The only mirror in the house was a small, oval one in her parent's bedroom. The glass was discolored, giving everything a bronze tint, but the border of tiny pearls glistened as if they had just been recently polished. It had been a part of her mother's bridal trunk, an heirloom from her mother. No doubt Valka would inherit the treasure upon her own marriage, if she lived that long that was. The thought made her brows furrow as her sea green eyes stared back at her in the glass.

"You're thinking about something," her mother broke the silence with her low, soothing voice. Her hands continued to work on the elaborate braid she wove into her daughter's hair. Valka sighed, straightening, relaxing the muscles of her face.

"It's nothing mum."

Her mother, Ursula, hummed, unconvinced. "I know what it is."

"Oh?"

"You're worried about your brother."

"Oh."

Ursula's skilled, deft fingers tied off the long plait. Valka hadn't even noticed she was finished.

"Don't worry about him Vally. You know he wouldn't have been chosen if he hadn't been the best in his class."

"I'm not worried, really." Valka stood up, facing her mother.

Ursula cocked a brow at her daughter. "It'll be over soon enough Valka. I know how much you hate going near the Kill Ring, but you have to be there today. It's your brother's graduation after all."

"I know mum, I know."

"Just squeeze my hand if you get frightened-"

"Ursula! Valka! Are you girls ready yet?" The booming voice of Smitelout Jorgenson called from the lower floor of their cottage. Valka involuntarily tensed, knowing that the hour was approaching.

"Coming Smite, just finishing up Valka's hair!"

"Well come along then! Spite's already gone up. You've already missed wishing him luck!"

Ursula rolled her gray eyes, "As if he needs any luck."

Despite her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Valka managed a small smile.

Valka tightened her hold on her mother's hand as her father led them through the crowd. Cheers and chants arose for the graduate and his family; Smitelout could barely move a foot before having some drunken Viking clapping him on the shoulder, or shaking his hand. Around the circumference of the sunken Kill Ring, a cry of Spitelout's name erupted from the spectators that had a view of him waiting by the gate. Naturally the family was given a front row view at the base of the chief's stone perch, and they were even given a bench to sit on…not that they would be sitting. Smitelout grinned proudly and waved to the crowd as they reached their seats. Valka and Ursula sat down tensely. They were so close to the chains and the drop of the pit, Valka felt as though the vibrations from the roaring crowd would send them toppling forward. She grimaced and clutched her mother's hand.

"Ah! Smitelout!" A man, Pappy Thorston to the children of Berk, smacked her father on his back. "This is a grand day for you isn't it? He takes after you now doesn't he? A chip off the old block?"

"Ah yes, and his mother too! Gods she must be so proud."

Valka notice her mother's lips tighten.

"Oh yeah! Thorgrima, Gods what a fighter she was."

At that moment, Pappy Thorston noticed the two females sitting beside Smitelout. He was an old, wiry man with clear blue eyes and a limp mop of brittle white hair. He was known to wander around Berk, passing out sweets to children and telling tales of Vikings long gone. How he had managed to live into his seventies, no one knew, but he would often offer crazy theories, even crazier than some of Gothi's remedies.

"Good morning Ursula. And little Valka! You must be excited for your brother's big moment."

Valka nodded slightly, inching closer to her mother.

"Well, I'll be off. Enjoy the fight. Take care Thorgrima-"

"Ursula," Smitelout corrected firmly.

"Oh yes, Ursula. Take care."

The tension between her parents was tangible. Despite having been married for nearly twelve years, a lot of Berkians still called Ursula by her predecessor, Thorgrima's, name. Valka had heard some about her, mainly how she struck fear into the hearts of enemies with her shrill battle cry; how she wielded a double headed axe with an artistic precision. Her name was legend in the Kill Ring, for having the fastest final exam in Berk history, surpassing Smitelout's…even surpassing the chief's son's.

Finally, the crowd hollered as the gate to the arena lifted, and Spitelout paraded in with his hands raised, receiving the cheers. Their father had had new armor commissioned, as well as a helmet with spiral horns. He picked up a long broadsword, testing its balance in his hand, only to find it perfect.

He extended his free hand up in their direction, his blue eyes focused on Valka. She smiled timidly, but did not let go of her mother's hand to wave.

Valka had not even noticed the two girls sitting near them, but could hear them giggle.

"Oh look Lundy, he's waving at you!" The blonde haired Odina nudged her friend Lundy Maelstrom playfully. Lundy's cheeks turned as she fiddled with her hair.

"Shut up Dina! He is not!"

The girls continued to giggle, in a way only thirteen year old girls could. Valka rolled her eyes. Lundy could not be more obvious in her affections for Spitelout. It was sickening.

Suddenly, the crowd grew silent, before the ominous cracking of the gate being lifted echoed throughout the ring. Spitelout stood firm, a crooked grin on his face even as the orange Monstrous Nightmare emerged from his pen, smoke billowing from its maw.

They stared at each other, the Viking youth and the dragon, before Spitelout charged.

If you asked Spitelout, this was certainly not his first kill. The stories changed frequently: he had taken down a Gronkle, managed to decapitate both heads of a Zippleback at the same time, and even survived a Deadly Nadder poisonous spike to the gut, displaying the scar to prove it. Valka knew the true story behind that scar, how the idiot had mishandled their father's spear when he was twelve and nearly died from his injury.

Despite Valka's constant reminders not to embellish his tales, Spitelout always rolled his eyes, tugging playfully on her braids: "Come on Vally, you gotta make them love you and fear you if you want to make a name for yourself."

Her mother gasped in fright: Spitelout had just jumped out of the way of the dragon's long jaws. Valka could hear him laughing, raising his sword to the crowd, enjoying putting on a show.

"Get on with it boy!" Someone called out. Everyone around them was getting anxious for blood. Someone said that this was the longest final exam ever, but Valka couldn't argue. While other children religiously attended the yearly final exam, Valka had never been to one, save for this one. Though she dare not admit it to anyone, she felt sorry for the poor dragons; how could they possibly defend themselves enough to make it an equal fight? Sure, the Monstrous Nightmare could set itself on fire, the Nadder had its spikes…but without the space to fly…

"Thatta boy Spitey!" Her father hollered beside her, cheering on his eldest with wild abandon. "C'mon pin down the head, that's it, that's it-!"

Valka looked just in time to see her brother lower the blade into the Nightmare's neck, severing its spinal cord, killing it instantly. The cheers of the crowd vibrated across the stone beneath her feet, yet Valka couldn't hear a thing.

The elders flocked into the ring, hoisting Spitelout up onto their shoulders. Gothi hobbled in against her cane, accompanied by the village leader. The chief, Frey the Grey, personally congratulated Spitelout, throwing his arm up into the air. Her brother whooped.

"Spitelout, Spitelout oy oy oy!"

"He did it! He did it!" Lundy cheered near them, tears in her eyes.

"Of course he did it dummy!" Odina scoffed, though she still applauded as wildly as everyone else.

"Come on, let's go down!" Smitelout grinned, taking his wife and daughters' hands.

Valka's feet turned to lead. "What? Oh daddy, no, don't-"

"Valka c'mon lass. The chief will be wanting to speak with the champion's family."

"Can't we do it somewhere else?"

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"Smite," her mother began, her gray eyes falling on her daughter. "She's frightened."

"Nonsense! Nothing for the lass to be frightened of! Jorgensons aren't cowards!"

Valka clung tighter to her father's arm, feeling her mother's kitchen worn hands pat the top of her head. They paraded in to the ring; a majority of the surrounding crowd had already begun their trek to Mead Hall for a victory feast and celebratory drink. Frey the Grey continued to shake hands with Spitelout, whose chest puffed out farther with every breath.

"A fine job boy, a good clean job too. Ah." the chief turned towards them, beaming. He was a massive man with an equally massive grey beard. Supposedly it had been fiery red in his youth, but now it looked like a pile of ashes against his chin. "Smitelout, you must be proud of your boy."

"Immensely Chief. He's a warrior, no doubt about that."

"And Ursula, what a great day this is."

"Aye Chief," her mother bowed her head respectfully.

The chief's eyes turned towards Valka. Try as she might, she could not shrink farther behind her father. "And who is this young sprout?"

Her father nudged her forward; she tripped. "Chief, this is my daughter, Valka."

"Ah yes! Valka! You must be, what, five? Six?"

"Ten…" Valka grumbled, quickly adding, "Sir!"

"Ten! Why are you so small and skinny lass? Ursula, have you been feeding this girl enough of your delicious cooking?"

"Three days a meal Chief, but she's still as spindly as a willow branch."

"Ah, well, they can't all be warriors like this one." The chief patted Spitelout on the back. "That was one of the finest final exams I have ever seen-"

"Oh, but I disagree father."

A low, stern voice entered the ring, interrupting the jovial mood. Turning, Valka saw the largest man she had ever laid eyes on strut into the ring. Taller than Spitelout, taller than her father, even taller than the chief with shoulders that could knock down a doorframe. His arms were nothing but muscles, his hands were as wide as dinner plates, clenching and unclenching by his solid waist.

His body announced his presence as a man, but his face…his soft green eyes and rounded nose…the stubble that barely coated his chin…he was not a man but a boy. A boy's face on a man's body! Valka could have laughed had she not been so frightened.

"Stoick!" Frey moved towards the stranger, reaching just past his shoulder. They embraced, smacking each other on the back. Above her, Valka's parents whispered.

"Frey's son, the heir of Berk!" Her father gasped.

"Smitelout, Ursula, you remember my son Stoick?"

Her mother smiled sweetly, "Of course Chief! Back from your voyage so soon Stoick?"

Stoick laughed, a booming chuckle that made his belly shake. "Three years is hardly soon enough, but it was a fine trip; a grand adventure. Father, I have much to show you-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa wait a minute…" Spitelout interrupted, his dark brows furrowed. Valka had never known Spitelout's mother, but evidently he resembled her greatly, especially when angered. "You can't just come in here and critique my victory like that!"

"Spitelout!" Their father hissed. "That is the Chief's son…"

"Chief's son or not. I just took down a Monstrous Nightmare with a sword!"

"Seems to me like you paraded around a Monstrous Nightmare with a sword," Stoick responded with a grin. "How long did it take you Spitelout? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? In a real battle you would have been dead by the time you had access to its neck like that. It would have called out to its friends for help and you would have been roasted for their supper. It's not about the showmanship, it's about the killing."

"And what exactly do you know about killing dragons? You haven't been on this island for three years! You haven't even been in dragon training!"

Stoick beamed haughtily as his father answered for him.

"That's because my boy here killed his first dragon when he was seven. He strangled it with a clothesline before spilling its brains out with his hammer."

Spitelout's face turned white, ashy. His pale eyes narrowed as he scoffed, suddenly silent.

"Aye, you start them young enough, they'll be ready in no time." Frey added. Valka felt every pair of eyes fall on her, including the strange behemoth of a young man, who spoke to her quietly, gently, a tone she did not know someone his size could make.

"You're Valka, aren't you?"

Valka nodded. Her father nudged her forward, too close to the chief's son for her liking.

"How old are you Valka?"

"Ten…sir…"

"It'll be your turn in the ring soon enough. We need more warriors you know, more fighters."

"But I'm…I'm not big enough sir…I'll never be…"

"You may be yet, but it's not just about being big." He pointed a finger as long as her entire hand towards her head. "You gotta be smart too, and you have that look about you. Are you smart, lass?"

"I…yes…sir…I can read sir…"

"You will want to read the 'Book' then, study up. It's not just about putting on a show." His cool green eyes darted up, no doubt falling on her brother. "Don't doubt yourself girl."

With that, Stoick nodded to the remainder of her family, bowing slightly towards his father. He turned on his heels, marching back towards the gate with his head held high. He had the thickest red hair Valka had ever seen, done up in a sloppy braid at the nape of his neck, so stiff that it stuck out straight against the rim of his helmet. Valka suddenly felt strangely self-conscious.

If her brother couldn't even impress the future Chief of Berk, how in Hel was she ever going to?