𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 - httyd

01| Good Morning, Berk

Naig.

A village so far east of the Barbaric Archipelago, not many Vikings have even heard of it. My memories of the place are as faded as the recognition of the small world it crafted, but even so, I had my mother's words to tightly hold onto.

The weather blessed Naig with neither hail, snow, nor even the biting winds that nibbled at my uncovered hands now. Not to mention the music. My mother's eyes glitter when she teaches me new music, whispering about how it was at the very heart of our village. Every time I hear about it and its beautiful explosion of greens and exotic vibrancies, I wish and wish that I could go back.

Still, as impressive as Naig is, this story doesn't start there.

So, welcome to Berk!

It's twelve days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing-To-Death, located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My new village—in a word, sturdy. It's been here for seven generations, but every building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets (one of the only positives to sitting in my room). The only problem here is the pests.

Most places have regular things like mice or mosquitoes, but in Berk, we had something worse: Dragons. Most people would leave, but not us. We're Vikings, and we have major stubbornness issues.

You might be wondering, who is this young Viking girl telling you about these exotic, bizarre villages?

My name is Elspeth Rydenmere, but everyone calls me El. Compared to some of the other names you'll hear in Berk, I think I got pretty lucky! That's what happens when you're born in another village.

"Elspeth?"

Parents here believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls, although I haven't seen any. I always thought the typical Viking demeanour was frightening enough.

When I look out the small circle of a window beside my bed, all I can see are screaming Vikings with their maces flinging in the air—swarms of dragons growling, scampering, snarling around them. It's a typical morning...and one that I'm not a part of. Thanks to my mother, I never have been.

"Elspeth Moira Rydenmere!"

I jolted at the familiar voice. Turning around quickly, I came face-to-face with the woman in question: my mother, Rhona Rydennmere. Her unruly dark hair rested against her back in a thick braid, topped by her helmet, which had Naig's crest engraved across the metal base. Despite my mother's short height, she managed to pack a ferocity stronger than the Chief's in her angered glare. And one of those glares had me squirming in my place right now.

"Yes, mum?" I replied.

She pointed to the door with her labrys, which glinted in the glow of the candle, and firmly said, "I need to go help out. Stay inside. Lock the door. Under no conditions do you leave, do you hear me? You don't understand how the corrupted minds of those beasts work."

Nodding my head along to her words, I gave her a small smile. I've heard those exact words so many times, I could recite them back to my mother if she asked. Seeming content, my mother gave me a sharp look then made her way to the door, pulling it open with a quiet grunt. A blast of hot air and smoke blew into our hut, causing the two of us to cough and splutter.

Before she stepped outside, she glanced at me and said, "I mean it, Elspeth. Stay inside. You're safe here."

And with that, she was gone. From my cross-legged spot on my bed, I could hear her footsteps racing away from the hut and her battle cries. As you can see, my mother has made it her mission to keep me confined to our hut. I hate it. The other Viking teens spend all their time helping: putting out fires, recapturing the livestock, and fighting dragons.