The great hall had emptied. Vikings drifted toward their damaged homes, patching roofs and counting their losses. A few clapped you on the shoulder as you passed—youngest among the fighters, most kills today. Some shook their heads in disbelief.

Near the longhouse steps, a tall, broad-shouldered figure stood with his arms crossed. Stoick the Vast, chief of Berk. And beside him, a lanky boy with a leather tunic and a face that went pale the moment he spotted you.