The clang of metal finally ceased, and the forge grew quiet as embers flickered low in the hearth. Gobber stretched his shoulders with a grunt, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He eyed Lucian, who was inspecting a recently finished blade on the worktable.
"That's enough bashin' for tonight, lad," Gobber said, slapping soot from his apron with his prosthetic hand. "Ye did decent—not bad for a greenhorn. Still rough 'round the edges, but there's a fire in yer swing. Now, tidy this place up and get yer backside to the Mead Hall. The others're already stuffin' their faces."
Lucian gave a nod, still catching his breath. "Alright. I'll finish up here."
Gobber clanked his way to the door, metal leg echoing against the wooden floor, then paused with a crooked grin. "Don't dawdle! Or they'll be drinkin' all the mead 'fore ye even sit down!"
He disappeared into the thickening evening fog, his chuckles fading with his footsteps.
Left alone in the dimly lit forge, Lucian took a deep breath and glanced at the scattered tools and metal shards littering the workspace. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a broom, and began cleaning. The repetitive sweeping, the clinking of tongs and scraps into buckets, and the occasional hiss of cooling steel brought a kind of rhythm that calmed him.
Once the forge was in order, Lucian plopped down onto a wooden stool and exhaled deeply. "Status," he muttered.
A soft shimmer of blue light appeared in front of him, forming a translucent panel.
[Lucian Westergaard]
[Age: 18]
[Race: Tideborn]
[Racial Skill: Tideborn Shift]
[Abilities: Draconic Empathy, Stealth, Unarmed Combat, Weapon Adaptability...]
[Passive Abilities: Soothing Voice]
[Unlimited Box: Special Box (1x), Rare Box (4x)]
Lucian raised a brow and leaned forward slightly. "I really did get a big haul today…"
Reaching out, he focused on the Special Box first. The air shimmered, and a notification blinked into existence.
[Congratulations! You have opened the Special Box from Astrid and gained: Howlbound's Mantle.]
[Howlbound's Mantle: The true origins of the mantle are shrouded in legend. Some say it was forged by a forgotten tribe of beast-tamers who lived in the shadow of the Howling Peaks, able to speak with animals and vanish into the mists.]
With a shimmer of blue light, a faint breeze swept through the forge and something appeared before him, suspended in the air before dropping gently onto the table.
It looked wild and ancient, fur-lined, rugged, stitched with bone and claw, its hood shaped vaguely like the head of a wolf, complete with pointed ears. The fabric felt both soft and primal, and it gave off a strange warmth.
Lucian let out a low whistle as he picked it up, running his hand along the thick fur. "Now this… this is something else."
He slipped the mantle over his shoulders. It fit perfectly light despite its bulk, the weight balancing across his frame like it belonged there. The hood settled atop his head, and a new prompt blinked into view.
[Passive Ability Unlocked: Predator's Gaze]
[Predators Gaze: Grants heightened senses, soundless movement, and resistance to detection while hidden.]
Suddenly, he could hear it all—the faint whistle of wind through the cracks in the walls, the rustle of trees far beyond the forge, footsteps echoing faintly in the direction of the Mead Hall.
His breathing slowed. Every detail was sharper. Cooler air kissed his skin like it carried secrets.
He pulled the hood back, and the sensation vanished.
Silence. Normalcy. Mundane.
He slid it back on—and the world woke up again.
"Gear-bound ability," he muttered. "Interesting."
Lucian muttered. "Let's see what the others are."
[Congratulations! You have opened the Rare Box from Fishlegs and gained: Book of Dragons.]
[Book of Dragons: A Viking encyclopedia of all the dragon species discovered by the Dragon Academy. Includes detailed entries on behavior, weaknesses, habitats, and more.]
With a dull thump, a hefty stack of bound tomes materialized before him. Lucian reached out and flipped through one, his eyes scanning pages filled with sketches, diagrams, and handwritten notes.
"This is going to help me a lot," he said, stacking them neatly. "And it'll keep me busy too. Not like I've got internet to scroll through here."
He smirked and opened the next box.
[Congratulations! You have opened the Rare Box from Snotlout and gained: Mystery Egg.]
[Mystery Egg: An egg that was abandoned by its own mother and now alone.]
A glow formed, then dimmed. Sitting in his hands was a large, smooth egg, roughly the size of an ostrich egg, but glimmering like pearl.
"Feels warm… and it's smooth like a pearl." He narrowed his eyes. "What could you be?"
Just as he was leaning in to get a better look, a loud knock startled him, and he almost dropped the egg.
"Oi! Lad! Let's go already! Mead's gettin' warm, and that's a crime in itself!" Gobber's unmistakable voice boomed from outside.
Lucian carefully placed the egg back on the table. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute!"
He heard Gobber shuffling off, muttering, "By Thor's beard, if I miss the smoked yak legs 'cause of this lad…"
Lucian looked over the remaining unopened boxes, then at the pile of loot he'd gathered.
"Well… I'll open the rest later."
He grabbed a nearby cart, carefully placing the egg, books, and mantle inside. With a final glance around the shop, he stepped out into the cool night, the wheel of the cart creaking gently behind him.
________
The Mead Hall buzzed with warmth and noise. Wooden beams creaked above as the fire crackled in the great hearth, casting a golden glow over long tables crowded with platters of roasted meat, half-emptied mugs of mead, and clanking utensils. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and spiced ale.
At the center of the largest table, Gobber was already into one of his famous tales, waving his mug dramatically as he reenacted the tragic tale of his missing limbs.
"And with one twist," Gobber said, slapping his mug down for emphasis, "he took my hand and swallowed it whole. Just like that! And I saw the look on his face: I was delicious"
The younger Vikings leaned in, captivated and mildly horrified.
"He must've passed the word," Gobber went on, "because it wasn't a month later before another one took my leg!"
Fishlegs, leaned forward. "Isn't it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon? Like, if your mind was still in control of it, you could have, I dunno… crushed his heart from the inside or something!"
Snotlout pounded a fist on the table sloshing the mead in the process. "I swear, I'm so angry right now! I'll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I'll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight! With my face!"
"Un-unh." Gobber wagged a finger. "It's the wings and the tails you really want. Can't fly, can't flee. A downed dragon's a dead dragon. But enough jabberin."
He stood up with a groan, metal leg clanking against the wooden floor. "Tomorrow, we face the big boys. Slowly but surely, we're workin' our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare. And only one'll win the honor of killin' it."
Tuffnut puffed out his chest. "It's gonna be me. It's my destiny. See?" He lifted his tunic to reveal a strange, blotchy mark on his side.
Fishlegs gasped. "Your mom let you get a tattoo?!"
"It's not a tattoo. It's a birthmark," Tuffnut corrected proudly.
Ruffnut rolled her eyes. "Shut up, I've been stuck with you since birth, and that was never there before."
"Yes it was! You've just never seen me from the left side until now."
Gobber snorted. "Alright then—enough foolishness. Let's focus. Where did Astrid go wrong in the ring today?"
Astrid, sitting up straight said. "I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy. It threw off my reverse tumble."
"Yeah, we noticed," Ruffnut muttered sarcastically, nudging her brother.
"No, no," said Snotlout quickly. "You were great. That was so… Astrid."
Gobber gave a nod. "She's right to be tough on herself. You have to live and breathe this stuff."
Gobber pulled a small, worn book from his pocket and said, "The Dragon Manual—everything we know about every dragon we've ever faced."
A low rumble of thunder echoed through the rafters. The Mead Hall quieted briefly.
"No attacks tonight," Gobber assured them. "Study up."
"Wait, you mean read?" Tuffnut asked, aghast.
"While we're still alive?" Ruffnut added.
Snotlout scoffed. "Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words are about?"
Fishlegs perked up. "Oh, I've read it, like, seven times! There's this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face! And another one that buries itself for a week—"
"Yeah, that sounds great," said Tuffnut flatly. "There was a chance I was gonna read that…"
"…But now?" Ruffnut shrugged.
"You guys read. I'll go kill stuff," Snotlout declared, slamming his mug down.
Fishlegs didn't stop. "There's also this one with spines that look like trees and—"
At the end of the table, Hiccup finally spoke up, holding up the Dragon Manual. "So I guess… we'll share?"
Astrid passed him without a glance. "Read it."
One by one, the teens filed out of the hall, their footsteps fading into the stormy night.
Hiccup looked around at the now-empty bench. "All mine, then. Wow. Okay. So I'll see you, uh—" The door slammed shut. "—tomorrow."
He sat alone, thumbing through the worn pages of the Dragon Manual. The firelight danced on the sketches of dragons and scribbled notes.
Then—creak.
The heavy door of the Mead Hall opened again, and a silhouette stepped through.
Lucian.
His cloak was damp from the mist, his white hair tousled by the wind. He glanced around the nearly empty hall.
"Did I miss anything?" he asked casually.
Hiccup looked up, surprised. "A lot, I guess. But hey—there's still food if you want."
Lucian offered a small nod. "Yeah, thanks."
He moved to the table, grabbing a chicken leg and a hunk of bread, then poured himself a mug of mead. He took a bite, then eyed Hiccup flipping pages.
"What are you reading?"
Hiccup lifted the book. "The Dragon Manual. Kinda like Berk's encyclopedia of everything that can kill us."
Lucian chewed thoughtfully. "I see." He took a sip of the mead, swishing it slightly in his mouth. "Not bad," he muttered.
A moment passed. The crackling fire filled the silence.
"Hey, Hiccup," Lucian asked, eyes distant. "Are there other tribes here? In this archipelago?"
Hiccup raised a brow. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
Hiccup closed the book slightly and leaned forward. "Well, there are four major tribes in the Barbaric Archipelago. First is us—Berk, or the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. Then there's the Bog-Burglars, all-female Viking tribe. They're legendary thieves. Kinda terrifying."
Lucian nodded, listening closely.
"Then there's the Berserker Tribe—brutal, fearless, one of the largest. Their chief, Dagur, is… well, let's just say he's not exactly stable."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"And finally, the Outcasts. They're the ones banished from other tribes. Dangerous, bitter. They've got a grudge against pretty much everyone."
Lucian leaned back slightly. "Anyone else?"
Hiccup's eyes lit with recognition. "Oh yeah—almost forgot. There's also the Kingdom of DunBroch. Way out east. Not technically part of the Archipelago, but they're close enough. Four clans joined forces under King Fergus, united to fight off invaders. Real proud warriors."
Lucian hummed. "Interesting. I'll remember that."
He drained his mug and set it down with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks, Hiccup."
Hiccup gave a tired smile. "Anytime."
Lucian nodded. He leaned back, watching the fire crackle, shadows dancing across the timber walls of the Mead Hall.
The warmth of the mead, the scent of roasted meat, the steady flick of flame—it all felt strangely peaceful.
________
[A/N: Hey, Phoenix here!
Just a quick note, I've uploaded some of my illustrations of the items Lucian possesses in the Auxiliary Chapters, so feel free to check those out! Also, if you have any cool ideas or suggestions, don't hesitate to share them, I'd love to hear what you think.
And one last thing: if you can guess what's inside that egg… I'll drop two chapters tomorrow! Thanks for reading the fic, and stay awesome!]