Stoick's Point of View
He was gone.
They all were—his dragons, his flock, his... family.
Rising into the clouds like gods cloaked in fire and shadow, leaving nothing but blood and silence behind.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
Two men. Dead.
Slaughtered.
Not in the chaos of battle, not by mistake.
Executed.
One torn apart by the Changewing. The other—I saw it with my own eyes—Hiccup ripped his heart out. No hesitation. No regret. Just cold, clean hatred.
He didn't even blink.
And for what?
One looked at his wives.
The other... his daughter.
Freya.
At least that one—I could understand. Children should be protected. That wasn't a man Hiccup killed. That was filth. No true Viking would look at a child like that and live.
But the other...
The other man had only looked. And Astrid—was that what she was now? His concubine?
Gods.
My stomach twisted.
I thought I knew what darkness was. I thought I'd faced it on the battlefield, seen it in Drago, in the old wars.
But nothing prepared me for the thing my son has become.
No.
Not a thing.
An Alpha.
And I let it happen.
I was the one who left him in the shadows.
I was the one who cared more about shaping a warrior than raising a son.
I thought... I thought if I hardened him, he'd become strong.
He did.
But not for us.
I clenched my fists. I had to move. Had to think.
Then I remembered his words.
"In two days' time, I'll give you what you've always wanted. The location of the dragon nest."
That changed everything.
My legs finally obeyed. I turned from the blood-stained arena, barely hearing the whispers and screams of the villagers.
"Gather the elders," I barked. "And summon every able warrior. We meet in the Great Hall. Now."
They scrambled to obey.
I didn't wait to see if they followed. My boots echoed down the stone path with weight I hadn't felt in years.
Berk needed a chief.
Even if the chief was a broken man.
⸻
The Great Hall was quiet when I arrived. Too quiet.
Only Gobber was waiting inside, arms crossed, watching me with those tired eyes that had seen far too much.
He was the only one who didn't flinch when I sat heavily in the high seat.
"He's not the boy we remember," Gobber said gently.
"No," I rasped. "He's something else."
We sat in silence for a moment before he added, "He killed them like they were nothing. No hesitation."
My jaw clenched.
"He didn't blink," I muttered. "Just... ripped it out. And when he looked at me, Gobber... I wasn't his father. I was a stranger."
Gobber stepped forward, placing a calloused hand on my shoulder.
"He is the best shot we have at ending this war," he said carefully. "And you know it."
I stared at the hearth.
"I'm his father, Gobber," I whispered. "I was supposed to protect him. But the only thing I did was abandon him. I turned my back on him... and he turned into that."
"You're still chief," Gobber said.
I shook my head slowly. "A chief protects his own. That's what I always said."
The words felt wrong in my mouth now. Hollow. Weak.
"He was my own," I said, voice cracking. "And I let him go."
Gobber didn't speak again.
And I didn't stop him.
Because nothing he said could change the truth.
—————-————————————————————-
The flames in the hearth danced like ghosts.
I sat in the high seat of the Great Hall, gripping the arms of the carved chair so tightly the wood groaned beneath my fingers. The silence in the room was thick, suffocating. Warriors and elders lined the walls, faces pale, eyes wide.
No one spoke.
Not after what they saw.
Not after what he did.
I was the first to break the silence.
"We prepare for war."
The words dropped like iron.
One of the younger warriors—Eirik—stepped forward, clearing his throat. "With respect, Chief... are we certain this is wise? He said we have two days. We might use that time to reason with him—"
"There is no reasoning with what he's become!" I snapped, rising to my feet. My voice cracked like thunder through the hall. "Did you not see what he did today?! That was not a man who can be talked down!"
They flinched.
"Two of our own are dead," I continued. "One rightly so, I'll admit—the bastard who looked at my granddaughter deserved worse. But the other... killed like it meant nothing."
I saw it again in my mind. The cold in his eyes. The way his hand plunged into that man's chest like it was routine. A gesture without weight.
A gesture he'd made before.
Gobber stepped forward from the shadows. "Stoick... you're grieving. I know that look. You're blaming yourself—"
"I am blaming myself!" I growled. "Because I made him. I forged that boy into steel by leaving him in the cold. I turned my back and now he's a blade pointed at all of us."
"But that doesn't mean—"
"No, Gobber," I cut him off. "You know our history. You know what our fathers and their fathers fought against. This war didn't start with Hiccup. It started generations ago. My ancestors built Berk with dragon blood on their hands. They died for this fight."
My eyes swept the hall, daring anyone to argue.
"And I will not be the chief who lets their sacrifice be for nothing."
A few warriors raised their fists in silent agreement. Some looked uneasy—but none dared speak.
I turned to the map table and slammed my fist down on the wood. "We have three days to prepare. In two, Hiccup says he'll give us the location of the nest. That means we march on the third."
"But Chief," one of the elders began cautiously, "if he knows where the nest is—and has lived among the dragons—he might be luring us into a trap."
I stared him down.
"That's a risk I'm willing to take."
"You're willing to risk Berk?!"
"I'm willing to risk everything," I snarled, "if it means ending this war once and for all!"
The room fell silent again.
They didn't understand.
They couldn't.
This wasn't just about the dragons. Or even about Hiccup anymore.
This was about the legacy of Stoick the Vast. The legacy of my father. My grandfather. The fire that carved this land into a kingdom worth protecting. They all fought. They bled.
And now I had one last chance to finish what they started.
"He said he'd be my son again," I muttered to myself. "If we win."
My chest ached. I didn't know if I hated him or still loved him. Both, maybe. He was my son. But he wasn't my boy anymore. Not the scrawny, curious child I once carried on my shoulders.
He was an Alpha now.
A king.
But I'm still a chief.
And I would not bend to my own blood.
"Arm the warriors," I ordered. "Ready every ship. Gather the catapults and the flame-sacks. We'll take the battle to their nest."
Gobber moved beside me again. "Stoick... if we go through with this..."
"I know," I said, eyes burning. "But I'm not turning back. Not now."
The war that had raged through my family line would end with me.
One way or another.