Hiccup's Point of View
I walked ahead of them, eyes fixed forward.
Every step felt heavier than the last—but not from dread. From focus. The weight of intention. The calm before the inferno.
Behind me, I could hear the familiar footfalls—Luna's soft and certain, Astrid's a bit uneven on the hard-packed dirt, and Freya's light and playful despite the weight in the air. She didn't fully understand what today meant.
Good.
Let her innocence last a little longer.
Veil moved beside me, silent as a shadow, her changewing form flickering like light through mist. She vanished into the darkened corners of the path the moment the arena came into sight.
She knew her task.
Stay close. Stay hidden. If anything—anything—threatened Freya, it would vanish into the void before it ever touched her.
Because tomorrow, Stoick's grand plan began.
And I would not risk my daughter to it.
Gods, men, dragons—it didn't matter. If the choice was between her and the world, I'd burn the world down smiling.
Anyone stupid enough to follow Stoick's banner?
Their lives already had expiration dates.
I'd just make sure they arrived early.
As we crested the hill, the arena came into full view—already brimming with life. A pulsing, watching hive of bodies. Villagers crowded the stands like vultures waiting to see blood. And not just the regular rabble—no, Stoick had gone all in. Warriors where all quipped for battle, brought in as his muscle, lined the top row. Their armor clinked, faces hard, hands resting on weapons they wouldn't live long enough to draw if things went wrong.
They wanted to see what I could do.
They wanted to test me.
Fine.
I'd show them.
Luna stepped beside me, scooping Freya up easily and resting her on her hip. Our daughter giggled, oblivious to the way the crowd gave them a wide berth.
Of course they did.
Whether it was on Stoick's order or just their instinct for self-preservation, no one wanted to stand too close to her.
Because even in human form, Luna didn't look calm. She looked coiled. Poised. The kind of woman who could smile one moment and rip out your throat the next.
Which... wasn't far off.
Astrid caught up behind us, her eyes flicking around the crowd. She was steady, but I caught the moment she frowned—looking down at her bare feet.
"Uh... Luna?" she said. "Where are my boots?"
Luna blinked.
"Oh," she said flatly. "I forgot."
"You forgot—?"
"I don't need them," she said with a shrug. "So why care?"
Astrid groaned.
I sighed. "She's still my queen," I muttered, "but when I told her to get you something fitting, I meant finish the job. Luna, get her some boots next time. Ones that actually complement the outfit."
Luna just grinned. "Yes, dear~."
Astrid glared at the both of us, but I could tell she was trying not to laugh. Despite everything, that fire in her chest was growing more stable. She belonged here now—even if her toes were freezing.
We reached the outer gate of the arena. The air felt heavier here, thicker with breath and expectation.
Luna turned without a word and began climbing the stands with Freya in her arms, the crowd parting around her like shadows retreating from flame.
I watched them go.
Veil followed behind, unseen but ever-present. I could sense her.
Freya was safe.
Now it was time for the next step.
Astrid fell in beside me as we entered the inner gate. The other teens were already inside—Snotlout, Fishlegs, the twins. All of them giving us a very wide margin.
Smart.
They didn't speak.
Not to us. Not to anyone.
They just watched.
Because they felt it too.
Today... something was coming.
And I didn't plan to disappoint.
Gobber's voice rang out across the arena, full of forced enthusiasm and pride he didn't earn.
"Right, listen up, you lot! We'll be startin' today's test with a good old friend—yer favorite punching bag, the Gronckle! Let's show the Chief how far you've come in dragon killing since he left, eh?"
The crowd stirred with interest. The teens tensed, each of them straightening as if they hadn't been shifting nervously moments before.
Gobber continued, "And when we're done, Gothi will decide who gets the honor of killin' the Monstrous Nightmare at the end of the week—and finally graduate from our dragon slaying lessons!"
The cheers from the other teens were loud and excited.
Snotlout punched the air like he'd already won.
The twins started arguing over who would kill the Nightmare and who would steal the bones.
Fishlegs looked like he wanted to puke but was trying not to show it.
Astrid and I?
We just sighed at the same time.
I glanced sideways at her. "Want to go sit? This is already a waste of our time."
She nodded gratefully. "Please."
Above us, Gobber yanked a rusted iron lever built into the arena's viewing ledge. The sound of grinding gears echoed as one of the massive wooden doors built into the arena wall began to creak open.
Dust puffed out into the air as heavy chains rattled and parted.
From the shadows beyond, the Gronckle emerged—slow but cautious, wings tight to its sides, eyes wide. It looked more annoyed than aggressive, but it knew what this was. The moment the sun hit its face, it snarled.
The teens scrambled to get into formation.
I watched them from the sideline with mild interest.
To their credit, they were better than when I left. Their footwork was more stable. Their formations held a bit longer.
Still weak.
The twins? Chaos incarnate. The less said, the better.
I shook my head and sat down at the edge of the arena on a stone bench.
Astrid followed and was just about to sit beside me when a sudden, unreasonable urge surged in my chest.
My hand moved before my thoughts could catch up.
I reached out, grabbed her gently by the wrist—and pulled her down into my lap.
She landed there with a shocked gasp, hands instinctively grabbing at my shoulders for balance.
Her face turned crimson.
Her breath caught.
The crowd froze.
I leaned in slightly and murmured, "Comfortable?"
Astrid didn't answer with words. She nodded once, still beet red, her body stiff with tension that was slowly... relaxing.
The arena was silent.
Everyone had seen.
The villagers.
The teens.
The warriors.
Even the elders.
Mouths hung open. Jaws dropped.
Gobber, halfway through a shout, went completely blank.
Even Stoick—Stoick the Vast himself—stood wide-eyed, stunned. The mask of chieftainly confidence cracked clean down the middle.
But no one—no one—looked more uncertain than the crowd when their eyes slowly drifted to her.
Luna.
My queen.
My mate.
She was seated in the stands with Freya nestled in her lap. Freya had a braid half-finished, flower petals tangled in her hair, and Luna was gently running claws through the strands while purring like a content predator.
Not a care in the world.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't scowl.
Didn't growl.
She just smiled faintly and kept playing with Freya's hair, her silver eyes occasionally flicking toward us with quiet amusement and—if you looked close enough—approval.
The villagers didn't know what to make of it.
The woman I claimed as my wife, queen of fury and death... wasn't angry.
Freya looked around, confused at the silence.
"Why's everyone staring?" she asked.
Luna simply whispered something to her, and Freya lit up again, quickly distracted.
And that's when the fear really began to spread.
Because they realized...
I could take whoever I wanted.
Right in front of them.
And not even my wife would object.
Stoick's Point of View
The arena had gone deathly quiet.
Not because of the dragon.
Not because of the Gronckle lumbering into the sun-drenched circle like it had already accepted its fate.
No—this silence came from him.
From Hiccup.
From what he just did.
Stoick stood at the edge of the chief's stand, hands clenched behind his back, gaze locked on the scene below. Hiccup had pulled Astrid into his lap. In front of the village. In front of him. And just like that—without a word—he'd shifted the power in the arena.
Not with force.
With ease.
With control.
As if he owned the arena.
As if he knew no one could stop him.
Beside him, Gobber scratched his head awkwardly and muttered, "Well, that's... bold."
Stoick didn't move. His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. "What is she thinking?"
"Who? Astrid?" Gobber asked, blinking.
"Yes. That girl. I had her spying on him. So why in the gods' names is she acting like she belongs in his arms?"
Gobber gave a shrug that didn't come with much confidence. "Closer she gets, the more she can learn about him, right? She's playin' the long game. If Hiccup's distracted, he's easier to read."
Stoick didn't answer right away.
He stared at her—at Astrid—sitting on Hiccup's lap, cheeks flushed, but not moving. Not resisting. Not looking uncomfortable.
She looked... content.
Too content.
And Luna—Hiccup's wive, the just kept playing with the child's hair like nothing happened. No snarling. No rage. No claws. Just calm.
That didn't make sense either.
None of this made sense.
He growled low in his throat. "Where did he get those clothes for her?"
Gobber blinked again. "Clothes?"
"Yes," Stoick said, gesturing toward the arena. "Astrid. That dress. That armor. You think that was lying around in her home like it was waiting for this moment?"
Gobber looked again, and for the first time, even he hesitated. The dress wasn't anything Astrid ever wore. Black and form-fitted, detailed in ways that showed wealth, planning, and care. A battle dress, yes—but regal. Tailored. Designed to impress.
To claim.
"I doubt she had that in her closet," Stoick muttered. "So where did he get it? Why did she wear it?"
Gobber shifted beside him, less sure now. "Maybe he's just... dressing her up like bait? A way to manipulate her?"
Stoick's eyes never left the pair in the arena.
His instincts, honed through war and blood and years of reading men, whispered something darker.
This wasn't manipulation.
This wasn't control.
It looked too natural.
Too familiar.
Too real.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Because if Astrid wasn't pretending...
Then Hiccup might not be playing a game at all.
He might just be winning.