The Archipelago had always known dragons. From the tiny, mischievous Terrible Terrors that stole fish from buckets to the mighty Bewilderbeasts that ruled frozen seas, every Viking child grew up with their cries etched into memory. But this day, something else shook the skies—something older. Something that made even dragons forget how to breathe.
It began as a ripple in the air, a vibration that rolled across the sea like thunder that refused to die. Birds shrieked and fled. Dragons froze mid-flight, wings faltering. Even the tide seemed to retreat, leaving the shorelines hissing and steaming.
On Berk, the people noticed immediately. The villagers stopped in their chores, tools dropping, conversations choking into silence. It was a weight pressing against their lungs, a presence thick enough to taste—like iron and smoke.
In the training arena, Astrid spun mid-swing, her axe halting inches from a dummy's head. Stormfly hissed, wings flaring wide. Astrid frowned.
"You feel that?"
Stormfly growled in reply, feathers rattling like arrows in a quiver.
Elsewhere, Gobber cursed as his prosthetic hammer-arm slipped from his grip. He squinted at the horizon. "Oh, Thor's left nut… what now?"
Hiccup was the first to understand it wasn't just a storm. Toothless stiffened beneath him, ears pinned flat, a low growl vibrating in his chest. Hiccup leaned forward in the saddle, scanning the clouds. His heart hammered with an unfamiliar dread.
The sky darkened.
Clouds churned unnaturally, forming a vortex like a wound in the heavens. Lightning flared inside—except the bolts weren't white, but a sickly purple-gold that left afterimages burning across the eyes. The spiral expanded until the entire sky above Berk seemed swallowed by shadow.
And then came the roar.
It wasn't sound. It was pressure. A rolling quake that rattled every bone, shook every hut, and left dragons whimpering as if their souls were being dragged out of them. Children screamed, clutching at their mothers. Vikings staggered, gripping spears they suddenly knew were worthless.
From the storm descended Behemoth.
He fell slowly, wings unfolding with the patience of eternity. Each span blotted out the stars as if night had landed early. His scales drank light—black as abyssal stone, shot through with veins of molten violet and shimmering gold. His horns curled like scythes, jagged and cruel, while his golden eyes burned with the weight of ages.
The first beat of his wings sent a gale ripping through Berk. Roofs tore free. Boats cracked against the docks. The very earth trembled.
"By Odin's beard…" Gobber croaked, his voice trembling with awe and terror. "That's no dragon. That's a bloody mountain with wings."
Behemoth's laughter followed, low and rumbling, as if the island itself was choking.
"Pathetic little humans. Still building nests on this rock? How… nostalgic."
He landed. BOOM. The ground split beneath him, sending cracks snaking through the village square. The shockwave flattened stalls and sent villagers sprawling. Sheep bleated in blind panic, scattering between burning torches toppled in the chaos.
Behemoth inhaled, and the air bent toward him, shadows stretching unnaturally as if eager to serve. His chest swelled, glowing faintly between his ribs with an inner furnace. He released a puff of smoke—inky black, writhing unnaturally, snuffing out torches like a hungry void.
"Run!" someone screamed.
The village erupted into chaos. Vikings grabbed their children, fled for the cliffs, shouted prayers to gods who had long abandoned them. Dragons shrieked, wings flaring, but none dared strike first.
Except one.
Toothless stepped forward.
His body was low, ears pinned, plasma building in his throat. His growl cut through the screams, sharp and defiant. Hiccup, clinging to his saddle, felt his dragon's intent.
"Toothless, wait—"
But Toothless roared.
The sound was fierce, primal, echoing against the burning sky. It caught Behemoth's attention at once. The king's massive head turned, golden eye narrowing. He lowered himself until his face filled the world in front of them, his breath hot enough to make the grass curl and blacken.
Hiccup's chest tightened. For the first time since becoming chief, he felt… small. Powerless.
Behemoth's lips curled, revealing fangs longer than longships. His voice was deep, cruel, yet oddly amused.
"Finally. A spark worth noticing. Tell me, little one… will you kneel, or will you burn?"
Toothless's plasma flared brighter, scorching the earth beneath him.
Behemoth chuckled, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Oh… you've got teeth after all."
Before Hiccup could react, Behemoth shifted one claw forward. The talon sank into the ground like a spear, mere feet from them, the shockwave nearly knocking Hiccup off Toothless's back. The dragon king leaned closer, eye narrowing like a rising sun over a battlefield.
Villagers shouted from behind, voices a mix of awe and terror. Astrid appeared with Stormfly, axe raised though her knuckles were white. Gobber limped forward, hammer ready despite knowing it would do nothing. Even the younger dragons flanked Toothless instinctively, though their bodies shook.
Behemoth looked at them all—and laughed.
The sound wasn't mocking. It was terrifying in its indifference. The kind of laughter that said he'd crushed empires, slain gods, and considered them less than insects.
Then his laughter stopped. His gaze fixed not on Hiccup, not on Toothless—but on the children huddling near the huts, their small dragons snarling protectively despite trembling.
His golden eyes softened, just for a heartbeat.
"…Still the same," he murmured, voice carrying a weight of memory none could understand.
And then the warmth was gone. His grin widened, fangs glinting.
"Very well. Let's see if your world still remembers how to bleed."
Behemoth's chest expanded. The air rippled. Shadows stretched like grasping claws. His maw opened wide—
—And the black flame stirred.