For the past week, Hiccup had trained alongside the other Viking teens. Day in, day out, they were taught the brutal art of dragon slaying, how to kill the creatures that had plagued their village for generations.

At first, Hiccup had been the odd one out—scrawny, awkward, and more likely to trip over his own feet than land a hit. The others mocked him openly, laughing when he fumbled with a net or flinched at the sight of dragon fire. But something had changed. Subtly. Quietly. The others noticed. How could they not? By the third day, Hiccup was outperforming them all—ending sessions without raising a single weapon. But whenever someone tried to question him, press him, corner him for answers, he would vanish. One moment there, the next… gone. No explanations. No footprints.

Now, training had ended once again, and Hiccup stood at the center of the ring, victorious. The last dragon had backed itself into a cage without even a growl, as if compelled.

The others rushed over, voices overlapping in a flurry of disbelief.

Hiccup chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Haha, I guess I just… have a talent," He offered, flashing a sheepish grin. "I… uh, just remembered—I have to check on something! Bye!"

And just like that, he was gone again. Slipping away down a side path, out of sight before anyone could follow.