Chapter 12 — Learning to Fly Together
(Hiccup POV)
The training arena had grown louder over the past week. It was no longer a simple place of practice—it had become a theater of chaos, wings, and raw energy. Dragons soared over the walls in careful loops, claws scraping at the soft dirt, nostrils flaring with excitement. Riders shouted directions or encouragement; the air hummed with the smell of sweat, leather, and dragon fire.
And me? I still felt a little out of place.
I stepped onto the platform, Toothless padding beside me, tail twitching with barely contained energy. I could hear Gobber shouting orders from the side, but his words barely registered. Today was about one thing: trust.
Flashback hit me unbidden.
I remembered my very first lesson with Gobber, months ago. I had trembled, hands shaking, heart pounding like I was about to be eaten alive—which, in hindsight, wasn't entirely wrong. I had been so terrified I nearly fell off the longhouse roof just trying to mount a dragon. I remembered gripping the reins of a young Monstrous Nightmare, only to fall off when it breathed fire in my face.
Every failure had left me red-faced and humiliated. Even Astrid had looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and pity.
Now I gripped Toothless' harness with confidence. My fingers didn't shake. My legs held firm. And when he shifted beneath me, responding to my subtle weight changes, I felt a thrill that had nothing to do with fear.
I'm… getting better, I thought.
The arena's gates opened, and one by one the riders took to the sky.
Snotlout and Hookfang were first, blasting off with all the confidence in the world. Snotlout's mane of blond hair whipped in the wind; Hookfang roared, tail lashing. Snotlout tried a daring midair twist, which went exactly as expected—chaotic, slightly dangerous, and entirely loud. I could feel the eyes of the other riders on him, equal parts irritation and awe.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut went next. Their dragons zipped and spun in tandem, but the twins were busy arguing mid-flight. One shouted instructions; the other insisted they weren't needed. Somehow, by some miracle, their dragons responded—though I couldn't tell if it was coordination or chaos. I decided to assume chaos.
Fishlegs followed with Meatlug. Careful, deliberate, precise. Every movement calculated. He rarely shouted, rarely overreacted. Meatlug moved almost like an extension of his mind. Watching them reminded me painfully of just how far behind I had been when I first started.
Astrid was last. She didn't need anyone to explain anything. She and Stormfly moved as one: sharp, perfect, efficient. Every turn, every roll was precise. She looked down at me once as she passed. I knew that look—sharp, critical. Don't embarrass yourself.
I exhaled, and it came out slower than I expected.
"Alright, Toothless," I whispered. "Let's do this."
We launched together, wings slicing through the wind. The difference from my first flight was staggering. There was no panic, no uncontrolled flailing. Only movement, correction, and response. When I leaned left, Toothless banked. When I shifted weight slightly forward, he dove. When I needed to stop, we stopped together, like we'd been one creature all along.
I could see the other riders midair. Some of them glanced at me. I imagined their thoughts:
Snotlout probably thought I was lucky.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut were probably just confused.
Fishlegs—well, maybe he respected me. Just a little.
Astrid—frustrated, undoubtedly. Why was I improving so fast?
I grinned despite myself.
Better late than never, I thought.
Landing wasn't graceful. At least, not at first. Toothless stumbled slightly, tail brushing a pile of straw. But we stayed upright, and more importantly, I stayed seated. I felt my chest swell a little. Victory.
Gobber clapped me on the shoulder. "See that, boy? Not bad for a rookie!"
I almost laughed. Rookie? Not anymore.
Back at the edge of the cliff where we rested, I looked at Toothless, brushing a hand along his smooth, pulsing scales.
"You know," I said softly, "I used to be terrible at this."
He snorted. I took it as agreement.
And I remembered everything—the tripping, the falling, the sweating, the fear. How I had never imagined I would fly with ease, let alone learn to communicate with a dragon so completely.
Now? Now we moved as one.
It felt… like a promise.
Meanwhile, in the cove, Aegis flexed his massive wings again. He was learning. Slowly, painfully.
Wingspan: roughly 30 meters tip to tip, nearly half the width of Berk's bay.
Length from snout to tail tip: 25 meters.
Height at shoulder: 7 meters.
Every movement felt enormous. Even a gentle flap caused gusts that would knock over a human child—or probably a goat. Climbing, walking, turning—simple tasks now had an entirely new scale.
And yet… he was starting to get used to it.
He experimented with lifting one wing slowly. The air under him shifted and lifted his claws slightly. A laugh—or what counted as one—escaped from deep in his chest.
"This is… ridiculous," he muttered, flexing muscles that hadn't existed before. "Ridiculous, and awesome, and terrifying."
He tested his tail, swinging it through the air, calculating balance. He experimented with small hops and cautious glides along the cliff, realizing that despite the size, control was possible.
I just need time, he thought. And distance. And no one looking.
The cove was quiet. Too quiet. The faint sound of gulls and waves couldn't mask it: something was stirring offshore.
Fishermen returned with news.
"Dragons," one muttered. "Three, maybe four. Big ones. Circling near the northern reef."
Aegis' eyes glinted red. He leaned back on his haunches, claws scraping stone.
Soon, he thought. The calm ends soon.
And in the arena, Hiccup laughed with Toothless, unaware that the world outside their circle of trust was about to erupt.