Stryke Out (HTTYD x Reader)

Chapter 5

A/N: This is a longer chapter. I wanted to get all of it down on paper before updating it. Please enjoy and feel free to leave comments!

A cool, gentle sea breeze ruffled the long curls on the back of your neck as you stood among the swallow tide pools on Vanir's eastern shore, watching the sunrise on your twelfth birthday. Your parents finally believed that you were old enough to go on one of the treacherous rescue missions that your older brother kept bragging about.

Enjoying the peace and solitude of the early morning patrol, you happily hopped from one tide pool to the next. Carefully keeping your senses attuned to your surroundings, you picked up a long stick that you had secretly kept at the secluded beach. Nobody in your village thought you were ready for formal weapons training, but knowing that one day you would have to wield your father's sword, you figured you might as well start.

How surprised will they be when I beat the drill instructor on my first day? You thought merrily as you practiced your positions.

Suddenly the trumpet of a large horn broke through your revelry. Groaning, you returned the stick to its hiding place and turn to race back to the village.

Yet as you turned, you heard a different, much harsher sound - a dragon cry - followed by a melodic rift that you had never heard before.

Deciding that your parents couldn't be too angry, it was your birthday after all, you ran away from the village and towards the soft musical tones.

You heard the cry a few more times as you raced past two blowholes and entered a small granite canyon on the furthest reaches of the island. The sound echoed, repeatedly bouncing off the smooth rock walls, making it difficult to track. You followed the canyon until it dead-ended at another, much larger blowhole that was surrounded by dragons encased in a hard, translucent orange substance. You apprehensively approached one of the trapped dragons. Whispering soft, reassuring words, you reached out to calm the poor creature, but, seeing that most of their mouths were covered in the glass-like substance, you quickly realized that none of these dragons were the one that screamed.

If it wasn't you...

A rush of water blasted out of the blowhole as you heard the scream again. Cautiously, you inched away from the trapped dragons, feeling a smothering sense of dread creep over you. Before you stuck your head down the hole, the melodic notes called out again. You spun around, slipping on the slick rock and tumbled backward into the hole.

As you fell, you caught a glimpse of a large dragon with a short neck and yellow-orange scales. Mentally, you flipped through your notes from your night studying the Book of Dragons.

Musical cry - check

Yellow-orange scales - check

Orange amber to trap victims - check

You concluded that this was a Deathsong and it had no reason to be on your island.

This is probably what the alarm was about! You thought just before your back slammed into the hard rocks at the bottom of the hole. You almost blacked out from the impact.

Gritting your teeth, you gingerly pulled yourself to your feet as you studied your surroundings. Like so many of the blowholes on the island, this one was formed from a collapsed tube created by the now dormant volcano that was home to the Bewilderbeast. The long tunnel ran out into the ocean and crashing waves caused the water to spout out of the hole above. But this tube had one major difference.

You pressed your hand flat onto a thin but sturdy sheet of amber that divided the space. Trapped on the other side, nervously pacing, was a Razorwhip with a jagged metal net wrapped tight around its left wing.