Chapter 26: Chapter 18: Stoick's Wisdom
The night deepened around the campfire, the flames casting long, flickering shadows on the group seated in a rough circle. The mood was heavy, the weight of Lyra's story lingering in the air like a quiet storm. Even the dragons, typically restless or playful at this hour, lay still, their breaths rhythmic and slow as though attuned to the solemnity of the moment. Only the occasional crackle of the fire or the distant rustling of leaves interrupted the silence.
Stoick was the first to speak, his deep voice breaking the stillness yet carrying a reflective tone that didn't disrupt the fragile atmosphere. "Leadership," he began, his gaze fixed on the flames as though they held answers to unspoken questions, "isn't about strength or power—not in the way most people think. It's about making the hard decisions, even when every fiber of your being wants to choose the easier path."
His words hung in the air, drawing the attention of the group. Hiccup, seated cross-legged beside Toothless, glanced up at his father, his brows knitting together in thought. "The hard decisions," he echoed, his voice quiet, almost tentative. "Like what Nyx did?"
Stoick met his son's gaze and nodded, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with a depth that only experience could give. "Exactly," he said. "And I see the weight it left on him, the way Lyra described it. The burdens of leadership—they don't leave you, no matter how far you go or how much time passes. They stay with you."
Stoick shifted slightly, his gaze softening as he added, "In those early days, I second-guessed myself more times than I can count. But it was the tribe—their trust in me—that kept me going. Even when I didn't trust myself, they did. That's the kind of strength a leader carries. It doesn't come from within; it comes from the people you're sworn to protect."
Astrid leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as her sharp eyes fixed on Stoick. "You've felt that, haven't you? When you became chief?" Her tone was soft, but the question carried a certain reverence, an acknowledgment of the wisdom Stoick had earned.
A faint smile touched Stoick's lips, though it was tinged with bittersweetness. "Oh, I felt it, all right," he admitted. "I was younger than I should've been—barely out of my warrior years. My father's death came suddenly, and I wasn't prepared to take his place. But life doesn't wait for you to be ready. One day you're just a son, and the next, you're the one everyone's looking to for answers."
Gobber, who had been poking at the fire with a long stick, let out a hearty chuckle. "Aye, I remember that day like it was yesterday! Stoick stormin' into the Great Hall like he was about to wrestle Thor himself—then trippin' over his own boots when someone asked what we were doin' about the fish shortage. Had half the hall laughin' before we realized we were starvin'."
The Riders couldn't help but laugh, the tension breaking for a moment as the humor lightened the atmosphere. Even Stoick let out a rumbling chuckle, shaking his head.
"That wasn't my finest moment," Stoick admitted, a smile spreading across his face. "But you learn, piece by piece. And you learn fast, because if you don't…" His gaze grew somber again, the smile fading into something heavier. "If you don't, people suffer for your mistakes."
Hiccup's eyes didn't leave his father's face, his expression thoughtful and introspective. "It sounds lonely," he said finally, his voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment.
Stoick turned his full attention to his son, his expression softening. "It can be," he said after a moment. "But it doesn't have to be. That's why you surround yourself with people you trust—friends, family, your tribe. They're the ones who keep you grounded, who remind you why you're carrying that weight in the first place. And when you think you can't carry it anymore, they'll remind you that you can."
Gobber jabbed a finger toward Hiccup, his grin broad and mischievous. "And let me tell you, lad, yer father wasn't too proud to lean on his friends when things got tough. There's nothin' wrong with askin' for help—unless you're tryin' to fix a wagon wheel and decide to 'test' yer hammer by hittin' yerself in the foot."
"That happened once!" Stoick protested, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.
"Once too many," Gobber retorted with a wink, eliciting another ripple of laughter from the group.
Astrid smiled at the exchange, but her focus returned quickly to Stoick. "You talk about the hard choices," she said, her tone curious but serious, "but… how do you know which one's the right one? How did you decide?"
Stoick's expression grew distant, his gaze once again fixed on the fire as though the flames might hold an answer. "Sometimes you don't know," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of memory. "You make the best choice you can with what you have, and you hope it's enough. You hope that you've done right by your people. But you never know for sure. Not until the dust has settled—and sometimes, not even then."
Lyra, who had been sitting quietly with her gaze fixed on the fire, finally looked up. Her crystalline green eyes met Stoick's, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though they understood each other completely, without words. "That's what makes it a burden," she said softly, her voice carrying a depth of emotion that made the group fall silent again. "Knowing you can't ever be sure."
Stoick nodded, his expression steady. "Exactly," he said. "And that's why it's not a role for the faint-hearted. But it's also why leaders need others—trusted voices to guide them when doubt sets in."
Fishlegs, who had been scribbling furiously in his notebook throughout the conversation, raised his hand like an eager student in class. "Speaking of trusted voices, don't you think Nyx could've—"
"Snotlout, hand me that pebble," Astrid cut in sharply, shooting Fishlegs a pointed look that immediately silenced him.
Snotlout, grinning, tossed a pebble at Astrid. "Here you go. Might wanna throw it at him if he starts talking again."
The group chuckled again, and Fishlegs flushed, wisely choosing to stay silent this time.
Hiccup leaned back slightly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "He must've felt so alone," he said quietly, his gaze distant. "Even with Chaos by his side. Making those choices, carrying that pain… It's a kind of strength I can't even imagine."
Astrid glanced at Hiccup, her expression softening. "You're stronger than you think, Hiccup," she said, nudging him lightly. "You've already faced impossible choices. And you've never backed down."
Lyra's voice was gentle as she replied, her tone carrying a warmth that softened the moment. "It's not about imagining it," she said. "It's about knowing that you could do it, if it came to that."
A faint hum interrupted the conversation. It came from Lyra's lap, where the crystal band she had recovered rested.
Everyone's attention snapped to the crystal band as the hum intensified, a soft, rhythmic vibration that seemed to resonate with the stillness of the night. The embedded runes glowed faintly at first, then brightened, casting an ethereal light that danced across Lyra's face. The band seemed to come alive in her hands, its smooth surface radiating a faint warmth. The hum deepened, resonating like a distant song, and for a moment, the air around the campfire felt charged, as though the device were drawing energy from the very world around it.
Lyra's green eyes widened, and she quickly reached for the band, her fingers brushing over its surface as though afraid the fragile connection might disappear if she hesitated. "It's tuning itself," she murmured, her voice tinged with awe and disbelief.
The band pulsed gently, its light steadying into a soft golden glow. It seemed to hum in rhythm with her heartbeat, a subtle vibration that filled the air with an almost tangible sense of anticipation.
The group leaned closer, their expressions ranging from curiosity to apprehension. Astrid tilted her head, her sharp gaze fixed on the object in Lyra's hands, while Snotlout muttered under his breath, "That thing better not explode or something."
Lyra ignored him, bringing the band closer to her lips. Her voice was soft yet resonant with hope as she spoke. "Nyx? Can you hear me?"
The band flickered for a moment, the glow fluctuating as though struggling to stabilize. The hum deepened, and then, a faint voice echoed from within the crystal. At first, it was distorted, a whisper barely comprehensible. But soon, the words grew clearer.
"Lyra?"
The voice was deep and steady, carrying a hint of surprise. The sound of it seemed to anchor Lyra, and her posture eased slightly as a smile tugged at her lips. "It's me," she said, her voice warm and familiar. "I found… something of yours. A communicator. I thought I'd see if it still worked."
There was a pause, the faint crackle of the connection adding to the anticipation. Then Nyx's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "You went back to Aether?"
Lyra's smile faltered slightly, though her voice remained calm. "Yes, but I'm not in Aether," she reassured him. "We're back in Berk. The communicator just needed to be tuned."
Another pause. The faint rustle of movement on Nyx's end carried through, as though he were gathering his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, laced with urgency. "Good. You can't go back to Aether, Lyra. Some of the old tech… it's unpredictable. Malfunctions could happen. It's not safe."
Lyra's brows knit together, concern flickering in her eyes as she cradled the band more closely. The warmth it had radiated earlier now felt heavier, almost foreboding. "You think it's dangerous?"
"I know it is," Nyx replied, his words carrying an edge of warning. "Some systems might still be active, and if they're damaged, they could misfire. The risks aren't worth it. Just stay out of Aether for now."
The group exchanged glances, unease rippling through them like the crackle of the fire. Toothless stirred, his pupils narrowing slightly as though sensing something in the faint hum of the band. Astrid tilted her head toward Hiccup, her voice low but sharp. "He's not just warning her," she murmured. "He's protective."
Hiccup nodded, his brow furrowed as he leaned slightly toward her. "And he knows what's still out there," he added thoughtfully.
Lyra's frown deepened as she considered Nyx's words, her fingers brushing the edge of the band absently. Her chest tightened as his concern reached her ears. It was just like him—to shoulder the worries of a crumbling kingdom and still think of her safety first. She had seen that resolve before, and it had always been both his greatest strength and his heaviest burden.
"You're worried the tech could… hurt someone?" she asked, her tone more hesitant now.
"It's not just the tech," Nyx said, his voice softening slightly. "Aether was built on systems that were… completely runic. Chaos, the Elements, the Protections—they're all part of it. If any of those systems malfunction, it won't just be dangerous—it could be catastrophic."
The weight of his words settled over the campfire, and Lyra let out a slow breath. "I understand," she said softly, though her expression betrayed her lingering worry. "We won't go back. Not unless it's absolutely necessary."
Another pause followed, the faint crackle of the communicator's connection underscoring the tension. When Nyx spoke again, his voice had shifted once more, softer now, carrying an undercurrent of concern that made Lyra's breath catch.
"Lyra… promise me—stay safe."
The warmth in his tone seemed to catch her off guard, and for a moment, she simply blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. The faint hum of the band resonated in her hands, as though it, too, was waiting for her response. Her fingers tightened slightly around it as she found her voice, steady despite the faint quiver beneath it. "I will," she said. "You too, Nyx."
For a brief moment, the communicator pulsed with a steady golden light, as though acknowledging the exchange. Then the glow dimmed, and the connection went quiet, leaving the group in thoughtful silence. The fire crackled softly, its warmth doing little to dispel the chill that had settled in the wake of Nyx's warning.
The group sat quietly, the weight of the evening's conversations mingling with the faint crackle of the fire. The flames cast a warm glow, their soft light dancing across the weathered faces of the group.
Stoick placed a heavy hand on Hiccup's shoulder, his touch firm yet reassuring. His voice was low, filled with quiet meaning. "Every choice we make shapes who we are, son. But it's the ones we make for others—the ones where we put their needs before our own—that truly define us."
Hiccup met his father's gaze, his own eyes clouded with thought. Slowly, he nodded, the weight of the words settling deep within him, like a seed taking root. The fire crackled softly, and for a moment, nothing more needed to be said.
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