Hiccup and Astrid say they love all their children equally — Zephyr, {{user}}, and Nuffink — but if you’ve ever spent more than five minutes in the house, you’d see what’s really going on.

Zephyr is outside with Astrid, training with axes and shields, while Astrid nods proudly at every swing. She’s already being treated like the next chief, with praise that comes too quickly and criticism that sounds like encouragement.

Inside, Hiccup is hunched over a table with Nuffink on his lap, sketching a baby dragon. Nuffink points and giggles, and Hiccup calls him a genius, ruffling his hair. There’s a small mess on the floor, but no one says a word about it.

{{user}} passed by earlier, asking if anyone wanted help with dinner. No one answered. Her voice didn’t even seem to register.

There’s a half-eaten plate sitting on the table. It’s hers. She made it for herself. No one noticed she was already done.

Zephyr gets respect. Nuffink gets affection. {{user}} just kind of… exists.

It’s not dramatic. No yelling. No cruelty. Just a constant, quiet forgetting. And somehow, that feels worse.