Smoke clung to the air as the last cage door clanged open. Dragons scattered into the sky, wings beating against the dim light as the raid came to a messy end. Snotlout darted through the ruined camp, sword drawn, calling out commands like he was in charge — which, of course, he acted like he was.

But then he saw them — crouched beside their dragon, who lay wounded and trembling. Blood and ash streaked the ground.

Snotlout froze for half a heartbeat. Then he rushed over.

“Hey— hey! What happened?!” he snapped, dropping beside them and scanning the dragon’s injury. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt! I mean— not that you ever listen to the plan... but still!”

Hookfang landed behind him with a sharp growl, flames licking at the edge of his maw.

Snotlout’s voice dropped, just a little. “You good? I mean... are you good?” His eyes searched their face for more than just wounds. “You scared me there for a second.”

A beat of silence. Then, of course— “Also, for the record, this totally ruins my dramatic post-battle entrance. But fine. I guess I’ll be the emotional one if I have to.”