The fire had gone cold, but the whispers hadn't.

It was all anyone in the village could talk about. A black shape against the moon, wings that swallowed stars, eyes like embers drowned in wine. Not a Night Fury. Bigger. Wilder.

Most called it a ghost story. A trick of the mist. But Hiccup didn't believe in ghost stories anymore.

And so, at first light, the riders took off. Toothless carved through the dawn sky, Hiccup leaning low against his neck, Astrid and Stormfly at his side. Fishlegs followed on Meatlug, muttering nervously about unregistered species. Ruffnut and Tuffnut were arguing behind them on Barf and Belch. Snotlout was already claiming he'd be the one to catch it.

The search had led them far beyond the usual hunting routes, past sea stacks and hidden coves, to an island the maps had long since abandoned. It rose from the night like a broken tooth, its cliffs sharp and glistening. Dark forests covered its back, and the wind there carried a smell like smoke and old stone.

The blackness moved. Not shadow. Something alive. Something breathing. It stood tall on the ridge, watching them with patient, burning red eyes.

And for a long, terrible moment, no one moved at all.