chapter 5:
The day started with the smell of smoke, salt, and chaos. Berk was alive in the early morning: the harbor clanking with fishermen, the clatter of tools from blacksmiths, and the soft murmurs of dragons warming in the sun.
I perched on a high cliff, wings tucked, tail coiled neatly beneath me. From here, I had the perfect view: Toothless darting near the trees, Hiccup moving cautiously below, and the rest of the village waking to another ordinary day that was about to become… anything but.
I knew what was coming, because I had seen it in the movies. The first fateful encounter. Hiccup would attempt to shoot Toothless during practice. Toothless would fall. There would be fear. There would be trust—or at least, the tentative beginnings of it. And I… would witness it all.
It was oddly comforting to have foreknowledge. Also terrifying, because foreknowledge didn't make the logistics of being a massive dragon any easier.
From a distance, Hiccup approached with the bow, arrow nocked, shaking slightly. His eyes darted between the target and the village. Toothless, blissfully unaware, swooped low, playful, testing the waters. I winced. If he misses… or hits… I can't… I can't even calculate all the outcomes.
Relax, Aegis, I muttered, though the words rumbled against my chest in a way that could probably be felt for a kilometer. My scales pulsed faintly, black with violet streaks that shifted nervously. I was trying to keep calm, but apparently, dragons and nerves don't mix quietly.
From Toothless' perspective, if he could have seen me, he would have noticed first the sheer size. Wings folded, I still loomed like a cliff's shadow given life. Tail coiled like a living battering ram. My violet-black scales pulsed faintly in rhythm with my thoughts. The red of my eyes glimmered with faint intelligence… very human intelligence, which was deeply unsettling.
He would have sensed the aura first: power, presence, dominance, curiosity, and restraint. Not aggression, but control. Fear? Maybe. Awe? Definitely. Something unspoken, deep and vibrating from my very bones.
Other dragons flying in nearby—small patrols or stragglers—felt it instantly. The air vibrated with tension. A hum of instinctual caution spread through them. One of the Gronckles stopped mid-flight, one of its claws twitching. A Nadder froze on a rooftop. Even Toothless' instincts—the apex predator instincts I had watched obsessively in films—registered that this shadow in the cliffs was something bigger than life, and perhaps bigger than any dragon in living memory.
Hiccup, meanwhile, saw only… what? A looming silhouette from the cliffs? A shimmer in the distance? He had no idea I existed yet. But from my perch, I could feel him. Small. Fragile. Trembling. Courageous, but uncertain. His gaze flicked constantly between Toothless, the bow, the arrow, the village, and the shadows around him.
Oh, he's nervous, I thought. Classic rookie mistakes, perfectly human.
The bow twanged. The arrow flew. Toothless chirped in surprise and panic. Wings flared. The shot hit his tail wing—not deadly, just enough to throw him off balance. He spiraled, claws scratching against cliff edges, and then he plummeted into the cove with a panicked splash.
Hiccup froze. Wide-eyed. Shocked. Heart pounding. Not fear of the arrow itself, but fear of consequences. He hadn't meant it. He couldn't have. He wasn't ready for this. And from my vantage point, I understood completely.
I had to remind myself: do not intervene. Not yet. Let the story play out.
Instead, I observed. From above. Watching. Learning. And, secretly, mentally critiquing.
Too tense. Too rigid. Bow arm too straight. Focus on the dragon, not the shot. Classic human error.
Toothless surfaced in the cove, tail flicking. Hiccup carefully lowered his bow, approaching the water's edge. He moved slowly, softly, mimicking techniques I had memorized from watching the movies: crouching, low voice, gentle gestures. And, of course… failing spectacularly.
From my dragon perspective, Hiccup's movements were tentative. Calculated, yes, but awkward. His fear radiated outward in tiny pulses that only a creature like me—25 meters of Titanwing intelligence and perception—could sense fully. Yet there was curiosity. A willingness to connect, despite danger, despite fear.
I watched him kneel by the edge of the cove, eyes locked on Toothless. My tail flicked with amusement. You humans are ridiculous.
I thought about trying to communicate. A soft chirp? A wave of wings? Maybe a tail nudge? But no—let him figure it out. This moment wasn't about me. It was about them.
Still… watching from the cliffs, I realized something important: Hiccup was exactly the kind of human I had expected, and yet completely unpredictable. The movies had told me the steps. The books had outlined the behavior. Reality… was far more subtle. And more chaotic.
Other dragons noticed me for the first time around this moment. Not aggressively, not fearfully—but with curiosity tinged with respect. A few Nadders circled at a cautious distance, watching my wings. Gronckles muttered uneasily. Even Toothless' pupils flicked upward for the briefest instant, noting the unfamiliar presence in the cliffs: enormous, pulsing with energy, distinctly intelligent.
I could feel their instinctual calculations: Can it be a threat? Should we flee? Should we engage?
Relax, friends, I rumbled to myself. I'm not here yet.
Hiccup crouched lower, offering a hand. Toothless' breathing was heavy. Eyes wide. Ears twitching. Tail flicking nervously.
From my perch, I compared him to his movie counterpart. The resemblance was uncanny. Same hesitant courage. Same awkward gestures. Same slightly desperate charm. Yet this was flesh and blood, real scale, real fear, real life. And I had to suppress a chuckle. Watching Hiccup try to coax a dragon while nearly shaking himself out of his shoes? Comedy gold.
Toothless edged closer. Hiccup extended his hand. Pause. A cautious sniff. Another glance at Hiccup. Then… contact. One tentative nudge. A slight flick of the tail. Confidence building. And suddenly… momentary trust.
I exhaled—softly, so as not to disturb them. Red eyes pulsed faintly with approval. Yes. Progress.
I let myself assess Hiccup more closely now. Small, wiry. Human eyes in a dragon world. Bright. Curious. Careful. Yet utterly terrified of his own mistakes. I could see the calculations running behind his gaze: How do I keep him alive? How do I win this dragon's trust? How do I prove myself?
All of which reminded me painfully of my old life. Planning, calculating, overthinking, observing from the sidelines. Except now I was bigger, stronger, and… ridiculously visible.
I watched the two of them, then flexed my wings unconsciously. The sheer pressure of my presence radiated outward, pushing small birds from nearby trees. My violet-black scales shimmered faintly in the sun. Red eyes glimmered with intellect, curiosity, and amusement. From another dragon's perspective, I might as well have been a mountain come alive: massive, awe-inspiring, terrifying, and impossible to ignore.
The cove pulsed with tension as Hiccup slowly and awkwardly regained Toothless' trust. And somewhere deep in my chest, I realized: this was the start of something far bigger than either of them realized.
Evening fell. Toothless curled up on a flat rock. Hiccup sat nearby, brushing dirt off himself and muttering quietly. I watched from above, wings folded, tail coiled, thinking about the absurdity of my situation:
Human brain in dragon body
Movies and books as actual "training manuals"
A village full of humans oblivious to a 30-meter dragon lurking in the cliffs
And yet, somehow, the story was unfolding almost perfectly… just slightly out of order
I blinked slowly. My scales pulsed gently, a soft glow against the darkening sky. Toothless chirped softly in response to Hiccup's cautious pat. And I felt something entirely new: anticipation.
Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow, we see if this tiny human can really earn the trust of a dragon. And if I can resist throwing him across the cove just to see what happens.