The world beyond the mist is not the world they left behind.
Hiccup feels it in the air the moment their dragons break through the unnatural fog that had swallowed the Enchanted Forest whole. The trees vanish behind them, the whispers of spirits fade into silence. The first gust of wind slams into their group like a warning.
Something is waiting for them.
Something has always been waiting.
The ocean stretches endlessly ahead, dark and restless, its surface shifting beneath an iron-gray sky. Dragons circle above, their wings cutting through the wind. They sense something too.
His mother sits taller, silent, her eyes scanning the horizon.
"You feel it too?" he murmurs.
Valka exhales softly. "Something is coming. A storm."
Hiccup glances at the sky. "The weather looks fine."
"No, not that kind of storm."
She doesn't elaborate. She doesn't need to.
And Hiccup understands.
They don't see the ships at first.
The storm hides them well, their black wings blending into the sky. They move like shadows above the water, silent, watching.
Waiting.
It isn't until Toothless growls that Hiccup turns and sees them—dark shapes emerging from the mist, cutting through the waves like knives.
Too many. There were way too many for them to take on.
His breath catches. "Mom—"
"I see them."
Valka's voice is steady, but her grip tightens.
They are not alone anymore. The first arrow whistles past before anyone can react. Then, another. The sound splits the air, a sharp hiss, too fast to track.
Hiccup barely has time to duck before it buries itself into the dragon's scales behind him with a dull thud. Then the shouting begins. From the enemy ships.
Dragons shriek overhead, circling, uneasy. The ship lurches as men scramble, grabbing weapons, shouting orders. The air shifts, the storm thickening, the sky darkening.
Then, a voice rises above the chaos.
A command.
A warlord's voice.
And the enemy charges.
Hiccup doesn't even think. He moves. His body reacts before his mind catches up, instincts sharpened by years of training, by years of running, by years of war.
He pulls the reins. "Toothless—"
The dragon doesn't wait.
With a roar, he launches into the air, wings slicing through the wind, fire curling in his throat.
Below, the ships collide. Wood splinters. Swords clash. The sea churns, swallowing the fallen.
Hiccup barely hears it. Barely sees it.
His focus is on the warlord at the helm of the largest ship. A towering man, broad-shouldered, face hidden behind a steel mask. His armor gleams, black as night, his blade catching the dim light.
He does not flinch as Toothless soars above.
He does not react as Hiccup steadies his aim, hand tightening around his weapon.
He only watches.
And then—
He smiles.
A chill races down Hiccup's spine.
He does not know why.
But something about that smile feels wrong.
Then, before he can think, before he can act—
The warlord raises his hand.
And the sky ignites.
The next few moments are chaos.
Fire.
Blinding, searing, swallowing the sky. Explosions rip through the storm, shaking the world, sending ships tilting, sending men screaming into the sea.
Dragons roar in pain. Toothless twists midair, barely dodging the fireball that streaks past, close enough to scorch Hiccup's arm.
The heat is unbearable.
He gasps, struggling to regain control.
Another explosion from the catapults and dragons under the enemy's command.
"Fall back!" Valka shouts from below. "Hiccup—get out of there!"
But Hiccup isn't listening.
His eyes are locked on the warlord.
Still standing. Still watching.
Unmoving.
Unbothered.
Like he has already won. Like he was expecting this. Like he has been waiting for them.
Toothless growls, his body tensed, his wings beating hard against the smoke-filled air.
Hiccup grips the reins.
"We can't run," he murmurs. "If we run, we're dead."
Valka's voice crackles through the storm. "Then what do you propose?"
Hiccup swallows hard. His hands shake. He steadies them.
"We fight."
The warlord lifts his sword.
And the battle truly begins.
The sky burns. The sea rises.
Hiccup can barely hear his own thoughts through the roaring of the waves, the crackling fire, the screams swallowed by the storm. The battle is everywhere, dragon claws clashing against shields, arrows raining from above, dragons twisting and falling from the sky. The ship tilts, and he stumbles, gripping the railing as flames consume the deck behind him as he tries to damage as many sails he possibly could before he hops back on Toothless all while narrowly escaping the arrows and flames aimed at him. Toothless roars, his wings slamming against the wind as he dodges another blast.
"We need to fall back already!" Valka's voice cuts through the chaos, but Hiccup barely registers it. He had already boarded another ship for his taking.
Another explosion.
The mast shatters.
The impact sends him flying, the world a blur of light and noise, the salt of the ocean biting into his skin as he crashes onto the splintered wood. His head spins, ears ringing, vision flickering between fire and water.
"Hiccup!"
He turns, dazed, just as Valka fights her way toward him. She moves like the storm itself, a blur of steel and fury, her staff catching the light as she swings it against an advancing warlord. He falls, but more come. Too many.
Toothless circles overhead, growling, but Hiccup barely has time to react before the next wave crashes over them—arrows streaking past, another blast splitting the ship in two.
Then, just as Valka reaches for him, just as her fingers brush his—
The deck crumbles beneath them.
And the sea takes him.
The world is cold and dark.
Hiccup struggles against the pull of the waves, but the current is relentless, dragging him down, deeper, deeper, the weight of his armor like chains around his body. He reaches, but there is nothing.
No warmth. No light.
No mother.
The sea swallows everything.
And when he wakes, the world is quiet.
Salt stings his lips, sand presses against his cheek, and the sun is too bright against the wreckage-strewn shore. His limbs feel heavy, his body aching in places he cannot name. The last thing he remembers is the fire, the storm, his mother's outstretched hand—
But she is gone.
He forces himself up, his breath unsteady, eyes scanning the horizon. The wreckage of their fleet litters the beach—torn sails, broken masts, bodies washed ashore. He stumbles forward, searching, calling, his voice hoarse and desperate.
Nothing.
No sign of her. No sign of Toothless.
Just the wind and the waves and the ghosts of the battle that tore them apart.
His hands tremble. He clenches them into fists.
Valka was strong. She would have survived. She had to.
As long as he found no bodies, he had hope. He could only hope. It was the only thing he was capable of doing at the moment.
But he cannot stay here.
The warlords will come. They always do.
And if he is alone, then he is hunted.
The beach is silent as he moves through it, the weight of his steps softened by the damp sand. Every sound is magnified—the rustling of leaves, the distant cry of a bird, the snap of a branch beneath his boot. He moves carefully, his senses sharp, his body still aching from the sea's fury.
Then—
A voice.
Low, distant.
He presses himself against a tree, heart pounding, listening.
More voices.
Closer.
His grip tightens around the dagger at his waist. He has nothing else. No armor, no weapons, no dragons at his back. He is nothing more than a survivor, and survivors don't last long in a world where warlords rule the seas.
The voices draw nearer.
Hiccup takes a breath and steps forward.
A dozen figures stand in a clearing, their weapons at the ready, their gazes sharp. They are not warlords. Their armor is different—patched together from stolen steel, worn with use. Fighters. Survivors. Rebels.
One of them, a woman with braided hair and piercing eyes, raises her blade at him.
"Who are you?"
Hiccup lifts his hands in surrender, his voice hoarse but steady.
"Someone who lost everything," He hesitates, then, quieter: "Someone who wants to stop this."
A long silence stretches between them.
Then, the woman lowers her weapon.
"Then you're one of us."
The wind carries the scent of salt and pine. It drifts through the trees, whispering through the heavy hush of the forest, stirring the damp earth beneath Hiccup's feet. His boots sink slightly with every step, the ground softened by last night's rain, but he does not falter. He cannot afford to.
The group moves ahead of him, silent but efficient, their worn leather armor blending into the undergrowth. They do not speak to him, not yet. They only watch, their gazes sharp, their hands never far from their weapons. He is an outsider. A stranger. And in a world teetering on the edge of war, trust is not given freely.
Hiccup exhales, forcing his aching muscles to keep up. Every breath still tastes of seawater. His ribs protest with every step, a dull, deep ache that reminds him he is still alive. Barely.
He glances at the woman who first spoke to him—the one with braids coiled over her shoulders like rope. Her gaze flickers toward him before returning to the path ahead. She has not asked his name. No one has.
They only know he is lost.
The camp is hidden.
Hiccup almost misses the entrance entirely—the trees growing close together, their roots knotted into a natural barrier, the canopy above thick enough to swallow the sky. The only sign of passage is the way the others move, stepping carefully between the twisted branches, ducking beneath the low-hanging limbs. He follows, hesitating only once before slipping between the trees.
And then he sees it.
A village, or what is left of one.
The structures are makeshift—wood and stone patched together, smoke rising from hidden fires. The remnants of old buildings stand like bones in the earth, their walls crumbled, roofs long since caved in. Yet life persists.
People move between the shadows, some sharpening weapons, others tending to a fire pit where something simmers in an iron pot. Children, too—quiet, wary. A boy no older than ten carves something into a piece of driftwood, his brow furrowed in concentration. A woman sits nearby, mending a torn cloak with careful fingers.
Hiccup feels their eyes on him.
He does not meet their gazes.
The braided woman gestures for him to sit by the fire. He hesitates before lowering himself onto the damp earth, stretching his hands toward the heat. His fingers are still stiff, his knuckles raw from gripping onto splintered wood for so long.
The silence lingers, thick and unspoken.
Then—
"Eat."
A bowl is placed in front of him. A simple thing, clay and chipped along the rim. Steam rises from the broth inside, thin but warm, the scent of herbs cutting through the chill in the air.
Hiccup hesitates.
"Go on," the woman says, watching him. "You'll need your strength."
Strength.
He swallows, then takes the bowl, his fingers curling around the heat. The first sip burns his tongue, but he doesn't care. He drinks. Slowly, then faster. The warmth spreads through his chest, chasing away the cold that has settled deep in his bones.
For the first time since he washed ashore, he breathes.
Night falls.
The fire crackles, embers glowing like distant stars, flickering and fading into the dark. Hiccup sits apart from the others, his back against a fallen tree, the exhaustion in his limbs heavier than before.
The woman—the leader, perhaps—settles nearby, her blade resting against her knee. Her braids catch the firelight, were woven tight.
"Do you have a name?" she asks at last.
Hiccup exhales.
"Hiccup."
She tilts her head, waiting for more.
He hesitates. Then—
"I was with my mother. We were… trying to stop something before it got worse. A warlord and his army."
A pause.
"And where is she now?"
His throat tightens. He looks down at his hands. "I don't know."
The woman studies him. The firelight casts shadows across her face, deepening the lines of weariness, of something that has hardened over time.
Finally, she nods.
"Rest," she says. "We leave at first light."
Hiccup doesn't ask where.
It doesn't matter.
All that matters is that he keeps moving.
The night is restless.
Hiccup does not sleep, not really. He drifts—caught between wakefulness and something thinner than dreams. The crackle of the fire is a steady rhythm, the shifting of bodies, the occasional murmur of voices. The ground beneath him is damp, the rough fabric of a borrowed blanket barely shielding him from the cold.
Above, the sky is empty. The stars are smothered by the heavy stretch of clouds, their light distant, unreachable. He listens instead—to the rustling of wind through the trees, to the steady breath of those around him. To his own heartbeat, slow and unfamiliar in his ears.
His ribs still ache. His fingers twitch in his sleep, reaching for something that is not there. A leather saddle. Warm scales beneath his palm. The steady weight of wings carrying him forward.
Gone.
He exhales, slow and careful, pressing his eyes shut. But the sea lingers behind them, the crash of waves, the way his mother's voice cut through the wind—
"Hiccup!"
He turns onto his side, curling against himself, pressing his fingers into the dirt as if he could anchor himself to something. Anything.
But the earth is quiet beneath him.
And in the morning, he will have to move again.
Dawn comes in soft grays.
The fire is little more than embers now, barely flickering. The others are already awake, moving with quiet efficiency, dousing the last of the flames, gathering supplies. Hiccup pulls himself upright, his limbs stiff from the cold, his head still heavy with too little rest.
The woman with the braids—her name is Rapunzel, he learned—hands him a piece of bread. He hesitates before taking it, feeling its rough texture against his fingertips.
"We'll be on the move soon," she says simply. "Eat."
Hiccup nods, chewing slowly. The bread is dense, slightly stale, but it is food, and he does not complain.
Rapunzel does not move away immediately. Instead, she crouches by the remains of the fire, poking at the ashes with the edge of her blade. Her gaze flickers toward him, assessing.
"You've fought before," she says.
It is not a question.
Hiccup swallows, his throat dry.
"Not like this," he admits.
Rapunzel's mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but something like understanding.
"It's different, out here," she says. "No walls. No dragons at your back."
Hiccup glances away. His fingers tighten slightly around the scrap of bread.
"I know," he murmurs.
Rapunzel watches him for a moment longer, then stands, brushing stray ash from her hands.
"Keep up," she says. "Or you'll be left behind."
They move at a steady pace.
The forest is dense, tangled with roots and vines, the scent of damp earth clinging to the air. The others move like they belong here, their steps careful but sure. Hiccup follows, his movements less graceful, his mind still half-adrift.
No one speaks much.
Occasionally, someone will glance back at him—a brief flicker of curiosity, of caution. He is new. He is unknown. And in times like these, the unknown is dangerous.
But they let him stay.
For now.
As the sun begins its slow descent, they stop by a river. The water moves lazily, catching the late afternoon light, smooth stones glinting beneath its surface. Some of the group kneel by the bank, refilling waterskins, washing dirt from their hands.
Hiccup lingers at the edge, watching the way the current shifts, the way it carries leaves and twigs downstream, unbothered.
"You survived a shipwreck?"
He turns.
A man—maybe a few years older than him—stands nearby, arms crossed. His hair is dark, cut short, his expression unreadable.
Hiccup nods, slow. "I did."
The boy tilts his head slightly. "And your mother?"
The question is blunt. Not cruel, but not gentle either. Hiccup exhales through his nose.
"I don't know," he says.
The boy studies him for a moment. Then—
"That's rough."
It is not an apology. Not even pity, no. Just a fact.
Hiccup nods again.
The boy considers him, then finally extends a hand. "Flynn."
Hiccup hesitates, then takes it. "Hiccup."
Flynn's grip is firm, his palm calloused. A fighter. A survivor.
"Come on," he says, releasing his hand. "Before Blondie here starts barking at us to move again."
Hiccup watches him step away, then glances back at the river once more.
The water moves, steady, constant.
And for the first time in days, Hiccup does too.