The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the village of Berk. Astrid, now nine years old, felt a fierce determination burning in her chest as she slipped out of her home alongside her siblings. They moved quietly, shadows weaving through the trees as they escaped into the darkness.

"Stay close," Twig whispered, his voice low but urgent. He had become the protector of the group since their siblings' deaths, his once carefree demeanor now hardened by loss and a burning desire for revenge. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, reflecting both anger and a fierce protectiveness over Astrid.

"We'll find him," he continued, the weight of his words settling over them like a cloak. "We'll make him pay for what he did."

Freya, Juniper, and Scott nodded, their faces set with grim determination. They had spent nights planning this escape, rehearsing the stories they would tell if anyone caught them. They were not just siblings anymore; they were warriors bound by grief and a thirst for justice.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Scott asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder as they navigated through the dense woods.

"Trust me," Twig replied, his voice firm. "I've been watching him. I know where he goes."

As they moved deeper into the forest, Astrid felt a mix of fear and excitement. She had trained hard under Twig's watchful eye, her body aching from the countless hours spent practicing. Twig was relentless, reminding her with every lesson that weakness could cost her everything.

"The weak die, Astrid," he would say, his voice harsh yet filled with an underlying care. "You can't afford to be weak anymore. Not after what happened to Mathew."

With each day, Astrid had grown stronger, both physically and mentally, but the words still echoed in her mind, stirring an insatiable hunger for vengeance. Yet, there was another part of her that missed the bond she once had with Hiccup. He had always been different—kind, gentle, and accepting of their differences. But now, he was seen as weak, and that perception had driven a wedge between them.

"Let's go," Twig urged, breaking her thoughts as they approached the entrance of a cave. It loomed before them, dark and foreboding, the mouth gaping like a hungry beast.

"This is it," Twig said, his voice a mix of anticipation and tension. "If he's here, we'll find him."

With a deep breath, they stepped into the cave, the cool air brushing against their skin. The darkness enveloped them, and the echoes of their footsteps bounced off the rocky walls. Astrid felt her heart race, a mixture of fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Stay alert," Freya warned, her eyes scanning the shadows. "We don't know what's inside."

As they ventured further into the cave, the flickering light from a makeshift torch illuminated the rough stone walls, casting eerie shadows that danced around them. Astrid's grip tightened around her weapon, a crude but sturdy dagger that Twig had insisted she carry.

The deeper they went, the more the air thickened with tension. Astrid could feel it in her bones—the anticipation of what was to come. She was no longer the innocent girl who had played in the woods with Mathew; she was a warrior, fueled by the desire for revenge.

Suddenly, a sound echoed through the cave—a low, sinister chuckle that sent shivers down her spine. Twig's protective instincts kicked in as he moved to the front, positioning himself between Astrid and the darkness.

"There!" he hissed, pointing into the shadows.

The figure emerged, cloaked in darkness, and Astrid's breath caught in her throat. It was him—the bad man who had taken everything from them.

"We've found you," Twig growled, his voice steady, but Astrid could hear the tremor beneath it.

The man's smirk twisted into a malevolent grin as he stepped forward, the flickering light revealing the glint of a weapon in his hand. "Ah, the little warriors have come to play," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Astrid felt a surge of anger and fear all at once, but she steeled herself, recalling Twig's harsh words. The weak die.

"We're not afraid of you!" she shouted, her voice breaking through the darkness.

But even as she spoke, doubt crept in. Would they be strong enough to face him? Would their training be enough?

The battle for vengeance had begun, and with it, the fate of the Hofferson siblings hung in the balance.