Our dragons zip around in the air, feeling free and happy. We laugh as we soar through rocky crevices, over the ocean, and up into the sky. We talk as we go, and I find myself loosening up as the minutes tick by. Flying always brings out a different side of me, the more carefree side.

"So, Astrid, what's up with you?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.

Her eyes widen. "Nothing!"

"Lies!" Ruffnut accuses, a sly smile on her face. "Why were you and my brother being all snuggly?"

"I waved at him!"

"And during that one Snoggletogg he kissed you, and-"

Astrid rolls her eyes, her cheeks turning pink. "Oh please, Tuffnut is a complete doofus!" She falters, a smile creeping on to her face. "A lovable doofus, though. Don't you think?"

"Eww! Lovebirds!" Ruffnut sticks her tongue out, making Astrid elbow her in the gut. I only laugh at their antics.

As I look up, searching for the next place I could possibly show them, I see more land formations growing in the distance. Pointy mountains and evergreen forests appear below us, rocks scattered amongst the rich terrain. Something prickles in my memories, something from long ago. I slow Nightstar to a stop, keeping her hovering.

"Astrid! Ruff!" I call. Stormfly turns back to face me. "I...I think I know this place."

"What? No Viking has ever travelled this far from Berk," Astrid says, shaking her head.

I ignore her, listening instead to the feeling building in my gut. "I'm gonna check it out."

I zip away, giving them no choice but to follow me. As we get closer and closer, Nightstar starts to fly faster. The wind rushes past my face, making my braid loosen and my eyes water.

I do a banking turn around a corner near the brink of the forest and I pull Nightstar to an abrupt stop, my mouth falling open at what I see.

"No. This isn't real," I mutter. My dragon makes a worried noise, looking back at me. I don't look at her as I give the next command. "Land on the ground, girl."

Nightstar listens, swooping downwards. I stumble off of her as soon as her feet hit the ground. This place looks the same and yet it's so different all at once, but I know that this is it. Even after sixteen years, I can't forget this place.

I hear a set of wings approaching before Stormfly lands on the ground. I hear their approaching footsteps, but I don't turn around.

"Thora! What's gotten into you?" Ruffnut demands.

"I...this..." I turn to face them, tears building in my eyes. "This place is my village."

Both of their eyes widen noticeably as they move closer to me. I turn back to the once bustling village, staring at the scars left upon the land.

The black soot has long since disappeared from the fire and grass has started growing in the soil again. The toppled over huts still look the same, although weathered from years against the elements, and the statues in front of the town hall are still the smashed remnants that I knew. I move along the wreckage, remembering the last time I was here.

"This...this is where you grew up?" Ruffnut asks, following after me.

"Yes. I haven't been here for sixteen years," I answer, deadpan. I keep walking in the direction of my old home.

"Didn't you lose your village to a dragon attack?" Astrid asks, scanning the area skeptically.

"Again, yes. I lost my mother and father during it." I stop short as my breath hitches, my home within my view. "I can still see it."

"This place looks like it got raided..." Ruffnut comments.

I cringe as I remember the night again. The dragons' eyes, blood red with no pupils, and their skin smoky as though they were ghosts. My mother...my father...

I walk into the wreckage of my old hut and a wave of memories washes over me. I sink to the ground with my hands wrapped around each other in a fist on my lap, my body suddenly too heavy to support. I can hear Astrid and Ruffnut mumbling behind me.

My hut was hit the hardest during the raid. Most of the walls were burnt down and the stairs to the upstairs were destroyed, although the whole top level stayed standing. My mother's room, where I found the chest, was on the ground floor, which is the only reason I could get to it.

"I'm going to the top floors. Keep watch down here," I say to the two women near me, pushing myself back to my feet.

I whistle to Nightstar, climbing onto her back once she reaches me. We fly past the broken stairs and land on the top floors, where I slide off. The whole top floor is crumbling apart, the wood rotting slowly. I feel like any step I take could break through the floor.

Nightstar growls nervously, nuzzling my back. I turn and hug her neck.

"Don't worry, Nightstar, I'll be safe," I assure her.

I turn away and head to my bedroom, each step tentative. I reach the door and walk inside, and my eyes fill with tears again. It's burnt, of course, and my bed is a crumbling pile of ashen wood. The walls are charred too.

I walk farther into the room, looking around. My childhood toys lay among the dirty floor and I gingerly pick one up. It's a sheep; once white, now mottled with black amongst the fluffy white material.

I clutch the toy close to me, feeling like a piece of my lost childhood lives within it.

My eyes fall to the floor and I see the corner of a painting; one that hung on my wall at one point. I reach down and pick it up, hoping it doesn't break. It doesn't, much to my relief.

Three Vikings are painted carefully on the parchment. My mother's blonde hair is tied back in two braids, much like how I'm wearing mine right now. Her kind brown eyes smile at me from the page and my gaze travels to my father. He was a strong Viking, not nearly as large as others. He was tall and slim, though his body was muscular. That's the way most men in my village looked like.

My father's face was kind and most wouldn't guess how brave he really was. His hair was the same shade of auburn as mine, his eyes were a light blue colour, and freckles dotted his nose. In the painting he's wearing a horned helmet, as is my mother. My mom always said that I was more like my dad, which I took a lot of pride in when I was younger. He was Thord, and I am Thora.

The last person on the parchment is a tiny Viking girl with the same red-tinted hair as her father falling just above her shoulders. One hand holds onto her mother's hand and the other grasps her dad's. She has her mom's eyes and her dad's hair and freckles. She smiles, like she has no idea that something is gonna throw her life for the loop soon.

I'm amazed that the painting survived all these years, and it's probably because of the shelter of the table it was under.

I head back to Nightstar, allowing my dragon to fly me back to the ground floor. Stormfly, Astrid, and Ruffnut wait for me, noticing the stuffed sheep and painting in my hands.

"What are those?" Astrid asks softly.

"A painting of my family and my old childhood plaything," I answer, my voice hardly able to rise above a whisper.

"Can we see?" Ruffnut pries, moving closer.

I nod and hand Astrid the painting, both blondes eagerly looking at the painting. As they look it over, my eyes fall on my parents' room once again.