Father didn't say a word at first.
He stormed across the training arena, straight toward Hiccup—his steps loud, heavy, final. The crowd parted in silence, eyes wide, breath held. I followed, close behind, not knowing what I'd say or even why I was following. I just knew I had to.
By the time I caught up, Father had already grabbed Hiccup by the arm and was dragging him away from the ring. His grip was like iron. Hiccup didn't struggle. He just kept his head down, shoulders hunched, not resisting—but not cowering either.
They disappeared behind a row of stone columns near the Great Hall. I slowed when I reached them, trying to hear, to understand.
But their voices were hushed—raw, cracked, muffled by distance and the pounding in my ears.
Then, a sudden thud.
I rounded the corner just in time to see Hiccup fall backward to the stone floor, bracing himself with one arm. His eyes were wide. Hurt. Not just physically.
Stoick loomed over him, face twisted in rage. His voice thundered like a death sentence.
"You're no son of mine."
The words hit harder than any axe could.
Hiccup stared up at him in stunned silence.
And I... I froze too.
Those five words echoed in my head like a bell toll.
Then Father turned. His eyes locked with mine, but there was no warmth in them—only disappointment... and exhaustion.
"I leave for the nest at dawn," he said coldly as he passed me. "Until I return, the village is yours."
But as he brushed past, I caught it. Just for a moment.
A shimmer.
His face was hard, but his eyes... they glistened. One tear slid down his cheek. Then another.
He didn't wipe them away. Didn't slow his stride.
He just kept walking.
I watched him go—our proud, unshakable father—his shoulders heavy with something too large for even him to carry.
And I just stood there.
Motionless.
Trying to make sense of what I'd just seen.
Trying to breathe.
Trying to decide.
I don't know how long I stood there. Minutes? Hours?
Eventually, I found myself walking—feet moving on their own, straight toward the village hall.
The doors creaked as I pushed them open.
There he was.
Hiccup.
Sitting on the cold floor, arms wrapped around his knees. Eyes red. Silent.
The same boy who'd once begged me to teach him how to hold a sword properly.
The same boy who just stood between a dragon and a killing blow.
The same boy our father just disowned.
I hesitated in the doorway, then stepped in, letting the doors shut behind me with a dull thump.
I drew in a sharp breath, my voice quiet but cutting through the silence.
"Why?"
He didn't look up.
"Why did you protect that dragon?"
Hiccup was still for a moment. Then he exhaled—slow, shaky.
"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," he said quietly. "I thought... maybe they'd see. Maybe he could show them."
"Show us what?" I asked, stepping closer.
"That they're not monsters," he said, finally looking up at me. His voice cracked. "That there's another way."
I frowned. "Another way? They've been burning our homes for generations, Hiccup. Killing our people. Killing Mom. And you—" I swallowed, my throat tightening. "You side with one of them?"
Hiccup stood slowly, unsteady on his feet but meeting my eyes. "I'm not siding with them," he said. "I'm saying... Maybe we're both wrong. Maybe we've been fighting a war we never tried to understand."
"Why?"
"Why did you protect that dragon?"
"I didn't mean for it to happen like this erik…"
"I thought maybe—if they could see what I saw—something would change."
"I thought i could show them."
"Show them what, Hiccup?"
"That they're not all monsters. That maybe… there's another way."
"Another way?"
"You say that like you've lived what I have. Like you remember."
"But you don't, do you?"
"...No."
"I was too young. I only know what they told me. What you told me."
"Then let me tell you again hiccup."
"I remember it all. The smoke crawling through the walls. The fire—her screams. The roar so loud it felt like the sky itself was tearing."
"The dragon that burst through our roof. The one that left this—" (touches his cheek) "—and took her from us."
"I know Erik, I've imagined it. A thousand times. But it's not the same. I know that."
"No. You don't know. Because that night didn't just take her—it took everything. The laughter we never got. The warmth. The bedtime stories. The mother we never really got to know."
"I wish I could remember her. I really do."
"And after she was gone… Father wasn't the same hiccup. He didn't cry. Didn't shout. He just… disappeared into himself. Grief turned him to stone. And we followed, didn't we?"
"Hiccup, He raised us to be strong. So we'd never feel what he felt. So we could survive it, if it ever happened again. And now you're standing with the very thing that destroyed us. The thing that made us like this."
"I'm not standing with them."
"I'm saying… maybe not all of them are the same."
"I looked into that dragon's eyes, Erik. And I didn't see the creature from your nightmares. I saw someone who was scared. Someone who hesitated. Just like us."
"You don't get it hiccup. You can't get it. You didn't live that night."
"No. I didn't."
"But I've lived every day since then wondering why there's this hole in me. Why I can't remember her. Why I don't feel the fire when you speak of it."
"And maybe… maybe that's why I saw something different. Maybe I'm not blinded by the same pain."
"Pain is what keeps us alive, Hiccup. It's what reminds us of what we've lost. It's what built us into who we are."
"But what if it's also what's keeping us from becoming something more?"
"You always had hope hiccup. Even when you didn't know what we'd lost. But I can't afford to hope, not like you."
"Because I remember."
"I'm not asking you to forget."
"I'm just asking… what if this dragon—just this one—didn't take anything from us? What if he never got the chance?"
"And what if we give him that chance, and someone else loses everything instead?"
"Then we learn. We try again. We stop pretending this war makes sense just because we were born into it."
"You talk like someone who never had to bury a memory."
"And you fight like someone afraid to let go of one."
"You've made me question everything, Hiccup."
"What we trained for. What we survived for. What Mom died for."
"And the worst part? I don't know if you're wrong."
"I don't know either erik."
"But I'd rather live with that question than die with the wrong answer."
"...I don't know what's right anymore."