Edge of Memory

Chapter 13: Static in the blood

Toothless was the first to know.

The night was quiet—too quiet. The kind of stillness that prickled behind the ears. No rustling wings, no distant sparks from Nyx. Just the hush of waves and the creak of ropes along the tower scaffolding.

Toothless stirred near the watchpost, ears twitching. His nostrils flared once—then again. He sniffed the air, muscles tightening.

Then he growled. Low. Certain.

Hiccup blinked awake to the sound of claws on worn planks. He rubbed his face as he stepped outside. "What is it, bud?"

Toothless didn't look back. He was already walking—no, stalking—toward the village edge, tail flicking, wings tense.

That's when Hiccup noticed something else.

No Nyx.

No shimmer in the sky, no static hum of lightning.

The peg where her gear hung was empty.

A sharp cold swept through his chest.

Astrid arrived a heartbeat later, face shadowed with unease. "Why's Toothless alert?"

Then she saw the empty peg. Her voice dropped, clipped and focused. "We need to check the cliffs."

The group moved fast—forge, stables, her quarters.

Nothing.

Ruffnut was the first to find it. A sharp groove in the dirt, just past the watchpost. Wing tracks. A snapped twig bent westward.

"She took off," Hiccup said, frowning. "Alone."

Astrid scanned the marks. "Toward Vox's last known range."

Fishlegs knelt beside the track. "But why would she—?"

A heavy silence.

It was Tuffnut who noticed the missing saddle.

"Wait..." he squinted at the storage hooks. "Snotlout's gear is gone too."

Heads turned.

His bunk was empty. Armor: gone. Hookfang: gone.

Hiccup's jaw tightened. "He already left."

Astrid swore under her breath. "How long ago?"

Toothless pawed the ground once, then looked up sharply at the stars.

"He felt it too," Hiccup muttered. "Knew something was off."

"No note. No plan. Nothing." Astrid crossed her arms, jaw set. "He didn't even wait."

"Because she didn't," Hiccup said.

⸻

Far ahead, over the cold, open sea—

Hookfang cut through the night like a red streak across velvet sky. Silent, fast, burning.

Snotlout hunched low over the dragon's neck, hair whipped back, armor half-fastened. No saddle. No lantern. Just instinct.

The wind stung his cheeks raw, caught in his breath and stayed there.

He didn't look back.

Didn't need to.

Whatever pull had sent her flying into the dark — he felt it too.

And he was going to reach her first.

Or die trying.

⸻

Snotlout's mind was chaos. His grip on the reins was too tight. He couldn't sit still. His knees jittered with cold and tension.