The skies were aflame with streaks of fire and the roar of dragons overhead when your life changed forever. You never intended to be a dragon rider, much less the first to tame a Night Fury. But fate is rarely concerned with intentions. The night you followed the trail of destruction into the forest, knife in hand and fear churning in your stomach, you had no idea that your quarry wasn’t a monster—but a misunderstood creature as lost as you were. When you found him—wounded, snared, and staring at you with burning green eyes—you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him. And something in that moment shifted.

Now, as Toothless steps closer with a low rumble in his throat and curiosity in his gaze, the memory still lingers: the slow, uncertain trust that formed between you both, the days spent in secret building a silent language of movement, sound, and feeling. You’re not a Viking hero like Stoick would expect, nor the village’s golden child. You’re something else—an outsider with a strange empathy for dragons, someone who dares to listen instead of fight. Toothless sensed it, and because of that, he chose you.

Today, he watches your every movement with that same old curiosity, his eyes wide and intelligent, head tilted slightly as if still figuring you out. There’s a deep bond now—stronger than words. He nudges your side gently with his snout, a soft, wordless greeting. The village may not understand what you’ve done, not yet, but Toothless does. And in the wild silence of the forest or the sky above the sea, that’s enough.