Full synopsis:

After five years of relentlessly putting up a siege against the Red Death, Hiccup, the former terrorist known as the Phantom of the Arena, has finally defeated the Archipelago's greatest enemy, putting a definitive end to the dragon raids. Hoping the worst is finally behind him, he returns to Berk, only to find he left more behind than just the girl he loved. And that life still isn't done with him.

Outside of the Archipelago, Eret, son of Eret, is left with nothing after a mysterious dragon rider destroys his fort and releases the captured dragons his employer sorely needed. Fearing he'll be killed if he doesn't, he flees to the Archipelago with what little remains, hoping to find employment in the dragon-infested area. But the threat seems to have followed him, as news spreads of how Berk's infamous Phantom has returned to reclaim what's his. And that people like Eret will never be safe, unless they act against him.

Ships: Hiccstrid, Eret/Viggo Grimborn, Eret/Tuffnut Thorston, Stoick/Valka

Rated Mature for Violence and Sexual Content.

A/N: Welcome everyone to this story, which is the sequel to The Phantom of the Arena! While the plot of the first story was very much inspired on that of the musical, The Phantom of the Opera, this story will not be following the plot of the sequel to that musical, Love Never Dies. Instead, this is a story I've come up with myself, based on the many consequences of the events of the first story.

I thoroughly hope you enjoy this one as well! It will be updated on Saturday around 6 PM Central European (Summer) Time, once every two weeks.

I'd highly recommend reading the first story before this one! It provides a lot of context for the events. If you do not want to do so, proceed at your own risk.

Chapter 1: Reaching for Dawn

Despite having spent a large part of his life around dragons, Hiccup had to admit he had comparatively little experience with dead ones. His father had always insisted on keeping him out of the crossfire during the dragon raids for his own good - and in hindsight, he could agree with that judgement - so he had hardly ever been there to witness an actual kill. And he'd seen absolutely no reason to go near their corpses, not even scientific ones. The sight of them did weird things to his stomach - something he'd written off as nausea at the time, as yet another sign of how he wasn't the Viking he was expected to be. But by now he'd figured out it had simply been guilt.

The signs had always been there. He'd never quite understood why it had taken him so long to see how he really felt about dragons. But he also didn't consider himself a stranger to denial and its indisputable power. How easy it was to believe something if you simply repeated it to yourself often enough.

It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

"It's actually pretty anticlimactic," he concluded, taking another careful step forward. The hard texture beneath his feet didn't quite give in under the pressure of his weight, but he wouldn't exactly call it stable either.

Then again, he highly doubted the Red Death's neck was meant for a human to walk on.

He took in every detail of her blue-green skin as he stepped forward, all the small scars and dents etched into what he had estimated to have been a dragon of several hundred years. He climbed over the crown-like frill on the back of her head, ironically indicating her former status as queen and tormentor, and laid eyes on the gaping hole at the top of her skull.

"A tyrant, slain by a terrorist," he scoffed. "How ironic."

Getting the final kill on her hadn't been all too difficult. She'd burst out of her mountain, famished, attempting to get away on the last sliver of her energy. She'd tried to take to the air, but her wings hadn't cooperated, allowing Toothless to get in close enough for Hiccup to land on her neck and stab her with his paralysing dagger, Stinger.

He hadn't needed much more than that single moment of hesitation in which the Dragon Queen's body had ground to a halt, weakened enough for the Speedstinger Venom to actually take effect. He had plunged Inferno right through her skull, the blade hissing as it came into contact with the dragon's insides.

He'd never been a dragon killer. But after preparing himself for what was necessary from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, he hadn't found an ounce of hesitation in himself.

One life to save countless others.

He'd jumped off her back as soon as he could, spreading his wings until he and Toothless had reconnected, expecting to have to re-engage as soon as possible. But it'd been a waste of energy on his end. Right beneath him, the villain he'd been fighting since he was sixteen fell down onto the beach. And she didn't move again, her four remaining eyes blankly staring ahead.

"I guess it's really done now," he murmured. "What's your verdict, bud?"

Toothless' ears perked up, his eyes widening as he released one of the Red Death's appendages from his jaws, looking guilty to be caught in the act of chewing on it. He bounded forward, nudging Hiccup aside, making his rider stumble on his feet. Then he dug his nose into the hole in the Red Death's skull, only to recoil immediately, shaking violently in disgust.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Hiccup chuckled. "And I'll take your suggestion not to smell that."

Toothless gave him a low grumble, rolling his eyes in a way Hiccup knew the Night Fury couldn't have learnt from other dragons. But he could hardly blame his friend for copying his own most persistent habits.

He took a small bow. "Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated."

This time, Toothless simply turned his back on him instead of even remotely acknowledging his bad sense of humour.

"Sure, be like that!" he teased. "Just wait until the next time you make a bad joke!" He lowered his voice, puffing out his chest. "So a Night Fury and a Deadly Nadder walk into a tavern, and then the Gronckle at the bar is like 'Well, sir, aren't you -' Ow!"

He chuckled to himself as he rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder. He couldn't say it was the first time Toothless had swatted him with the good side of his tail.

"I know I'm being silly, but it's just…" He moved up the visor of his helmet, rubbing his face with one of his gloves. "It's done. She's dead, she's actually dead."

He prodded the skin beneath his boot, but there was no response yet again. "We fought for so long, with no idea of whether we'd make it through alive. Or at all. It just feels… weird. Like I don't quite understand what it means. Of course, there are all the implications, not just for me, but for the dragons, the Archipelago, for… for Berk."

"Gods, they don't even really know what we've been up against, now do they?" He brushed his overgrown hair away from his forehead and scratched his beard. "They can't possibly be able to imagine that we took down all of this." He gestured widely at the dragon below him. "Raids simply disappeared from one day to the other, nice and easy. Letting old Hiccup and Toothless kill the big bad dragon while they sat back and relaxed. Never mind how long it might take."

If only things had actually been that simple.

He whipped out Inferno, wincing as it unfolded with several creaks and squeals. Contrary to what its flames suggested, he didn't like it to be louder than necessary. He had to oil the mechanism as soon as he could. The blade itself had to be sharpened as well, but it had served him well enough until now. Surely, it wouldn't break down on him today.

"Although that would most certainly be just my kind of luck."

Smirking to himself as he doubled down on his crazy but glorious idea, he climbed back over the dragon's crown and confidently planted his sword into the thinnest part of the Red Death's neck.

Slowly but surely, he moved his sword back and forth, sawing his way through the side and jumping back when a red, gooey fluid spurted right out of the wound.

"Not sure if that's awesome or disgusting, but I'm sure we'll find out," he commented.

All Toothless gave him was another eye-roll.

He put his hands on his sides, mimicking a stern parent. "You know, you could help out, mister."

He spoke enough Night Fury to derive that the warble Toothless let out in response was a definitive no.

"Sure, let me do all the heavy lifting," he quipped as he put his hands back on Inferno's hilt. "That's how we do things, isn't it?"

He figured that if Toothless had any eyebrows to lift, that would be exactly what he'd be doing right now.

"Okay fine, you carry me on your back all the time but let's be fair, I'm not that heavy."

Toothless vaguely gestured, moving his right wing up and down.

"I can't exactly help it that I got taller, now can I? And I'd like to kindly remind you that you've been through your own share of new tails, so the inconvenience is mutual. Can't say I personally mind that I've lost some of my resemblance to a talking fishbone, though."

Toothless warbled something agreeing, leaving Hiccup to ramble on on his own as he continued to carve through the dragon's neck.

"I know I'm repeating myself, but it's just so strange. We had this routine, nice and easy, every single day. Wake up, get the other dragons, -" He turned his gaze towards the sky, finding most of his Dragon Army still around, either socialising with or scaring away the dragons that had escaped from the Queen's Nest. "Haunt this bitch for a while to make sure she couldn't eat, hope she'd show herself so we could get a hit in, get the dragons out so she couldn't start influencing them again, go to sleep, repeat. Watching the seasons change, being both relieved and irritated to leave for the Rookery when winter came, because apparently dragons will mate and have eggs under any circumstance - no 'not feeling like it' there - and -"

"- Oh my Thor that smell!" he winced as he dug deeper into the Red Death's flesh, completely soiling himself with whatever he'd hit. "Okay, I'm definitely settling for disgusting."

He wiped himself off to the extent that he could. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that while it was boring, and I definitely didn't want to be here, it was also sort of… easy. Simple. No complications from anywhere, or anyone. Just me and you. Even my nightmares, I wouldn't say they're gone, but you've noticed it too, they're…" He wavered for a bit, measuring his words even though he knew there was no one around to judge them. "… better, I suppose."

He stayed silent for a while, steadily working on until his arms eventually started to shake with what he hoped was exhaustion. "That's all over now. And I don't know what's next, I know what I want, or I think I do, but it's all so uncertain and I just…" He sighed, steadying his breath. "It's scary, bud."

Toothless gave him a sympathetic warble, peeking up at him, but Hiccup waved him off. "I always knew there was only so long I could hide behind stupid jokes, ignore everything that happened and simply focus on her." He poked the dragon's skin. "But I've wanted it to be over since the day I came here. I should be prepared to deal with what comes afterwards. I made Astrid a promise, after all."

I will kill the Red Death. And when I do, the part of me she helped create will die along with her.

The Red Death was dead, the one to give him the burn scars that covered the entire right side of his body, to lead him down his path of loneliness and resentment. And it was his duty to leave the corpse of the Phantom of the Arena, the anti-Viking terrorist, his alter-ego, the darker, power-hungry parts of himself, right next to hers.

He owed that. To Astrid.

The sun had started to set by the time he finished, the Red Death's head not-so-neatly separated from her body. He checked in on his dragons, making sure he told all fifty of them how thankful he was for their help. That they were free to leave if they wanted to. But they stuck around nevertheless, ever loyal.

He could feel Stormfly's expectant gaze on him however.

He and Toothless retreated to the far side of the island, landing on the shore of a small creek. He tore off his armour and dumped the pieces into the water before jumping in himself. It was cold despite the summer weather, but he sighed contently regardless, enjoying how the blood, grease and grime was cleansed off his skin, the tension of his scars easing as they soaked. Next to him, Toothless was lazing around, heating up the water and releasing little breaths of steam.

After scrubbing all the dirt off his clothes and putting them back on the shore, he hoisted himself up onto the rocks, waiting for the water to still. He stared at it, the sky above him clear enough to allow him to make out the details of his reflection.

He reckoned he hadn't changed that much. His chest and shoulders had broadened to the extent that he'd needed to make some adjustments to his flight suit. He had more scars, primarily on his arms, although he doubted they were very noticeable given the lush decoration of pink and white lines he already had. His hair had gotten too long and hung over his shoulders, having escaped from the braid he'd put in earlier that day. On the left side of his face, he was sporting something that he supposed could be called a beard, for lack of a better word.

All in all, he didn't think he looked like he'd been stuck on the Red Death's island for almost five years.

He'd left Berk after essentially exiling himself. Because he had threatened to kill the woman he loved. Because he had used her for his own gain. Because he had been obsessed with gaining power over and inciting fear in the people who had wronged him. Because he had lost himself when Astrid had pointed out that he was wrong, believing she had turned against him instead of seeing that she'd actually been trying to save him.

Because he had almost killed his father, while the man still claimed to love him in spite of how he'd terrorised the island the Chief of Berk had vowed to protect. And he'd spent the past five years repeating that claim to himself, training himself to accept it as the truth. To banish the resentment he had carried with him during the four years he'd been away from Berk, and the subsequent two years he'd haunted the island, from his mind.

He had exiled himself for two reasons. To kill the Red Death, ending the war between dragons and Vikings once and for all. And to better himself. To earn the right to go back to Astrid. And to maybe, hopefully, Gods please let it be that way, get the chance to love her again.

If she was still alive, she'd turn twenty-six towards the end of the summer. Not that there was an if. She hadn't died, he was sure of that. He had to be. Because he didn't know what to do if she'd died while he hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye to her. To see her, just one more time. To beg her to let him make it up to her.

He could only hope that she'd give him that chance. That there was a part of him that she found redeemable enough, that she wouldn't instantly turn away. He'd tried to prepare himself for the possibility that she didn't want to see him at all, that she deeply hated him for everything he'd done to her and her people. That she'd found happiness with someone else, someone more stable, more just, a man who was better for her and who actually kept the promises he made to her instead of single-handedly breaking them himself.

Some day, I'm going to make you my wife. So I can be your husband. And I promise you that I will take care of you as long as I'm alive. I will fight for you, I will protect you. If I have to, I will die for you. And until then, I will never leave your side.

That was what he'd told her. And in the span of the two weeks that had followed, he'd left her to rot on Berk, had threatened to strangle her in his sheer anger. And when he'd finally regained some of his sanity, he'd abandoned her.

He couldn't bear the idea that she didn't want to see him again. It tore him apart, his chest ripping open from the inside out, the thought sending him spiralling back down into the darker ones that had caused him to lose himself in the first place. But he knew, deep down, that if Astrid thoroughly loathed him, he completely deserved it.

He wiped his eyes, preventing his tears from falling down and distorting the image of the man he hoped had gotten better, who had dealt with the demons that had so thoroughly plagued him. He gathered his hair with one hand, holding a dagger to it with his other, trying to remember how Astrid used to cut it when they were living together on Phantom Island. He wanted to look as much like the man she'd once loved as he could.

He cut it off in one go, figuring a hack job still looked better than the overgrown mess he now held in his palm. He carefully shaved himself afterwards, because his face was already disfigured enough without him making any additional contributions himself.

It left him with nothing else to do but to dress himself again. To prepare for take-off. To head for Berk. With no idea what was waiting for him there, beyond the horizon he'd fought to earn the right to fly to.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been indecisive. Not after he'd figured out that hesitation was what got people killed. The inability to act, to save their own skin. To survive. Nevertheless, he liked to be prepared. And he didn't have a single clue of what to expect.

But he had waited for long enough. So he simply took a deep breath and gathered what little belongings he had. His weapons, the drawings he had of Astrid, and the new ones he'd made in his time away.

At sunset, he departed in the direction of Berk.

Hoping dawn would greet him there.

Eret awoke to a strange kind of trembling, interrupting one of the first good nights of sleep he'd had in several weeks. He'd been extremely busy preparing the next shipment. From keeping Drago's messengers off his back, because he'd also been late last time, to capturing the actual dragons. But now they were finally ready, with a few days to spare before they had to sail out to Drago's camp.

It had left the fort mostly empty, with many of his crew members already having returned to the mainland with their families, enjoying a brief respite before the cycle would start all over again. Only those who would assist in the dragon transport were still around, along with Ug, who would babysit Rana and Nilas, to the latter one's dismay. But despite Nilas' wishes, Eret wasn't taking him or his younger sister anywhere near Drago Bludvist.

Finally getting a full night of shut-eye didn't seem to be on the table for him tonight, however, considering he was roused by another tremor, and a distant dragon cry. As if something was riling the beast up. And perhaps he had to check it out, even though it wasn't his turn to be on watch tonight.

He threw his furs off himself and sat up with a groan, twisting his shoulder and barely suppressing a moan when it popped, seemingly slotting back into its rightful place from whatever strange position he'd been sleeping in. In the dark, he looked for his boots, finding them at the end of his cot.

He was halfway through pulling on his left boot when he heard another roar, unmistakably that of a Snafflefang. And he rushed on his next one when his ears caught the human scream that followed.

Something wasn't right.

He hastily grabbed his fur vest, walking up to the window.

"Uncle Eret…?" a sleepy voice asked from the next bunk.

He opened the shutters to look outside. But he couldn't see anything, aside from the top of the Western Watchtower. The East Tower, where they slept, was at least seven stories too high up.

"Uncle Eret?" Nilas repeated, his bed creaking as he turned. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, kid," he answered honestly, only for the air to be pierced by another, clearly distressed shout.

He could hear Nilas' boots land on the wooden floor, having jumped out of bed, and felt his nephew nudge his arm only seconds later, squirming his way through to look out of the window. Eret quickly grabbed the tip of Nilas' hood when he felt Nilas almost topple out of it, leaning too far forward in an attempt to get a better view.

"I can't see anything…" Nilas mumbled as if he wasn't putting himself in mortal danger. "It's too dark, too far down, and -"

Right then, the sky was lit by a bright, orange blaze, just long enough for Eret to catch Nilas as he stumbled backwards, his long, untamed brown hair framing his shocked face.

"The dragons…"

"Get your coat," Eret ordered, his heart speeding up. "And stay with me."

Nilas nodded, rushing past Eret to climb back up to the top bunk. Eret himself crouched, leaned into the lower bunk and carefully shook the little girl who was still, somehow, fast asleep.

"Rana," he urged her. "Rana, wake up."

All he got in response was a lethargic, unintelligible reply. Deciding they didn't have the time for this, Eret ignored her sleep-drunken protests, bundled her up in her blanket and simply hoisted her up in his arms.

He rushed out of the room, constantly listening behind him for Nilas' footsteps as they made their way down the wooden stairs. Neither of them needed light to navigate the fort they called their home, but in all the years he'd lived here, the place had never felt so off. And he couldn't lose Nilas in the chaos. Not with bright flashes punctuating their every step, the dragon roars and human shouts barging in from outside and echoing through the empty corridors.

Every single warning bell in his head was currently ringing. Especially since none of his crew members had come to tell him what was wrong. And they weren't supposed to be this occupied with simply calming down a rowdy dragon.

They needed him.

He let out a sigh of relief when they reached the dining hall, about halfway up in the tower, the bridge to the Western Watchtower not far away.

"Uncle?" Rana muttered against his shoulder, finally starting to wake up. "Where are we going?"

"Downstairs," he tried to shush her, trotting over to the window on the side of the courtyard.

"I don't wanna."

"I know, honey, but we have to, you can go back to sleep soon."

"You can give her to me if you want to," Nilas suggested, still following right behind.

"It's fine, I just need to figure out what's going on," he murmured, ignoring the cold air that rushed in when he pushed the shutters open, finally allowing him to look down at the fort's courtyard.

During any other night, he would have struggled to get a proper view in the darkness. But tonight, he had no trouble at all, the complete and utter chaos beneath him completely exposed. Thanks to the northern palisade wall, which had caught on fire.

"Holy fuck…" Nilas breathed next to him, and Eret couldn't find it in himself to correct his nephew's language. Because he couldn't think of another way to more accurately describe the scene down below.

He could see the silhouettes of his men, struggling to control at least five dragons that had somehow escaped from their cages. Their swords, whips and axes did little to contain the beasts, given that they were as good as outnumbered.

"We need to help them," he said more to himself than to Nilas. "Before -"

He couldn't even finish expressing his fear before it came true right in front of his eyes. One of his men was hit by someone from behind, a staff-wielder, someone Eret realised wasn't one of them. It caused him to stumble forward, his scream piercing the night sky as he was torched by the flame of the Monstrous Nightmare he'd trapped himself only two weeks before.

It was the kind of sound Eret had only had to endure listening to once before, one that wrecked every bone in his body. The only thing he found himself able to do was press Rana even closer to his chest and cover her ears as well as he could.

But he was too late.

"What was that?" his niece asked.

"No-Name…" Nilas stammered, the flames throwing shadows over his features. "That was No-Name…"

Neither confirming nor denying Nilas' deduction, because they both knew he was right, Eret followed the intruder with his eyes, watching as his men surrounded him. He swung his staff above his head, cutting through the night sky with a strange sound, caught between a hum and a rattle.

It sent a shiver down Eret's spine, everything about it seeming off and… draconic.

He snuck a glance at the Western Tower where most of their ballistics were located, which would give them a fighting chance against the dragons. But all he found was the fire rapidly spreading along the northern wall, spelling the tower's doom.

Discarding that plan, he headed for the stairs, ignoring Rana's increasing cries and dragging Nilas with him because he didn't know how to deal with all of this at once. He hadn't asked for this, he just wanted to save his men, and he had no idea how to do that while also consoling a five-year old girl. Telling her it was going to be okay even though he'd never been this scared before himself.

Except for that one time.

His attempts at shushing his niece were interrupted by Ug rushing past him, torch in hand, up the stairs and into the dining hall, slipping to a halt when he saw Eret.

"Eret!" Ug exclaimed. "The dragons, they've -"

"Escaped, I know, I saw, what's going on?"

Ug just shook his head at him, completely clueless. "I don't know. I just found out and I -" He looked behind him, at the entrance to the bridge. "I need to get to the watchtower."

"No!" he cried. "The fire is spreading, it'll burn -"

"But Eret -"

"I need you to watch Nilas and Rana so I can go help the others, please," he urged.

"I can help!" Nilas interjected, but Eret shook his head at him.

"Eret…" Ug tried, his face begging, his feet already leading him further.

"Ug," Eret insisted. "You'll die if you -"

"I'll die if I don't!" Ug yelled, sparks flying as he gestured with his torch. "The dragons are loose, this is our only chance to get them back, and if we don't -"

Ug didn't finish his sentence, but simply glanced at Nilas.

Nothing else needed to be said after all.

Eret put Rana down on the floor as quickly yet softly as he could when Ug sprinted off towards the bridge, and ran after him. "Ug!"

Ug didn't stop. Not when he reached the long stretch that led to the other side. Nor when Nilas called out to him as well.

"Uncle Ug!"

"Ug, stop!" Eret shouted when he reached the start of the bridge himself, now able to hear the fire raging close by. Too close. And Ug had already gotten too far. "That's an order!"

It was enough to make Ug freeze and look over his shoulder one more time. It was enough for the bridge to momentarily go silent, safe for the constant hum of crackling fire.

Until they were all shaken by a tremble so heavy it made Eret collapse against the wall next to him, the ground quaking with a low, rumbling roar. Followed by the terrifying groans of what Eret instantly identified as timber, protesting under enormous pressure until it finally snapped.

And so did the bridge, right in front of him.

He scooted back on instinct, somehow finding Nilas' tunic and dragging him towards him as the spot they'd just been standing in shattered, splinters grazing the skin of his arm as he covered his eyes.

When he opened them again, Ug was gone. All that remained were a few planks of timber, aimlessly reaching out across a gap capable of killing any men if they fell down into it. Providing Eret with a perfect view of where the watchtower had been, now deformed into something spiky, broken, the Northern Wall's flames reflected in it, but somehow not reaching it.

It was only when the cold night wind hit his face that he realised that it looked an awful lot like ice.

He glanced at Nilas, whose mouth was hanging open, his eyes blown wide as he seemed to struggle to breathe.

Eret had no idea what had just happened, apart from that Ug couldn't have survived it. And that he had to make sure the rest of them did.

He climbed to his feet, dragging Nilas up with him. "We have to get out."

Nilas didn't respond, and barely cooperated as Eret ran over to where Rana was still on the floor, miraculously having stayed put.

"Where did you go?" was all she asked when he scooped her up, thankfully oblivious.

He didn't know what to say. "We're going down, okay? It's going to be fine."

"Okay."

"Yes, okay," he mumbled to himself, checking if Nilas was still following him when they once again reached the stairs. "We're okay. It's gonna be okay…"

He kept repeating that to himself as he ran down, holding Rana to his chest and wondering how much she understood, how much she knew, how convincing he really sounded, and how he could possibly live with himself, provided they did make it to tomorrow. If only he had stopped Ug earlier, then -

He was given no time to dwell on it as they reached the bottom of the fort, whatever had destroyed the West Tower not having caught up with them yet. He forced his way out of the doors, into the courtyard, frantically looking around for anyone to save. Or to help them instead.

But his eyes merely teared up, reacting to the scorching heat as they found nothing but thick, orange-tinted smoke, penetrated by the rare but overly familiar smell of burning human flesh.

Disoriented, he took another step forward, ignoring the glistening shards of ice as he called out into the void.

"Is anyone alive out there!?" he shouted, his voice echoing, receiving no more reply than Nilas' laboured coughing.

Where were his men? Had they died, had the dragons gotten them all? Had they perhaps reached the harbour? Were they waiting for him there? They wouldn't leave without him, after all, not after he'd taken care of them all these years. They wouldn't leave the kids, they cared about them too, it wasn't just him. He couldn't possibly be alone.

But he'd seen the desperation in Ug's expression. He knew that feeling, seeping into his veins, making him breathe harder, faster, defying all reason.

He didn't want to die tonight.

He had to get to the boats too.

He closed his eyes against the specks of ash filling the air and pushed on to where he knew the docks had to be. He told Nilas to hold on to the back of his tunic and wrapped both of his arms around Rana, hugging her as closely as he could as she coughed into his shoulder.

He had to make it out. If not for himself, then at least for them.

He'd made a promise, after all.

He tried to ignore the thumps of falling wooden beams as they hit the stone foundation of the island, undoubtedly weakened by the ungodly combination of fire and ice. He blocked out the dragon cries, which seemed to have increased to a multitude far above the number of dragons they had captured in the first place.

It didn't make sense. None of this did.

He hardly believed his eyes when he briefly opened them, and saw a tall figure in the smog, his mind briefly tricking him into thinking it was a woman. But it couldn't possibly be her. Though it would fit. Aila, his older sister, mocking him from beyond the grave in his own final moments.

Nevertheless, he called out to the silhouette when the four wings and crowned head of a Stormcutter appeared right behind him.

"Watch out!"

But the Shadow only continued its trek.

Towards Eret.

And he finally recognised the horned head and the long staff of the person who'd caused No-Name's death.

"No." He shook his head, passing Rana on to a Nilas who still hadn't said a word since Ug's fall. He pushed Nilas behind him, and reached for his swords. "I'm not going down without a fight."

The Shadow briefly halted, glancing back at the Stormcutter without fear. Because it wasn't here to hurt him. It followed him.

Which meant Drago wasn't alone after all.

The East Tower, still next to them, heaved, its foundations sighing under the same pressure that had felled the West Tower, its cracking and snapping piercing the air.

From the corner of his eye, Eret saw it move.

He let one of his swords clatter to the floor, grabbed Nilas' elbow, and ran.

"Don't look back," he told his nephew as they sprinted, urging him to go faster even though he knew he couldn't, but they had to, they had no choice but to as the tower audibly collapsed behind them, his voice hardly reaching above the frightening amount of noise.

There was no way they could reach the docks. There was only one place they could get to, and he hoped, prayed, that he was right about the Shadow's reason for coming here to begin with. So he jumped down in what now had to be an abandoned, stone dragon cell.

He couldn't see whether he was right. He could only help Nilas and Rana down towards their salvation, or demise, leading them further into the cells until they'd found the last remaining sliver of fresh air, completely surrounded by darkness as they collapsed against the wall of what Eret knew used to be a Scuttleclaw cell. Which before tonight, hadn't been empty.

He dragged Rana into his lap and wiped off her face, which was sticky with soot and ash, as she coughed and cried.

"We're safe now," he told her, because maybe that would make him believe it too. "The cells are made of stone, they'll hold, and the dragons are gone, so whoever that was, he'll leave. He just wanted the dragons."

Nilas crept up against him, shaking, seeking closeness in a way he hadn't since he'd turned ten three summers ago, looking for a reassurance Eret didn't know how to give. They were too far away from the ships. They had nowhere else to go. And as much as he wanted to stay strong and to put on a brave face, he also couldn't help but tremble every time the cell quaked or shook, indicating yet another piece of his beloved fort had fallen.

They had to make it through the night. Pray that the Shadow would be gone in the morning. And that he didn't have to break the promise he'd made to his sister, to Aila, to protect her children after her death.

So he simply hummed the song she'd sang to them until the day she'd died, drowning out Rana's cries and Nilas' shivers.

"The night is long,

And the path is dark.

Look to the sky,

For one day soon,

The dawn will come."

And desperately hoped its message would come true.

A/N: You can find me on Tumblr at aleteia-ff! I intend to do Six Sentence Sunday there every Sunday, which will give you all a bit of a preview of what's yet to come!

If you want to discuss the fic with me and other people, you are also welcome to join us on the A Thing Of Vikings Discord Server, in the channel aleteias-fics! The link is discordapp dot com slash invite slash xVuZfK2

The story will be updated on Saturday two weeks from now, around 6 PM Central European (Summer) Time!