I had a great idea for this story, so I've started writing it. Anyway, I'll try to upload weekly, or at least every other week but lets not lie...that's unlikely.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Way it Began

"Hiccup! Have you seen my spare hammer?"

Gobber's voice yelled out over the metal scraping and hammering of the forge. A scrawny teen put down the sword he was sharpening, and yelled back.

"Did you misplace it again? C'mon Gobber, you do this all the time!"

"Don't you take that sarcastic tone with me, child. You may be a half-good apprentice, but you're still years to young to be disciplining me. An' bulk up a little, ye' beansprout." Gobber waved his arm―an arm without a hand―at his apprentice. His stern tone would've sent many brave vikings into a cold sweat, but the teen just chuckled, and strained to bring the sword back to the sharpening stone. Gobber turned back to his work, a grin creeping along his face. As he turned away, however, he failed to notice a pair of curious eyes watching him work. Hiccup hid his smile as he placed the sword aside―watching Gobber's technique, and learning from it.

Later

Hiccup ran down the mountainside with a bulging sack. He swung his weight around a tree, then bounded off a boulder, landed with a quick roll, and without a hitch, slipped in a near-unnoticeable path that seemed to lead downward into the ground. He slid through the passageway towards a bright light, then with one last squeeze, stepped into the open. Unfortunately, his bag―large and unwieldy―decided at this moment to tear, spilling the contents of Hiccup's bag everywhere.

"Aw, c'mon!" he groaned as scrap metal, random bits and pieces of metalwork, rope, and a very nice-looking hammer fell to the ground. Some skittered to the edge, and fell off the ledge that Hiccup stood on. They fell, as if in slow motion, into a beautiful open pond. The ripples slowly moved outwards, towards the clearing. In a near-perfect cylinder, there was a clearing with cliffs 50 feet all around. Roots were gnarled over the edges, and the first time Hiccup had come upon this small grove, he had nearly fallen into it.

Picking up every bit of his poor man's treasure, he carried it all into a cave at the end of the cove. After placing it in a crudely-made chest, Hiccup turned, and pulled a tarp off of a slightly warped forge. The patchwork of the metal was obvious, and looked like it had been worn down over years of use.

"Man…" Hiccup sidled out to the edge of the lake, and looked down through the water. "I really need that hammer…" He looked around, searching for signs of any wandering eyes―then chuckled quietly to himself. "If anyone else was around to see this, I wouldn't be here."

Stripping down, he slipped into the glassy, blue cover. The smooth sheen of the water was interrupted by ripples as he dove under. Many feet under the surface, Hiccup floated along the ground, and regained his newly acquired―rather, stolen―hammer. Opening his eyes, he watched the light filter through the water like a kaleidoscope, streamers of light shimmering over his body. With an unreadable expression, he pushed off the rocky ground and glided to the surface.

Drying himself off with long, languid movements, Hiccup brought his new hammer to the forge. He had made it himself with scraps and a vague blueprint that he had drawn. He had spent many sleepless nights secretly welding and hammering the metal. Somehow, he had never been caught―although his father likely just ignored him, hoping something useful would come out of Hiccup's life for once.

Shifting through his collection, he chuckled at the thought. How would his father―the flawless chieftain of Berk―react if he found his son inventing strange devices after he had forbidden it. Vikings simply couldn't understand his brain. Anything that couldn't be thrown, swung, or used as a blade wasn't worth making.

With an angry grunt, Hiccup slammed down a heavy collection of metal pieces that he would soon use onto the bed of his forge. Lighting a warm flame underneath and pumping the bellows, he couldn't help but to allow his mind to drift off to that memory…

The night was late, but the moon shone brightly. As some vikings began to patch holes in roofs or smother fires, from the Haddock house, angry voices could be heard in a loud competition.

"I will not allow it!"

"But… Dad! These ideas I have could change the way we fight them!"

"What does 'I will not allow' mean to you, Hiccup?" Bellowed Stoick the Vast―the viking legend―at his scrawny eleven-year-old son. "These ideas are nonsense!"

"Just let me prove them to you! Gobber said he'd teach me to smith, and―" Hiccup was cut off abruptly by his father's glare.

"You are testing my patience, Hiccup." Stoick let out a warning tone like a distant roll of thunder. "You act as if you could change the viking way? Change our village? We are vikings, son. You should know the weight that lays upon your shoulders. Your mind is too free. We live and die on this island! Nothing is more important than the protection of our own!" Stoick lowered himself onto a stool, clearly out of breath. He calmed himself, then cut his son off again. "You will be allowed to learn to smith, boy. But know this―I will give Gobber strict orders against allowing any mechanisms you want to create. You have never impressed me, but now, son, I'm disappointed. You are nothing.

Stoick's voice trailed off as he walked out the rough oak door, to help his clan―slamming it behind him, cutting off his son's weak retort.

Hiccup stood, the silence after the storm deafening him, holding him in place. He fully understood what his father had proclaimed, but his mind wouldn't listen. It couldn't. He shook his head―tears leaking out of his eyes.

Within minutes, Hiccup had gathered everything he owned. 3 pencils. A notebook. A threadbare blanket. A small knife that had been gifted to him by his cousin. It gleamed sharp in the moonlight as Hiccup left the backdoor. Like a shadow, unseen by all in the night, he fled.

Berk is a place of beauty for some. But as the child ran through the underbrush and down paths of his own creation, it was nothing but a strange land of terror and pain. The child's tears intermingled with fresh blood welling up from small cuts all over his face and arms. His sobs were muffled by his teeth―clenched like a fist. Dashing through trees and brush and weeds, he nearly lost his footing at the edge of a sheer cliff. His sobs morphed into a screech, as he reached for nearby foliage with a manic fear. His momentum slowed, and he stared out into the strange, circular area that he had come across.

His heart had been beating at a furious pace after the stress of his flight, and the fear from a near-death fall, but somehow, he felt his heart jump one last time as his eyes fell upon it.

"It's The Shadow!" He barely whispered, fearing he may alert the monster to his presence. This beast, while not as infamous as the night fury, was a Deadly Nadder that had repeatedly terrorized the village. With its uncharacteristically dark colored scales, it had become a devilishly elusive prize, often escaping into the night. Any family would pride itself to hang its dark azure scales in their house.

Staring down on the majestic beast, hiccup watched it attempt to stand and fly―failing at both. To his surprise, the dragon's left wing and leg were mangled and barely even attached. Blood spewed onto the ground in multiple places, and the dragon laid his head down to rest with a cry of pain. Hiccup watched in awe and in disgust―then a terrible thought slipped into his mind. He watched, and plotted…

Hiccup shook his head, bringing him back to reality. His fire was raging, and his tools were prepared; he looked at the blueprint he had sketched. He picked it up, took a long, pointed piece of metal, then pinned the blueprint into the wall―in addition to a line of similar-looking sketches. He looked deeper into the cave, and grinned evilly.

"So...what should I add to it now?"