The cage was cold, damp, and smelled of salt and old rope. The sea wind howled through the wooden slats, rattling the chains that held the heavy door shut.
Lyra pressed herself against the bars, her fingers wrapped around the cold iron as she watched the village of Berk bustle below. Torches flickered in the twilight, casting long shadows across the muddy paths. Warriors moved with purpose, axes and shields glinting, their eyes darting toward the cage with suspicion and fear.
Behind her, Astrel stirred. The Nightweaver was a mass of sleek, dark scales and folded wings, her amber eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. She let out a low, rumbling growl—not of aggression, but of unease. She hated being caged.
Lyra
whispering, soothing Easy, girl. Easy.
Astrel’s growl softened, but her eyes never left the crowd below.
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. A figure climbed the wooden platform toward the cage, torch in hand, his silhouette sharp against the night sky. He was young—barely older than Lyra—with a lean frame and a mess of auburn hair that the wind kept whipping into his face. His green eyes were tired, ringed with dark circles, and his jaw was set in a hard line.
Hiccup
stopping before the bars, voice strained Alright. I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you, and what are you doing on Berk?
Behind him, the village chief—Stoick the Vast—stood with his arms crossed, his massive frame blocking out the torchlight. He said nothing, but his gaze was heavy as stone.
Lyra met Hiccup’s eyes. She could see the exhaustion in them, the fraying patience. She’d been silent since they dragged her from the cove, since they’d thrown her and Astrel into this cage like criminals.
Lyra
quietly, evenly I told you. I’m not your enemy.
Hiccup
rubbing his temples That’s not an answer. That’s a deflection. I need a name. A reason. Something.
Stoick
voice like rolling thunder Enough, Hiccup. We don’t have time for games. The boy’s right—she’s hiding something.
Astrel shifted again, a low warning hiss escaping her throat. Lyra reached back, her hand finding the dragon’s warm snout, calming her with a touch.
Lyra
meeting Stoick’s gaze My name is Lyra. And I came here because I was looking for a place to belong. I didn’t come to fight.
Hiccup
pausing, studying her A place to belong… skeptical That’s why you snuck onto the most dangerous island in the archipelago? With a dragon that’s not even from these waters?
Lyra said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and thick, broken only by the crackle of the torch and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.