Chapter 1: Ashes
Chapter Text
The firestorm is still burning when he wakes. Smoke chokes the air, acrid and bitter, pressing into his lungs with every shallow breath. His chest burns. His throat feels raw. For a moment he doesn’t even remember what happened—just fragments: the Red Death’s towering wings, the rush of heat, the way the sky seemed to collapse around them in fire and shadow. Then memory strikes with sharp, merciless clarity. Toothless. His body jerks upright, but pain lances down his leg, forcing him to crumple back to the scorched earth. A scream tears from his throat, half in shock, half in horror when he looks down. His left foot is gone. The world tilts. He tastes bile. He almost passes out right there, but instinct claws him back. Not yet. He can’t. “Toothless…” His voice is a rasp, nothing more. The dragon lies crumpled a few feet away, dark wings half-burned, the ground blackened beneath him. His scales, once gleaming with the sleek beauty of night, are marred now by ugly welts of molten red and white. One side of his face is raw, his eye blistered shut. For a heartbeat, he thinks he’s dead. “No, no, no, no—please, please—” He drags himself forward, the ruined stump of his leg scraping across scorched dirt. Every nerve screams in agony, but panic drowns it out. He reaches Toothless, presses his hands to the dragon’s heaving chest. There’s a heartbeat. Weak, but there. Relief crashes through him, but it’s short-lived. A groan slips from Toothless, one sound of pain before his body shudders. The wings twitch, curling inward instinctively. And then something strange happens. With a weak, desperate motion, Toothless wraps one mangled wing around him, dragging him closer. The talons catch on his ruined leg. Pain explodes, white-hot, as if the world itself splits open beneath him. He doesn’t even realize he’s screaming until his throat gives out. Darkness slams into him.
𓆩⟡𓆪
When he wakes again, the battlefield is silent. No voices. No footsteps. The air hangs heavy, dead with ash. Berk is gone. His people are gone. His father… gone. They thought he died. They thought Toothless died. They left them here. And maybe, in a way, they’re not wrong. Something inside him cracks. Hiccup of Berk—the boy who begged to belong—burns away with the ashes. What rises in his place is colder. Harder. Not Hiccup. Not anymore. Shade.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The days blur after that. He drifts in and out of consciousness, sustained only by sheer stubbornness and Toothless’ presence. He doesn’t remember the moment he realized the dragon was blind on one side—only the endless hours of trying to rouse him, the terror every time the great chest stilled too long between breaths. His leg throbs endlessly, infected, raw. He doesn’t have the tools to treat it, doesn’t have Gobber’s gruff comfort, doesn’t have Astrid’s steadying hand. He has no one. No one but Toothless. And Toothless, gods help them both, is broken too. One eye useless. A wing tattered beyond repair. His tailfin gone in the firestorm. They’re the same now, Shade realizes one night when he’s huddled in the wreckage of the forest, shivering from fever. Both crippled. Both abandoned. Both monsters, in the eyes of Berk. It should kill him. Maybe part of him wishes it would. But it doesn’t. Instead, something hardens in him. Something cold and relentless. He builds. With trembling hands and scraps scavenged from the battlefield, he crafts a crude peg leg. It’s ugly, awkward, but it holds his weight when he leans. Toothless watches him with his one good eye, distrustful at first, then resigned. And when Shade begins sketching out a new tailfin, his dragon presses his scarred snout against his chest in the smallest, most broken gesture of trust. “We’ll make it work,” Shade whispers, voice shaking but fierce. “We’ll survive. Even if it kills us.” It almost does. The first flight is a disaster. Toothless stumbles, crashes through trees, his ruined wing unable to hold steady. Shade is thrown, body bruised and battered against the ground. But he gets back up. Builds again. Tests again. Tries until his hands bleed, until Toothless growls and snaps and finally—finally—they rise into the air. Not like before. Never like before. But enough.
𓆩⟡𓆪
They don’t go back to Berk. Shade tells himself it’s because he can’t, because they left him for dead, because they’ll never understand what Toothless is now. But deep down, he knows the truth. He doesn’t belong there anymore. He’s seen the way dragons suffer. He’s seen the chains, the fear, the endless battles. And he can’t turn his back on that. So he becomes something else. A shadow in the sky. A rider cloaked in night, with a dragon whose roar chills hunters to their bones. He frees the captured. He burns the cages. He kills when he has to. Toothless kills when commanded. The humans whisper about him. The Night Rider. The boy who turned his back on his tribe to stand with dragons. The traitor. The savior. The monster. Sometimes, when the firelight flickers too bright, he still dreams of Berk. Of Astrid’s laugh, of Gobber’s forge, of his father’s heavy hand on his shoulder. But then he wakes, and the world reminds him what he’s lost. And what he’s become.
𓆩⟡𓆪
Years pass in fire and blood. The legend grows. But in the quiet moments—when Toothless presses close, when the night is calm and the stars gleam—Shade lets the mask slip. He runs his fingers over the dragon’s scars, whispers words he can’t say to anyone else. They saved each other, but they also broke each other. And he wonders, sometimes, if there’s another version of him out there. A version who never lost everything. A version who still believes in home. He doesn’t know that he’ll meet that version soon. He doesn’t know it will change everything.
Chapter 2: The Storm's Gift
Chapter Text
The day begins with smoke. Shade wakes to the stench of it, acrid and sharp, curling through the damp air of the cave he and Toothless have claimed as shelter. It clings to everything—his leathers, his hair, even the metal of his crude prosthetic, the hinges squealing as he shifts upright. His head throbs, but that’s nothing new. Pain is just another part of living now, woven into his bones as surely as the scarred dragon at his side. The Fury stirs beside him, scarred face glinting faintly in the gray light of morning. His blind eye is closed, the other fixed on Shade with a heavy, weary awareness. They don’t need words. They haven’t needed them for years. “Hunters,” Shade mutters, dragging his battered body into motion. His voice is rough, burned raw long ago from smoke and screaming. He tests the straps of the new tailfin, the crude leather rig bolted into place. “Three camps this week. We can’t let them keep it up.” The dragon growls, low and guttural, pressing his scarred head into Shade’s chest like he always does before a raid. A ritual. A promise. Together, or not at all.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The first camp is easy. Too easy. The hunters are sloppy, too drunk on ale to notice the shadow circling overhead. Shade rides the Fury’s back like an extension of his own body, fingers clenched tight on the prosthetic rig, breath steady despite the weight pressing on his chest. He doesn’t hesitate. He hasn’t in years. One word is all it takes. “Toothless.” The dragon answers with black fire, streaking down in a spiral that splits the night apart. Cages shatter as dragons scatter in panic and joy, wings flashing against the dark sky. A hunter screams, the sound cut off in a wet gurgle as fire devours him whole. Shade doesn’t flinch. He used to, long ago, when death still felt heavy. Now he watches, sharp-eyed, calculating. He moves fast to cut a Nadder’s bonds, his blade slick with blood by the time she bolts free, wings beating like drums in the storming air. When it’s over, the camp is nothing but embers. The hunters lie broken. The freed scatter into the skies. Another scar on the world. Another tally in the ledger of survival.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The second camp fights harder. These hunters are prepared. Nets soaked in oil, arrows tipped with steel, chains heavy enough to drag down even a Nightmare. Shade feels his Fury stumble mid-dive, a net tangling across his half-burnt wing, and rage ignites in his chest, so sudden it nearly blinds him. “Kill them,” he snarls, voice fraying into something feral. The dragon obeys. Always. He moves like death given flesh, black fire boiling from his throat, talons rending men and timber alike. Shade joins him, blade flashing, striking down the ones who come too close. His prosthetic creaks and groans with every lunge, every desperate strike, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. By the end, the ground is soaked. Blood and oil, smoke and iron. Some of it theirs. Most of it human. Shade leans against Toothless, chest heaving, skin burning with sweat and soot. His hands shake, but not from fear. From exhaustion. From fury. No chains remain. No cages. No dragons left crying. Only silence, broken by the hiss of fire devouring what’s left. It should feel like victory. It doesn’t.
𓆩⟡𓆪
By nightfall, the world feels heavier. His body aches with every motion. Toothless limps, his injured wing dragging slightly, the blind side twitching as if haunted by phantoms. They’ve won, but at what cost? They eat little—what they can scavenge, mostly dried fish and scraps—and retreat to the cliffs overlooking the sea. The horizon is endless, black water stretching into darker sky, a void that mirrors the hollow in Shade’s chest. He stares at it, hands still stained red, the smell of blood and smoke clinging stubbornly to his skin. He wonders if this is all he is now: a shadow, a monster, a rider cloaked in night who tears through cages and camps until the world itself forgets the boy he once was. “Toothless,” he murmurs, his voice cracking despite himself. The dragon leans against him, scarred face heavy against his shoulder. “We’re all that’s left. We can’t stop. Not ever.” The Fury purrs faintly, a broken rumbling sound that once held joy but now carries only exhaustion. Shade closes his eyes and presses his forehead to his dragon’s scarred hide. For a moment, he almost believes they’re enough. Almost.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The storm begins with no warning. It rises sudden and violent, tearing across the sky with lightning unnatural and bright. The sea churns black, waves slamming against the cliffs, spray soaking them where they stand. Toothless growls, wings flaring wide despite his scars, his body coiled protectively in front of Shade. “What the fuck—” Shade starts, but the words die in his throat when the sky splits open. Not lightning. Not fire. Something else. A tear. The world itself rips apart above the sea, jagged edges of light crackling like broken glass. From it, something falls. No—someone. Shade stares, frozen, as the figure crashes into the sand below. A body, tangled in nets, coughing up seawater, struggling weakly to rise. His first thought is hunter. His second is spy. His third— No. His breath catches. His stomach lurches. The boy looks up, and it’s like staring into a mirror. Not exact. Not quite. The hair is shorter, neater. The face is younger, softer, untouched by years of smoke and blood. The prosthetic gleams, cleaner, crafted with care. But the eyes—gods, the eyes are his own. Wide, desperate, alive. “What the fuck is this?” Shade snarls, drawing his knife before he even realizes he’s moving. His voice is sharp, vicious, laced with disbelief. “Some trick? Some hunter’s illusion?” The boy flinches, hands raised in frantic surrender. “Wait—wait! I don’t—I’m not—” His gaze shifts, catches on the dragon at Shade’s side. “Toothless?” The scarred Fury growls, baring jagged teeth, his one good eye burning with distrust. The boy recoils, horror flashing across his face. “No… no, that’s—oh gods…” His eyes flick back to the rider. To Shade. To himself. “I’m you,” the boy blurts out, voice breaking. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but—I’m you.” Shade’s grip tightens on the knife, fury and confusion tangling like thorns in his chest. His dragon circles closer, a shadow of fire and teeth, ready to strike. The storm rages overhead. The sea crashes below. And for the first time in years, Shade feels something more dangerous than rage. Hope.
Chapter 3: The Rift
Chapter Text
The morning begins like any other on Berk. The air smells of salt and smoke, waves crashing against stone mixing with the cries of dragons wheeling overhead. Berk has changed since the fall of the Red Death—changed in ways Hiccup still marvels at. Where once dragons were enemies, now they are companions, neighbors, family. The village bustles with noise—people shouting, hammers ringing, dragons squabbling over fish. It’s chaotic. It’s messy. It’s home. Hiccup sits astride Toothless, sketchbook balanced awkwardly on his knee as they glide above the rooftops. The wind whips his hair into his eyes, but he ignores it, charcoal scratching quick lines across the page. A Monstrous Nightmare curled on a roofbeam. A Gronckle dozing in the grass. The sweep of Toothless’ wings beneath him. “You know, you’d make this a lot easier if you’d just hold still for once,” he mutters. Toothless flicks his tail in mock annoyance, rumbling a laugh. Then, just to spite him, he rolls suddenly in the air, flipping them upside down. “Whoa—! Okay, fine, fine!” Hiccup yelps, clutching the sketchbook to his chest as the charcoal goes skittering away. Toothless rights them with a triumphant warble, smug as ever. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Hiccup sighs, smiling despite himself. The dragon only purrs.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The rest of the morning blurs by. Gobber has him testing new saddle riggings. Astrid insists on sparring to keep him sharp. Stoick drags him into another round of chieftain lessons that Hiccup tries—and mostly fails—to pay attention to. He tries, he really does. But his mind wanders, as it always does, to dragons. Dragons are his world now. His passion. His purpose. He sketches them endlessly, catalogs their habits, dreams of building something greater than Berk has ever seen: a library, a sanctuary, a place where dragons and humans can live as equals. Sometimes, when the forge is quiet and the village finally sleeps, he wonders if he can really do it. If he can lead. If he can be the chief Berk deserves. But then Toothless nudges him with his nose, and the doubt fades, if only for a little while.
𓆩⟡𓆪
It’s late afternoon when he first notices the storm. At first, just dark clouds gathering over the horizon, nothing unusual. But the minutes pass, and unease twists in his gut. The sky churns blacker than it should, lightning sparking not white but violet, unnatural and sharp. The wind shifts strangely, pulling instead of pushing. Toothless growls low, wings beating harder as if resisting something unseen. “Yeah,” Hiccup murmurs, eyes narrowing. “That’s not normal.” By the time they circle back over Berk, villagers are already pointing, shouting, herding dragons toward shelter. The storm moves too fast, eating the sky with jagged cracks of light. And then the air tears. Not thunder. Not lightning. A tear in the world itself. A jagged seam of blinding light rips across the sky. Toothless screeches, twisting midair, fighting the pull dragging at them both. “What the—hold on!” Hiccup yells, clinging to the saddle. His prosthetic slips against the stirrup as wind howls, clawing at his chest. “Toothless, don’t let—don’t—!” The dragon roars, straining, but it’s no use. The rift opens wider, swallowing everything. Berk vanishes beneath them, the ocean gone, the world itself tearing away. For a heartbeat, Hiccup can’t breathe. There is only light. Only weightlessness. Only Toothless’ terrified cries echoing in the void. And then—impact.
𓆩⟡𓆪
He slams into sand hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Saltwater burns his nose and throat as he coughs, tangled in a net, thrashing weakly until he rips himself free. His whole body aches. His head spins. Toothless crashes beside him, snarling at the storm still raging overhead. Hiccup drags himself upright, chest heaving, mind racing—what just happened? Where are they? And then he feels it. Eyes on him. He looks up—and freezes. A figure stands on the cliffs. Not a stranger. Not a reflection. Him. The hair is longer, wild. The face is scarred, hardened. The body leaner, wrapped in dragonhide patched with burns and blood. The prosthetic is crude where his own is sleek. And the dragon at his side—Toothless, but not Toothless. Scarred. Half-blind. Growling like a predator ready to kill. “What the—” Hiccup chokes, stumbling back. The other him snarls, knife flashing. His voice is rough, gravel dragged through fire and smoke. “What the fuck is this? Some trick? Some hunter’s illusion?” Toothless growls low, ready to defend. The scarred Fury growls back, a sound deeper, darker, older. Hiccup’s heart pounds, dry mouth working before his brain can catch up. He blurts the only thing that makes sense. The only truth in this impossible moment. “I’m you!” The words hang in the storm-heavy air, fragile and absurd. And as lightning cracks across the rift-torn sky, Hiccup stares into his own broken reflection—and realizes his world has just split wide open.
Chapter 4: Reflections in the Storm
Chapter Text
The storm raged as if the sky itself were tearing open. Lightning split the horizon into jagged scars of violet, waves crashing hard against the beach and throwing sheets of spray into the air. The wind howled like a living thing, lashing through the trees and sand, carrying with it the stench of smoke and salt. Shade stood in the chaos like he belonged to it, knife clenched in his fist, its blade catching brief flashes of light. His dragon—his broken Fury—loomed at his side, a hulking shadow with one eye burning, lips curled back over shattered fangs. And in front of him, tangled in hunter’s netting and coughing seawater onto the sand… was himself.
The boy clawed free of the ropes, stumbling to his knees, gasping against the storm. He wasn’t a mirror—no, this one was younger, softer, cleaner—but the resemblance was undeniable. Same wiry frame. Same sharp nose. Same unruly hair plastered to his forehead. But it was the eyes that gutted him. Wide, green, alive. Not hollowed out by ash and years of betrayal. Bright. Hopeful. The way Shade’s once were—before Berk left him to die.
Shade’s grip tightened until the leather hilt groaned. His voice rasped low, hoarse with disbelief and fury. “What the fuck is this?” The boy flinched at his tone, raising his hands quickly, palms open in surrender. His dragon—a sleek, whole Night Fury—had already planted himself in front of him, teeth bared, wings spread wide like a shield. The unscarred Fury growled low, a rumble of warning that shook the sand.
Shade snarled, stepping closer, boots dragging through the wet beach. His Fury mirrored him, shoulders hunched, tail lashing, growl building into something sharp and broken. The two Furies circled, snarls clashing like storm-thunder—one whole, one ruined.
The boy’s voice cracked through the roar of the waves. “I—I don’t know what’s happening!” His words tumbled over themselves, raw with panic. “But I’m not—look, I’m not your enemy!”
Shade spat the words like venom. “You expect me to believe this? Some hunter’s trick? They think sending me a pretty ghost will make me hesitate?” The boy shook his head, frantic, drenched hair whipping across his forehead. Lightning flared, catching on his prosthetic leg—smooth, polished, forged with skill and care. Shade’s gaze snagged there, his stomach twisting in bitter knots. His own prosthetic was a jagged thing of rust and nails, cobbled together from scraps. Every step was a reminder of what he had lost. Seeing the boy’s shining leg was like being stabbed all over again.
“I’m not a trick!” the boy shouted back, and for all the fear trembling in his voice, there was steel beneath it. “I don’t know how I got here—but I’m real. I’m me. I—” His breath hitched, but he forced the words out anyway. “I’m you.”
The claim slammed into Shade like a blade to the ribs. For a heartbeat, his knife wavered. His Fury growled louder, pressing close to steady him, to remind him. Survival. Always survival. Shade snarled, spitting the weakness out of his throat. “Don’t you dare say that.” The boy faltered, but his eyes never left Shade’s face. Cursed, unbroken eyes—so bright it hurt to look at them.
“I’m telling the truth,” he said, softer now, almost pleading. “Look at me. Look at Toothless. We’re the same. Just… different.” The storm cracked overhead, violet light spilling across the beach. Shade’s chest heaved, his breaths shallow and ragged. Every instinct screamed to end it here—to drive the blade into the boy’s chest, silence the impossible truth before it took root. Before it festered. But his arm refused to move. Not when the boy’s gaze held not fear, not hate—
—but something far more dangerous.
Hope.
And hope had killed Shade long before the hunters ever tried. The silence stretched, taut and fragile. Toothless snarled, stepping forward, green eyes burning. The scarred Fury answered with a roar torn raw from his throat, one eye blazing. Their growls clashed like clashing swords, shaking the air.
Hiccup swallowed hard, voice tight with fear but sharpened with resolve. “Call him off.”
Shade’s jaw clenched. “You first.” Neither dragon yielded. The storm shrieked overhead, the ground quaking beneath them as the tension snapped at last. Shade’s eyes narrowed, hardening into something sharp and merciless. “Fine,” he said, his voice flat, final. “Have it your way.”
The whistle cut sharp through the storm. The scarred Fury lunged. And Toothless launched forward to meet him.
The world exploded into motion.
Chapter Text
The forest erupts with snarls and the thunder of wings.
Toothless launches himself forward, a blur of muscle and fury. The scarred Fury meets him head-on, their bodies colliding with a bone-shaking crack. Claws rake, teeth snap, tails whip through the ash-choked air. The ground quakes beneath the violence. They slam together again, rolling across the forest floor, scattering blackened bark and brittle branches. Ash rises in choking clouds, drifting like snow around them.
Hiccup stumbles back, heart hammering in his chest. “Toothless!” His voice is lost in the roar of dragons. The other Hiccup—Shade—doesn’t flinch. His eyes are locked on the fight, hard and calculating. He looks as though he’s measuring every movement, every strike, every weakness. Cold. Detached. The scarred Fury’s tail lashes like a whip, striking Toothless hard across the flank. The sleek dragon cries out, staggered, and Shade’s dragon lunges for the throat.
“Toothless!” Hiccup’s voice breaks into desperation. But Toothless retaliates, fury sparking in his chest. He fires a plasma blast point-blank. The scarred Fury twists at the last instant, the bolt missing his heart by inches. It scorches past and detonates into the brittle trees, sending flames leaping up their blackened trunks. Fire licks the forest hungrily, smoke billowing into the storm-soaked air.
Hiccup lunges forward, fumbling for his fire-sword. “Stop them before they kill each other!” Shade doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “If yours is too weak to survive,” he says flatly, “better you learn now.”
Hiccup whirls on him, fury igniting hot in his chest. “Weak? He’s saved my life more times than I can count!” Shade’s gaze never leaves the fight. “And he still will. If you stop coddling him.”
The dragons crash together again, Toothless shrieking as the scarred Fury slams him against a tree. The trunk splinters, cracking down the middle. Toothless claws back, snapping, wings battering at his attacker.
Hiccup doesn’t think. His hands move on instinct, striking the sword against the spark-stone. Blue flame erupts along the blade, humming through the smoke. He charges between them. “ENOUGH!”
The flaming blade arcs through the air, searing bright, and the dragons recoil. Toothless stumbles back, snarling, smoke curling from his maw. The scarred Fury crouches low, muscles coiled, but Shade’s whistle cuts sharp. “Stand down.”
The Fury snarls one last time, teeth bared, before pulling back with visible reluctance. His one good eye never leaves Toothless, hatred burning hot and raw. The forest quivers in the aftermath. Ash and smoke hang thick, smothering the air. The smell of scorched wood seeps into every breath.
Hiccup keeps his sword raised, blue fire painting his face in harsh light. His chest heaves. Shade studies him in silence, that good eye narrowing like a blade. Not shocked. Not afraid. Just measuring. Picking him apart piece by piece.
“You don’t belong here,” Shade says finally.
“No kidding.” Hiccup doesn’t lower the blade. “Where is here?”
Shade’s mouth twists into a humorless smirk. “A place you don’t want to be.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” The scarred Fury growls low, pacing restlessly. Toothless mirrors him, ears flat, tail twitching like a fuse ready to ignite.
Hiccup’s throat is tight, his chest aching with questions that knot too quickly to untangle. His eyes flick from Shade’s scarred face to his ruined dragon, to the burned forest pressing in around them. “You’re me,” he says, his voice rough with disbelief. “You have to be. But… how?”
Shade’s gaze hardens. His voice drops into something sharper, crueler. “Does it matter? You’re alive. I’m alive. That’s bad enough.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!” Hiccup snaps.
Shade steps closer, the movement controlled, predatory. “It doesn’t need to.” The silence between them stretches, heavy and frayed. Rain hisses against the flames still burning in the trees.
Hiccup swallows, forcing steel into his voice even as doubt eats at him. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Shade scoffs. “Then you’re softer than I thought.”
“Soft?” Hiccup bristles, fury sparking again. “I’ve fought for dragons, for Berk, for peace. What have you done? Hide in a burned forest with your—” He cuts himself off, biting down hard on the words.
Too late.
The scarred Fury snarls at the insult, and Toothless growls in response. Shade’s eye flares with sudden warning. “Careful.”
Hiccup’s jaw clenches. “Fine. Then tell me why you’re here. Why you look like me.”
Shade leans closer, his shadow cutting through the firelight. His voice is low, raw, dripping venom. “You really want to know?”
“Yes,” Hiccup forces out.
Shade’s gaze burns into him, bitter and unrelenting. “Because I’m what you become when no one comes back for you.” The words land like a hammer blow. Hiccup freezes, stomach lurching. His mind flashes—back to the Red Death, the choking smoke, the burning ruins. His father’s arms around him when he woke. His friends’ voices calling his name. But what if they hadn’t? What if he had opened his eyes to nothing? The thought knots in his chest like a snare, choking off his breath.
Shade doesn’t wait for his answer. He jerks his chin toward the trees. “Come on. You’ll die out here.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Shade shrugs, sharp and dismissive. “Fine. Stay. The hunters will find you before nightfall. Or worse.”
Hiccup blinks, pulled from the spiral. “Hunters?” Shade doesn’t respond. He turns, striding into the trees without a glance back. His dragon follows, limping but still radiating the predatory weight of something that has survived far too much.
Toothless growls low, green eyes tracking them, muscles tense. Hiccup hesitates, torn between pride and the gnawing edge of fear. He glances at Toothless. “What do you think, bud?” Toothless flicks his ears, gaze never leaving the scarred Fury, but nudges Hiccup’s shoulder with his nose.
Hiccup exhales, shaky. “Yeah. I don’t like it either.”
But he follows.
𓆩⟡𓆪
The forest closes around them, darker with every step. Ash crunches underfoot, clinging to their boots, bitter on the tongue. The storm muffles above, the world here thicker, heavier. Shade doesn’t look back once. He moves soundless, surefooted, as though the forest itself bends for him. Hiccup grips his sword low but ready, every nerve screaming that this is wrong.
The walk stretches on, the air pressing heavier. The trees twist black, scorched long ago, yet never regrown. The faint tang of old fire hangs over everything, clinging to skin and breath. At last, Shade halts. The cliffside looms ahead, half-swallowed by shadow and ash. Built into the rock is a structure—not a home, not a village. A fortress carved from ruin. Crude walls reinforced with stone and scavenged wood. Smoke curls from hidden vents, slipping into the storm unnoticed.
The scarred Fury slips inside first, tail brushing the ground like a warning. Shade turns, his gaze locking onto Hiccup with a weight that freezes him in place. His good eye glints like steel. “Welcome to nowhere,” he says flatly. Hiccup stares, heart hammering. From the dark within the cliff, eyes glimmer back at him—dozens. Wings rustle, claws scrape stone.
Dragons. Scarred. Broken. Alive.
Not a sanctuary.
Not a home.
A war camp. And for the first time, Hiccup understands—this isn’t just another world. It’s a reflection.
And the reflection hates him.
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.