9-29-13: First published story.

10-13-13: Corrected a bunch of typos and grammatical errors, changed story status to complete.

Thanks for reading!

Welcome to Berk.

My name's Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. Great name. It's not the worst name out there, but I think it's pretty close. See, being a Viking means that you get named something that's supposed to ward off evil things like gnomes and trolls. Not like our "charming" Viking demeanor wouldn't do that. But more importantly, your name should be a description of you. So predictably, I'm a scrawny little thing who just doesn't belong here. But I've got nowhere else to go. I live in Berk, and that's the way it's going to stay.

Berk is an archipelago somewhere in the northern sea. We live on one main island, and only half of it is anywhere near habitable. The north side of the main island is a steep mountain nobody dares to climb. The rest? Rock spires sticking out of the ocean. If you fell from high enough, those rocks would go straight through you. The only way to get to Berk is by ship. My village is twelve days north of Hopeless, a few degrees south of Freezing to Death and about a day's journey west of S.O.L. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. We've got loads of activities to do here, as long as it involves hunting and fishing. We've got charming views of the sunsets. And most nights are clear. The stars are always out, and during the summers, I like to come out to Raven's Point and lie on my back for a few hours, just watching the stars in their slow nightly dance.

But any idyll is always incomplete without its problems. Most places have pests like mice, or mosquitoes or maybe even a snake or two. You know, little problems. Our pests are a little more, um, adventurous, shall we say. Nature's most dangerous…wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Never mind.

Today started like any other day on Berk. Yawn. Wake up. Go downstairs. Eat a lukewarm, stale breakfast. Head to the armory for the day's work. Same old, same old. It was routine.

I got to the armory where the master blacksmith Gobber was waiting. His full name was Gobber the Belch. "G'morning, Hiccup. Here are the day's orders." He handed me a sheet of parchment that I looked through. A saddle, eight horseshoes, battle axe, sword…wait. Eight horseshoes? I knew that guy, and he only had one horse. Maybe it sprouted four new legs overnight, you know, like a spider-horse? Nah, he probably bought another one.

"Have you started on the horseshoes yet?" I asked.

From the back of the armory, Gobber said, "No, I'm doing the shields. You can make the horseshoes, though." I smiled, knowing the horseshoes would be easy.

I had gathered the scrap iron that I would need when one of the villagers shouted into the armory, "Hiccup, WHY ISN'T MY SADDLE DONE YET!?" It was Hoark. I jumped in surprise and dropped the iron. Some of it landed dangerously close to my feet. I breathed a quick sigh of relief that my toes had been spared. Normally, I wouldn't have been so lucky.

"Because I haven't started working on it yet, that's why," I said coolly, rolling my eyes, arms now void of scrap iron. He was always screaming at me. He had just told Gobber that he needed a saddle maybe an hour ago. I thought he yelled at me all the time because he was angry at something else. He could vent his problems on me, knowing I couldn't do anything back to him. I was too small to take him on. I felt relieved I was facing away from him. If he would have seen me, he'd have jumped through the vista and choked me right in front of Gobber.

"Well, get it done today. Hurry up, Jamu needs it!"

Jamu is an old, overworked horse, I thought. I had seen that horse, and Hoark literally drove her into the ground, making her work. No wonder she always rebelled against him.

From the back of the armory, Gobber called out, "You'll have to come back for it in three days. Hiccup will be done with it then." Gobber knew even though he was an excellent blacksmith, I could kick his butt any day in making saddles. The villagers knew it too. So he always left the saddles to me, and he was fully aware it took about a day and a half to make them. I wasn't gonna start on it until tomorrow anyway.

Hoark turned a fantastic shade of puce and stormed off. "Good riddance," I said underneath my breath. I gathered the scrap iron back up and started over to the coals. I dropped the iron onto the coals and blew the bellows into the fire using all of my weight. Gobber loved to watch me do that and then show me that he could do the same task with one finger.

After the coals were hot enough, I looked at the parchment again. Sword. Sounded good to me. I dropped another chunk of iron onto the coals. While the iron was heating, I found the molds I needed. We always had three horseshoe molds on hand and two molds for swords. Everything here was cast iron. I waited. And waited some more. Blew the bellows into the fire again, trying to keep the temperature hot. Finally, the iron started to show a nice orange color, meaning it was hot enough for the next step.

I grabbed a stone beaker from one of the shelves and placed the hottest iron chunk into it. This time though, the beaker went directly into the fire. Working with cast iron meant we had to deal with molten iron at all times. Safety was a big concern here.

I checked the beaker after about ten minutes and saw the iron was melted. Placing the mold into a vice to hold it, I grabbed the beaker with forceps and brought it over to the mold. I poured the molten iron into the mold without spilling a drop. Perfect. The only person on Berk who could do that better than me was Gobber. That was because he had a prosthesis where his left hand should have been. It was interchangeable, too. In the armory, he always had his prosthetic forceps on. But outside of the armory, I had seen him use prostheses ranging from a skewer to a broom to an axe. He even had a prosthetic drinking mug. Leave it to a Viking to think of something like that.

Besides having a prosthetic arm, Gobber was also missing his right leg. He only used a peg there, because it was too much trouble to switch out a leg rather than an arm.

I let the iron cool in the mold while I prepared another batch of scrap iron for another horseshoe. After a few minutes, I opened the mold and a nice, black (but still searing hot) horseshoe was waiting for me. Using forceps, I took the horseshoe over to a barrel of water and dunked it, listening to the water hiss. One minute in cold water was always enough to cool hot iron down. I took the horseshoe out of the water and filed the edges down to make it wearable.

Ta-da. One horseshoe down. Seven more and a sword to go.

But this was life for me. Routine, like I said. I finished the horseshoes in the early afternoon and ate a late lunch. I knew there was still iron on the coals, but making swords took a little more effort than making horseshoes. That meant the iron needed to be hotter before I did anything with it.

I came back after lunch and made the sword blade and handle. The problem with swords was that they never came out sharp from the mold. Which is why the gods invented a sharpening wheel. After sharpening both sides of the sword, I polished it and got ready to trace out a design to decorate it with.

Before I could start with the artistic side of the sword, Gobber snatched it from my hands and said, "I'll do this one, Hiccup." I shrugged and went over to collect the horseshoes.

"I'm finished with the horseshoes. They'll be here in this sack when Hoark comes to get them."

"Okay, lad. See you tomorrow." So I left.

I was surprised today, since Gobber didn't say anything in character to or about me. He always meant well, but most of his advice and comments to me came out the wrong way. There's a name for that kind of stuff: badvice.

I got back home and went upstairs, not paying any mind to my father who was sitting at the hearth, cooking something over a roaring fire. I got to my room, which was the entire upstairs portion of our house, threw my apron off and went into the bath area. I washed my dusty face off and looked in the basin full of water. My reflection stared back at me, complete with mouse-brown hair and a bony build. I had almost no muscle, simply because there was nowhere to put it. I thought working in Gobber's armory for the past three years would help put on some weight, but that plan backfired on me, just like most of my other ideas. Sure, I might have gained a pound or two, but in the long run, what does that matter? More meat? I took a deep breath, knowing every day was the exact same predicament.

I had always wanted to be a great Viking. Yeah, right. Every time I told myself that, I'd always get a look at my reflection. Every day was the same shock of hair and stick-figure body. There was no way I'd ever become a "Great Viking." I wasn't even sure I'd become a Viking at all! But I figured if I couldn't become a Viking, then I could always help someone else get there. That was the secondary reason I worked in the armory. The primary reason? So I'd be out of the way of the rest of Berk.

I came back downstairs to a pot of mush. My father was at the table, already digging into his supper. I spooned myself a bowl and sat down across the table from him. Neither of us made eye contact. I heard him say something into his bowl, but his mouth was full, so I couldn't understand what he said.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Winter's almost here. The nights are getting cooler."

"Yeah, they are," I agreed.

"Did anyone give you problems at the armory today?" he asked.

"No, I just made horseshoes and casted a sword. Nobody bothered me today."

"Good. Did you finish the battle axe I ordered today?"

"No, we didn't get around to it yet. Gobber was busy with the shields, and I've gotta do a saddle tomorrow. Gobber promised one of the villagers that I'd be done with it in two days." I rolled my eyes in disgust, thinking about Hoark. How he always seemed to buttonhole me at just the right time for someone else's inconvenience.

"Hoark? The one who's always angry?"

"That's him," I said sarcastically.

"Okay, but make sure that Gobber starts on it tomorrow, Hiccup. I have a feeling that our livestock is at risk right now. Nothing's happened in a while, so maybe they're waiting for the perfect time to attack."

I shrugged. I didn't know what to say, because I thought I would jinx everything if I opened my mouth. See, I have this skill, I guess, of being able to turn any situation hopeless.

My father yawned as he finished his supper. "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning."

"'Night, Dad." I said into my bowl of mush. Our conversations were normally short. Tonight's exchange, however, was unusually long for us. My father and I never really saw eye-to-eye. He was a coarse, gruff Viking and I was a scrawny little thing. Thankfully, though, Gobber was an excellent go-between.

I finished my meal, went upstairs and fell asleep as soon as I lay down.

Before going farther, I should point out that Vikings have been in Berk for seven generations. This land is very familiar to us, but all the houses are brand new. We just finished rebuilding about this time last year. And for some odd reason, we hadn't seen a sign of the pests that usually come to plague us during the summer months. Needless to say, some of the villagers had been jittery for the past few weeks, waiting for them to show up. I preferred not to think about it. Life was easier that way.

Yawn. Wake up, get up, stand up, freshen up. Another day, another order. Hooray. I ambled over to the armory after another stale breakfast, where Gobber was peacefully working away at the battle axe my father had asked me to complete yesterday.

"'Mornin', Hiccup," he said without even looking up.

"I'm gonna get started on Hoark's saddle today," I replied. I saw him nod and then refocus on his work.

Saddles were kinda tricky because you needed a metal frame, which was always interesting to make. The problem we had was that there was no mold that we could use to make the frame. Every horse was different, and I had to make sure the saddle fit well enough so that it didn't hurt the horse's back.

I gathered up the scrap iron I needed and placed it on the coals, heating them up with the bellows again. When the iron was orange-hot, I took it over to an anvil and started hammering away. The sharp clank-clank of the hammer meeting hot iron was abrasive, but it really helped to drown out any other noise. For example, I didn't even notice Hoark yelling at me as I worked.

"HICCUP!" Gobber shouted over the din.

"WHAT!?" I screamed. "Oh."

"You should really learn to pay attention to your customers, lad," Gobber pointed out, motioning to the front window of the armory.

I glanced in that direction and saw Hoark with a purple face, rather than a red one. Before he could scream anything, Gobber said to him, "Hiccup just started your saddle. It'll be done tomorrow afternoon." Hoark huffed and stormed away. I just stared at Gobber.

"Can I get back to work now?" I asked, almost sarcastically. Gobber motioned at me to continue, so I turned back around, just as the frame brushed the side of my arm. "RRRRRRRGGGGH!" I screamed through gritted teeth. I gripped my forearm where the frame had brushed it and hopped around for about a minute before the burning subsided.

"Hiccup, when will you stop being so clumsy?" Gobber asked.

"Not today," I mumbled under my breath as I found some cool water. Geez, that metal smarts when it's hot.

I looked at the frame and thought about breaking it. Stupid frame. Nah, that wouldn't be good. Hoark would come right back and strangle me over it.

I shrugged and started back on pounding the frame into shape. After six hammer strikes, I realized the metal had cooled too much. Great, this was gonna be "fun." I started pounding harder, trying to get the iron to bend into the correct shape, but it wouldn't budge.

"WHY!?" I shouted in frustration to nobody in particular. Gobber had heard me scream that word while working so many times he didn't even look my direction. Stupid frame. Only one choice left now. Reheat it. I put the frame onto the coals and went to work with the bellows. I waited about five minutes until the frame was orange-hot and went to town again. This time, I was going to ignore anyone or anything that might come with the intention of bothering me.

I bent the frame into the shape I needed and let it cool for a while. Perfect time for lunch. I went home and grabbed a bite to eat. Lunch was fast this time around. For some reason, making saddles was really cool in my opinion. Even if it was for someone who hated me.

After returning to the armory, I continued with the saddle, working on the leather crossing between the sides of the frame. By the time I finished for the day, I figured I'd be done with the saddle in the mid-morning tomorrow. I was ahead of schedule.

I went home, ate supper and got into bed. Another day in the books.

The sound of distant shouting woke me up. It sounded like "Puns!" I wondered why somebody was randomly shouting for jokes and went back to sleep. But the shouting didn't stop. Before I could drift away from consciousness again, I heard the shout come back, this time a little closer. "Weapons! Shields! Hurry up! Get the livestock into their pens, NOW!"

I bolted upright. "Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no," I mumbled at breakneck speed. The pests were here. And they were about to take our livestock if we weren't fast enough. I only knew one thing: get…to…the…armory…five minutes ago. I scrambled out of bed, put my boots on and dashed out of the house. My only goal was the armory. There, I could help the villagers by giving them weapons and tools that they could use to keep the pests away. But I needed to hurry.

I tripped about halfway from home over a rock. I was moving so fast I did a front flip and landed on my back. A villager spotted me airborne and ran in, ready for the kill. "RAAAAH! Oh wait! G' morning!" he shouted with a smile and hurried off to deal with a more pressing problem. I stood up and continued on my way.

As I was sprinting toward the armory, I passed by a bunch of villagers scrambling to get their livestock into their safe enclosures. Many of them wanted to do the same to me too, because they knew if I stayed out too long, I'd get in people's way. I heard people shouting, "Get back inside!" or "What are you doing out here, Hiccup!?"

I was about to reach the armory when my father's hand pulled me aside. He asked the villagers, "What is he doin…Hiccup, what in Odin's name are you doing out here!?" He stared me directly in the face, then shoved me into the armory. "Get in there! Help us out, now!" I couldn't defend myself because there wasn't time. I just took the blame and ran into the armory, where I would be generally out of the way.

I ran over to the apron rack and donned an apron. I turned around to find Gobber switching out his prosthetic forceps for something a little more appropriate…an axe. "Nice of you to join the party, Hiccup. I thought you'd been carried off."

I placed his forceps on a rack and said, "Nah, I'm way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all…this." I made a show of flexing my arms in complete sarcasm.

"Well, they always need toothpicks, don't they?" he asked. I rolled my eyes at Gobber, knowing he could easily catch onto my sense of humor.

I gathered up a few weapons lying around the armory and placed them at the front window, waiting for villagers to come by and snag them to drive the pests away. I saw my father conversing with another villager. He was close enough for me to hear what they had to say.

"What's the status?" my father asked.

"Nadders, Gronckles, Zipplebacks, and at least two Monstrous Nightmares. Most of them are on the east side of Berk." East side. Nothing there except craggy rocks and boulders. Basically land you would not call arable. The pests usually came from this way, advancing like a wave from east to west over Berk.

"Any Night Furies?"

"None so far."

"Good." A nearby wooden statue exploded, raining kindling and burning debris all around my father and his cohort. One of the pieces of flaming shrapnel landed on his shoulder plate, which he casually brushed off. For my father, there were more pressing issues at the moment. "Take your team toward the eastern side of Berk. Concentrate your fire over the lower bank. Do not let them get near the livestock."

"Right." His cohort left and motioned for his team to follow.

My father's name is Stoick the Vast. Just like Hiccup fits me, Stoick fits him. All seven feet two inches of muscle. Long flaming red hair and a massive beard to match. He has a coarse, gruff accent, perfect for a Viking. He could probably beat an ox in a strength contest. It doesn't help my image that my father is the chieftain of our little Viking tribe here on Berk. Every day, I get bizarre looks from people wondering how in blazes I'm going to run this tribe when I become leader.

I turned around to find Gobber trying to open the side door to the armory when a blast of fire met the door. He quickly shut it.

"Why in Thor's name do they always do that!?" Gobber shouted into the armory. I just kept running back and forth, delivering more weapons to the front of the vista.

See, we don't have your usual kind of pests. We have dragons. Lots of them. In a village that is plagued several times a year by flying, fire-breathing beasts, most people would leave. Quickly. But not us, we're Vikings. We have stubbornness issues.

I watched the show through the front vista. Several Vikings were toting buckets of water, hoping they could extinguish any flames that might appear. Some were carrying weapons, ready to drive the dragons back. And some were trying to get the livestock back to safety. I thought it was ironic that what we called "safe" was in a wooden building. Last time I checked, wood is decently flammable.

"ASTRID! GET WATER OVER HERE! WE'RE ABOUT TO LOSE A HOUSE!" a Viking shouted just outside the armory.

Five of the Viking teenagers about my age ran across the way, ready to extinguish flames coming from a house nearby. Everyone could tell it was on fire, because we could see it smoldering, but no flames were visible. But they were ready. They were also smart enough to know not to open the front door. Several (more ignorant) Vikings have been injured by this inconvenient phenomenon called a backdraft. As the flames licked out, each one spent their bucket on the flames in the hope that they could salvage the house. But when Astrid emptied her bucket, the house exploded. Astrid hit the ground to avoid the shrapnel. So much for that idea.

"NO!" she screamed. She pounded the earth with her fist.

Astrid is one of only two teenagers I can halfway relate to here on Berk, the other being Fishlegs. She's the favorite of our generation, simply because she's a tomboy and actually has the physique to become a Viking in the near future. She's not much bigger than me, but for whatever reason, she's crazy strong. There is nothing that scares her.

Fishlegs is an overweight Viking teenager with a slightly high-pitched voice who is a total geek. He's not quite a loser like I am because he's pretty strong himself and doesn't think about what he's about to get into, both of which are desirable traits for a "Great Viking." He always, and I mean always, expresses his (profoundly deep) knowledge about dragons in role-playing game terms.

As what was formerly the house collapsed, I was transfixed watching Astrid stand up and walk toward the armory. Everything just looked perfect about the scene. There was a dull fire burning in the background, and Astrid was in the foreground. I knew she and the other four teenagers were gonna demand more water, but my feet wouldn't do anything to help me. Eventually, I snapped out of my trance and refilled their buckets as fast as I could move. Nobody complained, because we all knew exactly what each person needed to do. I was the supplier for weapons, shields and water when the need arose. They helped keep the village doused when dragons decided to arrive.

To my left, my father had just spied a Nadder hovering over some sheep. He grabbed some wooden scaffolding and heaved it straight at the Nadder's head. The scaffolding shattered, forcing the dragon to retreat with a snarl. I didn't think anyone, dragon or Viking, wanted to have a bone to pick with my dad when he was angry. There was even a rumor going around Berk that when my father was a baby, he popped a full-grown dragon's head clean off its shoulders. Did I believe it? Absolutely.

Aw, man. Just once, I wanted to be one of them. Their job was soooooo much cooler than being stuck in an armory. I wanted to show everyone I could handle keeping the village in order, whether it was fighting dragons or keeping fire at bay. So I decided to escape and find a bucket. I was gonna help Astrid and them keep everything wet.

I had gotten one leg over the vista ledge when Gobber snagged my vest and hoisted me back into the armory. "You're not going anywhere, Hiccup. You're staying right here."

"Aw, please? I need to make my mark!" I pleaded with him.

"Oh, you've made plenty of marks, all in the wrong places! I'm not gonna tell you again, you're going to stay here. Period."

"Please, just this once. Give me two minutes. I'll kill a dragon, my life will get infinitely better, and I might even get a date."

Gobber snorted. "Kill a dragon? You can't lift a hammer. You can't swing an axe. You can't even throw one of these!" He lifted a bola, which was two iron balls connected by about three yards of rope. "How could you bring a dragon down without it?"

In a stroke of perfect timing, a villager reached into the armory and grabbed the bola from him. Gobber jumped and turned around, watching the villager swing the bola above his head like a combination between a lasso and a sling. He grunted and threw the bola, where it entangled a Gronckle. The dragon crashed to the ground, and five villagers ran over to subdue/kill it.

"Okay, maybe I can't throw one, but this," I motioned to my latest invention, Mangler, "will throw it for me." I touched Mangler, where it sprung open, shooting a bola straight toward a villager waiting at the vista for a shield. I jumped aside as the bola was launched, but the villager wasn't so lucky. The bola conked him in the head and knocked him out cold.

"See, now this right here is what I'm talking about!" Gobber shouted at me, starting to turn a shade of red.

"I-it's a mild calibration issue. I'll fix it."

"Hiccup," he said. "If you want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop…" he paused, waiting for the right words to come to him. "…All…this." He motioned in my general direction as he finished his suggestion on how to improve my dragon-fighting skills.

"You just motioned to all of me!" I shouted.

"Yes! That's it! Stop being all of you!" There it was, the famous badvice. Right on cue. I rolled my eyes.

"Ohhhhhhh," I started, trying to look and sound intimidating. It was difficult, since Gobber was roughly twice my size.

"Ohhhhhhh, yes," he said mockingly.

"You, sir, are playing a dangerous game, keeping this much raw…unfettered…Viking-ness contained! THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES!" I shouted at him.

Without missing a beat, he leaned in close and said quietly, "I'll take my chances." He turned around and handed me the sword from yesterday, saying, "Sword. Sharpened. Now." The weight of the sword dropping into my hands almost made me collapse. He strode off. I clumsily made my way over to the sharpening wheel and got to work.

Gobber opened the door, this time a little more cautiously. He peeked around the opening and apparently saw there was nothing coming, so he swung the door open and started out. "You know what to do, Hiccup."

I glanced at him from the sharpening wheel.

"Good. Stay," he said, as if I were a dog. He thought about what he had just said and added "Put." He turned to run out and wheeled back around, adding "There." He paused. "You know what I mean." I just stood there dumbfounded, waiting for him to decide he was finished with his broken conversation with me. He must have been because he turned back around and screamed "YAAAAAH!" while holding his prosthetic axe up, ready for dragon blood.

I made a show of returning back to the sharpening wheel, but I had no intention of getting Gobber's sword ready, especially when he wasn't going to use it tonight. I glanced around the armory, noticing I was the only one there. Good. I ran back to the stock area and grabbed as many axes and swords as I could. I hoisted them into the front vista for other villagers who were nearby to grab. After two more trips, I decided there were enough "puns" at the vista. It was time for the show. Mangler.

I hurried over to Mangler, wondering why it fired at a touch. Testing wasn't like this at all. What was going on? The firing mechanism was still intact. The elastic band wasn't showing any aging. The targeting reticule was still there. What about the safety? That had to be it. The safety pin wasn't set. My shoulders slumped. "Oh, you're a bright, clumsy, skinny Viking, Hiccup," I mumbled under my breath. I engaged the safety pin after loading another bola I had made in my spare time. Instead of two iron balls, this one had three. The rope was about five yards long and had a branch point in the middle, which accounted for the third ball. In test launches, I found shooting a three-ball bola was better than a two-ball bola, at least from what Mangler could do.

Briefly, I thought about my next design for a bola. I came up with it two days ago, where the three ropes and balls were connected to each other using a central ring, rather than simply attaching a second rope in the middle of the first. The forces during rotation were unequal on the iron balls, so I thought replacing that simple junction with a ring would make the bola fly straighter, farther and harder. But the design had to wait. I was planning on making some rings later today because they only took a few minutes, but the dragon invasion put those plans on hold. I had to make do with the supplies I had available.

Slowly, I wheeled Mangler to the open door Gobber had left so kindly for me to waltz right on through. I peeked through the door and saw all of Berk was still fighting the invading dragons. I had to take my chance now. Mangler wasn't designed to be light for no reason. I could run at a near full-tilt pushing Mangler along. I shoved Mangler through the door and headed for my designated spot. Well, it was designated in my mind that I was gonna take down a dragon from this spot: Raven's Point.

Raven's Point is located on a promontory a couple hundred yards from our village. It's easily accessible from home and is a pretty straight walk. It overlooks the open ocean for about a half mile before we can see the other half of Berk, the half that is nearly uninhabitable because of a steep mountain rising smack-dab in the middle of it.

I wheeled Mangler along my designated route to Raven's Point, shouting to the villagers, "Armory's open! Get whatever you need from there!" Several villagers I passed looked at me curiously, but didn't ask what I was doing. Not because I had the coolest contraption Berk had ever seen. It was because they had their own things to worry about.

I made it to Raven's Point without much fuss, although I was a little out of breath at the end. Can't forget, it's an uphill climb to here.

I looked back down to Berk and saw the house that had exploded earlier was nearly burned to the ground. I watched a dragon zip behind another house across the way. Nothing happened for a brief minute. I waited. The house didn't explode like the last one. It melted. Just flat melted. I had never seen wood do that before. Whoa, that fire must have been hot. What didn't surprise me, however, was the same dragon showing itself and terrorizing the villagers. It was a Monstrous Nightmare, I was sure of that.

After sixteen years on Berk, I had come to know about each invading dragon's modus operandi. The Monstrous Nightmare is a large red dragon, about sixty feet long from snout to tail tip. It has no front legs, so it uses the claws on its wingtips to crawl around. It can't stand on its hind legs very long, but sometimes it will to get a better angle of attack on something. Its head is large enough to swallow a Viking whole. Thankfully, I've never seen that happen. Nor do I want to. But what really impresses me about the Monstrous Nightmare is its fire. It behaves more like a pyroclastic flow. Like lava. Its fire is extremely viscous and flows like a liquid. Oh, but that's not all. One of the M.N.'s favorite attacks is to coat itself in its own fire and attack anything that moves near. The dreaded fire jacket. Man, everybody hates that. How do you fend off something that's covered in fire?

That must have been why the house collapsed in fire, so the Monstrous Nightmare could get its fire jacket going. I watched as people hurriedly ran away, trying to find some other not-so-dangerous dragon to fight and maybe even kill.

I looked back to the exploded house's foundation and saw a Hideous Zippleback sauntering over to the next-door neighbor's house. We just call it a Zippleback, because it's hideous enough. No redundancy needed here.

The Zippleback is a greenish dragon with two heads. It has two long necks coming out of one massive four-legged body with two tails. Each head serves a purpose. One head breathes flammable gas, the other lights it with a spark. That was probably why the house exploded, because of that spark. Most of the time, the Zippleback knows what it's doing, and each head does what it's supposed to. But there have been several instances when the same dragon disagrees with itself. We've killed several Zipplebacks because they were bickering with themselves. So, to that I say: Would it really get you noticed, or did you just get lucky? My money was always on luck. No brute strength required when a dragon isn't focused on you.

The Zippleback crashed one of its heads through a top window and greenish gas came spilling out of its mouth, filling the house. Two villagers ran out of the door just before the dragon stuck its other head in and produced a spark with a kind of jerking movement. The house exploded a second later, sending a shockwave through my chest that felt like a punch.

I looked at both razed houses and saw that the dragons weren't interested in heading my direction. That was good, because I was going to bring down a dragon. Like Gobber said, I couldn't throw a bola, but Mangler sure could. It had proved its worth earlier tonight.

I could have turned Mangler around and ensnared either the Nightmare or the Zippleback. I could have done it. I mean, seriously, killing any dragon for all of Berk to see would get me noticed. I figured a Nadder or Gronckle would do the trick for that. A Zippleback? Two heads—twice the glory, because we never thought about whether it was at odds with itself or not. A Nightmare would be absolutely date-worthy. Only the bravest (or dumbest) Vikings go after those. But no. I was going for the whole shebang. The impossible. I wanted a Night Fury. Nature's most dangerous airborne creature. This dragon was so legendary I couldn't connect a reward to killing it.

Nobody on Berk has ever seen a Night Fury. Nobody. Not even my father. But we all know what it can do. From our guesses, it's a moderately-sized dragon that never lands. But don't forget that "moderately-sized" to us is still about four of my dad put together. It's gotta be a black dragon, otherwise someone would have seen it by now. But, hey, it could be cyan or ecru or chartreuse and nobody would be able to tell. It could just be that fast. But we're Vikings, we think simply. So we say it's fast and it's black. It never steals food. It never lands. It just serves as a diversion. And it's ridiculously good at its job. You can always tell a Night Fury is ready to attack. You can't see it, but you can't mistake its cry. The first thing you hear from a Night Fury is a high-pitched ballistic scream that gets louder and higher in pitch. This is your two-second warning to get to someplace where you don't think it's gonna strike. Hope you get super-lucky. Once it gets close enough, it fires a bright blue fireball at its target which explodes on contact. Nobody has ever seen it miss. Ever. It doesn't help us that the Night Fury (or Night Furies, we're not really sure if there is more than one) is incredibly smart. Our watchtowers are always its first targets. We can see dragons coming and going from the watchtowers and we can shoot them down with double trebuchets built into them, so why not get rid of those quickly?

I checked to see if the watchtowers were still there. They were. They were still firing boulders at dragons that had decided to land and corral our livestock. No Night Fury…yet. I was gonna wait for it to show up. I was gonna nail it with the bola from Mangler, find it, kill it and bring its heart back to my father. I was gonna show everyone in Berk I could kill a dragon. I was gonna be the first one to not only see a Night Fury, but kill it as well. Then I was gonna show its corpse to everyone else on Berk. Instant fame, instant glory, instant dates, instant no-more-making-fun-of-Hiccup. Foolproof, right?

I opened Mangler to get it ready for the one chance I had to snag a Night Fury. Mangler worked as a spring-loaded launch ballista for bolas. Basically, I had two elastic bands stretched to their limits, ready to fire the bola whenever I wanted. I didn't have to wait by twirling the bola around my head at all. Just pull a trigger, and Mangler would fire. Just like magic.

I looked around toward the other half of Berk, trying to gauge where the Night Fury might show itself. Probably somewhere around the watchtower to my right. That way was east. Where the dragons were coming from. The east watchtower was best situated, since the land it was on was higher than the rest of the village part of Berk. So I angled my shot to be somewhere between the mountain and the watchtower. If I shot the Night Fury and it landed in the water, I assumed it would float. And if by some chance, it hit land when it came down, so much the better.

I thought it was peculiar that the watchtowers were still standing, because the dragons had been here for about half an hour. Normally, the Night Fury will raze both towers within ten minutes. Most of the time, it's the first dragon to arrive here.

I listened for any sign of a Night Fury. Somehow, tonight, I was able to ignore the din coming from Berk and focus only on the Night Fury I knew had to be somewhere nearby. On my game. In the zone. I just didn't know when it would attack. I waited, listening.

From out of nowhere came a high-pitched scream, starting off in the distance. It sounded like it was coming from near the mountain across the bay. North. "Oh, man. Here we go again…" I mumbled. It was the ballistic scream of a Night Fury. And judging by the way the sound was headed, the Night Fury had its sights on the watchtower I had picked out.

I heard a villager on the watchtower shout, "NIGHT FURY!"

Immediately afterward, my father shouted, "JUMP!"

About a hundred yards out to sea appeared a bright blue flash. I watched the fireball streak in slow motion toward the watchtower, where it exploded, raining kindling all over the area. I saw at least four Vikings jump off the watchtower, yelling in panic. The catapults that were on top of the watchtower buckled and bent in two. They collapsed, tumbling into the water with a tremendous splash.

For a brief instant, the fire coming from what was formerly the watchtower backlit a shape. It looked like a dragon, and it looked black. The Night Fury.

Gods, this was terrifying. What if the Night Fury saw me? What if it decided to aim for Mangler? The heck with it. I didn't trudge all the way out here just to get scared and run screaming back into the armory. I was gonna bring this Night Fury down.

I heard the scream start again, from the same general area, heading in my direction. "CRUD!" I yelled and jumped off of Mangler. The blue fireball sizzled over me and struck a house somewhere on Berk. I didn't pause to look where it hit, because I heard the Night Fury's wings swish maybe fifteen feet above me. This was my chance. I scrambled back onto the platform I had designed Mangler with and focused on my target area. Waiting to catch a glimpse of the dragon we as Vikings feared the most.

…Aaaaand predictably, I only saw the stars in the clear night sky. Great. No dragon. It had disappeared just as quickly as it had showed up. I couldn't see it against the night sky. But maybe I didn't have to see the dragon directly. No, it would obscure the stars as it flew around. Bingo. I scanned for any stars that disappeared and reappeared in quick sequence. Heck, this beat staring through the targeting reticule. I was getting a headache looking through that thing. Maybe I could even follow the Night Fury just by looking at the stars. I knew it was elusive, but I also knew it wasn't invisible.

Dragon raid aside, the night was absolutely perfect for stargazing. Every star in the night sky was in full force, twinkling down on Berk like it was meant to be. I kinda wished there wasn't an emergency tonight, because this was the perfect time to lie on my back watching the stars, trying to find patterns. Constellations. Make up stories in my head about what the constellations meant. I relaxed thinking about this. Man, just being here tonight was amazing. Who cared about the story (or lack thereof) that I would eventually tell? Tonight was perfect. Just…

THERE! A few stars suddenly flickered, like something had passed in front of them. My heart skipped a beat. Here it was, my chance for legendary glory. I followed the disappearing stars, knowing full-well this was the Night Fury. "Come on, come on. Get closer," I whispered. The Night Fury made a large, banked turn and was heading back toward where the watchtower originally was. It was on a slight downward track.

This. Was. It. The only chance I was gonna get for the rest of the year. I set up the bola's path where I thought the Night Fury was going to cross. Judging by the speed of the disappearing/reappearing of the stars, I estimated the Night Fury wasn't in any hurry. The size of the silhouette told me the Night Fury was at most a hundred yards away. I put my right index finger on the trigger, ready to pull when I was absolutely sure the Night Fury would cross my target line.

"Three…two…one…" I mumbled. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger. There was a mechanical click-clank sound as Mangler launched the bola without hesitation. The force of the launch sent me sprawling on the ground about five feet away. I scrambled up to my feet, watching the bola head on my target line, watching the stars disappearing and reappearing. Hoping they would meet at the same time. Feeling they would meet at the same time. Knowing they would meet at the same time. Slow-motion took over again. Those last few yards took an eternity, although I knew it was just a fraction of a second. My mind was racing like crazy, trying to will the bola on straight, but time just wasn't fast enough for my mind. I sucked in a quick breath.

I didn't see it happen, but I heard it. There was a distant thwap-thwap-clunk sound that could only mean one thing: I shot a Night Fury. Not only that, but there was also a screech followed by a low, long moan, nothing like the ballistic scream that we had gotten so used to. And it sounded like the dragon was losing altitude. Quickly. I watched the stars disappear and reappear where the Night Fury was and saw the dragon really was going down. I watched it as long as I could, ready to venture out at a moment's notice to find my catch. It was headed to the eastern base of the mountain on the other side of Berk. Got it! Ladies and gentlemen of Berk, worry no longer! I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, did the unthinkable!

"I DID IT! I REALLY DID IT! YES! I SHOT A NIGHT FURY!" I shouted at the top of my lungs with an emphatic fist pump to the rest of Berk, hoping someone would turn around and applaud me. "DID ANYBODY SEE THAT?!"

From behind me, I didn't hear applause. I heard a low snarl. I turned around, scared of what might have been there. Maybe the Night Fury. Maybe the bola hadn't done its job and missed. I looked at the dragon that was the source of the noise.

It was definitely not a Night Fury. But it was a Monstrous Nightmare. "…Except you," I said sardonically. Menacingly, the dragon brought its back leg down hard on Mangler, where it crunched to splinters. Oh, crud, this dragon was ticked that I had shot down its best friend. Time to run for my life.

Days later, I would regret this. Why didn't I run straight toward the armory? Oh no, I took a long route. A scenic route, I guess. Screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping somebody would miraculously come to the rescue, I ran at top speed, trying to lose the dragon.

Distantly, I heard my father yell to some villagers, "DO NOT LET THEM ESCAPE!"

I ducked behind a large pillar that held a firelight. It had a metal base about eight feet tall and the rest was wooden. I knew the pillar was between me and the dragon, so its fire couldn't get to me unless it snuck around the pillar.

A wave of heat met me from both sides. I crouched down, making myself the smallest target possible as the dragon's pyroclastic fire flowed on both sides of me. It was lasting so long that I thought my clothes were going to catch fire.

After an eternity, the fire stopped. I briefly watched it flow down the path toward sea. Nothing to hurt between it and the water. But I had more pressing things to worry about. Like the fact that the metal base on the pillar was now glowing cherry red. And I still heard the dragon breathing from the other side of the pillar. I snuck a peek around the pillar to my right, where I saw the dragon's tail. I had to take this chance and run. I hoped the dragon was looking for me from the other side of the pillar.

I heard a grunt from behind me as my father dove in and tackled (yes, that's right, he tackled) the dragon, turning its attention to him and not me. The dragon glared at my father and tried to blast him with fire, but only a cinder came out. "You're all out," my father said to the dragon with a leer. He lunged in, smacking the beast in the snout with a massive punch and followed it up with a lightning fast roundhouse kick to its lower jaw. The dragon grunted and took off, not wanting any more of the world's toughest and most formidable Viking: my dad, thank you very much.

I heard a low groan right in front of me as the pillar began to wobble. A structural groan, like wood is about to snap. The metal frame was buckling and was ready to give at any moment. Embers from the firelight were raining down around us. The metal base snapped like a twig, sending the firelight barreling down Berk. Toward the other Vikings keeping tonight's catch of dragons at bay. The torchlight ripped straight through the crowd of dragons and Vikings, forcing the villagers to scatter. This gave the dragons two seconds to escape which was about an hour longer than needed to get away with the livestock. The last thing I saw was each and every single one of the dragons we had captured flying away with our sheep. Our goats. I heard their panicked cries getting more and more distant, like it was an insult to me for disobeying my orders. Aaaaand, once again, the prospect of a hungry winter was upon us. All it took was one decision by me. Five minutes, and I ruined the entire rest of the year for all of Berk. Again.

But that wasn't the biggest emergency at hand. My father was glaring daggers at me like he was ready to kill someone. A Night Fury would have run for cover. I looked up at him with absolutely no idea on how to act right now. This was insane. I had never seen him look so angry at anyone or anything. Even a dragon.

"H-hi, Dad…" I managed to whisper, trying to make myself as small as possible, trying to become so small he would think I was invisible. I looked toward where the firelight had rolled through Berk and saw the villagers all trudging in my direction, murder on their minds. I looked back up at my father and, as quickly as possible, said, "Okay-but-I-hit-a-Night-Fury."

Without saying a word, he grabbed me forcibly by the arm and dragged me back to our house. I had no idea what punishment lay in store for me. I didn't even know a crime this horrendous could be committed by anyone.

"It's not like last time, Dad. I really actually truly did hit a Night Fury. You were busy fighting the dragons, and I had a very clear shot. It went down just beyond Raven's Point. Let's get a search party together and go find it before…"

"STOP." His face was the color of his beard. Red. Flaming red. Hoark would have been proud. I shut up very quickly. No matter what I had on my mind, if I said another word, I'd exacerbate the situation. "Why is it when you get out against orders, disaster falls on Berk? Can you not see I have more important things to worry about here? Winter is here in two months and I HAVE AN ENTIRE VILLAGE TO FEED! ALL OF OUR LIVESTOCK IS GONE! GONE!"

"Between you and me, I think the village could do with a little less feeding, if you know what I mean," I said softly, trying to ease the tension. I realized that the villagers had made it close enough to hear me, because I noticed a few of them grumbling.

"THIS ISN'T A JOKE, HICCUP! Why can't you follow the simplest orders?"

I thought up a pseudo-lie on the spot. "I-I can't stop myself. It's who I am, Dad. I just see a dragon, and I have to just…kill it." I made a wrenching gesture with my hands, tearing off an imaginary dragon's head.

My father sighed in disbelief as his hand met his forehead. "You are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon slayer is not one of them." My shoulders slumped. "Get to bed. We'll talk in the morning." I looked around, noticing that dawn's light was just breaking.

"Um, it's morning now, so can we talk?" He glared at me again and pointed to our house, which surprisingly, wasn't touched by the raid. I started walking, Gobber right behind me.

I heard a teenager's voice to my right. It was Snotlout Jorgenson. He could talk a big game, but he had no courage whatsoever. He thought he was the greatest Viking ever to set foot on Berk. He had a good, stocky body build, so that bought him some favors with the tribesmen. "Oh, man. I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. That was awesome! Thanks, Hiccup, for making us look good."

"You're welcome!" I said sardonically. "Just doing my best to help out."

Gobber pushed him out of the way, where he shouted "Ow!" and fell down. Laughing.

"Really, I did. I brought a Night Fury down," I told Gobber as we made our way back up to the house, trying to convince him.

"Mm-hmm," he said, not believing a word of it. He smacked me in the back of the head lightly, probably trying to force that "lie" out of my mind as we walked up the steps to my father's house.

"He never believes me. He always looks at me with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich," I stated. In a show of mock brute strength, I puffed out my chest and started to mimic my father. "Excuse me, barmaid! I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring! I ordered an extra large boy with beefy arms! Extra guts and glory on the side! This here, this is a talking fishbone!"

"You're thinking about this all wrong," Gobber started. "It's not what you look like. It's what's inside he can't stand."

I looked at him with a twisted, confused face, thinking about his badvice. "Thank you, for summing that up for me," I said, not the least bit sarcastically.

"Look," Gobber started. "All I'm saying is stop trying so hard to be something that you're not."

"I just wanna be one of you guys." I trudged into my house without saying another word. There was nothing to say. As usual, I knew and everybody else knew the exact same thing. I was the sole cause of the problems on Berk. Not the dragons, they just came and went. We were living in their territory. But if I weren't here, everybody knew there would be more food in the winter. Berk would be a safer place. A happier place.