Yakko had hoped that when he reached his teen years, he would start to bulk up.
That he would start to look more…like his father.
Like a man.
He hadn't.
In private, Yakko would sometimes stare at himself in disappointment.
His frame had filled out, but not in the ways he had wanted; mostly in the area of his hips and thighs. His shoulders saw only minimal growth.
Meanwhile, all the other teenage boys - his brother included - got larger and sturdier. Stronger. Gained more muscle than him.
By the time his fifteenth birthday came around, he had accepted that he wouldn't end up looking like the rest of them. He could sense that he might still have growing to do in regards to height, but otherwise…no drastic changes awaited him.
He hated that he was built so much like a girl. And even then, most Viking girls had more muscle than him.
So Yakko tried to drown out his dissatisfaction with his body by focusing on his speed and agility; the only physical aspects in which he had an upper hand. And additionally, did his best to hone his sword skills. Even though it was a struggle to find a blade he could wield for an extended period of time.
All of the swords in the village were a little too heavy for him.
"You seem out of breath."
Yakko dropped his arm, panting slightly, glancing up at his friend. The dog toon's eyes were concerned. His black and tan fur, and wild hair, were tousled from the wind. Which was light, but persistent.
He and Max were in the yard behind the Goof family's small croft. A couple of logs, sanded into benches, ringed a firepit nearby.
"I'm fine," Yakko huffed. He stuck the sword into the ground point first, pulling a green cloak closer around him.
Winter had never been Yakko's friend. The biting cold always seemed to seep past his fur, into his bones, and affect him worse than anyone else in the village. And without fail, he always ended up getting sick at least once during the winter.
Which of course, seemed to only further convince William that he was made of glass, and couldn't handle the slightest bit of hardship.
Max frowned. "Are you?"
Pulling on the cloak had made Yakko aware of how much his shoulders ached.
He'd held his own against Max. Who - while lean, and by no means a muscle bound hulk - was still stronger than him.
But Yakko hated that the effort had left him this sore and tired. When Max looked like he could easily keep going for another hour.
Rather than admit he was exhausted, Yakko decided to insist otherwise. "Yes. I really am."
Endurance. That was another area in which he couldn't seem to hold a torch to the other teenage boys in the tribe.
His friend's frown didn't go away. Yakko sighed.
"You don't believe me."
"Gee," Max said dryly, "What gave it away?"
Yakko scowled and marched over to one of the logs around the firepit, his tail twitching angrily. He sat down on it, Max mirroring him and sitting to his left.
"So, what's wrong?"
Yakko growled, scuffing the grass with one foot.
"Breaking even in practice bouts isn't good enough. I'm not good enough - if I can't wield a sword for longer than a few minutes, how am I supposed to last in a fight? Or prove myself on the battlefield?"
He started driving his unsheathed claws into the smoothed wood, scouring marks into it.
"Come on, you're easily one of the best swordsman on this island. And I don't know why you're so hung up on swords when you've got those, man," Max pointed at Yakko's hands. "Pretty sure those could do some damage."
Yakko couldn't exactly disagree. His sharp, hooked claws had always been formidable, and they'd only gotten more so as he'd grown up. It was a good thing he could retract them, or Yakko figured he'd constantly be scratching himself and others.
But, as formidable as his feline claws were…
"Yeah, because dragon scales aren't one of the toughest things around," Yakko quipped.
A dragon's hide was something else entirely, compared to the skin of a human or toon.
'No. I need a sword to deal with dragons,' he thought.
Max raised a notched eyebrow at his tone of voice.
"Biting sarcasm? Really? This early in the morning?"
"Hey, did you expect something else?" Yakko stopped raking at the log. He began to lick his claws clean of wood grit with his rough tongue.
"I guess not. Sarcasm is a default setting for you." Max had propped the sword he'd been using against the log bench, before leaning back on his hands. "…But, when you're twice as sarcastic, I know you're unhappy about something."
Yakko sheathed his claws and toyed with the edge of the cloak. "Well. Maybe there is…another thing. You know how I got a scroll as a birthday gift today?"
Max ran a hand through his mop of hair. "Yeah. So why the disappointment? You do like scrolls."
"Oh yes. I do. But," Yakko rubbed his upper arm under the cloak. "I was sort of hoping that - Dad might ask Guanta to make me a custom sword. One that would, well. Be easier for me to use…"
He trailed off, eyes back on the sword he'd stuck in the ground.
Thick and weighty. Balanced for the average Viking.
But not for someone like him.
Custom swords were far from impossible. Yakko knew that, and he'd certainly dropped many hints that he wanted one.
Only to routinely be ignored.
"Dad's so overprotective!" Yakko abruptly stood back up and started pacing, his tail now outright thrashing. "Okay, so I'm not…not super buff like him. But that doesn't mean I can't fight! It's like he's trying to discourage me without actually doing anything."
Yakko sighed and stopped pacing, glancing at Max; whose eyes had gone wide.
Not from shock, but rather sympathy. Being Yakko's best friend since childhood, he'd heard various versions of this rant thousands of times.
"Don't get me wrong. I know Dad loves me," Yakko muttered. "But…"
But, William's overprotective streak grated on Yakko's nerves, and it had caused father and son to argue more than once.
He felt Max clap him on the shoulder. "It'll work out. One day, you'll be able to show your dad what you can do."
Glancing at his friend, Yakko saw Max smile encouragingly.
"Yeah."
Yakko stared at the blade he'd stuck into the ground.
"I hope so."
/
That night, after the triplet's birthday dinner, Yakko sat on his bed.
'Fifteen years old now.'
Old enough that this summer, he could finally prove himself in dragon training.
Show that he wasn't the weak link. That he was more than the runt, that he had merit as a warrior.
While he thought about all this, Yakko idly looked over the scroll he'd been gifted.
The scroll's subject matter was certainly very interesting, even though at the moment he was too distracted to fully digest it.
Then again, history never failed to interest Yakko. And the item itself was high quality, made of engraved metal. The parchment was thick and new, the words written in pitch black ink. Without a doubt, expensive.
It wasn't that he didn't like it. He did.
He'd simply gotten his hopes up, and been disappointed.
Again.
A knock on his door caused Yakko's head to jerk up, and his ears to prick. He frowned, confused. It was fairly late; the rest of the family should be asleep.
"Yakko?"
It was Wakko's voice, low and deep, more so than Yakko's own. Something that he was occasionally jealous of.
"Um…can I come in?"
"Sure," Yakko replied, carefully placing the scroll on his bed.
The door slowly opened, admitting Wakko. Clutching a long object wrapped in cloth close to his chest, he walked over to Yakko's bed and gingerly sat next to him.
Yakko eyed the object he held. Wakko clearly noticed, but said nothing for a few moments, only picking at the cloth wrapping.
"Well, well," Yakko inquired. "With how sneaky you're trying to be - is that contraband of some kind? Are you a felon now, little brother?"
Wakko huffed. "You're only ten seconds older than me."
Yakko ruffled the large tuft of fur on Wakko's head. He giggled and leaned away. "And yet, that ten seconds is more than enough for me to claim the title of oldest."
He moved on to tickling Wakko under the arm.
"Quit it!" Wakko giggled, swatting Yakko's hand away.
The action caused him to almost lose his grip on the mysterious object. Wakko stiffened and re-asserted his grip on it. Yakko drew his own hand back, newly curious.
"So. Dare I ask what you've actually got there?" he asked.
Wakko sat up much straighter, slowly holding the object out to Yakko. "Well. I…made you something."
Raising a brow, Yakko took the wrapped object from Wakko. His eyes widened slightly, upon feeling the shape beneath the cloth.
'Could it be?'
Yakko gingerly started to unwrap the item, Wakko watching with wide eyes. His hands were bunched in the hem of his shirt.
Yakko breathed a sigh of amazement upon fully revealing a gleaming scabbard, and the hilt and crossguard of a sword.
The hilt was a simple block of bronze, carefully etched with the Berkian crest, handle wrapped with fresh, dark gray leather. The scabbard itself was no less impressively detailed; edged with more bronze, the tribal crest once again making an appearance. Except this time it was stamped into the scabbard's dark brown surface, near the top.
In short, it was obvious that Wakko had put an immense amount of care into crafting all these things.
Pure excitement running through his veins, Yakko lightly hopped off his bed and onto his feet. In one swift motion, he drew the sword and swung it a few times; his movements sure and swift.
The weapon was light. But perfectly balanced, and Yakko could somehow tell that the blade was just as strong as any other sword in the village; despite being very light and fairly thin.
"You made this?" Yakko couldn't keep the amazement out of his voice.
He'd always known Wakko was incredibly good at making things, of course. Yet to Yakko's knowledge, he'd never made a custom sword like this until now.
He couldn't wait to actually try this blade out on a training post, or in sparring matches.
"Do you like it?" Wakko's tone was timid, and slightly anxious.
Yakko laughed, giddy; though he did his best to do so quietly, unwilling to wake his father or sister. He threw an arm around Wakko and rubbed his cheek against his brother's, a short purr rumbling in his chest.
"Isn't it obvious how I feel?" he snarked; but in a friendly, joking manner that could only exist between brothers. "You, bro, are phenomenal."
Wakko chuckled and licked Yakko's nose, his tail wagging. "Really?"
"Really."
Then his tail slowed, a frown overtaking his features. "...I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Yakko drew back and carefully holstered the sword. "For what?"
Wakko had gotten up and started to walk back to the bedroom door. He paused and looked over his shoulder, his expression guilty, hugging his arms.
"Just, Dad's always expecting so much from me, but - I know you and Dot both hate being overlooked…" Wakko mumbled.
Yakko laid the sword on the bed, then went over and put both hands on Wakko's shoulders.
"There's nothing to apologize for," Yakko said quietly. He could easily read his brother's eyes, and could spot guilt in them.
"I'm sorry," Wakko said again.
"Don't be," Yakko looked at the sword with a smile. "You've made my night."
/
The second he was on the longship, Yakko made it his priority to get as far from his father as he could; anger still fresh in his veins, and a fair amount of resentment along with it.
"Yakko!" William barked, staring up at him from the deck. "Get down from there!"
Yakko's response was to don a smug smirk, while remaining exactly where he was; stretched out on the crossbeam that held the longship's mainsail up.
"No can do," he snarked, tone dripping with sarcasm, flexing the claws on one hand. "I'm simply too fragile to risk it."
"Down. Now!" William bellowed, for the third time in the last hour.
"Uhhhh…no," Yakko called back, flicking his long tail. "I like it up here."
William sighed, pressing his fingertips to his temple.
Each time the crossbeam shook in the wind, he felt his heart stop.
Yakko, however, continued to lounge there with utter confidence.
William grumbled, crossed his arms, and leaned on the side of the longship.
"He's so stubborn. Where does he get it from?"
Guanta's creaky laugh caused the Berkian chief to glance sharply at his close friend.
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree," the gangly tiger toon chortled. "Eh, chief?"
William paused, then retorted grumpily "…I was never this bad as a boy."
The smith gave him a doubtful look.
"…I wasn't."
Though even as he said that, a tiny voice in the back of William's mind reminded him otherwise.
Guanta treated him to a lopsided grin, which indicated he didn't buy William's words for a second. "Whatever you say, William. But I seem to recall getting into a lotta messes together, back when we were young tykes."
William sighed once again, eyes going to the crossbeam. Yakko was now blithely inspecting his claws, without a care in the world.
"What am I going to do with him?" William sighed, letting his broad shoulders slump.
The smith cleared his throat, a nervous grimace on his face.
"Forgive me for saying so, but…" Guanta tapped his fingers on the side of the ship. "Just maybe, you shouldn't keep expectin' Yakko to be Angelina."
William's only response was to clench his jaw and look away. "I'm not," he said shortly.
"Hrmmph," Guanta snorted, both of his shaggy brows raised. "And yet…"
"I simply want him to be safe," William muttered, turning to face the ocean, bracing both hands on the rail of the longship. "That's all."
Yakko, biting his lip, eyed his dad from above as he turned to face the ocean.
Part of him hated that he was causing his father distress. But the rest of him was still filled with a stubborn and - in his mind - righteous anger. Yakko was being denied what was essentially a rite of passage for Viking youth.
His tail lashed at the thought.
Years of trying to prove myself and it amounts to nothing.
Countless times, he'd shown off his swordsmanship in hopes that his dad would see how skilled he was. That he was ready for the dragons, that he wasn't weak…
Yakko stood up and walked a few feet along the crossbeam, feeling the wind ruffle his fur; his feline tail working with his entire body to effortlessly keep him balanced. It was so natural, it didn't even cross his mind to reach for his toon powers.
Yakko would simply show that he wasn't cut out for being a 'diplomat.'
He stared at the horizon and started scheming.
/
"Welcome to dragon training!" The gray squirrel toon announced, lazily sweeping one arm at the stone walls and thick metal doors that formed the Kill Ring.
The chain dome that hung over the arena creaked in the ocean wind. A soft breeze made its way down into the ring and ruffled the gray squirrel's braided mane of hair; as well as the fur of the teens who stood before her.
Slappy was one of the eldest of the tribe's warriors; yet that hadn't stopped her from routinely throwing herself into battle, or from being decidedly deadly to her foes. It also meant that, experienced as she was, it only made sense to learn from her. As such, Slappy had been in charge of dragon training for the last decade.
Wakko could feel her eyes consistently going to him as Slappy paced up and down the line, studying all the recruits.
No doubt, Slappy thought this training would ignite some latent dragon-killing talent in him. And that he would go from being the village headache, to being the prodigy everyone had expected.
Dot was to his right, standing as if ready to spring into action at any moment, her eyes bright and eager.
The other teenage recruits included Max, and two twin rabbits named Reva and Tevan.
"Ya aren't the worst crop I've ever seen," Slappy declared gruffly. "Either way, I expect a lot from you kids!"
She pointed the spear she held at Wakko. The tip was an odd color; a very dark green that reminded him of pine needles, something he had time to notice on account of staring at it.
"You, especially. Your da's blood has gotta kick in at some point."
Wakko shuffled his feet awkwardly. Well aware that Dot was scowling at the premature vote of confidence, and wanted it to be directed at her rather than Wakko.
Believe me, sis, I wish it were you everyone expected greatness from.
"What's that spear made of?" Wakko blurted. Both out of curiosity, and a desire to delay training as much as possible.
"Don't rightly know," Slappy replied with a shrug. "Found it on a shipwreck years ago. Traders say it's a rare item. Let's just say, it has a certain…effect on dragons if ya tag them with it."
Slappy drew herself up and gestured to one of the huge metal doors. The old warrior began to walk toward it, spear clicking against the ground.
"Hold tight for a sec, kiddos."
"This is going to be soooo awesome!" Tavan nudged his sister, who threw an arm around the other bunny and grinned back.
"Maybe we'll get some trophies," Reva agreed with equal vigor.
"Like some dragon teeth!" Dot threw in, her eyes now practically blazing with anticipation.
Wakko tried to make his throat work, then gave up. It wasn't as though he had anything to say regardless; he could only stare unseeing at the stone floor of the arena. All the while he vehemently wished he was anywhere else, and was still preoccupied by thinking about why - why in all the pits of Hellhiem - the Night Fury hadn't killed him.
"Awfully hungry for blood, aren't you?" Max said wryly from his other side. The tall dog toon had clenched his fists around the handle of the sword he'd brought, causing the lean muscles in his arms to tense up.
Most of the other kids had brought some kind of bladed weapon with them. Wakko had taken a heavy hammer from the forge; hitting a dragon with it didn't seem as bad as stabbing it with a sword.
Wakko felt especially reluctant to take part in these lessons now.
If the Night Fury was capable of mercy, what if other dragons are too? What if they can be either good ir bad, like people? He thought.
"I'm going to come out on top," Dot retorted, puffing out her chest. "And don't any of you doubt it!"
Max nodded, briefly looking sad.
It's probably because Yakko isn't here.
Yakko and Max had always anticipated going into dragon training together, and they had always been very vocal about it.
"Enough yappin'!"
All of the teens looked at their teacher, brought to silence by her serious tone. The squirrel was leaning by one of the bulky metal doors set in the arena walls. One hand lingered near the release, though she hadn't unlatched the doors yet.
"Right," Slappy twirled her odd spear in one hand. "First off - toon powers don't work all that well in battle, even for experienced warriors. Don't rely on 'em - takin' even a few seconds to think up a gag could end badly."
"Right then," Slappy continued, "Today's about one thing and one thing only - survival. Ya get knocked down, you strike out in training today. Keep in mind, whoever does best in these lessons wins the honor of killing their first dragon in front of the entire village. So if ya want braggin' rights, start putting in the work here and now. Got it?"
Wakko numbly nodded, while his peers all made varying noises of acknowledgement. He glimpsed Dot baring her teeth in a ferocious grin, hefting her axe.
"Then," Slappy drawled, "Let's get started."
The next instant, she had freed the latch the heavy metal doors, allowing them to drift open; revealing a dark cell. A green light flickered inside, accompanied by a hissing noise. Wakko jumped, his heart rate instantly spiking.
"Um -" Max's eyes were wide, and had gone to Slappy; who was now leaning against the wall of the ring, looking relaxed as could be. "Aren't you going to train us before -"
Slappy held up a finger. "I believe in learnin' on the job," she announced.
The hissing reached a fever pitch before the dragon burst from between the doors.
It was long and lean, with huge wings and green scales dotted with black spots; its previously glowing hide had started to dim. Twisting horns crowning the gecko-like head. The dragon's narrowed eyes flitted from toon to toon, teeth bared in a defensive snarl.
It was a glowyrm; not the most common dragon, but frequent enough that the Vikings were familiar with them.
The teenagers all yelped and scattered when the glowyrm's jaws cracked open and a bolt of crackling fire shot out, barely missing Wakko's tail. The dragon crouched, head darting from one side to the other.
"What's the first thing you'll need?" Slappy barked.
"A hiding place?" Wakko whimpered, ducking when the dragon's long tail lashed in his direction.
"A shield!" Both Dot and Max answered at the same time.
"Bingo!" Slappy replied.
All the kids bolted for the nearest available shields. Wakko, being terrified, hefted the first one he saw. Max and Dot were equally as sensible, donning the first shields they reached.
The rabbits both zeroed in on a closer one and quickly began to fight over it.
"Take that one instead!" Tevan yelled. "It's pink, girls like pink!"
Reva scowled and kept her grip on the shield, trying to pull it out of Tevan's hands.
"Take your own advice!" She retorted. "Take the blue one!"
The glowyrm reared up, flaring its wings, and shot a crackling firebolt at the shield. The twins both yelped as the shield was knocked away, sending them both sprawling.
"Aaand, you're out, rabbits," Slappy drawled.
Wakko awkwardly scuttled up behind Max and Dot, who had proven to be the most capable of the teens so far; in that they'd both gone for the closest shields, and were now properly wielding the items along with their weapons. The two were trying to square off against the glowyrm.
The glowyrm hissed again, crouching low, wings mantled. It's tail rattled against the stone floor of the arena as it lashed. Buster and Babs had scuttled over to Slappy, and were now sullenly watching the others.
"Shields are good fer another thing!" Slappy nonchalantly announced. "Noise!"
She waved her strange spear through the air. Getting the hint, the teens began banging shields and weapons together. The glowyrm screeched and shied back a few steps.
Meanwhile, Wakko awkwardly and hastily fumbled with his, trying to set the piece of equipment properly on his arm.
Weight wasn't the problem; as heavy as the hammer and the shield were, he was strong enough to carry them with ease.
Rather, it was his coordination that was failing him. Wakko couldn't seem to properly tell his hands what to do.
He settled for doing his best to hide behind the shield, while the other two trainees started trying to herd the dragon back. They continued to bang their weapons against their shields. The noise was starting to make Wakko's own ears to ring.
"Dragons each have a limited number of shots before they gotta give their fire a rest!" Slappy yelled. "How many's a glowyrm got?"
"Three?" Wakko squeaked.
"Five?" Max tried.
"Six!" Dot yelled.
"Correct!"
The glowyrm shook its head, blinked. Then it's green hide began to brighten.
"Cover your eyes!" Dot yelled, just before the glowyrm abruptly lit up, becoming a ball of blinding light.
Wakko managed to close his eyes just in time. He heard startled shouts and the sound of metal clanging on stone; when he opened them, he saw the dragon's open mouth lighting up orange.
For a terrifying second Wakko stared, vision still spotty from the burst of light. Then he shouted in terror, ditching the shield entirely and trying to run away.
As it turned out, he was only a few feet from the arena wall, and Wakko slammed into it. He stumbled back and fell over; groaning as the impact brought back the older pain in his snout from earlier that morning.
He heard a laugh or two, primarily courtesy of the two rabbits. Face hot from embarrassment, Wakko shoved the hammer into his hammerspace and clumsily started getting back on his feet.
"Behold, the future of dragonslaying."
Reva had whispering, which no doubt meant she hadn't exactly meant for Wakko to hear.
Unfortunately, his hearing was excellent. He winced, his ears starting to droop until he forcibly stopped them.
He didn't really want to let the others know he'd heard that.
It's not like she's wrong, anyway.
The glowyrm was slumped over in the middle of the area, Slappy pulling her odd spear from its leg. Wakko blinked fuzzily at the sight, then remembered what she'd said about the green-tipped spear having a special effect on dragons.
It suddenly hit him how tired he was. Yet at the same time, Wakko felt too wired to sleep. And a strange pull to do…
Something.
The problem was, he didn't know what that something might be.
"Are you alright?" Dot had come up to him and was studying his face, which Wakko had pressed a hand to.
"Yeah," Wakko mumbled. "I'll be fine."
"I expect all of you back here tomorrow morning, and each morning after that for the next few weeks," Slappy interrupted, leaning on her spear; the strange, dark green tip gleaming in the sunlight. "No lollygaggin."
She paused, then very darkly said, "Today's final lesson…a dragon will always - always - go for the kill."
/
So why didn't you?
As he slowly followed his sister out of the Kill Ring, Wakko was once again consumed with thoughts of the Night Fury.
He was only alive because the dragon had let him live, and Wakko knew it. Which meant, for all her knowledge, Slappy was wrong.
The Night Fury hadn't gone for the kill.
What did it mean? Surely, making such a decision required intelligence. The Viking tribes had always assumed dragons to be primal monsters and nothing more, certainly not capable of morality.
Yet, Wakko had seen otherwise; or, he thought he had. Back in that clearing, when he had been pinned up against that boulder.
"...Wakko?"
Wakko blinked and shook his head, coming out of his daze. "Huh?"
Dot was peering at him, a brow raised. There was still a fiery excitement in her eyes, and Wakko knew what she was going to say before she said it.
"We're gonna train on our own some more," Dot gestured to the rest of the group. "Want to…"
Wakko shook his head fervently. "Nu-uh," he mumbled, hunching his shoulders. "I've had enough of…y'know. Besides," he added, "We agreed you'd get to be the star of dragon training."
Dot haughtily flipped her braid back over her shoulder and spun to wave at the other teens, who had all stopped a few yards ahead and were now looking back at her. "Yes, we did, didn't we?"
She smiled, then quickly hugged him. "See you tonight, Wak."
Wakko hugged her back, then watched her dart off, swiftly catching up to the other kids. He saw her say something to them, no doubt conveying that Wakko wouldn't be joining them.
/
His first instinct had been to take a nap, but Wakko still felt bizarrely restless.
Finding himself drawn towards the forest again, he decided to chase small animals in the hopes it would tire him out and calm him down.
He never caught them, but that was fine. It was fun and that was all Wakko cared about.
Usually, it was very effective, and scratched a primal instinct within him to chase things. Except this time around, it wasn't working nearly as well.
He ended up back at a familiar rut in the ground.
For several moments, Wakko simply stared at the evidence of the Night Fury's crash. His mind's eye once again filled with images of the dragon, thoughts circling back to the doubts he'd had in the arena.
Before he knew what he was doing, Wakko had retraced his steps back to the clearing at which he'd found the downed dragon. Then he kept going, once again utilizing his sense of smell; and following a scattered trail of black scales.
A bunch must've been knocked off when the dragon crashed.
While dragons were clearly very durable, surviving such a fall must have left its mark somehow.
The pull was back, a kind of subtle thrill; it was what he imagined it would feel like to fly.
Wakko had no idea what it meant.
Just that once again, he wanted to find that Night Fury.