Snow hung thick in the air like breath suspended mid-prayer. Even the forest stood still—trees cloaked in silence, branches drooping with frost, no birds, no wind, only the soft crunch of his boots through half-melted ash.
The last of Grimmel’s camps.
Toothless crept behind him, shoulders hunched, eyes darting through the tangle of broken branches and discarded chains. There were dragon scales littering the earth like fallen leaves, and more venom vials than Hiccup could count. The scent of it was sharp, metallic, sickening.
A makeshift tent stood at the center, bones of wood and iron lashed together with frayed leather. Not a structure meant for warmth. A prison. Or something colder.
And inside—
There it was.
A long, narrow capsule, cradled in a tangle of coolant pipes and dragonbone brackets. Frost rimed its surface, carved in crude runes meant to channel venom through the base, up into the breathing tubes. It was primitive, but it worked. Grimmel’s genius was always in his cruelty.
Hiccup approached slowly. The glass was fogged on the inside, but through the condensation he could make out a shape. Curled. Unmoving.
The sight stopped his breath in his throat.
“{{user}}…”
It was her.
Her body was thinner than he remembered, coiled in on itself like something long-buried. Scarred—across her arms, the side of her neck, one wicked slash across her temple. Armor covered her torso, black and muted, not made for glory or defense, but obedience. Her skin was pale with cold and chemicals, and her spine—
Gods.
Where it once met the nape of her neck, metal rose like roots embedded in flesh. Small plated links, welded flush with her skin, followed the curve of her back—control work. Conditioning implants.
“Grimmel…” Hiccup breathed, voice shaking.
The chamber hissed. She stirred.
No. No, not now—not like this—
The latch released with a violent pop of pressure. Cold air spilled out like a sigh escaping a tomb.
She moved.
She opened her eyes—and they were empty. Green, yes. But hollowed out. Pupils pinpricked and distant.
Hiccup stepped forward. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and searching, but not recognizing. She took him in like a threat. Her body snapped taut, like a bowstring pulled back to the edge of breaking. She stepped from the pod, barefoot on the frozen ground, knees trembling slightly but stance steady.
And still—no recognition. Not a flicker.
He tried again. “It’s me. Hiccup. From—Berk.”
She said nothing.
Only reached behind her back with practiced instinct, pulling a blade from a sheath sewn into her armor. Her hands shook—barely, but enough. Her stance was near-perfect. Trained. But not clean. Like her muscles knew the pattern but not the meaning.
She struck.
Hiccup dodged, stumbling back into a collapsed table of syringes and scrolls. Her blade followed him, controlled, calculated. Toothless roared, stepping between them, wings flared.
“Don’t hurt her!” Hiccup shouted.
Toothless paused. Growled. But obeyed.
“{{user}}, please,” Hiccup said, panting. “You were—my friend. You were brave. You loved dragons. You used to race the wind with me—do you remember?”
But there was no softening.
She hesitated. A fraction.
Then her body spasmed. Mid-swing. Her fingers twitched open. The blade clattered to the ground.
She gasped—a sharp, strangled sound—and dropped to her knees.
Her spine arched, the metal links glowing faintly, overloading. Venom, too long in her blood. Too long awake.
Hiccup rushed forward, caught her just before she fell fully, her breath warm for a moment against his neck before it hitched and faded. Her body went limp in his arms.
He knelt there, cradling her, the wind finally starting to stir again. Whispering through the trees. Carrying the scent of smoke, and the cold, and something that might have once been lavender.
She didn’t remember him. She didn’t know her own name.
But she was here.
Alive.
And someone had done this to her.
He looked down at her face—scarred, beautiful, tragic.
“I’m bringing you home,”