The Mist

Chapter 1
A Dragon Named Stormfly

:::

The boy was only about ten years old, though with his small stature, you might mistake him for younger. The boy in this story is unimportant, though what happened to him and his home, is. As it is a forewarning of what is to come.

It was early noon. Cloud wisps layered the sky, their thin layer allowing the sun to warm up the dirt roads to the point of it being necessary to where shoes. The boy hated shoes.

A rare day on the small island where the occupants were sweating instead of shivering.

Our boy was down at the docks for the sole reason to feel the cool salty breeze coming from the ocean. He and an old gray fisherman were the first to spot the mist. The boy did not think much of it and continued to hop and skip around the dock. But this fisherman, he knew better. He knew what mist looked liked, how it behaved, due to his time on the water. This mist... it was thicker, moving in on the island with almost malicious intent.

He’d been called crazy before, the old and gray fisherman. Touting about mermaids and sea demons will lead people to that conclusion about a man. So, not wanting to cause a fuss, the old fisherman stayed quite. He went back to collecting ropes from the splintered dock. He chose to leave the mist alone, as it slowly continued its march towards the island, towards the boy... towards their lives.

An arrow. A simple weapon created by man to allow harm on another man from far away. An arrow used to take land. And an arrow to conquer others.

The first one struck near the boy. Striking a barrel of water, with it’s contents quickly spraying out of it. The boy turned to the old and gray fisherman. His once joyful face now contorted in confusion and fear. But the fisherman was now on his back, two arrows sticking out from him, blood pooling around him, staining the splintery wood.

A quick intake of breath, and the boy raced towards village square. More arrows struck around the boy, some hitting nothing, some hitting houses and stores, while some hit men. Others hit women and some struck children. It was as if the weather went from a hot day in summer, to a storm of arrows.

The boy took cover under a shack used to keep strung up fish dry from rain.

From his hiding place, the boy saw his island start to get its barrings. The men of the village, those old enough, took up arms and began to defend their home. By the time that happened, the mist had reached the island, rolling over the docks, and seeping into the village.

And from the mist, like phantoms, large men in dark armor emerged. The armor was made of metal plates that deflected the steel blades of their foes with ease. There were only five dressed like that. The captains. The important and indispensable ones.

With a single slice of their long, two-handed swords, the men of the village fell. One by one.

From behind the captains came forth shorter, more normal sized soldiers. They too wore black, but their armor was made of leather. And, unlike the captains, the soldiers didn’t wear masks.

The boy sat there, hugging his knees to his chest, tears escaping down his cheeks. Despite the heat of the day, he was shivering. Fear gripped his insides like a serpent strangling its prey.

Things began to move in slow motion as the kid began to go into shock due to what was happening. The heavily armored captains took long strides across the heart of the village, some walking right past the boy. They would direct the soldiers what houses to raid with a point of their hand.

The soldiers would raid the homes, dragging out the women and children who couldn’t escape further back into the island. If the women appeared to be above the age of 25, they were slain. Their bodies left to bleed out where they lay. The young girls and boys were escorted screaming and kicking into the denser part of the mist, back where the army had come from.

The elderly men suffered the same fate as the women.

Suddenly, a dark clad hand tore away the little shelter the boy had taken refuge in. His heart stopped as he stared up into the dark, endless pits of the captain’s eyes. His double-handed sword fastened on his back.

And in a sinister growl, the captain spoke. “Welcome, to the New Krallic.”

With that, a soldier came, picked the boy up, and carried him off into the mist. Looking back, the boy saw the captain begin to slowly make his way deeper into the village.

Whomever the Krallic allowed to live, would become part of their cause, to become a part of the domination. Of the end.

:::

Who knows war? I thought I knew war, after Drago, I though I knew what it was. When I was younger, my friends and I had had battles with dragon hunters; I thought that was war.

I know war now. The death and devastation it brings; I know it.

Bodies littered the dry and broken and cracked ground. The blood from the fallen men giving the earth its first drink in years. I believe a lake used to be here, a long time ago.

Some of the bodies belonged to the Krallic, but most were soldiers under my command... and some commander I turned out to be. This is my first conflict as chief, and I’ve killed hundreds of my own men. Fathers that will never get to return to their families.

My stomach churned and my head spun. The heat was starting to get to me. Sweat soaked my hair, ran down my face, and dampened my clothing, making it stick uncomfortably to my skin.

“Chief Haddock! Sir!.” A voice called out from behind me. Eret jogged up to me. He was playing the role of one of my captains. Years after the battle with Drago, I had grown to like Eret as a leader; I felt I could trust him to lead my men to victory, to safety. He did so often better than me and I find myself asking for his opinion on war matters often.

Eret was covered in battle scars all across his arms. Bits of his light metal armor were missing and his helmet had an impressive dent on the left side of the skull.

His broken and sullen face matched my own.

“Yes, what is it?” I asked.

“The Krallic, our scouts say they’re gearing up for another attack.”

Again, I thought, looking back over the bodies that lie lifeless on the dusty ground. Some Berkians had their dragons helping to collect the bodies, piling them up and out of the way. I doubt we’d get to give them a proper send off. Probably end up burning their bodies where they lay.

I thought, again? I’d have to watch my people fall again? Everything in me wanted to tell Eret to order a retreat. To tell my people that we were done and that they got to go back to their families.

Looking beyond Eret, I saw the long stretch of broken land. Miles away, far to away to see, was a kingdom that stood the best chance against the Krallic. Their people were among us, too. Some of their people were in the pile of bodies.

“Thanks, Eret, I’ll let Kar know,” I said, trying not to sound so hopeless. “Go tell our men to ready their dragons for another defensive hold.” Eret’s sad look told me he saw the helpless look behind my eyes. He knew this would likely be both our last days on earth.

But it is what it is. And as I made my way among the troops to Kar’s hut, Toothless in tow, I knew that the stakes have never been higher. Today’s battle would determine the outcome of the war. The Battle For The Broken Lands.

:::

Before “The Battle For The Broken Lands”

It was the crack of dawn. Today was the day that Fishlegs and Astrid would be back from their respective trips. I had sent Fishlegs to Berserker island to see how the dragon training was going. Since the archipelago was at peace, we had signed an agreement to teach them how to train dragons, with me sending one of my riders out for little checkups to see how they were progressing. We had done the same with the other tribes inside the archipelago like the Bog-Burglars.

I had sent Astrid, my wife and second in command, to a land further out. We had been communicating with the island by pen and paper for several weeks with their leader, a man named Lile, and had decided to sign a trading agreement. They had a great iron mine that gave them more iron than they knew what to do with. In return, Berk would give them the shed scales of dragons. Apparently, Lile had another trade partner very interested in dragon scales, and paid hefty for them.

It’s usually a chief’s duty to go on these things, but it was a several weeks trip, even on dragon back. Leaving the island for that long as chief didn’t sit comfortably with me. Sending Astrid on the trip didn’t sit comfortably with me either, but after I made the dumb-ass mistake to bring it up, Astrid was hooked. No amount of convincing would get her to change her mind. So I sent Tuffnut and Ruffnut with her to provide some backup. As reckless as they are, they’re good riders.

I headed through the morning crowed of vikings who were out opening up their shops of various goods to sell. And made my way up to the Great Hall to meet with the council about the upcoming preparations for winter.

It was a bit chillier out than normal, the sun not having yet the chance to warm the earth. The world around me seemed gray with fog, making everything seem hazy.

Walking through the impossibly large doors of the Hall, a gust of warmth provided by the hall’s great fire pit washed over me. I held the door open for Gothi, than sealed the door shut. Gothi nodded her head in thanks with a tight smile plastered on her cracked face.

I’m not entirely convinced Gothi isn’t immortal.

“Chief! How have you been this morning?” Gobber called out merrily as I took my seat at the table with the others; which conceived of Spitelout, his son Snotlout - Fishlegs was also a part of the council, as was Astrid. He and Snotlout were in training to become official members - and there was of course myself, Gothi, and Gobber.

I smiled. “I’m doing very well, thank you Gobber.”

The old blacksmith looked at me knowingly, tilting his head to the side. “Aye, I bet. With Astrid coming home after such a long time away.” He smiled at me and I knew what he was about to say. “The nights must’ve been quite boring being all be ye’ self.” He winked at me as a chuckle swept through the council.

I shook my head, failing at keeping the smile off my face.

Gothi gave Gobber a crisp crack across the head with her staff. I thanked her kindly. Time to get the meeting started.

:::

The day drew on slowly and painfully. The winter preparation schedule seemed to be on track, so after the meeting I went to my old house, which my mother now resides in. I had to pick up a very special little someone from her.

“Daddy!” Sven yelled as he jumped in my arms right as I walked through the door. Sven was only 3 years old and he unfortunately took after me in stature. I had hoped the viking genes in my late father would skip a generation and end up in my boy. Astrid thought it silly, but I just didn’t want the other kids to look at my son the way they had looked at me.

Sven had my hair cut short and tossed around messily, while getting the impossibly icy-blue eyes of his mother. He was a few inches shorter than the other boys his age and his frame thinner.

“Hey kiddo, enjoy your sleepover with grandma?” I asked him, plopping him down on the kitchen table. My mother came out from her room at the back of the house. Smiling as she saw me.

“Hope he wasn’t to much of a rascal,” I said as I tussled his hair.

Valka chuckled as she walked over to the fire pit and stirred the contents of the pot that was hung over top the flames. “Trouble? No, not trouble. But he has a lot of energy and takes very much after his father.”

I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. Taking after me was just another way of saying, yes, Sven was a lot of trouble. “Well, thanks for letting him stay the night.”

Toothless poked his head through the door and sauntered his way in. Sven clapped his hands and giggled at the dragon, climbing down the table to the chair and then to the floor to pay the dragon a visit. Toothless rolled his eyes and plopped down at the bottom of the stairs to let the young child crawl over him.

“Wasn’t a problem, son. I love the little lad, but wow, he doesn’t stop moving,” Valka chuckled, gathering bowls from the kitchen cabinet. I helped her fill them with the soup in the cooking pot and placed them on the table. I all but had to force Sven to take a seat at the table. Toothless gave me a look that said ‘thank you’. Couldn’t blame the dragon.

:::

The day continued to drag on slowly. So is the way of time when you’re awaiting something.

Fishlegs was the first to arrive at about early noon, which was fine, I expected him first. He had good news about the dragon training on Berserker island, saying Heather had taken up the task of lead dragon wrangler.

I poked fun at him, saying how it “must’ve been nice to see her again”. He blushed and stuttered about something. Couldn’t quite get it out.

The night began to set and I began to get worried, pacing the living room of my house. Toothless laid in the back corner watching me cautiously. Sven played with his wooden blocks on the carpet. He had asked about his mom several times, and each time I told him just a few more minutes. But as night began to grow darker and Sven slept in his room, I began to feel sick to the stomach.

I knew there was a possibility Astrid could be late. A trip this long was bound to have a few hiccups, it would be perfectly okay to be a few days late. Knowing that didn’t make me feel better.

However, hearing the familiar squawk of a Nadder and roar of a Zippleback did.

I opened my door and ran down the few steps to a dirt path and headed for the village, where the dragons waited for me. But something didn’t go right. The events that I played out a hundred times in my head didn’t play out in real life. The dragons were there, the twins were there, but what wasn’t there was Astrid jumping into my arms.

Instead, Stormfly and the Zippleback both head impressive scars and dried blood on their scales. The twins were equally as injured as they painfully slid off there dragon’s neck. They immediately crumbled to the ground with a painful groan. I knelt beside them and placed a hand on Ruff’s shoulder.

I tried to speak, but it got caught in my throat. Fortunately, Ruffnut seemed to know by the fear in my eyes what I wanted to say.

“Astrid, saved us... Hiccup,” Ruffnut manage to get out before doubling-over in pain. I pulled her closer to me and turned to Tuffnut.

“Well, wh-what happened?” I cried out desperately. A few viking began to leak from their homes groggy eyed. “Where’s my Astrid?” My voice cracked. I was struggling to hold it together.

Tuffnut struggled to his feet. “Alive, last we saw-” he stumbled on his feet and held his head. “-but they took her, Hiccup. They...” He leaned on belches head, the dragon groaned.

More vikings had gathered.

Stormfly squawked sadly and looked around, seemingly lost. Lost and sad.

I prodded the twins for more answers. They desperately needed medical attention, but Astrid was the only thing I could think about. Nothing else mattered.

Ruffnut answered me. “She fought hard, Hiccup... so hard. You should be proud. Astrid, she-” Ruffnut got choked up, trying hard not to cry. She melted closer into me. “She ended up giving herself up so the dragons and Tuff and I could escape... She told me to tell you she was sorry.”

My world began to get blurry. It took me a second to realize my eyes were brimming with tears. I got the vikings around us to help me get Ruffnut and Tuffnut to the healers hut.

Tuffnut looked at me as he was being helped along to the healers. “The Krallic, Hiccup. They called themselves the Krallic. They took Astrid.”

Krallic? I’d never heard of them. But they’d soon here about me, Hiccup Haddock, Chief of Berk, rider of the Alpha dragon.