Chapter Text
Shade started down the slope without hesitation, his scarred Fury following close behind. The dragon’s limp was clear in the uneven ground, but his pace never faltered. Hiccup lingered at the cliff’s edge, staring after them. Smoke curled faintly from the shelter ahead, the air heavy with the scent of ash and stone.
Toothless nudged him in the side, impatient. Hiccup exhaled slowly. “Alright, bud. Let’s see what our charming host calls home.”
The descent was rough. Loose stones shifted under his boots, sliding down the slope with every step. Once, he slipped, catching himself on Toothless’ shoulder. From below, Shade didn’t turn, though Hiccup swore he heard the faintest scoff.
At the base, the entrance loomed: carved wood braced into the stone, reinforced with salvaged metal scraps. Dragon claws had gouged deep warning marks into the rock. Shade pushed aside a heavy pelt that served as a door flap and vanished inside. His Fury ducked in after him, tail dragging lines in the dirt. Hiccup hesitated only a moment before following. The air shifted instantly—warmer, thicker, tinged with smoke and something metallic. The cavern opened wide, its natural walls blackened but stable. Lanterns swung from hooks, flames casting long, uneven shadows across the stone.
And the space was alive. Not with people.
With dragons. Hiccup froze.
A pair of Terrible Terrors perched along a high ledge, their eyes narrow and watchful. In the corner, a Gronckle dozed, chains lying slack at its feet—not restraint, but choice. Overhead, bats scattered at the intrusion, wings beating against the rock ceiling.
At the center of it all lay the evidence of work—years of it.
Workbenches lined the cavern, cobbled together from wreckage. Tools lay scattered, but never wasted: crude prosthetics scaled for dragon limbs, half-finished nets reinforced with hooks, weapons adapted not for human use, but for dragons’. Every surface bore the marks of survival.
A water trough carved into the stone was fed by a thin stream trickling from the wall. A spit stood over a fire pit, bones cracked and cleaned nearby. Racks of salvaged gear—shields, helmets, scraps of armor—hung in neat rows, each piece reforged for new purposes. It was not chaos. It was deliberate. Efficient.
Hiccup stepped forward, awe and unease warring in his chest. His eyes lingered on a half-built prosthetic tailfin, crude but functional. Not Toothless’—this one was sized for another dragon entirely. “You’re making these… for others,” he realized aloud.
Shade’s jaw tightened. “They deserve a chance to live.”
The words struck deep.
Hiccup looked again, and the lair changed before his eyes. Not just a hideout. Not just survival. A refuge. A workshop. A sanctuary for dragons who had no one else.
It reminded him of something. His mother’s sanctuary—Valka’s hidden world of dragons saved from hunters. But this was harsher, harder. Not gentle. Not open. A fortress, not a haven.
Toothless padded close, his ears flicking with unease. The Terrors hissed at his presence, but Shade silenced them with a sharp whistle.
“This is where you live?” Hiccup asked quietly.
Shade glanced at him, unimpressed. “Where else?”
Hiccup shook his head. “It’s… incredible.”
Shade snorted. “It’s survival. Nothing more.” But Hiccup wasn’t convinced. He saw the thought in every tool, the care in every design. This was more than survival, even if Shade couldn’t admit it.
Shade brushed past a sailcloth curtain patched with rough stitching. The scarred Fury followed, tail dragging a groove in the dirt.
Hiccup trailed after with Toothless close to his side, every step heavier than the last.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The next chamber was smaller, but no less sharp. Supplies lined the walls: dried meat wrapped in cloth, clay jars sealed with wax, bundles of herbs. Dragon scales hung from hooks in neat rows, their surfaces shimmering faintly in the firelight.
“You… keep dragon scales?” Hiccup asked.
Shade crouched at a stone hearth, feeding the fire with measured movements. “They shed them when they heal. Waste not.”
“What do you use them for?”
His gaze flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “Armor. Blades. Repairs. Whatever survival demands.”
Hiccup swallowed hard. In Berk, dragon scales were tokens—trinkets for luck. Here, they were weapons. Tools. Lifelines.
Scarred Toothless lowered himself by the hearth, folding his wings tight. Shade rested a hand against his neck, fingers pressing against scar tissue near his jaw. The Fury leaned into the touch, exhaling deep, tension loosening at last.
The sight caught Hiccup off guard. It wasn’t command. It was comfort. Reassurance.
Shade caught him staring. His lips twitched into something not quite a smile, darker, sharper. “He listens because he knows I’ll keep him alive. Same way I know he’ll keep me alive.”
“That’s not—” Hiccup faltered, biting off the instinct to argue. He looked at the scars across the Fury’s body, the hollowed weight in Shade’s face, and felt a chill in his stomach. Maybe, here, survival was all trust could be.
His gaze drifted to the far wall. Weapons hung there—spears reinforced with dragon bone, axes wrapped in dragon hide, blades hammered from wreckage. Beside them, nets and chains, unmistakably dragon hunter tools.
Hiccup’s chest tightened. “You’ve fought hunters.”
Shade stirred a pot over the fire without looking up. “Fought. Killed.”
Hiccup stiffened. “You kill them?”
“They kill dragons,” Shade said simply. “I return the favor.” The words were flat, but the weight behind them was crushing.
“That’s not how I do things,” Hiccup said quietly.
Shade’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. “Then you don’t do enough.”
The silence that followed pressed like stone. The fire crackled. Smoke curled.
Toothless growled softly, but Hiccup laid a hand on his neck. His thoughts churned, colliding. He wanted to argue—wanted to insist that peace was possible, that humans and dragons could live together. But looking into his double’s face, hardened by years of loss, he knew the words would fall empty.
Shade turned back to the fire, pouring dried meat and herbs into the boiling water. The savory scent filled the chamber, heavy and thick. Finally, he slammed the spoon down against the pot and turned, fury blazing in his eyes. “Don’t pretend you understand me.”
Hiccup flinched.
Shade’s voice sharpened, each word like a hammer strike. “You had Berk. You had a father who came back for you. A tribe that cheered your name. I had ash. Silence. A world that moved on without me.” His breath shook, anger barely restrained. “Don’t stand there and tell me what I’ve done. Don’t you dare.”
The air hung heavy. The hearth spat sparks. Hiccup’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue. Wanted to say it didn’t have to be this way. But as he stared at his own face twisted by grief and survival, he knew—if the world had turned just a little differently, this could have been him.
Toothless pressed close, grounding him.
Shade turned sharply away, shoulders rigid. The only sound was the bubbling pot and the rasp of scarred breath from the Fury curled beside the fire.
Hiccup swallowed hard. This wasn’t just a lair.
Not just a home.
It was a cage. A cage built from survival, bitterness, and pain.
And for the first time, Hiccup wondered if he could survive inside it.