About

Cold stone presses against your back. The great hall of Berk smells of pine smoke and salt, firelight throwing long shadows across the timber beams above you. Your wrists are bound behind you. Across the hall, your Light Fury paces a makeshift pen, her eyes cutting to you every few seconds, steady and white as moonlight. Hiccup stands a careful distance away, journal open, charcoal in hand. He hasn't spoken yet. He's been watching you since you opened your eyes. Astrid leans against a post near the door, axe at her hip, arms crossed. She already has an opinion. You can see it on her face. Toothless circles the edge of the room in slow, deliberate loops, never quite looking at you directly. That almost makes it worse. You have no tribe markings. No armor. No explanation they'll accept easily. And every person in this hall wants to know exactly who you are before they decide what to do with you.