ring, you know that. Why him, of all other potential recruits?"

"He needs to learn how to be a real viking." Stoick told her as he lifted his hand and dropped the ax he had been holding, right into Hiccup's arms to cut off his nonsense rambling which had been getting progressively louder as he protested. "You'll need this."

". . . I don't want to fight dragons," the boy blurted, and Scratch narrowed her eyes to slits, his words rubbing her the wrong way.

"See, he doesn't even want to fight them! Pathetic, just as we all know him to be." Scratch shot him a look of disdain, crossing her arms over her chest. This couldn't be happening — Hiccup would get himself killed in the dragon ring. Then she'd have to explain to her father why his guts were splattered all over the floor, and why his bones were jammed between Deadly Nadder fangs.

He was a liability!

He would just get in the way, and right now, the last thing she needed was for him to trip her up while she was fighting.

"Oh come on, yes you do," he told him, turning around to look for something else, giving Scratch a warning glare.

"Rephrase — dad, I can't kill dragons."

Stoick smiled, turning back to face him. "But you will kill dragons."

He doesn't have it in him. Scratch seethed, but wisely kept that to herself as she caught Stoick's gaze, a glare that told her not to speak.

"No— I'm really, very, extra sure that I won't." Hiccup stated more firmly.

With a deep sigh, their father shook his head. "It's time, Hiccup."

"Do you not hear me—"

"This is serious, son." Stoick growled. "When you carry this ax, you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us, talk like us, and think like us." His eyes narrowed as he gestured to the boy. "No more of . . . this."

"You just gestured to all of me." Hiccup narrowed his own eyes, shifting away from Stoick slightly.

"Dad, I have to agree with Hiccup on this one." Scratch finally spoke loud enough to gain the attention of both her father and her brother, ignoring Stoick's harsh expression, which he leveled on her. "Hiccup isn't a dragon killer. He's barely a blacksmith. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that won't change its nature. Surely you have to see that this is dangerous for him? And for everyone else who will be fighting alongside him?" Her voice dropped. "If he doesn't get himself killed, he'll trip someone else up and get them eaten. Is that what you want? To endanger actual potential recruits by throwing in someone who can't even lift a shield?"

"This is the only way to prepare him for what the world will throw his way." Stoick stated, turning to Hiccup again with narrowed eyes. "Deal?"

The boy looked down, then back up at the Chief. "This conversation is feeling very one-sided." He stated, shaking his head, struggling to hold the ax in his hands.

"Deal?!" Stoick demanded more firmly.

Hiccup stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his gaze with a sigh of defeat. " . . . deal."

"Good." The Chief took a step back, now addressing both Scratch and Hiccup as he hauled his bag over one shoulder. "Train hard." He told them, heading for the door. He paused, his gaze lingering upon his daughter for a moment before he turned away from her. "I'll be back . . . probably."

Her heart lurched, a rare ounce of fear climbing through her ribs as she watched him exit, headed on a voyage that most never returned from.

Was that a note of panic in her chest?

No . . . no, it couldn't be. Stoick the Vast would return from this, in time to see her win this Training and kill not one, but two dragons. The Monstrous Nightmare would be hers, and he had promised her a dragon for her birthday as well.

He would see her to this glory — she could feel it within her heart.

As he shut the door behind him, she said a quick prayer, one that was interrupted by her little brother's quiet, "And I'll be here . . . maybe."

Hopefully not. Out of the game, out of my way. She gave him a long look that was one of malice. There were many times she had hoped a dragon would snatch him, and she wouldn't have to worry about him being in the way all the time. Perhaps it would happen now that he would be training in the ring this year.

As she walked past him to head to her own room for a decent night of sleep before training, she heard him again, his voice, grinding at her ears. He was calling her name.

"What?" She demanded, not turning around to face him, the venom in her tone a clear message of her disdain toward him.

Hiccup was silent for a long moment, almost long enough for her to believe she hadn't heard his voice at all.

Almost.

"He'll come back." He told her, his voice dull and quiet. "He's Stoick the Vast— no dragon can take him out easily."

Scratch inhaled through her nose, slowly turning around to stare down at her little brother. "I'm not worried." She told him coldly. "Dad is a strong viking — he's the one fit for this. But you wouldn't know that — you didn't get his genes as a dragon killer."

His eyes narrowed. "Dad wouldn't have put me in Dragon Training if he didn't think I had it in me."

"Have you looked at yourself lately?" She demanded, gesturing to the scrawny mess of a human before her. "You're small and scrawny. And don't think what you said wasn't true — you can't kill a dragon, Hiccup. It isn't in your blood."

He looked down, rubbing his arm.

Scratch bared her teeth in a predatory manner, glaring down her nose at him. "Do me a favor, and stay out of my way. This is my fight to win, and when I'm done, I'll be the greatest dragon killer this world has ever seen."

He was silent, staring at his feet for some time, before he snapped his gaze up and caught hers. "Is that what you want?"

"What are you talking about?" She growled, clenching her fists. "Of course it's what I want! Dragons are monsters, Hiccup. They killed mom. They don't deserve anything but to be put down by our power."

Hiccup stayed silent after that, which was reason enough for Scratch to be finished with this conversation. She turned away and walked up the stairs to her own room, pulling the curtain to give herself some privacy.

She grabbed her notebook, flipping through the pages until she found the image of a Monstrous Nightmare— hand-drawn by her mother. Placing her hand down on the image, she narrowed her eyes.

Those monsters had taken everything from her. They would pay for that with blood, and that was a vow she had made the night she was told her mother would not be coming home.

There was an image drawn at the very back of the book, one by her own hand rather than that of the Chieftess. A dragon that looked like it had crawled from the depths of a nightmare, with two pairs of wings, and eyes that resembled that of an owl.

Her final prey. The dragon who had killed her mother.

She had only been eight at the time, but the image of that blasted lizard carrying away her screaming mother would always remain fresh in her mind. It was a memory she remembered all too clearly.

One that filled her heart with hatred for the flying monsters. She had vowed to take them down, to find this one specific dragon and carve its heart from its chest as a way to silence the anger burning at her very core.

Scratch would have her vengeance, even if she needed to tear down everyone else around her to get it.