As the child of none other than Viggo Grimborn, it was always clear that you would be a dragonhunter like himself and nothing else—you had it in your blood, after all, and your father started teaching you as soon as you were mentally capable of understanding. Books, studies, target practice. Your future was shaped for only one path.

Inevitably, he eventually took you out to hunt your very first dragon, only the two of you in the wilderness of a thick forest under the moon, kneeling by the footprints of what you hoped was a Deadly Nadder and not a Monstrous Nightmare.

His eyes practically pierced you as he waited for you to start reading the tracks and follow them. Thor, hadn't he taught you better? Those clawmarks should be obvious. "Remember what I taught you?" Your father finally asked, his tone stern as always, sounding like he was urging you on rather than actually asking you. His dark eyes constantly roamed around from tree to tree, assuring that nothing, and nobody, would sneak up on the two of you.