And just like that, two years passed inside the scenario mission.
Petunia didn't count days anymore. She counted completed side missions. Village after village, she struck at dragon-hunting camps with precision. Every success added to the growing myth of the Drekamær—the dragon witch with the face of a child and the strength of a storm.
The Bewilderbeast she was sent to find remained elusive. Without it, the main scenario could not be completed. Without it, she couldn't go home.
In the meantime, she didn't let her mind slip. She practiced English every day, refusing to let the language rust. As a side hobby, she taught Vald both English and Old Valyrian. He called it "the language of dragon kin." She didn't correct him.
Vald had grown, but in her eyes, he was still just a boy under her care—a student. Nothing more. Sometimes he spoke of dreams, of glory, of staying by her side. She never encouraged it.
In quiet moments, she would space out, her mind wandering—never explaining where.
The little dragons often climbed all over her, squabbling, nipping, yapping. She let them. It was noise she didn't mind. Sometimes, it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Her body, still that of a young girl, was now carrying the power of a seasoned warrior.
She'd spent every coin earned from the missions investing into what mattered most—stamina, strength, agility, magic. Her axe flew faster. Her steps were sharper. Her storms came harder. The restrictions on her weather manipulation were gone. She'd earned that right.
Her status panel, once modest, now read differently:
---
[Status Panel – Updated]
[Name: Petunia Targaryen / Evans**]**
[Age: 54**]**
[Constellation Sponsor: NONE**]**
[Private Attributes:]
— Dragonic Warlock (Myth)
— Doekabe-like (Unique)
[Exclusive Skills:]
— Weather Manipulation → Lv.10
— Transfiguration Magic → Lv.2
— Enchantment Magic → Lv.2
— Potioneering → Lv.2
— Mind Magic → Lv.3
— Mystic Cat Footwork → Lv.10
— Deceitful Mouth → Lv.7
— Axemanship → Lv.10
— Cold Resistance → Lv.9
— Lightning Resistance → Lv.9
[Stigma:] None
[Overall Stats:]
— Stamina: Lv.15
— Strength: Lv.15
— Agility: Lv.15
— Magic Power: Lv.30
[Balance: 6,500 Coins]
------------
The sky crackled with thunder as Vald sliced through the air atop his Dramillion, weaving between enemy ships like a flame-dancer.
"Drakarys, my friend!" he roared.
The dragon bared its spiked jaws. Blue infernos burst from its throat, arcing through the storm and smashing into ballista towers. The ships groaned under the impact—metal scorched, sails caught fire, screams echoed across the waves.
Vald's pupils narrowed with focus. In one smooth motion, he launched himself from the saddle. The wind howled around him as he dropped onto a steel warship. The deck splintered on impact.
Four Vikings lunged at him.
He caught one by the arm, twisted, and threw the man overboard. Another raised a hammer—but Vald ducked, pivoted with a heel strike to the jaw, and sent the Viking sprawling. He ducked under a spear thrust, disarmed the man with a sweep, and crushed him with a roundhouse axe kick that cracked wood.
But he was unarmed.
Then:
"Master!" he shouted.
Across the storm-lit skies, Petunia floated in midair—her eyes glowing with electricity, her silhouette framed by flashing clouds. With a flick of her fingers, she unleashed a forked bolt of lightning into a mounted turret, melting it into slag. She turned her head at his call.
Without hesitation, she summoned her axe. The weapon shimmered with a metallic hum, spinning in a tight arc through the battlefield.
Vald timed it perfectly. He dashed forward, ducked under a flying spear, and caught the axe as it embedded itself in the deck.
Boom. The floor cracked beneath him. The real fighting began.
Now armed, he danced through the enemy with brutal precision. Every swing had the weight of years of training under Petunia. His strikes weren't reckless—they were calculated, purposeful. A deep axe cleave. A low sweep. He dropped one Viking with a feint, redirected the momentum into a leaping overhead slam, and crushed two more. All while his Dramillion scorched the ship's blind spots, keeping archers at bay.
Elsewhere, Petunia's storm intensified.
With the restrictions on her weather manipulation removed and upgraded, the skies were hers. She hovered in a charged vortex, electricity swirling around her like wings of power. One hand extended, she pointed at another launcher—CRACK—a lightning bolt slammed down and shattered it in one strike. She wasn't just destroying; she was controlling the battlefield, picking targets precisely, making sure Zephros remained untouched.
Vald fought his way across the deck toward a caged cluster of dragons. He hacked through the final chain, releasing a terrified Screaming Death. The massive worm-like beast screeched in thanks and soared into the storm.
They didn't need words anymore. Their movements were synchronized. Refined by dozens of side missions, raids, and rescues. Their synergy was battle-tested.
Then Petunia dropped like a meteor onto the largest ship. Her landing cracked the deck in half. Sparks ran up her arms. The Viking leader stumbled forward—and she swatted him back with a flick of her wrist, sending him skidding.
He stared up at her in disbelief.
She looked like a child. Barely twelve winters.
But her power said otherwise.
She was the fable.
"Tell me your leader's name. These attacks are too structured. Who's giving the orders?"
"P-please… Drekamær… I'm just following orders. If I disobey, he'll destroy my village."
"Who." Her tone didn't shift. It was death in a whisper.
"Drogo. His name is Drogo… He controls dragons. All of them. Even the old ones. He's… trying to wipe them out."
That name hit her harder than the wind. Drogo.
"Where?"
The man fumbled through a satchel, shaking hands pulling out a half-burnt map. A black 'X' was marked on the corner of a mountain range.
"Here… take it. Please…"
She grabbed it. Tossed him aside.
From the skies, Zephros swooped low, his massive wings flinging seawater like blades. Petunia landed on his back mid-motion.
Vald soared up beside her on his Dramillion, his chest rising and falling with effort.
"Where to now, Master?" he asked.
She looked ahead. Lightning lit up the sky behind her.
"We rest. Then we move. We have a big fish to catch. So sleep while you can."
She hesitated.
"...You did well today."
Vald turned his face slightly away, but not before she saw the flicker in his eyes.
"Thank you."
Over the past two years, Vald's favorability toward Petunia had grown—quietly, steadily, and with surprising intensity. It wasn't romantic, not in any way he could explain. Not yet, and maybe not ever. But being around her brought him a sense of clarity. A stillness. Like the world slowed down when she spoke.
Petunia wasn't like anyone he'd ever met. She was technically way older than him ,there was a gravity in her words, a sharpness in her gaze, and a confidence in the way she carried herself that gave the impression she'd lived lifetimes. And maybe, in some strange way, she had.
To most, she was a mystery. To Vald, she was a paradox. A girl who looked twelve but spoke like someone ancient and wise. Someone who let baby dragons gnaw at her boots and curl beside her to nap, yet also stood atop a dragon mid-flight like a warrior queen. She was patient, focused, and somehow always ahead of him—always knowing what needed to be done, even when he didn't understand it.
He didn't fully comprehend his feelings. He wasn't in love. At least… he didn't think so. But the idea of her leaving—of her finishing her mission, whatever it really was, and disappearing from his life—struck something deep in him. It unsettled him. As if something important was quietly being pried out of his life and he couldn't stop it.
He wouldn't admit it to her, of course. She probably knew already. She always seemed to know. But Vald wasn't stupid. He saw the signs: the distant looks, the way she watched the sky as though measuring how much time she had left. The subtle urgency behind her calm instructions. The way she spoke of goals like they were obligations carved in stone, never to be delayed for anyone—not even for friendship.
He didn't have the words to describe what she meant to him. A mentor? A sister? family?
All he knew was this: her presence made him feel safer. Stronger. And the thought of losing that—of losing her—filled him with a kind of quiet dread.
So, he stayed by her side. Always just a step behind, watching, listening, learning. Because even if he didn't understand everything she was, he knew one thing:
He didn't want to let go.
●●●●●●
Inside the Glacial Cavern beneath the Bewilderbeast's Base...
Petunia slipped silently between the ice-carved arches that glowed faintly with trapped sunlight. The frost didn't bite her skin—she'd long since overcome such limitations. As Zephros lowered her to the icy floor, she stepped off, her breath misting the air.
"I'll rest by the Bewilderbeast," she said over her shoulder. "You should get some sleep too."
"Yes, Master," Vald replied, bowing his head slightly before steering his Dramillion toward the outer caves, where warmth and steam coiled from the earth.
The Bewilderbeast stirred, acknowledging her presence. The small dragons crowding his massive, ivory head scattered as she approached. She lay down against his thick, horned brow, arms behind her head, staring up at the glittering ice dome above.
A long, quiet hum vibrated through the ground—more felt than heard.
Nothing again? the Bewilderbeast's thoughts echoed softly in her mind.
Petunia ran her fingers along his cold-scaled face. "No… nothing new. But this time, I've got a lead. I can feel it—like something tugging from beneath the surface."
He didn't answer. But his massive eye cracked open for a heartbeat, filled with timeless melancholy, then closed again. She could tell: he believed her. He always had.
---
Elsewhere in the sanctuary...
Laughter echoed faintly through the cavern tunnels, carried by the hollow acoustics of ice. Vald, stretching near his resting spot, tensed. Laughter wasn't common here—certainly not this kind of warm, familial laughter.
Curious, he wandered toward the sound. As he rounded the bend, his steps slowed.
There, near a nest of warm crystals and leafy bedding, stood Valka—her hands on the shoulders of a young man about Vald's age. The boy had messy brown hair, green eyes full of wonder, and an expression that mirrored hers. They were laughing together. A closeness pulsed between them, something old and newly awakened.
Vald cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ahem… Am I interrupting something?"
Valka turned, her smile softening at the sight of him. The boy instinctively stepped in front of her, his eyes guarded.
"Vald," Valka said warmly. "You're just in time. Come here, please."
She placed a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder. "This is my son. Hiccup."
Vald blinked. "Your… son?"
"Yeah," Hiccup said, glancing sideways at his mother. "Apparently. It's… been a bit of a shock."
Toothless, who had been lurking just behind Hiccup, padded forward, blinking at Vald with tilted curiosity.
Valka gently nudged her son aside. "And this is Vald. A rider like me. He's fought beside… well, you'll meet her soon enough."
"There's someone else?" Hiccup asked, his curiosity piqued. "Another rider?"
Valka's eyes softened with mystery. "Yes. She's... different. And powerful."
Vald and Hiccup exchanged a nod.
"Nice to meet you, Vald," Hiccup said, extending a hand.
Vald hesitated for a moment, then shook it. "Same to you."
Valka turned and beckoned them toward the hollow. "Come inside. It's warmer here."
They followed her into the deeper chamber where dragon eggs pulsed with gentle heat and strange vines curled around glowing crystals.
Valka turned back to them. Her voice took on the hush of reverence.
"I was here all along, Hiccup. Years passed. Seasons changed. While the world mourned me… I was keeping this place alive. These dragons… they're my family now. I didn't abandon you. I protected something I believed in, something the world was trying to destroy."
Hiccup looked around, still taking it all in—the majesty of the cave, the dragons curled around each other like sleeping cats, the breath of something ancient and pure all around them.
"I always wondered where I got this feeling," he whispered. "That the world had more than what we were told. That there was a better way."
Valka touched his cheek gently. "That's your father in you. And your heart—well, that's mine."
Toothless stopped mid-pounce during a game with Cloudjumper, Valka's Stormcutter. The Night Fury's ears perked and his head tilted sharply—something had caught his attention. With a curious chirp, he bounded off toward the center of the base.
"H-Hey! Toothless, wait up!" Hiccup scrambled after him, dodging curling tails and flapping wings.
They passed under high arched tunnels of ice where light filtered through in bluish beams, casting dancing patterns across the walls. It felt like stepping into a secret cathedral carved by time and magic.
And then—to Hiccup's surprise—he emerged into a clearing unlike any other.
Dragons, big and small, nestled in a sleepy circle around the massive form of the Bewilderbeast. On its snowy back, half-buried in the warm hide, lay a girl. A child, no older than twelve... but the way the dragons curled around her—calm, protective, almost reverent—made the air feel sacred.
Toothless skidded to a stop, tail swishing in excitement.
Hiccup blinked, stunned. "Who... who is she?"
Valka stepped up behind him, her voice soft and fond. "That's Þórný. The other dragon rider."
"The other?" Hiccup turned, confused.
"She's... unique," Valka said, the smile in her voice edged with something unreadable. "You'll see."
Vald, leaning against a nearby pillar of stone, crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed by Hiccup's gawking. "Ever heard of the Drekamær?"
Hiccup blinked. "The what?"
"The Drekamær," Vald repeated. "The silver-haired girl born of dragon and human blood. Said to appear wherever dragons are caged."
"Oh—that tale?" Hiccup chuckled nervously. "Yeah, sailors in Berk used to tell that one—some mysterious, ageless dragon child saving whole broods by herself. Total nonsense, right?" He looked to Valka for reassurance.
She just smiled quietly.
"...Right?" he repeated, a little less certain now.
Before Valka could answer, Toothless jumped—straight onto the Bewilderbeast's back—and began gleefully licking the sleeping girl's face like an overexcited puppy.
Vald smirked, arms still crossed. "Oh-ho. That's not gonna end well."
"What?" Hiccup turned just as Petunia's eyes fluttered open—bleary, disoriented… and then mildly horrified as her face contorted at the wet sensation.
A sudden, vortex of wind erupted from her palms, spinning Toothless back with a push. Drops of dragon drool hovered briefly in midair before being flung aside with a flick of her fingers.
Hiccup's jaw dropped. "She—what just—?"
Petunia stood slowly, dusting off her tunic with the solemn grace of someone far older than she looked. Her expression was deadpan. She looked at Toothless with narrowed eyes, then without a word, pounced—and began mercilessly tickling the Night Fury's stomach like a mischievous older sibling.
Toothless squeaked and thumped his tail, writhing under her fingers.
she muttered. "This is your punishment."
Valka laughed under her breath. Hiccup could only stare, frozen.
"Drekamær…?" he breathed, as if naming a myth come to life.
Vald shrugged smugly. "In the flesh."
Petunia finally turned, blinking at the newcomers as if only now registering their presence. She tilted her head, her strange, blue-violet eyes shimmering like twin galaxies beneath dark lashes. Then she looked at Hiccup, unbothered by his gaping.
Hiccup tried to form words, but failed.
As the moment settled, Valka rested a hand on her son's shoulder, leaning in to whisper, "She's not what you expect. But she's exactly what the dragons need."
----------
The next morning, atop a windswept glacier…
Cracks spread like veins beneath the clear ice. A chilly mist curled between ancient ridges, and above, flocks of dragons soared through the sapphire sky, casting flickering shadows over the icy surface.
Valka stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her dragon staff resting gently on her shoulder. Her wild hair fluttered as she stared out across the shimmering horizon. The sky was alight with morning hues—peach and gold layered over deep winter blue.
Hiccup stood beside her, shoulders tense, hands curled into anxious fists.
"You don't understand, Mother!" he snapped, voice echoing slightly across the empty expanse. "This man—Drogo—he's not just a hunter. He's building an army. He captures dragons, forces them into submission. Those who won't bow? He slaughters them."
Valka said nothing.
"With your help—with the Bewilderbeast, with this entire base—we could fight back! We could stop him before more dragons are lost."
Her eyes softened with pain, but her tone remained firm. "My son, you're still too young to understand what kind of enemy you're facing."
"I know what he's doing, Mother!" Hiccup's voice cracked. "He wants to control every dragon in the world—or destroy them. And you… you're just hiding here."
A beat of silence.
Valka looked away, lips tightening. "What did your father say?"
"He ordered all of Berk to bunker down and defend the village." Hiccup looked down. "But I don't want to hide. We don't have to—not now that I've found you."
Valka's expression wavered. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"For twenty years, I've protected these creatures," she said, voice almost a whisper. "I've watched them hatch. Watched them play. I've buried the ones that didn't make it. This place… this sanctuary… it's more than a base—it's home." She looked toward the horizon. "Protecting what we already have is not cowardice. It's survival."
The silence stretched between them.
Then—Valka gave a light whistle.
Cloudjumper swooped down, regal and strong, wings slicing the air. Toothless landed beside Hiccup with a soft chirp.
The mother and son mounted their dragons in unison and launched into the sky.
They flew low at first, then rose with the warm updrafts into an open stream of wind. The clouds broke around them in sunlit shards.
Valka closed her eyes and opened her arms wide as the wind rushed over her. Her laughter rose over the roar of the air.
"This, Hiccup—this is freedom!" she called. "No walls, no chains… Just sky! like a dragon!."
But Hiccup, standing on Toothless's saddle, raised an eyebrow. "Calling yourself a dragon when you need one to fly… a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
He pulled a small lever on his hip.
Click—whish.
From under his tunic, sleek, folded mechanical wings snapped out and extended. Thin but strong, stitched with hide and metal, they flared like a bird of prey.
Valka's breath caught.
Hiccup leapt from Toothless with complete trust, angling into a controlled glide. His body tilted and turned with the air currents as he spiraled downward like a leaf caught in wind.
He landed with a solid thud on a snowy ridge beside a steaming crater.
Valka descended beside him on Cloudjumper, beaming.
"Impressive, my son," she said warmly, her eyes gleaming. "Though… I'm sorry to crush your confidence, but you're not the only one who can fly without a dragon."
Before Hiccup could reply, she lifted her finger and pointed into the sky behind him.
Hiccup turned.
From the northern arc of the sky, a glimmering blur broke through the clouds. Zephros, the silver dragon, beat his massive wings with controlled power, gliding downward in a spiral.
On his back stood a girl, not seated or clinging, not standing , both hands raised toward the wind like a weather witch. Her long, dark hair whipped around her like smoke, her expression calm, distant—as if she were somewhere far deeper than the clouds.
Beside her, Vald rode his Dramillion dragon, keeping pace slightly behind and below.
Hiccup's mouth fell open. "...Of course she can fly."
He watched as the girl took a breath and stepped off Zephros's back.
Winds curled around her legs, catching her fall like invisible wings. She hovered effortlessly, twisting in the air like a wisp of storm cloud, and then, with the precision of a hawk, landed on a narrow ledge near the crater.
Hiccup swallowed, still watching her.
"Is she really… born from a dragon and a human?" he asked, eyes fixed on her every movement.
Valka joined him, her expression unreadable. "Some say she's a witch. Others, the Drekamær. She never confirmed or denied either. But she can speak to dragons in ways no one else can."
"She doesn't even look—" Hiccup stopped, watching Petunia extend a hand to a small dragon who had landed nearby. It purred, curling around her like a cat seeking warmth.
"She doesn't look old enough," he finally finished.
Valka smiled faintly. "Looks can be deceiving. That girl's been walking with dragons long before you were born."
Hiccup took a breath, mind racing. "If anyone can help me stop Drogo…"
"She can," Valka confirmed. "But she doesn't offer her power lightly."
"Then I should talk to her. Now."
Valka mounted Cloudjumper again. "Go after them. You'll find me in the plantation caves."
"Toothless—let's go!"
The Night Fury gave a whoop, crouched low, and launched into the sky. Hiccup leaned forward, heart hammering with purpose.
Below, Petunia glanced up—her strange blue-violet eyes locking with his for a brief, electric moment.