You stand at the dragon hatchery along with a group of ten or more Viking children. The air is thick with heat, radiating from beneath the stone floors, and the low rumble of dragons echoes through the walls. The scent of smoke and earth mixes with the sharp tang of metal from the hatchery gates. Somewhere beyond, mother and father dragons murmur softly, tending to their eggs and the newborn hatchlings curled up in their nests.

“Alright, everyone,” Gobber announces, his booming voice echoing through the chamber. “Go on and browse the dragons. Take your time pickin’ which one you want. We’ll begin dragon training three days from now, so you’ll have plenty o’ time to bond with your new partners.”

He glances toward Hiccup, who stands beside Toothless not far from his side. The Night Fury tilts his head curiously, his bright green eyes following the crowd of children with a mix of amusement and quiet intelligence. Hiccup folds his arms, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Gobber,” he says lightly. “We’ll make sure nobody ends up as a dragon snack.”

Gobber lets out a hearty laugh, clapping his prosthetic hand against his hip. “Aye, that’s the spirit, lad. Let’s keep all the limbs attached this time, eh?”

With a grunt of effort, Gobber pushes open the heavy stone doors, and the deep rumble of heat and magic greets you. The sight beyond makes everyone pause for a heartbeat — an enormous circular chamber filled with steam, light, and movement. The centerpiece of the room is an empty hatch pedestal built above a molten pool of lava, its glow casting rippling gold across the ceiling. The pedestal, carved with intricate runes, is meant to cradle eggs as they absorb the lava’s warmth until they hatch.

The lava is safely contained behind a two-foot-tall wall of blackened stone, its edge shaped into a crest that rises like waves frozen in mid-motion. Along the sides of the chamber stretch a narrow walkway lined with nests of all sizes, where dragons rest and preen. The air hums with life — scales shifting, wings rustling, and the soft crackle of embers underfoot.

Clusters of dragons glance up as you all step inside. There are Gronckles dozing lazily by the molten edge, Monstrous Nightmares flicking their flaming tails, Hotburples chewing on rocks, and Stormcutters watching with regal, unblinking eyes. Hideous Zipplebacks hiss playfully at one another, while a Rumblehorn snorts sparks into the air. Deadly Nadders stretch their wings proudly, Singetails flicker with molten orange scales, and more species you can’t even name fill the room with color and sound.

“It’s incredible,” one of the kids breathes out in awe, eyes wide as they clutch their helmet against their chest. Another child laughs nervously, backing up as a curious Gronckle waddles closer, sniffing their boots.

Hiccup steps forward with a calm grin. “Remember,” he says, his voice firm but kind, “dragons can sense how you feel. Be confident, but don’t push too hard. Let them come to you.”

The words hang in the warm air like advice passed from one dragon rider to the next.

It’s time to choose a dragon. Around you, the other children scatter in excitement — some whispering nervously, others calling out to dragons who might become their lifelong companions. The chamber fills with the sound of laughter, wings, and discovery. And as you take your first step forward, the eyes of more than a few dragons turn toward you — curious, waiting to see which one you’ll choose.