"It's been a few months since I first met my mother—truly met her," I thought. "Not just as the warm voice who whispered lullabies into the crib, or the gentle hands that rocked me to sleep, but as the fierce woman who would later face down a dragon with nothing but her will and a sword to protect her children."
"My name now is Erik Haddock. It still feels strange—like wearing clothes that don't quite fit. In a past life, I had another name, another face, another world. But that's just a whisper now, drifting further with each passing day. I've been reborn into a body that trembles to lift its own head, and yet inside... inside, I am still me. Still whole. Still haunted. I'm the twin of Hiccup Haddock, and even now, our lives feel bound by threads I can't begin to unravel."
"Life in this new world has been good—in a strange, sticky, milk-stained kind of way. The biggest challenge so far? Uncontrollable bathroom breaks. Dignity doesn't die slowly. It vanishes the moment you soil yourself and someone cheers you for it."
"But I've learned to adapt."
"While my mother takes me and Hiccup for walks, I listen. I memorize. I absorb. This island—Berk—is carved from the bones of giants and battered by the wrath of storms. A place where life clings stubbornly to jagged cliffs and splintered wood. The Berkians call it home, and they are as weathered and unyielding as the rocks beneath their feet. Their homes are scarred, their weapons always within reach, their laughter edged with defiance. These are not soft people. They are forged by hardship."
"My father... Stoick the Vast. Chief of Berk. A mountain of a man whose every footstep sounds like judgment. Even from another room, wrapped in wool and drifting into dreams, I can hear his voice at the dinner table—booming, resolute—as he speaks of me. Of who I must become. Of what is expected."
I couldn't help but smirk. "Not because I find it amusing, but because I already know—I want more than to swing an axe and scream at dragons. I carry intelligence. Knowledge from another world, another life. I have a system."
"Yes, a system. A literal interface in my mind. Cold, efficient, mechanical—yet it is mine. Since my first coherent thought, I've used 'Identify' on everyone I could. And what I've learned? These Berkians are beasts in human skin. Their strength could rival myths. Average strength: 12. Intelligence? Barely 8. But their hearts? Indomitable."
"Except for two."
"Gothi, the village shaman, measures an 18 in intelligence. My mother, Valka, isn't far behind at 16. But nothing like my father Stoick… he's terrifying. stats between 27 and 30. I saw him lift a tree like a stick. But even he falls behind in intellect—just 10 points."
"I hope I inherit his strength. I pray I inherit her mind. If I can bridge the gap between brawn and brilliance, maybe… just maybe, I can shape something greater. A different fate."
"One night, as the firelight danced on the walls and my mother hummed that old lullaby—the one that aches in places I didn't know existed—I opened my system again. A faint question mark blinked in the corner. I clicked it."
System Notification: "Ten free tickets awarded for each birth year."
"Jackpot."
"I couldn't even sit up. My limbs flailed like a windblown rag. But inside? I burned. Possibilities raced through my mind like wildfire."
"In the system shop, I saw it all. Skills. Spells. Titles. Power beyond imagining—locked behind point thresholds that mocked me. A common skill? 100 points. Rare ones, a thousand. Passives? Even more. But I didn't panic. I calculated. There had to be a way. A method. A path forward."
"But then she came—my mother—and scooped me into her arms. Her voice wrapped around me like a blanket, soft and sorrowful. I fought to stay awake. I needed more time. More answers. But sleep took me like a tide, slow and inescapable."
"And with sleep came the nightmare."
"The scream came first—raw, primal. Heat followed, pressing against my skin like a furnace. I opened my eyes and saw it. A dragon. Massive. Scales like onyx, eyes glowing with ancient fire. It stood over us, claw raised. And there, beneath it, was Hiccup—so small, so unaware. He reached out, cooing, his fingers curling around the monster's claw."
"I tried to move. God, I tried. I summoned every ounce of will, every trace of strength in my useless little body, to crawl, to shield him. But I was a prisoner in my own flesh."
"Then it struck. The dragon's claw grazed Hiccup's cheek. A shallow wound, but he wailed in pain. And I—"
"I shattered."
"I wasn't angry at the dragon. Not even at fate. I was furious at myself. For knowing so much and doing so little. Watching it happen—helpless."
"Then, through the smoke and fire, she appeared."
"My mother."
"Hair wild, eyes blazing, sword gleaming in the firelight. She did not falter. She did not blink. She stepped between us and death like a living shield. And still, I could do nothing but watch."
"My father came roaring in, a tempest in human form. The dragon turned, fire burst from its maw. Walls crumbled. The world caught fire."
"He screamed for her to run—to take us and flee. But before she could—"
"The dragon took her."
"It all slowed down. Her sword clattered to the floor. Her scream—our names—ripped through the night. My father lunged. Missed. And then… she was gone."
"He gathered us, stumbling through smoke, through flame. The sky rained ash. The world burned."
"We escaped. But everything else didn't."
"I remember his face—stone cracked by sorrow. Stoick the Vast. Weeping. The giant, undone by grief. He held us as though we were all that tethered him to life."
"He then carried us to the village hall. We arrived in silence, the weight of what had happened pressing down on every step."
"Inside, the villagers stood in stunned stillness—no words, no breath, only the hollow echo of absence."
"Faces were pale, eyes wide with disbelief. Some clutched each other, others stood alone, frozen."
"There was no need for an explanation. The silence said it all: something precious was gone.
Just loss—raw, unspoken, and absolute."
"A Viking came in, whispered to him. My father handed us off, like relics too precious to drop, and walked into the darkness."
"When the fires died down, he returned. Quiet. Hollow. Each step toward us is heavy with something that hurts to witness—hope, fear, guilt. He reached us, knelt, and held us again. Not as a chief. Not as a warrior. But as a man—broken and mourning."
"And in that moment, I broke too. I didn't cry like an infant. I cried like a man whose soul had been pierced twice—once in a past life, and now again."
"Not even a year old, and I've lost my mother."
"Why is fate so cruel? Why bless me with memory, with knowledge, with a system, if I'm too weak to change anything? Why let me understand the cost, if I cannot pay it?"
"But I swear this—I will rise. I will learn. I will grow faster, fight harder, and think sharper than anyone else in this world. I will master the system. I will become someone who can defy fate itself if I must."
"Because next time—when fate comes to steal someone from me again—I will be ready."