chapter 3: Shadows over berk
The first time I saw Berk, I almost panicked. Not from fear—no, I was far beyond that—but from sheer, overwhelming scale.
From my perch on a cliff just outside the village, I could see the rooftops glinting in the morning sun, smoke curling from chimneys, and the occasional Viking striding down cobbled streets. Ships bobbed in the harbor, their sails taut in the morning breeze. And, of course, dragons moved overhead.
Small ones. Medium ones. One that looked suspiciously like a Gronckle tugged at a net. And then I saw him—Toothless—darting among the trees, black scales glinting in the sun.
I froze, or as frozen as a 25-meter Titanwing Night Fury could.
Stay calm. Don't make a scene. My tail thumped against the cliff. Too late: a rock dislodged and clattered into the water below.
Toothless' ears twitched. He paused mid-leap. Then, in a move that could only be described as judging, he flitted into the air, letting out a soft, chirping call.
Oh, great, I muttered. He's already suspicious of me.
It took me the better part of the morning to simply observe without causing catastrophe. I was massive, but surprisingly agile once I accounted for momentum. I flapped lightly over the cliffs, landing softly (relatively) near a group of trees, then crouched, trying not to attract attention.
That's when I noticed Hiccup.
He was different in real life than in the movies. Smaller, yes, but sharper. He moved with quiet confidence, a natural ease around dragons that made me both jealous and impressed. He was helping Toothless retrieve a training dummy from a shallow cliffside pond. The way he adjusted the harness, the way Toothless responded immediately—it was poetry in motion.
I felt a pang of nostalgia—or maybe longing. I'd watched this, memorized it, dreamed of it… and now I was here, in their world, massive, clumsy, invisible, and far too close to them.
Humor, however, never left me. My first real attempt at stealth ended poorly. I tried to crouch in the shadow of a rock, tail carefully coiled, wings tucked. All seemed fine—until I sneezed.
Yes. A dragon sneeze. It's not subtle. Not at all.
A gust of wind, a spray of drool, and several small birds were sent flying in terror. Hiccup looked up. Toothless froze, ears tilted. My tail thumped the ground in panic.
Smooth, I muttered. Very stealthy.
Thankfully, they didn't see me. Yet.
By mid-morning, I had started learning patterns. Vikings liked to fish in groups, dragons had favorite perches, and everyone seemed to have a particular way of interacting that suggested hierarchy. The twins—Ruffnut and Tuffnut—argued constantly in a way that seemed chaotic but somehow worked. Snotlout was loud and obnoxious, the kind of personality that could dominate a room with sheer volume. Fishlegs was precise and analytical, often jotting notes about dragon flight patterns or health. Astrid… Astrid was perfection incarnate, every movement measured, every glance calculating.
I watched them all from a distance, comparing them to Hiccup.
He's… small, but clearly… the lynchpin.
Later, I ventured closer. Carefully. Tentatively.
I hadn't eaten yet, and the scent of fish from the harbor below was… intoxicating. I swooped down on a small rock island near the shore, testing claws in shallow water. My reflection startled me. The violet-black scales, the pulsing pattern, the glowing red eyes—it all seemed unreal. I blinked slowly, trying not to freak out. Toothless chirped somewhere nearby, like he knew I was there.
And then the wind shifted.
A fishing boat returned, laden with the morning catch. I flinched. Humans. They were small, fragile, noisy. And I… was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
One Viking pointed toward the cliffs. "Did anyone else see that shadow?" he asked.
I froze. Red eyes, violet scales, tail wrapped neatly for control. No one saw anything, I told myself. Tail twitched anyway.
Toothless darted closer to Hiccup, scanning the water. I realized I was holding my breath—or the dragon equivalent of it—and released slowly.
Maybe they don't notice me yet. Maybe.
The next day, I tried a "human approach" to learning dragon behavior. By that, I mean I flopped into the cove, rolled onto my back, and experimented with vocalizations. It did not go well. My first attempt at a "friendly chirp" sounded like a collapsing bridge, shaking loose rocks, sending seabirds scattering. Toothless tilted his head and gave me what I can only describe as a look.
It was a look of disappointment… or deep amusement. I wasn't sure which.
I flopped again, tail thumping. Soft growl this time. Better. Slightly less catastrophic.
I also started remembering my old life, in tiny fragments. College. Movies. Popcorn buckets. That stupid t-shirt I wore tonight—now laughably irrelevant because I was too large for anything I had. Even my hands… now claws.
This is fine, I muttered to no one. Totally fine. Everything's normal.
It wasn't normal. Not by a long shot.
By the third day, I had established a sort of routine:
Observe from cliffs.
Avoid humans.
Study dragons.
Try not to die.
Occasionally attempt flight.
Repeat.
I learned that Toothless had patrol routes. He returned to certain perches daily, sometimes alone, sometimes with Hiccup. He liked high places, shadows, and the occasional fish snack tossed by Hiccup's careful hands. I memorized these patterns, noting the flow of the village, the timing of human activity, and the dragon patrols.
Comedy returned when I attempted flying stealthily over the village. I flapped gently, thinking I was silent.
I was not silent.
My wings stirred the air like a small hurricane. Rooftops shook. Laundry blew off lines. Dogs barked. Hiccup froze mid-training, staring upward. Toothless hissed sharply.
Note to self: invisible does not equal silent.
Despite all the chaos, I began to learn instinctively. My massive body, once terrifyingly awkward, started to respond with rhythm. Wings flexed, tail balanced, eyes tracking prey—or in this case, fish and small dragons. My pulse slowed. My scales dimmed. I felt… competent.
And that was when I first realized: I wasn't just here to survive. I was here to observe, learn, and maybe… influence.
Influence was a terrifying thought. But also… exciting.
That evening, as the sun dipped low, casting amber light across Berk, I perched on a cliff overlooking the harbor. I watched Hiccup laugh with Toothless. I watched Fishlegs record data. I saw Astrid scowl at some perceived incompetence. Snotlout flexed his ego with a grin, Ruffnut and Tuffnut shouted over each other.
And I realized something important: I had a front-row seat to a story I had only ever watched from a theater.
But this time… I was part of it.
And someday soon, I would have to step from shadow into the story itself.
For now, though, I just watched, learning. Learning to fly, learning to hunt, learning to live. And trying very hard not to sneeze again.