Hiccup's Point of View
The wind howled past him, cold and sharp as he sliced through the skies above Berk.
The sun had nearly vanished beyond the western cliffs, leaving only deep streaks of crimson and purple in its wake. Shadows clung to the treetops below, blanketing the island in dusk.
And through it all, he flew.
Black wings stretched wide.
Silent. Swift.
A phantom of the night.
Hiccup's Night Fury form cut through the clouds like a blade, his scales catching what little moonlight had begun to bleed across the sky. No roars. No trails of fire. Just the quiet, unseen fury of the Alpha watching his kingdom from above.
He was nothing like the weakling they remembered.
And tonight, they would feel that truth inch closer.
But not her.
Not Gothi.
He spotted the hut nestled at the edge of the old forest—the same place it had always been. Roots and vines twisted around the stones, lanterns dimmed with age, smoke faintly rising from the chimney.
He angled down, wings folding in tight.
The ground approached fast.
Then—impact.
He landed soundlessly in the clearing just beyond the hut, his claws digging into the dirt, tail coiling low to disperse the force.
He exhaled once.
Then shifted.
Bones reshaped. Scales retracted. Wings vanished.
Cloth reformed across skin.
Within seconds, he stood barefoot in the underbrush, human once more. Or... close enough to it.
The forest was quiet here. Still.
Not even the birds dared sing.
He stepped up the worn path, stopping just before the old wooden door.
The smell of herbs and old scrolls drifted through the cracks.
Memories stirred.
Smaller feet. Bloodied knees. Bruised ribs.
Hands that never shook with disgust, only gentleness.
He raised a hand.
Knocked.
Three deliberate raps against the wood.
"Gothi," he called softly, but firmly. "It's me."
A pause.
Then he stepped back, waiting.
The one person on this island who had never once betrayed him... was about to be given a choice no one else would ever receive.
And he prayed she understood the weight of it.
The door creaked open without a sound.
Just the scent of dried herbs, woodsmoke, and time spilling into the night air.
Gothi stood there—smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I'd just grown too far from who I used to be.
She didn't speak.
She didn't have to.
I stepped into the hut quietly, ducking slightly beneath the low beam. Everything was just as it had always been: shelves lined with old scrolls and jars, stone bowls filled with dried roots and runes, the faint glow of a lantern flickering near the far table.
I stood in the center of the room, waiting until she shut the door behind us.
Then I turned to her.
"Berk is going to fall."
My voice was quiet. Even. But every word landed like a stone in a still pond.
She watched me carefully, hands folded over her staff.
"They raised themselves too high. Built their pride on the backs of the broken. On me. On my daughter. On all of us who were born different."
I stepped closer. "And now, Stoick's decisions—his ignorance, his arrogance—they're going to cost Berk everything."
Gothi didn't move. Didn't blink.
"But you..." I paused, swallowing the tension in my throat. "You were the only one who never looked at me like a burden."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes softening.
"You were the only one who ever healed me—not just my body, but the part of me that was too tired to ask for help."
I took a breath.
"I'm giving you a choice. The same mercy I'm denying the rest of them."
Silence.
Then—softly, honestly—
"Come with me."
Gothi blinked.
"Please, Gran." The word caught in my chest. "You've always been that to me. Even if I never said it. You're my family, whether you claimed the title or not."
I stepped back.
My eyes locked on hers.
"You don't have to burn with the rest of them. Let me take care of you... one last time."
Still she didn't move.
Still no fear. No flinch.
I could hardly believe it.
So I did what I never did for anyone else.
I showed her.
Claws emerged from my fingertips, my skin shimmered with scales, obsidian black lined with streaks of muted emerald. Horns curled back from my skull, faint firelight flickering in my hair. My pupils narrowed, burning bright—emerald slits that pierced through the gloom.
My wings unfurled from my back like dark blades slicing through the candlelight.
I stood tall, unveiled.
Half human.
Half Night Fury.
Her eyes widened slightly—but not in fear.
In recognition.
And then—
She smiled.
Calm. Sad. Ancient.
She reached into a pocket sewn into her robe, beneath the folds of old wool and leather, and pulled something free.
At first, I couldn't make sense of it.
Then the lantern caught the glint of silver.
A pendant.
Small.
Shaped like a Night Fury.
And in its eye, nestled in the carved socket...
A single, brilliant emerald.
I froze.
She held it out.
My heart thundered once—twice.
"You knew..." I whispered.
Gothi looked up at me, eyes steady.
She had always known.
I stared at the pendant in her hand, that carved Night Fury gleaming softly in the lantern light. The emerald eye glinted like a second heartbeat.
Proof she'd known.
Proof she'd accepted me long before I even knew what I was.
And still—she didn't tremble. Didn't recoil. Her ancient eyes simply watched me... as she always had.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and rough, weathered like cracked stone shaped by time and storm.
"I've always known you weren't meant for this place, Hiccup."
Her words hit harder than any roar or blade.
"Berk's pride, its cruelty, its refusal to see beyond its own reflection—that would always be its downfall. And you? You were a gift they never deserved."
I couldn't speak.
Gothi stepped closer, her gnarled fingers wrapping the chain around the pendant once, then again, before tucking it gently into my hand.
"And yes..." she whispered. "I've always considered you my grandchild."
My heart clenched. Hard.
"I may not have had children of my own," she continued, eyes misting as she looked up at me. "But when you were small, when you stumbled through my door, broken and bruised... I had a purpose. You gave me happiness just by being you."
She placed her hand over mine, the pendant between our palms.
"You were mine in all the ways that mattered. And I'm proud of the dragon you've become."
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Gran..."
She smiled gently. "I know you hold a lot of pain. And rage. And gods know they've earned it."
She looked me up and down, wings and all.
"And I'm glad you finally have a real family. A wife. A child. And..." she arched an eyebrow, "a concubine, apparently."
I blinked. "Wait—what?"
WHACK!
Her cane smacked me square on the side of the head.
"You stud," she snapped. "Being that open with the poor girl, gods help her."
I rubbed my head, laughing under my breath. "She sat on my lap. That's her fault."
"Bold of her," she muttered, clearly trying not to smile.
Then her voice softened again.
"But I'll stay with you."
I stopped laughing.
She looked me dead in the eye.
"Because even I can see it now. The rot Berk is built on. The people I once healed are too far gone. And I refuse to let that rot consume you."
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.
Her hug was small.
But it carried more weight than all the titles and blood I'd taken so far.
"Let me be your grandmother again," she whispered.
I held her close.
"You never stopped being."