The Rebirth Of A Dragon

Hiccup's Point of View:

She leapt from the roof without hesitation.

No roar. No posturing.

Just impact.

The sound of her landing echoed through the clearing—soft, deep, final. Her claws dug into the dirt like she was claiming it. Her wings folded in, her muscles tense beneath midnight-black scales. Her tail flicked once, sharp and precise. She didn't walk forward—she stalked. Each movement screamed purpose.

Good.

So did I.

I stepped forward from the tree line, matching her pace—slow, deliberate. I didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate. If she thought I'd cower, she was in for disappointment.

I didn't fear her.

I respected her.

But if she came at me?

I'd fight.

I didn't have my claws—left them back inside the cabin—but it didn't matter. I'd hunted a bear just hours ago with nothing but my fists and teeth. Difficult? Yes. But I won. Always did. And I could take her too, if I had to. I knew the nerve cluster beneath the base of her neck. One precise strike and she'd be out cold.

Still, that wasn't the goal.

I didn't want to fight her.

I wanted a partner.

Not a pet. Not a tool. Not something to bend and break like the fools in Berk tried with everything they didn't understand.

I wanted her to choose me.

Because a dragon like her? She wasn't a creature to be owned. She was a force. A shadow. A weapon. And if I earned her trust, she wouldn't just be powerful—she'd be loyal. And I'd finally have something in this world worth keeping.

She stopped a few paces in front of me, body low, eyes sharp. Her emerald gaze locked onto mine—wild, intelligent, calculating. Every inch of her screamed danger. But not wild, stupid danger.

No. This was intentional danger.

She was measuring me.

Just as I was measuring her.

And I liked that.

I let out a breath through my nose and crouched slowly, showing her my satchel—non-threatening, unarmed.

"I was out late," I said evenly. "Territory breach. A bear."

Her nostrils flared. She could smell the blood still clinging to me. The sweat. The effort. The victory.

"I don't tolerate other predators in my territory," I added, pulling open the satchel. "Unless they're mine."

That got a tail flick. Tension rippled along her spine. Whether it was amusement or warning, I couldn't say.

"Relax," I said. "You're not there yet."

I pulled out the salve, the cloth, and the tincture I'd brewed days ago. Precautions. Preparations. I always prepared.

"You're injured," I said. "Not badly. But I saw it when you landed. Favoring your left. Rough landing, maybe. Got lucky I brought this."

She didn't answer—not verbally. But her posture didn't shift to aggression.

So I moved.

One step. Another.

She didn't growl.

Yet.

I crouched beside her, holding out the cloth. "This'll sting," I murmured. "But you can take it. You're tougher than the others."

I reached out, slow and measured, and pressed the cloth against the shallow gash just beneath her ribs.

She flinched.

But didn't retaliate.

Good girl.

I cleaned it gently, applying the salve with practiced care. The cut wasn't deep. She'd heal fast. Still, I treated her like something fragile—not because she was, but because she deserved the respect of choice.

"You don't trust easy," I said. "That's good. The smart ones never do."

She let out a low rumble—not hostile. Curious.

"You're not like the others. Not driven by greed or fear. You think. You plan. You observe."

I dabbed another spot, just under her wing. Her scales twitched beneath my fingers.

"Like me."

The moon broke through the clouds then, casting silver across her body. Her black scales shimmered—dark obsidian and starlight fused into one. The light caught her eyes, and for a moment, they looked like twin emerald suns—sharp, endless, radiant.

I paused.

Not because of fear.

Because of something else.

"Beautiful," I whispered, before I could stop myself.

She blinked. Not in offense. Just acknowledgment.

Recognition.

And for the first time since I arrived... I exhaled.

She turned away slowly, padding to the water's edge, her reflection rippling like a phantom beneath her. She didn't leave. She didn't fly. She didn't even look at me.

But she stayed.

And that was enough.

I let out a long breath, muscles finally starting to loosen. With a soft grunt, I stepped a few paces away, letting her have space.

Then I dropped down onto the grass.

Not with tension.

Not in defense.

Just... calm.

The grass was cool beneath me, the soil soft from the recent rain. I lay back, folding my arms behind my head, eyes turning upward toward the night sky.

Stars blinked above like cold fire. Endless. Distant. Untouchable.

But here?

Here I had her.

I closed my eyes for a moment—not to sleep. Just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to remind my body that it didn't always have to be wound tight like a bowstring.

My thoughts wandered—to her. To Luna, the name I gave her.

It fit. She was moonlight and shadow, grace and death in equal measure. She was beautiful. Not in a fragile way. In a wild, dangerous, unstoppable way.

Like the sky when lightning is about to strike.

And her eyes... those eyes. Sharp and ancient and watching everything.

I let out a soft sigh.

"I'm going to earn your trust," I whispered to the stars. "And when I do..."

I didn't finish the sentence.

Didn't need to.

Because I meant it.

And she was listening.

Even now.