There was a flash of blue-ish, purple-ish white and then there was nothing, nothing but the fire.

Everything was on fire. The neon oranges and unnatural yellows consumed the world around him, the flames reaching for the sky, like devil's fingers. The shredded houses were burnt orange. The midnight sky was ashy black. The low clouds were made of heavy, thick smoke. Even the green grass looked red, red, red, like blood below him. The acrid stench of soot and burnt flesh filled his lungs like a deep, spreading stain, making him choke. Instinctively, he drew in deep breaths, but there was no air to be found. Only the giant inferno.

Even the young woman beside him, trying to pull him up, blazed. Her golden hair reflected the flames and her expression burned with anger and worry and ferocity. Her skirt shone burgundy and her red shirt was stained, growing dark under the smears and drops of vibrant blood.

Her eyes, however, were the color of water. Cool, collected…capable of extinguishing every screaming ember in a single, crushing wave. Seeing them here in this Ragnarok was like being doused with a wave of soothing relief.

Stoick grunted as he turned, fiery side screaming with the rest of the world.

"Astrid," he spoke over the woman's senseless words. "You have to promise."

His voice was thick with pain, and blood. He forced the words up his smoke-clogged throat, past the red and black sludge, hacking them out. It was the last thing he had to ask, the last thing she had to do. She had to do it.

"Promise me."

He couldn't hear her over the roaring of the fire and the warcries of the humans and screams from the dragons that rang dimly in his ears below the sound of a splintering world, but he could see the words cross her lips. Four syllables.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to call her Chief. He wanted to swell with pride at how she spoke the words sealing her path while standing amidst the flames that were her kingdom, with strength and surety. He wanted her to know how worthy she was of the faith he put in her.

"STOICK!"

Gobber hobbled up, axe-for-a-hand swinging wildly for a moment before the man saw the state Stoick was in. Jolly Gobber, crazy Gobber…his battle-brother stepped out from the flames that were the rest of the world, standing next to the young woman, face solemn, eyes unusually serious. Despite his head-in-the-clouds act, the blacksmith was much more firmly in touch with reality than he seemed, and Stoick was grateful that he was here, like a silent Witness, an experienced Guide for the young chief beside him.

Gobber stood by her shoulder.

The fire died down, the world becoming a black graveyard of ashy earth under his fingers. Stoick's eyes widened as licks of flames smoldered down and one of the silent silhouettes – one of his people – stepped forward. A slight one, a stumbling one…like a sick, wasted ambassador of rot and death, coming for the dying warrior that waited for him.

No, it was Hiccup! Not a draugr sent to drag him away, it was just Hiccup who rushed to him, haphazardly swinging around weapons and narrowly ducking under the teeth and claws from above, hands held out to help, to fix him, but they hovered, not daring to touch.

Instead, Hiccup's oak leaf gaze sought out his. It was like looking into the eyes of a child – Stoick could see the sorrow and raw hurt, the listless wishes Hiccup always seemed to carry. Hiccup had always been like an open book, easy to read, impossible to understand – like Valka, came a muted whisper – and above all, un-Vikingly. Vikings didn't wear their hearts on their sleeves. They never showed fear, but Hiccup's wide, shocked eyes were full of it. A forest fire blazed across their glossy surface, wild and out of control.

Stoick didn't know how such a boy was his son, but by the gods, this was his son and he would see to it that Hiccup was protected.

The firestorm flared and Stoick could do nothing but take it, but the boy was safe, and the village would be safe and that was the reason Stoick didn't face it. He couldn't drag himself back up onto his feet. He couldn't turn his head. He couldn't speak.

He breathed in…and breathed out…and breathed in…and breathed out…and breathed in…

Astrid bowed her head in respect.

…and breathed out…

Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, High Terror of the Northern Seas, Slayer of Beasts, was gone.

Astrid snarled as she stalked in the direction of the fight, slim figure cutting through the worked-up crowd like a hot knife through butter. "Back off!"

No one heard her.

"YEH SLUDGE-EATING LIMPET, I'LL-!"

"-ARRRRRRRRRRGH!"

The audience gasped as Astrid slammed her axe between the overly-muscled men's weapons with a 'shing!' and twisted, taking advantage of the weight and shape of her axe head to make the duo's pike and sword clatter to the ground. The men jumped back, suddenly seeming to realize that she was there and while her much smaller form was easy to ignore, the glare they received demanded their compliance.

Astrid's blood seemed to boil, just itching for a fight. She could already feel a head ache coming on.

"Ack, what happened?" she demanded.

"I tweren't doin nothing, Ch-, uh…" In a mere second, the stocky, red-haired man went from defensive to unsure.

Astrid yelled at Hiccup in the back of her mind for making her life harder than it had to be. "Astrid."

"Astrid, I was carting my apples down to the center when HE-" Ack thrust an accusing finger in the direction of the long, blonde-haired man in front of him, "-rammed into my wheel and then went on without so much as a by-your-leave!"

Indeed, Astrid saw an upturned cart with a swiveling wheel that looked about ready to hop off itself. Apples were still rolling down the hill.

"Sven, what happened?" she repeated, keeping her tone. Remember, treat both sides the same first. Then decide. Half the job of chief is listening.

There was a moment of silence before the other offender spoke.

"I was herding my sheep up the hill. A couple scattered and when I was running off after one, I ran into Ack's cart." While soft-spoken, Silent Sven was still very formidable as he glared back at Ack. "I did not have time to do anything else, but he stopped me from continuing to find my sheep."

Astrid took a deep breath, veins still singing with the need to leap and swing. "Sven, apologize to Ack for damaging his cart."

Ack was triumphant. Sven was stubborn.

Astrid slammed the butt of her axe on the ground, letting the metal ring against the stone. "Now."

"…I apologize for running into your cart." The words were grudging and Sven was definitely not happy.

But before Ack could do a victory dance and Sven could skulk off, Astrid spoke up again. "Ack, apologize to Sven for not paying attention."

Ack's mouth hung open.

Astrid gave him the exact same unyielding glare she had given Sven.

"I'm-I'm sorry for not paying attention," Ack managed to stutter out.

"Good." Astrid gave a nod of finality. "Now next time, both of you look where you are going. Sven, maybe recruit some young help to herd your sheep through the village. Ack, be aware of the people bustling through the same space you are. Are we agreed?"

As the crowd dispersed, Astrid stood still for a moment, watching Sven attempt to gather his sheep and Ack try to get all his apples. She knew what this fight had really been about: absolutely nothing.

Tempers were running hot. The village's irritation level was high. Already boisterous, the death of the Chief was pushing them to violent. She walked stiffly through the village, only half paying attention to the damage she was supposed to be assessing. The song in her blood was too distracting, demanding that she STOP. FIGHT. Mourn.

"HOARK!" she roared, a bit more harshly than she really wanted to.

The bulky man jumped, staring down at her from his spot on the roof, hammer in hand. "Aye…"

"Astrid," Astrid announced for the fifth time that morning. She jerked her head at the ground. "I need to speak with you."

Bright, sunny day, she reminded herself as the ladder creaked under the burly Viking's weight. Winter coming. Preparations to see to.

"Aye, Astrid," Hoark repeated once his feet hit the ground. "What can I do for you?"

"Winter's approaching," she told him, unnecessarily, but it helped her think. "Mulch just told me the storage numbers. Sven gave me a good estimate of the livestock a bit before."

Hoark's face sombered. This man had children, Astrid remembered. A five-year-old, a two-year-old, and another on the way. His children were never wanting for food because he was the village's best hunter, but that didn't mean he never worried. "It's bad?"

Astrid hesitated, unsure of what to say. She immediately summoned Stoick's voice in her mind.

"It's bad," she said, almost hearing Stoick's deep voice beneath her own. "At this rate, we won't be able to last the winter. When push comes to shove, we can sacrifice more livestock this winter and make up for it come spring, probably from the mainland."

"The Peaceable Farmers?" Hoark suggested.

Astrid nodded. "Even easier." She glanced up at the other workers on the roof, knowing that they couldn't hear her over the savage hammering but lowering her voice all the same. "Hoark, if we don't get more food, we're going to have to dig really deep into our stocks this winter, and then there will be no guarantee we can survive the next one. I need a hunting party."

"How long and how many?" the hunter asked.

"As long as we can spare," she answered. "In fact, I'm thinking we might have two hunting parties, ten to fifteen Vikings each. Mine will hunt on the island. Yours will head south. See what you can find down there."

She was hyperaware of Hoark's stare. "Astrid, we're getting very close to winter! We can't afford-"

"We can't afford the risk of depending only on the game on this island," Astrid interrupted. "I know winter's coming in a month. I'm counting on it to not be early, and I know that's a gamble, but we need this. That said, I only want you to stay out there as long as the weather's good. This is going to be quick. Get in, find as much as you can, and get back. I trust your judgment, Hoark."

"…Alright," he agreed finally. "I'll gather the men willing to go with me and find some good hunters to go with you."

"Thanks," Astrid said.

Hoark sent her an amused look. "Don't thank me, Astrid. Chiefs don't thank people for following orders. And you may not be the official chief yet," he added when she opened her mouth. She felt her grip on the axe strapped to her lower back tighten at the reminder. "But we're Vikings. We don't need a big ceremony. We trust Stoick and Stoick trusted you. You're already Chief in our eyes."

She nodded curtly in response as he turned away again, disappearing between the houses.

She would train at the end of the day, she promised her tight muscles and twitching hands. In the forest, just like she always did, she would vent her rage at the dragons on the silent woods. She forced the satisfying crunch of an axe landing deep in a tree to leave her ears.

Chop.

Astrid jumped, glancing around. That hadn't been in her head.

Chop.

Clueless stood off to her left, collecting the wooden debris and chopping the larger pieces into kindling. He nodded to her, black bangs swinging down into his face. She nodded back, eyes searching for his parents. A sharp bang made her look up at the roof.

"Hey, Clueless!" she called, deciding not to bother the adult Clorknogs.

"Hmm?"

Astrid felt that little knot of irritation tighten at Clueless's vague response. She didn't know where his parents had pulled that name from, but it was very apt, either because Clueless was naturally vacant or because he liked to live up to it. "Have you seen Phlegma?"

The blue-eyed boy thought for a moment. "Phlegma who?"

Phlegma Who-Did-He-Think? Astrid's grip on her axe became tight again, the familiar wood acting like a stress ball. "Phlegma the Fierce," she said with as much patience as she could summon.

He thought for another minute as his new chief stood to the side, her hands twitching more with each passing moment. Dear Thor, she swore as she waited for his dazed eyes to refocus, may I never have to ask him for anything ever again.

"Nope," he finally answered, dragging the word out. He glanced at her and shrugged. "Sorry."

Astrid felt less than charitable as she continued on her way, leaving the infuriating boy without saying a word. She couldn't stand his laziness, the way he always dawdled as though he had all the time in the world. Still…

Remember what Hoark said, she told herself, squashing that tiny little bit of guilt at her un-chiefly conduct. Besides, Clueless seemed completely unconcerned by her almost rude exit, if the mellow chops coming from behind her were any indication.

"Astrid!"

Time seemed to crawl by as Astrid saw to the village – like a nanny, she felt. Half the time, she was resolving stupid disputes over the dumbest things, ranging from 'he pushed me!' to 'that piece of indistinguishable-wooden-debris belongs to MY house!'

On the plus side, breaking up the fights did let her vent a little. She probably would have exploded by noon if she hadn't been able to hit some people with her axe.

She weaved her way through the village, the chilly air doing nothing to improve her mood. The Larsons had seen Phlegma a couple of hours ago when they were organizing a group of helpers to fix the storage house. Gustav volunteered that she had headed 'somewhere in that direction' in a voice that was a little too manly for a seven year old and with a head jerk that belonged to a teenager.

Mr. Larson shrugged at Astrid's questioning look.

Phlegma was not, in fact, anywhere in "that direction," Astrid found come midafternoon after she had scoured the entire area. She did manage to find Snotlout, who didn't even try to hit on her. Not because of her obvious irritation, but because the short but burly young man was too saddened by his chief's and uncle's passing. And while Astrid was disinclined to think anything good of the boy who thought about nothing but his own muscles and hot girls, a part of her heart melted at the sight of him working diligently and complacently to fix the alarm torch that dragon had destroyed. Wood still crunched underfoot and Astrid could even see faint bloodstains on the grass.

She turned sharply, refusing to let anyone see the anger that twisted her face. A chief was always calm.

She found Ruffnut and Tuffnut cleaning dragon skins in front of their house. Tuffnut saw her first, throwing a sloppy punch at his sister to grab her attention.

Ruffnut gave him a feeble little shove in response. Like Snotlout, the twins looked like they had lost the heart to act like their usual imbecilic selves as they calmly skinned the Nightmare before them, butchering it and harvesting the usual parts with an air of mastery. It was weird watching them work together so efficiently, so quietly. So…maturely.

Astrid moved on quickly, trying not to think about it. There were plenty of things to keep her busy as the day dragged on. She set Mulch to work preparing for another fishing trip and directed a wandering and lost Bucket in his direction.

The sun seemed a little more mocking, hardly having moved at all.

Listened to Mildew rant about his destroyed garden and demand…well, this late in the season there wasn't much to be done about lost vegetables. Thankfully, a semi-sympathetic ear seemed to appease him.

She felt the shadows should have been longer.

Spotted Gothi reentering her hut, a fresh basket of herbs and medicines on her arm and spoke with the wounded, getting a feel for the medicines they would have to restock and the number of Vikings that would be out of commission for a while yet.

She hated that sun.

Checked up on her house, where her parents and younger siblings were working. Briefly glanced into the smithy where Gobber was literally repairing wagon-loads of weapons – without his flaky apprentice. Ran into Spitelout on his way down to the docks. Astrid's gaze flickered down to the hammer in his hands before moving out of the way and letting the gruff and grieving man continue his collection. Saw Fishlegs fixing the fence around his family's fields as the Ingermans kept the yaks inside. Finally found Phlegma the Fierce.

"Hello, A-ah, hello," the woman greeted her. Then she turned back to her family, who was trying to wrangle their flock of sheep together. "WATCH THAT 'ICCUP, 'E'S AN INQUISITIVE LITTLE RUNT!"

"On it! Here, sheepy-sheepy-sheepy! NO! Here, you little booger, HERE!"

The buff woman turned back to her. "Time to find a new hiding spot for the sheep, I assume?"

Astrid nodded. "Do you have any ideas?"

"A few."

Astrid stared up at the bright sky as the woman led the way down the mountain.

The day just dragged on, and on, and on. If it ever ended…

Astrid felt it never would.