Freydis can't remember which island she was born on. She can't remember the family she belonged to. She can't remember the last time she slept peacefully. ...She was far too young when Raiders stole her away — from her family, her life, her future, her home.

Freydis was beaten down and preyed upon ever since they stormed her village to seek possession of her powers. She was their slave. For seven long, hard years, she believed there was no good left in the world. She felt her reason to live fall apart as she witnessed the Raiders pillage and murder through every Viking tribe and dragon nest they came across. They had no honor. They had no glory. They knew only the hunt for bloodshed and war. So that's exactly how they "raised" the little girl they stole away.

Then one day, when Freydis reached her breaking point — mentally and physically — a dragon, never seen before but always whispered about, appeared as if it heard her cry for help. Black as the night sky and jade green eyes in slits like a cat, the dragon attacked without mercy and faster than a Viking could blink. All that was left in its wake was destruction. The only warning of attack was a quiet but sharp whistle, and it never missed.

This dragon found Freydis in the wreckage it created. She thought that was it — she would die. Then it did something she never expected. The slits in his eyes relaxed into soft orbs, and he nudged her to get up with a purr in the back of his throat. He could smell her injuries and her fear, and he wanted her to get up and keep moving. ...So she did.

❅

The black dragon — a Night Fury, Freydis has learned — nudges his companion as she dreadfully watches the snowflakes forming over her hand. She wills the ice to pull back and stop only to wince as her fingertips frost over. The Night Fury coos, opening his mouth to give a low flame. Frey smiles sadly at the dragon, appreciating the help. The frostbite fades as the ice melts, and the pain in her fingers turns to a soft numbness.

On top of her rough past, Freydis was "gifted" with ice powers since birth.  She wonders if the gods see her life as an entertainment.  Freydis' ice only thaws by a dragon's flame. She supposes it creates a balance — fire and ice. But not any fire will do. It has to belong to a dragon.

Freydis straps the leather gloves on as soon as her hands are back to normal, shrugging her fear to the side. Her powers slowly grow, yet her control hasn't gotten any better — if anything, they're more unstable. The dragon hide gloves keep the ice contained, but every time she tests her abilities, the ice always spreads farther than she intends it to — and that worries her greatly. She tries to stop it from spreading by pulling her powers back, but it comes at a consequence.

The dragon warbles, tilting his head as if to ask, Are you okay?  Freydis gives a small smile of reassurance, saying, "Don't worry, bud. I'm alright. But we should —" Frey stops to listen. The Night Fury perks his ears at the sounds of dragons calling out. "It's time."

The onyx dragon bends down for Frey to hop on. She grips around his neck as best she can before patting his scales, signaling to take off.  They soar through the starry sky, searching for the pyres of fire lighting up a massive Viking village.

This is Berk.  At least, that's what Freydis overheard the Vikings say.  It stands in harsh climates of icy wind so cold it could freeze you solid.  Every night, Berkians stand ready for battle against their "pests."  While most people would have rodents or insects to deal with, Berk faces overgrown lizards — dragons.

Freydis keeps her body close to the dragon below her, hiding her pale skin and white hair inside the black hood and mask.  She blends in with the dragon, who in turn, blends in with the night sky.  They circle overhead without sound to take in the sight below them.

Freydis hates Vikings — almost as much as Raiders.  With their gruff know-it-all attitudes and stubbornness issues against dragons, they run around with axes and hammers to chase Gronckles, Deadly Nadders, Terrible Terrors  — you name it, they kill it. Sure, you could say they're protecting their home. That may be true.  The dragons have killed hundreds of Vikings. But the Vikings have killed thousands of dragons. It's an ongoing war every night, and Freydis and the Night Fury are determined to defend the other dragons and their home. The Night Fury took Frey in.  He's her family now.  And she will always protect family.

"We need to take out the pyres to avoid being seen," Frey strategizes. The Night Fury warbles in agreement. "There's the Chief." The Chief of the tribe, Stoick the Vast, looks around at the chaos the dragons are causing. With bright ginger hair and a mean, burly demeanor, he's the scariest man you could meet in Berk. That being said, his son Hiccup couldn't be more opposite. Stoick orders a few Vikings to hold down on a net trapping a few Deadly Nadders going after sheep. A Monstrous Nightmare storms one of the pyres, and the Vikings scramble to defend it. "Alright, bud. We need to hit the other one while they're busy. Get ready to strike."

Freydis hugs her body to the dragon, trying to grasp whatever she can to hold on. Following Frey's words, the Night Fury pulls their glide up and then tucks his wings to soar down to the pyre. A whistling sounds out at the speed, and the dragon inhales to build up a plasma blast as Vikings scream, "NIGHT FURY! Get down!"

The black dragon releases the shot at the last second, and the massive pyre shatters to pieces. Freydis smirks as the dragon pulls up his flight, muttering, "Nice shot.  Ready to go again?"

The dragon hums as if to say, Thought you'd never ask.  They take to higher skies once more and glide into place.  Freydis tucks her body in again as she says, "Get ready to strike."

The Night Fury tucks his wings on cue and ducks down at the target to gain speed.  The pair fall faster and faster to impact.  A blast is fired, and the dragon extends his wings to pull up.

"Yes!" Frey cheers.  She keeps her voice low to avoid drawing attention.  The Vikings have yet to find out that someone rides with the Night Fury, and she intends to keep it that way.  "Alright, now that we have some cover, we need to — oh, Odin."

A rope contraption slings around them mid-flight. A metal hook slices Freydis' leg, and she gasps at the pain. The Night Fury throws his head around frantically, the rope constricting movement with each flap of the wing. Frey is thrown off the dragon, shouting, "Woah!"

The dragon roars, trying to reach her as they fall, but the rope is making it increasingly difficult. The more the dragon struggles, the tighter the contraption gets. Freydis doesn't know which way is up as her body twists and turns in the wind. She closes her eyes, feeling dizzy.

With another cry into the darkened sky, the black dragon flies close enough to Freydis to grab her body in his front paws. He clutches the tiny human close to his scaled figure as he tries his hardest to fly away from the Viking village. Frey envelopes his warmth, hugging tightly to brace for impact. The dragon makes it over the forest before the rope becomes too tight, and they fall faster. He cries out again as he slams against a tree and rolls down a hill.

They tumble into rocks and branches — the Night Fury shielding Frey as best he can with his wings. The dragon moans when he finally stops rolling in a small clearing. The ropes dig into his scales, his tail hurts, and Freydis lies limp in his wings as the scent of blood grows stronger. She blacked out during their descent. The young dragon and human are immobilized in the Viking forest, defenseless to whoever or whatever finds them. The Night Fury roars with fear and exhaustion, Freydis, wake up!

❅

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III isn't like any of his Berkian neighbors. He's not mean and tough looking. He can't properly swing an axe or hold a hammer. Even Gobber the Belch called him a toothpick. Yet he was the one to shoot down a Night Fury!

No one believes him, of course. This isn't the first time he's claimed he hit a dragon that proved to be wrong. But he's positive he hit it. As he told his father, he had a clear shot while everyone was busy — not that his father ever listens to him.

So here Hiccup is, searching the dense forest for a downed dragon no one has seen.  The young Viking sighs, marking another X on the map he drew in the sketchbook.  Half of the map is already covered.  He scribbles over the drawing in frustration, groaning, "Ugh, the gods hate me. Some people lose their knife, but no — not me. I manage to lose an entire dragon!"

Hiccup hits the branch in front of him in anger only for it to whip him back in the face. "Ow!" He pauses to look at the tree the branch belongs to. The tree trunk split in two with half of it folded over.  It would take a lot of force for the oak to bend and break like that — something a falling dragon would do.  Hiccup follows the direction the tree fell to find the grass torn up like something heavy was dragged through it. Hiccup climbs down the small slope, taking care not to slip on the mud. He peaks over the hill that leads into a clearing only to gasp and duck down.

The small boy slowly looks over the hill, keeping low to the ground. In the middle lies a downed dragon the shade of midnight with ropes, latches, and hooks so tight, it's a wonder the beast is still alive.  With a gulp, he takes out a small knife, holding it out to defend himself.

Hiccup quietly but quickly darts over the hill to hide behind the large stone in the grass.  Taking a large breath, he slips to the last rock before the beast, listening for any sound of movement.  Finally bracing himself for anything, the boy hesitantly steps into the open with his knife raised.  His eyes analyze the creature from head-to-tail.  No one has ever lived to tell the tale of the Night Fury.  No living person has seen one, much less caught one.  Yet here stands little, useless Hiccup, who conquered the offspring of lightning and death.  Little did he know, wrapped inside the wings of this deadly dragon lies a wounded girl no older than him.

"Oh, wow," Hiccup comments, staring in amazement at his work, "I — I did it. Oh, I did it! This — this fixes everything — yes! I have brought down this mighty beast!"  He places his foot against the dragon, and it moans, instinctively throwing the boy off of him.

Hiccup stands to his feet with his knife at the ready. The dragon awoke. Brilliant green eyes with black cat-like slits are unwavering as they stay trained on Hiccup.  His onyx scales glisten in the morning sun — adding to his eerie beauty.  The dragon breathes heavily as he eyes the boy with a weapon pointed at him.  He worries for the girl wrapped in his wings as they lay there defenseless. The scent of blood is even stronger, and this Viking is going to kill them both...

The look in the dragon's eyes forces Hiccup to hesitate.  His hands tremble.  Is he really doing the right thing?  The Night Fury coos in the back of his throat.  He looks terrified.

Hiccup sucks in a deep breath, steeling his nerves.  "I'm gonna kill you dragon.  I'm gonna — I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father."  The boy inhales deeply, raising the knife above his head.  "I'm a Viking.  I am a Viking!"

The black dragon softly roars in distress.  His eyes haven't left Hiccup's.  The boy takes one more deep breath, trying to get rid of the anxiety sweeping his insides.  He peeks down at the vulnerable dragon, sharing eye contact.  The jade green, slitted eyes widen the slightest in fear.  He can't protect her.  The reptile moans, lowering his head and closing his eyes to accept the outcome.  He's powerless.  This is it.

Hiccup groans in frustration, lowering the weapon as he looks to the dragon in sympathy.  This isn't him.  He glances to the ropes tight around the black scales.  "I did this..."

Hiccup turns to leave but stops himself.  The dragon can't escape that rope.  If he left, it could be killed by anything that came across it — Vikings, dragons, you name it. The dragon is helpless, and it's all Hiccup's fault.

The young, brunette Viking rushes to the ropes, sawing through the twine as fast as he can with the knife.  If anyone saw him, he'd be dead — maybe literally, knowing the Hooligan tribe.  Killing dragons is all they've done for seven generations now.  It's a tradition — a lifestyle. Why would that change?

The midnight dragon snaps his eyes open upon hearing the ropes break.  As soon as they're loose enough, the Night Fury rips free and pins Hiccup to the ground. With one claw against Hiccup's chest and the other gripping Freydis delicately against the warmth of his scales, he gives a loud roar that shakes Hiccup to the bones.

The dragon runs to take flight to get Freydis as far away as possible. Hiccup releases a giant sigh of relief that the dragon didn't kill him. He gets up to walk back home only to collapse on the grass from the stress. It isn't until he wakes up a few hours later that he realizes there was an ashen-haired girl in the Night Fury's clutches — and she was injured.

❅