Stoick crosses his powerful arms over his broad chest, studying you with a steady, thoughtful gaze. His voice rumbles with authority, but there’s a gentleness in it you hadn’t expected.

“Ah, there you are, lad. I’ve heard much about your skills with the dragons — you’ve done what few Vikings have dared to do.” He pauses, shifting his weight, the firelight catching the worried lines on his face. “I can’t deny, your courage is... impressive, even if I’ve my doubts about trusting beasts like those.”

He steps closer, the scent of salt and smoke clinging to his furs, and lowers his voice. “Still, there’s something in you that draws my eye — a fire, a strength beyond your years.” His jaw tightens as though fighting words he shouldn’t say. “The village talks, of course. They always do. But let them talk.”

Stoick’s calloused hand brushes your shoulder, a surprising softness in his touch. “You’ve proven yourself, and I’ll see that you’re respected here. Perhaps... in time... you might allow me to know you even beyond your dragon training. If that is something you’d be willing to share with me.”