I walk into my parents' room without mentioning anything to my friends, surveying the scene the same way I did with everything else. Everything is knocked over, including the chest I took the necklace and fur cloak from when I was little. It looks like a hoard of something came and ransacked the place.

I walk to the chest, picking it up and standing it upright. It feels heavy, yet there's nothing inside.

Something about it is off. I look to the outside before looking in, my eyebrows furrowing. I do this a few times, realizing that chest is deeper on the outside than on the inside.

I push my hand on the bottom and it nearly crumbles away, allowing me to remove the fake bottom. There's two items; a sword and another painting. I lift up the painting, unrolling it. It isn't damaged in the slightest, something I'm glad for. On the painting is a group of Vikings, all holding swords or axes. My eyes scan the group of them and they fall on two familiar Vikings in the front row; my parents, looking younger than when I last saw them. My mother wears the same necklace around her neck that's around mine right now, save for the three extra pendants.

I look to the bottom of the painting, hoping for an explanation. In black ink, there's swirling handwriting and an acronym reading "Hermaōr, Gathering of the DDS, circa". The year is smudged out, but it must've been before I was born.

I look to the sword, then back at the painting. My father is holding the same sword in the picture, so I take it without hesitation. I feel it in my hand, my face slack with awe. It's sleek and refined, nothing like any other weapon I had ever seen. Its handle is smooth in my hand and a black gem glitters from the hilt. The whole blade seems to glow with an aura of some sort of higher power.

My throat tightens. This can't be true. They were just stories, stories that my mother told me at night so that I would fall asleep.

"This is what you wanted to show me," I whisper, looking at the image of my parents. I take a long breath, looking at the inscription again. My village's name, that strange acronym, and the lost year. "What's the DDS though?"

My brown eyes flicker back to the chest, noticing that the sword has a belt and sheathe that go along with it. I take those and fasten the belt around my waist, slipping the sword into it. It feels right hanging there at my side, giving me a weird sort of pride.

I dash from my parents' room, the picture with me, and I come face to face with Astrid.

"Are you okay, Thora?" she asks, visibly concerned.

"My parents. They were in some sort of group, a club. My father owned this sword and my mother owned this necklace," I ramble, snapping my fingers as I think. "She told me stories about my village, but I thought that's all they were. Stories. I need to figure out what DDS is...or was."

"Thora, what are you-"

I hold the second picture out to her, allowing her to take it from my hand. Ruffnut looks over her shoulder, confused.

"Hermaōr?" she asks.

Something rustles outside and I instantly place a hand on the hilt of my new weapon. Astrid and Ruffnut look up too, the former carefully setting the pictures in her hand next to my stuffed sheep.

"Stay quiet," I warn.

I creep back outside, scanning the horizon for the source of the noise as my friends follow. Nothing comes to us, although Nightstar and Stormfly fidget in place and whimper. Astrid looks towards her beloved Nadder, carefully readying her axe.

"The dragons are acting up," she mutters. "Someone else is here."

A growl sounds near me and I spin in its direction, whipping the sword out as the faint ringing of metal resonates in my ears. Two blood red eyes stare back at me from a shady patch near my home. I gasp, stepping backwards as I grip the sword tighter. I swear that my necklace gets warmer.

The thing creeps from the darkness and I realize that it's a Deadly Nadder, but it's unlike any other Nadder that I've seen before. Its skin is smoky grey and its eyes...I know those eyes. It's one of the creatures that attacked my village.

Stormfly squeals in distress, hopping up and down. Nightstar's eyes widen and her wide mouth forms a scowl. Something tells me this dragon won't be easily tamed, if at all.

Astrid throws her axe at the beast, but the blade passes through it like it isn't there. The strange Nadder makes a throaty chuckling sound. The blonde fails to hide her dumbfounded look.

"What? What is this?" she gasps.

Ruffnut rushes towards it with her own weapon raised, but it roars and smacks her with a quick sweep of its wing. She lands hard on the ground, groaning.

"Oh-kay, that didn't work," she mutters as she gets up, ready for another go.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Thora," a voice says, seeming to echo throughout the whole village. "You know, you should be dead, girl."

The sound makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My gaze flickers to Astrid and Ruffnut briefly, both of them looking equally confused. I grit my teeth as my attention reverts back to the sky.

"How do you know my name?" I yell.

An amused laugh is heard, but I still see nothing. "Oh, your name is well known among us. Thora, daughter of Thord and Sigrid, the last Viking of the Hermaōr tribe."

"What is this guy talking about?" Ruffnut asks, frantically searching the sky. "I mean, Hermaōr is warrior, but-"

"Warrior tribe, my tribe," I answer, completely rigid. "That's the name of my village, okay?"

"You being alive definitely puts a hitch in my plan." The voice sighs. "Still, you aren't much compared to what your people were once capable of. What a shame. At least killing you won't be too hard."

"Show your face, you coward!" Astrid yells.

The voice laughs again, fading out. The strange Nadder roars and flicks its tail towards me, releasing the spines on it. Before I can react, I feel a blinding pain in my side. My world starts to fade as I collapse to the ground, my shirt become soaked with my blood.

The last things I hear are my friends calling my name.